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1138390	Scattered Thoughts	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Griffin O'Conner, David Rice", "Fandom": "Jumper (2008)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Goodbyemyfancy", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-16T00:00:00", "words": "3,915", "Additional Tags": "10 fics from 10 songs, POV First Person, Kissing, Cuddling, Dancing, Anal, Drinking", "Relationship": "Griffin O'Conner/David Rice", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	1. Run On – Moby Now that I know the truth about jumpers and Paladins, my world’s totally changed. I used to have a home, a life, interacted with the real people. Now it’s just me and Griffin, together on the run. We’re always on the road, always on the move and never stop anywhere long enough to make an impression on anyone. But strangely enough, before I met Griffin I always felt alone in the world. And now that I’m totally cut off from people and the world that was my previous life, I feel closer and more connected to Griffin than any person I’ve ever met. Even Millie never made me feel this way. Griffin was right when he said there was no one who could understand jumpers except other jumpers. We’ve been running for a long time, endless highways that stretch into nothingness, but at least we’re together. 2. Thank You – Dido (remix version) I’ve come to the realization I am actually lucky to be alive. So many of the ways in which I’ve lived my life before Griffin could have brought me into direct contact with the Paladins. And had I run into them before Griffin, I would have lost. I’d be dead. For all his pissyness and paranoia, Griffin’s the one who's taught me how to survive and stay alive now that I’m a known jumper. He even taught me the four rules instilled in him by his family. I wrote them all down in a journal and starting adding my own rules to help us keep going. And I started staying with Griffin more and more, crashing out almost nightly now, feeling security and stability when we’re together. He’s gone already, jumped to somewhere else on the planet, and not even a note to let me know where he’s gone and when he might be back. The lair’s just not the same without him. I’ve just woken up and I’m lying on his bumpy couch with a cricked neck, staring at the dank rock walls, and wondering what to do with myself. Why is it I can’t seem to cope anymore without Griffin by my side? Why do I need him so much? I feel miserable and unable to deal with the long day stretched out before me. And then Griffin’s back, that familiar swirl of a jump point appearing a few feet from where I’m lying. He’s already showered and dressed, and has a satisfied smirk on his slender face. He’s got Starbucks coffees on a paper tray in one hand and the paper bag clenched in his other smells like it has warm fresh croissants. And for some reason, I feel happy again now that he’s here with me. 3. Big Ole Daddy – Liquified Griffin thinks I’m insane. I want to see my father and he can’t understand why. Neither can I, to be honest. The man beat me daily, terrorized every moment of my day, leaving me vulnerable and scared. I’m still trying to sort out what’s in my head that’s left-over from his fucked up teachings about the world, and what I really believe for myself. Maybe if I can see him again, I’ll have the courage to confront him and actually say the things I’ve carried around inside me for all these years since I first left him when I was teenager. Griffin’s protective these days, and doesn’t want me to leave, yet steadfastly refuses to go with me either. And he has sound reasons too – the Paladins must have my father monitored and watched around the clock, waiting for my resolve to break. And the more protective and scared Griffin gets, finally believing that I am crazy enough to possibly do this, the more demanding he is of me. We spend more time in bed, hours more than we would usually, and I know this is Griffin’s way of trying to keep me close by his side. There’s desperation in the way he caresses and kisses me, and once when he was lying between my legs and sucking me off, giving me the blowjob of my life, I saw diamond tears caught in his dark eyelashes. For weeks I kept giving into his silent needs and wishes for me not to abandon him for my father. When I finally make the decision to leave, to make my way slowly back to my old hometown, Griffin stops me, literally and figuratively. He clocks hard me on the head from behind as I’m getting my gear together, packing for my trip. I wake up to find myself with a pounding headache and expertly tied to Griffin’s narrow bed. Griffin’s sitting on the edge right next to me, his expression black and murderous. The moment my eyes opened, he snarls in my face, “You fucker. You aren’t going to see him. You don’t need to and you know it’s a bloody trap guaranteed.” I just stare up at him, confused from the blow and wondering why he has tied me to the bed, of all places. I start feeling damned angry and resentful, and need to lash out, even though I know he is right about my dad. And also knowing damned well that picking a fight with Griffin is sheer stupidity under any circumstances. But I just couldn’t stop the words spewing from my mouth, “Got something on your mind, Griffin? I’m tied to your bed after all. Seems pretty kinky to me.” Griffin looks startled for a second, an expression I have rarely seen, and then grins nastily, his blue eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Well, if that’s what you’re thinking, I’m more than willing to oblige.” And with that, he leans down and kisses me, a bruising painful kiss followed by his tongue plunging into my mouth. 4. The End of the Race – Willy Mason They were relentless in their pursuit of Griffin and I. Our very existence contradicted their beliefs, and murder was their method of purifying the world of our evil taint. Funny that – until Griffin and I met, I never knew I was some blasphemous creature that demanded extermination. We celebrated every time we encountered them and managed to live through the experience. We got very drunk one night, Griffin and I in the safety of the lair, and wound up actually talking and sharing more about ourselves. We had come within seconds of being discovered by the Paladins earlier that day while we were in Paris and exploring the Musée d'Orsay Modern Art Museum, fascinated by how the museum was housed in a former railway station. We spotted them and took off running before they saw us, not daring to jump with them this close. Griffin being smaller and faster in his reactions, grabbed my hand to quickly pull me along as we bolted for safety. We saw more and more Paladins spread through the crowd as we were escaping, and Griffin yanked on my arm so I was not so tall and visible in the crowd. We were still holding hands when he jumped us through a few waterfalls to make the jump points disappear and took us home. That night while we were rejoicing another day alive after contact with the Paladins, we both dropped our barriers and shared our histories. I had no idea Griffin’s parents were murdered in front of him as a child. They came under the cover of night, knocking on the front door and asking for Griffin by name, and then Griffin’s life as he knew it was over. By the time he woke up, the sun was bright and hot and the sand of the Empty Quarter and he was a different child. They had stolen his family, his life, his possessions, even his dreams. The enemy destroyed everything. Griffin, in his drunken ramblings, clearly blamed himself for their deaths, for bringing the wrath of the Paladins down upon his family due to one careless mistake. I told him of my mother abandoning me to my father, violent and abusive and fully capable of unleashing his anger about my other onto me. It took several beers before I shared how bad the abuse had been, and the way I kept chains and locks to barricade myself in my bedroom from him. By the end of the night, we were cuddling on the couch, Griffin pulled to my chest and my arms wrapped him holding him close. His dark hair smelled clean, though surprisingly like strawberries. Definitely not a smell I’d associate with the tough Brit who killed Paladins for his own personal vendetta. I thought of saying something but even being as drunk as I was, I knew it could be the type of thing to set Griffin off on another rampage. And I liked how we were right now just fine. Maybe someday we can both forget our pasts, leave behind the ghosts we keep in our hearts. 5. Taw Shi – Ofra Haza We’re having a bonfire tonight, on a hidden isolated strip of the Sahara desert where no person would possibly venture, drinking German beer and howling at the moon. At least, Griffin’s howling, sitting in the sand with his legs outstretched, stopping his bellows only to take another swig. I watch him as his chin lifts, the wet edge of the bottle touches his lips and my stomach tightens as his Adam’s apple drops and lifts as he swallows. I can see the twisted scars on the side of his pale neck in the moonlight, and suddenly I’m envisioning what Griffin would look like naked and sprawled out under this magic night sky by the firelight; how those other scars he carries under his clothes would look and feel to me. I shake my head, chasing away what I’m thinking and blaming the beer for giving me such weird thoughts. Griffin has his portable stereo with him, and the music drifts easily across the sand breaking up the silence of the night. It’s not the type of music I’d expect from Griffin, a hybrid of different cultural influences from the Middle East and North America. But it’s infectious and happy and upbeat and unexpectedly, I feel like dancing. I sit up and finish off the dregs of my near empty beer, and kicking off my shoes, start dancing on the sand. The music enters and fills me, and I dance unaware of anything else for long minutes, the sand warm under my feet leftover from the daytime sun. There’s something about a beat that resonates deep inside me and I just want to lose myself in the complex texture and weaving of elements that distinguishes each song and makes it unique. When I open my eyes, Griffin’s standing a couple of feet away from me, silently drinking from a new fresh bottle and it’s clear he’s been watching me the whole time. I can see him trying to hide it, but the way he now stands in the sand, the way his eyes have gone black and never leave mine even when he takes another swallow gives it away. He wants me, but he’s doing nothing about it. The flames from the fire are starting to die down but still break up the darkness and now I’m feeling a bit stupid for getting caught up in the music in front of him. I expect a snarky comment criticizing me, but instead, he finishes off his bottle and tosses it aside just as the current song comes to an end. The next track starts, another infectious number with drums and percussion and Griffin unexpectedly flashes me a smile and grabs my hand firmly in his own. “Can I join you? Will you dance with me?” And I’m just grinning goofy and nodding my head and then it’s the two of us, alone in the desert, dancing like life is perfect and all is good and there’s nothing that can touch us. We’re invincible together. 6. Mash-up by Apollo Zero: Justin Timberlake VS YMO -- La Sexy Femme Chinoise The club is packed, some trendy high-class place to be seen in Paris, and I’m out on the floor dancing with Griffin. This time, it was my turn to pick our adventure and location, and I wanted a night out like I once had in my former life. Good-looking people, expensive drinks; somewhere I could also dance to my heart’s content. Griffin’s not comfortable with this – had in fact been bitchy about it all night until we left – but it was my turn, my choice and he had no say. Besides, he had taken me to some pretty freaky places in his time, underground fight clubs, militia headquarters and once an S & M bar. I just want to relax and enjoy myself and for me, this is how it will happen. He’s awkward at first, not used to the trendy DJ lounge and jazz, but I could see him relax the more he drank. And now we’re together, the dance floor so packed we’re nearly against one another, and the heat rises as the beats get faster. Under the strobes and black lights, the white fluff and lint on Griffin’s tight black t-shirt glow in the dark, and I start noticing how his muscles shift and move as he dances. He’s astonishingly fluid with his moves, a delicate grace that has been hidden all this time from me. A highly popular dance track kicks in, sexy and funky and the dance floor becomes even more impossibly full. I look down for a second and meet Griffin’s eyes, blight blue that sparkle whenever the club lights slide across his face, and I realize he’s beautiful to me, and I smile at him warmly, loving this perfect moment between us. Then he’s actually rubbing up against me, moving smoothly and perfectly with the rhythm, his body subtly but continuously guiding mine. We constantly touch, hands wandering over each other as we start grinding together in time to the music, bodies linked at the hips and I remember now why I used to like dancing at clubs. The music builds and builds, the crowd going into a frenzy as the track hits the peak moment, and as everyone screams in unison, I grab Griffin by the shoulders and kiss him hard on the lips, giving him barely time to react before I shove my tongue into his mouth and lo and behold, he’s letting me do this, even eagerly reacting to the movement of my lips against his and giving it back right back to me with passion. Our arms are locked around each other tightly, and I can feel his cock against my thigh and I’m happy because I’m not the only one with an embarrassing erection. Finally the track ends, and I know exactly what I want to do for the rest of the night. “Are you ready?” I whisper directly in his ear, and his eyes widen and he nods, speechless probably for the first time in his life. I grab him by the hand and as fast as possible I’m pushing my way through the packed audience, using my height to speed us along. Past the men’s washroom is an exit door, and within seconds we’re outside and instantly jumping to my new place, this one planned with secrecy and security, and landing on my king-sized bed in a flurry of arms and legs, already making out. 7. Can’t Help Falling in Love with You – cover song by Ben Kweller I’ve fallen in love with Griffin, and it’s pure agony simply being his friend. But I can’t help it. It didn’t matter that he’s a guy, or that he spends more time annoyed and angry than happy with me most of the time. It just happened to me gradually, sneaking up on me unexpectedly-- the longer I was with him, the more we learned about each other. And the more we were able to actually communicate and share ourselves and begin trusting each other again, the closer I felt to him. I can tell him things no other person could understand, and after risking the lives of everyone I ever knew, he was the only person there for me when the dust settled. He even took me back into his life after I left him in Chechnya, betrayed him and left him behind. There’s no one else out there for me now. We’re both jumpers, and no one could ever possibly understand how we live. But Griffin – it’s like our first meeting at the Coliseum was destiny telling us this was we needed in order to be complete. And now he has my heart. 8. Remind Me (remixed) – Röyksopp I cannot look around my own apartment anymore without seeing Griffin everywhere. It’s only been a week since he moved in, and now I can barely remember what the place looked like before his arrival. Things were moved around, a bigger couch brought to better chill out while playing video games against each other, rooms adjusted to make the place inviting to Griffin and let him feel like this was his home now as well. He’s kept his lair, of course, needing a space to call his own, but even his space is filled with me. We’ve got clothes, books, even toothbrushes at each other’s places. He’s different from me – one look at the two places in which we inhabit and they show a clear contrast between a preference for cleanliness and a preference for chaos. We each bend to accommodate the other’s needs and wishes. When I’m with him at his place, I respect the chaos and follow his lead in leaving organized random piles of clothes everywhere. When he’s at my place, he’s clean and tidy and his clothes are nearly hung in the closet of the master bedroom we now share. Everything of ours is a reminder we aren’t alone any more; we’re together in our pursuit of a life without fear and the threat of death always determining our choices. So now I’m not alone. He’s asleep beside me, one arm loosely thrown across my chest keeping me close, his dark hair messy and his mouth open, slightly drooling into his pillow and I’m in love. 9. Right Here, Right Now – Jesus Jones Every day I wake up and realize it feels good to be alive. I didn’t appreciate this before the Paladins found me and changed me for good. I was part of the materialistic world, surrounding myself with pretty baubles and high-end gadgets and wealth galore. But I wasn’t really alive – I wasn’t conscious, wasn’t aware of the real world in which my kind existed. I was not happy; if anything, I simply drifted unthinkingly through the world. Griffin had me dead to rights when he called me out during one of our many fights, screaming and calling me shallow and surface and insisting I had a brain filled with air and dust. My world changed in the blink of an eye when I met Griffin at the Coliseum and fought the Paladins for the first time. I was threatened, nearly killed, overwhelmed by this new danger that I had been oblivious about. Having Griffin by my side keeps me sane. I cannot exist any more without him. When we’re naked together in bed, our bodies in constant movement as we cover each other with rough kisses and passionate bite marks, I feel especially alive. No other woman made me feel this way. Griffin’s passionate and demanding, bossing me around and always telling me what to do. Actually, that holds true in and out of bed. He loves to pin me down, clenching my hips tight with his knees, kneading my chest like a cat even as he bends forward to capture my mouth and suck on my lips so hard they swell. This time, neither of us can wait, and Griffin pulls himself away from our frantic kisses and carefully guides himself as he takes my cock into his already prepared hole. He’s hasn’t been fully stretched – our eagerness to be fucking jumped us right past that stage - but it makes the sensation even better. His muscles clench me at first, nearly hurting my cock as he forces himself downwards, but then he deliberately relaxes his ring and slides down until his balls rest on mine. We don’t waste any time, Griffin already moving and shifting himself up and down, fucking my cock with his body. I can see sweat on his forehead, and we’re both speeding up and I can’t stop myself from squirming underneath him and thrusting myself upwards repeatedly into his incredibly hot wet hole. I know I’ve hit the gold mine when Griffin starts to unravel a bit, his eyes closed tight as he rides me, his movements more desperate and jerky. It’s only a few seconds before I can feel his spunk splashing across my chest, and with a groan, it’s all over for me as well. I shudder and thrust deep, my orgasm blinding me to everything but that overwhelming, earth-shattering release. This is where I want to be with Griffin, lost from the world outside, the two of us alone. 10. Hotel Song – Regina Spektor I need to tell Griffin about my haunted dreams from last night, of orca whales jumping in the sun and a young male from a pod tearing apart a dead shark for food, the water turning brilliant red in the bright blue sea. Hundreds of owls were hooting loudly and it was still daylight and I became scared of what the owls were saying to me. A little girl in a woman’s baggy dress held out a plastic bag of cocaine to me, and I was jumping away from her in terror when I woke up. It had felt intensely frightening for no obvious reason, and I needed to share it with Griffin, get it out of my head. He’s the only one who knows me, knows the powerfulness of a jumper’s dreams and nightmares. I could hear him banging around in the bathroom across the hall and called out to him. He appeared immediately in my doorway, his recently washed hair still damp, clad in a ratty but beloved t-shirt, and a pair of dark jeans, standing barefoot. I have no idea why I asked him join me; to crawl into my bed and hold me while I told the story. I don’t know where I even got the courage to ask him in the first place. This was Griffin, after all – the man of violent mood swings and problems with connecting to people in any way. And even though what I was asking sounded pretty intimate even to me, I guess the neediness in my shaking voice was enough to break through his wall. He unbuttoned and dropped his pants, kicking them off and not looking at me. Clad in his boxers and shirt, Griffin padded across the bedroom to me and slipped in between the sheets. We lay facing each other for a few long uncomfortable moments, and then to my relief, Griffin gently put one hand on my hip and pulled me in close. He wrapped his arms around me and held me and he didn’t laugh at me once while I recounted my nightmare. Nor did he tease me about my tears. He just held me quietly and listened.
1158813	Go on ring that bell	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Captain Flint, Billy Bones, Gates - Character", "Fandom": "Black Sails", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by honeybearbee", "chapters": "3/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-29T00:00:00", "words": "1,389", "Additional Tags": "Pining, Awkwardness, Smut, or my attempt at smut, Spoilers, Spoilers for episode 1", "Relationship": "Captain Flint/Billy Bones", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Chapter 1The problem with being alone with the Captain, was that Billy had to fight hard to hide his feelings. Billy knew he was an easy read, his mum said everything he felt was all over his face. It was bad enough that Mister Gates knew how he felt about the Captain, he didn’t need the Captain knowing about it.It wasn’t that Billy thought the Captain would be horrified or shocked or anything. A lot of the crew slept with each other, but no one slept with the Captain. Besides, Billy was pretty sure he wanted more than a one off. It was practically unheard of for two men to settle down into a relationship together, but that’s what Billy truly wanted.He was pretty sure though that the Captain was going to strip him a new one over that stunt in Guthrie’s office. He was doing it to protect the Captain, much like he had when he lied about the paper. He had shuffled along the deck, shoulders bowed, after Mister Gates said the Captain wanted a word.“Don’t worry, lad,” Gates said with a friendly clap on his shoulder. “Captain wouldn’t hurt you.”“He doesn’t even know who I am,” Billy hissed.“Does now,” Gates smirked and walked away.Billy sighed and knocked on the Captain’s door.“Enter!” he called out.Billy swallowed down his nervousness and walked inside. The Captain had his back to the door with his shirt off. He was washing the blood off his face and chest.“You wanted to see me, sir?” Billy asked as he stared straight ahead.“Aye,” the Captain turned around and wiped at his chest with a towel. “I wanted to thank you, for going along with my plan.”Billy shrugged. “Was what needed to be done, sir.”The Captain hummed. He stepped right into Billy’s space and said, “However, if you ever pull a gun on me again, I will not hesitate to kill you.”Billy gulped and took a step backwards. Yes, he was taller than the Captain, but he’d just seen the Captain beat a man to death. He was also a little turned on and really didn’t need the Captain feeling that.“Y-yes, sir,” Billy stuttered.The Captain gave him an assessing look, before stepping forward again. Billy took a step backwards and nearly tripped over the table. He looked down and saw that it was flipped over. He wasn’t sure how he missed that when he first came in.“Broke the chair too,” the Captain said as he jerked his head towards the corner.“Did the doctor look at you?” Billy asked inanely, since he could see the small stitches on the Captain’s chest.The Captain hummed again. He took another step closer and smirked. “No where to run now Mister Bones.” Then he shoved a leg in between Billy’s. His smirk widened. “Ah, I see.”“Captain…” Billy trailed off as the Captain rubbed against his hard dick.“Now, now, Mister Bones,” the Captain said softly as he moved his leg. “I’m sure you can make it up to me.”“Make what up?”“Pointing a gun at me. That’s munity.”“Sir!”The Captain smiled and tugged on Billy’s shirt, pulling him closer. His lips hovered over Billy’s as he said, “You can call me Flint for now.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Uh,” was all Billy got out before he was being kissed by Flint. He groaned and wrapped his arms around Flint, pulling him closer.The leg moving against his dick, gained a bit more friction and Billy bit the Flint’s lip. Flint pulled back, breathing hard.“Sorry,” Billy replied.Flint smirked. “Didn’t know you liked that sort of thing.”Billy felt himself blush and he began to stutter out an answer. Before he could say much, there was a knock at the door.The Captain scowled and pulled away from Billy. “What?” he barked.Gates stuck his head in and smirked. “Just checking on you two. Come on, Billy. The Captain needs to rest.”“I need to get laid,” Flint muttered, but he waved his hand, indicating Billy should leave.Billy, not knowing what to do, bowed. Then he winced as he practically ran out the door. He could hear Gates laughing at him as he walked quickly below decks.****Later, Gates found him face down on a table on New Providence Island and laughed. Billy lifted his head to glare at the man.“You knew,” he hissed.“Of course I did, lad. I’m not an idiot. Besides, anyone with eyes could see how smitten you are with the Captain,” Gates said as he sat across from Billy and poured himself a glass of ale.“Arrgh,” Billy moaned. “Everyone?”“Well, maybe not the Captain. He’s a bit obsessed at the moment. But everyone else knows.”“Damn it.” Billy threw his head back and sighed.Gates shrugged. “He must like something about you. He suddenly changed his mind about telling the crew and you were the only one with him all day. What did you say to him?”Billy blushed and took a drink of his own ale. “I just, you know, said he was being foolish for not trusting us. And I, um, might have pulled a gun on him when he was attacking Mister Guthrie.”Gates whistled. “That would do it.”Billy sighed. “Is he going to want me to go back to him?”Gates was silent for a moment as he took another drink of ale. He stared at Billy. “The question is, do you want to go back knowing he’ll never love you like you love him?”“That easy to read, huh?” Billy asked, gulping.“Maybe only to me. Now, answer the question.”Billy finished his drink and looked out at their ship, sitting on the sea. “Yeah, I do.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Then go, lad,” Gates said. “This life is unpredictable at best and downright deadly at worst. You have to take what you can.”Billy stood up and sighed. “This is gonna end in blood, tears, and pain.”“Things usually do,” Gates smirked.Billy made a face at Gates, but the other man only laughed. Billy left the tavern and made his way back to the ship.“Is the Captain on board?” he asked a passing crew member.“Yeah, reading one of those daft books of his.”Billy snorted and walked towards the Captain's quarters. He took a deep breath and went to knock on the door. Suddenly, John Silver popped out of the shadows and asked, “Going to do it, eh?”Billy visibly jolted and glared at the other man. “What?”Silver waggled his eyebrows. “Gonna fuck the Captain?”“I...what…no!”“Oh,” Silver nodded sagely, his eyes twinkling in delight. “Gonna get fucked by the Captain.”Billy felt his face turn hot. He hunched his shoulders up to his ears and looked away. “Just...just leave me alone, Silver,” he mumbled. He began to move away from the Captain’s door, but Silver’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm.“I didn’t mean it,” the cook said. “It was a joke.”“It wasn’t funny.”Silver shrugged. “I know I’m new here, but even I can see how much you love the Captain. He’s just gonna break your heart.”“What are you saying?” Billy asked confused.Silver moved closer. “You can do better.” His eyes bounced down to Billy’s mouth.Billy’s eyes widened just as the door to the Captain’s quarters swung open. Billy pulled away from Silver and looked at Captain Flint. He was leaning against the door frame, with a scowl on his face.“Any problems here?” Flint asked.“No, sir,” Silver said with a jaunty smile. “Just talking to Billy here.” He gave Billy a friendly slap on the shoulder. Billy winced and pulled further away.Flint grabbed Billy’s jacket and gave him a little tug. Billy stumbled slightly and managed to knock into Flint and the doorframe.“Sorry, sir,” Billy muttered.“It’s not a problem,” Flint said kindly. He gave Silver a harsh look and said, “Well off you go then.”“Sir,” Silver smirked. Billy watched as he ambled away and let out a large sigh.“Better come in Billy,” Flint said as he walked into his quarters. “Before you're accosted by any more of the crew.”Billy flushed again and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him.
1193478	Description of a Gambler	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "The Magnificent Seven (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by DangerouslyHappy", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-16T00:00:00", "words": "288", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": "Ezra Standish", "Relationships": null, "Series": "Description of the Seven", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	He sits there looking at ease in the world. He seems so worldly and gentlemanly, but there is a rugged wildness in him that is only known by his closest friends. His black felt hat sits jauntily on his head and his chestnut hair peeks out from beneath. When you see him smile and his one gold tooth glints in the light you can’t tell if he is faking it or if it’s a genuine smile. His emerald eyes glint with merriment or pain no one knows or maybe ever will. His coat whether it is bright red or dark green, makes him look like some exotic bird. His shirt is a blazing clean white rarely found under the western sun. Beneath his coat resides a tiny derringer that is made for gamblers, his other two guns are mismatched but both fit him and look good on him. His legs of medium height are encased in pressed, black dress pants. His boots shine as if he never gets them dirty and shines then every day. Most say that all he cares for is money, but that isn’t true. Beneath the jaunty exterior resides a man that cares deeply for his friends and loves his mother despite the many pains she’s caused him. He is a man that is lost he does not know which direction to take in life. Should he remain a gambler running from town to town, jumping bail, and scamming people out of their hard earned money? Or should he stay here with his friend’s men that love him as a brother and would never seek to do him harm? Whatever path he has chosen you must remember he is not all that he seems.
1127174	Handle With Care	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by conceptofzero", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-09T00:00:00", "words": "2,923", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": "Peregrine Mendicant", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "The Homestuck Ladyfest New Year's Exchange 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	FRAGILE. DO NOT SHAKE. DO NOT CRUSH OR COMPACT. DO NOT MUTILATE. KEEP PARCEL UPRIGHT. HANDLE WITH CARE.The Parcel Mistress has seen to the delivery of plenty of parcels, but she’s never seen one covered in quite so many warnings. The box is wrapped up tight and covered with so many warnings that she has to carefully pick away at the COMPACT tape to reveal the address. This parcel is due for the Land of Heat and Clockwork and PM can’t figure out what they’re shipping to such a lifeless planet that needs to be handled with such care. “So, think you can do it? I’d usually get Handy Deliverer to do it but he’s stranded up on Frost and Frogs and who knows when they’ll get the teleportizers up and running again.” Her supervisor looks suitably concerned for such a delicate package but she doesn’t need to. PM’s handled plenty of parcels and this is just one more. Anyway, it’ll be good to prove that she’s just as good as HD, if not a little better. “Of course, just leave it to me.” She slides her mailbag off her shoulders and sets it on the counter. After a few seconds of quick thinking, she gestures to the bubble wrap they keep behind the counter. “Get me three meters of that please.” The Weary Supervisor does just that, cutting PM the wrap she needs and handing it over. With some creative wrapping and a little forethought, PM’s able to create a sort of nest for the parcel, setting it snugly into her mailbag right-side up. “Do you want anything else?”“No, this should be good. Thanks WS.” When it’s packed, she carefully slides it back over her shoulders and settles it on her back. The parcel rests against her spine plates, the weight a nice and familiar feeling. PM really doesn’t feel like herself unless she’s got a full mailbag with her. “Any other letters for Lohac?” “Forget about the other stuff. Just make sure that gets there in once piece.” Supervisor picks up the barcode scanner and PM turns her wrist to her, letting her scan PM into the system. She taps away at the keys. “Okay, you’re registered to the package and you’ve got tickets to and from Lohac. The shuttle’s leaving in fifteen minutes.” That’s just enough time to make it to the Docks and to check in. PM grins a little and nods to WS, heading for the door. “See you later.” “Just get it there in one piece!” WS shouts to her as the door closes. PM just keeps walking. Though she usually likes to jog, she’s careful not to jostle the package too much. An even walking pace is better than a jog that breaks whatever this is. And it really could be nearly anything depending on who’s sending it. Whatever the return address is, it’s covered up with a FRAGILE sticker. As she gets closer to the Docks, she can see a mass of people. It’s kind of staggering to see them all, and to know that they’re all here because the teleportizer network is partly shut down. Shuttles can carry a lot of people, but the main flow of traffic goes through the teleportizers for a reason. Under most other circumstances, PM would wade into the mass of people and deal with being squeezed while she made her way to her shuttle, but there’s a delicate package on her back and she’s aware that it would easily get smashed in that mass of people, no matter how orderly everyone is at the moment. PM scans the area to see if any of the other entrances are less clogged. But as far as she can tell, every check-in bay is absolutely full of people. She checks the time, frowning as PM sees she has seven minutes before her shuttle leaves. There’s no easy way to make it through the checkpoint while keeping her parcel safe, unless…She slides the mailbag off her back and holds it up in the air as she reaches the edges of the crowd. PM’s tall enough that this keeps the parcel well out of reach of others and safe in her hands. As she wades in deeper, the people get more and more tightly packed, until she can feel people on every side of her. PM makes her way through tight spaces, doing her best to talk above the din of the crowd as she muscles her way through it. “Excuse me, my shuttle leaves in seven minutes and I need to get this parcel on it. Pardon me! Thank you!” There are a few mild grumbles but people are willing to make room for her when they hear her say her shuttle’s leaving, and when they see the parcel above her heads. Finally, with just a few minutes to spare, PM reaches the gate and quickly turns her wrist to scan her barcode. The display brings up the bay her shuttle is docked in and open the entrance doors for her, letting PM slip into the scanners. She shifts back and forth on her feet as she’s scanned, then as soon as the exit doors open, she walks at a brisk pace down the long walkways. PM’s able to make it to the shuttle just in time, right before they shut the doors. The pilot may not be too pleased to have to scan PM’s arm and let her on, but he doesn’t stop her and that’s what matters. It’s packed in here too and PM takes the only open seat, on the outside near the front. The parcel goes on her lap since she doesn’t trust the overhead compartments, and she does her best not to take up too much space. It’s been a while since she traveled by shuttle and by the various soft mutterings, it’s the same for many of the other passengers. The person sitting beside her is already asleep, head pressed against the window. It’s too bad they took the window when they weren’t even going to look out of it. Still, with their head lolled back a little, she can look out the window too and see the golden city that covers Prospit slowly shrink as the shuttle silently flies away from it. While she waits for the ship to cross the void of space, she wonders what’s in the parcel. PM is a professional, so she feels no temptation to open it. Still, it’s fun to wonder what it contains and a good way to pass the time. Maybe it’s a delicate treasure being kept on Lohac for safekeeping, or maybe it’s part of a vital machine, or maybe it’s someone’s lunch packed with loving care. The last one makes PM smile a little and she imagines that there’s a souffle in the carefully wrapped box. As the others in the cockpit kill time with quiet conversation or shifting around, she makes up a story in her mind to explain why this souffle is so important. She settles on it being a gift for the king of Lohac’s consorts, which seems as amusing as anything. The shuttle shakes mid-daydream and the bag slips out of PM’s lap. She has to act fast, barely grabbing onto a strap and pulling up in time to keep it from smashing into the ground. PM reels it back into her lap, this time slipping the straps over her arm to keep it more secure. The shuttle shudders again and she winces, really hoping that this isn’t jostling the package enough to break it. “Hold on folks, we’ve hit some turbulence coming into Lohac.” The pilot’s voice is steady, even if the shuttle certainly isn’t. PM carefully holds the parcel against her chest, hoping that it will still be in one piece when they land. Her neighbour’s woken up and is staring out the window, face lit with an eerie red glow from the lava below them. As they descend towards the planet’s surface, the vibrations begin to die down, only fully stopping when they land on one of the large towers littering the planet’s surface. The final jolt as the shuttle touches the platform is a hard one and she winces a little, afraid that the small cracking sound she hears is the parcel. But when a fellow passenger groans and opens their clenched hand to reveal a smashed data key, she relaxes somewhat. Everyone is all too happy to depart into the oppressively hot atmosphere. PM shoulders her bag again, hoping that whever she’s carrying can stand the heat. While her uniform can sometimes make trips to the Land of Frost and Frogs a chilly one, she certainly appreciates how light and flowy it is now. Any heavier and the heat would be unbearable instead of uncomfortable. She quickly heads out of the dock, scanning her barcode on the way out and heading to the walkway that leads towards the parcel’s final destination. After the rush to the shuttle and the rough landing, PM’s glad that all she has to deal with is some discomfort. Lohac is probably her least favorite of the planets, if only because it lacks what the others have that she enjoys. Lofaf is gorgeous, and Lolar is also beautiful and bright, and of course she has a special place in her heart for Lowas with it’s planet wide postal system and it’s lonely sort of paths. Lohac is hot and very samey, and she’s always walking along these narrow catwalks or taking ancient elevators. It’s all very oppressive feeling and she sometimes wonders if Dersites feel more at home in the near-dark of Lohac than Prospitians ever could. The delivery point is further away than PM expected and she finds herself parched before long. It’s not enough to stop her from performing her duties, but it is rather annoying to feel her mouth dry out and each swallow become rougher than the last. Her joints accumulate sweat and PM honestly wonders if you ever get used to the heat or if you just get used to sweating in this place. She would ask someone if there was anyone else passing by, but the only creatures she sees along the way are the various crocodile consorts, most of which nak at her and scurry away when she comes near. It’s probably for the best - she’s heard that they’re hungry things and occasionally attempt to make a meal of carapacians they catch. Luckily you can easily outpace them if you just keep walking briskly and none of them seem too interested in PM today. About halfway there, she finally comes across a small rest area where a few other tired looking carapacians are. It’s a Dersite run pit-stop but nobody blinks an eye as PM steps in and heads for the water fountain. She puts down a few boondollars as a show of good faith and drinks greedily from the fountain until she doesn’t feel so parched. “You want some bottled water?” The Dersite woman running the shop asks, leaning on the counter. There’s a crocodile beside her and it naks softly, barely able to peer over the top. “$10 boonbucks a bottle.” That’s borderline unreasonable but PM nods all the same, putting down the cash and taking the bottle in exchange. The water is warm but some water is better than none. PM takes another pull from the water fountain, splashing a little water on her neck and face. “Thanks.” The woman mm’hmms, content to stay behind her counter. PM’s rather glad. While she’s been to Derse enough times with deliveries to understand Dersites aren’t all monsters, she still never feels entirely comfortable around them and she knows the feeling is mutual. PM’s glad to leave with her water and her parcel, hitting the high metal walkways and continuing on her way. She reaches her destination with a finger of water left in her bottle. The factor is large and loud, and PM steps onto the elevator downward, silently marveling at the large metal gears that wind as she descends. It’s so much hotter down here when she’s this close to the surface of the lava and she moves as quickly as she dares, the grating underfoot hot enough to be felt through the shell. There are half a dozen security checks she passes through and it’s clear she’s been expected from the way they quickly wave her through. At the last one, a woman comes out to meet her, offering PM a hand. She looks tired but relieved. “Relentless Engineer. Do you have the parcel?”“Right here.” PM sets her mailbag down and pulls the package out, carefully unwrapping it from it’s bubblewrap nest. RE slices it open right in from of PM, pulling out a delicate and complicated looking part to examine it. PM holds her breath, waiting for the all-okay. Even though it was a somewhat rough ride, it’s come out alright, as evident from the way RE’s shoulders slump with relief. “Can I help with anything else?”“No, this is fine.” She grins, placing it back in its box. After a moment of thinking, RE hands it back to PM. “Actually can you carry that for me? I need a pair of steady hands.”“Oh, sure.” PM doesn’t usually do this, but since she’s here, she might as well. She follows RD into the heart of the factory, past dozens of different machines, all heavy and wheezing or clicking and whirring away. The machine the part is for is a level up in the factor, and PM watches with interest as RE opens it up and fishes out a broken version of the same part PM’s carrying. When RE’s ready, she hands it to her and watches RE carefully snap it in place. Curiosity gets the better of her and she asks the question she usually doesn’t, since if it was a secret, she suspects the security guards wouldn’t have let RE bring her here. “What is this?” “Physical Matter Transference Assembler Master Control.” RE snaps the machine back together and wipes at her neck joints with a handkerchief tucked into the pocket of her uniform. “It’s what makes the transporalizers work, and why you were stuck taking a shuttle out here. You want to give it a try? I mean, after we send the testers first to make sure it’s reassembling properly?” “Oh! Of course!” PM will be all too happy to take a transportalizer back to Prospit over another long walk back to Lohac’s dock. It’s also a chance to watch them test it, which is something she’s never seen.“Okay, just follow me!” RE takes them over to a nearby transporalizer, one that’s hooked up to a machine. PM grabs a seat and finishes off the last of her water, watching as RE picks up what looks like a three-dimensional puzzle and sets it on the pad. She hits a button on the console and the thing disappears in a flash. Another item appears in its place a few minutes later. It looks sort of like the thing that was sent through, though the careful interlocked bits and rings are scattered in a different combination. RE hums to herself, punching at the buttons. She drags the item off and puts a new one on, and this goes on for a good fifteen minutes as the items come back through with fewer and fewer things gone wrong until they come back perfect at least four times in a row. Only then does RE glance up from the console, raising her eyebrows. “You want to give it a try? It should be working perfectly now.” “Should be?” PM points out, not entirely liking the phasing. It just makes RE grin bigger. PM shrugs and stands up. “Well, if it’s working-”“It is. I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t sure. The paperwork we have to fill out if something goes wrong is as high as I am.” RE isn’t all that tall, but that’s still a lot of paperwork. “But if you want, wait another minute and somebody will come through to our end.” “If it’s okay, I’ll wait.” While PM isn’t afraid of much, she’s also not eager to die either. RE seems a little disappointed but says nothing. True to her word, someone does come though a moment later, a small man who steps off the transportalizer, nods, and then steps back on. Only then does PM stand as well and walk over to it. “Thank you.”“Sure sure. Hey thanks for getting the part to us in one piece!” The Engineer smiles and PM can’t help but smile back as she steps onto the short pedestal. In a flash, she’s standing at the main docks in Prospit. There’s still a crowd here but it’s seems friendlier now, some people even cheering when they see PM appear. She steps off the pedestal and wades through the crowd. She’s tired and sweaty, and she still has another four hours of work left. PM sighs and heads to her apartment to shower and change. But even though it’s been a long day so far, she still feels satisfied deep inside. This was her toughest delivery yet and she managed it well. Most importantly, she got the parcel there in one piece. PM doubts she’ll ever deliver anything so important again in her career and that’s fine. One moment of glory is all she could ever need.
1119792	Late Night Philosophy	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Marco (Animorphs), Erek King", "Fandom": "Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by nightwalker", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-05T00:00:00", "words": "2,991", "Additional Tags": "Post-Series, Post-War, Angst, UST, Canon Compliant", "Relationship": "Marco/Erek", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Sometimes you think you’ve got it all under control – maybe for the first time in your entire life – and that you’re coasting. You know that feeling? You’ve got the cruise control on and the radio’s blaring, there’s wind in your hair. And then BAM. Bugs in your teeth. Hi. My name is Marco. But you already knew that. I am famous, after all. Everybody knows my name. It’s like Cheers, only without quite so many old white guys sitting around getting drunk. And I really did feel like I was golden. My life, post-war, was going pretty well. I was rich, I was famous, I had a gig lined up that was going to let me practice my craft and get paid at the same time, I had my folks and my friends and if the nightmares kept me up some nights, well. That’s what video games were made for. Ironically, that’s what I was doing when he found me. Erek King Erek the Chee. Erek the fucking traitor. He was still hot. The world is so unfair. ** I don’t always sleep so well these days. Better than during the war, of course, back when sleep-deprivation was occasionally a way of life. Better than immediately after the war when my nerves were still fried and my brain hard-wired into combat/survival mode. I’d say I’ve got a eighty-five to ninety percent success rate at sleeping through the night, but that still leaves me awake and staring at the ceiling at least one night in ten. Sometimes it’s worse, of course. Sometimes I actually get to sleep before the memories kick in and I wake up choking on the memories of blood, screaming for people who are alive and safe and very far away from me. Sometimes I can’t wake up. One night in a hundred I’ll know what’s happening, know what I’m going to be forced to relive, and be completely unable to pull myself out of it, trapped, unmoving and straining to pull breath into my lungs, while the worst horrors my mind can conceive of creep closer. This wasn’t one of those nights, which is probably for the best. I’m never easy to talk to after one of those nights. Things might have gone… worse. There’s a laugh. Like things went all that great as they were. No, it wasn’t one of those nights. But it was still a bad one, and I’d woken up around two in the morning with bile in the back of my throat and my heart pounding against my ribcage. It hadn’t been the worst of my nightmares, something jumbled up and confusing, but not real. Not a memory. Just a bad dream. The ones that had been memories first, those were the worst. But I knew better than to think I’d be getting back to sleep, regardless. So I kicked back the silk sheets on my king-sized bed, padded across the plush carpet of my master suite, and dug a pair of Hugo Boss sweat pants out of my dresser. If I paused in the doorway to switch on the lights, well. You can’t really blame me. All right, fine. I turned on every light in the house and had my phone and a baseball bat on the couch with me while I played Metal Gear Solid and ate my weight in cold Chinese take-out. So sue me. The point is, it had been a bad night. So when someone knocked on my front door, I almost jumped out of my skin. And when I stumbled toward the door, muttering curses under my breath and vowing to fire my agent if he’d honestly thought showing up this late (early? Late.) was a good idea only to see Erek King standing on the other side of the door. Well. I didn’t jump out of my skin. Let’s just leave it at that. “Are you all right?” Erek asked. He leaned over slightly, just enough to peer around the edge of the door. I’d slammed it too hard, and instead of latching it had just bounced back open. “It sounded as if the door struck you-” I manfully resisted rubbing my hip. I could already feel a bruise forming. “What are you doing here?” I asked. It wasn’t especially friendly, but whatever. Dude shows up at three in the morning, he doesn’t get to be picky about his reception. The only person who’d ever been able to get away with that kind of liberty was family and Animorphs, and even they had known better than to expect me to be sociable about it. Shit. Animorphs. Jake. And Erek. And things I did not want to be thinking about at three in the morning or possibly ever again for 400, Alex. “I came to see you,” Erek said. He straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back. He looked… unsure of himself. “I was going to wait until daylight, but then I saw your lights were on and I heard you yelling at the television,so-” “What are you doing here?” I asked again, and this time I wasn’t even the slightest bit friendly. He paused, just for a moment, like he was considering his words carefully. I figured that was a smart move. “You’re leaving in three days. For the Hague.” The word made my stomach queasy. “Congratulations. You’ve learned how to watch the evening news. Everyone on the planet knows that.” Erek nodded, perhaps acknowledging my scathing tone, or, probably, just agreeing with me for the sake of avoiding an argument. “I want to go with you.” My response was instant. “Are you on drugs?” The look on Erek’s face indicated that he despaired of all humanity based solely on my example. It was kind of impressive considering it was just a hologram. “Can I come in?” And see, what I was talking about before? With the bugs and the teeth? This was it. I was cruising along and WHAM. Horsefly in the face. But I could handle that. I could. It would have been rough and maybe my dreams would have an unpleasant Pool Ship vibe about them for a few days, but I could have done it if only he hadn’t asked. I wanted to slam the door, but that hadn’t worked out so well for me last time. I wanted to scream in his face, but he’d just stare me down. I wanted- well. There was the problem. A year later, a war between us, and I still wanted. ** Don’t fall in love with androids. One day I’m going to write a book on relationships and that will be my first piece of advice. And people will be all “But Marco, aren’t androids capable of human emotion and expressions of love?” and I’ll pick up my chair, hit them over the head with it, and shout “Don’t fall in love with androids!” until they stop asking stupid fucking questions. Okay, I’m being melodramatic, I do that when I’m tired. Love is a big word, kind of scary-serious. Love is how I feel about my folks, and the other Animorphs and really not a whole lot of other people. Love is a big deal. I don’t know that I loved Erek, but there was some stupid part of me that had thought I could, once. A long time ago. I let him in. Of course I did. I’m too big a glutton for punishment to tell him to come back in the morning, too practical to turn him away at all if he’s here to warn me about a threat, and too damn stupid to realize that he’d have run the odds on that before he ever knocked on the door. “What’s so important about the Hague?” I asked. We were sitting in tense silence in the living room. The television was paused on a close-up of Solid Snake, and there was a half-eaten eggroll on the couch. Part of me thought I should probably clean up. Part of me wanted to take that eggroll and shove it in Erek’s face. Park of me wanted to shove my tongue down Erek’s throat, but whatever. “You will be testifying against Visser One,” Erek said. “You’ve gotta stop stating the obvious, man. I’m barely refraining from calling the cops on you as it is. Do I need to ask you again?” “I want to go,” Erek said. “I want to see the trial. I want-” He looked away. “They aren’t asking for a death-penalty.” “Nope.” I sprawled back against the couch and offered him a thin smile and narrowed eyes. “It was considered. But the general consensus is that living in his tiny little prison in his shitty little body is a far worse hell than any death we could give him.” He smiled. Not a happy smile, mind you. Rueful was the word that sprang to mind. “You’re trying to make me angry with you.” “Yeah, so here’s the thing. I don’t give a shit if you’re angry with me.” I flopped a hand back and forth in mid-air. “I do sorta care about your state of mind in general, but only because I spent a lot of time after the war hoping you were crippled with guilt, so that factors in.” “Crippled is not the right word,” he told me. “But if you want to hear that I carry guilt for my actions, I can assure you it is true.” If I had thought, for even a minute, that he was feeling guilty for the things I thought he should feel guilty for… Maybe I was a jerk, trying to demand he feel what I wanted him to feel. “None of that explains why you want to go to the Hague.” “A year ago, on the Pool Ship, I asked Cassie for a favor. She has not kept it.” “The fucking nerve,” I said. “And after you go and get her best friend killed, too. How dare she.” “I didn’t worry, at first. I thought the others would keep it for her. But Tobias left. And you left. And Ax is gone.” Erek looked out of place in my living room. He looked like combat and this was my safe haven. “I asked her to take care of Jake.” “You have no right,” I said, and if I’d thought I was mad about the whole showing up in the middle of the night with no phone call thing, I was furious now. “No right at all to ask her for anything.” “We were friends once,” he said softly. “The seven of us. I don’t forget that. No matter how our philosophies have driven us apart.” That was as nice a way of putting it as you were going to get, I suppose. “Just talk.” “There is a faction. Not pro-Yeerk, you understand. But… not entirely pro-Animorph, either.” His mouth turned down in a little frown. “One of them is a member of Visser One’s legal defense team.” “Great, so one of the lawyers is a soulless jerk. Thanks. You can let yourself out any time.” I pushed myself up out of the chair with an impatient grunt. If that was all he’d come to say to me, then I’d eat my hat. No way Erek King condescended to socialize with a murderer like me without a damn good reason. But if he was going to be cryptic about it, I might as well go get a drink. “Jake will be tried as a war criminal.” I was across the room before I had the chance to think about it rationally. His shirt was clenched in my fist and my teeth ground against each other as I leaned in so close he had to be able to feel my breath on his face. “You go anywhere near him and I’ll put an end to you, so help me God.” He didn’t even flinch, which wasn’t doing wonders for my ego. Hey, I’m a war hero. I can do scary, all right? “It’s not my doing. The faction I told you about feels that there is too much alien involvement in Earth’s affairs. They want to discredit the aliens in the eyes of humanity. And what better way than to strike down the man who forged the Andalite/Human alliance in the first place?” I forced my fingers to uncurl and pushed him away. The spike of adrenaline made my heart beat too quickly, and up close he smelled like surgical steel. “And you care, why?” “The Chee are alien to this world. If we ever do choose to reveal ourselves, a hostile humanity is not something we wish to face.” He didn’t bother to straighten his shirt. “And Jake doesn’t deserve that.” “You didn’t feel that way a year ago.” “I never felt that way,” Erek said, and something hard had worked it’s way into his voice. “You betrayed me, committed acts that I cannot condone or forgive, and you’d do it all again if you convinced yourself you had to. We couldn’t be friends after that, Marco. Don’t delude yourself. But that doesn’t mean that I think you – any of you – were the equal of the Yeerks. I despise what Jake did, not who he is.” “If I wanted a lecture on the morality of war, I’d have called Cassie,” I said. Erek looked away. “You never cared about the morality of it, Marco. You knew it was wrong and you did it anyway.” “Whereas you just tried to take the choice away from us entirely,” I said. “Force us to live by your philosophy – though not for long, because your way would have literally guaranteed the death of the entire human race.” He didn’t look back at me, but his shoulders sagged. Just a little. Part of me wanted to remember that we’d been friends and allies for a long time, and that part made my fingers twitch, as if to reach out to him. I didn’t. But I kind of wanted to. Even still. “We’ll never agree on this,” he said finally. “I didn’t come here to fight. For whatever it is worth to you, I don’t hate you or any of the others, Marco. I wish life had been kinder to all of you. I wish…” He looked at me then, and the hologram looked like everything my horny sixteen-year-old self had ever wanted. “I wish I could have shown you an easier path.” “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing hard,” I said. What a goddamn philosophy for a guy who liked being comfortable as much as I did. “What are they going to do to Jake?” He told me. It wasn’t a complicated plan. Question him on the stand, get him to admit to some pretty horrible things – all of them true, all of them things that still haunted him – and then push to discredit his testimony. Who would take the word of a war criminal, after all? It wouldn’t work. One phone call would make sure that the prosecution knew what to expect. And Jake wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t as smart as I was, of course, but he wasn’t stupid, and he had learned how to smell a trap from a mile away. And if he didn’t, I’d figure something out. “All right,” I said when Erek was done. “I’ll take care of it. You can go now.” He hesitated. He didn’t look much older than the last time I’d seen him, I realized. It felt like a lifetime, but it had been less than a year. He looked like a seventeen-year-old in need of a haircut, and if my mind thought we should both be a hundred and ten, well. PTSD will do that to you. “You’re right,” he said. “I had no right to ask Cassie for anything. And I have no right to ask you-” I cut him off. “Jake is not your problem. You don’t get to will his care to me like some kind of absent godfather.” He blinked, and then the corners of his eyes crinkled a little. A smile. Not a big one, but a genuine one. “I know. I meant you. Take care of Marco, all right?” The smile wavered a little and was gone, replaced by something impersonal and professional. “He was my friend once. He deserves to be happy again.” And like that I could see it. Erek’s real reason for being there. The real reason he’d tracked me down across the country and knocked on my door in the middle of the night. It wasn’t like getting hit in the face with bugs this time. More like that feeling when you’re driving too fast and you hit a small incline. The drop in your stomach. “Marco’s gonna be fine,” I said. The smile he gave me was bigger this time, and gone just as fast. “We could have been… good friends. You and I.” “We were good friends,” I said. “That’s worth something.” He turned away, back toward the door I’d attempted to slam in his face less than an hour ago. Erek was an android. He could think and feel. I don’t know if he could dream. But I knew his nights were just as rough as mine. His memories just as painful. Worse, maybe, because I’d had the comfort of believing I’d done what was necessary while he’d never be able to reconcile loss of life with his core programming. And I’d had my team, and my family, while Erek’s actions had made him a permanent outsider; a reformed killer in a race of pacifists. The warning about the Hague was probably legit. But he could have called. He could have emailed. He could have come during the damn day. “Take care of Erek,” I said right before the door closed. “He was a good friend of mine. I hope he’s happy.”
1124987	This Rare Rich Night	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Loki (Marvel), Sif (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by djarum99", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-07T00:00:00", "words": "3,399", "Additional Tags": "Loki Angst, Loki Does What He Wants, Ásgarðr \| Asgard (realm), Romance", "Relationship": "Loki/Sif", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Thor/Avengers - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It matters little that she knows how this will end, this dance of hart and hunter in the lush concealing dark. Sif knows these forests, Asgard’s wild peaks, as intimately as she knows the curve of her bow, the blood-lore of the kill. She knows Loki, as well as any woman knows a man formed from motes of stardust. She knows his body’s secrets, the lethal bite of his knives.Tonight, she will bare her throat.Knowing this, an arrowed truth shaft-deep in her heart, means forsaking all safety, all that she was and will be. Sif had curled beneath her bedclothes after the Winter Night’s feasting, after too much new mead, and woke with his latest gift woven through her dream lax fingers. Loki’s image came unbidden, sly and slender, a green-eyed fox cloaked in her room’s familiar shadows. His talisman slithered from her palm as she raised a hand to brush off sleep - head pounding, she leaned down to retrieve it from the silver folds of last night’s finery. She recognized his challenge, made a hundred times before (she has kept every token he has left at her bedside, hidden them away with his secrets and her scars) - but this time it is different. This time, he’s raised the stakes, and they may not survive this night. Damn him to all Hel’s cold fury. As the stable swallows welcomed dawn, she saddled a horse and road for daybreak. Morning light brings memories, of the rough-tumble pack of her childhood’s companions, their clumsy play at war’s heroics. Of him, a boy always on the outskirts, watching with his changeling’s eyes. Watching her. She had been first to notice his magic, and first to tease him whenever he failed to prove its master. He did not fail for long. By the time she donned a warrior’s armor, her own skill still sapling-green, magic swirled in his wake like water, gilded by a damning sun, a fatal light, for he had not yet mastered wisdom, the dark places of his soul. And so, with his father’s lie he fell, taking with him a piece of her soul she had not thought was his to hold.Or perhaps she had known, all along. This seemed a time for truth, if truth had any bearing on falling into the arms of the Liesmith. Falling, flying, shattering like mirrors in his bed, in hers, making each other whole with shaking hands and mingled breath. Loki had been first to taste what other men had tried to steal, first to lie with her in sweat damp sheets and whisper tales of future glory - her own, in war, and his, behind the throne. She had chosen him because he never sought to claim her, because of the hunger in his eyes when first she kissed him, blood still slick on her leathers and battlefield dust still thick on her skin. Because he was dangerous, in a way no enemy ever could be, quicksilver enchantment gliding cool between her thighs. Vanaheim, centuries ago, a desolate beach, and Loki’s eyes are bold with promise. He takes her hand, pulls her behind him to the cliff face, to the maw of a dark hollow where wicked diamonds wink inside. “I stole my brother’s lightning to make this. For you,” he says, “for this night,” and his mask slips for one bright moment, the question on his face a sword, plunging deep. The ache is like nothing she’s known, clawing raw and frantic beneath her ribs. She wants to push him away, to cry out the answer he craves. The walls of the small cave are made of glass, iridescent and fragile, smooth against her palm. Sif fumbles at leather and buckles, strips him moonlight bare, takes him in her mouth. And oh, his skin, sea-foam pale, the taste of his salt, the sound in his throat as she drinks him down - they crash together and splinter, reform and break again. By morning, their crystalline shelter bears a spider’s web of cracks. Mid-afternoon and the sun holds sway - Sif dismounts by a stream fed with mountain ice and snow, drinks deep, knowing water alone cannot quench her weary thirst. She spurs her horse on, remembering the taunting laughter of his ghost. Her grief in believing him dead had been a maelstrom scouring her bones, hidden from other’s view, as was the anger that followed his return. Sif had honed her soul on his betrayal until its edge shone bright and clean. His dungeon cell, Asgard’s golden ruin above, her boots hollow echo on stones worn smooth by despair. This day may well be her last and she refuses to question her choice, her need, his mocking shade. The guards are distracted, grant entry before her deceit can fully take wing (lying has never been her art, but she has learned, oh, she has learned). Once glance tells her that he knows Frigga is gone, that the man she knew is…not gone, but in fragments. “Come to kill me, my lady, ahead of the crowd? Does Odin tire of this game, without his Queen to stay his hand?” Beneath the rage, the cold, his patchwork veneer of illusion, Loki lies in tatters and she cannot meet his eyes. Sif seeks his flesh instead. Muscle and bone and bruises, harsh shadows on new fallen snow, and her fingers seek purchase, dig in without mercy. She fucks him on a floor littered with broken glass, each thrust of his hips, every moan mirrored in a hundred icy shards. After, they both lie bleeding. “Death at your hands, Sif, would be sweet indeed, but an afterthought, no victory in it. Do not return to me.” She kisses him, the only kiss she takes this day, and his mouth tastes of her and of copper, bittersweet. “You are no longer my king. I will choose my own road.” His laughter is a fall of withered leaves, lingering in her ears long after she abandons him to his cage. Sif ignores the guards’ cautious scrutiny, makes her way upward, breath catching in her throat as Thor rounds a corner and sweeps past her on the stairs. Calloused fingers brush her own without breaking stride or silence – Thor searches for his brother, knows that she has done the same. She wonders if he always knew, if he knows he will never find the man they both once loved. After Midgard, after his return, his escape and banishment, as no man’s son and no one’s lover... For years Loki had wandered the Nine Realms, the dark places lost to knowledge, pulling at loose threads, splitting seams, weaving the Worlds’ fabric anew on a whim. Or perhaps not. Long life bears the blessed curse of hindsight, and over time his mischief divulged a pattern, a faint but cunning warp and weft. Ancient alliances eroded, reins of power snapped, and the seeds of turmoil sown by Loki’s fine hand bore strange and honeyed fruit. Loki serves Chaos (when it suits him), and she War (the maiden chose a blood red road) – their paths overlap within symmetry’s great map, by necessity, linked by the iron that binds all, forged in the roots of the Tree. They share a history, desire, flesh and solace, a need to walk the shadows between the darkness and the light. They share much more than that, something Sif can name, holds tight and true in her heart.And now, he has found his way back to Asgard. Thor has welcomed him, cautiously, as an advisor and as his brother. Loki lives in his old chambers, sometimes, disappears for weeks on end, rankles the guards, frightens the staff, and proves a formidable ally in matters of diplomacy and trade. Along his labyrinthine path, he has once again found her, as companion and comrade and friend of his youth, nothing more. A cheat, a falsehood, and Sif chafes against it – if he no longer wants what they had, she would give it an honorable death. Curses and blows and an ending in blood, not this husk of hunger and dreams.It has been so long since last she touched him, too long…The first gift he left after a night in her bed lies tucked beneath her armor as she rides (Sif cannot clearly remember the day, the year, but his touch remains etched in her skin). A feather, so black it swallowed sunlight. She pulls it from her tunic and hears the raven’s call, harsh and insistent, floating above a path the undergrowth has nearly erased. The sound fades and circles back, born on wings formed of bone, or smoke and magic - she can seldom tell the difference and he mocks her for it, but that hardly matters now. By the time dusk begins to soften the sun she stands amid pines decked proud in his livery, black and green and the tarnished gold of lichens. Sif’s own colors meld with his, in the horizon’s blood-red and the drift of autumn leaves. They have lain together across all the Nine Realms, but this place is theirs, though she will not speak the words, and he puts unspoken truth at risk. Why? Why now? The trees whisper an answer, needle-tongued and cunning - because truth is a liar’s weapon, because he knew that you would come...He is here.Shadows shift, coalesce, and he stands before her, so close she can catch his scent, winter’s winds, the musk of seidr, the faint ocean tang of his sweat. He has waited here for her, too long.“My Lady Sif. You look…windswept. Lovely.” His smile a sinful triangle (the gods invented sin, who else?), and a question held deep in his eyes.“Loki.” He has long refused another title, save those she whispers in the dark. “You look…different. It suits you.”Her fingertips brush his face, trace the cut of cheekbone and jaw, sharp as she remembers (she remembers him as a boy, his cheek like the breast of a dove). Sif threads her fingers through hair that flows past his shoulders, bird’s wing silk black as murder against the graying sky. He wears no armor, his leathers graced with gold at chest and sleeve, cool, and then warm with her touch – sigils, their pattern richest above his heart.Sif has long thought Loki beautiful, but here, now, he wears beauty like a stolen cloak, confident, unashamed of what lies beneath. Sif wants to see, hopes that someday he will show her. Frigga’s moonlit gardens, no longer a child and not yet a woman, and Sif is crying, stumbling into mud, the thorns of velvet petaled roses (the Queen is wise, knows beauty’s price) and then into his arms. Loki is not yet a man, all angles and bone, more crane than nighthawk, but he towers over her and his body is steady, solid. A lifeline in grief’s rising tide, and silent, just this once, for her. Her father lies dead on a Muspelheim plain and she has no anchor, no anger to guide her blade, no touchstone wall to rail against (you should marry, my daughter, bear children, wear a woman’s silks and grace). Loki holds her until his shirt is damp and leads her back to her chambers when the tears have all run dry. Silent. The next day he is mischief again, all green-eyed taunts and jabs and fencing, a target for her pain. He never speaks of that night in the garden. Sometimes she catches his watchful glance, the flare of warmth beneath his smile, and knows he will never allow her to thank him for being exactly what she needs. His lips hover above her own, one heartbeat, two, and the kiss is a shared victory, neither moving first. She slips a boot between his, hooks an ankle, and they fall – he conjures a pallet before they reach the ground. Furs, soft at her back, both of them naked with Loki’s murmur, slick on his tongue and sweet on hers as she flicks it behind his teeth. He tastes of spiced mead and magic, and she cannot drink enough.She can drink no more until she knows, and she rolls him to straddle his hips. His laughter warms his eyes, soft and hooded with want, the sound rippling against her flesh, low and sleek. The forest fades behind braziers filled with flames of green and gold, summoned for her to banish the night, the cold. Loki was born to drifting snow – he needs no heat save hers.A need rising hard and eager between her spread thighs, glistening at its tip, as she releases his last gift from her clenched fist to lie shining and coiled on his chest.“What is this, Loki? Why?”Elegant hands play cat’s cradle with a cord woven gossamer fine – red and silver, green and gold, a promise from the God of Lies. A wedding in the Great Hall, the last she had attended, and she cannot remember the couple’s names but sees their faces still. Joy and hope, for a life she has foresworn, his left hand and her right bound together with the pledging cord. Blue. Their cord had been blue. “You know perfectly well what it is, my lady. As to why….I want to see the sunrise, over Asgard, from your bed.”She rolls her hips, hears the catch of his breath, firelight reflected in his eyes and something more, something like hunger.“Sunrise. In my bed. At the cost of this, this…constant?” A falsehood, surely, but beneath his deceiver’s mask is a truth she cannot define.“Chaos cannot exist without constants, without chains to break and paradigms to subvert. One of the irrevocable truths of the glorious universe.”“Glorious. And yet you attempt to destroy it, at every opportunity.”“Do I? I’m actually quite fond of this universe.” Loki lifts his head, captures a nipple between cool lips, suckles, and arrows heat to her core.“Why…why this, why now?” She lets desire take her as she always has with him, draws his fire into vein and bone, bends lithe and does not break.His tongue maps her breasts and he strains upward, kisses her again, whispers against her mouth. “Sif, I need...I want...”“You’re going to have to say it, Silvertongue. I won’t settle for anything less.” Relentless, as she always is with him, palms stroking his cock, satin and hard promise, hot between her hands.“I would join myself to you, and you to me. I would have a place to depart and return, to rest, sometimes. Often. Sif...” Teeth bared, sharp and white as the moon, he nips at her shoulder, her throat.“Another bond for you to break? That seems so...common. Beneath your skill, your notice.”“A flexible binding. Unbreakable. One with no beginning, and no end - an ouroboros, if you will,” he says, and his fingers curl to conjure a slender snake, green as his eyes and writhing, jaws clenched upon its own tail.“You offer forever in the form of a serpent?” The snake disappears in a whirlpool of smoke, Loki tenses and even with that warning she is unprepared, finds herself flat on her back beneath whipcord fury.“I offer myself, nothing less. I offer you this...,” and he cups her cheek, floods her mind and body with fire and ice, all that he was and is and will be, all that they are, and love. Love that keens and burns, seeks out all resistance ....but there is none. Her heart had welcomed him long ago, when her hair was gold and he was a prince and the future shone bright and wide.She draws breath to fill her lungs, leans in to the shell of his ear. “There. That. Nothing less. Why must you make everything so complicated?”“It is my nature.” He grins, a wolf in the firelight, and she digs in her heels to reverse their position, strums the sharp flare of bone at his hips, fits her fingers to the lyre of his ribs.“While mine is clear as the midsummer sky,” she says, and tosses his glittering cord into the nearest brazier’s flame. It curls, flickers to ash in the space of a moment as he hisses, hands spanning her waist to shove her aside. Ashes in his eyes, the bitter flowering of ice, and she shifts her weight to hold him fast, takes his mouth, guides his cock to take him inside her.He stills beneath her, panting, a war of pride and confusion raging across the planes of his face. “What is this, Sif? Ever the warrior, never a maid…you could not find a crueler path to ‘no’? Your sword, your dagger…”“Idiot. Blind…oh…fool,” and she begins to move, hands tangled in his hair, nipples grazing his chest, tightening around the pulse of his flesh, deep within her heat.“I’ll give you no binding, nothing to break.” It has been so long, so long, he fills her to the point of pain, exquisite, and she would burn the doubt from his green eyes with her body’s unwavering sun. She could never best him with words, but she will use those, too, any weapon at hand.“This is yes, with no cord to sever, because you would. Because it is your nature. Because I’ve been yours since that night in your mother’s garden…remember, Loki…see…” Her knees slip against the furs and she seizes his hands to twine their fingers against his chest. Graceless, clumsy, but she finds a rhythm in his heartbeat racing beneath her palms, rolling her hips and sinking down hard to steal rasping breath from his throat.He remains still against her onslaught, but something like hope is there in his eyes and she witnesses the moment it sparks, burns bright, misses the moment he makes a choice. The stars spin and she is on her back again, Loki kneeling between her thighs, grinning.“You intend to fuck me into clarity, then? The plan has its flaws, but I like it,” he says, and then his mouth is on her, cool as spring rain.She cedes control because he needs it, because she has no weapons left. Stars blur as her eyes fill (a warrior does not cry), as she falls with a swirl of his tongue, the thrum of his voice murmuring sorcery, words she cannot understand. He enters her again before she recovers, her body taut as an archer’s bow. Loki pulls her upright to straddle his lap and she rides him face to face, sweet and slow, until his lips part and his fingers find the place they join. He lifts her one-handed, shaking, thrusts deep once, twice, moans into her mouth as he spends and she follows. They collapse together in a tangled sprawl and he covers them both, flicking a wrist to send the brazier’s flames yearning for the sky.“This was…yes?” Loki’s face is a study in restraint, but joy flickers soft in his eyes. Sif knows she has more practice in this, more faith in risking the cost. Life has not been gentle, but she has always known love, her family, her companions. She has never walked the worlds alone.“Yes.”The pines sway, sing their night-song, and a raven chides the cold - a real bird this time, she is certain. Loki shifts and wraps her close, scribing runes upon her back, “journey” and “gift” and “need,” other symbols she does not know. Their breath slows and he props himself on an elbow, splays his hand to span her heartbeat. The wind rises to stir his hair and she cards it through her fingers, finds hidden braids and his black feather, stolen from her pocket – thief, deceiver, paradox, he is all of these things, and much more.“I remember, Sif. That night in the garden. How it felt, to be what you needed, how it felt when you let me. Like coming home.” His mouth curves upward in a familiar twist but he wears no mask, just the look of a man treading winter's new ice. “I won’t always stay.”“You won’t. Nor will I,” she says, and cups his face, kisses the hollow of his throat, lips parted. “Absence makes homecoming all the sweeter.”“Home. And the sunrise.”“Yes.”
1122773	Finding Balance	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Evil Queen \| Regina Mills, Emma Swan", "Fandom": "Once Upon a Time (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by jaythegreenling", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-06T00:00:00", "words": "1,957", "Additional Tags": "BDSM, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Bondage, Butt Slapping, Dominance, Chains, Sexual Content, Rough Sex", "Relationship": "Evil Queen \| Regina Mills/Emma Swan", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	„Miss Swan, I was perfectly serious when I told you to stop moving.“ Emma heard the mayor walk through the room with short, precise strides, clicking her tongue as she went. She didn’t want to, but her arms moved of their own accord, just slightly, but plain to see for the older woman. Regina let out an exasperated sigh, but continued talking:“I don’t appreciate your disobedience one bit, dear. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” Heels clicked on cold hard floor as the brunette walked closer and closer still, until her hot breath tickled Emma’s exposed neck delicately. A shiver ran down her spine and the blonde tried not to move too obviously, as she pressed her legs together to hide the sudden rush of arousal that went through her.“My, my, it seems you want to be punished, Miss Swan.” A hand brushed over her tender side, gently, until it pinched the soft skin that could be found there. A yelp escaped her lips, muffled somewhat by the fabric that covered her lips. She wanted to look Regina in the eyes, wanted to ask forgiveness in whichever way the mayor wanted her to, but she knew the older woman would not make this easy.“You’re slouching, dear.” Emma straightened her body a little, trying to pull her limp body up, grabbing the metal chains above her head tighter, thus forcing her body into an uncomfortably stretched pose. She knew the effort was worth it, though, when she felt a warm hand on her lower back and soft hair tickling her chest, before a wet mouth enveloped a nipple. While nails were scraping over her back in a confusing pattern, the mayor started to skillfully apply pressure with her tongue, until Emma almost couldn’t stay silent anymore. She gulped audibly, when she felt the movement change. Regina started sucking the nipple into her eager mouth, her quick tongue playing with the swollen nub.“Nnnnnhmmm...” The moment the sound left her lips, the wonderful sensations on her chest and back were gone, and the blonde was left dangling from the metal chains in what could only be called desperation. Emma imagined a brown eyebrow rising in annoyance, for the first time regretting that she was blindfolded. She wanted to look at the gorgeousness that was the brunette. She wanted to roam her eyes over whatever the mayor had chosen to wear. And she desperately wanted to touch her. But that was out of the question.“Oh Sheriff. I believe I have never witnessed you this desperate.” A hand scraped up her taut side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake before it left her body. The thud of hard heels resounded off the wall, when Emma felt cold air sweep over her exposed skin. The mayor was somewhere behind her now, she was sure of it. Her ears tried picking up the small sounds coming from the older woman. Her breathing, just vaguely ragged, the shifting of her feet on the hard floor, the unmistakable sound of skin on skin. Emma closed her eyes. She couldn’t see anything, anyway, but when she thought of Regina touching herself, her mind started reeling. She couldn’t help it, her teeth started chattering, and her legs pressed together even harder, when she felt the moisture trickle down her thigh.A hard slap jerked her body back into the present. Another, softer one, kept her there. She wanted to squeal and sigh and mewl, but her body betrayed her, when all that came out of her mouth was a low humming sound.“I believe telling you to stay quiet will be just as effective as telling you not to be so stubborn.” A silence followed, a silence so quiet the blonde didn’t even know whether Regina was even still breathing or not. A silence that sent her mind reeling, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the mayor had tired of her behaviour and decided to leave her here to rot...Grabbing her hips tightly, hands kept Emma in place, when a brunette head dipped down to kiss red cheeks. The muscles in her backside twitched, but not hard enough to ward off the mayor’s kisses. The younger woman was thankful for that. The wet and loving touches were almost more than she could bear, and her hands slipped slightly lower on the chains.In an instant the kisses were gone, replaced by chilly air. Another slap echoed through the room, when her ass felt the distinct sting of a hand hitting it roughly. Another and another followed, and Emma gasped in pain as well as in delight.“You like that.” It was not a question. Regina knew what she was doing to her. She knew exactly. Emma wiggled a little, trying to find better footing, not aware that she was pushing her butt out in the process. She soon noticed, when limb fingers snuck between her thighs from behind, grabbing her crotch unceremoniously.“Regina!”“Shush. Be quiet, Miss Swan. I am busy.” A strong arm slipped around her torso, holding her steady while the hand at her center pulled steadily, lifting her quivering ass up into the air. Emma’s feet lost their connection to the ground, when Regina walked further and further away from the ring the blonde’s chains were fastened to. A part of Emma’s mind was amazed at the sheer strength the mayor seemed to have, being able to keep the lower part of her body in the air, with Emma’s weight hanging limply from the chains by now. Searching for some kind of foothold, the blonde’s legs slipped around the lithe frame of the mayor, holding still when a roaming hand changed its position.“Stay like this. Don’t you dare move.” Breathing heavily, she vowed to stay like this, even if it was the most uncomfortable she had ever been. Her arms were aching from the strain her body’s weight put on them, and her legs were barely listening to her commands. But still, she was hanging in the air, her ass right in front of the older woman, her legs spread, her calves locked behind a rigid back, trying to keep her swaying body steady while a firm hand roamed over the sensitive skin of her sides and back.The mayor’s right hand finally slipped over her thigh and to her front, stroking her abs, brushing over the brunette’s own fingers, before dipping into Emma’s navel, until it slowly started creeping up, towards aching breasts. Pinching and prodding was all the blonde could feel for a long time, or at least what felt like a long, painfully pleasant time, when her swollen nipples were left alone and delicate fingers traced down towards where she needed them most. She felt the mayor’s body shift, and then she could feel a clothed body pressing into her from behind, minty breath tickling her neck. “What is it you want, dear?” Full lips grazed her earlobe, as hot air brushed over her oversensitive skin, sending chill after chill through her whole body. She wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, soon she would simply let go, drop to the ground and disappoint Regina.“Miss Swan, I’ve asked you a question.” Slender fingers flicked over her clit, charming sounds out of her that she had yet to put into context. All too soon the fingers were gone again, and the blonde was left with an odd sensation of loss, her body hungering for the familiar touch of strong yet gentle hands.“Regina...” Her voice was muffled, but audible. The mayor would understand.“Yes...? Dear?”“Please...” As soon as she had uttered the word, two fingers entered her, almost sending her toppling over, if it hadn’t been for the strong arm holding her firmly against the mayor’s frame. Emma gasped and sighed and uttered words she didn’t understand herself, but she did not care. Fingers had started moving and were by now keeping a pace that made it hard to breathe, much less think. The friction caused by Regina’s moving hand would soon be too much, and the blonde could feel the heat inside her peak at a dangerously high level. Not much longer now.“Come for me.” When the mayor’s sultry voice echoed in her ears, a palm started rubbing over her clit, and she knew it was over. Emma’s legs started twitching uncontrollably, and her hands grabbed the metal chains in her frantic search for some kind of support. Her calves dug into the small of Regina’s back, and she could hear a surprised squeal, even as a small hand resumed its ministrations, sending her over the edge once and for all. The brunette stilled her movements, but kept her hand inside of her, holding Emma close, closer than the blonde had thought possible. She felt soft hair on her shoulder, sticking to her sweaty skin. A smile crept over her face, and the blonde mindfully ignored the pain that started bubbling back to the surface of her consciousness.“Regina...?” A sigh could be heard close to her ear, and a soft whisper escaped full lips, but Emma could not make out the words.“Regina?”“Shhhh... Miss Swan.”“But...” When fingers pulled back, leaving her strangely empty, a whimper escaped her lips, cutting off her words more effectively than she would have liked. Emma felt her body sway, and realised that Regina was trying to put her down, to make them both more comfortable. So she ignored the cramp in her calves and thighs and opened them slightly, freeing the older woman’s body. She had not expected to be lowered down with as much tenderness as she was, but it was a pleasant surprise to feel gentle hands roaming her body while lowering her into a standing position yet again. When her feet hit the ground, Emma let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding in, glad to have solid ground beneath her feet again.“Miss... Miss Swan?” The clothed body of the mayor encircled her from behind, and a familiar chin came to rest upon her shoulder, before she felt arms creep up her front, tugging at the fabric over her eyes. When it was pulled down with a quick yank, Emma blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes, even although it was not particularly light in the room they were in. Her green orbs instantly wandered over to her right, to look at the woman who had so masterly given her the release she had been craving for weeks. Brown orbs were hidden behind light skin, and the blonde felt a curious tugging sensation inside of her as she looked at the sweaty and flushed face of the brunette woman.“Yes, Regina?” Emma felt the gulp of the older woman more than she heard or saw it, but she knew it was there. Uncertainty. A tinge of fear.“I...” Knowing this was not the right time nor the right place, the young blonde did something she knew was maybe not a smart thing to do:“Will you just hold me? Please?” Brown eyes opened and looked at her. Really looked at her. Looked straight into her core.“Please?” Blinking rapidly, the magnificent orbs came closer, until their noses almost touched. The tiniest of smiles appeared on Regina’s face and she hid her face in the long blonde tresses of the younger woman. Emma smiled again. The mayor had looked positively shy just now, which was strange somehow, given their circumstances.When strong arms finally pulled her tighter into the warm frame behind her, and hands explored offered skin lazily, Emma knew she didn’t want to go anywhere else. Ever. This. Here. Perfection.
1109368	Of Hawks and Herons	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Tibarn (Fire Emblem), Reyson (Fire Emblem), Janaff (Fire Emblem), Ulki (Fire Emblem), Leanne (Fire Emblem), Mist (Fire Emblem)", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by serikkun", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-30T00:00:00", "words": "614", "Additional Tags": "Do Not Copy or Repost My Work Anywhere", "Relationship": "Reyson/Tibarn", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Tales From the Outrealms", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami \| Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"Tibarn, you seem restless." Leanne spoke curiously as she entered the hawk king's study where she caught him fluttering his wings and causing a few feathers to fall off."Ah, Leanne." Tibarn broke into a grin as he looked up to see the young heron princess. "Is there anything I can do for you?"The young lady giggled, "I'm quite all right but you seem to be agitated? Is there something I can do for you instead?""I apologize if I caused you worry." Tibarn sighed, "I'm all right.""You shouldn't lie to a heron, King Phoenicis." Leanna scolded teasingly, smiling brightly. "You are feeling a little disturbed, yes? If you don't mind, pray tell. I shall lend you my ear.""Sweet Leanne, you are as charming as ever." Tibarn shook his head as he wore a fond smile."Will you tell me what ails you?""I'd rather not.""Come now, I'm no nestling, Tibarn. If I may...is this about my dear brother?""Did you read my mind, young one?""I didn't need to." Leanne grinned proudly. "He is different now...my brother. He seems livelier despite what has happened. I have you to thank, Tibarn. He cares for you very deeply.""Did he tell you that?""No, but even without the gift to read minds, I can tell. Reyson is very easy to read.""Aye, he is." Tibarn nodded in agreement."He'll be fine, he has us to return to. He won't forget easily. Rest easy, hawk king. My brother will return to your large wings.""Leanne--""I pray you both have many nestlings. The Serenes herons must live on.""Um...I don't think...""I'm sure if we both sing the galdr of fertility many times and pray to the goddess, you both would be granted a nest." Leanne clasped her hands together in hope, "I shall get on to it at once, brother Tibarn.""Le--oh, nevermind." Tibarn shook his head, a teasing grin on his features. "Reyson will bawl in tears once he hears this!"&&"Ah-choo!""Are you ill, Prince Reyson?" Janaff quickly responded, his partner Ulki by his side."No, I'm quite all right. Nothing to fret your feathers about." Reyson said as he rubbed his nose. "Strange. Herons don't get sick.""There's a beorc belief that if you sneeze, it means that someone is talking about you." Mist spoke, coming beside the bird laguz carrying a basket of fruit with her. "Would you want any?""Nah, we're good. Hawks aren't really fond of fruits. We're more carnivorous." Janaff answered as politely as he could."Oh, I should have thought of that.""It is quite all right, Mist." Reyson smiled at the young beorc and took an apple from the basket. "Herons love fruit and nuts. I've been trying to get Tibarn to eat them but he just wouldn't. I dare hope he doesn't turn my sister into an uncouth barbarian.""What?""To quote the King, 'we're eating Prince Reyson's furry forest friends'.""Janaff!""What, Ulki? It's true. The King said so himself.""Oh, he did, did he?" Reyson cocked a brow, "Well. I'll be sure to have words with him once this fighting is over.""Come, Mist. I wish to know more of this beorc belief.""Prince--" Ulki called after the leaving prince but gave up with a sigh. "Janaff! You do the future of our King harm. He'll be displeased to know we've angered his mate.""The King deserves it, no?""Even so!""Come now, it's entertaining to see that big hawk lose feathers over his mate. I'd never thought to see the day, you know.""By the goddess, Janaff...when will you learn to stop?" Fin.
1101172	Twelve Days of Yule	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dís, Dwalin", "Fandom": "The Hobbit - All Media Types", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by thevalesofanduin", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-25T00:00:00", "words": "5,453", "Additional Tags": "Christmas, or well, Yule, and it's not really a party, more Bilbo pulling pranks, Fili and Kili are clueless, did anyone realize how many birds are in 12 days of Christmas by the way?, Because there are", "Relationship": "Bilbo Baggins/Fíli/Kíli", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	He wakes up with a body plastered to his right and with a disturbingly lack of body pressed up against his left. He opens his eyes and glances to his left where Bilbo left an empty spot on the bed. He stretches his hand and feels the warmth of his lover still lingering on the mattress. So Bilbo’s only just gotten up.He could get up and find Bilbo to join him for either a bath or first – or second, Fili doesn’t quite keep count of Bilbo’s eating habbits – breakfast.But then Kili snuggles against his side, face burying into the hollow of his neck while his arms cling tightly around his chest.Well, Fili thinks, perhaps another morning. When he wakes again the bed is empty, which is quite frustrating.They don't often have a day "off", after all, but today is a lucky day where no meetings are planned for the morning - not for them to attend, in any case –and he would have loved to spend it in bed with both his lovers.But such thing is not the case and he groans loudly in protest when he rolls over onto his stomach, turning his head to watch the left side of the bed where Kili is struggling into some pants.“For Mahal’s sake, come back here.”Kili pauses and shoots Kili an amused look. “Why? I hear Bilbo in the living-room.” He points out, making Fili aware that indeed there is noise – weird noise, too – coming from the next room. Kili smirks. “And you know I’ll always pick our hobbit over you.” He then leans over and kisses Fili’s cheek. “See you in a bit.” He grins and is about to turn around when they hear the door to their chambers open and close.Kili blinks.Fili pushes himself into a sitting position, smirking. “I think our hobbit has just left us.”Kili frowns. “No he hasn’t, he’s just teasing us.” He says and quickly starts walking to the other room. “Right, Bilbo?”With a laugh Fili lets himself fall back against the pillow. He’s got a feeling that Bilbo isn’t joking. He chuckles and turns over, ready to at least close his eyes for a few moments longer.Then, suddenly, he hears Kili yell. "Fee!” He sounds slightly alarmed. “There is a fucking tree in our room.” Kili finishes.Fili frowns and with a long sigh pushes himself out and out of bed. What’s going on anyway? He wonders as he makes his way to Kili.Kili, who is meanwhile thinking out loud. “Do you know how - oh shit, shit a bird! FILI!"Fili’s eyes widen and he rushes the last few steps to their living-room. When he stands in the doorway he freezes for a second before he bursts out laughing.“FEE!” Kili screeches and tries to glare at his brother, which is sort of hindered by the bird that’s attacking his head.Fili’s wheezing, tears in his eyes and leaning against the doorpost while his entire body shakes from laughter. He isn’t sure what Bilbo pulled, but he loves it.“Fucking bird!” Kili yells, waving his arms around his head. The bird chirps in annoyance before flying away and settling down in the small tree standing next to the fireplace.Huh, Fili thinks, still laughing. That wasn’t there before.Kili huffs and makes his way over to his brother, hitting him in the shoulder. “Stop laughing, you ass and go read the card.”Fili blinks. “Card?”Kili waves his hand into the direction of the fire-place. “There’s one on the tree. I tried to read it before that… spawn of Smaug started attacking me.”Shaking his head, Fili walked over to the tree. “Surely he’s not that bad. He just smelled your morning breath and got annoyed.”Behind him, Kili snorts.Fili manages to get the note out of the tree – a few new holes in his hand courtesy of the beak of the spawn of Smaug himself – and waves it in front of Kili’s face with a smirk.“Whatever.” Kili rolls his eyes and grabs the note from Fili’s hand. When he reads it, he frowns. “What the…”“What’s it say?” “A partridge in a pear tree.” He reads. Fili frowns and wonders: where have I heard that before?--- The next morning finds Kili waking up with both Bilbo and Fili still in bed.He’s quite satisfied with that and is about to snuggle back against Bilbo’s back and preferably doze for a bit longer when he is disturbed by a loud knock on the door.Next to him, Bilbo and Fili stir, fully awakening when from the other side of the door one of their guards announces loudly: “Breakfast is served, my Lords.”Kili groans and reaches out to curl himself around Bilbo. “Let’s skip breakfast.” “Skip breakfast?” Bilbo asks suspiciously.On Bilbo’s other side, Fili chuckles. He pushes himself up on his elbow so he can look at Kili over Bilbo’s shoulder. He has a smirk on his lips even as sleep still lingers in his gaze. “That is far from what you wished for yesterday.” He teases.Kili hugs Bilbo closer. “Yesterday I didn’t have a hobbit next to me.”“Well excuse me, but now you don’t either!” Bilbo wriggles himself out of Kili’s grasp with a laugh. “Breakfast is served.” He says and sets off to find clothing.“But…” Kili’s face falls and he protests only to be slapped on the back by his brother.“Breakfast, Kili!” Bilbo chides. It doesn’t take them too long to make their way to the shared room of the royal wing, which mainly is one huge room with couches and a fireplace on one side and a big table on the other.Thorin, Dis and Dwalin are already at the table eating breakfast and conversing softly.Dis turns to the three the moment they enter and smirks. “Morning boys.” She greets and then turns a bit to wink at Bilbo with a smile. “Bilbo.”“Lady Dis,” Bilbo bows his head with a wide smile and waves his hand at Dwalin and Thorin.Fili and Kili frown at this for the exchange is quite strange indeed.They glance at each other and in the end Kili shrugs and Fili just makes a face before the two follow Bilbo to the table.Bilbo sat down at the table already, back to Fili and Kili and chatting with Dwalin who is sitting next to him. This leaves the other side of the table for the brothers.They round the table but when they see the plates laid out for them they pause.There’s a bird sitting on each of their plates, a note in the middle that with big, elegant letters says: Two turtle dovesBilbo looked almost too smug for words, giving the brothers a smirk with his eyes twinkling from mirth.Next to him, Dwalin starts laughing. “What’s that boys, cat got ya tongue?”Bilbo chuckles and Dis smirks at her boys. Even Thorin is giving his nephews an amused look.Kili frowns and stares at the dove wondering if it will attack him.It’s looking at him as if it might.He warily glances around the table. “Don’t tell me this is breakfast.”Dwalin’s roaring laughter fills the room, drowning the sound of both Bilbo’s and Dis’ laughs and Thorin’s chuckle.Kili looks a bit offended and embarrassed. “What?” He demands, crossing his arms in front of his chest.Next to him, Fili shakes his head. “Of course it’s not breakfast, idiot.” He chides.“Hey!” Kili glares at his brother.Fili just rolls his eyes and turns his eyes back to the table. “So you’re all in on it?”Kili blinks, mind racing a mile a minute and then he gets it. He gasps and looks at the table with a glare. “Someone’s pulling a prank.”“Bilbo is.” Fili points out.Oh, he thinks. Of course.“But… why!” Kili splutters. “And why birds?”That’s the point at which their mother clacks her tongue and shakes her head, giving them both an amused look that makes it very obvious this is far from over. “Now boys, you both know it won’t be fair to ruin that surprise.”“Mom, come on.” Kili whines.Dis smirks. “No.”---It’s early in the morning and Fili wants to be amused at Kili’s complete incompetence to even smell food right now if he weren’t almost falling asleep in his porridge himself.He wonders exactly why Bilbo had to leave for Dale with Balin before the crack of dawn. As Bilbo had scoffed not an hour ago, if Kili and him hadn’t been drinking yesterday or hadn’t insisted on getting up with Bilbo to wave him off for his trip, their predicament would have been less worse.But they had and now they are both all but sleeping at the breakfast table to the annoyance of both Thorin and their mother and the great amusement of Dwalin.“So what birds did ya find this morn’?” Dwalin asks around a mouthful of bread and eggs.At this, Kili perks up next to him. “None!” He proclaims proudly and happily. He takes a bite of a dry piece of bread, pointing out: “Why would we? Bilbo isn’t here so no harassment of birds.”At Kili’s words, Thorin raises an eyebrow, Dis snorts and Dwalin laughs.It gives Fili a bad feeling about all of this.“Yet.” He mumbles into his next mouthful of porridge. It’s late that night when Fili returns to their rooms.Bilbo is still in Dale, spending the might there as to provide Balin and him with some more time for negotiations about trading contracts with Dale – or catching up with Bard, but of course that’s not the reason given upon their departure.Kili is, Fili suspects, already in bed and as dead to the world as he always is when sleeping. He opens the door and freezes.He’s a trained warrior now, ready for any sort of combat and very much able to defend himself.But seeing Kili chase after three Mirkwood hens leaves him absolutely dumbstruck.“Fee, for fuck’s sake help me get rid of these!” Kili yells in frustration.It definitely gets Fili out of his stupor and in a moment of brightness he opens the door wide and steps aside. “Chase them here, I’ll shut the door.”At Fili’s voice, one of the hens flies up and perches itself upon the bookcase, glaring at them now that he’s perched safely up high.Kili meanwhile chases the other two to the door. One attempts to fly only to crash straight into the wall while the other runs out of the room.At least one is out.Or that’s what Fili thought! Because while Kili’s getting a chair to remove the glaring hen from the bookcase and Fili is all but kicking at the one now in a panic from his collision with the wall the third hen saunters into the room again as if it doesn’t have a care in the world.When Fili catches sight of it, he wants to scream.---“No…” Kili gasps. His eyes are wide and all he can do is stare at the four little, black birds circling along the ceiling of their study.“What?” He hears Fili yell from the other room.Kili turns around, marches to the door and steps out of the room, closing said door behind him before looking up at his brother with an irritated frown.Fili gets it straight away, sighing. “Don’t tell me…”Kili nods. “More fucking birds.”Fili, sitting in one of the big chairs in front of the fireplace, sighs. He puts down his book. He can see how this is fun for Bilbo – and really for anyone else involved. Except for them.When Bilbo returns tonight they’ll have to talk. He wants to ask Bilbo to either explain himself or stop this madness. And if he doesn’t want to do that – Bilbo’s quite stubborn after all - then at least he’ll ask him to please, please stop with the birds!Speaking of which… He looks at Kili who by now has walked over to him and sits down onto the armrest of the chair, leaning heavily against Fili and pressing his cheek against his brother’s shoulder, arms winding around Fili’s belly. “What kind of birds were they?” Fili asks. At least when he knows exactly what birds they are given he can maybe figure out the link between them.“I don’t know. Birds.” Kili shrugs. When Fili sighs he adds: “Black ones. Tiny, black birds.”Fili rolls his eyes. Really, his brother can be quite useless sometimes.Then suddenly the door opens and both brothers turn to look at the entrance of their rooms to find Bilbo standing there, watching them with a smug smile on his face.“Colly birds.” Bilbo says with a smirk on his lips.But it’s drowned by Kili’s cry of: “Bilbo, you’re back!”Kili is off of the chair in the blink of an eye and hugs Bilbo close like he’s been gone for ages rather than just a night.Fili is close behind, hugging Bilbo as well, burying his head into the other’s gold-like curls and breathing in his scent.After everything that happened, they’re just so scared of losing Bilbo. After a few moments, though, Fili frowns. “Wait,” He says, keeping a hand in Bilbo’s hair but leaning back a bit so he can curiously peek at their lover. “What did you say when you entered?”Bilbo smirks again. “I said colly birds. Because that’s what they are, four colly birds.”Fili’s frown deepens. Colly birds. It sounds so familiar.But all thoughts of trying to find out more about this prank of Bilbo are gone when Kili starts dragging Bilbo to the seat in front of the fire and asks him how his trip has been.They put Bilbo – who is happily chatting away – in the seat while they sit on each of the armrests, crowding the other and fingers intertwining with Bilbo’s.Bilbo chuckles but happily rambles on. About the negotiations, about Bard and how him and his children are doing and that Bard had been kind enough to offer Bilbo a bed for the night if Bilbo ever wished to visit as a friend rather than part of a delegation from Erebor. Fili and Kili share a look over Bilbo’s head at the statement. They’ll definitely need to ask Balin about this offer of Bard later. They end up talking for a while before Bilbo yawns and announces it’s time to retire for the night.Fili and Kili readily agree – there will be enough time for talk about Bilbo’s journey and the “gifts” later – and the three move to the bedroom to change into their sleeping clothes.Bilbo is unbuttoning his shirt when he starts humming to himself.It’s a tune that Fili has heard before, slightly familiar but he doesn’t quite know what for.Kili is frowning as well.Then, though, Fili’s eyes widen. He knows that song, all right. It’s the same one Bilbo sung not too long ago. The one they made fun off because it sounded ridiculous. The one that started with the words A partridge in a pear tree.Kili seems to have realized the same, for the mutters under his breath: “We shouldn’t have made fun of his hobbit-y Yule traditions.”Fili can’t help but agree. “Yeah…” He trails off and then towards Bilbo with a smile on his lips. “So, Bilbo, as you’re humming it now maybe it would be fun to sing the song as well.”Kili holds a hopeful breath. Please, he prays. It’ll be the only way for them to find out what the heck is coming other than the fucking birds they’ve already received.Bilbo laughs. “In your dreams.”---The next day they find a box with a neat bow on the small table at the fireplace.Fili and Kili are cautious for surely there aren’t any birds this small but at this point it’s not beyond Bilbo to get them a egg that’s ready to hatch.It’s Kili that lifts the lid and he gasps – pleasant surprise, Fili would recognize that sound everywhere.Fili steps closer and peers into the box, too. he, too, can only stare very happily at the five golden rings in the box – each beautifully crafted and definitely dwarf-made.They both agree that Bilbo must be making it up to them with this after last night.They think him properly that night with kisses and touches and by the sounds of it – and Bilbo’s own fair share of given kisses and touches – Bilbo is quite grateful for their thank-you.It’s good, like always, and when the three of them settle to sleep for the night in a heap of limbs and hair, Fili and Kili are both happy the nightmare with the birds is finally over. That feeling lasts only until the next day.They arrive to the training grounds where their “teams” of new soldiers to be trained – children, really, and some of them are as awkward with a sword as Bilbo – are waiting on them.But there is more waiting on them than just that.For there are actually six geese laying on the training grounds.Fili sighs, Kili is shouting for Bilbo and their pupils are beyond amused by the entire situation.They aren’t anymore, however, when Fili and Kili make them catch all the geese as a form of exercise.---He steps into the bathroom, having every intention of taking a long soak in the bathtub. He grabs a towel, throws it into the direction of the bathtub and he sheds his pants.“Kee, you coming?” He yells into the bedroom, stifling a yawn.“Don’t yell.” Kili groans from the other room.Fili rolls his eyes. Well, he has to admit he feels pretty bad himself. But at least the party had been a damned good one – how Bilbo managed to get up early, though, is beyond him and also very unfair.He turns and steps towards the bath only to freeze in his tracks.His eyes widen and he takes a nervous step back.Fuck this! He thinks.“Kee, better not come in here.” He says, his voice softer now, hushed almost but with a lot more urgency to it than before. I should’ve known! He angrily thinks. With what they drank last night they must’ve been pretty dead to the world. Bilbo hadn’t drank all that much. And with his note left on the nightstand – having breakfast, left you to sleep it off. Take a relaxing bath and I’ll see you loves later – Fili should have known! Fuck! “Why? Is something –” Kili’s voice gets louder the closer he gets only to falter completely when he stands in the doorway, glaring at the seven swans swimming in their huge bath. “What in Mahal’s name… More birds! I swear I would’ve remembered it if Bilbo’s song mentioned this many birds!”At the yell, their new roommates in the bath perk up, dark eyes turning to the brothers in the doorway.“Keep your voice down, Kee. They’re not just birds.”Kili huffs angrily, shaking his head. “They got wings, they’re birds. More of them! I swear I might even kill Bilbo for this!”“Kili.” Fili hisses, turning to glare at his brother.“Aren’t you sick of this? Sure the rings were nice but all the fucking birds?” Kili continues stubbornly, shaking his head.“Kili!” Fili all but yells.“What?!” Kili yells in return.“These aren’t just birds. They are swans! Swans! They attack you when they feel threatened.” Fili shakes his head in exasperation. Sometimes it would be good if Kili just listened to him so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice.Kili, meanwhile, looks at the bath with wide eyes.He steps back.That’s when Fili hears the rustling of wings and when Kili starts to run away he doesn’t have to look back to know what’s happening.If only he hadn’t taken his pants off yet, he thinks while running down the hall fleeing away from seven fucking swans with Kili yelling at him: “Look at what you did! Just look!”---The brothers’ run through the royal wing while being chased by swans is a story they know they’ll hear for years to come.Especially when that night there is a dinner party for the old company of Thorin Oakenshield and everyone is having a very good laugh at their expense.Even more so when everyone learns that both Fili and Kili have completely forgotten the text to the song Bilbo sang to them only two weeks ago.It had been a joke, they thought. A stupid song made up for laughs. When they told Bilbo so, the hobbit had looked at them with big eyes and just gaped. It was then that they realized their mistake. Even more so when Bilbo agitatedly explained it was a traditional Jule song in the Shire. How it was tradition – and everyone knew how much Bilbo loved his traditions. When Bilbo shrugged it off later, smiling and eyes twinkling, they knew they were in for trouble.Turns out, they are.Especially since despite their begging – please Ori, please – and bribing – it’s a good deal, master Nori – at the end of the evening they are none-the-wiser and everyone is just a tad bit more smug about it all – or a lot smugger in some cases – than they were at the beginning of the evening. So nothing could have prepared them for the next big stunt.A stunt for which Bilbo has charmed his way into the good graces of the entire population of Erebor, it seems! For how else could he have cleared almost the entire market, replacing the stalls usually there selling goods with cows. Cows! It is not all that strange that both Fili and Kili stand there, gaping at the sight. Especially so when there’s a dwarrowdam sitting on a little stool at every cow. Eight dwarrowdams milking “What in the name of Mahal!” Fili cries.He turns to one of the merchants. The one closest to him and his brother and who has a big grin on his face. “Mind explaining to us what is going on?”“Of course, young princes.” The merchant respectfully bows his head as he moves closer to the pair. He looks at the middle of the market square. “Is’ a gift from yer fiancé.” He then shrugs. “Nuttin’ much else he said ‘bout it.”Kili frowns. “Gift?” He exclaims and stretches out a hand to the cows, shaking his head. “What do we do with it?”The merchant laughs. “Beats me!”---They might’ve gone through it eight times already and thus think they are prepared.But nothing, absolutely nothing could have possibly prepared them for what happened on the ninth day of Bilbo’s prank – or gift-giving, but Fili and Kili preferred prank.They are cautious the moment they see a note pinned to the door of their rooms. Nine ladies dancing Well, they look at each other and silently decide that at least that can’t be all that bad. In fact, this one might be fun and they can even join in for a dance!Fun it is indeed they find out when the door swings open, but Fili and Kili won’t be enjoying any dances.Not because they are horrified or because this is a bad prank.Oh no, it is quite glorious and quite worth all that they have been through and both brothers spend a good portion of the night laughing. And when the laughing subsides and someone tries to talk they burst out in laughter again.How on earth Bilbo got this done, they don’t know. They want to know, though, oh do they! Because it’s smart, sneaky and a lot of blackmailing must surely have been involved to get Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Ori, Nori, Dori, Balin, Dwalin and Oin to put on a dress and dance.Whatever bribing Bilbo has done, Fili and Kili both agree it’s worth it.They are, unfortunately, the only ones in the room.---That morning Bilbo, Balin, Fili and Kili leave for Dale with a few guards. It’s the last trip of quite a few made in the past months and in the next two days Bilbo and Balin will wrap up the last bits of negotiations and officially sign the trade-contracts now approved by Thorin. Tomorrow, a dinner will be held in celebration of their agreements and a party is always a good excuse for Fili and Kili to want to go. So of course they used it as an excuse to go along, not mentioning that really all they wanted was to make sure Bard knew Bilbo was very much taken.When they arrive at Dale a short trip later, Bard is at the gates, waiting for them with a wide smile.He clasps them all on the shoulder, welcoming them to Dale and he does not in the least look surprised to see Fili and Kili. In fact, he smirks when he sees them and winks at Bilbo.This unsettles the Durin brothers quite a lot and they crowd Bilbo almost instantly. With Bilbo firmly tucked in-between them, Bard leads the way through town. Bilbo is happily chatting with the man, asking him questions about his children and in turn Bard asks questions about Bilbo’s life.Even though they know there is most likely nothing to be worried about, it does make Fili and Kili extremely jealous in only a way that dwarves can be. Everyone notices and Bilbo is starting to get annoyed, mumbling to himself and wondering out loud why Fili and Kili had come in the first place if this is how they are going to be.It is then that Balin steps forward and leads Bilbo to the back of their party while Bard takes another step and settles in the spot previously occupied by Bilbo.Fili and Kili both step to the side and glare at the man.“Do you see that over there.” Bard says and points towards where a small stream flows through the city, young lads jumping over it.Fili and Kili frown. “What does it have to do with anything?” Kili demands – Fili full-heartedly agreeing with the question although he still flinches at the mere rudeness of addressing their host and Lord of Dale like that.Bard chuckles. “Peace, I mean no harm.” He shakes his head, looking serious for a moment. But then his eyes fall upon the boys again and he looked amused within a second. “Those ten boys leaping over the creek was a request of your fiancé.” Bard says and continues to explain the favor Bilbo asked of him last time he visited Dale. How he had said that for his next visit Fili and Kili were bound to join and if he could please arrange the scene now happening in front of them.When Fili and Kili confront Bilbo about it later he looks awfully smug, proclaiming that he was very happy with himself for having actually achieved this considering he had to rely on Bard to know for certain that it all was set up properly.“But how did you know we would come?” Fili asks.Bilbo laughs. “Well, with what I told you about Bard!” Bilbo shakes his head with a grin. “Of course you’d come.”Kili looks shocked. “You mean he didn’t make you that offer?” “Not like that.” Bilbo shakes his head. “He did say I was welcome to visit whenever I wanted and that he’d be happy to have you two over as well. That’s what he said.”Fili huffs and shakes his head. “You’re a sly one, Bilbo. Very sly.” He then gives Bard a look. “And we might have to apologize to Bard for being very rude.” Bard, of course, forgives them easily and readily when they apologize the next day at the feast held in celebration of contracts signed and alliances made.He laughs at the flustered explanation, the awkward looks and clasps both dwarfs on the shoulder with a wide grin, offering them beer.They both happily accept and spend a great deal of the night sitting next to Bard, drinking and having quite a good time. Indeed, both brothers think, they can see why Bilbo is friends with the man.Somewhere during the night a group of children filters into the room. They stand in front of the table Fili and Kili are seated at with Bard, Bilbo and Balin, in a neat line. They have instruments – they have to be, even though they look awfully strange – and when Bilbo nods they start playing their… sacks.Fili nearly spits out his ale and Kili is grabbing the edge of the table to keep from toppling off of his chair in surprise when they hear the tune.Their heads snap to Bilbo straight away.Bilbo who is sitting on a chair – perched on a few pillows to accommodate his height – and looking at the brothers with a smirk. “Eleven pipers piping.”Fili takes a big gulp of ale.Kili shakes his head and groans. “When does this end?”---The night of the twelfth day of torture - Yule they can hear Bilbo chide in the back of their minds – Bilbo has organized something.The brothers have been banned from the royal quarters all day and are by now quite curious.They’ve been told to come at nightfall, dressed nicely.It’s nightfall and both are wearing quite fancy clothes decorated with the Durin emblem in fancy, gold embroidery. They now stand in front of the door to the royal quarters.Kili glances at his brother a bit nervously. “Are we sure we want to do this?”Fili chuckles. “Of course we do. It’s still Bilbo, he loves us too much to actually do something that causes bodily harm.”Kili snorts. “Remember the birds?” He shoots back.Fili rolls his eyes. “Accidental, I’m sure.” He shrugs. He then reaches out a hand to intertwine his fingers with Kili. “Here we go.” He says and opens the door.“All or nothing.” Kili mumbles next to him.The door opens and both brothers are, yet again, stunned into silence.This time, however, it’s in a good way.Because the royal quarters have been decorated with all the things Bilbo’s talked about. Reds, greens, there is holly and mistletoe, a big tree with ornaments in it, red bows around branches and so many candles litter the room it’s like they’re standing outside in the sun!A fire roars in the hearth and next to it – in-between the hearth and the delicious smelling pine tree – lays a heap of presents. All are wrapped, name-tags hanging from them.But what’s perhaps best of all is the table. For the occasion, it’s been extended and all the dwarves that joined Thorin and them on their quest to reclaim Erebor are there. Their companions, their friends.And at the far back at the head of the table sits not Thorin, but Bilbo. He is grinning widely and proudly and as Fili and Kili near the table the entire company starts drumming their hands against the table in the by now oh-so familiar tune. Twelve companions drumming the tune of Bilbo teaching them to not mock his traditions.The tune of being attacked by birds and having to go through enough awkward and embarrassing situations to last them a lifetime.The tune to a song which ends with a great feast in hobbit Yule-style, with lots of delicious foods and a lot of gifts for everyone. Where everyone drinks and stories are told. Where everyone sings and dances and has a good time. So when they’re eating and Fili is on Bilbo’s right and Kili is on his left and Bilbo mutters a soft apology for taking some of the gifts perhaps a bit too far, the brothers are quick to shut him up.It’s their own fault, after all.Besides, the ending is perfect and the overall ordeal was awkward, funny and witty with food and gifts at the end.It’s Yule the hobbit way and it is so very like Bilbo – who looks absolutely happy – that Kili can’t help himself when he jokes he might even go through it all again next year if this is what it ends with.The gleam in Bilbo’s eyes makes Fili hit his brother, fearing for the next year although all three of them know that as long as they’re together, no-one really minds.
1126142	Five Times Phil Coulson	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Jasper Sitwell, Melinda May, Nick Fury", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by soniclipstick (veriscence)", "chapters": "6/6", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-08T00:00:00", "words": "8,698", "Additional Tags": "5 Things, 5 + 1 Things, Phil is sort of in denial, sort of totally that is, Sleepy Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling", "Relationship": "Clint Barton/Phil Coulson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	1. Natasha RomanoffIt’s been a year after Natasha’s’ recruitment into SHIELD and two weeks into Clint’s’ first solo mission since then. And while Phil is relatively sure that Natasha trusts Clint by now, he isn’t so quick to assume that that trust has been extended to him as well. So yes, it’s a bit of a surprise to come home after a late night at the Hub to find her wrapped up in his blankets, fast asleep. Or at least playing fast asleep because there is no way in hell that the Black Widow missed Phil entering his apartment. The key word here is his . In the back of his mind, he’s rather impressed that she’s gotten past his security systems without setting anything off, but he’s had a shitty day and he just wants to sleep in his own bed. Instead of being absolutely furious, he settles on just peeved. He walks into his walk-in closet, ignoring her while changing into an old ragged t-shirt and sweatpants before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then ease his bladder. When he heads back into his bedroom (again, emphasis on his ), she’s still sprawled all over his bed so he grabs his reading glasses and an ancient, battered copy of the Lord of the Rings that had belonged to his father, and continues to his guest room, shutting his bedroom door with a little bit more force than may have been necessary. He flicks on the bedside lamp, and then turns off the ceiling lights, settling into the queen-size bed, the old quilted blanket (his mothers’) pulled up to his waist, back braced on the headboard. It had been a lousy, paper-work filled day, stuck in four different meetings with Nick Fury and various representatives of the World Security Council. If he’s completely honest with himself, he has had less stress out on the field with a couple of bullets indented inside of vital parts of his body. Sometimes, he hates being a senior agent.It’s 2 am and he is far too buzzed from doing nothing that he knows he won’t sleep, so he welcomes the all-too-familiar halls of Rivendell. He hopes Natasha is getting some sleep, because Phil may be irritated, but he isn’t evil (yet, according to Jasper), and he wants his assets to get enough sleep. Natasha may be a super spy but he’s Phil Coulson and Phil Coulson always knows what’s going on with his agents. Also, it isn’t stalking if it’s part of his job. He was the one who assigned both Clint and Natasha’s quarters in the Hub, and he is well aware of the fact that Natasha’s bed only gets used around 4 out of 7 times a week. He also knows that anything that can get Clint to sleep in his bed and not in the vents can be defined as a good thing. Which is why, even though he must finally admit that there are probably prisons in India with beds better than his guest bed, though he’ll die before he admits that to his little sister (If she wants to drop by unexpectedly and eat all his food, she can get used to sleeping on a lumpy bed); he’s secretly hopeful that Natasha can finally get some sleep. Even if he’s going to wake up tomorrow with the backache from hell. He tries to focus on middle earth but he’s read through this book so many times that he’s now capable of multitasking while reading this. Soon, the alarm clock glares out 3:30 am and he knows he should TRY to get some sleep. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Natasha. It’s hard not to when she’s saved him life countless times over the last year, however, she’s a new variable in his apartment and he’s not really sure what to make of it just yet. However, it is one thing for the junior agents to be terrified of his reputation, but it’s another to have to inflict that terror upon them when they haven’t deserved it. He sticks his Captain America bookmark back in place (it was handmade by his niece and he had never been a prouder uncle than when he’d received it) and places the tattered book on his bedside table. He switches the lamp off and turns around on the bed until he’s lying on his side. He has his work phone set on vibrate in his pocket, but he takes it out and checks his e-mails quickly for any urgent memos, and finding none, puts it back in his pocket. He’ll awaken if it vibrates. He doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes up the exact moment his door knob starts to turn. After a fraction of a moments panic, he remembers and recognition flares in his mind. He lets her climb in, eyes kept closed until she’s settled on the other side of the bed. A quick glance at the digital alarm clock tells him that he’s only been asleep for a half hour. He groans to himself and tries to return to sleep.Only, just as he reaches that dividing space between wakefulness and slumber, he is once again brought wide awake by breasts pressing into his back. Phil cringes inwardly, but forces his well-trained body not to react. Then the puzzle comes together and he understands. This is a test; he knows that Natasha is waiting for him to push back. This isn’t Natasha showing her trust; this is her determining whether she can give it to him. His heart aches just a bit at what her earlier life must have been like that she could ever think that Phil would take advantage of her like this. But he’s also glad that they’ve reached this breaking point in their relationship, and that he’s about to earn her trust. He just wishes she would find another way to do this because he really misses his own bed.He’s expecting the hand that lands on his hip and moves towards his genitals. “Haven’t you heard of keeping your hands to yourself, Agent Romanoff?” He grabs her by the wrist just before she palms his cock and gently places them in the small space on the bed between them. “If you wake me up again, I won’t be held responsible for the level 2 mission in Serbia that will be handed to you tomorrow morning”The breasts are replaced by kneecaps at his buttocks and the top of Natasha’s head finds a hiding spot in the small of his back. They go back to sleep. She does wake him with the same shtick a second, and even a third time around, and Phil isn’t held responsible for the level 1 mission to South Africa, and two weeks of sensitivity training she’s handed the next day.By the third time that she’s found herself in his bed, they both sleep through the night with no interruptions. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 2. Tony Stark Phil’s simultaneously watching and being Supernanny while one palladium poisoned Tony Stark muddles through his fathers’ handiwork. The new StarkPad is at his side, and Phil’s checking e-mails (two urgent ones from Nick, one invite from Melinda for the monthly poker game, and thirteen, yes thirteen e-mails from Clint complaining about how boring his vacation which is starting in 2 days is going to be), when he hears the sound of something (or one) collapsing. He finds himself at record speed back in the workshop, finding Stark lying on the floor, unconscious. A quick check of his vitals reassures him that Stark is perfectly healthy, aside from impending death that is, and had simply passed out from exhaustion.Despite his earlier words, Phil actually would mind if Stark ends up drooling into the carpet because he is a good man. Actually, since he wouldn’t have minded if he had been the reason for the current predicament that this genius engineer has found himself in, Phil supposes he’s just an alright man. He sneaks one arm under Stark’s armpit and the other he uses to grip the younger man by the forearm. Stark is babbling now - the drooling somehow unfortunately getting worse -because Goddammit that was one of this favourite ties and now it’s covered in Stark slobber and snot- but he is no actual use in terms of mobilization. Against all odds, the duo makes it around something that looks suspiciously like Captain America’s shield and up the stairs into the master bedroom. Stark breath is atrocious, his hands are listless and he has no sense of personal space, even (or especially) like this. Also, he keeps mumbling something under his breath. Phil manages to get him horizontal and takes his shoes off, but when he tries to leave, Tony sits up straight and tries to get out of bed. “Mr. Stark, you’re clearly sleep-deprived. Please refrain from getting out of bed. Do I really need to remind you about the existence of my taser?” Phil pushes him back down onto the bed but Tony pushes back. It’s rather pathetic because Stark is more or less swatting at him than actually pushing back. “Stop nannying me, Coulson, I have more important things to do that sleep, you know? I can’t believe this is where my tax money is going.” Phil pulls out his taser. Stark flops back into bed. “Jesus fucking... you really weren’t kidding? No but seriously, through me a bone here Agent, let me get back to work so you can go back to being super spy instead of Supernanny”“I don’t look forward to carrying you up again when you collapse. Good night, Mr. Stark. I don’t think I need to remind you of the consequences of leaving this room before you get at least 5 hours of sleep.” He walks out of the room, closes the door and heads back down to the living room, where commercials are now playing on the television. Half an hour and two temper tantrums later, he hears rustling and falling. He rolls his eyes and walks back up the stairs. “Mr. Stark-”, except Stark is on the ground, clutching his chest and that’s when he realizes that the core must have burnt out again. He leans down and grabs Stark by the shoulder, “Mr. Stark, everything is going to be ok, trying to breathe. JARVIS, can you assist me in replacing the core with a fresh one? It’s burnt out”JARVIS directs him to the suitcase with the fresh cores in the lab, and Phil grabs the case before running back up the stairs. He pulls out the arc reactor with a steady hand while the other goes around the younger man, replacing the bloody core with a fresh one. Stark has passed out by now, but fingers to his wrist and ear to his nose confirm than his pulse is stabilizing and he is indeed breathing. Phil grabs Stark by the legs and lifts them up, holding them there to let the blood rush to his head. “Mr. Stark, can you hear me?” No luck. He drags him around until he can keep the legs elevated on the bedside and kneels down next to the scientist, putting pressure on the veins below his ears using his fingers. Stark’s eyes are suddenly wide open and he takes a deep breath. “Oh fuck.” “Mr. Stark, I replaced your arc reactor core, you’re going to be ok.”“Funny. Last I checked, I was dying”“Last I checked, you were a genius, but we can all be wrong. Back to bed, let’s go.”"I would simply like to point out that I completely resent that statement. Completely."Tony Stark pulls his legs away from the bedside and start pushing himself up quickly. A firm hand pushes him right back down. “You just blacked out, maybe take it a bit slowly, Mr. Stark”“Oh Agent Coulson, now I’m imagining you in a skimpy nurses outfit” Stark winks at him. Phil can’t help but roll his eyes. “I’m going to pretend I never heard that, and go get you a glass of water. Stay on the ground for now. JARVIS, please alert me if Mr. Stark even moves an inch.”“Certainly, Agent Coulson”“Dammit JARVIS, you traitor. It’s ok. I forgive you. Nurse Coulson is irresistible, isn’t he? I mean look at those-” And Phil zones him out as he runs down to get a glass of water and some pretzels. He is halfway up the stairs when he detours back to the living room to turn off the television and grab his StarkPad. By the time he’s returned, the billionaire is lying on the ground, talking to JARVIS about the relative attractiveness of nurse outfits vs. maid outfits.” Phil has a headache coming along. It’ll be an easy gig, Nick said. No actual work involved. He deserves at least a week of vacation for this. Paid. In Tahiti. Stark drinks the water and eats the pretzels that Phil hands over. “See, I’m being a good boy, can I go back to the playground now please? I promise to play nice, mommy.”“It’s bed time, dear.”“Wait, was that a joke? Oh my God, that was a joke. I have died and gone to a hell where I have to live with you, haven’t I?”Phil’s face is bland. “I think we’ve had enough fun for today, don’t you?” Stark grins, and lets himself be manhandled into bed. Phil then turns off the lights, and settles into the nearby recliner. “Are you kidding me? Is this supposed to be funny? You know this is creepy right? A vashta nerada level of creepy?”“I was downstairs for half an hour before I had to run up again. I have work to do, and this is more convenient for me. Deal with it. Or don’t. And I would have thought the situation was better likened to Weeping Angels to be honest”“And what, not blink? Come on, how can I sleep if I’m not allowed to blink?”“No more talking now, it’s time for the kids to go to sleep and the grownups to work” “But nurse!” Phil pulls out his taser. Tony Stark turns around and goes to sleep. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 3. Steve Rogers “I watched you while you were sleeping” sounds so much creepier that it actually was, but Nick is never going to let him live that down. When Nick had called him on his day off to tell him that the Canadians had found Captain America, Phil had grabbed his go bag from his closet and left the apartment as fast as humanly possible. No one was to know that he had made U-turn in Lola ten minutes later to come home and turn off his stove. That never happened. He makes it to the harbor in record time and the Helicarrier is go. A couple of hours and a briefing later, there he is in Medical with one Steve Rogers, albeit in a medically induced coma until they could get him to a safe house. There had been talk of placing him in a cryogenic chamber but they’d been shot down almost immediately. Phil was glad he wasn’t the only one against that idea. It was bad enough that he was still being kept asleep, but there is no way Phil will allow him to be frozen again, not under his authority. Captain Rogers has been in the cold for long enough. The squints are all over his blood work, but everything seems to be fine. That is, except for scientists themselves, who look like they’re going to have a collective heart attack from all the excitement. There's an English girl, a baby agent... Simmons (he's not so sure, there are so many new recruits, these days) who can't stop jumping up and down. Secretly, Phil would be doing the same thing, except he's 47 and has a reputation he needs to uphold. If he ever needs to bring together a team of scientists, and not strike teams or infiltration teams, he's going to have her on that team. Then again, he's not sure he can get her without that constant Scottish shadow of hers. He doesn't exactly have anything against Fitz, he just feels uneasy that some fresh out of the academy assistant is handling Captain America's shield. (He isn't jealous, no way). That's enough dreaming about new teams, it's not like it's ever going to be a possible since Phil already has the best 3-man strike team in the world, and if the avenger initiative manages to work out, he'll have a whole new headache to deal with. Then again, if he's lucky enough, Captain Rogers would be on the team and that would make all the Stark-hassling worth it. Rogers seems to be physically perfectly healthy. Mentally, Phil isn’t sure if he even wants to know. Who knows what being asleep for 70 years would do to a man? Phil knows that Steve Rogers and the Captain America of comic books aren’t the one and the same, but he’s also read every mission report from Captain Rogers during WWII as soon as he had the clearance level, and he knows that Captain Rogers was (is) an even greater man than any comic book hero. Phil has faith that things are going to be ok. Moreover, Phil has this feeling that with all the weird things happening around the world, they’re going to need Captain America to step up again. However, that being said, he doesn’t really know why he’s still here. According to the sitrep he just received from Agent Preston, there is a situation developing in New York where Romanoff and Preston are stationed at the moment, and SHIELD could use all of Strike Team Delta in Harlem right about now. Instead, he’s on babysitting duty, and Barton is teaching (read: putting the fear of God into) baby agents in the Helicarrier for another week. Yeah well, Barton should be thankful; stealing the Directors eye patch could have potentially earned him worse. But then everyone has a soft spot for the sniper, even when he’s a cocky bastard. Phil has seen the free cookies Maria saves for Barton during bake sale days, and he knows about that time Jasper let him go unpunished for shooting an arrow into another asset (In Barton's defense, he'd deserved it. Phil can't be bothered to find out more, he has enough Clint Barton-related headaches as is). But the point is, in case someone missed it, Phil is once again, stuck on babysitting duty. Again. He knows Nick thinks he’s doing Phil a favour, and it is Phil’s greatest hero in the world. But Rogers is asleep, and there is only so much staring in awe that can actually happen. So it doesn’t necessarily have to be him, Jasper and Melinda on constant supervision in case Rogers wakes up and wreaks havoc on medical. Because let’s face it, who knows how medication works against the super serum. But instead of getting some trained specialists to keep an eye on him, it becomes Phil’s job. Somehow, everything in this damned organization ends up being Phil’s job. He doesn’t like it. Especially because he keeps getting impromptu babysitting jobs, which makes it impossible to get through the million things he’s actually supposed to be doing. He loves Captain America, don’t get him wrong. Phil just wishes that he had better timing. This would have been the perfect job a year ago when Stark was kidnapped. He wouldn't have minded being stuck in here if that meant he had never gotten to meet Tony Stark. He hears the beeping of security scanners and then Jasper is in the room holding a glorious cup of fresh coffee and by the smell of it, a tuna sandwich. “If that’s not for me, I’m going to have to take back the title of best friend from you” Sitwell smiles and hands over the goods. “Guess I’m safe for now, though full disclosure, it wasn’t my idea, so go thank Barton” Of course it was, the sniper himself will forget to eat for days on end, but he won't forget to make sure that Phil is well fed. He doesn’t know what to make of this particular development, and what it means. So he focuses on Jasper. All of a sudden, he’s hit with a memory of Jasper as a new recruit, 24, skinny and ready to handle anything. Nowadays, he’s always just one hundred percent tired of everyone and their bullshit. Phil supposes that’s what SHIELD does to you. He isn’t skinny anymore, which has been a relief, because Phil remembers being 32 and worrying non-stop about the kid who looked far too much like a pre-serum Steve Rogers. Jasper looks exhausted, but then, he only completed his 12 hour shift 5 hours ago. “You should get some sleep,” Phil says as Jasper plops down on the chair beside him, pulling out a StarkPad.“I did. It got boring after awhile. Besides, Mel’s taking over after you anyway, so it’s fine. Wanna rerun some mission strategy with me for a while?” “I thought Hand was in charge for next week” He trusts that Victoria Hand will do the job, and he hates it when people try to run mission strategy for him, so he doesn't like to impose on others. “So? She isn’t going to say no to help from you, trust me, I asked. Considering that she’s additionally gotten your workload on her plate at the moment, she'll probably send you a fruit basket or something. Besides, would you rather sit and stare at all the memos that you’re forwarding to her or do something useful for a change.”This is why Jasper is his best friend. “Let’s start with Cambodia” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 4. Bruce Banner, or more accurately, the Other Guy His “miraculous” (read: SHIELD still has no idea how the Asgardians brought him back)- return to the plane of the living seem to have resulted in some interesting developments, to say the least. For example, the invitation from Tony Stark turned order from Nick Fury to move to the Avengers Tower. It’s the first night after his move to Avengers Tower, complete with his very own apartment and everything. There's a fully stocked kitchen, 2 bedrooms, an office, a full dinning room and a living room. Unfortunately, Phil is nowhere near done moving in. There are at least 17 boxes, and that's just counting the living room. He blames the Doombots. The whole team was exhausted, barring Hulk, which is only due to being caught unawares by a stray tranquilizer (Phil wants to shoot Ross and his posse in the head). He was meant to be asleep in R&D at the moment. The key word here is meant . Phil may have forgotten to mention that the balcony is a lovely bonus, except for the fact that there is one not-so-angry green monster outside of it, knocking on the door with one giant green finger, as if afraid to shatter it. This is new. He opens the doors, both of them, to let in the Other Guy, who stares at him with a look on his face that could mean he’s getting ready to make that death certificate accurate or that he’s very confused. Phil thinks he must be if he isn’t smashing at the moment.“Buddy said you left him.” Phil has no idea what in the world is happening. But Phil has faced down the god of thunder in New Mexico, come home to find Jasper asleep on his coffee table covered in green slime, and he’s also died and come back to life, so he's perfected the -you can't faze me I am Agent Phil Coulson with SHIELD- look by now. Nevertheless, he hopes no damage has been done so far. Doesn’t Stark have contingency plans for when the Other Guy did crap like this? But of course he doesn’t, he’s Tony Stark, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word contingency. This is exactly why he wasn’t keen on moving in. Phil Coulson needs his home to be free of unusual events, but clearly, he is learning that he should probably just give up on that far-flung dream. So he crosses his arms across his chests and asks, “Buddy?” “Buddy is my friend. Buddy likes Dog Cops.” Ah. Barton.“Hawkeye”“Yes. Buddy. Buddy lies?”“No, Hulk. He didn’t lie. He didn’t know. He thought I was gone forever, but I came back”“Buddy was sad” Damn. That shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. “You stay now?”“For now, yeah”“If you make Buddy cry again, Hulk smash”, yeah, well Phil wants said Hulk smash so he doesn't have to keep living in a frat house with monsters. “I’ll try my best not to” He feels like he’s getting the shovel talk, which is ridiculous because it’s not like they were ever involved or anything. Clint is just the asset turned colleague turned friend who helps him with physiotherapy and buys him sandwiches. And brings him his morning coffee. But here he is, getting threatened by the Hulk on behalf of Clint.“You better mean it”“Hulk, we haven’t met before, so first of all, my name is Phil Coulson, and I promise, I will do everything in my power to not hurt your Buddy like that again, and if I do, Hulk can smash me all he wants, do we have a deal?”“Deal.” They just stare at each other for a while; Phil, leaning on his wardrobe and Hulk, standing in front of the balcony doors. “Hulk sleepy.” he grunts before lying on the marble floor and closing his eyes, his body slowly shrinking and morphing into that of an unconscious Bruce Banner. Phil can’t kneel down, his chest is far too sore to put that sort of pressure on it, so there really is nothing he can do, and he doesn’t really want to bother the others, it’s long past midnight. So he grabs his blanket and covers the physicist with it, and throws a pillow near his head. Phil hopes that he’ll wake up sometime and actually use the pillow, because he genuinely doesn’t have the energy to bend down and push that pillow under his head. Oh well. He closes the balcony doors and gets into bed. “JARVIS, could you please dim the lights? Thank you.” Phil can’t really sleep with someone who is practically a stranger in his room, so he runs infiltration strategies for an upcoming mission for Jasper in his head. He doesn’t need it, he trusts Jasper. But this is Strike Team Delta’s first foray without him, and he knows they’ll be fine, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he isn’t worried about the op. A couple hours into it, he has his StarkPad in hand, writing up an advisory report for Jasper, when he hears a groan from below. “Dr. Banner, there’s no need to panic, everything’s alright.”“What’s the damage?” The man on the floor asks him with a defeated tone in his voice; as if he’s sick and tired of asking what he’s done this time. “None, to my knowledge. JARVIS?” “None at all, Dr. Banner. You were hit by a tranquilizer, I apologize, but actions will be taken against General Ross. It seems you climbed over here from R&D.” The look on Banners’ face is a mixture of relief and confusion. Then panic. “Clint. I was with Clint! Or...I think the Other Guy was? Is he alright? Oh God-” Phil thinks that the scientist is attempting to stand up, but the only evidence is that of shaking thighs, not ready to handle the weight of his body. "Dr. Banner, Clint was with you hours ago. He is more than fine". But that doesn't seem to be calming the nuclear physicist. If anything had happened, JARVIS would have notified him by now.Phil sits down on his recliner. “JARVIS, where is Agent Barton at the moment?” Phil asks hoping a visual might calm him down, “could I get a video feed, please?” “Agent Barton is asleep at the moment, and sir would not approve of invading his privacy like this”“JARVIS,” Phil replied, “this is not about invading his privacy, but about reassuring the doctor that he’s safe and unharmed. You are more than welcome to let Mr. Stark know why I did so tomorrow morning. The video feed. Please.”The wall opposite the bed lights up, and within a few seconds, the image of Barton and Romanoff in bed is shown, in a position he is more and more familiar with, Romanoff curled up behind Barton, knees at his buttocks, and face snuggled into his back. Or at least, until a moment later, when the red-haired woman opens her eyes, climbs swiftly out of bed and walks towards the camera. “I thought we agreed this was for emergencies only, Tony.” She talks to the camera, expression dead cold. “Go away”JARVIS turns off the live stream. Phil turns and looks at Banner, who looks much relieved, though still perplexed. He as usual, has no idea what transpired between Phil and the other guy, for which Phil at all at once glad and apologetic for. Phil likes Bruce Banner, he’s a nice guy and anyone who can keep up with Stark gets a gold star in his books. The man is trying to stand up again, “But then, why I am... maybe I should just get going.” His knees are wobbling and Phil knows there is no way he’s making it back to his own floor, let alone his bedroom. “Dr. Banner, you're exhausted. I think that discussion is better left to after you get some sleep. I would love to help you back down to your room but my body tends to disagree with me.” Phil isn’t going to get any sleep with this man in his room, but he likes Banner enough that he could spend the night in the same bed with him, especially since there would probably be an entire foot of space between the two of them. “I have this gigantic bed due to Stark's inability to be anything but over the top, and I won’t mind sharing it as long as you don’t mind the light of the tablet.”Banner must be too exhausted to argue because he sighs, mumbles thank you, and makes it the two steps over to the side of the bed Coulson isn’t on before collapsing on it. Phil quickly sends off an e-mail to Tony explaining the situation, and then to Natasha, to apologize and to advice not blaming Tony for something he didn’t actually do, for once. Phil then sends off a third e-mail to Banner with an explanation. That conversation is better left to be had per e-mail. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 5. Thor Odinson Six out of seven days, Phil loves his job. Today is not one of those days. Phil supposes that it really would have to be at something the size of Stark’s bachelor party for an Asgardian demi-god to get smashed out of his mind. He guesses he should just be really thankful that a completely drunk Thor is a Thor who thinks that Midgard is made of glass and proceeds to treat everything like it. Because a Thor who can’t remember his strength is not something the Earth needs to see; and it probably wouldn't survive it. Especially since the rest of the Avengers (bar Natasha, who is having quiet drinks with Pepper and Jane in New York) are currently rather incapable of fighting him anyway. Phil blames Tony. He did have the foresight to ask the X-men and Fantastic Four to keep an eye on things for the night, though. This isn’t the first Avengers party he’s been to; after all, he lives with Tony Stark, and Tony Stark loves parties. So he’s used to Natasha and Clint playing hide and seek; no one really understands the rules so they tend to get left alone. The only thing everyone is sure of is that there are weapons involved. He’s more than used to Tony dancing on the tables and kissing the Avengers, which unfortunately for him includes Phil in Tony’s mind (Phil has to constantly fight the urge to wipe his face with wet wipes). He's never worried about Bruce, who always has virgin pina colada, and He’s glad for Steve, who will have a couple of drinks for the sake of it, and then walk around with half a glass of wine so no one gives him refills, and he’s more than a little grateful that Steve can drag Tony away when things start to get a little out of control. He’s used to the boisterous Thor, the one who’s just a bit buzzed and searching for adventure – whether said adventure is found in battling bilgesnipe or zombies in the newest video game that Tony has invented. He’s never had to deal with a Thor who is so absolutely drunk that he treats the world like it’s going to break any second.This brings Phil back to Las Vegas, where Tony had decided to have his bachelor party. In hindsight, he should have advised against Thor bringing mead and other stronger products from Asgard, but he had been too busy looking at security measures for the party to care about what the wine list was. That was mistake numero uno, he supposes. But then, he wasn't in charge of security tonight, that would be Agent Preston, who Phil trusts, because anyone who can deal with Wade Wilson can deal with Tony Stark. Phil thinks that it really isn't his responsibility to assist a 120 kg God of Thunder up to his hotel room. But alas, that's exactly what he's doing. He should be thankful the man is wearing a suit, and not his actual armour. If no, his gravestone would have said, "Death by demi-god. Twice". Ok, maybe it's a bit too soon for death jokes. He should have asked for help or left the man downstairs, except for the celebrities who unintentionally keep asking Thor classified questions that he can’t help but answer because he thinks that they are his mothers' prized porcelain dolls and doesn’t want to disappoint them. Also, Phil is in charge of security today, so it’s kind of his job. Also, the other Avengers are immersed in a very serious game of Ligretto (Bruce is winning, and no one wants to argue).It isn’t even that Thor keeps collapsing on him, then apologizing. His body’s sort of become numb after the third time that happened. It’s the whole – picking him up by the waist and making sure that Thor hasn’t cause irreparable harm- that’s slowing them down. When they finally reach the top of the stairs, Thor sits down (Phil wants to weep. It may have been omitted that Phil has had a couple of drinks by now as well, but only to keep up appearances. Phil is a superspy, after all) and pats the floor beside him and looks up at Phil, so Phil sits down and looks up at Thor. “Son of Coul, you are my dear friend, and it pains me that I almost brought great harm upon you.” If Thor himself starts crying, Phil doesn't know what he's going to do. He wishes Jane hadn't decided to spend the evening with Pepper and Natasha. “It’s alright Thor, I’ll survive” Phil smiles that half-smile of his, hoping it will placate Thor enough to get back up again. “But I would be happier if you were in your bed by now, what do you say?”“I do not wish to watch our great shield brother Hawkeye lose his Phil once again.” His Phil. What the hell is that supposed to me? He hadn’t realized that he belonged to Clint now. Ok, that's reassuring. Phil thinks he prefers the other Thor, who wants to hunt down kangaroos in Australia because “they look like worthy opponents, dear Avengers!” But no, he’s stuck with one who is babbling nonsense and refusing to actually be of any assistance whatsoever. Also, Phil is sick and tired of people telling him that dying was a terrible thing to do to his friends. Despite popular belief, he really didn't do it on purpose, you know. But then, Thor is drunk so he lets that slide. “Alright, Thor. I know you’re in a sentimental mood, how about we just move that to the bed?” Phil doesn’t know why he’s bothering so much. But then again, Phil is the only one Thor shares his Poptarts with, so that’s a pretty good reason. “We can reflect all we want once you’re in bed alright?”“Do you vow to not leave again?” Thor looks at him, eyes glistens. Jesus. Phil blinks.“I can’t actually promise not to die you know, I’m only human, despite popular belief”“Then I shall endeavour to protect you with all my strength. It would pain me deeply to lose such a dear friend. You are family to me. ” Oh. Phil has always cared for the Avengers, and even before that, for Natasha and Clint; and after 2 years of living together, he does consider them all friends, even Tony. It only occurs to him now that they may consider him as something more that the suit who lives in the floor below all their floors and brings paperwork and missions around. He's in a bit of a shock, which is completely not why it takes him a few seconds to realize that Thor is patting him gently on the head. They finally make it to Thor’s hotel room. The warrior prince is lying down on his back in bed, one arm resting on his chest and the other dangling down the side of the bed near Phil. “Good night, Thor” Phil says with a quirk of his mouth before he turns around to leave, but the dangling hand has a gentle but firm grip on his wrist now and is pulling him to bed. “I cannot protect you, dear Son of Coul, if you are not with me” Thor declares, eyes wide open now. Jesus. This is what his life has come to. “Come and rest, I will watch over you.” Phil wants the ground to swallow him up. At least then this party could be over due to the earth swallowing people up and the Avengers having to collect or accumulate or something. Assemble, he meant assemble. Phil should not have tried that purple concoction Clint had handed him. He sighs, defeated, and agrees to Thor if he’ll let of the wrist. He pulls off his belt, shrugs out of his jacket, tie and button-up, then folds everything up, leaving it on the nearby coffee table, and then sitting down on the side of the bed to take off his shoes and socks. Then slacks. He returns to bed, where Thor has been eyeing him the entire time (And somehow, it doesn't even seem creepy at all when it's Thor doing it), and climbs into bed in boxer briefs and an undershirt. Thor scoots over to give him some space.“This is for your protection, Phil” Thor explains as he turns to his side and places an arm gingerly around his waist. “Of course it is.” The next morning when Phil wakes up, he almost suffocates due to the pressure of 120 kilograms of thunder god on his chest followed by a thousand apologies. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- + 1 Clint Barton Agents Barton and Coulson have slept together a hundred different times. In safe houses on missions, or while the other was keeping watch, or when one (read: usually Barton) of them found themselves stuck in the infirmary. Barton and Phil have spent nights wound around each other in a single sleeping bag in Yellowknife, or on bunk beds in New Mexico. Coulson has watched Barton walk into a safe house, soaking wet, taken off his tactical suit and held him naked against his chest under the covers until the shivering stopped. Coulson has spent straight 56 hours in various states of consciousness waiting for Barton to wake up in infirmary after yet another vertical drop off of a building. Phil has never been in bed with Clint and he’s glad for it because there are only so many things that can be compartmentalized. Phil and Clint have never fallen asleep in the same room because that’s not the sort of relationship they have ever had. On a mission, you’re an agent even if you fall asleep, because at any seconds notice, you need to be on the go. After a while, this ends up being the case on or off the job, which ends up being a major problem for psych because they keep getting insomniac patients. Agents who just can't sleep because every little thing wakes them up. Barton won’t approach the psych wing unless it’s the thing that’s stopping him from returning to active duty, so obviously, Phil knows he’s never asked psych for help with insomnia. Phil also knows that there are only two places in the world where Barton can finally sleep peacefully. The first is up in the air vents in SHIELD (and after a year, the Avengers’ tower); somewhere no one else could reach or find him. Phil only knows this because Barton once forgot to switch his phone to silent only to have it go off and blast Beyonce from somewhere high up above Nick’s office. While he was in an emergency meeting. At 2 am. Phil isn’t sure his left ear has completely healed from that particular dressing-down from the Director. The second place is in bed with one Natasha Romanoff. Agent Barton will be awake at the sound of wind blowing outside his window but Clint won’t stir when he’s in bed with Natasha even when she moves or talks. It’s not that he’s vulnerable; it’s just that he knows he’s safe and secure with Natasha, and if something were really the matter, she’d alert him somehow anyway. Phil knows this because he is and always will be Clint Barton's handler, it's his job to know these thing. Also, because of that one time with Bruce. No but really, he’s never stalked Clint. He actively avoids stalking Clint, no matter what Jasper says.) It’s just something he notices, because when it comes to Clint Barton, Phil’s brain has this uncanny way of storing every single detail with minute precision. That isn’t stalking. It’s called being a secret agent. He has a badge, you know. Clint never falls asleep during team movie night, he might doze, but Phil has seen his eyes twitch at every tiny movement. Clint only sleeps without worry if it’s in a secure location within the ventilation systems, or in bed with Natasha. Phil thinks he’s ok with that. (He isn’t, not really)It would be particularly childish of him to be jealous. Barton is his asset; Clint is his friend. If Clint doesn’t feel safe enough around Phil to fall asleep near him, that’s totally fine. Phil just wants Clint to get some sleep. He’s not expecting this situation to change or anything, he can totally live with it. Except for the part when it’s 1 am, and Phil and Natasha have just returned home to the Avengers tower from a three month long, two-man mission to Burma that was particularly unexciting. Phil’s wobbles rather than walks into his room, having self-checked himself out of medical (it was just a bullet to the shoulder, again: Burma was boring), but high on pain meds, switched on the lights and dumped his go bag onto the floor; to find a bleary eyed Clint Barton sitting up on his bed, clad in a pair of Iron Man boxers and staring at Phil with a look of shock, confusion, and oh, is that embarrassment? He blames the pain medication for not having noticed him earlier. And also, for the speechlessness. “Fuck.” Phil’s never heard Clint’s’ voice to be so tremulous before. “Sorry, boss. I, uh...” Clint starts to scramble out of bed. “I just. I couldn’t sleep and...” “It’s ok; you’re welcome in my bed,” oh damn the damned meds. “No, I meant…” Phil is tired ok? He just wants to sleep but his bed is all warm from Clint which isn’t something that he ever expected, except having Clint in his bed and not being able to touch and kiss him are not going to go well together. Oh. He’s going to need a new plan of action because denial just got smashed by the equivalent of a mental Hulk. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phil can hear Jasper laughing at him. “Phil? You with me?” Clint is walking towards him, with an expression on his face that Phil can’t place. “What did you do?” Then those gorgeous kaleidoscope eyes see the bandages wrapped around his shoulder, peeking out from underneath the jacked draped over him, and colour just drains from Clint’s face. “My God, stop doing this to me”Phil’s not really sure what’s happening so he lets Clint gently push him towards en-suite bathroom, and listens when Clint closes the lid on the toilet seat and tells him in a curt voice to sit the hell down. He takes the jacket and hangs it up. The tie, shirt and undershirt were long done for, and are probably somewhere in a garbage bin in medical. Clint finds a fresh washcloth in the linen closet in the corner and wets it, then gently begins washing the area around the bandage, carefully working around the support brace. His hand shakes a little when it nears the old wound left by Loki, but continues to wash his chest and other arm. He’s then rinsing out the washcloth and scrubbing Phil’s fingers thoroughly. There’s a bit of blood, but it’s mostly that horrid orange staining Betadine. Clint stands up; moves over to his side and then scrubs down his back as well, the washcloth gloriously warm and comforting. Phil keeps trying to clear his head, but Clint being so close really isn’t helping. Then there are the twenty different scenarios running through his head for what Clint was doing in his bed in the first place. Maybe Bruce hulked out in Clint’s wing of the tower again. Or maybe Tony dared him to. Maybe he likes Phil’s bed; it has memory foam after all. Then all of a sudden his brains freezes because Clint is right in front of him, close enough that Phil could count his eyelashes. Clint is wiping his face with baby wipes (thank you, baby sister and her nieces for that genius idea), careful around his eyes and then down to his throat and the need to kiss Clint is so strong that Phil knows he’s a goner. He’s not going to need any future plans to hide this situation because that’s it, folks. It’s over. His right hand, the one attached to his healthy shoulder comes up and cradles Clint’s’ face, who looks at him again with that expression and Phil says, “I’m so sorry, I have to do this, I can’t stop” and then kisses Clint on the chin. Well, that’s not exactly what he was aiming for, but seriously, he was on a morphine Perfusor less than half an hour ago; he's not at fault here. And frankly, Clint has a gorgeous chin, just like the rest of him. Then Clint starts laughing and Phil realizes that he may have been speaking those thoughts out loud. Phil is mortified. He opens his mouth to say something, anything; when he finds those blessed lips finally against his own. Phil just wants to stay here in the bathroom, Clint’s lips against his own, soft against dry ones. He want to stay where Clint’s fingers are against his chest and in his hair, against his scalp, but after a while his lips feel heavy and his eyes ever heavier and he wants to sleep with Clint beside him, that’s all he's ever wanted, ever forced himself not to think about. All he's ever dreamed of in the last 5 years. His eyes are closed, but he can feel Clint’s’ smile against his mouth, and he’s starting to fade with that warm around him when Clint pulls away, “Wake up, Phil, come on, let’s get you to bed” But it so nice and warm here and Clint is here and Phil is suddenly afraid that if they leave the bathroom, Clint will leave, because Natasha’s back and Clint only sleeps well with another person if that person is Natasha and- “I always had the best naps in the vents above your office, you know”. Phil forces him eyes to open and all of a sudden he’s staring at Clint in confusion. Clint’s blushing now and looking downwards, but there’s a smile on his face. “God, you’re going to be so embarrassed when you wake up tomorrow morning” He takes a deep breath, and then, “I wanted to sleep here for so long... but I was just... I didn't want you to kick me out”Phil wants to say, of course he wouldn’t kick him out, why would he; he’s never kicked out Clint from his office, or from sneaking into his apartment when Phil was cooking. Why would he do that now? But his tongue is glued to his mouth and he’s oh so tired so he just leans forward into Clint’s’ bare chest, and manages to croak out, “Never”Clint’s quiet for a long time and Phil dozes on his chest. It isn’t that comfortable a position for either of them, Phil thinks. But Phil just can’t find the energy to move anymore. Then the warmth is gone, but Clint pulls his one good arm over his shoulders and pulls him up into a standing position. “Come on, help me out here. I need you to just hold on to that sink so I can pull this belt off of you, and those slacks ok?” Phil nods and then waits as Clint unbuckles his belt, unbuttons and unzips his slacks and pulls them down. “You know, I've had fantasies of being on my knees in front of you, but this wasn’t ever how I imagined it”Phil’s’ knees wobble. This is just unfair now. Clint chuckles, then straightens. “I’m sorry, you know me... can’t help it” But now those lips are within touching distance so Phil tries again and misses, but this time he gets Clint’s’ magnificent cheek for but a second before Clint pushes him back. “Ok. Here’s the deal. No more kissing, not until you’re in bed. Deal?” Phil nods and lets himself finally be led to bed, the bed that’s starting to smell like Clint, and that should mean something but he’s just so tired. After a few minutes of fussing and turning and careful placing of pillows so his shoulder is set correctly, and Phil’s lying on his back, Clint suddenly seems to shy away, covering him in the blankets but not in bed himself. But Phil doesn’t want to hear it, so he just says, “Come to bed, Clint”. So he does. In the morning, Phil wakes up and finds himself at once comparing the archer with an octopus. Clint is on his side, digging his left leg under Phil’s right one, and his right one in between Phil’s legs. One arm is stretched out over Phil’s belly, while the other hand has its’ fingers threaded into his own. Phil’s shoulder aches and he should probably get his meds but he just stays there for the moment, head twisted towards Clint’s’ face, which is somehow snuggled half under his healthy shoulder. He gently squeezes Clint’s hand with his own, but there is no response. Clint is fast asleep. The meds can wait. Phil smiles and goes back to sleep.
1141535	ADMIN Navigation	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by deslea", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2017-10-01T00:00:00", "words": "0", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }
1171776	Irreversible	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Hugo Weasley, Lysander Scamander", "Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling", "Language": "Español", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by NeaPoulain", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-06T00:00:00", "words": "1,501", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Hugo Weasley/Lysander Scamander", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Irreversible "Mi corazón se ha vuelto irreversible, desde el momento que el destino lo marco." La oreja de Van Gogh Slughorn lo adoraba por su talento innato para las pociones. Un talento que se resumía en horas de estudio leyendo libros en la biblioteca o hasta altas horas de la madrugada en la sala común de Gryffindor y algo de inspiración mientras estaba en clase. Era la única materia en la que superaba a su hermana Rose, así que estaba bastante satisfecho consigo mismo. El único problema era por supuesto: Slughorn. Slughorn y sus reuniones, a las que por supuesto no podían faltar «los brillantes hijos de Hermione Weasley… y Rupert… o Robert». Hugo ponía excusas baratas la mayoría de las veces, más cuando Slughorn le proponía que fuera a su tradicional fiesta de navidad de todos los años a la que muchas veces iban sólo alumnos un poco más mayores.Pero aquella vez, Lily tenía la culpa de que hubiera decidido asistir. Lily lo había convencido, le había dicho que era una buena idea para llevar a una cita, aunque el pesado de su profesor de pociones estuviera por allí, dando vueltas y molestando a todos. Y la buena de Lily incluso se había ofrecido a llevar a Lorcan, después de que Hugo le suplicara porque no quería que pareciera que estaba separando a los dos gemelos. Eso sí, antes de acceder le había dicho, con la mirada amenazante que le recordaba un poco a su madre enojada, que si hubiera alguien más a quien invitar, no accedería a lleva a Lorcan.Así que finalmente lo soltó. Se acercó dos días antes, por las buenas, hasta la mesa de Ravenclaw durante el desayuno, se sentó junto a Lysander Scamander con toda la calma del mundo, le pidió un poco de su tostada mientras intentaba contener los nervios y entonces se lo dijo: «¿Quieres… quisieras… ir… ya sabes… a-la-fiesta-de-Slughorn… conmigo?» Sentía que para ese momento ya se había quedado completamente rojo como un tomate, como si el color de su cara y el de su cabello fueran exactamente iguales. Al menos Lysander, preocupado por su salud mental, o por sus nervios, respondió un sí con total calma. Hugo contuvo las ganas de gritar allí mismo de felicidad pero luego recordó algo.—Hum… —dijo—, me refería… ya sabes… a ir… como… —contuvo la respiración un momento, sin tener ni idea de por qué estaba tan nervioso. Él, Hugo Weasley, que había heredado una extraña mezcla de la capacidad de racionalización de su madre y el humor de su padre—, como-una-cita. —Otra vez las palabras se habían atropellado al salir por su garganta con rapidez extrema.Al menos, Lysander lo entendió. No dijo nada como «¿perdona, qué has dicho?», «hablaste demasiado rápido, por Merlín, no te entendí nada».No. Nada de eso.—¿Cómo una cita? —inquirió y Hugo asintió—. Me encantaría —sonrió un poco de medio lado, de manera que se le hacía un hoyuelo en una mejilla. Se veía tan lindo…La fiesta navideña de Slughorn estaba bastante bien… para ser una fiesta de aquel profesor que cada año se acercaba más a la senilidad y cuya calva aumentaba con cada diciembre. A Hugo nunca le había caído especialmente bien, pero le encantaba su materia, así que cuando se había acercado a él y a Lily y había preguntado por sus respectivas parejas se había portado cortés los dos primeros minutos, antes de intentar sacárselo de encima de todas las maneras posibles, cosa que logró en cuando Slughorn vislumbró a su primo Albus.—Ama a Albus —murmuró Lily—, ¿cuándo crees que anuncien su compromiso matrimonial?—¡Oye, Slughorn está muy viejo para tu hermano! —exclamó Hugo, a medias escandalizado—. Así como lo pones, parece un viejo pervertido.—Oh, vamos… no me digas que nunca has pensando que Slughorn es un poco rarito a veces… —lo pinchó Lily, pero al ver la cara que habían puesto los tres chicos a su alrededor sacudió la cabeza—: ¡Vamos, sólo es una pequeña broma, pero ustedes se lo creen todo! Oh, venga, Lorcan, ¿me acompañas por algo de tomar? —Jaló del brazo a su pareja, que parecía no creer en su suerte y, mientras desaparecía en la multitud, se volvió y le guiñó un ojo a Hugo.Hugo sonrió un poquito y luego miró a Lysander.—¿Te apetece ir por una bebida? —le preguntó por decir algo. Aquella fiesta no era lo más animado a lo que Hugo hubiera asistido, de verdad. Pero con Lysander y él teniendo una «cita» todo se volvía mucho mejor.—¿Y si vamos allá afuera? —sugirió Lysander, mirando alrededor. Después de casi una hora allí, no parecía demasiado emocionado de toparse con más de los estudiantes favoritos de Slughorn.Hugo se encogió de hombros. Lysander tenía ese poder secreto: dejarlo sin palabras o sin objeciones. No sabía por qué pasaba, pero llevaba pasando casi cuatro meses y Hugo siempre se ponía nervioso. Antes, cuando sólo le atraían un poco los chicos más mayores por su aspecto, nunca había pasado eso. Pero Lysander era completamente diferente. De Lysander le gustaba todo: el cabello rubio medio despeinado, el aire despistado que adquiría cuando pensaba demasiado en algo, los hoyuelos de sus mejillas, un poco más marcados en los de las mejillas de su gemelo, y sobre todo, su manera de ser, de tomárselo todo con tranquilidad pasmosa, su amor por todas las criaturas vivientes, su pasión por Cuidado de Criaturas Mágicas, y sus cejas fruncidas cuando estaban en Transformaciones que se le daba fatal.Lysander era diferente. No era como habían sido sus enamorados hasta entonces. Y Hugo tenía miedo de que todo fuera una ilusión. Aunque Lysander estuviera allí, caminando a su lado hasta la salida de aquella fiesta, y luego por los pasillos llenos de sombras y de soledad, por los que se suponía que no deberían deambular a esas horas de la noche. ¿Por qué aquel miedo? ¿Ese sentimiento que sentía que le estrujaba el estómago?«¡Deja de pensar en todo eso!», se dijo a sí mismo.—Hey, mira —Lysander señaló una ventana y se acercó a mirar através de ella. El Bosque Prohibido y un pedazo de lago les devolvieron la mirada un poco en la lejanía. Aunque, como estaban sólo en el segundo piso—. Se ve bien.Hugo se encogió de hombros, pero la verdad es que le parecía una vista bastante bonita.—¿Te imaginas como se ve esto desde la torra de astronomía? ¿Y de noche? —le preguntó, a su vez—. Si en Astronomía lo único que hago es mirar al cielo… ¡y el cielo es aburrido! Sólo hay planetas, y estrellas, y constelaciones… y aprenderse las lunas de Júpiter es terrible. Estaré feliz de poder dejar la materia el próximo año, después de los TIMOs.Lysander se quedó mirando hacia la ventana, sin decir gran cosa, hasta que Hugo sintió que la mano del chico buscaba la suya y la agarraba. Nunca antes había sentido a Lysander de esa manera, esa piel tan blanca, que a veces parecía la de un muerto, tan suave, como la de un bebé. Sonrió para sí, estrujando la mano de Lysander, dejando atrás su pesimismo, diciéndose que todo iba bien.Mejor que bien.—Oye, Lysander… —volteó a verlo, y le sorprendió encontrarse con que el rubio también lo estaba mirando, y antes de que tuviera plena conciencia de lo que pasaba, lo estaba besando.Al principio fue sólo un choque de labios caótico, un choque de narices que insistían en pegarse y en impedirles que sus labios bailaran como querían, pero a Hugo no le importó. Era un beso. Era Lysander. Hasta que por fin sus labios bailaron al mismo compás y con la misma melodía y algo dentro de Hugo lo único que fue capaz de sentir fue paz y felicidad.Hasta que oyeron el maullido y se separaron abruptamente.—¡Es el Señor Potts, de Filch! —exclamó Hugo, asustado, y los dos se echaron a correr. Se suponía que no debían estar allí, merodeando por la noche en los pasillos y que sólo estaban fuera de su sala común a esa hora porque tenían un permiso especial de Slughorn.Cuando se detuvieron, unos pasillos más adelante y se pararon a respirar y a recuperar el aliento, estallaron en carcajadas que intentaron acallar con las palmas de sus manos para no atraer de nuevo al gato.—Creo… —empezó Lysander—, que deberíamos volver a la fiesta… Allí no nos asustarán gatos o nos perseguirán conserjes… —Pero sonreía y eso le parecía una buena señal a Hugo.—Creo lo mismo… —murmuró Hugo.Empezaron a caminar juntos de nuevo, de regreso a la fiesta. Si se encontraban a Filch, siempre podían decirle que se dirigían para ya y no podría decirles absolutamente nada. Hugo sintió un retortijón en el estómago cuando Lysander le pasó una mano por los hombros.—¿Sabes? Ese fue mi primer beso.Sonreía.Hugo también curveó las comisuras de los labios hasta formar una sonrisa, y le respondió.—El mío también.
1181670	Jigsaw	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Teen Wolf (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by aisatsanashiba", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-12T00:00:00", "words": "621", "Additional Tags": "Reese's Equals Sex", "Relationship": "Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski", "Character": "hale pack - Character", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"So, are we going to meet up once a week to share what’s new and different around town in hopes of getting a jump on the new bad guy?” Lydia only sounds half mocking, which Stiles is going to take as agreement because, yes, that is exactly what they are going to do. It might have been Stiles idea. And if Stiles might have gotten that idea from a rerun marathon of Buffy? Well, no one had asked. Isaac looks less convinced. “Will it really help if we don’t know how to stop something new? We aren’t very good flying blind.” "That is why you always have to look on the bright side. Example, at least I’m safe from the next darach that rolls into town jonesing for a sacrifice." Stiles is really quite happy about that. Isaac fixes him with a flat stare. “How do you figure?” "Hm? Oh, I mean, I don’t guard anyone, I’m not a healer, and, you know, I’ve always been more a lover than a fighter." "Dude, I’m pretty sure you have to be someone else’s lover. Solo missions do not count." Scott giggles at his own joke. No one else does. Since it isn’t funny. A little self-abuse is important in a young man’s life. Peter cocks an eyebrow at Stiles. Maybe leers a little. “You didn’t say anything? He’s your best friend, Stiles. Shame on you.” Stiles really doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm. Dick. “I did tell him.” He snaps at the man, and then turns to his bro in exasperation. “I did tell you. Last week, remember? Call of Duty, pizza, red bull. Scott, dude, peanut butter and chocolate.” Scott just looks confused. “I thought that was a metaphor.” "It was a metaphor, dumbass. I AM the peanut butter." Stiles flails his arms to make the point really sink in. “Actually, considering all the various positions, you were the chocolate. I was the peanut butter.” Bastard wouldn’t stop smirking. Stiles hated that smirk. Except he really didn’t. Damnit. Then Derek is walking down the stairs looking confused. His eyebrows dance across his forehead and demand an explanation. Scott beats him to it. “Duuude, you boned Peter Hale! What the hell, man?” “When?” Derek doesn’t even bother making it sound like a question. “Uh…” Stiles rings his hands together and glares over at Peter. The wolf’s poker face is firmly in place. “I came over after the second virgin sacrifice. Figured I’d be safer with the super-powered puppies, you know.” “Damnit, Stiles,” Derek sighs and pinches his nose. Stiles knows he hates the dog jokes. Whatever. Stiles is hilarious. “Anyway, I was freaking out about being murdered, and he saved me from being brutally sacrificed and left in the woods for my father to find.” Several members of the pack have turned to glare at Peter. Like what the hell even was that. It isn’t until Lydia scoffs and says, “So, he took advantage of you, and even tried to make himself out to be the hero. Sounds about right,” that Stiles understands why. Peter shoots her an unimpressed look before turning his blank mask back to Stiles. He’s letting Stiles take the lead on this. He’s giving Stiles an out. Stiles hesitates before smiling softly at Peter. He might be a sarcastic bastard, but then again, so is Stiles. They just fit. Two jagged puzzles pieces. Wear and tear had frayed their edges but the scene they made was still beautiful. “No, he didn't take advantage of me. I practically pounced him the first time.” Every head in the loft whips back to him. “FIRST TIME!?” Scott wails pathetically and looks a little green. Peter just throws his head back and laughs gleefully.
1174745	The Love And Care Of	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Newton Geiszler, Hermann Gottlieb, Mako Mori, Raleigh Becket, Hercules Hansen", "Fandom": "Pacific Rim (2013)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by blackglass", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-08T00:00:00", "words": "37", "Additional Tags": "Post canon, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Fluff, Pets, Friendship, Bickering, So much bickering, Humor, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming", "Relationship": "Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Trope Bingo: Round Three", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	mp3, Length: 35:27 Download (right click and save as) as an mp3. (Thanks to paraka for hosting!)Streaming: A permanent link is now available at the audiofic archive here.Feedback and constructive criticism always appreciated! Enjoy! :)
1116926	Podophobia	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Kagami Taiga, Kuroko Tetsuya, Aomine Daiki", "Fandom": "Kuroko no Basuke \| Kuroko's Basketball", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Nagaplease", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-03T00:00:00", "words": "1,223", "Additional Tags": "podophobia, Established Relationship, Feet Phobia, Cynophobia", "Relationship": "Kagami Taiga/Kuroko Tetsuya", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Kagami didn’t notice it at first, but he started to pick up on the small hints. When he first noticed it, it was when Kagami wanted to spoon with Kuroko. When they slept together Kuroko would cuddle with Kagami’s side. But that night Kagami wanted to spoon Kuroko. He got in position, trying to wrap his legs with Kuroko’s. He felt Kuroko suddenly become stiff, but thought his cold feet surprised him. Once he got in settled in, and stared to drift off, Kuroko abruptly got out of bed stating that he forgot to take a shower. He told Kagami not to wait up for him. Kagami rolled on his back and started to drift off by the soothing sound of the water. The next morning he notice that Kuroko changed out of his shorts into sweats, and was in his usual position. The second time was a few days later when Kuroko was over Kagami’s apartment to study. But for Kagami it meant to hang out with Kuroko and watch tv. Kuroko was on one side of the couch resting his arm on the armrest. Kagami was coming back from the kitchen with some refreshments. Noticing that Kuroko wasn’t in the middle, he put the refreshments on the coffee table and stretch out on the couch. Putting his head against the armrest and put his bare feet on Kuroko’s lap. Instantly, Kuroko stiffened. But didn’t say anything to Kagami or even acknowledge what he has done. Kagami then, realized that Kuroko didn’t like feet. But of course didn’t want to say anything till he confessed up. “Anything the matter Kuroko?” Kagami asked smugly. At first, Kuroko acted like he didn’t hear Kagami. But put on a blank face, turned to look at Kagami, and relied, “Nothing at all.”“That’s good to hear.”They went back to watching a bit of tv, Kagami didn’t like how Kuroko didn’t fess up anything. So he decided to go into drastic measures. “Hey, Kuroko.”“Yes, Kagami-kun?”“Do you find giving my feet a massage? They been killing me all day.” After Kagami said that, he raised one of his foot and leaned it against Kuroko’s cheek. Kuroko instantly turned his head to Kagami. Right at that moment Kagami knew that he has crossed the line. He put his foot down, quickly took his feet off of Kuroko’s lap, and sat up. “I-I’m sorry Kuroko. I figured out you don’t like feet and once you didn’t confess I wanted to mess with you until you cracked. But I took it far.” Kagami explained while looking at the floor. He looked up to see that Kuroko was staring at him. Kagami wasn’t sure what Kuroko was going to say or do next. But then Kuroko stood up. Kagami stood up as well knowing not what to do.“I forgot I made plans with Aomine-kun today. I must get going.”“Um, okay.” Kagami said. He followed Kuroko to the door, and bended down to kiss Kuroko goodbye. But then Kuroko turned his head to the side Kagami’s toes where at. Kagami pulled back and just looked at Kuroko. “Um, have fun?”“I will see you later Kagami.” Then Kuroko left. Kagami ran to his room where his cell phone was and quickly dialed his number. It rang for a it till he picked up. “Oi! It’s to early to be dealing with you.”“It’s late afternoon.”“What’s your point?”“Do you have plans with Kuroko today?”“No, unless Momoi planned something without telling me. Wait, no she went out with Kise half an hour ago.”“Dammit.”“What did you do to make Tetsu lie about having plans with me?”“I may have mess around with him once I found out about him not liking feet.”Then there was silence on the other end. Kagami looked at his phone to see if the call dropped. “Aomine are yo-”“YOU DIDN’T!?” Then Aomine started to laugh. “What’s so funny?” Kagami demanded.“Man, I feel sorry for you. Tetsu just does not like feet. He has a phobia. And you knew and kept messing with him. Momoi once put her feet on his back when we went to the beach, he didn’t talk to her for the whole day. Which is saying something. That’s also when none of use knew about it. I would be surprise if I ever see you again.”Kagami tighten his hold on the phone, he screwed up, he screwed up big time. “Well, wh-”“Ah! I hear a doorbell! That must be Tetsu.” Then Aomine hung up.Kagami looked at his phone. Then fell onto his bed and felt like the worst boyfriend ever. *******It has been a few days since the foot incident. Kuroko has been acting the same as usual with Kagami, and he should be happy. But he knows how Kuroko is, so he has been on edge since that phone call with Aomine. One day after practice, Kagami and Kuroko were walking together to Kagami’s house. But Kuroko seemed to be on his phone more than usual. “Who do you keep messaging?” Kagami asked as he tried to look at his phone. “No one.” Kuroko replied as he shut his phone. “I am not feeling well, I am heading off to my house.” “Are you sure you don’t want to come over? I do have medicine.” “No, I am sure. Thank you though.”“Well, okay then.”Kagami bend down so he can kiss Kuroko goodbye. But Kuroko pulled back. “ I don’t want you to catch what I have.” But he still kissed Kagami’s cheek. That was another thing Kagami notice, that Kuroko hasn’t kissed him on the mouth, which bother him. But didn’t say anything. Kagami watched Kuroko walk away. Then started to head to his house. Once at his door, he unlocked it and went inside. Then he froze in place. There was dog plush toys on the couch, on the coffee table, and on top of his tv. Even though he knew they weren’t real, he put his arms up as if they were going to attack. Then ran to his room and shut the door. He turned around and saw four puppies playing with each other on his bed. He was able to tolerate #2 for Kuroko, but he still couldn’t deal with other dogs well. He slid down to the ground with a horror look on his face. He covered his ears and closed his eyes. But then he heard a click and open his eyes and saw Kise and Aomine looking down on him with a camera. Kagami was dumbfound. “Tetsu said to give this to you.” Aomine handed him a folded paper. Kagami- This is for teasing me with your feet. Don’t you ever do that again, if you will. Meet me at the park, Kise-kun and Aomine-kun will clean up. -Kuroko“If you ask me, Kuroko let you off easy. If it was one of us he would unleash hell.” Aomine stated. “Maybe with you, but I am sure that Kuroko would let me off the hook, we are best friends after all.” Kise claimed. “Just have my apartment cleaned up before I get back home.” Kagami said angrily. He dashed out of his apartment and went to the park to meet up with his boyfriend.
1118227	undesired attention	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "John Reid \| The Lone Ranger, Rebecca Reid, Latham Cole, Dan Reid, Danny Reid", "Fandom": "The Lone Ranger (2013)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by genresavvy", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-04T00:00:00", "words": "595", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "John Reid \| The Lone Ranger/Rebecca Reid", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	From the beginning, she knows that Cole has intentions that go beyond friendship. She knows that his efforts to talk with her, to make her feel like she can trust him are not simply him being a generous man.After all, she's not an idiot, and she married her childhood sweetheart's brother. She's learned how to read people's intentions, how to figure out who wants to have her over for lunch because they genuinely enjoy her company and who simply wants to ask probing questions about her marriage so they can gossip about it with their friends later that week.Truth be told, every time the man talks to her she wants to give him the most biting reply she can think of so that he will leave her alone, stop buying her things and talking down about her husband. Maybe he'll even stop inserting himself into her son's life like a father figure despite the fact that Dan is alive and well.Unfortunately, Cole is highly respected and admired in Colby. Because he's so wealthy and he's part of the group that brought the train to town, people are willing to overlook the implications of him buying gifts for a married woman and spending time with her son. In fact, many people have told her that she's so lucky to have a man like Latham Cole take such kind, friendly interest in her family, especially with her husband's salary as a law man.On top of that, a part of her can't help but to be very cautious around Mr. Cole. He acts kind and compassionate, sure, but there are moments when he doesn't think she's looking or when he's giving a speech and he gets this steely look in his eyes that speaks of getting what he wants no matter the cost.So she says enough to derail any attempts he makes at pointing out how wealthy he is and how her husband is. . .not so much, but without making him feel slighted. Every conversation with him is more trouble than it's worth, a balancing act of not encouraging him but at the same time not making him feel unwelcome.The part about it that frustrates her is that she made herself stop writing to John because she knew that if she kept it up, it would go somewhere that neither of them wanted to go. She knew that if anything were to happen between them, it would destroy him. (He's always had a guilty conscience -- he never said as much to her, but she knows him well enough that his decision to move to the city for law school was in part because they almost kissed three days after she and Dan told him they were engaged.) It was hard to do -- she loved writing him and it hurt to stay so out of contact with someone she cared about so much.And then comes around Latham Cole, making passes at her and obvious comparisons of himself and her husband, and he gets to stay around. He's the one she has to deal with every day.It's awful to think, but sometimes she wishes that it was John that she had to see, because it's starting to seem like navigating her not completely gone feelings for her brother-in-law would be much easier than dealing with a rich man who seems to fancy the idea of being her second husband. Especially when she fancies the idea of him finishing work on the railroad and moving on to the next town so much more.
1124333	Its just some little	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by Adobejunkie", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-07T00:00:00", "words": "23", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Adam Lambert-Tommy Ratliff - Relationship", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician), Adam Lambert-Tommy Ratliff", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Here is the artwork I did for the amazing story "It's just some little thing" by glitterwriter .Please go read this amazing story!
1120409	Goodbye	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness", "Fandom": "Doctor Who (2005)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Panther_Lover", "chapters": "2/2", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-05T00:00:00", "words": "5,698", "Additional Tags": "Male Slash, Rating: NC17, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort", "Relationship": "Ninth Dctor/Jack Harkness/Tenth Doctor", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "M/M, Multi", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	GoodbyeJack's PovI sighed as I walked down one of the many corridors in the TARDIS. 'I don't even know why I care! He's gone and that's all there is to it! I can't change what happened, so there's no use in even bothering.' I sighed again as I walked into the control room and see the new doctor tinkering away as always. 'He doesn't even show the same care for her anymore.' I shook my head and was about to turn away when Rose came into the room."Ah, there you are. I've been looking for you. Was thinking we could take a quick walk while the doctor fixes up the TARDIS yeah?" She asked with a small smile. She knew we had had a relationship, the old doctor and I. She knew I also refused to be with the new doctor. She also knew I was hurting over this decision. I sighed but nodded anyway, there would be no ridding of Rose when she wanted something."Right then, doctor we'll be back soon." And with a wave to the new doctor she grabbed my arm and we were walking around the 35th century Earth."So what is it you wanted to talk about?" I ask hoping she wouldn't say what I knew she was going to. She pointed to a café a few blocks up. "Let’s get something to drink yeah?" She asked before pulling me over there. We both ordered a drink before Rose looked at me. "You know you should go and be with him again." She stated the minute we both had our drinks and were sitting down. I sighed."We've been through this Rose; it’s not going to happen. My doctor is gone and nothing can bring him back." I said before looking away."But he's not. He's right there waiting for you. All you have to do is go and be with him. I know he may look different but he is the doctor. And even if you don't do that, you're going to have to start calling him by his name soon, I doubt he's going to keep letting you call him John for long. Why's it so hard to call him by his name huh?" She asked as she grabbed my hand so I would look at her. I bit my lip, how could I explain to her that he was not the doctor, not my doctor anyway."Rose he's different, I was with the doctor for a long time and I love him. Then everything on Satellite Five happened. You both left me behind. Now I've gotten over that, really I have, but you came back with a stranger and I don't know him. I feel that if I call him the doctor, I'd be disrespecting what my doctor and I had. I just can't, and I know it's hurting him too, and I am sorry, but I just can't." I say before drinking the rest of my coffee in one gulp."Why? If you'd just give him a chance to be near you you'd see that he's the same as before, 'cept now he looks different is all." She said with such conviction I almost wanted to give in and say ok."I never got to say goodbye; he left for good, and I just can't move on like that, not without saying goodbye, but I can't even mourn him because he's not dead. Rose, he didn't die! He just left! He's gone and there's some new doctor here and it's not ok!" I try to make her see what I'm feeling but I can tell it's not exactly coming across right. They just don't understand."Rose I've got to go. I've got to leave. There was a reason I asked you to have the doctor land here, while he fixed the TARDIS up. I was here before, before I even met you. My ship went missing for a couple of days, and I think I know why now. I have to go Rose, I just can't stay here right now. Maybe I'll be back, maybe I won't, I don't really know. And Rose, thanks, you've been a wonderful friend." I say as I lean over and kiss her head. She start to try and protest, but I wave her off before running in the direction I knew my spaceship to be in.Rose's PovDamn he's fast! I lost tract of him after the first three blocks. I hurry and turn around to get back to the TARDIS. The doctor is going to kill me. I went and lost Jack, yep defiantly going to kill me. I slam the door open and run into the control room."Doctor! Doctor where are you?!" I yell when I don't see him in the room. I see him walk into the room carrying a mug of tea."What's all the ruckus about then?" He asks when he sees me."Doctor it's Jack, he went off. I couldn't keep up with him. I'm sorry, I only did it in hopes of getting him off the TARDIS so he could clear his head, and then maybe he would be with you again. I didn't know what he had been planning on doing I swear." I say all at once before I lost my nerve."What are you going on about?" He asked with a confused look on his face. I took a deep breath and then told him everything. From Jack having me suggest the time and place to land the TARDIS to what he said about leaving. The doctor cursed before running out of the TARDIS and searching for him by foot. Only that's a bit hard to do."Doctor this isn't going to work. I mean Jack knows how to disappear when he wants to. I'm also sure that by now he got to his ship and is long gone. We won't find him here." I said after an hour of searching with no luck."I don't want to lose him Rose. He was already so distant with me, but now he doesn't even want to stay on the TARDIS with me anymore! Am I really that bad of a person?" He asks, almost sounding lost in a way. I sigh and pull him into a hug."Don't worry doctor we'll get him back, I promise." I say before moving back and pulling the doctor along with me back to the TARDIS."Alright, now where would you go if you were Jack and you were running away from us?" The doctor asked me. I gave a shrug, but stopped half way when I remembered something that the Doctor told me right after he got back from being out for the night when Jack first came aboard the TARDIS."He would run here. That's what you said." I told the doctor. He raised his eyebrow at me."What? When did I say that? I don't remember saying that." He told me with a frown."You told me it right after you came back from where ever it was you were after you left when Jack first came on the TARDIS. Don't you remember doctor. You looked at me and said that when I ask you where he would run to, tell you that he would run here. So maybe he went back to when we first met." I told him. He tilted his head a bit."I said that did I? Funny I don't remember that. I don't even remember leaving the TARDIS after we picked Jack up. Are you sure about this Rose, you just didn't dream it or something because you humans do, do that a lot. Dream something and think it's real." He asked me."No I didn't dream it! I asked what you meant but you just said remember to say it. When I said ok you pointed your screw driver at yourself and then it flashed. After that you said, shall we get going then. Then we left, and well you know everything that comes after that." I said in a huff, really now, dreaming things up am I?!"I did what? Oh never mind, back to when we met it is. Well actually we'll just go back to when we were leaving last, smaller chance of meeting our other self's then." He said before running over to the controls and putting the coordinates in."Yea, we wouldn't want reapers to come and collect us all." I said before sitting down on the bench. The doctor just stood there as the TARDIS took us where we needed to go."So how long will it be before we get there?" I ask to fill up the silence."In about an hour. Rose, what am I going to say to him? I don't even know why it is that he's so upset with me! At first I really had thought he just needed time to adjust but now I'm not so sure it's that. He wouldn't even tell me why he broke up with me! Damn it!" The doctor growled out in frustration and pain. "I honestly don't know what you should say, because I don't know what has him so eaten up inside, but I know that this time I'll be the one to sit back in the TARDIS as you work it out; you also told me to make sure you do it alone, and that I simply be there for you's when you get back." I explained when the doctor gave me a look.. The doctor sighed before going in the kitchen for something to drink, or just to be alone for a bit.10th doctor's PovI walked back into the control room as soon as we landed in London. I can almost sense him in a way. I used to be able to do that all the time but now, after he left me, it's dull. I almost wish the pain in my hearts could be dulled, but I'd be scared if that happened, because that would mean that there really is no chance of fixing this. And if what Rose said is true then that means all this had already happened once. And apparently I met my old regeneration. I just wish I had told Rose how things had ended, more than the whole 'just be there for us when we get back.' What does that even mean anyway?! I sigh again and start towards the door before my courage fails me and I stop. What am I going to do? What do I say? What can I say? Will it be enough? I jump slightly when I feel Rose hand grip mine. "Go on then, doctor. No matter what happens, no matter what had happened, he does love you. I don't think that will change no matter how far he runs." She says before walking me towards the door."And no matter what happens I'll be here when you get back yeah." She said the gave me a slight push out the door before closing it behind me.I don't even know where he's at. Well, that's not exactly true. I can still feel him, no matter how dim it is, I still feel it. I sigh before walking the way I feel he is. I turn a corner and literally get run over by someone. I groaned a bit. I look up to see a pair of curious eyes looking at me. Oh this is so not good. I look around trying to see if any reapers have come yet. I jump up and spin around looking franticly."Why are there no reapers?!" I question myself. The other man raises his eyebrow."You know me then." He states more than asks. "No that's not it, reapers wouldn't come for that, oh. OH! You are me." I sigh but nod, no use in lying; I would know if I were. He looked me over and gave an approving nod. I rolled my eyes."This is so not the time to be checking me…err…you out." I say. This wasn't supposed to happen! I was just supposed to find Jack, make him see sense, be with him again, and then we were to leave. I should have known something like this would happen."Hey have you seen an guy with something akin to an old 1940's army wear on?" He asked me suddenly. I just looked at him. What had Jack done now?"No, he about so tall, black hair, and brown eyes?" I ask, when he nods I sigh. I should have known he would try something like this. Does he hate me so much that he would try to end my existance?"I take it that's why you're here then. He actually looks like Jack, a guy we've just picked up a bit ago. Well you already know that, I suppose. So what's he doing running around so close to himself? Surely he knows about all the rules, he is a time agent after all." He asks. "Can't say, might bring about the reapers." I answer and then turn to go. The sooner I leave the better."Well normally the reapers come right away if something in the time line is being messed up, so I'd say it's a safe bet to assume that for now at least that we're right where we're supposed to be." He says as he follows after me."Still the sooner I'm gone the better for everybody. What did he do? Jack, I mean." I asked slightly curious despite myself."Not much really. Just grabbed my hand as I was going into the landing sight. He seemed to want to say something but thought better of it at the last minute. He just dropped my hand and turned away. I didn't really have the time then to go after him and find out what was going on." He said quietly. So he had decided to leave it be after all? What is going on in that head of his?!9th doctor Pov"So, what is it that I'm to do? Or do I do anything at all?" I ask my other self wondering if there was something that I should be doing. He just shrugged."Don't really know, apparently I, oh hell, WE give Rose a short message and then lock away our memories of the past few hours for whatever reason." He tells me as he takes another turn. He seems to be taking us back to the landing sight."Oh, well what are you doing here then?" I ask trying to figure out what was going on. I know he won't be able to tell me much but that's fine so long as I get the jest of it."Well, you see Jack and I…we became lovers. Only things happen, and I regenerate. He comes back, sees new me and other than that... I really don't know what's going on in that man's head anymore. Well besides the fact that I hurt him somehow. I don't even know what I did!" He growled out the last part."Wow, me and Jack huh? Wouldn't have seen that one coming." I said, "Really who would have thought that captain flirt-a-lot would settle down with me. He did settle right? I mean I'm not just his bed toy right?" I asked a bit worried. Would I really have let myself sink that low. "Huh? Oh, yeah he still flirts but he doesn't bed anyone but us. Well at least he didn't till we broke up." He said the last part quietly and came to a stop."I don't even know why he broke up with me! It's not like I did anything wrong! Hell I even let him call me John and not the doctor when he couldn't seem to call me that without flinching as if I slapped him!" He yelled out."Why would he not want to call us the doctor?" I asked somewhat confused, as we finally turned the corner and saw an open field next to the landing."I don't know, just that since he came back, he couldn't call me the doctor anymore. As if I just up and hurt him or something and he couldn't bear to say my name. Almost like if someone had died, and they couldn't bear to say the name out loud anymore….Well Damn!" I smirked, let me talk enough and I'd find a way to fix the problem. "Figured it out have you? So now what are we going to do about it?" I ask him when he stops again."I don't think there is anything that I can do. I mean he's upset that you left, so basically the plan is this: You go over and talk to him while I wait here." He says."Right, let’s go… Wait what? Why am I the one who has to confront the angry lover?!" I demand after what he said sinks in."Well because you were the one who went and 'died' on him, and you're the one he wants to see at the moment. That and when this is over I would like to be able to hold onto him without him wanting to get as far away from me as possible." He said and started into the building only to stop within the door and point ahead to Jack."You do realize that you left him just as much as I did, and that no matter what I say or do you're going to have to come in anyway, right?" I tell him as I walk past him and into the room a bit to see what all was there. Nothing. It was just and empty old hanger room for some pilot most likely. He sighed but followed me in.I could already make out Jacks outline in the dark. He was laying on the ground looking through a hole in the ceiling."That's where my ship is you know. Right up there. I could have saved myself from the pain I'll be experiencing soon, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself." Jack says without turning to face us."I'm glad, I would be affronted if you wouldn't give me a chance to get to know you and be with you a bit better." I say a bit pissed the thought had even passed his mind. He shrugs as best he can while lying down."Trust me sometimes it's better not knowing." He tells me before rolling over to look at me.I can see his eyes squint a bit in the dark trying to use what little moonlight that was filtering in to see me. He shakes his head, and mummers about seeing things and going insane. I smirk and walk a bit forward, so that the light falls over me."Oh, and here I thought I was the insane one, I mean to actually allow myself to fall for you." I trail off allowing him to take that however he wishes. His eyes widen as he jumps up."Doctor?! Is that you? Really you? How, I mean what... Oh hell, I'm lost!" He grumbled the last part out."Yeah? Good thing I know a bit about directions then." I say and walk over to him when he doesn't seem able to bring himself over to me. When I'm within reach he reaches out and just holds my hand for a minute, before letting his fingers make a trail up my arm and onto my shoulder, only to start down my back. I shivered as his fingers passed just under my left shoulder blade. He smirked a bit before running his hand over the area again, getting a slight hiss from me. "I nearly forgot how sensitive you were. Always hated it when I was on top, because it always meant that the night was going to be long. You asked me why I always felt the need to make every cell in your body feel like it's on fire, and I never answered. Just said when the time comes you'll know. I did it because I loved you and I always though you looked beautiful when you were nothing but a mess of moans; but what I loved most about it was that it was me who could make you feel that pleasure." He says before finally pressing his lips against mine in a searing kiss.His hands continued to trail down my back and down to my ass where he griped them and pulled me closer. I melted into the kiss without hesitation. It just felt right, like this is where I belonged. I was gasping when I pulled back from the kiss, and watched as he smiled a sad smile, before letting go and backing away a bit. I felt myself go cold at the thought of him leaving me. I know I shouldn't be this attached to him, not yet anyway. Still my hand reaches out and pulls him back to my chest."Why are you running?" I ask, even though I already have the answer. I needed him to say it before I could try to fix anything."Ah, sorry, reapers and all that." He says as looks away. I turn him back to face me."I think for the time being we have no worries about reapers. After all they would have come when I bumped into my latest regeneration if they were going to come." I tell him softly. His eyes go huge."They're here?! I have to go. I have to leave now!" He says trying to pull away from me. I growl slightly and tighten my grip."Why would you have to run from me?" I hear my other self ask from behind me. Jack's eyes shot out into the darkness, trying to find where the other person is. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Goodbye10th Doctors Pov"Why would you have to run from me Jack?" I ask as I move forward so he can see me; I know how much he hates not knowing where someone is. He tries to continue to pull away but my other self isn't letting go. I hear him trying to calm Jack as he slowly brings them both to the floor. I walk slowly towards them, not touching, but not backed off either. He growls before turning his head."You wouldn't understand! Please just let me go." Jack chokes out the last word, but doesn't try to pull away from my other self."What, what wouldn't I understand?" He asks Jack as he presses an kiss on Jack's forehead."You Left! You just left! You didn't think about how it would affect me at all! Did you even care at all! Was it all a lie?! Was it all some sick game to you?!" Jack cries out pulling away completely from my other self, but not running away, not this time. I go to answer but surprisingly my other half answers first."I may not have been with you yet, but I swear when I say I love someone, then I love them, and I know I love you. Just by the way I want to stop all the pain you're in, by the way you fit so easily in my arms, by the way I want to hide you away in the TARDIS, and never let the world see you again, because you're mine. Jack, you will always be mine. I love you Jack." He says without breathing once. Jack had stopped shaking but still hadn't moved back to us. HE shook his head as if dispelling a thought."No, you don't love me, you wouldn't have left me if you had! I trusted you. You and Rose were the first people I trusted in so long. You were the first person I actually LOVED, but it wasn't enough, you still left! You still left." Jack said the last part as if he lost all his will to live. I moved forward and knelt next to him."Jack I didn't leave you. I loved you, I still love you. I know I left you on Satellite Five, and I'm sorry, if I had even the slightest inkling that you were alive I wouldn't have moved, but I was changing and I couldn't stay. I wanted to get Rose to safety, and I thought you had left me, for good." I say as I reached out my hand hoping to hold his but he flinched away. I froze before letting my head, hand, and heart drop. Was he going to hate me forever?"If you really are my doctor then how could you not have known I was alive? If you love me so much, then how could you forget me for months." Jack asked, he didn't even yell this time, almost as if he had given up on me. That though made my hearts freeze."Jack, please, I made a mistake, I was scared to admit you were dead, so I didn't let myself feel. I didn't want to find nothing at the end of our connection. By the time I had come to grips with the thought of you never being with me again, it was already far too late to return to the exact same moment I left, and even if I could that wouldn't have been fair to you or what you were supposed to have gone through. I couldn't hurt you in that way to, I couldn't lie to you Jack, I never could, you know that." I said quickly and moved a bit closer to him and my other self, wanting nothing more then to hold onto them. Jack shook his head."Jack please, I'm so sorry I hurt you." I pleaded to him, I needed him to forgive me, I needed him to love me again.Jack's PovI don't want to run anymore, but I still know he left me and I can't forget that. "I'm still him Jack, and he's still me no matter how different we look." My doctor tells me. "I'll not leave you, not now and not later. If you ever need me just call and I'll come running." I turn my head to look away. No matter what my doctor says he still left me. I feel a hand turn me to look at him, my doctor, before pulling my face to his and kissing me."Jack, I love you and I didn't leave you, or at least not intently, and I won't be leaving you again anytime soon, I swear it." He said before I felt another pair of lips descend on my own. I froze for a second knowing that it wasn't my doctors lips this time, they were softer. They were John's. Yet I still got lost in it like I did my doctors."I am your doctor Jack, if I weren't then I'd not have the connection with you." He says to me before my doctor let his lips fall on Johns, on the doctors lips….The doctor, no JOHN, gasped into the kiss, shocked, allowing the doctor to taste himself. "Even if you say that you are not the same person, I can SEE the differences, and not only physically. You don't care for the TARDIS the way you used to, just this morning you were tinkering away as always, but the way you handled her so roughly and uncaring. My doctor would never have done such a thing." I say trying to hold onto my anger, which the doctor seems to be dissolving with every trace of his fingers. The doctor -no JOHN, JOHN damn it!- looked at me."You're right, I was a bit wound up, but that was because I was lost in thoughts of us Jack, not because I didn't care for her." He said before being pulled into another kiss by my doctor. He kissed back without hesitance this time. They both turned their heads to include me in the kiss."Let us help you Jack." My doctor said as he pushed me to lean back into the chest of the other.I felt an nip near my ear and gasped. My resolve broke and I pressed back into the doctor's chest and pulled the other into my lap and kissed him quickly. He pulled back and ran his hands down my face and to the front of my chest to the rim of my pants before slipping one had behind me into the other doctor's pants making him gasp and jerk his hips against my bottom causing me to swear. I groaned when the doctor pushed his hips up against me again this time lingering a bit longer. I nearly whimpered when he started to nibble on my ear lobe, and did when he grabbed my hips and grounded them down onto his own.Then I felt an tongue lick at my nipple. Since when had I been topless? I sighed and kissed with them both again before I started to nibble on the doctor's neck making him groan, but that was nothing compared to the surprised scream he gave a minute later when I started to grind down on him and rub him through pants. My doctor pulls me form the lap of my new doctor and starts to crawl onto his other self's half and kissing him senseless as he unbuttons my new doctor's pants and pulls them down caressing every inch of exposed skin making my new doctor moan like mad into the kiss. Before any of us knew it, we were all naked. I paused and slowed them both down until they stopped kissing and were pouting at me. I smirked."As much as I'm enjoying this, I want to take one of you, now! So choose who's being where and get the fuck over here, literally." I said and beckoned them both to me. My new doctor grinned and crawled over behind me."As much as I love you taking me, I think I'd like to watch and see what you've seen all this time." He said as he nipped at my shoulder gently and beckoned my doctor to us. He crawled over and was about to sit in my lap allowing me to take him like that, but I would have none of that, I angled my knees so that they spread him as far as possible. My doctor groaned as I stretched him as far as I could with my knees alone, before I even began to rub my finger over his opening making him cry out in want. He tried to push down onto my finger but I wouldn't allow it, I loved seeing how far I could drive him before he broke and begged for me to fuck him. My new doctor wasn't one to be left out so he slid his hand down and pushed in two fingers at once making me jump and put more pressure at my doctor's opening making him whimper in need."Gods above Jack, just fuck me already!" My doctor begged me. I smirked happy at still having the touch. Until I whimpered with my own need, feeling my new doctor rub over my prostate. I slipped three of my fingers into my doctor, stretching him as fast as I could without actually hurting him. I was ready and so was my new doctor. I shifted my knees inward allowing my doctor to slid into my lap. I lifted us both up and slid myself onto my new doctor's member. I heard him groan as he bit down on my shoulder, marking me as his. I waited a moment before helping my doctor slide onto my own rock hard member.We started a slow and steady pace making sure we all felt everything. I could feel every bit of my new doctor pounding into me making me jerk up into my doctor's own tight passage. My doctor was the first to cum, myself followed through when he squeezed his cheeks together. My new doctor wasn't done however and started to jerk his hips faster in order to get himself to cum too. With every jerk into me I was rammed back into my doctor, making him cum a second time that night before we were finished.After I got us all cleaned up with a towel from my ship, I handed everyone their rightful clothes. I was about to turn and just walk away without saying anything when my doctor grabbed me and pulled me into an short but sweet kiss."Jack I love you, always remember that alright." My doctor tells me, I smile and nod my head. I wanted to say I love you too, but I wasn't sure how my new doctor would like that. I didn't have to wait long for an answer. He walked over to his other self and kissed him, before walking to me and doing the same."I had better see you in the TARDIS when you're done talking." He said before walking away.I bit my lip worried I had upset him; I didn't get long to ponder that thought, because my doctor nipped at my bottom lip asking for one last kiss before he had to go. I whimpered slightly and he paused."You know I can't stay with you, well not this you anyway, but I'll always love you Jack, please don't ever forget that, alright." I sigh and nod my head."Goodbye." I say happy that I at least got to say it this time. My doctor turns and looks at me before shaking his head no."This isn't goodbye Jack, it's hello." Then he turned and left the hanger. I walked over to my ship and set the coordinates to go back to where I took it from, three days earlier. I jumped down from my old girl, took one last look at the hanger and walked into my future with my doctor.
1150104	Luminosity	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by what_alchemy", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-24T00:00:00", "words": "2,466", "Additional Tags": "Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, 中文翻译 \| Translation in Chinese", "Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	John arrives in the doorway of 221B late on a Tuesday night in autumn with a baby strapped to his chest and a suitcase in each fist. He sets the luggage down with a thud, points at Sherlock and says, “Keep your deductions to yourself, Sherlock.”Sherlock does, and John stays. — Sometimes, it is too late to be called early and too early to be called late, and all of London outside the flat is silent and still. Sometimes, Sherlock is on the couch having a good think when the baby monitor John keeps in the living room crackles to life and Sherlock can hear her, Mina Watson, give a fussy, plaintive cry. And then, not moments later, there is John’s sleep-rough voice, and all the nonsense he uses to soothe her.“You’re my sweetness,” he’ll say. “Hush now, my good girl. I know. I know.”What he knows, Sherlock cannot fathom. The society of babies eludes him. Mina is seven months old and John has never asked if Sherlock wishes to hold her. He is not sure whether he is glad for it or resentful. — For someone who has yet to attain the vertical, Mina Watson is quick on all fours, and before Christmas Sherlock has the occasion to sweep her into his arms and away from the stairs before John can reach her.“Jesus, Mina,” John says, at Sherlock’s shoulder not a moment later and fitting his palm around the downy back of her skull. Her efficiency with crawling seems to be balanced by the lag she exhibits in growing hair. Sherlock thinks this is very sensible of her: if her energies must be compartmentalised and prioritised, being mobile is of more importance than questions of vanity. John is leaning over Sherlock’s arm, his lips in the pale fuzz of Mina’s head, murmuring more nonsense into a tiny seashell ear. He makes no move to take her from the security of Sherlock’s arms, and Sherlock is suddenly warm with the weight of her — one stone — and the smell of her — like sweet, fresh milk — and John solid and familiar against him. Sherlock feels like there is a light expanding inside himself.Mina waves her fists in his face and flashes her two tiny teeth at him. Her eyes are the exact shade of the Caspian Sea in the wintertime. She looks like her father when she smiles. — John is in the shower and Sherlock is showing Mina his childhood moth collection when she says, “Ma.”“Yes, moth, very good,” Sherlock says. “You’ll master dental fricatives soon enough, don’t worry.”“Ma,” she says, and pushes her hand into his mouth. — John stops siphoning the majority of his paycheques into the day care at his surgery when Sherlock swears up and down that he is capable of making sure Mina is fed and clean and intellectually stimulated and not on fire or bleeding. He promises, also, that he will leave Mina with Mrs. Hudson if he has to go out on a case. John makes a show of reluctance, of not wishing to impose, but when Sherlock says, “She loves my experiments John; she has far more sense than you,” he relents.John comes home unexpectedly one day early into the arrangement, while Sherlock has Mina in his lap before the microscope to show her some mould from Brighton. Sherlock turns to smile at John, but John, standing in the kitchen doorway, is not smiling back. He is simply staring, and Sherlock is maddened to find that stare opaque, unreadable.“What is it?” Sherlock says. “What’s happened?”“Nothing,” John says faintly. He blinks and clears his throat. “It’s nothing. I’ve caught the bug going ’round and I’ve been sent home, is all.”Sherlock swallows and runs his hands over the flaxen silk of Mina’s hair. At eleven months, she still doesn’t have much to boast in that department. Her head fits perfectly into Sherlock’s palm, as if some accident of biology designed her that way. John clears his throat again, and it has the quality of a bark at the end. Mina squeals at him, but doesn’t reach out for his attention. She gums at the eyepiece of the microscope, and Sherlock eases her gently away.“I can look after her whilst you convalesce,” Sherlock says. “We have a lot of work to do, so it’s no bother.”Finally, John smiles. He looks tired, and his eyes are bright as if already in the throes of a fever.“Thank you, Sherlock.” He looks as if he might say something else, but he snaps his mouth closed instead. A few steps and he’s there, running his fingers through Mina’s sad offering of hair instead of kissing her senseless like he usually would. When he turns to leave, Sherlock feels the ghosts of those fingers hover just shy of his own ear before they, and John, disappear up the stairs. — In the springtime, Mrs. Hudson’s ancient furnace malfunctions and renders the flat a lung-oppressing hotbox, open windows and stand-up fans only a mockery to their discomfort. Sherlock has a cold case file spread across the table as Mina dozes mostly nude in the roving crib contraption — a hand-me-down from Lestrade, much cooed over by John and Mrs. Hudson.The file has holes in it several hundred miles wide and Sherlock would snarl and yell if Mina weren’t here. But she is, and she is covered in baby powder to keep her cool, and she was fussy from the heat before he finally — finally! — got her to sleep, so Sherlock settles for grinding his teeth and yanking at the sash of his dressing gown. He, like Mina, is also mostly naked — underneath the cotton of his gown, he has on only a thin pair of underpants, and he is still sweating like a day labourer. He ruffles his hair, and that’s when John comes bounding up the stairs, peeling off his jacket and his flannel shirt. Sherlock puts a finger to his lips and jerks his chin in the direction of the roving crib, and John makes a little “ah” sound before sealing his lips shut. Sherlock pushes his fringe from his eyes and turns his attention back to the cold case when he feels his dressing gown slip from his shoulder. And then, as if the very air of the room shifts with it, Sherlock knows John is frowning.“What is this?” John whispers from behind the couch. Fingertips like electric shocks trail sparking over the skin of Sherlock’s shoulders.“Triple homicide, 1987, obvious police corruption,” Sherlock says. “No — these, these marks, Sherlock. They look like…” Sherlock can hear John swallow. He forces himself not to tense up. “They’re nothing,” he says, and he tugs his errant dressing gown back into place. John’s sigh comes out shaky, a negligible warmth against the back of Sherlock’s neck. “God, I wish—”“Don’t.”“Sherlock.”“I don’t think about it, John. I’m not — I am in London. I am with you. I watch over the baby. I pickpocket Lestrade.”There is silence, the kind that weighs as much as a broken furnace, the kind that persists despite the whir of electric fans and the thunder of blood in one’s ears.“Okay,” John says at last, and Sherlock’s breath leaves him all at once. “Okay.”John’s hand closes gently on the back of Sherlock’s neck, and they stay like that for a long time, pretending to read the cold case file. — Mummy and Daddy fuss over Mina at Easter. They gift her with all manner of old toys — a lovely wooden rocking horse, piles upon piles of musty books, big blocky puzzles she can’t possibly choke on. A worn abacus that was Mummy’s, and then Mycroft’s, and then Sherrinford’s, and then Sherlock’s.John asks them solemnly if they would be her honorary grandparents, and Mummy cries of all things.“Yes, of course,” she says, and buries her wet face in Mina’s belly. Mycroft rolls his eyes from his place in the corner nursing a whiskey, but John glares at him until he retreats into the garden. Daddy pats her on the shoulder and gives Sherlock a soppy look he resolutely ignores. All he sees is John in his childhood home, John giving his mother the grandchild she had given up getting, John looking at Sherlock with clear, warm eyes. — Mina gets a fever when she’s seventeen months old. John is at work, and Sherlock calls, of course he calls, but only once he’s got her to the A & E, only once she’s got IV fluids running through her and there’s a triage nurse telling him he’s not Mina’s guardian, he’s not Mina’s family, he’s not got the right to see her.He only calls John from another jail cell, and he waits patiently there because John has to see Mina before he springs Sherlock for assault, and that’s only fair. It is later, much later, when Mina is back home ensconced in John’s arms and Mycroft’s made the new charges disappear, that John brings up how spectacular a failure Sherlock was in his first test as Mina’s minder. Sherlock is in his chair, and John is in the one opposite him, and John is rocking side to side as Mina sleeps. Sherlock sways minutely, as if in sympathy.“We have to do something about this,” John says. Sherlock grits his teeth. “I’ll keep my head next time,” he says. “I’ll call you before I do anything. I’m sorry I fucked it all up.”John rubs a hand over his face. It has more lines, and his hair is greyer, but Sherlock finds him a more compelling sight with each passing day.“Sherlock, no,” he says, quiet. “You didn’t. You did nothing wrong, do you hear me? You did the right thing, which was to get her to hospital. She was your priority, and I’m glad, all right? I’m — thank you, Sherlock. It was good, what you did. Thank you.”Sherlock swallows. He has nothing to say. He flexes his knuckles, and it hurts a bit because they’re swollen and bruised, but the pain feels clean, feels justified.John shifts Mina in his arms without disturbing her. He gazes down into her face — her rosebud mouth hangs open in sleep, and her lashes are a sweet golden fan against her cheek. Without looking up at him, John says, “I mean we have to do something legal about this. You did the right thing, and maybe we don’t like it but A & E did too. I can’t always be there. I wish I could, but. There it is. You have to be able to make medical decisions on her behalf. You have to be able to have access to her. You have to — be recognised. As her other parent. Legally.”Sherlock watches John’s Adam’s apple bob up in his throat. John keeps his eyes on Mina as if any deviation will result in a world-ending implosion. There is something tight and fluttery in the vicinity of Sherlock’s lungs. His palms ache to touch, so he tangles them up together in his lap.“Oh,” he says, and it just slips out of his mouth without his volition. “I. Oh.”John finally tilts his head back up and meets his eyes. John is afraid. Sherlock wishes he weren’t. Sherlock wishes he knew how to make him fearless.“How do we do that?” he says, and John sucks in a breath.“Adoption would be best,” he says. “But there are other options if that’s too—”“Yes, good,” Sherlock says. “We’ll do that one.”“Right,” John says, eyes big. He sits back, his muscles slack as if finally drained of all the tension of the day. “Right.”Sherlock pulls out his phone and brings up his text thread with Mycroft. I need a favour. In return I will do five cases in the space of one calendar year. — S I’ve had the papers ready for months. — M And Mary? — S Voluntarily signed her rights away along with the divorce papers. Don’t fret so, Sherlock. — M I do not fret. — S I know. — M When he looks up, John is smiling at him with a soft fondness in his eyes.“What?” he says.John shakes his head. “Just wondering how I got to be so lucky,” he says. He leans down to press his lips against the crown of Mina’s head, eyes never leaving Sherlock. — Mina Watson legally becomes a Holmes through paperwork and bureaucracy. John insists her name be changed, “so she feels she has a tangible connection to you, Sherlock,” and Holmes becomes her second middle name. Mina Elspeth Holmes Watson.“Bit of a mouthful,” Sherlock says, new identification documents like treasure in his hands. John snorts.“Don’t think you have room to throw stones.”“It’s all Mummy’s fault. You don’t have to emulate her.”“I like your mother, you know.”“As if I could forget.” Mummy has taken to knitting, but she has no talent for it. She’s made John a blue jumper that is too short in the torso and too long in the sleeves and rather uneven all over. John wears it at every opportunity, and it offends Sherlock’s eyes. “Why Sherlock then?” John asks, over-casual. “Why not William, or Billy, or some such?”“Surely you realise you’re asking the wrong person,” Sherlock says.“Well, your mother’s not here and you are,” John says. “Humour me.”Sherlock lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “She always said extraordinary people should not have ordinary names. But they should have the option of blending in if they had to.”“And you never blended in anywhere in your life,” John says, admiring. Sherlock meets his eyes.“Why Mina then?”John tips his head to the side, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.“You haven’t figured it out?”“What’s there to figure out? People name their children all manner of things, willy nilly, as if no meaningful thoughts entered their heads about it. I’ve met people named Orange Wax and Gable Flynn Bogart Jones. I assume, John, that you did not pick ‘Mina’ out of a hat.”“Mina,” John says, holding Sherlock’s gaze, “from the German Wilhelmina, feminine variant of Wilhelm, or William, meaning helmet, which seemed appropriate. I wanted her to be strong. I wanted her to be fearless. I wanted her to be like you, Sherlock.”Sherlock suddenly feels parched. “It can also mean love. I read.”John licks his lips. “That too,” he says after a moment. He stands up straighter. “Always that, Sherlock. Never doubt that.”Sherlock’s breath shudders out. John steps up close, fingertips light on the bones of his wrist. He tips his face up, and Sherlock leans down, and their lips meet.It feels like light, expanding inside him. End
1166879	Safe and Sound	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Fernando Alonso, Mark Webber, Christian Horner", "Fandom": "Formula 1 RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by tigragrece", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-03T00:00:00", "words": "423", "Additional Tags": "Emotional Hurt/Comfort", "Relationship": "Fernando Alonso/Mark Webber", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Pov FernandoAfter the GP of Singapore, i have decided to be with Mark after his history of his penality by the FIA. Mark was really angry. When we were convoke i was with Mark and i saw Christian tell at Mark "It's not your fault" it's was the bloody fault of the reglement.After all of this i said to Mark "Come with me at my hotel room"He said to me "Okay"When i look at him all my regards was compassion and support.I had to done some things with my team, so Mark was at the hotel before me when i arrive at the hotel i send a sms to Mark to tell him "Come Join Me at my room", he arrived very soon, when i close the door i hug him and tell him "You have done nothing bad, it's the fault of nobody, your penality is stupid""I know, but i'm very angry because all the problems arrive at my car and not at the car of Sebastian. I had hoped that it's was my last races that all the problems leave me and that i could be a lot of times on the podium see even win a race, but now i don't have many hope"I hug Mark and i kissed him and i have tell him " There are still some races, remains confident, i think that you could make Podium as in Italia where us could be together, for win i know it's very hard, but know that i could fight to the end against Sebastian. And if we can make 1 & 2 it's could be amazing""Fernando""I am here, you are safe in my arms"We have spent the night together, entwine together where the next day Mark have said to me " I want that no matter what happen this year and next year even with the fact that in your team you have Kimi, you have to fight for be world champion and to not left a lot of win to Sebastian""I will make the maximum, i will tell you everything, you will be proud of me""I'm really proud of you when i'm with you and i want to show you too when i will be with Porsche that i could win""Yes" we kissed after this little discussion.Mark was leaving and all that i could think was about the next race and i really wanted that Mark have chance and be on the podium with meEND
1170662	Golden jade	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Sollux Captor, Kanaya Maryam", "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Wolpentiger", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-05T00:00:00", "words": "723", "Additional Tags": "mentioned eridan ampora/feferi peixes", "Relationship": "Sollux Captor/Kanaya Maryam", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	One evening, sollux was sittin in the beach, cursing under his breath until kanaya bumped into him“oh, im terribly sorry sollux!” she said while helping him up“ith ok, it wath my fault, I thouldn’t be thtanding in the path anywath” he said while frowning a bitAs she noticed she asked “are you ok sollux?”“yeah im fine, and I wouldn’t like to bother you with my problemth” he said after getting upKanaya smiled sincerely “oh it wouldn’t be a bother, I’d be more than happy to help remedy whatever ails you!”Sollux thought about her offer for a minute “if you thay tho, but could we go thomewhere more private to dithcuth it?“sure!” answered kanaya cheerfully “we can go to my hive!” “yeah, I gueth that’d be fine” he answered while smiling a bitKanaya then led him to her hive, where they entered and sat together in a couch“so, can I know what’s bothering you now?” asked kanaya while moving closer to sollux“ith eridan” he said before sighing “the motherfucker stole my fluthed cruth!” he said before poutingKanaya thought about what he said for a second “wait, are feferi and eridan together?”“yeth, and my other fluthed cruth altho hath a matethprit!” said sollux while crossing his armsKanaya slid a bit closer to him “well, maybe someone else could have a flushed crush on you, who knows?”“hmm” sollux thought about all of his friends “well, if any of them doeth they hide it really well”“well, actually…” when kanaya was sure she had sollux’s attention she continued “i-I’m flushed for you…”“you are fluthed for...me?” sollux’s eyes widened a bit in surprise “well, I did have a cruth for you thometime ago, but I alwayth thought you and karkat…”“oh, we’re just moirails, but you had a crush on me?” she asked while blushing a bit“yeah, how could I not, I mean, you’re beautiful, and really nice, and really thmart!” he said while hugging herNow they were both blushing, kanaya’s face had taken a deep jade color, while sollux’s took a faint golden glow to it“so, would you like to, umm, go on a date?” she said while shyly smiling“yeah, id love to! What do you have in mind?” asked sollux while smiling back“well, I was wondering if you’d be ok with a walk on the beach maybe” she said“that’d be great!” said sollux before getting up and helping kanaya upThey then went back to the beach, it was a short trip, and they kept affectionately hugging each other until they arrived, there they broke the hug up, just to keep holding hands and walking aroundAfter a while they got tired and sat next to a large boulder they found“wow! The sky is so beautiful tonight!” exclaimed kanaya while looking up to the twin moons and the multitude of stars around themSollux giggled a bit “hey, do you thee that conthtellation over there?” he said pointing into the horizon“the one that looks like a large “U” shape?” asked kanaya curiously“yep” answered sollux with a smile “thath Gemini, and ith my conthtellation, according to my wriggling day!”“fun fact” he added “ith brightetht thtarth are “Pollux” and “Cathtor” they really thound like my name, don’t they?”Kanaya giggled a bit “they do! And what’d be my constellation?” she asked eagerly“that’d be…” sollux’s arm glided infront of them “that one!” he said pointing to their left“thath virgo, and thince I cant remember ith brightetht thtarth, I can tell you it reptethenth purity, fertility, and beauty” “thuith you if you athk me!” he added with a smile“oh, you’re so nice solly!” said kanaya while hugging him“ith getting late” said sollux while getting up “we thould be leaving now” he added while helping kanaya up“yeah, this was delightful, could we do it again tomorrow sollux?” asked kanaya after she got up“sure” answered sollux with a grin on his face “but just in case…” as kanaya wondered what he meant sollux grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her “jutht tho you don’t forget me!”Kanaya blushed once more and hugged him “oh, I won’t!”And then they left to their respective hives, eagerly expecting their next date.
1140090	Needle in the Dark	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by neoinean", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2006-10-15T00:00:00", "words": "15,075", "Additional Tags": "Third Age, Post-Hobbit/Pre-Lord of the Rings, All OC Cast, Non-Canonical Character Death, Action/Adventure, Age of Sail, Pirates, Villain Protagonist, Black and Gray Morality, Everyone is the hero of their own tale, Implied Sexual Content, Dubcon: Prostitution, Era/Setting-Specific Misogyny", "Relationship": null, "Character": "Corsairs of Umbar", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by John Masefield, "Sea Fever" Spring, TA 2980 The first semi-articulate thought to materialize in Kyranae’s all-too-heavy head was the realization that he was, in fact, awake. The second thought was a string of unintelligible curses aimed in the vague direction of the first thought, and the third thought - well. Seeing as cursing the curses for not achieving their desired ends - that being the full and total banishment of his undesired wakefulness - sounded a bit ridiculous even for him, Kyranae focused instead on completely not thinking at all, especially since the very act of thinking set his head to pounding in an ungainly, offbeat rhythm that made his stomach roil about like a malevolent sea. Which meant, of course, that his fourth thought was whether or not thinking about not thinking actually, technically, counted as a thought, a right bothersome little intellectual quagmire that did absolutely nothing for his head. Or at least nothing appreciative. Being fair, those exceedingly unhelpful thoughts weren’t exactly the sole contributors to his headache. Though the lamps had guttered low in their sconces they were still bright enough to stab vicious daggers through his eyes and into his brain, and nothing quite beat low tide in the port of Umbar for an unbreakable siege of the nose. On top of that, his mouth felt like he’d been sucking on a wad of raw cotton soaked in bilge water, and the pounding in his head may or may not have had anything to do with the dull reverberations that echoed strangely in his ears just often enough to catch his attention during lulls in the night's ambient noise. Ah, hangovers. In a way, they actually made landfall really almost bearable.Well. More accurate to say it was the copious amounts of rum that sloshed through his veins a'foretime and so birthed the hangovers that made such an undesired state almost bearable, for only then did ordinarily solid, steady land tilt and sway beneath his feet in its best approximation of the sea, and the land-loving idiots at port his captaincy demanded he deal with at least on occasion were far less likely to incite him to homicide - or worse, to mutiny against their incumbent Lord. Without rum no real stretch on land could be endured in any semblance of safety, his and the land-lovers both. Of course Kyranae would much rather be avoiding land than enduring it, any day of the year and then twice on High Days, but as inconvenient as it was, land - or at least harbor-type land - was still the most necessary of all life’s evils, and avoiding said need remained an impossibility he had yet to conquer, so instead he aimed to pull into port as unobtrusively as possible, trade swag for provisions as swiftly as possible, and sail out again on the following tide before word had time to spread that he was even there at all. Until such time as when even the very sight of land could be avoided indefinitely he needed a way to make peace with reality, and rum was his salvation of choice. The hangovers were simply the price he paid to retain his sanity during the important bits.(Of course, the fact that his idea of making peace with reality was synonymous with actively fleeing from it did not seem to occur to him. And well it shouldn’t, for that way was sure to end in madness - and not the helpful kind, either.)Once his boots met with the horribly immutable bedrock of a port-town - meaning the part of the town beyond the actual, physical port, which at least had courtesy enough to keep rhythm with the tides - the fancier negotiations of unloading and restocking were left up to his quartermaster (it was here the man earned his keep, so said his Articles) so that Kyranae could be free to seek out that salvation as soon as possible, because matters of personnel - his own and other people’s - invariably came next, and - well. He rather liked to think he’d outgrown the compulsion to kill people just because they annoyed him, so really it was best that he find said salvation smartish-like, preferably in very large quantities and double preferably in rum. The fat merchant vessels he plundered supplied enough wine to bathe in and enough ale to bathe his ship in, but rum only came out of the deep south - mostly from the coastal islands way down off Far Harad - and couldn’t be had north of Umbar. Kyranae had reasoned long ago that if one such as him had to suffer all the horrors of land then at least they should suffer for something the sea itself did not provide, and to his mind rum was perhaps the worthiest amenity that land could offer.Well. Perhaps the second worthiest, he amended, when his warm and buxom pillow sighed and shifted beneath him - still asleep; bless. Akanke had kept her bed for him for more years than either of them liked to acknowledge, but there was a subtle form of comfort to be had in such familiarity. Not quite friends, but friendly lovers certainly, with well-charted currents of convenient truths and carefully fathomed lies. He knew she reveled in the fact he had every last inch of her body mapped and memorized; and more, he knew that she knew how much he appreciated having a woman who would always welcome him with open arms (and legs) and yet expected nothing in return beyond the night’s pleasure and the appropriate coins left on the table come morning. A girl in every port, true (-ish) enough, but Akanke was by far his favorite.When she shifted beneath him again - come to think of it, he really was putting rather a bit more weight on her chest than could reasonably be considered comfortable, even in sleep - Kyranae allowed himself to roll off her (never let it be said that he wasn’t at least a courteous lover) but in doing so he momentarily forgot himself and so let his head and shoulders flop down onto his pillow with a heavy, bouncing thud that caused the militant lamplight to fracture into a thousand brittle shards that seemed to stab at his whole face like the needle-rain of a Haradian typhoon, and he silently yet vehemently cursed land and all things related to land as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to block the light and maybe, hopefully, keep his brains from dribbling out. Alas, the pressure from his hands only increased the pounding in his ears and he dropped his arms in weary resignation. Just his luck that he hadn’t had enough rum to render him dead to the world until it was time to stumble back to his ship. Just his luck that he’d had too much rum to entertain any thoughts of another go-round with Akanke just yet. Just his luck that the pounding grew steadily louder in his port-side ear as he cursed it.It was that last, stray thought that fairly catapulted him up to sitting, and then only a blind flail for the headboard that kept him at least mostly upright. And it was a struggle, but he was able to cudgel his senses into behaving as they ought, and yes: the pounding really was louder to port, and that fact was even less comforting than the fleeting idea that the rum had somehow drained unevenly enough through his head that his brains had been left with a noticeable list - because not even the most vicious of hangovers could hammer at his skull from outside it! And with that thought, Kyranae hauled himself smartly off the bed to stumble on uncertain land-legs towards the window. There he threw back the curtain, and stuck his head out into the malodorous sea breeze that drifted up from the dockyard.Then, for the first time in his considerable piratical career, all curses failed him.That pounding he heard was the sound of stone hitting stone, the sound of the two great watchtowers at the harbor mouth being pounded by heavy artillery. In the dark he could barely make out the towers, but a cloud of scintillating quarry dust drifted over the harbor mouth like an unnatural fog as those towers retaliated, their ballistae answering crude stone with flame shot. Then, as though the God of the Winds reached out and parted his own curtain, the first ships emerged from the cloud.And then they just kept coming.The ketches were first. Eighteen of them, all flying the colors of Dol Amroth below the white-on-black ensign of the Royal Navy - and that was the bulk of Prince Adrahil’s merchant fleet! They'd obviously been outfitted specially for raiding: Kyranae could just make out the dim figures of archers perched on the crosstrees, and no doubt the holds he so loved to plunder were now full up with armed and armored men - and no mere merchant marines, either. He'd bet his bonnie brig those holds were full of soldiers in full plate. And they were sailing pristinely towards him - towards the dockyard! Just as his mind recovered enough of itself to taunt him with the mental math of just how many soldiers those converted merchanters could carry--Their escorts arrived. Dromons glided in behind ketches, long and low and so very lethal, just barely keeping pace pace with the smaller sail-crafts as they flew before the wind. There were seven of those lethal sluggards, their castle decks brimming with Gondor’s finest and their bows heavily armored. Kyranae watched the armada approach with a sort of sickly awe, but as as one by one those dromons slowed and began to alter course, he realized - in a dizzying rush of ice-cold terror - that if the dromons had been sent to deal with Umbar’s ships in harbor (ships like his own, good Great Mariner’s hoard!) then Old Addy’s ketches must be bound for the docks, and with numbers like those--That was no mere raiding party, oh no. It was an invasion fleet. By all the Gods, Gondor was sailing to war! "Wha’s it now?"Akanke’s sleep-heavy voice at his shoulder startled him utterly. He spun away from the window, half reaching for the sword he wasn’t even wearing, and nearly tripped over his own two leaden feet when he found that she was standing right behind him, clad only in the ratty bed sheet."Kyranae?"He shot her a thunderous glare - half genuine anger (sleep-addled was no excuse; Akanka damned well knew better than to startle him like that) and half his own wounded pride - before he wrenched his body back again and redirected his attention to the parade of death marching through their harbor. A sharp spike of fear lanced through him at the thought of his own ship resting out there, a succulent lamb for those rabid northern wolves to tear asunder.Akanke shouldered him somewhat out of the way so that she too could see out the narrow window. "Kyranae?" Her tone was hesitant. "What--""Get dressed," he interrupted tersely. The parts and parcels of plans were already aligning themselves in his fertile mind, but time was decidedly not on their side. "Get the girls together an' run for the armory.""But--""Do it, woman!" he snapped, a captain not used to his orders being questioned. Then he abandoned the window and stalked hastily past her to the stretch of floor where most of their clothes had landed.Akanke followed him. "What about you?" she asked as Kyranae hopped back into his breeches. "I’ve gotta get back t' my ship." He grabbed for his shirt. "Well take me with you!" Akanke demanded. She was shrewd enough realize the sudden danger they found themselves in, if only because Kyranae had been too stunned to hide his own fear in those precious, wasted seconds it took for his wits to catch up to his instincts."Ship’s no place for a woman," he dismissed as he shrugged into his vest. Then he slung his baldric over his shoulder and made sure his cutlass was secure at his hip."Don’t you leave me here!” Still half-naked, she flew towards him, her fists grabbing for whatever parts of his person that she could hold to. Kyranae was faster though; he intercepted her, caught her neatly by the wrists and diverted her hands before they could latch on. His grip tightened when she tried to wrench away again, and he pulled her back to face him. “Bastard!” she spat at him, still struggling in his hold. Ah, such beautiful fire, his Akanke, and never quite so lovely as when she was furious with him. "You’ll be safer in the armory," he told her, and since it was the Gods’ honest truth it even sounded sincere enough she might actually believe him. "Round up the girls - an' the lads for that matter - an' head for the keep.” "Kyranae--""This city’s about t' become a battlefield," he explained, interrupting again as he stooped to lace his boots. His fingers flew with alarming dexterity for a man still several sheets to the wind. "Old hook-nose’ll have the militia mobilized - willing or not - and unless I miss my guess those navy rats'll want t' set fire t' the yards." "No!" Akanke exclaimed, horrified and with good reason. The shipyards, like the vast majority of the dockside buildings, were made of planking and timber from old ships, and simple thatching for their roofs. For the countless years that Gondor offered no real threat to Umbar fire remained their biggest enemy. The city proper - the overbuilt hull of the ancient stronghold - was slightly safer for its stone construction; but Old-Town was not the heart of the city, nor where most of her citizenry lived."Now do as I say, Akanke, for once in yer miserable life, an' get everyone out of here!” And if Kyranae’s voice had slipped, just a little bit at the end, and the lash of his anger fell short? Well, great and terrible pirate captain he might be, and with enough notches on his sword hilt (if he’d ever bothered with such things) to rival the ones on Akanke’s bedposts, but for all his crimes he only ever killed women what were actively and expertly engaged in trying to end his own life, and he'd never, not even in his blackest moods, thought it just and good - or even, heavens forfend, sporting - to murder children. There were four little ones in this cathouse alone, bastard whoresons and daughters, all. “Please,” Kyranae added - unintentionally, really; it just sort of slipped out - when he remembered them. "And what of you?" Akanke asked; capitulation this time, finally. He saw it in her eyes."They’ll be expectin' us t' stand an' fight," he reasoned, a grace note of laughter underpinning the bitterness in his voice. What choice did they have, with so many soldiers landing here? Very soon you wouldn’t be able to swing your arms without hitting a son of Gondor. "But if I hurry I just might be able t' slip through, push the Eglandur out past the breakwater.” If those bastard dromons hadn’t sunk her yet, but that thought did not bear thinking on. Their ships still outnumbered Gondor’s more than 2 to1 out there - and that was doubtless half the reason for the ketches, anyway: if you couldn’t beat ‘em on the sea then you took the fight to land - but still it gave him decent odds his Eglandur was safe, yet. But she wouldn’t be for long, so her captain had to hurry. When Kyranae turned to do just that Akanke grabbed him by the arm. "Wait - you’re running?! And I thought the great Captain Kyranae never ran from a fight." If she’d tried for mocking she was still too angry to carry it properly. Instead she’d sounded accusatory - and who knows? Maybe she’d aimed there all along. Maybe he even deserved it. "They’re sacking us, Akanke," he told her, though not unkindly. "Fleet like that? They’re after more'n just our ships this time. They mean t' kill anyone what can rebuild them - along with whoever’s standing in their way, no matter how small or femininely persuaded.” But as serious as the moment was, he couldn’t help the undignified snort that preceded his next thought. “An' I’ll wager that damned fool Imaran’ll throw every able body in their way that he can reach, never mind that a press-gang of merchants an' stevedores is hardly a match for a legion of Gondor’s finest!”Akanke flinched at that, as well she ought. No doubt their Leisurely Lord would think he was vexing Gondor’s efforts, when in fact all he was doing was wasting lives. That was just the damned fool way Imaran thought.“They’ll set fires in the docks an the ' yards - they always do, no reason t' think this time it’ll be any different - an' those fires’ll corral everyone what hasn’t fled up to Old-Town and trap ‘em down by the water, where the fighting’ll be heaviest. Now I’ve got me a ship and crew t’ see to. Please, Akanke, get gone with ye - an’ spread the word! An’ herd as many as ye can!"Thankfully it looked as though the woman finally saw sense. “The keep,” she said, nodding. “But Kyranae - what if they follow us?”“Barricade the doors,” he said. “An’ see if ye can’t remember yer prayers." And with that, Kyranae finally, finally took his leave. "Be careful!" Akanke called after him, a veritable first for her. It was unexpected enough that it stopped him cold, just outside her door, though he didn’t turn around."Always am, luv," he said, the truest lie he’d ever told.Then he was gone, down the hall and down the stairs, post haste. This battle would not wait kindly for him and his to be ready for it.Kyranae needed to round up as many of his men as he could find, and quickly. A bonny little brig was his Dark Lady, but her captain needed to pile as many men on her sweeps as possible if he expected her to outrun the dromons. In truth his ship would need to carry both full crew and full canvas in order to give them a fighting chance, but his first mate had the watch tonight and though the man could be bit too fond of the drink he was both a paranoid pirate and a canny sailor. He would have retained at least a third of the crew to guard the holds and so with any luck Kyranae would return to his Lady to find half her sails already sheeted home.Yet a third of his men still left him two score hands short, and therefore short four score hands of hands to man the sweeps. Fortunately Kyranae was a captain who made it a point to get to know his crew. He ran down to the end of the ground floor hallway and burst through the far door without knocking. The reverberating slam of the door hitting the wall was punctuated by an ear-splitting shriek."Malach! Up, you dog!" Kyranae grabbed his coxswain’s breeches off the back of a nearby chair and tossed them onto the bed, hitting the man square in the face when he poked his head out from under the covers. "Assemble yer bilgerats an' get back t’ the ship.""Captain--""Now, man! Before the thrice-damned Royal Navy sends her t' the briny deep!" Either his words or his vehemence caused another dark, disheveled head to peek out from between the sheets. "Beggin’ your pardon, Narisa," he added with a sudden, unrepentant grin around an appreciative leer at the nubile chest that followed that head as the girl sat up to gape at him. But then just as suddenly he sobered. "Get her to Akanke," he told Malach. "An’ then get me my oarsmen!" With that, Kyranae turned and stormed from the room with the same ferocity in which he entered. Now he marched back down the hallway, kicking doors in as he went. "Abandon ship!" he shouted in a voice well used to shouting orders, knowing it would carry to the rafters here just as well as it carried to his own topgallants. "Gondor’s sailing under red flags tonight! Get out while ye can!" He left of a flurry of panicked activity trailing in his wake.Malach caught up with him by the back door, shirtless and staggering to fasten his sword belt, but at least he’d managed to hobble into his boots. "There be dromons in the bay, sir! Four by my count.""Seven," Kyranae corrected darkly. "And eighteen of Old Addy’s merchant ketches--""Eighteen--""--all chock a' block with Gondor’s finest."They exited into alley behind the brothel, and when they rounded the corner into the street they found that the distant dissonance of clashing steel had brought chaos up from the dockyards. People were dashing to and fro, scurrying in various states of dress and sobriety from building to building in alarm - or in raising the alarm - that the ketches had made landfall. Kyranae’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. At this hour there wouldn’t be much resistance at the docks or even in the shipyards. The fight would soon drift inland."It seems His Not-Quite-Royal Almost-Highness has finally grown a pair," Malach muttered under his breath."Aye," Kyranae answered, grimacing. "And their names are Thalion and Falkáno."Hating a ship for the colors she flew made about as much sense to Kyranae as hating a slave for the master what chained him, but ever since that damned honey-tongued Captain of Ships talked the Steward into building those square-rigged monstrosities pirating in the Southern Seas had fallen to leeward. Gondor’s shipping lanes were now policed by two hulking hounds, large enough to scare off all but the most daring of pirates and armed enough to effectively deal with the rest. Incidentally, they were also the only ships capable of mounting heavy artillery with enough shot to feasibly stand a chance at knocking the great watchtowers down - and perhaps, he thought suddenly, that had been their actual purpose all along, and their maiden voyage of pirate hunting had been for the benefit of their own crew, such that they might properly learn their measure before sailing into battle.Well, no matter. They were the ships that Kyranae would have to get passed when he made his bid for freedom, and that was all he cared about. "I need men on my oars, Malach." Malach nodded. "Aye, captain. I think I know where I can find ‘em.""Make haste - an’ mind that ye steer clear of Imaran’s pack of bullies.""I’d die afore I join any fool militia!" Malach swore indignantly."I’d rather ye did neither. Now get out of here!""Aye, sir!" The coxswain took off, loping in his portly gait further down along the narrow lane, no doubt headed for some other house of ill-reputable, be it full of ale or whores. Kyranae did not heed his departure. The sounds of battle were much louder now and more people had flooded the street. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight were making for Old-Town and good for them, but there were a few brave souls yet who were running for the shipyards, and Kyranae read bloodlust and ancient grudge in their intent as they passed by. The sons of Umbar had a long memory; they would not concede victory to Gondor without a fight. And death mattered little to the sons of the Harad-lands as long as there was northmen blood to be spilt in the bargain.Kyranae’s eyes were cold as he drew his cutlass from its humble sheath. Age had darkened the steel but care had seen that the blade retained its lethal edge. Together they had delivered many men into the scythe of the reaper and before the night was out their tale would grow again. Yet unlike much of his cohort he was not preparing to rush headlong into battle simply for the sake of dragging however many of Gondor’s sons down with him before the end. No, rather his aim tonight was the saving of lives - namely his own, and those of his crew, and the Dark Lady Eglandur who owned his soul."I’m coming," he vowed, his voice low and fierce, a promise he fully intended to honor in blood. Then he ran towards the docks, towards the battle that sat between him and the rest of his life.As he approached, he swiftly learned that ‘chaos’ was an understatement, and he slowed to a heavy-footed halt as he reached the threshold where the narrow lane ended and the docks began. There were two great shipyards here, squatting at either side of the sprawling port, each sporting warehouses and dry-docks and their very own piers. And they were both under attack, having attracted four ketches each. Kyranae knew this because only (only!) ten of those merchanters-turned-transports had pulled up to the docks between, hemming all the launches in. By now those ketches had unloaded, and the swath of sand between the cobbled streets and the wooden docks was overrun with soldiers considerably more armed and armored than the marines he was used to dealing with. These soldiers came with full plate, heavy broadswords, and shields in the heraldry of the White Tree, and Kyranae - with just his simple cutlass by his side and clad only in cotton wool without the chain vest that he wore raiding - felt considerably underdressed for the party.And his similarly adorned pirate brethren were being cut down with alarming ease as they tried in vain to defend themselves, their ships, their haven…"Captain!"Kyranae turned sharply at the panicked shout and saw Saeros, the youngest member of his crew, running full-sail towards him, accompanied by Lorgan, the Dark Easterling who was his boatswain’s mate and chief topman. Lorgan was a fey, violent sort: deadly on a raid, but his absolute loyalty was guaranteed by a life debt; he would follow his captain to Mordor and back without question or complaint. In short, he was exactly the kind of man that Kyranae needed, now.They'd all found it strange when Lorgan took young Saeros under his wing - the lad had been barely old enough to shave when he’d joined the Eglandur’s crew, not entirely of his own volition. He’d been cabin boy on a merchant ship that sailed out of Belfalas, a ship that Kyranae had shamelessly plundered. He’d found Saeros lying half dead in the hold, not too young apparently to have received a grown man’s flogging for - stars, but Kyranae hardly remembered what he’d said the offense was, just that it had been something extremely stupid - and he’d simply ordered the lad carried back to the Eglandur as part of the swag. Ordered Lorgan, as it turned out, since ‘half dead’ was not in any way an exaggeration, and when he’d seen the lad up close he found sixteen causes to regret the swift, clean death he’d handed Saeros’ former captain.By luck alone did Saeros survive the infection that had taken his wounds, and over time the welts healed over, and a steady regimen of full-plus-half rations had seen the lad slowly returned to decent health. When he was strong enough he signed onto Kyranae’s Articles without even being asked (which was lucky; he’d have hated to have to press the lad into indenture, if only for long enough to repay the food he’d eaten and the canvas they’d scrapped for his bandages; not after he’d spent so long painstakingly earning Saeros’ trust) and then - and to everyone’s surprise - Lorgan had decreed that he would see to the lad’s education. Saeros was now one of Kyranae’s most able-bodied topmen, and though he refused to join in a raid and kill his former countrymen, he made up in good seamanship what he lacked in even halfway decent piracy. But a loyal sailor was nothing to take umbrage with so Kyranae did not begrudge him his sentimentality, misplaced though it might be. And yet Saeros was still, as Kyranae had occasion to recall, frightfully young, as evidenced by how his voice cracked slightly when he’d called for his captain."Have ye seen anyone else?" Kyranae demanded when his crewmen reached him."We come from Elsinore’s," Lorgan answered while Saeros shook his head. "She run for the old stones now. We the only ones who come."Elsinore was a rotund woman of Eastern descent who kept a small house not far from the docks, and she was either Lorgan’s sister or his fourth wife, depending on which language was used when asking him. Kyranae nodded, though his grimace belied the fact that he was not entirely happy to hear that - if Lorgan had dragged Saeros into some tavern or brothel instead of towards a home-cooked meal he might have learned the whereabouts of more of his men."We must make for the Eglandur," he told them, the mantle of command lending a bit of false calm to his voice. Captains did not panic; they hadn't the luxury."How, captain?" Saeros asked, wide-eyed, even as Lorgan gaped at how crowded their harbor had become. "They’ve scuppered all the boats!" A quick glance revealed the truth of his crewman’s words - indeed, all the launches had been stove in by Gondor’s soldiers - and it made Kyranae’s blood run cold. He’d not been joking when he’d said Gondor was sailing under the red flag, but to come face to face with the truth of it, with the fact that their enemies wanted to pen them in their haven like rats on a sinking ship, sent a towering wall of white-hot rage crashing over him like a rogue wave. To meet his death in battle was one thing, but to be forced to meet that death on land, herded into it like sheep to the slaughter? Frost would fall on the mountain of flame before he’d let some landlocked peon monarch keep him from his ship!"Then we’ll take theirs!" And he took off at a dead run down towards the docks, leaving his crewmen scrambling behind him, struggling to catch him up.Kyranae had no intentions of stopping in his mad dash for freedom long enough to cross swords with anyone, but unfortunately it could not be avoided. As he struggled to find the path of least resistance across the field of battle the fighting closed in around him. The first soldier to fall to his blade that day he killed almost by accident, the man having stumbled directly into his path after dispatching some poor pirate. Literally stumbled - he’d lost his footing in the sand and lurched sideways, just in time for Kyranae to crash headlong into his back. And Kyranae, much surer on his feet, recovered faster than his impromptu obstacle, and wrapped his free arm around the man’s shoulders to hold him in place while he deftly brought his sword up to slit his enemy’s throat. A panicked cry fell into a squelchy gurgle as the soldier fell forward, and Kyranae nimbly leapt over his corpse before it’d even settled on the ground. Sorry, mate. His (not exactly) pristine white shirt now speckled crimson, Kyranae continued to dart and dance his way through the fighting. When he finally reached the docks he had to jump onto a pylon to avoid the death throes of some poor soul - a fisherman, by the look of him, who’d brought a harpoon to a sword fight and lost - but he barely acknowledged the soldier who cut the man down. Now standing head and shoulders above the battle he spared a moment to scan the crowd, and a thin smile struck across his lips at the sight of Imaran’s militiamen streaming down the narrow streets towards the quay.Despite being an incompetent sailor and worse a captain, Imaran was still a ruthless pirate who lacked all the right scruples to secure himself the position of Lord of the city. He fancied himself the Prince of Umbar - Kyranae fancied he was a few cards short of a deck - but his loyal (well-paid) brute squad had been ‘recruiting’ men into his militia for months now, probably on the whispers of this very attack, now Kyranae thought of it. His retainers had increased as the number of ships in their yards increased, but one had best be paranoid after making deals with devils. They’d all heard the rumors: that Imaran had been holding clandestine meetings with emissaries of the Black Tower, building ships for some nefarious purpose beyond pirating in Gondor’s waters, but by throwing their lot in with Gondor’s enemy they had courted the wrath of the White Tower in turn, and in doing so the damned fool had brought this doom upon them all. Kyranae hoped with all his heart that the bastard met a particularly cruel and painful end - he certainly hadn’t sworn any allegiances to the Black Tower, but Gondor didn’t discriminate, and how many of his brethren now must pay the price for one man’s folly?Though their methods differed greatly, both the Black Tower and the White fought over the same prize: the right to rule him, and Kyranae swore long ago that he would kneel before nothing and no one and so he pledged his life to the sea. Let the landlocked nations fight over their piles of dust and stone, for none of them could hold one ounce of dominion over the wind and waves. He belonged, body and spirit, to the Eglandur, and she belonged to no one but the sea. Doubtless that harsh and fickle mistress would claim them both one day, but until that day there was no one else in all the world who lived more freely. Not these poor sons of Gondor, whose lives and earnings were deemed the property of their liege lords and subject to their whims; and certainly not the lords themselves, mere custodians of all that wealth and power, and made to bow before a man whose head was too big to hold a crown.So Imaran chose to trade his own freedom for an empty promise of survival? Well bollocks to that! Kyranae would live his own way or he would not live at all.And if he didn’t get out of here soon it just might come to that."Corsairs!" he cried from his perch atop the pylon. "Are ye soldiers or are ye sailors?! Follow me - now - an' leave the landlocked to their fate!" Born from years of practice at shouting orders to the topgallants in a gale, Kyranae’s voice carried easily across the pandemonium of the dockyards and, as though he were the conductor of a brutal symphony, the course of the entire battle shifted at his words. Though he hadn’t seen them yet there were more of his crew in the melee than just Saeros and Lorgan. It was Îbal, his boatswain and second mate, who was the first to shout: "to the Eglandur!"Kyranae allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he saw a good number of his cohort abandon the defense of the port - even some of Imaran’s militia - and make for his position. Many of those now flocking to him had never once sailed under his Articles and perhaps knew him only by reputation - or maybe not even at all. And he knew how he must look to them, as he stood there at the pier well above the fighting: that it was as though the whole bloody affair was somehow beneath him, for indeed - to him - it really, truly was. Kyranae cared not for war or land or the men who coveted it with such terrible greed, but rather for the sea and his ship and the freedom they brought him - and brought to the men he paid in equal shares, down to the last bilgerat manning his oars. And those who knew him knew well that he would fight to the bitter ends for every last man jack of them, and those who didn’t know were simply pulled along in the undertow, lured in by that same lust for freedom, content to sail along in his wake. It was a very small moment of satisfaction, however, because he’d made himself a target with that little speech of his, and in that instant a dozen swords seemed to fly at him from all directions, forcing him to sacrifice his position atop the pylon. Suddenly faced with more opponents than should be allowed by the rules of engagement (not that he actually followed said rules, of course, but Gondor?) Kyranae did what what he did best.He ran.Well, more to a point, he slashed wildly with his blade to parry one blow, dropped to his knees to duck under another, and stabbed the tip of his sword with all his might through the hardened leather covering the nearest toe. Then he wrenched the sword free as he shot to his feet while the unfortunate soldier’s knees buckled with an agonized cry. As they passed, Kyranae caught the man squarely by the edges of his hauberk and deftly pivoted all that armor so that it stood between him and the next blow. The attacking soldier tried to abort his swing but it still glanced off Kyranae’s human shield, and with a swift boot to the backside the poor abused soldier fell into the flailing arms of his comrades. Then he ran.Straight for the nearest ketch."Kyranae! You traitorous bastard!" Imaran’s voice boomed from somewhere unseen, and Kyranae grinned. Not his fault the idiot couldn’t keep a handle on his men.As he scrambled up the gangplank he turned, more daring than wise, and scanned the sea of flesh and steel for the doomed so-called Prince of Umbar. He caught sight of Imaran standing behind the battle at the end of one of the narrow dockside streets, waving that ridiculous broadsword of his and, to Kyranae’s mind, practically frothing at the mouth in indignation and rage. Still grinning, Kyranae waved his own sword in a lazy return salute and, as the coup de grace, brought up his free hand to blow the fool a kiss goodbye. The answering shouts were unintelligible as he turned and scrambled up the gangplank and over the rail.Unfortunately - if not unexpectedly - his target’s crew had left a skeleton watch behind: sailors and a small contingent of marines to guard them. And to a man they were all momentarily stunned to see one of their enemies so brazenly march into the proverbial wolf den."Any man what’s not looking t' die can run below," he told them, appearing every bit the feared and fabled pirate captain that haunted their cultural nightmares. "Give up yer longboats an’ spare yer lives."The poor sailors took what quarter they were given and fled below decks. Yet no matter how intimidating, one man was still just one man. The marines knew they had the advantage. They waited for the civilians to clear the deck - still somewhat civilized, then; Kyranae was (almost) ashamed of his surprise - but then on some unspoken cue they charged. Kyranae brought his sword up, fully expecting to be forced to fight for his life once again - but before the pack reached him the lead marine was suddenly thrown back into his comrades, who faltered at the sight of bravest of them suddenly cut down, a dagger lodged to the hilt in his left eye.Though his back was to rescuer Kyranae smiled openly in relief and gratitude. "Took you long enough," he admonished, absolutely no heat behind the words, as he felt more than saw Lorgan slide up beside him, his dark frame towering over his captain as he held a bloodied scimitar in one hand and another throwing dagger in the other."You want trophies?" Lorgan asked in as serious a voice as he could manage over the wolfish grin he fixed upon the regrouping marines."No time," Kyranae informed his boatswain’s mate, just as seriously. It was well known in Gondorian folklore that the ‘wicked Southrons’ had more fun with an enemy after he was dead. Lorgan, an Easterling, found even Gondor’s exaggerations of such practices quite repugnant, but the men of Gondor wouldn’t know that. If indeed they could even tell the difference between the peoples of Khand and the Harad-lands in the first place; ignorant slaves of their Steward, the lot of them.The ploy worked: the marines hesitated, and it cost them. In the meantime, more of his corsairs vaulted over the rail from the gangplank and came to stand with their captain, Saeros and Îbal among them."I say again, any man what doesn’t want t’ go the way of that poor mother’s son had better get his ruddy hide off this deck." Kyranae’s voice was measured as he made a show of inclining his head towards to the dead marine, of letting the marines know that he was nearing the frayed ends of his patience.The marines were not soldiers in Gondor’s army; they were the original contingent that sailed with the ketch when it was still a merchant vessel. To be expected to defend the ship and crew from pirates on the open water was one thing, but to be asked to do so here, on land and in the middle of a brushfire war? Duty rooted their feet to the decking but their courage was ebbing as surely as the tide."The captain is good to his word," Saeros spoke up suddenly, completely startling the marines with his Belfalan accent. "Stand aside and you’ll nae be harmed."Kyranae held his breath: for a moment it looked like the marines might actually surrender their ship!A very small moment, because suddenly someone started shouting and then world tilted violently and the deck rose surprisingly fast to meet him.It all happened so quickly. One of the sailors hadn’t fled below decks after all but instead had flown up the ratlines and, unnoticed, managed to saw through the halyards on the main mast with his knife. Freed of its moorings, the main gaff gave way and plummeted to the deck below, pulling the mainsail down with it. With very little warning given both the corsairs and the marines were left scrambling to get out of its way. It was Lorgan who'd shoved Kyranae out of the path of the gaff, but he was still buried by the mainsail.When he finally scrambled out from beneath the mammoth swatch of canvas, the side of his face was bloody from where his head collided with the deck - or was that the gaff itself on its way down? As his vision gradually swam back into focus he was greeted with the sight of eight more dead marines littering the deck, but three dead pirates joined them, one of whom was Lorgan, who still lay where the gaff had pinned him to the deck. Kyranae watched as Saeros somehow found the strength in his adolescent arms to shove the massive spar of Lorgan’s chest, but he lacked the strength in his adolescent resolve to control the shameful wetness that stained his cheeks as he cried Lorgan’s name and slapped his face, though nothing would ever wake the Easterling again."Îbal!" Kyranae’s voice was brittle as he called for his boatswain, and when the man stumbled forward, cut and limping on his right leg, he very nearly recoiled. Probably at the ghastly sight Kyranae presented just now."Captain?" "Bring down the mast." Îbal nodded, both in acknowledgement and approval. "Aye."Seventeen pirates had followed Kyranae from the dockyard and so fourteen remained, and all were thirsty for revenge and gladly offered their hands to the boatswain. Though Kyranae understood their desire he pulled some of them away from the mast and told them to ready the longboats. They were better served by haste, both to escape the soldiers that would soon fully notice that something was disastrously amiss with one of their own ships, and then to reach the Eglandur before one of the Dromons did. Never before had Kyranae been so glad that the Port of Umbar had been full up while his own ship was still in residence.Yet Kyranae was not about to let a coward get away with murdering three of his men, and he kept his gaze fixed to where the main topsail now flapped in the breeze, occasionally obscuring the man who clung to the mast like a tide-pool starfish. If hate alone could have ended the wretched sailor’s life he would already be dead.The boatswain made short work of the task, spurred on by the death of his mate and with plentiful helpers all keen for vengeance. Stays and shrouds were cut away and wood was splintered asunder by hatchets and purloined swords, and so the mainmast toppled over, topsail trailing as it went and mainsail - still attached at its foot to the boom - tumbling clumsily after. The sailor’s panicked screams cut out with a great splashing crash as the mast hit the water, and the weight of the topsail shoved the top of the mast underwater while the heavier mainsail escorted it to its watery grave. Thus satisfied, the men seeing to the longboats wasted no time in lowering them to the water, and they called out their readiness before the ripples had time to fade away."Time to go!" Kyranae shouted. "Smartly lads - into the boats!" He spared a moment to ensure that his men were following his orders before he allowed himself the chance to collect his cutlass, now revealed where it had landed after the sail had fallen away. It was still bloody when he sheathed it, though he paid the mess no mind as his gaze lingered on Saeros, still kneeling at Lorgan’s side. The lad had abandoned his efforts to awaken his friend and was instead holding onto one cooling hand while struggling through his best attempt at an Eastern prayer. The sight belayed Kyranae’s anger at the lad’s disregard for his orders, and the stern words he had prepared died in his throat and fell instead into a sigh. Rather than hoisting Saeros bodily to his feet Kyranae allowed a tired hand to land heavily upon his shoulder.Saeros nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden weight, and he shifted like he might stand, but then just as suddenly he stilled when he heard his captain’s voice maneuver flawlessly through the benediction that had confounded his own tongue. "Right then," Kyranae said next after a moment’s respectful pause, startling the lad enough again that perhaps he didn’t hear the weight of years that so strained his captain's voice, just then. "Lorgan’d want ye t' live long enough t’ drink in his memory."Saeros nodded dutifully and accepted a hand up. He followed Kyranae to the rail where the men had haphazardly strung lengths of rope for repelling down the ketch’s hull to the longboats, but a sudden rumbling, low and loud, interrupted them before they could climb over the edge. Kyranae’s eyes widened: it was the concussion of many booted feet on the gangplank!"Move!" he shouted, then leapt up onto the railing with an uncanny grace for a man whose normal gate was a drunken swagger. There he wasted no time, executing a perfect swan dive even before Saeros could climb up after him. The last sound to reach his ears before they broke though the surface of the water was an angry voice shouting: "halt in the name of the Steward!"He surfaced quickly, and swam with all his strength towards the nearest longboat. His men, not surprised in the least by their captain’s sudden and dramatic entrance, reached out and pulled him in."Where’s Saeros?" Kyranae gasped as he fought to catch his breath, and if the slight shivers from the chill of the water and the mild night air made his voice sound harsh in his men’s ears than at least it did not sound worried.His answer came in an indistinct shout from above as the youngest of his crew suddenly vaulted over the ketch’s rail, legs treading air and arms pinwheeling madly. Kyranae might have grinned, but then his teeth were chattering."Get him in a boat!" he shouted instead, and did his best to ignore the young man’s struggling dog-paddle. Some sailors preferred not knowing how to swim because it made a death at sea mercifully quick instead of long and lingering. Kyranae scoffed at the idea - the skill having saved his life more than once - and ordered his crew to learn. If they wanted a quick death, well that’s what steel was for. Apparently Saeros could do with another lesson.Soon enough the two longboats were underway, many hands on their oars giving them considerable speed. Even still, they could not row fast enough for Kyranae, who sat point in his longboat and swept his gaze across the harbor in desperate search for his beloved ship, striving seemingly in vain to pierce the evening gloom and the smoke from distant fires to determine if the Eglandur was one of the many that were already burning. Mercifully though they found his Dark Lady still untouched by the dromons, with men on her yards desperately trying to bend on additional sails. Kyranae gave a sigh of relief and let his eyes slip closed, a prayer of thanks winging its way towards the God of the Winds for this good fortune."Ahoy the Eglandur!" Kyranae shouted once they were within earshot. The men on the yards spotted the longboats easily and many pointed and shouted, though their words were lost on the wind. A moment later and the first mate appeared at the rail, his lips parted in a rare, genuine smile."Good to see you, captain!" the man called down to him as the longboats drew even to the Eglandur's hull."Aye! It’s good to be seen!""I should have known better than to discount you.""For shame, Hathol! I’d never abandon my lady in her hour of need."As ropes were lowered and the additional crew hauled aboard the first mate shook his head, and Kyranae knew why. Hathol had long since held that his captain had some rare power over fate, some strange gift of the Gods that allowed him to chart the course of his own destiny on the same map where he charted the course of the Eglandur, or that he could bend the world to suit his will with the same easy skill in which he bent his ship through the windward passage around the shoals of Tolfalas. All rubbish, of course. Though to be fair, Hathol always was a bit touched in the head, even before Oroun’s death saw to his promotion.Right now the Eglandur needed him, and for Kyranae it was as simple as that. Not even an entire legion of Gondor’s infantry could prevent him from coming to her aid. "Welcome aboard," Hathol said with genuine pleasure as his captain found his footing on the main deck at last. Kyranae had waited until the rest of his impromptu crew had found their way aboard before accepting a rope and being hauled in himself.Kyranae merely nodded as he took a moment to bask in the improbable joy of finally being reunited with his ship. Even now his hand still rested possessively on her rail. "Thanks for looking after her awhile," he said at length, though by then his eyes had drifted from the decking up to the topgallant yards where his men were adjusting the sheets."Was my pleasure," Hathol answered, even as his smile began to falter, a puzzled expression surfacing in its place as he studied the longboats that were drifting away from the Eglandur’s hull. "Whose runners are those?""Borrowed ‘em from Gondor," Kyranae replied around a fallen cherubim smile, both innocence and mischief balanced on an even keel. "They weren’t using ‘em anyway."The first mate simply shook his head, his long-suffering sigh undermined by his laughter, yet any retort that Kyranae could have made was cut off by a shout from above."Dromon ho!" And those simple words sent a spike of fear straight through Kyranae’s heart. "She’s bearin' down on our starboard beam!"Everyone raced across the deck to the starboard rail. Sure enough one of Gondor’s dromons was marching towards them at ramming speed. She was listing heavily to port and the armor on her bow sat splintered and askew - she’d obviously survived one assault on a pirate vessel and now aimed to score her second. Another crest of rage swamped Kyranae’s fear as he realized that the dromon would be completely scuppered by the collision, because that meant her captain’s aim wasn’t to sink the Eglandur but to capture her instead."All men to arms!" he shouted "Cut the anchor free! Helm - who the devil has my helm? - come hard t' port! Rack the starboard oars an' haul heavy on the larboard!""Captain, we’ve no men below!" The first mate’s voice was a more controlled shade of panic than that which suddenly seized his captain’s heart at the news. "I’ve sent them all aloft!""Well get ‘em down here! If we let those whores’ son dogs punch a hole in our broadside we’ll ne’er have need of sails again!""Aye, captain!" The first mate turned to shout the order up the trees but his captain was already gone: racing up the gangway to the quarterdeck and thence towards his cabin, all but crashing through the door. He shucked his baldric without unbuckling it and tossed it on his bed even as his mad flight carried him to the far wall and it’s rack of storage trunks. A moment’s frantic search procured his leather vest and the chainmail shirt he had so recently lamented being without. He put the vest on over his shirt, then pulled the chainmail over the vest, and his raiding belt followed suit after another frantic dig through the trunk. He made sure his lockpicks and brace of throwing knives were all secure, transferred his sword from baldric to belt, and then lastly he pulled his hair into a tight queue at the back of his neck and bound it with a strip of red cloth.Finally appropriately dressed for battle, Kyranae made sure that his sword sat loosely in its sheath and grabbed his punching dagger from his chest of weapons. He secured the anchor cord around his wrist and slipped his hand into the narrow basket hilt that protected his fingers as they curled into a fist around the leather strap that prevented him from impaling his palm on his own fingernails. The four-inch blade that was now an extension of his fist gleamed wickedly in the diffused moonlight that shone through his cabin window. This was his trademark. ‘Dread-Hand’ they called him, compatriots and enemies alike, and he didn’t at all mind the fearsome reputation that preceded him because of it. Every opponent who laid down his sword at the sight of the punching dagger might yet live to tell the tale, and so would weave the tapestry of his legend just that much tighter. Of course the tradeoff was that his bloody first mate, yet another of Gondor’s ex-patriots, had taken to calling him ‘Kyranae Erchamion.’ Well, he hadn’t minded at first; only after he learned what it meant.Kyranae had felt his Dark Lady start her pirouette while he was dressing, and she was about half done with it by the time he made it back to the main deck - where he saw her yards were empty of his topmen, which explained why she was practically flying through her turn. Every available hand had fled below to man the oars and only the helmsman (Îbal, as it turned out) and first mate remained on deck with him. In that moment Kyranae was reminded that his coxswain never made back to the ship, and he wondered who'd taken the job in Malach's stead. They weren't half bad at it, he reasoned, though it did little to blunt the sting of knowing that Malach was trapped in the port somewhere and - like as not - already dead. So too of all of his crew what hadn't already found their way home. Kyranae could do naught but pray they'd find some way to survive the night, but he didn't hold much hope.When the Eglandur finished heaving over to port her crew pounded back up from her oar decks with arms in hand, such as they were. They presented less of a target now to the approaching Dromon: instead of her broadside, the warship’s teeth would bite into the Eglandur's starboard quarter. The new angle favored them, or at least made it less likely they'd take irreparable damage to their starboard beam.Not that the dromon's captain hadn't been counting on them doing exactly that, of course, for why else would he be so willing to scupper his own ship? How else would he expect his war-prize to survive the trip to Pelargir? Kyranae knew that, knew that the rat bastard captain opposite him was gambling that he would move to save his ship if given half a chance. Oh, he could have left her as she sat, let Gondor's actions scupper them both in a suicidal bid to ensure that, if they could not win, well then neither would they lose - but then, no. He really couldn't. That royal whore's son had Kyranae pegged - and damn him for it.Kyranae’s eyes were hard as he studied the dromon bearing down on them. He wondered just how badly she had been damaged in her last assault (and against which ship, but that was more a trivial concern). He wondered how many of her men had died in the ensuing battle and how many were left for his own shorthanded crew to face. He wondered how many more would die when that great ship went under, drowning her oarsmen and whomever was left aboard. He wondered how many he would be forced to kill when his beautiful ship’s decks became a battleground and, worse, how many of his own crew would follow them."What’s in your head, Erchamion?"Kyranae glanced aside and saw that his first mate had come to stand beside him, though he hadn’t noticed the man’s approach. "How many men have we?" he asked gravely."Including us?"Kyranae nodded.The first mate nearly winced when he answered. "Forty-one."Forty-one. Just shy of two-thirds of his crew. They could have sailed for freedom with such numbers, but they presented poor odds in a fight against a dromon, even one already wounded. There could easily be a hundred marines on that ship. Oh, with a full crew and time enough to grant the Eglandur her wings they could have outrun their enemy, but with her jibs and spanker down and her topgallants still at least two sheets to the wind on every mast they stood no chance. Standing yet with courses and topsails proudly set she stood a as maiden surprised in her dressing gown and Kyranae’s blood boiled at Gondor’s impudence."She’s like to hit us high, 'twix wind an’ water," Kyranae said, his gaze fixed squarely on the dromon; on the battle that drew closer with each passing breath. "See how she lists? She’ll impale us like a stick-fisherman an’ hold us ‘til her men gain the advantage. Then those bastards’ll back the Eglandur off her carcass an’ return to Gondor in a very pretty prize." Kyranae’s voice was strained, caught fast between the poles of pure burning rage and ice-cold fear, and his hands clenched as though the Eglandur truly was a maiden whom he longed to gather into his protective embrace. Or at the very least, to crack his fist across the jaws of those who sought to sully her."The men won’t give her up without a fight," Hathol promised him.kyranae nodded. "Aye. But fighting will not be enough."That bald statement made Hathol frown at him. "Just what're you plotting?"Kyranae grinned. His first mate knew him very well. "Take some men an’ get down t' the holds before they’re stove in an’ rig up as many kegs of Umbardacil’s fire as ye can carry. We’re gonna take the fight t’ the dromon - let her decks host the battle, this time. With luck we can keep her men from gainin’ any ground on the Eglandur before yer through.”Hathol just blinked at him. “You’re insane,” he said, baldly.Which wasn’t untrue, Kyranae reflected, but that hardly mattered for the plan. If it worked, the kegs would explode and rip a gaping hole in the dromon’s hull, sinking her much faster than she would have otherwise and hopefully killing a great many of her men before they had the chance to make it across to the Eglandur. Unorthodox and down right dangerous, sure, but insane? Only if it didn’t work. And Kyranae knew that it would.“Just get those kegs over t’ the dromon an' rig ‘em t' blow - a quick fuse’d be best, just mind ye don’t get caught in the blast." He flashed his first mate a grin, but there was little warmth in it. Hathol shook his head, muttered something likely highly uncomplimentary about his captain’s parentage, but ultimately he answered: “aye.” "Set to it," Kyranae ordered. "An’ tell Îbal t' gather the men."The first mate nodded and set to his task, disappearing down the companionway and below decks, and Kyranae knew that his plan would come to spectacular fruition. A moment later and the crew filed in, curious and perhaps a bit impatient to see why their captain had pulled them from their tasks. Kyranae’s waited until they were all within earshot, but by then the dromon was almost upon them; his explanations would have to be succinct."Fall in, lads!" he yelled to them, and the men congealed into a throng around the mainmast. "I want swords ready," he ordered, "as we’re t’ be boarding them as soon’s may be. Their ship an’ ours are gonna fuse together some after the impact, an’ I want us t’ be the first t’ cross that devil’s gangway so’s we can guard against them doin’ the same to us - clear? Now, they might have archers on deck - unlikely - but mind ye duck if an’ when ye hear a whistling in yer ears!" That earned a chorus of uneasy laughter - which it was rather meant to, and Kyranae allowed himself a tolerant smile before he continued. "Right now yer first mate is rigging up a surprise for our uninvited guests, and soon’s it’s ready we’ve got t’ get our backsides back t’ the Eglandur. Gods willing I’ll shout the order myself but just t’ be certain, make sure ye scurry back to our ship as soon’s the word’s given no matter who gives it. Mark my words: any man what’s left behind's gonna very sorely regret it!" Nods and mutterings and a chorus of ‘ayes’ and Kyranae knew his men understood. Satisfied, he spared a moment to scrutinize his crew. Most of them he knew, though there were a few - those who followed him from port, apparently - whose names he did not know. Time willing, he should like to learn them. But business always before - well. The more amicable side of business, really."Now, some fools would tell ye not t’ be afraid," he said, as the dromon continued to bear down upon them like some specter from their nightmares. "Well bollocks t' them! I want ye all afraid - for ye t' take what fear aught tries t’ choke ye an’ gnash it hard between yer teeth an’ swallow all its bitter juices! Let it feed ye, lads. Let it hammer all yer hearts an’ make yer sword arms swift an’ strong. There ain’t nothing what makes a man achieve the impossible like the threat of certain death, an’ death certainly don’t threaten any more insistently than She does tonight. So Lady Death thinks her wiles have us all ensnared? Well I say she’s been a right bitch an’ its time we put her in her place!"His speechifying had the desired effect, and the men cheered and waved their swords in exaltation. Kyranae stepped back and let their excitement wash over him, hoping that it could warm the cold places in his heart and untie some of the knots in the pit of his stomach. Yet one of those knots had a specific name, and he sought the young man out."Saeros!" he barked and, startled, the lad stepped forward. "I want ye with Îbal guarding the helm." While the second mate nodded, not as surprised to learn that he would remain as he was at the revelation that he would have company, Saeros merely gaped at him. The lad made as if to say something but then seemingly thought better of it, and his jaw flapped uselessly for the aborted effort. Kyranae half wondered if he'd actually been on the verge of protesting his captain's orders - and a shocking first it would've been, too, if he'd found the guts to follow through.In a way, Kyranae almost caught himself regretting that the lad hadn't done, not that it'd have mattered. If his guess was right and Lorgan’s death had caused him to momentarily forget his reluctance to kill his former countrymen, well it still didn't change the fact that a lack of practical application in his sword-work had left Saeros uniquely unprepared for the coming fight. Kyranae would have left him behind even if these dromons belonged to the Black Tower instead of the White. And besides, questioning orders was not a habit he was like to indulge, no matter that it was more than time for Saeros' misfiring conscience to finally come around."Aye, cap'n," Saeros said, his accent thicker than usual. Îbal put a hand on his arm, grinned at his captain over-bright, and then led the lad away. Frog-marched him, more like. His own surprise was likely just as great as his captain's - and, it seemed, more practically dealt with.All orders given, Kyranae turned back to face the dromon, and he wasn't at all surprised to see that their enemy was almost upon them. "Right, then," he said, his voice low and unheard over the raucous of his men still crying out their bloodlust, and the din hardly faltered when the looming shadow of that great warship was upon them at last.Then finally, and with the thunderous boom of crashing timber, the dromon slammed into their starboard quarter, and the Eglandur trembled and lurched as the planking of her hull groaned and buckled inward. Kyranae was knocked off his feet and stumbled into the capstan, but when he righted himself he drew his cutlass from its sheath and charged astern with the rest of his men.Just as he predicted, the dromon hit them high. What remained of her reinforced bow protrusions splintered the main deck and gouged a jagged line through three decks below that, ripping through their holds. Wounded, the Eglandur bled wine and cane sugar down through her bowels and into her bilges, but listing to larboard as she was the water merely lapped at her lower hull and didn’t enter. Kyranae and his men had to climb over their own splintered decking and the dromon’s fractured bow frame to reach their enemy, but because they were all assembled on deck, ready and waiting, they were easily able to board the dromon before a single enemy marine managed to find his way out from wherever it was they’d weathered the impact."Remember yer orders!" Kyranae shouted from the deck of the dromon, just ahead of the clash of swords.Gondor didn’t dress Her marines in the full plate worn by the infantry. It was too heavy for one thing: even the strongest of swimmers would swiftly drown in plate mail. It was also a mite restrictive, which made it quite unsuitable for the close combat found aboard ship where speed and agility were key. Rather Gondor’s marines were clad much as Kyranae himself was, with a chain shirt over a leather vest and carrying short swords and bucklers instead of broadswords and full shields. However, their chain fell long over their thighs and billowed into skirting, and many also wore an open helm. It made killing blows annoyingly difficult to land at times, especially since there was little for a marine to do aboard a ship in peacetime except to practice his swordplay. Kyranae had learned early and well never to underestimate a marine across drawn steel.That said, both the long sea-crossing and their prior fight had obviously cost them, victory though it had been. They were all of them tired, and many bore the marks of that last battle - and for his part, Kyranae's own sword-work had likely seen equal practice, if not more so, and most of that against Gondor's marine fleet. For every life his sword cut short, his punching dagger stole two more.It was hardly his trademark for nothing.Whether his men were charmed or just merely determined, they still somehow managed to hold their borrowed ground despite the disparity of odds. Not a single marine got past them to the Eglandur, even as the fighting fanned out and covered most of the uninjured part of the dromon’s deck. Out of the corner of his eye Kyranae saw Hathol and two others make a mad dash through the fighting, and with three of his best sword-arms clearing their path. When he saw them disappear below decks he knew it was time to order everyone back to the Eglandur, lest they all get taken in the blast."Fall back!" he shouted to his men. "Back to the Eglandur now or else never again!"As his men started their laborious retreat, Kyranae kept one eye on the hold - and felled one marine who'd foolishly mistaken him for a man distracted. Then he killed another, and another, and then again as he made his own way back to the threshold between their ships. He stopped just at the lip of the breach on the dromon's side, but still Hathol's surprise party had not reemerged, and until they did he had no way of knowing whether or not they were successful. Kyranae cursed loudly and long, if also silently, while he bent his sword to cover the last of his crew's retreat, but then he could wait no longer. He scrambled nimbly across the gnarled mess of splinters that bridged the gap to his ship, and all the while his heart felt full of ballast stones for the thought that his plan could have failed, because if so then the battle would rest solely on strength of arms and they were still outnumbered.Mercifully though it seemed the surprised marines hesitated before giving chase. All those of his boarding party who had survived - maybe three quarters of them, another mercy - were back aboard before the first marines even made it to the crossing, giving Kyranae precious seconds with which to order his crew to form ranks. "Keep them back, lads!" he barked, though really he needn’t have bothered. His men weren’t about to let an enemy board their ship unless it was over every last one of their dead bodies. They valiantly held the line while Kyranae fixed his gaze on the dromon, and on the hatch through which his first mate’s scupper party had disappeared, entirely too long ago.Just as the last vestiges of his hope trickled down into the bitter tangle of despair the air grew thick with the headdy stench of saltpeter. Kyranae barely had time to register that fact - and more importantly, what that fact signified - before a deafening roar shook the dromon to her keel and caused her to bite down on her hold of the Eglandur’s quarter. Men stumbled and fell - some of them overboard - as smoke and dark flame belched forth from amidships on the dromon’s starboard side. Hathol had done it! His crazy first mate had given them back their lives - had given Kyranae his freedom!The dromon groaned and reeled in her death throes, done in by the unholy fire that no waters could tame - though right now a great deal of water was most surely trying. The dromon’s teeth were still buried in their hull, but now passage between the two ships was all but impossible and hesitation had left Gondor’s marines trapped on their dromon. Though the Eglandur still strained against the dying ship’s hold her captain felt his failing hope ignite once more, fanned by the flames of Umbardacil’s fire."Stars…"Kyranae turned sharply to see Îbal standing beside him - when had he gotten there? - and the sudden interruption gave reality enough time to slither into the captain’s mind, and then it slid like poison down into the pit of his stomach as he acknowledged a truth he, up to that very moment, had been selfishly ignoring. Six good men had bought his freedom with their lives, his first mate among them. "Get the men t’ the oars," he ordered, his voice like chipped flint."But--""Now, man!" Kyranae grabbed a fistful of Îbal’s shirt in misplaced anger. "Before that carcass of a ship drags the Eglandur down with her!" He shoved his boatswain back with such force that the larger man stumbled. Wide-eyed, Îbal managed a stunned: "aye captain!" before departing to give the order.Even as the deck cleared and the men found their way below to the oars Kyranae stayed where he was. He braced himself against the rail when the Eglandur began to move, groaning and shuddering as the splintered wreckage of her starboard quarter twisted and bucked before finally pulling away from the dromon’s ruined bow. Without his ship holding her in place the dromon fell away, and in the span of heartbeats she’d capsized completely, coming to rest heavily on her side on a bier of smoke and indomitable flame. Kyranae could hear the screams of her dying, drifting in on the wind as his ship backed further and further away, but he'd yet to see any of her men make it to the water. Or at least, none who looked likely to survive the experience - and that was well. So far tonight mercy had earned him naught but four dead crewmen. Still, he was grateful when the wind shifted and he couldn't hear them anymore."Cap'n?"This time it was Saeros who called for him, and when Kyranae turned he saw the lad standing several paces behind him, his expression a mockery of youth in melted wax. Kyranae favored him with a small, tired smile."Lorgan taught ye well, didn’t he." It wasn’t a question. "Taught ye everything he knew."Hesitantly, Saeros nodded. "Aye." His voice was hoarse."Good. Then ye can manage in his stead."If possible, Saeros paled even further. "But captain--"Kyranae cut off that breathless rebuttal with a wave of his hand. "Gather everyone what can walk the wind an’ get ‘em up the ratlines." Here his expression softened, the brittle edge leaving his frown a bit. "Ye had a good teacher, son. This is yer chance t’ do him proud."Still pale and shaking, Saeros finally managed to nod. "A-aye, captain."Kyranae sent him off with a nod, and within minutes the yards were full of sailors tying off the topgallants. On the main deck Îbal was attempting to direct the men working to fly the jib sails, though it was easy to tell that he wasn’t warming to his new role as first mate. Meanwhile Kyranae held the Eglandur’s helm and barked orders to the men hauling on the spanker."She’s almost ready," Kyranae said when he’d heard Îbal’s heavy feet ascending to the poop deck. Îbal startled slightly, though in hindsight he realized he should have known the captain would hear him. Îbal and stealth did not get along."Aye, captain," he acknowledged. His voice was sure but still the man hung back. Finally Kyranae turned, and watched as his new first mate swallowed his hesitancy with visible effort. Hathol’s shoes would be nigh impossible to fill, both for the Eglandur and for her captain, and that fact was just as unfair as it was true. "But what of the breach?"In response Kyranae fairly growled, low in his throat, as he thought about it. An inarticulate expression of anger and pain - and guilt. "They hit us hard b'twix wind an’ water, but the ole girl should weather it well enough t’ get us out of here. We can make repairs once we’ve outrun Thorongil’s ambition, but we’ll have t’ careen her an’ sooner rather than later."Îbal nodded, his own anger twisting his features into an ugly snarl. "He’s won himself a great victory today, the bastard." And then he spat on the deck for good measure.Kyranae barked an ironic laugh. "Gondor claims the victory. Her Captain of Ships gets whatever leftover fame he can lick from Denethor’s boots." "Yet it'll be Thorongil’s name they curse in Umbar, an' for years unending.""That's the autocracy for ye," Kyranae said, shrugging. "Ye got soldiers aplenty t' take the blame but Gods forbid ye ever let 'em enjoy any credit.""Oh, I'll credit Thorongil, all right," Îbal said, bloodthirsty. "Straight into an early grave. And you would, too - and don't say aught.""Is that so?""Aye. I know you, captain. Right now you're wondering if t'would be better to send that bastard back to the Steward in pieces, or to hang him high off Tolfalan cay and let the seagulls have him."Well. Kyranae had to concede that his thoughts might have strayed along such lines - if he hadn't been so fully occupied with keeping him and his alive. Though if he ever went looking to lay blame, there'd be no question he'd choose Imaran's head for it. Gondor's periodic rousting of Umbar was just a fact of life, really; but Gondor coming in force to wipe them wholesale from map? That was because their damned fool Lord went sticking his greed in places it had no business going. If what he felt right now for Thorongil was the kind of murderous hate that Îbal thought, then there wasn't a word in any of the southern tongues for what he felt for Imaran. But Imaran was more than likely dead already, and if not then Gondor would certainly see to it soon. And Thorongil was the kind of foe who would never, ever be in reach. And neither of them deserved his consideration, just now. Thoughts of blood and vengeance had no place inside a head bent fully to the task of saving life and limb, and he would not betray his crew by giving their continued survival any less than his full attention. Not that Îbal would understand that. In fact, he'd count it quite the opposite: that foregoing revenge - even in fantasy - would be a betrayal of those who had died. So instead Kyranae summoned a feral grin, looked his new first in the eye, and told a perfect truth. "Îbal? If I'd my way, ev'ry last politician in Gondor would be dead by dawn."Îbal answered that grin with one of his own, wolfish and bloodthirsty and not just a little bit mad. But then suddenly he faltered, considering. "Not her soldiers?"At that Kyranae mustered a half shrug. "Without Gondor's soldiers this crew'd be shrunk by more than half." So too would all of Umbar, really.Just then Saeros came pounding up to the quarterdeck, his face still flushed from the bite of the wind up in the rigging. “Captain! She’s ready to fly!" Of course, he'd no context for the arched eyebrow that his captain sent the new first mate, nor for the man's own answering shrug at the sight of it.Kyranae looked up to see the topgallants were sheeted home, and on further inspection he saw that her jibs were set, her spanker neat and trim. His smile could have shamed the sun. "Gather the men!" he ordered his new chief topman, and Saeros scurried away.Once again his crew found themselves gathered around the mainmast, though there were fewer now than there were the time before. It was hard not to count heads, to pick out faces in the crowd and put names to all the negative spaces. Very hard, so instead Kyranae stood gazing out at the harbor mouth, his eyes fixed on the course ahead, until everyone was set and waiting. “All right, men - listen up. We’ve done a handsome job of it so far, but if we don’t make it past the breakwater we’re shark bait. Problem is, the Thalion an’ the Falkáno currently control the breakwater." Murmurs of dissention greeted that proclamation. Kyranae gave them a moment to properly vent their incredulity before quieting them with the wave of a hand. "Good news is they’re both still occupied with pounding the watchtowers t’ dust - they’re blockading us, aye, but those towers are their real prizes. They may take potshots at us with that nasty siege gear they’re packing but they’re not likely t’ give chase. Still, I’m going t’ need every last one of you what’s not hauling canvas down on the oars. We’ve gotta thread a needle in the dark, lads, an’ with all possible speed."With that he dismissed them, and the men ran to their stations. Then he went back to the helm, and he finally he removed the punching dagger from his right fist. His fingers were stiff and achy but they could still grip the Eglandur’s wheel well enough, and that was all he needed.Ever so slowly the oarsmen brought them about while Kyranae saw to their course and Îbal and Saeros directed the motion of the sails. As the canvas lifted and filled the Eglandur beat her way forward, and Kyranae’s heart sang its joy in harmony with the music of her rigging each time his Dark Lady came through the eye of the wind. Yet as the crumbling watchtowers loomed larger in his vision so too did Gondor’s man-o-wars. Three masts they carried, and an arsenal of heavy mangonel overhanging their rails. Kyranae’s grip tightened protectively on the Eglandur’s wheel. "Îbal!" he shouted, and within moments the man appeared. "Get yerself below an’ find whoever’s become my coxswain. We’ll need t’ rack all oars when we reach the breakwater an’ glide our way through that narrow strait between those ships with sails alone. Give the order when ye judge us close enough.""But captain--" The protest was cut off by a glare hot enough it could've ignited wet canvas. Kyranae didn’t want to hear it. He knew as well as Îbal did that when those warships took their ‘potshots,’ either with arrows or artillery, odds were they’d aim for whoever held the helm. But Îbal was first mate now: responsibility for this ship and her crew fell to him if anything happened to her captain. And her captain knew it, too, which was why he’d ordered the man below. Besides which, this was a captain’s duty, and he’d suffer no man to take it from him.Îbal lingered a bit longer than perhaps he should have, but with a grudging "aye," he finally he took his leave. Kyranae watched him go, and gave into an exhausted sigh once the man was fully gone and he was alone on the deck once more. Then he looked up at the men tending his sails. Saeros stood out among them, both for his youth and for the authority he was now learning to wield. As he called out their courses Kyranae couldn't help but wonder if the lad would take to leadership as easily as he’d taken to the wind, but he reasoned he would. Saeros had taken to everything easily, except killing, though Kyranae still wondered if tonight had changed all that. Well. Better the lad get there on his own than for Kyranae to have forced the issue. Still, they’d be due for another talk on it, later. If they both somehow managed to survive the night. Kyranae pulled his mind away from the vagaries of his crew only with effort, and returned the whole of his attention to the harbor mouth. By now he could see men on the warships’ decks, see them loading and reloading the mangonels, each averaging three shots per minute. By now the watchtowers had long since stopped retaliating, but Gondor would not relent until She ground her enemies into so much dust under her feet.Another course change was coming up; the final tack before the breakwater. They were almost free! And then finally, the moment of truth. His men completed the final tack just as the Eglandur crossed the bar. He felt rather than saw her oars pull back as his lovely Dark Lady glided smoothly between the warships, a stone’s throw away from either hull. Kyranae inhaled sharply and held his breath as they sailed on through, gripping the wheel with all his might as though the strength of his will alone would be enough to protect her from Gondor’s retaliation. The ghost of a breeze drifted across his face, pulling at the strands of his hair that fell short of the queue, and he tipped his face to the heavens. The stars that had ever been his companions, providing comfort and guidance when all else had failed him, shone more brightly than ever before. Please, he prayed, to the gods of wind and waves. Please let this work. Please let us through. Then he pulled the wheel down hard, crying: “helm’s a-lee!” From his knees he looked out at the horizon, out to where that brilliant sky bled down into the water and turned his beloved sea into a rolling field of silver glass, and even as his ship hauled so close to the wind they were flirting with irons his eyes never strayed - he had good men on his sails; they knew what to do - until at last the deafening thunder of Gondor’s artillery filled his ears--And then the darkness claimed him.Kyranae’s prediction had won out. Gondor had taken potshots at them - mostly with arrows, though one ship managed to rake her stern with mangonel - but the Eglandur sailed right on passed, her full spread of canvas hauled close to starboard as she pulled out of Gondor’s reach and left them once more in her wake. "Captain!"It was Saeros who reached him first. Kyranae was sitting with his back propped against wheel, his long legs stretching out into the heart of the rubble that Gondor had rained down upon the helm."Captain!"The poor lad probably raked his hands bloody shoving those stones aside, but soon enough he’d cleared a path to his captain. He dropped to his knees on Kyranae’s port side and took him by the shoulder. Saeros shook him slightly, and Kyranae heard his name called again in the lilting burr of Belfalas. So very young, Kyranae thought, as his weary eyes finally drifted open. Fully aware that he must look a wretched sight, he managed a crooked if bloodstained grin for his youngest crewman. Though silently he prayed again - and twice in one night; surely that was a first for him. Thank you, he offered this time, and to whichever gods were listening. Saeros though nearly crumpled with relief. "Gods of my ancestors,” he swore, “I half thought you were dead!" His hand squeezed Kyranae’s shoulder again, gently this time; and then, for some reason, he left it there.Though the effort pained him, Kyranae reached out and rested his own bloodied hand in the crook of Saeros’s arm. The fingers hung all acockbill, he noticed absently. “Good lad,” he croaked. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Some water would be nice; or rum. Just a little touch of the grog was all he needed, surely. "We’ll get you below," Saeros was saying. "Get you fixed up in no time - just like the Eglandur! You’ll both be fine, captain, you’ll see! Just fine."So very young, he thought again, when the poor lad’s voice broke on that last ‘fine,’ but still he nodded anyway. Sort of. His head felt heavy, and when he looked up again his eyes were drawn past Saeros, up towards the wheeling stars. He felt better for the sight. Already the pain was lessening.Then Saeros started shouting, but Kyranae couldn’t catch the words. Like his Dark Lady they flew away on the wind. That didn’t trouble him, though. So very good, he thought suddenly, and with starlight's brutal clarity, to not be here alone.And then he found his freedom.-fin- I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
1113672	Just Impediment	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Edmund Blackadder (Blackadder II), Baldrick (Blackadder), Queenie (Blackadder), Tenth Doctor", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Doyle", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-01T00:00:00", "words": "4,734", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Blackadder, Doctor Who (2005)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Edmund Blackadder gave the thing on his plate a hard look. The question, he thought, was whether it was looking back. “Well, Mrs Miggins, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said. “If it wasn’t for the whiskers poking through the pastry I wouldn’t even know it was cat.” “Oh, Lord B, you are a card!” The pie-woman slopped two tankards of ale onto the table and bustled back to the counter, clucking good-naturedly to herself. “With the price of cat what it is these days? It’s been ages since I’ve had a nice piece of moggy to go in the pies.” Blackadder pushed his plate to Percy, who was tucking into his own meal with gusto. “What you need, my lord,” Percy paused to extract something — Blackadder tried not to examine it closely — from his mouth, “is something to cheer you up. And I rather think I know just the thing.” “Percy, if your next sentence involves the words ‘new’, ‘play’ and ‘Shakespeare’ this salt cellar is going to be put in a place where even Mrs Miggins won’t want to use it again.” Percy mumbled something about rather good reviews. “Of course it’s got good reviews. It’s a Shakespeare comedy,” Blackadder said, with all the venom such a prospect demanded. “It’ll be cross-dressing, willy jokes and hilarious misunderstandings between identical twins. All of which the general public eats up like one of Mrs Miggins’s Wednesday Surprises. Will ‘Predictable’ Shakespeare must have one of the cushiest jobs in England: write the same thing over and over and wait for the girls and cash to come rolling in.” For a moment Percy thought about suggesting that if it was so easy perhaps Edmund should give it a try himself, but some tiny spark of self-preservation made him start onto his second pie and change the subject. “We might take a stroll to Hampton Court and watch the jousting,” he suggested. “Fat bores on horseback with delusions of being King Arthur. Next.” “Hawking?” “Between you and Baldrick I’m surrounded by birdbrains as it is.” Percy found the bottom of the metaphorical barrel of social delights and started scraping. “Perhaps,” he said delicately, “a young lady could be... employed...” “Our Trina’s started down the docks just this week,” Mrs Miggins boomed across the shop. “She’s a good, clean girl, very reasonable prices.” Blackadder pushed his chair back. “Isn’t that a shame, I’ve just this second remembered I’ve got a terribly important engagement this afternoon. I’m taking Percy to have his brain cleaned.” “But Edmund...” Percy dropped some coins on the table and hurried after his cousin. “Anything new and exciting out here, Baldrick?” Baldrick, who Mrs Miggins had sent outside with a pointed look at her ‘Noe Dogges’ sign, blinked up at them. “There was a box, my lord.” “Was there really.” Irony and the Detection Thereof didn’t feature prominently in Baldrick’s life. “Yeah. In the alley over there.” “Did this box by any chance have a sign hanging on it saying ‘Large bags of gold, free to good home’?” “No, my lord.” “Or ‘This way to nubile young ladies, special discount rates for rakish courtiers with a fashionable line in facial hair’?” “Not that I noticed,” Baldrick said. “It was blue,” he added. “It appeared from out of nowhere with a wheezing, groaning noise like a huge wheezing, groaning thing.” Percy sneered. “For heaven’s sake, that is just...” “Oh, God, if you’re going to try to think of a witty putdown we’ll be here for the rest of our natural lives. Just call him a cretin and have done with it; you’d think you’d recognise your own species.” “I did see my cousin Baldrick what works in the palace kitchens,” Baldrick offered, as Percy tried, a shade too hard, to titter off the insult. “He says it’s all go there today.” “Enthralling,” Blackadder sighed. “The Queen’s probably throwing one of her aren’t I so bloody marvellous parties. Well, it’s better than jousting. I’ll go home and throw on a clean pair of tights.” “Yes, my lord. I suppose you’ll be getting toffed up for the wedding, anyway.” “Wedding?” “The Queen’s wedding,” Baldrick said. “My cousin said she’s just got engaged to some rich foreign bloke. The wedding’s tomorrow.” “What?” Blackadder roared. “What?” Percy echoed, wanting to feel included. “What?” said a voice from the alley, but only Baldrick heard it, and since everyone knew mysterious blue boxes that appeared from out of thin air couldn’t talk, he decided it must be one of them mirage things he’d heard tell of and ignored it. Rushing straight to the palace and demanding an explanation from the Queen was a fine plan, if you didn’t mind the possibility that your head might make an irrevocable split from the rest of you as a result. Blackadder was quite attached to his head — he’d only just got the beard right — so he made sure he was well turned out, supplied with a wedding present, and sufficiently calmed down to present a congratulatory face to the world. There was a scuffle going on outside the Queen’s chambers when he arrived, sans Percy and Baldrick. A lanky man — cleanshaven, wild-haired, and wearing some sort of ridiculous brown breeches that went to his ankles — was struggling with three of the beefier guards, who were trying to divide four flailing limbs between them. “Listen, just listen to me for five seconds, please, you’ve got to let me see the Queen! The whole future history of this planet might be at stake! I’m a personal friend of Doctor John Dee’s, there’s a piece of paper in my top pocket, leather holder, you can’t miss it, it’ll tell you...” Blackadder had long lived by the principle that any friend of John Dee’s was probably an insufferable git and no fun at parties, so he was relieved when a fourth guard hurried over, solving their mathematical quandary and letting them bundle the badly-dressed lunatic off down the corridor. “I believe congratulations are in order, Majesty.” The Queen pouted, but he was fairly sure it was an attempt at coquetry rather than sincere offence and imminent searching for the spare death warrant. “Oh, Edmund, someone’s already told you. It was going to be my lovely surprise.” “The streets are abuzz with news of your engagement, ma’am; why, on the way here I had to wend my way through the bodies of those subjects who were prostrate with joy in the streets.” The Queen clapped her hands. Nursie beamed vacantly, pleased that her poppet was enjoying herself. Lord Melchett, standing at the right-hand side of the throne, managed to convey the words overdoing it a bit, aren’t you? using only his eyebrows. “And who might this very luckiest of men be, ma’am? Philip of Spain, perhaps, having been hit on the head and suffered some form of amnesia over your last engagement?” “Yuck! Not after the things he called me after that silly little tiff about his boats.” Well, if you were going to discount all the heads of state she’d mortally offended in some way, it only left the ones who were mad, permanently bedridden or dead. Any of the three was possible, given how annoyed Melchett was looking. “He’s completely divine,” the Queen sighed. “He’s called William Shakespeare.” Blackadder, who’d been ready to come out with some smarmy compliment whoever the groom-to-be was, was poleaxed. “Not the one who writes plays,” she said. “Just the same name. Isn’t that unusual?” “The man claims to be some sort of merchant traveller, Blackadder,” Melchett added. “He brought her Majesty tribute the likes of which we’ve never seen before.” That explained it. The Queen was, when all was said and done, an enormous ginger magpie in a ruff. There was no faster way to her heart than via a stack of presents. Blackadder saw his own ambitions to kinghood vanishing into the distance. “But surely ma’am already has diamonds galore, more crowns than could be worn by a woman with seven hundred heads and enough gold to pave the whole of Wales — which would be a vast improvement.” “Oh, yes,” the Queen said, “I’ve got all those boring old things. But look at this super present Willy gave me. The dangly bits go in your ears.” Some sort of snuff box? No, only the back was silver, the other side was... not metal or wood, maybe some sort of pink lacquer... Blackadder held the thing in the palm of his hand and put the dangly bits, as instructed, in his ears. He was dimly aware, through the curtain of noise, that the Queen and the other two were guffawing at the look on his face. The Queen’s dungeons were an egalitarian society, of sorts. It didn’t matter how old you were, how much cash you’d got or whether you were gorgeous or scrofulous; if you annoyed the Queen enough then a spot in the cells and a date in the axeman’s appointment calendar awaited you. Pocketing his tuppenny bribe, Jailer Ploppy took him to the prisoner with the happy shuffling gait of a man with very little to do and all day to do it in. “He’s a feisty one, my lord. Almost escaped, but Mrs Ploppy manhandled him back to the cells. She’s making up one of her sausage casseroles; says he needs feeding up.” “Well, tell her to hold off lunch until I’ve spoken to him. He’s no good to me if he’s writhing in culinary agony.” “Right you are, sir. We did take this off him...” ‘This’ was a greyish cylinder of about a thumb’s thickness with a piece of blue glass on the end. Blackadder wrapped it in a handkerchief. The man was purportedly a chum of John Dee’s; God only knew what he’d been using it for. “Right,” he said, when Ploppy had let him into the visiting cell and shut the door, “three questions. Who the hell are you, what do you know about this so-called Shakespeare who’s marrying the Queen, and how did he make that box play music? And none of your mumbo-jumbo about communing with angels; I’ve met Dee, and he’s as magical as a dung beetle. This is a trick to get the Queen up the aisle and I,” wish I’d thought of it first, “I’m not going to let it happen,” he finished nobly. “A box playing music - could be a boombox, an ipod, a subsonic etheriser...” “Yes, that middle one. Ipod, it said that on the back.” “Then he’s definitely from the future.” The prisoner pushed his hands back through that quite remarkably unfashionable haircut. “Shakespeare? He’s calling himself Shakespeare? You sure it wasn’t an anagram - ‘Mr Tsea’, maybe, he hasn’t used that one yet... Unless it’s Jack, before he met me. Best case scenario, it’s a Time Agent messing about...” “If you’re just going to spout drivel at me, I’ll leave you to the tender mercies of Mrs Ploppy and the sausage casserole.” “Who threatens someone with a casserole? I’m in here waiting to have my head chopped off!” “Interesting,” Blackadder said. “So you’re not from around here. Anyone local would pick the block every time.” “Let’s just say I’m from a really long way away.” “The land of extraordinary outfits, in fact.” “My suit’s timeless,” he protested. “You try walking around London in tights in any other century — well, maybe the 1980s...” “And back to drivel.” He raised his voice: “Extra sausages, Mrs Ploppy!” “I’m the Doctor,” Dee’s friend said, suddenly intense, “and it’s vitally, crucially important that the man calling himself Shakespeare doesn’t marry the Queen. I’ve already met Elizabeth the First — her future, my past - and this must be why I’m her enemy, because I stopped her wedding. Except I can’t do that if I’m going to have my head cut off or be casseroled to death, so you’ve got to help me. Please.” “Excuse me a moment,” Blackadder said, and called for the jailer to let him upstairs to the kitchens. “Has my servant been hanging around here today?” A worried-looking Baldrick peered around the side of the cooking pot. Blackadder grabbed him by the collar. “I have a sudden dire need of a cretin-to-English translator.” The second attempt at the explanation was, if possible, even less coherent. Baldrick scratched the back of his head. “I reckon,” he said slowly, “that he’s saying that we think time’s a straight line, right, whereas actually it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.” The Doctor said, “Oh, I like you.” Mad, Blackadder thought. Madder than Hamish ‘Mad’ McMadden who spent twenty years telling people he was a small, mad cream sponge. But he’s all we’ve got, and he’ll have to do. The jail break wasn’t difficult. “...and the Venetian ambassador — who goes by the name ‘the Doctor’ — was simply overcome with grief at the news that you were to marry, having long harboured a love for your majesty from afar...” “What? Oh, all right.” The Queen took the quill and scrawled her signature left-handed at the bottom of the official pardon. She did it without taking her eyes off the moving picture in her hand, where a tiny man in a red cap was massacring a succession of turtles as she mashed buttons. “Whatever will they think of next,” Nursie burbled. “Coo,” said Baldrick. “Urk,” said Percy, who was turning gently green. “It’s only a hand, Perce.” Blackadder nudged the glass container with his foot. “You’ve seen worse strung up in Traitor’s Cloister.” “But... it’s...” Percy spread his hands, indicating the cavernous space, the walls that looked more like something living than rock or wood. “Edmund, it’s bigger on the inside!” “Yes, well spotted. All prizes for observation to Lord Percy Percy.” There was a chair, and Blackadder sat on it with every ounce of nonchalance he could dredge up. The box that opened into a massive room was, he admitted to himself, a lot more impressive than anything he’d seen Dee and the rest of the court occultists attempt, but that was no reason to let the Doctor think he believed this rubbish about time travel and creatures from other worlds. “Anybody said it’s bigger on the inside yet?” The Doctor weaved past them and scooped up the pickled hand. “See? Hand. Bubbling hand, bubbling away like anything. Oh, that’s bad. There’s another Time Lord close by.” “Oh, don’t shudder, for God’s sake,” Blackadder told Percy, who stopped. “He’s only being portentous.” “Got to be pre-Time War,” the Doctor said, apparently to himself. “They’re too faint in my head, like they’re far away. This isn’t supposed to happen. It shouldn’t be possible.” “Rubber room on stand-by,” Blackadder muttered. “Not the Rani, she didn’t have any male regenerations — did she? — no, can’t be, no-one’s walking around acting like they’ve had their brains drained...” “I’m sorry, how rude of me, I was sure I’d introduced Percy and Baldrick.” “Drax would sell her machine guns, not give her iPods and computer games.” He sighed. “And everyone else would be too scared of the High Council to risk fiddling with history. It’s the Master. Must be.” In Blackadder’s experience, people who went around calling themselves ‘the Master’ were Masonic idiots, self-important alchemists or dangerous unhinged maniacs, and the Doctor’s expression implied that options A and B were off the table. “That’s bad?” “Bad as pretty much anything in the history of badness.” “And you can’t actually go and deal with him yourself because...” “From his point of view Gallifrey’s still there. From mine, it’s gone to dust. We can’t meet. It’d put the universe into a state of quantum uncertainty.” Blackadder would rather have lost a kidney than admit that he had no idea what he was talking about. “Destruction of everything,” the Doctor added. “That’s what I mean by ‘bad’.” And more importantly, if this Master Shakespeare, or whoever he was, married the Queen, he’d be King. And Edmund never would. And he could lose his position at court. That was what he meant by bad. “This evil must be stopped,” he announced. Percy and Baldrick blinked dumbly at him — no change there. “How do we find this Master?” “Even if you find him, he can control minds...” He cut himself off and looked at Blackadder. For the first time, they found themselves on the same page. “So what we need,” Blackadder said, “is someone with no mind. Tell me, do your people have the phrase ‘spoiled for choice?’” Percy was in a quandary. He yearned for responsibility. He ached for the chance to prove to Edmund that he was clever, dynamic, heroic. The problem was that he suspected he wasn’t any of those things, and being told to go forth into the city with only Baldrick for company and find a dangerous hypnotic maniac made him feel in desperate need of the nearest privy. “How did the Doctor describe this man?” he asked, peering at every face that passed them. “He said ’Probably with a beard but possibly not, not that tall but he might be, and he’ll probably be in a cunning disguise anyway so he could look like anyone, and his ship can look like anything as well, although if we see any Ionic columns around the place that’ll be it.’” Percy had only been flinching away from the men, but now everyone and everything terrified him. “We could go to the palace,” Baldrick suggested. “The wedding’s tomorrow, maybe he’ll go and woo the Queen with more presents.” Percy turned this over in his head. It wasn’t a bad idea. Really, it was the only sensible thing to do; they couldn’t comb all of London. But it was Baldrick’s idea, and Baldrick was just a servant and not Edmund’s best friend like he was, and he had to sneer at it. “What we’re going to do is go to Mrs Miggins’ pie shop. Because...” he improvised, “because everybody goes there and she hears all the news in the city and it’s a much cleverer idea than just going to the palace.” “Fair enough. Will she make me stand outside again?” But she didn’t. She seemed agitated; one of the pies she was putting mechanically together even had meat in it. “What’s wrong, Mrs M?” “Oh, it’s you, Lord Percy. I don’t know; probably I’m making something of nothing. But there’s something very strange in my cellar.” “A rat?” It was a stupid guess — no rat would live for long in Mrs Miggins’ establishment, although it would enjoy a brief afterlife in a Wednesday surprise. She pulled off her apron and hung it over the counter. “You come downstairs and see if you can see it.” It was a few minutes before he could be persuaded to open his eyes, and then he stared around in relief. “But everything looks fine.” “What do you see?” “Well — just the sacks of flour, and the mousetraps, and the ovens...” “The ovens!” she whispered. “That’s what I meant!” He strode over to them and rapped first one, then the other with his knuckles. “Both seem fine to me,” he said. “Fine ovens for making fine pies.” He risked a bold chuckle, pleased with himself for having reassured the little woman. Her face was agonised. “But there’s only meant to be one of them!” Blackadder had his feet up on the long chair in the Doctor’s ship. The problem with sending Percy and Baldrick off into mortal danger — an action that didn’t seem as if it should have a downside at all — was that he had to wait for them. Which meant making chitchat with the Doctor. He’d thought “must be fun, travelling around like this” would be a safe comment. The Doctor had only adopted a far-off expression like a warning siren: danger, boring emotional introspection ahead. “What was it,” Blackadder said, bored, “a girl?” “Not really.” “A boy, then.” He’d been on too many pub crawls with Kit Marlowe to be either outraged or titillated. “Well, it was sort of a girl.” “And she left you. Imagine that.” “No, Astrid — that was her name, Astrid - she died,” he said. “Well, when I say ‘died’... no, let’s just say she died.” There was a silence, where Edmund might have been expected to prompt for more details, or express his sorrow. He didn’t. “The one before her left me,” the Doctor added. Blackadder gave a very long sigh. Someone out in the alley was singing. Two someones; they didn’t seem to be on the same words, or the same tune, although at least one of them was belting out a filthy folk song with plenty of ‘whoops’s in the chorus. Blackadder sat up. Baldrick stopped singing and pulled himself into some sort of order when they opened the door. Percy, who’d been propped against it, just fell inside in a giggling heap. “Where the hell have you two been?” Blackadder raged. “Stag party, my... wossname. Lord. In an oven.” Blackadder pulled Baldrick’s hat off. He hadn’t been wearing it before. It was bright orange; it had a rounded visor that Baldrick had been wearing, nonsensically, at the back of his head. He couldn’t have said why this offended him, but it did. “Present from Mr Shakespeare,” Baldrick said. “Such a nice man,” Percy slurred. “He’ll be a lovely king.” “Well, thank God we had you two on the case. The entire universe at stake — not to mention my position at court — and you go out on the razzle with a psychotic, scheming... what?” The Doctor had pulled a flat square of something from Percy’s hand and was staring at it. “It’s not the Master,” he said. He turned the thing around. It was a jolly, chubby man with his arm around Percy, who was quaffing a tankard of ale. A portrait, Blackadder thought at first, but it was too perfect; no-one could be so detailed in such a small picture. “I took that,” Baldrick said proudly. “With his magic box. He let me.” The Doctor said, “That’s not the Master. That’s the Monk.” Percy said, “I’m going to be bleurgh...” The other three moved to the other side of the room. “I’m thick, I should have guessed it was him. I mean, it’s in his name. The Meddling Monk. He meddles. It’s what he does.” “You’re called ‘the Doctor’ and I haven’t seen you drain anyone’s blood or pass around a plate of leeches. Look, I don’t care what his name is, I want him to go away.” “I do have a cunning plan, my lord.” “Shut up, Baldrick.” “No, hang on.” The Doctor looked up from the picture. “Baldrick, on a scale of one to ten — one being not cunning at all, ten being as cunning as the Cunning Cartherites of Cunnington VI on the last day of their annual cunning Olympics — how cunning is your plan?” Baldrick thought about it, swaying a bit on his feet. “Seven and a half.” “Better than mine. What is it?” “We tell Mr Shakespeare The Monk that we’re taking him to the wedding, but actually we take him to the wrong church where we’ve got another Queen waiting, so he marries the wrong one.” “And by seven he meant ‘zero’, and by half he meant ‘also zero’,” Blackadder said. “Once again, shut up, Baldrick.” “No,” the Doctor said, beginning to nod slowly, “no, that could work. I’d be surprised if the Monk can tell one human from another — no offence, you do all look basically the same. This could actually work. And once he missed the wedding the Queen’d be so angry she’d send him packing. You said she was... difficult.” “I said she was a monomaniacal overgrown schoolgirl who’d eventually work her way around to beheading everyone in the kingdom if Melchett and Nursie didn’t keep her entertained.” The Doctor looked at him. “But you’d still marry her if you had the chance.” “I’d Morris-dance barefoot down an aisle of broken glass to the altar. Of course I would. ‘King Edmund’ has a nice ring to it.” “Maybe. But it doesn’t happen. I told you, she never marries. Famous for it. All through history she’s known as the Virgin Queen.” And that, Blackadder thought, told you everything you needed to know about the accuracy of recorded history. Stuff you anyway, Time Lord. I could be King yet. “Do you, William Shakespeare, take this woman, Elizabeth Regina...” The bishop faltered, but Blackadder had been very insistent that this wedding take place, and very graphic in his description of what was going to happen if anything went wrong. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “I do,” the Monk said happily. “And do you...” “Edmund, I’m going to be sick again,” Percy whispered in the back pew. The Doctor handed him a paper bag. “...wedded husband?” “I certainly do,” said Baldrick. His new husband beamed. “You know,” said the Doctor, “I think they make a nice couple.” The Queen stamped her foot one last time and sat down on the throne. Everyone took their fingers gingerly from their ears. She brushed a speck from her dress, humming a tune to herself. Blackadder chanced a “Ma’am?” She graced him with a smile. “Yes, Lord Blackadder?” “My condolences on your wedding not coming to pass, ma’am. To think that the generous Mr Shakespeare would elope with a pie shop waitress on the very morning he was to marry you...” “All my fault,” the Doctor put in. “Sorry. I introduced them. I expect you want to swear bloody vengeance against me, and who could blame you?” “Oh, that,” she said. “Yes, I was rather cross. But now that I’ve had time to think about things, I don’t think I wanted to marry William Shakespeare anyway. I mean, he wasn’t exactly gorgeously handsome, was he?” “That’s true,” said Nursie. “And fancying the other person’s very important in a marriage. Look at all that trouble your father had with Anne of Cleves.” “Was she the one who went to the block? No, that was Mummy, wasn’t it. Anyway,” she dimpled, “I get to keep all the presents, and you’ve brought me that scrummy Venetian ambassador who’s madly in love with me. I’ll just have to marry him instead.” The Doctor blanched. “What?” Ruining two weddings in as many days was unforgiveable. The Queen signed the Doctor’s death warrant with even more vigour than usual. Sometimes she thought she was never going to get married. All she wanted was a man who was handsome and rich and exciting and gorgeous and preferably royal and who utterly adored her; it wasn’t so much to ask, was it? Of course, since the Doctor had run off, she didn’t have the satisfaction of seeing him lose his stupid smug head, but she kept the warrant close at hand, just in case he ever showed his face again. “Well, about time. I wondered when you’d come slinking back.” “The Meddling Monk took me on a whirlwind tour of the universe, showing me wonders such as have never been seen by human eyes,” Baldrick said, adding a belated, “my lord.” All of that, the Doctor and the Monk and the rest of it, was weeks in the past, and therefore ancient history. “I’m not interested in what you did on your holidays. I need three hundred quid or I’m going to have my knees removed by some very large men. Percy’s already at the pawn shop; help me find something among this lot.” It was a box of trinkets that had been in his room for years. Worthless, most of it, but Baldrick pointed to a flash of silver. “The watch might be worth something, my lord.” “What watch?” “That one. There.” His master’s eyes seemed to pass right over it. “No, that belonged to my grandfather. Find something else. And get lunch started while you’re about it.” Baldrick, his mind newly opened by the wonders of the universe, might have said: but how could it belong to your grandfather when pocket-watches like that one were only invented ten or fifteen years ago? Besides which, your grandmother belonged to your grandfather and you’d pawn her quick enough if you needed three hundred quid badly. But the long Baldrick line hadn’t survived by asking awkward questions, so he said “Right you are, my lord”, and went to see about that lunch.
1135385	Too Late for Halloween	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": null, "Characters": "John Egbert, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Rose Lalonde, others - Character", "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by AndIMustMask", "chapters": "27/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-14T00:00:00", "words": "31,899", "Additional Tags": "MONSTERS IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD, News at eleven, John is still technically underage, But will not be scoring until that is rectified, Vampires, Werewolves, Horrorterrors - Freeform, Other Monsters - Freeform", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Dave Strider / Jade Harley, Rose Lalonde / Kanaya Maryam", "Series": "Monsters in YOUR Neighborhood, News at Eleven [INDEFINITE HIATUS]", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "F/M, Other, F/F", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	You have your friends, good food, and even better drinks. Tonight is great. The four of you are seated in a booth set into the wall, the lights dim beyond the blue and green beams dancing across the floor, out over the club’s interior. Even though the music sounds like a dying cat, the others were enjoying themselves, so you don’t care (much). Rose excused herself to the ladies room a few minutes ago, with John keeping an eye on her from the upstairs walkway-slash-secondary-bar-area. Poor guy had no clue about her, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him just yet.Jade sits across from you, gazing out at the floor. The swell of people sway and gyrate to the music pumped from the speakers spread throughout the club. The air thrummed and cracked at the whim of the DJ, a shadow in his booth, and the people here moved with it.Seeing the longing in her face, you get up. Those green eyes snap to you and stay there as you motion for her to follow you. The pair of you make your way through the crush of people and you take the lead, moving with the beats that pounded in the air--even if they weren’t half as dope as yours. Jade takes your example and starts dancing as well, and after a few seconds the stiffness starts working itself out of her, grace nesting in its place.The thought hit you: Jade was graceful. She wasn’t the gangly teenager you’d met years ago and spoken to both before and since. The lot of you weren’t thirteen anymore, and Jade was growing into quite the woman (you supposed Rose was as well, but you’re not going to go there--it'd be like making out with your sister or something). With her dark hair laid out across her shoulders to her lower back, the light blue short dress swaying with her--It pulls something up to your throat that you have to swallow back nervously.You’re mesmerized as the two of you continue like this for a few tracks. Suddenly there’s a hitch in her moves. Her smile drops and she looks at herself frantically, patting at her clothes. You give her your concerned face as she turns and starts shouldering her way back through the crowd, practically sprinting to the bar once she gets out. Naturally, you’re right behind her.“You okay there Harley?” You grab the seat on her right, as some Raven casting call reject pulls up to her left with a “Like the motorcycle?”.You lean back from the bar to get a better look at him with a “Dude do you mind?”, He looks at you like you’d just taken a dump on his leather knee-high boots. The guy leans in to say something to her you don’t catch. You have a feeling she didn’t hear, since she was still sitting there with her eyes closed and a white-knuckled grip on the bar.“Do you not see her freaking out? Give her some air.” You’re out of the chair now, standing back from her shoulder.“Then why don’t you back off and give her some room?” He leans in again, and you’ve crossed behind Jade to stand at his back. He glances back and then ignores you.“Look--” When your hand reaches his shoulder he springs up from the chair, rounding on you.“What’s your problem?” It’s only when he’s looming over you that you notice tall dark and spooky here has a good three inches on you (and you are by no means short at five-eleven). Obviously he was waiting to make a scene. You’ve seen his type before.“You can see she’s ignoring you, go creep out someone else.” Squinting theatrically at him behind your shades you add, “And you might wanna hit the bathroom, your mascara’s running.”That got him. He shoves you in the chest so you go with it, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back with you while you turn and sidestep the impact. He stumbles forward as you hook his ankle, sending him sprawling past you as you step back to the bar. The lady working the it looks over at the exchange warily, and you give her a shrug. “Tripped. Guy must be feeling his drinks.”The other guy picks himself off the ground and levels what has to be his best ‘This isn’t over’ glare before slinking off around the crowds.You take his seat and lean over to get a better look at Jade, still frozen there like before. You put a hand on her shoulder, “Yo Harley? Harley? Jade?” With no response, you scan the walkways for your dorky friend. He seems to have evaporated, so you message him:- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 23:12! -TG: john TG: john TG: earth to john TG: jade had a bluescreen while dancing is this normal TG: yo john you there- ectoBiologist [EB] is now an idle chum! -Stowing your phone you note you have some more company--looks like Marilyn Manson’s wardrobe designer from a minute ago called over some friends. You’ll call them Larry, Moe, and Curly since you don’t care to ask their names. Moe crosses his arms while Larry gives you the usual “Let’s take this outside” routine, and Curly scowls when you turn to the Barkeep and ask they keep an eye on Jade--too many creeps about tonight. After that you follow the gentlemen out into the parking lot.From there It’s a bit fuzzy: Moe swings on you and you duck under, curling behind him for a spinning elbow to the kidney while Curly and Larry try to grab you. You backhand Larry with your fist and step out of their way while Moe’s still reeling from the hit, Bro’s lessons barking through your head in fast forward:Don’t let them surround you, You uppercut Curly in reply to a poorly aimed haymaker, Get your back some cover, stomping down on Moe’s instep as you pull Larry into Curly’s kick, Fight dirty, You elbow Larry in the side of the neck when he tries to get around you, and kick out at Curly, catching him in the side, Excessive force is just about enough--At this point a crowd has gathered, not that you noticed.--You knee Moe in the face as he tries to tackle you, if you think they’re cheating it just means you’re underprepared, ducking past Curly’s punch you kick him in the groin while keeping him between you and Larry, be ready to break your opponent, Moe you catch with a hook to the jaw, staggering him.There’s a lull as they draw back a step to recover, and you take stock of the situation: The three of them are still bigger and stronger than you, but Larry is sporting a nasty bruise along his neck and shoulder, Moe’s got a bloody nose and the makings of a black eye, as well as favoring his right leg, and Curly is clutching his side and still walking funny from the earlier nut-shot. You’re unhurt, but getting winded. The crowd is about fifteen people in a loose circle, watching the action and jeering.“We don’t gotta do this guys.” You call over the crowd, “We can go back inside and enjoy the rest of the night.”The three glower over and Curly shouts “Fuck you!”“Last chance guys, I really don’t wanna have to call an ambulance for you.”Larry growls and charges you, followed quickly by the other two, and the dance starts over. You do much the same this round, aiming for places like the eyes, throat, armpits, stomach, groin, sides and back of the knees, toes and arches--places that really fucking hurt getting hit or stomped on. They get a few hits in on you though; a punch to your stomach, a bruise you could feel growing on the left side of your face, and a line across your back burned where you’d leaned out of a kick just a hair too slow. It wasn’t anything serious until you feel an icy sting across your chest when Moe swung at you. Your jacket and shirt were torn--the fucker had pulled a knife.The crowd--now at about twenty or twenty-five people--gasped.From there you weren’t waiting for them to attack first anymore. You kick Larry in the chest and grab Moe’s arm as he stabs at you, slamming your other elbow into his wrist. There's a sick crack and Moe drops the knife with a yelp--you broke his arm. You kick him in the face after he topples to his knees clutching himself, and he falls slack on the ground. You turn to the others and get tackled from the side by Curly and slung to the ground after that, with he and Larry kicking and swinging at you while you try to roll away or get space to get up. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You finally get enough of a handle on yourself to open your eyes, to see a distinct lack of Dave and the others. There’s some goth guy on your left who keeps droning to you about something or other, and there’s a drink in front of you. You suspect it’s from this guy since he keeps glancing at it, and the sharp pinch in your nose tells you it’s quite strong.You leave it, since you’d been told repeatedly by Rose and Dave to avoid drinking anything you haven’t seen prepared or lost track of.“Where’s Dave?” You turn and ask the goth, interrupting his talk of dark and spooky things--you think Rose might like him. Or she’d try to strangle him, you’re not sure.“...Who?”“Coolkid. About yea high--” you motion at about six feet “--blonde hair, wears shades, even in this dark place?” The goth’s jaw tics slightly at the shades comment, so you guess he’d seen him.He takes a nonchalant air, “I can’t say I have. Seems like an idiot to leave a pretty girl like you by yourself.”Right. You close your eyes and concentrate on your other senses. The music in the club and the chatter of people crash over you as you try to raise your hearing, so you tune that out and concentrate on your nose, breathing deeply. Sweat, fabrics of all kinds, smoke (both tobacco and pot), vomit, alcohol, far too much perfume and aftershave together forms a heady bouquet of this place’s essence. You take your time and browse through them, feeling around for Dave’s unique combination of sweat, soaps, foods, and clothing.You catch a wisp of it on your arm; he’d probably touched you while you were zoning out. You take it and memorize it, searching for more of it to lead you to the source. You open your eyes and follow your nose: A pool of it behind you, buried under those of people who’d crossed to and from the bar to the floor, then a thin stream of it towards the door--it seems he’d headed outside, since the path leading into the dancefloor was completely subsumed by the sheer number and variety of odors trampling across it.You get up and follow the trail to the door, leaving the goth to talk to himself. It leads you through the door, and out into the parking lot to be mixed with more smoke, motor oil, more vomit, and blood--his blood.Your senses shoot into high alert as you catch his scent in the midst of a surging mass of people near the dumpster. You sprint across the lot and shove our way through to see Dave’s curled form on the ground with two men standing over him, panting, and a third on the ground unconscious a small ways away, his arm laying at the wrong angle.Your vision turns RED - - - - - - - - - -Rose has been in the bathroom for the greater part of fifteen minutes, and you’re starting to get a little concerned for her.You wonder what Dave and Jade are up to.- - - - - - - - - -Holy shit do these guys love stomping your ass into the ground. From what you can tell, you haven’t broken anything yet, but you’re gonna be more bruise than person come tomorrow morning.The two pause as you hear something tear through the night air--actually tearing is pretty spot-on, since it sounds like someone rending sheet metal with bare hands made of broken glass and tigers inside of a jet engine.You open your eyes a crack as Larry or Curly, you don’t remember, goes flying over you into the concrete barrier that leads into the fence surrounding the lot. There’s a “Holy shit!” from someone in the crowd, and the other guy crumples from a kick to the gut.Then you see her. Jade Harley, in all her eighteen-in-an-hour-or-so glory, just trashed two dudes you were getting your shit kicked in by. Poor Dave. Always the Squire, never the Knight.Her hair was wild from the blur of motion, her brow furrowed, and while you hadn’t noticed before now, the girl had some wicked chompers. If those two weren’t unconscious or worse right now, they’d be pissing themselves or running from the straight fury she was spitting at them.The inane voice in the back of your head notes that you’re not sure how she was making that noise, but it couldn’t be good for her throat. The fact that her eyes were practically glowing in the streetlamp’s wan light, like someone was burning copper sulfate in her skull, only added to the effect; the girl looked like something out of this world--or beyond it. She turns to glare at the crowd: They disperse in various speeds and states of terror.Except for one.You relaxed out of the ball you’d folded into and turn onto your back, putting The Goth from the bar in your full view. He struts up like he owns you, this joint, and the rest of the city.“It seems there’s more to you than just looks, miss Harley.”The grating noise in her throat lowered a notch but continued. What, did she not like this guy? You applaud her standards in your head while you work on getting to your feet.He notices something with Jade and stops his approach, wagging his finger at her. “You can’t put on a show out here. Far too many who might see.” Her growling stopped, but she looks about ready to kick this guy’s teeth in.“You’re--”“Yes.” He looks past her to the three downed thugs, then to you, “I’d have hoped they would have removed this pest earlier.”While you’re upright now, the aches across your body say you’re not going to be for long, and you’re not going to enjoy it. The slash across your chest is bleeding sluggishly, but you’ve dealt with worse training with Bro.You start to wonder at his statement when he’s suddenly on you--He’d crossed the fifteen feet between you in a blink, and it feels like your guts are pushed out your back as he plows his fist into your stomach. The blow lifts you off the ground and drops you a good four feet back, where you collapse to your knees, with your face on the ground and your arms clutching your chest.Your senses shout Move! in time for you to push yourself over and out of the way of his following stomp, and you’re given a quick reprieve as you see Jade bodily hurl herself at him, laying into him with punches and swipes of her nails.He stumbles to the side where she smashes into him, while you try and regain your footing.Your vision is swimming and too-bright, and there’s an odd pulse to it--you’ve got a feeling that something important got fucked up a second ago, though telling where exactly is hard since your whole body is a writhing ball of agony right now. Jade is doing great until the goth gets his bearings and backhands her into the dumpster. You see it dent where she collides with it.The world slows to a crawl when your brain decides “Oh well fuck this guy” and the adrenaline kicks in, leaving your vision clear and the pain in your limbs a muted ghost in the background, leaving you for now but with the promise that it’ll haunt your ass later.You tackle him while his back is turned from his attack on Jade, planting a knee in his lower back, the other at his shoulder, and both arms wrapped around his neck. You ratchet your arm tight and squeeze, cutting off his air and blood to the brain. From the ground he makes a growl like Jade’s earlier, swiping at you with his unpinned arm.Ten seconds later he’s still going as he shoves himself over onto his back, freeing his other arm. You change tactics and drive your knee from his shoulder to his other kidney and haul back, curling both of you off the asphalt as he claws at your arms and head.Another ten and he starts to flag a bit, which isn’t really saying much since his thrashing is banging your head and shoulders against the pavement repeatedly. Black tendrils start playing at the edges of your vision as this goes on, but you keep your hold, elbows creaking from the strain.Thirty seconds later and he’s panting thinly, strength all but gone. He flails weakly and his face is turning an amusing shade of purple under his makeup.He’s finally unconscious after a solid minute of choking him out, and you keep your hold for another twenty or so to make sure he’s not just fucking with you. You must've been slipping with how messed up you are, since that's not supposed to take longer than ten seconds tops if you're not planning on giving the guy brain damage. Bad angle or something.Jade’s up and stumbling her way back over to you, and you sigh in relief as the darkness takes you, your mind tumbling down into the blackness. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Dave collapses after seeing you, his head lolling back. You see his shirt is drenched with blood once you drag the other guy off him.Shaking the dizziness from earlier off, you lose track of yourself.You’re in a car now, Dave draped across your lap and the seat, the window between you and the driver saying it’s a taxi. The driver’s going as fast as he can without crashing--your wallet is missing, and you suspect you just threw it at him and rattled off an address while you weren’t in control of yourself. It could be worse; you could have mauled the driver or tried to take Dave home on foot, so at least Other You isn’t suicidally stupid.Why hadn’t you just called an ambulance instead? Not fast enough. Dave will die go faster go go go--You lose track of yourself again.You’re in the house. After a sigh of relief that your other half had at least given your own address (or rather, that of the place you’re splitting with the others for part of the winter) to the cab driver, and find Dave still draped over your lap, but the change of setting is jarring: you have an unconscious and bleeding Dave Strider on your bed. Fix him.How would you even do that? You’re not a doctor. Ugh, you should have called 911 or something to help hi--not fast enough Dave will die fix him do it hurry--shut up for a second! Do what? fix him fix him FIX HIMYou feel a flash of... something and go with it, letting your mind take the backseat while your body does whatever the hell it’s trying to do. You really hope Dave will be alright.You’re immediately worried when you rip his shirt off.- - - - - - - - - -You make your way back to the bar as a taxi goes roaring out of the parking lot. You feel bad for sneaking out on your friends--at one of the few gatherings you get to have with them, no less--but it was of dire import, and you’re certain they’d understand. Not that you can tell them why, but you’re sure all the same.It was an odd night when you had to sneak out the bathroom window of a seedy club to go save your girlfriend from monsters, especially when she is a monster. You’re going to have a word with Karkat about proper thrall services--in the morning, because you know he’ll quite enjoy such a lecture sleep-deprived. Such revenge would be small, but it pales to the subject behind it; if his dalliances put her in danger again, he’ll have you to answer to.You circle the building to find your earlier point of egress closed and locked. Damn. Now, how to get back into the bathroom without John noticing you.- - - - - - - - - -With Dave’s shirt discarded, you get a good look at the damage; he’s deathly pale, breaths coming thin and quick. There’s a cut across his chest, starting at the middle of his ribcage on the left and going up and across to his right side, just below his nipple. Thankfully it doesn’t look too deep, but the blood is still worrying to see. His forearms are bleeding as well, and there are claw marks across his face and neck. Beyond those he’s absolutely covered in bruises--and below those--scars.He has almost a patchwork of them across his torso, collar, and upper arms, some small and jagged, but many of them long and clean. Your body sets to work, with you staring out the back of your eyes as your body leans in on its own.If you thought his scent was heavy in the cab, it was nothing compared to the taste of him.You feel a blush creep up your neck as you start licking his wounds, starting with the cut using long, broad drags of your tongue. After the metallic tang of blood is gone there, you lash your way across his arms, starting at the backs of his hands and trailing all the way up to his shoulder. You lean back, taking a moment to double-check your work before moving to lap at his bruises.You’ve gotta say, you are thorough. After the bruises are covered to your liking you move on to his scars, tracing them with the tip of your tongue. You then move to the rest of his torso, up his neck, to his jaw, his face, his lips. If someone were to see this, they’d not notice our hunger urgency. They’d also have to hide your corpse after you died of embarrassment.It’s an odd feeling when half of you thinks you’re a creep for not taking Dave to a doctor, while the other half is having a hard time not nibbling those yummy looking abs. Even beaten half to death, Dave Strider is quite an eyeful.When your hands start working on his fly, your blush ascends to its final form. You must look like a neon sign right now--you certainly feel like one, with everything from your collarbones up tingling with excitement self-consciousness. You notice while your hands tug him out of his jeans that his breathing has gotten stronger and more even. His legs match the rest of him, bruised and scarred, but thankfully nothing bleeding. God this scent is intoxicating. His breath hitches as your tongue passes over his hipbone. Your ministrations seem to be having an effect: for one, his chest wound isn’t bleeding anymore, and you’re presented with a rather large issue straining against Dave’s boxers. That can’t be comfortable. It certainly doesn't leave much to the imagination either. Your hands start for the hem of his boxers before you clamp down on that impulse--You are not going to molest Dave Strider! ...beyond what you’ve done already! It’s for his own good. You think. This leaves you with a conundrum: you’re sitting here straddling one of your best friends while he’s out cold and in his boxers, smelling entirely too juicy for his own good. His breathing is heavy and his face is flushed, though you’re hardly better off yourself after having dragged your tongue over almost every inch of a prime example of male fitness, and the taste of him is taking up about ninety-eight percent of your headspace. You’re not going to talk about what the other two percent is thinking.You don’t want to take this too far--Dave is your friend, and without him being here (well, he’s here, but not here-here) to agree to this in the first place, you feel disgusted about how far you’ve gotten carried away. What if he doesn’t like you like this? You’re not even sure how you feel about this other than good shut up.Thinking about it, you know you’re right. Stopping now would be best (minutes ago would have been better), since whatever you did seems to be effective enough that he’s not bleeding to death in your room and his skin is getting back to its usual color. You prop him up on your pillows and pull a sheet and comforter up to his collar to keep the chill away. You chuckle anxiously at his boner tenting them.You exit the room quietly to fix yourself a glass of water; licking someone for--you check your phone--half an hour is thirsty work. Who knew? You pop a plate of leftover chicken into the microwave to reheat as well.Anyway, John and Rose are probably worried about you guys, so you message Rose:- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 23:56! -GG: hi rose!After a short pause you receive a reply,TT: Hello Jade. GG: sorry we disappeared on you guys GG: dave wasn’t feeling too good so we caught a taxi home! TT: I’ll be sure to let John know. TT: He’s been running through the bar looking for the both of you. GG: i hope he isn’t too worried….. GG: so what are you up to over there? TT: The usual; underage drinking, loud music, strange men offering to whisk me off my betentacled little feet, John shooing strange men away in a quaint display of chivalry. GG: how sweet of him! TT: Yes, I will have to get him something suitably charming to repay him. GG: :)The tinny beep in the kitchen alerts you that food is done.GG: oh! GG: microwave is going off….. TT: You had best not keep it waiting then. GG: alright, i’ll message you later?? TT: No need, John and I should be coming home shortly. TT: There’s little point to a birthday party when the recipient isn’t there. GG: sorry! TT: It’s no trouble. TT: We’ll see you then, Jade. - tentacleTherapist [TT] has ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] - You retrieve your plate from the machine and take a seat at the table before tearing into it like a girl possessed. You’ve had too many close calls tonight, and it really takes it out of you to go all wolfy at people.Your phone chimes ‘Happy Birthday to You’ as the clock ticks over to midnight. You cut it off with a small smile and finish your food, washing your hands and setting the plate and glass in the sink when you’re done. You head back upstairs to check on Dave.You find him just as you left him, tucked into your bed and breathing softly. He's also thankfully calmed down.There's an urge that nags at the back of your mind, and for once you don’t argue with it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Finding yourself standing in complete darkness is a new feeling, even in a dream. Making sure your eyes are open and checking your shades changes nothing: you can see the faintest outline of yourself, but everything else is just pitch black.Predictably, a chill jolts up your spine. Oh boy, it's one of these dreams. Eyes. Two pits of magma slowly drawing closer. Every hair on your body stands up and screams to run--to get out of here and hide before it catches you--You roll your eyes. Whatever they belong to seems to flit from one place to the next, in your periphery one moment and then in front or to the side the next, always advancing at it's slow padding gait. Your lizard-brain continues shrieking. Of course your feet are nailed to the floor, but then this isn't the kind of thing you can run from. It's not your first rodeo through nightmaretown.So you wait. The creature may be new, but you knew this song and dance: It'll rile you up as it gets closer and closer, until it 'gets' you and you jolt awake with your sheets soaked through with sweat.Something brushes your hand and is gone before you turn to look, and then it's here; Molten eyes staring into you and you're burning, it's hot breath washing over you and scorching your flesh as you scream and scream--and here's the part where you wake up. Any goddamn second now would be really great--but it keeps going, burning until you're a charred heap on the floor and then even further. After an infinite stretch it finally, mercifully ends. The creature gazes down at the cinders you'd been reduced to before grabbing you, it's fangs pressing your arm almost daintily as you're dragged along with it, slipping in and out of sleep-within-sleep. Eventually you find yourself laying down, bathed in the warm glow of a bonfire a short distance in front of you. The heat this time is comforting, soaking into your bones and relaxing your aching body. Looking back you see that you're propped up against what you'd guess is the thing from earlier. It's a great shaggy thing; fur long and resembling silver shavings tipped with cinders in the dancing firelight. It's jaw goes too-far back on it's face, and it's dark claws glint sharp and menacing on the corded limbs folded around you. The effect is lost a bit when it's sleeping with it's black tongue lolling out like a big dope. You catch a huff to your right and turn, spying another person laying by the fire. Jade, laying curled up in what looks like her own fluffy personal snowdrift. There are others you don't recognize as well, sleeping or sitting, a few conversing in low words at the edge of hearing, too far to make out as you drift off. You’re suffocating. The mire of sleep breaks almost instantly to panic, and you find clamoring to get up isn’t the greatest idea--your back feels like someone decided to hammer steel on it. Your struggles against your restraints find them only blankets, the shroud across your face only hair; long, dark, and soft, smelling of sun and wildflowers... Okay how did you end up in Jade’s room, why are you in your boxers, and why’s she stuck to you? You remember getting the shit beat out of you and choking out the goth from the bar, but everything after that’s a blur.You take a minute to survey your surroundings, since you never really go in here. It seems to be just a regular room: a bed tucked into the corner, a bookshelf and desk, a dresser, a closet on the far wall, and clothes, plushes, and half-finished projects of hers strewn everywhere. Your shades we’re folded and set on the side table next to the headboard, though you couldn’t see your clothes.You can’t really get up with your back like this, and an attempt to roll over was met with screaming protest from your shoulder, so you lay back and try to sleep some more.- - - - - - - - - - You get up that morning and everything is great. Sitting up, you look over at Dave, still sleeping peacefully. As you shift your weight to get out of bed you hear a groan in his chest. he flinches as a pained expression crosses his face, and it hits you. You mentally smack yourself--you forgot to get his back! There’s a moment of irritation at yourself before you sigh in disgust. Too preoccupied jumping him not jumping him to remember to turn him over. Great job there, Jade.Gently levering yourself off the bed, you tiptoe out of the room in search of some fresh clothes for him.You sweep through the house to the rooms downstairs, pushing the door to Dave’s room open before making your way in and you’re lost. He’s everywhere in here oh christ you can’t You lose track of yourself.Next you’re in the middle of the room and his things are… surprisingly untouched. You check your phone to check the time and holy crap you’ve been in here a half hour smelling things.You dart across the room and grab the first shirt and pair of pants you find in the closet before hastily leaving. Dave’s gone when you reach your room. A spike of worry jams into your spine before you hear a clatter and hushed cursing downstairs. You find Dave in the kitchen with a frying pan and bottle of orange juice in hand, a bowl and the container of flour set on the counter.“What are you trying to make?“ You ask, pretending not to notice his slight start at your voice.He glances between his hands and you before quickly responding “Cereal.”You raise an eyebrow before crossing the room, motioning to the pan in his hand. He relinquishes it gladly before taking a chair at the table and slouching into it. You act like you don’t see him wince. Returning the implements he’s taken out other than the bowl, adding another next to it, and then retrieving the cereal from the top of the fridge and the milk from inside it. You pour out two bowls and stow the ingredients again, taking them to the table and a waiting Dave. You grab a couple of spoons and glasses afterward, setting them at the table and sliding them across for him; let him at least do something to salvage some pride here.He fills them with orange juice and hands you your glass before setting the bottle aside and digging into his cereal like a starving man. He gives a garbled “compliments to the chef” between bites which you ignore, tending to your own food.John sweeps his way into the kitchen with a light ‘Hey guys’ as he sets about making a breakfast of his own. The light swishing of clothes, clank of metal, and crinkle of plastic of John at work becomes a backdrop of sorts while you and Dave eat. You see Dave crack the smallest of smiles before you hear it. That glorious sound, that exultant cry of the heavens and to stomachs alike--The sharp hiss of bacon hitting a hot skillet. You would kiss him if he weren’t your brother (of sorts; grandpa told you it was more complicated than that, but never really went into it), and when the smell hits you you’re hard pressed not to do it anyway. Ugh. Show a girl a little meat and she’s your best friend no shut up brain this is a great morning. When the bouquet of the kitchen suddenly deepens with several more scents and light hisses, you stop to look.You’re met with John’s back, a culinary hurricane between the stove and counters, giving you glimpses into this breakfasty wonderland. The bacon has been joined by maple sausage and peppers and onions sauteing in their own juices and bacon fat, a pan beside it has scrambled eggs mixing with diced ham with cheeses. There’s also seasoned hash browns above that in a smaller pan, with a pot of grits taking the fourth eye on the stovetop. You see him add a few pinches of whatever he’s pulled from the pantry--you can’t pick it out with this aromatic orgy he’s creating.He turns from one to the other, stirring here, checking the consistency there, before deeming the meaty skillet finished and setting it aside on a wire rack. He then sets out another pan and gets to work with a bowl and whisk you hadn’t seen him produce. Once mixed he puts the bowl aside and tends to the other pans, pulling the eggs and hash browns off the eye and over to the rack and stirring the grits.He pulls out a baking sheet and gives it a light coating of shortening, then uses a large spoon to drop dollops of the bowled mixture onto it. He slides the pan into the oven--now preheated--and the bowl into the sink to soak.John then pulls out the serving plates and lids, transferring the various pots and pans to them (the grits he simply lids the pot and sets alongside the others) before crossing the kitchen and setting them at the table.You and Dave follow the plates with rapt attention. John’s stern look keeps the both of you from diving into it.“Not ‘till the biscuits are done.”You both groan until he points out your neglected cereal, which you return to grudgingly.Cooking mostly finished, John takes a seat while you and Dave finish off your bowls, making small talk of the previous evening. After a few minutes of chatting there’s a yell from above you, but you hear Rose’s feet on the stairs and she storms in shortly after.The smell of breakfast and fresh biscuits hits her about the same time as the sight of her friends. Her furrowed brow eases, and the cold set of her lips thaws into a soft almost-smile. She takes the remaining seat next to dave and relaxes. John springs from the chair and takes the drop biscuits from the oven, sliding them onto another plate and setting it at the table with the others. Your pouting gaze is met with a small chuckle.“Dig in everybody.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You waste no time serving yourself a plate, Jade hot on your heels to do the same. Rose lets you two fight a bit before filling hers while John pours her and himself a glass of OJ.The two of you tear into the food with gusto--you’re surprised; you don’t remember running any marathons last night, but when you’d started on the earlier bowl of cereal you’d realized you were starving. It helps that Egbert is apparently a god in the kitchen, and this stuff is tasty as hell--people could trade this shit as currency. Wage war over it, even. The Egbertian dollar would be responsible for WWIII and the end of life as we know it.Yeah you’re kinda reaching at this point but you don’t particularly care for much other than getting this glorious meal into your stomach as soon as possible.Jade seems to have the same idea, digging into hers like a ravenous animal.You pile some of everything onto half a biscuit and cap it with the crumbly top half and scarf that down, savoring the mixture of flavors and textures on your tongue. Rose takes the two of you in with a wry crook of her lips that you read as of course you two would be hungry cryptic titter. Please, it was just a completely normal post-assbeating night of sharing the covers--it’s damn cold this time of year, it makes sense one of your best bros would snuggle in with you. You won’t talk about how finding Jade wrapped around you in her nightclothes, all light breaths and soft smiles in her sleep, had made you feel.You are completely sure you didn’t do anything incredibly stupid and/or inappropriate with Jade last night.That you can remember. As the bustle of you all gorging on Egbert’s cooking wound to a close, the small talk began; first of the news report from Rose’s phone, then of Jade’s thought’s on the party last night, and finally to what transpired between you two disappearing and John and Rose’s return home.“I picked a fight and Jade dragged me back home after I passed out.”Jade was quick to interject, “And nothing else!” Her shifty look under your combined gazes only intensified, and raised more questions in your head.Thinking back to the previous night; you remember the parking lot, fighting those three guys, Jade saving your sorry ass, and then the goth deciding to reveal he was secretly Bruce Lee in The Crow cosplay the whole time. John would later tell you that Bruce Lee’s son was the lead actor for The Crow, and you wouldn’t care.Past that is darkness, but you really feel you should remember it. Or shouldn’t, since you got really fucked up back ther--Your usual mask pulls into the slightest frown as it strikes you: you actually aren’t all that messed up. taking inventory of your boo-boos you feel that other than your back you felt pretty damn great. You couldn’t see any cuts or bruises on your arms or hands, and there wasn’t even a twinge from your chest where you know that fucker cut you. What the hell did you miss last night? A ghost of vertigo passes through you. “I’m gonna take a shower.” “Oh, but we were starting to appreciate your change in cologne.” Rose replies with a cock of her eyebrow and an upturn of her lip. Now that she mentions it, at least you smell like someone chewed you up and spat you out, so that much is correct.You mumble your thanks for the food, standing to take your dishes to the sink. As you pass jade on the way out she hands you a shirt and pair of pants--you’d noticed them in her chair when she was getting the cereal, but hadn’t thought to grab them at the time. At least everyone had let your shirtlessness slide, although it probably wasn’t helping whatever mental screenplay they’d made up for last night.You give her a nod and stalk out of the kitchen with your usual grace and skill this time of day, meaning you stub your toe at the bottom of the stairs and almost trip at the top.A hot shower is sounding better every second. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Once Dave was safely out of earshot, the interrogation began.“So. Jade,” Rose broke the silence, sounding both curious and accusatory at the same time. John was also watching you as well, “What exactly happened last night?”“Nothing terrible.” Wow the grain in this table is interesting.“Jade.” From the set of her jaw it seemed Rose wasn’t going to take any of your cagey bullshit, so you drop it and tell them.“There was almost an, an accident out on the floor with Dave--” You give John a meaningful look that you can tell the blonde notes and tucks away for later, “--so I went to the bar to cool off. When I calmed down, Dave wasn’t there. I went and found him outside getting attacked by some guys!”John seemed to get an inkling of where this was going.“You didn’t do anything dangerous, did you?”“No mom, I politely asked them to leave him alone before I called the police, since there was a crowd of people there to back up my story. Once they left I called a cab and took Dave home for some first aid, then let him sleep it off.”If John didn’t believe you he didn’t show it. Rose seemed skeptical, but any further questions are cut off as her phone belts a tune into the morning air. She answers it almost instantly, with John holding back a laugh.After she leaves the room John reels backwards, giggling and guffawing. You look at him like he’s insane.“It's 'vampire killer'--you know, from Castlevania?”“...What about it?”“Well it’s--” He pauses to catch his breath, waving it off, “You’ll see later.” After a few more breaths to collect himself he continues, suddenly serious. “Alright, what really happened back there?”“Less asking nicely and more throwing into fences?”John gives a long-suffering sigh, “Jade, you know you can’t--”“Shut up, I didn’t change or anything. I just scared off the crowd and took him home after--are there any others like me in the city?” John is unfazed by your sudden change in topic.“I’m supposed to be meeting the local heads for Dad tonight, so probably? Why?” “There was this guy at the bar, he was kind of hitting on me. A lot. He came out after I scared off the other guys and attacked Dave.”“Woah, what for?”“Me, from the sound of it. Anyway, he messed up Dave really bad. I stepped in and got stunned when he threw me into a dumpster.” John stifled a chuckle, motioning for you to continue. ”I came around as Dave had him in a headlock. The two of them passed out so I grabbed Dave and booked it back home in a cab.”“I’ll keep an eye out then. What’d he look like?”“Tall, dark hair, loves black leather and makeup. Really pushy, too.” The boy rolls his eyes, “I’m sure he’ll stand out then.” John’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. You see him consider something before adding, “I’m going to borrow Dave for lunch today.”Your questioning noise is met with “If he’s going to get mixed up with this kinda stuff, I should at least make sure he knows what he's getting into. We both know what’ll happen if he’s not prepared in the future if this kind of stuff keeps happening--Speaking of which: the whole meetup thing is going on at this big fancy party, I was wondering if you and Dave wanted to come so I’m not the only one embarrassing myself there.”“You're forgetting someone.”John cracks a wicked grin, “Rose's already been invited--just not by me. Don’t worry about it; it should be a great night!”- - - - -The day passed quickly after that: John took Dave out for his crash course in monster mythology, and to pick up a nice suit for this evening. Dave, fresh out of the shower smelled delectable shut UP was far too relaxed to argue too much, finding himself herded out to the car. Rose finished her call, made another, and was picked up by a black sedan about fifteen minutes later after some apologizing about leaving you on your birthday, which you forgave and sent her on her way.Now you’ve got the house all to yourself, so you could finally relax.- - - - - - - - - -“Hey, she let you crash in her room.” John commented amicably.“What about it?” You feel an eyebrow raise a fraction above your aviators.“Like, her actual room. With her stuff in it. While she was there.”“Far as I could tell, yeah. I'm not really seeing the big deal man.”“Not a--It’s a huge deal! You were in--dammit. Let's say Jade it just really big on her personal space, okay? That’s not a thing you just do, man.” All manic energy now, his dark hair jostled as he flailed his hands about, trying to get his point across through the power of interpretive gesticulation. You'd say dance, but John had no rhythm. It was a curse.“It’s not like I was there by choice.” There was a shrug in the blonde’s voice, though his body didn’t follow it. “Don’t worry John, my purity is safe from Jade’s wiles. Got that shit so locked down that fort knox is eyein' it and contemplating ritual suicide out of sheer jealousy.”“No, you're not getting it. You could’ve been out on the couch or in your room or even the the yard and still been fine.” He stops suddenly, looking conflicted. You shrug mentally and physically, which doesn't seem to help.A hair more seriously you reply, "Nothing went on between me and your sister, you know I wouldn't do you like that."John looks up, kind of surprised. "Oh--I'm, no, that's not really what I'm worried about." He chuckles lightly before going back to stewing.- - - - - - - - - -Now dressed much more comfortably, you paced the hallway again, still stewing about the previous evening. You can’t go into your room right now, with it so steeped in his scent mixed with yours--even walking near it was an olfactory punch in the snout, and brought back inklings of memory from last night's fuzzier parts.You had him, and let the chance slip by. He’d defended you with his life and proved you were his. You woke with him in your arms and everything was perfect. The fact that nothing real had come about from it was driving you batty! Well, part of you.After the ride from the bar it took a more control than you wanted to admit to keep from simply throwing him down on the lawn and taking him there, regardless of whether or not the taxi driver had left at that point or that he was your FRIEND and you just don't DO things like that because that would be STUPID--. Even during the drive your hands were clenched in the sides of your dress to keep them off of him. You’d catch hell from Mr. Egbert if you did, but his stern fatherly disapproval would be an easy price to pay you think. Though for all the “romantic” grandeur in your head, you were too busy making sure he was okay while he was busy bleeding all over your room.Realistically you knew there wasn’t much you could’ve done with him so beat up. The other side of you still howled it’s mantra of STUPID STUPID DUMB. It doesn’t help that you’ve still got what feels like a volcano in your torso. You’d been boiling all morning, and having him about isn’t helping any.But it’s fine. You’ll leave things to John for now, because if you’re not careful you might really screw up and scare Dave off--or worse, hurt him. The thought of losing one of your few close friends over something so selfish pains you more than you’d like to admit. - - - - - - - - - -“Uh-huh.” It was your turn to deadpan. The way he was going on, it was getting hard to tell if John was bullshitting you or if he actually believed what he was saying. Who’d’ve thought that spending his adolescent years pranking people had made him such a good actor?John, noting your lack of attention, sighs lightly and holds his hands up. “Alright, I can see you’re not listening at this point, so lets just finish eating. Just... think about what I said, alright?”You held the ensuing silence for a half-second more than necessary (let him sweat), before shrugging and continuing your decimation over the shitty mcdonalds tray between you, having gone through two burgers and large fry, carving into your third now.- - - - - - - - - -You heard the car pull into the driveway, and the second scuff of shoes on gravel and closed door made you giddy--When John went to unlock the door, he rang the doorbell twice; the signal for 'mundanes along, there’d better not be any giant animals prancing around', your hopes settling somewhere around your shoes after the initial drop.It takes you a minute in the bathroom to calm down enough to get your ears back to their proper places and the tail to melt back into your spine, with John distracting Dave with chatter of new things he’d found on the internet or setting himself up for Dave to go on a tangent about music or various dead things. Using the opportunity, you give yourself a once-over in the mirror, running your fingers through your hair and working out most of the horrible snarls in it (you’d found long ago that brushing it was a lost cause since shifting only mussed it up again), making sure your teeth were clean and your breath was alright, then washing your face. You can hear climbing noise of static of the TV turning on.After the third time you’d washed your face someone knocks, “You fall in in there?” John calls through the door, a chuckle in his voice. An annoyed growl creeps out, but don’t dignify him with a proper response.Pointedly taking your time now, you exit the bathroom with your primmest expression. He falls in behind you as you go downstairs to the living room, giving you a slight nudge when you stop dead for a beat as Dave’s scent hits you afresh.“Don’t go up there for a while if you value your nose, man.” The glare you level at John could strip the paint from the walls. Dave shrugs slightly from the couch and returns his attention to the game. You could tell he was apprehensive about something, and dreaded what it might be.“I’ll throw a snack together, you two want anything to drink?” After a quiet 'no thanks' from you and a 'Tea' from Dave, John ambles across the room, pushing through the swinging door and disappearing into the kitchen.While the clank of pans starts up in the kitchen, you realize he’d left you and Dave by yourselves in here. You weren’t sure whether to thank him or strangle him, since it left you basking in Odeur de Strider with nothing to do about it. Taking deep breaths to try and relax only made it worse, since he was sitting right there. And you were starting to feel creepy, sitting and staring a hole through the back of his head.The two of you sit in oppressive silence for what feels like minutes before Dave finishes the stage and sets the controller down.“So John brought me up to speed on what happened last night. ‘Says you really helped me out back there.”You feel a blush bloom across your face, “No, I...”“So uh, I’m not gonna turn into a werewolf or anything, right?” You don’t miss the tinge of worry in his voice. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It took time to find the right words to explain to Dave what you are. While modern fiction brings the name to mind easily, it paints a horrible picture when you’re trying to avoid making your friends terrified of you.You‘re a werewolf. Other common terms were “lycanthrope” or “lycan”, “grue”, “loup-garou”, among others. After a deep breath you laid out the ground rules: No you don’t eat people (it was important that you said that one first)--others might, but more out of sick sport than a need. It’s frowned upon the same way murder is, since its a real easy way to get yourself and werewolves at large discovered and killed. not that he wouldn’t be scrumptious dammit you knock that off this instantNo he wasn’t going to turn into a werewolf. Grandpa had told you that changing someone over was possible, but it was a long and complicated process that he didn’t elaborate on. If it were as simple as bite there’d be a lot more werewolves running around than the few clans you were told about.Yes the moon affects you, though not as extreme or violently as movies would tell you. It made it easier to change and more difficult to change back (or the inverse), depending on the moon’s phase.No you don’t turn into a slavering berserker like in the movies. For the most part you’re still you, just less… restrained. The whole “silver” thing is a myth. You’re not weak to or allergic to silver--it’s just a metal. If you wanted to hurt one regular bullets would work just fine.Your senses are sharper than an average human’s, and get better the more you change, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing since it makes you sensitive to light, sound, and some smells--pepper spray won’t kill you, but it’ll make you wish it had.You gradually run out of things to say as Dave sits there silently.“I, uh.” You swallow past a nervous lump in your throat. ”I could prove it if you want.” The small shake of his head belied his uneasiness, making your hopes plummet.Thankfully John returned while you floundered for something, anything to ease the awkward silence that had settled firmly into the air after that.“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” John gave the other boy a good-natured pat on the shoulder before setting down a tray of sandwiches.Dave turned to him, “So how about you? Are you one too?”“Nope! One-hundred percent human. Though I’m hardly normal either.” He gives a small wink as he turns and lopes back into the kitchen, a light breeze sweeping across the room from nowhere. He returns with his and your drinks as well as a soda for Dave who accepts it without a word. “My family just makes sure people who aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this don’t find out.”“So what happens now?” Dave’s hands tighten on his can a fraction.“Well obviously since you’ve found out we’ll have to kill y--”You slap John’s arm as you find your voice again, “That's not funny." You turn back to Dave, "Nothing, honestly. I’m still the same person you’ve hung out with since we were kids. I just,” you swallow, “I didn’t want to keep things a secret from you anymore.”“What about Rose? Does she know about any of this?”“She doesn’t know about me, no. I was planning to tell her after the party tonight.” You’re unsure how she’ll take the news as well, but that’s a worry for later. Dave sits quietly for a few minutes, taking the occasional drink from his can. John helps himself to a sandwich, as do you. You can feel Dave’s eyes on you while you eat.The three of you sit there in relative quiet until John finishes his food and starts telling Dave about the party. You take the opportunity to excuse yourself.You’ll just take a shower and mull over the fact that you probably just ruined everything.- - - - - - - - - -You appreciate Egbert being there to keep you distracted from the werewolf elephant in the room, but you’re kinda busy feeling like a total douchebag right now. - - - - - - - - - -Standing in the steamy spray, you let the hot water force you to relax, in body at least. You let your mind take a backseat for a while as you follow through your usual routine. ah, finally! After a few deep breaths you relax your hold on your form, gradually changing back to the most comfortable for you: your ears lengthen to a point and shift vertically a little to peek out of your wet hair, swathed in velvety almost-white fur. the room’s sound deepens quickly, changing the shower’s hiss into a dull roar that filled your senses. A shiver runs down your spine as the gradual pulling sensation at your tailbone increases to an ache that wasn’t quite uncomfortable, like popping your back or neck, as your tail extends and fills out. You roll your hips as your tail swishes to and fro to relieve the built pressure. After a hollow pop and a sigh you finally feel like yourself again.You’ve always liked this form. It gave your other half a bit of room to stretch her proverbial legs without stretching you as well. While the sensations of a the change were muted, hearing your bones crack and muscles tear to rearrange themselves always made you queasy.Speaking of which, you take a moment under the shower to work out the kinks in your back and shoulders you acquired last night before reaching for the shampoo.- - - - - - - - - -“Hello Rose, It’s good to speak with you again.” The feminine voice sounded just short of a purr on the other end of the phone.“Kanaya. I hope you’re doing alright after last evening’s debacle?” A mixture of a sigh and growl reverberated from the front seat, Karkat expressing his distaste at you bringing his little slip-up to light again.“More than fine I assure you. Will you be able to accept my invitation to the ball this evening?”“Yes. I’ve had a word with the others--” Well, John really, but you know the others will understand. “--my schedule for tonight is open.”“Wonderful. I’ll see you shortly then.”“I look forward to it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The morning goes by in a blur. After your shower you revert to what would qualify as 'normal' and exit to hear John and Dave in the former's room, speaking in low voices. You'd rather not eavesdrop on them, so you take the opportunity to make a stealthy exit of the house to stew over fucking everything up cool your head.Your aimless walk is given a mission once your stomach growls again. It's a short jog to the convenience store, but that's fine. Taking in the sounds and smells of the city helps keep your mind out of that inky black puddle of self-loathing you've been increasing by the bucketful. "Get back here you motherf--""Get him--""No fuck y--""Hold him down!" A scuffle, from the sounds of it. You peek into an alleyway between a liquor store and the outer wall for it's parking lot to see four men: one on the ground being straddled by another, with the other two hovering nearby, watching as the one on top lays into the other with his fists. Wonderful, a chance to play. Eh, why the hell not.You silently approach and take advantage of the situation, slipping your fingers through the closest one's belt loop and quickly pulling them down, then grabbing the waistline and yanking back. He topples forward as he feet are pulled from under him, landing face-first in the gravel.The second one notices you, but the pair on the ground are between you, giving you enough time to give the man you tripped a sharp kick in the side. You weren't aiming to hit him very hard, but he's tossed a foot and rolled onto his back by the blow anyway. Oops.Sidestepping the two on the ground as you rush the other guy, you duck under his clumsy swipe and slug him in the gut, followed by the jaw from your lowered position. His head snaps up and he drops, a puppet with it's strings cut.Wheeling quickly you yank the top guy off of the other by the back of his neck, slinging him behind you into the wall. You spin and give him a kick to the sternum while he's against the wall, and then step in for another hook to the jaw. He crumples to the ground as you turn to the guy he was attacking, sizing him up.He wasn't much, to be honest. Tangled black hair in need of a trim set over thick eyebrows, above what had to be the reddest eyes you've seen beyond Dave's. He's wearing some nice clothes for this part of town--a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and a vest, maroon on the front and dark grey on the back, with black slacks and matching shoes. The only contrast in his looks is the cheap wristwatch he's wearing, which is an almost fluorescent bright red and beat-up enough that you're surprised it's still intact at all. He gives a wheezing cough as he pulls himself off the ground. "Don't expect me to fucking thank you for that." His bruised face tightens as he stands (you note he's a little shorter than you), catching his breath.Why you ungrateful little-- "I'll make sure not to step in next time. I'm sure you'd have been fine.""Shut your mouth, I was doing fine before you fucked everything up.""I saw that. You totally had them on the ropes there."He makes an agitated noise in his throat, "I was--never mind. You have no idea what was going on here anyway, so I'll be generous and spare you the insults to you and your family's intelligence.""You were getting mugged?"Looks as if he's going to snap back with something, but reigns himself in. "Nope, fuck this, I'm leaving."He spits at the guy crumpled against the wall before shouldering past you out of the alley, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing his nose.You wrestle with the urge to beat him up yourself before collecting your thoughts and leaving as well, continuing your trek to the store as he drives off.- - - - - - - - - -Today just isn't your day. Neither was yesterday or any other day in recent memory, for that matter.Seriously, great job there idiot, falling for something so simple--of course he'd bring friends to a fight. You sigh at how stupid you can be sometimes. It's obvious that thinking people might not be a bunch of ignorant greedy fuckwits is a waste of effort, but you still do it time and again. not to mention you were a total prick to that girl after she saved your ass back there. Fuck you hate yourself in hindsight.You pull up to the house for the second time today, ducking out of the car and stopping at the door to knock. Moments later there's a clatter of footsteps and you clear your throat lightly. put on your social face, it'll be over soon.It swings open abruptly, presenting you with the dorkiest grin to ever cast it's baleful shadow over this shithole of a planet. Attached to it is a person, but seeing as it's not female, it's not who you're looking for."Hello. I'm here for a Jade Harley? I've been sent to pick her up.""Oh, She's not here right now. Gimme a second to see where she's at." He plucks a cellphone from his back pocket and flicks through a menu before selecting her. When you can hear the dial tone, he asks "Who sent you to pick her up?""Rose Lalonde. Something about a party.""Ah, so Ka--Hey Jade! No everything's fine, there's a guy here for you. Rose sent him, his name is..." You give him a low 'Karkat Vantas' and he continues, "Mr. Vantas. No, I don't think he's a male stripper--" he tilts the phone away from his mouth, "Uh, you're not, are you?"You direct the most uninterested look you can muster at him, "No." The urge to strangle this idiot was climbing at an alarming rate, but you keep your cool--you're not going to deal with Lalonde's drama over this shit later."--He's not. Anyway, when are you gonna be home?"There's a short pause. "Alright then. We'll see you when you get here. Bye!" Shortly afterwards he hangs up and stows the phone again."She should be here in about fifteen minutes, if you'd like to wait inside."You briefly consider pulling the 'company policy' card and avoiding it, but frankly the sun is starting to give you a headache. "Sure. Thanks."He walks back the way he came, leaving the door open for you. Shit."Actually, I'm not sure I should..." You let your voice sound appropriately hesitant.He takes the bait as he cheerily calls back "No no, it's fine. Please--" "come in." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It takes a while for Mr. Vantas to get comfortable in the living room. You wonder why someone sent by Ms. Maryam be so beat-up."Mind if I ask you about--" his immediate "No" cuts off the rest of your question, so you let it drop. Touchy, isn't he? You give your guest a look over; he's a little shorter than you. His face calls the most attention, with some nasty bruises starting up at his temple, under his eye, and on his jaw. He's got the makings of a rather nasty shiner on surfacing around his other eye, and from his squint you'd guess his nose was hurt or he's just a very scowly person. Upon noticing your appraisal the creases at his eyes and brow deepen. Alright, just a scowl. "So, the party Jade's being picked up for." You set a glass of tea down and slide it across the table to him, "It wouldn't happen to be big one downtown tonight, would it?""I would assume so, seeing as it's the only party one Snarky Broad and her Lady Fussyfangs would deign to attend this evening.""Oh come on, Rose isn't that bad!" "...Just don't talk about your parents.""Ha!" Your glass almost slips at his sudden outburst of mirth. You're surprised how Karkat changes when he laughs--the deep lines around his eyes and mouth ease, his jaw unclenches and laughter rolls up from his chest. Some could even call him handsome like this.Almost as soon as it starts to show it stops abruptly as he catches himself, his scowl settling in again. It's then you hear the front door open.- - - - - - - - - -Your journey, successful. A bevy of deceptively cheap snacks and drinks, secured. Worries, muted by fresh air and good deeds done (even if done for ungrateful pricks).After rounding the corner back onto the main road of the complex, you locate your temporary abode. The black sedan from this morning has returned--seems Rose had sent for you, wherever she'd gone off to this morningA quick peek through the tinted window shows nobody inside, so you head for the front door and shoulder your way in."John, I'm back!"He gives a noncommittal noise from the kitchen and you ease your way around the coffee table to join him.He gives you a quick 'Hey Jade' as you notice a guest sitting across from him. He notices you as you recognize him, his jaw going slack.A second later he recovers, "Of course you're Jade Harley, just my fucking luck as usual." He--Karkat makes a disgusted noise in his throat as he rises from his chair, draining his glass and trudging over to the sink to deposit it.You're getting just a little fed up with this douchebag's apparent dislike of you, especially since you hadn't even met him before today--and after saving his ass no less! "What is your problem?""None worth mentioning to you."John's questioning look between the two of you quickly jumped to you as he sprang from the chair, herding you from the room."Jade, you've got to calm down.""Why should I have to--" He gives you a sharp look and you pause, then catch the sound rippling out from your throat. You'd been growling."I..." You take a deep breath and settle yourself, "You're right. Sorry." After another few second under his stern glare, his face eases back to his usual grin. "No problem!" He gives you a small clap on the shoulder and starts back into the kitchen.You follow to fins Karkat Vantas standing in the doorway, looking oddly thoughtful. "That explains the alley then." John's eyebrows shoot up as he levels another curious glance between the two of you.A puff of air escapes Karkat that you could technically call a sigh as he pulls his cellphone out and dials a number. A few seconds after it's pressed to his ear he starts."You've got a lot of explaining to do, Lalonde." You perk up at your friend's name."You know damn well what I mean." You concentrate on your hearing to catch her voice. "No, I'm afraid you'll have to explain. I don't recall having complicated things for you recently.""Oh yeah sure, let's neglect to mention that your friend's a 'Were and watch Karkat get himself mauled. Look, I get that you're pissed about yesterday but--"- - - - - - - - - -You glance up from your tirade to see Jade and John look at you like you just set their beloved family pet on fire after sodomizing it with a power drill.You suddenly feel that you may have just seriously fucked up."Karkat. Karkat, are you there? Karkat?" Rose's voice sounds far away on the phone in your now-slack grip. It's in the brief moment as Jade's horrified look crumbles and her eyes start to well that you realize it. Guilt and dread suckerpunch you in the gut.Rose didn't know.She bolts from the living room and out the front door before you can so much as start to apologize. God FUCKING DAMMIT ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Alright folks, for outing a supernatural to a close friend of theirs, our douchebag of the year award goes to none other than Karkat Vantas! A round of applause for our lucky winner, please!" If you were hating yourself for stupid shit earlier, it's nothing compared to now. You round another corner, staying locked on the sounds of Jade's muffled cries and breathing as she ran.Using your energy for this was already turning your headache into a full marching band parading through your skull, but you're not about to let someone else's life get fucked over by your stupid mistake. You can top off once you get this shit sorted and settled.You hop a short fence and cut through a yard to head her off at the next corner, almost plowing into her as she ran blindly."Jade, wait!" You snag her arm and pull her to a stop. She yanks it free immediately, but doesn't bolt off."What did I do?" Jade whirls on you, sputtering as she hastily wipes at her eye with a sleeve. "Why do you hate me so much--I don't even know you!""Hate you? What--I don't hate you, I barely even know you. This is just a bad day of mine spiraled so far out of control it's exploded out of the atmosphere and flown straight into the fucking sun.""So you're that much of an ass all the time?"You bite back a reply you would no doubt regret. "Yeah." You take a step back to give her some space, "Look, I was an idiot back there. I know an apology's not going to make anything better, and I'm sorry for that too. I had no idea Rose didn't know about you--I've gotta say I'm surprised she didn't, given her present company, but I'm getting off-topic here."You put a hand on her shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring manner, "I fucked up big time here, but I can try and help make it up to you if you haven't completely written me off as a complete douchenozzle yet."Her face shuffles between anger, sadness, confusion, and a few others more, but at least she stops bawling in the middle of the sidewalk.She takes a few shaky breaths before nodding, "O-okay. How are we going to do this?"Your answer is cut off as your brain fucks off to oblivion for a while.- - - - - - - - - -Okay, you might have overreacted a little there, but in your defense you came home to a shocked Egbert saying Jade's run off, which you track her to find some angry guy growling at her while she was crying.You panicked gotta to stand up for your friends, you know?- - - - - - - - - -You need a moment to take stock of what's happened. First, Karkat was apologizing for his slip-up to Rose over the phone, then Dave rounds the corner and pauses. Suddenly he's leapt across the distance and spun, decking Karkat in the jaw and landing squarely between the two of you as Karkat crumples to the concrete.Looking now, he's like some strange cat ready to spring. There's a crimp in his upper lip that vanishes a half-second after he finishes the maneuver--you'd guess it would be a snarl on a normal person. Honestly you're surprised at the display."Dave?"His shoulders loosen a fraction and his expression smooths into his usual mask, "Harley.""What was that for? He was apologizing.""Hm." You hear a shallow exhale from him as he calms down, before reaching down and checking on Karkat.Karkat's breathing picks up before he starts to recover, hauling himself off the ground and slapping Dave's extended hand away."Yo uh, Guy. Sorry for popping you there."He gives a grunt as he wipes his mouth on a sleeve. "Given that I was in the middle of an apology and may have deserved that, I will let your suckerpunching ass go un-kicked. You try that again I will take you the fuck apart, human."Dave gives a snort and you cut off his reply with; "So what do you plan on doing to fix this?"Karkat's brows knit together as he considers something, his expressions shifting at an almost cartoonish pace in front of you."You guys are going to the big party tonight, yeah?" you nod. "I can get you and Rose some peace and quiet there to hammer this shit out."He continues before you can question that. "Given that the cat has not only escaped the bag, but shat all over the carpet and shredded the furniture, You two will wanna get it out of the way as soon as possible--I know how Lalonde can get when she feels jilted.""How do you and Rose know each other?""She and my boss have been trying to see who can suffocate the other with their tongue--among other things--for what has to be the most disgusting few months I've been forced to endure."That explains the odd perfume you've noticed when she comes back from one of her sudden 'trips' while you've been here."Alright. I'm not sure how hard it would be to get a moment with her regardless though."He gives you that 'are you an idiot' stare again, "You would be very surprised.""So." Dave finally speaks up."So what?" You see Karkat's glare reapply itself and turn to your friend."Just wondering if anyone knows the way back to the house." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You feel like an idiot.All the signs you'd either missed or pretended not to notice, and Karkat Vantas had been the one to both see it and break the news of Jade's... condition to you.It was a slap in the face.The revenge you're plotting for him will be swift and humiliating, but that will have to wait--there were more disturbing matters to address. What other secrets had Jade been keeping from you? Did John know about her? Did Dave? The thought of being kept out of such information for some reason left you cold."Rose?" A woman's measured voice floats from behind you, "Is everything alright?"Kanaya stands in the doorway, having no doubt heard your end of the conversation minutes prior. The worry on her face adds a layer of guilt to your already crowded emotions.A small sigh escapes as you take a moment to calm yourself."Just something I'll need to talk with Jade about later.""I hope I haven't kept your from anything important."You feel a smile tug at your lips, but keep it in check. Her worrisome nature was one of her charms the traits you enjoy about her, she was always caring for others.Crossing the room you pull her into our arms. Her body rests against yours comfortably, with your hands clasped at the small of her back. "It's nothing, really." her brow betrays her skepticism so you cede a small truth; both to ease her worries and change the subject. "I'm quite looking forward to this evening."Kanaya's expression brightens considerably from that. "Have you decided what to wear?"Ah, fashion. "Not yet, I was considering asking a second opinion before I try on anthing." You lean in a hair further, "Though some of these are so elaborate, I may need some help getting them off if I don't like them." Your voice drops slightly.Kanaya retreats a half-step that you follow easily, keeping your arms around her."Rose you know I--""I know." When she starts omitting pauses you know she's uncomfortable. You give what you hope is an understanding smile before you dart in to deliver a quick peck to her captivating lips before releasing her and stalking to the expansive wardrobe across the room.You could feel her blush swell from across the room, as well as her longing look. You hoped.- - - - - - - - - - Your eyes follow her hips as she sashays to the wardrobe. Her touch, her kiss, leave a burning note on your lips and bring a dark hunger in you to the fore. Rose Lalonde; your beautiful rose. You know very well that you cannot--no, must not have her, but her thorns only leave you aching more for her, and she knows it. If only you could just-- You cross the room in a blink, circling your arms around her and pressing your lips to the point her neck meets her shoulders, all flawless porcelain skin. She turns, surprised as you kiss her fiercely. You heft her up and against the wardrobe, grabbing her rear roughly as you press her against it, releasing her lips to lay kisses along her jaw, her resistance quickly melting under your assault. It's then that you strike. Sinking your fangs-- You retreat from the room quickly, your thoughts kept safely from reality.- - - - - - - - - -The drive to the boutique is filled with a deafening silence that makes you want to tear your hair out. Since you need your hands for steering though, you settle for driving like a total asshole and reveling in the honks and insults you earn.Which are quite numerous, since apparently everyone and their fucking grandmother seems to have decided to be out on the road today--you are twenty minutes behind the schedule Kanaya let had you hammer out, and you're going to get an earful from two flighty broads when you actually manage to deliver Jade to the store Rose had picked out (no doubt with kanaya's fretful input).Normally you'd just say 'fuck it' and get there when you get there, reckless driving or no. Today however you decide to just bite the bullet and call in ahead.A short dial tone and three rings later the crisp voice of one Rose Lalonde answers "Yes?"Your earlier guilt rears up and punches you in the dick again, but you ignore it. "Could you tell Kanaya--""It would appear that you're more than capable of volunteering information yourself, Mr. Vantas.""Yeah, which is why I called her number, Ms. Lalonde. If you could so kindly put her on the phone?"There's a pause on her end and you take a sort of twisted pride in having gotten the better of her for once. A few seconds later, Kanaya's voice comes through the speaker. "Karkat?""Everything's fine, just calling in to say that traffic is being a right bitch at the moment, so we're going to be later than anticipated.""How much later do you estimate?""Another twenty minutes at the current route, if not more."There's a small 'Hmm' in acknowledgment and you hang up.You tilt the rear-view to check on your cargo, finding Jade looking antsy. You settle the mirror back into position and let out a deep breath.This is going to be a long day. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The sun is going down and nobody's come home yet.Dave said he was heading 'out' after Jade left with Karkat, and Rose was still gone from when she was picked up (also by Karkat) this morning.A round of messages later and Dave is on his way back, Jade is having something to eat before she returns as well, and Rose says she'll see you all at the party.Since the party starts at nine, you're left with three hours to entertain yourself. With no one home, but on the way.Oh, this is going to be good.- - - - - - - - - -It takes almost a half-hour to walk back to the house after John messaged you. You considered calling a cab before you realized that you forgot to grab your wallet when you left. First world problems: never without his phone, but forgets his wallet. Whatever. It's not exactly your style to ask for help anyway. Besides, it's good exercise. You need to keep your girlish figure, after all. It's about there that you're tackled by someone entirely too big to be that quiet and thrown into the side of a passing truck.You'd like to say you got up and kicked that guy's ass. You were out a few seconds after you bounced off of it and to the ground. The driver kept going--either they didn't notice or didn't care. Just your luck. - - - - - - - - - -An hour after your messages were sent out, there's a sound from out front; the light crunching of pebbles under tires. Your first victim has arrived.You take your position and wait, intent on watching the scene unfold. The door opens a crack at first, no doubt Jade suspects you were up to something--she's right of course, but she doesn't know when or what yet--then opens it to enter after checking for tripwires and things on top of the frame. She motions for the person behind her (you're guessing Karkat from the heavy sigh) to wait as she scouts the living room ahead, sniffing lightly for anything out of place. You decide to spring your trap.Rising from your vantage point, you sidle down the stairs to her, keeping your face composed and greeting her with a nod."I heard you guys pull up. Need any help unloading the car?"She keeps her eyes trained on you, looking for a tell of some sort, "No thanks, there isn't much to bring in, and Karkat seems to have that handled."You assume your usual grin, "Alright then. Should I be getting drinks for our guest then?""You two do realize I'm right here, right?" Karkat crosses the threshold and lays the stack of clothes across the back of the loveseat."--Karkat don't!" She lunges to his rescue to be presented with... nothing.Karkat looks at her like she's crazy as she gives a quick apology, and you keep your dopey grin in the face of her suspicious glare that follows."So, thirsty?" You let Jade catch a small smirk.Karkat gives a nod and you start for the kitchen."I'll get them." Jade almost sprints from the room and you let her pass, taking a seat on the couch across from your guest instead. As the kitchen door closes there's a deep 'kerTHUNK' throughout the kitchen as your strategically placed confetti cannons go off. Jade's surprised squawk is priceless as you spring from your seat and open the kitchen door for a view.There stands Jade a few feet from the door, completely covered in shiny plastic rectangles of every color. As well as the rest of the kitchen. "Oh, right. I'll grab the drinks then." Jade is stock still as you pass her to the fridge, grabbing a few cans of soda and returning to your seat in the living room.You offer one to Karkat, who accepts it as he leans back on the couch for a better view of the warzone past the door.His small snort rouses Jade from her shock. She stomps out and up the stairs to the bathroom.You and Karkat exchange chuckles as the door slams.- - - - - - - - - -Your first thought is pain. It feels like you got hit by a truck. You chuckle at the thought and wince at the pain it returns."Shut it, he's waking up." Footsteps sound and there's a hand on your head, pulling you out of your slump by your hair."Rise and shine, motherfucker. You've got a big day ahead of you." The sharp tang of grease and bad breath hit you in the face."We should just kill--" The hand leaves your head as you hear the voice across the room jump to a strangled gurgle."I didn't give you leave to question my fuckin' orders."There's a croak that you assume is an apology, and a thump as they're dropped, coughing and wheezing.He barks two more names you don't catch and more hands are on you, pulling you out of the chair you were in and dragging you somewhere else as you slip back into darkness.The next you know you're laying on concrete. You can feel a few hours have passed, and everything still hurts.Your mind whips back to consciousness as a voice booms above you, "Welcome, brothers and sisters of the dark!"Theres a murmur from all around you as you try and open your eyes, "The moon rises in a few hours, and as you all know the appeasers will be meeting tonight." The boos and curses from the audience don't help your headache."Those fuckers won't be deciding our ways much longer! As you've seen these last few months, we've raised our numbers to prepare for the battle ahead. Tonight we add the last to our clan, and we'll announce our legitimacy to the world on the grandest scale!" More cheers thunder through the room."Tonight, we attack!" The noise rises from cheers to roars--like great beasts filling the area above, instead of people.A silence falls as quickly as the cheers began. You finally get your eyes to adjust to the light and examine where you are.From the exposed I-beams and metal paneling above and concrete floor below, you're in a warehouse. Looking around you find yourself in a pit of sorts--storage crates make up the walls, with large scratches and larger dents marring the surface. People are gathered at the tops, looking down on the makeshift arena.The scuff you hear to your left alerts you of another in the pit--a teen like you, tall, with tanned skin and dark hair. He's dressed in a black tank top with some purple logo on it, and dark pants that looked a few sizes too big--even for him."Tonight we witness Makara's initiation, and then we march!" The voice booms again. Looking, it belongs to what has to be the tallest man you've ever seen--and you've seen some pretty freaking tall people these last few days. Add on the fact that he looked like he was made of nothing but chiseled muscle on that frame made a rather imposing image.The wild hair, skull facepaint and black-and-purple ribcage shirt were just icing on the cake.He locks eyes with you."You're to be the sacrifice." Scattered laughs cross the crowd before his glare cut them short, then settling back on you."Your choice is simple, boy." He motions to the teen across from you, "Fight, or die." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You're fifteen minutes late to the party--you're standing outside the building, of course; even worried as you're starting to get, you can't offend these folks too much--and Dave still hasn't shown up, or even sent word that he'd be late. You've gone from the calm green to a perturbed yellow friendleader alert frequency right now. Jade is hardly any better off, still in the car trying his number. You've done the same, as well as calling anyone you know here to keep a lookout for the coolkid.Now normally three hours isn't very long, but with a jilted werewolf on his list of recent encounters, you're working a tad more cautiously.The car door opens and shuts with a dull noise as Jade steps out. You've got to hand it to Rose, she knew exactly what would accent Jade's features. You're not sure what it's made of, but the strapless thing's dark material seems to take in the light, bringing the small green points on it into stark contrast against the black. The slitted side let her move more comfortably as well, fitting some function into it's form.She's a walking nightscape, and while you're not going to say you find her attractive--she is your sister, she does look very pretty tonight.Your questioning eyebrow gets you a shrug and a frustrated sigh from Jade, "Let's just go in." Crooking your arm at her, she loops hers through and the two of you head into the party.- - - - - - - - - -This would all be much more tolerable if you had your shades.You mean, you're not exactly defenseless without them, but you really are Egbert put a lot of effort into getting them for you.Sudden kidnapping? You're game. Internment in underground deathmatch? Cool beans. Without your shades? not on yor life, do not agree with the terms of service, et cetera et cetera.Why no longer diatrebes on your shadeslessness far exceeding the legal limit? You're a bit busy with the wicked-fast murderclown on pcp you're having that underground deathmatch with.You didn't notice the matching facepaint with big mclargehuge upstairs until after he springs across the concrete to maul you. You're starting to be real grateful for your rooftop time with Bro right now, because otherwise you'd be a broken heap by this point."What the FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, RUNT?" The man in purple booms, making the tanned kid freeze and step back from you.He waves a hand to the others standing above you, with a few coming forward and dropping weapons down into the square. The big guy himself doing so as well.Your opponent runs over to grab the pair of clubs tossed in by the giant guy up top, even going out of his way to gather the second up after it clatters away when it lands.You just grabbed the nearest blade you could find--a thin little thing with a red handle and dragon head on the pommel, levering it between you and the other teen.When the two of you have them in hand, a hush falls over the crowd. You look for the cause, but everyone's eyes are still trained on the two of you. A thin woman with dark hair looks down at you behind her glasses with a grin that would make a shark whimper in shame.Looks like they're waiting for you to start the party for them.The kid's crooked laughter gives him away. His swing at your head is clumsy, wide. The rush of air on your face as the club passes tells you to stay the hell away from them regardless. Swaying out of his swipe's range, you hop back to get some more distance.He steps forward with his opposite foot, pivoting for an upward swing at your head again then--You twist sharply to the side to avoid his accompanying kick, almost a blur. What is it with everyone being so freaking fast these days?Turning with the motion, you slash at his chest. To dodge he just drops like a puppet suddenly missing it's strings. He rolls backward back onto his feet and launches himself at you, swinging wide again. You sway back and swing down at him, and the fucker actually slaps your blade away with his opposite hand.He kicks out at you, leaning back to recover his second club again, hopping off his remaining foot to kick again; horizontally this time. Slip to the side of the first, then block the second; your blade braced against your arm.The boy yelps as it bites into his leg and he stumbles back out of reach, wary. The crowd roars, a mixture of short laughs and disapproval.From there the two of you circle slowly.- - - - - - - - - -Looks like your fashionably late arrival has pissed off no-one, so you're doing great so far.Not that it seems to matter, since everyone seems to be ignoring you in lieu of Jade.The two of you were led from the door through the lobby and down to a massive ballroom complete with greco-roman pillars, shiny marble floors--the works.You took the time to wander the room shaking hands and making polite greetings to everyone you'd been told about by your dad, as well as anyone who looked important otherwise.Since then you haven't gotten so much as a glimpse of Rose yet, though she might be taking her time getting here as well.Your phone vibrates, and you check it to find Jade messaging you:- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ghostlyTrickster [GT] at 21:20! -GG: john help!GG: rose just got here but i'm being swarmed by guys and can't get to her!!!GG: none of them can seem to take a hint either :(GT: alright, I'll see if I can't fix your boy problem.GG: thanks!! GG: please hurry....- gardenGnostic is now an idle chum! -It's not hard to find Jade--or rather, the swarm of guys that surrounded her--at the bar. Actually getting to her is an interesting challenge; It takes a good few minutes to shift and sidle to her through the crowd. Jade gives you a look of relief as she catches sight of you."Alright folks, my sister informs me that our guest of honor has arrived, so if you'd all kindly--"You're cut off as someone to your right shoves you; "Butt out, human. She's just fine here with us."You cut Jade's growl off with a hard look and turn to your would-be aggressor. Six-four, dark hair, leather jacket, pants, and boots; all black of course. A werewolf by the look of him, and not a very aged one at that.Poor guy has no idea who he's picking a fight with.With a quick flip of your hand he's three feet off the ground as the air around him whips him up. The others are pushed back into a neat eight-foot circle around you and Jade, likewise kept at bay by the gale. The glasses and bottles on the bar aren't disturbed in the slightest."It looks like I forgot to introduce myself: Hi! I'm John Egbert. I'm the Cleaners rep for the meeting today. I'm also pretty good with air spells, but you already know that." He snarls at you and swings a now-clawed hand, which only sends him tumbling end over end in the little wind tunnel you have him free-falling in."Now," You cast your gaze over the rest of the crowd for effect "My sister and I would really like to see our friend, so we'll be going now." Jade takes your offered arm and the two of you walk to the lobby, the crowd forced apart around you as you go.She giggles, leaning in. "Showoff."- - - - - - - - - -It wasn't long before the two of you found Rose in the ballroom, standing next to who you assume was one Kanaya Maryam. The pair of them reminded you of two willows, slender and graceful. There was also a lack of people talking to the two of them--You mean, there were people talking to them, but at a more respectful distance. From the small crimp in Kanaya's brow she didn't seem to be enjoying herself.Now, how to change that... ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The room is surprisingly quiet, half surprised that you're doing so well, half waiting for something decisive to happen between you two.Another swipe barely misses your face, and your return strike only hits air. This kid is getting better, and you're not sure what to do about it. Sure, self-defense is an easy out if the cops show up, but maiming a dude in the same boat as you gives you a queasy feeling.Of course you were perfectly fine breaking that guy's arm last night Shut it, he's the one who decided to bring a knife to a fistfight.You're also surprised at your opponent. He has that flitting quickness like you and your brother, but the way he moves is all wrong for it. You're kinda grateful about that actually; if he stopped lolling around so much and trimmed down his movements he'd be stomping you into the ground right now.Clownboy doesn't even seem short of breath either, which worries you. If this fighting keeps up you're going to tire out and get killed seriously injured.- - - - -It's Jade who makes the first move; simply waving and stepping up her pace, pulling you along. It puts an odd look on the more 'noble' guests, but accomplishes your objective nicely--Rose looks over and her eyes brighten, her small fake smile now looking more genuine."Jade, I was looking forward to seeing you here." You feign a hurt look, "And you as well, John. Though I'm still puzzled as to why the two of you are here.""I'm sure Ms. Maryam would know why I'm here, though I'm not sure we've met personally." You offer a hand to the mocha-clored woman and kiss the smooth skin of her knuckles when she takes it. "Nice to finally meet the woman who's been snogging my friend." Her sudden blush is priceless, as is Rose's glare. You hold your hands up peacably, "Our friend Karkat seems to talk more than he notices--but it really is nice to meet you Ms. Maryam.""Just Kanaya is fine, thank you." You nod."Ah, on the subject of Karkat; His collossal slip-up via phone gave Jade's reason for being here besides my invitation. I thought she might like to meet the locals here. Well, that and the whole 'fancy party just in time for birthdays' thing."Kanaya chimes in carefully "Perhaps not a wise idea, if I'm not being to forward?" A small shake of head head and she continues, "Most of them will see an unclanned girl of age here as a viewing opportunity for a potential mate for her."Jade grimaces. "Well that explains the reception." Kanaya gives her a small sorry, and you feel like the biggest doofus for throwing Jade to the wolves--literally and figuratvely."Crap. I should go explain--" Kanaya stops you as you go to leave, "You might only make things worse, since they will likely view your attempts to disuade them as a challenge."Rose adds, "I'm also fairly sure that starting fights at what is supposed to be a peaceful meeting isn't a particularly good idea." Darn. With these two here making sense, it looks like you're stuck in doofusville."Alright then. Sorry Jade, I didn't know."She shrugs, "I can tell them I'm not interested myself. If push comes to shove I might need some assistance though?" She directs that at you and Rose, and the two of you nod easily."So, why are you here?" Double darn. You had hoped Rose would be diverted by your expert change of subject."I uh, I'm the Cleaner rep for the meeting, to make sure everyone plays nice and such." You can see she's mad at you from the shift in her eyebrows and the oh-so-miniscule scowl settled on her lips."So you knew about--" she motions to the ballroom's occupants."I wasn't allowed to tell you! There's a lot of rules to this gig, let me tell you.""Such as?""Only when somebody has a violent run-in with something supernatural--the stuff you can't just medicate away, or when we're scouting to hire someone. You seem to have done well enough finding out by yourself anyway.""How long have you known?"Wow the ceiling here sure is interesting. "Five years? I was added as an honorary by my dad once my little 'gift' became apparent." You twiddle your fingers; a small vortex carries a drink from one of the passing servers to your hand, which you then offer to Kanaya who quietly accepts and sips.Rose's eyebrows shoot up so quickly you're briefly worried for her hairline.- - - - -You swoop in under a club and drive your pommel up into the kid's chin, sending him staggering back. You take the chance to recover a bit--you're wearing out quick. At this rate you've got maybe a few more minutes in you. Your arms and legs are already burning from the exertion, and you know that after that comes the lead phase; you're hardly going to be able to lift your arms after that, and it'll be Game Over then.The noise above the pit has increased. Big Man's getting impatient, from the sound of it, and the shark lady has been cackling almost nonstop for the last few minutes.The boy leaps at you and you're ready for him; spinning alongside his uppercut to elbow him in the neck, then plant a boot into his chest to create more space. "Oh for fucking--KILL HIM ALREADY!" The boom echoes through the room.Shark lady continues laughing, "It seems your choice was a good one, Highblood.""I don't WANT your MOTHERFUCKING BULLSHIT HERE, REDGLARE.""Nonsense! I'm far too good at what I do to send away.""Cut the SHIT, woman. What's in your head?""Only that it would be a shame to lose such an interesting specimen.""You seem to be NEGLECTING the MOTHERFUCKING POINT."She shrugs, "Why not keep them both? They've certainly proven themselves competent, blooded or no."The man falls silent, brows furrowed."I'm sure you'd also hate to marr the evening with more of your scion getting beaten up while we're on a time limit ourselves--""--Shut UP or SO HELP ME--""You'll what?" You have to give the lady some credit: you'd be pissing yourself mildly unsettled under the glare she's getting from him.Their staredown continues for almost a minute before he gives a snort, "You're right. We don't have the motherfucking time for this."You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're also immediately worried when he drops down into the pit.A hand closes around your throat--he crossed the distance before you could even--"Get the fuck out of my ring, human."His deep growl only registers as you're careening end-over-end through the air the next second.Luckily you're caught as you hurtle over the top of the barrier. It would've been a rather nasty spill to hit the concrete on the other side of the pit's wall. Your rescuer deposits you in a heap back on top of the barrier, and you're given the chance to see who decided to save you wow the shark lady is much more imposing up close."YOU." The Big Guy (Highblood, apparently) barks from the arena, "We'll settle this."She turns to you and plucks something from her coat, handing it to you. "The door out is on the right down the hallway, third door." The woman's smile widens considerably, "If you'll excuse me, I have a date."You take the hint and drop from the crate, running for the door. As you reach it you finally take the time to see what she handed you.Your phone and shades look up at you as terrible roars rise and crash in the arena behind you. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "--Well, it was my first day with my hook..." The group erupts with laughter around you. It always surprises you how popular the pirate joke is.You left Jade with Rose and Kanaya to talk amongst themselves while you made rounds introducing yourself to the others in the room. Your greetings took you all the way down to the bar in the lobby before you were approached by a group of burly men.Apparently they were impressed with your treatment of Isaac (who you wind-tunneled earlier), he was apparently a bit of an ass. Five minutes later you're all drinking and telling jokes."Excuse me boys, I need to borrow him for a minute."There's a tap at your shoulder and you turn to find Rose. The group hoots and cheers at you as she pulls you away, sashaying for effect.Once you reach the ballroom she comments, "I see you're enjoying yourself.""Yep.""Not too inebriated I hope?""Under twenty-one, remember?""Very well then.""So.""Indeed."You pause, rubbing the back of your neck, "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about all this earlier.""It's nothing to worry about John. I understand you were in a difficult position.""Well, yeah, but I felt bad keeping so much from you guys.""Does Dave know about any of this?" There's the slightest hitch in her voice, but you don't say anything about it."A little. Jade can tell you more, but from what I can tell he had a--" You clear your throat, "disagreement with a werewolf the other night, and Jade had to intervene.""I'll have to have a word with her later about that."There's a moment of uncomfortable silence before you change the subject, "So. Kanaya, huh?""What of it?""I just thought she seems nice. She's very pretty.""Why John, is that disappointment I hear? Upset that I was swept up by another woman before you had your chance?""I'm not sure I could compete; I don't have the figure for it." You stop to pose artfully at a nearby table. You're rewarded with a (small, but beaming for Rose) smile."Actually, there was something I wanted to ask your assistance with, regarding Kanaya and I."You raise your eyebrows "That bad?" She slaps at your arm."Wouldn't Dave be a better person to ask?""Dave's response for how to woo someone would be 'Rap Battle'""I dunno, that sounds pretty romantic to me. Especially with how wordy you two are.""Will you listen to my request or not?""Shoot."She starts explaining when your phone rings. You don't recognize the number, but you wouldn't be surprised if one of your dad's colleagues decided to check up on you.- - - - -After several minutes of running from the warehouse you reach a street that's somewhat populated. Nobody followed you that you can tell, but you're not going to put much stock in anything at this point.First order of business: find phone.A few blocks of walking and you locate a corner store with a payphone outside.John picks up on the second ring, "This is John Egbert speaking.""Sup.""Dave! We were starting to worry since you hadn't replied to our messages. Or calls. Is everything all right? And why didn't you call from your phone?""Slow down there Egderp I can only talk so fast. I mean sure I'm a demigod of the texan rapping roofninja clan, but still.""Sorry. Jade was freaking out in the car when we got here, thinking you'd been abducted by werewolves or something!""Woah, that bad? Shit, I'm surprised the national guard weren't called. Actually better they weren't, since I'm pretty sure they'd be pretty fucked up by now."John's questioning noise was left alone; no need to freak him (or any of the others) out."So, John, be honest with me here: What am I missing over there so far?""Jade got swarmed by guys, Rose introduced Kanaya, and I got into a slight scuffle at the bar.""Hold up, you got in a fight? Should I keep an eye out for this guy later?""Nah, it wasn't anything major. I did sorta leave him hanging though.""Alright then--actually, mind telling me where this shindig is going down again? I lost my phone earlier."He pauses, then rattles off the address. "I can send somebody to pick you up if you want, I'm sure the girls would like to see you.""Sounds great. I'll need to swing by the house and get dressed first." and get patched up.You tell him the street you're on and fifteen minutes later a black sedan rolls up for you.- - - - -Dave definitely isn't telling you everything. He'd never lose his phone, ever--not willingly, at least. You know he tries play himself off as the cool aloof guy, but you've seen how he checks on the three of you to see he really values you guys. That his bro bought it for him only makes this more suspicious.Still, he should be on his way shortly, and you know Jade would like to hear that.- - - - -You're getting real tired of playing ferryman real quick. You were HOPING to get a few hours to yourself after you got done running interference for Harley and Lalonde to talk things over, but apparently that's too much to ask, so here you sit in a corner store parking lot in a shady neighborhood. Worst part is you volunteered for this. John found you out front and asked you to grab his friend; apparently he was worried something bad had happened.You, being the complete sucker you are, said sure. It doesn't help that you're still drained form earlier--even the shitty streelamps here are making your head ring. When the blonde kid from earlier approaches you're taken aback: he looks like he picked a fight with a shed full of sledgehammers."Not a word, man.""Just get in the damn car."A click and thump later you're off to that house for the third time today.When you arrive he jumps out and jogs to the door, and it's only a few minutes before he returns looking notably more respectable, except for the dorky sunglasses. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You wait until after John finishes his call to continue, delivering your request. "...It will take very careful timing, can I trust you with that?"He takes a few moments, his head cocked, before a devious grin splits his face. "I like it. We'll have to work fast though--the meeting's going to start soon.""Quite. I have preparations of my own to make as well."As you turn to leave, John stops you. "Wait! Do you know where Karkat is?"His mention immediately sours your mood, but you keep your face firmly restrained and your voice even. "I believe he said he as going 'to get some air away from you flighty broads'--" and our snarky horseshit, apparently, "--and stormed off toward the lobby.""Sweet, thanks! I'll be back." You give him a nod and he turns and jogs off in search of Karkat.Should everything go according to plan you might very well be able to tip that tenuous balance within Kanaya.You make your way back to the woman in question, standing and chatting about something with Jade. They're both rather animated--there's a pang of jealousy that your friend got Kanaya to open up so easily, but you crush it quickly; Jade has always had a way with people. Her open honesty and playfulness are infectious.The two stop as you approach, Jade turning with a smile."Hey there Rose, we were starting to wonder what was taking you so long!" She glances behind you before adding, "Where's John?""He was called away I'm afraid. He should be returning shortly though.""Your friend was just telling me of her interest in horticulture." Ah, gardening. You never had much patience with the sunlight and green things, preferring your tomes and imaginings of unspeakable horrors. Which paled by orders of magnitude to their true, terrible glory."Yeah, I had no idea Kanaya trimmed her own brush." There's a small choking nose from Kanaya before Jade realizes her double entendre. "Bushes. At her house. That."You cock an eyebrow at Kanaya, watching the blush creep to her cheeks. You let her simmer for a second more before changing the subject, "I'm sorry to interrupt your talk, but might I speak with you privately Jade?" You give Kanaya a smile to pacify the worry that springs to her face."Sure!"You set off with your friend behind you, stepping out into one of the covered balconies set into the side of the main hall. Time to clear the air, so to speak.- - - - -It takes a bit of searching to track down Karkat: out through the lobby, around the building, up a fire escape and down two flights of stairs--then you thought to actually ask if anyone's seen him. Your new friends at the bar were all too happy to point you towards 'shouty mcnubs'; they'd last seen him stalking out to the parking garage in his usual huff.You briefly wonder how someone working for a (very nice-seeming) vampire could get on a nickname basis with a bunch of werewolves before you catch sight of him outside."Karkat!"His glare whips from his shoes to your face, changing at a comical pace between surprise and then irritation. Your chuckle doesn't help things."Out with it." He holds up a hand to cut off your riposte, "Don't even start, I can tell you're here to ask me to do something skullf--" the word peters off before he clears his throat, "something stupid, and it's only by the grace of every god to ever exist that I haven't given you the verbal beatdown normally reserved for such heinous wastes of my time. Now tell me what you want so I can refuse and get back to my rounds.""That took longer than what I was going to ask, you know.""Egbert I am this close to breaking ass on the nearest unfortunate soul--which is you, by the way--and the deathgrip I have on my patience is slipping by the second here.""I was going to ask if you could pick up my friend Dave for the party--and before you say anything I'm asking you because he's on at least one werewolf's blacklist and I'm worried something might have happened."His mouth opens and you cut him off,"And by worried I mean he's probably in trouble right now." His eyebrows knit together as he considers it; there's a moment you think he's going to refuse like he said he was, before he sighs heavily. "Where am I picking him up?" You repeat the address Dave gave you and Karkat's eyes widen before he growls and stomps off back to the parking garage. - - - - - "Pardon me, miss?" Damnation. You hadn't gotten thirty seconds with Jade before a short balding server ducks into the balcony to interrupt. "This area is reserved." You quickly put your business smile on and squash the urge to turn him inside-out, "I'm very sorry, I didn't see a placard anywhere so I assumed this was open." He gives a hurried nod, "It's alright, but this is mister Rennerd's private booth so I suggest you hurry before he arrives." You're unsure of who this 'Rennerd' is, but he appears to have a reputation. "I thought I made it clear that this was to be my private--Oh." Speak of the devil. "Hello, who might you two be?" The man stands a little taller than six feet, with neck-length dark hair styled away from his face. He was wearing a pair of plain black slacks and a lavender silk shirt. With his even tan and muscled frame, he might actually look handsome were it not for his artfully engineered smile, and the way (and locations) his eyes lingered as he scanned the two of you. Jade looked a half-step short of livid at his presence. As he turned to her you see the faint yellow of a healing bruise wrapped across his neck. "Ah, Miss... Harley, was it?" Jade's face hardened to steel. "I believe we met the other night." "Can't say I remember. Oh! There was this one guy who had way too much makeup that my friend had to choke out." A tic works at his jaw at her mention: it would seem he was involved with last night's debacle at the bar. You file it away, not wanting to start anything right now. With the people in this building an argument could get ugly, fast. "I'm terribly sorry mister...?" "Rennerd. Theodore Rennerd." "Rennerd, then, but we must get back to our group." He steps aside, inclining his head. You make to pass him and his arm lashes out, catching your wrist. "Pardon. I don't believe I caught your name." Jade's hackels go up, but you cut her off sharply with your hand. "My name is Rose, guest of Kanaya Maryam. Please remove your hand." Before I do it myself. His grin molds into a sneer and you return a smile. A moment later he retracts his hand as if he'd been bitten. "Thank you." You motion to Jade and set off, scanning the room for your willowy partner as you pull back into yourself. - - - - - This was a terrible idea. Rose has been trying to say or show that everything is fine, but you know something is amiss between her and Jade. You've already inferred that Karkat is involved but you don't know how or to what degree, and the lack of details only increases the chances you're either worrying about nothing or misunderstanding something and will make a fool of yourself attempting to inquire about them. With everything going on, you can't shake the feeling that you've ruined the evening already and it hasn't even started yet--it's maddening! It doesn't help that you can't get a moment to really ask what is upsetting her not that you're certain she would respond honestly anyway with all these interruptions. Every new arrival seems to want to greet you, subtly prodding and searching for weaknesses that your predecessor no doubt lacked. She was always so sure of herself; you were always envious of that. You're getting off-point. So, back to fretting over Rose. She's been increasingly forward with her affections lately; not that you mind--on the contrary, it's been quite the pleasant change--but you don't want to slip and hurt her. Deflecting her has been frustrating in more ways than one, and she is worryingly adept at keeping on task. Since it would seem her 'task' involves getting you to throw her down and leave her unable to walk the following morning only makes it more difficult; you've had to almost triple your feeding rate to keep yourself in check. You still have no idea why your hunger almost demands you take her. Oh if only Porrim were here! You could talk to her--find out what is going on with you or with Rose or both and finally be able to move forward. You spy Rose leaving the balcony and scanning the room, so you make your way to her after excusing yourself. It's then that your phone rings. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Ah, Rose. There you are." Kanaya strides in elegantly from your periphery, attention set on your friend. Well, more from the middle of the room, really. You're having trouble concentrating on much more than not turning around and decking the creep behind you and probably ruining whatever important council thing is supposed to be going on with John. Speaking of your dorky not-twin, where has he gotten off to? Sharpening your senses (and ignoring the douche behind you), you can readily say he's not in the ballroom, so why not go find him and take your mind off things. "Rose?" She answers with a turned head and a small 'hmm?', "I'm gonna go find John. Don't have too much fun without me." Your eyebrow-waggle gets you a rose-smile and a creeping blush from Kanaya--it's really a shame she's so repressed reserved, you can tell she has a vivid imagination. You think she and Rose are cute together; all glances and small gestures that they hope the other doesn't notice. It's adorable to watch.With your excusal from the group obtained, you set off in search of John, zeroing in on his scent.That proves to be difficult, since everyone either smells very strongly of... something you can't place (you suspect those are werewolves like yourself), or smell of little more than perfumes and colognes overtop the faint-but-constant scent of blood (you're guessing vampires)--not even Kanaya, polite as she was, was an exception from that.But enough of that. You catch a wisp of John and pin it down in your senses, shutting out errant thoughts as you focus on it and just move. Grandpa did always say a good hunt does wonders for the noggin. Part of you regrets not having a proper weapon with you, but getting your assorted collection of firearms through customs and airport security (even with the strings John pulled with Dad) would have been a nightmare. Anyway, you shouldn't need one--he's on the premises somewhere, and with everyone making nice like they are you doubt you'd need one, and you certainly weren't intending to use one on john.- - - - -The drive isn't terribly long, and Vantas thankfully stays off your ass about how fucked up you look. You'd normally follow that up with an empty compliment on his self-restraint due to the choiceness of your glutes in the above statement, but as it is you're just tired. Your plan for the party is showing up, eating all the shrimp, and lying your way to enough alcohol to black out with after telling john how shit he is at everything (which he will easily and correctly decipher as "you are one of my best and only friends, now press your knuckles to mine in a show of masculine camaraderie as I pass the fuck out under this tablecloth").- - - - -Why must Jade be so hard to find? Rose and Kanaya said she went looking for you, and everyone you ask who's seen her has pointed you in a completely different direction! Were it not for how stuffy some of this crowd are, you'd suspect someone was playing a prank on you (which you would be obligated to respond to with unrelenting shenanigans until they lay broken and defeated, admitting to all that you were their better). Ah well, you'll keep at it--you're bound to catch up eventually. You can't wait to see how happy she'll be with the news of Dave's arrival.- - - - -Ugh, John has to be messing with you; you've been following his scent through half the building (how did he even get to the top of that flagpole anyway?)! Where is he even going? ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- That your hunt so far has proved fruitless annoys you, but there's a small feeling of pride in John's ability to keep you off his trail. Still, you'd prefer to find him sooner than later and maybe see if his dad's 'shadowy connections' have found anything on where Dave is. You considered giving up and just calling him on your phone, but where's the fun in--"Sup Harley." Dave's voice startles you from your thoughts. "Dave! You made it!". You whip around to find him approaching from the parking area. The small upward quirk in his lip is about as grand a smile as you could expect from one so cool, but you're immediately worried when you take a few seconds to actually look at him. He's in a very sharp red suit and his usual shades, but the large square bandaid over a bruise on his cheek and the bandages around his exposed wrist and hand made you stop. This all must've been written on your face, since Dave is giving you his 'let's please not talk about this' look, so you don't say anything about it. "So, should we head inside?" "I'm looking for John." You realize how lame that sounds as Dave brings his fingers to his lips. You've got just enough time to clap your hands over your ears not that it helps much before he lets out a shrill (and very loud) whistle. A reply sounds from what you'd guess was the back of the building as Dave guides you up the stairs and inside while you recover, and several other people inside watch him with varying levels of annoyance. Once you're actually able to point out the main hall he slouches down into a chair while you wonder where Rose and Kanaya have run off to. - - - - - You knock back a eighth shot to cheers around the table. Your opponent, a rather unimpressive specimen, actually drinks his to chuckles of his peers, shuddering as he finishes it. He looks away meekly at your giggle. You're still fuzzy on how you managed to get into a drinking contest with a group of werewolves, but here you are; drinking their apparent omega under the table. You blame your nerves. "Come on Tav, you can do better than that!" "Just do it all at once, don't sip it man." You decide to take mercy on him, standing; "I actually think I'll bow out now." The closest four lunge to catch you as you overbalance getting up, it's rather sweet. Their chorus of disappointment follows you as you make your way to the bar for some water. When the young man from earlier rolls up as well you do a double take when you see the wheelchair before averting your eyes, you keep to your glass. "Are you alright?" He's hesitant almost to the point of a stutter. "I'm fine, thank you." You glance at him sidelong before adding, "I'm surprised you're handling yourself so well after that." He looks away, "Well, um, that's kind of why I came to check on you. I'm... I mean we're--" He stops again at your chuckle. You're starting to feel those shots now, and it's so satisfying adorable seeing him squirm. "You're...?" You lead him. 'Tav' takes a second to clear his throat, "We're at kind of an advantage with alcohol and... stuff." He continues at your quiet 'oh?', "It's uh, something to do with our metabolism? It takes a lot more than usual for one of us to get drunk." The small note of pride in his voice brings a quirk to your lip. You briefly consider stroking his ego a bit more before you realize you're acting like your mother. A sudden flash of the sixth grade parent-student dance incident puts an abrupt end to any haze lingering in your mind. Your mood suitably quashed, you bid the suddenly inarticulate young man a farewell, setting off in search of Kanaya and retracting your Touch from the seat of his pants. - - - - - While it took some finagling, you finally got Kanaya on the phone after calling Karkat for her number. This all would have been avoided had Rose answered her god-damned phone already. John is still MIA, but Dave doesn't seem to be all that worried about it. After letting her know you were in the main hall with Dave and to let Rose know, you exchanged somewhat awkward goodbyes and hung up. That distraction finished, you return to the awkward silence of the present. You've never been more self-conscious in your life. Sitting across the table from one Dave Strider at this fancy party. It's eating you alive wondering if your hair is more messed up than usual, or if your dress is too gaudy, or if anyone else is staring at you, or there's something in your teeth, or--, or--, or. That neither of you have said anything since you sat down only makes it worse. - - - - - Dude stop staring at Harley it's obvious you're making her uncomfortable what the hell is wrong with you-- "I'll uh, be right back." You nod automatically as Jade gets up, making her way across the room and out to one of the bathroom entrances at the side of the hall. You almost refrain from staring at her ass as she goes. While you're busy berating yourself for trying to mack on your bro's sister seriously not cool a very large man with thick eyebrows and long dark hair leans on the table over you, trying to look threatening past his dumb nose. Through the dull headache you've had since the car ride here he just looks constipated. You sit there unimpressed until he leaves in a huff. The hell was that about? When another dude comes and does the same thing you start getting weirded out. "Okay yeah is there a point to the fabio parade or did I come here in a dress and not realize it." You drawl to the fifth guy, "I mean I'm flattered, really, but I'm already spoken for." Soon as she gets back from the bathroom, anyway. He just looks at you like you're nuts and walks off. Not a minute later another one comes up and when you can actually hear him sniffing at you you're fucking done with this. "Alright this is gettin' creepy. I don't wanna beat your bronze-chisled ass in front of all the other pretty people here, so fuck off, man." You briefly regret your words when the sound of tiger-in-jet-engine hits you. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Your honed ninja-like reflexes have you up and out of your chair a fraction of a second before it's yanked out from under you, skittering across the floor and into a hapless serving staff who you're fairly certain will be fine. The whole scene would've been hilarious were it not for the dead fucking silence that consumes the room after it. The eyes of everyone in the room train on you.You (and Biggus McBeefCake next to you) turn to see who the hell got a stick up their bonnet and find--Well, you don't actually know. He's tall as every other person you've met in the last fourty-eight hours, with black hair and shoulders wide enough to warrant an appropriate road warning. He seems pretty damn livid though. Biggus just has a vaguely surprised look at the whole thing."How are you here?""Nice to meet you too." He looks like he's about to swing at you and you tense for it bro immediately barks to loosen up and you comply, but he just clenches his hands and looks so immensely disgusted that oh shit he's the guy from the bar. No, don't say it you're too fucked up to fight he'll kill you "Ah, sorry--I didn't recognize you without your makeup."Shit. Biggus next to you snorts and you step back from Rennerd's (though you don't know that name yet) swipe--he's then yanked off his feet and dragged a dozen or so feet towards Rose who's coming in from the arch near the entrance and are her eyes black? the cold mask you see on her immediately raises several red flags as she bears down on him.You flash over before she reaches him and put a hand on her arm, "Rose." Her eyes jerk up to your face and yep those are definitely black, what the shit she relaxes back to normal. You supress a shudder when the dark wafts out of them like smoke, almost reaching for you. A half second later Tall Dark and Sneering scrambles up from the floor, red in the face. "I challenge you for right to the Harley girl!" You and Rose both stop. "What?""You heard me, human." He spits the word at you. The room continues to watch quietly.You wheel around, "What is this, the middle ages? Jade makes her own choices, and I'm pretty sure she made herself clear about you last night."He sneers, "A formal challenge is pretty binding with this crowd--the opportunity to turn you to paste with plenty of witnesses is just a perk. But if she's not yours then I'll just take her myself and you can avoid this mess.""Woah hey if you wanted another assbeating all you had to do was ask." Relationship status aside, you don't like how he's talking about your friend.You exchange glares before Rose clears her throat behind you, "Perhaps somewhere more private would work better, Mister Rennerd?" Rennerd laughs, "Oh I'm sure they'll enjoy the show." Then he rears back and roars. Two dozen burly guys come streaming in from behind you, and all the partygoers just stand back as they start sliding tables and chairs out of the way with low "excuse us"es.One of the rich folks jokes about three hours without a duel being a personal best for these gatherings and you can almost hear the twilight zone tune playing."I guess we can do this here then.""Since we're doing this the proper way, you can bring a weapon--not that it'll help you much.""Sure, what the hell. Anybody got a sword?" Six are immediately produced from the crowd. Right, vampire party.You should really have payed more attention to John during lunch. You're not surprised to find they're all in working condition instead of costume or display pieces, and settle on a vaguely german-sounding hand-and-a-half sword. You mumble a thanks to the man who offered it, who gives a short nod and what looks like a 'try not to get disemboweled' look.Rose chimes in again, "Before you two begin, are there any particular rules to this 'proper way' of yours?""Simple. Choose a weapon and fight until someone dies or submits. No outside interference, and you can't challenge the winner to avenge someone for a decade." Conveniently noting death before surrender. Oh boy, another deathmatch. Aren't you popular?"A-actually you also get a Second if you're injured before a duel." 'Tav' pipes up from the group of werewolves. Tav flinches at the glare Rennerd shoots at him before He sighs. "As the cripple was kind enough to remind me, you are allowed someone to help before the fight if you're injured enough that it'll slow you down." He casually undoes the buttons on his shirt and slides out of it, tossing it to the side. Probably doesn't wanna shred it he he goes all movie monster on you.Rose cuts in, "We'll take you up on that then. I'll be acting as Dave's Second, if that's alright with him." You give a half shrug and lean in."Okay Rose what's the plan here.""If you have to deal with him on his terms, I can give you a painkiller of sorts to help." Hold up. "What do you mean 'of sorts'?""Do you trust me?"Considering her earlier show of Scary Weird Shit you immediately nod because she's your friend dammit.She puts a hand on the back of your neck and leans in to whisper in your ear. Several of the crowd nearby cringe at what comes out (It bothers you that you can understand them), but the words reverberate through your skull while her hand spears what feels like ice down through your spine, pushing out from it to fill your veins. You cough weakly when the lets go, tasting seawater in the back of your throat.You see her mouth 'sorry' to you as she steps back. After a few seconds of shocked stares at her from the crowd, The dude who's sword you're borrowing clears his throat. "If both of you are finished preparing?"Rennerd certainly looks surprised, but nods, and you give a low 'sure' as you loosen up your arms a bit. Everything seems to be moving fine despite feeling like you've been soaking in a frozen lake, and your earlier injuries aren't nagging you through the cold either."Whenever you're ready."You know what's coming and weave automatically, his fist rushing past your ear as you turn and swipe upward. You feel the blade connect with his tricep as he hisses in pain, swinging his extended arm sideways to try and backhand you. You're already pivoted behind him to make a shallow slice across his back. 'You need to start in top gear and stay there if you don't want to get killed out there.' Bro replies in your head as Rennerd leaps a good ten feet in the air, flipping backwards over you. It doesn't matter. You flash to where he's going and uppercut him in the chin with your pommel as he lands, sending him reeling.[WAY TOO SLOPPY, MAN] Okay that definitely wasn't english. Let's lay off the smack-talk then. He slashes down at you with his right and catches your blazer in his claws, cutting stripes down the front as you jump back. You berate yourself for getting distracted over something as small as speaking in tongues and step back in, ducking under the horizontal swipe of his other hand to jam your blade into the triceps there as well. He curses and you ignore him, reversing your swing to arc down to his leg, biting into his thigh and calf. You quickly circle to his back again and hamstring the other legs with a short chop.The icy spikes inside your limbs have faded, leaving you sort of detached as your body follows your thoughts without complaint. It's unsettling to see yourself like this; all the skill but none of the heart behind it, like a machine. But like your wounds, the dread is muted to nonexistence.Rennerd totters for a moment, clumsily swinging at you before you kick the back of his supporting leg to drop him to his knees. You quickly hop to his side and drive your knee into his face you bruise your knee on his cheekbone, but the small flare of pain is replaced with blank nothing in short order.There on all fours and bleeding sluggishly onto the floor he starts to convulse. You hear the sound of dull pops and cracks as his bones start to shift, watching with morbid fascination before it hits you that he's actually going movie monster on you this is bad. You point your blade down and jam it through his shoulder and out the other side before you can be shocked that you wanted to do that. He roars in pain and backhands you in the chest, sending you backwards to the floor with a spike of red-hot pain that's drowned out in seconds. The sword remains stuck in his shoulder. Rennerd screeches and claws at it frantically before finally grasping the blade, straining and growling until he snaps the front end off with bleeding hands, dropping it to yank the rest out over his shoulder with another bellow and throwing it aside with enough force to dent the floor as it bounces off. The guy's a mess now; half-hunched and lopsided, covered in patches of hair and blood streaming down from his shoulder. His nose is fused partially into his face, and his jaw is set at a painful angle with alarmingly sharp mismatched teeth poking out. His breathing is heavy enough to hear from here, and you can see his body still changing in sharp jerks of movement and sick noise. Is that what it's like for Jade too?You rush for the now-broken sword, reaching it just as you hear him roar behind you. You dive to the side to avoid the clawed hand now embedded in the stone where you were, regaining your feet and focusing on him again. It's disgusting to watch him move, but his limping bounds are stupidly fast as he closes the distance, lashing out wildly at you with an oversized claw.Narrowly dodging it and the several that follow, there's little else you can manage in the time you're given to react. He ignores the few swipes you make during his pursuit (the shallow cuts close almost as soon as you make them. His shoulder's stopped bleeding as well), refusing to let you catch your breath.Alright, let's take stock of things; you're fighting an opponent who takes no damage, is bigger, faster, and a hell of a lot stronger than you, and who's probably only going to improve the longer this continues. How do you win? Bro used to try this kind of puzzle shit all the time when you were little. Usually while beating your ass in a swordfight.Don't meet them on any of those fields, dumbass. He immediately chides in your head.So you turn and run. He's on your ass the whole time, and you can feel the disapproving looks from the audience, but they're not the ones fighting a freaking werewolf so fuck'em. You book it for the tables ringing the edge of the room. A sideways vault over one and a yanked tablecloth later the ground on that side has a smattering of broken glass. Rennerd doesn't so much as grunt at it (since this isn't the movies, broken glass--sorry, crystal--isn't always sharp-side-up, or even particularly sharp most of the time) but that's not the point. You slide overtop of the next table, turning to flip it when your feet hit ground. You take your remaining three-tenths of a second to duck behind it and roll the dice.He goes through the table, you're fucked. He jumps over it, you're still pretty fucked you might be alright.He instead just grabs the edge of it and hurls it out of the way. You can work with that too. You throw the tablecloth and thank every god that crosses your mind when it opens like you'd hoped it would. He takes it right to the face and you don't think--lunging in to swipe the broken sword across where you hope his eyes are.Rennerd howls in agony and your vision goes dark in a blur of motion. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- To say you're not happy right now is the understatement of the century.Once you're finally free you're in the air and launched at the window as fast as you can manage. After a short twist you hit the window feet first and--okay, you bounce off. Leave it to paranoid semi-immortals to make solid windows for their high-profile meeting place, but you don't have time for this, so you're gonna have to apologize for this later. You close your eyes and breathe. Don't think about what you just saw, just feel the air. It's always there for you, you just need to calm down and let it help. Reaching out with your senses you call all the wind in the area you can muster--the cold gusts rushing down the main streets to pick at pedestrians' clothes, the eddies playing in the trash of the many alleyways here, the breezes dancing over the rooftops. They stop, then turn, curious at your request. After some deliberation they flow toward you slowly until they grasp your intent.It's been so long since there's been a good hurricane here. Elated, hey charge all at once, growing frustrated as they hit the wall of the building and slide off. You guide them back around, directing them into a funnel aimed at the window. Those that are cast aside by the wall loop to the back of the funnel, spiraling faster and faster as they go.You'll compliment the folks who designed the building; they make some sturdy architecture. It holds up for a full twenty seconds before the window mounts buckle and the whole sheet topples into the hall inside, the legions of air rushing in to explore once their work was done.There's a werewolf clutching his bleeding face not a dozen feet from Dave who's on the floor. The fact that Dave's still breathing stops you from doing anything drastic.The room is silent besides the tinkling laughter of the breeze and the werewolf's cries of pain. When it lurches toward Dave you throw it into the wall and hold it there, running to your friend to check on him.Dave rises torso-first as you approach, like he was lifted by his collar--his arms and legs hanging limply under him until he's on his feet. Then he starts shambling towards towards the restrained werewolf almost automatically. He stops at the wall of air you didn't realize you'd put between them, turning his gaze to you. You're worried to see his shades are missing, and even more that his eyes are strange: two molten pits set into black sclera, with black smoke spreading from the edges that the winds didn't want to touch.Really they didn't want to touch Dave at all, standing corpse-grey and dripping black from wounds on his chest and face, a broken sword in a white-knuckled grip at his side. There's a flash of a phantom memory, discarded as quickly as it meets you.Oh hey it's the guys from the bar earlier. You gently ask the wind to play a little more quietly so you can hear them."--OU THINK YOU'RE oh there we go." The dark haired one in the center of the group around you clears his throat and tries again. "Kid, What do you think you're doing?"In your most innocent voice: "My job?" Continuing before he starts, "I'm not about to let Dave maim someone at what was supposed to be a meeting for keeping this kind of stupid violence to a minimum."He puffs up at 'stupid'; "It's our way to--""I don't care about your way. I'm not a werewolf, and neither is he; I'm not about to sit back and watch my friend get hurt in some lopsided pissing contest." You turn and gesture to the still-pinned werewolf and speak to the room at large: "If anyone wants to argue with that, they can take it up with me."You get the winds roaring and grabbing at clothes and tableware for effect before ushering them back out through the window to resume their playing throughout the city.Point delivered, you scan the crowd: face-wise there's a few 'mortified's and 'curious's at the fringes of the room and plenty of glowers from the pack in front of you, but nobody says anything. Good. You nod to the now un-tethered werewolf cradling his face, "You should probably get him looked at, by the way."- - - - -So apparently John is more than just the weird supernatural security agent-in-training he played himself up as during lunch. It'd explain why he doesn't have a babysitter from the organization too.You're certainly grateful he decided to break this thing up, but you've gotta wonder what held him up so long outside.Speaking of holdups, what's taking Jade so long--ah, there she is over next to Rose.The look she's giving you is a mashup of worry and... fear? Shit is that how you've been looking at her since this afternoon? Wow you're an ass Strider good going.You'll have to feel bad about it once you get around to feeling things again.Anyway, with the whole thinly-veiled-murder-attempt over with you're unsure what to do. The meet and greet seems to have stalled, and now there's nothing but awkward grumbling and suffocating silence.[SO CAN WE GET SOME MUSIC GO--] oh right still speaking tentacleface and making the room cringe. Rose, however, bursts out laughing. You, Jade, and John are as shocked as everyone else at it. It's nice, she should laugh more often.After resuming her usual business face she stalks gracefully over to you, producing your shades--they're on your face with an unconscious whip of your hand and a snarl you surprise yourself with and had no idea you could make in the first place. Rose doesn't jump like everyone else, but pulls her hand back like you were going to cut it o-You drop the sword. Everyone's staring again. "Seems Rennerd isn't the only one who needs to be looked at." calls Mr. Mclargehuge. There's an awkward scattering of chuckles and the anxiety in the room dissipates a bit.Rose then very deliberately puts a hand on your shoulder and guides you out of the center of the floor, John moving to your other side to keep your limping ass upright and Jade lagging behind. Once in a nearby booth, Rose pulls the curtain closed and steps out to snap something to one of the staff outside before returning."I should have remembered earlier that Kanaya had one of these reserved." She shares a glance with Jade before continuing, "There should be an ambulance here for Dave shortly."[I FEEL FINE] John and Jade's flinches are a muted punch to the chest."You don't feel anything right now. You're very seriously injured--Outside Interference or no. You need medical attention, immediately.""Is he/Dave going to be okay?" The other two ask in unison."He's going to be fine--You're going to be fine, Dave." Her eyes don't meet any of yours, but no one says anything. "I'm so sorry for all this."You make to tell her it's alright but the hard look you get stops you.John quietly asks, "What happened?" But you can hear the 'The hell did you do?' that he meant with it. Rose looks away again."Rose?" from Jade this time."It's... complicated." Rose holds up a hand to stop their immediate responses. "I will explain everything, but not here.""So what's the uncomplicated version then." John presses.She sighs, "It's a spell of sorts. It numbs the body to pain and helps slow any injuries present or occurring.""And the side effects? Other than the obvious." You puzzle at that until you catch sight of your dull reflection in the glass table in the booth. It's like someone out of a slasher flick."Nothing permanent, I promise." She's trying really hard to explain under the hard glares of your two dorky friends without hurting things more. She looks to you, "I won't lie, you're going to be very ill for a few days--maybe a week. You might also feel a little paranoid for a while, but there shouldn't be anything lingering beyond that once it's removed." Behind her voice you can hear dozens of whispers of [so much worse \| he will beg us to return it]"And you're not going to right now?" Jade cuts in, incredulous."Jade, look at him. What do you think would happen were I to lift it now, as injured as he is?"She clenches her jaw and says nothing.[SO LOOKS LIKE EVERYONE NEEDS TO SIT AND TALK THIS]shit[OUT] You stop. Rose groans.- - - - -Oh lord, Dave's going to try every curse he knows to find more holes in the broodfester tongues, isn't he? ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You return to the party to find that you had apparently missed a great deal; the staff are setting the tables back in place and clearing away the remains of a fight you think. From the smell of blood and how animatedly the other guests are talking and the blown-in window, it must have been rather dramatic."There you are, Miss Maryam!" A short woman in a serving uniform almost sprints to you.Her news is worrying.- - - - -Dave continued to rattle off curses and other unspeakables until a visibly unnerved waiter came in and very meekly asked him to stop (he was making the unspeakably rich patrons outside uncomfortable), after which a heavy silence fell over the four of you.You were kinda thankful for it--it gave you a chance to think, and Dave's words were giving you a headache.Footsteps rushing towards the curtain catch your attention as Kanaya ducks in. You give her points for immediately covering her surprise at the scene before her, "What happened?" Dave, Rose, and John all try to speak at once. A short glance between them all before Dave and Rose start again. Kanaya flinches at what you assume is a joke from his body language and he gets the point and stops talking."A man--well, werewolf--here decided to start a fight. John was able to stop things, but...""I can guess it was serious. Are you alright... Dave?" Oh right, none of you got to introduce them.He shrugs, and Rose continues, "There should be a doctor shortly for him--"Kanaya holds up a hand, "--and you're going to stay with your brother. I understand."Several pairs of eyebrows shoot up. "Brother? What would make you think that?""Am I mistaken? I mean, between the resemblance and the um," She clears her throat briefly, "blood, I just assumed... I'm sorry.""Nothing to be sorry about, it's an honest--if uncommon--mistake." Rose looks faintly thoughtful though. Dave just waves it off.- - - - - Eugh, you hate this place. There's so many things to keep track of here. Actually walking if you want to go somewhere, constantly breathing if you don't want to suddenly pass out, you have no idea how humans deal with it. Then again, 'boring' is the operative word here from what you've seen. Others that you pass give you strange looks, but continue without a word--'perfect disguise' your (new) pasty ass. You're going to have words with that girl once you get back.It takes an unacceptably long time (like so many other things here) to reach your destination: a rather palatial building of marble and concrete, with large, dark windows and several metal carriages (cars, shut up, you know that) stopping at the path to the entryway, letting a few humans out, and then making way for the one behind it to do the same.After crossing the road to it (with only one car honking this time) you're approached at the entrance by a woman in uniform."Hello sir, may I ask what party you're here with?" Her smile is an amateur effort, and her eyes are a dead giveaway; She's sizing you up. A guard, maybe?"Sure, go ahead." Sigh. Back home you'd just blast her into the next bubble and continue on your merry way, but things aren't that simple here.She waits for a few seconds for your answer before realizing you'd done so literally. Her grin tightens, "What party are you here with?"What was his name again... "Egbert." There's a beat before she nods slightly, "Alright then, if you'll allow me to show you to him--""Nah, I can find him mythelf." Fuck. You're still pissed that coming here's screwed with your mouth so much. Before the woman can insist, you duck inside, scanning the room for someone matching the description you were given:Fair skin, dark hair, blue eyes, bucky teeth, and the most adorable little cheeks--The queen's words, not yours.- - - - -There's a small buzz from your leg. Right, work. You sigh, "Seems that duty calls."Jade perks up as you heave yourself out of your seat, "Where are you heading John?""I'm supposed to sit in on a big meeting here, not sure I can really say too much about it officially."Rose raises an eyebrow, "I would think things would be put on hold with what's happened so far."Kanaya chuckles lightly, "You would be quite surprised at how stubborn we can be. There was once such a meeting held while the building was burning down around the representatives."You all stare in disbelief, but another buzz reminds you that you're on the clock now. You sigh and make for the curtain. Outside the booth, you scan the room for the nearest serving personnel until Kanaya emerges behind you."I happen to be on tonight's council, so I can show you to the meeting room if you'd like." She gestures to the far side of the hall."Oh, sure thing."As you both cross the expansive room and make idle chatter about nothing in particular, you note a few others make polite (or not-so-polite) farewells and set off as well. Going through the archway, up two landings, and through a set of sturdy wooden doors, you find yourself in a surprisingly understated chamber. Not that the central table and surrounding armchairs aren't all very finely made (and no doubt extremely expensive), but they seem to have been designed more for function than style. You take a few minutes to wait for everyone else to file in. As the last handful enter and the doors close everyone's eyes settle on you. There's a pang of unease as it occurs to you that you are the only human in a room full of actual vampires and werewolves. You quickly clear your throat, "If everyone's here, I suppose we can all take a seat and get started?" ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It takes a moment for everyone to shuffle to their positions, which you take to review this little circus in your head. You take the middle, generally the seat closest to the back--they keep the tables with an odd number: 'lets both sides bring an even number of people, and keeps the mediator from having to stare someone directly in the face the whole time. Oh right. You clear your throat, "Actually, If everyone could wait a moment before they sit?" All eyes are on you. "I'd like to alter the seating arrangements, if everyone is alright with that."There's some grumbling throughout the room, but a woman in the werewolf crowd pipes up, "What exactly do you mean?"You give her a silent thank you, "The usual ceremony of sitting separately and exchanging a 'hostage' seems a bit counter-intuitive when we're supposed to be getting everyone to work together here.""What do you propose instead?" You recognize this guy as the one Dave gave that broken sword to. You guess he's a vampire then."It's pretty simple: alternate people around the table, in pairs so nobody feels uncomfortable being 'surrounded' by folks they don't know. Helps people be a little more objective, since the table isn't set in an 'us versus them' arrangement."A burly fellow wearing a visored cowl interjects, "It's been a tradition for centuries that--"You hold up your hands to placate him, "I understand. I do. I'd also like to think things now are a bit more civilized than when those traditions were needed?"He splutters, but is cut off by the woman next to him. "Come now Zahhak, don't be so rigid." The man looks at you, "You're certainly audacious to try and skip out on regular ceremony. What, might I ask, inspired this?""I find that shaking things up keeps people honest--more than usual, anyway."The woman laughs and considers it for a moment. "I for one have no problems with a little change in seating." He casts a look around the room, "What of the rest of you?"Most of the noises of approval come from the werewolves, but there are a few murmurs amongst the vampires as well. It's obvious that the more seasoned members of either side aren't very comfortable with the sudden change.The woman smiles, fangs flashing, "It would seem we have a majority in favor." She strides across the room and takes a seat before anyone else can argue.More follow, with some grumbling involved as people pass each other as they find a new seat. Once everyone else is settled in, you take your seat as well and fail to cover the satisfied noise that comes out at how comfortable this chair is. This can't be legal. You want to kiss whoever created this thing oh my god. There are a few stifled chuckles around the table and you hastily put your mind back on business.- - - - - - - - - -After the Oath, everyone begins introducing themselves around the table. You note some of the bigger names present, including Nitram, Zahhak, Serket, and the relatively young crop of representatives for Leijon, Pyrope, and Maryam (it feels wrong to be counting yourself among the upper class, but ignoring your predecessor's influence would be a disservice).From there John opens with the usual topics of territory: designating neutral areas and hunting grounds throughout the city, noting Cleaner safehouses and medical treatment facilities, taking time to account for personal territories for those who actually live in the city such as yourself.Watching him as he weighs the input from around the table, you realize another reason for his insistence on changing the seating arrangements: With everyone scattered as they are, it was easy to see who was looking to whom for approval, and gave most of the table a degree of physical separation from those who might normally pressure them to keep quiet.You'd thought him more of an "all cards on the table" sort of person, but it seems you were mistaken.- - - - - - - - - -You're starting to feel a headache coming on. Just a dull pinch behind the bridge of your nose, but you know it's only going to get worse if this keeps up.When you'd opened the table to air any grievances that required input from this council (something you were helpfully informed by the Zahak representative hadn't been done in centuries, of which he actually approved), and immediately found out why: while no one was so forward as to openly threaten anyone with anything, they used words like knives.And it is impossibly boring. On top of that, you're not allowed to tune it out, since your entire job is to make sure that both sides are heard out and that at least some sort of agreement can be made over it (even if only to agree to leave it until the next council was held).You get a genuine look of sympathy from Kanaya, and a patronizing one from the representative from the Serket coven.After seventeen solid minutes of a pair whose names you can't remember or pronounce bickering across the table over something about a small keep in midwestern europe more than a century ago, you decide that knives can go fuck themselves, you're more of a hammer man anyway.You clap your hands together, wearing your brightest smile. They pause at the interruption and you don't let them start up again: "I understand that I opened the table for discussion, and that this issue is obviously very important to both of you. There are, however, others that look to have issues they'd like to put forward and I may not still be alive by the time we get to them." They both look incredibly offended, but you continue, "Now I'm new at this. Is there any way I can get you two to resolve this in a timely fashion?""There's always trial by combat." You look to the sunglasses-clad girl who suggested it so cheerily. She's shorter than you, with dark hair and the sort of sun-kissed skin Jade has (well aren't you the poet today, ooh, aah). The first description that comes to mind is a box of coathangers, which you feel terrible for thinking. Her grin widens and you have the sneaking suspicion that she heard it. She and Rose should hang out, you think. You're also surprised at how young she looks for all this--she couldn't be much older than fifteen or sixteen, if you had to guess? Though with werewolves and vampires living so long, she could be your nana's age and you wouldn't know it aaaand now the headache's back. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- With John and Kanaya's departure, the three of you fell into an awkward silence. You finally take the time to put your shades back on and slouch back in the booth chair, taking stock of yourself. Rose is looking guilty through her usual mask, Jade throwing worried glances at you when she thinks you're not looking at her.You can't say you blame them. You look like hell frozen over, drowned, and dragged through gravel. Your suit is in shambles, the faint burble in the back of your mind of Bro's disappointment is smothered by icy foam, made no better by the blackness sluggishly soaking through it from your faintly worrying number of wounds. You start to unbutton to get a better look before Jade quietly asks you to stop. The wobble in her voice makes youYou turn to rose, "[SO, YOU AND--]" What comes out is a mashup of sexy-sinuous-tree-woman, rather than Kanaya's name. You stop talking.Rose cracks what could be a vague approximation of a smile as the faintest image of Sigmund Freud appears in your mind's eye, "I'm sure she'd be flattered to hear that, Dave." Your palm impacts your face with a wet slap your skin is a nauseating combination of waxy and rubbery.You slouch further into your seat for another minute before finally giving up with a short huff, laying down with the curve of the booth bench at your back. Rose scootches over a little to accommodate you, but your feet still dangle off the sides. You grumble a little sloshing seawater and bubbling tar as you feel Roses fingers gently playing through your hair. Jade mumbles about a drink and leaves. You hear her break into a run outside the curtain.There's a crash outside. Then the roars begin, answered by screams and cries of pain, then by more bestial calls.Your leaden limbs are instantly forgotten as you pull yourself up, Rose is already out of the booth and shouting for Jade.As you charge out through the minor obstacle, you're immediately met with a room in chaos. Tables and chairs are strewn about, glass is everywhere--the cause being the three-dozen and counting werewolves pouring in through a shattered window. A quiet part of you wonders why they didn't just go through the one that John already removed in his dramatic entrance, but they're already laying into suited and dressed attendees and serving staff alike. You can see a few of the giant fratboys from earlier have started to shift and fight back themselves, and those still human-shaped either draw weapons or book it.People already litter the ground, unconscious or otherwise--caught by surprise, you think. You try not to look at the blood. It's surprisingly easy with your horror being filtered through miles of frozen water and fight-or-flight flooding your system with adrenaline.A dark pelted werewolf leaps at a fleeing young woman nearby and you throw the first thing on hand at it. The champagne bottle slams into the creature's head and throws off it's landing enough to send it sprawling with a yelp. The girl makes it to the stairs and you breathe a sigh of relief before you realize that while the werewolf's attention is now off the girl, it's now on you. The horde is still tearing through the room.You haven't seen a fully transformed werewolf until now. The movies don't do it justice. The one leveling it's gaze at you is at a hunched eight feet tall, looking like someone took bits of bear, big cat, wolf and god knows what else and threw them onto a vaguely humanoid body. more neck and forelimb muscle attached differently to their bones, with digitigrade legs built for speed and stability, covered in thick, wiry fur.- - - - -Where's Rose before you catch sight of her as her feet leave the ground, tendrils of darkness pulling her aloft like a puppet on strings. She swipes a hand at a charging beast and it gets yanked up by it's feet with a yelp and slung around and into another pair attacking a group of partygoers.You quickly duck under a swinging set of claws and dive to the left to dodge the attack you hear coming from your back. You keep looking for Jade and a weapon through the rolling crowd of monsters--they can't really defend the term right now either, since everyone seems to have abandoned the suits and champagne now that a fight's started. You think that you'd get a headache from seeing such impossibles in front of you over a day, but Rose's Ominous Icebath Painkillers are still working their vaguely creepy magic, so that's a problem for future Dave. John's still in the meeting room with Rose's girlfriend (you'll wrap your head around that later), and Rose is hard to miss with the smokey tentacles whipping around behind her as she rockets around the room, slamming and tearing through anyone lacking the brainspace to approach THE MOTHERS' RAGE IS BEAUTIFUL WE MUST JOIN you shake off the voices and continue scanning the room as you dodge your attackers. There's a flash of black and white and you've found her: flanked by two other half-changed werewolves, their backs to an overturned wheelchair as they keep another four beasts from the teen sprawled out of it.She's... more human than you expected. Same dress, same hair, same build as always--with a pair of white furred (dog?) ears poking out of her hair, and a flash of white that you'd guess is a tail when her dress ruffles during a kick.It's breathtaking to see her move--really move. She weaves around slashing claws to grab her attacker by the throat, sidestepping to slam them down onto an accomplice beside them (you hear the floor crack) before winding up to kick both of them back and into a third in the crowd, bowling them over. Her tail flicks and her ears perk before she twists backward to dodge under another's swipe, hooking under their arm and hurling them bodily into a table nearby. She's dancing.A dull red flare erupts in your side as you take a too-large fist to the ribs while you're distracted. You hit the ground and slide into a puddle of blood... which promptly pulls from under you and launches itself at the creature in a blur of motion. You see a human shape form as it's arms coil around the beast's neck, tightening and twisting until a wet pop reaches your ears. The beast goes limp in his arms, and the now naked man--who you recognize as the one who handed you the sword you broke earlier--releases it and gives you a small nod before leaping into the fray again, his victim slowly becoming human again on the floor.Scanning the room, you wonder how these guys are faring so well when so outnumbered by the people already at the party, before you notice it: Thepartygoers are only half-changed do they need time to go full movie-monster, or are they trying to avoid friendly fire? and aside from a few bloodpuddle people fighting the werewolves off, most of the (what you assume are) vampires look like they're just using conventional weapons and techniques on them.A kidnapping, two near-deathmatches, and now a massacre. "[OH YEAH YOU SHOULD COME TO THE PARTY TONIGHT, DAVE! IT'LL BE GREAT!]" You mutter to yourself as a fucking lightning bolt cracks through the room, a pasty teen with mismatched clothes and 3d glasses at one end, and spasming manbeast on the ground at the other. The entire room stops for a quarter-second before resuming the brawl at the bellow of a positively massive werewolf, black shaggy fur painted with unnerving purple stripes and patterns, and a jagged white skull over it's face.That's it, today is officially too weird for you. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- John needs to be physically restrained when Jaques informs you all of the ongoing attack on the building though you're hardly faring better. You could never decide whether he and his 'other half' were twins, or if there was some other, more literal case with the curious pair. You wouldn't be surprised at either.It takes a good deal of work (and shouting over the wind) to remind him that the room was not only sealed, but leaving could jeopardize everything discussed so far, as arranging a similar meeting of this size could take decades, and the city would suffer for the instability in the meantime.With difficulty he takes his seat again, the winds dying down as he takes a few breaths to compose himself.- - - - - - - - - -An attacker approaches, snarling. You ignore them, slinging a table at them and slipping up a wall before they can spring, skirting over and around a group of skirmishing werewolves as you circle the room, your Touch finding purchase easily on the smooth stone and drapery to pull you along.You extend your Touch out below and snatch up one of the offending creatures by the abdomen as you pass it attempting to dive into a waitress. You tighten your grip and coil your touch around itself in a roll as you continue your advance along the wall, using the now-spinning werewolf as a flail of sorts against any other troublemakers. After a sweeping blow through a pair of attacking werewolves and an overhead smash onto a third, your toy victim goes limp and you discard it into the rolling crowd below.There's a peal of thunder in the room that you make out over the pounding behind your ears, snapping your attention from the wondrous violence thoughts of combat, though only briefly. You feel a smile tug at your lips as a thunderous roar answers it, and resume your work.- - - - - - - - - -You are so grateful to your grandpa right now for all those combat lessons growing up. You're beginning to have a pile of downed opponents by now, depositing another with a dislocated shoulder and collarbone a few yards away. Them trying to heal around it's only going to make that hurt more, so you think it's safe enough to leave them.The problem is there's still so many to deal with, and you're getting tired. There's more coming in through the window too. You sigh to yourself as another catches sight of you and charges, only to be tackled aside itself by--is that Karkat?There's a a splintering noise on your side, and you turn to see Dave sprinting over to you, beast at his heels.- - - - - - - - - -"Duck!" Jade no it's "Dave" c'mon girl we've been friends for years--You dive as the slobbering monster behind you catches a flying wheelchair with his face like a frisbee world champion. Someone grabs your arm and you immediately go into panic mode before you see it's just Jade and you've been half-dragged-half-carried back over to where she was standing clustered with the other guys. The one on the ground is looking behind you with dismay."[Yeah, you're probably gonna have to replace that.]" He and Jade start a little bit and you shut up. Again.Things have started to get rather spectacular in here; you can see Rose flying around and slamming werewolves into the ground, walls, and each other, sometimes just sorta reaching over and plucking them out of the air when they're dumb enough to jump at her. Jade and a few others from the group here are weaving and trading blows with more of the bastards trying to close in, and you can see Karkat tearing into one with a pair of curved blades your inner Bro says "Karambit" and something about being disappointed in you. You can't see the painted werewolf from earlier, but from the roaring and people catapulting through the air, you can guess where he is.You ignore the blood everywhere.That conveniently wraps up your little breather, since with most of the circling group tied up in mortal combat they can't stop one of the beasts from leaping over the front line at you and the downed guy. Well, more at you--like, specifically at you.You're not gonna lie at least in your own internal monologue, if it weren't for whatever voodoo that Rose did you probably would have frozen up. It wouldn't have been pretty. Instead you fall back on your training and the first thing that crosses your mind, body stepping in, hooking his shoulder and pivoting to slam him face-first into the ground with his own momentum. Fuck yeah, rooftop judo paying off. There's a sort of... crackle? in your chest, where you can feel your ribs in places they probably shouldn't be, complaining through an iceberg.As for the beast, you expect it to shake it off and get back to mauling you, but it just lays there on the ground thankfully breathing thinly.Given the situation you're not gonna say that you'd kill for a weapon right about now, but you'd kill for a weapon right about now. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You're really beginning to hate that you hate guns, because boy it'd sure be convenient to have one right now. Of course there's little time do dwell on that because past-you had decided to tackle an advancing werewolf, the fucking moron. Sure, it was going after the guy you'd ferried around just a while ago--Jade's friend, and sure the guy was in no condition to be fighting after getting put through the wringer with Rennerd, but you're certainly not in much better shape than him, as juiced-up on... whatever the fuck Rose has him on. You've only been at this supernatural game a few years now, and painfully reminded how human you still are--especially when a dull pain starts at your side as you barely slip by a clawed stab at your torso. That's gonna bruise like a motherfucker provided you're still around to feel it later.With some a quick pull opening up a long gash across their forearm, you remind him you have two fistfuls of knives, which accomplishes exactly fuck-all as they roar angrily and snap at you, which you reply to with the stabby equivalent of a 'fuck you'. You miss the eye, but score a deep gash along the side of the creature's face and neck as you punch past their head, bringing up your other hand to cut up into their chin at an angle. it connects, but only barely, slicing into the underside as they reel away from the first wound with a screech.It's then bowled over as a spinning werewolf slams into it at speed. The first one is stunned, tangled in the limbs of the other as it slides bonelessly off them to the floor. Above you hear a noise that makes you shudder, and you look up to see Rose oh god her eyes oh fuck floating near the roof as your attacker is swept off the ground. It looks like she's giggling to herself.As they begin to recover, they start to twist and flip over in mid-air before they're slung into another creature nearby with a sickening whip of movement as Rose continues circling the room, her newest victim being swept up as well.The newcomer isn't moving from where they landed. They haven't reverted so they're probably not dead, but the amount of blood coming from their ears, nose, and mouth is sickening, especially with as fast as 'weres are supposed to heal.- - - - - - - - - -You're beginning to tire of the SHAMEFUL LACK OF CARNAGE HERE. You came for BLOOD, MOTHERFUCKERS. You're gonna fucking see it if you have to tear it out of these weaklings YOUR FUCKING SELF--Someone throws a corpse at you. You backhand them out of the way, savoring the brief feeling of their BONES SINGING AS THEY PULP in your fist.Scanning the room, you sling a table at a fly buzzing around the ceiling. It splinters mid-air as she smiles at you, all pointed fish-teeth and dripping darkness.INTERESTING.- - - - - - - - - -You hear a roar that makes your very bones shake and your other half bristle.Looking to the source across the room, you catch a flit of movement and a thundering crash as you see Rose smash to the floor from above. The painted werewolf is hanging from the ceiling, feet braced and a clawed hand embedded in the stonework behind where she was floating. His other is coated in blood.The room blurs as you bound over to your friend. She isn't moving. You feel your skin stretch and tear. You can't hear her breathing. Your vision swims as red begins to pulse from the edges. Black liquid begins to slowly pool through her dress. You reach a clawed hand to her, gently--gently nudging her with your knuckles. She remains motionless.Another roar shakes the room and you realize it's your own.- - - - - - - - - -You started after Rose a half-second after Jade does, flitting behind her until you notice the sound of her bones popping and the unfortunate shredding of one fine-ass dress. You sort of slide to a stop at that.Your eyes slide automatically off of her you won't admit that Jade getting mangled and growing gives you a sick feeling at the back of your throat and up to the beast you recognize as the impossibly large man from the warehouse earlier. It's the face-paint really, but the thought has you scan the room for the lanky boy from the same encounter--'makara', you think? You don't particularly recognize any of the other werewolves attacking the partygoers from who you can see with all the chaos going on, but you wouldn't be surprised at this point. Your monologue continues into what a small world it is until Jade's roar shuts it up, rattling the air around her and calling your attention back to her, now fully transformed.The first thing that hits you is just how big she is. Like, REALLY big. Getting uncomfortably close to maybe nine feet or so, with the only werewolf bigger in the room being the painted one above you. Of course it could just be the raised hackles, or the contrast of her fur--hair?--being all white that's adding to it. Of course nobody's standing straight so you're just having to eyeball it okay this isn't important right now.You remember Jade's whole talk earlier about still being her when she's changed, so you get back to it and follow her. When Rose's body enters your view- - - - - - - - - -It's taken some wading and knees to the face, but you're making your way over to where you saw Rose fall. Jade and the kid from earlier are already here, and you're going to need to get a tattoo on your fucking forehead not to piss off Jade in the future, because fucking christ.Rose is on the ground behind her with Dave kneeling over her. Her illusion hasn't fallen, so she's not dead, but you should probably get your ass over there and help before you're proven wrong. The two don't notice you, one focused on oh jesus fuck it's the highblood. So he's behind this then? You knew he was completely batshit, but attacking a meetup of basically every clan and coven in north america would be the worst idea and who the fuck are you kidding he's probably getting off to this right now. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- After making all the effort to get here and help, you're not exactly sure how. Dave is huddling over Rose's body, and Jade is having a growling match at Highblood on the cieling. Or rather she's growling and he's baring his teeth as he lets out a wheezing chuff that you expect is laughter.Highblood's muscles coil for a half-second and you immediately hit the deck, his claws tearing down your calf instead of taking the whole leg off.You grit your teeth and kick off your good leg to roll away a few feet as Jase turns and smashes her clawed hand down at him.He catches three across the face as he dodges too-close, lapping at the blood that drips from them and chuffing more as the wounds stitch closed. The Highblood intercepts her following uppercut with a slash at her bicep, earning a snarl and easily ducking around it as she tries to push through. Aiming to punish her now-open side but finds his arm caught.Rose has begin to rise from the marble. Her illusion is gone. oh jeeze that's what she looks like jesus fuck shit You feel a scintillating spike of pain building at the base of your skull looking at her, so you focus elsewhere.Dave seems to have taken her place on the floor, laying slumped on his side. As the black puddle oozes up to her, his own red one starts to replace it. Shit shit shit SHIT You army-crawl over to him as the Highblood grapples with the kraken, straining and roaring as Jade tackles him, scoring deep wounds on his chest as he wards off her fangs from his throat with his free arm.There's a horrible shrieking there, a myriad noise of thousands of cords popping as you hear Rose impact Jade with her own yelp while you check Dave's condition.He's bleeding from everywhere, and even through his jacket you can see one of his arms is bent wrong in the upper half. He can't stay here, you've gotta get him out of the fight. Your mantra of shit shit shit shit continues as you try and bundle him up into your arms, pouring as much attention as you can into getting your leg in working order.Naturally this is just the instant that the slavering murderbeast notices you, having apparently stunned Rose and Jade for the moment. Making kick off the floor that turns into a sloppy roll-slide a few feet away, there's a crunching noise as he cracks the floor where you were.Your headache simultaneously jumps and lowers an octave as you flash-heal and break into a low run, slipping for a moment in a fresh batch of Dave's blood.A blast of sound buffets you as the beast roars. You hear his claws leave the ground for a moment behind you before KR-CRACK You blindly stumble to the side, hitting your shoulder on the floor as your senses recoil and your ears ring. The smell of ozone washes over you.You can feel them. Footsteps."Now, let' thee--" A half-pause, "--dark hair, nithe thkin, adorable cheekth..."You can hear the disdain in that last one. The voice stops and lowers down to you."You wouldn't happen to be thith 'Egbert', would you?" ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ahoy, few remaining folks! Yes, all three or so of you. As some may have noticed in my previous comment in the most recent chapter of a fic that hasnt been updated in over a year (that's this one), my computer exploded. No really. Well, a stimulus check clawed from the gnarled talons of the government and several hundred dollars-plus-shipping later, I've got a new computer and got all my old backups recovered so all's well.That said, I'm gonna have to finally pull the trigger and officially say this and most of my other works are gonna go the way of many other AO3 fics, to be put on [INDEFINITE HIATUS] effective basically last year due to physical hardship, loss of interest, and a lot of the characters having been run into the ground in the series proper (killing any motivation to really interact with them at all). I've failed the few people who actually stuck with my stories over the years (in the only way that counts, since the final product they deserve won't exist), and I apologize as deeply as I can for that. The folks who've read and commented and shown their support on these fics over the years have kept me out of a rough patch or two, and I can't really put my appreciation to paper adequately for it. Once I've got some more time to look over my pre-explosion drafts a few series might quietly see a final chapter after polishing whatever bits are left (if any), and I could dump my old notes on the setting and two planned arcs if folks have any interest, but simply put there isn't really any interest in returning to homestuck anymore and I don't think anyone who's stuck around should have any false hopes about it.I do hope everyone has a pleasant evening, this poor news aside.
1141286	Claimed	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Noah Mayer, Luke Snyder, Winston Mayer, Maddie Coleman, Casey Hughes, Alison Stewart (As The World Turns), Ameera Ali Aziz", "Fandom": "As the World Turns", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by FunkyinFishnet", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-18T00:00:00", "words": "10,150", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Male Slash, Mates, Pack Dynamics, Wolf Pack, Relationship(s), Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Feral Behavior, Claiming, Biting, Character Death", "Relationship": "Noah Mayer/Luke Snyder", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Noah met Luke during a Mayer pack hunt. As soon as Colonel Winston Mayer heard about what had happened to the Snyder pack, he made it clear that he wanted the Snyder land staked out and scoured. Few other packs wanted it, not until after it had been cleared of children's bodies and the overspill of innocent blood. Still, it was months before the Colonel could spare enough pack for the journey. There were always other priorities until at last, a good number of trusted wolves could be spared. The Colonel privately confided to Noah that he'd met Holden Snyder and had liked the other packmaster – he'd been a strong alpha wolf, and rightly proud of his family. “Show them respect,” the Colonel ordered Noah just before they both shifted into wolf form. “Don't touch the bodies.” But Noah was distracted by something else once he was on Snyder land; there was a very faint smell pulling at him. He focused on it, following the barely-present trail to a small dilapidated storehouse tucked away from view. The other wolves were distracted by the food in the house and farming supplies that could be used at the Mayer compound. The Colonel was growling and barking orders, wanting everywhere checked for scent that could lead to the killers. Noah was more interested in the unusual smell. He’d never been so fascinated by a scent before, but it felt incredibly important and tugged at him insistently. The Colonel had always said that a were should follow its instincts, a theory that had always worked in Noah’s experience. It was how Ameera had become part of their lives and their pack. Noah shoved his front paws and then his shoulder against the storehouse door but it was stuck fast. Or locked? Noah growled and kept trying. Eventually it gave way and he tumbled inside. The scent grew a little more powerful and amongst the bags of feed and gardening tools, Noah found its source. Curled up in a corner was a man his age, naked and dirty and smelling faintly of fear. That scent should have been much stronger; he must have disguised it somehow. Noah carefully nosed his way forward, not wanting to scare the man, but wanting to be closer, wanting to know more. The man growled deep in his throat. His face was hidden and there were claw scratches down his arms. He was definitely a werewolf, but there was something wrong. Noah cocked his head and pushed a little nearer, briefly rubbing a furry cheek against the man’s leg. The man made another noise but it wasn’t a growl, instead he sounded broken. Noah made a comforting sound and pressed in, rubbing against the man’s arms and legs, leaving his scent and trying to soothe the stranger, distressed at how upset he was. The man uncurled a little and eyed Noah. Noah stared back – the man was beautiful, even caked in dirt and pain. That feeling of needing to be close was growing inside of Noah and he realized, with a sudden lurch of excitement and disbelief, that this wasn’t an ordinary werewolf – this was his mate. The man had to sense it too; he was starting to lean towards Noah, wanting his touch. By his smell, the stranger was a beta and was now reaching out grubby hands to run through Noah’s fur. Noah pushed up against the stranger's ribs, listening carefully to the man’s heartbeat. It was regular but there was something off about the way the man looked around. Noah could sense a disharmony under his skin. Something was very wrong and Noah wanted to fix it. He detached himself from the man’s side, prompting wounded unhappy noises tearing at him, and quickly shifted into human form. The man didn’t look startled or scared but sounded happy when Noah approached to wrap arms around him. Something in Noah’s chest settled and he nosed at the man’s hair – under the grime and whatever strange masking agent he was using, he smelled wonderful. He smelled like home. There was a howl from the front of the property – the Colonel’s call. He wanted everyone to gather there. Noah got to his feet, gently but firmly pulling the man up with him. He turned to look at him, unsure if the beta could truly understand him. “You need to come with me.” The man sounded unhappy, glancing around the room like he wanted to stay – how long had he been living on the Snyder property? But he followed Noah out of the storehouse and tucked close to the alpha’s side as they walked, human and naked, to where the hunting party was gathering. The Colonel had shifted back to human form too and was now dressed in fatigues, overseeing the sacks of food and seeds being loaded onto trucks. He turned his head sharply when Noah walked into view. “Noah…” Whatever the Colonel had been about to say trailed off when he caught sight of the stranger. Only Noah noticed his father’s shock, it was only visible if you knew to look for the faintest twitching of the eye. “Luke Snyder,” the Colonel’s voice was even and steady. “The only Snyder unaccounted for.” The bodies were all out of sight, thank God, but the man, Luke, jerked his head up when he heard the name. Noah smiled, small and private, and held him closer. Luke’s whole feral attitude made a lot more sense now; he must have been living on his pack’s land, surrounded by his family’s bodies. Maybe he’d seen them all die too. Noah crooned something comforting and Luke pressed as close as he could. The Colonel watched. “You’ve found your mate.” The other weres could hear him, which was the point. Noah had to stake his claim now. “I have.” The Colonel nodded and ordered everybody not on guard duty to get into the trucks, those guarding would run in wolf-form alongside the vehicles. Noah gave Luke a moment to gaze out at his home, his family’s land, before guiding him to the Colonel’s truck. In the backseat, Luke rested his head on Noah’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around the alpha werewolf like he was afraid Noah would disappear. Noah’s heart broke as he thought about what Luke had been through. With the greatest car, he stroked his fingers through Luke’s matted hair. The Colonel watched in the rearview mirror. “He hasn’t talked?” Noah shook his head. “Noises but no words. I think he was living there the whole time.” “He probably went feral after watching his pack get slaughtered.” The Colonel’s nose twitched. “And he disguised his scent, most likely with the plants growing round here, which kept him safe. The only reason you picked up on it is the potential bond between the two of you.” Noah breathed in Luke’s faint but incredibly attractive smell. Inside, his heart was dancing. He’d hoped to one day meet someone that he felt the potential of connection with. The disaster of his relationship with Ameera had confirmed his sexuality, but this was completely unexpected. Their connection had probably saved Luke’s life. Noah didn’t want to let him go. “Noah.” The Colonel’s tone called for his immediate attention. “You need to mark him.” Noah nodded – there were a lot of alphas at the Mayer compound and they wouldn’t be shy about their interest in a new beta. Heart pounding, he nudged Luke awake, brushing a gentle kiss across his brow. Luke smiled sleepily at him, nuzzling closer. The balance of wolf and man was clearly off in him. Noah stared wordlessly at Luke’s beautiful face for a moment, then leaned in, needing Luke to understand. “I need to claim you,” he said softly. “It won’t bond us, but you’ll be safer. You’ll be mine.” Luke was silent for a few seconds, then he angled his face so that he could brush a lightning-quick kiss against Noah’s lips before deliberately baring his neck. Noah breathed in sharply, Luke was showing a lot of trust to a virtual stranger, but the connection between them was strong and Luke clearly felt it. Noah rubbed the pad of his thumb against the tendons of Luke’s neck, silently vowing that he would do everything he could to protect the beta, his mate. He was usually so cautious, Maddie was going to tease him mercilessly about this, but he knew, deep in his bones, that he wanted Luke beside him. He’d never felt anything like it; no wonder some alphas went crazy when they were separated from their mates. He definitely didn’t want any other alpha claiming Luke. The thought alone made thick possessive anger roll through him. Such strength of feeling amazed Noah, it was like his decision had already been made. He wasn’t complaining, though Luke was, making an impatient noise and knocking a knee against him, making Noah laugh. Luke, whoever he’d been before, was still there buried under all the pain and grief, and Noah couldn’t wait to get to know him. He kissed Luke’s neck, enjoying the pleased aroused noises that Luke made in response, and after licking a spot clean, he sank his sharpened teeth in gently. It wasn’t a full claiming mark, but it was enough to strengthen their connection. Other weres would be able to sense it too. Luke made a happy sound and curled up against Noah, kissing his chest. Noah held him close as they approached the compound. * The compound was dark and the guards at the gate nodded when they saw the Colonel in the front seat. Noah pointed out his room’s window and kept up a quiet commentary of what life was like there. Luke was responsive and made sure to hold onto Noah, determined not to be separated from him. The Colonel parked up and waited for Noah and Luke to exit. He was pleased about the match but worried, Noah could tell. He had good reason to worry – Luke was feral and while he was responsive, there was no guarantee that his condition would improve or that it wouldn’t get worse. He could attack members of the Mayer pack. He could attack Noah. Noah felt Luke’s fingers intertwine with his, and a surge of heat and want burned through him. Luke was more than worth trying for. The Colonel fixed his considerable gaze on Luke, who stared back, respectful but unbowed. Noah touched a hand to Luke’s shoulder. “My dad’s packmaster here. You need to submit to him.” Luke’s expression twisted but he didn’t look defiant; hopefully he could sense the Colonel’s alpha nature. After a few long minutes, the beta bared his neck to Colonel Mayer who nodded. The other trucks were pulling in and the accompanying guards were shifting back to human form, all curious about the new arrival. Luke wasn’t afraid to meet people's stares, Noah liked that feistiness. He just hoped that that attitude didn’t extend to disrespect. Noah’s position in the pack as his father’s second could be precarious and a mate who misbehaved would only make things worse. “Supplies in,” the Colonel ordered. There was an immediate flurry of activity, leaving Noah to guide Luke indoors, talking quietly about the history of the place, how the Mayer compound had withstood the devastating riots and fury that had swept the country once werewolves had become public knowledge. Colonel Mayer had been expecting that kind of reaction and had prepared accordingly. While some of the pack hated humans, the Colonel allowed human pack members, people he deemed trustworthy and valuable. The Colonel could be surprising sometimes, Noah admitted to Luke. “Noah!” Casey rushed up, his eyes comically widening when he caught sight of Luke. “Wow, where did he come from? Did you get a discount for the smell?” Ali punched his arm and smiled in gentle greeting towards Luke. “Hi, welcome to the compound.” Luke looked a little nervous but he didn’t hide behind Noah. Noah squeezed his hand. “This is Luke Snyder. We don’t know exactly how he survived but I found him and…” There was a gasp and Maddie, an alpha and the last to join the group gathering in the hallway, pointed at Luke. “You claimed him! Who are you and what have you done with the real Noah Mayer?” Noah held up a hand anticipating the questions. “Not here. Look, he hasn’t talked yet. He’s pretty feral but he understands people. Yes, I felt the bond potential and yes, I started a claim, but that’s all right now.” Ali nodded in understanding and patted Luke's arm. “Come on, Luke, I need to take a look at you for any injuries. Noah can come with us, if you like?” Luke looked at Noah and Noah smiled, nudging him encouragingly. “Ali knows what she’s doing. Casey? Not so much.” Casey’s answering yelp made Luke bark out something like a laugh and Noah ran a hand through the beta's hair fondly. God, he couldn’t believe how powerfully the bond was snaring him and it wasn't even near complete. He swallowed down the strong urge to bite Luke and kissed his cheek instead, ignoring Maddie’s coo of delight and gently disentangling himself from the beta. “You need anything, you can trust these guys. If you need me, they’ll bring you straight away, okay? I need to talk to my Dad.” Maddie gave him a commiserating look – word had probably spread already about Noah’s potential mate and there’d be a line of alphas ready to complain to the packmaster that Noah had gotten the beta first. Luke nuzzled against Noah's neck and gave him a long yearning look as Ali and Maddie led him away, chattering quietly. It’d be good for Luke to spend time with other betas; they’d be a comforting nourishing presence and they’d definitely ward off any posturing alphas. His gaze lingered on the departing Luke, and Casey nudged him sharply. “Never let it be said that Noah Mayer takes the easy road.” Noah nudged him back and went to find some pants. He was more than comfortable walking around naked - most werewolves were - but having important conversations with his Dad meant pants and probably a shirt too. No tie though, Noah could never get the knot right. A brisk ten minutes later, he was knocking on his dad’s office door. The Colonel was expecting him, as was Ameera, a knowing look on her face. She’d really blossomed after mating with Daniel. The Colonel nodded at him. “How’s Luke?” “Ali’s checking him for injuries. He was comfortable with the betas and another alpha.” “Good. Integration will be key. Six alphas have already demanded a chance to claim our new beta. Some of them said they can feel a potential bond.” The Colonel’s thinning mouth said exactly how honest he thought those claims were. It wouldn’t be the first time that an alpha had tried to claim a beta with lies and desperation. Noah shifted on the spot, swallowing down a growl at the thought of anyone else claiming Luke. “You’re sure of your claim?” Noah nodded sharply. He’d never been so sure of anything. He so badly wanted to protect Luke, and see him submit and bare his neck and display Noah's claiming bite for everybody to see. How could the feeling be anything else? “Absolutely, sir.” Ameera’s smile was wide and the Colonel even looked a little pleased. “You’re a lucky wolf.” Noah smiled, thinking of Luke, broken but beautiful, and agreed. * Noah was pleased that he couldn’t smell any distress from Luke as he neared the medical wing. He waved at a couple of friends who were in for a regular physical – the Colonel liked his pack to stay strong and vigilant – and made his way towards the curtained-off area that he knew hid Luke from view. “Just in time,” Ali called from behind the curtain. Noah pushed his way in and felt his heart jump at the sight of Luke again. Luke smiled at him. He was still dirty but Ali was smiling too, patting his knee. “He’s a little undernourished and there’s some nasty scratches on his arms and scalp, but apart from that, he’s in amazingly good shape.” Ali’s smile sharpened. “Also, he wouldn’t get cleaned up. I think he wants you around for that.” Luke was biting his bottom lip and looking up from under his eyelashes at Noah. But Noah could see the smile tugging at Luke’s mouth; he knew exactly what he was doing. Noah pushed at his shoulder gently and Luke pushed back, his smile breaking out again. God, he was beautiful. “Noah,” Ali’s voice was serious again. “I think…I don’t think he’s shifted since everything happened.” Noah paused, trying to adsorb the hellish idea. How many months had Luke stayed in one form? “You mean he’s trapped in this form?” Ali frowned. “Possibly, but I think it’s more likely that he won’t shift out of it, like he’s staying the way he was when…” Yeah, that made a horrible kind of sense. Noah tried hard not to grimace and jerked his head towards the exit. Luke eagerly got to his feet, then paused and pressed his side briefly against Ali’s. Ali smiled softly, touched by the gesture and returned it just as quickly. The moment made Noah melt and he couldn’t resist kissing Luke’s temple as the beta reached his side. Luke’s smile was warm and he nuzzled against Noah’s neck. Ali waved them off with a smile, promising to save them some food if they didn’t make it to dinner. It wasn’t a long walk to Noah’s quarters and as he was high-ranking in the pack; he was permitted an en-suite bathroom. He turned on the water, making sure that the temperature was warm and looked assessingly at Luke. “I’m guessing you want company…?” Luke’s smile was the same mixture of shy and sly as before and Noah ran gentle teasing knuckles across the beta’s cheek. Luke was definitely the strong-willed type, that much was obvious. He was maybe a little spoiled too. Noah definitely wanted to find out more. He could faintly smell Luke’s arousal. His own was probably pretty potent as he stripped off his smart clothes and folded them neatly. Some things were too ingrained to ever change. Luke’s gaze hungrily raked over him, which only stoked Noah’s arousal, and he beckoned the beta closer. Luke obeyed immediately and sighed happily at the feel of skin-on-skin, pressing himself close to Noah’s chest. Noah closed his eyes and soaked the feeling in, how happy and fulfilling the connection felt between them. They stood that way for a while, both enjoying the moment until Noah tapped Luke’s shoulder and directed him into the shower. Luke was eager for the warm water and equally eager for Noah’s soapy hands to run all over his body, attempting to clean up. It took a long pleasurable time, skin slippery and eyes bright at the easy intimacy, but eventually Luke’s skin became pinker and his hair blonder. Noah found himself struck speechless - Luke was even more beautiful under all that grime. Luke was looking at him with the same level of interest and arousal and, aware of Noah’s gaze, he tipped his head to the side, exposing his neck. Noah growled softly in his throat, his every instinct telling him to claim and take. Instead, he cupped Luke’s jaw and kissed him gently. Luke made an impatient protest of a sound but Noah just kissed him again, equally gently, and rested their foreheads together. “I know you want this as much as I do. You can feel the connection, the potential bond, can’t you?” Luke looked at him in disbelief and grabbed Noah’s free hand, pressing it to his own chest, over his heart. The way he was looking at Noah said everything. Noah took a deep breath. Luke’s scent was so much stronger now and it was thick with arousal and eagerness. That it was all for Noah was pretty humbling. Noah kissed him again, unable to resist. This was what he’d always wanted, but he wanted to do it right. “I want to hear you talk,” he said quietly, brushing fingers through Luke’s wet hair. “Something’s…whatever happened, things are still getting worked out and when they are, I hope you’ll still want me to claim you.” Luke huffed out a noise that said exactly what he thought about waiting but he nuzzled close, nipping at Noah’s jaw. Noah turned the water off, letting the beta press more kisses and teeth to his jawline, before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around Luke. Noah’s heart felt full. It wasn’t beating in time with Luke’s but there was a good melody happening. It was a great start. * Luke progressed well as the days he spent in the Mayer compound became weeks. He began wearing clothes again, usually taking what he wanted from Noah’s room, glancing at Noah to check that that was okay. Noah loved seeing Luke in his clothes, wearing his scent, so yeah, it was more than fine with him. Once, when Noah was getting dressed up for an important meeting with a neighboring pack, Luke made an impatient noise and batted Noah’s hands away to take control of his tie. Noah could taste his breath; he loved the look of concentration on Luke’s face. He loved that he could feel the warmth of Luke’s hands on the tie afterward as he drove off with his dad. Luke spent a lot of time with Casey, Ali, and Ameera, enjoying the beta camaraderie and becoming more tactile with them as a result. Ali was pleased with his progress health-wise and told Noah that the fact that Luke was comfortable in the presence of another strong alpha like Maddie was a great sign. He had frequent nightmares though. Noah was woken up several times a night by Luke's shouts and would find the beta shaking and choking out sounds, his hands gouging marks onto his own skin. He always seemed to scrape at his scalp, like he was trying to dig out the nightmare images. Noah pried Luke's fingers free and spoke quietly and insistently, telling Luke he was safe now, rubbing his scent onto the beta's skin, coaxing him into lying against his alpha's chest. Luke always calmed down eventually, whimpering distress and relief in equal measure. It often took Noah a while to get to sleep afterward, wanting more than anything to take away Luke's pain. On Luke's first night in the compound, Noah had told him that he was welcome to sleep in somebody else's room, that maybe he'd like to pile up with some betas. As a member of the pack, he was expected to. Werewolves rarely slept alone, needing the tactile company of pack. There were some pack members that Noah told Luke to avoid though – the super-possessive alphas who wanted no one near their mates, the newly-mated pairings, and the alphas with nasty edges, particularly the ones with more than one eye on dethroning the packmaster. Luke had nodded at all of that, clearly memorizing the names, but he had shaken his head when Noah had offered to take him to Casey or Ali. Then he'd pointedly lain down on Noah's bed, his choice clear. Usually, it was the alpha who sought out the beta. Obviously Luke liked to do things his way. Noah liked that a lot more than he probably should. So Luke shared Noah's bed every night, burrowing into his warmth, exposing his neck and reeking of happy arousal when Noah sucked very temporary marks onto his skin. They both got helplessly hard but Noah maintained his stance. Luke still wasn't completely himself yet and Noah wanted every part of the beta. He wanted to hear Luke moaning his name. Luke gave him baleful looks and rubbed up against him. Noah tried tugging Luke's hair to make him stop, but that only made Luke moan more and go all glassy-eyed and soft-lipped. Noah bit down his own growling groan and pinched sharply at Luke's hip, which got him a nip to the fingers but a reluctant stillness too. Thank God. A couple of times, Noah attempted to get Luke to shift forms. But when they went into the woods behind the compound, Luke only watched as Noah and several of the pack's betas shifted, his jaw firm and his eyes darting about worriedly. No matter what Noah and the others tried, Luke refused to shift into his wolf form. He couldn't refuse forever though. He couldn't. For a while, Luke wouldn't eat in the main hall. Instead, he accepted the food that Noah, Ali, or Casey brought to Noah's room for him, though he never ate much in their presence. Some time later, Noah found little food parcels wrapped in scraps of paper or cloth, hidden beside the bed and behind the hot water pipes. His heart broke, was this how Luke had lived on his family's land? Burying and hiding supplies? Furtive and scared? One afternoon, Noah unwrapped a couple of the food parcels and pointedly ate them in front of Luke, offering some to the beta with an encouraging expression. Luke stared at him, but curled up beside Noah and slowly ate the food. It took more work to persuade him to eat with the pack in the dining hall, and Noah wasn't thrilled by the collection of very interested looks that the beta got. Luke always looked most comfortable beside Noah. * “You still haven't claimed him.” Noah's posture stiffened at his father's words. The Colonel stared at him, waiting for an answer. Noah hated that he had to explain himself at all. Weren't his reasons obvious? “He's not...himself, not totally....” “Admirable, but you can't leave a beta unclaimed for so long...” “...And I don't want him resentful or angry after we mate. That'll only hurt the pack and other alphas would definitely challenge me.” “Of course he'll be resentful and angry. He saw his pack murdered.” The Colonel was bluntly honest and Noah flinched. “But he wants to mate with you, any wolf can smell that. And alphas will make advances soon if you don't make a claim.” It was a warning – the Colonel had clearly heard things. Well, it was more likely that Ameera had been listening out again; she had a real skill for unearthing what people wanted kept from the packmaster. The Colonel was right; Noah and Luke had been lucky that nobody had made an overt advance yet. There were alphas who sniffed at Luke when he walked past and who eyed him hungrily, but nobody had tried to claim him yet. It probably wasn't far off though. Fuck. * Noah thought about Luke a lot, about pinning him to the bed, about sliding in balls-deep and hearing him whimper. He thought about the claiming bite. He'd been thinking about it for days now, weeks. Luke often wore an expression that said he was thinking about it too. Noah tried to look away, from the heat and need and want. He didn't succeed all that often. Maddie nudged him sharply, responding to Noah's bared teeth with a snarl of her own. Their expressions became smiles pretty quickly though and Noah rested his arm against hers, more comfortable with her than with most alphas. His gaze followed hers, landing on Luke who was sat beside Ameera, listening and eating as she talked quietly. They were sat close together, beta friends, with Casey and Ali grabbing food nearby and probably intending to join them. Luke looked like he belonged, like he was happy and comfortable. It warmed Noah and he was on his feet before he fully realized, about to go and sit beside Luke and maybe kiss him, because how could he not when Luke looked like that? But then Maddie suddenly gripped his arm and gave him a look with significant eyebrows. “The alphas are circling,” she said mildly, because they were surrounded by pack members with wolf-sharp hearing. “He's made it clear who he wants.” Noah grimaced, because yes, it was clear who Luke wanted and the Colonel had been more than clear when it came to what he wanted done – a mated alpha was stronger after all and Colonel Mayer wanted Noah as strong as possible for when he eventually took over as packmaster. The Colonel wanted his son happy too though and apparently thought that Luke could provide that. Noah thought so too. But... He was opening his mouth to remind Maddie just why what he and Luke both wanted was so completely complicated and on a dangerous knife-edge seeing as there was a maddening itch under his skin due to the other alphas' behavior towards Luke, when there was a shout and a crash as a table got overturned, snarls suddenly filling the air. Noah could smell Luke's anger and a terrifying sharp sliver of fear. As one, he and Maddie plowed through the crowd and found Luke being pushed behind Ali and Casey, all three of them baring sharpened teeth. Ali's eyes flashed gold and she didn't back down, even though Kevin, an athletic young alpha, was posturing right into her space. “You've got no right,” Ali hissed at him, her hands clawed and poised. Kevin snarled and there were gashes across his face, healing fast but clearly pretty nasty. “I know what's available. I've got every right.” “And he can say 'no',” Casey jumped in. “Which he did, unless you take a clawing as acceptance. Kinda explains how you're still not mated.” Kevin made a move towards them and, though it could lead to severe punishment in some packs, the betas stood their ground. Noah only had eyes for Luke. He didn't look hurt, just really pissed-off. Ameera had a soft hand on his shoulder and looked tight with anger herself. Noah was full of possessive anger, wanting to grab Luke, to scent him and check that he wasn't hurt. Noah wanted to bite. Instead, he simply said “Luke.” That got everybody's attention and Luke immediately wended past Ali and Casey to Noah's side. He pressed up against the alpha, exchanging scents. Kevin's nostrils flared and Noah held his gaze, his own anger still rolling, causing his teeth to sharpen. They stayed frozen in that moment for what felt like forever, the atmosphere charged. Then Kevin spoke, quiet and threatening. “I know what's available.” He stared pointedly for a moment at Noah, then left the room. Gossip chatter immediately filled the silence and Maddie gave Noah a challenging look of her own. “Be selfish for once, Noah, for the sake of the pack.” Noah swallowed and stared down at Luke, who was wrapping an arm around his waist, face pressed against Noah's neck. Maddie was right - the pack was going to get even more unstable if Luke went unclaimed for much longer. It could cause fights at least, and at worst... At worst, Luke could be thrown out of the pack, or killed due to an alpha frenzy. Noah tightened his grip on Luke and brushed a kiss against his brow. Ali and Casey smiled, their teeth blunt now and their eyes much more human. Casey gave a sloppy salute. There were still alphas watching Luke, their gazes a lot like Kevin's. Noah quickly tugged Luke out of the room and Luke followed, allowing himself to be guided back to their quarters. Their quarters. Yeah, it'd been their quarters ever since Luke had first arrived. Noah sighed as he locked the door behind them before quickly making his way over to the bed, pulling Luke down to lie beside him. He needed to think and he needed to feel Luke...who was making strange noises in his throat. Anger? Frustration maybe? Noah tipped Luke's chin upward, taking in his drawn-down eyebrows and the way that his throat was trembling. Heat punched through Noah's stomach, he wanted to make Luke tremble. He wanted to mark him up and... “Noah.” Noah blinked and dropped his gaze uncomprehendingly to Luke's mouth. It moved. “Noah.” Inside, Noah howled. On the outside, he cradled Luke's face, his heart beating at a million times a minute. He couldn't stop staring at Luke, even more than he usually did. This was...this was actually happening? “Luke.” Luke dived forwards, fusing his mouth to Noah's. It was a full-on attack, Luke dragged his fingers down Noah's arms, then clutched at his hair before fighting with Noah's shirt. Noah didn't hold back either, his tongue licked into Luke's mouth and his hands flew over Luke's body, wanting to touch as much as possible. Then Luke's hips started pistoning insistently and he was hard against Noah's thigh. “Noah,” he whined between kisses. “Noah...want...mate.” Noah groaned. God, there was Luke, more of the pushy personality that Noah had just known was under there, waiting to come out in words. He pushed Luke back a little, though his wolf-side howled in protest. “Luke, you're...” Noah couldn't help breaking out into a wide almost-giddy smile, one hand stroking Luke's face. He felt amazing and he had to tell Luke that “You're so beautiful and...” Luke dived forward again, his mouth insistent against Noah's and his hands frantically trying to undress the alpha. Noah laughed, feeling delirious. Luke was saying everything pretty articulately without words ironically. Noah slowed the kiss down and pushed Luke back again, laughing at the look of pure frustration and disbelief Luke was wearing. “I know, God, and I know you're aware of that.” Noah looked ruefully downward and Luke slyly rubbed his thigh against Noah's straining hard-on. Noah made an embarrassing noise “That is not playing fair.” Luke looked exasperated now. “All the time you've made us wait, that's fair?! I want this, you.” Noah's heartbeat was still quick and his eyes widened at Luke's words. His speech was getting more voluminous and Luke was reaching for him again and Noah could only reach too, gathering Luke close to him, reveling in his heartbeat and his aroused desperate scent. Luke was talking; Luke still wanted to be his. They could do this. Noah kissed Luke's brow, then his cheeks and jaw before hovering over his lips. “Okay.” Luke's answering grin was sharp and hungry. “Okay.” They pressed together, mouths and hands still frantic, Noah wasn't so cautious now, and there was a wild joy to the moment too – Luke had found his voice again and they were mates. Noah pushed Luke's shirt over his head and laughed at Luke's cursing as he fumbled with a belt. Luke nipped at his ear in retaliation and then fiercely pulled Noah's jeans down. They'd been naked together before - they were werewolves after all - but this was charged and Luke was muttering words as he kissed Noah's chest and bit at his nipples, words like 'mine' and 'fuck.’ Noah cracked a smile. Luke was happy to follow his lead but there was a streak of pushy need running through the beta too. Noah liked that, he hadn't found anything about Luke that he didn't like yet. Of course Noah was an alpha so he could be pushy too. Without warning, he rolled them so that Luke was pinned underneath him. Luke didn't struggle; instead he bared his neck and rolled his hips, urging Noah on. Noah groaned, God, the feeling of their cocks touching like that... He buried his teeth in Luke's neck, not quite a claiming bite but the bond between them still responded, feeling like it was growing as they rocked together. And then Noah was licking at the fresh mark on Luke's neck, muttering 'mine' over and over again, wanting desperately to claw his way into Luke's body. He was tugging at Luke's hair, and Luke arched his back with a shout that was pretty much a howl, coming fast and hot. Noah groaned, managing to wrap a hand around his own cock, his skin slick with Luke's release. He only needed a couple of strokes before he was coming too, just as fast and just as hot. Luke collapsed happily on top of him, nosing at Noah's neck. “Good start.” Noah made a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan, a feeling of sheer awe and possessive happiness pushing a smile onto his face that felt like it was never going to leave. He curled a hand into Luke's hair and dragged him into a sweet lingering kiss. “You're such a brat.” Luke just looked smug and gave Noah's neck a quick bite. “Your brat.” Noah wasn't going to argue with that, not when there was satisfied heat curling around his heart and Luke was nuzzling down his body to lick up all the stickiness. * The night didn’t end there; they only paused to share a shower. Luke dropped to his knees to enthusiastically wrap his lips around Noah's cock, and Noah returned the favor once they'd stumbled damply back into the bedroom. They couldn't stop kissing. They slept even more intertwined than usual, Luke's cheek resting over Noah's heart. Noah woke up first, at what felt like a ridiculously early hour, dragged out of dreams by the strong smell of coffee and Ameera's scent at the door. She didn't knock. Noah smiled down at the thatch of blonde hair obscuring his view and felt the bond practically pulse. It felt as impatient as Luke. Noah's smile became a grin as he ran fingers down the rosy-white skin of Luke's body, every part of him relishing the closeness, the level of inner intimacy that they hadn't had together before the previous night. He didn't have time to linger on those kinds of Luke-centric thoughts though, Ameera was waiting patiently. So Noah carefully slid out from under Luke, managing not to wake him, and pulled on jeans without bothering with underwear. Ameera had seen him look much worse. She smiled when he opened the door and handed him a steaming mug of coffee, sweetened exactly the way he liked it. Noah groaned out his thanks as he sipped at it. He was confused when Ameera handed him a small ring of keys though. “Your day is free. I'm taking your duties.” Her smile was a sharp warning. “You will do the same for me when Daniel returns.” Noah nodded vaguely at the mention of Ameera's mate, who was currently visiting a northern territory as a Mayer pack ambassador. It was dangerous work, avoiding the many humans dedicated to hunting and killing weres, and Danny had been gone for almost a month. Ameera was coping well with the separation. But why was she freeing up Noah's day? Ameera smiled at him. “The cottage at the western gate is free. Your father approves, but you only have the day. We will keep the wolves from your door.” Noah stared at her dumbly for a moment, then put his coffee down so that he could give her a proper fierce hug. Ameera laughed into his shoulder, her scent was so happy, like lemongrass and the pale violets that she always gathered for the room she shared with Danny. Noah really was blessed. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice thick and heartfelt. “Congratulations,” She pulled back to look at him seriously. “Try to get him to shift, but don't run together until the claim is made.” The warning was clear; the pack's alphas who were interested in Luke weren't going to back off just because Noah and Luke's relationship had evolved. They wouldn't give up on Luke until a proper mating claim was made. So Ameera was giving the pair an escape to some space and time together. Noah nodded and watched her leave before retreating back into his room. He noticed the time with a groan – he'd been right, it was way too early, only just six a.m. It was a good idea of Ameera's though; few of the pack except those on guard duty would be awake so Noah and Luke had a chance to slip away unnoticed. Noah smiled as he drank in the sight of Luke sprawled out on the sheets, peaceful and happy. His mate, so close to being claimed. Oh, they had a lot to talk about, but the important things were already known between them, thank God. Noah sat down on the bed and stroked at Luke's shoulder, watching as the combination of his touch and the potent smell of coffee woke Luke up. He didn't look thrilled about it and grasped blindly for the mug. “Coffee...” Noah chuckled as Luke sat up and thirstily drank down the hot liquid, his eyes still closed. Eventually he opened them and a very happy and horny scent unfurled. Noah leaned in for a kiss, morning breath be damned. Luke clearly didn't have a problem with it, responding eagerly, tasting of coffee and richly of himself. God, Noah wanted more. Forcing himself to pull back – because he could have more, as long as he didn't get distracted - Noah jingled the keys enticingly. Luke raised confused eyebrows and drank more coffee. Apparently it was a good enough substitute when Noah's mouth wasn't available. “We've got a free day and somewhere private...” Noah let the idea dangle and Luke's eyes lit up in response. He grasped hold of Noah's arm, his fingers digging in hard. “Promise?” He really had to ask? Especially after the previous night? But, Noah conceded, it had been pretty much all stop-start from Luke's point of view, he had every right to doubt. Noah leaned in to kiss Luke gently, a chaste meaningful press of lips. Luke whimpered softly, his forehead resting against Noah's once their mouths separated. “Promise,” Noah confirmed, a little hoarsely, his own heartbeat loud in his ears. “Hence the early wake-up. You're still the pack's most wanted. Come on.” Luke grumbled but got out of bed to pull the bare minimum of clothing on, shamelessly watching as Noah did the same. They were werewolves and so were immune to most things, but they could still feel the discomfort of wintery weather. Just as they were about to leave, Luke suddenly wrapped his arms around Noah, his face tucked against the alpha's neck. It felt a lot like gratitude. Noah held on tight, his own feelings reflecting that back. They were breathless and silent for a handful of moments, then they moved. They were in sync; Noah locked up their quarters and led the way to the compound's back door. They didn't pass anybody on the way out and the path was clear as they started the walk towards the Mayer territory's western gate. “Sometimes wolves need space from the pack, or mated pairings do,” Noah explained on the way. “Or there are prisoners who need to be kept separate. When Dad had the compound built, he had a few other buildings constructed on the property too.” Luke nodded, staying close to Noah until he darted off into a patch of shadowy trees. He returned quickly with a handful of familiar leafy green plants with bright orange flowers – they were the ones he’d shown Noah and the Colonel before, the plants that he’d used to disguise his scent. “For privacy,” Luke added, already shedding the leaves and grinding the flower’s pollen to dust between his palms. It was a great idea. By the time they got to the cottage, their scents were lost to any who’d be searching for Luke. Noah checked the cottage’s surroundings before entering and locking the door behind them. It was a pretty basic set-up – only a bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom with a sparse amount of furniture over all. Luke didn’t seem to care; he was already beginning to shed his clothing. Noah watched appreciatively and Luke smiled slyly, dragging his shirt off slowly and raising his arms above his head to give Noah a lingering view. Noah had to get closer, to pull off his own clothes so that he and Luke could be skin-on-skin again. Luke made an extremely agreeable noise and Noah pulled him near enough to taste, muttering between kisses “Afterward, we talk.” Luke keened. “Can’t wait.” He didn’t sound like he was being sarcastic either. Words spilled out of him as they tussled together into the bedroom, tongues and fingers desperate to claim and mark. Luke gasped out his appreciation – “God, you’re so fucking hot, I can’t believe it,” - his annoyance at Noah’s imposed waiting period – “I have never jerked off so much in my life and I was a really horny teenager,” – and his current desperation, filled with sincerity – “I swear I’ll claim you if you don’t get your teeth into me soon. Seriously, I’ve never wanted anybody this much. Please.” Noah moaned at hearing Luke form words, at hearing his fervent desire. Yet for all his bossy talk, Luke was happy to cede to Noah. He wasn’t trying to be anything other than a beta. He proudly bared his neck and dug his fingers into Noah’s back. Noah growled and managed to fumble lube out of a fully-stocked bedside drawer as his mouth went to work on Luke. The beta overflowed with compliments and words, like he'd been dammed up and the release was a joyful rush that just couldn't be stopped. Noah slicked up his fingers and began working Luke open, his gaze riveted to Luke’s face. The beta breathed in sharply. “Holy shit!” His expression contorted beautifully and he lurched upward to mash his mouth to Noah’s, whining his need and arousal and imploring Noah to bite him, fuck, please. Noah could feel himself trembling; he was so full of wonder and growing possessive lust – only he got to see Luke like this. This was his. Luke’s hips were thrusting hard and his eyes suddenly flashed gold. Noah’s breath quickened – he loved it when Luke's wolf-side was close to the surface. Noah removed his fingers and Luke lay still, reverent and suddenly patient as Noah pressed his cock in, his fingers entangled with Noah’s, his neck still desperately bared. But when Noah started moving, so did Luke. He babbled out curses and endearments and wrapped his legs eagerly around Noah’s waist, urging him closer, faster, harder, come on, Noah, God, more, I need more. Noah growled and wrapped a hand around Luke’s cock. He could feel the expected shifting; his wolf-side knew the claim was coming. His eyes glowed and his claws were starting to show. His teeth were sharp and ready. He looked down at Luke, sweating, frantic, and begging, all for Noah. The alpha snarled triumphantly, every part of him vibrating with what was about to happen. He pressed his mouth to Luke’s ear, just for a moment. “Mine.” “Yes.” At Luke’s hissed answer, his hips still rolling needily, Noah sank his teeth into Luke’s neck. His hand continued stroking Luke’s cock and Luke? Luke was howling, full-throated and desperate. Noah came chokingly and without warning, Luke following close behind, and the bond surged between them, the claim snapping everything into place. Noah released Luke’s neck, but immediately began licking at the mark there. It would scar nicely, permanently. He couldn’t stop looking at it. Luke looked dazed and completely sated, but his expression was still cut with hunger when he turned towards Noah. “Fuck, we are doing that again. A lot.” Noah murmured agreement against Luke's skin. He wanted to make more marks; he wanted to cover Luke with claims. At least the room was full of their combined scent now; it had washed away the blocking veil of the plants. Everybody vaguely nearby would know what had happened; Luke was off the market. He was Noah's now. Noah's lips curled with satisfaction and overwhelming bone-deep happiness. Luke was his. He kissed Luke from neck to jaw to lips and settled there for a while, worshiping his mate's lush mouth. Luke sighed happily, his arms content around Noah. They had both been claimed at last. Noah released Luke's mouth eventually. “Mmm, worth the wait.” Luke smiled, one hand buried in Noah's dark hair. It was starting to curl now thanks to its length; Casey had been teasing him about it a lot. “Doesn’t even begin to cover it.” They stayed wrapped up in each other, exchanging kisses, until Noah sighed and reluctantly pulled away to grab a washcloth from the bathroom. He could feel Luke's eyes on him as he cleaned them both off. Noah stared back as he lay down again, their faces close together. They wouldn't have much privacy once they were back in the compound where Noah had to put the pack first as the packmaster's second, though it would be expected for him to be somewhat preoccupied by Luke, his mate. Luke would always be the exception. Noah nudged him, gentle and teasing. “Talk.” Luke laughed and it was a beautiful sound. “God, I have so much to tell you, you have no idea.” He leaned in to kiss Noah, like it was a vitally important part of the conversation. It always would be. Noah drank in Luke's warm presence and wrapped a secure arm around him. Luke's eyes were serious and melancholy when he spoke again. “First of all, you didn't have to search me out or bring me here. I could have been a danger to your pack, your family, but you brought me anyway and...” Luke let out a sigh and very softly kissed the corner of Noah's mouth. “Thank you.” Noah swallowed and nuzzled his face close to Luke's for a moment. Truthfully, it hadn't really felt like a choice to him at the time. He'd known that the strange feral werewolf was his mate and so hadn't been able to leave him behind. As an alpha, his instinct had been to protect, comfort, and heal. His instinct had been right. Luke talked a lot that morning. He laughed as he talked about Casey, Ali, and Ameera, his affection for them clear and genuine. He loved hanging out with them and had quickly felt at home with them when he'd obviously needed company and comfort. He admitted that he was surprised at how easily he'd taken to Maddie, considering that she had been an unknown alpha, but he'd seen how she was with the other betas, protective without being possessive or suffocating. Noah smiled, because that was Maddie. She was a great alpha, and a wonderful friend. He'd never been jealous of the time she'd spent with Luke, because he'd known that her priority was keeping Luke safe and happy. Luke got angry when he talked about Kevin’s advances towards him, though he said it wasn’t the first time that an alpha had heavily commented on his unclaimed status. Luke could handle that, he’d only clawed Kevin when the alpha had suggested that maybe Noah just wasn’t a good or strong enough alpha since he hadn’t claimed Luke after more than a month. After all, Noah and Ameera hadn’t worked out, had they? Noah was used to those kinds of comments, though they still made his temper snarl and his wolf-side growl. He wondered passingly if Luke’s anger, that violent defensiveness of his alpha, was what had finally pushed Luke’s words out. Or maybe it had just been the amount of time that had passed and the steeped comfort of a pack or…it could have been so many things. Everything felt quiet when Luke talked about his family; he smiled through unshed tears as he talked about his grandmother's amazing baking, and how his parents had fought sometimes but were so clearly meant to be mates and so had always found their way back to each other. His tears fell when he talked about his siblings, about Ethan's drawings, Faith's rebellious nature, and Natalie's sweetness. Noah held him and kissed away his tears. Luke admitted, in a tight voice, that he had a biological father, Damian Grimaldi. Luke wanted to keep his distance. He’d been burned too often by Damian before. Grimaldi was an old wolf name, a powerful one. Noah recognized it. Why hadn't Damian come running once he’d heard about the Snyder massacre? Luke's expression twisted bitterly. “He always wanted me to be a Grimaldi, you know? To take on his name and be part of his pack, to learn how to lead them in the future after him, but all he did was make Mom really unhappy and...yeah, he cares about his name and the fact that I don't use it, but not about me. He's really not my father.” Noah murmured comforting nonsense and nosed at the claiming bite, reminding Luke that he wasn't alone. Noah would have to tell his father about Luke's Grimaldi blood, in case Damian came looking if Luke's survival became public knowledge. But now that Luke was claimed by a Mayer, his connection to the Grimaldis became much weaker. And Luke had clearly chosen another name a long time ago; Noah wasn't going to take that from him now. The Colonel had always said that Holden Snyder was a good man. Noah kissed Luke's neck. “You're a Snyder.” Luke shivered and nodded, hiding his face against Noah's chest. * There were important things to do, but first there was more touching and then there was Luke on his knees, his hands braced against the headboard, and Noah thrusting hard and fierce into him from behind because Luke wanted to burn and Noah wanted to share that. Eventually they stumbled into the bathroom and washed up in the tiny shower. At least the water was hot and the shower gel smelled like watermelon. Noah hoisted Luke up against the slippery shower wall and became transfixed by the rivulets of water running down Luke's body and by how Luke panted Noah's name, like it was the only thing that mattered. Noah came with a groan that made his ribs ache. Ameera had made sure that there was food in the kitchen – cuts of meat if they were really hungry, and cereal, bread, and butter. Luke licked butter from his thumb and scattered crumbs everywhere. He smiled at Noah and crowded close, still needing contact despite his voice's return. Noah had almost expected Luke to pull away once he could verbally communicate again, but Luke was as tactile as before, pressing against Noah's side, sliding into his lap, refusing to be out of his personal space. Thank God. Noah's relief was dizzying. He never wanted to let go of Luke. “I'm right here,” Luke said suddenly, his fingers cupping Noah's face, his eyes bright and intuitive. “Not going anywhere.” Luke tasted of raspberry preserve and Fruit Loops. Noah could get addicted to Luke's mouth. Noah snorted quietly. He was fooling himself – he was already addicted to Luke. Finally, hopefully, Noah got to his feet and held out a hand. Luke looked at him questioningly but didn’t hesitate – he placed his hand in Noah’s. Noah smiled and kissed Luke’s knuckles. He was sorry to leave the cottage - it stank of their coupling - but they needed to go outside. Noah’s heart was hammering fast and he knew that Luke could hear it. Luke was looking concerned now and was clearly about to speak but Noah shook his head and once they were out under the weak sunlight again, he stepped closer. “I want to meet your wolf.” Luke’s expression turned sorrowful and tight and he glanced away. “I…I tried, but since…I haven’t been able to since before…” Noah tugged him into an embrace, crooning comfort. “I’m here.” Luke’s smile was watery but he nudged an affectionate hand against Noah, thanking him as they separated. He was clearly a talker, used to enthusiastically rambling out what was on his mind, but he said a lot without words too. Noah liked that he got to experience and understand that side of Luke. He kissed Luke’s neck and ran teeth across the claiming mark. Then he took a step back and shifted. He immediately rubbed against Luke’s legs, encouraging and scent-marking. Luke was his and Noah always wanted to remind Luke of that. His wolf was all sharp instinct and was thrilled to have his mate beside him. Luke rubbed a hand through Noah’s fur, patting his flank. Noah knew that he retained his blue eyes in wolf-form and that his fur was as dark as his human hair. Ali had once asked, with laughing eyes, if his fur would soon start to curl like his hair did. Casey had laughed so much at that that he’d almost choked on his mouthful of coffee. Luke bit his lip, he still looked worried and tense, but Noah pressed close, licking at Luke’s shin, wanting him to know what he was welcome and wanted. Luke stroked Noah’s back and let out a murmur of discontent, but he knew what his alpha wanted and the instinct to shift had to be howling inside of him, like it must have been for weeks now, only maybe it was howling stronger with Noah in wolf-form and their bond calling for them to be together. He’d stayed too long in one form; werewolves were supposed to be a balance of two. So Luke took a deep breath and a last look at Noah, and after a few agonizing failed attempts, he slowly, painfully, shifted. Noah yelped happily, drinking in the sight of his beta’s wolf-form. There Luke was, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it; his fur a pale blond color and his eyes dark and sharp. He moved slowly, then quicker, running away and then back again, clearly enjoying his wolf-form after so long without it. Noah tumbled him onto his back and they wrestled, Luke allowing Noah to gently close teeth around his throat. Noah yipped joyfully; finally he got to share this with his mate. Later, they would talk more; they would meet with the Colonel and painfully discuss Luke’s survival experience and who could have been behind the Snyder massacre. Luke would grow taut and angry, revealing how resentful Damian had always been about his ex-wife Lily choosing another wolf over him and how Damian had kept insisting that Luke should be with the Grimaldi pack. Noah and the Colonel would exchange looks, wondering how far the spurned Alpha would go to punish his ex-wife and to control and reshape his dismissive heir. Noah would take Luke to where the ashes of his family were buried on the Snyder property which Colonel Mayer was now managing. Luke would shed tears and shake and hold onto Noah desperately, and Noah would cover him in loving touches and listen to stories and eventually tell Luke about his mother, the Colonel’s wife, about how she’d died and how he still missed her even though it had happened so many years ago. Luke would kiss his tears away. Luke would still have nightmares. He’d still scratch at his skull, desperate to claw the bloodied images out. Noah would still desperately wish that he could do something to help. Luke would smell unbelievably smug whenever alphas grumbled at his mate-scent, at how their coupling was completely obnoxiously obvious. Noah would call him a brat and Luke would grin sly and shameless, reminding Noah that he was Noah’s brat, and everything would start all over again as they scrambled into bed together. Aaron, an alpha with definite packmaster ambitions, would sneer that he preferred Luke as a mute mutt and that the beta should be kept collared until he learned how to behave properly. Luke would snort derisively, taking a seat on Noah’s lap and replying that he knew his place and that anyway, Noah liked him talkative. Noah, growling at Aaron, would possessively nip at his mate’s neck, his mood lightening at the truth of Luke’s words. Because he did love Luke talkative as much as he loved him silent, all those words, so many of them describing what Luke wanted Noah to do to him, listing all the things he loved about Noah, loved. Most alphas would hear Luke’s declaration and assume that it was a beta conceding its inferiority to an alpha. But Noah knew what Luke was actually saying – that he knew his place was with Noah. All of that was to come. For now, the wolves were together, mated, a pair in both forms. Noah nuzzled his snout at Luke’s shoulder and licked at the beta’s jawline. He nodded towards the wide open spaces that were part of the Mayer pack’s territory. Luke agreed with an apparently-casual ear-flick before suddenly darting off without warning. Noah barked his surprise and amusement and easily caught up with his mate. Side by side, they ran. -the end
1109950	Back Together	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by The_Forgotten_Nobody", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-30T00:00:00", "words": "2,096", "Additional Tags": "Friendship, Angst, Return fic", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson", "Series": "Unexpected", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, F/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	When John got home, he expected to have a nice dinner with his girlfriend, a cup of his favourite tea and perhaps a bath if he wasn't too tired. Nothing strenuous; just a calm and quiet night in. Of course, he should have learnt by now that nothing ever went as expected. Especially when it concerned Sherlock Holmes. As he walked through the door, he barely had time to hang his coat up before Mary had whisked him into the living room to sit down. He looked at her with confusion and she stared back with a mixture of emotions on her face. There was seriousness, sympathy and a bit of hesitation. It baffled John, never before had Mary looked at him like that and if he was honest, it worried him. "Mary, what's wrong? Has something happened?" He asked her and she gave a short laugh. "I suppose you could say that" She answered before gripping his hands in hers. This did nothing to ease John’s worries. "You're not breaking up with me are you?" He'd thought they were fine. In fact, there was nothing to suggest that anything wasn't but what if something had happened to make her realise she didn't want to be with John. Maybe she realised how damaged he was, broken. He was better, much better than he had been in the past, but there would always be something not right with him. Maybe Mary had noticed that and decided enough was enough. He wasn't sure how he'd cope with that, what with her being one of the best things to ever happen to him. Mary noticed John's sudden panic and was quick to reassure him. "Oh no, of course not. I've just come across some very....unexpected news" John released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in relief. "What is it?" He asked again. Mary hesitated again and John really was beginning to worry. Mary never acted like this. She was confident, sure of herself. Rather like someone else he had known but that really wasn't worth getting into right then. "You know how you had those theories that...Sherlock might not truly be dead" she said, looking at him intently, awaiting his reaction. A cold band settled around John's heart at the mention of his deceased friend. "Yes" he replied cautiously. "But they were just wishes really. He's dead" Mary clutched his hands tighter. "What if I were to tell you that you were right, that Sherlock really did survive the fall" John tried to retract his hands but Mary held them with a firm grip, anchoring him to her. "I'd tell you that you were mad" he answered, voice clip and sharp to try and disguise the well of emotion flowing through him. There was no way Mary could be correct. Someone must have tricked her. That wasn't like Mary though; she was a hard one to fool. But it must be that. Sherlock was dead. He'd seen it with his own eyes. "Do not call me mad John" Mary said, voice with a hint of steel. "I've seen him with my own eyes. He came here earlier today, looking for you" John shook his head. "No, it can't have been him. You must have been mistaken" He'd long since passed the denial stage of grief for him to truly accept what Mary was saying. Mary's eyes softened and she gave him a smile. "I doubt anyone could mistake Sherlock Holmes John. It was him. If fact, he's waiting to speak with you now" There was no hint on her face that she was lying to him. Not that John really thought she would. The metal band around his heart tightened as he thought that his best friend could possibly truly be alive. All the nights wondering, what if he faked it, what if it was all just a trick. It looked like he had been right. He still wasn't ready to believe it though, not until he saw it with his own eyes. “Where is he?" John asked; voice gruffer than intended. "He's waiting in the spare bedroom. John, before you go' Mary held onto his hand as he stood 'allow him to explain himself. I'm not saying forgive him, but hear him out" The Sherlock would need to forgive him hadn't even crossed his mind till then. A sudden burst of fury at the thought of all he had been out through due to Sherlock's death jolted through him. He had grieved for the man, grieved until he wasn't even sure who he was anymore. He'd been broken. All for nothing! Because while John had been mourning his friend, said friend had been alive all along! "John" Mary's firm, bordering on strict tone, interrupted John from his thoughts. "Remember, listen to him. I know you're angry but there is a reason he did it. Give him a chance to explain" John gritted his teeth and willed his body to calm. He would need a clear head for this, lest he did something he regret. He nodded to Mary, not trusting his voice, and began the journey to the spare bedroom. "I'll be here when you're done" Mary told him as he headed up the stairs and John attempted to give her a grateful smile. It came out as more of a grimace. The few steps to the bedroom door seemed endless. Whilst he was mostly sure it was Sherlock behind the door he couldn’t get rid of the niggling doubt that it wasn’t him. That he was still dead and he always would be. His hand hovered above the door knob. He considered knocking but decided against it. This was his house and he could be excused of manners for the moment. Steeling himself, John opened the door and was immediately met by the sight of Sherlock. Sherlock, who was alive, standing in front of him uncharacteristically hesitant, as if unsure what John would do. That made the two of them. Now met with the sight of Sherlock, John had absolutely no idea what to do. What did someone say to their resurrected friend? ‘Hi, how have you been doing? Oh, I’ve been doing nothing much, just mourning you’, ‘You’re hair looks shorter, did you get it cut recently?’ Nothing sounded right. Two emotions fought within John. One was happiness, elation that his best friend was not dead after all, that he would no longer have to grieve him. The second was anger. Anger at the fact he’d had to grieve when it was so obviously not necessary. Anger because whilst he’d been shedding tears over the man, he was off gallivanting who knew where. “Hello John” Sherlock spoke first, his deep smooth voice washing over John and sending a cascade of memories running through him. The day they met, every case they took on, Sherlock’s fall. “You utter bastard” In the end anger won out. John clenched his hands into fists which were locked rigidly by his side. “I know you’re mad at me John and I understand. Would you like to know how I did it?” Sherlock realised that that probably wasn’t the best thing to start off with when John snorted in derision. “I don’t care how you did it Sherlock, I want to know why” John choked on the last word and took a deep breath to calm himself again. There were so many questions running through his head but the one that kept coming back was why. Why would Sherlock put him through all of that? Why did he have to die? “You’d be dead if I didn’t” Sherlock said bluntly. He looked like he might step forward, closer to John, but decided against it. “Moriarty had snipers ready to shoot you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade if I didn’t comply. I had to die to protect you” John bit his lip to shout out ‘no you didn’t!’ He tried to think as Sherlock would have at the time. Knowing him, he probably would have gone through every feasible option before deciding faking his death was the best one. He probably didn’t have that much time either to make a plan. It was probably his only option. That knowledge still didn’t ease the pain in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He rasped out. “The sniper was always watching you John and if they thought for one minute I was alive and had not gone through with Moriarty’s deal he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot you. You would have been dead, along with Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Everyone I considered most important to me, killed because of me. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to undo all the damage Moriarty’s web had dealt before I could return. I never intended it to take so long but Moran proved to be a hard target to get access to and remove. I managed it in the end though, hence why I’m now here” “Moran?” “Sebastian Moran. Trained assassin and Moriarty’s right hand man. Dishonourably discharged from service. Of course Moriarty would choose him to keep an eye on you” The memory of Moran sent a bleak look into Sherlock’s eyes and John wondered how he’d managed to ‘remove’ him but that was a conversation for another time. “You could have taken me with you” John argued, trying to find something to fuel his anger. He didn’t want to forgive Sherlock just yet. “There was no time” Sherlock insisted, willing John to understand. “I had to leave before someone realised. You were safer this way. I know my death was…hard on you but it was necessary” “Necessary?” John bit back a harsh laugh. “It was necessary for me to mourn you? To grieve for the man who had made my life worth living again? Necessary for me to have nightmares of your fall, playing it over and over again, wondering if there I was anything I could have said that would have kept you alive. You have no idea what I went through Sherlock and I thank God every day that Mary came into my life otherwise I don’t know what would have happened to me” John suddenly found that his legs didn’t feel like supporting him and he collapsed onto the bed, head held firmly between his hands. He didn’t look at Sherlock’s face. He didn’t want to see the pity that was most likely displayed on it. “I never thought that I meant so much to you” Sherlock murmured quietly, but John heard him loud and clear. “Yeah, well, you did” He said brusquely. John felt the bed dip beside him. A hand was placed on his shoulder and that was John’s undoing. He launched himself at Sherlock in a hug that was returned with equal intensity. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying but there was no mistaking the warm tears making their way down his cheeks. The anger he’d felt was still there simmering away but the relief and elation he felt overwhelmed it. He had Sherlock back. He had his best friend back finally after two years. John wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Frankly, he was surprised Sherlock had put up with him for that length of time, but it just proved that Sherlock was almost as happy to see John as John was to see him. Almost because at least Sherlock never thought John was dead. Eventually they pulled apart and smiled at each other, albeit a bit awkwardly. Neither was entirely sure what to do after that burst of emotion. “Oh, I brought tea” Sherlock suddenly said, lifting something from beside the bed. “A peace offering if you will. I probably should have started off with this” John gave a watery laugh. “Let me guess, Mary told you to do that” Sherlock looked a bit affronted at John’s suggestion that he couldn’t do a thoughtful gesture on his own, but at John’s raised eyebrows he conceded. “Well, she is a hard woman to argue with” John smiled fondly. “That she is” They stayed silent after that, neither really needing to speak, just gaining comfort from each other’s presence. They still had more to talk about, that much was certain, but it didn’t need to be spoken then. For now, they had each other once more and that was all they needed right then. From just outside the room, peering through the gap between the door and the wall, Mary smiled. The consulting detective and his blogger, back together once more.
1187376	Fear of Letting Go	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by dellastarr", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-15T00:00:00", "words": "591", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": "Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood - Character", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“And I'm swimming in the night Chasing down the moon The deeper in the water The more I long for you” Queens of the Stone Age, “…Like Clockwork”, 2013 And the moonlight dissolves in your hair, a glossy purple sheen, tossed in with shadows which swallow all my doubt and longing. Yet when I think of life without you, what is left, but shadows and doubt? First, I thought, just another angelic face, another way to spend the tedious hours of the blue-black night when the ghosts creep or come knocking. This time, I turned my back to them, turning towards you and your radiance. When I crawl next to you in the middle of all this perpetual spinning—it is where I want to stay, calm and still—tangled in those things which I can hold no longer—brief, mortal, sudden, forgotten. I have lived too long, drifting, lost on the winter wind’s icy breath, waiting for the warmth of you who hadn’t yet come into my steel-gray world. Then… one night, one moment in time, there you were and one glimpse told me—I’d been holding my breath, waiting to breathe you in and start living again. How surprised you were, standing there, blue eyes, timid and gazing back—unaware of the way I was immediately lost in the captivating serenity. So many things blue, you said. Blue walls, blue cups and chairs, blue tokens and mosaics of stained glass. Blue stains on the bed and beneath my feet. Blue bottles on shelves, bits of glass suspended with invisible blue threads peeking through each windowpane, cut edges drinking in the sun, diffusing the subtlety of color into lazy blue rooms. Blue, even the way you say that one syllable, as if it were a new word forming in your mouth. Blue, azure, azul, bleu, words that no longer felt old or tired when you said it anew. Nothing can touch or define the color of your eyes staring back at me, in truth. Surely, you wonder, what ghost stands before you, wondering whether the sea sparkle or fire blue will glide past you, leaving me floating on a liquid surface, only to sink below and drown. Were I to sit at the Tomb of Buyan-Quli Khan and touch the blue tiles, comparing the blue to what I see gazing back now, it would only wink and chase me from the hallowed courtyard, brandishing my impertinence to the afternoon sun to wash out the deep cobalts to the palest blue bleeding into the early morning light. Yet, who wouldn’t grant the indulgence of being in love with that blue? A touch of the imperceptible, underscoring the ache for you to be next to me in the ebony night. Should I just let you proceed, unhindered, and draw back into my walls of temporary sky and allow you to be free to take in the incandescent day with your delicate morpho wings? Were I to cast a net and capture, I am sure I would pin you to a board and stop your flight, for I couldn’t bear to be without you. I would have your beauty beside me, but at what cost? So shall I reach up to draw that perfection into my sphere or stare instead into the blinding sun, forever leaching the color from my life? Only, it is then, as your arms wrap me tightly into a crushing embrace when I close my eyes and see with my heart that perfect blue which will never leave me.
1182777	not Okay	{ "Archive Warning": "Rape/Non-Con", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Stefan Salvatore, Caroline Forbes", "Fandom": "Vampire Diaries (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by ywhiterain", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-13T00:00:00", "words": "153", "Additional Tags": "rape survivor stories", "Relationship": "Stefan Salvatore and Caroline Forbes", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Once again, Stefan wiped blood off of Caroline's face, very gentle. "It'll be okay," he told her, throwing aside the paper towel in the trash can. "Are you serious?" Caroline asked and she nearly grabbed his wrist and threw him against the wall. Instead, she just grabbed it and pulled him forward. She could still taste Tyler's blood in her mouth, could feel the echo of her heart racing as the monster wearing her boyfriend's face did not listen to her 'no'. "You need to be okay," Stefan said, Stefan was completely still, and Caroline thought maybe he wouldn't ever hurt her. "Because if you're not, Klaus will take that and use it against you." Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she corrected her posture, pasted on a smile her father taught her when she wanted to be a model, and swung the bathroom door open. Stefan followed her.
1183051	Follow the Dragon di	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy", "Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling", "Language": "Italiano", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by lilyj", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-13T00:00:00", "words": "2,324", "Additional Tags": "Drago di Peluche, Fuochi d'Artificio, Mistero, Romantico, traduzione", "Relationship": "Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Faith Wood", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Follow the Dragon Segui il drago. Era quello che c'era scritto sul biglietto. Ed era il motivo per cui Harry era fuori dal castello, nel freddo tagliente, a sfiancarsi a camminare nella neve alta seguendo l'animale verde di peluche che gli volava di fronte. Forse sarebbe stato più sensato essere irritati da quelle circostanze, ma la verità era che Harry era davvero entusiasta.Nelle ultime due settimane, Harry aveva ricevuto un bel po' di regali e anche lettere da un ammiratore misterioso. Non era affatto insolito per lui ricevere regali da sconosciuti, ma quei regali in particolare erano diversi. Chiunque li avesse mandati sembrava sapere con esattezza cosa gli piaceva. I regali mangerecci erano tutti i dolci e le bibite preferiti di Harry, i regali legati alla scuola erano sempre cose che Harry aveva appena finito, e poi c'erano i regali legati al quidditch, come guanti e lucido di qualità per manici di scopa e, in un'occasione, uno splendido boccino d'oro dall'aspetto costoso.Ma non erano stati solo i regali ad aver catturato l'attenzione di Harry. Per lo più, Harry era esaltato per le lettere. All'inizio erano state dolci: descrizioni di quello che l'ammiratore avrebbe fatto insieme a Harry. O dove lui (perché era un lui) lo avrebbe portato (in ogni parte del mondo, a quanto sembrava) e cosa voleva mostrargli (il mondo di cui sopra e anche di più, qualsiasi cosa significasse). Ma poi le lettere si erano fatte più audaci, descrivendo cosa lo scrittore avrebbe fatto a Harry. Le lettere avevano riportato, in dettaglio, come avrebbe dimostrato a Harry quanto lo desiderasse esattamente, usando, tra le altre cose, marmellata e cravatte di seta.Harry arrossì mentre ricordava alcune delle lettere più spinte che lo avevano costretto a lanciare incantesimi silenzianti sulle sue tende e ad ammazzarsi di seghe. Sì, si era davvero goduto quelle lettere.Harry alzò lo sguardo sul drago volante, assicurandosi di non perdere mai di vista il giocattolo. Il drago era ancora lì, a sbattere le sue ali pelose e, per quanto poteva vedere, dirigendosi al campo da quidditch.Quello era naturalmente il momento di prendere una decisione. L'ammiratore gli aveva promesso che si sarebbero incontrati quel giorno. E, be', nel momento in cui l'incontro stava per verificarsi, Harry non era più sicuro che fosse una buona idea. Non ne aveva mai fatto parola con nessuno, sapendo già cosa avrebbero detto. Di sicuro, Ron e Hermione gli avrebbero detto che era pazzo per credere alle promesse appassionate di uno sconosciuto. Ma il fatto era che Harry non ci aveva creduto: era semplicemente curioso. Era possibile, certo, che si trattasse di qualche eloquente fan del quarto anno, ma la persona delle lettere sembrava così intrigante. E, be', piena d'immaginazione.Harry aveva appena raggiunto il centro del campo da quidditch, quando il drago si fermò, e poi schizzò in aria, verso l'alto. Harry guardò su, confuso, chiedendosi se avrebbe dovuto portare la sua scopa. Come cavolo avrebbe potuto seguire il drago, altrimenti? Insomma, le istruzioni avrebbero dovuto essere più chiare.All'improvviso, delle mani guantate gli cinsero il viso da dietro. Colto di sorpresa, Harry allungò una mano per prendere la sua bacchetta e fece per girarsi."No! Non guardare. Non ancora," sussurrò una voce.Harry si gelò, il cuore che martellava selvaggiamente. Conosceva quella voce, ma non riusciva a darle un volto. Un improvviso tintinnio gli risuonò nelle orecchie e i suoi nervi si tesero. Voleva voltarsi, ma una parte di lui resistette a quell'impulso. C'era qualcosa di eccitante nel non sapere chi fosse quella persona.Dopo un lungo, ansioso momento, una mano si mosse e di colpo gli occhiali di Harry non c'erano più. Il respiro di Harry accelerò quando la perdita di visibilità lo fece sentire incredibilmente vulnerabile. La sua mente continuava a urlargli di girarsi, ma Harry non se la sentiva di dare ascolto al buon senso.Una morbida stoffa setosa gli fu posizionata sugli occhi e Harry rabbrividì e strinse la bacchetta mentre la persona alle sue spalle la annodava dietro la sua testa. Il mondo divenne buio e spaventoso, ma anche caldo mentre il corpo di Harry iniziava a scaldarsi."Io…" tentò Harry. "Chi sei?" sussurrò.Harry aveva ancora la bacchetta, ma era davvero terrorizzante perdere la vista di colpo. Poteva percepire i fiocchi di neve cadergli sul viso e udire il respiro affrettato dell'altro.La persona si mosse: Harry se ne accorse perché poteva udire la neve scricchiolare sotto gli stivali di qualcuno."Shhh," mormorò la stessa voce familiare, e in quel momento Harry si rese conto che la persona era davanti a lui.Sarebbe stato così facile strapparsi quel tessuto via dagli occhi e guardare. Non c'era nulla che glielo impedisse. Ma a Harry piaceva quella situazione: non sapere chi quella persona fosse, o cosa volesse fargli. L'eccitazione gli stava inondando l'intero corpo, il genere di eccitazione che non aveva provato in mesi, il genere di eccitazione che non si era nemmeno conto di rimpiangere.Dita calde gli toccarono il viso e lui si irrigidì. Quel semplice tocco sembrava così intimo, o forse gli sembrava che così fosse perché ne era acutamente consapevole, dato che i suoi occhi non erano in grado di vedere. Le dita scivolarono leggere, seguendo un percorso che partiva dai suoi zigomi e poi giù, sulla mandibola. Dopodiché gli toccarono con delicatezza la bocca, accarezzandola piano, e lui schiuse le labbra in modo automatico.Un fiato caldo gli sfiorò la bocca, e per un attimo Harry ebbe paura. Avrebbe davvero permesso a uno sconosciuto di baciarlo?A quanto pareva sì, dato che il suo intero corpo traditore fu sopraffatto dall'anticipazione, e la sua testa si inclinò un po' all'indietro mentre Harry si leccava e umettava le labbra, in attesa di essere baciato.Non dovette aspettare a lungo. Poco dopo, labbra delicate si schiacciarono contro le sue, afferrandogli il labbro inferiore, e una calda lingua talentuosa passò sulla carne rosa e sensibile, facendolo rabbrividire.Quella lingua gli invase la bocca, e lui fu vagamente sollevato che la persona che lo stava baciando sapesse di buono. Buono a livelli intossicanti.Harry gemette per incoraggiarlo, desiderando che quella delicata esplorazione si trasformasse in qualcosa di più concreto.Il suo desiderio si avverò quando la persona gli afferrò la nuca e lo baciò più a fondo. Harry si dimenticò di pensare e mollò la bacchetta per intrecciare le dita nei capelli sorprendentemente morbidi della persona che gli stava facendo girare la testa.Il bacio finì fin troppo presto, anche se Harry aveva cominciato a sentirsi stordito per via della respirazione troppo superficiale. Ma non poteva lamentarsi, perché quelle labbra calde gli stamparono bacini lungo la mandibola, per poi passare a baciare e succhiare un punto vicino il suo orecchio.Harry rabbrividì quando percepì il suo compagno fare lo stesso.La persona ansimò al suo orecchio, "Merlino, Potter!"Harry si gelò, recuperando di colpo la sua lucidità. Conosceva quella voce!Con un ringhio, Harry si liberò dalla sua stretta e indietreggiò. In un attimo, si tolse il tessuto dagli occhi e puntò la bacchetta verso l'indistinta testa bionda."Accio occhiali!" urlò. I suoi occhiali gli volarono subito in mano, e Harry li indossò, lieto di essere di nuovo in grado di fulminare con lo sguardo il biondo che aveva davanti."Malfoy? Che diavolo stai combinando?" Harry si guardò intorno in modo frenetico, aspettandosi che gli Slytherin uscissero dai loro nascondigli e iniziassero a ridere di lui. "Che razza di scherzo bastardo è questo?" ansimò, pulendosi la bocca con una mano. Draco Malfoy l'aveva appena baciato! E lui gliel'aveva permesso! E gli era pure piaciuto!Malfoy era in piedi nello stesso punto in cui Harry l'aveva lasciato, e lo fissava con, in mancanza di una descrizione migliore, un'espressione imbronciata."Non è uno scherzo," rispose Malfoy a bassa voce.A Harry scappò una risata sarcastica. "Certo. Ovvio. Ti sei solo reso casualmente conto che non mi odi a morte, e che in realtà sei innamorato di me! Sì, questo ha molto più senso!"Malfoy non disse nulla, si limitò a incrociare le braccia sul petto e a guardare da un'altra parte.Harry lo fissò, allibito, anche se ogni tanto dava ancora un'occhiata intorno aspettandosi che qualcuno apparisse all'improvviso per ridere di lui. Ma non c'era nessuno in giro a eccezione di loro due e di un peloso drago volante sopra di loro."Questo è… uno scherzo. Deve… deve esserlo!" Harry si ritrovò a parlare a scatti."Oh, perché non ti lavi la bocca con uno scourgify?" scattò Malfoy.Harry si accorse che si stava di nuovo sfregando la bocca. Di colpo quel gesto gli sembrò rude, e abbassò in fretta la mano.Malfoy aveva un'espressione sinceramente offesa e sconsolata."Tu mi odi!" proclamò Harry, sventolando selvaggiamente la bacchetta in giro.Malfoy lo guardò malissimo per un bel po', e Harry si aspettava che avrebbe confermato la sua dichiarazione. Invece Malfoy disse, "Non ti odio. Ogni singola parola di quelle lettere era sincera."Le lettere! si ricordò Harry di colpo, e la faccia gli andò a fuoco. Merlino, tutte quelle cose perverse descritte nei minimi dettagli! Le lettere che facevano fantasticare Harry per ore nel suo letto. Ma aveva immaginato un uomo con la faccia indistinta e… be', capelli biondi, adesso che ci pensava, e forse occhi scuri e… pelle pallida?Oh, Merlino! Oh, Dio! Sul serio era Draco Malfoy a fargli tutte quelle cose, nella sua mente?Harry guardò Malfoy, lo guardò davvero, notando i capelli biondi che ricadevano liberi, ma ordinati, intorno al suo volto, gli zigomi alti tinti di rosa… per il freddo o per l'imbarazzo, immaginò Harry. Le labbra che l'avevano baciato in modo tanto… delizioso solo un minuto prima, e gli occhi grigi che sembravano perforarlo con la loro intensità.Oh, Dio, non andava bene per niente. Perché Harry stava avendo quei pensieri proprio su Malfoy, fra tutti? Era tutto sbagliato!"Eri serio anche quando parlavi della marmellata?" Si sentì dire Harry. Inorridito, strinse le labbra, sperando di non star arrossendo, ma dato che si sentiva la faccia come in fiamme, non era molto probabile. Merlino, che gli era preso per dire una cosa del genere?Malfoy sbatté le palpebre per la sorpresa, ma si riprese in fretta. "Specialmente quando parlavo della marmellata," dichiarò, con tanta convinzione e calore bollente negli occhi che Harry quasi gli credette.Ma era troppo difficile da credere. Dei rivali non avrebbero dovuto desiderare cose simili. Di certo c'era qualche regola che diceva che non avresti dovuto volere che il tuo rivale leccasse via della marmellata dal tuo corpo nudo. E di certo Malfoy stava semplicemente mentendo. Non poteva davvero volere Harry."Io… è solo che… non mi fido di te," disse Harry con sincerità, sentendosi per questo piuttosto depresso.Malfoy si avvicinò, leccandosi le labbra con fare nervoso. "Va bene. Lo capisco. Non hai motivo di fidarti. Tutto quello che ti chiedo è di darmi una possibilità. Solo una, Potter. Lascia che ti dimostri che puoi fidarti di me. Dai," la voce di Malfoy era quasi disperata. "Cos'hai da perdere?""La mia dignità? Vuoi solo prenderti gioco di me," disse Harry a bassa voce."No! Potter, diamine," Malfoy sembrava decisamente irritato, e batté i piedi a terra, ma era possibile che lo avesse fatto solo per il freddo e non per la frustrazione. "Non sei quello cui piace correre dei rischi?" Coraggiosamente, Malfoy si fece ancora più vicino, fermandosi a solo un passo dalla bacchetta di Harry. "Non saresti qui se non ti fosse piaciuta la persona dietro quelle lettere. Ero io, Potter. Ti piacevo io."Malfoy sembrava così sincero che la mano di Harry che reggeva la bacchetta tremò, e l'abbassò, stupefatto. Era semplicemente assurdo, folle, impossibile…Un forte scoppio perforò il cielo notturno, e Harry alzò lo sguardo verso il drago, che esplose in una fiammata di luce brillante. Il cielo fu illuminato da centinaia di scintille di luce: alcune di un verde luminoso, altre color oro. Le scintille cadevano ininterrottamente verso di loro, ma sparivano poco prima di toccarli.Harry rivolse uno sguardo incredulo a Malfoy, e non poté non ridere al suo improvviso e palese imbarazzo. Malfoy si fissò i piedi. "Ho pensato che ti sarebbe piaciuto." Dopo un attimo, gli lanciò un'occhiata timida da sotto le ciglia, con un lieve sorriso. "Sta funzionando?"Harry non riusciva a smettere di sorridere. "Sei proprio… sei stato bravo," rise Harry. "Molto sottile. Molto convincente. E romantico, a quanto pare.""Ti ho convinto?" Domandò Malfoy, completamente serio.Harry fece un profondo, tremante respiro, guardando le tremolanti luci verdi danzare sopra Malfoy. "Che Merlino mi aiuti… sì," disse in un sussurro, sperando il coraggio dei Gryffindor non lo abbandonasse. Sinceramente, una parte di lui aveva voglia di darsela a gambe.Malfoy si irrigidì completamente, e fissò Harry, palesemente allibito. Non mosse un muscolo per così tanto tempo che Harry cominciò a preoccuparsi. Allora era uno scherzo? Era arrivato il momento in cui saltavano fuori tutti gli altri? Stavano aspettando che Harry lo accettasse? Andando in panico, strinse la bacchetta e si guardò di nuovo intorno, vagamente terrorizzato.Quasi urlò quando Malfoy gli saltò addosso all'improvviso. Gli ci volle un momento per rendersi conto che Malfoy non lo stava attaccando, ma lo stava baciando. Lo stava tempestando di baci: sulle guance, sulla mandibola, sulla bocca… mmm e oh, era davvero delizioso. Ma i baci finirono e poi Malfoy gli mordicchiò un orecchio e gli succhiò il collo, mormorando, "Non te ne pentirai, Potter. Merlino, te lo prometto, non te ne pentirai."Malfoy gli afferrò il viso di colpo, e lo guardò con un'intensità che gli fece bruciare le budella e cedere le ginocchia. "Non te ne pentirai," disse Malfoy con sicurezza.Harry allungò una mano e attirò a sé la testa di Malfoy. Mentre quelle labbra morbide scendevano ancora una volta sulle sue, Harry decise di correre il rischio e credere a Draco Malfoy. Strano a dirsi, ma sembrava davvero possibile che non se ne sarebbe pentito. Fine
1146654	CASA221B the Screenplay	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mary Morstan", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by PenelopeWaits", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-21T00:00:00", "words": "633", "Additional Tags": "Crack, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Casablanca allusions, Not Canon Compliant, Implied Slash", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Sherlock (TV), Casablanca (1942)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	CASA221B FADE IN They stand on the runway. The light is fading. The mist is rising. John is confused about what is happening. Greg Lestrade approaches. SHERLOCKIn the hospital we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us, as usual. Well, I've done a lot of thinking since then, and it all adds up to one thing: I’m getting on this plane and you're staying here with Mary where you belong. JOHNBut, Sherlock, no, I... I... SHERLOCKNow, you've got to listen to me! Do you have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if I stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we'd both wind up in a jail cell. Isn't that true, George? LESTRADE (not Claude Rains)It's Greg... But I'm afraid the Chief Superintendent would insist. John, you know you would just chin him again when we arrested Sherlock. JOHNYou're saying this only so I’ll let you go. SHERLOCKI'm saying it because it's true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Mary. You're part her now, the thing that keeps her going, the father of her child. If that plane leaves the ground and you're on it with me, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life. JOHNBut what about us? SHERLOCKWe'll always have London. We didn't have, we lost it until you came to hospital. We got it back then. JOHNWhen I said I would never leave you— SHERLOCKAnd you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. John, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that our problems don't amount to a level three homocide compared to that baby. Someday you'll understand that. [John grabs Sherlock’s arm] Now, now...Here's looking at you Captain. Sherlock shakes John’s hand, turns and walks away toward the airplane. John turns to face Lestrade and sticks out his hand. JOHNGoodbye, Greg LESTRADEWhat do you mean, Goodbye? JOHNYou’re going with Sherlock. LESTRADEWhy would I do that? JOHNBecause this is the point in the movie when the dramatic lead has shot the villain and the cynical police inspector keeps him from being arrested. I think your next line is: “Round up the usual suspects.” Then you and the leading man stroll off into the fog to have life-threatening adventures and an epic bromance after he says: “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” LESTRADEI think you got your scripts mixed up, mate. I mean, I’m the cynical police inspector, but my character description says I stick to my job and stay in rotten marriages and love my kids, even if they have dubious paternity. Your character is the thrill-seeking one with the epic bromance. Hell, there are pubs named “Holmes and Watson”. Whoever heard of a pub named “Holmes and Lestrade”? John pulls his screenplay out of his pocket and rips through to the last pages. He throws it on the ground. JOHNSherlock, wait! John dashes for the plane and grabs the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock turns and stares down into John’s eyes. After a moment, they both grin madly and shove each other into the plane. The door closes. Lestrade turns to Mary Morstan Watson and takes her elbow, steering her toward the waiting car. LESTRADEMary, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful failed marriage. FADE OUTTHE END =================================== If you need to refresh your memory about the actual dialog, the link to the screenplay for Casablanca is here: http://www.vincasa.com/indexscreenplay.html
1183145	Artfully Afflicted	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by crookedspoon", "chapters": "2/2", "completed": "2015-05-31", "published": "2014-02-13T00:00:00", "words": "9,449", "Additional Tags": "Piercings, Shower Sex, Deepthroating, Teasing, Rimming, No Lube, Breathplay, Light Bondage, Barebacking, Porn Battle, Tattoo!lock, Alternate Universe, Tattoos, Artists, Trope Bingo Round 3, Infidelity, Stream of Consciousness, References to Drugs", "Relationship": "Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Inked & Bloody: Remix 'verse, Trope Bingo, Porn Battle", "Collections": "Porn Battle XV (The Ides of Porn), 31 Days (2014), Trope Bingo: Round Three", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Don't mean to freak you out But I'm painting pictures Memories we'll have someday (...) Compared to what you do to me I am just a raging sea —Abandoned Pools, "9 Billion" London, 2005 Every time Mycroft enters his brother's flat in Montague St, he half-expects paint to hit him, either flung by Sherlock’s precise brush or a contraption specially designed to keep out intruders, or dripping from the ceiling. Sherlock mentioned boredom driving him ‘up a wall’ on occasion, so it wouldn’t be surprising, but then again, nothing about his brother surprises Mycroft much – disconcert, yes, but not surprise.Mycroft has barely opened the door that a waft of turpentine vapours irritates his eyes. Sherlock, of course, may be used to it by now, but painting in an airless flat, without proper ventilation, is unacceptable. And beyond that, contaminating his works with tobacco fumes... Mycroft is accumulating item after item for his list of Exasperating Things Sherlock Does.The state of Sherlock’s flat is a minefield, as usual, but the chaos is only superficial. Mycroft sees the golden ratio everywhere, measured by the length of Sherlock’s forearm, organically imprinting itself on the room. The geometrical arrangement is impeccable. Mycroft wonders, as he steps over papyri depicting a Weighing of the Heart in the Hall of Two Truths among other scenes from Egyptian mythology, whether Sherlock intuitively places his scraps and papers, dirty cups and dishes, in proportion, or compulsively. Euclid would be moved, in either case.And true, Mycroft himself is almost overcome by a tender reverence. This flat may be cramped and dank and dusty, but the space Sherlock has sculpted for himself appears to be an extension of himself, an effigy of his mind gallery with the materials at hand for anyone who knew how to look – his landlord and the occasional art fan seeking to buy one of Sherlock’s lesser works are certainly incapable, or else Sherlock’s display would not be this pronounced.The centrepiece of the exhibition is, obviously, Sherlock himself, slapping his paintbrush against the canvas as though attempting to slice it. Paint flies from the tip of the bristles, every stroke rippling through the sheen of his silk shirt. Mycroft is pleased to see him this industrious, although his throat seizes at the force of it.Sherlock is engrossed enough not to notice Mycroft approach, but then again, his brother never saw him as a threat. Still, Mycroft takes care to stand an arm’s length away from him – Sherlock might lash out if suddenly addressed, and Mycroft would hate to ruin a good suit. Suppressing the urge to card his fingers through his brother’s hair, he inspects the view.Before him, on a surrealist background of trees melting into lakefronts and hills into roadways, a monochromatic Mona Lisa with bold black face paint reminiscent of la Santa Muerte sizes him up, herself dissolving in the flutters, curls and jagged edges of neon greens mixing with electric blues contrasting shocking pinks. The challenge his brother has projected onto her gaze tickles Mycroft’s amusement; it screams ‘Sherlock’ even from afar.“Don’t you have working clothes for this sort of activity?” he asks, barely containing a sniff. He has no intentions, however, to breathe in his surroundings any deeper than need be.His brother stiffens and jerks around, brush at the ready as though prepared to paint the trespasser to death. His eyes are strained when they find Mycroft’s, and his sunken face slackens as if to say Oh, just you. Only then does he look down. The front of his purple shirt is an abstract expressionist piece of paint blots and spatters in all colours, and Mycroft mourns the fabric. He quite likes the colour on his brother, even though it now is too stark a contrast to his papery skin. The arms peeking out of the rolled-up sleeves are coated with smudges that cover up parts of his tattoos and add new patterns. Sherlock once said the paint adds character to them, a different aspect depending on the smudges, that’s why he likes it on his skin – becoming his own canvas.It’s still shocking to see his baby brother so bodily altered, with vibrant colours on his skin and metal studs through it. The worst part of the change is that Mycroft wasn't present to witness, and maybe prevent it. Mycroft knows once Sherlock sets his sights on something, diverting him is a futile undertaking, but he would rest easier knowing he had attempted everything he could to dissuade Sherlock.Sherlock flicks his eyes up again and shrugs. “I do now.” As if to emphasise the statement – or better: to vex Mycroft – he wipes his hand on his trouser leg, smearing the oil paint on it. Turning around once more, he fumbles for a crumpled pack of cigarettes on the floor; it’s empty, having scattered its contents among Sherlock’s utensils.Mycroft watches patiently as his brother fishes a clean cigarette from among his brush holder. He is not going to comment on this; they both know it bodes ill if Sherlock has picked up smoking again, but as long as it is only that...Once he’s found a lighter, Sherlock settles back on his heels, angling his profile to Mycroft, and looks up somewhat startled, as if surprised to still find him there. “What do you want?” Sherlock asks, and takes a drag. Mycroft watches the ember glow, then wane. “I didn’t ask you here. Go away.”"Can't I visit my dear brother to see how he's doing?”Sherlock lets his gaze linger and the smoke curl out of his mouth. He has returned a mere three months ago, and hasn’t yet settled back into his London life again. Mycroft has no knowledge of what transpired in France to prompt Sherlock’s unannounced leave-taking, but he suspects it’s still gnawing at him. His brother naturally doesn’t talk about it, and Mycroft wouldn’t pry with words."Not without ulterior motive, no," he says, and this thumb leaves a turquoise stain above his upper lip."Mummy worries about you.” Mycroft smoothes a lock from his brother’s forehead, slides his fingers in among the curls. His hair is filthy, but Mycroft is rewarded with Sherlock’s acceptance of the gesture: his eyelids flutter shut and he ever so slightly leans into the touch. “She hasn't seen you once since you've come back."And maybe that’s for the best. Mycroft can’t imagine her reaction to Sherlock’s appearance, and neither does he want to.A low hum resonates within Sherlock, rising to a question. "So why hasn't she come instead of sending you?""Oh, I've sent myself. I have something for you."Sherlock’s eyes crack open to slits and he slowly draws himself to his full height. He is gaunt and quivering slightly, more so than Mycroft remembers; his agitation must be feeding on him. Yet so far there is no indication of—"What is it?" Sherlock asks.Mycroft smiles, indenting the corners of his lips. He came here for a reason, and allowing his concern for his brother to affect him was not part of it. “Got your interest, didn’t I?”“Just tell me,” Sherlock insists, stepping closer.Mycroft’s gaze flicks down to the cigarette in Sherlock’s mouth, and the barbells below his lips. Sherlock’s greasy fingers blotted the top of the filter in citrus, green and earth brown prints.“A job offer,” he says and clears his throat. He is not going to remind him of health hazards.“Another?” Sherlock asks, and the pharyngeal fricative escaping him next carries all his sentiment on the matter. “You’ve been pestering me on and off with them ever since I got here. Back off,” is what Sherlock says, but Mycroft hears, You act as if I cannot take care of myself.Oh brother dear, he wants to answer. Of course you can't. Not the way you are now. "If you could accept one, I wouldn't have to." “Some jobs you suggested. They were all boring.”Mycroft cups his brother’s jaw, runs his thumb along his lips and rubs off the distracting turquoise smudge, before tracing his chin, beneath the titanium studs piercing the skin on either side of it. “These will have to go, though.”Sherlock’s eyelids that have begun drifting shut, snap open again. Instead of answering though, Sherlock blows smoke into his face. He may have intended this as a diversion tactic, but Mycroft can read his body language just fast enough to grip his shoulders as Sherlock’s teeth close over Mycroft’s lower lip.Sherlock understands, and doesn’t touch him, lets himself be pushed off with a slight nudge.“You should ‘back off,’ brother dear,” Mycroft says and worries the bitemark with his tongue, still grasping Sherlock’s shoulders. “The colours on your shirt haven't dried. I don't want you ruining my suit, too."Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Live a little, Mycroft. It’s not as if you can’t afford a new suit or several.”“Shopping isn’t on today’s agenda, though.”“But harassing me is?”“I wouldn’t put visiting you this drastically, but it can always be arranged, yes.”“Insufferable as ever.” He frowns and puts out the cigarette in a water glass. “Fine,” he says, fingers scrabbling to unbutton his shirt, but their oily surface layer makes it hard for him to get a proper grip. Mycroft takes pity on him, and helps, popping each button at his own leisure and raking his eyes over his brother.With every button he reveals more of that offending owl on Sherlock’s chest that glares at him every time, as if accusing him of something – seeing Sherlock in this state, perhaps? The piece is an unfinished souvenir from France, outlined only in confident black brush strokes similar to some of the images on his right arm, suggesting a falling-out with the original artist. Mycroft has learned not to glare back at it.Sherlock’s eyes are stormcloud grey, and he cocks his head as if inviting, no, expecting Mycroft to lean in for a kiss. Instead, Mycroft contents himself with tracing the bird’s spread wings, quelling his resentment, and focusing on the texture of the skin. Which, to his further displeasure, is rather grimy.“Sherlock?” His voice is smooth, almost a caress, and Sherlock feels it.“Hm?”“When was the last time you had a shower?” he asks.Sherlock looks puzzled. “What day is it?”“Wednesday.”“Wasn't yesterday alrea— oh. I may have had a wash three days ago...”Mycroft crinkles his nose. He knows Sherlock to neglect his body’s needs, but personal hygiene? “Under the shower. Now.”Sherlock groans. “Is that—”“No arguments. Go.” Mycroft straightens his tie. “We can’t have you face a potential employer like this.”“If you would tell me who it is, I might consider.”“That would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?”Sherlock makes a face. “I’m not fond of your surprises.”Mycroft smirks. “You never were. Now, off you go, or need I drag you?”“As if you could—” Registering Mycroft’s souring expression, Sherlock throws up his hands. “All right, I concede.” He turns for the bathroom, already divesting of the shirt. At the door, he throws a “join me, if you dare” over his shoulder.Mycroft muses it’s less a question of daring, but more one of time constraints, as he checks his pocket watch. Although to be fair, Mycroft has seen this flat’s dingy little bathroom and it is ghastly. Mold in the corners and flaking paint is only at the top of the list. Still, he can’t let the invitation go unanswered. Unsupervised, Sherlock might only run the shower instead of using it just to spite him.Upon entering the bathroom, Mycroft is greeted with a splendid view of Sherlock’s backside as bends over to shed his trousers. His skin has a blue tinge in the harsh artificial lights, almost translucent, like saturated paper. Mycroft reaches out to run his fingers down the ridges of Sherlock’s spine, feeling the muscles twitch at his touch. The skin is dry too, a testimony to Sherlock’s lifestyle.Sherlock turns and looks at him through lowered lashes, catches Mycroft’s lower lip between his teeth again, dragging him closer to tub. Mycroft loosely encircles Sherlock's wrists to keep his fingers from the lapels of his jacket.“You know,” Sherlock murmurs, nuzzling Mycroft’s jaw. “I wouldn’t be able to ruin your suit if you took it off.”“I didn’t come here to join you,” Mycroft says and brings his brother’s left wrist to his lips, the unblemished one.“Just to watch? Is that all? So boring, Mycroft. You’re losing your touch.”Mycroft sinks his teeth around Sherlock’s radial pulse point and sucks. Sherlock hisses, head falling back, and his other hand scrambles for hold at Mycroft’s neck, fisting the small hairs at his nape. Smiling, Mycroft scrapes his incisors down the soft skin of Sherlock’s inner forearm to his brachial artery and revels in his brother’s reactions: stuttering out a moan, his whole body spasms, hips buck against Mycroft’s trouser legs involuntarily.Sherlock’s sensitivity is utterly delightful and Mycroft wonders why he has never tried making his brother climax from just that.“Mycroft, I want—” Ah yes, Sherlock’s lack of patience. “Save it for later,” he answers, twirls his brother around and claps him on his bottom. “There’s a shower waiting for you.”“Fucking tease,” Sherlock grinds out, and steps into the tub. When he faces Mycroft again, a victorious grin spreads on his face. “Looks like you’ve no choice but to get in here with me,” he says and points to his neck.Mycroft turns to inspect himself in the dusty mirror. A second later, water spits out of the showerhead. There are blue-green smudges at his neck and on his dress shirt, and Mycroft bites back a click of annoyance. Looks like Sherlock has won this round.Sherlock is scrubbing his hands with a bar of soap, rivulets of green and blue and yellow run down his body when Mycroft joins him under the spray. Sherlock’s curls are losing their form, matting themselves against his forehead and cheekbones, and he’s looking somewhat lost like this, in need of guidance maybe, although Mycroft would never allow this thought to pass his lips, taking care to preserve Sherlock’s image of himself. Yet the aftermath of France has left him almost visibly shaken, struggling to find his direction again.For now, he is content to let himself be pulled in before he can comment on the dreadful water pressure, and kisses his brother finally. Sherlock tastes of day-old coffee, mud and ashes, but those flavours are quickly overridden when the blade of tongue brushes the titanium bar inside Sherlock’s mouth. A tendril of lust tugs at him. His brother’s love for body modification is atrocious and repelling at best, but Mycroft can’t deny the eroticism of a pierced tongue.He pulls away to bite Sherlock’s jaw, hard enough to mark but not to bruise, and Sherlock’s answering moan is just the right cadence to fan the fire in his loins. His fingers already trace Sherlock’s exposed skin as if given a life of their own, and Sherlock’s breath hitches when Mycroft’s thumb catches on his nipple piercing.Sherlock is hard between them, glans flushed a carnal red around his ampallang, and rubbing against Mycroft’s stomach, but before Mycroft can lose himself in his own swelling desire, he blindly reaches for Sherlock’s shampoo bottle and uncaps it. A waft of lemon balm, rosemary and sage springs from it. Sherlock’s mouth demands his attention again, and he obliges, nipping Sherlock’s lips and licking his tongue against them. His fingers slide in among Sherlock’s hair, working the shampoo into the roots, massaging his scalp. Sherlock tips his head back out of the spray and groans deep in his chest. His hands slide over the wet curls on Mycroft’s chest, down over his waist and, bracing his foot against the edge of the tub, he pulls him flush between his legs.“Mycroft...”Unperturbed, Mycroft picks up the bar of soap that now has spots of colour on it from Sherlock’s use, and takes advantage of the position to slide it along Sherlock’s leg, beginning at the instep and moving over his hairless shin and thigh and between them, luxuriating in the twitches of his adductors. Lightly, he lathers the skin around his scrotum and the base of his erection, before bringing his hands around to glide between his buttocks.Sherlock groans open-mouthed, then exhales against the droplets hitting his face. “Mycroft, I—”Mycroft nuzzles his brother’s chest, feels his heavy heartbeat thud against his cheek while the spray of water drums against the back of his neck. “Hm?” he hums and flicks his tongue over Sherlock’s nipple. “What is it, brother dear?” he asks, and rubs his middle finger against Sherlock’s anus.“This, yes,” Sherlock breathes out and pushes back against Mycroft’s digit. The tip of it slips inside easily and Sherlock’s fingers dig into Mycroft’s shoulders. “More, yes, that’s it. Touch me, Mycroft. Fuck me.”Sherlock’s pleas stir something within Mycroft, but instead of answering them he merely curls his finger inside Sherlock to brush it against his prostate. Sherlock throws his head back hard against the tiles.“Oh for God’s sake,” he gasps out, “don’t tell me you’re still afraid of hurting me.”Sherlock nudges Mycroft’s unoccupied arm toward his erection, urging him to take him in hand. Mycroft lets the soap bar drop to to fist the base of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s own fingers curl on top of Mycroft’s, gliding up his length and back again, thumb and forefinger teasing his glans around the piercing.Mycroft can only watch in fascination as Sherlock comes apart in front of him, droplets glistening on his lashes, the bow of his upper lip, his clavicle, quivering on the edge, before joining the rush downstream. Sherlock himself quivers around him, his peak slowly building in force, bending him backwards, before it crashes through him. His hand covering his erection spasms erratically and fails to catch every spurt of ejaculate. Some of it hits Mycroft’s thigh before the water swirls it down the drain.Once Sherlock has squeezed out the last waves of his orgasm, he slides down the tiles and crumples in the tub. Mycroft takes the showerhead and washes away the remaining suds from Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock lets him, snorting only once when water enters his nose. His chest is heaving, but otherwise his tension is dissipating, his muscles relaxing.Mycroft turns off the shower and climbs out of it, picking out two towels from the small cabinet in the corner. He throws one over Sherlock and uses the other.Once he’s rubbed himself down, he throws on the dress shirt he will have to take to the dry cleaner’s right away. He pops up the collar and slips his tie around his neck, when Sherlock comes up behind him.“What do you think you’re doing?”“What does it look like, brother mine?”“We’re not done here.”Mycroft smiles. “You are.”“You’re not,” Sherlock points at Mycroft’s albeit flagging erection. He takes a deep breath. “And I’m done when I say I’m done.”“Sherlock, I cannot be around all day. I have appointments to keep.”“So? Cancel them.”“Important appointments.”Sherlock’s eyes crinkle and he sinks down to his knees. “Is there nothing that can pursuade you to stay?”Sparks shoot up Mycroft’s spine as Sherlock’s fingers trace the veins on his shaft. Mycroft cards his own through Sherlock’s still-damp hair. “Certainly not an unruly brother.”“And what if that unruly brother were to agree to a job interview?” Sherlock asks, nosing along the underside of Mycroft’s erection.Well, he has to agree he would be loathe to leave this pretty sight. Mycroft sighs. The things he sacrifices for his brother. “Hand me my phone, then.”Sherlock looks like the proverbial cat that got the cream, and would likely have leapt up like one if he weren’t still so pleasantly exhausted. He fishes out the mobile device with practiced ease and hands it to Mycroft, before settling back on his knees in front of him.Mycroft arches an eyebrow at him as he speed-dials his office. Sherlock returns a smirk that he presses against Mycroft’s length.The line clicks and his PA answers. “Sir?”“Anthea?” Mycroft’s voice is perfectly neutral, despite the searing tongue that is currently lapping at him. Before Sherlock can wrap his mouth around him, Mycroft fists his hair to keep him in place. “Be a dear and put off all of today’s appointments by an hour.”Sherlock glares up at him, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, but then his expression changes to amusement. He works his lips around Mycroft’s erection, and every bit of suction adds an extra layer of strain to his voice.“Are you certain? The envoy from Saudi-Arabia—”“Yes, I am. We will have to reschedule if today doesn’t work for him.”Mycroft now has to keep himself from sliding into his brother’s scorching mouth, because the attention and the look Sherlock bestows upon him is positively filthy, and Mycroft wants nothing more than to use his throat and feel the nub of his tongue piercing dig into the underside of his prick.“Certainly, sir. Any message you want me to convey?”Sherlock has begun humming now, and Mycroft would like to smack him for being a tease at the worst possible moments. He wedges his mobile phone between his ear and shoulder and uses his free hand to pinch Sherlock’s nose, cutting off his air supply.“If anyone inquires, you can let them know some, ah, pressing matters have come up, demanding my immediate attention.”Sherlock eyes widen, then narrow at him again, and now it’s Mycroft’s turn to light up with amusement. That is, until Sherlock swallows around him and pulls back somewhat, scraping his teeth against him, before being content to merely breathe on him and every puff on his slick skin is as arousing as any touch.“As you say.” Mycroft is not certain whether the faint amusement in her voice was real or imagined. “Anything else, sir?”“That will be all. Thank you.”He lets go of Sherlock’s hair the moment the line disconnects, and of his nose a moment later. Sherlock uses this chance to stroke Mycroft’s length with both his tongue and fingers, and Mycroft is a little impressed that Sherlock hasn’t used them before. He can be quite the well-behaved tease. Going by the state of his own growing arousal, that little game must have rather excited Sherlock, too. Interesting.Mycroft places his phone on top of the cracked sink and strokes Sherlock’s head, brushing the damp curls from his temples. “Satisfied now? I gave you an hour.”Sherlock hums around him again, and Mycroft can finally allow himself to feel it. The pleasure tingles along his spine and sends waves of heat washing through him. Sherlock’s fingers travel up and down his thighs, massaging them and stirring the hairs they find there. Mycroft relaxes into the touch. That is, until Sherlock slides down his entire length, and he can feel himself nudging, breaching the muscles at the back of his throat.“Christ, Sherlock, what are you—” and he doesn’t get any further, because a full-throated moan takes over, and he nearly doubles over at the intensity of the feeling.Sherlock’s throat contricts around him, and Mycroft might be forgetting to breathe – a sentiment Sherlock is certainly sharing right now, because he comes up gasping, before sliding down Mycroft’s slick erection again, and Mycroft would have liked to tell him to take it slow, but his speech tract seems to no longer be functioning the way he’s used to. Instead, what comes out is mixture of puffy breaths and “oh, Sherlock”s. It’s only during times like these that Mycroft can appreciate the ruthlessness with which his brother abuses his own body.And instead of telling him to stop, Mycroft’s hands dig into his throat and the back of his head, holding him there, pressing him harder against himself, and not even moving. He releases Sherlock when the press of his teeth is growing too painful to bear and he allows Sherlock a few wet gulps of air, before forcing him down on his length. Sherlock's face is a garish red, and tears are threatening to fall from his wide eyes, but he doesn’t struggle any more than is natural in such a position. His body convulses, but Sherlock grips Mycroft’s thighs tighter, bracing himself.“Damn, Sherlock. Oh, Hell, you...”Mycroft pulls back out a little, only to allow Sherlock to breathe, but continues sliding inside his mouth, his entire length spit-slick, and Sherlock more than pliable to take him. He clasps Sherlock’s throat again, listening to him wheeze and struggle not to cough. The pressure forces Sherlock’s tongue harder against his prick and hot pleasure shudders through Mycroft every time that metal knob on Sherlock’s tongue bumps over his pulsing artery.Releasing Sherlock again, his fingers brush back the slick hair at his temples and trace the shell of his ears, earning him a soft hitch of breath from Sherlock, before he grabs hold of them to guide Sherlock down again. His brother jerks, but follows, eyes clouded when he looks up, and oh, observing Sherlock observe him is almost too much to bear.Mycroft slides up to the base into Sherlock’s mouth, pushing the head of his prick into his throat and withdrawing again, first slow, then picking up speed, over and over, until Sherlock couldn’t help but gag around him. Overcome with fierce hunger, Mycroft pulls out then and, dropping to his knees in front of Sherlock, kisses his brother, with lips and teeth and tongue, as if trying to consume him.Still dazed, Sherlock doesn’t immediately recognise what is happening, but his tongue pushes back and his arms grasp Mycroft’s shoulders instinctively, bunching the fabric of his still unbuttoned dress shirt. When coughs start to wrack Sherlock’s frame, Mycroft’s teeth nip a trail over Sherlock’s salty cheekbone to his ear, where even the faintest graze has Sherlock bucking up against him.Mycroft crushes his brother to his chest and bites down hard on his trapezoid muscle. Sherlock keens, and rakes his nails down the back of Mycroft’s shirt, gasps in shallow breaths. Mycroft could have devoured him then, ingested every hair, every molecule, because these cages of skin, muscle and bone will forever isolate them, and bar the communion of their minds.The thought staggers Mycroft with its intensity, and he lets go as though electrocuted. Scrubbing his hands over his tingling face, he tries to collect himself again, layer by layer.Without his brother’s support, Sherlock slumps backwards, chest heaving rapidly and constricting with the occasional cough. His splaying knees display an erection that juts against his belly, glistening with pre-ejaculate. The wanton image drives another spike of desire into Mycroft’s gut that he has to suppress, lest he take his brother then and there.Gradually, the gulps of air warp into bursts of laughter and soon Sherlock is shaking with mirth.Mycroft frowns at his brother as he drags himself to his feet. The source of Sherlock’s amusement divert his attention from his painfully throbbing erection.Still quivering, Sherlock wipes tears from his face and falls back against the tub. “Oh,” he rasps, hoarse from the maltreatment of his throat, “I love it when you curse for me.” He takes another shuddering breath. “Why did you stop though? It was just beginning to grow interesting.”“I was led to believe you might like a breather,” Mycroft says, and clears his throat because Sherlock can’t.“This?” Sherlock points to his laryngeal prominence. “Better than smoking. Although smoking now might trump even this... Except,” he snaps forward and wheezes, “can’t breathe.”Mycroft shakes his head in disbelief. “A change of location would be advisable. There’s no proper steam outlet in here.”Sherlock nods, numb and bleary-eyed, and struggles to his feet. Unsteady as they are, he reels against Mycroft on his first step forward, burning against his chest.“Remember you’re not going yet,” he croaks, and crowds Mycroft against the door. “You can’t. We have an arrangement.” Digging his fingers into Mycroft’s soft shoulders, he cants his hips to rub his erection against Mycroft’s. His brow furrows in concentration, entirely focused on the sensation.“I wouldn't dream of it.” Mycroft’s eyelids flutter as he grabs his brother’s arse, tugs him closer for more friction.“Good,” Sherlock breathes and slowly extricates himself, unhurried despite the raw need in his voice. “Come on then.” He pulls Mycroft after him by the wrist. Outside the bathroom, the air wafts against his still-wet prick like a cool caress.Sherlock leads them into his bedroom, a cramped affair of papers piled on sketchbooks piled on cardboard boxes. Mycroft spies half-finished sketches: the muscles of a human hand, the diagram of a heart similar to the one on Sherlock’s shoulder, the dexter portion of a rabbit divided along its median plane. A potted plant adorns the window, withered and curling in on itself as to be unrecognisable. A human skull rests on a shelf next to its own mandible and some of Sherlock’s art supplies. Mycroft’s nose wrinkles at the smell of nicotine and fixatives in the stale air.His bed is made, apparently not having seen use during the past day or two. Sherlock throws back the covers and crawls on top of it, mattress dipping under his weight. The skin of his back gleams with the light filtering through the dirty window.“Stay like this,” Mycroft says before he has a chance to think it over. Sherlock’s backside is driving him to distraction. “On your hands and knees.”Sherlock stills. Anticipation jitters through him, but impatience makes him say, “If you want me not to move, you better not just stand there admiring the view.”“Someone’s overeager,” Mycroft tuts, finally back in control, and inches closer, running his fingertips up Sherlock's thighs. “I could truss you like rolled roast to restrict your movement; would you like that better?”“God,” Sherlock groans. “As long as you’d fuck me right after.”Mycroft chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against Sherlock’s skin. Wedging his erection in the cleft of Sherlock’s arse, he lets his hands revere Sherlock’s unmarked back, sliding up it on either side of his spine, tracing the twitching muscles, and slowly follows, draping himself over Sherlock until his mouth presses against Sherlock’s curls, just behind his ear.“You know,” Mycroft puffs out and Sherlock shivers. “I would keep you on the edge for hours, and you couldn't do a thing about it. I could take you at my leisure, like this,” he moves his hips against Sherlock, shallow thrusts rubbing his length against Sherlock’s arse, utterly unsatisfying, but the frustrated whine from Sherlock is worth it. “I could mark every inch of your skin,” he continues, and licks the shell of Sherlock’s ear.“L-liar,” Sherlock gasps out. “You’d leave me over a lunch date with one of your diplomat friends.”“Am I leaving you over a lunch date now, darling brother?” He leans down to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin at Sherlock’s nape and runs his fingers down the soft insides of Sherlock’s arms, earning him another moan.“Only because I begged you not to.”“Strange, I was under the impression you were blackmailing me.”Disregarding Sherlock’s insistent body language, Mycroft’s hands travel down Sherlock’s sides, down his hips and thighs and up again.“Strange to think, hah, the great Mycroft Holmes would let himself be blackmailed.”“I could have you disposed of,” he says and nips the skin between Sherlock’s scapulae, “but who would send me mocking caricatures of the people that annoy him?”Quivering, Sherlock bites back a whine. “You—you actually look at them?”“They’re quite entertaining.”“You wouldn't say that if I sent you your likenesses.”“No, probably not.”Mycroft slowly draws himself back up, while pressing Sherlock down into the mattress and the pillow. “Hands,” Mycroft says, and Sherlock complies. He tries to settle in a comfortable position, balancing his weight between his knees and his neck and shoulders, before crossing his arms behind his back. After a quick scan for anything usable in the room, Mycroft slips his tie from around his neck and winds it around Sherlock’s arms. The position puts a strain on Sherlock’s chest; his breaths are rasping and shallow.Admiring the view, Mycroft rubs himself against Sherlock again, circling his entrance with the head of his prick, smearing it with pre-ejaculate. Sherlock’s groan is obscene when he nudges the tip inside.“Oh God, fuck, finally,” Sherlock sputters against the pillow.Mycroft withdraws, only to breach him again, and again. The thumb of his free hand traces circles across Sherlock’s iliac crest and kneads the flesh beneath.When he slides in his thumb instead of his prick, Sherlock whines. “What are you doing?”Leaning down, Mycroft nips at Sherlock’s rump, tracing the ring of muscles around his thumb with his tongue and teeth.“Oh God, Mycroft,” Sherlock grinds out.His hips buck involuntarily when Mycroft spreads his arse to slide his tongue inside. From there, he lets it trail down Sherlock’s perineum and further to his testicles, as he presses his other thumb inside. They massage him lightly, sliding forward and back by turns, while Mycroft gently sucks on the wrinkled skin of Sherlock’s scrotum.Sherlock whines, and his hips are trembling from the effort of keeping still. His breaths are coming short and desperate. Mycroft shouldn't drag this out too long, that would be cruel.And yet, sometimes Mycroft enjoys just that.His tongue travels upwards again, thumbs stretching Sherlock apart, whose fingers are flexing and testing the bonds. Mycroft lets his tongue slide in between his digits, laving Sherlock’s entrance.“Ah, Mycroft, fuck... fuck me already.”But Mycroft continues sliding his tongue inside, and pressing the teeth against the muscles. Sherlock’s hips are trembling like a bowstring and he’s pushing back against Mycroft, craving more.Mycroft licks a trail up the backside of his pelvis then and aligns his erection between Sherlock’s buttocks again, sliding sweetly over his entrance.“What did you say? I can’t understand you when you mumble against the pillow.”Sherlock curses at him, and curses again when Mycroft’s fingers curl loosely around his shaft. He is slick, pre-come dripping from his length to pool on the sheets. Mycroft strokes him slowly, reveling in every twitch, and teases the piercing that penetrates Sherlock’s glans. Sherlock’s hips snap forward, seeking more friction.“Ah, fuck,” Sherlock’s cussing grows more incoherent as time passes and it’s music to Mycroft’s ears.He releases Sherlock to touch his own erection, mixing Sherlock’s pre-ejaculate with his own and lubricating himself with it. Like before, he only nudges the head inside, although it’s harder to control himself now. He wants to sink down into Sherlock, needs it, can’t wait for Sherlock to beg him any longer. “Oh God, Mycroft, please, stop teasing me, I can’t—”Sherlock cries out when Mycroft finally pushes all the way inside. His back arcs for a better angle, trying to drive Mycroft deeper and it’s becoming too much. Mycroft’s head falls back with a deep-seated groan and his control shatters. His body takes over, beginning with shallow thrusts and building his pace, without finesse, drawing out further before snapping back.Sherlock has gone silent beneath him, choking on his own moans, but still presses back against every shove, chasing that urgent pull inside that compels them toward it.Mycroft drives into Sherlock hard and fast, skin slapping, tingling, burning up, and he fists Sherlock’s jutting erection when he feels his own desire slowly cresting, twisting through him. Sherlock clenches around him and comes with a strangled cry, spattering Mycroft’s hand, his own belly and the sheets. After another firm push, Mycroft pulses out into Sherlock, riding out the last waves as they crash through them.Beneath him, Sherlock is gasping for air, which is hard to come by in the close room. Drawing a shuddering breath, Mycroft unravels Sherlock’s makeshift bindings and wipes the sweat from his brows. Sherlock’s arms fall bonelessly to the mattress. He tries to push himself up, even though feeling hasn't yet fully returned to them. Mycroft gathers his strength and pulls Sherlock up against him. Sherlock’s head lolls against his shoulder and his desperate intakes of breath slice the air.Mycroft settles him down on the mattress, and moves to the window on shaky legs. The boxes in the corner allow him to open it only a crack, but it’s better than nothing. He sits down beside Sherlock, stroking his hair and refraining from kissing his temple.After a moment, Sherlock curls his fingers around Mycroft’s wrist and drags it toward his mouth. There, he closes his teeth around the meat of his sweaty palm, breathing heavily against it. Then his hand drops away again, exhausted.He mutters something, but Mycroft cannot understand him.“It’s okay. Sleep, Sherlock,” he says and tries to make him more comfortable. Maybe he could find some rest now. He throws a blanket over his brother and turns the drool-stained pillow over.Thinking he could use yet another shower, Mycroft heads toward the bathroom for a quick wash and something to clean Sherlock with. With his rumpled dress shirt and paint-spotted jacket, he won’t look very presentable, but it will have to suffice until he reaches his own lodgings. Perhaps he should hide a spare suit in his brother’s flat, somewhere Sherlock won’t find it. If he did, he might set it on fire or use it as a canvas when he runs out of surfaces to paint on.In the bathroom, Mycroft bends to pick up his trousers from the toilet seat and groans when he straightens again. He isn't as spry as he used to be.Spots dance across his vision and Mycroft sways against the sink to steady himself, dropping his clothes and knocking over the bin next to the toilet seat in the process. Really, he would have to dismantle the window frames and force airing onto his brother. The vapours in this flat are toxic.Gathering his clothes again, his eyes zoom onto something that makes his stomach drop: small plastic bags with white powder residue and a used syringue.Mycroft grows cold. How could he not have seen this? He practically inspected every inch of Sherlock’s bare arm (and most of the rest of his body, too). Unless... Sherlock must have used his other arm, the tattoos camouflaging the injection site.Was he too late again?“Oh, Sherlock.” What have you done? ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Don't mean to freak you out But the doubt is over And everything is changing ways—Abandoned Pools, "9 Billion"Sherlock wakes up with a crick in his neck. His throat is sore. Tries to clear it, but lacks control of vocal tract. Something rides against his tongue, grates his teeth – did he break one?Shifts minutely. Sudden sensory awareness. Bright sparks of pain. Groans.The room is colder than he remembers. Slight breeze. Open window. Mycroft. Obviously. The whiff of cologne permeating the air is unmistakable. Opulent, despite its faintness. Sandalwood, jasmine, lavender. Somewhat oriental, reminiscent of Asian barber shops during the colonial era. Indian. Bengali. Nepalese.Deft hands scraping off shaving foam, female hands glowing golden, straight razor so close to the throat.Sherlock makes a face. The thought offends.Dove grey filtering through eyelids. Brightening, or darkening. Same day still, or already the next? Sherlock is losing track, of time and other arbitrary divisions. He didn't notice falling or being asleep, just breathing, deep lungfuls of air, meditative, cleansing.Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own.Sherlock struggles upright. Escapes the stripping-down of canvas. Layers of paint are flaking. Useless, long-forgotten word sequences resurface. Coating them over was a mistake. He'll have to throw them out with the garbage.He feels sore, thoroughly used, but strangely content, irritable fragments of memory notwithstanding. His mind is in a quiet buzz, for once not attacking him with virulent splashes of colour of whatever his eyes touch upon. The world has muted down to pastels.What's more, the beginning of an idea throbs at the base of his skull. Ecstatic, he can't grab pencil and paper fast enough, chasing the feeling in sketchy strokes. His wrist skids over the surface. The outlines blur. Inconsequential. He's elated while it lasts. Floating. Barely breathing. Living in the scritch-scritch of the moment.This is what he's been waiting for.The idea's shadow exhausts itself quickly enough, leaving Sherlock to capture a few quick impressions from earlier: pain – gunmetal grey (flat of the pencil) and switchblade silver (tip of the pencil) – in different areas of his body; the tingle of pleasure lingering in shades of plum and byzantium purple, the mind set aright within its confines, even while the confines have shifted out of order. Himself, bent down, tied up, split open. He groans just to remember. There's poetry in the lines; even Mycroft could excuse their crudeness for that.Sherlock leaves the sketch in favour of heading to the bathroom. He relieves himself, then spits out the intrusion in his mouth. He catches a wet glint before the ball of his tongue piercing circles down the drain. No matter. He's not hungry yet. As long as he doesn't eat until he's found a spare, it should be fine.His throat itches. He clears it (managing it this time), croaks a scale in G major. 27 per cent loss of vocal range, especially affecting the back consonants. Swallowing hurts, but is manageable. (The barbell's rough edge already irritates his hard palate.)Worth the effect it had, though. Stripping Mycroft of his self-control is a favourite pastime of Sherlock's. He so rarely gets the chance to, even now without a Channel to cross beforehand.He's in dire need of a shower, but instinct drags him to the kitchen. There had been a click, like that of an electric kettle, which Sherlock has not bothered to register until now, what with the flurry of impressions occupying his senses. He would have to block them out one by one to be able to focus on the important details once more.The kitchen, then. A throne room of abandoned art projects. Among them, superficially unruffled, sits Mycroft. Regal like the Queen. Sipping tea. (New suit, navy blue, not the one he wore yesterday.)Sherlock cants his hips. An impression of Michelangelo's David."Here for seconds?" Sherlock asks in tones promising a continuation of their previous encounter. Feels vague stirrings of lust beneath the blanket of pain: bright, white, and thin against the mottled grey in his muscles.Mycroft's expression sours enough to rival the taste of a lemon. Sherlock wants to bite into it, lick it off him, taste it. Application of teeth, lips, tongue. Muscle memory. Like walking, or breathing."Do not mock me, Sherlock."Cold voice. Iced over. (Alice blue.) Oh.Confusion. (Clouds of anthracite and purple.) Why is Mycroft angry?"How long?" Mycroft continues.Sherlock blinks. It's not often that he doesn't understand, but when it happens it either involves Mycroft or needy people he doesn't care about. With Mycroft, it feels like an extended dialogue they've been having since before they've grown up (although Mycroft maintains Sherlock still hasn't), a conversation made up of gaps and pauses, cryptic messages, re-routed signs, because half the time Sherlock's got better things to do than sit and listen."How long have you been using again?"The swirl of colours vanishes.Ah.Deep breath. "Why are you here?" he asks."I should think I have made my objective abundantly clear.""Are you here to lecture me again?""Answer my question, Sherlock."Sherlock advances. A bit stiffly. Movements not as graceful as usual. Seductive enough. Will have to suffice for the old sod.Mycroft sets down his cup. (Clink, not rattle.) Uncrosses his legs. (So composed.) Steeples his fingers. (Buttoned-up. Restrained.)(Restrain me, he said so often, when he thought, Don't put a leash on me. I know you want to, but can't. I won't let you.)(None of you.)Sherlock kneels in front of Mycroft. Inhales the autumn-sharp freshness clinging to his suit. Palms up his trouser legs. Admires the creases in his shirt, the pearly sheen of the buttons. Like soap bubbles in an ocean of cloth. There are creases around his eyes, too. Storm cloud grey, his face. Unhealthy. (Worry. Displeasure.)Sherlock parts his lips. Then Mycroft's legs. Invitation. Promise.Mycroft hates intimacy. Makes him vulnerable. Kisses his wife in public, but wouldn't kiss Sherlock. (Not that Sherlock wants the same treatment. Sentiment. It's poison. Never again.) Yet he allows Sherlock in, so close. Like the straight razor to the throat. Dangerous, but necessary. Doesn't touch him, though. Unless he has to. Unless they're fucking. Unless he runs his fingers over Sherlock's ears, into his hair, down his—Mycroft's hand in his hair. Encouragement? Affection, after all? A warm shower of stardust yellow on his scalp, down his back, to the soles of his feet. Outglowing the ache in his muscles. Yes. He craves this. Then pain. Sharp and flashing. Tight-fisted like a white dwarf, but brighter than a hypernova. His shoulders tense as though the grip on his hair was pulling at the skin of his entire body.Sherlock looks up. A mere flicker of the eyes. Can't move his head. Held in place.It's enough. Mycroft's expression is a rictus of disgust and disappointment. Invitation rescinded. No, never issued in the first place. A nasty, sickly greenish-yellow feeling pricks through him.Miscalculation."Do not make me repeat myself, Sherlock."The pain on his scalp dulls from white to orange. Sherlock huffs. Slaps Mycroft's hand away and pushes himself away from his legs. The nerve."Fine," he rasps. "I haven't been using, Mycroft."Mycroft laces his fingers together in his lap. The picture of a man at leisure. "What about the utensils I found in your bathroom?"Sherlock tenses. He's been so busy chasing formless ideas that he forgot to dispose of anything incriminating before Mycroft could show his ugly mug around the flat and start sniffing about."Don't you think the evidence was too conspicuously placed?" he asks in a vain attempt to throw off Mycroft."Surely you're not implying you were counting on me to stumble upon them.""Why not?""Don't be preposterous, Sherlock. To what end?""The usual? Riling you up?""This is low even for you, Sherlock." Barely concealed anger. "I cannot condone this kind of behaviour."Here they go again. Sherlock will never hear the end of it, because Mycroft will never understand the need – the necessity – to create, how vital it is for Sherlock's sanity. If drugs help where all else fails, why should it be deplorable to make use of them? It's no different from taking analgesics to numb pain. It has a purpose. Saturating or desaturating, shifting in or out of focus. Mycroft cannot see this because he does not have the right angle, his mind works precise and orderly, it's not obstructed by overlapping arrays of colours, some of which clash, some of which complement each other. It's distracting.Like Mycroft is distracting. Sherlock cannot be having this conversation right now."And I cannot condone your presence in my flat if you insist on being a bother.""Sherlock." Midnight blue tipped with white, like the frothing sea."I mean it. I don't want you around if all you do is treat me like a junkie.""I am trying to help you, Sherlock.""By telling me what an idiot I am for not falling in line with your demands. Very helpful indeed."Mycroft's brows knit, emphasising the furrows that are carving a pattern onto his forehead. Sherlock wants to measure their depth and length, extrapolating their shape and size in ten years' time. "Don't be a fool, Sherlock. I cannot force you into a rehabilitation programme, but I can offer you alternatives. If you would just try them.""They're not working." Sherlock doesn't need Mycroft's alternatives, his approval, or his help. It comes with strings attached, like everything Mycroft does. Should have seen it. Instead of relying on lust to deter his brother. A piece of chocolate fudge cake would have been more reliable."About my earlier job proposal. I am certain you could benefit—""Have you not been listening? Your proposals aren't helping. You aren't helping. With your constant nagging and monitoring and 'well-intentioned advice.' I am sick of you telling me what I can and cannot do. I am not your wife."Mycroft's eyes narrow. Tactical error. Should not have brought up the wife. "Victoria is not the issue. She has done nothing to earn your disdain.""She married you." Always ends up as a debate on principles. "You married her." "I would have elaborated the reasons behind this arrangement for you years ago, had you been willing to listen." Sherlock hates her – hates the idea of her in Mycroft's life. No amount of reasoning could explain to Sherlock why his brother would bind himself in something so banal as marriage when the concept itself holds no meaning for him. (Therein lies their difference. Where Sherlock focusses on the unraveling of semantics, Mycroft negotiates within pragmatics. Speech acts are mere symbols, they draw their power from context, by themselves they change nothing. I do pronounce you man and wife. What changes?) (Indeed, what is change? This union hasn't physically altered the universe. It is has not caused the furrows on Mycroft's brows. And yet it has altered something. On the surface, a shift in family ties, alliances, loyalties. Just below, tensions. They tremble in the reddish brown of dried blood. She is a presence in Mycroft's life, but a non-issue. Bribe material, perhaps. Someone to come home to, if he's being sentimental.) (An ally.) (Reciprocity. It's what irks Sherlock most about the arrangement. It has not been forced upon Mycroft. He chose it. As did she.) "However," Mycroft stands, "I have not come here to talk about my married life with you." "Of course not." Sherlock glares. Mycroft maintains his distance. Would not touch him for the remainder of his visit. (Or indeed until Sherlock's drug screens come back negative.) There are parts of him he does not share with Sherlock, and yet he demands Sherlock become translucent for his inspection. "Let's just talk about mine instead. Why, I'm still married to my work, thank you for asking, and as it happens, you're intruding." Mycroft's gaze drifts to Sherlock's chest, to the healed but as yet unfinished piece there. "Your work, you say? No longer one Mr Trevor with whom you have been so intimately acquainted until your sudden departure from Paris? How is he, I wonder?" "Still none of your concern, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice grates his throat like a piece of shrapnel. Why bring him up? Why light the corner Sherlock has diligently bricked in, covered up, painted over? The site hasn't dried yet, evidence is still visible. Translucent. Heat rises like a cloud of dust, arid and suffocating. "He became my concern when he consorted with you." Plaster crackles. "Since he's not consorting with me right now, you can drop the subject." Mycroft's jaw tenses, blocking the questions burning on his tongue. "You've always had a penchant for surrounding yourself with unsavoury elements. I wouldn't be surprised if you had already found someone as repulsive to replace him." Years of dealing with Mycroft's pronounced dislike of Victor do not soften this particular barb. Its sting is sulphuric and hot. His brother believes Victor is to blame for Sherlock's supposed relapse, possibly even supplied Sherlock with what he needed. (The irony. No one had been more against drug use than Victor. Not even Mycroft. The difference lies in how they spoke to Sherlock about it.) His patience snaps not with the exploding force of an entire city block, but with a compressed crinkle, sharp and biting. "Get out of my flat." "Sherlock." "No. You've said enough. Leave." Mycroft draws himself up like a slighted pheasant, peering down his nose at Sherlock. His mouth adds nothing of consequence except for a show of hesitation Sherlock can do without. The door clicks behind Mycroft like icicles plinking on steel. The chill is almost palpable, despite the fever in his bones. Sherlock exhales slowly, and his entire body shudders. He watches the golden dust motes dance in front of him, obscuring the room like an overexposed photograph. Sherlock, too, feels overexposed under Mycroft's scrutiny, robbed of his distinctive features, his distinctive flaws. The signs of time. Mycroft sees in him a version of his baby brother he needs to protect from the external forces corrupting him. Sherlock himself is incapable of self-destruction, it's the world around him that drags him down, none of it is choice. Hence, Victor as the villain who is to blame for everything: Sherlock's choice of profession and the accompanying body modifications, his prolonged absence from Mycroft, his sudden breathless reemergence in London. As if Sherlock were not action, but reaction. So many excuses, made with Sherlock's best interests at heart, made at his expense. Because Sherlock has not grown up yet, because Sherlock cannot tell what's right, because Sherlock cannot choose for himself. Sherlock's fist destroys his labour of the past two days with an angry squelch. No matter. It was atrocious, anyway. He uncurls his fingers, presses his palm into the oil paint, feeling its texture. It's cool and thick and wet, giving easily as Sherlock smudges the colours faster and faster. working himself into a frenzy, as if intending to create an impression from the chaos of blurred lines. He's breathing hard, the turpentine vapour makes his head spin, and both palms slip across the canvas in an attempt to steady him. He can no longer feel the individual parts of his body, he's a mass of a dull red ache centering in his chest, just below his manubrium. It's pulling him tight, so tight he's unable to growl as he rips the frame from the easel, breaks it over his knee, reduces it to kindling and a wasted canvas. Sherlock wipes his hands against his thighs, his hips, his stomach. The colours do not vanish, they multiply as though bruising his skin. Indigo, lime green, and purple, mixing together to a formless brown. He brushes at the stains to rub them off, succeeding only in coating more of his skin. On the floor behind the easel he finds a bottle of baby oil, also flecked with colour, which he struggles to open. He works the oil into his arms and legs, tottering into the bathroom. He leaves new palmprints as he catches himself on the sink, trying to breathe deeply and keep himself upright. His breath is more quick than deep. Soaping up his hands and scrubbing them over his body, he bites his tongue in concentration. Something digs into his palate. He scrapes his teeth over the appendage. A metal bar clicks against his lower incisors and slips out of his mouth before Sherlock remembers it's his tongue piercing. Foam bubbles under the hissing tap, and torrents of saturated water swirl down the drain. Sherlock scrubs and scrubs until his left arm is raw but clean, scrubs over his shoulder to his chest. Colour runs down his stomach in rivulets. Dirty brown water puddles on the floor beneath his feet and Sherlock almost slips more than once in his haste to get the paint off. He scrubs and scrubs, but no matter how much force he applies, no matter what material he uses to rub, the strokes on his sternum will not go away. He feels a sudden chill from the flat. The crude brushstrokes outline a barn owl with spread wings. Permanent, but incomplete. Like his memories of Victor. Sherlock doubles over the sink, dry heaving. He coughs and coughs, gasps for breath, and gags again. Despite its wings the image is now far too heavy, depressing his chest and lungs, squeezing his ribcage, until he thinks it might snap inward, and no amount of hyperventilating can steady its structure. Bent over, Sherlock watches murky runnels carve lines down his legs until they merge into the pool at his feet. Sherlock can sweep up this mess without much damage to the tiles, but unlike the mess Victor left both on his body and in his mind gallery.
1172579	This Wasnt Gonna Be Easy	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by bringmesomepie", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-07T00:00:00", "words": "1,140", "Additional Tags": "The Talk, Sex, Father-Daughter Relationship, finding out, Triplets, Passing Out, Hurt Dean Winchester, panicking!Sam, Calm!Cas, One Big Happy Family", "Relationship": "Castiel/Dean Winchester", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Dean and Cas Modern Life", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Dean had been asked many difficult questions in his life, but what his daughter asked his takes the cake. She asked him what sex felt like. “Well…uhhh…You see…umm…” Dean stuttered.“Dad, I want you to be 100% truthful to me.”“Well, it’s not as amazing as it is in the movies. If you’re with a people you are attracted to I can be amazing. If you love, like truly love this person, it’s amazing. You’re toes curl and your heart beat gets faster and when his penis goes inside you and it hits your g spot it’s like…”“Dad!” Aster interrupted.Dean blinked and realized who he was talking to. “Oh, I’m sorry, got lost in my thoughts.”“Yeah, I noticed. What else?”“It hurts, but it’s a good hurt, if that makes any sense. It feels like you’re in a dream and you’re going to wake up at any moment, but it’s all real.”“You said that it’s better if you truly love the person. How did you know that you truly loved Papa? Was it because you had sex?”“No, it was not when we had sex. We had known each other for a long time and we don’t know when we started to love each other.”“Well, how does sex feel when you truly love someone? How do you feel when you have sex with Papa?”“Wow, Aster, you are asking a lot of personal questions. They are also weird because you’re asking your father about his and your father’s love life.”“I wanna know. Please?”Dean looked away from Aster gaze and thought for a moment. He was mostly thinking about how he could phrase what he was going to say without freaking his daughter out. “On a soul level, you feel connected, you feel complete, you want more of that person and at the same time you want to give yourself completely. On a physical level, it feels like scratching a very long itch or finally getting some sleep after days of staying up.”Aster nodded. “Thanks Dad. I know that might have been uncomfortable for you but you really taught me some things.”“Now don’t think just because we had this talk means you can have underage sex.”“I know, Dad.” Aster replied.“I mean it, Aster. I was 19 when I had Wyatt. I had to push my dreams aside to be able to support a family.”“I thought you always wanted to work with cars?”“It has always been a hobby. I really wanted to go to school to become a police officer or a detective, but that dream is long.”“I promise I won’t have sex until I’m married, Dad.”“Ok, know you do some homework or something.” Dean patted Aster’s knees. Aster nodded and unfolded her legs. “Alright, I’m gonna go fix supper.” Dean got off the bed.“Where is Elliot?”“At Uncle Sam’s and Aunt Jess. For some reason she just loves her Uncle Moose.” Dean smirked and walked out of the room. As Dean started walking down the steps he heard Finley tapping away on his computer, Ethan playing video games, Johnny playing his guitar, Sonny listening to music and Kayla playing with her Barbies He just thought to himself. ‘I think 8 kids is enough.’&^%$#@$%^&&^%$#@#$%^& 2 Months Later… “Care to repeat that?” Dean snapped.“You’re pregnant.” Dr. Rosen repeated.“No, we got that part, repeat the next part.” Cas asked.“With triplets.” Dr. Rosen smiled and moved around the transducer on Dean’s stomach. “There’s Baby A, there’s Baby B, and right there is Baby C.”“Three?” Dean said holding up three fingers.“Yes, it’s actually not uncommon. Being over 40, you’re more likely to conceive multiples.”“But, I’m only 41.” Dean managed to say as Dr. Rosen wiped the gel of his stomach and he sat up.“And you’re having triplets. I’m glad we got that settled.” Rosen smirked. “My guess from the sonogram you’re about 8 weeks along.”Dean nodded. “Thank you, Becky.” Cas answered.“Now, I want to see you guys back here in a month. There is a higher risk of miscarriage and stillborn with your age so I want to keep a close eye on that.” Becky said as she went to grab the door.Dean had managed to get to his feet before everything started to fade. He saw Becky open the door and Cas turn around before he blacked out.&^%$#@$%^&&^%$#@$%^&When Dean’s eyes fluttered open it took him a little bit to figure out where he was. He wasn’t in the doctors office. Hell, he wasn’t in his clothes and his head was killing him. He turned his head and moaned. That’s when he saw Cas whip his head around and his crystal blue peeper were staring at him wide eyed. “It’s good to see you awake again.” Cas smiled.“Wha’ h’ppn’d?” Dean mumbled.“You passed out and hit your head. Nothing too bad. You’ll just have a bruise on your forehead for a little while.”“Why the hospital?”“Once Becky gave you a once over, she figured you were pretty badly dehydrated, which she was corrected. My guess was that you haven’t been able to keep anything down for a few weeks.” Dean nodded. “Becky thinks it’s also due to shock because you have never passed out because of morning sickness.”“So triplets?” Dean muttered.“We can handle it.” Cas remarked.“We are so going to get neutered after this one…or three.”Cas smirked. “Most definitely. 12 is more than enough.”Dean laughed then the rom got silent. It was a comfortable silent. Dean was deep in thought as was Cas. That’s when I stuck Dean and Cas at the same time. “We’re going to need a bigger house.” The said in unison.Cas’s phone started to ring. He fished it out of his pocket and answered. “Hello?”“What the fuck, Cas?”“What?”“You can’t just text me at 6:15 in the morning saying “taking Dean to the doctor, he’s sick, can you take kids to school?” Then text me saying “Taking Dean to hospital, might have to pick up the kids.”“Everything is fine. Dean was just really dehydrated and passed out when we had just finished the doctor’s appointment. He just has a stomach thing. He’s fine now.”“Don’t scare me like that again, Castiel.”“I’ll try not too.”“Talk to you later.” Sam hung up.Cas looked at Dean who was wide eyed and confused. “Just scared the fuck out of Sam.”Dean laughed and laid his head back in and closed his eyes. “We’re gonna have triplets.” Cas shook his head and smirked and soon he heard Dean’s breathing even out and he knew Dean was asleep again. Cas was glad, he needed time to think. This wasn’t gonna be easy. **
1141431	Speak to Me	{ "Archive Warning": "Underage Sex", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Severus Snape, Argus Filch, Regulus Black", "Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Delphi", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-18T00:00:00", "words": "4,939", "Additional Tags": "Drama, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Reform School, Seduction, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Adult/Minor", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Argus Filch/Severus Snape, Severus Snape/Original Character(s)", "Series": "Snape of St. Brutal's", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	As Severus had already discovered, books were very often the solution to life's little problems. Almost everything he had ever learned worth knowing had come from a book: science and mathematics, history, geography, how civilized people spoke and how civilized people lived. Even the most tedious bit of fiction was a welcome distraction from the more lethal tediousness of real life, and so Severus was rarely without a library loan on his person. It was a preventive measure, and on the day that Mr. Filch took notice of this, it proved unexpectedly fortuitous. "What's that, then?" Filch asked, halting in his attempt to repair a light fixture and peering down at Severus from atop the ladder.Severus's hands clenched reflexively around the soft-worn cover and yellowed pages. His shoulders hunched; no one had actually told him he wasn't allowed to read on duty. He was still hardly expected to do much but follow Filch around and occasionally hold a torch, and he was poised to point this out before he weighed the wisdom of it against the possibility of actually being put to work. He opted for obtuseness instead and marked his place with his index finger before tilting up the cover for Filch to see.Filch squinted and gave no sign of recognising it."Great Expectations," Severus clarified. He wondered if Filch needed glasses."I can see that," Filch said, sounding annoyed. "I told you before, if there's schoolwork you're meant to be doing...""It isn't for class."He could have said it was and been released to his room, but he was not particularly tempted. His roommate, Reg Black, was a compulsive self-abuser even by the standards of St. Brutal's, and Severus was inclined to give him the evening to get it out of his system so that he might have an undisturbed night. Besides, he and Filch were currently in the out-of-bounds area above the gymnasium, and there were all sorts of interesting doors leading to all sorts of interesting store rooms that Severus was taking careful note of in between pages.Filch did not grumble for him to put the book away and look sharpish, as Severus might have expected. Instead, he seemed impressed."A big book like that?" he asked. "Just for fun?"Severus was in fact reading it for edification, because it was part of the Canon, but there was no sense quibbling over semantics. He nodded.Filch peered at the book again. "It's not mucky, is it?""It's Dickens," Severus scoffed.Filch nodded with an uncertain air and then turned his attention back to the light fixture. Or at least he made a show of doing so. It seemed to Severus as if he tightened a nut he had just loosened. "Is it any good?" Filch asked. Severus shrugged. "It's Dickens."Filch hummed vaguely. He was silent for a few seconds, during which he loosened the same nut again. Severus watched as he licked his lips."You could read it out," Filch finally said. "If you wanted."Severus was fairly certain this was a queer thing to ask. He was sometimes expected to read aloud in his English and Latin classes, and he didn't mind it, even if listening to his less literate classmates stuttering through a passage was an exercise in frustration. Filch, however, was not a teacher, and moreover, he was now looking very sorry to have spoken. Severus decided that it was in fact a queer thing, and for that reason he decided to play along, just to see what would happen. He opened the book to where he had left off. Then, after a second thought, he flipped back a dozen pages to the beginning."'My father's family name being Pirrip,'" he read, "'and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.'"Filch made no sign for him to stop, and so Severus continued. His eyes flicked up from the page every few sentences at first, until it became clear that Filch meant to do nothing but work and listen with a small frown of concentration on his face. Eventually, Severus sat down on the floor with his back to the wall and made himself comfortable as he fell into the rhythm of the story. A half hour or so passed, and Severus had nearly reached the end of the second chapter—the bit where Pip was burgling his own house—when the wiring was finally put right. Filch climbed down the ladder with uncharacteristically quiet steps and tried the switch. The lights came on, but Filch only stood there, a step or two away, appearing to wait for something.Severus paused and then carried on reading to the end of the chapter, although his mouth was by now quite dry. "'There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe's tools. Then, I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.'"With that, he closed the book around his finger once more. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, gauging the extent of the strain, and then let his gaze climb lazily from Filch's boots to his wide, pale eyes, lingering in between on the front of his trousers."How'd you get so good at that?" Filch asked. He folded his hands together and then twisted them, like he was trying to wring them out.The question took Severus by surprise, and for a moment he could not think of what to say. He shrugged and frowned. "It's only reading."Filch shook his head. His face went slightly red, which he tried to hide by stepping forward and gathering up his tools. "You could be on the radio," he said quietly, "reading like that."Such a thing had never occurred to Severus. It didn't really hold any appeal, but he was flattered nonetheless. "I don't know," he said, fishing for Filch to say something admiring again. "I mean it," Filch insisted. Then he looked at Severus, and his mouth hooked at one corner as if he were almost going to smile but didn't want to. "A book like that, just for fun." He shook his head. "Hmph. D'you think the lad'll get away with it?"Severus had him. He wasn't entirely certain how, but he had him. "Snape?" The blankets rustled on the lower bunk, and the iron bed frame swayed."What?" Severus asked."Are you awake?""Would I be answering if I wasn't?"Reg laughed too loudly, and Severus sharply hushed him."Keep it down. Do you want McGonagall coming up here?""Sorry," Reg whispered. "Sorry. I was just wondering, um, if you were looking forward to Bonfire Night."Honestly, it was like rooming with an infant. "And this couldn't wait until morning?"Reg made one of his noises, an annoying little whimper. He didn't seem to like Severus being cross with him, which was one of his few redeeming qualities, but Severus could have lived without the sound effects."Sorry. I can't sleep."Severus said nothing."So...are you? Looking forward to it, I mean."Severus sighed. "Not really."He usually enjoyed Bonfire Night at St. Brutal's. The headmaster seemed to feel that a significant portion of the student body having been done for arson was no reason not to celebrate in full. There were always hot drinks and a small fireworks display courtesy of Hagrid, and two years ago, to the entertainment of all, the shed had caught fire. This year, however, great fuss had been made over the fact that James Potter was being put in charge of the display, and he had even been allowed to go to Aberdeen with Hagrid to buy supplies. Potter was still here with the rest of them, to Severus's mingled resentment and malicious satisfaction, on account of his parents having been killed in a car accident last June. Some people had all the luck."Oh. Me neither.""I'm glad we got that sorted," Severus said."Are you going to be here for Christmas?" Reg asked."No. I'll be going home."He had been mildly surprised to see his name on the list of students approved to leave for the holiday. His mother remained a mystery to him sometimes. He did not particularly want to go back to Cokeworth, but it would look bad if he didn't, so he supposed it could be borne. "Oh," Reg said again. He sounded disappointed."I expect you'll have the room to yourself," Severus said, "if they don't make you move down to the dormitories. I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you touch any of my things.""I won't!" Reg said, and Severus hushed him again. "I just thought...it might be nice, if we were both here for Christmas. We could have a midnight feast, like at my old school.""That would be contraband," Severus said firmly, just in case Reg was fishing. "There's no food allowed in students' rooms, you know that.""Oh," Reg said. "Right. But I'll miss you. I'll really miss you."Severus was not paid to decide such things, unlike Professor McGonagall and the headmaster, but it seemed clear to him that Reg was as mad as a hatter. Something really ought to be done about it."Don't be an idiot," he said. "It's only October. Go to sleep." "'My mind grew very uneasy on the subject of the pale young gentleman.'"Filch did not ask him to stop, and so he kept on reading. He brought the book with him each evening when he reported for duty, and he usually made it through two chapters as Filch went about his rounds of door-checking and minor repairs. On Saturday afternoon, Severus found himself slouching in the chair in front of Filch's desk, pressing on through the third chapter in a row as Filch sat across from him, carefully pasting a stack of receipts into the school ledger. It did not seem to be a very demanding task, and yet Filch took a very long time with it before finally putting away the glue pot and settling back in his seat with his hands folded on top of his stomach.Severus was accustomed to being watched. You were always watched at school, or nearly so, and he had become adept at telling one kind of surveillance from another. There was a crucial difference between the perfunctory vigilance of a Professor Binns or Madam Pince, who were only counting heads by habit, and Professor McGonagall's surprisingly canny glances. There was the oily residue of Professor Slughorn's lingering gaze, interspersed with his blind disinterest, and there was the glinting precision of Professor Dumbledore's bright eyes, which always made Severus feel as if he were next in line for a particularly cheerful vivisection. This was something else. It wasn't quite a train station toilet look, but it was close enough to make Severus's stomach tighten and his prick go half stiff. It was a wanting-something look, a guilty one. Curious, Severus raised his hand to his collar and stole a glance, waiting to see if Filch's eyes would follow. They did, staring as Severus loosened his tie. Gooseflesh cropped up on the back of his neck when his fingertips brushed his throat. It felt nice, and so he did it again."'Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister's temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it.'"He thought about sucking Filch's prick. He tried to picture the look on Filch's face—the way his eyes would widen and the way his mouth would open stupidly when Severus made his offer. Or maybe, he thought, he wouldn't offer at all. Maybe he would tell him to open his trousers and show him his prick, and maybe Filch would do it. He imagined Filch's hands fumbling with his belt. Unbuttoning his trousers. Taking it out, a great big hairy one, like in the drawings from the dirty book Severus had found as a boy."'What I wanted, who can say? How can I say, when I never knew?'"Maybe he would even let Filch fuck him. It seemed like that was something he should hold in reserve in case he needed leverage later on, but he had liked it when he tried it, and the prospect of buggery on demand was appealing. He wondered if it would hurt, with Filch's prick being as big as it was. It might be fun to tell him it was his first time and that he had to be gentle—to say yes and then make him wait and go very slowly. His own prick was now standing up noticeably in his trousers, right out in the open, but he knew that Filch couldn't see it from over the desk, which only sharpened his excitement.He slowed in his reading as he neared the end of a chapter. His voice was starting to wear thin. His tongue stuck unpleasantly to the inside of his mouth, but he forced himself through the last few lines. "...'and I would feel more ashamed of home than ever, in my own ungracious breast.'"His voice broke on the second-to-last word, and he cleared his throat in irritation.There was silence for a long moment. Severus looked down thoughtfully at the book and dug his clawed hand hard into his thigh until his stiffie began to abate. Filch was still staring at his throat, but then he seemed to come back to himself and shook his head hard before looking away."Ought to get you some water," he muttered. "You'll lose your voice, going on like that. Don't know what I was thinking.""Water would be nice," Severus said, very politely. He liked the idea that Filch thought he should owe him something for reading.He followed Filch to the kitchens, which proved to be empty. The door to the courtyard was slightly ajar, letting in a bitter draught, and through the narrow gap, Severus could see the two skinny old dinner ladies having a smoking break over by the empty fountain. Filch opened a cupboard to take a down a cup, and Severus gazed greedily at the disorganized jumble within. There was a box of lemon-flavoured crystal jelly with the corner of one packet sticking out of it. Filch turned on the tap, and Severus seized the opportunity the moment his back was turned. He reached carefully into the cupboard and eased the packet of jelly powder out of the box, letting the sound of the water cover the rub of paper on cardboard. He slipped the packet quickly into the book, hiding it between two pages, and was waiting with a bland smile when Filch turned back around. He could get a cigarette for it, maybe even two if he waited for a non-pudding week. "Thank you." He let his fingertips brush against Filch's hand as he took the cup."Just—" Filch began, drawing back, but whatever he meant to say was swallowed down roughly. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat and looked out at the courtyard.Severus drank down the cold water in three long swallows and then sighed in satisfaction. "Snape?" Severus kept his eyes shut and elected not to answer."Snape?" Reg whispered again.Severus lay still, counting his own breaths.Reg was silent for a little while and then tried it one more time, small-voiced: "Snape?"Severus groaned. "What is it?""Are you awake?""What do you think, Black?""Oh. Sorry.""What is it?""Nothing."Severus rolled over and peered sternly over the edge of the bunk. "Out with it, so I can get some bloody sleep.""I was just wondering..." Reg licked his lips. "...if you'd ever kissed someone. A girl, I mean."Severus flopped back over onto his mattress, rolling his eyes. "That's a very personal question.""I won't tell anyone," Reg said quickly. "I was only wondering."Severus had no intention of either swapping boasts with Reg or providing him with wank fodder. However, the promise made things mildly interesting. He didn't believe him, of course, but it occurred to him that it might be useful to determine exactly who Reg planned to share his personal business with. An imaginary girlfriend held little risk as a test subject, and he could wait and see where the rumour ended up."Yes," he said. "I have."He heard Reg sit up. "What was it like?""If I tell you," Severus said primly, "you can't be inappropriate."Reg paused and then audibly fidgeted. "I wouldn't."This from someone who had a hole cut into his mattress. "She was a girl from my town," Severus said. He did not make up a name, deciding that he was a gentleman. "She was older—she's at university now.""Was she pretty?" Reg asked."Sort of," Severus said. You had to keep a lie realistic, and he was aware that he was likely of little interest to beautiful girls. "She was clever. She wasn't actually my girlfriend, but we went around sometimes."Reg seemed to accept that, and Severus continued."She asked me back to her house one day. Her parents were going to be out all afternoon. We went to her room to listen to records.""What did you listen to?"Severus plucked names from the air. Sometimes on town weekends, students with leave would go to the record shop and queue up to listen to the headphones, or they would idle in the cafe where the wireless was tuned to Radio 1, and they would come back singing bad renditions of whatever they had heard."The Rolling Stones. Elton John.""I like Elton John." "Good for you," Severus said."What, er, happened next?""We were sitting on her bed." He thought about the bedroom in Ray Fothergill's house, the one belonging to the son away at university. The posters of footballers on the wall. The tidily made bed that no one had slept in for some time. "Not in here, all right?" Ray said, hovering outside the door, looking uncomfortable. "I like the posters," Severus said, lying back on the bed and looking at the walls from upside down. Ray's hand curled around the door jamb. His lips pressed tight together. Severus slipped a finger in between the buttons of his shirt. His knees shifted apart. He didn't want to get up. "I'll let you bugger me, if you like." "She said I could kiss her if I wanted to."He heard Reg fidget again, but if he was touching himself, he was doing it quietly."Did you?""I did." In truth, he had never kissed anyone, unless you counted Lily Evans when he was ten years old, but she had turned her head at the last moment and his lips had mostly landed on her cheek."What did it feel like?""Wet," he said. "Hot."He heard Reg swallow hard."Have you, then?" he asked, willing to be entertained by implausible stories of a girlfriend who lived in France.Reg hesitated. "Sort of," he said, sounding uncertain. "I don't know.""If it was your mother or sister, it doesn't count," Severus said drily."Oh," Reg said. He made one of his sounds. "No, then. I guess not." "One more chapter?" Severus asked on Friday night when Filch had made the rounds in search of students out of bed. He leaned against the wall and looked at him entreatingly. "Or two? The next one's short."The time had come to push, just a little, and see where it got him.Filch would not meet his eyes. "I don't know about that. It's late."I don't know was very clearly not a no."I want to see what happens next," Severus said, frowning a touch reproachfully. "I've exercised a great deal of self-restraint, you know, not reading ahead."He had of course finished the book two days ago, but Filch didn't need to know that. "It's late," Filch said again, but more feebly. "Don't want to be disturbing anyone."Severus's stomach fluttered. That was very promising. It wasn't staying up with a student that he objected to now, but only someone finding out about it."We could go to my room," Severus said with perfect, stupid innocence. He savoured Filch's wide-eyed jolt for a moment before adding: "My roommate won't mind.""No," Filch said, although a panicky note belied the firmness in his voice.Severus felt his palms prickle with excited sweat. Filch didn't even like the idea of Reg knowing about them. They officially had a secret on their hands."We could go to your room, then," he said.He had narrowed down the general area where Filch's apartments had to be, but had not yet pinpointed it to a door. The odds of getting in tonight were not in his favour, but curiosity gnawed at him. There was no such thing as a private room for anyone but the staff, and he suspected that Filch kept all the best contraband he confiscated there."No," Filch said again, the panic more urgent now. Severus cocked his head. "Why not?"Filch's already ruddy face turned even redder. He pulled at the sleeves of his coat in irritation. "It wouldn't...it wouldn't be appropriate.""Professor Slughorn lets students socialize in his rooms," Severus pointed out.Filch immediately stopped evading his gaze and looked at him sharply. It was a peering, uncertain sort of expression, as if Filch couldn't quite make up his mind about him—as if Severus were, in his head, still potentially two people. Good or wicked. Innocent or clever. Alive or dead, like Mr. Schrödinger's cat. Severus rather liked it."Have you..." Filch looked about cautiously, even though the corridor was obviously empty. His voice was low and quiet, and his frown deepened. "Has Professor Slughorn ever asked you in?" Severus had not prepared for the question, although he realised belatedly that he should have. Which was the right answer? A yes would make it clear that he was amenable to doing favours for staff. However, it seemed to him that someone like Filch, who was not particularly friendly with the teachers, might not want to have professorial seconds. Besides, if this was to be a secret, it ought to belong to just the two of them."No," he said, eyebrows rising in an approximation of ignorance. "I always have schoolwork when he has his parties. I'm not really friends with anyone there."Filch looked relieved. "Good lad. You stay clear of those kinds of parties, all right?"His excitement rose. He felt a little ill, or maybe only restless. "Is there tea in the staff room?" he asked, making one final stab at it for the night.Filch looked confused at first, and then took his meaning. He paused a moment too long. "I haven't had a cup of tea in six months," Severus confided. Filch visibly wavered, and Severus waited patiently to see which side he would land on. Tea seemed to be on the short list of things that Filch approved of. It was wholesome, and Severus was beginning to think that perhaps Filch wanted him to be wholesome too. Well, then. What more respectable way of spending an evening was there than tea and a good book?"One chapter," Filch said at last, reluctantly. Severus smiled at him. They made their way down the corridor, past locked classrooms and the padlocked kitchen doors, to the dark staff room. Filch let him in first and then hesitated after turning the lights on, looking as if he was considering leaving the door open. He then shut it quietly and locked it behind them. There was something particularly nice about that sound, the click of a deadbolt. It made Severus shiver as he sat down on the sofa. He left ample space beside him and then found his place in the book and continued where he had left off as Filch put the kettle on."'As I was getting too big for Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt's room, my education under that preposterous female terminated.'"He glanced up now and then as he read, while the tea was brewing. Filch had his hands curled around the edge of the counter, his back tense. Severus could hear him breathing. He liked this kind of quiet, which closed in around him, warmer and more muffled than the echo-y silence of the night-time corridors. You heard every little sound in here. The clink of the porcelain. The faint rustle of Filch's shirtsleeves. He thought he could hear what was nice about his own voice, which was low and smooth and not so much in his nose when he read.Filch poured two cups, and to Severus's disappointment set the one meant for him directly on the coffee table instead of handing it to him. He then chose to sit in the armchair, leaving Severus alone on the sofa. Never mind, Severus thought, and used the opportunity to sprawl. He reclined against the arm of the sofa, one leg bent and the other resting on the floor. Filch looked him over in nervous flickers before staring down into his tea as if reading along from the bottom of the cup.Two chapters turned into three, then four, then five. They reached the part where Severus had started merely skimming, and so the story recaptured his interest. He read on, pausing now and then for a sip of tea. His posture slowly slipped until he was nearly lying down, not entirely on purpose. His eyes grew heavy and the words grew more hushed as he reached the end of the fifth chapter."That's enough," Filch said. "Bed time. Don't want you doing your voice in."Severus closed the book and yawned. He didn't argue. You couldn't get overambitious when pushing people, not if you wanted them going away thinking they hadn't been pushed at all. Besides, he really was tired, and so he only hummed his agreement as Filch got up to gather the cups. According to the clock, they had been in here nearly two hours.He let his chin drop against his chest and closed his eyes. The sounds of Filch doing the washing-up quietly clinked and sloshed in his ears. The sofa sagged beneath him, a spring digging into his back. He was still relaxing when the tap turned off, and he would have put money on Filch staring at him in the silence that followed. He could feel it."Come on," Filch finally said, his voice gruff. "Let's get you back."Severus rose unsteadily to his feet and rubbed his eyes. He picked up the book and went out into the corridor, yawning again as he waited for Filch to lock up behind them. Then he headed willingly to his room, walking slowly as if too tired to do much but drag his feet, and suppressed a smile as he felt a hand briefly touch him between the shoulders, guiding him along. He was dropped off at his door and went inside, taking care not to wake Reg, who would only wish to ask more of his stupid questions. He waited, listening for Filch's footsteps, which were silent for a moment before setting off down the corridor. Reg's deep, snuffly breathing was soon the only sound, and it occurred to Severus belatedly that perhaps he ought to have tried feigning falling asleep in the staff room. It was a particular skill of his. Having a reputation as a heavy sleeper when you weren't was useful in the dormitories, and when he had been very young and still living at home, he had sometimes pretended to fall asleep on the sofa so that he could stay up longer and watch telly. Most often, his father had jostled him and sent him to bed with the threat of a spanking, but sometimes he had got away with it and watched the news through the blurry bars of his eyelashes until he fell asleep for real and woke sometime later as he was being carried up the stairs to bed, slung over his father's shoulder.His prick decided it was not as sleepy as the rest of him. He laid Great Expectations down atop the dresser and then slipped into the water closet, easing the door shut behind him. He waited a moment to make certain that Reg hadn't stirred, and then he unzipped his trousers and got his prick out. He wanked quickly and quietly, thinking about Filch touching him when he thought he was asleep. A hand on his thigh, or on his arse. Heavy breathing. Careful fingers easing down his zip before creeping inside. He imagined Filch with a stiffie, stuck inside his trousers, a great big bulge. He imagined Filch rubbing it, looking at him.It didn't take long. He came, luxuriating in the thought of opening his eyes and catching Filch in the act. Red-faced, red-handed. Guilty. His breathing stopped for an instant and then left him in a sigh. He swallowed hard and smiled to himself.This was nice, he thought as he ran the water from the washstand at a trickle and cleaned the spunk off his hand. This was going to be fun.
1158357	Not Quite	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Gene Hunt, Sam Tyler", "Fandom": "Life on Mars (UK)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by equestrianstatue", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2007-12-08T00:00:00", "words": "989", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Gene Hunt/Sam Tyler", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Sam does not know that today is the day that something will almost happen. For a world he's created, he's pretty clueless about it, to be honest. It is a perfectly ordinary day in sunny 1973 – apart, possibly, from how sunny it is; the first break in a long week of rain, and Sam will remember this, because he comments on it, and Gene is uninterested. But weather anomalies aside, the day is almost painfully normal, down to Sam's brave attempts at introducing more efficient procedure, and Gene's staunch resistance."What about the witness we interviewed?" says Sam, possibly not for the first time. "Details, remember. Everything he said. You never know what's going to be important.""Yeah," says Gene, "but he was a waste of space.""That's not the point. It was an exercise in detailed note-taking.""And I bloody did it, didn't I? Sat there scribbling in my little book looking like an idiot.""I've seen your notes," says Sam. "You wrote docks, 2am, he's a div and he knows nothing, and then the rest of the page was covered in pictures of cars.""I've seen yours," retorts Gene. "You got distracted too. You did half a page of every stupid word that came out of his mouth, and then you started writing stuff I didn't even understand. Who's Noky when he's at home, and why are you so keen on him? Some singer?""It's Nokia," says Sam, hotly, "and that's irrelevant."And so on, and so on. They argue their way through the station and all the way to the pub, where, with the aid of alcohol, the argument meanders into good-natured bickering; and then, with the aid of more alcohol, meanders back into an argument all over again, although neither of them is entirely sure why it started or what their point is.Still, this is not strange: voices raised on the way home, angry words and lack of judgment, degenerating eventually into swings at each other; some of them missing, some of them connecting, until eventually they tumble into an alley near the back of the pub. "Come on then," says Sam, and goes to punch Gene in the gut while Gene pushes him backwards.It's all a bit of a mess, because Gene has pinned Sam to the wall really rather effectively, but Sam's not halted by his lack of upper limb use, and is busy trying to knee Gene wherever he can, Gene trying to get another punch in somewhere; and now this is beyond what usually happens, a couple of smacks each way: this is pure untamed physicality, a struggle between them that just goes on and on and on. And then one of them or both of them gets confused in the heat of the moment, and it all goes a bit wrong, because Sam thinks he might be kissing Gene and Gene might be kissing him back.They wrench apart and stare at each other, and Gene's eyes are wild, and Sam thinks he probably looks the same. Neither of them has let go, and this is insane, but then again, it doesn't feel any less natural than the fight, and Gene is still holding on, why is Gene still holding on, he should have run away by now, because –"Come on then," says Sam, pulse racing, and he feels like anything could happen, "come on.""You're mad," says Gene, with the air of a madman. Sam knows exactly how he feels. Gene is gripping his collar, and it hurts quite a bit, but he doesn't really care."Come on," says Sam (again, because he's not great with words right now), "here, no strings, pretend it's not real.""You can't just say that something's not real.""Yes I can. You want this," says Sam, and he can almost feel Gene's pulse inside him beating with his."No," says Gene, but he hasn't let go.And then Sam thrusts forward, and he honestly isn't sure if he's going to headbutt Gene or kiss him again. Either fortunately or unfortunately, it definitely ends up as a kiss, and Gene presses into him and they keep going, and Gene's a pretty bad liar, evidently, because they draw apart breathless and needing, and Sam says, "Gene," and Gene says, "Yes."So they struggle, again, only it's Gene trying to push off Sam's jacket and Sam fumbling with Gene's zip and the coat keeps getting in the way, but never mind that, because this is new, but it makes sense."See, all your male bonding, your physical contact, it's always been leading here – you don't beat any of the others up nearly as much – ""They don't go out of their way to piss me off," says Gene, through gritted teeth, tugging at Sam's belt like he's hoping to inflict as much pain on it as possible."Still," says Sam, panting, "if a punch to the kidneys is your idea of flirting, I'd hate to think how you met your wife."And then Gene lets go, leaving Sam's belt unbuckled, shoving him back into the wall, and turns away. "I don't – "Sam holds up his hands, and breathes deeply for what feels like the first time in a while. "Sorry. No outside world, no strings."But Gene's lost it, rationalising, and his eyes have changed, closing off again. "Just – no, Sam, I don't know what you even think you're – we're – this is wrong.""Gene, don't – ""Sam. No."And it ends there. Gene walks away, and Sam will remember this, relive it over and over, until he only remembers remembering it and isn't sure if he's got all the parts of it right any more. He will wonder if it was inevitable, whether or not it was a mistake to start or a mistake to stop. He will think that Gene hates him for it, but he will be wrong. They will not mention it again.
1151882	Something Snaps	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Maura Isles, Jane Rizzoli", "Fandom": "Rizzoli & Isles", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by legendarylezbian", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-25T00:00:00", "words": "661", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Maura Isles/Jane Rizzoli", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The sight of Jane's ring on her finger is what makes something inside Maura snap. In the moment, she tries to smile, but her head shakes slightly, and Jane knows right then that she disapproves. It's not easy to hide her feelings from Jane, Maura knows. She takes a deep breath before forcing her face into a neutral expression, but it's no use. Jane is a detective, after all."Maura, what's up?" Jane asks, a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought you'd be happy for me."Maura knows lying won't end well. She thinks hard about what to say. "I will be. I just need time to...process this."Jane frowns. "Process what? The fact that I've finally found the one? Maura, you're acting like somebody died or something."Maura turns away, not ready to meet Jane's eyes. She's about thirty seconds away from bursting into tears. She doesn't want to lose Jane, and something tells her that if this marriage happens, Jane will leave with Casey and Maura will be completely alone. Before she met Jane, she was used to being alone, resigned to it. But then things changed, and Maura is not ready to go back to her pre-Jane life. She clears her throat. "Jane, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" WIthout waiting for any verbal response, she turns on her heel and walks out of the break room. She walks out of the police station, telling Susie on the way that she is taking the rest of the day off. It's not until she is in her car that she allows a tear to fall. The dam breaks and she cries for a good fifteen minutes. Then, like a lightning flash, the sadness she feels gives way to anger. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a scalpel and places it into her pocket. Maura collects herself, wiping her tears away. When she shows up at Jane's apartment, Casey is there. They make small talk, Maura making idle comments about the weather. The stupid man is so trusting of her that he turns his back to get her a cup of (instant) coffee.That is his first mistake. With feline grace, Maura slinks up behind him and slits his throat with her scalpel. It is a clean cut, and he is unconscious within a minute, the blood loss too much for his brain to handle. Maura stands over him, a wicked smile on her lips. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Jane feels a dramatic shift in the bed beside her. She cracks an eye open and sees Maura beside her, sitting up with a hand over her mouth. Jane immediately wakes up, knowing something is wrong. "Maura, babe, what's up? Did you hear something?" Jane rubs circles on her girlfriend's back. "I--I just had a really awful dream. I...I never knew I was capable of that..." Maura's voice breaks. Jane scoots closer to Maura. "It wasn't real, Maura. It was just a dream, okay?" Jane envelops Maura in her arms, falling apart at how scared she looks. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"Maura turns to Jane, her face pale. "I killed Casey."Jane frowns. "What?""In the dream, I killed him. Because in it, you were about to marry him and I couldn't let that happen."Jane laughs. "Really? Casey and I broke up six months ago, Maura. Seriously, there is no universe in which I would even consider marrying that controlling, manipulative, abusive asshole. I just feel stupid I even fell for him in the first place."Maura turns to Jane. "No, Jane, don't blame yourself. He is the only one to blame for how he treated you."Jane smiles. "I am so glad you're with me." Jane lays back her arms still around Maura. "Ready to go back to sleep?"Maura breathes Jane's scent, and Jane can feel her girlfriend nod against her chest. "Yes. Good night, Jane.""Good night, Maura."
1141459	High on a Hillside	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, John Byers, Walter Skinner, Margaret Scully, Melvin Frohike", "Fandom": "The X-Files", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by mn_x", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-18T00:00:00", "words": "3,274", "Additional Tags": "Apocalypse", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Life During Wartime", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	He had dialed the first five digits of Reggie Purdue's phone number before he remembered that the other man was dead. He held the phone gently, pressing the disconnect button carefully with his thumb; his other hand held the keys to the truck so tightly that they made grooves in his palm. What would he have said anyway? Reggie, get out of town, you and anyone you love. Now. "You're my inside source on any upcoming alien invasion," Reggie had once joked with him, the only member of the ISU to make alien jokes without malice. Five years after the other man's death, Mulder could not remember whether Reggie's banter had ever held a hint of belief; he didn't know whether the other man would have laughed or gone if Mulder had made that phone call. Down on the street, the other truck pulled away from the curb, left turn signal blinking properly. That meant Byers was driving, then, this strange new jeans-clad Byers whose hands had been disturbingly competent on the gun. Had he ever seen Byers in jeans before? Yes, but rarely. (Two years ago. Langly, waving him in, had muttered, "Byers is in a mood. Dry cleaning disaster." "What constitutes a dry cleaning--" Mulder had started to say, and then, catching sight of Byers in jeans and a flannel shirt-- "Jesus, it's one of the signs of the apocalypse.") The phone was ringing in his ear, one, two--he didn't even remember dialing; who had he called?--three, four, a breathless female voice on the other end that he could almost place. "Hello?" "Hello?" he said. "Yes?" Polite curiosity, the same tone that tinged her daughter's voice when he presented her some scientific puzzle to solve. "Mrs. Scully. It's Fox Mulder." "What's wrong? Is Dana--?" The note of barely controlled panic was familiar to him from all the times when he had relayed the message that her daughter was hurt, or missing. "She's fine." A sudden terror exploded in him, that she wasn't okay, that what was happening had caught up with her first because of the chip. No. If she wasn't okay, he would know. The uncertainty, though, took over his body and sent him to pace restlessly around his living room. "She's fine," he repeated. "But we have to...Mrs. Scully, I need you to listen carefully. This...we're not going to be safe for much longer. You have to pack. I'm going to pick up Scu--Dana, then you. We have to get out of town." He moved around the coffee table and skirted the pair of shoes that he'd left in the middle of his floor. God, the place was getting to be a mess again. "Out of town? Why?" He heard her catch herself, the Navy wife accepting the lack of explanation. "What do I need to pack? How long will I be away?" He shook his head. "No. No, you need to pack anything you want to keep." "To keep...this is...we won't be back?" "No. I don't think so. Pack what you need, and call your sons. Tell them--the cities won't be safe. Tell them to get as far away from the cities as they can. And be ready to go in an hour. I've gotta call Scully." "Fox!" Her voice was peremptory. It slowed his pacing to a restless, temporary halt. "What are you saying? The cities won't be safe? Are you saying this isn't some kind of...witness protection thing?" "No. No, it's not that at all." His voice was flat. Although it is a witness protection program, in a way, isn't it? Scully and I have been witnesses to half the shit that's been going down, and we're damned well trying to protect ourselves from it. He started moving again, stopping by the TV to wipe the dust off the top of the VCR with the bottom of his shirt. He heard her draw in a breath, and then expel it in an almost-laugh. "Fox, you're talking nonsense." He almost laughed himself. "Your daughter's been telling me that for six years. She was wrong." "I'm not listening to this. I've--I've never mocked your beliefs, but this is ridiculous. I'm not--" He found himself shouting. "Do you think your daughter will step a foot outside of this city if you aren't safe? Do you think if Scully stays, that I'll go? For all our sakes--" "Don't you dare yell at me!" Irish temper, the one that Scully never admitted to having. "Don't you accuse me of putting my daughter in danger." "I'm sorry," he said, and he was. He made a conscious effort to lower his voice. "But you've...just listen. If I'm wrong on this, okay, you've lost a weekend. One weekend. But if I'm right and you don't go, you're dooming all of us because of that damned Scully stubbornness." He stopped abruptly, waited. "You know," she said, very quietly, "I've even defended you to Bill. To both her brothers." He wheeled and started for his bedroom, where the box where he kept extra ammunition was lying open on the bed. "Do you think I would ask this of you--of Scully--if I didn't know her life was in danger?" he responded, equally quietly. His gym bag sat, still packed from yesterday's basketball game, shoved into a corner. He tossed it to his bed and unzipped it roughly. "No," she said. "I know that you wouldn't." "Then be ready in an hour," he told her. "And pack as if you believed me." "I'll call my sons," she said, and hung up the phone. He let his drop on the bed, and returned to the bag, emptying it out and then tossing the shoes back in. He moved to his dresser next, pulling out socks, underwear, jeans, a sweater, t-shirts. Packed one-handed, until he realized that he still held the keys clenched in his fist. Stuffed them in his jeans pocket, where they crackled against paper. ("Try to get to one of these places as soon as possible," Byers had told him. "They're all out in the country, and most of them have some sort of underground bunker. Tell them," and here he'd had a long-suffering look on his face, "tell them that Lord Manhammer sent you, and show them the keyring." He'd held up the keychain, pewter, axe-wielding dwarf dangling, a match to the figurine that hung from the rearview mirror in the Gunmen's Explorer.) The phone was in his hand again, and he punched the second number on the speed dial. Although this was futile; this was stupid; this was beyond stupid, and probably cruel. "Hello. This is Teena Mulder. I'm not home right now. Please leave a message after you hear the beep and I'll get back to you. Thank you." "Mom? This is Fox. I'm calling because..." Why was he calling? She wasn't near any major cities, was as safe in her home as anyone was anywhere, and he did not have time to go and bring her with him. Should he tell her, risk another stroke, when neither he or she could do anything now? "Mom, there's going to be some...bad things happening. It...go to the store and stock up on food, okay? And make sure the locks are secure. There might be riots. There might be a lot of things. I'm leaving town now, because the city's not going to be safe. If I can find a safe place, I'll come back and get you. I promise. I love--" The machine beeped and cut him off, and he stared numbly at the phone, and then moved slowly back to his bag. Full now; he pulled a knapsack out from his closet. Gun in its holster. Extra ammunition in the bag. His second gun and ammunition for it had gone to Byers, the only gift he had been able to offer in exchange for the warning, and the truck with its full tank of gas, its hastily cleaned windows, its carefully checked-for-pressure tires. Toiletries. Extra soap. Tylenol. Hydrogen peroxide. She was an old and defenseless woman, and he was leaving her to fend for herself. Flashlight. Extra batteries. He shook the batteries out of his clock radio. These might work, after. What else had batteries? Walkman. Cassettes. Elvis. Bach, the Brandenburg Concertos, which he had bought as a form of hope or punishment after Arecibo. Ellington. Hendrix. He found the phone in his hand again. "Skinner." "Sir? This is Mulder." "Christ, Mulder, don't tell me you're calling about the Paneski thing. I know it's a weekend, but--" "No, I'm not." "Don't tell me you're not. This may not be a fascinating mutant, but they're short-staffed right now, and--" "That's not why I'm calling." He moved to the bookshelf next, pulling out Carl Sagan, H.G. Wells, Edgar Allen Poe. The Golden Bough. Borges. A book on Jewish customs; another on comparative myths. "Sir, you have to get out of town. Now. We all do." "What?" "I can't talk. I have to go. You have to get away from the city." "Mulder, what are you--" "It's coming. It's here. Get as far away from the city, as fast as you can." There was a long silence, and then Skinner spoke again. "Take care of Scu--take care of each other." Disconnect. He pulled the scrapbook out of his desk drawer, and the framed picture of Samantha. Samantha's file. Scully's file. He ended up in front of the bookshelf again, wondering what to save. Skinner would be on his own, no friends or friends of friends looking out for him. Mulder closed his eyes in something that felt like grief but might have only been guilt. Skinner, who had been ally and enemy and friend and suspect, who could not know their plans now; he would have risked himself, but he could not risk Scully to possible betrayal. He was abandoning her, old and alone and defenseless. Christ, he had to get a grip on himself, shake himself out of this paralysis. He had given up once in Diana's apartment and hated himself for it later, but he might not get a chance to hate himself this time. And Scully, Scully was waiting, although she didn't yet know it. ("Take care of her," Frohike had said. "We'll see you in a month at the rendezvous point, if we can. They might set up roadblocks, but the route we're sending you by will avoid any major roads." "We might even meet en route," he had said, and seen the look that Langly and Frohike had exchanged. "We'll be coming a different way," Frohike had said quietly. "We're going to try to pick up Suzanne Modeski." And all of their faces had forbidden him to comment.) He reached to the bottom shelf of the bookshelf, where he'd stashed back issues of the Lone Gunmen because he hadn't yet had time to shred them, and Frohike always had a fit of pique if he just threw them away. If these survived and little else did, the world was going to have one hell of a new belief system. His eye snagged on a book on the second shelf, crammed in the middle of his abnormal psych books. Scully and her mother would want--but surely, one of the women would--hell, both of them would--but in the rush they could forget. He turned away, turned back, and pulled it out. The spine was cracked; the book fell open automatically to the phrases that Mulder had underlined and circled and pored over for three weeks in a stifling hotel room, back when he had been the baby profiler of the ISU. Phrases whose poetry he had dimly appreciated even as they sickened him, because Thomas Kevin Riker had left them written in green calligraphy on the mutilated bodies. Closing the book, he pushed the Gideon's Bible that he'd confiscated from the hotel in Tennessee to the very bottom of the backpack. He started moving towards the kitchen. They would need water, and canned food that would keep, and a can opener, and--the world spun and then tilted to meet him, and the floor was suddenly hard under him. Faintness? Panic attack? The beginning of what was coming? Belated heavenly retribution for stealing a Bible? No, he'd left his shoes in the middle of the goddamn floor again. The fall had knocked some of the numbness away, and he felt pain and awareness seep in. Holy shit, I was right all along. And what was he thinking, getting food from the kitchen? When was the last time he'd even gone shopping? They'd have to get food from Mrs. Scully: if they relied on Mulder, they'd end up with iced tea mix, a half a loaf of bread, a jar of salsa, two gallons of ice cream, and three cans of tuna. And I don't even like canned fucking tuna. Turning himself over painfully to his back, he looked up at the ceiling. Scott Ostelhoff had once spied on him through a hole in that ceiling, and died at his hand; Philip Padgett had shared that wall, and died in the basement; X had come in response to a signal in that window, and died in his hallway. And Scully had sat on that couch and exchanged Christmas presents with him; Scully had lain on that floor and clutched his shoulders after Padgett; Scully had put ice on his broken finger here, and announced her resignation, and threatened Skinner with a gun, and once, in that mushroom-induced hallucination, told him that she believed in his aliens. He pulled himself to a sitting position and reached for the phone again, to make it real. "Scully." "Scully. It's here." Her voice was half-amused, half-annoyed. "What's here? This month's issue of Playboy?" "Scully--the guys came by. We have to go. We have to go now." "Go where? Another trip to Vegas? I have plans for a nice normal Saturday afternoon, Mulder, and they don't include a case that the Lone Gunmen dreamed up." "This isn't a damn case! This isn't the dress rehearsal. This is the real thing. It's here. We have to get out of the city. I've already called your mom. I'll be by to pick you up as soon as I can. You need to get packing--" Springing to his feet, he resumed his pacing, kicking his shoes out of the way and under the coffee table. "Mulder, slow down. Do you even have proof of this? Did they give you anything besides the word of some shady informant?" He wished he had some rumbling of the earth, some bright light, to make her believe. "They've been keeping an eye on Senator Matheson, who left town in a helicopter two hours ago. Some of their people intercepted a military frequency that's talking about evacuations of bases. Others have told them about disappearances of scientists that have been under suspicion, of men associated with the Consortium. Heading for safety." "That doesn't necessarily mean--" "They can give you proof, but not if we're both dead. We need to go." He heard acceptance begin to creep into her voice, even as she protested. "There's been no announcement, no--" "I don't even know if the President knows. We've got to get out of the city before people know, before there's a panic, before the electricity goes. You know the fastest way to disable everything would be an EMP. We've got to get out of here before then." "You've called my mom?" "Yeah. I'll be there in half an hour." "I'll be ready," she said, the Navy daughter who had moved twelve times in her childhood without complaining, the partner who had gone with him to stake out Leonard Betts's mother's house, to explore a haunted house on Christmas, to investigate any number of phenomena that couldn't, of course, be real. He should have disconnected, but he stood in the middle of the floor, listening to her breathe. If the cell phones went, and they would, this would be the last time they spoke like this. The closeness of her voice in his ear, her breathing, had sometimes been more intimate than her presence in the same office; he had told things to her level, bodiless voice that he could never have told her flawless face. She inhaled sharply, and he knew she was steadying herself, restoring equilibrium. "I should warn you, Mulder," she said finally, her voice only a little shaky, "that if you're right, you're only allowed a certain number of I-told-you-so's. If you say it too often, I'm going to find another ride." He managed a short laugh. "But will another ride bring you the Rocky Road that's in his freezer?" "So hurry up and get here, Mulder." "I will," he said. "I'll see you as soon as possible." He disconnected without saying goodbye; they never said goodbye. Ice cream from the freezer, then, and spoons. He threw in a half-empty bag of sunflower seeds as well. Gym bag, knapsack, sleeping bag. Cell phone in his pocket, leather jacket on his back, gun in its holster, keys in his hand. The phone rang, and he reached for his pocket before he realized that it wasn't his cell. Goddammit, if this was Langly, telling him that this had all been an elaborate practical joke, he was going to kill them all. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, this is Charles Newman. I'm SAC on the Paneski case. As you may have heard, we're short-staffed right now, and--" "I can't." He added, lamely, "I'm sorry." "There's a child involved," said Newman. "A girl. We might have a chance at finding her alive. We might." "I can't. I'm--" "We already got permission from Skinner to borrow you. You're stuck with this assignment, Mulder, like it or not, and--" "No, I'm not," he said. "Newman?" "What?" "You're not going to believe me, but--get out of the city this weekend. You and anyone you love. Now." "What the--the fuck are you talking about? We don't have time for you to pull this Spooky shit on us now. Don't be an asshole." "Get out of the city," he repeated, helplessly, and Newman's voice rose, irate and frustrated, swearing at him, pleading with him for the life of a child whose last hours alive would be spent in Hell. If she wasn't already dead. If he could save her and get her and her family away from the city before the whole world went to Hell, and death at the hands of a psychopath became a small thing by comparison. No. That child's death would never be a small thing. The child, his mother, a man he had sometimes called friend: betrayals that he knew already he would tell Scully about only months or years from now, if ever. If he and Scully were even alive and together and sane a month from now. A day from now. A child, his mother, his friend, and if he didn't leave now, the rest of Scully's life would surely be spent in Hell, and the rest of his own. He let the phone receiver drop gently on the sofa and shouldered his backpack, picked up the gym bag and the sleeping bag and the plastic bag holding the ice cream. Newman's voice continued to come tinnily from the receiver, calling his name as he walked out the door and closed it gently behind him. And started down the hallway. Gun in its holster, keys in his hand.
1194438	On This Quest Ill Keep	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Balin, Ori - Character, Nori, Dori, Óin, Glóin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Gandalf, Beorn, Azog, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Thranduil, Legolas, Bard of Laketown, Tauriel", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Heyerette", "chapters": "15/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-16T00:00:00", "words": "54,415", "Additional Tags": "Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, When I Say Fluff It Means A Lot Of Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Dwarf Courting, Hobbit Courting, Courting on the Road, Thorin Is Courting-Challenged, We will assume Aragorn´s ancestor took care of a Certain Ring, Or that Somebody Else finds It, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Timeline What Timeline, Fluff and Angst", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli/Legolas, Dwalin/Nori - implied", "Series": "To Be Whole", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Splendid.This was just really - Splendid.If they would just hold him up a little higher he might even be able to enjoy the view of the ruined farm from above! Once he had dealt with this vertigo business. But they seemed to be more interested in wider than higher. And generally, he would find himself in agreement with them only he would much rather apply that preference to the roundness of bellies and hips than the stretching of any limbs. The process that led to them was usually much more pleasurable.Especially if they happened to be his own.Courting.Really.Well, if that was courting he was going to have to have some serious words with his suitor. A lot of them.That was, if he made it out of this with all his arms and legs and everything still attached. He sincerely hoped they were not interested in any culinary experiments and would not decide to give the cooking and devouring of tongues a try.He still needed his. ~ ~ ~ ~ When he had finally caught up with the dwarves, out of breath and waving the contract about wildly, he had met with shocked, surprised, beaming and relieved expressions, depending on which dwarf one wished to focus on (the heirs had very much looked as if they would have very much liked to cuddle up to him again – possible some slobbering around the cheeks region would have been involved, too! - and Bilbo had, quickly and precautionally - his instinct of self-preservation having rapidly sharpened when first exposed to those two, thank you - stepped up to Balin, who had taken the long roll of parchment and had made a little show of inspecting it for all things order).And then - Then there had been - The king.Thorin.Seated on his pony, with his long mane and in his long fur coat; all majesty and power in his bearing, no immediate emotion – good or bad - visible on his stern, noble countenance.The hobbit´s shoulders had slumped a little. Well, what did he expect. He had practically shooed them all out of his door – without breakfast! - and had moreover rejected the dwarf´s advances. Interest. Flirting. Courting. Eru - Besides, he had not come for - that. At all. Not. Nope. Certainly not. He was the burglar. Hired to steal from a dragon. Nothing more. Or less. Yes. Thank you. And - He caught the king´s gaze.Oh. Well.That was quite - Thorin was looking at him as if he -Well.Good thing he was not edible.And he was not blushing. At all. In the slightest. It was just the wind. Which was – not that cold, really, yes, but - He quickly made certain that he was looking elsewhere. So. There he was.Official burglar to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.All written and signed on paper and all that.So.Right.Shouldn´t they set - You know …. get going?To the mountain? Not that he was in any particular hurry to make the mighty Smaug´s acquaintance but it looked like rain and he´d rather not start this adventure off getting soaked to his bones and very likely ending up with a nasty bout of a cold and he had not thought to bring an extra blanket for warmth and had quite forgotten his handkerchief, come to think of it, and -“Get him a pony.”And - What? “What - no! No, no, no; there is really no need to -” Pony? What should he be doing with a pony?! He was very much able to walk, being a hobbit and all that. Thank you very much. He had taken walking holidays, even! No need to put him onto one of those - “Really. Thank you, but I´ll – arrrggghhhh! -” Those - Those -See if he´ll make them any cupcakes now!And no apple anything for their uncle.Ever.Especially not after that smirk!Bilbo would not even dignify that with -Oh Eru -That thing – pony - was moving. The hobbit found himself clutching at the reins.Tightly. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Burglar.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Uhm... good evening?”Because really, what did you say to a dwarf that suddenly plops down next to you and calmly and slowly begins to take care of his battleaxe? Rather lovingly, too! It was an axe, wasn´t it? Not an old, battered, beloved book; the delicate pages of which being in need of special, meticulous, tender care. Not a … love token (or so he sincerely hoped because, well, that would be just weird, wouldn´t it?). Not even one of those shiny gems the dwarves were so fond of. And also not anything in any way edible which had to be prepared for the dinner the hobbit would be very much in favour of partaking of rather sooner than later, thank you very much. Really.He should have insisted on having a Feed The Hobbit clause put into the contract, before signing it. So. Right.The dwarf probably wanted something. Seeing that he had sought him out in that little spot he had found himself, close enough to the fire to benefit from its warmth but far enough from the ongoing physical bout the two younger Durins had engaged in and which goal appeared to be to bash the head of the other into the muddy ground – and it had rained, eventually! - as often as possible while engaging into a weird sort of a dance at the same time; arms and limbs grabbing and pulling and poking and - And they had called out to him to join them. Enthusiastically. Repeatedly. And Bilbo Baggins was really not enough of a Took to deliberately open himself up to what could only be described as Supreme Danger. No, thank you.And that something wasn´t tea, hopefully. He wasn´t against preparing another cup for the bald warrior as such - it was a little endearing how that curt, big bulk of a dwarf had a passion for his own favourite fruit blend – but this wilderness wasn´t quite the place for a tea party and … He hadn´t brought any leaves. And he did not wish to be responsible for the breaking of any hearts. Tea was a serious matter, after all. And an angry, heartbroken Dwalin might just be - “Ya signed.”Oh, that! Well, yes. Clearly. Or he would not be sitting next to the dwarf, would he?“Yes.”Dwalin grunted, then raised his axe to inspect it from side to side. Apparently, he was not quite satisfied with what he saw. Or so the renewed attention it received suggested. Really, it looked quite sharp and ready enough to a hobbit! In fact - “Ya aren´t going to hurt him.”“Well, of course not, I -” Wait. Now, really -”Excuse me!” The hobbit had scrambled to his furry feet, not at all enamoured with the implication. That was nobody´s business! Not that there was any business – the dwarf had not even spoken a word to him yet! - but if there were any business he´d appreciate it if - “I am not - now, look, Mister Dwalin!” He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I understand, really, I do, but that´s – that´s – private. Personal. Not that there is anything to be private about but even so, I´d appreciate it if it could be kept private. So. Thank you. And – and I´ll go and help Bombur with dinner now. So - excuse me.”The flushed hobbit´s attempt at a dignified retreat was prevented by the presence of a very solid form at his back. Which he collided with. Into. Having taken a determined step backwards. ~ ~ ~ ~ "Master Baggins." ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin was not pleased.Not pleased that he had not yet spoken to the hobbit.Not pleased that the hobbit had not made any effort to approach him.Not pleased that while the hobbit had made the decision to become the company´s burglar after all and had joined the quest, he evidently did not consider himself in any way bound to the king. He had hoped - It had taken all his self-control to leave the hobbit behind in his cosy, warm hobbit hole with his soft bed and his many books and maps and to not force his way into the hobbit´s bedchamber once more and throw himself at the hobbit´s adorably large feet and to not beg him to -But the hobbit had made his choice, he had obviously not felt the pull as the king had and Thorin, against every dwarven instinct and possessive fibre in his very being, had hardened himself against the rejection and had resolved to respect the smaller creature´s decision. Disinterest. Willingness to ignore the attraction that was so clearly between them for the sake of - The memory of that one stolen kiss, the feel of that soft body beneath him - Mahal. He was used to solitude. Loss. Deprivation. Loneliness. He had concentrated all his thoughts and efforts after the dragon´s attack on his people; striving to assure that the wandering, homeless, starving dwarves of Erebor could call a place their own again; feed and clothe themselves and their children, regain security and a measurement of contentedness.Thorin had accepted that his duty lay with his kingdom. His people. He had never found himself resenting the truth of it as he had never experienced the stirring of the heart; had long given up any secret hope he might have kept to himself of finding the one who would lighten the darkness in his days, ease his weariness, look at him and see Thorin and not the Prince. Or the King. He had been the prince, had now been the king for the majority of his life and while he had sought out companionship and the occasional offer of relief, the number of those encounters had been small and had become practically non-existent at the time he had met the wizard in Bree. All of which meant he had not expected -The hobbit.Halfling.Burglar.Master Baggins. Bilbo. Bilbo who had looked at him in befuddled consternation, had protested, scolded, huffed, waved his little hands around, made him drink tea and eat obscure hard bread -fingers, offered to braid his hair - touched him - And was now sitting within a safe distance of the fire, talking to Dwalin.Which did nothing to cool the king´s temper; jealousy having instantly welled up within his breast at the sight of his One willing to tolerate the presence of others when he had apparently nothing to say to him.Or did the hobbit expect him to seek him out? The king frowned.He had – to Thorin´s own cost – not known about the most common dwarven courting customs; perhaps some sort of hobbit idiosyncrasy required for the king to take the first step? Cold, blue eyes remained fixed on the strange pair.Until the dwarf abruptly stood and the cracking of twigs and the crunching of leaves could be clearly heard among the nightly sounds of nature. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Uhm … you said you needed to speak to me? Your majesty.”The scowl on the king´s face deepened.“It´s Thorin.”Bilbo resisted the urge to huff. Really - must they go through this again? His memory was under quite admirable control, thank you very much.“Yes, I know that, thank you, but given the circumstances -”“What circumstances?”The king had stiffened; thick arms, which were covered by bracers and the sleeves of a fur lined coat, folding at his chest; his expression one of supreme haughtiness.The hobbit did not know, of course, that various emotions were raging in the dwarf king´s breast; that he was shielding himself from the coming blow, bracing himself in expectation of renewed rejection, when all he wished to do was to crush the small being to his chest and lose himself in his warmth and softness. To the hobbit it signalled that the dwarf had chosen to forget the Little Episode in his smial, possibly regretting it, which was good, of course, because it would all be horribly distracting and – and confusing and there would be a severe lack of privacy involved, not to mention the cultural differences and the fact that he was a hobbit dealing with a dwarf and a king at that and of course he would not find himself courting the dwarf – being courted by the dwarf – but if it had all just been a matter of perceived obligation and making the best of an unfortunate situation, really, Bilbo would have quite liked to have been informed of it before rushing out of his home and chasing after a bunch of dwarves he was quite positive would not know how to look after their ponies – much less themselves! -, intending to prevent their stupidly handsome, irritating king from offering himself up as dragon fare because of any possibly hurt feel-He was a stupid hobbit.A very, very stupid hobbit.It would serve him right if Smaug The Terrible chose to have him for a snack first, if only to spare him further embarrassment.Yes, and he would go back and have a few words with Dwalin because clearly, hurting anyone in this non-existent courtship quite clearly did not come into it! Thank you.And he would never make the deluded dwarf any tea again! In fact - “Halfling.”And now he had forgotten to explain himself to the dwarf. Oh dear.Well, there was nothing to be done about that now – and had he not insisted that there was not any that just mere moments ago? - so - A small, round chin went up defiantly.“I am the burglar, your majesty. I signed a contract and am now in your majesty´s employ. It therefore behoves me to treat your majesty with the to be expected respect and I will be quite -”- surprised to find himself pressed flush against the hard, cold surface of a rock.Uhm - ~ ~ ~ ~ “You try my patience, burglar”, the king growled as he lowered his head to catch the blinking hobbit´s lips in a demanding, silencing kiss. ~ ~ ~ ~ Kissing Bilbo was -Everything.It was sweetness and it was passion; it was hunger and thirst, it was drowning and breathing in air; it was finding a vein of mithril in the deepest, darkest part of a mountain and holding the greatest treasure in one´s hand; it was - Rightness.Wholeness.Home.Kissing the hobbit Thorin was tempted as he had never been tempted before to forget all about the quest, the dragon, the throne, the gold, the crown...He had everything as long as he had the hobbit in his arms. Close to his heart.The hobbit that was - Pushing at him; small fists having come up to press against the king´s chest.Thorin sighed deeply, reluctantly drawing back from the soft, tempting mouth; leaving his eyes closed so as to not meet with the outrage in those speaking eyes just a moment longer.When he did eventually open them, he was surprised by what he faced.It was not outrage.Nor distress.Nor confusion, even.What he met with was - Irritation.Rather prominent, unmistakable irritation.Irritation that made the hobbit´s brows draw together, entirely too kissable lips pursed.And Mahal, the king would like nothing better than to claim them again. Which he was sorely and selfishly bent on doing, leaning in so as to - “Are we courting?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin blinked.“Courting.”“Yes. Courting. That thing that apparently comes with hair braiding and hair touching and I´d assume quite an incomprehensible number of other silly rituals. Its intent being eventual marriage. Courting. Are we?”“I -”“Because if we are I would quite like to be informed of the fact! And if we are not I would prefer to be informed of that, too. If your majesty pleases. And yes -” The very peeved hobbit continued mercilessly, “- your name is Thorin. Please don´t make me go through that again. Or at least not before I´ve had my dinner. Which I really, really hope will be quite soon. So?”The king frowned, trying to make sense of the abrupt change in atmosphere in his still somewhat pleasure-hazed mind. One moment the hobbit – his hobbit – Bilbo – had returned his kiss, the other his arms found themselves decidedly hobbit-less and Thorin was being interrogated on matters that were entirely too complicated for the dwarf to attend to at that precise moment.But apparently, he needed to attend to them at just that precise moment, or so the exasperated huff that preceded his One´s intention of removing himself from his vicinity after a prolonged silence suggested.A hand shot out.“Wait.” ~ ~ ~ ~ That –That - Dwarf! Honestly.If they were still in Bag End he would have no scruple in sending the dwarf to the nearest corner and telling him to stay there and think about what he had done. Well, yes, that those corners did not strictly exist, given his hobbit hole was, on the whole, quite a round hole, as it were, might be a tad of a problem but the hobbit would be very happy to work around that. He could just as well send the stupid creature to his room and - And there went his mind again. Which had taken quite a turn towards frivolity since he had first become acquainted with dwarves. He shuddered to think what would happen to it now that he found himself on the quest. With all those … dwarves. He was doomed! Clearly. And so was his poor mind. Clearly. Only it had already taken leave of its senses. Very clearly. Because if it had not long done so Bilbo would not currently find himself where he had already found himself back in his lovely, little smial, which was having been kissed nearly senseless by an obviously unhinged member of that idiotic species! And he was definitely not going to think about how wonderful it had felt to have those hands on his person again and how an unprecedented number of butterflies seemed to have temporarily taken up residence in his belly; no, thank you! He might have to murder the dwarf.Smaug could say whatever the dragon should wish to say to that but surely having the contents of one´s already severely befuddled mind – he had gone on a bloody adventure! - constantly rearranged counted as much more grievous an offence than a mere attempt at ejecting an overgrown lizard from a mountain; lonely or otherwise. And now - Now - The stupidly lovely dwarf was gazing at him as if he had grown another head! Or sprouted a beard, at the very least.Well.The hobbit was going to lay down the ground rules. Of this relationship.Courtship.Any ship.As it were.If he was going to be kissed at any given moment of the day – and the hobbit was not against that part of the journey. Entirely. The dwarf did know what he was doing, after all. And hobbits were creatures of comfort. And pleasure. And – Eru, his mind really had taken leave of its senses. He would have to take a cleansing holiday before returning to the Shire or his neighbours would be scandalised! Once they got over the shock of Bilbo Baggins having set off on an adventure to begin with. - He did not care to be a mere distraction. He wanted - More.He thought.Possibly.Likely.It was just - His respectable Baggins side firmly reminded him that he had known the dwarf but a mere three days. Which, even to a confirmed bachelor whom less well-meaning persons might deem desperate enough to take a chance of an offer when he was presented with it, was a Very Short Time. His decidedly less respectable Took-ish side ventured to put before him that short acquaintance or not, his attraction to the dwarf had been instant and he had liked him well enough to nurture, worry and pet him so really, what was the hobbit even moaning about. Slow. Maybe.And with proper courting. Definitely.And the dwarf had better go along with it or there would be no further kissing involved.King or not.Oh Eru!Thorin was a king.Bilbo Baggins; proper, respectable, confirmed bachelor hobbit was considering being courted by a king.Right.So.Uhm - Or was he already being courted by the king?He supposed he had better ask.To have – clarity. You know.To not confuse his purpose on this quest. And all that.And really, the dwarf had a serious communication problem to begin with! And no proper notion of how a courtship should be approached, as they had previously learned back in Hobbiton. So - “Are we courting?” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Stay. Please. Bilbo, I -” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin congratulated himself on his presence of mind that was convincing the hobbit to have their talk away from the camp. And the dwarves in it.He could not have tolerated the knowing smiles from Balin. Nor the crude signs from Dwalin. And as for the cackles of his nephews - He still had need of his heirs.If he did not wish for Dain to take over his mountain.It was lowering enough that any attempt he had so far made at claiming the hobbit for his own had been very much of a ...Disaster.Dis would join in her sons´ cackling. And then cuff him on the back of his head.He had to let the hobbit know how essential his presence was on this quest. At the king´s side.How he -He had never been good with words. Feelings – emotions – were something he had learned to repress. They were of no use on a battlefield, they did not bring food on his people´s tables, they did not serve any other purpose than distracting from what needed to be done and what use were emotions when you were clearly destined to spend your life with no-one at your side?Oh, he did possess some feelings.Anger.Rage.Thorin did not forgive.He did not forget.And any more tender emotions that he harboured secreted within his cold heart were concentrated solely on his sister and her sons. He loved them fiercely, even if that love was firmly hidden under a stern, detached mask.And then a round, green door opened to him and - Thorin let his thumb brush over the knuckles of a small hand.“I would court you, Master Baggins. If you will allow me.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Well.Thorin certainly had an interesting idea of what courting entailed.Or so Bilbo thought.Finding himself dangling about.Above ground.Courtesy of a troll. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “What were you doing?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thank you, Bilbo.I am pleased you are unharmed, Bilbo.My sincere gratitude for assuring that we were not eaten by trolls, Bilbo.And our ponies.All of these were utterances the hobbit would have been very happy to accept. Or a hug, alternatively. A kiss, even.He would have very much liked a kiss.He would have deserved a kiss.What he was not at all happy to accept was the snarl in the king´s voice, nor the clear implication that he had been to blame for the ludicrous situation the company had found itself in but moments earlier; his personal high point having been that special snowflake of a troll mistaking him for a string puppet. His arms might never recover.And the nearly bruising grip on them was certainly not assisting with the matter.Really. ~ ~ ~ ~ He had merely taken the boys their dinner.Or that he been the plan.Their kingly uncle had eventually snapped and had ruthlessly put them on pony-guarding duty. Which would very likely have taken place without any minding of the state of their bellies but the hobbit; stupid, misguided, impressionable being that he was; had put his foot down and had informed his irritable suitor that he would not be standing for any starving of the young merely because his majesty was in one of his moods! The camp had gone suddenly silent, various mouths gaping and some pairs of eyes darting between leader and burglar. Except for a certain tattooed warrior, who continued to calmly brush off the mud from his leg bracers, seemingly unperturbed by this attack on his king´s honour. Which had resulted in even more gaping.Honestly.You´d think the dwarves had been made from fish rather than from any stone they so proudly laid claim to.The one who had not been gaping had been the king. The king - Had taken to grumbling.Once he had stopped staring at the hobbit in what could only be described as mute astonishment.It had been quite endearing, really.Sweet, even.But Bilbo had known better than to further ruffle the kingly feathers.So he had let the dwarf growl and mumble to himself about insolent, cheeky hobbits and had wandered off to deliver the bowls of hot stew to the princes.And to pinch their respective ears for all the teasing he had been subjected to that day in the manner of “But flowers would really suit uncle´s hair, Bilbo!”, “Excuse me; young, easily traumatised, impressionable dwarf coming through!” (Well nobody had told them to spy on his conversation with the king. And especially not behind any bushes. Thank you.) and all the Uncle Boggins!-ing.Except – it had not been any ears that been in any danger. As such. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Lost them.”“Uhm – yes, but you see, Mister Boggins -”“You lost them. The ponies.”“No! Yes – I mean, not all of them; just the two and -”Bilbo felt a strong inclination to bury his face in his hands. Or dig himself a hole. That would be happy to swallow him up. Or something equally self-preserving.“How do you even lose a pony?!” “I don´t know”, the younger dwarf, having briefly pondered the question, turned to his brother, an expression of mild interest on his almost beardless face. “Fili, how does one lose a pony?”Who did not appear to be even remotely more learned on the subject than his kin.“I – uhm -”Or perhaps death by self-skewering? That branch over there looked as if it would be quite capable of doing the job.But then there would be no more - And he was just getting used to the dwarf doing that thing - Right.Best to deal with one idiosyncrasy at a time. “I really don´t believe you two!”, the hobbit exclaimed with all the respectable hobbit exasperation he was capable of. “Next time I will just keep your dinner for myself, see if – no, don´t give me that look, I am not interested in your pouting, thank you very much! And not in yours either, Fili!”, he added hastily. Firmly. When he spied the older heir attempting to take up his brother´s favourite pastime. Now where could the ponies have gone?Two of them were missing.And really – how did something the size of a pony just disappear? And then another? Was there a hole somewhere in the ground he actually could have requested to swallow him up? Could someone not have told him? No, they just left him to his – and that was a light.Quite clearly, that was a light. Over there. Behind those broken tree stumps and bent over branches.And those were - Trolls. Lovely. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You should investigate.”“Yes -” Wait, what? “What?!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Clearly, that boy had a few rocks loose in his head.“No, he shouldn´t!” And his brother seemed to agree with that assessment. Good. Thank you. Really - “Uncle would have our beards if we let him go over there! Remember what he said about keeping him safe at all times and -”Excuse me?Keep him - “Thorin told you to keep me safe?”“Huh?” Fili, a little distracted due to the half-whispered, energetic debate he had engaged in with his sibling, turned his head to blink at the hobbit. “Wha – sure he has! You´re his intended!`Course he´s going to see to it that you´re not doing anything foolish. Won´t do to have our burglar perish before we even reach the mountain, will it?”The grin on the young dwarf´s face diminished as quickly as the friendly pat on the shoulder had clearly not impressed their hobbit.Fili frowned.“Bilbo? Are you alright?”There was a strange expression on the hobbit´s face as he seemed to ponder his answer. Then - “Perfectly. If you boys will excuse me now -” He firmly ignored the confused expressions and worried eyes as he made to stroll forward. “I have some trolls to meet.” ~ ~ ~ ~ In hindsight, he may have been a bit hasty, of course. Or have overestimated the trolls´ penchant for making new acquaintances. They certainly lacked the most basic of social skills.And they strangely did not take kindly to any attempts of pet-rescuing either. Not that the ponies were pets, per se, but Bilbo had grown quite fond of his own Myrtle and was not going to stand by and watch some overgrown, smelly, manner-less lumps nibbling at her and her compatriots for breakfast. Lunch. And dinner. Well, probably only the latter, what with the appetite they enjoyed that put even a hobbit to shame and the time of the day, but he liked Myrtle and if he had to trot to the Lonely Mountain on a hairy creature – the exposure to which gave him such occasional bouts of sneezing! And he hadn´t been able to find his bloody handkerchief before running out of his hole! - he was going to do so on none but Myrtle and those trolls would just have to deal with that fact.Yes.Well.Of course they had caught him.Eventually.Even trolls – and the hobbit had rapidly learned that their intelligence did not stretch all too far – could not be that stupid.But really, had it been necessary to sneeze on him?He would need to bathe. Somewhere.He´d ask Thorin whether he knew of any stream nearby. Or a pond, possibly. No. Wait. He´d ask Dwalin. Or Balin. And not because he feared that any kingly hands involved in the matter could take funny ideas into their heads if he were to ask their owner; nor any such appendages as belonged to himself, no, thank you, he was quite a respectable hobbit!, but – and surely they were not at such a stage in their courtship that it would be disloyal of him to state so – Thorin - Had no sense of direction.At all.He would probably just lead the whole company back to the Shire. Or in a circle.Even if he did know of a bathing opportunity nearby.And get all haughty and kingly when someone should even hint at the possibility.Bilbo himself had only been the recipient of a glower.And then had the opportunity to admire the dwarf´s broad, well-defined back when the same had pointedly turned away and had urged his pony forward.And had let Balin take the lead.The hobbit had to bite back a smile at the memory.Or he would have.Were he not covered in slimy, green, unsavoury troll snot and Yavanna knew what else it was that had come out of the manner-less creature´s nose!Yes, and it was all Thorin´s fault!That dwarf quite took the biscuit.Telling the others to play watchdog over the hobbit.He was quite capable of looking after himself, thank you very much.And his current situation was just a minor glitch.Fine, more of a major glitch but still - “- ferret!” Ferret?! Now really!“I am most certainly not a ferret! Do you see any tail? No? Well that should tell you that I am nothing of the sort.”The hobbit, held up for the troll´s – Bert, wasn´t it? Or it may have been William. Or possibly Tom? - inspection by the lapel of his coat, had crossed his arms defiantly. Ferret. Honestly. Those trolls should take a long, long walk around Middle Earth and acquaint themselves with its resident creatures. If they couldn´t even tell a -“But there´s fur on ya feet!”Now that -“No there isn´t. It´s just hair!”Wait. He was arguing with a troll, wasn´t he? A troll that could crush him in the blink of an eye? Or worse – eat him?“But that´s what I was sayin´! Fur!” Clearly, he was. And the troll seemed almost affronted. Maybe he wasn´t used to havin his verdict doubted? That could be it, the hobbit conceded. Seeing he probably had little opportunity to converse with his designated meals. At his own instigation, mind you. Bilbo could almost sympathise – an empty stomach really was quite a nasty, unpleasant thing – except not quite when he made up said designated meal. Did the troll really think a hobbit would fill his rather enormous belly? Oh, but that was the problem, wasn´t it. He had no idea what a hobbit even was.Ugh.He had never been made for this tutor stuff and - “Stop playin´ with tha food, Tom!” Tom, then. “And give ´m a little wash – I won´t have ya nastiness touch me pot!”Right.He was, quite possibly, dealing with the most imbecilic trolls that had ever graced the lands of Arda. And his back had begun to hurt. In fact, he would quite like for the troll to put him down and be on his way, thank you.And then make a run for it and throw himself – quite shamelessly, too, he was sorry, but he was quite past being respectable or proper at that stage! - at a certain high-handed, pigheaded dwarf and hold onto the lapels of his thick, thick coat and bury himself in -“ - not playin´! Jus´asking the ferret what he is!”Eru, not this again.“Look -” Bilbo assembled the last stretches of his affronted dignity and eyed the troll – Tom – with what he could only hope to be disinterested interest. “I am not a ferret or a toy or – anything of interest, really. Just a mere burgl – hobbit. And I would really be very much obliged to you if you would just let me down and be on my really quite uninteresting hobbit-y way!”“A burglhobbit?” Tom had scrunched up his nose in confusion. Or as much as it was possible with the really quite impressive growth on his face. It was bigger than Bilbo´s favourite cooking pot! “What´s a burgl-” "Release him!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo, on the whole not unhappy to see Kili, would have nevertheless liked to point out to the clearly suicidal dwarf that if he had a death wish, being burnt to a crisp while defending his hearth and home, as it were, would be a decidedly more dignified, not to mention heroic – which he had somewhat of an inkling of being a matter of Great Importance To A Dwarf Of Durin´s Line - way to go than being swallowed hole by a linguistically, temperamentally and intelligence-challenged troll. ~ ~ ~ ~ ”What were you doing?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Fear.Overwhelming, paralysing, mind-numbing - Fear.Fear as he had never felt fear before.He had feared for his people.His father.For Frerin.He feared for his sister-sons every single moment he omitted to suppress his growing guilt that had begun to nag at him for taking them on his quest.The fear he felt upon seeing the hobbit held up by his limbs - The fear that had struck him into the deepest recesses of his heart.If he should have lost -It was that fear that had led to the king lashing out at the company´s burglar once they had all been freed from their confinement in the sacks the by then congealed trolls had seen fit to use in order to prevent their wriggling, squirming, slashing and shouting soon-to-be snacks from fleeing before they could be roasted on a makeshift grill.No thanks to their burglar for being the means of extricating the dwarves from their indignity. Parasites or not.If he had not - The king snarled; his anger unmistakable as he let the control he usually held so tightly over his emotions slip; his fingers digging into the hobbit´s arm, certain to leave a mark.“How dare you undermine my authority? You were told that I wished for you to keep away from – is this how you mean to treat me for allowing my affections, my lo - ” He saw the hobbit´s surprise; consternation – hurt, even; but all that made him focus at that moment was the understanding that the hobbit, his love, his One had deliberately, foolishly walked into the trolls´ camp in a stubborn attempt at getting to the ponies, having no thought for his own safety and the feelings of the one he had assented to court; had agreed to be courted by; fully ignoring the stipulations that came with such an agreement. He had known – Bilbo had known that he wanted him safe. Bilbo had deliberately defied his orders. He had - “You foolishly risk the lives of this company - your life! My - Do I mean so little to -” The dwarf seemed to reign himself in with supreme effort, the cold fury in his eyes making those of the company that had stepped up to come to the slumping hobbit´s defence take a hesitant step back. “Pack up your belongings, Master Baggins. We are moving on within the hour. Dwalin, Nori, Gloin – there will be a cave nearby.” The king then walked off without another word, making it clear that he expected the three dwarves to follow him, paying no further attention to the one he had begun to officially court. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Don´t mind him, laddie. Thorin is not used to having his heart touched.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo did mind.He minded that Thorin had chosen to berate him in front of the entire company and its resident wizard – not that arguments amongst hobbits were unheard of but they were usually kept within the walls of the participants´ homes; or at least enjoyed where no foreign eyes could feast upon the spectacle, thank you – and he very much minded the accusation of not caring for the dwarf´s feelings on the matter when it had been the dwarf who had made decisions on his behalf without even pretending to consult him!And then to just stalk off, like a … a - The hobbit huffed to himself, attacking the tear on his coat with renewed ferocity. Stupid troll.Stupid dwarf.Stupid dwarf whom Balin had suggested he corner and interrogate on the subject of dwarven courting customs. Which, the old dwarf had hinted at, might prove a little difficult to adhere to on the road but he felt confident Master Baggins and the king would find an agreement to their satisfaction.“I´m a hobbit”, Bilbo had mulishly pointed out, if thawing a little due to some of the information that Balin had consented to share with him and his own growing -No, but it couldn´t be love. Not yet. Yes, he liked the dwarf. He was quite ridiculously attracted to the dwarf. He did not at all mind the kisses. Would not mind... more. The hobbit blushed while bending further over his coat. (Quite an un-Bagginsish thing to admit to!). He wanted to run his fingers through the surprisingly silken mane most of the day. (But that could just be a hair fetish!) He wanted to soothe away the pain and the darkness that surrounded Thorin at times, when he thought himself unobserved and his thoughts turned to Azanulbizar, to the Pale Orc, the loss of his grandfather and father and brother … Erebor … Smaug … the quest …The hobbit sighed.They needed to talk. In fact - „That is quite a big sigh for one hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.“ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Was there something you needed, Gandalf?”Really, Bilbo was in no mood to deal with the wizard.It was the wizard´s fault that he currently found himself mending his favourite coat, the wizard´s fault that he had almost been nibbled on by trolls, the wizard´s fault that he had met the most odious, insufferable, endearing dwarf alive and - “My dear Bilbo, I rather think I have something you need.”And with that, the the grey-hatted wizard presented the hobbit with a - Sword. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin had not been looking at the hobbit.After the hobbit.For the hobbit.He had not been looking at the hobbit when the hobbit had smiled at Ori in thanks for lending him needle and thread.He had not been looking at the hobbit when he had accepted a bowl of stew from Bombur.And also not the second serving, which, entirely too polite being that the hobbit was, the hobbit had tried to refuse. Only to be glared into quick submission by a passing Dwalin.He had also not been looking at the hobbit when the hobbit had put a bandage around Fili´s cut; nor when he had inspected the back of Kili´s head for any bumps.And he had most certainly not been looking at the hobbit when the hobbit had caught him looking at the hobbit.And he had not seen the small, tentative smile on the hobbit´s face. That had made him look away in angry embarrassment.He did not stare.He was above staring.But Mahal, the hobbit made it hard for him to not - Look.With his pretty curls and cute little nose and soft, kissable mouth and warm smile and entirely silly waistcoat and - Thorin loved him.He loved the hobbit.He loved the hobbit with every fibre of his being, his very soul, with everything that he was. The hobbit was his One.His heart.And to not be able to be near him, to enjoy his company, his mere presence; to have his smiles directed at himself (and not at Bofur. Or Ori. Or even his nephews.), to feel his touch, his - When the hobbit was so close - The king had kept his distance since their argument at the foot of the troll´s camp.He had been too wounded in his pride at first; in his position as leader, as King; his anger an ever-boiling presence in the back of his mind. Later, he had been -He was -Ashamed.It had not taken Balin´s silent disapproval; nor Dwalin´s more vocal expression of his discontent; nor the wizard´s unwelcome – and very much direct – hinting that the one Mahal had intended as the other part of his soul wasn´t a dwarf but a hobbit and perhaps the king should bear that small fact in mind when taking the next step in his courtship of Master Baggins.Thorin resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.He should protect the hobbit.His hobbit.Bilbo.He should protect Bilbo, cherish Bilbo, love Bilbo.And, in his fear and rage, had possibly driven him away. And he needed him.Bilbo.He needed - “Thorin?” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Those eyes.Those very deep, very blue, very speaking, very sad - Wait.What -Sad?The hobbit´s brow creased.What had happened?Besides their stupid argument, that was.But that had just been an argument, hadn´t it. People argued. Hobbits argued. Dwarves most certainly argued. A lot. And they bashed heads together and wrestled each other to the ground and poked and smacked and cuffed and sneered and bit (or that may have been just Kili. That boy really was entirely too territorial over his baked goods.) and - This dwarf looked - Lost.Completely, utterly, vulnerably lost. As those eyes bore into the hobbit´s.Something pulled around the general region of Bilbo´s breastbone.His intention had been to firmly and politely inform the dwarf that he did not appreciate decisions being made for him and most especially not without any consultation whatsoever and that if his majesty should wish to enter into any form of energetic debate with him he would very much appreciate it if he would choose a more private setting for the same in the future, thank you. He did not enjoy being made a spectacle of in public.And he would still inform the stupid dwarf of all that.Later.Because - “Oh Thorin.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Soft.So very, very soft.And the scent - Honey and tea and soap and earth and home and Bilbo - Thorin buried his face in the golden curls.If this was to be the last time - If the hobbit was offering him this last comfort - Strong arms tightened their hold.How could he - “Uhm, Thorin -?”The dwarf mumbled something in the incomprehensible growl of a secret language the hobbit had no hope of understanding. Especially not as it was mumbled into his hair.Right then.“Thorin. You´re crushing me.”The dwarf flinched, instantly drawing back and standing in front of the fallen trunk of a tree which had been his chosen retreat since the company had set up camp, a little removed from the general activities dwarves and wizard had chosen to take to.“My apologies, Master Baggins.” Thick arms crossed in front of a fur-coated chest, the handsome face set as if in stone. “How may I serve you?” I will do anything you ask of me. “I -” I am sorry. “Well, I thought I´d - Do not leave me. “Look, Thorin. We need to -” I need you. “It´s just that – I´m a hobbit and -” You are mine. “ - you are a dwarf and -” Please.“- so we need to -”I cannot let you go. “- and that´s what is going to happen. Between you and me. So - ““No.”“Yes – wait - NO? What -”Bilbo spluttered.Well, really! Did the dwarf just – oh no. No, no, no. He would not stand for this, certainly not. If that dwarf thought he could just - “You – excuse me, your majesty, but if you wish for this whole stupid courtship to actually lead somewhere you will just have to accept that there has to be some sort of compromise or other. You can´t go about ordering the others to do your bidding without speaking to me first! It´s – it´s overbearing. And embarrassing. And I am a Baggins, of Bag End, and I will not be treated like a – a fauntling. Thank you.”And the hobbit sincerely hoped he had brought his point across now. Because really, it would be such a shame if he had to trudge back to Hobbition now that he was getting used to all the grumpiness and grouchiness and all those long looks and the view of that lovely, swishing silver streaked mane from atop his pony and the whole kissing business and - “You intend to continue our courtship?”And the rocks in the head.Honestly. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin stared.At the hobbit.His hobbit.The hobbit who had just embraced him, had let him bury his face in his honey-coloured curls, the hobbit who would have been within his rights to declare their courtship at an end over the dwarf´s failure to fulfil even the first of the required tasks set to a suitor. The hobbit who was standing there, in front of Thorin, with flushed cheeks and the air of one exasperated beyond belief and yet - It was not broken.Had not been broken.They were not broken.Bilbo had spoken of concessions, of compromise. Of - The dwarf´s face slowly transformed. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Conti- were you even listening to what I said? Honestly, Thorin, you really have to -”Oh.Well.That was quite - That really should not be - Allowed.Because - That was - Distracting.And simply -Unfair.Yes.He was going to tell the dwarf that he was not permitted to take to that around the hobbit. Not without prior warning.He had to concentrate.He had a dragon to meet. Steal from a dragon. Escape from a dragon without any bum-burn of any sort if it can at all be helped, thank you.And he would most seriously, certainly, definitely, absolutely, unfortunately be distracted if any dwarf kings within his general vicinity took to -Smiling like that.Thank Eru Bilbo was not one to indulge himself in fainting.But the dwarf needed to stop.Before the hobbit did something stupid.Like latching on to him and - There were witnesses about.And he´d quite like to hang on to at least a semblance of his respectability for a little while longer, if that could be arranged.Right.So - What had they been talking about?Oh, that. That. Well, that dwarf was going to learn to listen. To Bilbo, preferably. Definitely. He was not going to walk around Middle Earth with more than one hearing-impaired companion to worry about (although Oin, at least, bless his heart, always at least made an effort to listen. Which was more than the hobbit was currently inclined to believe of his king.), thank you very much. So.Really.“Oh, stop it now! Really. You, Master Oakenshield -” The hobbit had recovered his befuddled senses enough to poke a speaking finger into a firm kingly chest - “Are really much more trouble than you´re worth. Yes, and I don´t even know what I´m going to do with you! And don´t smile at me like that when I´m angry with you! It´s distracting. And rude. And moreover - ““Dôlzekh Menu.“ ~ ~ ~ ~ Well.It was an improvement, at all events.From being shouted at.And looking into those sad, lost eyes.And all that Not. Really. Listening.Although he would have to ask the dwarf about that forehead-knocking.And that grunt that was supposedly a language.No matter how softly presented. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Personally, and if anyone should care to ask him, Bilbo would be only to happy to do without any orcs coming to anyone´s borders. Near them. Even a respectable distance of them.And they were quite welcome to keep those overgrown, slobbering, growling, biting, snarling and decidedly ugly pets of theirs very far away, too!They had got to Thorin.Well, they had almost got to Fili but Thorin had rushed to his nephew´s side and had pushed him down and - Thank Yavanna the elves had arrived.Bilbo did not want to think of what would have happened if Lord Elrond and his warriors had not come to the dwarves´ aid.And he seemed to be the only member of the company plagued by such thoughts (Did they really have to be so rude all the time? The hobbit felt a constant need to apologise for one dwarf or another). Well, except for Gandalf, perhaps. Who had wandered off with their elven host and had not been seen in quite some time, leaving the hobbit to wonder what the dratted old wizard might be up to now because if he had learned one thing during the course of their journey so far it was that Gandalf the Grey was always up to something, especially when he seemed to be not to be up to something at all. Of which the wizard had given quite a splendid impression once he had retreated from the chamber the elves had the leader of the company put up in, wonderfully stoic and unimpressed by the dwarf´s growling and altogether quite rude behaviour considering the healers had seen to his injury and had tried their best to make him as comfortable as possible for the duration of time he would be required to remain abed.A few days, the healers had said.To the king´s immediate and unmistakable dislike. And protest.Which had made Bilbo glare at him.Fiercely.And then threaten to leave the room and the king to his healers´ mercy if he didn´t stop being a cloth-head and started to behave himself.Which had the dwarf turn quite red in the face but – to what the hobbit had judged to be a very young elf´s barely there but still visible amusement, if one were quick enough to catch that mild twitch around the lips region – also, eventually, made him relent and adopt an almost pouting expression as he accused the hobbit of caring more for elves - the dwarf really could not have kept his distaste out of his voice, could he? - than the one he was supposed to court.A fauntling.Clearly.Well, Bilbo had quite a bit of experience with dealing with those. The Tooks had quite an interesting approach to ensuring successions, after all. ~ ~ ~ ~ He had very much hoped it had not been a wolf.And it had really been quite impolite of Bofur to crush that hope. Immediately.And worse – the hatted dwarf had to go ahead and inform him that it was worse. In a manner of speaking. The dwarf did point out that it had not been a wolf but before he could as much as enlighten the hobbit on the tell-tale differences between the various canines to be found out in the wild – why had he left his cosy little smial again? Oh. Quite. That. Honestly, that dwarf really was very lucky. - one such exemplary had leaped over the bushes and trunks and would have landed straight on the king, whose back had been turned to the beast, if Kili had not shot it. The second warg had been felled by Thorin himself and the last one confident enough to take a chance where his pack members had failed had made the acquaintance of Dwalin´s battle axe. Its skull, that was.The king had not taken kindly to the wizard questioning him on his secrecy. Thorin swore he had told no-one about the quest when prompted. With emphasis. The thought of Thorin – of the company – being hunted...And then they had happened upon the plains. All the corn and grass that happily grew in parts of them had made Bilbo sneeze a little – it just had to be that time of the year! - but he would have happily sneezed all day long if it had meant they could have crossed them without being forced to outrun yet more wargs and their riders and finding themselves eventually forced to hold their ground and engage both beasts and masters in battle.Kili´s arrows flew, Fili´s twin swords slashed; as did their uncle´s trusted weapons and on any other day the hobbit would have been happy to just sit quietly on the side and admire the dwarf´s prowess and how majestic he was in his movements and in the way he held himself but that day, he just wanted to rush up to the king and firmly clutch the lapels of his fur coat and basically hide himself in its folds. Forever. If possible. He would not mind a forever with Thorin.Not that that had been the time to ponder that.The insufferable dwarf really made him think of the most unsuitable things at the most unsuitable of times. He would have to tell the dwarf to stop that.Accepting flowers was a much less straining exercise when it came to courting anyone, thank you.Then the orc had crept up upon the older heir and Fili would have stood no chance at defending himself if it had not been for his uncle.Bilbo shuddered at the memory of Thorin sinking to the ground and his nephew´s terrified shout. The wound had not been lethal, as the elves had later confirmed, but painful and restrictive enough to prevent the dwarf from further defending himself. And the hobbit really did not care to think of the blood loss. And the whiteness on his dwarf´s face.Oh.His.His dwarf.Well.He supposed he was allowed to, now.Considering - And - He quite – liked it.Yes.Uhm - “Bilbo.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin frowned.“You´re here.”“Yes.”“I thought you would be dallying with the elves.”The hobbit bit his lip.“I was going to. But then I decided I was more of a mind to spend my afternoon being grouched at by an impossible dwarf.”The impossible dwarf merely grunted, groping for a small hand and placing it on his – rather more naked - chest. “I do not like the way they look at you. They want to steal you from me, they have no respect for our courting customs and would gladly offer you a place to stay if only you were to ask for it.”“Well, they did -” Bilbo began cheerfully, reaching out to gently brush away an errant dark strand, “Lord Elrond even offered me a placement in the library. I was quite tempted – all those books and scrolls and history! I could be quite happy spending years in there, you know.” The dwarf scowled, pulling at the hand he had been holding onto firmly.“Erebor has a library.”“Oh?”“Yes.” The hand that had been pulling had moved further up to grasp the hobbit´s arm, tugging the smaller being even closer. “And I will build you one in our chambers.”“Thorin! Your wound -”, the hobbit protested, attempting to halt his descend. And anyone might come in, too! And – wait. Our? ~ ~ ~ ~ Too fast, too fast!Or that was what the Baggins side had to loudly say on the subject.The Took side was a little distracted by the sight of the dwarf laid out on the bed, his hair sprawled on both sides of his head, the thin sheet covering his rather nice body (and it´s nothing the hobbit hadn´t seen before, thank you! Well, not that he should have seen it before but he had seen it before so oh never mind that just now -) reaching merely up to under his belly and - Those blue eyes had darkened.Bilbo gulped as he found himself chest to chest. Well, his was very much clothed, thank you. And Thorin´s was - Suitably hairy, he supposed.And that was feeling quite wonderful and - Nope.He did not wish to hurt the dwarf any further. Yes, that meant his injury from his encounter with the blasted orc and …That other thing.Which the dwarf was apparently Quite Firmly Set On.It was flattering, really, it was, but that aside - They really had to talk. Talk talk. As in Bilbo Baggins was going to ask questions and the dwarf was going to answer them and then, if he felt so inclined, ask questions of his own in return. None of the Bilbo Baggins was going to rant until he was done only to have the dwarf smile at him like that without having properly listened again. And they would start Right Now. Or maybe once the dwarf had finished nibbling at his ear and - Right.Talk.Now.Whatever the tip of his ear had to say to that. Because really - It was quite lovely, actually, and – mmmmh - No. “Stop! Thorin!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “But you are caring for me.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin was -Confused.The noble brows furrowed, a crease having appeared on his face.Bilbo was telling him that while Thorin had been courting him – had taken to the customs and traditions of his people – he had not been courting him. And that Bilbo, while he had every intention of courting him, had not yet been courting him. There was quite a bit more his adorably fussy, slightly dishevelled One had been telling him – sternly; which the king considered almost irresistibly cute on the hobbit - but while he had been assuming that he had taken the correct path as many of his forefathers, his kin, his people had before him (and Thorin was not going to acknowledge that binding his heart and his mind to a hobbit could be seen in any way unusual to the same; and he was even less inclined to acknowledge that touching Bilbo, pulling Bilbo in his arms, kissing Bilbo may have been a little premature as far as those customs were concerned. He wanted. Bilbo. He wanted him. And Bilbo -), had been agonising over his failure to protect his One, had been pleased to discover his One at his sick-bed (all very much acknowledged parts of dwarven courting culture, which Balin would be happy to explain further to anyone wishful of learning); his One had - No knowledge of having any need to find himself protected by his suitor.And he had even less knowledge of caring for his suitor in his weakest moments suggesting a readiness to accept the same with all that he was.Thorin had almost gaped. He had wanted to prove himself to the hobbit, had wanted to win the hobbit.He had wanted to make the hobbit care for him as much as he cared for - Hobbits did not have Ones.He should never have asked that elf for that book. ~ ~ ~ ~ So that was why the dwarves had practically pushed him into the chamber.And he had asked Lindir if he could be admitted to the kitchens to prepare a little treat for the sneaky, interfering, pushy lot! Really.Well of course he was going to look after Thorin! Thorin had been injured. Defending his sister-son (he was going to have to have a little talk with that silly boy, too, because really – anyone knew it had not been his fault but would Fili accept that? Stubborn. Like his uncle. Ugh, those Durins. The only Durin who was surprisingly level-headed about the affair was Kili and wasn´t that scary, as a thought.). He was not at all a hard-hearted hobbit but even if he were a hard-hearted hobbit it would still be Thorin and he quite liked the notion of a living, breathing, growling, scowling, bad-tempered, confusing, sweet, loveable, much too distracting Thorin as opposed to a pale, still, seemingly lifeless Thorin. The sight of which had nearly scared the hobbit quite to death – yes, well – until the healer had informed him it had just been a reaction to the potion they had convinced His Majesty to eventually take (and the barely there hint of a shudder quite told the hobbit everything he should have wished to know about the convincing part of the treatment) and which, to the benefit of all parties involved, would make him rest for a while. So Bilbo had let him – rest. And had wiped his sweating brow; had maybe put a brief, soft kiss to the dwarf´s forehead. And was now trying to make sense of all the nonsense. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Of course I am going to care for you! Or would you rather -”A calloused hand quickly reached out to prevent the hobbit´s retreat. Bilbo took this as the sign that it was and rearranged himself on the bed. Where he had eventually settled himself when entering into the discussion with the dwarf. Leaning against the headboard. At first. His shoulder merely touching the dwarf king´s. At first.Somehow his head had found itself under the dwarf´s chin but the hobbit really did not feel inclined to analyse that occurrence at that current moment in time. There were much more pressing matters to think about.Like how wonderful it felt to have his hair petted like that.“You still wish to court.”The hobbit smiled, pressing his nose into the firm chest.“What?”Thorin, unable to decipher the mumbling that had been directed towards the general region of his collarbone, tipped up the stubborn chin.“I said – You are an insufferable cloth-head. Your majesty. Now mind your shoulder.”That display of brazen disrespect was immediately answered with ruthless, if demanding, silencing. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Bilbo leaned against the heavy wooden door; releasing a relieved, unashamed sigh. Really.Those - Yes, and the elves were not much better. Especially those sons of their lord. He was going to have to take a very firm stance with both the twins and the heirs of Durin. And Bofur. And Nori. And even Dwalin. And had that not been disappointing.Which the hobbit very much hoped to have conveyed to the bald dwarf with A Look.Honestly.Cleanliness and personal hygiene were all very well and as a hobbit and a Baggins Bilbo very much approved of the dwarves´ eventual desire to rid themselves of the remainders of any reminders of their journey so far. Rain, trolls, wargs, food fights – all those things. And more. And he was even more in favour of a soak. A hot bath. A long soak in a hot bath. He had even encouraged them!Stupid hobbit that he was.He should have known to be suspicious of the sudden enthusiasm expressed by most members of the company.But he had not known the dwarves had discovered the large, ornamental fountain.Which they had not only mistaken (he was very willing to give them the benefit of doubt, if only for his own peace of mind, thank you) for the hot springs – or an actual bathroom, rather – but, and the hobbit really could not find a way around thinking of it as such, had taken siege of.Enthusiastically.Loudly.Splashingly.Nakedly.The poor hobbit had not known where to look. That had been rather too much of – everything.Of hair, of skin, of rings, of piercings, of tattoos, of - Nope.He really, really had not needed to see that. Why had he been forced to see that? How was he going to unsee that? Bilbo had felt like running up to Thorin and hiding his face in the furry chest (the only piece of naked and hairy dwarven skin he was interested in seeing! Well, perhaps not the only, strictly, but that was rather beside the point at that current point. Quite.) and request him to make it go away and - Thank Eru Thorin had not been among them.The Peredhil twins had been teasing him enough over the interesting shade of red on his cheeks as it was. Children that they were. If rather tall children.Lord Elrond had waved his apologies away with barely a twitch on his stoic face but poor Lindir ... ~ ~ ~ ~ Well, he would be enjoying his bath now and quite without any exposure to any hairy dwarves or relentless elven offspring or -“Master Baggins.”Maybe not. ~ ~ ~ ~ The hobbit crossed his arms.Or he would have, had his arms and hands not been busy clasping the folds of the somewhat oversized robe he had borrowed (probably a loan from a very young elfling, he assumed) tightly to his chest so as to prevent the flimsy garment (really, did those elves have to favour those almost translucent fabrics?!) from giving view to what he was not at all prepared to allow a view of at that present moment. “Thorin!” ~ ~ ~ ~ There was an almost sheepish look on the dwarf´s face.The elf had told him it would be unwise to risk aggravating his wound.Balin had advised him to let Oin assist with his ablutions.Dwalin had informed him that the burglar had not minded his majesty´s stink so far and was hardly likely to scrunch up his cute little nose now. The king had made a very firm promise to himself to punch his friend in the jaw once his sword arm would be fully flexible again. Twice.And then promptly pulled on his trousers and loose tunic and made his way to the hot baths. If he winced a little during the former process he was not going to allow anyone to remark on it.He was perfectly able to wash and dress himself; he had no need of any assistance and he was certainly not going to let an elf dictate his moves. The dwarf was not quite certain whether that applied to the hobbit that had just appeared in the bath as well.At the very least, he would offer up some resistance, he supposed.He was King.And his hobbit was simply utterly adorable when all flustered and huffy and by the look of things, Thorin was going to be treated to a lovely view of his hobbit taking to just that. Perhaps he should move and offer his hobbit assistance with the dispensing of the extremely unnecessary piece of clothing around his hobbit´s shapely form? He could coax Bilbo into joining him in the warm water and then - A sharp twinge in his shoulder reminded the dwarf that the blasted elf may have had a point. Curse him.Thorin had a hobbit to court, he was not going to be restrained by a minor battle wound.He found, however, that that was very much going to be the case.At the hands of a hobbit. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You stupid dwarf, what have you done now?” ~ ~ ~ ~ The sheepish expression gave way to annoyance.Bilbo was having none of it; he had seen that flinch and the grimace that came with it. He arranged his robe into something resembling respectability and marched up to where the dwarf had seated himself on a stool, wearing nothing but his trousers. Loosely, too! And he had apparently been undoing his braids. And his ridiculously small feet were naked!Not that the hobbit was at all drawn to them, thank you very much.And he was very lucky that he had seen all of it before. Yes.Well, his own bath had to wait, he had a dwarf to shepherd back into his room. Onto his bed. On which he would be very much staying alone. This time. Bilbo had just about managed to untangle himself from the strong limbs and persistent mouth last time, pointed ears quite flushed and his hair completely dishevelled. Dwalin´s brow had twitched when he almost ran into the stone wall that was the dwarf´s chest while hurrying away from his amorous suitor. He had sped up on his way before the dwarf could so much as reach for his axe. To polish it. Sharpen it. Or whatever it was he preferred to do with it when faced with flustered hobbits on the run from his king.“Should you even be out of bed? No – of course you shouldn´t be out of bed!” The hobbit muttered to himself about impossible, stubborn, difficult dwarf kings who took enjoyment in plaguing hobbits who were silly enough to care for their well-being and swatted at the hand that had reached up to continue its work. Then he began to loosen the rest of the braid. “I´m surprised the healers even let you. Or do I even want to know what you threatened to do to them this time? Really, Thorin -” small, gentle fingers ran through the freed strands - “You could try for a little more civility! You do not care for elves, I get that, but these elves did come to your aid. And helped healing you. A little less hostility would be much appreciated.” There was a - “I´m sorry? Did you just pinch my bottom?!”The dwarf merely smirked.Not nearly apologetically enough, were one to ask the hobbit.Right.That - “I will thank your majesty to keep your hands where I can see them! Or I will call for Lathlian to assist you with your bath.”Thorin growled in that deep rumble of a voice.“I would drown him.”“No you wouldn´t. Balin would not allow you to do anything so impolitic. And it´s bad manners. Now get into the water -” The hobbit wagged a forbidding finger in front of the dwarf´s face, as one elegant brow quirked once it had lifted from the pair of trousers that still hugged a pair of surprisingly – and Bilbo had had a few opportunities to, uhm, inspect them at that stage, thank you - narrow hips. “And no funny business. And I am not helping you with those! In fact -” He resolutely turned his back to the dwarf and busied himself with the bottle of oil and the comb that had been placed near the handful of stairs that led down into the bath that was the size of farmer Grubb´s field. Twice, a hobbit could be forgiven to think.And he was not at all thinking of all those muscles and skin and lovely hair and - “Bilbo.”And that voice would be the death of him.Honestly. ~ ~ ~ ~ He was not going to own up to that noise.Nor the other one.And certainly not to that one.It was all Bilbo´s fault.It was Bilbo who had told him to tilt back his head – and close his eyes – and to let the hobbit get to work.It was Bilbo who had started to wet his hair.Bilbo who had soaped it.Who had rinsed it.Bilbo who had taken to gently massaging the oil into his scalp.He was going to reprimand the hobbit later for comparing him to a cat.Even if the abominably cheeky creature had allowed that he was a majestic cat.(He had firmly stopped any further cheeky observations with his mouth. Repeatedly.)And he hadn´t just made that noise either.Gods, it felt so - “Thorin?”The king slowly opened an eye.To find his hobbit smiling down at him, and in such a way that he did not hesitate to reach up his hand again to draw - “No, no, no, your majesty -” Bilbo evaded the grabby hand, firmly ignoring the wounded, displeased noise the dwarf made in the back of his throat - “It is time for your majesty to get out of this pool and to let me put those braids in again. And then I´ll have my own bath.” And that made him firmly ignore the immediately interested eyebrow. Honestly. That dwarf - “While you go back to your room to torture that poor elf! Yes, and it´s a good thing that elves are so even-tempered, or we would have long been banished from Rivendell! You know, I nearly thought we would be, once Bofur started to dance on that poor table only - Thorin!” ~ ~ ~ ~ One innocent eyebrow rose, a hint of laughter in that deep voice.“Anything the matter, Master Baggins?”The hobbit spluttered, flailing a little before he promptly turned around.And he had most certainly not squeaked!And his heart was most definitely not doing erratic things in his chest, or anywhere near the same, thank you.Really.That insufferable, impossible - Although he did have a very nice backside.The show-off. ~ ~ ~ ~ “I hear I am to offer you my congratulations, Master Baggins.”Bilbo almost choked on his drink. They had not told anyone, had they – that is, he had not talked to Thorin about telling anyone and would Thorin even want to tell anyone? Not that Bilbo was against telling anyone but, well, they were courting and it was somewhat private and he´d rather not have anyone congratulating him on anything until that anything had properly gone somewhere because you never knew if – and there was that small matter of reclaiming a mountain from a dragon, moreover, and - “Well, yes, I mean – we´re just courting, my lord. Nothing is quite – decided. Yet. You see.”An elegant elven brow rose.“Indeed? I did not think Thorin Oakenshield to be of an undecided disposition.” The elf leaned back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “King Thorin would appear to be quite determined once set on a - task.”Bilbo frowned a little.Now what was the elf up to now?They were not really talking about the king´s courtship of the hobbit anymore, were they? Lord Elrond had been welcoming, even kind, and certainly patiently tolerating in view of – yes, well – but Bilbo could not help feeling that there was quite a lot more going on behind that calm, collected façade. A lot more of a lot. And Bilbo Baggins was not certain that he appreciated that a lot more being directed at him. For purposes. Or did the Lord of Rivendell think he would be able to sway Thorin, once that stubborn dwarf had made up his stubborn mind? That might work where towels were involved, and only after a lot of flustering and threatening and scolding, and he really wasn´t going back to that over dinner, thank you, and - The elf lord was going to have to put his questions to the king. Bilbo was, fortunately, just a hobbit. With no notion of dealing with any politics. Or diplomacy. No more than he had already been obliged to deal with either, that was. What with the dwarves not hesitating to be entirely – dwarvish. And most of the elves, stoically polite as they were, if a little shell-shocked. Right. So - “I am a hobbit, my lord. Of the Shire. And hobbits are not known to rush into things. Well, if they are not food, that is.”Elrond lowered the glass and studied the blithely smiling hobbit for a moment. Then he offered a small, smiling nod of his own.“King Thorin chose wisely, Master Baggins. I look forward to further making the acquaintance of the future Consort of Erebor. Perhaps we may continue this conversation during a tour of the gardens later?”Well, that would be quite nice, actually; Rivendell´s gardens were famous for their - “Oi! You can´t have our hobbit!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I assure you, Master Kili, I have no designs on Mister Baggins.”The young dwarf, who had appeared from around a pillared corner just at that moment, seemed entirely unconvinced. Or so the mulish expression on his face suggested. And as for that patented Durin glare - “He is betrothed to uncle.”What - Really.What was it with just about everyone jumping very much ahead of themselves? They were - “Courting, Kili. Thorin and I are just courting.” The hobbit firmly ignored the wounded puppy look on the youngest Durin´s face. It was a very good thing that he was getting immune to those eyes! Slowly. Surely. Possibly. Hopefully. “And if I want to visit any gardens in the company of Lord Elrond – or anyone! - I will visit those gardens! You are welcome to join us. Only no crushing of any flowers with those boots of yours!”Those big, brown eyes grew very, very wide. Possibly the widest they had ever been. Then the young dwarf straightened. And sniffed. Heroically. While eyeing the elven lord with still present suspicion.“If you think you need an escort. Mister Boggins.”That was, of course, not what the hobbit had been thinking but he was still a little touched at the offer. Nevertheless, he decided now was not the time to humour any inanities.He had to deal with enough of them when faced with the boy´s stubborn oaf of an uncle.“Was there something you needed, Kili?”“Thorin sent me.” Kili directed one final glare at their host. “That elf declares him whole enough for travel and he wishes you to be present when deal – speaking with Lord Elrond. About – you know. Gandalf thinks it a very good notion, too”, he added, as if in an afterthought. And then glared a little more as the elven lord confirmed that he had just been on his way to meet with the king.Of course the wizard would. Meddlesome creature. ~ ~ ~ ~ “So that is your purpose. To enter the mountain.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin hated elves.Thorin hated the Rivendell elves.Thorin hated Lord Elrond.And Lathlian.And Lindir.And all the elves he met on his way to my lord´s council chamber who kept misdirecting him. On purpose. (And he was not lost.)He had not expected anything else from elves, of course.Not after he had learned that Elrond had even offered his One a place to stay, should the hobbit decide he had made a mistake in signing the contract, in accepting Thorin´s -Bilbo would not regret it. He would make sure of it.He was healed, they were going to leave this place - he only had to suffer through the inanities of courtesy and politics (The elves healed you, Thorin! Try not to growl at them too much. Hmpf. His burglar had much better direct his cheekiness at those who deserved it. Like elves who attempted to persuade him to -) that one time and then they would be on their way.He would let the wizard know what he thought of such high-handedness once they were past the elves´ borders. And the hobbit was not nearby. He did not like it when Bilbo looked at him in that way.He much preferred it when the hobbit looked at him cheekily. Or lovingly. Or passionately. Yes, definitely passionately. Bilbo was beautiful when - “King Thorin.”King Thorin looked up and - Glared. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Durin´s Day? What -”“The dwarves´ New Year. The first day of the last moon of autumn.”Bilbo frowned.“Autumn? But that is -”“We still have time. We can make it to the mountain before the sun sets and then find the keyhole.”Uhm yes. That.Hole. For a key.To a door.Which was secret.And would, apparently, allow them to enter the Lonely Mountain without the company having to sneak in through the damaged front gate. Bilbo was all for secret doors and secret tunnels and secretly happening on dragons if it should mean he would be able to steal from dragons … secretly.Did dragons take to hibernation?Would it be too early to hope for hibernation? And a particular dragon taking to it?And that that particular dragon would be hard of hearing and not in possession of any such device as was assisting Oin with his affliction, dragon-sized or otherwise?Maybe someone could be so kind as to read that particular dragon a hibernation bedtime story? Or two?Lord Elrond had stated that fate was with them. Well, Thorin, to be precise. Thorin Oakenshield. Son of Thrain. Son of Thror. King under the Mountain. Thorin. His Thorin. The Thorin who had not at all been pleased with having to admit Lord Elrond into his plans, had almost refused to permit the elf even a glimpse of his map, had glared at the same at the mere hint of a suggestion that his plan to retake his mountain might not be the wisest of ideas. Although – that low, warning note in the dwarf´s voice had been quite appeal-Yes, well.It was. And he was just a hobbit, how was he supposed to resist its - Fine. Fine. Bilbo was going to be sensible about this.One of them had to be, after all. And it clearly wasn´t going to be that silly dwarf. Balin seemed a little more inclined towards sensibility but he was also loyal to his King so - It was a very good thing Bilbo had decided upon that adventure, considering. Those dwarves needed someone with a little common sense to save them from their own - Or it may have been the stupidest thing Bilbo had ever done, considering. Well, the dragon. Orcs. Wargs. Trolls. And whatever they might yet run into. And all that. Yes. The hobbit would have to think about it. Some time.Gandalf was smiling at him from the other side of the -It was a cliff they were standing on, wasn´t it?And there was water.Yes, there was definitely water.A lot of water.A regular fall of it.Bilbo hated water.Dratted wizard. ~ ~ ~ ~ The next morning found the company of Thorin Oakenshield setting off towards the Misty Mountains.At last.Which was very likely the only point both most of the dwarves and most of the elves agreed on.The company´s resident hobbit would not have minded remaining in the Last Homely House a little longer – he never got to fully explore all of the gardens that were so very famous – but he had noticed the small, unhappy crease on his suitor´s forehead when he had permitted himself a what he had thought to have been unobserved sigh over the lost opportunity and had chosen to forgo teasing the already sorely afflicted dwarf over his prejudices. He could still do so during the course of the remaining journey. And the elves were not so bad, really.Except for Lord Elrond´s twin sons, of course.They had taken to Cuddling With The Hobbit in quite a similar manner to that of the king´s heirs. And it was a very good thing neither the king´s heirs nor the king himself had chanced to observe any of those impromptu sessions.Bilbo would never be able to get over his embarrassment if a war should break out over his perceived preferences.As if there could be any contest.Really. Dwarves. The hobbit permitted himself one last look back at the bottom of the footpath that would take them towards the mountains when strong arms circled his form from behind, a bearded chin resting atop his golden curls.“Regrets, my hobbit?” ~ ~ ~ ~ “The beds were rather nice.”There was a stiffening.“And I quite liked the food.”Followed by a tightening of the arms.“Elves really are quite something to look at, aren´t they?”And a low growl.“I did not even get to see the private garden!”The body behind the hobbit suddenly removed itself and the hands attached to the same turned the smaller being firmly around.One of them came up.Then -“I suggest you keep up, Master Baggins.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo watched the king stomp off, his grin even wider as his fingers curled around the flower in his hair. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Thorin was going to have to abdicate.Renouncing his throne was the only option. If the stupid dwarf wanted this courtship to go anywhere.He was very sorry, of course, seeing how much trouble this whole quest and retaking of lonely mountains undertaking was causing and would – the hobbit did not have any high hopes as to that at that stage – still cause and the dwarf would surely look all majestic and splendid on his throne; not to mention very edible (Bilbo had eyes, thank you very much!), but he was going to have to hand his crown over to Fili and spend the rest of his life gardening and reading and feeding the hobbit berries with his hand and cuddling with him in front of the fire and kissing him and, uhm yes, well – oh, and there was going to be a lot of that - because really!Bilbo had quite enough of stone.Of rocks.And mountains.Any mountains.Any rocks. And stone.Especially of the giants variety.Stone giants.Honestly.As if the downpour of a rain and the nastiness of a storm that came with it had not been enough to foist upon an unsuspecting, unappreciative hobbit but they had started moving and throwing rocks about and all sorts of things a hobbit could very much do without when trying to actually walk over them.Yes, that may have been somewhat impolite but no-one had told them that the dead rock wasn´t dead at all, had they? Legends, Bofur had called them. Bless his beard and all that. Bilbo huffed. Rocks and mountains were supposed to be unmoving. For the most part. Not to take to any sort of ball games. Or punching. All that swaying had given him vertigo. Amongst other things.And then that large piece of rock about to crash into them - The hobbit felt certain he would never forget the anguish in Thorin´s shout for his nephew. And the shocked anger when he had realised that Bilbo had been cowering on the same crumbled surface as Fili and the other dwarves of the company had.That “at my side!” demand was not that non-negotiable but Bilbo drew the line at any collars. Or leashes.Really.And now that cave.Caves were high on the hobbit´s list of Decidedly Unhobbitish Offerings To Be Avoided At All Costs. Especially dark, wet and windy caves. That made a hobbit that had not the protection of a thick fur coat and only called a flimsy blanket his own cold. Sniffingly so. And the one who owned such an exemplary of a desirable coat was nowhere to be seen. Bilbo sighed.Fine, he would trudge out into the even more unpleasant cold. Just so that Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain of Silliness, could have his sulk unobserved. More or less.Nurturing was an important part of hobbit-courting, after all.He might even be able to convince the dwarf that a smack on the back of a head was, too. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin was not - brooding.He did not brood.He also did not worry.Or fear.He was in perfect control over his non-existent emotions. He was carving that piece of ill-shaped, wet wood because he had nothing better to do. Because it kept him alert. And awake.He would not let his nephews see him like that.He could not let Bilbo see him like that.So he carved.Inexpertly.In the cold.In the wind.When he would rather sever a head.Or two.He was not - “Budge up, your majesty.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Bilbo.”Thorin looked down at the unexpected mass of slightly shivering hobbit in his lap.“What are you doing?”“Getting warm”, was the reply that was muffled into a solid chest, a head of honey-coloured curls firmly pressed into the same as the hobbit released a contented sigh.A pair of strong arms automatically came up to fold the smaller being close.“I am no furnace, hobbit.”“I thought you were courting me.”“I am courting you.”Bilbo smiled into the furred coat. Thorin sounded horribly offended at the insinuation that he may have been in any way negligent. Well then - “You have not picked me any flowers - that one doesn´t count, you pinched it from the elves! And I´m quite certain it was more for your own benefit than mine”, he was quick to add, before his suitor could offer up any protest. “There is no flower crown on my head, I have had to make my own tea and am still waiting for you to cook me a meal. With dessert!” There was now a sulking note to the hobbit´s voice. “And you say you are courting me!”Thorin grunted.“I should be covering you with gems. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds! Not subject you to the indignities of our travels, to its dangers! I should be keeping you sa-” He glared at the soft, squirming creature in his lap. “Are we talking nonsense now? Because if we are -” his insolent hobbit went on, indifferent to the indignity that he was making the king suffer, “I will leave your majesty to his brooding and go back into that cave! Bofur was telling a very interesting story about a boar and a stag and I´d quite like – Thorin!” He was not at all apologetic. The hobbit should never have manhandled him. And how was he supposed to resist the strange softness of that palm on his mouth? And he longed to mark the hobbit as his. To lower his mouth to that creamy skin and bite and suck and soothe and - Bilbo was his. His hobbit. Burglar. One. And he did not like it when - “Bilbo.” The hobbit hummed, still wrapped up in those strong arms. “Stop flirting with Bofur.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo was going to bash his head against the wall.But then – the dwarf´s chest was as hard as a rock and it had the additional advantage of one not being obliged to move in order to be able to meet with that very desired goal so it would do just as well, really.And then he could also pull the braids.Hard.Really.Flirting.With Bofur.He was a respectable hobbit. He did not take to any flirting. And the things he had been doing with the dwarf whose lap he was currently sitting on counted as courting. Surely. And it was nobody´s business if it didn´t. And it had not been Bilbo Baggins who had pinched any bottoms, thank you very much.Honestly.How Thorin could be so dense - Stupid dwarf.“Well I´m very sorry, your majesty, but I can´t. Because - Thorin!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo glared.Fiercely.Up.At the dwarf.The dwarf who had stood so abruptly that the hobbit in his lap had – very unceremoniously, too! - been pushed off said lap.Where the hobbit had been very comfortable.Where he had liked it.The hobbit did not like the hard, cold ground. He would very much like to sulk over his ill-treatment and demand adequate compensation, but he was rather too cold and rather too annoyed, considering. “That was a joke, Thorin.” The broad shoulders relaxed, even if the tone in the king´s voice was still accusing. “My feelings offer you amusement?” Bilbo huffed. Then quickly got to his feet so that he was able to exactly tell the cloth-headed dwarf what he thought of his – whatever this was! Pokingly. “I was very comfortable in your lap! I have no need of any other lap when I can be in your lap, you stupid dwarf! And I´m returning to the cave now! You are welcome to continue sulking over insulting absurdities if you so wish, I refuse to freeze my toes off trying to talk sense into you.” The hobbit took a deep, fortifying breath. “And I am very cross with you. You, you … utter dunce!” ~ ~ ~ ~ One minute there had been a burglar in his lap, cuddling up to him, nose pressed into his chest, arms around his torso – or as much of it as the cute, small, addictively soft things were able to encircle - the next minute he found himself feeling -He had done nothing wrong; the hobbit was the one who should be apologising to him. Did he not see how Thorin loved him? Treasured him? Wanted him? Was his love not enough? Was he to compete with a miner? A miner who had a way with words, who was kind and friendly and fond of jokes and music and much more suited to - The king scowled.Hobbits did not have Ones.And the hobbit had made him no promises. To the hobbit, there could be an end to the courtship.To Thorin - He frowned.Bilbo had said – had alluded to - He wanted him.Or at least to sit in his lap. Not Bofur´s lap. Or anyone else´s lap.Only Thorin´s lap.Somewhere in the back of his annoyed, jealous, possessive mind the dwarf acknowledged that that train of thought was not at all helpful. Or appropriate. But he liked having the hobbit in his lap. He liked everything about the hobbit. Of the hobbit. Preferably as close to his own person as possible. And Bilbo had suggested he wanted him, too. A little relief flooded through the dwarf at the dawning comprehension.And guilt.Possibly.But he did not only want the hobbit to want him, he wanted the hobbit to love him. He wanted the hobbit´s heart.As Bilbo had his heart.He was going to win it.If he had to tolerate any flower crowns on his head in order to be able to call the hobbit his he would suffer them.For a while.And maybe he would refrain from breaking any miner´s nose if he caught them cozying up to his One again. ~ ~ ~ ~ Not that he himself would be cozying up to the hobbit any time soon.Or ever again. No. They would fight their way out of the wretched tunnels, they would be safe and he would find his hobbit again.Bilbo would be fine.He would be unhurt.Safe.Thorin refused to consider any other option. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Who would be so bold as to come into my kingdom?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Goblins.The cave had been a trap, its ground having given way to the kingdom underneath it and had surprised most of the company in their sleep.Thorin had been awake, content to listen to the soft breathing of the hobbit in his arms, his nephews curled up next to each other close to them.The hobbit had been shivering in his chosen spot on the cold, hard cave floor, his thin blanket providing little warmth. He had not been able to keep his distance, even if he suspected the small being to still be very vexed with him. The king had lowered himself to the floor, next to the stubborn little creature, and had pulled him into his chest, one arm firmly wrapped around his soft middle, the hobbit´s back to his front, fur coat spread so as to offer what warmth it could.“I´m still cross with you”, Bilbo had mumbled, even as he had allowed Thorin to pull his body close, not protesting when he was moments later turned and fitted into the taller´s body so that his head rested underneath a bearded chin.To the king´s relief.Then everything had turned towards pandemonium. ~ ~ ~ ~ In retrospect, stones were actually quite nice.Lovely, really.And stone giants were all that was courteous and sociable and accommodating.In comparison to goblins.And especially that rather enormous, big-chinned (Was it wobbling? He squinted. Yup. It was wobbling. Well. That was a little – gross.), loud, tone-deaf, uncivil exemplary sitting on that throne and who was, to the hobbit´s unending astonishment, those creatures´ king. But then again, Bilbo mused, if you risked to be crushed – or quite possibly eaten – should even the smallest idea of any usurping enter your small, befuddled goblin mind …He wished he had thought to bring some mint leaves.He could have offered them as a token of respect.Gift.Yes, well.Bad breath really was unnecessary, everyone could see to their teeth after a meal! And bad breath coming from the direction of a really unsightly accumulation of -Nope.He wasn´t even going there, there were more pressing matters to consider.Such as getting out of the goblin kingdom alive. And with all limbs still attached. And no broken anything. Or anything burned, Off. Or cut. Off. Into. And such like things a hobbit really, really had no fondness of. And, Bilbo suspected, neither had the dwarves. They only enjoyed a little physical expression of their woes when being on the inflicting side of things. That is, besides Nori, possibly. And maybe Dwalin. Why those two had not yet - NO. He had enough to deal with where his own courtship was concerned, thank you.And he´d quite like to get on with it so if His Goblin Majesty could also Get On With It he´d be very much obliged to him. “Start with the youn- – well, well, well -” Oh dear. “What have we here? Bring him to me!”Well, maybe not quite like that. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Wait!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Not the hobbit.Not his hobbit.Not Bilbo!Thorin pushed through the throng of dwarves and goblins to stand before his company, ignoring the hands that attempted to hold him back. He did not care if there were ten or thousands of the creatures, nor if their leader could easily squash him in the blink of an eye – he would not let anyone touch the hobbit. He would die before he let anyone so much as touch one hair on Bilbo´s head. He would protect his One at all costs. And he would protect his nephews. Thorin lifted his chin and raised his glare to the deformed shape on the throne.“Well look who it is! Thorin. Son of Thrain. Son of Thror … “ The Great Goblin seemed highly amused. “King under the Mountain!” Or so his flourishing, mocking bow would suggest. The dwarf king seethed quietly, attempting to keep his temper in check. He needed to think of his company. His kin. His – He could not afford any unwise risks, no matter how tempted he was to cut off the goblin´s head with one powerful swing of his sword. He - “Oh, but I forget! You have no mountain.” Thorin stiffened. “Which makes you … no-one, really.” For Bilbo, for Bilbo, for Bilbo, for Bilbo ... “Excuse me!”- who had a death wish.Apparently.And it could not wait until he met a dragon.Had his approach to courting the hobbit really been so flawed? ~ ~ ~ ~ He was not going to stand for it.No, certainly not. He was a hobbit and hobbits did not tolerate their loved ones – yes, well. No need to get into that now, thank you very much! It was private. Personal. And he´d certainly not discuss anything private or personal with anyone who had taken to poking him with swords and pulling his hair and shoving him and – being subjected to ridicule in public! And Thorin was a king.He was King.So he may not be in the possession of an actual, physical throne at that very moment, or indeed a mountain, but no-one who had spent even a mere moment in the dwarf´s company could doubt his presence, the way he commanded respect without any actual use of words, his royal bearing and his leadership. Yes, he had a tiresome temper and was prone to brooding and his sense of direction had better be left out of the quotation but the dwarf cared for those under his rule – had cared for them from a very young age when responsibility had been thrown at him first at the hands of a dragon and then at the death of his grandfather and the disappearance of his father; for all his grouching and grumbling and snarling and stubbornness the dwarf took his responsibilities seriously, he shouldered burden after burden and Bilbo was going to be very, very cross with that unattractively overweight (and hobbits liked a bit of roundness around the middle region!) and unpleasantly scented accumulation of grotesqueness if he did not stop being so very insulting that instant!He did not care if he should be had for a snack if it meant he would bring his point across, thank you.The hobbit walked up straight in front of the dwarf king and crossed his small arms. ~ ~ ~ ~ The hobbit was going to kill him.The hobbit was out to kill him as a punishment for failing to observe the most basic hobbit-ish courting customs.There was no other way to interpret the company´s burglar, Thorin´s One, marching up to the Goblin King without compunction and folding his arms in front of his small chest while favouring the much bigger being with a Baggins Glare (which was what his inane sister-sons had taken to referring to the look the hobbit would direct at either one of them, or both, and towards most members of the company, himself included, at least once a day. And which was rather adorable.) that Thorin would have enjoyed observing had it made an appearance at any other time.And the hobbit had swatted his hand away when he attempted to stop him, to shield him!Twice!If they should make it out alive of the underground kingdom he would grab the hobbit and drag him off to - “Rude? You think I´m rude, little hobbit?”Bend him over his knee. ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo was having none of that.And if the dwarves had only a little common sense they would use the general atmosphere of what could, on the whole, be described as stunned silence – as much as goblins could take to silence, the hobbit supposed – and Do Something.Attack.Run.Flee.Leave him to distract the unappetising being and be on their merry way.But no – Thorin kept trying to draw him back and to shout at both himself and the Great Goblin on his throne – and Bilbo felt not at all inclined to consider the stupid dwarf´s concern in any way endearing or helpful, thank you -, Dwalin was offering threats and promises if anyone should dare to lay as much as a finger on him (and that was a little touching, yes) and there seemed to be a general consensus that was that each dwarf of the company had to at least inform the assembled goblins once that they would regret it if they did anything to Their Hobbit. Loudly.Wonderful.Really.He was going to have to have a serious conversation with them about opportunities and moments and leaving hobbits who were not nearly as necessary for any quests, on the whole, behind if it meant they could get to their lonely mountains after all. Speedily. Well, yes, there was the small matter of the courtship and everything but - Thorin would be safe.The boys would be safe.His friends would be safe.And that included both Oin and Bofur, whose attempts at explaining the situation while not explaining the situation had left Bilbo with something close to a headache. But no – they had to choose to mother him.Really. Dwarves. “Cut off his head!”Wait – what?! ~ ~ ~ ~ “Bilbo!” ~~ ~ ~ Thorin had bellowed.It had taken the combined strength of Dwalin, Dori and Gloin to stop him from jumping over the bridge to go after the fallen hobbit; his nephews, themselves pale and with eyes wide, entreating him to go on, to follow Gandalf out to safety, tears shimmering in both their eyes as Balin, with gentle firmness, insisted that they would not be able to help their burglar and that Thorin had a duty.The blue eyes glared at the older dwarf in defiance, willing his old mentor to challenge him.“Uncle -”It was Kili´s soft voice that eventually made the king deflate. For a moment, he seemed entirely lost. Helpless. “Balin – , he began, in a tone as broken as not even those who knew him best, knew him longest, had ever heard before. Not after Erebor, not after Azanulbizar. The older dwarf put a hand on a tense arm.“I know, laddie. But not now.”The unrelenting gaze seemed to eventually shift something within the dwarf. His expression turned to stone, his body straightened.Then - “Lead us out, wizard.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- There were sounds.And badly muffled whispering.Bilbo opened one suffering eye, only to immediately squeeze it shut again.Not those two.And must the one – Elladan? Elrohir? - that was leaning over his prone form smile like that?Moreover - “Look, Elrohir -” Elladan then. Wonderful. “It´s our hobbit. Can we keep him now?”Keep – what, no, no, no! He was not going to be a kept hobbit! Or a pet hobbit. Or both. Neither. And especially not where those two elves were concerned. The only one who would possibly be allowed to keep him was the dwarf king Bilbo was going to have very, very many words with. Later. When his head showed less of an inclination to pretend it had been used as a training device by young dwarves desiring to learn the complex art of head-butting. And when he had found the blasted dwarf again. And the rest of his company.Tumbling down cave floors that suddenly opened beneath one was all very well and good, if it could not be avoided, and under different circumstances he would not have minded finding himself spread out flat on a certain dwarf king´s lovely torso but there had been rather too many spectators around. Who had started pulling and poking and shoving and screeching at them.How rude. ~ ~ ~ ~ Keep him.Really.“You most certainly are not going to keep me! Neither of you! Thank you!”The two elves looked at each other and then simultaneously smiled at the hobbit in such a manner as made all of Bilbo´s instincts – pre-hobbit-exposed-to-dwarves and those acquired and honed during the quest thus far (an ever increasing, if entirely understandable number!) – go on instant alert.No.To whatever it was those two were planning.And really – he was going to have to apologise to the Durin princes, once he had found them again, because at least those boys had the courtesy to not at all resemble each other and make a poor hobbit´s head spin just from looking at them, never mind any additional inanities!What were they even doing here?Wherever that here was because Bilbo very much remembered falling off a bridge in the tunnels while an army of goblins had been hot in pursuit of the company and reappeared wizard; Thorin shouting his name as one such nasty exemplary had jumped at him, but he had no recollection of how he had ended up waking to the sight of a dark-haired elf leaning over him in what would appear to be sunlight?Ugh.Honestly.The next time he should be approached by someone with regards to going on a harebrained expedition of an adventure just for the sake of enjoying a largely courting-challenged courtship with that someone he was going to grab that someone by his collar and drag that someone into Bag End (and by Bag End he meant his bedroom, thank you very much, because really -!) to see to the whole ridiculous process in peace and quiet and solitude and without any disruptions by kin, company, wizards, trolls, wargs, orcs and goblins.Not to mention elves.And if they kept smiling at him like that he was going to – ow!The hobbit touched the bruise on the back of his head. And grimaced.Oh, this was just - “Finders keepers, Master Hobbit.”Bilbo glared at the elf. And that had been Elrohir. He was certain. Almost.“Can you just go away? And don´t poke me!” He swatted at the hand of the other twin, which had reached out to explore various parts of his body. “I am not a pin cushion!” “Peace, Bilbo. We only mean to make certain that you did not sustain more injuries than it would appear, now that you are awake. Although -” The cheeky sod of an insolent elfling continued - “We will not make any promises as to your mind, of course.”“My mind was perfectly fine before you two came along!” The hobbit huffed and made to stand, swaying a little as he righted himself and glaring at the hands that reached out to steady him. Finding himself rudely ignored, of course. “What are you even doing here?”“We are happy to see you as well.” Elladan had apparently finished his inspection of the grumpy hobbit. He nodded. “Nothing appears to be broken. How did you come to lie about in a goblin cave, Bilbo?”“I fell. How did you come to loiter about in the Misty Mountains? Does Lord Elrond even know what you two are up to when out of his sight?”“We were hunting orcs. And Father does not discourage our interest as long as we conduct ourselves with the necessary propriety.”The hobbit could be heard mumbling to himself about suicidal elflings who had no regard for the state of poor, unsuspecting hobbits and sprung themselves upon them without so much as by their leave and if they thought he was in any mood to let them cuddle him again they were going to be very much - His eyes widened as a thought occurred to him.“Thorin.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Thorin.” ~ ~ ~ ~ He wasn´t even going to consider it.He refused to even consider it.There was no possibility that his hobbit was not alive.Bilbo had not died.He would not die.He was not allowed to die.He was not allowed to die and leave Thorin - Mahal could not, would not be so cruel as to take his greatest treasure away from him. The hobbit had defied trolls, wargs, orcs; had put his small hands on his hips in front of the Great Goblin (defending Thorin´s honour! Thorin had wanted to strangle him.) - his hobbit was not going to perish in a dark, cold goblin cave. Thorin would not let him.Balin could say what he wished, he was not going to leave Bilbo Baggins for dead. Not for his mountain, not for his throne, not for all the gold in Erebor. And when he found the hobbit – and find him he would! - he was going to murder him.And then bind him to his bed.And never let him leave it again.His fist closed around the object in his hand.He would not lose him. He - “Ya mother´s ring?” ~ ~ ~ ~ The king stared at the delicate silver item in his hand.His mother had gifted him the ring when he had come of age, all those many years ago, in the understanding that he would present it to his chosen one when the time should come.Thorin had kept the ring, had treasured it, even when he had long given up any hope that there would be such a dwarf for him. And there never had been. For his One was a -Hobbit.And Freya would have adored him. She would have adored Bilbo Baggins for his manners and his politeness that stood in constant conflict with his cheekiness and temper. Or that may just apply to himself, the king acknowledged with a little smile. His hobbit was perfectly proper and respectful towards most beings he met; it only seemed to be Thorin who regularly caused his ire and discontent. His mother would have adored Bilbo Baggins for not cowering before Thorin, for treating him as any other dwarf – hobbit – dwobbit? - for his love of nature and complete, if not always fully intended, disregard of dwarven conventions. And she would have taken her axe to anyone who as much as dared to criticise the hobbit for being hobbit-ish. And she would have cuffed her eldest son for his failures in his courtship of his One. Repeatedly. Hard. He was going to make up for them. Once he found his hobbit. ~ ~ ~ ~ “No.”“Dwalin.”Thick arms crossed resolutely before a massive chest.“Give it up, ya majesty. If ya think I´m going to let ya back into those tunnels on ya own I´ll have ta assume ya got ya head bashed in when I wasn´t lookin´!”“He is my One. My heart.” The king´s voice was dangerously low. “Am I to desert him? To leave Master Baggins to his fate? To forget him? Would you ask me to -” “I´m askin´ ya to get it into ya thick head that I´m coming with ya! Mahal knows ya will only shout at tha burglar again and make him all flustered and bothered instead of doing tha thing properly!” The bald warrior eyed his king in mild reproof. “Ya´d think ya majesty´d have put that ring on that little finger at this stage. Very patient sort, that hobbit is.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I do not shout!” were the words his majesty shouted after his friend, once his senses had recovered from the various accusations thrown at his noble head.And having grasped the other dwarf´s arm in a firm, grateful hold. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You lost the dwarves?”Bilbo rolled his eyes.Really, he was very grateful to the two elves for finding him and taking the time out of their idiotic orc-hunt schedule to carry him out of that cave and for looking after him until he woke from having been knocked out due to hit to his head – and he was still a little wobbly in the same, thank you very much, or he would never have let those two float alongside him on his search for the company. And he had not lost anyone, they had been separated. Temporarily. Unwillingly. “No, I did not lose them! I just – well, yes, I suppose so but -”“Do we want to find them?”, the other twin enquired, in what Bilbo was going to accuse him of being a very hopeful tone of voice, in a minute or so. And not the right kind of hopeful! They were as bad as Fili and Kili. And that was very, very bad. For him. Because as bad as Fili and Kili were, Bilbo had come to adore those silly boys. And now he was in a fair way of being obliged to deal with the unhappy knowledge that he was developing something akin to fondness for the Peredhil twins, too! Because as much as they were older than himself, they were still barely adults and that made their presence very dangerous for a hobbit because a hobbit could not but feel he had to look after them and keep them out of scrapes and really – he had enough to do keeping himself out of scrapes at that present moment and - He wanted Thorin.The blasted dwarf.Oh, he would have words for him. Many words. And after enjoying them, he would throw himself at the stupid dwarf and hug him and pull his braids so that his mouth would come within proper hobbit reach and - Yes, well.He would just blame it on the bump on his head. And moreover - “At ease, Bilbo.” On of the twins – Elladan, the hobbit thought (Honestly. He was going to ask them to put some ribbons into their identical hair. Or something. He would quite like to be able to tell which twin he was dealing with!) - had put a calming hand on top of the honey coloured curls, smiling gently down at the huffing hobbit. “Thorin Oakenshield would not continue on without you. He threatened to strike down poor Elrohir when Prince Kili mentioned my brother had offered to have some berries brought to you.”“And he promised to gut Elladan for putting that blanket over you when you fell asleep in father´s library. Dwarves are so unrefined”, the younger twin mused, seemingly unperturbed by the threat to his person. “Are you certain you wish to continue looking for them, Bilbo? Father would be happy for you to stay at Imladris!“„Indeed“, Elladan continued where his twin had left off, „We may yet turn around and make our way through the Mountains before night falls. You would have our protection, Master Hobbit, and -“Bilbo came to an immediate halt.He turned to face the twin that had last spoken to him, his fists balled on his hips even as he had to crane his poor neck in order to look up into the serene, innocent face.Oh, as if he – they! - were fooling anyone!„I am not going to listen to any disparaging remarks about my dwarves, you two! And I will thank you to respect that I am courting their king! Who was probably very much in his right when he threatened to do those things to you –“ The hobbit narrowed his eyes into an even fiercer glare at the glimmer of a smile on the afflicted elf´s face - “- even if I am going to have words with him about being so rude! - and I wish to be with them again as soon as possible so either you will help me find them or -” The small arms removed themselves from the hips to cross in front of a chest - “- you go back to doing whatever it was you have been doing to those poor orcs. I am sure they will not mind your inanities. They must be used to them if poking at orcs (and goblins!) is your favourite pastime. And that is all I have to say to you so – so – I will search on now. Thank you.”And with that, Bilbo Baggins swiftly turned around to stomp on further along the forest path, leaving two unashamedly amused elves in his wake. ~ ~ ~ ~ “He still lives, Balin. I am sure of it.” ~ ~ ~ ~ The old dwarf sighed.They all wished their burglar had not met his death in the goblin tunnels but there was little hope that anyone, much less such a little, unhardened creature as their hobbit, had survived such a fall. It grieved Balin to be forced to do this but they could not afford to also lose their King, their leader, on this journey. “Laddie, we all grieve for our hobbit but Master Baggins fell. Even if he should, by some miracle, have survived, there are hundreds of goblins – it would be foolishness to return to these tunnels. We will honour Bilbo Baggins; you will mourn him, but you must not lose sight of what you need to do. You are King, Thorin.”“I will not -”“Erebor needs its King, Thorin Oakenshield.”Thorin swung around and directed all his anger and fury at the taller being, ignoring how it seemed that Gandalf the Grey had aged another hundred years within the span of the last hour.“This is all your fault, wizard! You brought me to the West! You made certain that I met the hobbit! You showed me what my life could -” There was such raw pain in the voice of the dwarf that the rest of the company shrank back from its fierceness, tears glistening in the eyes of the younger ones. “If Bilbo Baggins is dead”, the king´s voice had adopted a low, shaking tone - “There will be no happiness in regaining the throne for me.”He then turned his back to the wizard and refastened his bracers.“Dwalin, I suggest we -” ~ ~ ~ ~ Whatever it had been that the king had wished to suggest to the warrior, it was lost under the loud howls that came from further up the forest slope. ~ ~ ~ ~ That dwarf.That – that - Stupid, insufferable, idiotic, suicidal dwarf!How dare he be so utterly – moronic!Clearly Bilbo should not leave him to his own devices for even five minutes at a time when the result of such neglect was that of His Majesty running down a fire-streaked path to face a Pale Orc on an even paler warg On His Bloody Own!He knew all about the history between Azog and the Line of Durin, thank you very much, but that did not give his entirely imbecilic suitor the right to risk his life without consulting anyone beforehand on whether his further presence in that anyone´s life was Very Much A Necessity.Yes, and clearly that entirely moronic, imbecilic, stupid, suicidal state of mind had a tendency of rubbing off on hitherto quite sensible, respectable, sane hobbits because - Bilbo Baggins found himself staring down the Pale Orc.His letter opener of a sword raised before him.Well, more being waved about, really, but he supposed nit-picking wasn´t strictly the order of the day at that present moment.Oh, he was going to have so many words for Thorin Oakenshield.If they should get out of this alive. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You. What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thank you, Bilbo.I am so happy to see you, Bilbo.I am so glad that you are unhurt, Bilbo.I missed you, Bilbo.I will never do such a stupid thing again, Bilbo.Bilbo would have been very happy to listen to any of these. Or some of them. Or all of them.What he was most definitely, certainly, resolutely, absolutely not happy to even lend the tip of a pointed ear to was the stream of reproach and accusation and insults the – Eru be thanked! - awakened dwarf saw fit to direct at him. Oh no, certainly not.He was going to acquaint this dwarf with his opinion of his opinions and he was going to do it Right Now.Really - “Me? I am causing trouble? Let me tell you, Thorin Oakenshield -” The thoroughly fed up hobbit had drawn himself up to his full height; entirely uncaring of his – depending where one let his eyes travel to – gaping, embarrassed, disbelieving and worried audience (the snickering definitely came from the general direction of the two elves and Bilbo was going to address them later; no matter how they had not hesitated to join in the fight and had greatly helped to keep the orcs at bay before they were all taken up by the eagles), and glared at the fuming dwarf with all the dignity he was able to muster. Exhausted, tired, sore and in need of an embrace by strong arms as he was.“You are the one who is incapable of thinking before taking to any sort of action! Or did you think it was a brilliant idea to engage Azog in battle having just escaped from an army of goblins and with the stupid orc sitting on his decidedly unfluffy pet? You – you stupid dwarf!”, the exasperated hobbit all but shouted, grabbing his hair with both hands and taking to pacing on top of the cliff. “Oh why did I even come back?!”The silence was as sudden as it was deafening. Bilbo looked up to see the dwarf king staring at him stone-faced, his voice almost raspy when he spoke again.“Why did you come back?”Why did he - Now - really!If that did not take the biscuit!That - That - Bilbo was going to - “Why – because I love you, you cloth-head!” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The dwarf grunted at the huffed sound that came from the cargo in his arms as he navigated his way outside.“Yes, but I have need of them. Or Dain will be King. Don´t scratch me.”The ginger cat squirmed and rearranged its fluffy form so as to be able to nuzzle against a firm chest, mewling softly.“So you say. But he is my hobbit. I will not tolerate any usurpers.” A thick finger then stroked behind one folded ear. “You will do well to find yourself warming to the -” Elves. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin had eyed the thing in his hobbit´s arms with suspicion mixed with disbelief mixed with a hint of revulsion.“Why?”“Because I have had quite enough of watching your nephews and those twins caterwauling when she will scratch and swat at them again! Not that I blame her but Kili´s wounded puppy eyes are quite enough for one hobbit, I don´t need four times their onslaught on an hourly basis.”The king eyed the soft-furred creature that had unceremoniously been lowered onto his bed and was now studying him with what he felt absolutely certain was malicious intent. Though he would not back down from a cat, no matter how long this staring contest should take!“She will scratch me.”The feline´s eyes opened wide as if to suggest she was shocked at the insinuation and how could any human even entertain such grossly exaggerated views on the matter of her personal inclinations. Of course Bilbo had gone and practically adopted the ginger beast the moment the skinchanger had pointed him towards the kitchen where the thing - creature. Cat. Fur ball. - had been reclining in front of the fire, fluffy tail swishing to and fro leisurely. And he had not just applied any such degrading term – to his kingly pride - as fluffy to it. And if he had he was going to refuse to admit to it. Ever.And he was petting it. Again. When it was Thorin who was in need of his petting. Care. Attention. The cat could go and plague his nephews. And the elves. Especially the elves.It was enough of a strain on his temper that they were still there. Especially as they had somehow managed to ingratiate themselves with his heirs. Whom he was going to have to disinherit. Dain could be king. At least Dain would not see fit to consort with - The king froze.“Bilbo.”“Oh don´t be such a ninny, Thorin! She likes you!”Favouring his heartless One, who had started to busy himself preparing another of the concoctions Oin saw fit to make go down his protesting throat – and which had made him doubt the merit of his hobbit´s declaration on top of the Carrock because he had unfeelingly insisted on Thorin´s partaking of them - with a glare, the dwarf looked down at the creature that had taken possession of his unwilling lap. At least there was still a sheet between himself and that - For his protection. And his dignity. And he really had no idea why his hand had resorted to continuing where the hobbit had let off.And the thing was purring.Contentedly.Loudly.In his lap.Thorin smirked, tickling the approving creature behind one ear.If only the elves were there to witness his triumph!If only Bilbo had been there to witness his triumph but no, he was going to have to complain about being rudely neglected because the hobbit had merely seen fit to dispose of the animal and to order him to swallow that vile brew he kept being informed was restorative and to unceremoniously – and that brief touch of his lips to the king´s frowning forehead certainly did not count! - stalk out of the chamber again.What did a King have to do to receive the attention he deserved? ~ ~ ~ ~ The elves, if his majesty should have cared to be informed, were otherwise engaged at that moment.With the king´s heirs.Who, once an oath had practically been sworn that they had no intention whatsoever of stealing whom the two young dwarves had taken to refer to as their Future Hobbity Uncle from the company, had adjusted their line of thinking so far as to acknowledge that they were not that bad, seeing they had looked after their Future Hobbity Uncle and had protected him during his search of them. And moreover – and rather importantly! - they enjoyed - Pranks. If their hobbit´s disappointed voice and stern look (Uncle Bilbo was so cute!) had not quite, fully, absolutely convinced them of there being any merit in the two overgrown trees, it had been the happy realisation that the elves were fun.And it was a very good thing that Uncle Thorin had been largely laid up in the bedroom Beorn had provided him with to properly treat and recover from his injuries – much to the king´s grumbling displeasure and at their hobbit´s entreating insistence (the exclamations of insufferable hobbit! and unscrupulous tormentor and stubborn halfling losing quite a lot of their tendency to wound when one instantly, if growlingly, complied with the hobbit-ish commands that alternated between hopeful requests and direct threats) – because Mahal help them if he should catch them sparing with elves! And, uhm, those other things.Such as - Coating Bofur´s hat with honey.Putting a braid into a sleeping Ori´s hair and finishing it off with a flower.Dori had nearly thrown a fit at the idea that anyone would dare to lay claim to -Pinching one of Dwalin´s knuckle-dusters and putting it into Nori´s bag. (Although Kili resolutely maintained that was actually being helpful, no matter how much their hobbit had been tapping his foot. Which had also been cute.)And such completely harmless, innocent pastimes.And then there had been the moment when they had been about to prank their bear of a host.Only for their host to happen upon them.In front of his beehive.The two dwarves never wanted to see a bee again as long as they lived. And they suspected neither did Elladan and Elrohir only they had presented a much more stoical front when faced with the calm, speaking wrath of the resident skinchanger.They had long legs. If it came to it. Taking flight-wise. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Hm. Tolerable, I suppose. For a dwarf.”Kili drew the string again, making another arrow fly towards the makeshift target. “You are just jealous the cat liked me more.” “It liked Bilbo more.”“Everyone likes Bilbo.” Fili pulled the arrow out of the tree trunk, inspecting it with dubious interest. “Flimsy. You had better stick with yours, Kee. And you still can´t have him, elf.”Elladan smiled, bending down to return his own arrows into their quiver.“So I inferred from King Thorin. His majesty was quite precise on his opinion of being separated from his One. I confess I quite like my head where it is.”“And it´s such a pretty one, too!”. Elrohir was quick to reassure his sibling, not bothering to look up from his inspection of the dwarven bow in his hand, which had held his interest for the past minutes.“Thank you.”Kili looked between the two brothers and then frowned.“It´s no different from yours.”Two elven brows went up in mild astonishment, the bow apparently forgotten.“Are you expressing your interest in my person, Master Dwarf?”There was a snort.“You´re an elf.”One of the elf´s very mobile brows went even higher.“Oh shove it”. Kili rolled his eyes and gave the elf a little push as he made his way past the same to collect his arrows. “Either of you would have to grow a beard first to be considered attractive to any dwarf!”“Beards are undesirable”, Elrohir returned, shaking his head with wonderful phlegm. “I shall never understand your kind´s obsession with all that hair. Does it not scratch when you -” He let his eyes travel over Kili´s form. Slowly. Then - “Kiss?”“What?! No! I mean - yes!”, the dwarf spluttered, his cheeks having gone interestingly red. A little. Because of the sun. “But -” Kili crossed his arms, glaring up at the smiling elf defiantly. “I am not going to kiss you! Elf.”The elf favoured the flustered dwarf with a smile that suggested thoughts along the lines of We Shall See and then turned away to address his twin in the language of his kind, leaving Kili to direct big, confused, questioning, You Are My Brother And You Have To Do Something- eyes at his own sibling.“Fili -”“Thorin!” ~ ~ ~ ~ It was rather difficult to not gape or stare – depending on which party of the two parties one referred to – at the sight of the King under the Mountain. Standing before them. Surrounded by various assortments of botany.Trees. Animals. Oversized insects.Posture all regal and commanding. A glare being his favoured choice of expression.With a cat curled up in his arms. The cat that had resisted any attempt whatsoever at befriending on the parts of both dwarven and elven siblings. Protestingly. Violently.And now it was purring.Happily.In the king´s hold.Who was stroking it.How - Fili was the first to recover.“Uhm... Uncle, you - we were just - ”The king directed his glare at his heir for a brief moment and then let his eyes travel across his younger nephew until it reached the two elves.And one elf in particular.Whom the cold blue eyes fixed on.Determindedly.Appraisingly.Until a displeased, demanding little head resolutely butted the firm chest. The owner of which being increasingly displeased by the lack of attention to its ear and not at all ashamed of making its discontent known. As it were.Thorin briefly narrowed his eyes at the creature in his arms, then directed them back up at the seemingly unrepentant elf.Who suddenly found himself with an armful of mewling, wriggling feline and the recommendation to feed the same if he did not care for further injury. ~ ~ ~ ~ The protestations of his wounded nephews – how could their Uncle not trust them with the cat but hand her over to a tree-shagger! - fell onto deaf ears as the king went in search of his hobbit. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin finally found his hobbit curled up underneath a shady tree.Asleep.And the small creature looked utterly peaceful.And adorable.And – small.The dwarf frowned.Had the hobbit always been that small?Something reared in his chest that was very like a predominating urge to cherish and to hold and to protect.Definitely to protect.And to hold.And cherish.And – if the dwarf was quite honest with himself and seeing that he was very much alone with a sleeping burglar and his thoughts he did not feel he had to muster any energy whatsoever to waste upon anything his hobbit would deem Propriety or Respectability – to wrap himself around the hobbit and reacquaint himself with that lovely, responsive spot along the soft neck which he had been itching to explore again ever since he had first found it those many weeks ago in Bag End.He was allowed to now, surely.He could lean down and lower his head and nuzzle the golden curls and the soft, beardless cheek and let his mouth travel - But he had promised himself he was not going to repeat his mistakes. Not that getting better acquainted with the hobbit´s softness and roundness and those little mewls and sounds he made when - He was very much going to reacquaint himself with all that. But his hobbit - Bilbo - needed rest.This small, fragile, gentle creature had been battling orcs (and Thorin had quite a number of things to say on that subject still! How dare Bilbo throw himself -), running from wargs, tricking trolls, cozying up to elves (and that he still had a number of things to say to, too! Elves. Hmpf.), marching across Middle Earth, keeping Fili and Kili in line (Mahal knew that that was nigh impossible and required a firm hand. And glaring. And growling. And threatening. And an inexhaustible amount of patience. Which Thorin did not possess – and scoffed at - so he usually jumped the patient route and addressed matters in rather more comprehensible manner from the start. Which had served quite well thus far, on the whole. Even if his hobbit preferred to take a decidedly undwarvenish approach. Which worked wonders on his two hellions. Unsurprisingly. The king found it very hard to resist that adorable wagging finger himself. And those small hands planted on those invitingly round hips. And when the hobbit looked at a dwarf with just that expression -) and had taken to mothering him; telling His Majesty to Stop Being Stubborn and to Do What Oin Says and to Not Behave Like A Fauntling (Thorin had taken great, stubborn pleasure in informing his meticulous hobbit that that would be dwarfling) and to Stay On That Bed Or He Would Be Very, Very Cross!Thorin had decided to humour his fussy little love.And not at all because being chewed on by a warg had had any effects worthy of being acknowledged on his person. And the same went for encounters with any goblins in their tunnels. He was a dwarf.If any wounds he may have sustained during the past days were affecting him they were completely negligible. He was only willing to recline on that bed to please his One. And if that meant having to endure having his hair tucked behind his ear and his forehead felt for any temperature and his temple bathed with a soft, wet cloth by a ridiculously small hand and the bandages Oin had seen fit to plaster his body with regularly being changed by the same hand and its twin and being spoken to like a faunt- dwarfling and imbecile, alternatingly, he would endure it and not say a word about it.As long as his hobbit continued to crawl up onto the bed with him and put his head on his chest or let Thorin put his own into his lap and ran those gentle, soothing fingers through his hair.He was King.He was willing to compromise.Sometimes.If there was a point in it.And close contact with Bilbo Baggins was always a good point. A very tempting one at that very moment.Was his hobbit even allowed to be so irresistibly alluring in his sleep?He was tempting him even when asleep.With his cute little nose and his curly hair and so very soft little mouth and -Minx.Bilbo would soon learn that - No. He was going to use his self-control, to remember that he was King and to let his beloved sleep.And to watch over him.While he slept.He should not be out alone, there was no saying what might be lurking anywhere. And try to harm the hobbit. Or steal him.So Thorin was just going to lower himself onto the grass, in his loose shirt and trousers, and sit there and watch his hobbit rest and - Hm.He supposed he could do it.Seeing it was tradition.A requisite, really.Expected.Of the suitor.Him.And there was no-one around to witness it.If one took to discounting gigantic bees and similar atrocities.Like - Elves. The cat would surely scratch them.Again.Thorin had every faith she would.Even if they had looked after his hobbit.And joined in the fight.He grudgingly supposed that made them somewhat acceptable.Which meant he was entertaining positive thoughts about elves.Mahal wept. ~ ~ ~ ~ The king growled.He would bully his council into passing a law that forbade the use – the existence! - of any botany within the confines of the mountain once he had reclaimed his throne.No matter what any hobbits close to his hardened heart might have to say on the subject.This was - Torture.This was - Ludicrous.Annoying.Tiresome.Beneath him.And his dignity.And - Hopeless. Bilbo might have said – or rather more shouted – that he loved him but one look at his sad attempts at performing even the simplest hobbit-ish courting ritual and - Thorin took malicious pleasure in throwing the dissatisfying fruit of his labour onto what had become a rather impressive pile of - Flower wreaths.Crowns.And none of them had been good enough for his hobbit.He was only going to put a perfect crown on his hobbit´s head.The colours would have to suit the colouring of his curls (honey; with a tendency to shine almost golden when fully exposed to the brightness of the sun) and compliment his eyes. (Thorin liked looking into his hobbit´s eyes. Except for when they were glaring at him. Although he liked looking into them even then. And he was never going to admit that to his hobbit.) And it had to be an even arrangement. A proper circle. Nothing … lopsided. Askew. Irregular.Thorin grunted, letting his gaze travel over the rapidly diminishing accumulation of quite an impressive number of different kinds of botany he had carefully plucked from the skinchanger´s collection and arranged neatly before him. He was nothing if not painstaking in all his endeavours. And he was going to fashion Bilbo Baggins a circlet that would forever put the thought of any flowery impostors out of his mind. The gems he was going to use would - OW!The king eyed the spiky little flower with loathing.It had stung him.He was King.Nothing was allowed to sting him.If orcs and goblins were not allowed to stab him with their weapons a rose most definitely was not either. It did not even smell nice.It was giving him a headache.It had to go. Bilbo would never know.Thorin reached for the prickly offender again to dispose of it to where it could not take to any further insolence and - Swore. ~ ~ ~ ~ “What have you done now, you silly dwarf?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo Baggins blinked.Once.Twice.Three times.Nope.Still the same.His mind must clearly be befuddled from his prolonged nap under the half-shaded tree because it suggested to him that Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Lonely Mountain, was currently sitting close to him, on the grass, an array of flowers sorted into small piles before him and - Arranging the same into a crown.Yes, and he was apparently still more than half-asleep because there seemed to be quite a number of unfinished – oh, that one actually looked finished! Even if a little, uhm, experimental, perhaps - decorative headwear within tossing distance of the dwarf. The dwarf who had folded his arms (and did that not make an unexpectedly lovely picture, with his seating position of choice being one of crossed legs and that mulishly affronted expression on the handsome face! Not that Bilbo was in any way partial but Thorin really made the most endearing -) did not dignify to answer the question.Bilbo – being a hobbit – had no difficulty detecting the source of his dwarf´s rather too rude expletive. Not that he could tell anyone which, precisely, had been chosen as Thorin, in typical Thorin-fashion, had elected to resort to his own language but Bilbo had been around the dwarves long enough to be able to tell from the precise tone of grunt, growl or snarl how much feeling was behind it. And the king´s outburst had been very - Not that it mattered at all at that present moment.There were much more interesting and important matters that needed his attention.Matters such as -Thorin was making flower crowns.Thorin was making flower crowns for him.Presumably.He was the only hobbit around and no-one else among the silly company would sink themselves so low as to sport any such confection on their rude heads. And he was also the only hobbit around who was being courted by the king. And who may have mentioned that vital part of hobbit courting. And Thorin had not only listened but was now sitting there, on Beorn´s land; thick, calloused fingers attempting to inspire various matching and non-matching flowers into obedience. Carnations, camellias, roses, daises, poppies, daffodils, forget me nots, lilies, peonies.Right.He was going to have to subject his dwarf to a lesson in botany.Clearly.After - “Oh Thorin.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Hm.Perhaps he would not ban any botany from Erebor after all.If the mere sight of it inspired the hobbit to throw himself at his person and nearly topple him over into the soft grass and -The botany could stay.If it meant the hobbit would take his face in both his hands and claim his mouth in a kiss such as would - He would have to adapt that law.Botany would be permitted within the mountain, but only in places that were strictly reserved for the king and his consort.He was not overly protective.Or worried.Or exaggerating.Or jealous.Thorin scoffed at the notion.But Bilbo was beautiful and adorable and lovely and his and he was a dwarf and the only being who would be gifting the hobbit with flowers and earn his kisses was -“Thorin.” ~ ~ ~ ~ The king, somewhat dazed from the pleasurable turn his afternoon had taken, looked up at the smaller being, who had moved to put some distance between them again and was standing over the dwarf.Which Thorin did not like at all. Bilbo should kneel down again and continue – but he was expected to answer, apparently. Hm.“Hm?”And now the hobbit smiled at him in just that way. That way that always made Thorin want to haul him into his arms and throw him onto his bed – or bed roll, he was long past being particular in that regard – and Thorin was going to have to inform him that he considered it very teasing of his hobbit to-“I asked – why so many?”So many – ah.That.There may have been a hint of a red stain on the king´s cheek as he observe the – carnage.Then he straightened. Or as much as one could, while still sitting on a patch of grass.“They were unfitting for the future Consort of Erebor. I will not present you with anything less than perfection, Master Baggins.”And he fervently hoped that that latest attempt at perfection would prove to be just that because - “Bilbo?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Consort.Of Erebor.He was going to be Consort of Erebor.Consort of Thorin.Who was the King of Erebor.Or would be.Once the tiny matter of a dragon had been taken care of.Right.Yes.Well.That thought had quite - It may have quite escaped - Well, there had been many other things to think of and - He had told Thorin - Back on the Carrock - That he - ~ ~ ~ ~ Oh Eru.Had he just - And in front of the entire company - And the elves - And - Yup.He apparently had.If he were to judge merely by the look Thorin was currently favouring him with.Which had gone from furious to closed-off to shocked to - Hmpf! Well, that was quite nice, really. Lovely, even.And he was rather in favour of the soft kisses that were liberally scattered across his cheeks and forehead and the top of his head and even his ears (and that was rather inspired territory to shower with that form of attention. A hobbit´s ears were … sensitive. And this hobbit was quite leaving it at that, thank you very much.)He even approved of the mumbling and grumbling that was the dwarves´ cherished secret language - ghiva- - azun - well, they both sounded quite lovely and appropriate, whatever they might mean, and Bilbo was very willing to accept them as his due. Only - He needed to breathe.And while he generally had no problem whatsoever with finding himself pressed to that lovely rock of a chest and with the strong arms encircling his form he would prefer to be able to enjoy that pastime on many, many more occasions in the very near future so he would have to - “Nghh - Thorin! I can´t breathe!”And did those words not work like magic!And that expression on the dwarf´s face as he stepped back to give the hobbit room was very, very - Becoming.Endearing.Flush-inspiring.Unfair.Really.Was he even allowed to smile in that way?He would surely never get any work that kings were supposed to get done done if he took to smiling like that during any council sessions. It would only serve to distract its members.Bilbo decided he had to make certain that Thorin Oakenshield would only ever bestow such a smile on him. For the greater good of Middle Earth. Because - “Bilbo.”And he was not going be allowed to breathe any name but for the hobbit´s own in just such a manner either!Could he possibly get away with restricting that forehead-thing as well? And he really, really needed to enquire into the further meaning of the same! Which he would have done in the beginning.If the dwarf were not so entirely distracting all the time.Right.So.Oh for Yavanna´s sake - must they gawk so? If the dwarves kept that up – along with the cheering and the catcalls and he was going to have to have a very serious word with Nori because there were children about – well, more or less, really, they behaved like children a lot of the time. And that went for both dwarves and elves, thank you. - and that gesture - He was quite certain the tips of his ears had just flushed.And he was merely a moment away from hiding his face in one particular dwarf´s chest again.The particular dwarf who appeared unable to stop himself from running his hands up and down the hobbit´s arms.And those eyes - Oh dear.Bilbo was in such trouble.He had shouted at the king.He had shouted at the stupid, stubborn, idiotic king who had apparently thought it a brilliant idea to try and meet his death at the hands of the Defiler instead of being roasted by a dragon and had terrified him in a manner the hobbit had never been terrified before.To lose Thorin was - So he had run. Had unsheathed Sting and had thrown his body against the orc who had been about to present its master with the dwarf´s head with all his might and had killed and -Thank Eru the eagles had come.And then Gandalf had done something wizard-ish and had assured that Thorin would live and Bilbo had been so very, very relieved and then Thorin had started to rant at him and he may have - Yes, well.The truth was, of course - The truth was - He loved Thorin.And wasn´t that just splendid.He, Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, had gone and fallen in love with a king.And not just any king, no - the most stubborn, rudest, arrogant, overbearing - Why did the stupid dwarf have to be so lovely?If he weren´t so lovely then Bilbo would not be in such a dilemma now!He could have simply ended their courtship and kept the whole adventure business on a professional level but no, Mister King under the Mountain had to go and look at him with those sad, blue eyes and smile that smile at him and kiss him quite sense – yes, well ….And now he was in love.With Thorin.And he had just told him.On top of a cliff.In front of witnesses.Wonderful.Stupid dwarf. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Hm? Oh. Thorin. I -” Bilbo replied distractedly, his eyes darting about to everywhere but the dwarf in front of him.A frown appeared on the dwarf king´s face.The hobbit was clearly agitated. Gone was the smile and his attempts at fulfilling the courtship requirements appeared to hold little interest to his One at that point. Surely they were not that lacking? He should be accorded leniency – he thought he had been accorded leniency only now - “Bilbo.” Thorin had stood, moving so as to be able to reach for his hobbit … only to find his hand shaken off. The frown deepened. “Bilbo. What is wrong?”“Wrong? No – what – nothing is wrong!” The hobbit had taken to pacing in front of the tree, small arms flailing at his sides. “Why should anything be wrong?! I am merely a hobbit who is being courted by a king. Surely I am not the first hobbit to be courted by a king. And I can always just lock myself into the pantry when anyone comes knocking to drag me off to any consort business and -” “Hobbit.”Bilbo´s mouth fell shut as he felt the deep growl in the chest he found himself pressed against, a large hand running soothingly down his back, its twin firmly holding him in place.Eyes closing, the hobbit breathed in the calming scent that was his dwarf.Earth and pipeweed and musk and uniquely Thorin.Only he was not just Thorin, was he - He was also - Fingers curled into the fabric of the king´s tunic. Then -“I can´t.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- He had just aged another century. If not two. At least. He would not be surprised to find more silver in his hair the next time he chanced to look upon his reflection. And all because his little love was being ridiculous. Entirely. Which Thorin was going to firmly inform him of. Once he had had his fill of soft, warm hobbit in his arms. Which might take - A while. Bilbo - Fitted perfectly. Bilbo was made to fit perfectly. Made for him. Any and all thoughts the hobbit entertained about being unsuitable or unfit to rule at his side were as ludicrous as they were unnecessary. And he would not permit his One to have any doubts on the matter. Bilbo Baggins was perfect. The perfect hobbit, the perfect burglar, the perfect future Consort of Erebor, his perfect - One. And he was not at all biased. He may have wanted the hobbit from the moment that round, green door had been opened to him to reveal an impossibly cute, curly-haired, flustered, small creature, might have craved his touch and his heart, but it was not only Thorin himself who had come under the hobbit´s spell. He had had to forcefully remove his sister-sons from the hobbit´s person – around his person (Cuddle With The Hobbit was not a well-known parlour game, whatever the two simpletons who were his heirs – and Dain was still an option! - had tried to convince him of); he was going to have to distract Dwalin from arranging regular tea parties with his husband once they had reclaimed Erebor and if he had to employ Nori´s services in order to have his husband to himself he would not at all hesitate to sink so - And when he thought of Bofur - The company could find their own hobbit. Bilbo was his. And at that present moment he was his to comfort and his to run his fingers through soft curls and his to hold close. Hm. His hobbit really was the perfect fit and - Was shaking. Thorin drew back. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Bilbo.” ~ ~ ~ ~ The low rumble send additional shivers through his body.Which were not unpleasant. Which he did not at all need at that present moment. Because those shivers that were the result of low rumbles – and growls and piercing blue eyes and that mouth on his skin and yes, well, he had long left his proper hobbit respectability behind. Apparently. – were directly responsible for the nasty situation he currently found himself in. If the stupid dwarf were not so stupidly - And he was also not at all in any need of the large, calloused hand that had reached up to cup his cheek and was bringing his head close and - Not this again. It was confusing. And distracting. And he did not have time for distractions right now, thank you. He needed to inform Thorin that he could not possibly be any Cons - Oh, but that was lovely. Calming, even. Thank Eru the dwarf knew when to take the gentle head-knocking approach because, well, he had seen things. Being subjected to dwarves. A lot. For some time. And they did things. With their heads. Foreheads. Which were rather unmentionable, really. To a hobbit. Who was not built of stone. Or rock. His head hurt when he thought about them. The first time he had witnessed Dwalin and Balin grab each other´s arm and then bash their heads together … Nope. No, thank you. He´d rather endure the cuddles. If approached by the One Dwarf At A Time Rule. And any Durins in small helpings. Well, but for one Durin. But that would be rather complicated, really. With that Durin being a king. And residing in a mountain. Once it would have been retaken. And Bilbo being home in his smial. In the Shire. Because a king needed a consort, obviously, and Bilbo could not possible be that consort, no matter how that something around the general region of his breast twinged and pulled at the thought of not being with Thorin and how much he had come to care for that stupid, irresistible dwarf with his bad temper and his grouchiness and his brooding and his complete lack of any sense of direction and - He was about to hyperventilate. Was he allowed to hyperventilate? Did hobbits hyperventilate? He could not recall any case, really, seeing that hobbits were quite phlegmatic and placid, on the whole (if they were not called Lobelia Sackville-Baggins but Bilbo preferred not to think of his greedy, nosy cousin when practically in his dwarf´s arms, thank you) but surely - Well, they would now because frankly, he found it a little hard to breathe and - “No.” - he would quite like to – wait. What - No? ~ ~ ~ ~ “I am what?!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Fine, so he may have said that thing about being in his smial in the Shire aloud, unwittingly, but that did not give the dwarf the right to spring such a – a - thing on him!Dwarves. Really. Could they not do things like proper, normal beings? Slowly? Tentatively? You know. Getting to know each other. Find out whether they were compatible. The whole flowers and dinners and picnics and gifts route of things? And then there was the, uhm, physical side of things although he probably could at least skip that in his own particular case and he was not going to blush thinking about a certain towel incident and certain elven baths and things that may or may not have occurred in his bedroom or on the road and - No, they had to be entirely dramatic and determined and stubborn and – and single-minded and tell an unprepared, already slightly afflicted hobbit that a hobbit was their - One. Well. That Mahal or Aule or whatever the silly Valar liked to call himself had a lot to answer for. Really. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Bilbo -”“Don´t you Bilbo me, Thorin Oakenshield – and don´t you dare to try that look on me! I am immune to that look! I have been subjected to that look for weeks now! Yes, and now I know where you nephew has it from! Really, you – you dwarf! You are so very lucky that I – wait!” The flustered, much put-upon hobbit paused, his frowning gaze fixed on the dwarf before him; finger that had begun to poke the solid, armour-less chest – with dedication – halting mid-poke. Then - “What would happen if I rejected your suit?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin had to remind himself he was King.And that kings did not give in to any urges. No matter how strong they were. Or at least such urges. It was perfectly within kingly rights and limits to give in to any urges that were related to silencing one´s hobbit by the force of one´s mouth on one´s hobbit´s mouth if one´s hobbit insisted on making a kingly head spin. And on being infernally cute. When upset. And enraged. Not that Thorin had any wish to make his hobbit feel either. He wished to make his hobbit feel quite different things and he had no particular preferences as to whether those things would occur in a garden or in a bed but those things were clearly out of the question at that present moment, seeing his hobbit was a small bundle of affront and disbelief and anxiety and worry. And was poking his chest. For emphasis. Which was rather ador- He was King. And he was not going to hide his face in his hands. Not even in one. Mahal. ~ ~ ~ ~ He liked reading.And Dwalin need never know that he had turned the pages of an elven book. And he would just mention that incident with the elderly dwarrowdam and the ale and her skirts should Dwalin ever find out and ponder the matter. Loudly. In public. And he would do it when Nori would be near. Because it had just been a book. And it had all been for Bilbo anyway. Fine, his interest in Bilbo but surely that was the same thing. He had needed to learn more about hobbits. And he could not possibly have asked the hobbit concerned in the matter because that would have been - He had his pride. Or what was left of it. Considering his choice of reading material. And having asked an elf for it. While on a bed provided by elves. In halls brimming with elves. The things Thorin suffered for his One. And he was suffering them at that very moment because his beloved, his love, his One had no concept of Ones and Thorin may have blurted out that Bilbo was his One in that moment of sheer panic when his One had suddenly babbled about the Shire and his hobbit hole and going back to it. He would never mention his comforting skills to anyone if notions of flight came into the head of the individual he had been attempting to comfort. Calm. Comfort and calm. He was very much able of both those things. Even if he could practically hear Dis cackle somewhere in a far corner of his mind. It angered him that Bilbo thought so little of himself as to consider himself not suited as his consort. Bilbo was all that was suited to the task. He would control the more taxing members of his Council with his unrelenting glares and his common sense and his diplomacy and his way of words when Thorin would just threaten to behead them and be done with it, they would all be charmed by him – as would the rest of his people – he would be able to discuss such matters as any tiresome members of any guilts would see fit to plague his unwilling ears with without having to resort to threats of banishment (no matter if Thorin should think they would deserve it!) and he would soothe the king´s woes after a long, excruciating day among said members of either or worse - both - and if Thorin was lucky he would take to petting his hair while on their bed and - He wanted no-one else. He would have no-one else. This small, gentle, soft, brave, beautiful hobbit was his. And he was Bilbo´s. Besides - Thorin crossed his arms, stubbornly returning the glare he had been favoured with. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You assured me of your affections.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “You left.”“I did not -” Bilbo rudely ignored the protesting dwarf, not at all interested in any interruptions. Because that - Stung. A little. If Bilbo was the dwarf´s One - and the hobbit had yet to determine whether he found that concept flatteringly endearing or the dwarves completely off their combined rockers – and if what the reticent dwarf had just told him about the, to his mind as yet neutral, concept was true he was a half of another´s soul and owned his heart and there would be him and no other - Well. He had left. “You. Left.” The hobbit did not even try to keep the hurt and anger out of his voice. If Thorin had left then he had decided Bilbo was no the One he had envisioned for himself and he had decided – having found him wanting (and his ears, up to their very tip!, would redden if he had time for some such nonsense at that very moment considering the, uhm, occurrences in his home. That was, some of them. Yes, well.) - that he would rather spend the rest of his long dwarf life alone and had then decided to make the best of it when Bilbo had caught up with them and now Bilbo had gone and fallen for the dwarf and really he had much better - “I love you.” Oh. Or that. Yes. Quite. Especially when he was pulled back against a solid chest and a calloused hand pressed his face into the same. And then there was that wildly thumping heart his cheek was in close contact with. And that low rumble. Again. And that was not fair at all. Because he was still very cross. Especially because the stupid dwarf had made him think stupid things. And he was not at all fond of thinking about stupid things. Because they were just stupid. Generally. Really. Stupid dwarf. And as for that stupid consort business - ~ ~ ~ ~ “Why did you come?”“Why did you leave without telling me?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Stubborn.Pedantic. Stubborn, pedantic hobbit. And it was not helpful at all that the cross, mulish expression on the hobbit´s face was one of his favourite expressions. Making him wish to pepper that face with soft kisses until he had coaxed his hobbit into rather more pleasurable pastimes. Of which Thorin would be very much in favour because it had been far too long that he had been able to snatch more than a moment alone with his hobbit. There had always been a member of the company around. Particulary Oin. With his nasty poking and his orders. Who made him think about who it was that was King. And then their host. (If anyone was to call the hobbit a bunny – little or otherwise – it would be him!) Or an elf. Or two. Thorin grimaced. And then there was that cat. Which he had absolutely no partiality for whatsoever. It was not his fault that the sleek, purring creature had chosen him as a favourite. And he was absolutely not going to rub that under any noses. Especially not his nephews´. Who had taken to dallying with the elves. One in particular. He was going to have to disinherit Kili. Although, the boy had protested. It was the elf whom Thorin had to keep an eye on. When he was not busy with his hobbit. Hm. He might have to delegate that task to Dwalin. Because he planned to be very busy with his hobbit and to convince him of a great many things and to berate him for an evenly numbered number of things. Doubting himself. Doubting Thorin. The king huffed. Fondly. His ridiculous little love. Who had just taken possession of his braids and - Ow. Thorin glared. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Well you did not pay attention to me!”Bilbo did not see why he should apologise. The dwarf could scowl and grumble all he liked, he wanted answers and he was going to get them and if he had to involve any braids in his quest for information he would do so. Besides, Thorin was lucky he had not tweaked his nose. Interestingly large as it was. Which he quite liked, thank you. It was a lovely nose. Especially when it rubbed his own. Or his cheek. Or - Yes, well. So. Answers. Right. The hobbit still held on to one of the braids as he put his question to his inattentive intended once more. Sternly. Expectingly. Not at all distracted by the strange softness of the strand in his hand. “You say I am your One and yet you left. I don´t know about you dwarves but a hobbit tends to stay around their love interest, for the whole courting and getting to know business and all.” There was nothing for it, he had to pull at that braid again. Because Thorin – the git! - was not looking at him. Honestly. And he was - Blushing? Wait. Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain was - Blushing? Well, his cheeks bore an unprecedented red hue, at least. Or the part the hobbit was able to see. Honestly. Dwarves and their beards. Even if his dwarf kept his rather short. Oh, but that was rather endearing. Should he tell him that he - Nope. That would only give the silly dwarf another reason to scowl and to not tell him the things he wanted to know so he would just keep that thought close to his heart. For now. And be very stern with his dwarf. He should have taken a firm line from the start. Obviously. Well then. “There will not be any apple crumble for you if you do not tell me.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I had no wish of forcing my affections on you.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Because he knew his hobbit had a kind heart, he had learned that on his hobbit´s doorstep when he had had to stop the small, ruffled being from venturing out into the cold to chase after his fully grown nephews.And he wanted his love. Not his pity. Or mere submission. And Bilbo had made it clear, repeatedly, that he had no intention of joining the quest, that he meant to remain in his cosy, safe, warm hobbit hole and who was Thorin to pressure his One into what he obviously considered a dangerous fool´s errant. His One had talked about breakfast and furnishing them with provisions and had felt so warm and soft when Thorin had momentarily forgotten himself and had seized the hobbit into his arms and laid him onto the bed and - It had taken all his resolve to leave the next morning and to not throw himself at the hobbit´s feet and beg him to come. To make the journey Thorin knew would be dark and full of danger a little more bearable. But he had not done it. Bilbo had not felt the same pull, same longing as him, evidently, and the thought of risking the life of his One, who was untrained in any combat, innocent in war, untried in battle, so gentle and small and - He had touched his hair. Redone his braids. Had given him hope. And momentary happiness such as he had not felt before. Not even at the birth of his sister-sons. And had had not the smallest notion what his actions might mean to a dwarf. That understanding had cut Thorin like a sword. The hobbit might have felt some kind of attraction to him, perhaps even curiosity, perhaps hobbits were much more free with their affections and attentions – and that particular thought had not improved his mood when the company had set out from Hobbiton - Bilbo being in some hobbit´s arms. Kissing some hobbit. Being kissed by some hobbit. Touched by some hobbit. Minty had nearly thrown him off her back at that particular hard pull. Insolent pony. Thorin was King. He would not put his own needs first. He would be - ~ ~ ~ ~ “Noble. You thought you would be noble.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin was not certain he liked the slightly incredulous tone in his hobbit´s voice.He had been noble. He had behaved in a manner his fathers and forefathers would have approved of. It behoved him to show selflessness. He was King. He would not – could not – put his own interests first. And he had assumed Bilbo had not wanted him. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You, Thorin Oakenshield, are, quite possibly, the silliest dwarf to ever walk the face of Arda!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin would have protested at the accusation, most vehemently so.Except he suddenly found himself with an amorous hobbit in his lap. On the grass. And his mouth most pleasantly, stormingly occupied. He melted. Even if he would not admit to the sound that he might just have made. Which was most certainly not a whimper. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Thorin.”The carding through his curls went on, even as there was a drawn out hum. The hobbit himself was reluctant to break the pleasant spell by removing his head from its very comfortable resting place but not only was he mindful of his dwarf´s wounds, even if the dwarf himself was clearly not – no, he was not going to think of some of the perfectly acceptable activities he had engaged in with his bullheaded, handsome love; that would only make him turn red again and really, there was only so much you could blame on prolonged exposure to the summer sun and that bee seemed to have been a little shocked in its sensibilities and he had the very firm intention of taking anything further to a bedroom, thank you very much! - Gods. But Thorin was very thorough and that thing he did with his - Nope. Baggins. Baggins; Baggins. Never mind any Took sides. Yes, and the Baggins in this Baggins had made certain promises and it probably would not be wise to disappoint any resident skinchangers and that Baggins also had certain consort business to ponder – Perfect! Thorin had said he was perfect. Now he had to add deluded to his list of the dwarf king´s idiosyncrasies. He was a hobbit. Hobbits did not do royalty. Yes, they had their Thain but that was hardly comparable to any proper ruling and any thrones and crowns and petitioners and guilds and general subjects havoc (they were talking about dwarves, after all. There had to be some havoc involved. Often.). And as Consort - Well. Hobbit-Consort. To Thorin. Who had sworn to immediately banish any dwarf who as much as looked at Bilbo askew. Now that would make him quite popular, surely. Amongst a larger number of the dwarves of Erebor. Silly dwarf. And look they surely would. A hobbit in a mountain full of dwarves. Honestly. No matter if Thorin wanted them to look at him or not. Yes, he was Thorin´s to look at, though the dwarf took the possessive streak a tad far perhaps; no, he most certainly was not pretty. If anyone was pretty it was - And that scowl was attractive, too. It should be Bilbo worrying about anyone looking at anyone with too much interest. Because Thorin was - Beautiful. With his long, dark hair and his silver strains and his icy blue eyes and the noble brow and - Hm. Maybe that whole consort business would not be so bad. He would be able to keep an eye on what was his (if any dwarves were allowed to make any such declarations he was, too. And he would have his work cut out for him as it was. Best start with the sternness now and get some practice in. Yes.) and have the additional benefit of enjoying Thorin´s grumpy company when everyone else would be obliged to retreat for the day. And then he could - Yes, well. Things. Which he could still engage his mind in while busy in Beorn´s kitchen. Quite. So - “You never answered my question.” Or perhaps not. Uhm - Could he pretend he had no idea what the dwarf was talking about? It worked well for some of the company. Most of the time. Or they possibly really had not much of an idea. About anything. Those silly, lovely dwarves of his. Ugh. Of course Thorin had to go and put a finger under his chin. And direct his face towards his own. And make those incredible eyes bore into him. Really. Stupid dwarf. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin blinked.“You -” His - And he was not even to think about - No-one was allowed to - It was off-limits - If anyone was to - What - The king stared after the rapidly retreating hobbit (who had mumbled something about Beorn and kitchen and baking and apples as he took himself off, very much flustered and with soft cheeks deliciously red) in mild confusion. Then a rare, slow smile appeared on his face Of course no-one else was allowed to braid his hair. That would just be ludicrous. And as far as braiding was concerned ... ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Bilbo hated forests. Bilbo hated strange, dark, mirky forests. And any halls in strange, dark, mirky forests. And if he wanted to be around elves he could as well have tracked back to Rivendell. Or dragged the exasperating twins along. Who had taken their leave of them under the pretence of having to investigate the safety of paths. They just wanted to play with more orcs. Or so Bilbo chose to interpret the situation. Those – those - Imps! They had cheerfully assured him that they were alright. If a little stuck-up, perhaps. Once they had all got out of that stupid forest and had moved on to evict the even stupider dragon he was going to summon Lord Elrond to Erebor and was going to have a long, dedicated, not-at-all delicate debate with the elf about teaching one´s offspring the difference between gullibility and blatant downplaying. Because the Mirkwood elves were - A pain. In his - quite presentable, thank you - butt. And they would not let him near Thorin. ~ ~ ~ ~ It had been him and Kili.And he would have been quite alone, on his own, in that blasted, nasty forest had the young dwarf not insisted on making the climb up with him because - You could get lost in all those twigs and leaves, Uncle Boggins, and then Uncle would go entirely mad and we´d have no hope of ever getting out of this creepy wood and - Kili had been up half of that tree before Bilbo had even been able to blink after him. But that might have been attributed to the glare the entirely too cheerful dwarf – they had been going in circles, after all! Had had to carry Bombur! Had been running out of food! And he had not been able to cuddle up to Thorin as much as he had wanted to, which had been the greatest calamity of them all because he had needed Thorin, thank you very much. - found himself favoured with by his entirely unamused uncle. Well, alone but for the spiders, of course. Which he would not even dream of cuddling up to. In fact - He considered them entirely uncuddlesome. He quite liked pets and would have taken Beorn´s cat with them if Thorin had not nearly thrown a fit at the mere, slightly wistful sigh that had passed his lips when the gruffly kind skinchanger had suggested to make him a present of her. But those spiders were - Yeuch. Nasty, troublesome, ugly creatures. And they had enraged him. To the point of him forgetting all his fear and convincing his clearly entirely befuddled mind that rushing forward and attacking them with his little sword would be a very good idea, indeed. They had hurt Kili. Bilbo would never forget the insane dwarfling´s scream again as he got pierced by that oversized sting. The stupid boy had tried to protect him. Instead of making a run for it. Fear and rage and despair had taken turns at squeezing his heart and his calls for Thorin and Fili and Dwalin and the others had gone unanswered and he knew Thorin would never desert them and Kili would not simply stay down and still tried to fight while turning increasingly pale and swaying on his feet and they were going to die and - An arrow had notched itself into the skull of the spider that had intended to have him as a snack. ~ ~ ~ ~ More arrows flew and the exhausted, close-to-collapsing hobbit looked up when a flash of green and silver passed him and spider after spider began to drop or screech away in panic.He saw a barely standing Kili still trying to fire his own arrows before falling to the ground and the raging fury that took over his entire being made him rush forward again to assist in the battle, if only to take out as many of the giant beasts as he could in revenge for harming his nephew. He did not care for his own safety, Kili was dy - no. He was hurt. Merely hurt. And he would see to it that the insufferable young dwarf would be well again and then he would go and throw himself at the dwarf´s uncle and – and - slap him for being the head of a line of intolerably stupid beings who did not know when to Put Themselves First. When he found him again, that was. And he was going to find him. And Fili. And Dwalin. And Balin. And all his other friends. All his family. No spider was allowed to have eaten them. Whatsoever. He would cut any and all spider bellies open and retrieve his dwarves and then resuscitate them and then kill them all again for making him worry so and then he would grab his stupid, reckless intended and drag him off to the nearest bedroll and proceed to thoroughly inspect him for injuries and - “Don´t …. touch ...” Kili. ~ ~ ~ ~ “At ease, friend, I will not harm you.”Kili; pale, shivering, pain shooting through his body, nevertheless managed a creditable scowl as he eyed the blond elf who was leaning over him, swatting at the hand that had attempted to touch him. “Don´t … touch … you´re an … elf.” A ghost of a smile flickered across the calm face as the elf inclined his head slightly. “Mae govannen, Master Dwarf. Now rest still so that I may treat your wound.” Kili stared at the strange face before him until he seemed to recall - „No! My unc – Bilbo!“ The young dwarf tried to raise himself from the ground, his pained eyes franctically searching for the hobbit, trying to remove the strong arm that held him pinned and turning to some choice words in the dwarves´ secret language when he found himself hindered in his movements, to what appeared to be the elf´s serene indifference. Well, that was it, thank you very much! Bilbo stomped up to the pair. “Kili! If you will not stop being entirely troublesome I will be very, very cross!” On that loving note, the hobbit ordered the bewildered young dwarf to be still and to let the very nice, helpful - never mind that he was as yet unknown to them! - elf tend to him while in the same breath requesting him to never give him such a fright again and to refrain from - “ - ever coming to my rescue again! Next time you have a choice between being skewered by something long and thick and sharp and poking and escaping you will assemble the few wits your stupid Mahal gave you and run! Understood? Good.” The hobbit then took the pain-stricken, pale face into his small hands and pressed a firm kiss on the sweating forehead. “Silly boy”, he almost crooned, “What would we do without you?” Those big brown eyes that Bilbo had become quite immune to, thank you, studied him for a moment until Kili snapped his head around to stare at the elf at his side, who had been unobtrusively tending to him while the distraction had made it possible for him to do so. As if sensing the scrutiny, the elf raised his own, pale eyes, and let his calm gaze rest on the injured dwarf. Nothing was said for a moment until Kili suddenly turned his head away and, eyes closed, mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. Bilbo, trying very hard to be brave and calm and strong and mature-hobbitish and to not let his very great worry for the tiresome, loveable, youngest Durin show, stilled the hand that had been gently carding through the wild mop of hair (once they were out of that horrible forest and Kili was safe and well again he would make the careless boy sit down in front of him and would attempt to bring some sort of order to the mess! And yes, he would use the boy´s uncle´s comb so Thorin Oakenshield, Mister King under the Mountain, had better quickly reappear where the hobbit could see him and search his pockets for the necessary item and then he would subject the dark, silver-streaked mane to the same treatment and then put in those braids again and -) But Kili was speaking. The hobbit leaned in a little further, his voice quite gentle as he tried to make sense of the garbled mutterings. “Kili?” There was a soft, quiet sigh before the dwarf eventually succumbed to the darkness. “´s pretty. The elf.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Right.Well. That was - At least Thorin had not been around to overhear the observation. Even if the young elf had. Whose expression bore a strange kind of softness as his gaze rested on the unconscious dwarf, before he suddenly jumped up and into the trees and was - Gone. Right. Well. Really. That was rather - Rude. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Peace, Bilbo. My father -”“You´re father is a nitwit! Thorin will not -” The sorely tried hobbit buried his face in his hands. And he had just insulted the King of the Woodland Realm, too. To his son. Perfect. But then – “Eru, I am surrounded by nitwits.” ~ ~ ~ ~ The elf´s name was Legolas.And Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, son of the King of Mirkwood, which was the former Greenwood, had insisted to stay with Kili while Bilbo would, at last, be taken to the dungeon to Present To His Majesty The Sensible And Only Option That Was Answering The King´s Questions. Thranduil could go hang himself. Because Bilbo would be hugging the only king whom he was currently -and would forever be - interested in. And then cuff him. Twice. At the very least. Honestly. Making him worry so. ~ ~ ~ ~ It was, quite possibly, his favourite place in the world.It did not matter that he was dirty and that his hair needed a good brush and that he had clearly not eaten enough (probably out of his inborn stubbornness, the stupid oaf!) and that the unique smell he had come to identify him with was only to be faintly detected underneath the sweat and the grime and the, yes, well - All that mattered was that he was Thorin and that Bilbo was in his arms and hanging on for dear life while being simultaneously in danger of being crushed by those impossible strong arms that held him pressed against the merely tunic-clad chest while thick fingers carded through his curls, and he had every intention of staying right where he was for a great many moments more, no matter how many raised elegant eyebrows or discreet coughs might be involved. (Bilbo glared at the elven guard over his dwarf´s shoulder, inspiring the same into retreat). “Are you hurt?” He supposed now was not the time to inform his impossible love that he was likely to leave that cell with a few bruises at that rate. He hugged the dwarf closer. And if he took to his very own, special, decidedly unhobbitish interpretation of hugging it was nobody´s business but his own, thank you. And his dwarf did not seem to mind. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Thorin. You are not helping.”Not that a pacing King was not a rather magnificent sight but it was starting to give this hobbit a headache. (No, he could not simply remove his eyes from the dwarf. He was going to look at the dwarf as long as possible; just to assure himself that he was indeed alive and had not been eaten by any spiders. Or worse. Plagued to death by elves. Which the dwarf appeared to consider the worse fate. And the eye-rolling really did not help with the pounding in his head.) “I am well aware how useless I am, hobbit.” And they were back to the growling. Hobbit. Really. “Tiresome, not useless.” Bilbo firmly ignored the reproachful, wounded look he was favoured with. “Kili will be fine. The healers are taking care of him and Legolas -” “Thranduil´s son! You expect me to express relief at the knowledge that the son of my enemy is ensconcing himself with my nephew; who is too weak to fend off any unwanted advances, who – what?” Oh, good. That still worked. Good thing that they were rather round or else there would be nothing much to present by way of displeasure and emphasis. Although Thorin´s hips were rather lovely, too. But if he were to put his hands on those they would not be getting anywhere – or at least not anywhere near where that discussion was supposed to be going – so his own would have to suffice. Yes, and he was also going to intensify his glare because really, he loved his dwarves – and that particular stubborn and grouchy one particularly! - but all those rocks they had in their heads required the firmest, most unambiguous approach. So - “Legolas saved Kili. And he saved me. He fought of the remaining spiders and then sent word that he would return with an injured party. He brought Thranduil´s personal healer to look after your nephew and -and there was all that poison and Kili was so horribly pale and I would have been able to see you much sooner if you were not so completely bullhea-“ The hobbit suddenly broke off and - sniffed. And then he sniffed again. The truth was he had really, really missed his dwarf and he had been so very afraid that he would not see him again and then there had been Kili and surely it was perfectly alright for him to - Strong arms instantly wrapped around him once more, some nonsensical nonsense or other being murmured into his ear (well it was Khuzdul! He could only take a wild guess.). Well, fine. That was rather better, thank you. And so were the low apologies he could understand. And it was rather nice to be assured that he had been painfully, horribly missed. And that he was someone´s heart. And everything. Although he really was going to have to pet his dwarf and scatter quite a lot of soft kisses all over him in return once his arms decided to unwrap themselves from around the thick neck because he did not at all like to feel Thorin tremble and express the terror he had felt, believing both his One and his sister-son lost to him due to his own actions and being thrown into that horrible, dark, damp cell and - Ah. He still had to - Delicately approach the matter of - Or should he go straight for stern and threatening? Perhaps distract his dwarf? He did have that thing for having his - No, then he would only get interested again and then make a poor hobbit´s brain turn into mush so that would be highly impractical so - “Thorin. You will be diplomatic.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Thorin?” ~ ~ ~ ~ It had been an illusion.A sign of his growing madness. But he would gladly have lived with any madness if only it had meant that he could hear that voice again. And he would have gladly sunk into further madness only to be able to feel the gentle touch to the side of his face, his dirty hair being smoothed back and - “Oh Thorin...” ~ ~ ~ ~ The king´s head jerked up.Bilbo was here. Bilbo – his hobbit, his love, his One – was here. Here in the solitary, dark, lonely cell; here in the dungeon he had been tossed into by the two elven guards who had dragged him away from the elf king´s throne, refusing to listen to him when he practically begged for them to let him go and search for his hobbit and his nephew; entirely unmoved by both his rage and his pleadings. But Bilbo was here. A shaking hand lifted to a soft cheek and - Thorin snapped. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin rued the day he met the wizard.Fine, he did not rue the day he met the wizard because the wizard sending him to the Shire had been the wisest decision the wizard had ever made, obviously, but once he made it out of his prison and the blasted wood he would go in search of the wizard and throttle him. And then allow his eldest nephew to poke him with one of his many knives – never mind the boy having been stripped of them, he´d get them back. Thorin would see to it. And then punch that elf. Spiders. Thorin hated spiders. He had slammed Orcrist into the skull of one when he heard Fili scream; swinging around to see his nephew sink to the ground, a net of white quickly weaving around him, and the golden haired dwarf being dragged away. His feet had begun to move on their own accord while he shouted and demanded the monster release his sister-son when he suddenly felt the sharp sting of pain and immobility set over him. And then there had been flashes. Of green and silver and red and gold. And shrieks. And then Thorin had known nothing. ~ ~ ~ ~ He had woken in a cell, a she-elf brusquely informing him that the King wished to see him.The King. Thranduil. Who had accused him and his company of trespassing. Of disturbing peace and order in his realm, of risking the well-being of its residents with his stupidity. And who had demanded answers. To know what purpose Thorin Oakenshield had so far East. ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin resisted the urge to punch his mortal enemy and returned the cool, haughty gaze with a glare.“The hobbit. My nephew. Where are they?” One pale, elegant eyebrow went up. “The dwarves of Erebor travelling with a child of the kindly West?” “My chosen travel companions are none of your concern, elf. Where is he? Where is my sister-son?” Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, barely twitched at the snarl that had been directed at him. He stopped in the raising of his wine glass however, one long leg crossed across the other, the lithe form reclining leisurely on the elaborately carved throne. “You appear to labour under a misapprehension, Thorin Oakenshield. The whereabouts of shirelings hold little interest for me. That of dwarves none at all. However –“ A barely there hint of a smirk crossed the stoic features as the elf suddenly rose and made his way down the steps to stand in front of his prisoner, arms folded behind his back, rich silver robe swaying with every step taken - “If they should be of such great import to yourself, I will offer you my cooperation. Tell me what it is that takes you to my realm and I will show myself benevolent and set you free so that you may seek out those lost to you at your convenience.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “They are not here...” The truth manifested itself in the dwarf king like a bolt of ice. Bilbo - Kili - No. It could not be. It - Fury welled up inside him and threatened to consume him; the two guards at his side quickly taking to restraining him from launching himself at their king as he gave voice to his rage. “Release me! I have to find – they cannot be dead! They must not be -” The king attempted to shake his elven guards off in vain, his despair growing at the realisation that - “You! You left them behind! Your cold heart did not care to have the forest searched; you chose to not come to the aid of an innocent, brave hobbit who is worth more than your entire kingdom; a young, courageous dwarf barely off age who is dearer to me than you could -” Thorin suddenly halted, the colour completely draining from his face. Moments seemed to pass, the air around them devoid of any sound. Then - In barely a whisper - “I led them to their deaths.” ~ ~ ~ ~ If the dwarf had chanced to look up into his captor´s face at that moment, he would have seen a brief flicker of an emotion crossing the same.Thranduil rested his unreadable gaze on the broken dwarf king before flicking a hand at his guards. He stood before his throne, stoically observing the unresisting prisoner being taken back to his cell. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The dwarf on the bed scowled. “It´s you.” “It is me.” The scowl deepened at the smile in the voice, then a hand ran across a face as if the action would help smoothing out any possible creases that were the result of resting amidst all those soft pillows and life, in general, would make a lot more sense. Eventually. With a groan, Kili flopped back against all the unexpected fluffiness, closing his rather more heavy eyes again. “I suppose you wish to kiss me, too.” Had his eyes been open, he would have been able to enjoy the rare sight of one of the First Born being at a total loss. Entirely bewildered. Confused, even. A pair of elegant brows located somewhere within the general region of a golden hairline. Unheard of. “I am to kiss you?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin was right.Elves were stupid. They had no common sense at all. All they did was stare. Quietly. Which was unsettling. And just rude. So much for the elves´ famous courtesy. Kili favoured the elf who was sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed with a look that clearly spoke of his opinion of his intellect. Honestly, if - Wait. The elf was sitting on his bed. Which wasn´t even his bed. It was a strange bed. In a strange room. A strange, frilly, airy room. Where was he? And where was Fili?! And Uncle? And Bilbo? Bilbo! Mahal – where was his hobbity uncle?! He sat up in a flash, wincing at the pain in his shoulder and the instant throbbing in his head, looking around wildly; dark hair tussled, eyes wide and full of dread. “Bilbo! The spiders – I must -” He looked around frantically. “Where did you put my bow? I must - I´m naked!” ~ ~ ~ ~ If anyone should ever ask, he most certainly did not squeak. That was something hobbits did, in his experience. Fine, his hobbity experience was not all that extensive but the one hobbit he was acquainted with did squeak (and it was rather adorable and made him appear even more cuddly and if it weren´t for his uncle´s growls and blatant hobbit-hogging Fili and he would be spending a lot more hours getting cosy with their soon to be hobbity relation!) and he did not make any sounds like that and if ever anyone should accuse him of anything remotely resembling them he would, uhm, well, he´d think of something. Ingenious. Fili would help. They would just have to make certain that they exercised their wrath not anywhere within the vicinity of their uncle because -An angry Uncle Bilbo was - It looked all cute and adorable and sweet and funny at first but then he would eventually start with the hands and the hips and The Glare (Uncle Thorin could even learn a thing or two!) and then there was that finger and – the worst of it – the threats of the stream of hobbity baked goods stopping and that was just unjust and low and then he would - Look so disappointed. And that was really unfair. And even Uncle shrank back from their hobbit´s wrath. Until he realised how cute it was and then started with the gooey eyes and the smouldering and all those things an impressionable nephew really did not wish to see and - Wait. He was naked. On a strange bed. And that very strange elf was sitting on it. Pulling the cover up to his chest, Kili eyed the elf accusingly, the air around them practically brimming with a silent, suspicious question. And the elf just smiled! Gently. With a hint of amusement in his pale eyes. Right. That was it. If the elf thought he was impressing him in any way he would learn that he was dealing with a dwarf! And one of the Line of Durin. As if he could ever be interes- impressed by anything an elf did. Impossible. Even if the other two were alright. And didn´t stare at him in such ways. Kili huffed, rolled his eyes and suddenly threw back the crisp white sheet and made to stand. (If he had to go in search of his kin while naked then he would go in search of his kin while naked.) It would serve the prissy elf right. And any other elves that might be around (he had a high suspicion that he found himself in what was practically a nest of them, given the chamber´s furnishing and all that. He was not stupid, whatever the rest of the company might think.). His bow. He needed his bow. And then he was going to - “What are you doing?” Gods, the elf really was stupid. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Talk.”“Yes.” “To Thranduil.” “Yes. “No. “Thorin.” “No.” “Do I have to pull your braids again?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin glared at his One.Bilbo wanted him to talk to Thranduil. He insisted he talked to Thranduil. He seemed to expect that Thorin would talk to Thranduil. There was no way he was going to talk to Thranduil. He would sooner march into Mordor and throw himself into Mount Doom before he would talk to Thranduil. His reasons for journeying East were none of the elf´s business and he was not going to cower before one who had deserted his friends, had refused aid to the dwarves of Erebor, had watched them flee in terror and had turned from them in the hour of their greatest need. And the blasted elf had had the infamy to imprison them! Thorin himself had been separated from the rest of his company and while furious, at least in the understanding that no harm would come to them. And then Thranduil had left Bilbo - his One - and his nephew - his son for dead. No, he was not going to talk to Thranduil. He would find another way of leaving that accursed forest – the elven king´s halls – his prison- and would lead his company on to Erebor. Without losing his way. Which he was not at all prone to anyway. And if he had to suffer his hair being pulled he would suffer it. Even if he could think of more preferable situations in which that would come into account. More pleasurable situations. Hm. Perhaps he could sneak another kiss? He deserved another kiss. He deserved to be able to take his hobbit into his arms and bury his face in those curls and breathe in his scent and to lay him down onto - Yes, a bed would be more adequate. And he was probably not at his best. Dirty. Unkempt. Bedraggled. Bilbo had not seemed to mind but he knew how fussy his little love was and moreover - He had his pride. And Bilbo deserved better. He deserved to be treated like the treasure he was; not to be pushed against any cold, wet, mould-infested dungeon walls (even if Thorin´s first instinct, once his nearly unspeakable relief had manifested itself, had been to do just that – to devour his hobbit right there, against a wall, elven guards and spectators be damned); not to be offended by his dirt and stench - And they would be parted again all too soon and that cursed, pointy-eared bastard would surely find another way of separating him from those he loved - needed - he would not put it past the elf to try and detach the hobbit from the company and steal him for himself (Thorin well remembered the day when his grandfather had presented the casket full of the finest gems to the elf king, only for the elf´s stoical features to practically contort in astonishment and immediate greed. The elf liked diamonds. And Bilbo Baggins was the finest diamond he could ever hope to feast his eyes upon and he was Thorin´s and Thorin would be damned if he permitted any cursed elf to -) - “Please, Thorin.” The king paused in his distracted pacing, dark head turning so as to enable him to stare at the gentle hand that had placed itself on his forearm. It was so very small. So – non-calloused. Untrained. Unused to - And yet it had defended him from - And had cupped the side of his face - Its fingers running through his hair - And he had thought he would never see it - Feel again its - Bilbo. Kili. A shudder ran through the dwarf´s form, the hobbit´s name a mere whisper on his lips as he stared at the smaller being, eyes tormented and the hand that reached out to touch for reassurance shaking. ~ ~ ~ ~ “I am here, Thorin.”Something incomprehensible was mumbled into his curls. The hobbit decided now was a very good time to hold on and therefore tightened his own grip around the dwarf´s broad chest. Or as much as he was able to. And he also decided it was a very good time to nose the loose tunic. And what was behind it. He would, of course, prefer to do any nosing without any covering in the way but he realised that a cold, dark dungeon was perhaps not the most sensible location for fabric-shedding and there would be many moments still in which he could indulge himself thus and they would, for a change, involve a soft, comfortable bed full of fluffy and various pillows and he would have Thorin sprawled out on the same and then take to - Uhm, perhaps not. Yes, it was a lovely train of thought, thank you, but would it get him anywhere at that present moment? Frustration excluded? And there were the guards to consider and they could be back at any moment and no-one was permitted to stare at his dwarf´s chest but him, thank you very much! He had only just managed to train the rest of the company accordingly, he really had no patience for hammering that fact into anyone else´s thick heads, currently. Elves liked pretty things. And Thorin´s chest was - Yes, well. Very - Fine, he was going to use words that would not make his dwarf fluster and protest and blush. If he ever heard them. Well-defined. Muscular. Interestingly hairy. (Those curls were surprisingly soft!) Alluring. And all his. He had had to put up with more than a hobbit should be forced to put up with in order to be able to make that declaration and he would most certainly stake his claim. Anyone else could get their own dwarf. Thorin was his. Except for when he was being entirely silly and unreasonable and rude and stubborn. Actually, even then. He would just scold him then. And ignore the puppy eyes. Honestly. They were even worse than Kili´s. And those very eyes, in their non-puppy state – which Bilbo was very grateful for as that blue intensity already had the habit of doing quite enough to his equilibrium – were just then focusing on him and making him quite weak in his knees. And - Angry. A lot. Very. Very, very angry. Unhobbit-ishly so. Because Bilbo saw all the fear and pain and self-blame and worry and all those feelings his dwarf usually hid behind a mask of aloof stoicism. When he wasn´t grouching. Which was rather endearing, but quite beside the point. And he was going to swallow his anger until he would be able to do something with it and concentrate on the arms that were folding him close and the hand that was carding through his hair and the mumbled, unnecessary apologies and just being held be the one who had his heart and whom he had thought he might never be able to cuddle up to again and any minute now he was going to make the dwarf lower himself to the floor so that he would be able to crawl into his lap and - Thorin!. ~ ~ ~ ~ A calloused hand once more cupped a soft cheek.“You will come back to me.” The king was favoured with a glare. “Will you squeeze my bottom again if I do?” “Yes.” ~ ~ ~ ~ There were many things the dwarf king found impossibly endearing – not to mention irresistible – when it came to his One´s peculiar habits but the righteous indignation that was usually accompanied with a flush of his cheeks (up to the tips of those pointed ears, if Thorin was very lucky) whenever he deemed his intended´s advance´s too personal for any surroundings they might find themselves in was very high up on his mental list of His Halfling´s Adorable Idiosyncrasies And Quite Unnecessary Qualms.And Thorin found himself facing a rather piqued, disapproving, delightfully pinked hobbit and was only waiting for the proverbial axe to fall in the form of what his nephews had taken to referring to as the Hobbity Finger Of Doom but apparently, and rather sadly, he was not going to be favoured with it this time and had to make do with that glare that did not at all make him quake and shuffle in his boots, whatever Dwalin had to say. Behind those frilly little tea cups that his hobbit liked to push at the burly dwarf. Blackberry tea. The king shuddered at the memory. And he would drink it. If he had to. If it would keep Bilbo with him, in his prison. He was going to have to let the hobbit leave him again; leave him behind in his dark cell, taking away the only light that made his imprisonment more bearable. But he was alive. Bilbo was alive. And he had assured him that Kili would soon be well again. And that the rest of the company was holding up. Fili. His brave, eldest heir. Pride surged through the king for a moment. They were going to get out. His hobbit was determined to come up with a way and Thorin trusted in his ability to find one. The hobbit had outwitted trolls, had escaped Goblin Town unscathed and had faced down Azog. Elves were a mere picnic. According to his imperturbable love. And Thorin was to try himself at diplomacy. And let Bilbo do the talking. ~ ~ ~ ~ He was going to have words with the elf king.He, Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire, was going to have words with the elf king. Many words. Many, many words. So many words that Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, formerly Greenwood, was going to wish that he had not made his Guard patrolling his realm. Had never even employed any Guard. Certainly not any Guard that took to dragging exhausted, half-starved, injured dwarves close to a hobbit´s heart into any halls. To interrogate them. And then have them thrown into cells. That had been bad enough. But Bilbo, hobbit of a thinking mind that he was, could make some small allowance for that, at least. There was no love lost between dwarves and elves, there had been a fight, there had been spiders, resistance, stubborn muteness in the face of any questions. And so on and so forth. Yes. Fine. Well, not fine but it explained the ire. A little. Even if it was entirely and absolutely childish. What it did not explain and what was going to induce this hobbit to march up to the ornate throne and pluck out each and every pale hair that made up the elf king´s rather impressive eyebrows – slowly – was the elf king deciding it would further dwarvish-elven relations to not inform his dwarven counterpart that the two missing members of his company had not met their brutal, untimely demise at the hands, or rather, stings of giant spiders. That had been cruel. Unnecessarily so. Unfeelingly so. Never mind – well, yes, he did mind, very much so, but that was another topic which he would sit his stubborn, ridiculous love down and enjoy an energetic debate about – a particular dwarf jumping to the immediate conclusion that it Had Been His Fault - what Thranduil had done, for the sake of playing games and gaining information was - Well, if his life wish was to become intimately acquainted with a murderous hobbit that wish could be granted. Because really. Well, yes, he was probably not going to strictly murder the elf but at the very least poke at him. With one of Nori´s many needles. Or two. Steal his stupid elk. (He would make Dori and Dwalin carry it if he had to.) And he would shout. By Yavanna, he would shout. Like he was going to do any second now. Now that he had reached the chamber. Or perhaps he was just going to stand there and stare. Or faint. Or - Really. ~ ~ ~ ~ “What do you two think you are doing? ~ ~ ~ ~ There was a gasp, which was followed by some scrambling and disentangling of long and hairy limbs.“Mr Boggins -” “It´s Baggins, Kili. How many times do I have to tell you?” The hobbit directed his exasperated gaze at the other culprit, arms firmly crossed in front of his chest. “And I suppose you have discovered your affinity for dwarf-healing, Legolas?” Kili frowned, turning back to the elf at his side, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “Legolas? Your name is Legolas?” “Aye.” “You could have told me.” Two elegant brows rose mildly. “I did not think you cared to learn.” There was a huff. “You introduce yourself before you – you pounce on someone!” “I did not pounce on -” “You would not let me leave -” “You are still hurt and - “ “That gives you no right to kiss -” “Boys.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Don´t give me that look, Kili.”“He started it. ~ ~ ~ ~ Eru, why did he ever leave the Shire.It had, thus far, brought him nothing but trouble. And he was quite certain his hair was going to turn grey any moment now. It was all very well that Legolas had attempted to prevent Kili from leaving his bed to go in search of himself; the silly boy was still swaying on his feet when he tried to stand for more than but a short moment and a little too pale for Bilbo´s liking, but did the elf really have to capture his wrists and press the dwarf back onto the mattress and - Yes, well. Thorin would have a fit. And then throw a tantrum. And then glare. And shout. And threaten to disinherit his nephew. Or he would. If Bilbo let him. Which he did not plan on doing and if the stupid dwarf thought he was going to permit him to turn this, uhm, youthful exploration (Yes. That. Quite. Thank you. No need to get further into it.) into a diplomatic skirmish he was going to inform His Majesty that he had chosen to pay court to a hobbit and by the way, there had not been all that much courting going on and he would quite like for that to change, considering (well, when Thorin took to the whole courting business he took to it quite dedicatedly and you couldn´t blame a hobbit for getting quite used to it. Enamoured. Even slightly addicted. Yes, well.) and perhaps he would simply possess himself of the dwarf´s bearded face and press his lips against - He never said his methods were ingenious. Or constructive. Overly. And he deserved another kiss. After everything he had been put through. And Kili appeared to think along similar lines. Or was it Legolas? Kili had protested and squirmed and been unusually outraged for one with such a generally happy disposition. Legolas had just stood there and looked on. In that silent, calm, generally laudable but at that present moment very much misplaced elven fashion. Which had, naturally, irked the young dwarf beyond endurance because he hadn´t done anything, it was that strange elf who had refused to let him leave and had started to molest him and why did all the elves want to kiss him and him kissing the elf back had only been an accident and he wanted Fili and Uncle and it really hadn´t been his fault, Bilbo, and - If Bilbo had seen the small frown on the Mirkwood prince´s face he had given no sign of it and instead took to doing what hobbits – especially those suffering extensive exposure to a bunch of stubborn, odious, tiresome dwarves - did best. Fussing. After taking in a very deep, speaking breath. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “An audience.” ~ ~ ~ ~ And that was almost a twitch. Really, and Thorin insisted elves knew no emotions. It would be his pleasure to inform his stubborn dwarf that one only had to apply the right … yes, well.He had words for the elf king and honestly, they had been lingering in that stupid forest too long already and the accommodation provided left much to be desired, on the whole. He was going to insist that the next bed allocated to him would be furnished with a certain dwarf. And a great number of pillows. Fluffy ones. Thorin liked them. To the point of hogging any and all of the same and Bilbo had had to physically assure that he would not find himself pillow-less at Beorn´s and - That had, of course, earned him a dwarf blanket. A cuddly, clingy dwarf blanket. Because if Bilbo was cold it behoved Thorin, as his affianced husband, to see to his comfort. Or that was what the dwarf had insisted on reasoning on. The hobbit had not had the energy to point out to his clearly befuddled intended that it had been the pillow-hogging that had irked him, not any incident with any blankets. Besides, Thorin had been surprisingly skilled at that whole warmth-providing thing. And the cuddling. Although he had, naturally – holding on to the remains of his respectable hobbit-ness, thank you – forbidden any Funny Things. Sternly. Much to the dwarf´s grumbling displeasure. Yes, they had indulged in Certain Activities before but he was certainly not going to endure more of any dwarvish smirks and innuendos and snickering than he had to. When he was a guest. Somewhere. And who knew how thick those walls really were. No need to traumatise the animals. And Thorin had still been hurt, too, so that had put anything even remotely strenuous quite out of the question. No matter the protestations. And attempts at tip-of-his-pointed-and-highly-sensitive-ear nibbling. And feathery soft kisses to his shoulder. And - Nope. And had the silly dwarf not groused and glowered at finding himself rebuffed. Bilbo had turned his head away as soon as a hint of a pout had made it onto the dwarf´s lips. Really. Thorin could be such a fauntling. The menace that he was. If there was to be any funny business; of the proper, thorough, decidedly unrespectable kind; it was going to take place once they had reached the Lonely Mountain and had evicted the dragon from its halls and the chambers had seen some dedicated dusting and scrubbing which he was - Not going to think about when requesting a word with the elf king. Or two. ~ ~ ~ ~ “If his majesty pleases.” And even if his majesty doesn't. But he was not going to mention that to the elf he had accosted. Yet. “If you would be kind enough to inform King Thranduil now.” Never let it be said that a hobbit could not stare an elf into doing his bidding. Even if he had to crane his neck and would be in need of a massage to the same later. Must those First Borns be that tall? Really.The expression on the elf's face could be called affronted. Mildly. As much as an elf was able – or rather more willing – to openly express their displeasure. Nevertheless - “I will inform King Thranduil.” And that was even a bow. Bilbo was nearly impressed. Well, he would be. Were he not entirely past being impressed by anything an elf could do. And he much preferred those running around in Rivendell. Except for Legolas. Maybe. Which he was not even going to mention to Thorin. Yet. Who knew – he might not even have to mention that thing that he had, uhm, seen, either. Kili had certainly protested enough at the merest notion of - Could he possibly claim temporary, befuddled blankness of mind? He supposed if it came to the worst he could get away with it. Given their surroundings. And how long they had been trotting through that accursed forest on practically empty stomachs and close to being dehydrated and then there had been the spiders which would traumatise anyone into stupidity, surely, and – and - really, if Kili liked kissing elves then his uncle would just have to learn to live with it. He would simply remind him that he enjoyed kissing hobbits. Who also came with pointed ears. Which a certain dwarf king had an inexplicable fondness for. Where nibbling was concerned. And such. And he was very willing to continue to indulge that little fetish but if the stubborn mule of a dwarf was thinking of having his little fancies seen to he would have to learn the fine art of compromise. Or something. Which would quite definitely have to involve the survival of the Prince of Mirkwood. If only in the name of diplomacy. Which was something all his dwarves should take to. Here and there. A little. Or a lot. Except for Balin, perhaps. And as for Kili - He did not think that the king would harm his younger nephew (there would be shouting and ranting and snarling and wounded looks and suffering silences and quite a bit of sulking … but no physical harm. Probably. Certainly not if he had anything to say to it. Or to distract.) and if the younger Durin had any common sense at all (debatable, seeing the silly boy took it into his head to stay and stand his ground against gigantic many-legged creatures rather than take himself off to Where It Would Have Been Safe and Bilbo was not at all impressed that it had all happened due to misplaced courage and affection, no, thank you, he most certainly was not!) he would refrain from acquainting his already sorely afflicted relative with the sordid details – Eru knew what those boys had been up to before he had chanced to happen upon them (and Eru could quite keep those absolutely not at all necessary details to himself, thank you kindly!) - and blame it on momentary - Well, something or other. Which was giving this poor hobbit a headache. His own romantic situation was quite enough for one much tried hobbit to deal with. And he had much rather there was a lot more of the romantic in the situation and that could only be accomplished once he got his exasperating love and companions out of that blasted wood and oh, there was going to be a whole lot of the romantic going on and the dwarf could see if he liked it because - “King Thranduil will see you.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I have no wish for your presence, elf.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Talk.The elf wished to - talk. Thorin snorted. His adorably insistent hobbit might be of the opinion that diplomacy would be the best course of action if they wished to make it to the Mountain before the light on Durin´s Day faded out but his One´s interactions with the First Born had been thankfully limited and their small burglar could not know of the perfidious - It had been enough of a strain on his endurance to be forced to tolerate the overtures made to his intended by the sons of the Lord of Rivendell and Thorin was not certain that he would find it in himself to bear more of the same or any further hogging when it was him who should receive the majority of the share of Bilbo´s attention and affections. They were still courting. And it had been brought to his attention that he had been rather remiss in his endeavours – how was he supposed to pick a blasted bouquet when he found himself imprisoned and at the mercy of his arch enemy?! - so it behoved him to focus on assuring that his hobbit was occupied with himself. He was merely being attentive. And mindful. There were rituals to observe. And traditions. And Bilbo Baggins had to know that he was cherished. Like the precious jewel that he was. Even if Thorin might have botched it up. A little. Previously. Unwittingly. Hobbits were incredibly strange creatures. How was a dwarf to know that - Talk. To an elf. The king grumbled. He was going to insist that if his One chose to burn his ears with talk of Compromise and Diplomacy and You Will Behave, Thorin he was going to have to be present and face him so that he would get to at least enjoy the appearance of the flush on those soft, round cheeks when his little love turned all demanding and exasperated and flustered; not whisper to him in his already much tried mind. Not that he was ever going to admit to anyone that he was hearing Bilbo´s voice. Or anyone´s. It was that blasted elvish prison! And there were many other, different things, he wished the hobbit to whisper to him in preferably different surroundings and he supposed if he wanted for them to reach his ears in the nearer future he was going to find himself obliged to favour the elf that had deigned to seek him out with his reluctant attention. Hmpf. He was going to collect the reward he deserved. While burying his hands in those honey-coloured curls. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Kili”.The young elf inclined his head. Just so. Calmly. Serenely. He was going to wring his neck. Bilbo could say what he liked, the elf deserved to meet with an untimely demise. To think that he had the audacity to - Thorin wished the company´s hobbit was there with him; in the dark, damp cell. If only so that he could take a moment away from the madness that was surrounding him to present his entirely too optimistic One with the evidence of the happy truth that was the lack of any common sense and prudence existing within the breasts of the pointy-eared, treacherous, unfeeling, tree - He could not possibly bury his face in his hands. That would be - No. But he could - ~ ~ ~ ~ “You wish to court Kili. My nephew.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Legolas inclined his head again, meeting the stony expression on the dwarf king´s face with apparent equanimity.In truth, the elf prince felt unusually flustered and mildly surprised at his own disquiet; faced with the intense scrutiny of the kin of the one he had but a moment ago declared his intentions for. It had not been his intention. Kili – Prince Kili – had begged him to seek out his brother and uncle and to bring him news of how they fared, stubbornly assuming that his hobbity uncle had not quite told him the truth while he had meanly bullied him into lying down and being A Good Boy, and short of using physical means of preventing the dark haired dwarf´s escape from his sick bed – once more (Legolas´ ears burned slightly at the recollection of what had transpired during that first attempt) - the only manner of placating the injured son of Durin had been to yield to his entreaties and so he had found himself dismissing the guards on duty and facing Thorin Oakenshield´s wrath. He did not understand. In all his many years on Arda, he had never experienced anything of the like. His soul had reached out and he could not have stopped himself from cradling the injured dwarf to his chest while hurrying back to his father´s halls the same way he had not even considered to not rush to his aid in his battle against the spiders; the discord and dealings between their races having been of no import at that moment. It had taken but one look into those very dark eyes and - Legolas had not spoken of it; to anyone. But the inexplicable pull had taken him to the healing chamber and Kili´s side and if his friends and his father´s guard had taken to wondering about their prince´s strange comportment he had not dignified those looks and whispers with his notice. All that had mattered was for Kili to get well; until he could - It was strange; this tingling sort of emotion. Was that what love was? Was that even possible? Kili, at least, had not taken kindly to his presence. When he had been rather more awake. How he had wished to - But Legolas could not forget those words the dwarf prince had let fall. They had - Plagued him. He frowned at the recollection. Never before had thoughts of that direction interfered with his nightly rest. Nor his duties. He had always been alert; dedicated in his training, focused in his endeavours. But when he considered the possibility of one of his brethren taking those enticingly soft lips - Legolas had not been in his father´s prisoner´s presence for more but a mere moment when he blurted out his wish to court the dwarf´s kin. He had, quite possibly, surprised himself more than he had astonished the exiled king. But recollecting his surroundings and the circumstances of his having met the young dwarf and that all the prisoners had been all that had been vocal about their determination to escape from his father´s realm - He inclined his head to affirm his intention. ~ ~ ~ ~ “You came to request my permission for a courtship of my youngest sister-son.”“No – that is – I mean -” The elf prince´s cheeks bore a hint of a flush as he faced the mildly mockingly raised brow. Legolas straightened, proceeding with more conviction after a brief pause. “Your pardon, King Thorin. It had not been my intention. I came at the behest of Prince Kili. He expressed his fear that Master Baggins did not -” "Thorin!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Small hands had gone onto wide hips; a hairy foot tapping as the hobbit eyed his intended with clear disapproval.This speaking stance was met with stubbornly crossed arms. “He deserved it.” “Thorin.” “No.” “You attacked the Prince.” “He wants to court Kili!” “They may have kissed but -” “Have - how dare -” ~ ~ ~ ~ Oh. So Thorin had not known that. Well, he was allowed his clumsy moments, surely. And - Bilbo just so prevented his afflicted love´s repeated assault on the young elf, who, once he had shaken off his stupor over the surprising turn of events, had risen from the stone floor, calmly dusted off his tunic and took to watching the proceedings from one corner of the cell, arms folded and fair head tilted to one side in mild interest. He would have to thank Legolas later for not making a fuss about, uhm, things and refraining from calling for the guard. Perhaps he should also explain the dwarves´ exasperating, even if slightly endearing, tendency towards over-protectiveness and claim-stacking where their assigned burglars were concerned. Especially in the case of a certain dwarf king. Who was in So Much Trouble. But that was for later. Once he had dealt with the Elf King and they had left that confounded forest and there would be a private chamber into which he could drag the idiotic dwarf and - The hobbit grabbed hold of the front of his dwarf´s tunic and pulled, until he was eye to eye with his lovely, tiresome suitor. “Thorin Oakenshield -” Gods, but the dwarf was cute when he was being mulish! “If Kili wants to be courted by an elf then you will let him be courted by an elf!” Those eyes were really quite insanely beautiful - “You are dallying with a hobbit. “ And quite expertly so, when Bilbo thought about it. Which he wasn´t, at that precise moment. At all. Of course. So - “Yes – and if you want any further dallying to be happening you will listen to what Legolas has to say -” Really. It was entirely unfair to look at one single hobbit as if one planned to eat him! Did the dwarf have to practically smoulder - “And thank him for rescuing both your nephew and myself.” Nope. He was most certainly not going to kiss that pout away, thank you. Besides - They had company. Really. The cheat! Bilbo narrowed his eyes at his dwarf, who adopted such a look of blatant innocence that it took all his hobbitish respectability to not consign his hobbitish respectability to the Orcs and move his hands to the two braids and bring that shamelessly tempting mouth within quite easy reach and - But one of them had to be mindful of the proprieties, not to mention the priorities, and that person would clearly not be a certain dwarf king and besides, he had marched down to the dungeons with a purpose and nearly irresistible opportunities aside, he was going to bring some order into the entire shabby business. Without knocking some dwarven and elven heads together. No matter how much they deserved it. And how many of his most pressing problems that would solve. Yes, well. You couldn´t blame a hobbit for - Bilbo let go of the crumpled fabric and turned towards the third party in the cell. ~ ~ ~ ~ “I forbid it.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo was attempting to break him.Bilbo had got tired of their dallying and had decided to take up with his greatest nemesis, expecting the Elf King to shower him with all the proper gifts and attentions and correct procedures while Thorin had failed to - Small hands had taken possession of his face and the king was compelled to look down into the mildly exasperated face of the one who had wormed his way into the deepest, darkest recesses of his cold heart. He could not bear - He was not going allow his One to - “Thorin. It is only dinner.” One thumb had started to stroke a bearded cheek. “And Thranduil agreed to move the company to proper accommodations. Fili will be able to see Kili. You will be able to see your boys. If I had to sit through an entire evening playing footsie with Sauron himself for you to be released from this awful place I would even offer to throw in a foot rub! And if you don´t stop being foolish – because how can you not know that no-one has it in their power to take me away from you when – umpf -! ~ ~ ~ ~ Really.Not that he was not fond of the dwarf´s methods of conveying affections but – Bilbo looked down at the state of his waistcoat and sighed – but now he had to go and change into another set of the clothes that the elves had provided for him before he joined their king at dinner and Eru only knew how he was going to hide that particularly impressive mark on his neck and - The hobbit sank down onto the bed, raising his knees to his chest and sighed. It was a start. He had got Thorin out of that horrible cell; the boys would be reunited (he could only hope Kili would not immediately acquaint his older brother with the, uhm, dealings he had, uhm, enjoyed, with a certain elf prince... one Durin practically having an apoplexy was quite enough on one day, thank you) and the rest of his friends would finally receive some proper rest and enjoy a little comfort. The elves that would be patrolling the corridors and guard the doors were just a minor glitch, in the grand scheme of things. All that was left for him to do was to convince King Thranduil to let them leave his kingdom so that they would still be able to reach the Lonely Mountain in time for Durin´s Day. And not murder the arrogant sod during the process. Well, what did anyone expect, really? He had been subjected to a company of thirteen dwarves for quite a number of months at that stage! Frankly, it was a miracle that he had managed to hold on to as much of his respectability as he had. Not to mention his dignity. He shuddered to think what his neighbours would have to say if they saw him now. But that was neither here and there at that present moment – he had an elf king to join. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- There was the sound of a door slamming, followed by heavy boots stomping down the hall and voices raised in an argument. The towel dropped to the floor without ceremony. “Kili!” ~ ~ ~ ~ The Company had been in Lake Town for five days.Thorin´s mood had not improved during those five days. He had been made to travel down a river in a barrel, of all undignified methods of transport, cramped into the confined space while raging in the incessant fear that his burglar – whom he was going to shackle to his side and never let go again once he had shouted at him and put him over his knee (and kissed him senseless) – should be harmed in any way making his own escape from the Elven King´s Halls. On a barrel. The barrel he had forced Thorin into. Threatening to withholding his attentions if he did not comply. Those of the physical kind. In front of the rest of the Company. Who, while thankfully barred from observing the shocked hurt on his face as they were already firmly ensconced in their own wooden conceptions, did not hesitate to prove themselves entirely devoid of even the barest minimum of respect for Royalty and contributed to the energetic debate with cat calls and whistles and suggestions. And that was just his nephews. Whom he was going to disinherit. And he had no need for any suggestions. He was very well able to satis- Bilbo had travelled down the wild, icy river on top of a barrel and Mahal knew how many times he had lost his hold and been in danger of going under and if Thorin had gone beyond what a hobbit´s tender sensibilities considered acceptable in his thunderous approach - reproach - he had been justified in it. Bilbo could have died. And if Bilbo had died then everything - And if the hobbit could not see that then the hobbit was welcome to bask in his sulk. He would not be the one to apologise. Not for voicing his opinion of the impractical, unnecessary, harebrained - Mahal, he had lost his temper. When he should have expressed his gratitude and admiration and his relief that had been beyond measure – which other members of the Company had taken to without compunction. Fili and Kili had practically hung off the hobbit and he had been of a good mind to march over and forcibly remove them and throw them back into the water. Except - He had missed his boys. Seeing them both alive - He had marched over but only once they had released their quarry and had pulled both his sister-sons into his arms, and if they had clung to him in the manner of small children and he had whispered of his pride to them there had been no other place on Middle Earth he would have rather found himself in. Almost. For to complete his family - But Bilbo had turned away from their little group and had been helping Bombur remove the remains of his own barrel from around his legs. There had been no time for that. He was King. Leader. Amends could come later. ~ ~ ~ ~ Five days later and he still had not been able to make full amends.And he hated being barred from the chamber. While others were allowed inside. If anyone should be allowed into the chamber it was him. He was the hobbit´s intended. He was King. But Oin had taken one look at him and had him barred from the room! Barred from taking care of his One; from brushing away those soaked, wayward curls, barred from holding a limp little hand in his own strong, calloused one, barred from bringing gentle relief to fever-hot forehead and cheeks with a soft, wet cloth - He was not going to accept his banishment any longer. He had to see the hobbit. He had to see that Bilbo was getting better, no matter the assurances of those few permitted to haunt the sickbed. It was ludicrous to assume that he would “only unnecessarily excite their hobbit when all that Master Baggins needed was rest and to take his medication (No, you will not be the one administering it to him, Your Majesty, you will only wilt at the sight of those puppy eyes when he thinks to refuse it – the raspy, insulted mumble from the occupant of the man-sized bed that contained the word “Kili” was paid no heed to by either opponent -). All he wanted to - Thorin brought the hammer down with additional force, wiping his sweating forehead with his free arm. If it had not been for the forge he had been able to channel the worst of his frustration in... To think he could have spent his hours with Bilbo while he was forced to endure the Master of the Town´s repulsive, fawning attentions. But they had been provided with a house and clothing and food so he had sat at that feast – and the one that had followed it. And the one after. - and had swallowed the most scathing of his thoughts before he could voice them as well as his ever growing disgust and had arranged his features into something that could be called – pleasant. He had thought. Then rest of the time he had watched his nephews charming themselves into the assembled Men´s good graces (and they had learned their techniques from their father. And their mother. Thorin certainly had nothing to do with those winning smiles and flirting smirks and he was going to have to disinherit them if they kept at it -) – and if he had noticed his younger sister-son´s partially forced high spirits he had kept that observation to himself (Thorin absolutely had no wish to ponder certain things that a certain elven princeling had put before him in a certain elvish dungeon they had only recently escaped from. No matter if his clearly befuddled little love thought it cute.). That day, marking almost a week of their stay in Lake-Town, had thus far been blessedly devoid of any summons ingeniously wrapped up in an invitation and Thorin had taken to metal once Dori had shooed him away from a sleeping Bilbo´s door. Next time he was going to let it slip how he had chanced upon Dwalin and Nori in that alcove and - It would appear that everyone was allowed to be amorous with their chosen one except for him. And he did not even wish to be amorous with the hobbit – fine, not much. Immediately. Not until he was well again. - all he wanted to was to see him but was he permitted even the smallest glimpse to ease his heart? Apparently, that was how kings were treated those days. He should make them face the dragon and - “Still sulking, laddie?” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I am in no mood for your levity, Balin.”The older dwarf appeared quite unperturbed by the warning in the low growl of an answer and walked further towards the workplace, inspecting the metal that had been subjected to quite a bit of abuse. “Hm. Your Master Baggins will not be pleased with this gift, my king.” He raised a thick, bushy brow in twinkling suggestion. And was answered with a blank stare. At times such as these Balin congratulated himself on his nearly inexhaustible well of patience. Even if he was less certain that he should congratulate himself on his unwavering fondness for the most royal members of the Line of Durin. But he had long come to terms with that being an unchangeable situation in his life and so he took the approach that was most appropriate at such delicate, complicated moments. Which was decidedly lacking in further complication. “He wishes to see you, lad.” ~ ~ ~ ~ He wanted Thorin.He wanted to see Thorin. He wanted his Thorin. He wanted his Thorin, who was horribly frustrating and stubborn and rude and ill-tempered and quite unreasonably unreasonable but he was his and if Bilbo, sick and hot and miserable and sweaty and with a pounding head and disgustingly runny nose and a meanly sore throat wanted him then he should bloody well have him. Clearly these dwarves needed to be educated on the subject of humouring a grumpy, cotton-in-his-mouth and fluff-in-his-brain afflicted hobbit. Because Oin and Dori had informed him that while his Thorin had made attempts at visiting him, the unanimous decision had been to prevent the dwarf king from any contact with their burglar until their burglar was in a rather better shape to deal with the many idiosyncrasies that came with their beloved leader. Their burglar grouchingly pointing out he knew his majesty having to looked after his sick nephews when they had still been little dwarflings did not make his hard-hearted minders waver at all and since he was still rather cross with that silly, overbearing dwarf himself and quite nastily ill he decided to not waste any more energy on the mentally afflicted and proceeded to hide most of his overheated head under a fluffy pillow. Thorin liked fluffy pillows … And he liked Thorin and he was feeling much better, if still a little woozy and weak and he was going to finally have him and if any dwarf or any other creature on Middle Earth continued to thwart him in this this hobbit was going to be very, very cross! And so he had informed Ori. Pointedly. And while the scribe had turned quite an interesting shade of red and had lowered his eyes and had started picking at his many layered scarf he had, quietly but resolutely, replied that he was very sorry but he was not able to to overrule Master Oin´s decision and Dori would be so disappointed and that had been the end of that because Bilbo was, unfortunately, very fond of Ori, and even in his quite exasperated, weak state his really quite impractical fondness overruled - Well. But Ori was not the only dwarf who could be bullied. Dwalin, at least, had seemed somewhat shaken at the idea of their resident hobbit´s wrath – good! Subtly mentioning the blackberry tea and almond biscuits had clearly been a very crafty notion! - and had stomped off to retrieve his absent king. Only to be waylaid on his way by a certain Ri-brother and the warrior dwarf had found himself honour-bound to chase after that damn thief as a matter of principle – and knuckle-dusters. And his momentary lack of judgement and lapse into adolescent dwarf-hood once he had caught up with Nori – and his suddenly loose hair – No-one was allowed to mention it. And that was the end of it. Because it was the end of it. He was not going to fall for the thief´s tricks again. He had his duties. To his King. And that was all there was to it. And he had only agreed to let his brother go in search of Thorin because - Dwalin had cursed Nori as he pulled his torn shirt off his body. Colourfully. ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo´s fingers clenched and unclenched around the atrociously oversized piece of fabric that was currently serving as his nightgown.At least it was fresh. Un-smelly. And un-scratchy. Because really - He had been suffering enough. With his head cold and lack of dwarven affection. Of the kind that any normal, healthy hobbit who was not quite in his dotage yet and quite in possession of all his faculties, mental and otherwise, thank you, should be rather more eager to receive. If a certain dwarf king was involved, that was. Who, even if this hobbit was still cross with him (Jealousy! Over Thranduil! Really. It was not as if he had enjoyed those three dinners in that aloof, unmoveable elf´s company. Yes, Thranduil was clever and probably a good king within his own realm but Eru, Bilbo had wished to grab him by his ears and scold him like the arrogant, stubborn elfling that he most definitely was! To call allowing Thorin to think he was to blame for his death – and for his nephew´s – negligible means!), was very talented at bestowing suchlike affections on one. And if said dwarf king did not show up very soon this hobbit was going to cough all over his shiny - And those were flowers. Well. ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo crossed his arms and sniffed.Flowers were all very well and good and pretty – and the ones that had come within his line of vision were quite the arrangement of kinds and colours and sizes and it was very hard to stay cross with a puppy-eyed dwarf who came into your room when you had been missing him and who held the hopelessly mismatched bouquet out in front of his person in a manner that was horribly endearing while entirely giggle-provoking at the same time because - “They are flowers, Thorin. Not orcs.” He was answered with a scowl. And a faint blush on bearded cheeks. And did that not improve his mood greatly! Well, somewhat. Because he was still very cranky and very much in the mood for scolding his stupidly endearing dwarf because of all the shouting at the scene of the demolished barrels and the stupid jealousy and the very worst offence that was letting his kin and company bully him into Not Visiting. Some of his misgivings must have shown on his overly warm face because the dwarf opened his mouth - Only to close it again the next moment. Bilbo was beginning to debate with himself whether the throwing of a pillow at tiresome suitors could be legally excused as an integral part of courtship when - “Bilbo. I need to hold you.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I´m sweaty.”“Bilbo.” “I stink.” “You do n-” “You are dirty.” “I spent -” “You will only catch my cold.” “Bilbo!” ~ ~ ~ ~ Something largely incomprehensible was murmured into a solid chest.“Ghivashel?” The head that he been quite comfortably resting where it had been resting adjusted its position a little. “I said – It was horribly rude of you to accuse me of flirting with Thranduil when I was trying very hard to find a way for us to leave that cursed forest and quite, quite terribly mean of you to leave me here on my own when I wanted you!” Thorin´s hand resumed its carding through the sweaty curls while he placed a soft, apologetic kiss on top of them. “Forgive me. Azyungal.” The hobbit in the king´s arms (and on quite a share of his body that included an in his lap) huffed and busied himself with the collar of the tunic that was decidedly in his way. There. Decidedly better. And the dwarf had better humour him. Seeing he had allowed him in his bed in his soiled state. Although he had insisted that those boots be removed first. Interrupted by quite a sneeze. Which had made those bearded lips twitch. Rudely. So he naturally had had to kiss them. Decisively. Once they had been within his reach. At last. The washing could come later. And perhaps he would assist with it because he really was quite tired of being forced to remain in that bed and his legs would hold him up quite nicely, thank you very much. Or at least until they reached the bathtub into which he would not have any shame of sinking himself and if Thorin really was that troubled well, the dwarf could simply join him. Stopping him from falling asleep and drowning and all those things. Yes, he was quite pleased with those plans and would convince his dwarf of their merit but for now, he was very happy to continue with his creation of a lovely mark on the dwarf´s skin and Dori could throw as much of a fit as he liked, he finally had Thorin where he wanted him and one little mark would not make that much of a difference with all those tattoos and all that hair that adorned the king´s person. Even if it was rather high up on a delectable throat. Well. He still had a little fever. And hobbits with a fever could not be held accountable for their sense of direction. Certain dwarves never could. So this hobbit continued to happily worry the soft skin right under an enticingly round ear and lavished it with soothing, apologetic attention which drew sounds from the dwarf that would, under normal circumstances., make a proper, respectable hobbit flush but sadly, Bilbo was already quite flushed and really had no way of establishing whether he had done anything that warranted any flushing. As it were - “Bilbo -” And frankly, if he could have that deep, low rumble of a voice any tender hobbit sensibilities could march right back into their smials! ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin smiled softly down at the sleeping form of his burglar.He was – content. Almost – happy. He had not lost sight of their ultimate goal; there was still a mountain to retake and a dragon to defeat and if they should be successful the work it would take to make Erebor inhabitable and flourishing again would span many years but for then, for that brief moment in that Men-made house in that dirty, poor town on the lake, he was - The worst of Bilbo´s illness had passed and he had seen to it that his mulish little One took his medication and had also been allowed to bathe his feverish head with his handkerchief – the production of which had left the hobbit momentary speechless (You stole my handkerchief? Do you even know how much time I wasted that morning looking for the bloody thing? No, I don´t care that it´s romantic, you obtuse dwarf! You had my handkerchief! All this bloody time! It had taken the clever expedient of silencing his love´s outrage with all his appreciative passion for the hobbit to forget that particular misgiving. Momentarily. If he knew his soon-to-be-Consort.) - and his heart had been additionally eased with the understanding that his more recent transactions had been forgiven. He could only marvel at his hobbit. He could not promise to never lose his temper, Thorin was very aware of it, but he could and would attempt everything in his power to not cause him unjustified, unnecessary grief. There was no-one he trusted more than Bilbo Baggins. No-one he had more faith in. The king shook his head fondly and proceeded to dry himself off with the towel that had been left next to the wash bowl. When he perceived the sound of stomping and shouting. Dropping the towel, he made his way out of the room. ~ ~ ~ ~ “It is not my fault, Uncle! It´s -” Kili scowled and lifted one arm to point accusingly at the figure in the door frame - “Him!” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “What is that?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo Baggins woke to an empty spot next to himself on the bed.Which had been the norm during most of his life, thank you, but now that there was someone to fill that emptiness and that someone had professed to have wanted – needed! - to hold him and now that someone was not holding him and really, he had resigned himself to staying cooped up in that room a little while longer and humour the dwarves in their motherhen-ing but that had been when there had been the promise of strong arms wrapped around him, or at least one being thrown over his form, he was willing to compromise on the matter, considering necks and spines and all that, while he napped and now there weren´t any at all. In fact, the only thing that had greeted him when he – fine, reluctantly but no dwarf of any even remotely fussy disposition needed to be told that! - cracked an eye open was -Shouting.Muffled shouting (thank Eru for small mercies that came in the shape and form of thick, wooden doors!) but – shouting. And stomping.Was that whining?Yep.That was - It sounded like - Ugh.He had quite enough to do dealing with his own emotionally constipated dwarf. Perhaps if he were to just turn around and bury his head underneath - Nope.Not helping.He could feel his headache coming back.Right.That was just - Oh, he had things to tell those dwarves.Things.Many, many things.And then he would make them bring him honeyed tea.And drag one of them back to bed.Because really.Bilbo tossed the blankets aside and talked his slightly insubordinate, uncoordinated feet into padding across the room. ~ ~ ~ ~ Kili had stopped short in his expostulations and glaring at the third party in the room, his eyes widening as his mind caught up with the horrible, unspeakable, traumatising truth that no loving, impressionable nephew should ever be forced to deal with.He pointed an accusing finger at the offending sight and -Whimpered.And then promptly turned and buried his face in a lean chest. ~ ~ ~ ~ Legolas was – confused.He tilted his head to look down at the shaggy mop of hair that had attached itself to his tunic-clad front and tensed a little as a pair of arms came around his waist. And held on.Kili had not taken well to his presence.He had not expected the dwarf to greet his sudden appearance with any semblance of joy – his heart, pulling so strongly towards Kili, might have made him cautiously hopeful but recalling how all he had received from the younger prince had been glares and recommendations to take himself off and when he had permitted himself a small, soft smile at the pouting expression that had greeted him that one time, upon entering the room, which had earned him a book flying past his ear -Kili had kissed him.Had returned his kiss.Surely that meant - He had kept the stirrings of his heart and the unusual impatience to himself. It was strange and unprecedented and also uncalled for. He was a prince. A warrior. A dwarf, of all beings, should not hold any power over him. And yet -He had been truthful in his blurted admission to Thorin Oakenshield. And it had been this truth that had led him to defy his father and to desert his friends and realm in pursuit of of a member of a race that he had been taught to mistrust and to despise for its selfishness, its love for gold and its lack of any tender feeling.He had seen Kili defend the hobbit against an enemy he could not have hoped to defeat.He had witnessed Bilbo Baggins´ worry and affection for the unconscious dwarf.And he had been present when Thorin had learned of what he had believed to be the fate of his company´s burglar and his kin. Dwarves loved.Fiercely.And were fiercely loved in return.If his father were to learn of the assistance he had lent the hobbit - It was of no matter.He would give the dwarves his protection.Even if it should earn him another slap to his face by an irate prince. Kili.A hand came up to slowly card through dark tresses. ~ ~ ~ ~ Kili jumped and looked up at the elf with a scowl.“What are you doing?”That serene face regarded him pensively. Then -“I was running my fingers through your hair.”Kili nearly choked in his outrage.“What - you – I – you can´t - you don´t just touch a dwarf´s hair! It´s not like we – that you – oh Mahal!” He grabbed hold of the green tunic and twisted its folds, bumping his head against that hard, warm surface again. And again. “I am too young for this! I should not be made to see this! Or hear this! Or think of this! And now I will never be able to not think of this and Fili will kill me if I keep him awake at night because of any nightmares and then Uncle will have to appoint a new heir because Fili will be too upset to rule when he notices what he has done and Mother will have his - you are doing it AGAIN!”Legolas stilled his hand.“Did you not wish for comfort?”Kili lifted his head so that he could scowl at the slow elf. “We are not married.”“We are not.”“Exactly. We – of course we are not!”, Kili spluttered, seemingly not appeased by the following of that – his own - logic. “You never even asked me! And you´re an -”“You wish me to ask you.”“Well, see, the thing is … if you go about cuddling dwarves and patting their hair you had better – wait – what?! NO! I was just -” Kili looked around in some desperation, eyes wide and beseeching when they landed on his uncle again. Wait. This was all Uncle Thorin´s fault. Uncle Thorin had stormed in and had paraded …Well, that thing.That thing a nephew should never have to know about.Ever.Especially not if it involved their favourite soon-to-be hobbity uncle.He did not want to know that.Why would anyone make him know that?It was more than anyone should ever be allowed to make him know!What if he were to allow Legolas - NO! Besides, the stupid elf had considered him too weak to deal with those Men on his own! Fili might be the sword-fighter but he was very well able to hold his own against a few drunkards and did not need the interference of a poncey, pointy-eared, unattractive -Kili sniffed and crossed his arms.“What are you even doing here?” ~ ~ ~ ~ “You have my thanks, Prince Legolas.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin would have been very tempted to turn on his booted heel and make his way back to Bilbo´s room the moment he happened upon his nephew´s and the Prince of Mirkwood´s bickering but for two reasons.One – it would have prevented him from shouting at them.Two – he had left the room barefoot. (It was all Bilbo´s influence. Doing. Fault. And it was also Bilbo´s fault that he stood before those two children half naked and with his braids in disarray and that spot just below his ear bearing that very purple -)Insufferable hobbit.He was not ashamed of his love for his One.And they were not at a Council session.Praise Mahal.Hm.Perhaps he should appear at one of them shirtless and with the evidence of his hobbit´s surprising and welcome passionate tendencies on his body once Erebor had been reclaimed.The long, tedious debates Thorin still recalled from the days before Smaug, under his grandfather´s rule - Or he would make the halfling preside over them with him. Seated next to him.Close to him.On his lap, preferably.As for his hobbit wearing any clothes - The king growled.Bilbo was his to feast his eyes on, no stately, pompous council member would get even the tiniest glimpse of all the beauty hidden under those various, flowery, colourful layers. No, he would endure those long hours in the name of duty and with the thought of Erebor´s restoration in the back of his mind and if he should take to imagining a rather more cloth-less Consort that would be his prerogative.As husband.Ruler.King.Especially as King.And husband.Husband.A slow smile appeared on the King´s face.Bilbo would be his husband.His One.His Consort.His.He would present the hobbit with his ring and ask him to bind himself to him and he would make him happy and cherish him and fulfil his every wish and - “Uhm, Uncle?” ~ ~ ~ ~ He was going to murder his nephew.He was perfectly within his rights to murder his nephew.And the elf.Ill.To assume that he was ill just because he - Smiled.And to further suggest that the mark might not be at all what his assumption had been but possibly the result of an insect - Poison.Thorin had wanted to bury his face in his hands.And pull at his braids.The moment he saw Dis again - At least that elfling had silenced his wayward – and Thorin had resented the hopeful tone in his sister-son´s voice when that ingenious thought had befallen him! A bite by Bilbo was much superior to – nephew. But since the Prince had chosen to cover Kili´s mouth with his hand while not hiding what he appeared to think was a smile - Thorin wished Kili had bitten him.And not just threatened to do so Next Time.While making sheep´s eyes at the elf.Which he could have perfectly tolerated if the elf had not made That Face while looking back at his nephew.That face that Bilbo would refer to as cute.Which Thorin considered extremely unnerving.Elvish.Nauseous.But he was willing to leave both nephew and elf to it if it meant that Bilbo´s rest would go undisturbed.Once his hobbit was healed and the blasted elf gone he could still take his nephew by the ear and - Thorin narrowed his eyes.Why was the elf even there? ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin had gone back to what he was known to do best.Towering.Or as much as one could tower in the presence of a being which was a good head taller than him.But even with that small limitation his very posture was still one of presence; of a bearing that spoke of royalty and of command.Bilbo was almost impressed.And secretly, quietly attracted to the sight of the glowering, imposing dwarf king who was glaring down (Up? Really, those specifications were really very tiresome at times!) an elven warrior prince while wearing nothing but a loose pair of very appealingly falling trousers; thick, strong arms crossed in front of his very naked chest (which was horribly, rudely distracting when one was quite cross with a dwarf for having un-cuddled from one just to go in pursuit of two fauntlings who had apparently decided to interpret the time honoured tradition of courting in the way of bickering and nagging and denial - but he was not going to mention that, of course).Any other time he might even have shared some of these thoughts but right at that moment, he was rather more inclined to - Sneeze.And then sneeze again.And - Oh dear.That glower had just fixed on him.That was a little - He had had quite enough of dwarven mothering to last him until -Well, it had been rather sweet of Thorin to go and tell the boys off for -Only he was very much able to decide for himself when he needed to be in bed and when not.And the dwarf could have just stayed with him and then they would not be in that – that – situation!And it was most certainly not his fault that he found himself wandering around in a nightgown that was at least three sizes too big for him!And no-one in this room was interested in his shoulder, thank you!Well, he hoped that one person was, of course – in fact, he knew that person to be very much interested in his shoulder, especially if on strategic display, but - Oh no, certainly not! ~ ~ ~ ~ One arm came up and a finger poked the king´s chest.“Do not even think about it, Thorin Oakenshield!”“Bilbo -”“No.”The king growled.“You should be in bed.”“Then you should have kept me there.” Bilbo, having crossed his own arms – if only to do something with those horribly sleeves which really did nothing at all for his proportions; over-long, exasperating things that they were – eyed his dwarf unrelentingly. “Clearly, you had something better to do.”“I did not -”“One would think that His Majesty had rather enough to do with his own - “ Another sneeze - “ - courting.”“Our courtship has -”“Courting?! I´m not court -”“Mellon nîn, King Thorin is right to advise you -”The hobbit´s finger started to wag.At all three occupants of the room.After another.With a different message.Seemingly.Dangerously.Terrifyingly.Strangely, the only one somewhat immune to the doom it promised was the Prince of Mirkwood, but then, elves were generally understood to being rather more dull creatures so Bilbo was going to try to not think too badly of him.Seeing he had very kindly rescued them in Mirkwood.And assisted him in their escape, when his stubborn mule of a father - And apparently, he had also elbowed the man who had insulted Kili´s height and looks nicely in the face while raising his bow at the one who had been approaching the busily engaged dwarf from behind and really, it had to be a very special Durin trait to not recognise an interest when it was so blatantly, obviously before them!He was going to have to sit the youngest Durin down, over a nice cup of strong tea, and possibly some cupcakes, and explain to him, very kindly, that insulting and scolding the one who was very clearly hoping to Fix One´s Interest With One – and whom one had, rather enthusiastically, if a hobbit´s feverish memory served correctly been kissing - on a bed – was well, very Durin-ish, yes, but also very, uhm, rude.Even if poor Legolas seemed to take the glaring and the huffing and the contrariety quite well. Bilbo supposed that was the good side to that famous elven stoicism.Still, it would not do to have a confused, befuddled elf amongst them – and no matter how much Kili and his uncle might be protesting, they would at the very least treat the poor boy to dinner! - especially if what Legolas had informed them of (namely that Azog had come in search of the Company and had engaged the Mirkwood guard in battle, which had prompted his father to practically barricade his kingdom and to forbid those under his rule to leave its borders – the Prince had turned a little pink around the ears at the sudden, bright smile that that information had brought onto Kili´s face – Bilbo could practically hear the wheels turning in the young dwarf´s head) were true.And he had no cause to doubt Legolas on this, even if it was clear to Bilbo at least that his reason for following the Company to Lake-Town had not been altogether altruistic.And the glance at his own dwarf told him that someone at least shared his conjecture.Honestly.There really was no need for Thorin to go quite that much into Protective Uncle Mode.He was going to have to distract the silly dwarf, if anything was to come of that sweet, blossoming venture.Preferably, that was going to happen in his room.Which, from there on out, was going to be their room. Or at least for however long they should find themselves staying in this town on the lake. Which hopefully wasn´t gong to be all that long because - Too much water for this hobbit, thank you.And he supposed he could not avoid seeing that Master again. Whom he had taken an immediate dislike to. His sickness had nothing to do with it, he felt the man to be -Untrustworthy.Apart from being quite - Grotesque.Slimy.Yes, that.Grotesque and untrustworthy. And slimy. And his table manners were atrocious.And Bilbo had been travelling with dwarves.He was going to make certain that he would be quite near Thorin when he had to be in that man´s presence again.Which was probably what was going to happen as it was; seeing the overbearing, high-handed, completely offensive and entirely rude dwarf had just hauled him up and put him over his shoulder and was carrying - carrying! - him off to presumably his – their – room and - ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo lifted his arm and eyed his dwarf with loathing.“I hope Legolas proposes to Kili while they are alone.”Thorin merely grunted, continuing in his work that was the disrobing of his erratic One, taking care to gently pull the fabric over a handsomely pointed ear.“And then they will both live in Mirkwood and you will have to play nice with Thranduil if you ever want to see Kili!”“Hm.”The second arm was urged to lift.“Maybe they will even adopt an elfling and he will become your heir when Fili decides he is not one for matrimony!”Thorin stilled.“Bilbo.”“What?”“You are being absurd.”The hobbit, having kicked the offending garment aside with one hairy foot, huffed and made to climb into the tub.“Absurd? Absurd, Your Majesty, is what we call it when someone-” Bilbo sank into the blessedly warm water with a sigh of relief he would never, ever admit to - “- overrules the most common courtesy and picks a poor, defenceless hobbit up as if they were a fauntling and carries them off to bed without so much as by your leave! Hand me the - Thorin! What are you – oh no. No, no, no, no – you are getting out of this tu– excuse me?! Did you just splash me?!”The King, who had indeed splashed his intended – but he felt he had, once again, been quite within his rights, seeing that any other method he had thus far employed had failed to silence his love, who was still suffering from occasional raspy coughing attacks – quite ignored his One´s outrage and rearranged matters so that he found himself seated with his back to the tub and a soft, warm grouchy hobbit bracketed by his thighs and leaning back against his chest. He was also in the possession of the soap.And not afraid of using it.“Stop talking.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo did indeed stop talking.Eventually.But that was merely because his mouth happened to be quite otherwise engaged and - Really.He was going to make the dwarf lull him to sleep, for that.Later.When they had moved on to the bed.And cuddled up in it.Together.And after more of the - Possibly.But then, after that, he would most certainly make him - Sing. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Lad, that pastry will start ta crumble if ya keep hitting it like that.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Dwalin was lucky.Dwalin was oh so lucky.Dwalin was oh so lucky that he was quite a lot taller and beefier and stronger and balder and fond of his blackberry tea and quite evidently not Thorin because if Dwalin had been Thorin then Bilbo would have felt obliged to grab the dwarf by his braids and pull at them with such strength that the unexpected force would hopefully cause some things to regroup in the dwarf´s big-headed head and make him tell a hobbit What Was Wrong.It was Dwalin´s very great luck that he wasn´t that exasperating dwarf and only about half as exasperating so he put the dwarf onto baking duty instead.It was the dwarf´s own fault for coming in to disturb him when he was busy imagining the lovely stretch of pastry was his cousin´s head!The hobbit held out an imperious hand.“I need half of the walnuts and half of the pistachios. And don´t steal any!”Dwalin slowly released the handful of nuts that had somehow found their way into a curled fist that had been hiding behind his back. Trust the burglar to - what?!The ruddy cheeks had turned a violent shade of red.“I´m not going ta cook, halfling!”Bilbo´s resulting look spoke volumes of his opinion of dwarves and of dwarves who happened to be warriors and dwarves who were members of the Line of Durin and who could currently be found in his – well not really his, of course, but he was staying at the place and was told, by the horrible Master no less, to make himself quite at home so this hobbit was going to make himself at least at home in the little kitchen because if he didn´t then he would have to go and pack up what was left of his meagre belongings and track back to the Shire – kitchen.“Do I look as if I would let you cook?”The burly dwarf deflated a little – although he would challenge anyone to a fight who dared to mention the word “relief” in connection with that occurrence - and reached for the bowl on the counter. Crack. “Thorin said he´s going ta cook for ya.” “Yes, well -” Bilbo attacked the mixture in his own bowl with renewed interest. “Thorin also said it was imperative for us to reach the Lonely Mountain before Durin´s Day. And look at us – oh, that´s enough walnuts, thank you! - Still in Lake-Town! You´d think your King would - not that hard!” There was a smack that sounded suspiciously like the result of a spoon appliance - “Yavanna save me from the violent streaks of dwarves! They´re pistachios, Dwalin! Not goblins! You don´t need to treat them as if you want to squash -” The hobbit suddenly halted in his tirade and looked up at his helper with narrowed eyes.“Dwalin.” Another, if a little more careful, crack, but Bilbo did not really regard that. He was much more interested in - “What have you done?” ~ ~ ~ ~ “No, Dwalin.”The burly dwarf crossed his arms. Bilbo would almost accuse him of pouting but that wasn´t possible. At all.Although - “Don´t care for the elf.”Mulish, at the very least. Obstinately rock-headed. Dwarvish. Bilbo permitted himself an inward sigh.“You don´t have to care for him, you merely have to leave him be.”Dwalin grunted.“Elf´s pestering my Prince.”“Do I have to tweak your nose?”Dwalin looked at the hobbit as if he had just dealt him a mortal wound. Interesting. Funny, even. It almost looked like the look Thorin had given him when he had told the dwarf to take himself and his block-headedness away that morning.And Bilbo did not at all feel sorry about it because - Fine, he did feel sorry about it but that stupid, idiotic, stubborn dwarf and his absolute refusal to share what was going on in that rock infested head of his was enough to make a hobbit forgo second breakfast.And elevenses.If anyone must know.And he was only baking because - Right.So. Dwalin.Who was most certainly not going to continue to glare at poor Legolas across the table. Or the counter. Or his axe. Or his war hammer. Or any room. Even if the elf seemed to not be all that bothered about it. And if the silly, cuddly bear of a dwarf would not listen to his brother than he would listen to the resident hobbit because quite frankly, if Balin could not take sense into him than any of the other dwarves were doomed to fail as well. No, Bilbo´s partiality for his friends did not make him blind, thank you.Only a little more lenient.But certainly not in this matter.Even if it was rather sweet to see a big, fierce dwarf like Dwalin acting very much like a clucking hen.Which the dwarf denied, of course.Offering up all that It is my duty to look after the King´s heirs! nonsense.Really.Quite sweet.Well.“Kili is very well able to look after himself. And he has Fili practically glued to his side; if you thought that were be even more possible! Who – fine, take one of those cakes! But don´t come to me if your stomach troubles you after! - is giving Legolas enough grief as it is and – you are crushing the pistachios, again, Dwalin. Really -” The hobbit sniffed, having rescued his precious ingredients from their tormentor - “Having a member of another race in the family is not so bad, you know.”The silence was almost deafening.Then - “Thought ya had more sense, burglar.”Bilbo bristled, while firmly ignoring that his ears had most certainly turned red.Treacherous little things, those were.“Don´t you have someone to chase through the house, Mister Dwalin?”“Nori´s out. Keepin´ an eye on that Bowman the elf has a fancy for. Or somethin´.” Dwalin snatched another cake from where they were supposed to still cool on a plate and took a slow, unhurried, unapologetic bite. “Word of advice, lad. Keep tha cuteness for the King. His Majesty´s besotted enough ta fall for it.”Exclamations of really quite terribly rude! and will thank you to keep your large nose out of someone´s Private Business and You will leave Legolas alone or there will be no pie for you after dinner! could be heard following the unperturbed dwarf out of the kitchen. ~ ~ ~ ~ It was not that he was worried.He was just - Fine.He was.A little.Maybe a lot.But really, how was a hobbit to not worry when the dwarf one had not only chosen to utterly and irrevocably, no matter the many idiosyncrasies and absolutely dwarvenish stupidities, lose his heart to somewhere between the Shire and the Carrock but had also followed on a completely suicidal mission mainly because Someone Else touching that gorgeous mane of silver streaked hair went quite against what one was, upon reflection, prepared to endure - as a thought. Idea. Likelihood. Thorin´s hair was his and that was the lovely end to it, thank you very much – suddenly became distant and taciturn – even for that dwarf! - and when you approached that dwarf to find out what in Eru´s name was going on you either received a quick kiss on your forehead – at first – or got almost rudely brushed off – later?It was almost as if Thorin resented his getting well but Bilbo knew that to be absurd. The King has fussed and mothered and glared and glowered and cuddled – and yes, kissed and … things … later - while he had battled his cold and he had been just about able to stop the silly dwarf from feeding him chicken soup. With his own hand.That bowl had come dangerously close to his lips.And Bilbo hated chicken soup.That might make him a very unusual hobbit and he was very sorry, of course, if he had offended poor Bombur with his vehement, if a little raspy, refusal to even try it, but if there was one thing he could not abide it was chicken soup and especially not if any bits of turnips were involved in the matter, which there had been.And Thorin really had not needed to stare in that entirely flummoxed manner when he had threatened to acquaint him with his expertise in spitting.It could have been stones, if he had had a similar dislike of apples. Which he didn´t. Which his dwarf was really quite lucky about because that meant he would be happy to make him more of that apple pie he had seen him sneaking slices of away while at Bag End, once they had reclaimed Erebor.If that should ever happen.Frankly, Bilbo was fast losing faith in it happening.Given how they were still in Lake Town and every hesitating and not-so-hesitating enquiry he had put before anyone who had anything to say – meaning his block-headed intended - as regarded their departure tended to result in a dismissal of one sort of the other. He was not to trouble his adorable little head about it.Adorable.Little. Really. He would know when they were ready to depart.Yes, probably. As long as there were some hasty preparations and weapons and general noise involved, knowing his dwarves.Those decisions would be made when it was time for them to be made!And had that not been a not at all impressive glower. Really, if Thorin thought to quell him with it after all that time - He was not yet the King´s Consort and not in the position to order any dwarf to do his bidding and he would do well to remember that!And that had largely wiped away his confusion and fuelled his anger.For Thorin to say such things to him – in full presence of some members of the Company, too, and only because he had questioned how long it would take them to reach the Mountain …And the dwarf had yet to apologise.Or even look at Bilbo.Properly.And spend some time in his company – and that meant without the Company around. It had become quite clear, over the past few days, that the King under the Mountain had taken to avoiding his presence. During the day, at least.Thorin still shared what had been his sickroom and now served as the hobbit´s bedchamber and still climbed into their shared bed every night, coming in long after Bilbo had gone to bed, and twice Bilbo had woken during the night to find himself surrounded by dwarven limbs and nearly unable breathe, but something had happened – was happening – and no matter how much Bilbo had tried to get the dwarf to share his burden with him, Thorin steadfastly refused. Either dismissively or – increasingly – angrily. And while Bilbo, his heart really quite stubbornly lost to the dwarf, much as he might be justified to scold the impressionable organ a little at that present time, considering the state of late, still found himself worrying, he also found himself reaching the end of his already dwarven-tried patience. If Thorin thought that he was going to agree to bind himself to someone who would not trust him with his troubles and his concerns the dwarf was going to learn that he had chosen the wrong hobbit for his adventure. And anything else. Mistrust, or even a predilection for bearing all of whichever weight on one´s own shoulders, were not this hobbit´s idea of a happy, healthy relationship. The tiresome, stubborn oaf was going to tell him what was wrong that very evening and would find himself sleeping on the wooden floor until next Astron if he as much as raised an imperious eyebrow! Or what the dwarf considered one.Because all that brow was was - Yes, well.No endearing eyebrow quirk would distract him this time.Bilbo attacked his pastry again. ~ ~ ~ ~ He could not do it.He would not do it.He would admit to his having been mistaken, to having been wrong; to having made a hasty, imprudent decision. He would hand the reigns to Gandalf, let the wizard dictate how the mountain should be cleared of the wyrm. He would have the Arkenstone.And his One. ~ ~ ~ ~ Hire a burglar to steal from the dragon.One light on foot.Who could pass unseen, if necessary.He had thought the plan preposterous from the start, only grudgingly agreeing to travel to the Shire to meet the wizard´s choice on the same wizard´s pointed insistence. Frankly, he had been too exhausted for yet another battle. And the wizard had not been completely wrong. If they had to send someone into the mountain to determine whether the dragon was still alive it was practical to have it done by one who did not even belong with the Company.Thorin saw no difficulty in taking such an approach; the presence of an outsider had no other reason and contracts would be signed. Only then a round green door opened and -Bilbo could not go into the mountain.Bilbo would not go into the mountain.He would shave off his beard and cut off his braids before he permitted Bilbo to go into the mountain. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye. You're nothing more than a pile of ash! Thorin´s grip on the frame tightened. ~ ~ ~ ~ He had ignored it, of course.Had stubbornly put it out of his mind.He thought he had been rather apt at being entirely obnoxious on the matter.And then there had been the happy distractions provided by trolls and elves and goblins alike - Fine, not happy. Precisely.Only Thorin had found his mind occupied by various other matters – and those did not even yet include the rather more pleasurable occurrences on the journey – the brilliant smiles and exasperated huffs and gentle touches and wagging fingers and surprising passion - so had been in the permissible position to firmly ignore that what would occur at the end of the quest.Bilbo was to steal from the dragon.His Bilbo, his little hobbit, his beautiful, fearless One - But he needed the Arkenstone.The sight of Erebor, so dear to him, on top of the Carrock, filling him with such longing and hope …He had spent what seemed like hours staring out at the snow-covered peak from the window, his mind and heart racing.He had barked at his nephews when they enquired as to when they would finally set out, quite wiping their expectant smiles from their young faces; had ordered Dori to return the armour provided for them under the pretence of finding fault with the workmanship, had glared at the elf whenever he understood to have been the victim of any compassionate looks and – most importantly and shamefully -Distanced himself from his One.Bilbo knew that something was wrong, of course.Unfortunately, Thorin had had the great misfortune to fall for what surely had to be the most annoyingly astute and persistent halfling in all of Arda. And he had snapped, eventually.And regretted his words instantly, of course, but his hobbit had been clearly hurt and he had sworn to himself that he would never be the cause of Bilbo´s pain again.He couldn´t bear to look at Bilbo.When there was nothing he liked to do more in his life.Except for embracing Bilbo.And cuddling Bilbo.Kissing Bilbo was also quite high on his list of Pleasurable Occupations.As was exploring that still exotic body and mapping it out and - It was ironic that now that they finally found themselves resting in a proper bed, with the hobbit recovered from his illness, he could not – he would not - He had even taken to only joining the hobbit in that very bed once he expected the hobbit to be asleep.Determined to not touch the hobbit.To not even look at the hobbit.At Bilbo.His Bilbo.But looking at Bilbo meant acknowledging Bilbo and acknowledging Bilbo meant acknowledging why he had come on the quest. Had been asked to come on the quest. Thorin having had more selfish motivations played no part in it. Should not play any part in it.Not when it came to his Kingdom and its people.The King closed his eyes briefly.Durin´s Day was almost upon them.He abruptly moved away from the window. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Ow!”“Try that again and I´ll smack more than just your finger. And don´t even think about trying any eyes on me.”Fili, who had been in the process of making a loan of his brother´s favoured weapon, spiced up with his own Elder Sibling brand, of course, reached up to fiddle with a moustache braid, his mouth rearranging itself into something akin to a pout.Thankfully, most of it was hidden behind his beard. Or so Bilbo thought. Because frankly, he did not really feel up to going through with his threat. And if he should be subjected to any more Durin cuteness when he was not at all in the mood for any Durin cuteness (he would much rather deal with a certain Durin grumpiness but it had continued to allude him all day) he would smack the Durin that tried it on him for that as well.Pastry snatching was bad enough.And just when he had trained Dwalin properly.Dwarves.Worse than any hobbit, when it came to baked treats.And not at all apologetic about it.He should make a vegetable pie for lunch the next day and watch them all tuck into it, trusting that their hobbit only had their bellies´ best interests at heart and then he would sit back in an oversized chair and enjoy their faces do all sorts of things and that would surely teach those dwarves to not - Well, no.It was not the Company´s fault.And he had promised them all some pie, and those cupcakes for Kili. And he needed to find out what Legolas had a partiality for still. And perhaps make some quick shortbread for Thorin, seeing the dwarf had taken so much to it in Bag End...Not that the dwarf deserved it.And not that he was trying to sweeten him up. Or anything.He was a respectable hobbit, thank you.Mostly.Well, he used to be, at all events.But some milky tea – and yes, he would permit his dwarf to put his 2 lumps of sugar in it, no matter how his inner tea hobbit squirmed at the thought – and some shortbread to dunk into it might mellow the mood a little and Thorin would finally share his troubles and they could get somewhere because he was really quite tired of being angry and being worried and being subjected to a bunch of dwarves and all their dwarfness constantly was quite confusing and unnerving enough as it was and if their stubborn King should still refuse to cooperate, well, then he could at least hit him with the shortbread. In its non-dunked state. Yes. Excellent. So - Seriously?Was that boy - Bilbo´s fist closed around the spoon. ~ ~ ~ ~ Fili rubbed his nose.“Now you are just being cruel.”“Don´t stick it into my bowls then.”“That is a Durin Nose, Master Hobbit.”“I am well aware of that, Master Dwarf.”“Of course you are”, came the mumbled reply, while unteachable dwarven fingers made to snatch one of the small chocolatey wonders. Bilbo let it slide because - Wait.The hobbit rounded on the dwarf.“I´ll thank you to leave your Uncle´s nose out of it!”Fili held up his hands, his eyes wandering to the threat that was the raised cooking spoon. He would have offered placating words, too, only his mouth was rather occupied, at that moment. Munchingly.Their adopted uncle – if Thorin was not soon going to actually ask their favourite scary, fussy, cuddly little hobbit he and Kili would just step up and claim him for themselves – anyone who could make those pastries needed to be snatched up and prevented from ever leaving one again – could be surprisingly resolute in his punishments. If only Bilbo could be persuaded to subject That Elf to some of them!But no, Bilbo actually liked Legolas.And had even pulled Fili himself away once to scold him for protecting Kili from the elf´s stupid smiles and pretence gentleness and what did he mean it wasn´t Fili´s business at all if they chose to kiss again?!Fili had been about to hurl himself at Legolas; or at least drag Kili out of the room and demand to be told what, exactly, had happened in Mirkwood, only the hobbit had been quicker and dwarven ears were really not made for decisive and unrelenting pulling.That had hurt.And had been just the physical pain.Kili was his little brother and it was his job to protect him and clearly Kili was too dumb to take care of himself because - Ugh.Those dopey, sappy eyes.Surely Kili couldn´t be interested in that elf.Kili said he wasn´t interested in that elf.Kili -Well, he was Kili.And Kili was - That elf better not hurt his baby brother. ~ ~ ~ ~ “Legolas, at least, is used to wearing a crown. And to behaving like a prince.”“Jus´ like I said. Boring.”The smile that came with that pronouncement was as self-satisfied as it was inspiring Bilbo to bury his head in the tea pot. The only problem was that it was currently full of hot tea and too small even for a hobbit head. Robbed of this means of putting a swift end to his suffering, he merely patted the dwarf´s arm and nudged him towards the table, where some pastries and a mouthwatering plum pie were waiting on a tray.“Well, if you wish it, I´m sure Legolas will be leased to discuss the finer points of heir-ship with you while we track up to the Mountain. Who knows, you might even find the time to take notes!”Fili looked up from where he had been studying the still-warm cupcakes. Half-hidden under a cloth.“Uncle´s told you when we´re off?”The expectant, surprised tone left Bilbo a little flustered.“Oh – I – well, no – you see -”“We leave at dawn.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo stared.“Stay behind? You are asking me to stay behind?”The dwarf in the doorway stilled briefly, his head tilting very slightly; the grasp of one hand tightening on the frame. Then – in a tone that left no doubt as to any finality -“You will be escorted back to the Shire.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Kili´s mouth opened – only to close again at the barely there shake of a head he encountered on the opposite side of the table.He huffed.It was scary!No-one should be made to witness that!It was just not right.Besides - “Scone, Kili?”Right, that was it. He was not going to stand for it any longer.No matter what any pointy-eared - ~ ~ ~ ~ “Mister Boggins!”“Hm?”Kili eyed the hobbit, who was smothering the scone with fresh, thick clotted cream with all the appearance of one applying himself to a form of art that required the slowest, most thorough, most dedicated attention.“Are you quite alright?”“Perfectly.” The hobbit lifted the baked confection to inspect it, turning it to one side, then to the other. Apparently, it was to his satisfaction. “Strawberry or blackcurrant?”“What – I – uhm - either´s good. But really, Mr Bogg- ““The strawberry will go better with your tea. Sugar?”Kili whimpered; casting wide, imploring eyes around the table. Only to meet with lowered pairs that belonged to his fellow dwarves. And a delicately raised tea cup in the case of his old weapons master. Which almost disappeared into a thick beard.Blackberry tea.You´d never have thought Mister Dwalin would - Was no-one even going to try to find out - Well, he was not just going to let their hobbit suffer alone!He was their hobbit and he was great to cuddle and he and Fili did not even mind minding him – sometimes – and then there were those cupcakes they had been promised and the only person not pretending to be anywhere else – or quite deaf and blind to what was going on – or not - was - “I´m going to court Legolas!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Wait!” ~ ~ ~ ~ It took two other attempts and some braid-pulling for the shouting and the threatening and the accusing to finally stop but Ori eventually did get through to those members of the company who found themselves present at dinner and the hollering abruptly ceased, leaving the room eerily quiet.The young scribe blushed.But they should not all be looking at him; they should be looking at Mister Bilbo! Who was still sitting there, at the table, nibbling at a scone while preparing another and the amount of cream he was putting on it was positively – well, but his point was that Mister Bilbo was Sitting There. His eyes flew between the hobbit and his kin and he may have swallowed at all the attention concentrated on him but surely everyone must have noticed? At least Prince Legolas? Who had been the only one, except for Mister Bilbo, who had not taken to any shouting but had been staring at Kili in shock, at first, and then with such a look on his face as Ori found himself secretly hoping might be directed at him at some point in the future. Not by Prince Legolas, of course. And perhaps it would be wise if the one looking at him like that would not be an elf at all because Dori would be so disappointed and Nori would surely bring out his knives and - “Oi! Burglar! Shouldn´t ya be scolding?”Oh bless Mahal, now Dori would surely have to approve of Mister Dwalin!Not that he knew anything of anything, of course, and if he did know anything - or even something - well, he knew better than to tell Dori of it, but it was certainly not brains that Mister Dwalin was missing and he even liked tea and if Nori didn´t mind then - “I was thinking of what to plant in my garden, actually.” ~ ~ ~ ~ The door slammed shut.“You will not plant a garden!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Of course not.” Bilbo calmly took another sip of his tea, sensing some of the tension that surrounded the dwarf melt away. “I already have a garden.” And it was back again. It was quite fascinating, really, how quickly - “I was merely thinking of growing a few more vegetables. Yellow tomatoes, I think. Brandywine yellows go quite nicely with stews, you know. And then some of the herbs Bombur promised to let me have seeds for. I do believe he means to send Bard´s boy to the market to procure them but I´ve been thinking of going myself, since I haven´t really had the opportunity to see much of it. Well, I can do that now! Hm.” The cup got raised again, the hobbit indulging in another appreciative sip. Slowly. Leisurely. Not-any-care-on-Middle Earth-ly. And then he drummed his fingers on the table, seemingly deep in thought. “Do you know, I think I´ll bring some of this tea for my stocks, too. Who knows when I´ll find myself this far west again – if ever.”The silence that followed that pronouncement was such that one could have heard even the most subtle slurp. Not that Bilbo would ever lower himself to do anything so undignified – tea deserved much better, thank you, but - “You would break your promise.” ~ ~ ~ ~ The quiet rage in the King´s tone would have shaken the strongest dwarf.Fortunately and the Green Lady be thanked, Bilbo was not a dwarf but a hobbit and, even more fortunately, a hobbit that had spent the past couple of hours trying to make head or tail of what had been thrown at him by that very dwarf and had, very, very fortunately, come to the conclusion that the dwarf was a -Cloth-head.And at that present moment it did not matter at all that that dwarf was his very own cloth-head because his very own cloth-head had attempted to not only pull rank on him – really, as if a hobbit would be prone to recognising any of that silly kingliness authority (Publicly. Privately Bilbo had been considering Thorin Oakenshield the very epitome of kingliness and quite liked it when the dwarf went all kingly and majestic and regal and yes, well … he was not nearly enamoured enough to ever mention any of that to the King. Fine. But really not silly enough.) - but to also make decisions on his behalf that were as unnecessary as they were insulting.He had got them out of Mirkwood.Had faced trolls.Had thrown himself between his idiotic suitor and Azog.And endured all aggravating, hair-raising absurdities the that came with being subjected to the company of thirteen dwarves for months on end. Especially their leader´s.Which were the absolute worst.But no, he was apparently not fit to deal with a dragon.Not that he wanted to deal with a dragon, really, only now he wanted to deal with a dragon and if Mister King under the Mountain of Presumption thought he could stop him from dealing with a dragon when he wanted to deal with a dragon then he would be very willing to practise his dragon-dealing-skills on the dwarf and see if the dwarf would like it!Especially once he took to poking at his skin with Sting.Really.He was going to have words with the dwarf about all that Return to the Shire Business. Many, many words.Once he had had some tea.And scones.And then some more tea.And possibly more scones.And he was not going to apologise for any increased sugar intake when it would help him survive the utter block-headedness that seemed to be especially persistent in the Line of Durin!It would serve the dwarf right if he should find himself saddled with a Consort that was wider than he was tall. Only the blasted dwarf would probably take to rolling him around that blasted mountain of his if he couldn´t keep up with all the stomping.Shoes.Boots!Loathsome things.And he was not at all huffy, thank you very much!And he would quite like his tea now.And the scone.And he might even hit a certain someone with one, if he felt like it.Well, perhaps not.A piece of shortbread would be much more effective.And that should really drive his point home, given how much the dwarf liked them. ~ ~ ~ ~ When his cloth-head of a dwarf finally made his appearance in their room the hobbit had been nearly awash with tea. Or as much as a hobbit who was very fond of his tea could be. If it had been a barrel of ale he had been seeking solace in…Yes, well.Good thing his dwarves had not entirely corrupted him.Yet.Oh, but that dwarf was going to suffer.Because this hobbit was now not only a mildly angry and agitated hobbit; this hobbit was now a cranky hobbit.A cranky hobbit who much preferred to take care of his reasoning and his de-bullheading and his - well, sometimes it was necessary, thank you – shouting At Once rather than finding himself sitting there, for hours, waiting for the reason for his accumulating crankiness to make an appearance so that he could tweak his over-large nose and pull his stupidly round ear and, if driven to complete and utter unrespectability, yank both of his braids – hard – while His Majesty had been out, well, cozying up to that nasty, slimy, inducing one´s skin to crawl-y Master of the Town when he should be standing in front of his so called intended and patiently endure his so called intended´s scoldings and have his idiotic dwarven head cleared of some of the rocks that clearly had made themselves at home in the same and kindly rearrange their plans for the next dawn in such a manner that there would be a lot more Proper Time Of The Day in it than anything First Light or Before Breakfast, thank you very much!And once they had settled all these matters and he had taken care of the small, negligible detail of a live dragon which apparently he was not to be trusted to deal with while having been hired to very much deal with the same (he considered stealing from a dragon dealing with a dragon. It was all in the overall scheme of things, wasn´t it? Yes. That. And really, if anyone wanted to take to any nitpicking and insist that dealing somewhat implied permanency in that particular case well, it might very well end up being permanent. For one of them. One way of the other. So – so … there.) he was going to plant a garden in the Mountain and that – that - moronic dwarf was going to very much assist him!And if His Majesty kept grouching he would find himself marching back straight to the Shire once all that throne and mountain retaking business would be all over and done with to pick up those seeds and plants Bilbo thought would grow at least somewhat nicely in a stone-infested climate. And His Majesty would then get to ponder the joys of leaving the kinging business to his nephews and would that not make the obnoxious dwarf quake in his boots! And Balin would not be helping the boys! (Maybe his long suffering, entirely put out, clearly demented hobbit would even join him to ascertain that the dwarf actually slept on the road and – and ate a proper meal at least once a day. Maybe. Possibly. Ugh. Really. Whatever were the Valar thinking to settle him with such a – he would have to clean that coat, too, before sending him off because -)Bilbo took another sip of his tea.Really.And then His Majesty finally sees fit to favour him with his presence only to storm into the room like a thundercloud; nearly slamming the door out of its poor hinges, and telling him he was not to plant a garden – which clearly showed he still knew very little of hobbits in general and of this very particular hobbit in particular and Bilbo was fast reconsidering his decision of treating that big, heavy fur-coat to anything that would make it presentable again and moreover – wait.“What have you done now, you stupid dwarf?” ~ ~ ~ ~ It hurt.And he was not even going to think of the state of his hand.But for Bilbo to plan – to openly speak – of his plans for his return to the Shire -A garden.If his Heart, his Consort, his One intended to sink his soft, small hands into any dirt and overtax his little knees he was going to do it in Erebor where Thorin was going to not only have one of the rare light-flooded halls high up in the royal quarters cleared and scrubbed and made presentable and safe in every possible way (could he get away with having guards positioned at its entrance whenever his weed-pulling-enthusiastic hobbit … He was King. And two guards. At the least.) but where he would also be near enough for Thorin to drag him away from his plants and tomatoes (what his little One´s fascination with that vegetable – It´s a fruit, Thorin. - was was a matter entirely beyond his comprehension but he supposed it could be worse. He would firmly put his foot down with that green nuisance hobbits referred to as broccoli. No broccoli of any kind would come within smelling distance of his Mountain. And no adorable hobbit-pout would inspire him to change his mind! - and to enable him to bury his nose in the crook of his delectable neck and nose those lovely curls after his Council had once again driven him to distraction. He felt quite certain that this would be a regular occurrence.(And even if it should not be, he would be allowed to pretend it was so.)None of that would be possible if any gardening plans should come to fruitition in the rolling hills of the Shire.How could Bilbo think - How dare Bilbo think -They had agreed it would be wisest for their burglar to return to the Shire.They had spoken of arranging his passage across the Lake and - In truth, Thorin had been surprised at the little opposition he had met with. Clearly their burglar had had his doubts as well as to the wisdom in his engaging the beast in any way. Thorin had long taken pride in his One´s cleverness and astuteness. Yes. That was it. Had been it. And that nagging little voice in his head that kept suggesting to him that he had not provided his hobbit with any room for debate – negotiation – protest – by claiming a a matter of business to demand his immediate attention and practically fleeing the kitchen – and his gaping hobbit behind – lest he forgot all his noble intentions and seized him by his ridiculous braces and kissed him within an inch of his life and forgot about his quest, his legacy, his duty -Nagging voice or not – for Bilbo to consider their relationship at an end - He knew – he must know! - that Thorin would be sending for him once they had retaken the Mountain and Erebor had become habitable again! Surely it needed no words for him to understand why Thorin had made his decision. But his own kin had informed him of their hobbit´s plans for a garden in Bag End.Bilbo would not even think of a garden if he did not - His hand still hurt.Pulsed.A little.It would be bruised for some days.Balin would roll his eyes.Dwalin would – cackle.At least the bleeding had stopped.The King snorted.Trust Men to use inferior material in the construction of their homes.That wall had clearly long been in need of additional padding.Stone should have been used.Stone did not … splinter.And if Men had the common sense to use stone in the creation of their doors then they would not almost take off their hinges when a dwarf shut them behind him.Tea cups, on the other hand, would probably always take to clattering.Tea. Tea. Thorin eyed the cup in his One´s hand with loathing.It was enough that he was apparently contesting against an accumulation of books (he would send the youngest Ri in search of the library the moment they had rid Erebor of Smaug!) and a decidedly ugly armchair, if memory served, and now...Tea.Probably of that deplorable fruit variety that his oldest friend had developed such a strange partiality for. Fundin would have disinherited his younger son.And the -The dwarf clenched his injured fist, grinding his teeth at the stab of pain that shot through it.There would be no Mahal-forsaken -“You will not plant a garden!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Oh sit down, you daft lump.” ~ ~ ~ ~ “You punched the wall.”“Hm.”“There is now a hole in it.”“Hm.”“You´re not even sorry.”“Hm.”“You´re going to apologise.”“Hm.”“And then throw a betrothal party for Kili.”“Hm.”“And Legolas.”“Hm.”“You will visit them in Mirkwood, of course.”“Hm.”“While sharing elvish wine with Thranduil.”“Hm.”A hand came up to possess itself of a bearded chin, turning it so that impossibly blue eyes were forced to meet a reluctantly fond and exasperated gaze. “Thorin.” ~ ~ ~ ~ His hand wrapped up in a bandage, the King under the Mountain met the glare he had been constrained to face with a scowl.No, he had not been paying attention to his One´s ramblings but he refused to take any blame for his inattention – first he had been manhandled into a chair, then his hand had been subjected to unnecessary – fine, sensible and as gentle as possible – cleansing and then he had found himself distracted by the nearness of those curls and that soft form and that scent that was all - He had had no notion that the hobbit could be this cruel.To open declare their courtship – their relationship! - at an end...The love of hobbits apparently more fickle than their race liked to profess.Thorin had had his heart broken before; the loss of his family, his home, his birthright - No. Bilbo loved him.He was sure of it.He was just – piqued.Upset.Angry.Maybe he had broken one of those entirely befuddling Hobbit Rules that left a King completely mystified and out of his depth – usually?Surely he had not failed in their courtship – Although that flower crown he had presented Bilbo with -His burglar had seemed to have liked it.Or so the sudden mass of beaming and clingy and thoroughly amorous hobbit in his lap had suggested at the time.But that was then and the hobbit before him had not even made an attempt at clinginess or anything even more welcome upon his entrance; especially considering that this would be their last night for an impossibly long time to come; but had spoken of his plans for his garden in the Shire and his wish to explore various parts of Middle Earth which he did not think he´d ever return to when he must know that he would be sent for to travel home – to Erebor – as soon as possible. And that being separated from him for however many months it might take would quite possibly kill its King.Bilbo did know that.He had to know that.Must know that.It was nearly insulting that the hobbit presumed to - “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Your Majesty. And stop sulking.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Thorin sat up straight, thin lips pursed.“I do not sulk.”Something that sounded distinctly like a snort could be heard in the not-sulking king´s vicinity but before he could further and emphasise his protestations at the insufferable notion he found himself - “No, of course not! Mister King under the Mountain of All that is High-Handed and Overbearing and – and Insulting! - does not take to anything so unkingly as sulking. He also -” The small shoulders suddenly slumped, having supported the attached arms in their dedicated flailing. Bilbo sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls. “Just tell me, Thorin. How can you still have so little faith in me?”The dwarf king, taken aback by his One´s sudden ferocity and finding himself facing a glaring, huffing hobbit who waved his arms about and was tapping a speakingly annoyed foot on the wooden floor at one moment and an exhausted, almost deflated, clearly pained Shireling at the next, reacted with the to be expected, monosyllabic confusion.“Pardon?”Which earned him a rather expressive dirty look.Which really did not assist him with the unravelling of the mystery.When had he ever - There was no-one he had more faith in than Bilbo Baggins! No-one he trusted more in this life! It was preposterous of Bilbo to accuse him of being so uncertain in the choice of his heart – He could feel that spot between his eyes that was usually reserved for his sister-sons to torment begin to throb.Such - “I did not think to spend our last night together in absurdity.”There was a sudden moment of silence. Then - “I´m sorry? Did I agree to spend the night with you?”Thorin froze, his gaze fixed on the unrepentant hobbit who had just -He drew himself up to his full kingly height. “You would so easily dismiss me?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Dis-Now, hang on -That - That - Now really!Of all the odious, idiotic, insufferable - “Excuse me, Master Dwarf, but is it not YOU who insists on ridding himself of ME?”“It is not I who seeks to terminate our relationship, Master Hobbit.Oh, he was going to cuff that dwarf.And definitely, certainly, most assuredly not kiss him. Or any such ill-timed endeavour.No matter how terribly attractive His Majesty was in his horrible haughtiness.And senility.Because the dwarf could only have fallen victim to early senility if he had forgotten that he had ordered this hobbit to return to the Shire to wait out that whole dragon-dealing business in the comfort and utter ennui of his lovely little hobbit hole.Well, if His Majesty needed a reminder this hobbit would be only too happy to be at his service!Bilbo crossed the remaining distance between them – which really wasn´t all that much of a distance at all as both hobbit and dwarf had gravitated towards each other during their exchange and found themselves almost nose to nose, as it were – and those incredible eyes would likely always be nearly the death of him... confounded dwarf! - and put out a finger.Hm.Still all solid and hard.Good.It would not do for the dwarf to become all soft and squishable in his dotage. Or at least not in public.Oh.Dismissing.Yes.Quite.That.So.The still-very-firm-and-somewhat-heavily-heaving-chest was subjected to a poke.“I am not going back to the Shire, Thorin. And if you think you can make me or plan to have me dragged over those dratted Misty Mountains again -and I am most certainly not enamoured by the idea of trying my luck under them once more either, thank you! - or that you can just lock me in and throw the key into that nasty, big Lake around us I will tell Your Majesty now that I will escape my escort at the very first opportunity or climb through that window if forced to do anything so un-hobbitlike but I will not stay behind and wait for the news of you and the boys and the rest of my entirely suicidal family having been flambéed at the hands – paws – claws – scales – wings – ugh! – of a dragon because they did not have the common sense to use stealth and – and patience! Or – or courage! Or is it just hobbits you think completely devoid of any courage? Because quite honestly, Thorin, I find it really quite terribly insulting of you to not trust me to -” “I need you safe!” ~ ~ ~ ~ As far as eloquence went, it probably had not been one of his best offerings, yes. But he did flatter himself that he must have brought his point somewhat across still because that goaded, shouted, heart-wrenching admission that had interrupted his lovely little scolding session had been quite -“You stupid dwarf!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “I cannot lose you, Bilbo. Do not make me lose you!” ~ ~ ~ ~ “Would you ask it of Fili and Kili?” ~ ~ ~ ~ Bilbo had been carding his fingers through the thick, silver-streaked mane; the tension in himself slowly dissolving as he began to make sense of the entire, silly muddle.Not cowardice.Fear.Very real, very lively, very honest - Fear.He wanted to smack that clot of a dwarf.But not as much as he wanted to tackle him and mould himself into his safe, solid form and hold onto him and kiss every inch of his hairy body because - He had to end up with the most idiotically noble, chivalrous, stubbornly set in his ways-dwarf alive.And then the silly oaf had grouchingly admitted that he had been pondering the wisdom of allowing his sister-sons to come as far as well and had had nearly made up his mind to send them back with Bilbo under the disguise of being his guard.Bilbo had pulled one braid then.Hard.It was not that he wasn´t afraid.Of course he was afraid.It was not that he sought out dragons as a Sterday afternoon entertainment. Before tea. Horrible notion.But he was their burglar and he had signed a contract and they would have had to employ quite a different hobbit if they thought that he could just sit quietly anywhere while his friends – his family - his grumpy, grouchy, glowering, scowling, stubborn, wonderful bullhead of a dwarven intended were possibly in danger. He could not bear that and while it had taken a great many minutes and an even greater amount of patience Thorin understood. (Even if the whole garden business had ended in the unruffling of quite a few ruffled feathers. How anyone could have missed his very lovely, very substanial garden that surrounded Bag End was somewhat of a mystery to him but he was quite happy to live with the excuse that was that His Majesty had been thoroughly distracted by quite a different kind of Shire beauty. Romantic sap.)Had gently lowered his forehead against the hobbit´s, breathing deeply.He feared for Thorin as much as Thorin feared for him.And that was all that was to it.That was love.And they would meet whatever their fate should be together.Not that he had any intention of letting his dwarves do anything overly stupid, of course, but his cloth-headed love did not currently need to know that. He would keep them in line. If he had to. Somehow.And if he had to glare at them and shout at them and – and do some more poking – he would even threaten to shave off their beards and melt all their beads if that should make them behave!Or mention the possibility of moving to Rivendell.That should work on Thorin, at least.Possibly on Dwalin as well.Hm.He´d have to think about it.For now - He was owed a kiss.Quite a number of kisses, actually.And he was going to collect them because really, all that stress did not do an old hobbit any favours!Bilbo leaned in, his hand wandering down until it settled at the dwarf king´s nape, gently scratching the dark curls and drawing quite lovely sounds from his silly, overprotective love. His mouth was nearly brushing against thin, chapped lips when - “Court Legolas?!”
1117379	Cest La Mort Such is	{ "Archive Warning": "Major Character Death", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by TheCumberLadyInTheWoods", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-03T00:00:00", "words": "1,774", "Additional Tags": "Mentions of Sexual Content, Depressed John, Suicide", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson", "Series": "The Civil War Song Fiction", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	*** Swan dive down, eleven stories high Hold your breath until you see the light You can sink to the bottom of the sea Just don't go without me Dr. John Watson jerked awake with the name on his lips.Sherlock.For three years it had been this way. Every single bloody night. Dreams of Sherlock falling, diving, jumping. He was too late to save his friend. Too late to change the course of their destinies.John lay back against the pillows and tried to calm his pounding heart. He breathed deeply and held it, staring at the ceiling as tears rolled down from the corners of his eyes and collected in his ears and hair line. God he missed his flatmate...no, Sherlock had been much more than that to him. He'd been his friend...companion...confidant.His everything.That was the hardest part. The fact that Sherlock Holmes had been everything to him and John had given him everything he had to the point that now, when he was alone again as he supposed had been inevitable really, he couldn't function. He was back in the old flat, back to staring at an empty blog post screen with nothing to write, back to sitting in a chair by the room's single window day and night with his service revolver in his lap just praying for the strength to either live or die. Most days it was thin line he walked closely. He'd slipped into nothingness and was simply existing. He admitted he wasn't doing that very well.They had all tried to encourage him. Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft had been by but he had simply dismissed them. Dismissed them in the way that one dismisses a bothersome thought or annoyance. He was mean and nasty when Lestrade tried to get him to open up about Sherlock, he was crude and harsh to Molly when she would bring up a memory of her work with the younger man, he'd had Lestrade escort Mycroft out of his flat once because he had refused to leave and refused to stop talking about his brother. They'd finally stopped coming about a month ago. John was thankful for that.No one phoned, no one stopped him the street. The world went on about its business while John held on and tried to remember the man he had been with Sherlock.Except he wasn't the man he had been before, he was different. He was...broken in the worst possible way. Left completely cracked open and exposed with his insides hanging out.The day he had stood on the street and watched as Sherlock leapt from the rooftop of St. Bart's had been the day that John had died. Go get lost where no one can be found Drink so long and deep until you drown Say your goodbyes but darling if you please Don't go without me This is my note...that's what people do isn't it...leave a note. The words echoed through John's head, tangling with everything else Sherlock had ever said to him. He stared at the rooftop where he'd watched his friend fall. Stared at the point on the ground where he'd landed and bleed from his bashed skull.He hadn't meant to come here. In fact, he had meant to go in the complete opposite direction. But as always when John wandered he found himself here. His life was lived between three points: His flat, the street in front of St. Bart's and the final resting place of his friend. He no longer moved through the streets of London seeing the great battlefield that Sherlock had. Everything John saw was so...ordinary, so...plain.Boring.He turned and wandered off back up the street. He planned to stop by the cemetery before he went back to his flat.Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time. C'est la vie C'est la mort You and me Forever more John sat beside the headstone and looked out over the rows and rows of other stones. Trees dotted the property here and there, there was a group of people near the entrance looking through the stones for a loved one. Names, dates, messages about love and time well spent or wasted. Not on this one, no, just Sherlock Holmes, it read. Plain and simple. So very unlike the man whose grave it marked.He reached inside his jacket pocket and removed a folded piece of paper and his revolver. If he was going to do this, he realized, it needed to be here in the quite peace of the cemetery beside his friend, not the cold and sterile interior of his flat.John hoped that Mycroft would agree to let him be buried here. He didn't see why not. John owned the two plots, had owned them since he got back from the war. He smiled as he touched the black stone and the white name. Soon it wouldn't matter what he'd owned or what he'd done, soon it wouldn't matter about anything. Soon he'd be free.Taking a moment he closed his eyes and reflected. Images flashed through his mind. Christmas', New Years', birthdays, all mixed together in a montage of color and sound and emotions. He remembered the murder's, the adventures, the dinners. It all flooded back to him now with such clarity, more than he'd had in three years. He wondered if maybe he hadn't remembered it like this because he'd wanted it so much and now it didn't matter.He remembered the first time Sherlock had kissed him. It had been raining and they had been hunting down a serial burglary. He'd slipped on some wet grass and reached out to break his fall, grabbing onto Sherlock's forearm. When the taller man had turned, their eyes had locked and they'd swayed close to each other. They had struggled with this from the moment they meet. There was a quick, insistent fire coursing through him and he knew from the look in Sherlock's eyes it was the same for him. The first brush of lips had been a shock and the second had been demanding and insistent and he'd known what it was like to fly. The kiss hadn't lasted long, just a few seconds but it had been enough to prove once and for all that their relationship wasn't completely platonic.John sighed as he laid back against the cool grass and went farther, let his brain conjure images of the first time they'd made love. It had been amazing, such exquisite torture. Sherlock had teased him with light touches and kisses all over his body and he'd been shocked when his flatmate had taken his erection into his mouth and sucked him to completion. He remembered watching as Sherlock's throat muscles moved and his cheeks hollowed. The moans and pleas that had rant through the air without a thought to what had been said.There had been the gentle exploration he had initiated of Sherlock. Every dip and curve had been expertly formed. There were scars on his forearms and thighs. Thin, white scars that John had kissed and he'd felt the pain pouring from them. They had been the desperate cries of a young boy who didn't understand his world or his mind or why he felt the way he did. He'd known that without needing to be told. He'd gazed up at Sherlock while he'd laved them and seen the ghosts and shadows that lived there and watched as in that moment they were chased away. His heart had lifted and he'd never loved anyone more than he loved Sherlock in that one moment.It had been easy, he remembered, so very easy to let Sherlock take control of his body. He'd lain on his back with his knees drawn up to his chest and his breathing heavy and frantic. His friend had prepared him, spending time opening his body to accept his invasion, to accommodate his wide girth and length. John had been surprised by the size of Sherlock's penis. It was just as perfectly formed as the rest of him.He'd watched as Sherlock had leaned forward and lined himself up before slowly moving inside him, careful not to hurt him. The rhythm was a slow and steady assault on John's senses. They had moved together without hesitation, as if they had done it a billion times before. It was the same time every time.Always perfect, John recalled as he opened his eyes and stared up at the clouds rolling around in the blue sky through tears. A breeze fluttered over him and cooled the hot tear tracks on his face. He raised the gun to his temple, turning his head to offer a watery smile at the gravestone."I'm coming to you," he whispered right before he pulled the trigger. The sudden sound of gunfire startled the people at the entrance and within moments a guard found him.It was already too late. Let's walk down a road that has no end Steal away where only angels tread Heaven or hell or somewhere in between Cross my heart to take me when you leave Don't go, please, don't go Don't go without me Mycroft Holmes sat inside the Club and read the paper the next morning and felt saddened.Former Army Doctor Commits Suicide Beside Friend's Grave.The post told very little about the connection between them, only that they had been friends and flatmates. There was mention of the scandal leading up to Sherlock's death and a rather interesting theory about Jim Moratiy that Mycroft fully intended to investigate further. But the writers had made Dr. John Watson shine for a few moments. It mentioned that he had been found by cemetery security and that he had shot himself straight through the temple. He'd left a note that the police, meaning Detective Inspector Lestrade, hadn't released. The words "war hero", "accomplished doctor" and the like were sprinkled liberally throughout the column. His phone buzzed silently in his pocket and he reached into his coat and removed it. He didn't need to recognize the number to know who it was from. He'd been expecting this all morning.Mycroft took a moment to carefully fold the paper and lay it beside him before opening the message. What did you do? I asked you to look after him. -SH He couldn't take it anymore, Sherlock. He wanted you back. I tried to help him. I'm so sorry. -MH As he hit send he wondered if before tomorrow he'd be called to identify another body.
1141264	Escape	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan", "Fandom": "Stargate Atlantis", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by StarbucksSue", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-18T00:00:00", "words": "960", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Rodney stared at the guard in front of him, or more precisely the dagger the guard was holding four inches from his body, not quite sure what had turned the situation ugly. One minute he’d been talking about improvements to the low level technology the Hadaaiins were using in their temple and the next he was staring into the tip of the dagger. He could see John out of the corner of his eye, to anyone else watching the colonel simply looked tense but Rodney could see the concern in his lover’s eyes and he cursed inwardly, this was what he’d been afraid of when they’d got together, he just hoped that John could stay cool and not let his heart overrule his head. He looked around for Ronon and Teyla and frowned when he didn’t see them, He’d been sure they’d followed him and John into the temple but they were nowhere in sight, he just hoped they hadn’t been taken prisoner. The guard in front of him didn’t move but the leader, a man who had introduced himself as Myaan, stepped forward towards him. “Dr McKay. It’s an insult to our people for a stranger to touch the relic.” He informed him. “You must face punishment for this transgression.” “Oh come on, we’re visitors here, how was McKay supposed to know that. He was trying to help you.” John butted in impatiently. “Colonel Sheppard.” Myaan replied heatedly. “It matters not what Dr McKay was trying to do, he has insulted our people and he must face the punishment.” “What punishment.” Rodney asked anxiously. “What do you want me to do; I can work on it and make it more efficient you know. This could easily be configured so that it doesn’t use up so much energy and I could easily fit solar panels to conserve energy, your planet has enough hours of sunshine to make it worthwhile.” He rambled on hopefully. “I’m sorry, Dr McKay, I can’t allow that. The punishment for touching the relic is death. I cannot change the laws of our people just for one person and the people must know that we treat the laws seriously otherwise we would have anarchy on our hands.” Rodney looked up horrified as John exploded. “No, you can’t do that. I get that you have to have laws but how can you punish someone new to the planet that hasn’t been told of your laws. You knew he was interested in the temple and your energy source so why didn’t you warn him that he wasn’t allowed to touch it, that’s not playing fair.” John replied angrily. Myaan wavered for a moment. “You do have a valid point there Colonel Sheppard.” He hesitated for a moment considering his options. “I will need to convene a meeting of The Council of The People; you will remain here under guard.” He swept out of the room while John and Rodney were herded into a small alcove in the opposite corner by the six guards. John glared at Rodney who shrugged in return. “There’s no point in glaring at me like that.” Rodney huffed as he folded his arms defiantly. “I wasn’t to know their laws, you said so yourself.” John sighed in defeat. “Yeah, I know. But how often do you get us into trouble by touching things.” “Huh, I’m not the only one; your gene gets us into just as much trouble.” Rodney retorted, sinking to the floor. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable; we’re likely to be here for some time.” “Not necessarily.” John returned quietly. “These guards don’t seem overly efficient; they haven’t even taken our things.” Although they’d had to leave their P90s outside the temple, they still had handguns and their packs. The guards themselves appeared lazy and half asleep, even to Rodney’s untrained eyes, however, he wasn’t sure about taking on all six, that seemed a few too many even for John to subdue. He wondered again where Ronon and Teyla were, had they been captured or seen what was about to happen and gone for the gate for reinforcements. He sighed heavily and opened his pack, taking out a power bar; after all, there was no need to go hungry unless he had to. He was shaken awake sometime later by an impatient John. He wasn’t sure how long had passed but there were now only four guards, all of whom were getting restless as if realizing something was amiss. “Be ready to run when I say so.” John whispered pulling Rodney slowly to his feet and making sure he was fully awake. Rodney nodded and looked around, suddenly glimpsing sight of Teyla behind a pillar near the entrance to the room. John raised his hand in the air as if he was going to scratch his head. “Now.” He cried, reaching out and hitting one guard over the head while quickly twisting and sweeping another off his feet. At the same time Teyla shot across the room quickly flooring the remaining two guards. Between them they quickly had all four guards gagged and bound. In the meantime Rodney raced across the room and out into the corridor, literally bumping into Ronon who grabbed him and started running out of the temple towards the Stargate, it wasn’t long before they heard footsteps behind them as John and Teyla caught up. They reached the Stargate without incident, the villagers apparently unaware of their escape. As they collapsed through the event horizon Sam looked down at them with a concerned look on her face. “Is this another gate address we need to lock out of the mainframe then?” She said with a smug grin seeing that they were unharmed. “Who touched something this time?”
1177162	A Retriever in Exile	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Pikachu, Blacky \| Umbreon, Jupitoru \| Grovyle (Mystery Dungeon), Marshtomp, Rokon \| Vulpix, Eievui \| Eevee, Aurton Slick Silversky (OC)", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Sparkleaf", "chapters": "12/20", "completed": "", "published": "2011-08-26T00:00:00", "words": "15,142", "Additional Tags": "Original Pokemon Trainer - Freeform", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Exile", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Pocket Monsters \| Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald \| Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Off the coast of Slateport, Hoenn, white cruise ships passed through the clear, tropical waters toward the lively harbor. On the top deck, passengers gazed eagerly toward white beaches and bustling wharves in the distance. Waves burst against the hull and splashed over the rails, peaked white with foam.Humans and Pokemon scurried along the steel-sheltered docks. Grunting fisherman hauled their early morning catches off their boats as workers unloaded fresh fruit from cargo vessels. Trainers emerged from ships and stepped down onto the pier, inhaling fresh sawdust from the shipyard.Fifteen-year-old Slick Silversky emerged from Slateport Inn, wearing a tan-and-blue jacket, his team hanging from his belt by islander custom: one Poke Ball on the left, and five others on the right. Watching the cruise ship approach the docks, he set off down the stone path toward the market.In the second ball on Slick's right sat a Pikachu, unfit and pudgy.He smoothed down his fur and twitched his ears, cheeks crackling, staring out from his capsule. He'd heard the explanation of how the Poke Ball worked a hundred times already, and he still didn't get it. But it was cozy and warm at night, and he didn't want to whine.In his Poke Ball, Lightning felt isolated from the world outside. He stared out at streets of interlocking gray pavers, grassy lawns rippling in the wind. The world bobbed up and down with Slick's every step, all outside sounds muted by insulation gel.The Pikachu could almost imagine the cool feel of salty spray as they entered the market-square. Strung flags waved in midair overhead as merchants manned their rows of stalls, advertising their crates of freshly caught fish, ripe produce, and hiking supplies to the lively crowds in the marketplace.The Poke Balls on Slick's belt swayed as the Trainer moved through the crowd. As Lightning's capsule knocked against his neighbor's, he heard a growl as the Umbreon on his right stirred, giving him a filthy look. Quickly, the Pikachu ducked down, laying flat on the gel pad until Insyte turned his head away.Through the shell of his Poke Ball, Lightning's ears could pick up the muted clamor of eager sellers and awed customers, boisterous but cheerful. Slick moved awkwardly through the market, stopping at a dingy stall in the corner. He showed them his ID, and they handed him a silver disc.They watched as Slick continued onto an antique vendor, polished Wingull pendants dangling from a rack. Twelve stone balls rested in a velvet rack, each with a red-tinted groove that ran around the center; it took a moment before he realized they were Poke Balls."Pretty, aren't they?" said Rush, the Marshtomp in the lone Poke Ball on Slick's left side. His voice was hard to hear through two layers of fiberglass, but the Pikachu thought he caught the gist of his words. "Long ago in Johto, Poke Balls were made from from Apricorn shells. And long before that, tribes in Hoenn made Poke Balls from stone."Lightning squinted, but couldn't get a clear line of sight. "Then they were made from from iron and wood, which led to the Apricorn shells. Others were made from leather and bone." The Pikachu shivered, but said nothing. "Some convenience stores today sell Poke Balls that look like the old iron ones. Oh hey, Shan, that might interest you—"The others all turned to the Vulpix on Lightning's right. Excitedly, Shanala pressed her face against the capsule wall, eyes aglow. Outside, Slick was approaching a jeweler's stall, the Vulpix watching his every move. Staring up toward the counter, they saw Slick's mouth move, the jeweler taking out a box.From Slick's belt, they couldn't see inside, but when the box was opened, the stone inside cast a fiery orange glow on the lid. Shanala's tails wagged with excitement as she saw Slick reach for his wallet."Calm down, Shan, you don't know it's for you," said Rush. "We don't even know what's in there, so don't wet yourself." Lightning winced. But that was just how Rush talked, he reminded himself.To Shanala's disappointment, the jeweler frowned at the money in Slick's hand and shook his head. "Not nearly enough," muttered Rush--the only one who could fluently understand human speech. Ears drooping, the Vulpix curled up in her ball quietly and said nothing. "Sorry, Shanala... better luck next time."A bread knife, a few loaves; some potions, some berries; perhaps Slick was just as disappointed as Shanala, as he hurried through the rest of his errands, quickly leaving the market afterwards.Their attention turned to the vast expanse of trees beyond Slateport. Lightning's eyes traced the winding dirt-paved trail up ahead towards the rocky shores, the foaming waves crashing in Slate Bay to the northeast. Lightning tasted the earthy scents of the wild, drifting through his Poke Ball's micro-vents. These were scents he could appreciate, even if a human couldn't.The Pikachu could see the tangles of short and tall grasses that were decorating the shores in the distance. A gleaming bridge of concrete and steel spanned the width of the bay, connecting Slateport to the distant buildings of Mauville, while leaving the Pokemon dwelling in the wilderness undisturbed.As they passed through the north gate, Lightning glanced up to Slick, suddenly worried. Six months at a human's side and not a day of training to show for it. He'd watched Slick's travels unfold from his Poke Ball, never used in battle, always left in safety, never challenged, always set aside. What would Slick's Hoenn tour hold in store for him?------- ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The best recognizable symbol of the bond between human and Pokemon is the Poke Ball.Two thousand years ago, the hero Aluxiver joined forces with the Eevee warrior Mythic, leader of the wilderness. With the powers of the ancients, they defeated Giratina, lord of the underworld, and established a lasting peace between mankind and Pokemon throughout the lands.The hero's victory proved to the world that despite the differences between the two races, humans and Pokemon could accomplish great deeds together. And though cooperation had long existed between Pokemon and humans, Aluxiver was immortalized as the world's first Pokemon trainer.As friends and allies, Pokemon and humans would bond through adventure, through terror, through shared pain. From man, Pokemon learned compassion; and from Pokemon, man learned instinct. Thus was born the legacy of the Pokemon Trainer, and with it, the rise of the Poke Ball.An mysterious yet widely used device, the modern Poke Ball has an outer shell of semi-rigid polymer. The top half is transparent red, while the bottom half is opaque white. The interior contains an eight-lens laser that, when focused on a Pokemon, transforms them into a compressible state of matter.As energy, the Pokemon is shrunken down to fit inside the capsule. Its aura will resonate with an energy crystal, which acts as a medium for the bond between the Pokemon and the trainer. This crystal also ensures that the Pokemon cannot be recaptured.If a newly caught Pokemon is able to escape before the ball registers a capture, however, the crystal shatters, rendering the capsule useless. In recent models, the memory unit stores the auras of both the captive Pokemon and its trainer to prevent theft or misuse.It is unknown why Poke Balls are immune to the effects of electromagnetic pulses or any form of electronic interference, or why they have no detrimental side effects on the Pokemon. Yet one thing remains certain, for no known reason: Regardless of ability, size, type, or free spirit, any Pokemon can live comfortably inside a Poke Ball...And it was one such capsule from which a Pikachu watched his trainer approach his opponent, one sunny morning. Sektek still remembered the day of his capture, nine months ago, the whirling capsule that cut short his battle, his terror within the Poke Ball, hearing Slick's voice from every direction... The boy had named him "Lightning" on that day.At first, the Pikachu had been terrified and ashamed, barely able to even look at his teammates. He'd heard stories about humans in the wild, of course, how trainers sometimes mistreated their Pokemon. But after six months, Slick had barely touched him at all...In that moment, Slick's hand grasped his Poke Ball. Palm and fingers curled over the dome-window, the thumb reaching for the silver button. Still not sure what was going on Pikachu flinched as the capsule flashed with white light around him. "Lightning, you're on!"Paws leaving the gel-pads, the Pikachu was swept out from the capsule in a flood of white light and tossed out into the open, the ground shrinking as he returned to normal size. The world rushed upon him in a thrill of senses, his heart pounding a mile a minute. "Pikapi!"Pungent, earthy scents swept over the Pikachu, cool grass gently pressing on him as the breeze filled his fur. The wilderness had more light and more shadow than the view from a Poke Ball would suggest, no longer filtered in red, but displaying resplendent green hues.With a thump, a Lombre landed on the ground in front of a triathlete. A Pokemon battle had begun."Corphish, headbutt!" ordered the triathelete. Nodding, the Lombre ran across the grass and sprang headfirst into the Pikachu, knocking the rodent to the ground.Wincing as his Pikachu hit the turf, Slick examined his opponent carefully- a triathlete in a blue jersey, shorts, running shoes, and shades. "Lightning, thundershock!"Standing up, Sektek glared at the Lombre, his paws clenched. Electricity flashed in his yellow-green eyes as twin bursts of golden sparks flashed from his red cheeks and struck his opponent, electrocuting the Lombre."Lombre, Water Gun!" ordered the triathlete. Grunting, the Lombre shook off the last of the sparks, crouched low, and spat a pressurized burst of water at Lightning, stinging the Pikachu and sending him reeling back a few steps."Lightning, Shock Wave!" Soaked fur flat against his flesh, Sektek pointed at the Lombre with a paw and sent a jagged pillar of blue sparks slashing across the grass with a sharp cry. The swift electric cyclone crackled loudly as it engulfed his opponent, the lilypad hat slipping off."Lombre! Mega Drain!" Breathing hard, the Lombre got up and pointed a gnarled finger at Sektek. The Pikachu gasped as green tendrils of energy shot from his chest and swirled into the Lombre, sinking to the ground, suddenly fatigued as if his blood was drawn."Lightning! Don't give in!" called Slick, his voice firm but supportive. "Secret Power!" Breathing hard, the Pikachu stumbled to his feet and glanced back up at his trainer, then stared at the Lombre."Hey, you're a member of the Secret Power Society?" said the triathlete, grinning. "Nice! I've heard they have great training regimens."Slick didn't return the smile. Ignoring Slick and the triathlete both, Sektek ran at the Lombre, cheeks crackling as he sprang up and somersaulted in midair, striking down with a glowing Lightning-bolt tail towards his opponent's head. As the Lombre crumpled to the ground with a moan, the Pikachu prepared to finish his foe off with a spinning tail strike.But then, right as he was about to deal the final blow, the Pikachu caught sight of his target and completely froze, his paws shaking as he stared down at his opponent. The Lombre's eyes were terrified, wide with the fear of a cornered animal--just like Venvel, one year ago...------- ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Well, not bad, Lightning," said Shanala as the team rested on a couch in the Mauville Pokemon Center. "I suppose you'll be joining the rest of us now, hm?" Sektek nodded silently, not sure how to answer. Outside, the sky was growing dark; Slick was picking up food from a deli next to the bike shop.To Shanala's left, Insyte stretched and yawned."He won't be with us long," said the Umbreon, prodding Sektek with a paw. "Lightning here almost lost to a little Lombre. From what? A weak absorption attack or two?" Annoyed, the Pikachu glared at him, but again, didn't know how to answer; the Umbreon was probably right."Pikachus are pretty frail, statistically," pointed out Rush. "Not so much heavy fighters like you or me, you know? He'd have a key niche in a larger plan. Besides, according to Slick's PokeTool, Lightning's experience rating is level twelve. Our ratings are all at least level twenty. Give him some time to catch up.""PokeTool? Don't trust that garbage," snorted Insyte. "He ought to get a proper Pokedex someday. Right, Leroy?" He nudged the Lombre, who just grunted and nodded. Sektek stared."So, Lightning, how was it like, fighting a real opponent today?" asked Rush, looking at Sektek. Shoot, they were all looking at him now. "Come on, little guy, we don't want you to be left out or anything!" Insyte snorted from suppressed laughter.All these stares were making Sektek uncomfortable. What answer would make all the stares go away? "It was... um... fine," said the Pikachu nervously, still looking down, avoiding looking any of them in the eye."Yeah, sure it was," said Insyte snidely, looking at the Pikachu with glittering red eyes. "So you think you're part of some beautiful plan, huh? Well, let me tell you this, kid! You're completely wrong. He's a human! He doesn't understand us. He does what he feels like doing.""What do you mean?" blurted Sektek, looking around, confused. "What'll he do with me?" But the others just gave Insyte strange looks, not really agreeing or disagreeing, passing thoughts that he didn't understand. And so he fell silent, still struggling to understand this tactic-driven world, so different from the one he remembered.-------Miles away, a Sneasel and a Grovyle were sparring in the woods. "They say you know a story or two," said the Sneasel. "Perchance, might you know any tales of the ruins on the far coast?"The Grovyle grinned as his leaf blade met the Sneasel's practice sword. "A town built by Pokemon, for Pokemon," said the Grovyle. "Still, Treasure Town itself was nothing. No, what made it great were the explorers who called it home. Pokemon who banded together and roamed the land in search of riches and glory."They slowly circled each other. "Some sought gold, silver, and jewels. Others sought ancient relics. Some sought ambrosia, sacred food and drink. Some worked for the explorers' guild and shared their rewards. Others operated independently, and accepted the risks." The Grovyle smiled, closing his eyes. "Even so, every last one of those Pokemon was truly noble at heart."Seizing the chance, the Sneasel swung up at the Grovyle, who just barely blocked the blow in time. "What's with this?," laughed the Sneasel, stepping forward, aiming at the Grovyle's shoulder. "You talk as if you saw it firsthand!."The Grovyle deflected the Sneasel's, bringing his sword under and around the Sneasel's. "What if I say I was?" said the Grovyle, smiling. "We live in strange times, friend. The power of the distant past runs freely, and Pokemon wander in areas where they haven't appeared since ancient times."That shut up the Sneasel. The Grovyle continued his story as they sparred. "Long ago, long before humans spread throughout these lands, a great war raged between the Master of Time and the Master of Darkness. Curses plagued the land, killing hundreds and swallowing hundreds more."The Sneasel stepped back as the Grovyle advanced with three successive strokes. "If not for two young Pokemon, River and Saffron, the very axis of time itself might have been destroyed, causing the planet's paralysis. A world that knows neither sunrise nor sunset, neither hope nor rest. But thanks to River and Saffron, the legendary Time Gears were brought to Temporal Tower, and the Master of Time ultimately triumphed over the Master of Darkness."The Grovyle's attacks became harder, more forceful, pushing the Sneasel further back. "Even so, the casualties of the war cannot be reversed by its conclusion. How many were banished from the flow of time? How many were cast in perenennial darkness? Even close friends of River and Saffron were lost to the war. Such have these displaced souls slept, until recent times."The two Pokemon continued to spar, blocking each other's strikes, circling, moving in and out of each other's range."Imagine being a Pokemon from that era and waking up in the present day," said the Sneasel. "Your friends, your family, all gone. The world's surely nothing like how it was back then. How could anybody adapt to tha-- "The Grovyle thrust forward, locking his sword with the Sneasel's. With a circular flick, he disarmed the Sneasel. And checkmate," said the Grovyle as the tip of his blade touched the Sneasel's throat.Eyes widening, the Sneasel sank to the ground. "That'scwuite the technique ue like that," said the Sneasel suspiciously. "Just who are you?"The Grovyle smugly returned his sword to its sheath. "Elias Elkwood, at your service," said Elias, bowing grandly. "Once upon a time, they called me the Time Gear Thief."------- ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- -------A few miles from Littleroot, Slick's Pokemon sat around a fire ring by their master's tent. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the team was relaxing while Slick gave private training sessions in a forest clearing nearby. Today's session belonged to Bailey, Slick's Wingull."Aspears, anyone?" offered Rushing River, cross-legged at the forefront of the fire, trying to passing around a basket of plump Aspears. "C'mon. Eat up, boys."Next to the Marshtomp, Shanala rolled her eyes. "And what about me, Rush?" asked the Vulpix quietly, curling up by the fire's warmth, gazing up at him coolly. "Or am I a boy to you?" Insyte stared at Shanala, his fur bristling. For a moment, Sektek was reminded of another Vulpix and Mudkip pair, old friends from a much older time...~ In the past ~ A Pikachu and an Eevee cheerfully bounded down the road together towards the crossroads, leaving the town market behind them. Both wore Team Retriever neckerchiefs, their leather satchels packed and ready for a day of exploration. Up ahead at the crossroads, a Mudkip and a Vulpix were waiting by the watering hole, both carrying explorer bags as well, though their neckerchiefs bore the logos of Team Storm. "Team Retrievers!" called the Vulpix, waving her forepaws to get their attention. "Over here!" "Hiya there, Saffron!" exclaimed Leaf-Light as she arrived at the Watering Hole, with a panting Spark-Tail following right behind her. Grinning, the Eevee glanced Saffron up and down, then looked to the Mudkip. "And River too! What're you guys up to?" Wagging his rudder-tail, River grinned at Leaf-Light and Spark-Tail, then filled them in. It was no secret that River and Saffron, the legendary duo, were preparing for their final exams at Wigglytuff's Guild. If they passed, they would graduate and earn First-Class Guild Approval status, an extremely prestigious honor amongst explorer teams. "Anyway, we'll be moving back to Sharpedo Bluff, once we graduate," said Saffron with a sly grin. Wagging her tails in the cool breeze, she poked Leaf-Light with a paw. "I guess we'll be neighbors again, eh Venvel? Just like old times. And now we can help each other out!" Yes, just like old times. Except that this time, Saffron and River would be the stronger team... ~ Back in the present ~Things were different now. After all this time, he still could not hope to comprehend what Team Storm had done for the world. Between Kanto, Johto, and Hoenn, the world was much larger, deeper, and more complex than he had ever known under human rule.He didn't like talking to the rest of Slick's Pokemon about his childhood memories. The stories sounded ridiculous when he told them, even in his own head. He'd looked up to River and his extraordinary feats, even though the Mudkip had been much younger than him. But Rush was a different story."Aw, come on, Shan, you know what I mean!" chuckled the Marshtomp, prodding the fox's flank and earning him a warning glance from her. "Everybody needs to eat, we've gotta keep our energy up. Chow up, team! You too, Lightning."Sektek said nothing- he disliked his own voice and avoided talking whenever possible. "Oh for christ's sake, put your shoulders down," said Insyte irritably, while Rush pushed the fruit basket over to Shanala, who turned her head away. "We're your teammates, we're not gonna rip out your heart in your sleep.""Naw man, Lightning just needs to chill out," put in the Lombre, nodding at Sektek. "See, man, he's gotten all filled up with the fightin', and all the eatin', and all the storytellin', and all that stuff, man. He just gotta chillax for a bit, y'know?"The Vulpix sniffed at the Lombre rather disdainfully. "I think you're high again, Leroy," said Shanala, shaking her head and tails in disapproval. "Don't you ever think you ought to cut back? All that smoke can't be good for your lungs or your hat."From Leroy's other side, Insyte snorted and pushed the untouched basket over to Sektek. "Rush, you twit, you know none of us like Aspears," snorted the Umbreon, eyes gleaming and rings flashing. His voice dropped into a crude imitation of Rush. "'Okay, pucker up boys! Let's eat antifreeze! What's that? Your tongue's swollen? I can't hear you!'"Ignoring the berries, Sektek pushed the basket to Shanala, not looking up from the fire. Grinning at Insyte, Rush got up onto one knee and began cracking his knuckles. "Oh, you wanna play like that, eh?" replied the Marshtomp, raising his fists. "You and me, Insyte. I'll take you any day."~ In the past ~ "My daddy thinks you'll be able to handle Level C jobs now, since you've evolved and all," giggled Leaf-Light as she and Spark-Tail sat in the shade, across from the Kecleon Market. "Mmhm. Say, did you hear about Saffron? Well, you'll never guess what happened last night..." Blinking, the Pikachu looked up at her. "Saffron? You mean that pretty Vulpix who lives next door?" said young Spark-Tail. "I- um- I thought she didn't come home last night. Wasn't she at the beach or something...?" "Hehe! Yes, of course she was, silly," replied the Eevee cheerfully, poking Spark-Tail with a paw. "But but, see... you remember that huge storm from two nights ago? Well, I guess a little fishy-fish washed up on the shore!" "A... 'fishy-fish'?" "Yeah!" said Leaf-Light excitedly. "So like, she was walking down the beach, and then she sees this cute Mudkip boy lying unconscious on the beach. Apparently his name was River. And he lost his memory or something. But like, that's not all... She said he said he used to be a human!" Now Team Tasty was haggling loudly with one of the Kecleon shopkeepers. "Uh... what's a human?" asked Spark-Tail, confused, yet wanting to hear more. The Eevee shrugged. "I dunno, but I bet it's something cool," said Leaf-Light, winking. "Anyway, Saffron and River took to each other really nicely. From what I heard, they even went into Wigglytuff's Guild together!" "Wait, then they're guild members now?" blurted out Spark-Tail. Granted, he was a proper explorer in Ilun's Team Retrievers, while Saffron would just be a guild apprentice for a while. But still... "That's cool! Is that why she didn't stay over last night?" "Yep! Apparently they moved right into the guild," said Leaf-Light cheerfully. "Oh yes! I heard they're called Team Storm. I wonder what kind of training they'll do?" Glancing around, Spark-Tail checked the nearest sundial. Just a few more minutes before they had to meet up with Ilun and Cory. Leaf-Light tugged lightly on his tail. "Hey, hey, aren't you nervous at all?" Huh? "Me? Not at all." The Pikachu grinned to himself. To think he'd be exploring with the leader himself today! "Okay! That's good," said Leaf-Light. She looked down awkwardly and sighed. "Daddy's probably gonna have his eye on me the whole time, I'm gonna mess up again this week, aren't I?" The Pikachu tilted his head slightly. He didn't like to see Leaf-Light unhappy. "Don't worry!" said Spark-Tail, gently poking her cheek. "I'll have your back, no matter what. Okay?" ~ Back in the present ~The air grew thick with tension as Rush and Insyte glared at each other from opposite sides of the fire. Then, as Shanala, Sektek, and Leroy stared, both Umbreon and Marshtomp burst into laughter, dispelling the hostility as quickly as it had come."So, Lightning, got any more stories from your childhood?" snickered Insyte as he settled down by the fire, curling his lip at the Pikachu as Rush grabbed an Aspear from the basket. "Tell us about your friends from, uh, 'Treasure Town!' I need a good laugh."Sektek signed inwardly, wishing he'd never told anyone where he came from. On top of that, he particularly hated talking about how was he supposed to explain that a freak wormhole in time and space appeared out of nowhere and swallowed him up, then deposited him in the future? Even he didn't really believe what happened to himself. He certainly didn't want to believe it."Come on, let's hear some of your stories again!" called Insyte, slapping the ground with a paw and startling Sektek out of his thoughts. "That last one about the big fat Wiggly who punched a hole in a wall, that was a really good one. Tell us more about that one place, 'Carvanha Cliff!'""Whoa man, it's 'Sharpedo Bluff', not 'Carvanha Cliff', and his real name is 'Sektek'," laughed Rush, giving Insyte a friendly punch in the flank and grinning at Sektek with mirth. "Get it right, dude!""Oh yeah, right," chuckled Insyte, curling up by the fire and grinning at the Pikachu. "Yeah, talk about 'Sharpedo Bluff', Sparkles! Talk about the big cliff that looks EXACTLY like a shark!"The Pikachu looked away and glared down at the grass, fuming silently. Insyte and Rush were the last two people in the world Sektek wanted to talk to. Thinking about the cliff brought back too many painful memories; it reminded him of River, Saffron, and- most painfully of all- Venvel.He was on the verge of getting up and walking away when Shanala prodded him with a tail, beckoning him to stay. "Tell me about Team Retrievers too," said the Vulpix quietly as she lay down by the fire. "I'd like to hear what you can come up with next."What he could come up with? But he wasn't making this up! Looking around at the others, Sektek sighed. "W-well, um... there was this Linoone... Ilun," said the Pikachu, staring at the ground, hard. "And, well- he was sort of the leader of Team Retrievers."Insyte was already smirking. Sparktail wished he could wipe that snide grin right off the Umbreon's face. But then again, he knew it must be a pain to listen to him.... "Ilun? That's a nice name," said Shanala, nodding to Sektek, beckoning him to continue. "Was he a nice guy?""Y-yeah, he was pretty nice," said the Pikachu, growing annoyed with his own voice. No small wonder why Insyte and Rush made fun of him. "Anyway... uh... He had a wife and- well- and a daughter." Sektek trailed off for a moment, then added quietly, "I was- well- friends with the daughter. They all lived at Sharpedo Bluff, see- and they... sort of... took me in.""Oh, I'm sure they did," chortled Rush as Insyte snickered with laughter. "What, did you all live in the fin or something?"Shanala gave Insyte and Rush a dark look, conveying something that Sektek couldn't read. "Go on, Lightning," said the Vulpix without looking back at the Pikachu, voice trembling as she looked at the Umbreon. "Tell the rest of the story."Sektek hesitated. He didn't want to talk, and he really didn't want to think about where he came from, but... it seemed he had no choice. "Well... there's a lot of caves in the cliff, so they had plenty of room for me," he said. "Umm, well- I never met Ilun's mate, but... her name was Laurel. And... the daughter was called... Venvel."~ In the past ~ At Sharpedo Bluff, in a spacious cavern within the stone shark's makeshift gills, where enclosing stone walls protected the inhabitants from the elements, six Pokemon sat in a huddle around a campfire, mourning the disappearance of their dear friends, River and Saffron. As the warmth of the fire gently Leaf-Light huddled up close to her father and leader Ilun, who placed a comforting paw on the Eevee's shoulder. Beside the Pikachu sat a senior member, Tane the Absol; and between Tane and Leaf-Light sat the fire-tender, Vulcan the Quilava. They, too missed Team Storm with all their hearts. It wasn't just that Ilun had been paying for Team Storm's training at Wiggyltuff's Guild, no. River and Saffron had an innocence like no other. Growing up in Sharpedo Bluff's mouth-cavern, Saffron had been like a sister to Leaf-Light, and Ilun had been the father that Saffron never had. They didn't know River as well; Saffron found River on the night she moved out of Sharpedo Bluff. But River always seemed confident and hopeful. Spark-Tail really liked and admired that, though he was always too shy to talk to the Mudkip. Cory thought vaguely that Ilun had never looked so sad, not since the day that Laurel passed away. ~ Back in the present ~Sektek trailed off as Insyte yawned loudly. "So you heard that she heard that someone heard that Riverboy said that he was a human?" snorted the Umbreon, sneering at the Pikachu from across the fire. "I swear, Sparkles, your stories have gotten stupider, if that's possible.""Hey, watch the language," warned Rush sharply, swatting Insyte's flank. "There's a lady present." Next to Sektek, Shanala rolled her eyes while Insyte shot the Marshtomp a poisonous glare, but said nothing. "Now Lightning, m'boy, when are you going to show up this 'Venvel' friend of yours?"Rush didn't believe in Venvel. None of them believed Sektek's stories, really, and he could tell, no matter how much Shanala tried. And the Pikachu had to admit to himself- reluctantly- that he wouldn't believe his own stories if he heard them.And so, late that night, the Pikachu lay in his Poke Ball, clutching his volt charm and staring into its crackling depths, thinking about Venvel and wondering what the coming days would bring.------- ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "You've been doing good, Lightning, but your tail attacks are getting sloppy," said Slick, squatting down beside Sektek in the sunlit forest clearing. His mouse-heart humming, the Pikachu stared down at the bread knife placed before him, alone in the woods save for his trainer. "Today, let's practice some basic techniques. Now stand!"Though he couldn't understand every word and every subtle meaning, the Pikachu got the gist of his trainer's words. With an obedient 'Pika!', Sektek got up onto his hindpaws and picked up the bread knife. "Stance!"He moved into front posture: one foot forward, right paw grasping the knife near the blade and left paw at the handle's base. "Hold position," ordered Slick, and Sektek obeyed, his muscles straining against the weight of the breadknife. "Five, four, three, two, one; good job."Lowering the bread knife, Sektek relaxed and took a moment to catch his breath before Slick continued again. "Now... lift!" Instantly he shifted back into posture, holding the blade by his cheek. "Five, four, three, two, one; and back down."They repeated the exercise three more times before Slick moved onto the next stage. "Now as I taught you, lift- step forward and slash down!" ordered the trainer. Blade level with his eyes, the Pikachu strode forward and slashed down, simultaneously dropping to one knee, before stepping back to front stance. "Again."Forward, slash-down, up, back. The rodent's fur grew damp with sweat in the afternoon sunlight as Slick led him through the standard swordsmanship drills. Tiny blue sparks crackled down the bread knife's length from Sektek's paws as he practiced down slashes, side slashes, high slashes, cross blows, thrusts, lunges, and dodges- executing each technique just as his trainer had taught him."Okay, Lightning, I'll leave you to do some private training," said Slick finally, rising to his feet and turning to leave the clearing. "Don't wander off, okay? Just give me a shout if you need me!"Taking a deep breath as his trainer strode off into the trees, Sektek smoothed down his sweat-slicked fur and raised the bread knife to eye level again. Pressing the cool metal blade to the side of his head, just above his crackling red cheek, the Pikachu stepped forward with a slash, then back again. Step forward, slash, step back; step forward, slash, step back.As the minutes drew on, and his paws grew sweaty on the bread knife's handle, Sektek tried to pretend that he was fighting a real enemy. Conjuring up a memory of a Houndoom, the Pikachu stepped forward, and slashed an X into the hellhound's chest before stepping back. Stepping forward again, he whirled around as he slashed, slicing at each of the four legs before returning to opening stance.He heard the crunch of a twig overhead. Blinking, the Pikachu spun around. "Who's there?" he demanded, eyes darting across the treetops.A Grovyle with a woven leaf-blade dropped down into the clearing, startling Sektek into dropping the knife. "Pardon me," said the Grovyle calmly. "I was just passing through, and couldn't help notice you practicing."The Pikachu's eyes widened. "If I may, you're using too much force, friend," said the Grovyle, picking up the knife and holding it out to him. "Let the blade do the work, my friend. Don't waste emotions on a sword; they haven't any."Accepting the knife, the Pikachu stared up at the Grovyle. His head was pounding, the air crackling with a familiar charge. "Elias?" he blurted out.The Grovyle tilted his head. "I'm sorry," said Elias. "Have we met before?"Sektek took a good look at the Grovyle. There was no mistaking him. Elias, the Time Gear Thief. Team Storm's ally, who helped to save the world. A living legend. "I... I'm Sektek, from Treasure Town," said the Pikachu. "Sektek of Team Retrievers."Elias blinked. "Ah, that's right," said the Grovyle. "There was a Pikachu apprenticed to Saffron's landlord, wasn't there? You were always playing with the daughter." He chuckled. "Good to see you again, Sektek."After all this time, trying to forget about those days, Sektek's own name sounded hollow, empty. "Please! You have to help me. This human... and his Pokemon... I..." The Pikachu reached up toward Elias desperately. "I... I need to get back home.."The Grovyle sighed. "This may sound harsh," said Elias, putting a hand on Sektek's shoulder. "But you must forget about Team Retrievers." The Pikachu froze. "Sektek, don't you realize? You've been asleep for a very long time. The world you once knew ceased to exist several thousand years ago."~ In the past ~ Stumbling through the desert, his throat parched and his eyes burning from the searing heat and the harsh sweeping winds. Everywhere was hot and dry, the earth baked and hardened into clay. But he and Venvel had to keep going. Because of Team Storm, River and Saffron, and the warning they had brought home. Because Ilun had promised Team Storm that Team Retrievers would help save Temporal Tower. Little Spark-Tail had to do his part to help his friends, had to help find the Time Gears. But he couldn't go on. His head throbbed with every step. A pair of eyes gazed through the cruel haze. A green hand reached out for him, pulled him into a craggy alcove where the desert's wrath could not touch him. Blinking, the Pikachu stared up at the hand, stared up at the eyes that he had feared until River came home, and told the world that the Time Gear Thief had been trying to save the world all along. He lay still in the shade on the sand, gasping for breath, barely able to understand everything that was going on around him. Beside him lay Venvel, just as exhausted, just as thirsty. Together the two children stared up at Elias as the Grovyle gently pressed waterskins to their lips. "We can rest here," said Elias, his eyes kind but firm. "Let me know when you can continue." ~ Back in the present ~Falling silent, the Pikachu stared at the ground. "Cheer up," said the Grovyle gently, patting his shoulder. "You might not have Team Retrivers anymorre but you've found yourself a trainer, and you seem to be doing alright. Are you getting along with thecother Pokemon, at least?"The Pikachu hesitated. No, he didn't get along with the others. But he must be very annoying to them, so the flak from Insyte and Rush seemed understandable. No, no, he was overthinking this. How long had Elias been waiting for a response? "Oh--um... yeah, they're fine," said Sektek quickly. "I think..."Half-concerned, half-amused, Elias studied Sektek. "Are you sure?" said the Grovyle. "You've spent all hours of the day with these Pokemon for how many months, and you still aren't comfortable around them?"What could he say to that? The Grovyle seemed to understand his thoughts before he even spoke. "I... I can't. I keep thinking about... well... the old days... I-I'm sorry." It felt silly to apologize, but he didn't want the Grovyle to get mad at him."Oh, don't apologize to me," replied Elias, crossing his arms. "Listen, Sektek. I know it's hard to forget your old team. But you've got to move on; there isn't any other choice. The Age of Explorers ended three thousand years ago. All you can do is make the most of what you have. Just like River and Saffron."The Grovyle's words were familiar, painfully familiar."Wherever, however you go through life, always look to the road ahead," Ilun had always said. "Because no matter what, the road behind you is one that you won't be traveling again."Sighing, the Pikachu sat at the base of the stump, staring at his reflection in the bread knife. Of course he missed his friends. River, Saffron, Fluff, Vulcan, Mint, Sir Tane, Venvel... what happened to them all? What sort of adventures did they go on? He'd lost all contact with them, just like human boys and girls parting with their friends from kindergarten.And there were things that sounded very simple back in the past, which now seemed very complex and unlikely. He remembered the Time Gears, remembered the announcement in Treasure Town when Team Storm returned, but he'd never really wondered about the entire incident until after he'd landed in the present era. What was Temporal Tower? Why did it nearly collapse? How could River be from the same world as Elias? He might never know the answers."Sektek, did you get all that?" Silently berating himself for letting his mind wander, the Pikachu quickly glanced up at Elias. "See, this is part of the problem," sighed the Grovyle. "You get displaced from the present too easily, Sektek. You need to learn to stay in the here and now. River didn't have me, but he found Saffron. And you? You're surrounded by potential friends, but you're shutting them out, aren't you?""I don't want new friends," muttered the Pikachu. Three thousand years? The whole incident still felt as if it was just a year ago. These thoughts were stupid, childish, but he didn't know what else to say. "I... I can't forget Venvel. We played, we talked, we laughed... I don't want Rush, or Insyte, or the others—"Elias gave him a stern look that made him recoil. "Your allies may be rough, but they have good intentions at heart," replied the Grovyle, rising to his feet. "Slick feeds you; he clothes you; he shelters you; he teaches you. Don't you understand what your trainer does for you?"Keeping his eyes down, Sektek regretted saying anything, and didn't answer. "People want to talk to you; but you don't answer them. Instead you retreat. You don't say a thing to them, and when you talk, you're so reluctant to communicate that no one can hear you. You mustn't be like that. Domestic Pokemon eventually forget what it was like to be wild... but a wild Pokemon never forgets what it was like to be domestic."Sektek flinched; the Grovyle was almost always right. Elias padded over to the edge of the clearing, then stopped. Drawing his leaf blade, he whirled around to face the Pikachu, slipping back into stance. Sektek had learned a while ago that Elias' sword was much sturdier than it appeared, and was not easily slashed apart. "Now stand, pick up that bread knife, and let's spar."------- ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- He raced through the trees. The Eevee was just up ahead. His eyes widened as he recognized her scent. Could it be? A dry leaf crunched under his paw. The Pikachu froze as the Eevee leapt up, terrified. He struggled for words, trying to call out to her, to assure her that it was all right. Backing away, the Eevee turned and fled into the brush. "Wait!" cried the Pikachu. "Come back!" "Go, Lightning!"Sektek woke abruptly as Slick's fingers wrapped around the red dome window, the Poke Ball detatching from the Trainer's belt with a click. Sitting upright, the Pikachu grabbed his volt charm before glowing light surrounded him and swept him out into the battlefield.Landing with a thump on the grass, the Pikachu found himself crouching before a Zigzagoon and its trainer. Another forest, another Pokemon; but this was no dream, no memory. "Ziggu ziggu!" barked the raccoon, baring its teeth at Sektek, who gulped."Lightning! Thundershock!" ordered Slick, pointing at the Zigzagoon. Lightning. Sektek's other name. He clenched his paws and shot sparks at his opponent, who howled as the electricity flashed through its body."Hang in there, Zigzagoon! Tail whip!" ordered the other trainer. The Pikachu cringed as he heard the sounds linked with tail attacks, expecting a stinging tail blow. But instead, the Zigzagoon let out a soft woof and gently brushed its tail against him.At once, the Pikachu's leg muscles slackened, softened; he tried to tense, but couldn't. What did the Zigzagoon do to him? "Shake it off! Zap it again!" ordered Slick. Still worried, the Pikachu seized the Zigzagoon as it started to run, sending a strong jolt into its body.Yipping, the Zigzagoon reeled back with tottering steps. "Keep at it! Take him down!" called the other trainer. Quickly, Sektek tried to duck as the tiny raccoon lunged at him, but his foe was too close; he was knocked off his paws, landing on his back in the mud."Tail swipe him!" Grunting, the Pikachu scrambled to his paws and swung out with his tail, striking the Zigzagoon across the muzzle, sending the raccoon skittering away with another howl.Falling forward, Lightning's paws hit the dirt. His chest heaved for breath, his rapid pulse approaching a steady vibration. "His guard's down! Scratch him good, quick!"As the Zigzagoon rushed in for another blow, the Pikachu thought he saw another swish of brown fur--a lighter, softer brown--but before he could get a good look, the Zigzagoon's claws came down on his back, snagging at the Pikachu's fur."Yeah! Don't let up!" hollered the opponent trainer as the Zigzagoon circled back around, still panting. "Aim for the cheeks!""Careful, Lightning!" called Slick, cupping his hands around his mouth. "You're both on the ropes! One more shock should do it!"Barking loudly, the Zigzagoon leapt up at Sektek again with raised claws. Sliding under his foe on his back, the Pikachu released a strong burst of electricity up into the Zigzagoon's belly. "Piii-KA!"The Zigzagoon squealed as the electricity shot through its body, all its nerves firing at once. As he tumbled past the raccoon, Sektek could faintly smell burnt fur. "Zigzagoon!" cried the other trainer as his Pokemon collapsed to to the ground.As the dust cleared, Sektek slowly got to his paws, wincing at the cuts on his back, but feeling satisfied. The other boy knelt down by the unconscious Zigzagoon, patting its head before returning it to its Poke Ball with the click of a button."Good game," said the other trainer after a moment, crossing the battle ring and shaking Slick's hand. "I did my best, so no regrets. The name's Daryl. How much did we wager again?""500P, I think," said Slick awkwardly. His shoulder grew tense, eyes avoiding the other trainer; but he held a somewhat friendly expression--or so Sektek thought, anyway--while Daryl counted out the money. "I'm Slick."Leaning on his trainer's leg, Sektek let out a relieved sigh, body still warm and throbbing with his rapid, rodent's heartbeat. Brushing down his filthy fur, he glanced around for that other Pokemon, but saw no one. Had it just been the Zigzagoon?Daryl frowned at Slick for a moment, then grinned. "I live over in Petalburg, see," said the boy as Slick tenatively accepted the money from him. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you!"Retying his shoes, he rose up and jogged off down the forest trail. As Daryl's footsteps faded, Slick's shoulders finally relaxed, expression growing warm, voice loosening up.Sqatting down, he smiled and gently scratched Sektek behind the ears. "Good job, Lightning," he said. "Looks like you've got the upright slash covered. That makes seven techniques!"Content, the Pikachu slowly closed his eyes. For once, he was pleased with his performance, his every step fluid, anticipating his opponent's movements. Perhaps, he was finally embracing the world as he saw it.Probably not enough to best Elias. The Grovyle always prevailed over him, always without leaving a scratch on the Pikachu. "But of course," Elias would say. "A bloodless victory takes more skill than simply battering down your foe's will. This is the difference between domestic and wild."Domestic. Wild. As he returned to his Poke Ball, Sektek stared at his volt charm, troubled. Why? Why did Elias care so much about whether he called himself domestic or wild...?------- ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- -------Domestic Pokemon. Wild Pokemon. The Grovyle's words left a mark on Sektek. In the coming days, Elias continued to visit Sektek, shaping the young Pikachu's life, tugging him out from the curtains of youth and into stern reality.Striding back and forth in front of his Pokemon, Slick delivered his pep talk with fire in his eyes. "Remember, Hoenn's not like Kanto or Johto," translated Rush. "The forests are denser, the roads are narrower, and the Pokemon are bolder. No jumping out early, okay? We can't afford to be ambushed."Time passed. Slowly, Sektek became a stronger warrior under Slick's tutelage. With increasing urgency, Elias urged the Pikachu to bond with his teammates."Teamwork is very important, you know," Elias would say after a sparring round, returning his leaf-blade to his back with a twirling flourish. "Take Shanala's techinque, 'Sunny Day.' She calls down the sun's light and intensifies its rays.""What about it?" asked Sektek."It's all about timing," explained the Grovyle. "Normally, in the time that Leroy has charged and fired his Solar Beam technique, the opponent has already had time to strike him twice. But because the sun's rays are much stronger, he is able to absorbe energy far more quickly—""A-all right, I get it," said Sektek weakly, trying to cut off Elias before the Grovyle went too far.-------Now Sektek found himself in Storage for the fifth day in a row. He stood in a grassy meadow, bordered by trees, repeating clouds overhead. All of it shallow, empty, devoid of pulse. Only a dull-eyed Charmeleon in the corner. The Pikachu stared up anxiously., waiting for his trainer to call upon him again.He clutched his volt charm tightly. "Come on," he muttered. It wasn't as if this was anything new for him. How many times did Ilun have him stay back to watch the hideout? How many explorations did he turn down so he coiluld watch Venvel when she was sick?Even so, his cheeks crackled anxiously. Hadn't he worked hard? Wasn't he good enough? Perhaps, when he was first caught, Sektek might've been happy here, in this shallow, artificial world, isolated from reality. But now...He never thought he would miss the new world. The wind in his fur, the scent of rain. Branches swaying in the breeze. Slick's footsteps.Memories from the past flashed before his eyes. Running around town with Venvel, catching dewdrops in cupped leaves, gathering Chesto berries in the meadow and tossing them at each other. Was it all over? Would he live the rest of his life in this false forest?The Pikachu clutched his head. He wanted to be outside again. Even if Insyte picked on him, even if Rush roughed him up,neven if Slick put him through training hell. Even... even if it meant his memories were a lie...As if answering his prayers, a column of light descended on him, forming an elevator to the outside world. The Pikachu's eyes widened as he was lifted up into the air, out of Storage.A spherical wire-frame formed around him as his Poke Ball was reassembled, piece by piece. And the Pikachu's ears perked up as he heard Slick's voice: "Welcome back, Lightning."-------Light brown walls and wooden coffee tables. The motel room was cheap, but clean. Slick was sprawled on the couch that night, fast asleep, his Pokemon huddled on the rug in the middle of the room."The Petalburg Gym Leader's name is Norman," said Rush in a hushed voice. "Four years ago, his son Brendan intervened in the Sootopolis weather crisis and became the Champion three weeks later.""And then disappeared two weeks after that," muttered Insyte. "How useful."Paying no attention to the others. Sektek appproached the TV against the wall. The glass screen was cool to Sektek's touch. In the back of his head, he knew the console could come to life at the touch of a button.Now, 'Route 50' was a pretty good show. Apparently, when humans had been developing the lands west of Cianwood, they'd forgotten to build a Route 50. The show focused on a fictional idea of what life in such a place would be like.Though the writers had taken great artistic liberties, the series was a major hit, thanks to its wide variety of characters. The fifth season had recently premiered.Personally, the Pikachu thought most of the male cast needed to be dropped, especially that one Ninetales that rode on Skarmories, but it didn't matter. His favorite character was probably the red-and-blue Torchic.Why? Why should it remind him of Team Retrievers so much? A TV show was just a story. Venvel was real... wasn't she?Maybe Rush and the others were right. Maybe it really was all a dream. Maybe, just maybe, he really had imagined everything.Elias is real, he reminded himself. Elias is proof that the past is real. But Elias was too mysterious. Someone he hadn't known very well.Six months had passed since Slick arrived in Hoenn, since the Pikachu began training. Even if Team Retrievers had once been real, it wasn't relevant to the present anymore.Silently, Lightning looked back at the others. He opened his mouth to speak. Wanted to say something. Wanted to gain their respect. But he couldn't bring himself to speak, to let his thoughts become words. Couldn't bring himself to join in.Suddenly, Rush looked straight at the Pikachu, a pair of searching orange eyes. "You okay?""Huh?" The Pikachu shrank back from the Marshtomp's gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine." Why did he retreat? Why did he always retreat? Why couldn't he just talk to them normally...?Even though this strange world was becoming familiar, the Pikachu couldn't help but hold back, couldn't help but remain quiet on these nights when the entire team huddled together.But still, Lightning took a seat on the rug between Bailey and Insyte. After all, this was where he belonged. No matter how many times he was sent to Storage, he always returned. And that meant Slick saw something in him, after all. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- As Slick and his Pokemon camped on the banks of Route 110, Lightning found himself sitting in the shade of a tree, listening to the whirrs of bicycles crossing the steel bridge overhead A little ways off, Insyte and Rush were off bickering with each other as usual, while Shanala curled up on a rock and fell asleep.Leaving Rush, Insyte, and Lightning to rest up after a particularly tough training session last night, Slick had gone out fishing with Leroy earlier in the morning. From Rush's and Insyte's comments, Lightning gathered that Slick was having little success.From between the tree's roots, the Pikachu watched the others idly with a yawn, relaxing in the cool breeze. It was nice to kick back and relax every now and then, watching time float by, alone with his thoughts.The Pikachu glanced down to the volt charm next to him. It had been months since he last looked at the golden orb, let alone took it out of his Poke Ball. And now here he was, somewhere in the wilderness, holding this mysterious sphere.Why was it so special, again? Ah, right, it'd been the reward from his last mission with Team Retrievers. Or was that just something he'd made up? He rubbed his face, feeling annoyed that he couldn't remember what actually happened and what was a dream."Now just where've you been hiding, mouse?" hissed a voice from behind him. Lightning froze as Insyte and Rush emerged from behind the tree. How long had they been there, watching him? "Look at that, Rush. Someone thinks he needs a little boost to his bolt! "Leaves rustled as Bailey dropped down from the branches overhead, flapping to the ground. "Man, do you two ever shut up?" yawned the Wingull, waddlng over to Lightning. Her eyes widened as she saw the Pikachu's volt charm. "Hang on! When did you get a light ball?"Trying hard not to move, Lightning found himself at a loss for words as usual. Did Bailey mean the volt charm? What was the volt charm, anyway? He'd never really figured out what the volt charm was, or what it was supposed to do.Rush patted the Wingull's head, earning an annoyed peck from her. "Hey, hey, be nice," chuckled the Marshtomp, resting back on his haunches. "Maybe it was a gift from Slick or something. For his sparkling ninja."Insyte rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, because these are so easy to find, maybe there's one up your butt," scoffed the Umbreon. " Have you any idea how rare these are? No way Slick can afford one.""That's enough from you, Darky," said Bailey loudly, swatting Insyte until he moved aside. Lightning gulped as the Wingull trotted up to him. "Hey you. Where'd you get the light ball? Family heirloom?""The vol..." He caught himself, just barely. "The light ball?" He fumbled for words, staring at the volt charm. Team Retrievers, his last mission with Team Retrievers. No, that was just a story, right? "Um... maybe I stole it?" said the Pikachu tenatively.Bailey blinked. "Whoa there! Are you saying you're a thief?" laughed Rush, slapping Lightning's back just a tad too roughly. " That's kinda shady, don't ya think? But also cool in its own way, I guess!"Insyte groaned. "Shut up, he's just messing with you," said Insyte, shoving the Marshtomp aside. The Pikachu shrank back from the Umbreon. "All right, very funny, kid. What're you hiding? Answer Bailey's question."He tried not to sound nervous as Bailey and Insyte stared at him. He couldn't bring up those stories again! Not when they didn't believe them. Not when even he didn't believe them. "A... an Eevee gave it to me," choked out the Pikachu finally. "It was the last mis... the last time we saw each other."Bailey's eyes narrowed. "Haha! Who's the Eevee, eh?" chuckled Rush, giving the Pikachu a friendly punch that made him wince. "Whoops. Anyway, she your girlfriend or something?"At that moment, a flailing Slick tumbled off Leroy's back and into the water with a great splash. "Right, I'd better go check on the boy," sighed the Marshtomp, hurrying over to the bank. "On my way, Slick!"Lightning stared as Rush dove into the water and paddled toward the spluttering, flailing trainer. Then, Bailey suddenly flew in front of his face, wings flapping and talons waving, startling him into dropping the volt charm. Catching the charm, Insyte tossed it up to Bailey."Good boy, Insyte," said the Wingull, landing on a low branch with the volt. Distressed, Lightning tried to grab it back, but couldn't reach. "Oh, calm down. We'll give it back in a second. Useless to us anyway."Anxiously, the Pikachu waited as Bailey examined the light ball. What was the Wingull so fascinated about, anyway? Was it just because the volt charm was something rare? Rare or not, he really hoped he'd get it back.Meanwhile, Rush and Leroy dragged a drenched Slick out of the river and onto the sunlit bank. "And here, we thought you were like a Meowth when it came to water," sighed Leroy, flopping down next to Slick as Shanala dried the boy off with her hot breath.There was a pop of static, and Bailey gave a shrill cry. Catching his light ball as it fell, Lightning stared up at the Wingull, worried. Uh-oh. Was it his fault? "Ah! Sorry about that," said Lightning quickly. "Uh... what happened, exactly?"Flapping to the ground, Bailey looked at Insyte grimly. Her feathers were sticking up, but somehow, she seemed otherwise unhurt. "You're not going to believe this," said the Wingull finally. "Hey, so, you remember Sektek's stories? Did he ever talk about a volt charm...?"The Pikachu froze. Did Bailey just call him Sektek? Not Lightning, but Sektek. His old name. "I... I don't really know anything about this light ball," admitted the Pikachu, looking down at the volt charm. "I... I know it might be valuable, but that's it. And I sometimes see electricity in there."Bailey sighed. "Ever heard of the Spear Pillar?" asked the Wingull, frowning at the Pikachu. Lightning shook his head. "No? Hmph. Everyone should know what that is. How about... 'Temporal Tower'?" The Pikachu froze. Temporal Tower. Why? Why was he hearing that name again? Watching the Pikachu's reaction, Bailey nodded and glanced at Insyte. "You've got to be kidding me," muttered Insyte, clawing the ground. "This stupid brat! Bailey, you really think...?"The Wingull spat on the ground. "Yeah, it seems pretty likely now," replied Bailey, dejected. She prodded Lightning. "Hey, you. You know all those stories you used to tell? About Treasure Town and Team Retrievers and... all that other stuff?"The Pikachu nodded silently, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. The Wingull glanced away. "Well, uh... looks like they might've been more than just stories after all.""Huh?" Lightning felt as if he was splashed with ice water. Where did this come from? No, no. They were stories. Not memories. They were blurred and filtered, like a distant dream. That's what everyone had been telling him all along. So he couldn't let himself believe in them anymore, right? "But... but-"Insyte swatted the Pikachu on the head. "Don't gloat over this," warned the Umbreon. "We're sorry, all right? It's just, everything you said sounded it came out of a history book. But screw it, you probably can't read anyway."Lightning stared back at them numbly. "The Spear Pillar is all that's left of a flying castle called Temporal Tower," explained Bailey. "Legends say it was almost destroyed about three thousand years ago, but was saved by a pair of heroes. Just like in your stories. It all matches up."Temporal Tower. The tower that River and Saffron climbed on that fateful day. River and Saffron, Ilun and Elias. And Ilun... Ilun never came back."As for Treasure Town, it's probably the Canaan Ruins west of Olivine," mused Bailey thoughtfully. "The bay seems like the right shape, and those caves might've been a guild at one point..."Insyte frowned at Bailey. "No way. That place? How do you explain the Sharpedo-shaped cliff, then?"Bailey shrugged. "They say the cliff at the west side of town used to be several hundred feet longer. Maybe, there really once was a cliff shaped like that."The Wingull described the ruins and the surrounding terrain. Slowly, Lightning's thoughts thawed as he listened. Yes, these ruins did sound a bit like the town from the Pikachu's memories... stories... memories."Don't get me wrong, it still doesn't make sense," muttered the Wingull. "You're just a kid. How could you have lived three thousand years ago?" She lifted her folded wings in a shrug. "But this world's full of strange, inexplicable things. Maybe this is just one more."Lightning stared at the ground. The stories seemed so bizzare, so fantastic, so impossible to him now. How could they be real? "But, but I was just a little kid. Maybe I did imagine everything...?""Ugh, knock it off," said Bailey irritably. She nodded at the Pikachu's light ball. "Your light ball's the proof. It's not like a modern one. It's got a higher density, and the crystal structure's all different. They didn't call it a light ball, either. They called it a volt charm."~ In the past ~From the trailhead, Spark-Tail, Leaf-Light, and an Absol stared up towards the mountain ahead, their Team Retriever neckerchiefs blowing in the wind. Dry chaparral plants lined the arid slopes, as the hot sun beat down on their backs, and they shielded their eyes with their paws.Four months since the red light in the skies. A crying Saffron had returned to town alone--without Elias, without Ilun, and without River. Bit by bit, piece by piece, she shared the harrowing tale of her journey. And so the town had mourned their lost heroes, until two weeks ago--when River turned up on the beach.Sektek still remembered the shock when he and Leaf-Light heard about Ilun's death. The old Linoone had died like a hero, taking a fatal blow so that River and Saffron could fulfill their duty. But still he didn't understand why Ilun had to die. And anything that Sektek was feeling, it must be twice as horrible for Leaf-Light.With both his wife Laurel and his partner Cory dead, Ilun had left his entire estate to Leaf-Light, who would inherit Team Retrievers when she became of age. In the meantime, Sir Tane would manage it in her stead. But the Eevee didn't care. She just wanted her father back."Well, well, this is it," said the Absol, turning back around to face the trio, reaching into his bag to pull out the job description. "All right, let's review. We're searching for a Nidorino, last spotted somewhere on this mountain. The reward's a volt charm." Smiling grimly, he nodded to each of them. "Let's do this, Team Retrievers!"~ Back in the present ~Sektek took a deep breath. There was quite a bit for him to absorb. To think that the others would accept the stories as memories, just when he'd started to accept the memories as stories. He wiped his eyes, and his paws came away wet. Why were his eyes watering?Lying in the grass, he stared at Shanala and Rush by the water. Under the afternoon sun, Shanala and Rush looked like River and Saffron, playing on the beach. "Thanks, Bailey," said the Pikachu quietly. "So, um... how'd you... uh... know all this?"The Wingull grinned. "I used to live near some archaeologist dig sites. I picked up a lot of information on this sort of thing." She spread her wings and hopped up into the air. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna check in with those dorks."The Pikachu watched as Bailey flew over to Slick. The others all treated him like a kid, and he thought of himselfe as a kid. But it seemed he was thousands of years old. Thousands! He could barely wrap his head around a single year, let alone a thousand.He'd been dreaming in darkness for three thousand years, but he couldn't remember what that felt like. Sektek took in his surroundings, the lush trees, the swaying grasses, the rolling waves, the glint of cyclists along the paved road overhead. The past didn't feel real anymore. Only this felt real.Groaning, Insyte lifted his head and stared at Sektek. "Ugh, what is it?" said the Umbreon irritably. "You're still not happy? We were wrong. You were right. What more do you want from us?"Startled, the Pikachu quickly shook his head. "No, it's- it's... something else," mumbled Sektek, staring off into the distance. "Well... I didn't really think about it too much... I mean, it feels strange... and... I guess I thought I knew everything back then. But... now that I think back, well... the past was scary."Insyte closed his eyes. "Things always turn out that way," said the Umbreon bitterly, curling up into a ball.Breathing deeply, Sektek stared into his light ball, muttering to himself. "But also... if I wasn't imagining those days, then... was Venvel real, too?"-------TO BE CONTINUED... ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- One year ago Deep in the woods of Johto, a Pikachu scampered through the trees with a small, glittering ball, his heart humming with a rapid pulse. His nose twitched in the cool breeze as he inhaled the forest's scents, red cheeks crackling with yelllow sparks. Slowing to a halt, he saw an Eevee curled up in a small clearing ahead. Afternoon sunlight streamed down through the tree branches, illuminating her fur. His eyes widened as he recognized her scent. Could it be? No, surely this was just a coincidence...! A dry leaf crunched under his paw. The Pikachu froze as the Eevee's eyes flew open wide. Leaping to her paws, she stared at him in silent terror, her fur bristling. He struggled for words, wanting to call out to her, to assure her that it was all right. But before he could say a word, the Eevee shook her head. Backing away, she turned and fled into the brush. "Wait!" cried the Pikachu, not sure if he should follow, not sure if that was his old friend... not sure of anything, now. "Come back...!" And then, he noticed the shadow approaching from behind, footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. Slowly, the Pikachu turned to see a human boy in a tan and blue jacket, gazing down at him. Shaking, he began to back away. But it was too late. The red-and-white capsule was already in the boy's hand. As the Pikachu bolted into a run, the trainer threw the Poke Ball with practiced aim. The ball split open in midair, unleashing a flood of white light that snared him in mid-sprint. Blinding energy engulfed the Pikachu's world, sweeping him into the Poke Ball before it clicked shut, landing in the dirt. Shake. Shake. Shake. Click... ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Swirls of sand at his feet, hot pinpricks of sunlight on his face. A pair of discount Go-Goggles strapped over his eyes, Slick padded down the desert trail, jacket tied around his waist. Listening to the steady rattling of sand against the Poke Ball from outside, Sektek was grateful for the capsule's shell to protect him.In the distance, the earth dipped down toward a tiny oasis, surrounded by white canvas tents that fluttered in the wind. In the middle of the camp, a team of diggers were busy clearing away sand and unearthing pottery."Archaeologists from Fallarbor," muttered Insyte from the capsule next to Sektek. The excavators wore loose t-shirts and light cargo pants to deal with the seething sun. Their goggles were thicker and more durable than Slick's.There was also, however, a small crowd of protesters on the edge of the camp. "Protect our future! Protect our future!" they chanted, waving their signs. "Sapiens superus, sapiens superus. End Poke-rule!""How long have they been going again?" sighed one of the archaeologists, setting down his shovel."Two whole months," replied another, holding up her magnifying glass to a pottery shard. "Dunno why they're yelling at us."One excavator paused for a drink of water. "I guess they kinda make sense, but they needn't yell at us," he said. "Not like we can do a thing about it. Sheesh."An awkward silence fell over the excavators as they noticed Slick approaching, and one by one, they turned their backs to him. "Um... hello," said the trainer tenatively."We're not answering any other questions," said an archeologist with a short beard and a mustache--the only one not to ignore Slick. "Please leave."In the Poke Ball on the left side of Slick's belt, a Marshtomp gave a low, warning growl. "Easy there, Rush," coaxed the trainer, patting the capsule. "Sorry, I think I'm lost. How do I get to Lavaridge from here?"On Slick's belt, Sektek noticed that the Poke Ball to the left was shaking. "Bailey, uh--you okay?" asked the Pikachu tenatively.She couldn't hear him, of course. Through the capsule's transparent top half, Sektek could see the Wingull eagerly beating at the side of her Poke Ball."Maybe you should ask one of your loudmouth friends over there." The archaeologist jabbed a finger at the protesters. "Screaming at us daily, disrupting the site constantly, and you want our help--"Uh-oh. Bailey was getting more excited. Concerned, Sektek watched from his capsule as the Wingull's Poke Ball began to shake wildly--but Slick hadn't noticed yet."W-wait! I'm not with those people, I promise," cried Slick, waving his arms frantically. "Sorry for interrupting your work--it's just that I'm five days out from Fallarbor, and I still don't know where I--"Flash! Slick, Sektek, and the archaologist all stared as Bailey's Poke Ball fell from Slick's belt, popping open as it hit the sand. "Kya-mo-me!" chirped the Wingull as she flew out from her Poke Ball.The archaeologist's eyes widened, his ire vanishing instantly. "Winnie?" he breathed as Bailey landed on his outstretched finger. "It's been a while, girl.""What the hell?" muttered Insyte from the Poke Ball on Sektek's right.Not sure what to do, Slick and the other diggers watched the archaeologist and the Wingull. Climbing up the man's arm, Bailey nuzzled his cheek affectionately. "Kya kya!"That brought a smile to the archaeologist's face. After a moment, his eyes fell on Slick again. "Sorry for being rude," he said, lifting his finger as Bailey flew back to Slick, landing on her trainer's shoulder. "The name's Harris, of the Ruin Maniac Guild.""Pleased to meat you," said Slick, shaking hands. "I'm Aur--I mean, Slick. Slick Silversky.""Well, come on back and I'll show you a map," said Harris. Setting down his tools, the archaeologist headed to his tent and rummaged through his belongings."So, uh, what's with the protest, anyway?" asked Slick tenatively.The man made a disgruntled sound. "You haven't heard? Some crackpot ranting about Pokemon conspiring to undermine human society and take over the world. And about archaeologists lying to the public to trample on human history. They got fairly popular after the whole ruckus with Team Plasma, over in Unova. Pah!"Checking a map, he took out a clean sheet of paper and traced a route out of the desert. "It'll take a day to get out. Just keep to the path and you'll get back onto Route 111.""Ah! Thank you very much," said Slick gratefully, taking the map.Frowning, Harris looked Slick up and down. "Hey, you been keeping hyrdrated? You've got chapped lips.""Eh--" The trainer glanced down at his belt. "Ran low on water. I've been drinking from my Marshtomp, though." The moment the words were out of his mouth, Slick realized that was a stupid decision. "I--I wasn't thinking."A vein pulsed on the archaeologist's forehead. "Yeah, don't do that anymore," Harris told Slick, handing him a large water bottle. "You do know Pokemon adapt to their habitats, right? Even if all your Marshtomp had was fresh water, you were basically drinking from a swamp. In general, if they're not a Marill or a Milktank, don't drink from them.""R-right, thanks," mumbled Slick, opening the bottle and taking a long drink. Pure water had never tasted so refreshing! "Ashfields were bad enough, but then I ended up wandering into the desert and couldn't find the way out--""Yeah, desert's harsh if you're not prepared," agreed the ruin maniac, putting his papers away. "Least you weren't drinking from Winnie--eh, Bailey, she's called now? And you brought goggles. Not the best quality, but they'll do.""You know a lot about water and Pokemon," remarked Slick."Geology, archaeology, anthropology; a proper ruin maniac gets some exposure to all sorts of fields. Plus, you can't live in Hoenn for too long without learning a little about nature." Harris sounded more amused than dismayed. "Tell you what. Why don't you stay the night? We can talk more."Slick blinked. "Oh, sure! Thank you very much."One after another, Slick's Pokemon emerged from their Poke Balls. "I never knew Bailey had another trainer," uttered Sektek.Rushing River grinned. "Nah, not exactly another trainer," said the Marshtomp, helping Slick to pitch his tent. "But he took care of her for a few days, or something."Shanala smiled weakly. "Amazing. What were the chances of running into him?"Overhead, Bailey chirped happily. "I know! I can't believe I found him again either," replied the Wingull, circling over the camp. "It's amazing."Yawning, Insyte curled up in the sand. "Surprised he even remembers you."Rush glanced to Sektek. "Lightning, fetch me a hammer, wouldya?" Nodding, Sektek ran over to Slick's pack to fetch a rubber mallet.Huh? The Pikachu paused, frowning. Something felt off, something about the wind in his fur. Why did he suddenly feel uneasy? Why was his fur prickling? Was... was someone watching him...?"Hey, Lightning! What're you doing?" called Rush. "Could you bring the hammer here, please?"He snapped back to reality. It must just be his imagination. "R-right! Sorry." Mallet in his teeth, Sektek ran back to the others. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "No, no, there're nice people too," said Harris quickly. Joining the excavation team around the campfire, Slick listened to the ruin maniac eagerly. "Volunteers from Fallarbor come on Saturdays to pick up trash. Not that it's all litter, per se. The winds from Mt. Chimney sweep a lot of debris into the canyon."A few feet away, Slick's Pokemon had set up their own campfire. The sky was dark, and the wind had died down. "Harris? It was just a broken wing," laughed Bailey. "You know how humans are. He put a splint on me and took me in for a few days. Wouldn't let me leave till I was ready to fly.""Huh, they do that for you?" grunted Leroy, warming his hands over the flames. "Lucky you. Most humans liked to skip pebbles off my lilypad."Shanala shivered. Frowning, Sektek looked around the campfire. Something wasn't quite right. "Say," he began nervously. "Are we missing someone?" But no one answered him. Probably didn't hear him. No need to make a hassle over it, though."So Bay, what're they digging, anyway?" asked Leroy, adjusting his lilypad hat. "Looked like some sort of shield."The Wingull shook her head. "It was a round door." said Bailey, pecking at a berry. "Sealed with some sort of tile puzzle--""Magnagate," mumbled Sektek without thinking. He covered his mouth as the others looked at him oddly.Blinking, Bailey frowned at the Pikachu, then turned back to the others. "Yeah,, they're called Magnagates," she continued. "Very common back in the day. No one quite knows where they came from."Sitting up, Rush glanced around. "Hey, where'd Insyte go?" said the Marshtomp, frowning. "Jeez, you guys should've said something."Sektek cringed. It seemed there had been someone missing after all! "I'll go look for him," said Bailey, sighing. I'll need someone's help, though. Ah..." Her eyes fell on Sektek. "Lightning, come with me."A flash of disappointment in Shanala's eyes; then, she quickly shook her head. "Hopefully he didn't wander too far," sighed Rush, shaking his head as Sektek meekly followed Bailey away from the fire. "That Umbreon..."+--------+In the center of the dig site was an exposed stone formation, carved with symbols. "Harris, you clever boy," chirped Bailey, tucking in her wings as she landed. "And Insyte's scent is all over this. What a freak..."Trash had been neatly stacked into several piles, clearing a walkway. Circling the ruin, Sektek stared at the gaping, circular entrance in the wall, footprint runes along the rim. The Magnagate was open!Turning, the Wingull looked at Sektek. "Well, explorer boy?" she taunted, nudging him with her beak. "What're you waiting for? This is your thing."He cringed. Why did he ever tell the others about his days in Team Retrievers? "But... but it's not like you actually--""Well, maybe you'd be a bit more convincing if you weren't scared of your own tail!" replied Bailey, annoyed. "You say you like exploring dark caves and that sort of thing, right? Well, here's one right here! Now get in there.""Huh?!" The Pikachu's eyes widened as the Wingull began to push him toward the open Magnagate. "W-wait...!""Sorry, but, I'm not dealing with whatever comes out of there," said the Wingull grimly as Sektek dug his paws into the ground, desperately resisting."Don't worry, I'll send someone if you're not back in ten!"Sighing, Sektek relaxed his footing, letting Bailey push him toward the Magnagate. "Okay, okay," he muttered. A small breeze swirled around the entrance, beckoning him inside. "I'm going, I'm going..."+--------+ He still remembered his first dungeon vividly. Eagerly, the Pichu followed the Linoone and the Lucario through the grove, surrounded by mysteries of the past. "Fragments of original chaos," said Ilun as Cory raised his lantern, illuminating the sprawling growth. "Like undercooked dough when baking bread. That's what the mystery dungeons are. Leftover bits from creation that haven't stabilized. Watch your step." "Hey, Spark-Tail," called Venvel from behind Sektek. Her eyes were bright and cheerful. "Wanna split a snack?" The Pichu grinned. "Sure, Leaf-Light," he replied happily. Tail wagging, the Eevee handed him half an apple. "Thanks!" Cory sighed. "Leaf-Light, you know we've got to conserve our supplies," he told the Eevee. "Those have to last until we reach the client, you know." Ilun laughed. "Oh, let her be, Cory," he assured his partner. "I'm sure she's just happy to hang out with someone her age..." The Pikachu descended the stairs, his tail glowing. The era of dungeons and explorers had ended long ago. But here he was, an explorer of the golden age, exploring one last dungeon.Even so, the dungeons were no longer the same. The rooms were smaller, the corridors shorter. Occasionally, he glimpsed a Shuppet here and there, but none ever attempted to attack him.Descending another flight of stairs, Sektek entered a great chamber, its wall carved and dyed richly with desert pigment. In the center was a carved stone coffin. And next to the coffin, a dark shape with glowing rings. His eyes widened. So the Umbreon came down here after all! "Insyte?" called Sektek. Wait, what should he even say? "Hey... um--"A cold chill went down his spine. Immediately, the Pikachu stopped in his tracks. Was something watching them? "Keep it down," hissed Insyte, staring up at the wall. "All right, where'd that prick go--"Footsteps from the corridor. Cheeks crackling, Sektek spun around--and found himself face to face with Shanala. He blinked. "Shan?" breathed Insyte, stunned. "What're you doing here?"Sektek flinched as the Vulpix passed him, her fur bristling. Slowly, she lifted her head, looking at Insyte, just barely avoiding eye contact. "I came to find you," she replied coldly.The Pikachu shifted uneasily, glancing between the duo. There was a tingle growing in the air, a presence approaching, but neither Shanala nor Insyte seemed to notice. "Guys?" he said tenatively. "Maybe we should--"But they ignored Sektek. "You've lost your mind, Shan," said Insyte harshly, padding toward the Vulpix. "You shouldn't have followed me, either of you--""Kaaaa?"As Insyte brushed past the coffin, the tingle in the air erupted into a roar, and Sektek cringed. "Look out!" shouted the Pikachu as the coffin began to rise, standing upright."Dede kas de karn." A pair of red eyes gleamed down from the sarcophagus's face, down at them. "Deskaaaarn!"The Pikachu stared at the Cofagrigus, terrified, yet strangely, also excited. This must be the dungeon's boss! They had a team of three, after all. They could win, right? Electricity crackled between his nerves as he leapt forward, accelerating his senses...A shadowy blob formed between the Cofagrigus's spectral hands, aimed at Shanala. Growling, Insyte sprang forward to shield the Vulpix, leaving Sektek unguarded.Turning sharply, Sektek tried to halt, but too late. A shadowy fist struck the Pikachu's flank, knocking him to the floor and scattering the electricity in his paws, the wind pressed from his lungs.Grabbing Shanala by the scruff of her neck, Insyte fled up the steps, Sektek following close behind. Shuppets scattered from their pawsteps, the gold coffin stalking after them.Silently, the Pikachu berated himself. How could he forget? They weren't Retrievers... they weren't explorers at all. "Kaaarn," hissed the Cofagrigus. "De-de-deskaaaarn!"Racing down the corridor. Dark runes on the walls, twisting spirals. Sektek's eyes darted around wildly as he ran. As they neared the exit, Sektek caught a glimpse of black fabric. "Look out!" he cried.But his words didn't seem to reach his teammates. Shuppets spun to life around Shanala, puppet-strings latching onto her, restraining her. "Karn, karn!" cried the Cofagrigus. "De, de, deskarn!"Heart sinking, Sektek looked up and down the corridor. Cofagrigus behind them and Shuppets in front of them. The Pikachu could feel his heartbeat in his ears. If only you were born into this world, you would know better.Then, a shrill caw cut through the air, and a Shuppet shrieked as Bailey swooped down on its head, tearing the puppet-shroud open. "Hey! Small children!" called the Wingull, circling back down the corridor. "What's taking you so long?"Releasing Shana, the remaining two Shuppets flew at Sektek. By force of habit, the Pikachu relased a wide spray of sparks from his cheeks, splashing over the Shuppets, stunning them both. He blinked. One of Slick's techniques!A blur of gold spines from behind Bailey and Harris's Sandslash sprang at the Cofagrigus, white claws wreathed in a spectral glow. "You there!" called the Sandslash to Insyte. "Get in a sneak attack from behind! That'll do it."Snarling, Insyte lunged at the Cofagrigus, only for his body to pass right through the floating coffin, tumbling into the wall. Shaking the dust off his fur, Insyte glared at the Sandslash. "I never learned such techniques--"A shadowy fist shot toward Sektek, another splash of sparks from his cheeks. Hissing, screeching, the Cofagrigus drew back, its spectral body writhing. "Never mind, let's go," said the Sandslash. "Quick, before they recover!" Nodding, they hurried up the corridor.Gasping for breath, Sektek stumbled out into the cold, night air. Leaning on the Sandslash for support, Insyte glared up at Bailey. "So this was your idea? Sending kids to check up on me? They could've gotten hurt."Drained, the Pikachu watched as the Sanslash adjusted the puzzle-locks on the wall, closing the Magnagate, silencing the ravenous ghost-screams from inside. The air felt... holllow. Exploring used to be fun, such fun. Why did he have to give that up, too?"Us? You could've gotten hurt too," said Shanala coldly, still not looking Insyte in the eye. "Wandering off, not telling anyone where you're going--""Hey, knock it off." The dig site fell silent as Rush approached, sand crunching under his feet. "Took you guys long enough. Good thing Slick doesn't know about any of this, eh?" The Marshtomp gestured toward the archaeologists' campfire.Insyte scowled briefly, and Shana hung her head. "Sorry," said Sektek weakly. "We... uh... found him." Nodding to Insyte, his paw slipped on a trash pile as he approached Rush, a Clefairy doll rolling down into the sand.The Marshtomp stiffened. "Well, welcome back," said Rush after a moment, bending down to pick up the doll. "I think we've had enough excitement for one night. And Insyte? Don't wander off again. Sandslash, thanks for your help."+--------+"Thanks again, Harris," said Slick as he pulled on his goggles the next morning. Pulling on his pack, he frowned at his belt, his Pokemon tucked safely away in their Poke Balls. "Odd. You guys all look exhausted..."Harris grinned, Sandslash at his side. "Well, that's the desert for ya. Safe travels. Take good care of Winnie... ah... Bailey." Turning, the ruin maniac joined the other diggers by the campfire. "All right, team, let's get to work!"As Slick set off into the desert again, Sektek glanced over to Rush's Poke Ball--and blinked. The Marshtomp was still tightly clutching the doll from last night... ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Careful, now," warned Rush from overhead. The Marshtomp watched as his trainer nervously climbed the rock face. "Almost there--"Hand clasped hand, and the Mashtomp pulled Slick up onto the ledge. "You fool," sighed Rush. "You're going to get yourself killed, one of these days."Slick laughed. "I can't die! I haven't even become Champion yet." Rush blinked, then quickly grinned. Regaining his breath, Slick got to his feet. "Let's go a little further."They reached a lush grove, ripe with berries. Tapping each Poke Ball on his belt, Slick let out the rest of his Pokemon. "Let's set up camp here," suggested the trainer as Sektek, Shana, Bailey, and Insyte appeared on the grass. "Rush, will you do the honors?"Nodding, the Marshtomp approached a large bush. His eyes flashed with a mysterious power. Drawing back a fist, Rush struck the bush with a deliberate strike, cleaving open a large hole. The Mashtomp looked back at Slick nervously. "That all right?" "Good job! Let's make our base here." Tossing Rush a yellow Pokeblock, Slick glanced back to the others. "Feel free to relax, but be back in an hour, okay?" Getting onto his hands and knees, the trainer crawled into the bush.Yawning, Insyte curled up for a nap. "I'll look for kindling," said Bailey. "Shan, shall we?" Nodding, the Vulpix followed the Wingull away.Looking around, Sektek started to say something, but his throat was dry. "Gonna go find water," stammered the Pikachu, padding off."All right," said Rush. "I'll stay here with Slick. Everyone, be back here within an hour!" Up ahead, Sektek spotted a freshwater pool, fed by a tiny creek trickling down the mountainside. The Pikachu's eyes widened. Lying down by the pool, he splashed his face with cool water, droplets crackling as they hit his cheek-pouches.He frowned. The wilderness had fallen silent, the wind going still. Was a predator nearby? "Hello?" called the Pikachu, scanning the pool, his black-tipped ears twitching."Hey, that's not your water!"Startled, Sektek turned as an Eevee poked her head out from the grass. Momentarily, confusion flickered in her eyes. Then, she shook her head. "Hey, Pikachu," said the Eevee. "You're tresspassing, you know that? And stealing our water."He knew those eyes. Knew this voice, knew this scent. The little flick of her ears that accompanied her stare. But it was impossible. Venvel lived three thousand years ago. "Uh, what makes this your water?" asked Sektek lightly. "This, ah... It's a lot of water for one Eevee."Her dull eyes flared to life. "You know what I mean!" snapped the Eevee. "It belongs to... to my pack." She stumbled over the last few words, as if they were unfamiliar to her."Your pack?" echoed the Pikachu, glancing around. "Where--" No, wait. He was getting ahead of himself again. "Look, I'm sure there's plenty to go around. We--I'm just passing through."The Eevee glared. "That's not an excuse! Doesn't your pack know any better?"Right. About that. "Uh... I don't have a pack," explained the Pikachu, looking at the ground. "I've got a trainer. I guess that's 'like' a pack?"Shock and disgust flashed in the Eevee's eyes. "What? A trainer? Like, a human trainer?" she spluttered, pointing at him. "Then you're a--a...""Domestic, yeah." The Pikachu's throat was dry. Not just from thirst, now. A pack? Of course, a pack. All wild Pokemon had packs in this era. He'd already decided to move on from the old world, hadn't he? "Calm down, okay? My human isn't here.""Your human?" Her hazel eyes lit up. Grinning, she began to circle him. "Ooh, running away?" taunted the Eevee, licking her chops. "Tsk tsk. It must be scary, having a human control you.""What--no, wait! I'm not running away--" He massaged his head. This was getting out of hand. "Look, I just came for a drink, so... uh..." The tip of her tail tickled his shoulder, and the Pikachu lost track of what he was saying. "Listen, I like my trainer, okay?"She snorted. "Ridiculous! Humans... humans can't possibly understand Pokemon." Still, the Eevee relaxed her haunches and glanced around. "All right, fine! I don't think anyone else's around, so go ahead, get a drink. But I-- don't do anything funny, okay?""A-all right." Getting back down, he lapped at the water, fully conscious that she could see his every movement, every nervous spark on his cheeks, every ripple through his fur. Her warm, faintly musky scent tickled his nose.The Eevee sighed in relief when the Pikachu finished drinking. "Ugh, you're a lot of trouble, you know that?" she muttered, shaking her head. "If someone else found you..."The tip of her tail brushed past his leg, not quite touching. "Thanks for the water," said the Pikachu, grinning sheepishly. "I'm Sektek.""Yeah. I'm Venvel." Her smile flickered briefly. "A-anyway, I need to get back now. You got lucky, so don't stick around!" Turning, she trotted off, leaving the shocked Pikachu standing by the pool. Meanwhile, back at Slick's makeshift secret base, Rush watched as Slick flopped on his sleeping bag. Turning, he listened to the soft rustle of the trees, the ground warm underpaw. Slowly, his smile flickered and faded.
1112025	Something in common	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Jennifer \"JJ\" Jareau, Alex Blake", "Fandom": "Criminal Minds", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by OnceUponaSwanQueen", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-31T00:00:00", "words": "1,475", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "hinted Blake/Strauss, Jennifer \"JJ\" Jareau/Will LaMontagne, Jennifer \"JJ\" Jareau/OFC", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, F/M, F/F", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The plane was so quiet when JJ entered that she thought she was the only one onboard, and was surprised when she saw Blake sitting in the very back of the plane, with a pensive look on her face. “Hi, are you okay?” JJ asked as she sat down opposite the other woman. “I hoped places like that camp wouldn’t exist in 2012,” Blake said with a sigh, “I hoped we would have grown up and accepted that everything wasn’t so black and white.” JJ noticed that there was anger in her voice, maybe a little hurt. This case had affected them more than they both would have liked to admit. “When I was fifteen, I fell in love with a girl.” JJ admitted, “We played on the same soccer team.” JJ smiled at the memory, “She was beautiful, and brilliant. And really good at soccer.” “What happened? Or do you not want to talk about it?” “No, it’s okay. I never thought anything would happen with her. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to. But I knew I loved her. And I knew it was real, and that it wasn’t any different from when I had a boyfriend..” JJ paused, and looked out the window, “but then one day after practice, we were the last ones in the locker room and out of nowhere she kissed me. And I was so happy. And all the fears I had had before didn’t really seem to matter anymore.” Blake looked at her, and JJ had the feeling that the older woman knew something about what she was talking about.. “I could have easily ended up like one of those boys, Blake, I grew up in a small, very catholic town, where everyone knew everyone’s business and wasn’t afraid to say what they meant. But I was lucky...” “Why?” “Because someone loved me enough to talk to me, to try to understand. When I told my mom, she smiled, hugged me, and told me she still loved me. And most of our friends didn’t care, and we could still play like we had before. And those kids don’t have that. The only thing they have is someone telling them that what they feel, who they are, is something wrong, something disgusting.” “It’s hard.” Blake said carefully, like she was choosing her words, “knowing that what you are aren’t what’s expected of you. Being scared of rejection. Being a teenager is hard enough without that fear...” JJ was surprised by the older women’s admissions; they weren’t really friends despite working together for months. JJ hadn’t felt that instant connection with Blake, as she had with Emily, and maybe that was part of it. She missed her best friend, but she realized that maybe she and Blake had more in common than she thought. “How did you deal with it?” JJ asked, hoping she hadn’t read too much into Blake’s words. “I mean, if you don’t mind sharing.” She added hastily. “It’s fine. I think. It’s different now, been a long time. But how I dealt with it? I didn’t. I didn’t end up like those kids because I never told anyone. At all.” Blake said, “Not until after I joined the bureau. I told someone, someone I fell in love with.” JJ could hear the sadness in Blake’s voice and knew this story didn’t have a happy ending. “I’m sorry. I hate that the world is this place, I really wish it wasn’t. I know that life isn’t fair, with the job we do. How could I not? But it is one thing to hunt down serial killers and kidnappers and all the other crap we deal with every day. But seeing those kids at that camp today? It brought up something, something I haven’t really thought about in a long time. Most of those boys were just kids; they probably hadn’t even had the time to figure it out themselves yet.” JJ said. “I know, this job takes its toll on you. Changes your soul, makes you forget things, and makes you hard. Then something comes up, something unexpected triggers something, something you long left in the past.” Blake said, “I think we expect too much of our children, and our friends, our parents. We expect all these things, and we always get disappointed. We believe we know what is right and what is wrong, and in this job, sometimes it’s hard to forget that sometimes there is more than that. Paul wasn’t evil, he was broken. Someone broke him.” “I wish everyone would just stop making a big deal about who people choses to spend their lives with. I fell in love with Will, and we had Henry and then got married, as I was expected to. But I could just as easily have fallen in love with an Elizabeth, and suddenly that would have made everything different.” JJ looked at Blake and caught the sad look in her eyes, “You fell in love with an Elizabeth didn’t you?” “I did. She was beautiful, strong, and intelligent. I wanted everything with her. “Blake said, her voice filled with sadness, and she looked down on her ring. “Like you, I have a husband. And I love him. I love him, I really do. But had I been brave enough, had she been brave enough. I would still have an Elizabeth. And I really wish it didn’t have to be that hard. I found happiness, I got lucky. Sam is amazing and handsome and he understands me. I got lucky, but not everyone does. Look at Paul. He could have been happy; there was nothing wrong with him at all.” “You wish it wouldn’t be harder to have an Elizabeth than a Sam or Will.” JJ said, “That you didn’t have to brave just because you fell in love. That your career wouldn’t be in jeopardy if you followed your heart. That it just could be as simple as when I laid eyes on Sarah Horton and realized I loved her. I wish so too. What happened to your Elizabeth?” “Fear. Shame.” Blake tried to smile, “she didn’t have the courage she needed to love me back. At least not then. Maybe if she had, things would have been different. But she turned her back on me, on us. In the end, we didn’t mean as much as her reputation or her career.” Blake paused, and looked out the window out on the Austin airport. “I can’t blame her, I really can’t, especially now, after this. The world is still hard, and cold. And unforgiving to those of us that are different. She made a choice, and that choice wasn’t me.” JJ reached over and took Blake’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She wasn’t sure quite what had happened between the two of them, but she knew they had bonded. And that they had reached an understanding that JJ didn’t think they could have. “When I first joined the BAU, I was scared. I was scared that someone would find out, that I would be kicked out of the program, after finally finding my place. I was so worried, I didn’t tell anyone. It didn’t really matter; we all have our secrets rights?” JJ admitted, “But then, about a year after me, there was this woman. She was beautiful and incredible, and without planning it, and without really wanting to we fell in love. So we decided to tell Hotch.” JJ smiled at the memory, “and nothing happened.” “What happened to her?” Blake asked. “We broke up, but we stayed friends until she left.” JJ said, preferring to remember the times with brunette that was positive, “but the fact was, no one treated us differently. Derek teased, Garcia flirted and Spence blushed when we were around, but we were still just us.” “Why are you telling me this?” Blake asked, “I mean...” the words never quite forming. “Because even if we are now both married, I wanted you to know that the world isn’t just cold, and hard and unforgiving. It’s still beautiful, and so very forgiving. And most of all, this team, all of us, we are family. And there is no reason to be brave when you can just be you.” JJ smiled at the older woman, who smiled back, just as Hotch, Derek and Rossi entered the plane. “What are you girls doing here?” Derek asked with his normal cheek and charm. “Oh nothing.” JJ smiled at him, “Just chatting.” Blake stood up and walked towards the other end of the plane, before turning around and saying, “Actually we were just talking about ex-girlfriends,” and winking at Morgan. “Oh, wipe that grin of your face, Derek.” Rossi added before sitting down in the spot previously occupied by Blake, and gave JJ a knowing look.
1167672	Dialogue	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "James Hunt, Niki Lauda", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by bigdumbbambieyes", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-03T00:00:00", "words": "299", "Additional Tags": "Conversations, Implied Sexual Content", "Relationship": "James Hunt/Niki Lauda", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Rush (2013), Formula 1 RPF", "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply", "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Love me, darling.” “Later.” “When is later?” “Not now.” “Obviously.” “Tonight.” “Before or after dinner?” A pause. “After.” “Before or during bed?” “Both.” “How much?” “Enough to make you sleep soundly.” “Promise?” “Promise.” — “There’s nothing I love better than wasting away with you…” “That’s disturbingly morbid.” “Is it?” “Yes.” “How?” “‘Wasting away’?” “I meant the time, love.” A kiss to his shoulder silences him, blue eyes gazing out of the window. “It’s raining.” “It is.” The silence is loud between shared kisses, slow and drawn out, like a deep drag from a cigarette. It burns their lungs the same way. “Stop trying to be a romantic.” “Am I trying?” “Obviously so.” “I didn’t notice.” A gentle kiss is pressed to his forehead. “Asshole…” — “Sometimes I think you like those budgies more than me.” A soft laugh is given through the sound of happy chirps, “Only sometimes, sweetheart.” “Don’t call me that.” “Because it’s too romantic for you?” Yes. “No, it just sounds weird.” “Hm. You like it.” “Not as much as you like your birds.” “Maybe more.” “You’re confusing…” He clicks his tongue to talk to his budgies when his love won’t. — “James, please…” “No, not yet…” A soft whine and hips are pushed back. “Please, please, please…” “Shh, darling, I’ve got you…” “Oh, god—” “Like that?” “Just like that…oh, yes—mm…” A smug little smirk. “Going to cum for me now?” “Yes, yes, please…” The bed squeaks louder and louder, the headboard thumping against the wall rhythmically, and cries are muffled into the sheets. They lay next to each other, sweaty and panting. “I love you…” “You can only love me in English, Niki.” “I love you, you insufferable prick…” He kisses the little pout away and holds onto him tightly, and later, sleeps soundly as promised.
1165799	When We Say Family We	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Donatello (TMNT), Raphael (TMNT)", "Fandom": "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by orphan_account", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-02T00:00:00", "words": "2,218", "Additional Tags": "Episode: s03e21 Same As It Never Was, Incest, Frottage, Angst", "Relationship": "Donatello/Raphael (TMNT)", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Porn Battle XV (The Ides of Porn)", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Nowhere is really safe anymore. Raphael feels exposed, even in the heart of the rebel compound, stuffed inside of the tunneler where the only eyes that could watch him would be Donatello's. He's a walking toothache. The last thirty years have turned him into someone else--or maybe they just have compressed him until he’s become the most concentrated version of himself. He's learned how to live with it, or thought he did. Donatello, kneeling among a tangle of wires, might as well be pressing a thumb to the heart of him. Every inch of him aches. "Really, the tune-up isn't necessary," Donatello says, "since we're not looking at long-term use, but better safe than sorry, right? Don’t want to break down right outside the Shredder’s tower." "Sure." Raphael chews on his tongue. His hands are in his pockets, where he can touch at the handles of his sai and pretend he’s a conqueror. It's not doing much for him now. "Look--Don--you really think we can win this?" Donatello takes his time on that one, shifting, turning his whole focus onto Raph. "Of course we can," he says, finally. "We're together again. We can do this. Between us and April...heck, even that creep Stockman has been a huge help." He stands; the cords of his belt sway against his legs. "All we need to do is stay alive long enough to get the Shredder into position. Easy peasy." When he puts it like that, it almost takes the edge off. Better than a drink, that's for sure. Raph shrugs. "Makes sense," he says, not adding in theory. He's too happy Donnie's back, too desperate to believe they can do this. Maybe they can even be a family again, once the blood’s dried--he's been alone for so long he's not sure he remembers how to be a brother. Donatello steps over the underbrush of wires and into Raph's space. He rests his hands on his shoulders. "We can do this," he says. "Right, but if we can't--just, listen." Raph doesn't know what to grab, so he settles for Donnie's wrist. "If we can't, I want ya to know that I--that you're my brother, and I always..." The words catch in his throat. "Aw, heck, Raph." Donnie wraps his arms around his neck and squeezes. Raph lets out a shuddering breath. "I know." Raph embraces Donnie, too grateful to speak. Some things are difficult to voice: He's found himself in foxholes and workshops and deep, silent forests, but there will always be a part of him that can't quite articulate the things he needs to say. Donnie knows, at least. He's always been good at that. A real sensitive guy, and mellow enough to let this kind of thing flow over them. Sensitive enough for the both of them. He presses his face against Donnie's neck. Maybe this is all he really wanted: Closure, a body to hold, someone to whom he can say goodbye. He spent so long searching--in labor camps, in prisons, in research facilities, in back alleys and shadows and rubble and clouds--and now here Donnie is, in the flesh, smelling like he always used to, like a home he hasn't had in decades. Raph wants it all. He wants to slough away the last thirty years. He wants Casey, and Master Splinter, and April, and Leo and Mikey and Klunk and his old punching bag and Donnie; he wants Donatello most of all, and he can have him if he just holds on. He presses, and presses, and then he is backing Donnie further into the tunneler, he is flat against him, chest-to-chest, leg-to-leg, mouth-to-neck. Donnie tenses. His hand cups the side of Raph’s face, and he thumbs the scar under his eye. He breathes out, somewhere between a sigh and a shiver, and tightens his grip. "It's okay," Donnie murmurs, "it's alright." It's not. Raph knows better than to do this. He kisses his neck, then again, and again, and it's so smooth against his chapped lips that he doesn't ever want to stop. He doesn't understand why Donnie is letting him do this. Raph has had decades to miss him, thousands of pent-up conversations, years of memories that have built into a twisting staircase that leads to a brighter version of Donatello, an unreal one composed of all of the good and none of the awkward or bad. Of course Raph wants to kiss him. He is ugly in comparison, a scarred husk, good for nothing but war and hardly even that. But Donatello noses at Raph's shoulder and presses a tentative kiss of his own, slow, almost chaste. It's the puff of his breath on Raph's shoulder that cinches it, in the end, something he can barely even feel through his coat. It's Donnie's breath. Don's. He's alive, and warm, and flush against Raph, and he's not arguing or telling Raph that he is wrong to need this, and there is no one watching them here. It's the closest thing to safe Raph will ever have. "C'mere," Raph says, the word scraping at Donnie's neck. A hot coil flicks on in his gut. He might mistake it for anger, if he were younger. He slides his hands down Donnie's unmarred shell and cups the back of his thighs, yanking him closer. "Don, you were gone so long." He nips at his throat. Under the sensitive skin, Donatello’s pulse thrums. "So fuckin' long,” he says, “and I thought I'd never--" "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, it was just--one second I was gone, and then suddenly I was here, and I--I'd never--ow!" Raph bites his jaw, hard. No mistaking that for anything other than anger; he won't let Donatello blame himself for this. "Doesn't matter," he growls. He grinds his hips against Donnie's, kissing at the spot on his jaw that must be aching. "You're here." "I mean it," Donnie says. He grabs Raph's face, forces him to look, forces him to focus. Raph thrusts against him, deliberate, nearly fifty and still bristling when someone tells him what to do. "I would never abandon you guys. Never." Raph kisses him hard enough to hide the rush at that, the tightening in his chest that he can't even begin to parse. He hooks one of Donnie's legs around his back, keeps his hands busy, keeps his mouth busy, tries to quiet down his heart. It's obvious Donnie's not used to this, to kissing like this--he clutches the lapel of Raph's coat and hangs on, kissing and panting. He opens his mouth when Raph's tongue flicks at his bottom lip, then chokes when Raph pushes in. They try again, this time Donnie flicking his tongue out, gasping and trying to apologize before Raph can shut him up with his mouth. At least he knows what to do with his hips, grinding with shallow thrusts, and he makes a soft noise in his throat when Raph's hand dips between them. He's not hard, yet, when Raph strokes a finger along his cloaca, but he drops right away, sinking into Raph's hand with a low moan. "That's it," Raph mutters between aimless kisses. "Just let me--jeez, Donnie. Christ." He rubs along Donnie's length, slow at first, mostly letting Donnie rut up into his hand, using nice, long strokes that shouldn't be making Donnie as hard as they are. It's a little flattering. The hot coil in Raph's gut has become a flame, spreading heat through his whole body, making the back of his neck prickle. He lays messy kisses along Donnie's bottom lip, his chin, his cheek, his jaw, down his neck again. He kisses along his plastron until Donnie moans, then sucks and nips at the spot even though it might be that he twisted his hand just right at the head of Donnie's cock. It doesn't matter. They're both out of their depth, here, and drowning, and it's not so bad, though maybe the pain will come later. Raph's always heard that drowning is one of the most painful ways to die--but going down like this, flushed and wanted, won't be so bad. At least they’re together. Donnie's clutches, suddenly, and his cock twitches in Raph's hand, and then he's coming between them, his come hot and slick on Raph's hand. Raph curses to himself; he wanted to see Donnie's face, wanted to watch him crest and come back down, but by the time he's looking, Donnie's face is closed up in embarrassment. "S-sorry, I didn't--I mean, that was, uh--I don't usually..." Donnie trails off, then feebly adds, "Have sex." "Shut the hell up,” Raph says. “That just means you get two rounds." It's supposed to sound cheeky or composed, but he's breathless himself and a little dizzy. He presses his fingers together, letting the come drip across them. If he had a handkerchief, this wouldn't be a problem, but--well, he'll make do. Raph sucks his fingers into his mouth, not particularly enjoying the taste but not caring because it's another part of Donnie and he wants his whole world to condense down to him. He wants there to be nothing left. "Oh," is all Donnie manages to say. Raph fists Donnie's bandana and pulls his head back, exposing his long neck. "Here." He licks a long line up the middle of his throat, pleased with himself when Donnie shivers; he's gasping for breath, still dizzy and weak-kneed, and he might topple over. Raph can take care of that. He drags Donnie away from the wall, which can't have been too comfortable, anyway, and pushes him down into the driver's seat. Donnie shifts and rests his hands on Raph's thighs--tracing, as he does, the dark scars that mottle his legs, following the torn tracks. Raph groans. The chair's not big enough for the both of them, but fuck if he's going to stop, here; there's no time. Raph knows he's running out of it. Maybe Donnie wants to study him, relearn his scars--the four of them used to know each other so well, could tell the stories of each other's scars, until they were eighteen and Donnie disappeared, leaving a wasteland behind. Their battles diverged. They forgot one another, lost among a dead city's rubble and smog so thick it became a taste it in the back of the throat. Raph can barely remember how he earned his own scars, now. It's all a blur. He yanks Donnie into him and kisses him fiercely. Donnie's palms are too soft, even with their callouses; he pets Raph's body like it's something delicate. Like he’s a broken computer and he thinks he can fix what’s left. He drags a hand up Raph's side, under his coat, where Raph is a lit furnace. His other hand cups between Raph's legs. Raph unsheathes his cock, eager, forgetting the world a little more with each passing second. There are no Karai Legions, here, no Utroms, no cameras, no police, no patrols, no labor camps or factories; there's the old leather of the driver's seat and the smell of dust and Donnie's sweat. There's Donnie's wet mouth, his warm breath, his soft hitching noises. The taste of his skin is not tainted by metal or dust. There's no fear, not even crawling at the back of his neck, just a desperate need that hinges on Donnie's body. He grinds his hips, flush against Donnie, too hot in his coat. He kisses him deep, traces his tongue along his jaw and neck, but it’s not enough. Raph doesn’t have enough hands, can’t press close enough, can’t hold Donnie the way he wants. The leather seat groans under their shifting bodies. It's not long before Donnie is hard again, his cock jutting against Raph's, thick and ready. Raph wonders, dimly, how old he is. Where he's been. While Raph hunted, was Donnie in stasis, waiting for the world to reach its breaking point? Who kept him from them, if not Donnie? Then, Donnie takes their cocks in his hand, and Raph stops thinking altogether. It's fast, over before Raph is sure what's happened. Donnie jerks them off with quick, twisting strokes, moaning as he does into Raph's mouth, his neck, his shoulder, muffled by his coat. The chair creaks as Raph fucks himself on Donnie's hand, as he drags their cocks together until they're both slick with precome. The pressure and heat in Raph's gut unfurls like a storm cloud and then he's whiting out, shuddering against Donnie. His thighs quiver. He comes, and comes, and hangs on to Donatello like he is his last saving grace. By the time he comes back to himself, Donnie is finished, too, gasping for breath. His head is thrown back against the chair, his eyes squeezed shut. His hand, still wrapped around their cocks, is trembling. Raph slumps against him, too wrung-out to process it all. Whatever Donnie needs, he can give him, just--after he takes a second. As they relax against each other, reality seeps back in; tomorrow, they will storm the Shredder's tower. It's likely that they will die. The knowledge is a heavy stone in his gut, but not so heavy he can’t carry it.
1115729	Lultima cosa che voglio	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Juice Ortiz, Chibs Telford", "Fandom": "Sons of Anarchy", "Language": "Italiano", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Riddler_ENygma", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-02T00:00:00", "words": "500", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Juice Ortiz/Chibs Telford", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Titolo: L'ultima cosa che voglio è venire sul tavolo dove ci riuniamoFandom: Sons of AnarchyPersonaggi: Chibs Telford, Juice OrtizGenere: Introspettivo, EroticoRating: RossoAvvertimenti: Oneshot, Slash, Lemon, Leggero AngstConteggio Parole: 390Prompt: Chibs Telford/Juice Ortiz, tavoloNote: 1. Scritta per il p0rnfest #7.2. Dopo un bel po' ti tempo torno finalmente a scrivere... Spero di non aver perso troppo la mano.E' la prima ff di questo fandom e non potevo certo non scriverla sulla mia OTP. XDGesù Cristo, spero non faccia troppo schifo. 33. Al mio Juicy-boy. <3 Sono felice di poter scrivere di nuovo per te. Stringe le sue mani nelle mie con forza e un velo di disperazione.I suoi fianchi sbattono contro la mia pelle a ritmo frenetico; non vuole darmi il tempo di reagire o di parlare, non vuole sentire altro che gemiti uscire dalla mia bocca.Questo era l'unico modo per mettere fine a tutti quei dissapori che ci sono tra noi...Lo capisco quando Chibs si china su di me a sfiorare con le labbra le ferite che mi ha inferto e curato proprio lui.E non posso che sorridere, sollevato.Non avere la fiducia della persona che ami ti logora dentro... Temo di averlo imparato in prima persona.- Juicy... Tutto ok? - mi chiede, fermando le sue spinte e guardandomi negli occhi.Il mio sorriso deve averlo fatto preoccupare... - Non fermarti. - sembra quasi una supplica ma l'ultima cosa che desidero é che questo amplesso abbia fine.Chibs torna a baciare il mio collo ormai pieno di lividi e saliva scozzese mentre affonda dentro di me lentamente; non riesco a trattenere un verso compiaciuto quando mi chiede se mi piaccia tutto questo.E la mia risposta causa affondi sempre più veloci e profondi nelle mie carni...Chibs colpisce la mia prostata facendomi girare la testa vertiginosamente.Chiudo gli occhi in preda ad un piacere che il mio corpo sembrava aver dimenticato - ecco l'ennesimo effetto negativo del nostro litigio - e mi concentro solo sull'erezione del mio compagno e suoi suoi versi.Per lo più sono "Aye" quasi soffocati sul mio petto, intervallati da sensuali lappate ai miei capezzoli duri e dannatamente sensibili.Ma quando sento che mi chiama con disperato bisogno mentre aumenta il ritmo febbrile del nostro amplesso apro gli occhi per guardare Chibs, tremando e chiedendo disperatamente di raggiungere l'orgasmo insieme a lui.- Oh Juicy-boy... - ansima, lasciandomi una mano e portandola tra i nostri corpi, afferrando la mia erezione e cominciando a masturbarmi. Non duriamo che pochi minuti: mentre vengo con un alto gemito nella mano di Chibs cerco di stringere i muscoli intorno alla sua erezione, causandogli un piacere tanto intenso da portare anche lui all'apice.Ansimo esausto e lascio che Chibs riprenda fiato prima di chiedergli di fare attenzione quando uscirà dal mio corpo...- L'ultima cosa che voglio è venire sul tavolo dove ci riuniamo, Juicy-boy- mi confessa con un sorriso, baciandomi le labbra. - Ma volevo provare anche io a battere il martelletto! -
1186275	Set in Stone	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Claire Bennet, Sylar, Peter Petrelli, Sandra Bennet, Noah Gray", "Fandom": "Heroes - Fandom", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Ariana (ariana_paris)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2010-07-07T00:00:00", "words": "3,567", "Additional Tags": "Attempted Abortion", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Things were supposed to be different this time around.A feeling of déjà-vu seized Peter as he entered the house in Costa Verde. He had only been here a couple of times, most notably in a future that had ended with the town’s annihilation. He told himself that it was a future that could never come to pass; Knox was dead, so was Daphne. Nathan was murdered, not President of the United States. Peter knew that Sylar no longer had the power to paint the future or cause a nuclear explosion. And they both knew that they weren’t blood relatives.Things were different, Peter told himself as he followed Sandra Bennet into her home; he wasn’t sneaking into Sylar’s happy family breakfast this time. He had almost convinced himself that all was fine when he noticed a patch of bright colour in the corner of the Bennet’s living room. A child’s activity centre; possibly even one of the same toys he had seen before. Although it was mid-afternoon and Sandra was standing beside him, Peter could almost smell waffles and hear Sylar’s son chatting in the kitchen.Peter shook his head, forcing himself to get a grip.“I’m sorry to just appear like this,” he told Sandra. “It’s just that Noah said… Gabriel was here and I need to talk to him.”It had been over a year now since the shared years in Sylar’s mind, but some part of Peter still rebelled at the idea of calling the killer “Gabriel”. To give him another name was to acknowledge that his brother’s murderer was gone and Peter knew that wasn’t entirely true. He remembered how much Sylar had struggled after they returned to the real world. The Hunger would always be present, ready to resurge when Sylar’s fragile resolve failed him.To call him Gabriel was also in some way to declare that Nathan was dead. But Peter knew that his brother’s memories would last as long as their immortal host. It a thought both terrifying and strangely comforting.“I can’t say I’m surprised. Noah hinted at more trouble,” said Sandra, looking older and thinner than Peter remembered. “Gabriel! Peter is here,” she called up the stairs before turning back to Peter. “I’m sure he’ll be down in a minute. Here, sit down and I’ll fix you some coffee.”Peter glanced up the stairs, still curious about Sylar’s presence, but he followed Sandra to the sitting area and settled on the couch. “Noah didn’t say why Gabriel was staying here. Is he protecting you? I guess things got a little crazy for you after Claire’s revelation.”“You don’t know?” asked Sandra incredulously, still standing, body half-turned towards the kitchen. “I mean, you know about the baby, right?”“The baby,” repeated Peter, a feeling of dread rising to his throat. “Claire’s baby? Yes, obviously. The press wouldn’t stop speculating about it.” Peter bit back the remark that Claire hadn’t told him anything about it; Noah was the one who announced his eighteen-year-old daughter was pregnant. “It’s due next month, isn’t it?”Sandra seemed about to say something, but her gaze shifted beyond Peter and her expression changed, a tender smile rising to her lips. Peter turned to find Sylar standing behind him. His erstwhile enemy was clean shaven, wearing his glasses and a pullover that looked like the kind of thing Nathan had sometimes worn on his days off. But Peter’s attention was immediately drawn to the newborn baby sleeping on Sylar’s chest, its tiny head resting on the man’s shoulder.“Sorry. He won’t let me put him down,” said Sylar with a grin. “I guess I’m human mattress for the day again.”Sandra smiled tenderly and said something about making coffee before disappearing into the kitchen. Peter stood to embrace Sylar awkwardly; they hadn’t seen each other for months, but they had exchanged sporadic friendly emails; not that any of them had prepared Peter to find Sylar in the Bennet house with Claire’s baby.“This is Uncle Peter, Noah,” said Sylar in a soft, childish voice, turning towards the little head on his shoulder. “But you can meet him when you wake up.” He lowered himself carefully onto the sofa opposite Peter. “I guess this must come as something of a shock.”“Yeah.” Peter couldn’t really muster anything better than that. Claire’s surprise pregnancy had been a shock in itself, but this was just… “You’re the father?” he asked, just in case there was a misunderstanding.Sylar bit his lip and sat back on his seat, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby balanced on his chest. He nodded.“It was… you remember Claire went through a bad patch after that man killed Gretchen? She… we… um, it was a bit weird. It didn’t end well.”“You slept with my teenage niece?” exclaimed Peter, the full implication of what Sylar was saying hitting home. “You’re the one who did this to her! All this time, I’ve been wondering who the bastard was who--“The baby stirred, emitting a low raucous noise, and Sylar raised his hand to calm Peter. “I’m not defending what happened,” he said, giving Peter a wry smile. “I think we both know I’m not great at denying myself anything I want. Claire… she came on to me because she was upset and to be honest, I didn’t read her mind to find out why. But it was her idea.”“I can’t believe she would do that,” said Peter with disgust. “Not with you!”Sylar scowled at him. “Read my mind if you don’t believe me. I gave you back your base ability; I’m guessing you’ve got Parkman’s power again.”Peter pursed his lips and lowered his head, sifting through all the abilities he now had at his disposal and selecting Matt’s. The memories of his brief time with Claire were at the forefront of Sylar’s mind, an open book for Peter to read. He watched Claire lean in when Sylar struggled to find the words to console her, but pulled back from the vision of what had happened next. He could feel Sylar’s emotions; the hope that Claire might like him, the bitter sting of rejection, and, surprisingly, the determination not to let it derail his path to redemption.“You reacted well,” said Peter, less angry now he could feel how much Sylar had suffered. “You wanted to kill her. You knew how to do it too, but you didn’t.”Sylar half-shrugged, his large hand on the baby’s back. “I always want to kill people. That hasn’t changed. I wanted to disintegrate her when she told me it was over. But I’m leaning to control myself.”Peter bit his lip. “So that’s how she got pregnant.”“We were careful,” said Sylar defensively. “She wasn’t that stupid. I guess things don’t always go to plan. She didn’t want to tell me; didn’t really want to admit we’d done anything, but I noticed. She was avoiding me so I-- I found her.” Sylar’s voice faltered as he admitted this return to his stalking habits. “I could sense the changes in her body and I guessed it was mine. She was pissed off when I confronted her. She’d tried to get rid of it; I offered to help but that pissed her off even more... Still, I’m helping now and I-- I hope she’ll come around.” Sylar kissed the little head on his shoulder and Peter could sense his paternal pride. “You are a very lucky boy, little buddy. Your Daddy and Grandma will take good care of you.”“We certainly will,” agreed Sandra, bringing them coffee.Peter thanked her and wondered for the first time what had happened to Sandra in the future he had seen. She seemed drawn and thin, but then, from what he had heard, looking after a newborn baby was a tiring business.“Where is Claire now?” he asked.“We don’t know,” said Sandra. Her eyes drifted over to a picture of her daughter on the wall; a much younger Claire smiled out at the world, still unaware of her ability and filled with the joy of life. “Last time she called, she said she was hunting ‘villains’ with René.”Peter remembered the dark-haired future Claire who had tortured him. “We need to find her,” he said. “She needs us, her family, to get through this.”“She isn’t too happy with either of us,” said Sylar, exchanging a glance with Sandra. “She didn’t want the baby and obviously, she blames me.”“And she blames me for letting him stay here,” added Sandra. She ran her hand through her hair. “I couldn’t look after Noah on my own. I’ve been a bit unwell recently. Nothing to worry about,” she added hastily, though Peter’s ears tingled with the lie.“This little chap is a game changer, Peter,” said Sylar, turning to brush his lips on the top of the tiny baby’s head. “I’ve been good since we broke the wall, but it’s been hard. It feels easier now. It’s like the Hunger switches off when I’m with him.”Peter swallowed. “That’s what you said before, in the future I saw.”“The one where I blew up the entire town?”“That would be the one,” said Peter.The spectre of Costa Verde’s destruction seemed to hang in the air between them for a moment and they all fell silent. Sandra started to offer them cakes but the front door opened and her comment died on her lips as Claire walked in.If Peter had ever had any doubts about the force of destiny, they would have been quashed at that moment. Claire was wearing a leather biker’s suit, unnecessarily tight fitting and oppressively dark on her tanned skin. She had just removed her helmet, revealing long brown hair and a serious, determined expression on her young features. Peter remembered the same look on her face as she leaned over him and cut him with a knife…“Wow, this is quite the family reunion,” she said coldly. Her lip curled when she saw Sylar and the baby, but she half-smiled when she noticed Peter. It faded almost immediately. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t approve of me these days?”“Claire, I’m not your enemy,” said Peter defensively. “I didn’t agree with what you did to expose us, but it doesn’t mean you had to cut me out like this.” He indicated the baby. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”Claire glanced at her mother and Sylar, evidently weighing up whether to discuss this in their presence. Apparently, she decided she didn’t mind an audience.“This is all your fault!” she growled, barely unclenching her jaw to form the words. “I was trying to make things right, to get us all out of the shadows so we couldn’t be hunted and murdered anymore, and all I got was you and Dad going on about how it was the wrong thing to do and the press were after me all the time. The only person who actually, really agreed with me was him and when that guy murdered Gretchen because he was trying to get at me, he was the only one there!”“I tried to call you,” exclaimed Peter. “I would have come to see you, but I’m not your father. I said my piece, you stormed out and refused to answer my calls. You can’t blame me for what happened.”He was about to say more, but realised that rehashing the arguments of the past would change nothing. He could feel that Claire was terrified of losing his friendship but too stubborn to back down. Perhaps this was how the rift had begun that had led to Claire murdering him in the future?“Claire, it’s okay. I’m sorry we argued about it. You did what you thought was right,” said Peter.To his relief, Claire relaxed a little as he spoke. “Yeah. I still think it was right.”“I do too,” said Sylar, though it only earned him a dirty look from Claire. He smiled at her but she turned away.Peter looked from one to the other, trying to guess how much of this situation had led to the future he had seen. He decided to return to the original purpose of his visit.“Listen, I came here because there are rumours online that someone has recreated the formula and is starting to sell it. We need to stop them.”Perhaps guessing that the ‘specials’ needed to discuss this alone, Sandra leaned over Sylar and reached for the baby. “Here, Gabriel, why don’t I take Noah up to bed now he’s asleep?”Sylar helped her take the baby, using his telekinesis to hold him in the same position until Sandra had him in her arms. The baby’s blanket fell off onto Sylar’s knee but Sandra carried him away before Sylar could hand it back. Claire watched the process with a neutral expression, though Peter could feel the conflicting feelings beneath the surface. She hated the baby because she hadn’t wanted him and she despised herself for sleeping with Sylar. But at the same time, Peter could feel her natural instinct to love and protect the vulnerable.Sandra paused by her daughter as she walked towards the stairs. Claire observed the baby with detached interest; Peter sensed that she was torn between preserving her proud detachment and the desire to touch him, but didn’t feel that it was his place to interfere.“He’s changed,” she said in a low voice. “It’s only been a week since I was here and he’s changed already.”“He’s beautiful,” said Sandra softly. “Just like his mother.”Claire continued to stare at her child for a moment, before reaching out and brushing his soft pink head with the tips of her fingers.“Yeah,” she said slowly.She pulled her hand away and turned to Peter; Sandra took her cue and carried baby Noah upstairs.“Why are you so worried about this formula?” asked Claire, coming to sit where Sandra had been opposite Peter and Sylar. “Isn’t Mohinder’s formula what gave you back your powers?”“One power,” said Peter. “I was just fortunate that it allowed me to get my base power back.”“And then use that to get a whole lot more,” added Sylar, visibly taking pride in the fact that his many abilities had proved useful.Claire sneered at him. “Yes. The ones taken from the people you murdered.”“I haven’t killed anyone for years. With Noah’s help, I don’t think I’ll ever feel the need to kill again. I know you’re pissed off about him, but he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”“Yeah. Makes a change from… being with me being the best thing that ever happened to you.”Sylar smiled. “You know that was different. I’d prefer…” He watched Claire’s stern expression for a moment before lowering his eyes to the baby blanket on his knee. “If Noah is all I can have, I can live with that.”The harsh look on Claire’s face wavered, but she turned to Peter. “So you want to stop these people developing the formula?”“Yes. As far as we know, nobody has ever found a formula to give people specific abilities. If this is the same one the Company and Pinehearst had, it’ll unleash random abilities on the general population. We’ve already had… there’s already plenty of hard feelings in the general population,” he continued, unwilling to list the internment camps, persecution and protests that had spread across the globe after Claire’s revelation. “If the number of Specials increases, it will create an even greater divide between those who have abilities from birth or because they can pay for them, and the rest of humanity. The situation will just get worse.”“But why shouldn’t everyone have a chance to develop their potential?” protested Claire.“Maybe because it’ll always be the case that some of us will be more special than others,” said Sylar. His dark eyebrows converged into a frown as he continued. “If there’s no way to select abilities, some might get super strength while others get the ability to melt objects.” He demonstrated his point by turning his coffee cup into a pile of goo. “Some abilities are kind of lame.” Sylar smiled sheepishly at Claire, but continued when she didn’t smile back. “Not to mention that abilities like mine are downright dangerous.”“If they do enough research, they might find a way to give specific abilities to people,” said Claire.Peter shook his head in disbelief. “And then some government can create itself a nice army of mutants. Claire, I saw a future where this happened. The future where I came back to shoot Nathan. It’s happening. Things should be different, but everything seems to be moving towards that same future again.”“But Nathan was president,” said Claire. She gave Sylar a dirty look. “Nathan’s dead. And you said I was evil. I’m not evil!”“Evil can sometimes be in the eye of the beholder,” said Sylar. “One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist.” He glanced at Claire’s new hair colour. “Or maybe Peter read too much into the dark hair.”Claire gave him a typical look of teenage disbelief that clearly communicated how pathetic she thought Sylar was. “I needed to get away from the paparazzi,” she snapped. “And I’m sick of everyone treating me like a dumb blonde. What’s the matter Sylar, upset I’m not your type anymore?”“You’ll always be my type,” said Sylar quietly, though he appeared to be talking to the blanket rather than Claire’s censorious expression.“Look,” said Peter. “The point is that in the future I visited, people could buy abilities and the people who bought them were not the kind of people who can be trusted. We have to stop them before this formula becomes commercially available.”“I’m not denying that handing out abilities isn’t a problem,” said Sylar. “But are you planning to do this every time someone finds a formula?”“If I have to,” said Peter earnestly.“Well, if you think it’s important, I’ll help,” said Sylar with a shrug. “I trust you to know what’s best. As long as it doesn’t mean leaving Sandra and baby Noah for too long.”Claire turned on him. “Since when are you so concerned about my Mom?”“I just want to help her. Raising a baby is very tiring, even for someone in their full health and strength,” said Sylar.“Not that I’d know anything about that, right?” snapped Claire. “Is that what you mean?”Sylar shook his head; Peter was struck by the gentleness of the gesture and the calm expression on his face. “Claire, it’s okay. I don’t blame you and neither does your mom. Having a child is a big responsibility and you have other things to do now. Noah wasn’t your choice and I respect that.” He lowered his eyes. “Having him has changed my life but it doesn’t have to change yours.”Peter thought Claire would react angrily, but she seemed to bite back a retort. Her eyes followed Sylar’s gaze; he was still holding the baby’s blanket and stroking it absentmindedly. The pain and jealousy on Claire’s face broke Peter’s heart.She turned away hastily when Sylar looked up at her again, but Peter could tell that Sylar had caught her expression too. The erstwhile killer observed Claire wistfully for a moment, the longing clear on his narrow face. Peter wondered if these emotions were what had led to the destruction he had witnessed in the future.“The future I saw is coming,” he said grimly. “Maybe not exactly the way it played out last time, but there’s enough that’s the same to make me think the worst parts will become reality. I have to stop that.”“You don’t want to go back in time, do you?” asked Sylar with concern.“Yeah, because this time, you’d have to kill me, and that’s gonna be kind of tough,” said Claire.Sylar glanced coyly at Claire. “Also, if you’re getting déjà-vu, it might just be destiny. Maybe there’s nothing you can do.”“I don’t accept that,” said Peter with determination. “I can see the seeds of where this is going and I can stop it.”This time, Claire was the one who exchanged a glance with Sylar. “So… you want to save the world? Again?”“It’s what he does,” said Sylar with amusement, giving Claire a tentative smile. He put on a mock serious expression that brought back Peter’s memories of the little boy and the awful apron. “I guess we’ll have to help him.”“Definitely.”Claire smiled at Sylar before looking away as if she had suddenly remembered why she didn’t like him. But the moment had happened and Peter could feel Sylar’s hope. He remembered the dead child lying on the kitchen floor a moment before Sylar lost control of his nuclear ability and obliterated the lives of 200,000 people. Perhaps a change in the outcome of Claire and Sylar’s relationship would at least save those people’s lives. Peter smiled at the incongruous idea of playing matchmaker to this unlikely couple.But he was determined that everything would be different this time around. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was that the future was never set in stone.
1162270	Patience is a virtue	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Takeda Kenji, Kise Ryouta", "Fandom": "Kuroko no Basuke \| Kuroko's Basketball", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Nami", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-31T00:00:00", "words": "693", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The gym is quiet.Takeda walks slowly to the benches located under the big windows, sits down and waits.These past few months he has gotten used to the sound of basketball balls bouncing and shoes squeaking against the floor, to shouts like ‘Pass here’ and ‘That was great!’, to Riko-chan whistling, to the patter of Nigou’s small paws. This gym has become his second home with those sweet kids always making sure he had something to drink during their practices and calling him to ask if he reached his flat safely after watching their matches.‘They are nice kids’ the old man thinks, closing his eyes and waiting. As usual, he arrives before the practice starts; soon they should come too, bickering and joking as always, until Riko-chan and Hyuuga-kun yell at them.The door leading outside cracks open a few minutes later. Takeda slowly opens his eyes, but instead of Seirin’s team he sees a familiar tall blond in a grey uniform. Why is he familiar?“I’m sorry for interrupting, sir. I’m looking for Kuroko Tetsuya, he should be now having practice here.” The boy walks closer to Takeda; the expression on his face being a mixture of worry and lostness.The man leans his head back while trying to see the stranger’s face.“Are you one of Kuroko-kun’s friends, young man?”The teenager smiles a little.“Yes, sir. My name is Kise Ryouta and my team, Kaijou, played against Seirin a few times.” Ah, that’s why he seems familiar. “Kurokocchi isn’t picking up my calls and I thought –”“I’m afraid he might not come, Kise-kun” Takeda interrupts Kise.They are looking at each other in a complete silence for few long minutes before the realization dawns on Kise. He looks around himself, notices the dust on the basket that holds the balls then checks his phone – probably to see what time it is, thinks Takeda – then looks around the gym again, as if checking if Seirin’s players were just hiding and would come out any second.Takeda knows it won’t happen.Finally, Kise’s shoulders slump, his sparkly aura disappearing. The old man pats the bench and the kid sits down, his smile gone.“F-for how long haven’t they been practicing?” he asks quietly as if afraid his question may break something.Takeda closes his eyes again, sighing deeply before answering.“Right after the Winter Cup Izuki-kun, Riko-chan and the first years, with the exception of Kuroko-kun, came to a practice. The next time there were only Kagami-kun and Riko-chan,” Takeda says slowly, feeling sorry for the young boy sitting next to him. He can practically feel how upset he is. “After that it was only Kagami-kun, but then even he stopped coming here. So… almost three weeks.”“Winter Cup ended five weeks ago.” Kise clenches his fists on his thighs, determination coloring his voice. “Surely they will come back. They… they have to.” He ends quietly.The silence hangs between them; a painful reminder that usually at this time this gym wouldn’t be so quiet and it shouldn’t be now.“You are Seirin’s advisor, right, sir?” Takeda nods, smiling inwardly. This boy cannot sit without speaking for too long. “But why are you here if they aren’t?”The old men opens his eyes and turns his head to Kise with a serious expression on his face.“Because they always can come back here, Kise-kun.”The boy’s sad features lighten at these words. He stretches out his legs, smiling again.“You don’t mind if I wait with you, sir?”“Of course not, boy.” The kid goes home after two hours, radiating sadness. Takeda waits a little more. There is no-one waiting for him at home. He can wait. The new year starts and no-one from the basketball team shows up. Takeda tries to call Riko but she doesn’t answer. After few more weeks of waiting Takeda lets himself admit the harsh truth.“What a pity. They were such good kids” he murmurs to himself, taking a good look at the cold, empty gym he once loved so much and closes the door behind him one last time with a soft click.
1109234	White is all around	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by procrastination_queen", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-30T00:00:00", "words": "5,093", "Additional Tags": "Post-Reichenbach, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Christmas Fluff", "Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	At first, white was all he saw around him. White snow falling from the sky, covering the roads, the pavement and everything else. White lights slightly blinding his sensitive eyes. It seemed as if the world had turned white, as the shirt he was wearing. But then, he noticed some red in between the whiteness. It was not a bright shade of red, it was darker. It was more like blood. And then white again, but it was not an attractive shade of white. It was more like the pallor of death in a face. His mind went blank. He could not think of a proper answer for each question he was being asked at the moment. All he could think of was that loathing shade of white he had seen just a few minutes ago. He was not sure if he could ever be able to take away that image from his mind. He had seen many before, but none was as mesmerizing as this one. Being haunted by the sight of a badly injured body was something he was not used to. “Shocked” is an adjective used to describe those who can be easily impressed, and he was definitely not one of them. But this was not the case. He was shocked, disturbed, scared to death. He felt so dizzy and weak he thought he could lose his balance if he dared to try to get up from where he was sitting. Unable to control his physical reactions, he tried to control his thoughts and feelings? But he couldn’t. It was as if a bonfire was set up in his chest, burning up his insides and turning them into light gray ashes. The blend of emotions was so complex that he could not name them all, not that he was accustomed to do so either. What was it? Fear? Yes, up to a certain point. Sadness? Not likely, the events are too recent to cause sadness yet. Desperation? Definitely, but the intensity of it had decreased in the last minutes. Anger? Very likely, anger is a natural response to… guilt? Oh, obviously. Then he decided guilt it was. Again, white was all he saw around him. Doctors walking around in his white robes. A long hall with bright white walls. Coffee served in a white plastic mug. The large white sofa in which he was sitting. The emptiness he felt could also be described as white. It was not a black hole which swallowed all it could, but it was a tiny white spot, which slowly started to enlighten some parts of his heart that he did not even know existed. It had been nearly three months since he had been back. The very first time John saw him, he turned dead white. But a few seconds later he turned an alarming shade of red. His cheeks were colored in the way they did when he felt extremely angry at something or someone. Sherlock could tell that easily. He hadn’t changed that much, then. In those two goddamned years. In all the time they had not been together. In all the time they had lost. In all the time in which the pain Sherlock caused John had been so sharp he had to use a cane again, for a few months. In all the time in which Sherlock had way too much spare time to think of John, and all the things they had been through together. Not that he would ever mention that. It was a little convention of theirs to leave some things unsaid. And that didn’t change at all. This had been their first case together after his return. Why did it take them so long to take one? Because John had to re-adjust his life, for the hundredth time in his life. It took him a while, but he eventually moved on. He moved out of the flat, and then he moved again a couple of times. With his army pension and his job at the clinic he was able to afford a decent flat and lead a peaceful lifestyle. But there was something missing. He had been in many different flats, but they were just flats for him. He could not call them home, as he once did.It was just after that missing part returned that he was able to go back home again. The case involved a network of weapon dealers who worked covered as an accounting firm from Russia. When Lestrade first showed him the file Sherlock did not deem it worth of his time, but after he received a brief text message (Welcome back, little brother. MH) he agreed to go to the Yard. Sleepless nights, races through dark alleys, a reluctant-to-eat Sherlock and some appointments missing at the clinic were everything they needed to go from going back to normal to back to normal. Oh, the good old days were back, or so they thought. It’s not that Sherlock liked Christmas, but he didn’t actually hate it either. He just couldn’t understand why people got so sentimental during that period of the year. It was pathetic. Well, he himself had felt that way while he was away. He missed the coziness of the flat when the little lights were on, the tiny (and badly decorated) Christmas tree that John insisted on putting on the mantelpiece. He even missed the carols. But most of all he missed John. Oh, how much he had wanted to have him near and give him a tight hug. He used to feel that every single day, but it usually got worse during the Christmas season. Not that he would ever admit it. It was not very convenient to do so. Besides, they were together again. What could go wrong? After a week of thorough investigation, deductions, violin sonatas, takeaways and a few cuppas they discovered the place where the gang kept the weapons. It was an old brick warehouse, located in a desolated area in northern London. At first sight, it seemed abandoned, but there was a weak steam of light visible through a dust-covered window located in the upper part of the warehouse.The snow had started to fall the night before, and that helped them to get to the warehouse without being heard or seen, for the snow muffled the sound of their steps.“Text Lestrade Sherlock, this is definitely the one, and I’m bloody freezing here!” John whispered.Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing anything until I’ve confirmed my suspicions. Seriously John, have you already forgotten my methods? Here, lend me a hand.”“What for?” said John, a bit puzzled.“I’m going to take a glimpse through that window”, he answered while trying to find something that could help him get there.“Why don’t you let me do it?” replied John. “I’m the one with the gun, remember?” he said grinning and touching the pocket of his jacket.Sherlock did not seem so sure about it but he agreed. There were a few pipes that went from the ground to the roof of the warehouse. How convenient. Once he made sure the pipes were safe enough, he helped John to cling to them and then he covered himself in some nearby bushes.The plan was that John would take a glimpse through the window and if he saw anything compromising he would give Sherlock the OK sign (thumbs up) so that he’d be able to text Lestrade as soon as possible and hopefully, they’d be back in Baker Street in less than an hour. But plans rarely go as expected.When John reached the window, he cleaned up the glass a bit with his sleeve. Immediately, he gave the hint to Sherlock but as soon as he turned his eyes to the screen of his mobile phone, he heard two shots and a loud cry:“SHERLOCK!”And after that, he saw the warehouse blow away. White was all that was in his mind when he first realized what had happened. John had seen something compromising, but he had been seen as well. The man who was keeping guard tried to shoot John as soon as he saw him, but John was faster and took out his gun and shot the ammunition that was being kept in the warehouse. That caused the explosion.He was frozen, he didn’t dare to move. He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know what he would see. He didn’t care about the case anymore. The only thing that was in his mind was a word written in bright white letters: John. When he reached for John he felt so weak he thought he would faint. He kneeled next to him, to his body, and turned him around. His chest was covered in blood, as the snow that was beneath him. His face was pale, his eyes were shut, and his breathing was almost undetectable. A tear was streaming down his face, burning his skin on his way. No, no, no. This isn’t happening, this isn’t real. No. You cannot leave me. Not now, not today John. No, no no, the ambulance it’s on its way, don’t leave me. You can’t do this to me John, you’re strong. Very strong. You’re the strongest person I know. Please, hold on. For me, for us… The ambulance and the police arrived almost right away. John was sent to the hospital in a rush, and Sherlock was kept behind in order to give Lestrade the information he needed. But he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t stop feeling guilty for what had just happened and it grew worse each second that passed. He didn’t even know in which state John was. He had lost a lot of blood and his pulse was very low. Guilt. If he hadn’t come here with me, he would have been fine now. Desperation. What should I do now? What should I do then? Anger. Why do these things happen to us, now? Now, that everything was going back to normal.. Fear. What if he doesn’t recover? What if he never wakes up? What if I’m the one who has to face a loss this time? “The doctors say he will be fine”, said a familiar voice behind him. “Although he missed a considerable amount of blood, he wound was just superficial, it is the concussion that keeps him unconscious and the doctors want to observe him for a few days. You should return to the flat, my dear brother, and rest.”“I won’t”, said Sherlock sternly. He was looking out the window and all he could see was white. White snow was covering the grass, white curtains were hanging from the other windows.Mycroft sighed. He expected his brother’s reaction but he was not giving up yet.“There’s a car waiting for you outside. It will take you to your flat and will take you back here very early tomorrow. I will stay here to deal with the paperwork, as I always do, may I remind you.” said Mycroft. He smirked.“It is not necessary. I’m not going back.”“Beg pardon?”“I can’t keep him safe, Mycroft” replied Sherlock, looking at Mycroft with watery eyes. “I missed two years of my life, of our lives, to keep him safe. And I thought I succeeded. But I did not. I am the problem. I am the one who brings destruction, pain. I cannot prevent him from having a good life, Mycroft. So I will leave again. But this time, it will be forever. As long as he is with me, he will not have a single day of peace and quiet. He had moved on and I made him change his life again. What for? To put him in danger again, to risk his life carelessly? What if something really bad happened, huh? I do not think I am nearly as strong as he is. I do not consider myself able to endure what he did all this time. Because now I know what he felt. I understand him fully and thoroughly. He is the best man I know, brother. He deserves the best life he can get. And that does not involve me.”Tears were streaming down his face. He had never felt so vulnerable, so guilty, and so sad. And he had never hated himself more than he did at that time.“But... do you think John agrees with you? Because I would dare say he does not.” said Mycroft, not wanting to sound too concerned.“I don’t care if he does or not. I’m leaving, no matter what. One day he will thank me for doing so. Of that I am sure”, replied Sherlock wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat. “Just let me spend the night here, please. One more night. And then I’ll be gone forever.”“Is is decided, then?”“Yes. I might need your help on my finding a place where he can never find me again.”“Please take into account that such thing implies a permanent decision. Are you absolutely sure that you are never coming back, Sherlock?”“I am, Mycroft”.“Then consider it settled. Go to my office tomorrow morning, we will discuss the details there”, said Mycroft before turning and heading to the door.“Thank you, Mycroft. And I assure this is the last time you will have to do something for me.”Mycroft smiled. “Of that I would not be so sure, my dear little brother”, replied over his shoulder. Sherlock was not allowed to be inside John’s room, but he was allowed to see him through the window. He sat in a large white sofa that was situated in front of John’s room. So, that was it. That was his last night in London. With John. He started to think of what Mycroft had told him about what John would think when he realized that Sherlock was gone again. He could not explain himself for two reasons:1) John was unconscious as the moment, and unless he did not care about being heard or not, it was useless.2) He could not face John. He knew John would convince him of staying and that was unacceptable. He would leave the next day, and nothing would prevent him of doing so.He was lost in this train of thoughts when he was suddenly interrupted:“Excuse me sir, do you need anything?” asked a pretty young nurse with a soft, pleasant voice.Sherlock glanced at her with a sharp look and after finding out everything he needed to know (recently graduated, single, just left his boyfriend, incipient alcoholism, family not in town, probably trying to seduce me, judging by the tone of her voice, her posture and the unnecessary open buttons of her shirt), a thought came to his mind, and replied:“Well, I think I do. Would you be kind enough to help me?” replied with a big, warm and fake smile. The girl supplied him a pen and a few sheets of paper, those would do. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to start; he had never done anything of the sort. Of course he had written letters before, but they were not that kind of letter. He had never opened his heart to anyone in any way, and he found this way to be the more comfortable and less risky one. He thought it would be a hard task, but it ended up being surprisingly simple, for the words flowed out of his hands quite easily. Dearest John: I’m writing these words while I sit in front of your room at the hospital. The mere sight of your unconscious body with tubes and cables and monitoring machines all around you make my heart twist and my stomach want to take out everything it has inside. I am not sure if I will ever be able to go through anything of the sort again, so I am leaving. I will leave tomorrow and you will never hear of me again. I sincerely think I should have never come back, for all I do is endanger your life in more ways that are imaginable. You are the best human being I have ever had the pleasure to meet, John, and I wish you the best. I also hope you understand that you will never get the best of this life as long as I am near you. Additionally, I want you to know that now I completely understand how you felt when I left for the first time. Or I may actually not. At the moment I am sure that you will be fully recovered in a few weeks’ time, and though that fact makes me feel somewhat relieved I cannot avoid feeling guilty for what has happened to you, and that is the main reason of my departure, John. The emptiness I am feeling right now is something completely new to me. I call it emptiness for practical purposes, though I suspect that what I am feeling is a very complex mix of emotions almost impossible to describe. The most identifiable one is the guilt, because now that I am looking at you so weak and vulnerable I hate myself more than I have ever done. When I saw you lying on the snow tonight I was afraid. Afraid of not being able to talk to you again, afraid that you would not blog about us anymore, that you would not go with me on cases anymore and that I would not be able to make you smile again. That all of the things we used to enjoy together would be gone forever and that it would be my fault. It was only when I calmed down that I realized that all the things I felt were nothing compared to what I made you felt, and that I did not deserve your pardon. I do not understand why you forgave me as if what I did was not a big deal, when it actually was and it was even more than I was able to realize at that moment. You may have done it because you are a great man. You are the greatest man of all manhood and I feel flattered for having been given the honor of your calling me your friend. But I am afraid I am not as good as you think I am. I went away for two years to grant your happiness and that of some others. I succeeded, but not for long. I want you to know that I did some great sacrifices because I wanted to see you happy and, most important, alive. I went away because I could not bear the thought that you could die because of me. I went away because I did not want to prevent the rest of the world from seeing that bright warm smile you have. I wanted them to see and appreciate how good of a man, and blogger and tea-maker, you are. At that moment I was sure you would be able to find someone who would make you very happy, just as I am right now. I am definitely going to miss your whole set of ugly jumpers, the way you refrained from punching me when I deserved it, how good you are at buying everything we need, how nice you are to people but most of all to me, and basically everything about you. But I am willing to go through it knowing that it is because it is the best thing I can do to reattribute at list a bit of all the good things you have done for my life, even if you did not have to. I am sure that when you read this silly letter you will be able to find a word or a phrase suitable for my description, because that is what you have always done. When I was at a loss for words you were there with a wide range of them to help me. When I did not want to talk to anyone you just respected my decision and even took care of me, instead of yelling and getting mad at me like most people. You never tried to change me; you respected me and accepted me the way I am, no matter how much of a jerk I could be back then. You have no idea how good that made me feel. John, you are not most people. You are one of a kind. You are one in the whole world. There’s no one out there who can match you. You are more intelligent, brave and talented than you think you are. Please remember this. However, I would like you to forget me. Take me out of your life as soon as you can. It will be nothing but good for you to get rid of my influence in your life as soon as possible. Finally, be happy John. I know you will. You have been through many hardships in your life, and it seems as if every single one of them made you a better person. I cannot guarantee you that you are not going to suffer anymore, but I can tell you I will not be the reason of your pain again. Never. Thank you for everything you did for me. Sorry for everything I did to you. I do not deserve your pardon or your admiration. I have always wished that there would come a day where I could pay you for all the pain I caused you. That day has come, and my payment will be fulfilled in full, and forever. Goodbye John. Do not miss me, for you will be wasting you precious time instead of enjoying it. I will be fine. Or at least as good as I can be when you are not next to me. Yours truly, Sherlock. Arriving at the flat he was welcomed by the ridiculously gigantic white snowflakes John had insisted on hanging from the ceiling. If a couple of months ago someone had told him that he would have to leave the flat again and forever he would have taken him for a lunatic, but life would have proved him wrong.He took his time packing up his belongings, each one of them had a story behind it, something that would link him to his home. He made himself a last cup of tea and sat on his armchair, opposite to that of John. What wouldn’t he give to have him there, sitting next to him, doing nothing, being everything.Once he finished, he headed to the door, but he stopped halfway. Then he turned around and went upstairs, to John’s room. He knew it would not be locked, for he seldom did it.He opened the door and the scent there filled his lungs in a pleasant ways. I was John’s scent. One that he would never smell again. That thought made him feel ill and weak. He decided to sit on his bed, he had never done it before. It was soft and fluffy, just as he thought it would be. The white duvet reminded him of how meticulous John was, how warm his hand used to feel on his shoulder when he casually touched him…And then he began to cry, it was an urge he had repressed since the police had arrived at the crime scene the night before. No, it was something he had always repressed. He didn’t even cry when he was away, since he considered him a waste of time and energy. But at that moment nothing else mattered. He was going to leave, and he was not coming back. That was the last, and only, time he was lying in John’s bed and that was the closest he would be ever be to him again. So he rolled in his bed and without knowing it he sobbed himself to sleep. Before leaving the hospital he made a last effort (for John, he thought) and bought the nurse a coffee. He even had to simulate a chat with her, and eventually he persuaded her to put the letter on John’s bedside table. He tried to sound as casual as possible about the situation but he could not help feeling envious of the girl. She was going to go into John’s room, put the envelope on his table, touch his wrist to check his pulse, accommodate his bed for him, and make him feel good. Something he would never be able to do again. He felt his phone buzzing in his sleep, but somehow his brain managed not to wake up. A while later there was another, and there another one. It was too much to ignore, so he woke up and checked his phone.The first thing he noticed was what time it was. He should have been at Mycroft’s office three hours ago. He did not think he needed that much sleep.Then he checked his texts. One was from Mycroft. My offer to help you expires today at 12:00 pm. MH He still had time to get there right on time. The next two texts were from.. John? He could not believe his eyes. He thought he was still a bit dizzy after his mid-morning nap, but after he washed his face he returned to his phone and the only visible word there was ‘John’.With trembling hands he unlocked it and opened the first text, which said: You are right. I always have words to describe what you can’t. And the word you need at the time is ‘love’. Yes, I love you too, you utter bastard. How could you have possibly missed that? PS: It’s good to know you love me too. Very good indeed. JW Was it some kind of joke? Had Doctor John Hamish Watson, former Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusileers jut told him he loved him? What the hell? Amidst his astonishment he almost forgot about the other text. PS 1: Can you not be a silly twat for once in your life? Don’t leave. I cannot call home a place in which you are not with me. I already know how it feels to be dead. I was a living dead while you were away. I do not want to be one again. Stay. I will be happy only if you are next to me. Did I already mention that I love you? I always have. If you happen not to be at home by the time I get out of the hospital, I will find you and make sure you never see the sunlight again, you goddamned genius. So apparently it was true. He mentioned again, so it had to be true. How could have he missed the signs?Oh, obviously. Because he was not looking for them. Because he did not know the even existed. Because at that time he had not realized how much he loved John, how much he needed him in his life.He smiled. The emptiness was gone. Instead, his chest was filled with a mix of joy, relieve and hope. He just wanted to have John there with him, right at that moment.Since he could not have that, he texted Mycroft instead. Mission aborted. My apologies. SH The answer came at once. What mission? Welcome back. MH By the time John got out of the hospital, there were just a few days left before Christmas. Thank goodness he decided to decorate the flat early that year, because if he hadn’t Sherlock would have had to be in charge of that and good things never happen when Sherlock is in charge of the flat.Mrs. Hudson called on him every day, and she assured him that Sherlock was in the flat, that he was fine and that he seemed to be in a better mood that usual. Her puzzlement made him laugh.When he entered the flat he was glad to see that everything was in order. Apparently Sherlock managed not to burn or blow away anything, and that was a good sign. He started to worry when he did not answer him, but then he found a note pinned to the table with a knife: We are out of milk and some other stuff. If you happen to arrive before I do, welcome home. I will be back in a few minutes. SH So he was doing the groceries now. John smiled. The good old days changed a bit, but they changed for good.“You’d better be back quickly, Sherlock. We have some things to talk about” murmured John.“I’m glad I did not keep you waiting, doctor. That would have upset you a lot, wouldn’t it?” replied a low baritone voice behind him.“Sherlock! How in the world did you manage to get here without being he..”Sherlock dropped his bags and took his hand.“I think there are more important things for us to have a nice little chat about, don’t you?” said Sherlock, smiling fondly.“I do. I totally do. Oh God, Sherlock you fucking know I do” replied John throwing his arms around Sherlock’s neck. “Never leave me again Sherlock, never ever in your life. Don’t even think about it. Would you do that for me?”“Of course I will John”, said Sherlock embracing him tight. “I will do anything that makes you happy. I plan to do that for the rest of my life. Only that, nothing else.”And they stayed there. Hugging each other in the middle of the flat for only God knows how long. At last, white was all he saw around him on Christmas Eve’s dinner party. The white tablecloth that covered the table, the white foam of the champagne Lestrade had bought as a present (‘We all knew this was a matter of time’, he had said when they told him that they were together), the matching white shirts he and John were wearing that night, the white ribbon on Molly’s hair, the white snowflakes hanging from the ceiling and the white snow that was falling outside, which made everything look calm, quiet, peaceful and not hateful at all. Because how could someone think of hating something when he was feeling so much love at the same time? Sentiments were defects after all, and he was happy of feeling so very much defective at that moment. The End.
1111208	Facets	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Methos, Eleventh Doctor, Original Female Character, Canton Everett Delaware III", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by L_Moonshade", "chapters": "4/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-31T00:00:00", "words": "4,365", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Altered Realities", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Doctor Who (2005), Highlander: The Series, Marvel Cinematic Universe", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The day after I arrived in my new reality was anything but easy. Having Methos there helped some, but not enough. The day before I'd been in shock, but that had given way to the realization that this was real, and I was never going to see my daughter again. And that sent me spiraling down into a depression. Methos did his best to keep my spirits up, but all he could manage was to keep me from withdrawing completely. At the end of the day, he put away his homework (it was odd, somehow, the world's oldest man doing homework like some kid) and gave a yawn. "I have no idea how homework can be so tiring." "History? That's a tightrope walk for you; what you know to be true versus what the historians think happened." "Hmm, true. You want to grab a shower before bed?" I hadn't thought about it, but now that I did, it didn't sound half bad. "Sure. Are you going to let me take the sofa, this time?" "No." I rolled my eyes. "Methos, I can fit on it a lot better than you can." "Tough. And before you continue to argue, just remember that I've 5,000 years practice at being stubborn." "Fine, I know when I'm beat." Besides, arguing took more energy than I had at the moment. Twenty minutes later I was standing under the hot spray, doing my best not to cry. Half an hour after that, I was standing under the rapidly cooling water, still trying not to cry. I got out and dried off, slipping into a robe before opening the door to let the steam out. Methos' bathroom had no fan, so I would have to grab a washcloth and wipe down the mirror before I could use it. "Katie? Everything okay?" I turned to the door at Methos' question. "Fine," I said. "As well as can be expected, anyway. Why?" "I thought I heard you cry out," he said, coming downstairs. "It wasn't me," I said, then turned back to the mirror. And gasped. Someone (me, of course, who else?) had drawn two straight lines in the condensation on the mirror. My heart stuttered and I felt a ripple of fear run through me. "That's what I heard," Methos said, stepping into the doorway. "What's that?" I shook my head as the condensation, and with it the marks, began to fade. "I don't remember doing it. I should know why, but I can't come up with it. I do know two things, though." Methos stepped close, not to hover but to offer support. I found it comforting. "What?" "They're hash marks, keeping tally of something. And I'm terrified." "Because you can't remember doing it?" "No. Because of what they're keeping tally of." He put a hand on my shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "Don't try too hard. Sleep on it; you'll probably remember in the morning." I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. You're probably right." But in the morning, I'd forgotten all about it. We both had. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX It was a couple of days later when Methos and I were sitting at the park, eating ice cream and enjoying the day. I was starting to feel a bit better; while the soul-crushing sorrow was still present, Methos was at least drawing me back into the world. I wasn't okay but at least I was starting to think that I would be, and that was good enough for now. Methos had, predictably, tried to find out what I knew of the future and I'd explained why I couldn't be certain that I knew anything. Time was like a pond, I'd told him; drop a stone in and the ripples extended outward and down. My arrival didn't just affect the future, it affected the past, too. Methos wasn't certain he believed me, of course, but he didn't discount it out of hand, at least. I probably wouldn't have believed it either, except that I'd noticed the Doctor standing nearby. The moment I saw him I knew that, in this reality at the very least, time wasn't linear. And when Methos left I let him go, staying behind to talk to the Doctor. I would have chased after if I'd needed to, but the Time Lord came over and sat next to me on the bench. "Nice description." The double heartbeat alone would have told me who he was, even if I'd never seen this regeneration. So would his scent, something that I could only describe as Time. I felt a number of emotions—awe, hope, even love. Of course I was in love with him, I thought, maybe just a little. But I did my best to keep any of that from showing, instead reverting to my default setting of sarcasm. "Better than 'big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff,' that's for sure." "Cheeky." "Apparently we haven't met," I said, turning to offer my hand. "Hi, I'm Katie Brown. When I'm scared or depressed or lost—or all three—I use snark to cover it up. And when I'm not, I use snark just for the hell of it. And you're the Doctor. That's it, just the Doctor. Eleventh reincarnation." He shook my hand, grinning. "We've already met." I nodded. "Eleven…" "Spoilers. And that's not my name." "For six years I've been referring to your various regenerations by number, it's a hard habit to break." Not that he sounded anything but amused. "And I wasn't going to ask for spoilers. You called it a nice description, but is it an accurate one?" He picked up a stone and tossed it in. "Yes. Your arrival here has sent ripples of change through every level of time. Even things that seem unconnected can change. And have." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "But that's not what you really wanted to ask me." "It's not, but I already know the answer. You can't take me back." He gave a sad little smile. "Of course you do. I'm so, so sorry." I just nodded. I had known, but I still hadn't been able to keep myself from hoping, just a bit. The confirmation that I was right, that even though the Doctor was real here there was no hope of getting back to my family, was a blow. "You watch the shows, and you think about what you'd ask if you got to meet your favorite characters. And now I'm here, in a reality with three of them—more if you count your individual regenerations—and all I want to do is get back." "Of course you do. Favorite characters aren't a substitute for family. So you'll just have to forget we're characters, and let us become family." He turned to eye me critically. "I think I can risk one small spoiler; let Phil talk you into it." "Are you telling me that because it's what you think I should do, or because that's what the me you've already met has done?" Eleven grinned. "Oh, you are good. She told me but this… You know all the right questions to ask, don't you?" This was an interesting twist. "'She' who?" "As a wise woman once said, spoilers." I rolled my eyes. "Fine, have it your way." "Always do," he said, standing. "Time to go. Things to do, people to see, times to change." He paused, giving me a sympathetic look. "Live your life. If you try too hard to change things, or to not change them, you'll only drive yourself mad." "In other words, leave it to the professionals." He gave a grin. "I knew you were clever." With that he spun and was off, the familiar wheeze of the TARDIS coming back to me after a moment. I didn't move, though, thinking over the conversation and what it all meant. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The next day Methos had an early class and I woke after he'd left. He'd left a note and some cash, asking me to do some shopping. It wasn't anything that couldn't wait, but that was Methos, trying to keep me in the world. Remembering the Doctor's words, I let go of the idea of Methos the character, and started to look at Methos the man. A man who'd befriended and cared for me without reason (at least, without a reason that I could see), who'd quickly become a friend. I could do worse than to wind up with family like him. But why? That was the one thing I couldn't quite get past. Methos hadn't met MacLeod yet, was still trying to isolate himself from the world. So why would he let me in, open himself up to me? I thought about it while I ate, then decided to forget it. Whether or not there was an ulterior motive, he was helping me and that was something I desperately needed right now. I would accept it until I was back on my feet, and then I'd go from there. After I finished eating I got dressed then stepped into the bedroom to pull my hair back, freezing when I looked into the mirror. There was only one hashmark, a line drawn in soap in the middle, where I would be unable to miss it, and now I knew what I should be afraid of. Not that I could tell anyone what to look for; back there I may only have seen men in rubber masks, but now that I'd seen the Silence, what they'd looked like was wiped from memory. The doorbell rang and I hesitated before going to see who it was. It was a package from SHIELD, though from whom precisely, it didn't say. Inside was a VHS and a note that read, "By now, you'll know why you have to watch this." It was unsigned and I didn't recognize the handwriting, but I put the tape in and started it up. It was the moon landing. The moon landing in which was spliced footage of a Silent telling humanity to, "Kill us all on sight." I watched it twice, just to make sure, then sat back with a sigh of relief. There was one threat dealt with. Too bad there were going to be so many more. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- August 1969Canton recognized the agents a mile away. Unlike the ones who had taken him to the President, though, these let him finish his drink. He took his time, left them standing there for as long as he felt he could, then turned."Can I help you, Gentlemen?"One of them flashed a badge he hadn't been expecting. "Mr. Delaware? The director would like to speak to you."That, he thought, was interesting; this wasn't the most efficient way for the director to arrange a meeting. "Lead on."They didn't speak on the drive, but he hadn't expected them to. Once at Headquarters, one of them peeled off while the other led him to the director's office. The agent knocked once, then opened the door."Thank you," Canton said as he stepped into the office. "Director."The chair behind the desk swiveled around. "I'm sure you're wondering why I did it this way. Please, have a seat."Canton did as he was told. "I am. You could have just called."Peggy Carter smiled. "I could have, but this is business." She tapped a file that lay on her desk. "I've just been reading about a special mission you performed for President Nixon."He was surprised, but didn't let it show. "And you have some questions?""Oh, no, not at all. The report was thorough and comprehensive. No, actually, I find it to be the perfect resume."Canton blinked once, twice. "I'm sorry?""I'm going to retire one day, and I need someone to take my place. Someone I trust to not abuse the situation, or the power. And every time I start a list, the first name I write down is yours. This just proves to me that my instincts are right.""Just to be clear, what are you saying?""I'm offering you a job as Assistant Director, in order that I may train you to take over when I retire."It took Canton a moment to find his voice. "I can't tell you how flattered I am. But I have to talk it over with my… With William." It was silly, he knew—it wasn't like Peggy didn't know exactly what his relationship with William was—but he just didn't feel comfortable saying it here."Your partner, yes, of course. You should know that, while the rank and file may not be quite as accepting, SHIELD does not discriminate for any reason. We offer full benefits to partners, as well as spouses. It's not your fault you can't get married."Canton nodded. "That's good information to have.""Think about it, and get back to me. I can give you four weeks.""That should be more than enough. If that's all, Director?""Yes, of course," she said, standing. "And Canton? I'm not offering you this position because of our relationship."Canton looked startled. "The idea never crossed my mind.""Good. Go home, talk it over with William. You really are the best man for the job, though.""Thank you." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "So. Want to tell me what has you looking so dazed?"Canton shifted. "Mom sent a couple of agents to bring me to her office. She wants to train me to take over when she retires."William rolled onto his side, head propped up on one arm. "Good choice. Cons?""Long hours, lots of stress. I have no doubts that I can leave the boys in your care, I just don't want to miss their growing up.""Pros?""I'd be doing something worthwhile. I love being here with you and the boys, don't get me wrong, but that special assignment got me fired up again. I wouldn't be in the field, but still. And you'd get full benefits.""Those are some pretty strong pros.""Yeah."They lay for a while in silence, then William shifted closer, lay his hand on Canton's. "I would have burned out in Torchwood, but raising the boys is something I can do, something I want to do. That, being here when you get home, helping you carry the load, that's a pretty fulfilling life. Just make sure you pick an AD you can rely on and take vacation every year, and we can make it work. If it's what you really want to do.""It is. And I won't find anywhere else that'll take care of you. You're sure?"William rolled onto his back, tugged Canton closer. "Come here." Once Canton's head was settled on his chest, William started carding his hand through the other man's hair. "You once asked me if I loved you and the boys.""I remember. You gave the right answers, by the way."William laughed. "Yes, I did, didn't I? And I love this life. Taking care of you and the boys… Will I miss you once you're back to work? Yes. But one of us needs a job, and I'm more cut out for staying home than you are. So, a job you'll find satisfaction in and that'll cover me? We'll never find a better offer."Canton lifted his head, gave William a gentle kiss. "God, I love you. You know I'd propose if we could get married, don't you?""Getting kicked out of the FBI made that pretty clear." William smiled. "You know I'd say yes if you proposed, don't you?"Canton's smile lit up his face. "Yeah. I know.""Good. Now, why don't you show me just how much you love me, so you can get to sleep and be rested for the meeting you're going to have with your mother-in-law in the morning.""That's a plan I can get behind," Canton said.This kiss wasn't so gentle. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Phil lay in bed, trying to sleep even though he knew it was futile. He didn't sleep well when one of his agents was missing, and even less so when that agent was a friend. Add to that the fact that the missing agent's fiancée was also a friend (and in the next room), and it made for a bad night. He had just resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get any sleep until they found Methos, when there was a knock and Kate was standing in the doorway, looking unsure of what to say or how welcome she'd be."It's okay, I'm worried, too," he said, lifting the covers. "Come here."She gave him a relieved smile and crawled in next to him to lay her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close."Thanks, Phil."He pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Of course, Sweetheart. Honestly, I think I need this as much as you do."She huffed. "Calm, cool, collected Phil Coulson is freaking out? I'm disillusioned.""I'll work on restoring your image of me when we find him. In the meantime, try to get some sleep."She let out a ragged sigh that held a hint of a purr. "I may actually be able to."He waited until her breathing had deepened and evened out before closing his eyes and drifting off himself.When he woke, Kate was still in his arms though she was awake to judge by her breathing. He had a couple of moments to enjoy having her in his arms (something he hadn't realized he'd wanted until now) before a familiar figure was looking in."Should I be worried?" Methos asked, sounding anything but.Phil huffed. "Still gay.""But he has made it to my list of most comfortable people to sleep on," Kate said, sitting up and stretching."My life is complete," Phil said, voice dry, the tell-tale glint of amusement in his eye giving him away. "I'll contact SHIELD, get an extraction time.""Wake me up when it's time to leave," Methos said.Phil just nodded. The state of Methos' clothes—ripped and bloody—hadn't escaped the younger man's notice, even if they were mostly hidden by a long coat. The Immortal headed for the bedroom he and Kate were sharing and Kate followed, giving Phil a grateful smile.On the plane out, Kate sat next to Phil. "Thank you," she said, voice quiet, even a little shy. "It really was nice sleeping with you."Phil smiled. "I liked it, too.""So if I need to come to you again…?""You have a standing invitation."She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "Good."Yes, he thought as he slipped an arm around her. It was very good, indeed. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Methos picked up the phone. "Y'ello.""It's Joe. You and your brood still planning on coming over?""We're on our way. Why?""Mac's here. I haven't said anything to him, yet."Methos shrugged. "We'll probably be in, anyway. He's got to find out some time." Methos hung up and glanced over at Kate and Phil. "MacLeod's there.""I'm okay with a punch or two."Phil rolled his eyes. "Sure, you two say that. I actually bruise."Methos scoffed. "For, like, a minute."Phil grinned, unapologetic. "Yeah. There is that." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX MacLeod frowned as Joe glanced over at the door. Again. "Joe? Everything okay?"Joe hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah, got some friends coming over. I'm afraid you're not going to be very happy to see 'em, is all."MacLeod gave a bemused smile. "Why wouldn't I be happy to see friends of yours?" he said as the door opened."Likely because you were about to hit us last time we saw each other."MacLeod froze, then strode over to the trio and punched Methos in the face. "Losing you almost killed Joe."Methos straightened, putting his jaw back in place. "Are you going to listen to the reason, or just storm off in a huff?"MacLeod hesitated. "Fine. Why did you fake your death? Going so far as to create that monster of a Quickening."Kate looked over at Phil. "I don't think he's going to hit us.""Isn't that discrimination?""Well, it certainly proves that MacLeod's a bloody pansy."MacLeod's face darkened even more. "He's mortal. And I don't hit women unless they hit me first.""Sometimes not even then," Methos said. "Cough, Kristen, cough.""Alright, guys, that's enough antagonizing him," Joe said with more authority than he felt. "Mac, get the booze. You three, find a seat and quit causing trouble."Kate rolled her eyes, but turned towards the seating area. "It's not trouble, Joe. We just want MacLeod to man up and treat everyone the same.""Is that what you want? Fine," MacLeod said, then hauled off and punched her.Her head snapped to the side; when she turned back it was obvious he'd broken her jaw. He shook his hand a couple of times before it healed, watching as she realigned the bone."Good hit. Honestly, I didn't think you had it in you."MacLeod's jaw dropped. "You're not Immortal. How could you have healed already?"She grinned. "I told you, MacLeod. You don't know me."He shook his head then went behind the bar. "Do I really care why they faked their deaths?"Joe shrugged. "No idea. I think it's a good reason and have forgiven them, if it helps."When MacLeod took the beers over to the booth, he was shocked again. Kate, Methos, and Phil were on the same side, Phil in the middle with Methos' arm around his shoulders and his hand in Kate's."What…?""We've been dating for a few months, now," Kate said. "So, long story short…""Too late," Phil and Methos said in unison.Kate grinned. "I love my guys.""Anyway," Phil said, grin fading into something more gentle, "Kate and Methos gave us the location of something SHIELD wanted. A compromised agent thought they may have hidden it with Darius and, during interrogation, killed him. He knew about Joe, and we were afraid the same thing would happen.""And that's not even mentioning the second group that was after the thing," Methos said. "We had to make a decision and we had to make it quick, so we left. In the only way that would protect Joe.""Why the fake Quickening? That couldn't have been easy.""It was easier than you may think," Phil said. "But we had to. There was a chance that the man who killed Darius either knew, or would learn, about Immortals. He's not stupid; if he did learn about the method and result and there hadn't been a Quickening…""Did he?""Not at the time," Kate said. "But he knows about Immortals now, so it was a valid concern.""Unfortunately he learned by seeing me come back to life," Methos said. "When that happened, we came to visit Joe, let him know that, hey, not dead."MacLeod took a long pull of his beer, considering everything. "The man who killed Darius, that's your double? The one Joe mentioned?"Phil nodded. "Yeah.""How were they able to get one so good? He would have had to have studied you for a long time.""Our whole lives," Phil said, with less pain than he'd told Joe. He was coming to terms with it, even if slowly. "Pierce is my identical twin."MacLeod winced. "I'm sorry."Phil shrugged. "Nothing to be done about it."There was a long pause, then Kate turned to Joe. "How's Roland doing?""Slowing down. Which reminds me. I've found a reputable breeder that has a retirement farm, too. I've already got everything set up; I was hoping you'd come out and help me choose a pup.""Give me a few dates, and if I'm not called out I'd be more than happy to help."MacLeod frowned. "Called out?"Phil beamed with pride. "They joined SHIELD. Strike Team Delta is the best we have.""They put you on the same team?""Thankfully Phil has some pull with the director," Methos said. "And the fourth member, Clint, is Kate's adopted brother."Joe grinned. "He's a real character. He and his brother literally ran away and joined the circus. Laura's always begging him to tell stories when he's here," Joe said.MacLeod scoffed. "I feel sorry for your team leader."Phil shrugged. "They're not so bad when you know how to deal with them.""Having the right incentives helps, too," Methos said, waggling his eyebrows."That, too," Phil said, unable to entirely hide a blush."Doesn't SHIELD have rules against fraternization?" MacLeod said.Phil groaned. "Not against, per se, but about. We had to go through a year of psych screenings and mission oversight.""Even though you have pull with the director?""He doesn't want to come across as favoring me," Phil said. "Especially since the rank-and-file are generally unaware of our connection. He's my pop."MacLeod's eyebrows shot up. "Coulson isn't an entirely common name.""I use Dad's name professionally. Legally, my last name is Delaware.""How…"Phil gave an apologetic smile as his phone rang. "Sorry. Have to take this."Kate slid out of the booth to let Phil step away. "We'll just say good bye now.""Probably the safe bet," Methos said.Phil was back a moment later. "We're being called in. Joe. Macleod.""Where are you going?""I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you," Phil said, turning to go.MacLeod chuckled. "Funny. Cliché, but funny.""He's not joking," Methos said. "We'll stop in when we get back."Kate bent to kiss Joe's cheek. "Take care of yourself.""You, too. Watch your heads.""Promise."MacLeod watched them go, then got up to take care of the empty bottles. "Methos seems different.""We never knew Methos, we knew Adam. Hell, I'm willing to bet we still haven't met Methos. C'mon, Mac, guy that old? He didn't get that way by not blending in.""Suppose you're right." Mac shook his head. "What have they gotten themselves into?""No idea. But I'll tell you one thing. I don't think we've got any idea how big it is."
1120438	Grief	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Thranduil, Legolas", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Morpheus626", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-05T00:00:00", "words": "2,052", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Legolas please let go.” Thranduil attempted to lift his left leg up and shake off his son’s iron grasp, but it seemed Legolas would not be easily removed. The nursemaids had warned him this would happen, as soon as the elfling could walk. “He’ll grasp onto you and never want to let go. He’ll want to be everywhere you are, and you’ll have to find a way to tell him no at some point. Not good to indulge them forever, makes for a spoilt elf later on. Thankfully your father was wise in that regard—you turned out just fine.” Now more than ever did Thranduil realize just how wise that elder nurse’s advice had been. Legolas, nearly five years in Middle-earth, was like a vine growing around his legs; constantly underfoot and in the way regardless of the situation. Thranduil’s pride still stung from the last fall; he’d tripped over Legolas while greeting a messenger from Rivendell. He’d hoped not to keep them long, as it was rare that Elrond ever felt it safe enough to send anyone so far; that had proved impossible after he tumbled over Legolas (who had been attempting to weave himself in and out of Thranduil’s path for sport) and had gone crashing to the floor so hard that his crown had fallen from his head. The whole thing had been terribly embarrassing, but the messenger was kind about the incident and seemed rather grateful for the break in formality. The message hadn’t been one of much importance, and Thranduil guessed it was more of an example to Elrond’s children that the various elven settlements should do their best to be civil and keep up contact. Thranduil could admire that. However, the situation had made Thranduil realize that he could not continue to let Legolas clamber over him like a tree with every movement. Thus far his only escape had been occasional hunting trips, and those had become few and far between. Legolas wept whenever Thranduil even mentioned leaving the palace; and the nursemaids had scolded him for giving in so easily to his son’s cries. But it was truly difficult leaving Legolas behind for any amount of time; after all, they only had one another. He supposed that everyone else’s insight was correct in the end, and he would have to break Legolas of this habit before it (somehow) got worse. For the moment, he was simply focused on freeing his leg from Legolas. “Why don’t we race to the library? I doubt you could beat me there but…” Legolas looked up to Thranduil with a pout on his face. “Don’t want to race. Just walk there.” He pressed his face into Thranduil’s calf and clung on tightly. Thranduil sighed; he had really been hoping the idea of a race might give him a chance to walk without Legolas along for the ride, and an opportunity to get proper blood-flow back to the rest of his leg. There was only one other way he might free his leg, and that seemed to be the only solution now. “What if I carried you there? Would that be bett-“Thranduil was cut off as Legolas cheered, and started to climb up him. He leaned down and Legolas nearly leapt into his arms, a grin as bright as starlight on his face. Thranduil smiled as well, though his face seemed ill-suited to the act now. The loss of his wife was far in the past to most elves, having occurred not long after Legolas’ birth; but to him it seemed a fresh and open wound. Its memory made it difficult to smile, or to answer Legolas’ questions about families and why their family was so small when other elflings had so many other elves to share a home with—the questions were innocent of course, but they stung nonetheless. Thranduil still hadn’t answered the biggest question of all: “Where is my mother?” He knew how to answer it, but just wasn’t sure if he had the strength to give a satisfactory answer to Legolas. The walk to the library went quickly now that Thranduil had full use of his legs. Legolas had settled happily in his arms, humming contentedly. If only his son would always be so happy and calm—but surely there would come a time when Legolas would know fear, pain, and grief. The world did not grant anyone respite from such things. Thranduil fell back into an armchair in the library, and waited for Legolas to beg to be let go to try and climb the bookshelves. The request never came, however, and Legolas instead settled even more comfortably into his father’s arms. “Legolas, you know I do enjoy having you by my side—“ Thranduil looked down to his son, and Legolas nodded absent-mindedly, busy with creating loose braids in the ends of Thranduil’s long blond hair. “But I can’t have you in my path all of the time.” At this, Legolas looked up angrily. “But I help! I’m always quiet and I don’t bother anyone and I like being with you!” The last word ended in a sob, and Legolas shoved his face Thranduil’s side as he started to cry. That broke Thranduil’s heart. He couldn’t bear to see Legolas hurting—but there would be so much worse in the world that would hurt his son, and he couldn’t protect him from everything. Besides that, he knew Legolas had friends he was neglecting in order to spend all day with him. Even if Legolas wouldn’t admit it, he knew his son missed those friends and their games. “What about your friends Legolas? They must miss you, and I know you miss watching the guard’s archery practice. Why not spend a bit of time with them again? You can always spend a day with me if you wish, but you can’t stay locked in the palace with me every day and night.” Thranduil shuddered at his own words; it had only now hit him that he was doing just that himself. When had he last gone out of the gates for more than a moment or two, for a reason other than to hunt the spiders in the forest? He couldn’t remember. Legolas’ tear-stained face came away from his robes, and he met his son’s eyes. “But what if you leave?” Thranduil hugged Legolas closer. “I might leave every now and again; to get rid of more of the spiders, or just to ride for a bit. It isn’t as if I’ll be leaving forever.” “But isn’t that what mother did?” Thranduil’s heart dropped. Surely no one would have told Legolas how his mother had died—no one would dare to disobey his orders to be careful around that particular topic. Yet it seemed someone, perhaps a butler or a nurse had looser lips than expected. He would have to answer the worst question Legolas had asked yet, whether he was ready to or not. Thranduil sighed. “Your mother was a wonderful elf. She was very intelligent, and kind. The best queen our people could ask for. She’s the one who made your toy bow—though that was long before you were born. She kept it held aside until we had you—she’d be so proud to see your love of archery now.” Legolas had stopped crying, and was staring up at Thranduil in rapt attention. “She was an amazing archer. She’d want you to know that she beat me more than once in competition—she never let me forget that, which she was right to. She was absolutely in love with you, wouldn't even let me hold you at first. She was convinced I would drop you—“ Thranduil stopped for a moment as the memory of his son’s birth flooded his mind. It was one of the brightest moments of his life, if not the brightest. “And I was worried I would drop you as well, truthfully. But neither of us did, and you were a wonderfully loud and tiring joy that kept your mother plenty busy while she recovered.” Thranduil heard his voice start to waver, and felt himself on the edge of tears. The wound never was going to close, and he would have to accept that. It had been bad, the pain of watching his father die, but this was a different pain altogether. He could not wholly put it behind him, but could only let it lie where it was. Time would make it easier to talk about, though it would never be truly easy to discuss, but he didn’t have time now. What he did have was a curious and concerned son, who deserved to know what had happened. “She recovered rather quickly after you were born. You were only two weeks old when she insisted on going out—she took a hunting party out to try and clean away some of the new spider nests that had formed. Legolas, she was a skilled warrior, I don’t want you to think she wasn’t. But even the skilled fall in battle.” Thranduil could feel the tears running down his face, and he scolded himself for crying in front of Legolas. But it seemed not to bother Legolas, who had settled against him and had been listening intently. “What happened to her?” Legolas’ voice was quiet, yet it broke the silence as though he had yelled. Thranduil wiped the tears from his eyes, and shakily continued to speak. “She was taken by the spiders with much of the rest of the party. Only a few made it back to tell me—and then we searched. For your mother, and the other soldiers who had gone with her. I thought we wouldn’t find her, but we did.” Thranduil sighed, remembering how happy he had been to see her again and how he had then been utterly stricken with fear when he saw how hurt she was. “There were some of the party we lost to the spiders, but your mother was still alive. The healers worked hard to clean her wounds—but the spider’s poison can be incredibly toxic in high amounts, and her system was flooded with it. She tried incredibly hard to stay alive for you—for us. But we are vulnerable as any others in battle, and she—“Thranduil’s voice faltered. No matter how he tried to phrase it, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. But he had to, for his sake and for Legolas’. He’d been avoiding the whole thing for far too long. “Your mother died. She died doing what she had to do—protecting our kingdom and the forest. And protecting us.” Thranduil’s face was hot with tears, and he could hear Legolas sniffling as well. He let himself cry, and he let Legolas cry. He had never truly finished mourning for her—and maybe he never would. But he owed it to Legolas to at least try to start the wound to heal. He had a son and a kingdom to look after, and she would have hated to see either suffer after her death. Thranduil owed it to her as well, to be the king and father she would have wanted him to be. The next few hours passed in silence as they sat together, father and son. It would be evening soon, and Thranduil was surprised no one had come to get them for dinner yet. Neither of them wept any longer, but neither could bring themselves to speak. Legolas had burrowed closer to him, and had started to braid the ends of his father’s hair again. Thranduil let him, and simply held him closer. Eventually the two drifted off to sleep, both exhausted from their grief; Legolas’ newly found and Thranduil’s reopened. The servants would find them in the morning, and leave them to rest—until the two would finally rise for the day, and would spend the afternoon wandering in and out of the palace, with Thranduil telling and re-telling every story he had of his wife to Legolas. Just before nightfall, Legolas would try his hand with a proper bow—and Thranduil would watch proudly as his son hit his mark with ease, and would think of his wife and how proud she too would have been of Legolas.
1102464	First Sit	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Karen Brewer, Original Female Character(s)", "Fandom": "Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by brainwane", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-26T00:00:00", "words": "638", "Additional Tags": "Douglas Adams, Susan Calvin - Freeform, Shoes, Kid-Kit, Asian-American Character, Desi Character", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	I opened the door and saw two white girls there. "Mom, they're here," I turned back and shouted. One of them looked uncertainly at the pile of shoes just inside the door as the other one said, "Should we take our shoes off?" "Are you gonna stay here or just talk here and then go away?" I asked. They looked at each other. "Please, please, come in, you can leave your shoes here," my mom said over my shoulder. The girls came in and started wobbling around with their feet. "You can sit on the stairs if you want," I said. One of them did. "Can I offer you something? Tea, Pepsi, cold water?" my mom said. "No, no thank you," one said, the one who was still standing. "I'll take some water, thanks," said the one who had sat down and had divested herself of her sandals. She placed them near the pile as neatly as she probably could. It really was a big mess. I liked to put them in order but my mom always said it made me dirty and made me go wash with really hot water after I did it. "Jana, please go get the nice lady some water," Mom said. I went into the kitchen and got out a cup and a saucer, and pressed the cup against the ice dispenser in the fridge for a few seconds before switching the button to "water" and then pressing again. I hated having to guess at these things. How was I supposed to know whether the person wanted lots of ice or no ice or one cube of ice? But if I asked all the questions I wanted to ask then people said I should use common sense. I came back into the front hall and saw the still-standing girl uncertainly holding her shoes. "You can just put those down next to the pile," I said, handing the cup and saucer to the girl on the stairs. "Ah, thanks," she said. "Jana, these are your babysitters for today, Gaila and Karen," Mom said, pointing. Karen was the one who'd asked for the water. Mom said her name a little like "Karan". "Hi," I said. Now I noticed that the tote bag next to Karen said "Babysitter's Club" with lots of colors and hearts and stars and swirls and things. The tote bag had a zipper, which meant things couldn't fall out of it very easily, which I liked, but that meant I couldn't see inside it, which made me suspicious. Mom started giving Gaila and Karen instructions and they weren't talking to me, just about me, so I went to the living room and picked up my book. Susan Calvin was fixing a robot who didn't know how to follow directions. I forgot about everything else until a shadow fell across my page and I realized it was Gaila's. "You like science fiction?" she said. "Yeah. What do you read?" I asked. "I'm more into fantasy. I like Anne McCaffrey, Piers Anthony, and I just started some Robert Jordan series someone recommended to me." "Did someone say science fiction?" Karen came in, rummaging through her tote bag. "Do you read scifi too?" I asked. I shut my book, keeping my place with my finger. Karen brought out a paperback with sort of an alien planet face on the cover and flourished it at me. "I absolutely love it. Have you ever tried this one?" "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy." I was pretty sure I hadn't; it was hard enough to get to the Asimovs at the library because they were up so high, and Adams would be even harder. "I'll have to add it to my to-read list." Karen frowned, but she actually sounded super happy: "No, you gotta read this right away."
1118453	Abeyance	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier", "Fandom": "X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by velvetcadence", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-04T00:00:00", "words": "1,388", "Additional Tags": "Protective Erik, Poor Charles, Hurt/Comfort, BDSM, From Sex to Love, Comfort Sex, Love Confessions, Revenge schemes, Subspace, Established Relationship", "Relationship": "Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Once in a while, Charles Xavier needs a good fucking. Something to quiet the riot in his mind, to quell the stress and aggravation of managing a billion-dollar investment firm and his own dysfunctional family. With the ousting of Kurt Marko from the Board of Directors and thus Shaw’s chessboard, Charles’ own anxiety has only increased. The family home is rife with tension, and Marko’s vow of vengeance against his stepson is straining the already distant relationship between Charles and his mother. He's tired of being scared of his own shadow, necessary as it is. Someone has pulled a gun on him today and it’s not even two in the afternoon.He calls the first number he has on speed dial. “I’ve some personal business to discuss with you.”The voice at the other end of the line is quiet and precise. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.”“It’s important.”“I’m busy.”“Please.”“You can’t just expect me to drop everything right now.”“Someone just tried to kill me again.” Charles swallows around a dry throat. He’ll beg if he has to. He feels lost and untethered, and there’s truly no one else to turn to. “Please, Erik.”The preceding words are muffled, as if Erik’s covered his phone to excuse himself from the room, but what’s important is that he promises, “I’ll be there. Are you at the flat?”“Yes, Erik.”“Good. Stay put and wait for me. Get yourself ready.”“Yes, Sir.”Charles hangs up and rubs his temples, trying to stave off a headache. He wastes no time stripping himself of his suit, folding his clothes properly because Erik doesn’t care for sloppiness. Then he arranges his shoes by the door and opens a drawer for lube. There’s precious time left for preparation with Erik driving in directly from his office, so Charles immediately lays on his back, slicks his fingers up and gets himself wet and ready.It takes a while, but when he’s able to fit in three of his fingers comfortably, he wipes his hand on the bedsheet and reaches for his belt, making an impromptu binding for his hands and wrists. He doesn’t want any control today, just the mindless ache and pleasure of Erik’s attention and devotion. After a bit of maneuvering, his hands are bound behind him, so he crawls up to the bed on his knees, letting his chest rest against the mattress and breathing in the clean smell of fabric softener.Outside the window the city is buzzing with activity, and Charles is taut like a puppet on strings. Slowly the tension from his body eases with the knowledge that Erik is on his way, and he drifts into a half-dreaming state, synching his breathing with every fourth tick of the clock. He doesn’t notice it when Erik comes in, but he registers his presence in the room slowly, his awareness viscous like wading through molasses.The first touch at the back of his neck is warm. Erik is testing the give of his hole with gentle fingers, and Charles quivers, finally having his Sir with him. “You’re okay, you're alright,” Erik murmurs in relief, soothing, his palm sweeping from Charles’ nape to the small of his back where his hands are bound. “Such a good boy, Charles.”Charles opens his eyes at half-mast, seeing only the wall and the shadows cast upon them by the afternoon light. He has words in his head that won’t reach his tongue, not for any lack of trying but because they flit too fast for him to catch. He hears the distinctive click of Erik’s belt buckle, and then the zip of his trousers being pulled down.Erik makes him wait for it, anticipation running across his skin and thickening the air until he can scarcely breathe. His large hands run from Charles’ knees to his hips, thumbs dipping into the crevice of his buttocks until they’re hooking him open. Erik shushes him again when he whines, guiding the head of his cock in, and the slide is effortless thanks to Charles’ earlier ministrations.The rhythm starts off slow and deep, lulling Charles deeper into subspace, into that perfect state of trust and submission. His Sir nudges him upwards onto a sitting position, tucking him securely against him. Charles knows that he should probably feel vulnerable, naked while Erik is still fully clothed save for his suit jacket, except he feels protected and cared-for, the span of his abdomen warmed by Erik’s open palm. His shoulders don’t ache as much sitting upright either, and it gives Erik enough leverage to sweep kisses over them.He gasps when Erik strokes his cock in perfect tune with the languid tempo they’ve established. His Sir feels warm and solid around him, and his cock is brushing just so over the spot that always makes stars burst behind Charles’ eyes. Erik knows the perfect angle for teasing, sliding his cock just past Charles’ prostate, making him pant for it.Charles is always quiet in this state, but Erik is familiar enough with his body that he stops just before the precipice of pleasure. He lets him recover with gentler thrusts, depositing him back on the bed. His Sir pulls out and shifts Charles on his side, placing a pillow underneath his head and his chest to keep him comfortable. No matter how ruthless a businessman is, Erik is considerate to a fault as a lover. As a Dom, he’s the safest place to fall.“Stay, Charles,” Erik quietly commands, pressing Charles’ head down to the pillow to keep him there. Charles obeys, half-aware of the sound of cloth rustling. When Erik comes back to him, his thighs are hot against Charles’ skin. He crooks one of Charles’ knees forward and plants his hand on one firm asscheek, swivelling his hips so that he’s fucking Charles firmly and steadily, reestablishing himself as the sole focus of Charles’ attention.Charles wavers at the edge of orgasm again, his body tightening around Erik. His Sir slows the rhythm and prolongs the pleasure of the fuck, keeping him balanced on the tightrope of desire. Charles by now has lost all control of his words, the sound he’s able to produce reduced to gasps and quiet, helpless moans. Erik brings him to the edge once more, and Charles archs, coiled like a spring. Erik changes the angle of his thrusts so that he’s hitting Charles where he needs it and driving him mad, the rush of blood in his ears so loud he doesn’t realize he’s passing out.When he comes to, Erik has replaced his pillow with his chest and his hands are unbound. “Sweetheart,” Erik murmurs when Charles nuzzles into his neck, tactile and affectionate. Charles feels purged and clean, wordless and happy as he rubs his hand through the sparse hair leading down to Erik’s groin. His Sir drags one of Charles’ knees over his waist to situate him more comfortably, and he clings like a vine to the trellis. After a light doze Charles more or less feels settled and himself.“Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely. “I needed that.”“I’m just glad you’re okay.”Charles reaches up to cup the side of Erik’s neck. “I’m...better. Not totally okay, but better.”“Good.” Erik doesn't push any more for details, and Charles is thankful for it.“I just can’t help think...what if I didn’t have that bulletproof vest on? What then?”Erik’s grip tightens on him. “I would avenge you.”“Oh, darling. Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”“He already killed my daughter. If I lose you, then I don’t have anything else to lose.”The statement is heavy with sentiment, and to Charles’ infinite surprise, Erik doesn’t take it back. Beyond the bedroom, Erik balks at any kind of intimacy. It’s how they began after all: a drink, an agreement, a scene. Even the bachelor pad they choose to have their trysts in is decidedly impersonal. However, the chess pieces are moving, and the players are gambling with higher stakes. Maybe it’s time to show his hand.“If I lose you, I won’t have anything else to lose, either,” he confesses, letting the air saturate with his quiet declaration. Erik doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t refute it either, and that’s answer enough.
1166177	Belonging	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Connor Temple, Stephen Hart", "Fandom": "Primeval", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by verdreht", "chapters": "2/2", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-02T00:00:00", "words": "4,225", "Additional Tags": "Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for s01e04, Episode Tag", "Relationship": "Stephen Hart/Connor Temple", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	At first, Stephen hadn't known quite where Connor belonged in their little group. Cutter was the leader that gave them all direction, Abby was the spirit that gave them all a conscience, and Stephen himself was the muscle that kept them all on track. If anything, Connor would have been the brains, but Stephen had thought at the time that Cutter was all the brains they needed. The man was a genius, and eccentric enough to fill the part, so he just hadn't thought there was any need for Connor in the place.And it wasn't just that he didn't fit into the categories Stephen made in his head. On missions when they were called out for the anomalies, it was like Connor didn't know where to put himself. He was always in the wrong place at the wrong time, always getting in the way. It annoyed the hell out of Stephen for the first bit. He was used to everything – everyone – having their proper place, and Connor did not.It wasn't until the arthropleura and all those giant bloody spidersthat Stephen started to realize he wasn't just an obstacle. He wasn't some blithering little college boy without a clue. For the first time, it had occurred to him that, beneath all the social awkwardness and the eclectic fashion, he really was sort of brilliant. Those archives he'd put together...sure he made the odd mistake, but that he'd managed to pull at that together anyhow was amazing by its own right.That had been a little like a flood gate: the one revelation had made way for others. He was clever, sure enough. Beyond that, though, he was...actually sort of easy on the eyes. He was slight, Stephen figured, though the layers of too-big clothes he tended to wear didn't make him look it. Stephen had seen his thin wrists and caught enough glimpses of his hips and the v-lines of muscle at his pelvis when his shirt rode up to know he was slim, but muscled. And his face...it was neither round nor too sharp. His eyes had a downward slope that would've made him look drowsy had it not been for the constant spark in them.Sure enough, he was clever and dishy to boot. He had more quirks about him, though... The way he latched onto something and rambled about it until people were about ready to kill him. His knack for throwing out some random fact that was only sort of relevant. The way he always found the corner of the room to sit in and couldn't seem to go even an hour or two without his beloved laptop. The way he fidgeted when he was nervous. The way he bit his lip when he was concentrating...Rather than getting annoyed by all the quirks, though, like he normally did with everyone else – Abby's tendency to dance for no apparent reason drove him up the wall, and Cutter did this odd thing when he was talking about something he was happy about that made Stephen want to kill something – he actually thought Connor's oddities were a little charming. Hell,all of Connor was charming, in a peculiar sort of way.By the time the hesperornis fiasco came about, Stephen was pretty bloody taken with him. It didn't so much bother him, either, that the one that got his pulse pounding was another bloke. He'd never cared much about that sort of stuff; it seemed trivial, and he believed wholeheartedly in going for what he wanted.Problem being, what he wanted happened to want something else. Connor'd been about as subtle as a car crash on his feelings for Abby. That said, he wasn't altogether ready to throw in the towel. What Connor had for Abby wasn't much more than a schoolboy crush.Still, he decided to be delicate about it. Like tracking, there were times when it was best to just stay back and read the signs. Connor was such a nervous bloke, always jumping when people reached for him too fast or shying away from close encounters. Stephen figured that was as good a place as any to start, and so he did. Just touching him...getting him to where he didn't start every time Stephen walked by him. They started small: the brush of a hand when they exchanged papers, the graze of a shoulder as they passed in the hall.Just to remind him he belonged.Things were going well on that front for a while, actually. Connor had only been startled into dropping an armful of papers twice that week, and he'd only knocked over his drink once when Stephen slid in next to him at the booth of the restaurant.But then – a hitch. He'd gone to go fetch Abby to bring her in. Helen was talking and Cutter said he wanted them all there. He would get Abby, and then he'd track down Connor.Of course, when he'd walked into Abby's apartment, he hadn't been expecting to take out two birds with the one stone. On the downside, he wasn't entirely sure how to interpret seeing Connor come down the stairs of Abby's flat in nothing but boxers and an undershirt.On the upside, he got to admire the way that undershirt clung to a deceptive bit of muscle.He couldn't help the smile that spread on his face as he peered over Abby's head at the approaching knicker-clad nerd. "I didn't know you were here," he said.The smile was a little harder to hold as Connor came to stand behind Abby. "Ah, well, we're becoming close friends." He chuckled nervously, like he wasn't quite sure where to go next.Abby, of course, was all too happy to move things along. "He's been chucked out of his flat, and he's sleeping on the sofa," she said.Stephen felt the grin start to return at the news. That was good, sort of. He meant, it was bad Connor had been kicked out of his flat, but it was a massive relief to have a perfectly rational reason for Connor to be there."And the underwear?" Because that bore mentioning."Thermostat," both Abby and Connor said in what might've been unison if they hadn't both been stammering."Too hot," Connor said."It's broken."Well, this was just getting better and better. As the two stood awkwardly, Stephen let his eyes flick down, and he couldn't resist a little barb in Connor's direction. "Nice legs."As he walked past, Connor looked down at his legs and then back up. "Thanks," he said. "Oh!"At first, Stephen wasn't sure what the exclamation was about, and he didn't rightly care as Connor came running up beside him just to pat him on the back and sit down on the settee while he went to investigate Abby's other flatmates."I hate to break up the party," he said finally, "but you better get dressed. Helen's talking."It had been an odd sort of day. First, chasing Helen into the anomaly – Christ, what a sight that had been – and then the dodo birds. When they'd first come through, he'd thought it was a nice sort of reprieve from giant carnivorous monsters and all the other madness they usually got. That, and it had been bloody hilarious watching Connor and the rest of the team trying to nab those daft little birds. And when they'd gotten them back through the anomaly, he'd thought they would be calling it an early evening, maybe even go out for some drinks or something.He supposed he should've known better. Things were never that simple, and son enough, they were chasing after parasites that went between man-eating and mind-controlling.And because when it rained, it poured, they hadn't gone long before finding out that one of Connor's mates had been infected. He'd seen Connor face down massive prehistoric creatures and not seen him so scared. To his credit, he was holding it together well for the situation, especially when he was talking to his other mate, but Stephen caught glimpses when Connor thought no one was looking that he'd seem to have a millisecond break down. But then he'd pop right back up and act like he was in control.To think these clowns deserved a friend like Connor...their idiocy had gotten them into this mess, and it was pissing Stephen off watching Connor suffer for it.When they'd found "Tom" at the stadium, Stephen had been a squeeze of the trigger away from blowing this guy's brains out. He meant nothing to Stephen personally, and so far as he could figure it, he'd done nothing but hurt Connor. Beyond that, he was about to infect Abby, and so shooting him seemed like the best option.Only Connor was in the way."Let him try it, let him try it," Cutter said. It wasn't what Stephen wanted to hear. It was bad enough having Abby in there with that parasite; the last thing Stephen wanted was for Connor to get in the thick of it, too.But there was nothing he could do about it, so instead he just got ready to shoot in case he needed to."Tom," Connor said as he turned around to where his infected friend had Abby pinned to the ground. "Tom, it's me. Let her go, mate." And he kept talking. He got Tom's attention, which somehow only made Stephen feel worse. He couldn't see Connor's face, but he could hear the telltale tremor in his voice. He was so hurt, so scared, but he stood fast.As Abby ran, though, Connor did move, only in the wrong direction. He moved closer, squatting down in front of his friend, and Stephen thought he would never get the muscles in his chest to loosen after this. He couldn't hear them, not over the pounding of his chest.And then Tom moved. It was quick, and Stephen felt his chest tighten. He didn't have a clear shot; Connor was in the way. He couldn't shoot Connor, but he couldn't let that parasite—Nothing happened. Tom wasn't attacking Connor, and Connor wasn't running. He hadn't flinched back like he should've, he hadn't screamed or yelped or even made a bad joke like he did in so many other situations where he was terrified. No, he didn't run from the man in front of him. He held him. Like a brother, he stayed there.That was the moment Stephen fell in love with Connor. Because even though he was terrified and scared and heartbroken, he stayed. He was brave when it counted, and Stephen thought the world of that.Slowly, he lowered his gun. Not the whole way, but enough...this was Connor's place, and he knew how much it meant to Connor to be able to do this for his friend. He only wished Connor didn't have to do it alone. The pain he had to be in...it was unimaginable.Beside him, he felt Abby take his arm and bury her face in it, but he wasn't paying attention to her. His eyes were on Cutter as he made his way over to Conner."I can't do this anymore," he heard Connor say, and it was like a knife had been lodged into his heart. Connor couldn't quit. Not so soon. Connor couldn't leave them.Connor belonged with them. With him.He most certainly didn't belong standing next to the body of his dead friend. "Get him away from it," Stephen said under his breath, as if he could will Cutter into the action he himself wasn't able to perform. "He doesn't need to see."As if he'd heard him, Cutter steered Connor away. They were talking, but Stephen couldn't hear what they were saying. All he could see was the soft smile that eventually managed to break onto Connor's face, and he knew then that Connor would stay.Only then did Stephen remember how to breathe. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Things had gone a little bit mad after that. The trouble with public places was that the cleanup after was murder. The cleaners swept in as per usual, and suddenly the place was a nut house with people in suits and embroidered jackets hustling here and there. Stephen nearly got lost in it, dodging out of the way of people that seemed to have more to do than he did.He didn't particularly care. His job was when the thing was still alive and kicking and the mess was still being made; let the other blokes take care of it after that. He was actually on his way out, only just before he made it through the archway of the stadium, something caught his eye.Over to the side, down a short little corridor to what Stephen pegged to be the concession stand, a pair of telltale brown boots were sticking out. Looking a little harder, Stephen could make out what looked like arms wrapped around what he guessed to be a pair of legs.He frowned. There was no questioning that it was Connor; the only question was what the bloody hell he was doing tucked away in that corner? Cutter had sent him home nearly an hour ago.Since guessing at it wasn't going to get him anywhere but irritated, Stephen course-corrected and started down the hall instead. As he got closer, walking along the opposite wall, he was able to make out more and more of the younger man. He had his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, and his head was bowed under his hat such that Stephen couldn't see his face.Stephen slowed his step enough to give him time to think about how to approach this – there was no mistaking the trembling of Connor's shoulders for anything but crying – but eventually he came up with nothing and decided to wing it.When he reached the doorway Connor was huddled against, he simply turned around and slid down the door beside him. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, the two of them in the doorway, but Stephen didn't mind."Oi," he said, "I wondered where you'd gotten off to."Connor didn't even look up; he kept his head tucked into his knees. All the same, Stephen could hear the tremor in his voice and the way it caught. He was definitely crying. "Cutter sent you to find me?""Cutter thinks you left," Stephen said. "We all did, matter of fact. You can imagine my surprise, come to find you've been hiding in here the whole time." He gave Connor's shoulder a soft nudge to show he was kidding. Anything to get him to lift his head and give him one of those smiles he'd grown so fond of.Nothing doing.Stephen wouldn't be deterred, though. If Connor didn't feel like chatting just yet, then Stephen would fill the silence. "Why are you, by the way? Hiding, I mean. You're supposed to be home.""Don't have one," Connor said. There was something decidedly sulky about his tone. Miserable and youthful at the same time.Stephen frowned. That was right – the flat situation."I thought you were staying with Abby.""I was," Connor said, raising his head just a bit from his arms. Stephen counted it a marked improvement. "I mean, I am. I just...it's not mine.""Can't be too bad, sharing a house with a beautiful woman walking around in her underwear half the time." Another nudge.This time, Connor actually did raise his head. Through the tear tracks on his cheeks and the redness in his eyes, Stephen was able to make out just a little flush of embarrassment colouring his otherwise pale face. And to his relief, there was just a hint of that glimmer back in Connor's eyes."I don't—she's not—it's really..." That was about when it seemed to don on Connor that Stephen was having a go at him, and the embarrassment became a full blushing smile.Stephen only grinned in response and slid an arm around Connor's shoulders, pulling him close. "I know," he said. "I just wanted to make you smile."The comment took Connor off guard, it seemed, and he cocked his head to the side just a bit as he dragged his sleeve across his red eyes. If anything, it just made them water more. "W—w—why would you...why would want to do that?" Connor said. From the way he was stumbling over the words, rubbing his face, and refusing to look Stephen in the eyes, Stephen would've wagered he'd flustered him.Connor wanted to know why, then. Why he liked seeing him smile so much, why he hadn't just walked on and left him to wallow in his misery?So Stephen showed him. Reaching out to cup Connor's lightly-stubbled cheek, leaned over and pressed his lips to Connor's.It was like nothing he'd felt before. Connor's lips were perfect – soft enough to meld to Stephen's, but firm enough to make him feel it – and for a long moment, the world seemed to stop. It was only by sheer force of will that Stephen managed to make himself back up enough to gauge the younger man's reaction.Connor's eyes were closed, his lips still lightly parted from the kiss. As Stephen watched, though, his dark eyes began to peel open, revealing a dazed sort of look that Stephen didn't quite know how to interpret.After too long a time had passed without an answer, Stephen couldn't take it anymore. "Connor?" he said.That did a good enough job of snapping Connor out of his daze."Right," he said, sitting back a bit. Stephen let him go, but he took it as a good sign that Connor didn't make to move the arm he had around his shoulders. "Right, that was..."Something told Stephen that he wasn't going to get a definite response out of Connor for a while. He'd been through a lot today; he was in rough shape. Stephen could still feel him shaking against him, and the tears hadn't quite dried in his too-red eyes. All the chaos, all the pain of the day...at the very least, he needed to get out of there."Come on," he said, rising to his feet.Connor looked confused."It's getting dark out. I'll give you a ride back to Abby's," he said, and he held out a hand to help him up. With a sort of dazed look – like he couldn't quite get his head around what was going on and was just going with the motions – he reached up and took Stephen's hand. Luckily, Connor hardly weighed any more than Abby, so Stephen had an easy enough time pulling him up to his feet.They made it as far as the exit to the stadium before the shit hit the fan. It was just Stephen's luck that the moment they happened to be leaving was the moment the cleanup guys were wheeling out the gurney with the black bag that Stephen knew contained Connor's friend.The moment Connor's eyes fell to it, it was like someone had physically struck the younger man. His legs seemed to buckle and his breath seemed to leave his body in a rush. To that point, Stephen had been steering him down the hall with a hand on the small of his back; now, though, he had to grab him to keep him from dropping to the ground. Light as Connor was, it presented a bit of a challenge when he froze, and it was all Stephen could do to keep him moving."Don't look," he said, but he'd no sooner said it than Connor started towards the gurney. Stephen only just managed to step in front of him to block his path. It seemed Connor wouldn't be deterred, though. He fought against Stephen, trying to push past him even as Stephen wrestled him back towards the exit."Let me go," Connor said. "Steph—Stephen, let me go."The more Stephen pushed, the harder Connor struggled. But Stephen had always been the stronger of the two, and though a couple of times, his feet literally left the ground as he practically threw himself against him."Stephen!" Connor fought all the harder. Stephen was honestly impressed, only he couldn't quite appreciate it in the moment. He just wanted to get Connor away from there, and the squirrely little bloke wasn't making it easy on him."I'm sorry," Stephen said as he forced him out into the parking lot. Mercifully, the gurney went one way as half-walked, half-pushed Connor the other. When he finally managed to get him into the passenger seat of his car, he stood in front of him. "Hey, just take a second to catch your...Connor, look at—"Stephen realized with a miserably twist of his gut that Connor was still trying to look around him at the gurney they were loading in the back of the van. He kept craning his neck this way and that, until finally Stephen caught his face between his hands and forced him to look him in the eyes."Look at me," he said firmly, and Connor had no choice this time. Those hazel eyes finally met Stephen's bright blues, and Stephen felt his own eyes burn at the agony in them. He was too young, too innocent. People like him weren't supposed to feel pain like this. Connor wasn't supposed to feel pain like this.Stephen wasn't really sure how it happened, but the next moment, Connor's face was buried in his chest, and he had his arms around the smaller man. Harsh sobs wracked his slight form, and it wasn't long before Stephen felt moisture begin to seep through his shirt.He'd never heard such a heartrending sound in all his life, he realized. Such a happy soul crying like he was. And there was nothing Stephen could do to stop it. He couldn't shoot some monster or beat up some bully. There was nothing to fight, nothing to fix. All he could do was be there.But if that was all he could do, then he was going to do it right. As Connor cried, he held him, his fingers carding absently through the young man's soft hair and his feet rocking on the ground. The sobs that shook Connor's slight frame shook him too, to his very core; they broke his heart."Shh, I know," he said. "I know." Truly, he did. He knew what it was like to lose friends, to lose loved ones. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt like Connor did, though. When he cared for something, he did so unreservedly. He gave everything, gave his all, and now he was having to suffer for it. Stephen wasn't sure he'd ever felt that.Not before, at least."It's my fault," Connor said, his voice muffled by Stephen's shirt. "If I hadn't—if I wasn't—Tom wouldn't have—""No, Connor." Stephen forced him to look up, tipping a hand under his chin. Connor's face was more ashen before, and his red eyes and nose stood out too starkly in comparison as tears streamed down his cheeks. He was trying so hard to keep it back; his lip was trembling and his jaw was clenched tightly. As Stephen went to brush the tears from his cheeks, he jerked his head back. He started to turn around in his seat altogether, but Stephen stopped him, bracing his hands on his shoulders. "Hey," he said, and then he pulled the younger man into a firm embrace. Even as Connor gave half-hearted tugs and shoves at his chest, he held him, cradling his head against his shoulder. "Hey...this isn't your fault. None of it, and you know that. You did everything you could do for him; there was nothing you could do to stop what happened, understand?"It took Connor a second to realize that the question wasn't rhetorical. Stephen wanted an answer; he wanted him to say that he understood, that it wasn't his fault and that he'd done all he could.And after a long moment, Connor finally nodded into Stephen's shoulder. It wasn't quite what he was after, but thinking about it, Stephen wasn't sure Connor could manage anything more at the time. No, it was enough that he hadn't denied it, enough that he'd stopped fighting. He'd stopped pushing away from Connor and instead tucked his head down into the crook of Stephen's shoulder, his fingers twisting in Stephen's shirt.The fit was dying down, it seemed. The sobs weren't quite so harsh, and it took hardly more than a whisper to cut through the otherwise silent air around the truck. "Me and Cutter and Abby, we couldn't do this without you. I know it hurts right now...I know all of this seems like too much and it feels like everything's off and nothing's right, but just give it a bit.""And then what?" Connor said, his voice cracking around the words. He sounded so pitiful, so lost.Stephen just held him tighter, stroking his thumb along the back of Connor's neck. "And then you'll realize," he said, "that this is where you belong."
1191819	Gilt	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov, Thor (Marvel)", "Fandom": "The Avengers (Marvel Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Scavenge4Dreams", "chapters": "2/2", "completed": "2014-02-17", "published": "2014-02-16T00:00:00", "words": "7,920", "Additional Tags": "Fluff and Angst, Tony Angst, Tony-centric, Poor Tony, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Protective Steve, Protectiveness, Sleep Deprivation, Sweet, Movie Night, Domestic Avengers, Avengers Family", "Relationship": "Steve Rogers/Tony Stark", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Insomniac Dreaming", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	‘-daptable properties? Hinky. Considerably more elasticity nee-’ “No Dummy- Not the- yes. There. Thank-you.” ‘-ded. Hulk mass nothing if not considerable.’ “Just put it on...oh, fine. Yes. Very good.” ‘Relative flexibility is shot too. Test data denotes-’ “-complete waste of – god, okay! Measure the- not with the... you know what? Fine. Whatever.’ ‘-suitable strength, but it’s-’ “Higher, higher, high! - watch out for the! - Thing. Thing that is now shattered. ”‘-not showing in the quantifiable” “You are a disaster! A complete and utter-” ‘Maybe the stretch facto-’ “Oh for go- how can you even have puppy dog eyes? I did not program puppy dog eyes. Stop it… Fine! It’s fine. I didn’t like the thing anyway. Good Dummy.” ‘Hmmm…coffee?’ “Hmmm…Coffee?” Working around Dummy’s hindering assistance, Tony reached blindly to his left, hand searching futilely for one of several coffee mugs he knew were just out of his reach. An embarrassing minute of fruitless scrabbling later, his sleep deprived mind finally remembered that he wasn’t a solely touch dependent creature, and half hooded eyes darted up to locate the cheap china holder of liquid ambrosia.The smooth taste of caffeine burst against his taste-buds, and his tongue chased the fading flavor as he cradled the mug against his chest, the rim chipping against the hard casing of the reactor. The much talked about and anticipated ‘Hulk-Pants’ were proving to be resistant to his considerable brain power, an issue in the give of the material rendering each test a failure.If there was one thing Tony Stark couldn’t stand, it was failure.Brushing against the grain of the weave, Tony looked to his hands, dropping the half full, sort of lukewarm mug back to the bench, uncaring when it sloshed over the sides. He could feel a headache forming behind the tight pinch of his tired eyes, and in some distant part of his mind he wondered how much longer he had before Steve decided it was bedtime for all his little hell raising, trouble-making, engineering geniuses.And God, if he was thinking that, he had to wonder why Steve wasn’t down here already.“J – Give me some background fuzz, nothing too -thanks”, he finished as the low rumble of the little used TV broke over him like a welcome rain, clearing his eyes and forcing him out of his head.Buckling back under, he tuned out the soothing white noise and irregular illumination, focusing on the inherent links of the scrap of purple material.At least until his own name caught his attention, minutes or hours later.The speaker was a woman wearing too much makeup and not enough clothing, presenting some old documentary; a scare tactic from directly after the most recent economic crisis, “…Stark Industries has laid off almost 200 people in the past 18 months. At the head of this corporate monster sits self-proclaimed playboy, Tony Stark. Stark, who flies via private jet, drinks $1000 bottles of wine like water and wears $10 000 once before its left in a crumpled heap on the floor of his closet. The shameless greed of this oily gold-coveting sn-” The TV suddenly fell silent and Tony snorted a thanks to JARVIS.So naturally, when he reached for his coffee mug again moments later, and encountered the cold, gleaming sheen of solid gold, even the liquid turned within, his first thought was: ‘Well. That’s disconcerting.’ He blinked, followed by a slow disbelieving raise of eyebrows and a tiny jolting shake of his head, that had Steve been present, would have seen a badly concealed, yet indulgently adoring smile in response.That being said, had Steve been present, Tony probably wouldn’t have been in a position to be hallucinating.But Steve was not present, and his cup was still gold.More importantly, his coffee was still gold, and while he’d admit to that tickling some unnamed fancy, it remained impractical. Undrinkable. And coffee he couldn’t drink was like Steve he couldn’t kiss.Basically: Intolerably cruel and unusual torture.Also unusual was the fact that he’d only been awake some 35 hours. Generally, the hallucinations didn’t start till well after the 50th hour, and even then, were usually just a vague feeling of unbalance, and never anything quite so pretentious. Not that he didn’t appreciate the correlation by his subconscious in the determining of caffeine as solid gold, but Tony could totally deal with this.Dropping the gold mug back onto the bench elicited a clanging thud though, and Tony’s eyes widened at the unusual amount of authenticity his mind was giving to the whole charade.Deciding that this hallucination was actually starting to freak him out just a little, Tony broke into a wide yawn, eyes squinting shut and mouth parting to allow the lungful of air to sweep the metaphorical cobwebs free from his mind, adding a flex of his upper back and shoulders for good measure, hands coming out to rest flat against the desk, pressing back into the stretch.He opened his eyes.The mug was still gold.And beneath his splayed fingers, so was the whole workbench. With a startled gasp he shoved back from the bench, shooting to his feet, automatically reaching to still the wheeled creeper stool as it skittered out from beneath his lurching form.Only to watch as the black metal frame and upholstered seat blushed a dusky golden hue, hardening to solid consistency before his very eyes.Snatching his hand away from the gold stool, Tony stumbled backwards with a stunned yelp, catching himself on the opposite cluttered work bench. His fingers scattered odds and ends as he scrambled for purchase, both physical and mental, riots of gold spreading over wires and small tools beneath his scrabbling hands.Sharp whistling puffs of breath rent the room, and Tony thought he could maybe hear the buzz of the perfect British accent that was Jarvis, and if he could just calm down, he might have even been able to understand.His hands tucked up into his armpits, Tony knelt double, ragged breathing audible through his parted lips, as he hid from the utterly ridiculous, completely impossible, unbelievably disturbing nature of this particular hallucination.A whirring sound from directly behind him broke the search for sanctuary, and he turned, already speaking, his voice a loud and desperate “NO!”But Dummy’s solid gold statue stood before him, extended claw bent at a quizzically concerned angle. Tony couldn’t look at the golden statue, couldn’t face what he had done. Couldn’t even think about how he was going to fix this, because that brought the terrifying possibility that he wouldn’t be able to fix this.His hands were shaking, he could feel the muted vibrations against his rib-cage, where they were still tucked up beneath his armpits. He couldn’t hear over the thump of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears. The mug, the benches, cooling wire and screwdrivers, the stool, Dummy.He wasn’t hallucinating.There was no way one of his mild, fatigue induced hallucinations, more a feeling of ‘swimming’ than visual manifestations, could cause such real terror.He’d been attacked.Actually, they’d been attacked.Steve would be proud of the hard learnt distinction, if Tony ever told him. Even if it was just Tony afflicted, they were a team, a family; all for one and one for all, and all that togetherness crap. If you hurt just one, then you’d better goddamn run.The Avengers had been attacked.God, he hated magic so fucking much. As if a switch had been flicked over in his head, Tony suddenly found himself on a whole new level of manic terror, because just the thought of one of the others inflicted with this curse made his blood freeze.Thor, with his affable personality and hands on approach to everything, touching and holding as everything swept gold beneath his fingers, amused by the novelty, and not yet understanding the tragedy.Or Bruce, panicked and upset and angry. Hulk, not even being able to fathom, terrified and destroying and breaking.Clint, Natasha.Steve.Unable to focus on the pitched drone of audio that scraped against the edge of his awareness, Tony fled the lab, turning the door-frame gold in his haste, and leaving smears of golden shine in streaks along corridor walls as he barreled around corners and tripped up stairs, smart enough to avoid the elevator, even in his almost mindless state.A flash in his peripheral vision as he rounded an ascending staircase corner had him stilling, turning to stare at the handrail beneath his trailing hand, golden veins crawling away from the pads of his fingers to engulf the metal.Dear god. He was Midas.Tony didn’t know if he was yelling or not, he felt like he was screaming, but that could have been in his head. Whether it was the suspected shouting, his gasping heaves for proper breath, the thumping of his too desperate footfalls or some other serendipitous coincidence that drew the attention, Tony barely managed to stop himself from barreling over Clint as he dashed into the main foyer.The genius came to a dead stop as Clint’s gaze followed his unexpected companion’s entrance into the room, and Tony breathed easier.Clint was fine. Relaxed, calm.They were fine. Safe and sound. He had to get the hell away from them. “Stay away”, was all he said, before sweeping back out of the room as suddenly as he’d come, leaving Clint to stare after him with wide eyes. Stay away. Stay. Away.That worked about as well as Tony would have expected it to, had he been thinking straight.Namely, not at all, and the intentionally audible footsteps in his wake as he rounded the corner exacerbated his flustered hurry. Ducking into the kitchen, he lunged for the door.Too late.Clint shoved the door open as he slipped between the desperately fumbling genius and the door-frame, bare inches separating them.Tony wasn’t proud, in fact later he’d probably refuse to even acknowledge his reaction, but at Clint’s forced proximity, he may have lost the plot just a little. He scrambled backwards in an ungainly crab like sidle, hands held high and wide as he shouted, “Stay away! No!”The genius pressed back against the kitchen cabinet as Clint, concern in his gaze and reassurance in his posture, insisted on coming closer, saying soothingly, “Tony? What’s wr-”Shaking his head wildly, hands coming up in a ‘warding’ gesture, before being snatched back and tucked close just as fast, Tony hissed, “I said get back, not come closer, you moron!”Clint slowed his approach, his own hands coming up in a placating manner as he attempted to calm his panicked friend, “It’s just m- ah, just… just calm down, I’m sure that ev-”As the archer approached, all Tony could see were the hands that were reaching for him, and he curled in on himself as he shouted, “Back the fuck off! Can’t you see…?”Tony trailed off, realizing that Clint probably couldn’t see, and knowing that there was no way the archer would back off until he knew the reason, Tony lunged for the nearest item, brandishing a suddenly golden knife.“See! Get out!” and as he watched, Clint’s eyes widened slightly, his hands moving from placating to defensive, and the archer took a step backward, his keen gaze taking in Tony’s feverish movements, wide eyes and the serrated blade waving haphazardly in the air between them.Clint fled, and Tony lunged, closing the door behind him, the slam searing its way into his mind with the help of the golden stain spreading over the shiny silver metalwork.Stepping back, Tony slumped against the bench, dropping the knife with a clutter as he focused on breathing, not noticing that he was almost shaking with relief – he was alone, but they were safe. Tony hadn’t even had time to calm his racing heart or even attempt to assess the situation, when the shouting started, the thuds of desperate fists against metal echoed through the room, and Tony bit his lip, because- Stay away. After less than a minute of unanswered demands like “Open the goddamn door, Stark!” and refused pleas to “Let us in, Tony!”, it took Steve and Thor less than thirty seconds to have the door off its slider, and out of the way.And then they were in the kitchen with him and not staying away.Worse than Clint’s gradual direct approach was suddenly being surrounded with nowhere to turn, nowhere to run. The kitchen bench was hard at his back, Bruce was in his immediate vision and flashes of varying shades of blond, red and brown in his peripheral told of the rest of his team.Bruce was talking, but Tony couldn’t hear him, because he kept coming closer and Tony was going to turn him to gold, why the hell had Clint!– and then Bruce was gone, and Tony couldn’t turn his head to follow, because Steve was right in front of him.Dummy’s perfectly screwed coding and completely useless flawlessness was a gilded image, weighing heavily in the back of his mind, and Tony curled further in on himself, pulling as far away from Steve as he could get, because he couldn’t- not them. Not him.90% of the time Tony didn’t even realise he was doing it, and he knew it was a telling habit that he really should break. But this time, when his fingers came up to tap a disjointed rhythm born of fear and anxiety…this time, well, Tony noticed.Tiny tendrils of creeping gold snarled across the smooth surface, a heavy coolness quickly becoming a burning warmth, as reassuring silver became gilded terror and blue light was engulfed and gone.The absence of the soft whirring sound that had permeated and accompanied his every moment since that fateful day, that absence, was what truly broke him. The booming sound of his thumping heart and the rush of blood in his ears was suddenly gone, replaced with cloying silence, as all color drained away from Tony’s face, and could he already feel the shrapnel inching closer?Pinpricks of light burst bright against the encroaching darkness, his gaze blurring and focusing intermediately, his mind a blank cavern of terror and shock. Tony stared down at his fingers still tapping against the solid gold arc reactor. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hear the concern and growing panic of his team mates, couldn’t drag his focus from his imminent death, and then his mind screamed something at him, something important, more important that the coming pain, and Tony snapped back to some semblance of reality just in time to see Steve’s hands reaching for his.Tony threw caution to the wind, and lunged for the door, knowing that if somehow he could just get passed two assassins, one hulk, one thunder god and Steve…And then Steve was grabbing his arms, a little too hard, but he could understand why, what with the way Tony was struggling like some wild hellcat because Steve was grabbing his arms, and his hands were so close – and then he wasn’t struggling, because Steve had him shoved up against the wall.Steve’s upper body strength easily pinned Tony to the wall, the super soldier leaning in close and looming and Tony’s wide eyed vision narrowed to so familiar blue with such clarity that he had no choice but to listen to the words that were spilling desperately from Steve’s lips, “-ony! Breathe! You have to brea-”Tony didn’t even remember when he’d stopped, but with the attention drawn to it, all he could feel was an aching burn where oxygen should have been.Breathe. Okay yes, priority one, start breathing again. Panic blown brown eyes slipped closed as Tony sucked in heaving breath after heaving breath, rigid against the wall, pinned half beneath his lover.Each breath was drawn in an exhaled against Steve’s soothing litany of unheard words, and in the instant between one and the next, Tony didn’t have time to react as Steve’s hands slid down his arms and over his wrists, engulfing Tony’s own.The breath, honest to god, seized in his throat, and Tony fell silent, unable to open his eyes, because if he couldn’t see it happening...He was sure he could feel the overly warm skin on his becoming cold and hard and golden…But Steve was still talking.And he just had to see, had to know.His eyes opened, brown immediately drawn to worried blue, and Steve was still there, perfect and warm and alive.Then Tony looked down.Steve’s skin was rippling beneath his fingers, creamy flesh roiling against invading gold as it crept up strong, defenseless arms. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Objective: Locate and recover stash of hidden Reese PB cups. Possible obstacles: Bruce. Steve. Nat. - Health conscious, medically inclined, rage monster decidedly unapproving of mass of chocolate consumption. - Nosy, mother-henning team leader having decided that body weight in chocolate not suitable for dinner more than one night per week. - Scary as hell, yet strangely overprotective female assassin in agreement. Possible accomplices: Thor. Tony. - Thunder god partial to Poptarts. Under same rule. Willing to trade assistance. - Ironass of an ill-concealed impish nature. Willing to assist in hope of chaos creation. Clint was on a mission. Exiting the elevator to their main foyer, Clint headed toward the kitchen, determined to clear the most obvious hiding place first, despite being almost 100% sure that it was a fool’s errand. There was always the slightest chance though, that whoever had hidden his stash was counting on Clint thinking this, and his chocolates were resting in a dark corner of one the kitchen cabinets anyway. As he neared the door to the hallway, Clint suddenly froze, his keen ears picking up quickly approaching footsteps in the near distance. He panicked slightly, despite the fact that he was just standing innocently in the corridor, because if it was Nat, she’d just know. A second later his mind caught up, because if it was Natasha approaching, there was no way Clint would even be able to hear the master assassin. His curiosity was peaked though, because it was fairly rare for the staircases to be in use, and Clint would put money on Steve being the most likely candidate. Yet Clint had just come from the gym, and the super-solder had still been beating a bag bloody when the archer had left not ten minutes ago. The only thing downwards that various members of the Avengers frequented even semi-regularly was Tony’s main workshop. Clint grinned. On second thought, it really wasn’t that unusual for someone to be rushing up the manual access path of staircases and corridors, if that person was Tony Stark. Last week it had been an infuriated, yet decidedly non-green Bruce, that had chased a fleet footed Tony up the hallway, the engineer cackling like a hyena as he’d managed to stay one step ahead of his fellow scientist. Clint still hadn’t succeeded in getting the entire story behind that one, but knew it had involved Tony’s fascination with electrical stun devices and Bruce’s (admittedly hilarious) yelps of righteous shock. Steve himself had chased Tony up the corridor twice that Clint knew about, although each time Tony had only gotten a handful of steps before he’d, as intended, been well and truly pinned. No doubt the engineer was in trouble again. Which was just how Tony liked it. Clint decided that the hunt for his peanut butter cups could wait until the floor show was over. An instant later, and Tony stumbled into the foyer, proving Clint’s hunch correct. A half realised smart-assed comment formed on the archer’s lips, before his gaze took in Tony’s hunched body posture, whistling breath, heightened red flush of panic and the wild eyes that flew to his. Clint’s cool gaze became assessing, and he dropped into his ‘action-ready’ stance, mouth opening to ask what was wrong, but Tony cut him off. “Stay away” was all the genius said before he turned tail and ran. Stay away. Stay. Away. Not likely, was all Clint’s racing mind could come up with as he hurried out of the room after his fleeing team mate. Whatever was going on, it was apparently enough to have Tony in a complete tailspin, and Avengers didn’t just let other Avengers go to pieces. Not wanting to spook Tony any more than whatever the hell was happening already had, Clint made his steps deliberately loud in the quiet hallway. He’d known that Tony was fast on his feet, but panic had obviously leant the man wings of fleetness. Tony veered off to the side and ducked into the kitchen, Clint having to lunge for the already closing door. Shoving the smooth sliding door back open, the archer pushed his way into the room, almost sideswiping Tony with his proximity. And then proceeded to watch as Tony just flipped out. The genius scrambled backwards desperately, away from Clint, an almost frantic pleading quality to his voice as he shouted, “Stay away! No!” Clint easily recognised fear and panic in the wide brown gaze and a sudden sweeping of concern overriding even the last remnants of humour and curiosity, Clint shuffled closer as he asked smoothly, “Tony? What’s wr-”” Not even getting a chance to finish his sentence, Clint watched as Tony shoved himself backwards into the kitchen cupboards and brought his hands up in the all too familiar, ‘stay away’ position. Clint barely had time to notice that they were shaking before Tony suddenly snapped them back into his own personal body space. Dark sweat soaked hair flopped wildly as Tony shook his head vigorously, his voice clearly afraid, despite the anger in the words as he hissed through clenched teeth, “I said get back, not come closer, you moron!” Slowing down, Clint crouched a little lower, trying to get a good look at Tony’s eyes, wondering if he had been drugged or was injured. His own hands came up in a pacifying fashion as he spoke broken reassurances that he was beginning to suspect Tony wasn’t hearing, “It’s just m- ah, just… just calm down, I’m sure that ev-” Hawkeye stopped moving forward completely, staying his approach when Tony all but curled in on himself as he swore furiously, “Back the fuck off! Can’t you see…?” Clint’s eyebrows raised in confusion and concern as his gaze swept Tony for any signs of visible danger, and finding none his worry grew, because this looked more like a flashback or panic attack than anything else. Before Clint had time to think of another course of action, Tony lunged upwards, his hands scrabbling something off the bench with a metallic scrape, and then suddenly the whole situation changed, because this wasn’t a panicked, afraid Tony cowering from one of his best friends. This was a hysterical, possibly delusional Tony Stark brandishing a steak knife at an unarmed Clint Barton as he screamed brokenly, “See! Get out!” Clint knew he could take Tony down with ease under normal circumstances. But while Tony was cornered, afraid and unpredictable, and while there was the smallest chance, even at its most infinitesimal, that the knife would slip… Clint couldn’t risk it. He backed out of the kitchen and fled. He needed reinforcements. Fast. And as far as the situation went, the absolute best reinforcement Clint could possibly think of was Steve Rogers. Steve, a natural born leader. In fact, it could be said that under the right circumstance just about any of the Avengers could pull on the mantle of leader and do so well. Steve though, had the added bonus of being Tony’s team leader. If there was anyone who was going to break through whatever hell Tony had found himself immersed in, it would be the Captain. Steve also had his super strength and advanced healing abilities to fall back on, in the event that the knife was still in play when they re-entered that room. And then, for the trifecta –Steve was Tony’s… he was Tony’s best friend, lover, partner and soul mate. His everything. It had to be Steve. Loathe to leave the kitchen area, despite the door now being closed, the slam still reverberating through the quiet hallway Clint asked, “JARVIS? Is Steve still in the gym?” “No, Agent Barton. I have already informed Captain Rogers of the need for his immediate assistance, and he is only moments away. ” The AI sounded almost relieved, yet as professional and proficient as ever. Clint nodded his thanks as he replied, “Good – What the hell happened?” There was a beat of silence before JARVIS answered, and Clint likened it to someone taking a fortifying breath before explaining something that was still frightening them, “I am unable to be specific Agent, as I am still unsure as to the exact cause… Sir started to panic in the workshop a little over 20 minutes ago and has grown steadily more hysterical over that time. He has not acknowledged my attempts to speak to him…” Desperately waiting for Steve to round the corner from the elevator, Clint was surprised when Natasha and Bruce appeared from behind him, having apparently been drawn by the sound of Tony’s one sided shouting match from moments ago. He had just finished explaining what he knew of the situation and Natasha had stepped up to the door, demanding entrance, when footsteps had come from up the hall, and looking up, Clint had almost cursed as the wrong blond rounded the corner. But Steve was close on his heels, and 90 seconds later the door was gone. Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting when they entered the kitchen, but his Tony, Tony Stark, Tony fucking Stark, curled into a tiny shuddering crouch against the far cabinets was not anywhere in his top ten. Twenty. One hundred. Tony noticed them almost instantly, and begging suddenly filled the room, the repeated plea to ‘stay away’ absolutely desperate, and everything else Steve was thinking fled his mind, because whatever this was, whatever Tony was seeing… had propelled him into a state of complete and utter terror. Despite wanting to rush to Tony’s side, needing to get to Tony’s side, Steve moved slightly to the left as he entered the room, allowing Bruce, with his medical knowledge, to take point, the rest of the team fanning out in a semi-circle that allowed no escape, but wasn’t threatening in its proximity. Steve forced himself to drag his attention away from Tony’s muttered litany and pale skin, and pay attention to what Bruce was saying. “ -ot really here. Completely out of it. I don’t know why, could be drugged or… Steve, how long ago did he last slee- Oh my g- look at his eyes. ” As Tony shifted slightly, tangled waves of hair fell from his forehead. Previously veiled eyes were suddenly visible, and Steve’s heart just broke. Because whatever this was, whatever had terrified Tony Stark into a shuddering, cowering mess… was from the depths of his own mind. Glassy, unfocused eyes, open and for all intents and purposes awake, yet not. Steve was all too aware of Tony’s absolutely terrifying nightmares, varied in memory and reason, yet each horrific. Steve also knew that Tony was afflicted with the occasional bout of sleep walking. Innocent jaunts around the tower at odd hours of the night. Steve had never seen the two combine. Tony was trapped in a walking nightmare. As soon as they became at least partially aware of what was going on, Bruce backed away quietly and as Steve slipped into his vacated place, the Captain was vaguely aware of the rest of the team slipping out the door to allow them some privacy. He was thankful for it, for their forethought and sensitivity, and their trust in him to handle the situation. He also knew that when Tony woke from this waking hell, his astonishingly vulnerable and insecure lover would be doubly so. Steve had never seen anything like this blend of sleeping, wakefulness and dreaming. Even when he was sleepwalking, Tony showed very limited awareness of his surrounds other than those necessary for whatever mischievousness his mind was up to. This though? Tony was undoubtedly aware of the fact that Steve was here, a fact brought home more than effectively by the way his lover was curling in on himself, pleading with Steve to ‘stay back’. Normally, Steve would just wait until Tony woke on his own when sleepwalking, but there was no way he was going to let Tony suffer even one instant longer than necessary of this nightmare, and that meant waking him properly. A firm touch, a warm hug and a soft kiss usually did the trick, but that meant Steve had to get closer, had to touch, and from the pleading, that was the last thing that nightmare broken Tony wanted. Steve couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to even think about what Tony was dreaming about. What could possibly make his lover so completely and utterly terrified of Steve’s very presence that he’d cower away, curled into a shuddering ball on the floor, whimpering and pleading and desperate to be left alone, so afraid of Steve that he couldn’t bear to have his lover come any closer? At Steve’s slow approach, Tony keened brokenly and flinched way, all but turning himself inside out in his attempt to get as far from his lover as possible Steve couldn’t imagine anything worse than Tony, whom he loved with all his heart and couldn’t ever imagine hurting, flinching away from him in fear. And then Tony stopped breathing. He just crouched there, one hand tapping against the arc reactor in that familiar manner that Steve had come to recognise as an outlet for upset and fear, the other tucked against his stomach, as his dark brown eyes gazed down, seemingly fixated on the reactor. Steve had never seen anyone drain of all colour, until now, but that was the only way he could think to describe the sudden flush of blood that leached from Tony’s face leaving only pale flesh, grey and chalky, around huge wide blown eyes. Complete and utter shock. Trepidation. Terror. Steve waited, watching, hoping for a sudden indrawn gasp of breath as Tony woke properly. And then the vibrating started,and Steve was sure he could see blue staring to encroach on thinned pale lips. The Captain lunged, hands reaching to shake Tony back into wakefulness, shake some life back into him, and his own breath nearly stopped as Tony suddenly blinked and his gaze caught Steve’s approaching hands and beyond terror, beyond fear, was a sudden wash of dread, and Tony sprang forward. Steve, didn’t really think, he just reacted to the thought of losing Tony, both figuratively and literally. His arms caught Tony as he swept by, and suddenly his cowering, shuddering lover was gone, replaced by an absolute hellion on two legs, writhing and fighting like some wild thing. Steve pinned him against the wall. And that’s when he noticed, that despite the frenzied movement, the sudden attack… Tony still wasn’t breathing. Looming closer, his hands firm against Tony’s upper arms, Steve desperately begging for Tony to, “Breathe! Come on Tony! Breathe! You have to brea-” Steve knew the instant he had Tony’s attention, the instant his brown eyes locked with blue, and then his own breaths of relief were accompanying Tony’s, as the smaller man gasped and heaved like he’d just run a marathon. The blond couldn’t tell if Tony was awake, properly awake, or still caught up in his nightmare, but he was breathing, and Steve was holding him, and that was better than five seconds ago. Able to feel the fear in Tony’s rigid, unyielding form, Steve murmured soothingly as he gently ran his hands down over clenched fists to settle comfortingly. A firm touch. Tony obviously hadn’t been as rigid as Steve had thought, because at the sudden change of grasp, he’d stiffened like a board, breath seizing anew. Hoping that this meant Tony was finally awake, Steve kept up his quiet litany of softly reassuring words, and sure enough, Tony’s eyes opened a moment later and slowly met his. Hope. Hope was all Steve could see in those brown eyes, and the sheer wondrous glow of the emotion replacing such fear was beyond Steve’s comprehension, and he felt his throat catch. And then Tony looked down again, his gaze riveted on their clasped hands, and hope became absolute despair, overshadowed only by growing devastation. Tearing his hands violently out from beneath Steve’s gentle grip, Tony rocketed backwards, and only Steve’s lightning fast reaction saved his lover from braining himself against the kitchen bench. Steve set him upright on his feet, but still Tony pulled away, his breath coming in hysterical little spurts. He’d tried talking, cajoling and shaking, and still Tony wouldn’t focus, wouldn’t wake up, and it was starting to get beyond scary, detouring straight into dangerous. So Steve slapped him across the face. As sharp pain blossomed across his cheek and Tony blinked, startled. And just like that, all traces of gold faded from his vision. Tony immediately ceased his insistent attempts to pull away, going still and silent, his eyes locking on Steve’s hands, seeing. Flesh and warmth and real. The arc reactor was a steady weight in his chest again, the soft whir threading pure relief from his ears to his mind, filling him with calm reassurance. Shaking fingertips graced the stinging heat of his cheek, and his eyes flickered back to Steve, before dropping to the floor. Aware. “You with me?” Steve waited for the minute tilt of Tony’s head before stepping closer, continuing quietly, “Take a deep breath. It was just a dream, a nightmare.” The words seemed to bring the images back; golden tragedy and gilded terror washing across his life in a gilt layer. And relief. Because it was just a dream. Just a terrible nightmare, and he wasn’t losing anything. The realisation flicked something in his mind, and the silent cavern suddenly sparked, igniting the usual ebb and flow of so many brilliant thoughts and concepts. Concepts like that of complete and utter humiliation. God, what must they think of him, cowering like a spineless pathetic wretch, huddled on the floor like some crazed lunatic? All because of some trivial nightmare. The hot itch of his cheek suddenly seemed nothing in comparison to the burning tightness that seized up his throat, and stole his ability to meet his lover’s concerned gaze. “You’re okay”, Steve’s voice washed over him with firm encouragement, and large, warm fingertips joined his own against the bite of reddening skin, tilting his face up with a feather light, yet irresistible touch. The gentle reassurance, firm and sure, seemed to loosen something in Tony’s chest, and he swallowed against the bitter mortification that tried to blossom over the snarled tangle of remembered terror. Hot sensation prickled at the corners of his eyes, the rising tide of heavy emotion unfamiliar, and Tony was stunned to feel moisture gathering before he realised he was about to cry. Rather than devolve into wracked sobbing, he took a steadying breath and managed to choke out a determined agreement, “I’m Okay.”, as if by saying it was so, would make it so. A dream. Just a dream. Steve’s pale creamy skin and the blue glow of his chest said it was so, but still. “I have to- The workshop. I need to check.” And he moved towards the hallway on trembling legs. Steve followed closely behind, interjecting “It was a dream. Everything’s fine.”, still not liking the pallor of Tony’s skin. “Captain Rogers is correct, sir. The workshop is in an acceptable condition. The bots are completely unharmed. It was just a nightmare.” JARVIS intoned, voice reasonable and reassuring. Tony nodded, not slowing his trek towards the elevator, images of golden claw and strut clouding his mind as he replied, “I know. I just- I have to.” And Steve, accepting Tony’s understandable, if unnecessary need to be sure, asked JARVIS to inform the others of the situations resolution, and simply followed his lover. The elevator dropped at its usual swift pace, yet seemed to be moving much slower, the heavy silence cloying and awkward between the two who were usually so content in each other’s presence. Steve, almost as desperate to break the silence as he was to see the remnants of fearful shadows fade from Tony eyes, asked quietly, “Is it Dummy? I mean-” He fell silent at Tony’s half whispered plea of, “Not yet. Just- I will, promise- just not until…” Steve’s heart clenched at the fear and hope warring for purchase in that choked sentence, and wanting to help, to comfort he started to reach for Tony’s hand. He didn’t say anything as Tony chose that exact instant to press his hands deep into his hip pockets, hidden and out of reach. The workshop door coded blue as Tony punched in his access, and slid open with a slight metallic thud. The workshop was exactly as Steve was used to seeing it. Chaotically ordered mess, half completed and half thought of projects lining benches and walls. Steve had to wonder what Tony saw. “Oh, thank god.” Tony’s heartfelt exclamation drew his attention, and Steve turned to watch as Tony dropped into a crouch beside Dummy’s excitedly wheeling form. “Yeah buddy. I’m all good. What- Okay. Yes, a shake would be great. Yes, motor oil would be perfect. I’m sure Steve would love one too. Good boy.” Tony stood from his hunch, wiping his hands against the front of his jeans as he turned to Steve. “I’m okay.” he said, and it was much more convincing this time. Steve shot him a smile, and pulled Tony’s wheeled creeper stool over with a foot, slumping into it. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the inscrutable look on Tony’s face as his brown eyes followed the path of the little black seat. “What?” the captain asked, and Tony’s eyes jumped back to his, a shake of his head clearing the look. “Nothing- just. Never mind” the engineer answered, moving to lean against the opposite bench, fiddling with some random coil of tight wire. Steve nodded his apparent acceptance of the avoidance, and then asked, “So. Dummy?”, and watched as Tony’s gaze jumped to him and then dropped back to whatever he was fiddling with. Calculating if he would get away with evasion. On several different levels, Steve could understand Tony’s reluctance. Knew that it stemmed from the remnants of fear, embarrassment and his hate of what he perceived of as weakness. Steve could understand it, but could also have told Tony he wouldn’t get away with it in this case. Tony seemed to come to the same conclusion, but made a half-hearted attempt anyway, replying, “It was just- I know it was a nightmare. Just a dream. It’s kind of stupid. Very stupid actually. I really should go and-” Blond eyebrows jumped almost to his hairline as halfway through Tony’s mediocre attempt at avoidance, the genius seemed to decide that mediocre wasn’t really his thing and actually started to sidle towards the door and escape. Steve swept him into an embrace, propelling his lover across the room, and before Tony had finished his sentence, the genius found himself seated on the edge of one of the workbenches. The muscled, six foot plus form of his attentive partner standing steadily between his spread knees inspiring an immediate change of tune, as he concluded, “-sit up here.” Grinning, Steve replied, “Sounds like a plan. You always come up with the best ideas.”, on a more serious note the blond continued, “Whatever that was Tony- whatever dream, or memory or idea that caused it…Whatever it might have been, it wasn’t stupid.” Tony actually cracked a smile as he answered, “Yes Steve, it really, really was. Utterly ridiculous and completely stupid.” Losing whatever good humour he’d managed to attain, Steve’s face was serious and bleak as he said quietly, “Anything that can make you so completely and utterly terrified of me isn’t stupid.” Blinking as he fought to make the connection, Tony blanched when he finally did, leaning forward to try and catch Steve’s eyes, “No! That’s not- I wasn’t!” “Tony, you were begging me not to touch you, pleading with me to stay away from you!” the Captain insisted, sure Tony was trying to spare his feelings. Tony shook his head stubbornly, “No, I was pleading for you to stay away from me!” he argued. Steve leaned back, his hands resting on Tony’s knees as he said, “Tony, that doesn’t even make sense!” Nodding, Tony finally explained, “I wasn’t afraid that you were going to hurt me. I was afraid that I was going to hurt you.” And the pieces started to come together. “Tell me” was all Steve said. “Midas?” Steve asked for the third time. Tony shot him a gare as he replied, “Yes, Midas! Guy who’s touch turns things to gold!” Steve couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep his lips from quirking softly. Snarling angrily Tony went to heave himself from the bench top, saying, ‘See! I told you it was stupid. I told you.” Sobering immediately, unable to tell Tony he was amused by Tony himself and not the situation, Steve pinned his partner to the bench with hands bracketing his waist as he pressed a kiss of apology to the still damp hairline, replying contritely, “Sorry, it’s not funny, and it’s not stupid…Midas ended up turning his own daughter to gold, didn’t he?” his blue eyes following Dummy as the bot mixed god knows what into the blender. “In some variations, it was lover.” was Tony’s reply, his eyes dropping to Steve’s arms, remembering gold creeping its way over smooth warm skin. “Oh.” was Steve’s brilliant reply, but his warm lips against Tony’s and the heavy weight of the protective embrace more than made up for it. “So you- everything you touched turned to gold. Dummy?” Steve asked quietly as they pulled apart slightly. Tony nodded with a sigh, adding, “And a whole lot of other crap, benches, stools…the-”. Even now, after it was all over, Tony couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Steve had a pretty good hunch. Gentle fingers, familiar and safe still made Tony tense as they traced over the arc reactor, and he nodded, continuing, “Yes, that. And you. ” “Me? I turned gold?” Steve asked, his mind not able to comprehend how a waking dream could have achieved that outcome. “You started to. When you grabbed my-”Tony stared down at his traitorous hands, and god, were they still shaking? So caught up in his memory, Tony almost jumped when larger hands suddenly entered his narrowed vision, and before he could stop himself, he’d flinched away, tucking his hands close to his body, and away from Steve’s. Ashamed of his ridiculous response, Tony ducked his head, kicking his heal against the bench with the anxiety of the situation. Firm fingers drew his chin back up, and blue held brown ensnared. Tony’s breath hitched when he felt Steve’s hands curl into his own, but unable to force himself to look away, he allowed Steve to draw their clasped hands up into their line of sight. Not looking away, his eyes bearing into Tony’s with complete understanding and acceptance, Steve pressed a kiss to each palm and drew Tony’s hands to his chest, settling them over where his own heart lay. Steve’s softly intoned, “You’re okay” was barely necessary; Tony’s lips pressing against his was all the confirmation he needed. As they pulled back, Tony watched as Steve’s eyes narrowed, his blue gaze zeroing in on a spot to the left of his mouth, and easily able to see what his lover was thinking, Tony broke in with, “Just don’t. It was barely even a love tap. You only did it as a last resort and I wanted to be awakes so very, very badly. Thankyou for slapping me silly.” Steve didn’t look overly convinced, but at the determined spark in Tony’s gaze, he let the genius have his own way, consoling himself with several gentle butterfly kisses to the reddened area and several more to deliciously pouted lips. As Steve pulled back from his chasing lips, Tony, his hands still splayed beneath Steve’s against the heavily muscled chest, sighed as he said “It just doesn’t make any sense- I mean, the cave, and Obie and water…they all make sense. They’re all pathetic, but they make sense.” Silence filled the room for a moment, and then Steve said, “It’s not pathetic…” At the same time JARVIS broke in with, “If I may sir, you were watching a documentary when you fell asleep, and the words “Gold coveting snake” may have been among the last you heard.” Tony thumped his head against Steve’s chest, moaning, “Is that what this is? Am I a greedy person, Steve? Do I- Am I money hungry?” To Tony’s shock Steve actually laughed. In fact, he brayed like a donkey, with wheezy puffs of hilarity thrown in for good measure as he managed to say, “God Tony, if you cared any less about your money you wouldn’t have any.” Tony wasn’t convinced, but Steve wasn’t finished, “Stark Industries is a business, and good businesses make money. Yours is just a very, VERY good business. But that’s all you care about. The business. The money is just the result of the business.” “But so many people say-” Tony tried. Steve cut him off, “So many people are wrong, jealous, stupid or all three. If all you cared about was the money, you would still be building weapons. Put it this way. Tony- How much money do you have? No- a number.” Tony actually blushed, but he looked pleased. The only answer he’d been able to think of was ‘A lot.’ Steve nodded, finishing, “What kind of money obsessed person doesn’t even know how much money they actually have! Be warned though, if you feel like arguing, I’m going to start using words like ‘selfless’ and ‘generous”. Tony didn’t argue. Instead he asked, “So. If being greedy isn’t among my mile long list of flaws, then what the hell was with the ‘All that Glitter s not Gold’ wrap?’” Snorting, Steve replied, “Best guess? Your subconscious is a bitch.” Laughing, Tony leant in against Steve’s chest, listening to the steady thump of each heartbeat, and feeling the warmth of Steve’s hands caressing across his shoulders in smooth strokes. Wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Tony snuggled into the conveniently provided mass of warmth, sighing, “You know I’ve just doomed you to however many sleepless nights. I’ve got enough new nightmare fodder to fuel my dreams for months” Tony, melted into the gentle kneading at the base of his skull, continuing, “I doubt I’ll even be able to fall asleep tonight. Everytime I close my eyes…” Tony trailed off, and Steve looked down to find peacefully closed eyes in a relaxed face, and even knowing that Tony would no doubt startle awake soon, and that they still had a rag-tag team of Avenger family members waiting upstairs somewhere… For now, Steve just smiled and wrapped his arms more fully around his sleeping lover.
1103144	safe	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Dean Winchester, Castiel", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Jana_C", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-26T00:00:00", "words": "890", "Additional Tags": "Fluff, (a teeny bit of angst because I apparently can't avoid it but it's TINY I swear, Destiel - Freeform", "Relationship": "Castiel/Dean Winchester", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	safe Dean wakes up because there’s something poking him.He frowns, opening his eyes – a luxury he only allows himself because he’s home, he has one of those now, and he knows it’s safe.What’s poking him is Castiel’s feet on his ribcage.Castiel, obviously, has a few problems adjusting to being human, and one of them is sleeping like a normal person. He just can’t seem to get the hang of it – either he clings to Dean like an octopus, or he moves down and around the bed so much they end up like this – Dean sleeping normally, head on the pillow and everything, and Cas with his head at the corner of the bed, his feet in the middle of Dean’s back, and one of his arms on the floor.It’s very… well, Dean wants to say annoying, but truth is that it’s endearing as all hell, and he can’t stop the soft smile from showing on his lips even if he wanted to (and he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to stop any more smiles than he did in his life before. Before he accepted that he isn’t responsible for other people’s actions any more than they are for his, that he can’t change things just because they’ll hurt).He doesn’t stop his smiles anymore because if he wants to teach Cas to be a happy human being, he has to at least try and be one too.Dean sighs, still looking at the sleeping man near him and reaches out slowly, running a finger up and down Castiel’s calf. The man sniffs once, sighing in his sleep and moves a bit more, dangerously close to the edge of the bed.Dean snickers quietly and repeats the gesture, very gently, feather light touches that he knows won’t really bother Cas enough to wake him up – he can’t help it.For so long everything in his life was misery and tears and regret. The endless deals with devils and angels, and the constant fear of being found out, of having to tell the truth, the lying to fix one thing breaking fifteen more. For so fucking long everything was so damn complicated and now…Now he can do this.Now he can reach out and trace the skin on Castiel’s leg and sigh softly and smile a bit just because he can.He can wait for the cases, and he can feel safe inside his little bunker with all of his protections – and life isn’t perfect, sure it isn’t, nothing is – but it’s so freaking good he can’t quite believe it sometimes.His hand runs down all of Castiel’s naked leg and he smiles a bit, biting his lip to stop from laughing when the angel (he’ll always be an angel to Dean, no matter how many times he bleeds) tries to kick him away.Finally, with a deep sigh, Castiel turns around, his chest bare (scars, scars all over it from the many, many times he’s been hurt and couldn’t heal, flashbacks of all the times he looked on, amazed, when the skin didn’t immediately started kitting up together) and he looks at Dean with something that would be a frown if he wasn’t so clearly sleepy.“Why?” he asks, voice rough with sleep (Castiel, as it turns out, isn’t a morning person as a human. On a good day it takes him at least half an hour to come to full sentences. But only when they are safe. Castiel as a muttering and mumbling mess with a coffee in his hands and eyes narrowed at anyone who tries to talk to him is to Dean the biggest proof that they are safe), and Dean doesn’t answer.Instead, he crawls up the bed, kissing Castiel’s thigh and the man lets out a hum of contentment, settling against the bed, his eyes closed again, a small, soft smile playing on his lips.Dean settles against him, smirking at his morning wood (not that he can say anything, being the exactly same way) and rocks his hips once, making Castiel call out his name once, in that voice full of sleep and intent and, now, desire.He moves again, and Castiel puts one arm on Dean’s shoulder, the other one caressing his back, moving against him too, increasing the friction.They don’t really kiss when they wake up like this – morning breath isn’t attractive even if you’re in love, but lips touch bare skin, running through shoulders and arms and necks, until they come, not really sure in what order, only stopping when they are both sated, and content and safe.Always, always, safe, before anything else.“You could have waited until I had woken up to do that” Castiel tells him, mouth brushing on the skin of his neck, hands still running on his back.“You were poking me” Dean tells him and pulls away when Castiel snorts.He stares at the angel, who has a sneaky expression on his face – sly and knowing and way too Dean to make him comfortable.“I was poking you, huh?”“Shut up, feather head” the hunter mutters, settling again against his angel, his lover, his… just his.For as long as they can, and not fighting anything for it.Safe.(Or as safe and a hunter and his angel can ever be).
1127820	Alternate Ending to	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": null, "Characters": "Jesse Pinkman, Walter White", "Fandom": "Breaking Bad", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by doohans (orphan_account)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-09T00:00:00", "words": "489", "Additional Tags": "Minerals, AU, created on skype, I was high, Paul Walker - Freeform", "Relationship": "Jesse Pinkman/Walter White", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death", "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Walt called Jesse's name almost fifty times, only to ask him the simple question. "Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse! Where can we find Gus?"It was clear to Jesse Pinkman that Walter White was indeed drunk and high on rainbows. "Oh my god, Mr. White." He comments after a second, obviously not noticing that Gus was killed almost a year ago.Walt was indeed drunk."I AM THE DANGER! I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS!" Walt roared loudly."Yo, Mr. White, please go to bed."Jesse did not get a reply out of him for a good half-hour."Stay out of my territory, loser."Jesse shrieks afterwards. "MR WHITE!"Walt went looking around the Wii remote, before even realizing that their joint apartment did not have a Wii. "There is no Wii."Jesse was growing extremely agitated at the idea, knowing that Mr. White would not shut up. At this point, he wishes that he killed the only man he could really bring himself to loving instead of Gale. "CHILL OUT MAN, JUST-MAKE SOME METH OR SOMETHING!" He shouts, almost crying like a bitch.Walt, obviously not thinking about his actions quickly replies with: "Why don't you go run away with Jane? Oh wait, too late.""You bastard.""Also, I might've been the one to poison Brock. Did you have a nice time with Todd?"Jesse shrieks, "WHY DONT YOU JUST GO BE DYSFUNCTIONAL WITH SKYLER OR SOMETHING?" he's extremely upset and obviously suffering from PTSD, but Walter White is a cruel and heartless god damn motherfucker."Skyler's a bitch and I got her brother in law killed who was more in love with minerals than his actual wife, Marie." Besides, he kidnapped Holly—she wouldn't want to see him."Jesus Christ, man.""Don't say anything, remember when you killed Gale?""We don't talk about that.""We also don't talk about Combo getting shot because you turn into a bitch when you think about it.""Yeah—well it's your fault Jane died, you bitch.""Is it also my fault that I killed two hundred people accidentally and unintentionally?""Yeah.. I'd say it's your fault, Mr. White.""No, you know whose fault it is? Minerals.""Oh my fucking god Mr. White, go back to bed.""Jesus Christ, when did you turn into Skyler?""I'm not Skyler!""Are you sure?" Walt asks, without hesitation."You wanna check for yourself?""Sure.""Mr. White?!""Jesse, let's cuddle.""MR. WHITE. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.""Okay.""Thanks."Just like that, Walter's cancer comes back and kills him. Dramatic music (Baby Blue by Badfinger) starts playing and all Jesse can do is hop into their car, and start driving. Until he hits Paul Walker and accidentally kills him.
1132912	The Fall of Steve Rogers	{ "Archive Warning": "Major Character Death", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Katowisp", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-12T00:00:00", "words": "1,718", "Additional Tags": "Hurt Steve, Hurt Steve Rogers", "Relationship": null, "Character": "Steve Rogers", "Relationships": null, "Series": "Fairytales and Other Forms of Suicide", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Disclaimers: These characters are not mine God's got your number And He knows where you live Death's got a warrant out for you -Death’s Got a Warrant—Patty Griffin The team was running.Steve felt every step, every jarring blow through his body. His arms had been wrapped around Bruce and Tony’s shoulders, his feet dragging limply behind him.He tried to will his legs to respond but they weren’t keen on the idea and remained unresponsive, which Steve found wholly unsurprising given the hole in his chest. He found his eyes drawn to it in curiosity, but it was too difficult of a motion, and he settled for resting his chin on his chest, passively watching the blood stream down his body. The woman who had stabbed him had followed Loki to Earth.“He’s not here now,” Steve had told her, but instead of leaving like he’d expected, she had killed him.He’d tried to fight, but his vision was already doubled from Loki’s earlier assault on him, and the subsequent familiarity with the alley wall. Despite his attempt at fending her off, she’d had a determination he lacked—a hatred he couldn’t understand that fueled her attacks in a fury he’d only ever seen in the Hulk.She was controlled in a way that the Hulk nearly never was though, and while he’d fought a lot of things in his life, he didn’t know the first thing about fighting someone with a spear. Words of placation were useless, and after she had used it first as a melee weapon, swinging it around to connect solidly with an arm he’d barely raised in time, one of the bones in his forearm cracking as the wood connected, he had known that trying to talk himself out of the fight would be futile. She had been determined to kill him, and he didn’t know why.The second hit had connected with his head, sending him back into the wall where he’d collapsed as stars exploded behind his eyes.If he hadn’t been concussed before, he had been in that moment.Steve was sure his skull was fractured, a giant vice that seemed to tighten around his brain with every beat of his heart. His body was working overtime, knitting bones and flesh together, and it wasn’t enough. He’d struggled to a sitting position, acutely aware of the snow falling around him. Christmas lights had been blinking merrily just twenty feet away, and passing shoppers hadn’t even look his way. Steve had suspected (hoped) there was some magic around the alley, keeping them cloaked. Steve had met her eyes. She had been beautiful, in the same way the first snowfall of a season was, when the world was cold and quiet and the clouds had rolled out, leaving only an impossible blue sky and wispy glittering clouds. She’d assessed him with icy eyes, and had Steve thought he’d never seen skin so white. It matched the porcelain set his mother had owned when he was a child—he had cut himself on them once, and just like the plates, she hadn’t shown any sympathy or understanding. They were just plates, and she was his death and there didn’t need to be a reason.“Are you the Angel of Death?” he asked, because it made sense. He should’ve died several times over, and maybe he was an abomination and Death had grown tired waiting.She had laughed then, but it was the sound of porcelain shattering and there was no humor in it.“I am your death,” the woman who was to be his end replied with a cold smile. Then, she had thrust her spear forward into his chest, stealing the air he’d always fought so hard for.Steve’s good hand had automatically flown to the foreign object protruding from his chest, brain only then starting to register the incredible pain that followed. He had instinctively known that if he could get it out in time, his body might heal, but then she had put her weight behind it, pushing it in deeper, and Steve could feel the tearing as it ripped through his back, pinning him to the wall. “Why?” He’d gasped as she pulled away, ripping the spear with her. It had come out with a sucking sound, pulling the last of the oxygen from Steve’s lungs and suddenly the act of breathing was an impossible task. She had leaned in, all artic wind and polar ice, gripping his chin as she forced him to look at her.It hadn’t been Death who had come for him, but winter, angry that he’d escaped her clutches when he should’ve remained entombed in her icy grave.“You can tell Loki, when you see him in Niflheim, that we’re not even yet, but this is a start,” she had hissed, and then she had been gone.“Hey, Steve, you with us?” Tony jostled his shoulder, causing Steve’s head to loll against his chest and his foggy mind to return to the present.The Bitfrost was below him, a dizzying ocean of stars and galaxies. Steve thought he might be sick. His arm was screaming at him, and he wanted to tell Tony to go slower, but either Tony wasn’t listening, or he’d forgotten to mention it, because their pace only grew faster. He was leaking a trail of blood on the road, and could see it marring the glittering crystal.Steve knew he should be alarmed, but his blood was searching for better clime, for summer and dappled sunshine. He’d frozen it too much, and it wanted to be warm again. He couldn’t be angry at it, would follow it if he could. The mask Bruce had slapped across his face was suddenly claustrophobic, and he made to rip it off forgetting his arms were wrapped around Bruce and Tony. He wanted to tell them to take it off because he couldn’t breathe, but his throat was crowded with blood and forced oxygen and there was no room for words. A booming voice greeted them, and for a moment, Steve was trapped in the hourglasses of Heimdall’s eyes. He was the sand trickling through the chokepoint that was a thousand years of battles won and lost, but then Heimdall broke the gaze, and he was free again.They stopped only long enough to jostle him onto a cot as broad-faced women in simple tunics filed in around them and tried to carry him away, but Bruce and Tony refused their help. His teammates hefted him up, jostling violently in the action, and the world shifted sideways for a moment. Then they were running again. He wanted to tell them that it would all be okay: that they’d be okay, and that he’d be okay, but the words refused to leave his chest.They weren’t, though, and he wouldn’t be, and the team knew it.He could see it in Tony’s clenched jaw, in Bruce’s tight shoulders. He flopped his hand out, brushing bloody fingers against Bruce’s hand.Bruce looked down in surprise. Steve could see the war in his eyes as Bruce fought for dominance over the blind rage that threatened to overwhelm him.The team needs you to keep your head, Steve would’ve said, but the breathing was hard enough without forcing words through his battered throat. Bruce squeezed his hand with a gentleness he wouldn’t have thought possible under the circumstances.“We’re almost there.”Steve didn’t know where there was, but he tried to smile back. Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and Steve thought he might have grimaced instead. He tried again, but the muscles of his face were reluctant to obey, so he gave up.There was blood pooling underneath him, sticky and uncomfortable. He wanted to tell them to get someone to remove it. His boot was on too tight, and the laces bit into his foot, but nobody seemed to be listening.“Loki,” Steve started, because he had the feeling there wasn’t much time and he had to tell him winter had come to settle her score between them; that she was coming for Loki. But the team didn’t hear him, or he hadn’t said it, because no one responded.“Hey, hey, come on, stay with us,” and that was Natasha. She was in gray sweats and Steve imagined she’d been lounging on the couch with Clint watching some Christmas special or maybe Pawn Stars when the call had come in. There was a painful jarring as he was moved onto a bed. He groaned, acutely aware of the gaping hole in his chest in a way he hadn’t been a moment ago. Blissfully, the world had stopped moving. He stared up at a strange ceiling, arching and distant. Someone had painted an intricate scene of a field caught in the gloaming, lightning bugs just rising from the grass and the first stars of the night evident in the darkening sky. For a moment Steve was in that field, surrounded by the song of cicadas and frogs and he thought he might be home. The team’s escalating arguing pulled him back to his uncomfortable reality.Steve wondered what they were arguing about, but their words were coming too fast, too loud, and Steve wondered when everyone stopped speaking English. He was only vaguely aware of Queen Frigga’s sharp orders as she and her army of healers attempted to knit broken vessels and return oxygen to lungs seeking it and finding none.“You’ll be okay,” he wanted to tell them, because Steve knew what was going to happen next and he was pretty sure his team did too if the concerned faces swimming above him were any indication, and Steve couldn’t tell if it was tears or sweat that caused Clint to squint his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he wanted to say, because Tony was already having nightmares and was drinking too much and he was sure this wouldn’t help the matter all. But he was drowning in a sea of black, all the words and wishes he’d ever had floated around him like the flotsam of a wrecked ship and he couldn’t grab them fast enough before they drifted away. To be Continued in Lonesome Traveler, in which the Avengers travel to Niflheim to get Loki and Steve back.
1119335	Crossing Paths	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Haldir, Halbarad, Rúmil, assorted Rangers of the North", "Fandom": "The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Empy (Empyreus)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2012-10-20T00:00:00", "words": "1,476", "Additional Tags": "Challenge fic, Community: sons_of_gondor, Angst, Implied Relationships, Advice, Travel, Soldiers, Elves, Chance Meetings, Bittersweet, Aging", "Relationship": "Halbarad/Haldir", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise. So his brothers tell him before they bestow their heavy words of warning, and he wonders if they realize the contradiction. Naught good will come of this, Haldir. To guard the borders of the Golden Wood is one thing, to wander so far beyond them is quite another. We have our affairs and the Dunedain theirs. The reckoning of our days is not theirs. They are right, of course. Had he sense, he would stay within the golden circle of Caras Galadhon. Had he sense, he would not stray out. You are young, they tell him, and the folly of your youth is the force that sets you in motion and spurs you on.Ah, but his youth is the youth of Belthil viewed against the age of Galathilion when set against the poor span of a Dunedain's days. It is youth that is ancient when viewed wider. I am the youngest of three brothers. Though by no measure am I young when compared to you. His Ranger companion ducks his head, shakes it, though Haldir cannot tell if it is protest or amusement. Perhaps both, he thinks when a short burst of soft laughter breaks the momentary silence. The watch is somber out of necessity, silent to match the silence of the night around them, and each noise as spontaneous as that little laugh is a liability. It is not the first time he has come across the Dunedain on his travels, not by far, but he cannot remember a time when one had intrigued him so. In looks he is not different from his weatherworn kin, being as dark of hair and eyes as all the others, and Haldir recalls ruefully the tales he has been told of how Men will swear blind that all Elves look alike.They must have seen the same Elf all those times! his brothers laugh, and he has joined in that laughter. How foolish and inattentive must these Men be to think all the Eldar are cast in the same mould? And yet... has he not said to his brothers and his Silvan brethren that the Dunedain and Rohirrim he has seen have all seemed to blur into a mass, that the novelty surely has worn off so thoroughly that he now only notices the differences between men and women. And even that with some effort when watching the Horselords from afar, for they are a wild kin. Halbarad is the name the man gives when prompted. He tells little of himself, but that is true of all the Rangers of the North, for whom subterfuge is key and habit. The less is known of them, the better. They walk as shadows and shadows are their travelling companions. No paved roads for these travellers, only paths that are not paths, winding trails that are made and then unmade to hide all sign of their progress. In autumn, they welcome the longer-stretching nights and the steady greying of both sky and trees, for it affords them better shelter. It is such an autumn night now, with restless winds gusting over the plains, warmer than is the wont of the autumn weather. They have made camp by a sheltering copse of scraggly willows, Halbarad and a small troop of his men. They have made no fire, which might mean two things: they are expecting their rest to be merely a short pause or then there are agents of the Enemy afoot. From what Haldir has gathered, it must be the former. The night has been uncommonly silent.He can move soundlessly when he wishes, so silently even the Rangers cannot hear him, but curiosity drives him to skirt closer to their makeshift camp when he first spots them at a distance and he finally makes his presence known. Halbarad is the first to notice him, the first to draw a weapon to keep low by his side but also the first to sheathe it and gesture for the others to stand down. "Well met," he says, voice soft and low and with very little trace of the surprise his initial startlement revealed. "Well met, Rangers," replies Haldir, choosing the Common Tongue out of courtesy. "You speak Westron." It is a statement, not a question, and Haldir feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth."It is a help rather than a hindrance when travelling. Think not that we shun all outside influence even though we are strict about our borders."Halbarad's smile is fleeting but genuine, gone as quickly as it has come. There is the barest tilt of his head as he regards Haldir, a little hint of youthful inquisitiveness that has not yet waned. Haldir will not venture a guess as to Halbarad's age, save to say that he is not yet at the halfway-point of his life, for there has been neither cause nor opportunity for him to further contemplate the life-spans of Men. At any rate, he is very, very young indeed compared to Haldir."I am the youngest of three brothers," he hears himself say. "Though by no measure am I young compared to you."If the smile was unexpected, the short huff of laughter is doubly so."Indeed not." Halbarad's expression quickly grows serious once more. "What draws you out into the wider world? What news from the East have spurred you to journey?"The urgency of the question surprises him. "No tidings so ill they should be cause for great unrest, though certainly ones that suggest that vigilance is needed still." When dawn begins to shiver along the horizon, the Rangers rouse out of their shallow slumber and regroup. "Here we must part ways," says Haldir. "Our paths have crossed but they do not join.""They may cross again," says Halbarad. "Until such a time, travel safely, Haldir of Lorien." The years pass slow in the Golden Wood, if Haldir at all stops to consider them, but when he ventures out they confront him. Each new line, each furrow, in Halbarad's forehead is another unwelcome reminder of their disparity. They speak nothing of this passing of years the next time they meet, for that serves no purpose. Words cannot roll back the tide of the years.We have our affairs and the Dunedain theirs. The reckoning of our days is not theirs. Ever do Rumil's words return to haunt him, worst when news from the outlying lands carry to them or when mention is made of the Rangers who tirelessly patrol the vast plains of Eriador. It would make sense, he thinks, for him to resolutely remain where he is, to keep his post as border-guard, so that he might forget his unease, but this lapse from sense is far from his only one.He tells neither one of his brothers of the matter, and relays only what news he deems to be of import when he returns from his scouting. He does not know what drives him to both hide and nurture the memory of Halbarad's amusement. It had been a chance meeting, and the Dunedain had ever been on good terms with the Eldar, so the crux must lie elsewhere. Perhaps in the thought of how like and yet unalike they were. Both seek to put themselves between that which they have sworn to protect and the enemy. And, he muses, both roam as restless spirits, forever vigilant.Spirits whose paths cross not once but twice. This time, Haldir is the first to offer a smile. The third time he sees Halbarad is the last time. He does not know then that it is the last time. He does not know how many years have passed. The reckoning of our days is not theirs. Even their kin might find it difficult to tell the difference between the tall men passing as a massed troop, but he has no issue finding the one he seeks. The tread is sure still, the back straight and the cast of his face grim. Halbarad, the Tall Tower.Dawn is breaking in washes of grey and the light is still dim enough to allow the Rangers to move toward the sheltering line of trees all but unseen. Unseen by mortal eyes. The further toward the West and toward the Shire they move, the better the woods will shield them. The Ranger holding up the rear of the company turns suddenly, casting his gaze in Haldir's direction, but Haldir knows he stands well hidden. Halbarad does not look back, and it is for the best, thinks Haldir later, that this last moment should be spared from the unwelcome reminder of how Men must face the wear and grind of the years so much more harshly. The reckoning of our days is not theirs.
1150285	While Youre At It Keep	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Crowley, Sam Winchester", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by sacklunch", "chapters": "3/3", "completed": "2014-01-30", "published": "2014-01-24T00:00:00", "words": "4,244", "Additional Tags": "Trans Male Character, Trans Crowley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kind Of, only vaguely angsty, Strap-Ons, Rimming, Fingerfucking, Sam is a Sweetheart, Crowley is Uncertain", "Relationship": "Crowley/Sam Winchester", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Birdhouse In Your Soul", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Crowley's in the kitchen, scowling as he attempts to chop celery with a dull butter-knife (the only blade he's been allowed use of by Dean "Paranoia" Winchester). Sam watches from the doorway (another rule laid down by Dean- Crowley's allowed out of the basement only with supervision, and allowed in the kitchen only when Dean's not cooking) as the demon tosses a few cubes of the rough-cut vegetable into the simmering pot on the stove and gives it a stir. He glances around the hallway, reassuring himself that Dean's not around at the moment, and steps into the kitchen. Crowley glances back at him over one shoulder, arching a brow and smirking up at the man towering over him. "Smells good," Sam says, resting one hand companionably against the back of Crowley's neck. The former king of hell hums, pleased, and dips a spoon into the pot, offering Sam a taste of the rich soup. The human leans down to try it, not missing the way Crowley's eyes focus on his mouth as he purses it around the spoon. There's almost always been a sort of flirty edge to their interactions, usually on Crowley's end, but in the time since they partially "cured" the demon and brought him into the bunker, Sam's returned the banter more and more. He can't help it- he sees in Crowley the same thing he's seen in himself, ugly and damaged and fighting to right itself. He's seen Crowley take a beating for him when the demon could have easily turned and run. He may not be entirely changed, but he is changing. They've kissed a few times, but that's as far as they've gone; Crowley tends to be surprisingly reticent when it comes to intimate moments. The moment Sam's hands wander downward, Crowley will pull back and make some sort of comment, saying he hears Dean in the hallway or that whatever he's cooking will burn, and slip away. Sam's not an asshole- he's not going to force anything, and he doesn't ask questions when Crowley feels the need to back off. He knows from personal experience that any amount of time in hell is enough to mess a guy up, let alone four hundred years. Crowley pulls his hand back, replacing the spoon with his lips against Sam's, and the hunter makes a pleasantly surprised sound, tilting his head into the kiss. They part and Crowley purses his lips, looking contemplative. "Needs a bit more pepper." Sam laughs and watches the demon-turned-mostly-human sprinkle in the pepper, leaning against the counter. Crowley gives the soup a final stir, switches off the burner, and turns to face the taller man. "So. Dean's out and about, then?" Sam nods, shrugging. "Yeah, he went into town with Cas. I'm not really clear on whether they went to get groceries or to a bar." "Aren't they ultimately the same thing?" Crowley asks with a smirk, and Sam snorts another laugh. There's a brief pause, and then the dark-haired man is stepping forward, fingers catching hold of the collar of Sam's shirt and tugging him down for another kiss, this time more heat than teasing. Sam hums and hooks his own fingers around the loop of the apron Crowley's wearing, just holding on for the moment. Their bodies sway into each other with each breath, close and warm from the heat of the stove. Sam's other hand fits itself against the small of Crowley's back, and the demon slides his palms up and around the hunter's sides, coming to rest on either side of his spine. Crowley is a really damn good kisser, which, well, makes sense- crossroads deals- and soon Sam is breathing hard every time their mouths part, biting at the other man's lips, hungry and greedy. Crowley meets him every time, devouring, the stubble on his jaw scraping Sam's chin and leaving a tingling trail. One or both of them leans a bit too far and they go stumbling back, out of the kitchen and into the hallway, bumping against the wall and Crowley presses up against Sam's chest, pushing him harder into the solid surface. Sam groans and arches his back as Crowley's mouth works its way down his throat, sucking red marks into the skin. He rolls them along the wall, so that Crowley is the one pinned, and bucks against the firm leg that the demon slides against his crotch. "Shit," Crowley mutters, breaking away. "Look, before this goes... where I'd quite like it to go, I've got something I should tell you." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- This one's a longer chapter! Full of porn! Many porn.~~~ Sam steps back a little, concern in his eyes, and Crowley snags his shirt, drags him along into the bedroom for a little more privacy. He pauses in front of the bed and takes a breath, centering himself, as Sam watches patiently with a cautiously curious expression. "So, look, I haven't exactly always been-" He gestures to himself, sweeping a hand up and down over his torso. "-like this." Sam cocks his head. "Um. Not to be obtuse or anything, but... duh?" "No, I mean- this isn't how I used to look." "I know," Sam nods. "You were a Scottish guy with, uh, athletic calves, right? We dug up your bones, remember?" He does remember, very well, and thank god neither of them are forensics experts or they'd have realized his secret long ago. "Right. That's... well, not entirely inaccurate. I was indeed Scottish, and I did have very lovely strong calves, but I was not... perhaps... quite so much..." He trails off into an awkward mumble, and Sam leans forward, frowning, trying to hear. Crowley sighs and makes another effort, more direct this time. "I wasn't born a man." Sam blinks. "Oh," he sounds genuinely surprised, but not disgusted or uncomfortable. "So- are you- do you prefer-" "I'm a man now," Crowley snaps automatically, then winces and closes his eyes briefly, correcting himself. "I- dammit- I'd prefer to be referred to as male. Please." "Okay," Sam says easily, like it's no big deal. He smiles hesitantly, adding, "Thanks for telling me, and I really appreciate your trust, seriously." He leans in again to kiss Crowley's temple, soft and sweet, before continuing. "But, well, are you bringing this up now because you just wanted me to know, or because there's something else?" "The second one," Crowley says heavily, slumping. "I've been a man for- a long time, since I made my original crossroads deal. But when the whole 'cleansing' thing happened, it sort of- mucked things up. Magic is a fickle little shit, and since the job was only half-done it played all sorts of havoc. Sort of undid a few things, reverted here and there." Sam looks simultaneously guilty and curious. "So you've got- what exactly is-?" "Nothing's gone," Crowley says quickly. "Things just... aren't what they should be." The hunter squints, looking thoughtful. "Would you... do you think you'd be comfortable showing me?" The demon bites his lip, shrugs. "Yes, alright." Now seems as good a time as any. He undoes his fly, struggles less-than-gracefully out of his trousers and shirt, and tosses them aside. He glances up, fingers on the band of his underwear, and sees Sam watching him with laser-like intensity. The long-haired human's eyes are darkened with anticipation, and his tongue swipes across his lips, unconsciously. Ridiculously, Crowley feels himself blushing, and his hands fumble with the fabric, halting. "Um. I'm not entirely sure what you're expecting, but-" "I'm not expecting anything," Sam protests, brows furrowing. "This isn't going to be like being with a woman, Sam." Crowley says firmly, warily. "I'm not- Crowley, I know that-" "Or the men you fooled around with at university." Sam goes pink at that, but doesn't bother asking how Crowley knows about that. He shakes his head. "Crowley, if you don't wanna do this-" "I'm fine." He sits down on the bed, still avoiding the other man's gaze. Sam sighs and shuffles closer, clearing his throat. "Okay, yeah, this won't be my first time with a guy. This won't even be my first time with a demon," he allows. "Really know how to make a fellow feel special, don't you?" Crowley mutters. Sam catches his chin in one big hand, meets his eyes and goes on. "But this will be my first time with you, Crowley, and I'm not going into it with any expectations or- or judgements. I don't want you afraid that I'm comparing you to other people, okay? I'm not." Crowley narrows his eyes, but his mouth twists up into a crooked grin. "You're very smooth at this whole seduction thing, Moose. You'd have made a decent crossroads demon." Instead of looking insulted, Sam laughs aloud (a glorious sound) and ducks down for a kiss, still chuckling as their lips meet. "I dunno, that would mean I'd have to work for you and I've heard it's a bad idea to date your boss." "Well, now, that idea could have all sorts of possibilities," Crowley mumbles against Sam's jaw, eyes half-shut. He kisses the hunter again, cutting off any response, and slides his own hands back down to his underwear, tugging them off his hips and kicking them away. When the kiss ends, Sam leans back and looks him up and down. From the waist up, he looks the same as he has for years: stocky, somewhat barrel-chested, with strong arms and a soft belly. His chest has a dusting of hairs that dwindle downward, then pick up in a trail under his bellybutton, toward the thick dark thatch of curls between his legs. His cock- he's not calling it a clit, changes or no changes- is a reddened, slick nub that peeps out from the tangle of pubic hair, firm and plumped with blood. It's not quite as hard as it's capable of being, nerves and anxiety being something of a mood-killer. He takes a breath and glances upward to see Sam still watching him, expression a mix of arousal and hesitation. The hunter swallows audibly and asks, voice low and one hand reaching out, "Can I-?" Crowley nods. Sam doesn't immediately reach downward, which is a bit of a relief, but instead lets his palms follow the slope of a shoulder, the curve of his ribcage, fingertips skating over the hair on his chest. His touch is warm, welcome, and surprisingly soothing, and Crowley finds himself melting into it. His own hands drift up, working at the buttons of Sam's shirt, and the taller man chuckles and shrugs out of it. Crowley actually growls a little at the sight of the hunting-honed body laid out before him, and he grabs at Sam's hips, yanks him into another kiss. They do that for a long while, slowly mapping one another with their hands while their mouths are occupied, and soon they've tumbled back onto the bed, laid out and tangled in each other. The first touch to Crowley's cock almost comes as a surprise by that point, and he shivers from head to toe at the light brush of fingertips. Sam's digits circle around the sensitive head a few times, getting the feel of things, and then the pad of his thumb presses gently against the slit on the underside and Crowley moans shakily. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Sam is grinding against his thigh, thumb working in small, steady rotations that drag more noises out into the air. "God, you're so-" Sam's voice is a sultry murmur as he kisses urgently at Crowley's cheeks, lips and throat. "-so fucking sexy, fuck." He keeps mumbling filthy compliments as he works his way down to nip at Crowley's chest. Crowley tries to come up with a little dirty talk of his own, something blush-worthy, but all that comes out of his mouth is a ragged, desperate, "Sam." Over and over he gasps out the hunter's name, until the word becomes nonsensical on his tongue. Sam groans in response, the noise vibrating against Crowley's stomach, and lifts his head enough to pant out once more, "Can I?" The ex-king of hell can't do anything but nod, because if he opens his mouth again he's going to start begging uncontrollably. He feels Sam's teeth against his hipbone, and he has just enough time to connect what's about to happen in his mind before it's happening, and his mind more or less blanks after that. Sam's tongue replaces his thumb, stroking up the slick bottom of his prick once, twice, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, and Crowley cries out, arching up. Gun-roughened fingers stroke up and down his thighs, and Crowley grabs frantically at Sam's hair, gripping it like a lifeline when the tugging earns him a low moan that thrums against him. "Oh f-f-fuck," Crowley stammers out, toes curling as his orgasm rocks through him. He strains upward, joints popping and teeth sinking into his lip as it floods him, crests and breaks inside him and leaves him a shuddering, insensate puddle on the sheets. Sam keeps mouthing at him, tonguing gently through the mess between his legs until Crowley makes a tiny whimpery sound of oversensitized pleasure. The hunter sits up, grinning and wiping at the wet, slippery shine smeared all over his lips and chin. "Bollocks," Crowley says finally, voice a raspy croak, "I'm not normally that- quick. You know. Just. Been a while." He drapes an arm over his eyes, hoping Sam will write off the flush of his cheeks as exertion. "Hmmm, pretty flattering," Sam says as he crawls up Crowley's body (which doesn't take long, given their height difference) to nuzzle behind his ear. The demon huffs and swats at him, batting long hair out of his face, then sits up. "Right, get your kecks off." Sam blinks. "What?" Crowley raises a brow. "Your trousers. Take them off." "Oh!" Sam starts wriggling out of his pants- the fly is already undone, and he was likely touching himself while he was blowing Crowley, if the wet patch on the front of his underwear is anything to go on. That thought makes Crowley grin as Sam kicks off his pants and slides out of his boxers, and then the hunter is gloriously naked and laid out before him. Crowley takes a few moments to commit to memory the sight of Sam, perfect and sweaty and squirming a little as he lays there, cock thick and hard against his stomach. He takes a shaky breath when Crowley leans down and licks a line of sweat from his stomach, following it up to his left nipple and teasing at it with teeth and tongue. Sam watches the dark head of hair move lower and lower along his torso, feels his cock twitch in anticipation and spreads his legs a little more to allow Crowley more access. He sees the wet flash of Crowley's tongue dart out and his head falls back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, only to snap open again when he feels the hot press of that tongue- not on his erection, but lower, licking into him dark and intimate where he's definitely never been licked before. He lets out a strangled groan, planting his feet and shoving his hips up into the sensation of Crowley's mouth eating at him, greedy for more. Crowley keeps licking and lapping and pulling all sorts of interesting sounds from the hunter, until he's loose enough to take a finger, Crowley working slowly and patiently while he sucks at the skin behind Sam's balls. He slides it a little deeper and smirks at the shout he gets when he finds the prostate. He proceeds to relentlessly torture Sam with his fingertip, massaging and manipulating that spot until the human is a whining, inarticulate pile of loose muscles and long hair. Leaning back a bit, he takes in that image with a smile, then fits his free hand loosely around Sam's throbbing, dripping cock, not stroking but rubbing his thumb lightly under the head. Any semblance of pride or stubbornness is thrown out the window, and Sam whines, wets his lips and begs, "Please, fuck, Crowley- oh god, oh- oh god, fuck, don't stop-" "Fuck," Crowley growls deep in his throat, biting at Sam's taut, heaving chest. "Oh, Sam, I wish I could fuck you." He kisses sloppily down the hunter's abdomen, listening to Sam's garbled praise and increasingly high-pitched moans. "That's it, good boy, come on now." That's it for Sam; he comes with a frantic shout, all over his stomach and Crowley's chest, his fingers twitching and spasming and gripping the sheets so hard that they are yanked from the mattress. He's still catching his breath, waiting for the spots to clear from his vision, while Crowley rises unsteadily from the bed. The demon tugs his underwear back on, wincing at the touch of fabric against his still-sensitive groin, and goes shuffling into the nearest bathroom. He comes back a few minutes later, wearing the loosest pajama pants he could find in Sam's laundry and carrying a washcloth. Sam makes a pleased sound when the warm cloth dabs him clean, draping one arm around Crowley's waist and trying to haul him back in for more kissing. Crowley hesitates for a moment, looking either uncertain or exhausted, and Sam tugs at him again, fingers dipping below the low-hanging waistband of the sleep pants. The former king of hell relents, tossing the cloth aside and crawling under the blankets that Sam holds up for him. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Three days later, Sam comes bounding into the library with a grin that almost splits his face. He's been gone on a hunt with Dean and Cas, leaving Crowley confined by a series of wards to the rooms they've allowed him: the kitchen, half the library, and, after some petitioning from Sam, a guest bedroom. Crowley counted over a dozen ways he could escape if he'd been so inclined (fortunately, he hasn't gotten bored enough yet to try). The big ape of a hunter skids to a halt in front of Crowley, who has been reading quietly in an armchair, and scoops him into a kiss, actually lifting him wholly from the chair and squeezing the air from his lungs in an indignant oomph. Crowley pulls his head back and scoffs, squirming in the human's powerful arms. "Let me down, you behemoth." The snappish tone does nothing to wipe the smile from Sam's face, and even when he sets Crowley down he keeps touching him, cupping his jaw and scritching fingers through his stubble. Despite the complaints and denials, Sam knows the demon revels in any positive physical contact, leaning into it like a cat. He drags his hand up to the top of Crowley's head, rubbing at his scalp and watching his eyelids flutter in enjoyment. "Miss me?" Sam asks, chuckling. Crowley narrows his eyes, only adding to his catlike image, and ducks away from the petting. "Clearly not as much as you missed me, moose." "That's not a no," Sam points out. He gets an eyeroll. "Yes, alright, I pined away like the Lady of Shalott without your big, burly self to keep me warm." In all honesty, he's still a bit thrown by how easily and often Sam shows his affection, even around his loudly-disapproving brother. It makes Crowley suspicious, which makes him feel guilty, which in turn makes him suspicious again. He's just not built or designed to gracefully handle such fond advances. Not without expecting a knife in the back or at least some flaying, anyway. Sam tugs at his sleeve. "C'mon. I have something to show you." "Is this an attempt at seduction? Because, spoiler alert, I've seen the ending of this one. It works, but it lacks subtlety." The hunter doesn't answer, just leads Crowley down the hall, passing Castiel (he and Crowley glare at each other mostly out of habit by this point rather than actual malice) and ending up in Sam's room. On the bed is what looks like a plain black shoebox. Sam picks it up, lifts the lid and bats aside some tissue paper, then holds it out to Crowley. "I- I got you this. To use. On me, if you- if you want." Crowley stares, agog. Sam shifts a little, awkwardly holding out the box, which contains a medium-sized, lifelike dildo and a sort of harness made of soft straps, made to be fitted over the hips. When the demon continues to gape in silence, the hunter coughs and lowers his arms a little, adding, "I would've taken you along to pick it out for yourself, only Dean's still adamant about you not leaving the bunker. I got a couple other styles and, you know, sizes, in case you didn't like this one? It was a pretty interesting shopping trip, I can tell you that." He's blushing furiously now, damn him, and giving Crowley the slightest hopeful smile, dimpling his cheek. "I know it's not really the same, but I thought maybe-" Crowley's brain has no say in the matter when he suddenly lunges forward and kisses Sam. Twenty minutes later, Sam's fingers clutch at the pillow hard enough to split the seams a little, burying his chin into it and moaning luxuriously as Crowley drags three fingers in and out of him. He kicks uselessly back at the smaller man, trying to urge him on. "Crowley, come onn- nnn- nnnnh-" The demon chuckles darkly, a sound that should set off all sorts of alarms in a hunter's mind but in this case only makes Sam shiver delightedly, and withdraws his fingers, much to Sam's dismay. He takes a moment to fiddle with the straps of the harness one last time, slicking the extra lube from his hand onto the dildo, before crawling closer on his knees until the rounded head of it rubs against Sam's crack. "I'd remind you that patience is a virtue, but considering the thoroughly un-virtuous situation we find ourselves in, well..." "Would you just-!" Sam barks out, jerking back into every touch. Crowley grins, hooking just the tip of a thumb into the hunter's hole and pulling up just enough to make him whimper, then finally allowing the first inch of the toy to press into him. Sam immediately bucks back, demanding more with a series of muttered curses and low sounds, and Crowley, feeling merciful, complies with a slow thrust that pushes the slippery length of him almost all the way in. Sam squirms, tiny pleading noises hitching at the back of his throat as he's filled, his own cock rubbing into the sheets below. Crowley slides deeper, to the hilt, and pauses there to slowly grind his hips into Sam's, tormenting him. The straps on this contraption are designed in such a way that they rub and slide against Crowley as he rubs against Sam, sending shudders of pleasure through them both. He moans and falls forward, jaw hanging open as he pants into Sam's shoulder blades. "Oh, fucking hell, Sam." Sam's response is mostly a broken babble of begging as his prostate is relentlessly stimulated by the deep, constant pressure. Finally he manages to gasp out, "Move, please, please, please move please oh god oh fuck-" His rambling plea is cut short by a ragged shout when Crowley suddenly obeys, hips dragging out and shoving back in with a slap, working himself into a rhythm. For a few moments, Sam is able to focus once more, as the change in angle shifts and becomes more quick, tingling jolts of dull pleasure rather than the intense onslaught of before. He licks his lips, reaches behind himself and grasps at Crowley's arm, curling it around himself and rocking back into each thrust to give Crowley more friction. The demon groans hoarsely at this, a punched-out breathless sound, and drops his hips once more to dig directly into Sam's prostate and force all kinds of desperate noises from him. Crowley works at him in small circles of his hips, grunting low in his ear every time he rocks forward, and Sam responds with helpless, jerky sobs of ecstasy, his eyes rolling back. He bites at his lip, frantic as thick drops of pre-cum hit the bed, his thighs shaking from the exertion. Sweat drips down his nose, slicks his hair down against his neck, and Crowley laps at it, mouths at it, nuzzling wet hair aside to kiss the knob of his spine. Sam tries to choke out a warning, manages to get out, "Oh god oh god Crowley I'm gonna- I'm-" before he's coming all over the sheets, actually screaming as it overtakes him. Crowley mouths soft words of praise into his skin, encouragement, and grinds into him a few more nerve-wrecking times before he's shivering and pulsing with his own climax, crying out something in Gaelic before slumping against Sam's back. Sam whimpers again, shamelessly pleasure-drunk, and Crowley pulls out, hissing as he undoes the straps and lets the harness fall to the floor with a clunk. Immediately, Sam is on him again, kissing and wrapping him in miles of muscular limbs. Crowley lets himself be enthusiastically cuddled, a tired smile lighting his face as he settles back into the pillows. "We'll have to clean up later," he reminds Sam, closing his eyes. "Later," Sam agrees, sighing contentedly and following his lead.
1119826	Envious Manners	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Loki (Marvel), Sif (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)", "Fandom": "Thor (Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by DealingDearie", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-05T00:00:00", "words": "1,805", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	In her youth, Sif had known a jealousy far beyond her years, a deep yearning that surpassed normal limits, a throbbing desire for what she could never have, and it changed her in slight, miniscule ways, made her fierce and drew from her that relentless determination, made her more protective of what she already had. It bestowed upon her a certain talent for keeping secrets, gave her a sense of liveliness when she'd almost lost it.But it changed Loki in different ways.It darkened him, coaxed him into the shadows, and persuaded him of his own worthlessness. It took from him the innocence his mother had always admired him for, and it silenced him, took his bright eyes and dimmed them to glowing, fading embers caught in the very last flickering flame, twisted him inside and haunted him when he tried to fall asleep. It followed him, replaced his wounds with deeper ones, hurt him all over and started again.She could see that, even when she'd first met the boy, and it was one of the main reasons that she'd been able to relate to him. She knew jealousy, and she liked to think that she knew Loki. It was a repetitive thing, seeing each other each day, but Thor's connection to them both demanded that they interact, and the ebony-haired child found a way, always, to unnerve her. It was almost as if he could see the jealousy within her, as well, and was trying to remain distant from her.Puzzled, she'd always wanted answers, wanted simply to know his motives, and yet she was all too familiar with wanting something.Thor.She wanted him more than anything, but the maidens that so often entertained him were never her, and she accepted that fact every morning for all of her life. Never could she have the impassioned, charismatic Thor. Never could she see his love, never could she feel his touch. It was a miserable half-life, and she could tell that Loki fared no better.He was a seeking thing, basking in attention when he wanted it and shrinking from it when he didn't, longing and pining for approval at every turn. He was always denied it, and she could tell that it ate away something crucial within him. It took everything he had been and let it rot and decay just long enough to keep him alive, just long enough to keep him barely grasping at the edge, just long enough to keep his sanity only a bit intact. He was forever a shadow, always one to follow behind, and he was all too aware of it, so much so that she figured he would drive the rest of his sane mind completely mad.In her eyes, though, he was the moon, shining brightly in the midnight sky, shaming the stars and all below them, but outshone by the sun that rose in the east and poured over the land with golden rays of warmth. In the early morning sky, one could glance up and see the outline of the moon, fading from the spotlight. Loki was bright and had the potential to shine for all he was worth, but he remained eternally behind, always an afterthought. "Why are you so quiet all the time?" Sif asked blatantly, tilting her head in curiosity, eyebrows scrunched together, and Loki looked up from his book, blinking at her in dulled surprise. Her curls were a very light blonde, a pale kind of light captured within them, her grey eyes shining as the candlelight flickered and danced within her irises, her pink lips curled at the corners in a knowing smirk. He glanced back down at the words written on the delicate, aged parchment, sighing as he heard a girlish giggle from across the room, looking back up at her with irritation burning in his eyes. She flipped a strand of hair with the backs of her fingertips and grinned, small cheeks round and flushed. "You're justjealous, Loki," she murmured tauntingly, and he narrowed his eyes as she twirled another strand about her thin index finger, laughter hidden in her eyes.Her hair was far too pretty for such an awful, awful girl.Sif had grown wise in her teenage years, knowing when to make a jest in Loki's presence and when to hold her tongue, and she learned quickly the disappointment of her deep desires, as did Loki.With the hopes that her new, matured looks could win Thor over, Sif had been so sure that her happiness would finally be delivered, that all her patience and waiting and longing had not been in vain. Loki was confident that once he began to flourish at his magic, he'd be needed, finally able to be on equal grounds, finally able to see eye to eye.Not one of either's hopes came true, and this hardened Sif, to a certain point, made her steely and passionate and fearless. It made her bold, made her stand out and fall under notice, made her bask in the warrior life. Loki only fell further behind, and she watched him from afar, wondering why no one else could see the destruction brewing in his gaze. Loki didn't like it when others followed him, especially to his place of solitude, but Sif was more than determined to seek him out, especially after the stunt he'd pulled, yelling at Thor in a random, sudden moment for something trivial. She found him hiding behind a shelf, acting nonchalant as his eyes darted back and forth, searching for her. He didn't seem happy when he finally caught sight of her, dark strands falling down her back as she sent him an odd look, walking down the book aisle with her pale fingertips dragging across the ancient book spines. "Jealousy does not suit you, Loki." His eyes widened, but he countered it with a sly smirk, shrugging as he leaned comfortably against the shelf beside him. "I think it suits me just fine." Laughing to herself, she stopped before him, plucking a random book from the shelf so that she would have an excuse for making the rare trip to the library, and her eyes darted to gaze over at his hard glare. She stepped closer to him, sighing. "I've seen the color of envy, Loki, and it is that of your eyes." His lips parted in surprise, but the rest of his body remained strictly unresponsive, and she frowned as she turned to leave. She could hear the shaky breath he took when she walked out of the book aisle and felt sadder for it. In the years that came, Sif had never felt farther from the trickster, seeing him grow so isolated each and every day, while her relationship with Thor blossomed, their friendly bond stronger than ever before, but Thor kept the oblivious haze that had for so long surrounded him.Each century that passed brought with it a certain sense of dread, a creeping suspicion that something was coming, the thought that nothing perfect could ever possibly last for all eternity.And so, Sif wasn't all that surprised when everything crumbled.Thor's banishment set in motion a chain of events that they were helpless to stop, and she could recall the exact moment that she gave up on Loki.She had always been loyal to Thor, and she knew his opinions just as well as she knew her own. He loved Loki, would never give up hope that he would see reason, and so he would always fight and struggle and die trying to convince his brother to quit with his madness. But it wasn't so easy, and Thor had never been able to see that life didn't work in exactly the way he wanted it to, and that people could not change what centuries of patterns had molded them into in a mere second, a mere convincing instant. He didn't yet understand that there were certain parts of life that would never aim to please him, specific events that would forever change him.She could still recall where she'd been when she'd heard Frigga's mournful, trembling wail of grief, could trace what she was doing and where she was looking when she'd discovered the news of Loki's fall.Odin and Thor, with wind-tossed hair and tearful eyes, had been just around the corner of the infirmary, since Frigga had been on her way to check on Heimdall. She'd stepped back in shock, blinking at them like she hadn't heard them, her mouth twisted up as her throat bobbed. Sif had watched from behind a pillar, eyes wide with disbelief, as the queen had crumpled, her legs giving out as tears streamed down her face. Sif had never seen anyone look so completely destroyed, and a tear had dripped down her cheek.It was the realization point, for Sif, that Loki was gone from her reach and the salvation she could have convinced him of, out of sight and out of mind and soon to be out of memory, as he'd always feared.It wasn't until later that she realized the real battle, the real shock, hadn't even come, and it was far too late when she finally figured it out. By the time Loki returned, by the time he took a place in the dungeons of Asgard, his eyes were dimmed, the shell of what he used to be, a frightening emptiness in his smile. The blade chilling his throat had failed to faze him, and she knew, suddenly, that nothing ever truly would, save for Frigga's death, maybe even Thor's.But there was a new hatred where his bright envy had once been, a new emotion that burned him far more than the jealousy ever had, and she couldn't put a label on it.He smiled at her, laughed at her attempt to intimidate him, lowered his head and gazed condescendingly down upon her.He was a child again, when she'd first met him, standing with his wide grin and tousled dark hair, his eyes shining like the very stars he liked to count in the sky above, and she let out a breath, pulling back the sword so that he could pass, and she watched him go, his memory fading from her just as he now vanished from her sight.She could no longer see the hope that things would improve, something he'd carried loosely with him for all of his life, and she swallowed thickly, feeling as if she'd just watched the greatest tragedy, the saddest decay.She'd never seen something so ruined, so damaged past recognition, and she felt faint as she watched Thor climb into the ship, unaware that his brother was never coming back to neither himself nor the dungeons of Asgard.
1128841	Enjoy the Ride	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Daryl Dixon, Rick Grimes, Original Character", "Fandom": "Walking Dead (TV)", "Language": "Русский", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Gevion", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-11T00:00:00", "words": "931", "Additional Tags": "Angst, Pre-Slash, road story, Romance", "Relationship": "Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Официантка, которая наконец приносит кофе, выглядит, как призрак из прошлого. Она не похожа на тех, с кем им доводилось встречаться раньше: те наставляли на них ружья и матерились не хуже бывалых вояк, и только намного позже, уже успокоившись, пили виски, не разбавляя, и никак не могли, не хотели замолчать. Говорили, шептали, кричали, снова пили. У них были семьи. Они не умели ни стрелять, ни даже держать ружьё до того момента, как пришлось учиться. Другие наматывали чётки вместо браслетов и молчали, и их молчание было едва ли не страшнее, чем крики первых.Эта же беспрерывно растягивает пухлые губы в усмешке, скалит белоснежные очень крупные зубы, гремит намотанными на руку разноцветными бусами, нечаянно задевая рукой железные подстаканники. У неё курчавые волосы, стянутые обручем, и раздражающе яркие, почти облупившиеся пятна лака на ногтях. На её форме нашито "Дороти", и это имя совсем ей не подходит.Когда Рик пытается завязать с Дороти разговор, она не сразу откликается. Она говорит им "мальчики", и стареет буквально на глазах. В её улыбке оказывается больше отчаяния, чем веселья. Дороти всё время протирает тряпкой один и тот же столик, не замечая, что на нём не осталось пыли. Грязь и жир больше не скрывают длинных параллельных царапин, оставленных на нём кем-то, кто уже не был в тот момент живым. Тряпка проходится по ним раз за разом, но царапины прочно впились в дерево.Она приносит старые газеты, спрашивая, не желают ли путешественники купить свежую прессу. Дэрил бросает предупреждающий взгляд, но Рик уже протягивает деньги. "Не надо", — говорит он только тогда, когда официантка отходит от их столика достаточно далеко, чтобы ничего не услышать. Пусть она не знает. Дэрил в ответ молчит, машинально растирая плечо, натёртое ремнём от арбалета."Вам нужно добраться до ближайшего города? — спрашивает она. — До него десять миль, но похоже, что туда больше никто не ездит. Вы последние приезжие за последние два месяца. Я уже и не помню, когда кто-либо заказывал кофе. Те, кто останавливался до вас, пили только водку". Она неуверенно улыбается, спрашивая, нужно ни им что-нибудь ещё. Дэрил качает головой и впервые за тот час, что они сидят в кафе, произносит: "Мы не остаёмся". "Как пожелаете, я понимаю", — Дороти уносит кружки, приносит чек и просто стоит рядом, не отрывая взгляда от царапин на столе. "Сколько ей потребуется времени, чтобы забыть и нас?" — спрашивает Рик одним взглядом. Дэрил ничего не отвечает.Покосившийся указатель и вправду говорит, что до города десять миль, но и через десять, и через двадцать, и тридцать миль впереди — всё та же дорога, и можно ехать, не снимая ноги с педали газа.Дэрил не любит автомобили, ему больше по душе мотоциклы, но сейчас такое время, когда выбирать не приходится, поэтому он смиряется, захлопывает дверцу, поворачивает ключ зажигания и опускает все окна, чтобы чувствовать, как воздушные потоки треплют рваную обивку. Иногда они меняются местами, и Рик ведёт машину гораздо медленнее, чем обычно, а Дэрил садится на её крышу и едет так часами.Пусть сейчас этого недостаточно, но он высовывает руку в окно, словно пытаясь схватить ветер. Тёмная полоса вдоль горизонта и не думает исчезать, первые раскаты грома уже прогремели, но солнце светит всё так же ярко, и в его ярких лучах становятся видно, как вдалеке сначала поднимается пыльное облако, быстро заволакивая поля с жухлой травой и редкие иссохшие деревья, а потом его прибивает к земле струями ливня. Если ехать без остановки, можно успеть укрыться от грозы в одном из покинутых домов. Рик рядом жмурит слезящиеся от солнца и ветра глаза, но солнечные очки, лежащие в бардачке, не надевает. В последнее время яркие краски будто преследуют их. Стоило исчезнуть половине населения, как мир преобразился.Когда они наконец останавливаются и выходят из машины, на сухую потрескавшуюся землю уже упали первые капли, всполохи на небе гаснут. Ветер нарастает, треплет вывешенные на верёвку перед домом простыни. От них остались только длинные обрывки.Двери дома распахнуты. Рик достаёт из багажника сумку, в то время как Дэрил проверяет дом. Там абсолютно точно никого не осталось, но лишняя осторожность не помешает. О том, что дом покинут недавно, говорят осколки посуды на кухонном полу, беспорядочно разбросанные вещи. И длинные царапины на двери, точно такие же, как те, что остались на столике придорожного кафе.Не сговариваясь, они переносят необходимые вещи в комнату на втором этаже. Остальные комнаты пусть остаются нетронутыми. Порог уже заливает дождь, и вместо того, чтобы захлопнуть дверь и закрыть ставни на окнах, Рик выходит на крыльцо, останавливается на секунду, оборачивается, смотрит на Дэрила и идёт дальше, в грозу, в самый эпицентр бушующей стихии.За долгие недели у них не было возможности выспаться на кроватях. О душе речь и вовсе не идёт. Рубашки, футболки, джинсы — всё пропитано потом и превратилось в заскорузлые тряпки. На ботинках — толстый слой дорожной пыли, песок скрипит даже на зубах. Дэрил снимает куртку, скидывает обувь, стягивает носки и идёт под дождь босым.С потемневшей ткани ручьями льётся вода, соль, оставшаяся от высохшего пота в спутанных прядях волос, растворяется. "У тебя отрастают волосы", — говорит Рик Дэрилу, проводя ладонью поверх его затылка до плеч по воздуху. Вокруг них всё грохочет и расплывается, поэтому он произносит эту фразу раз за разом всё громче, почти кричит её Дэрилу прямо в ухо, прижимаясь к нему уже всем телом. "У тебя отросли волосы. Я и не знал, что…" — он прерывает фразу, вода заливается в уши, глаза и рот, и становится абсолютно бесполезно пытаться что-то сказать, услышать или увидеть. Звук собственного сердцебиения отдаётся в ушах, сливаясь с звуками грозы. Остаются только ощущения — хлещущих по спине и бокам потоков, холодной земли под ногами в том месте, где ещё недавно были трещины, чужого тела рядом, мокрой ткани под пальцами.И Дэрил, которому никогда ничто не принадлежало, кроме его собственной жизни, только сейчас понимает: всё это — моё, сейчас и на века.
1149584	Sealed With Blood	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin \| Mr. Gold", "Fandom": "Once Upon a Time (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by DelilahBlueEyes", "chapters": "3/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-23T00:00:00", "words": "5,189", "Additional Tags": "True Blood AU, Alternate Universe, AU, vampire, Blood Play, Deal", "Relationship": "Belle/Rumplestiltskin \| Mr. Gold", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Belle wiped sweaty palms on the skirt of her sundress and pulled the straps closer to her neck. She considered shifting her breasts higher in her borrowed push-up bra but worried it would not help her cause since they would be a minor attraction at the most. The sun beat down on her bare shoulders comfortingly but the building before her seemed to be shrouded in darkness. With one steadying breath, she pushed the door to the town’s pawnshop open and stepped inside. The room was murky as an old fish tank as she moved forward with both hands raised. The toe of her strappy sandal knocked against something solid and the resulting crash of a tub of umbrellas spilling across the dusty floor frightened her back a step. She raised a hand to her suddenly racing heart and scolded herself for her clumsiness. And really, there was nothing to fear in this cluttered old place.“I would ask that you use caution, miss. Can’t have my merchandise cracked to pieces before I can sell it.”She squinted into the gloom and caught the silhouette of a man standing behind the long glass counter at the back of the room. Mr. Gold. She wondered if he could hear her heart beating from here; if he was even now counting the steps it would take to catch her up in his grasp and…. No. It was broad daylight outside. He wouldn’t risk getting caught with a dead girl in his shop in the middle of town. At least she hoped not. She’d come so close to asking Ruby to come with her but decided against it when she remembered that the red extensions were the most adventurous her friend had gotten since the seventh grade. She was taking a risk here, one she hoped she’d calculated properly.“I’m- I’m sorry, my eyes hadn’t quite adjusted yet.” Much as every instinct in her mind told her to keep her eyes on the predator in the room, Belle crouched on the carpet and gathered the umbrellas back into their basket, tipping it right ways up again and dusting her hands off afterward. “There. No harm done.”He made a noncommittal hmm in the back of his throat and Belle realized that she could make out the shine of his eyes, the shape of his mouth as he watched her. “What can I help you with, dearie? Very busy day, as you can see.”Belle cut her eyes to each side, searching the shadows for other customers and finding none. It took her a moment too long to realize that he’d made a joke and she heard a sigh from him. Drat. She’d planned to flirt and to smile and to charm him. Not to stumble and sweat and misunderstand his jokes. A silence fell over them and she cursed herself again for not finding some knick-knack on a nearby shelf, some pretense to ease her way further into the room and a conversation with him. She was making a terrible mess of this but she had to see it through. Nothing to her left but strange metal machine pieces and to her right was only the umbrellas. She lifted one from the basket anyway. The smooth wood felt nice in her palm as she lifted it to inspect the color of the fabric and nod approvingly at nothing that she had any idea of. With a possible weapon/talking point in hand, she began to wonder how to begin a conversation like this? ‘Excuse me, Mr. vampire, but I’d like to discuss something that makes me unendingly uncomfortable but which might interest you and save my father’s life. And by the way, how much is this umbrella and is it a good stabbing implement?’ Thankfully the burden was lifted from her shoulders.“Look, I’ll make this astoundingly easy for you. What is your name, what do you want and how many times have you asked for it before?” Mr. Gold hadn’t moved an inch since she’d come into the store, but his head tipped forward now and his hair caught the faint light as it fell into is face. “My name is Belle French, I’d like to discuss my father Moe’s debt and I’ve never asked for this before.” She wondered how many times a day he had this exact conversation and found herself relieved to not have to play at sex kitten vampire bait anymore. It ill suited her. “Ah, good old Moe. Sending his offspring to bat her eyes and make his debt disappear.” There was the glint of a ring on his finger as his hands tightened around the head of his cane. The wood creaked faintly under the strain. “Well, sorry to say, many a person has tried and it isn’t as simple as all that.”Belle’s brow furrowed in annoyance at the assumption that her father thought so little of her and opened her mouth to tell him so, forgetting for a moment who it was she faced. “It’s nothing of the sort, actually. My father doesn’t know I’m here, but I am here on his behalf. I wasn’t going to bat my eyes at you. I was going to offer something of value.”“Well, I’d have to disappoint in that case as well. As tempting as a roll in the hay may be, dear, I would be mad to trade thousands of dollars for your—““My blood!” She choked out, eager to never hear how he intended to end that sentence. Her cheeks burned and her grip on the umbrella was likely twisting the metal supports out of shape. “I was going to offer my blood.”His head came up slowly, like some great beast scenting something tasty on the wind, and suddenly he did move. Slow and deliberate as he made his movements, she had to force herself to remain still and let him approach her. She’d said the words, put the offer onto the table, and now she couldn’t very well back out. He stopped a few feet away, to her relief, but now she could see him fully. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal black suit, deep blue tie tightened around his throat. He held his cane before him, the ornate golden handle peeking out at her between his fingers. He wasn’t as tall as she might have thought, though the fluid motion of his body and the sharpness around his eyes suggested he could easily tear her apart if he wished. Belle crossed her fingers and prayed that he didn’t wish.“Well, that’s certainly…. Interesting.” There was the sparkle of a gold tooth when he smiled at her. “Though also not comparative to several thousands of dollars. Succulent as I’m sure you would be.” Belle forced back a shudder at how he lingered on the word succulent, how his eyes dropped to her neck. She thought perhaps her blood would boil in her veins when the tip of his tongue appeared over his lips, flickering away again in a blink.“I- I was going to offer to come here once a week and… and let you… drink my blood.” The words seemed awkward in her mouth, bringing to mind every cheap production of Dracula she’d seen on late night television as a child. She wasn’t sure what else to call it, though, and he didn’t laugh at her phrasing. “In return for forgiving my father’s debt. I know how difficult it can be to find someone willing to…. help you in this town.”“Ah,” was all he said for long minutes. He stood and he stared unblinkingly at her as she tried to keep from fidgeting with the battered umbrella still gripped in both hands. Was he going to say anything else, damn it? Was he waiting for her to take the hint and leave? Maybe he was weighing the moral and logistical difficulties in just killing her now. It might be preferable to having to leave and know he was here with the memory of this complete train wreck of a proposition. Umbrellas weren’t made for stabbing, but it would probably do the job, for either of them. She couldn’t help but notice, even in her acute humiliation, that he smelled very nice. Like sandalwood and pine needles and something subtler, some quiet low note of something musky and-“You said ‘was going to’,” he finally broke the silence. Then he sighed and clarified when she only stared back at him in confusion. “Before, you said ‘I was going to offer’. Was being the past tense of will. Does that mean you are now unwilling to make such an offer?”“No, yes, I am. I- Yes, I am.” She might have been further embarrassed by stumbling over her words were she not already so relieved. This could be the solution her family needed to turn everything around, just this chance. And she wasn’t about to blow it.“Well, we’ll need to discuss the terms of the deal first. For example, twice a week is a good starting place, but for the amount of money I’ll be excusing the only option is to be available whenever I have need of you.”“Oh… Well, I thought…” Much as she might like to argue, it was a point she could not contest. “Yes, that is fair, though I would need some notice when you… have need of me. And I’d ask that you choose times during the day when I’ll be able to leave the house without suspicion.”He gave her an indulgent smile, as if the thought of sleeping amused him. “Of course. I shall require your phone number, unless you’d like to train a pigeon or something of the like?”“Oh, right.” She stepped around him and went to the desk, finding a legal pad and pen to scribble her cell phone number on. She tore off the corner of the page and brought it to him. He took it without touching her fingers and she was glad of that, tucked it into the pocket of his jacket and smiled again. “Anything else?”“Well, you’ll have to be ready and willing to tell me if I ever hurt you. Understand that it is not my intention and say something so I can stop immediately. Other than being at my beck and call and adequate communication, I am happy to call this deal settled. How about you?” “I…. How long will this arrangement stand?” She hated to ask but she wanted to get the hell out of this town eventually and being indebted to a vampire didn’t bode well for her future.He smiled again, seeming almost proud. “A very good question, dearie. Your father has owed me for quite a number of years, but I will be generous and only hold you to 5 years.”“Five?! No way! How about one?” “Four and a half.”“Two and a half.”He quirked an eyebrow at her, though his smile never wavered. “Three and a half, and I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”Three and a half years. She’d be twenty-six before she left this back woods town, but at least she would be leaving it. She took a deep breath and lifted her hand. “Alright then. Deal.”He glanced down at her hand in apparent confusion before taking it in his own and shaking it carefully. His skin was warm and dry, nothing like the stories all suggested, though those were surely all based on fiction. That same woody smell reached her nose again and she wondered if it was wrong to find it so nice under her present circumstances. Her train of thought derailed entirely when he lifted her hand higher and bent his face over it. The tip of his nose skimmed the skin on the back of her hand and her heart thundered in her chest. Was he going to do it now? He hadn’t said anything about it, though she supposed it should have occurred to her. Was she supposed to do something? Was there even anything she could do? Would the bite mark show up when he was done? Would she have to dress to keep it hidden? Oh, god, long sleeves in June would certainly be conspicuous, even in Maine.“Thank you, Belle.” His breath warmed her fingers before he straightened again. His eyes had darkened considerably and he looked somewhat wilder, though his smile hadn’t budged. “I shall call you later in the week.” He stepped aside to let her pass and she found herself back out in the bright sunlight in moments. She stood dazed for a time, trying to reconcile the cheerful summer day with the heavy transaction she’d just made. Her blood for her father’s financial freedom. Worse deals had been made, she was sure, and there was no reason he need know what she’d done. Perhaps she’d send him on an extended vacation, home to visit his sister and her husband. Belle pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them onto her nose, hurrying as casually as she could away from the shop entrance. She’d have to keep her phone charged and maybe take an iron supplement… ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Are you ready?”Belle set her cell phone on the counter and clenched her hands together in front of her. She’d worn jeans and a button down cardigan today, not knowing where he intended to bite her or how hard it would be to cover up. He’s assured her he could heal the bite just as easily as he could make it and suggested she remove her sweater to keep from staining it. Now they stood at the counter together, her feeling exposed and shaky in her camisole but warm with him so close behind. His hands rested against the glass to either side of her own and she felt goosebumps rise over her skin when his breath tickled over the hair at the nape of her neck. “Probably not but if we wait until I am my three and a half years will be up and you’ll starve to death.” He chuckled beside her ear and put his hands over her own to still her nervous fidgeting. His shirtfront brushed her back as he stepped closer, effectively pinning her against the cool glass, though the embrace didn’t feel as oppressive as it might have. He held her carefully, almost tenderly and her heart fluttered in her chest.“I’m not going to hurt you, Belle. I can promise you that right now. You will hardly feel it and if you do… well, I’m told it can feel quite…. Nice.” His low rumble of a laugh made her tingle and her own nervous titter trailed off as he continued to speak quietly. “I’ll never take more than may make you feel a bit lightheaded, like giving blood at the hospital. And again, if anything ever feels wrong or frightens you, you must tell me. Despite the rumors around town, I’m not a mind reader. Now, there is something we haven’t talked about yet. I wasn’t sure how to tell you when we first spoke…”“What is it?” Had he decided three and a half years was too generous? Was he going to demand five? Was he going to tell her that there were vampire-transmitted diseases and that she should get tested at the clinic in town? Was he going to suggest she take her shirt off too?“In the vampire community this, our arrangement, would be….. It would make it appear…. In the minds of others of my kind, what we’re about to do will mean that you belong to me.”“Oh.”“Not like a possession. You are not a possession to me, dearie.” His hands curled around hers, fingers ever so slightly weaving through hers as he flipped them over so they could both see her palms swallowed up by his. “More in a way that we will be considered bound to each other. You will be left alone by any strange vampires that come to Storybrooke and I will be obligated to bring you into my protection, should the need arise. Only if you prefer, of course. If not, there are various ways to make sure that no living creature could detect my presence on you.” Belle paused to think about that for a moment. Her father and neighbors would have no clue what she did here anyway, but any possibly dangerous strangers that came to town would know she was… spoken for, so to say, and be that much more likely to leave her unharmed. She’d never lived her life in paralyzing fear of the vampires around her, but the occasional story did crop up on the news of humans slaughtered by roving bands of psychotic fanged people. “Would it be safer? To let them know I’m…. yours?”“For the most part I believe it would be. I am rather well known in this part of the country, as well as my tendency to… well, let’s just say I react poorly when provoked. It wouldn’t require anything from you except to continue coming to me on a regular basis. The bond will form itself and after a period of time I will even gain a sense of where you are, whether you’re ever in danger or frightened.”She hummed to indicate she’d heard him, though she couldn’t help wonder if he’d appear at her window if she stubbed her toes in the middle of the night. “Anything else I should know? Food allergies I should be aware of? Do I need to avoid eating tree nuts?”His laugh shook her again and she smiled in response. It was a lovely sound, really. All low and throaty and unabashed. She thought it might be nice to hear him laugh at least once every time she came to the shop. “No, not that I know of. Not besides the usual silver and sunlight issues.” One of his hands left hers to sweep her hair over her shoulder and he must have felt her tense. “Tell me about your studies. You opted for online courses in lieu of the traditional college experience, didn’t you?”“Ah, yeah, I needed to stay close in case my papa fell ill again. His heart’s never been very strong since he had a heart attack almost seven years ago. He tried to send me to UMaine but I didn’t want to go even that far away. I just bought myself a new laptop with some of the money I’d saved up and signed up for online courses.”It happened so quickly she didn’t think to flinch. His teeth slipped into her skin and his lips pressed flush against her throat. She could feel the first draw he took from her, the sting of his fangs as he swallowed. Her heart thumped against her ribs and set off at a gallop, fingers curling into fists as he sucked away another mouthful of her blood. She wasn’t panicking, not yet. But she was very, very close. He slipped an arm about her waist, flattening his hand against her stomach while the other one found hers and laced their fingers together.“Kee’ talkin’,” he mumbled, thumb rubbing reassuringly over her ribs.“I… mostly focus on… on literature. Library sciences and Shakespeare and American Literature courses. I know they say libraries are dying out but I can’t help but hold out hope that I’ll find a place where books are still important. I want to travel, as much as I can before I settle down anywhere. I want to see the pyramids and the Eiffel tower and the Grand Canyon. I want…..”He prompted her with a poke to her stomach, though he never paused for a moment in his drinking. If she didn’t share her secret hopes with the man sucking out her bodily fluids, who would she share them with? She licked her lips and let her head fall back against his shoulder. “I want a beautiful colonial house with a sprawling garden and a willow tree out back by a lake. I want….. I want a family to put in that beautiful house. Little feet pattering across the hard wood floors in the morning and twinkle lights shining out onto the snow in the winter. I want everything to smell like roses and lilacs.”It wasn’t until he swiped a thumb across the place where two neat puncture wounds should have been that she realized how lost she’d gotten in her musing. Smooth skin was all that met her fingers when she reached up to investigate and she turned her head just in time to see him pull his thumb out of his mouth. The sight made her mind spark with something she didn’t want to examine too closely at the moment. Not with him looking at her like that and his other hand inches away from her breasts.“What I really want is to stop saying silly things in front of you.” She pulled her hair forward over her shoulders and saw him frown as he moved away to retrieve her sweater and bring it to her. Whatever he meant to respond with was forgotten as Belle’s knees buckled under her. He’d produced a chair in the time it took her to push herself back to standing and guided her into it.“Here, drink this.” He reached back and picked a glass of water off the counter without looking and handed it to her, crouching before the chair. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Feeling faint?”“No, I’m fine,” she protested as he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, checked her pulse against his watch. “Really, Mr. Gold, I’m fine. It’s just…. It’s a bit intense, you know?”But the little worry wrinkle between his eyes refused to disappear and he watched her carefully until she’d drunk all the water and another few minutes besides to make sure she wouldn’t lose consciousness as soon as he looked away. “Would you like me to arrange a car to take you home?”“Oh, god, no.” She laughed and stood up, pulling her sweater on and heading for the front door. “Really, I swear I’m okay. If it makes you feel better, I’ll go straight home and have a cookie and some juice, okay?”“Yes, see that you do.” He pointed a stern finger at her but his smile assured her that he was joking… probably. “Well, er, I suppose I’ll see you the next time you call. Ah…” She fought the bizarre instinct to thank him, imprinted from years of etiquette lessons from her mother when she was young. Unless that was normal procedure for this type of thing? Was there even a normal procedure for this type of thing? “Bye.”“Goodbye, Belle.”She didn’t think she should like the way his voice wrapped around her name so comfortably. Shouldn’t, but very much did. Her last thought on leaving the shop for home was to wonder whether his bright eyes and flushed skin was all in her imagination or if it was, perhaps the fresh influx of blood. Hmm. She didn’t regret this arrangement (yet) but sometimes vampires could be really creepy. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Belle was deep into her popcorn and even deeper into her movie when her cell phone buzzed jerkily in its place on the coffee table. She muted her television and scooped the phone up, checking the screen for the usual out-of-state numbers that indicated bill collectors and frowning. “Mr. Gold?” “What are you doing?” He sounded tense, almost annoyed. “I’m… watching a movie… in my pajamas…” “Ah, that would explain it.” There was the sound of a car door shutting and fainter, the sound of his cane clicking along the ground. “A horror movie, I’m assuming?” “Ah… yeah…. Why?” Belle sat up and looked out the living room window, half expecting to see him on his way up her driveway. She couldn’t decide if she was more disappointed or relieved to see nothing but the evening gloom. “Wait, is that…. bond… thingie happening already?” “I would assume so, yes. What are you watching?” Belle settled back onto the couch and fiddled with the tv remote as something clinked in the background, likely ice cubes being dropped into a glass. “Well it’s definitely not Dracula.” His warm chuckle made her shiver the way his breath did when it ghosted down the side of her neck. She smiled shakily and rubbed her hand over her arm to soothe the goosebumps that rose there. “I would hope not. You don’t need any more reasons to be so jittery around me, dearie.” He sighed and she imagined him sitting in a perfectly polished leather chair beside a fireplace, resting his cane over the arm. It was an oddly formal picture as she had yet to see him without even his jacket and couldn’t picture him anything but fully dressed. “Well, I suppose this call served the double purpose of letting me know you’re safe and sound and letting you know that I noticed something amiss in the first place.” “Yeah, I’ll try to stick to rom coms and historical documentaries from now on. Wouldn’t want to disturb your sleep with my nightmares.” She paused to wonder if vampires slept but decided against asking. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know and besides, she couldn’t picture him sleeping in anything but a suit. “I’ve got a class to wake up for in the morning anyway so I’ll head to bed. Did you want me to come over after?” “No, that’s alright, dearie. Focus on your studies. I’ll live through the weekend without a visit, I think.” She smiled as she thought of the way his mouth turned up when he made a comment he was pleased with. It was a familiar sight, as somehow endearingly smug as he was. “Alright, then. G’night.” “Good night, Belle. Sleep well.” Belle flipped her phone shut and bit her lip, watching the lights from the tv shifting along the ceiling as Mina cradled Dracula on the floor of the ruined chapel. It was with a slight embarrassment that she realized she was disappointed not to be seeing him the next day. They’d made the deal that released her father nearly a month ago and it hadn’t taken nearly that time for her days to settle into a routine of studying, working in her father’s shop and giving her blood to her mysterious new… friend? It wasn’t the most traditional situation, to be sure, but it was pleasant enough for what it was and she did enjoy talking to him. He’d recommended a book that she planned to search the library for and she’d brought a handful of daisies to brighten up his gloomy shop. Ignore the fact that after he’d recommended the book he’d sucked out a pint of her blood and it was almost what she would call tentative dating. Not that she could ignore it, of course. He was very tactile during his feeding and would always hold her hand or stroke her hip. It was a nice distraction from the odd sensations around her throat but brought on even odder, tingly feelings that she couldn’t seem to find another distraction from. She’d have to explain to her father soon why he wasn’t expected to pay his usual installments to Mr. Gold, and she didn’t think a sudden stroke of luck with the lottery or a mysterious benefactor would quite soothe his anxiety on the matter. Well, that could wait a while. Until then she had a 12-page paper to proof read, an equally important Friends marathon to watch and a shipment of flowers to receive in the morning while her father was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The credits rolled at the end of her movie and she shut the tv off and went upstairs to bed. She fell asleep with her fingers curled around her cell phone and dreamt of Mr. Gold lapping whisky out of the hollow of her throat in the flickering shadows cast by a low-burning fire. Class took longer than she thought on their slow internet connection and therefore her father beat her to meeting the flower truck. “Morning, love. Help me trim these roses, would you?” She kissed her father on the cheek as she passed and took up a pair of shears. “I swear if we find one more plant sick with scale we’re switching distributors.” “Switching to whom, papa? There isn’t exactly much competition up here unless you’d like to try to ship in from Montreal.” “Well, if they can’t sort out their bloody greenhouses we might just have to. Can’t believe those morons can’t keep a bloody bunch of flowers clean but they want to raise the prices on their…” Belle rolled her eyes as he continued to mutter bad-naturedly to himself. They had this conversation on a monthly basis and she always had to remind him how impractical it was to try to switch distributors if every flower wasn’t pristine. He could be so petulant sometimes. Which reminded her. “I’m going to meet some friends for lunch in a while. Would you like me to take your check to Mr. Gold’s shop on my way?” She kept her eyes down while she asked but she still felt his stare. “It’s a bit out of the way for the diner, Belle. Are you sure you don’t mind?” She gave him her most vacuous smile and shook her head and he grinned sheepishly. “Alright, then. Can’t say I’m not glad to be able to avoid that man. Be safe, though. Wear your mother’s cross and just slip the money through the mail slot in the door.” After trimming and checking all of the roses, Moe told her he could handle the rest of the shipment and she went upstairs to collect her things. She could go to the diner and see Ruby for a while then take a book to the park for a few hours. She slipped the envelope that contained that month’s rent payment into a pocket inside her purse, glad that she wouldn’t have to explain the slight amount of money inside to their debtor. She’d find small ways to put this into taking care of them, buying some groceries and fixing the lock on the front door and refilling her father’s prescriptions. And of course he’d notice eventually that Gold’s henchmen hadn’t come for his blood as a result of the meager payments. She’d have an explanation for that. She’d think of something…. Hopefully. Belle caught a flicker of movement at the corner of her vision and turned just in time to see the shop door shut behind someone. Good, she thought, the more business they got before next month, the less sneaking she’d have to do behind her father’s back on top of the whole blood sacrifice stuff, of course. She put on her sunglasses and wandered off for her first free afternoon in quite a while.
1145108	Untitled NeilCale Fic	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Cale Mills, Tommy Ratliff, Adam Lambert, Kris Allen, Neil Lambert", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by AiraSilver", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-20T00:00:00", "words": "566", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Neil Lambert/Cale Mills, Kris Allen/Adam Lambert/Tommy Ratliff", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Kris Allen (Musician), Adam Lambert (Musician)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Neil stood off to the side watching Kris and his band. Adam had come to see his best friend and dragged Neil along. Most of the time, the youngest brother would whine about being dragged to places by the older. This time though, Neil let Adam do as he wished. It wasn’t because of Kris or seeing the rest of the Allen family. Cale Mills was the reason. Neil had somehow fallen for the older male. He really didn’t know how since he was the straight one in the family while Adam was the homosexual. All Neil knew was that ever since meeting Cale, he couldn’t get the other off his mind. Adam knew, he had figured it out before Neil could even admit it to himself. Most times Neil was grateful he could talk to his older brother about Cale and unconditional love. Well, until Adam went off on the Kris/Tommy situation. Then Neil rolled his eyes and walked away. Neil knew Adam needed to decide what to do about the two other males but wouldn’t. So the youngest Lambert decided to put his crush/love aside and work on Adam’s. What he didn’t know was that Adam was doing the same. Leaving his decision about Kris and Tommy alone and working on Neil and Cale. The two brothers had decided this while on the plane to see Kris and the band. Tommy had stayed back, or so Adam thought. Neil had invited Tommy along to talk to Kris and Adam, together. Hopefully the trio would be able to work something out. He ignored the fact that he was pitifully hoping that Cale would want to spend time with him as the three men were talking. As the brothers watched Kris, Cale, and the rest of the band, Tommy walked up. Nodding to Neil, Tommy grinned at Adam when the younger male (by a couple of months) gaped at him. “Hey, Neil didn’t tell you? I came along to talk to Kris and you. By the way, the band’s headed this way.” Tommy nodded to the front. Spinning around, Adam felt his face pull into a wide grin. Neil growled at Tommy as he tried not to look at Cale. “What the fuck, Tommy?” “You and Cale need to speak, the same as Adam, Kris, and I.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Tommy!” Neil hissed as he tried to disappear. Tommy wouldn’t let the youngest male. Instead he tossed Neil at Cale with a slight glare. “Here, take him and speak. Better yet, make out or have sex. I don’t care, just let me talk to Adam and Kris.” Cale nodded and dragged Neil off. The youngest Lambert was pissed at Tommy but soon forgot exactly why when Cale did as Tommy suggested and started making out with Neil. That turned into sex which turned into a marathon that lasted two days. By the time it ended, Neil was tired but happy and officially Cale’s. Cale just laughed at his boyfriend before dragging Neil off again. Waving to Kris, Adam, and Tommy, the couple disappeared for some more make outs before they went out to dinner with the trio. Adam pouted after his brother, wanting to know everything, but his lovers soon had him not thinking of anyone or anything except themselves. Adam would be told, just like Neil would be, later though, much later.
1186630	The Last Word	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Howard Moon, Vince Noir", "Fandom": "The Mighty Boosh (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by hexagonad (ideserveyou)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-15T00:00:00", "words": "1,435", "Additional Tags": "Valentine's Day Fluff, Fluff and Angst, But more fluff than angst, shopping list, AO3 1 Million", "Relationship": "Howard Moon/Vince Noir", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	This year, Howard tells himself, as he daydreams behind the counter in the Nabootique. It’ll be this year. He’ll finally actually send that Valentine instead of just thinking about sending it. He’s got the perfect card for his perfect partner; now all he needs to do, sometime over the next three days, is to find the perfect words to go inside it. As a writer, of course, he should find that perfectly easy. The soulmate of his dreams will be blown away by the sincerity and the quality of the writing – writing that, with a little thought, will be easily identifiable as Howard’s own. After all, nobody else has his style, his confidence, his inimitable way with language... Then finally the Man of Action will actually get some action, and everything will be perfect. Howard taps his special drafting pencil on the edge of the countertop, careful not to dislodge the neat row of biros waiting to ink in those wondrous words that are surely going to flow... ‘Hey Howard, what are you doin’?’ Howard jumps, and tuts with annoyance as the pencil skitters across his notebook, leaving an untidy mark on the otherwise perfectly blank page. ‘Writing,’ he says, with as much gravity as he can muster, covering the scribble hastily with his hand. ‘Looks more like a demented spider impression to me,’ Vince giggles, coming to stand far too close behind Howard and peer over his shoulder. ‘Have you actually written anythin’ on that page?’ ‘Not... as such,’ Howard admits. ‘But preparation is an important part of the process.’ Vince splutters with more giggles. ‘Like you’d know.’ ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Howard glares at him. ‘Nuffink, Howard.’ Vince rolls his eyes. ‘You just carry on with your – preparation.’ ‘Thank you, Vince.’ Howard sighs, and uncovers the page; turns over to a fresh sheet. ‘You know, you should never interrupt a writer at work. It unbalances the energies, disrupts the flow. As a writer, I – ’ ‘As if you’re a writer. You haven’t written anythink in ages.’ ‘Vince, you don’t have to write words in order to be a writer.’ Vince snorts. ‘Just as well.’ He jerks a derisory thumb at the blank notebook. ‘ ’Bout the only thing you ever do write is the weekly shoppin’ list.’ ‘There’s a lot of literary potential in the list genre, I’d have you know,’ Howard declares. ‘Is there,’ Vince scoffs. ‘Not seen much evidence of that. “Bin liners, bran flakes, twin pack of toilet rolls.” Where’s the narrative structure? Anyway, listen, I’d love to stand ’ere all day discussin’ the literary merits of PG Tips and Jaffa Cakes – you left those off of this week’s list, by the way – but I’ve got writin’ of my own to do.’ He flashes a jumbo-sized box of Valentine cards in front of Howard’s face. ‘See you later, Mr Fifty Shades of Beige.’ Before Howard can even begin to think of a suitable comeback, Vince is gone. The white page of the notebook stares up at Howard. The longer Howard stares back, the fewer ideas remain in his mind; soon it’ll be blank, like the paper, with only Vince’s mocking words echoing in the empty space: ‘...only thing you ever do write is the weekly shoppin’ list...’ Well, at least that’s an idea. A place to start. Howard bends low over the paper, grits his teeth, and writes the first word of his perfect Valentine. ***** This year, Howard tells himself, hitching up the pillow he’s propped between himself and the headboard of his bed. It’ll still be this year. It’s still not too late, Valentine’s Day isn’t until tomorrow and he can stay up all night finishing his card if necessary. He’d pretended to be tired and in need of an early night. Vince, of course, had seen straight through him and sniggered, ‘Got some writing to do?’ Howard hadn’t dignified that with an answer, but he has to admit, as he smothers a huge yawn, that Vince was right. He has got some writing to do. And he’s no nearer having actually done it; there’s only a wastepaper bin full of crumpled drafts to show that he’s made any progress at all. He sighs, and crumples up yet another page; then changes his mind, smooths the paper out again and looks at what he’s written. It’s not perfect. It’s nowhere near expressing what he really thinks about the extraordinary individual who has, against all odds, captured Howard Moon’s heart for all time. He has no idea how it’ll be received, but he can’t bear yet another year of not-knowing. And it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. In fact, it’ll be Valentine’s Day in about ten minutes. He reads the text again. No, it’s not perfect, but maybe it’ll do the job. All he needs is a really good last line to bring it all together. A really, really good last line. Howard closes his eyes in thought, and they stay closed. The pencil falls from his hand; Howard falls into a colourful dream in which there are unicorns and Vince is laughing at him, because of course only virgins can see unicorns... **** Someone has just made a small sound. It was either a laugh or a sob, a single one and quickly suppressed, but it was enough to scatter the unicorns and jerk Howard out of sleep. He sits up in shock, to find Vince sitting beside him on the bed and reading the torn-out notebook page. Howard grabs at the paper. ‘What are you doing, you weren’t supposed to read that!’ ‘Why not?’ Vince holds it out of reach. ‘It’s... it’s...’ ‘It’s what?’ Vince gives him one of those rare, sweet smiles, the sort that make Howard’s knees go weak and make all the annoyances of life with the Electro Ponce seem totally worth while. ‘Don’t look so worried, Howard, I’m tryin’ to find the right words. I was just a bit blown away by it... the quality of the writin’, an’ the sincerity.’ ‘Hang on.’ Howard looks to the fourth wall in appeal. ‘This is still the dream, right?’ ‘No it’s not,’ Vince says, ‘you can’t read in dreams. But you can read this, look.’ And sure enough, Howard can indeed read the whole of his draft Valentine, with Vince once again peering over his shoulder. “Six reasons why you are my Valentine, by Howard TJ Moon. 1. You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. 2. You smile in a way that lights up the room. 3. You smile at me in a way that lights up my whole world. 4. You are the single most exasperating person I’ve ever met. 5. You are also the single person I want to spend the rest of my life with. 6. You –” ‘I hadn’t really finished it,’ Howard says helplessly. Vince just sniffs and wipes his eyes. ‘It’s not that bad... is it?’ Howard asks. Vince shakes his head. ‘It’s great writin’, Howard. You’ve got such a way with words, an’ I just haven’t, roses-is-red is about my limit.’ ‘Roses are red.’ ‘Yeah, that. I’m sorry I said you wasn’t much of a writer... this is genius. I just wish...’ Vince sniffs again; Howard passes him a hankie. ‘Wish what?’ ‘That someone would write stuff like that about me.’ ‘It is about you, you berk.’ The words are out of Howard’s mouth before he knows he’s said them. He and Vince stare at each other in shock. Then Vince’s smile lights up the room, lights up Howard’s whole world, just the way it says on Howard’s list. ‘I know how to finish it now,’ Vince whispers, his blue eyes bright. ‘I may not be a writer, but... Genius last line comin’ up.’ He picks up the pencil that’s fallen down among the bedclothes, smooths out the paper on the bedside table and writes, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed in intense concentration. ‘There.’ He hands the paper to Howard, who reads Vince’s wobbly addition to the list. “6. You love me exackly as I love you.” ‘But that’s... I mean, do you? I mean, you do, and I do, but which of us is you and which is me?’ Howard stutters. ‘That’s the genius part. It don’t matter which of us says it, it’s true either way round.’ Vince takes the paper out of Howard’s shaking hand and puts it back on the table. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Howard,’ he grins, snuggling into Howard’s shoulder. ‘So... um... what happens now?’ Howard asks, giving Vince’s hair a tentative stroke. Vince giggles. ‘You want a list?’
1131740	Haunted House	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Sollux Captor, Aradia Megido", "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by manbrobukkaketheater", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-12T00:00:00", "words": "477", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Sollux Captor/Aradia Megido", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Tumblr Reqest Fics", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“C’mon you scaredy cat!” Aradia said as she pulled you to the front door of the eerie looking house. The two of you had heard of this supposedly haunted house from a friend of Aradia’s. He had proclaimed that exploring the secrets of the ghostly building is the closest thing to exploring ancient ruins that’s available in this town. Ghosts and exploring? If that doesn’t sum up your girlfriend’s interest then you don’t know what will. There was no way she’d pass this up. You on the other hand, weren’t looking forward to spending your evening walking around an abandoned house. There was designs to code and viruses to send to friends, but you had allowed yourself to be dragged buy your girlfriend, mainly because you knew how much it meant to her. She opened the door, free of caution and fearlessly. You followed her in, wincing at her bellowing out a loud hello to no one. She turned and smiled at you. “Oh Sollux, isn’t this going to be great! This place must be filled with a bunch of old, forgotten junk, just waiting for an explorer and her trusty sidekick to uncover.” She was practically jumping up and down with excitement, causing the dusty floor boards to creak in an unsettling way. You grabbed her hand, giving it a light squeeze to get her attention and calm her down. “AA, I don’t exactly think we should be rummaging through someone else’s belongings, even if they have been dead for a century or so. It’s rude.” Your girlfriend playfully rolled her eyes at you. “We’re not going to take anything, just check things out silly!” “Well when I’m dead make sure no touches my stuff.” You mumble, tripping over your usual lisp. Aradia just smiles and kisses your cheek, promising to keep people from touching your computers. You like the sound of that so you repay her with a hug and a kiss on the forehead. When the two of you pull away from each other Aradia has a determined look in her eyes. “Lets get to it!” She turns her flashlight on and holds it under her cheek, casting shadows over her defined face. “Or are you too scared?” You roll your eyes, and get ready to tell her that you’re perfectly capable of holding your own and that haunted houses aren’t real, but you decide to play the sarcasm card. “Yes AA, I have turned into a nervous wreak and feel like I need to hold someone’s hand in order to survive this peril.” You hold out your hand and she grasps on to it with her free hand. Smooth Captor. As you two walk down the empty, dark corridors of the house, Aradia still holding your hand, a glimmer of excitement in her eye, you decide that this wasn’t too bad after all.
1171369	Break The Ice	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Arcee (Transformers), Stunticons (Transformers), Rodimus \| Rodimus Prime", "Fandom": "Transformers Animated (2007)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by KaranSeraph", "chapters": "4/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-06T00:00:00", "words": "5,194", "Additional Tags": "dark and troubled past, Broken Bird, don't you dare pity me, hot for teacher, Back-To-Back Badasses, May-December Romance, You Have My Sword, You Have My Bow, Archaic Weapon For An Advanced Age, Car Fu, Hood Ornament Hottie, Roof Hopping, Personality Identification Playing Cards, Chewing gum, They Have A Rock Lord", "Relationship": "Arcee/Rodimus \| Rodimus Prime", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "It Came From Season Four", "Collections": "TF Rare Pairing Weekly Request Responses", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Rodimus had done a really smart thing. Megatron had used the occasion of his trial and the fact that Sentinel Magnus had authorized the Decepticon Supreme Leader and a number of subpoenaed lieutenants released from their cells within Trypticon Detention Facility - probably to make a better show - to stage a heinous jail break. Rodimus had only missed being trapped with the rest of the 'Bots because he'd stepped out to get some gum. And good thing! He'd returned only just in time to see Optimus Prime and the AllSpark in Megatron's grasp, and then the fact that Oil Slick and the bug on his shoulder had taken notice of his notice. Rodimus had shifted to his racer alt-form and peeled out fast! It wasn't about saving himself; Rodimus was still willing to throw himself between the Decepticons and citzens of Cybertron. If he was going to save Optimus, the AllSpark, their current Magnus, various jurors, and witnesses, Rodimus was going to need a little back-up. What he hadn't anticipated was the entire fortress city of Kaon moving beneath his wheels.Thus the smart thing. Rodimus needed a defensible position to scope out the changing situation and rethink his options. What better location than the HQ Megatron himself had once used? Unfortunately, it seemed the other half of Team Charr had chosen this opportune location for their landing zone. This was what had led to Rodimus doing the really smart thing and ducking into the first unlocked room he found, as Spittor's more disgusting cousin stomped around the corner. The room, more a closet, was occupied. The slightest light of optics and fragrance of warmed oil were the first signs. Rodimus had his energon bow aimed even as the pair of glowing blue swords were drawn on him. They were blue optics, matching the sword blades that hadn't come close enough to cutting, yet, so maybe, Rodimus thought, this could be his back-up. "Relax. Autobot," he said smoothly. At this proximity, he shouldn't be the only one able to identify an Autobot energy signature. But just in case, Rodimus lowered his bow in a show of trust."Please tell me you did not come here alone?" A question like that could have been insulting or bitter, but it just wasn't, because her tone was one of soothing calm. Weird, like a teacher to young bots or something, which was even weirder given she was armed and in Megatron's own broom closet."What?" "You just locked us both inside."So...maybe not a smart thing at all. Rodimus turned, cycling through optical modes in attempt to intensify the image. He looked for an interior door handle or keypad, and then up about a mechanometer. Old Decepticon construction: everything was big. There was a handle there alright, but it was clearly long since busted. "You tried it?"Outside the closet, heavy footsteps fell, then stopped. Without processing a single command, Rodimus acted on base programming. He moved, grasped the femme-bot, pulled her down toward the floor, pressed her behind a large can of solvent, and finally put himself between her and the door. It didn't register immediately that her swords were now poised over the crook of each his arms, threatening to dismember him. Whispering or pinging comms might each alert any nearby Decepticon scans, so Rodimus simply flashed his most disarming smile. Arcee smiled back.~~~~~~~~~~~~She'd never truly felt threatened by this Autobot, but it felt necessary to communicate that she could take care of herself. Arcee hadn't even seen anything to prove these actions were intended as chivalrous as opposed to generally brash and heroic. She was, Arcee knew, still adjusting to her particular circumstance of missing time, and might be too quick to assume others viewed her as actual or potential victim. It seemed to bother Ratchet when she suggested he was being over-protective. Arcee tried not to let it bother her when he explained that kindness and willingness to protect were positive qualities and didn't mean the recipient was incapable. It was just being nice. And then followed the question of what was so wrong with nice, and why a bot would welcome treatment that was not so nice.It seemed a fair question. So, knowing this, Arcee maintained a forced smile as she tapped at the side of her helm to release a catch near her audio receptor that then extended the component along with an attached cable. She felt for the end of the cable and held it between her digits for half a klik before finally offering it to Rodimus.She could see the shift in expressions across his faceplate: charming grin, followed by curiosity, and then something like determined agreement. He turned his head to allow Arcee to make the connection between them. It took less time than she'd hesitated in making the connection for the comm systems to sync. //Got it// Rodimus assured her over the encrypted channel.Arcee disconnected with a firm tug where her data cable met Rodimus's helm, then quickly spooled it back and sealed her her audio component within her helmet. //Arcee// She said. //civilian, but I was formerly in Intelligence.//Rodimus grinned again with the next comm. //Almost guessed teacher.// //Once. Before the war.////You.// His smile turned apologetic and shy. //Don't look that old?// Arcee knew this was true. She'd effectively been in stasis several million stellar cycles. She simply didn't show the same wear a bot her age should. She didn't feel her age either, which now made some things complicated, like with Ratchet. //I'll take it as a compliment. You never gave your name.//He seemed surprised by this. //Rodimus. Rodimus Mi- Major. Space Bridge Security Force. Awaiting reassignment.// There was a pause. //You can just call me Rod or Roddy.// //Rodimus. You can let me up, now.// The sounds in the hall had long since passed. The priority now was to get out of this closet.Rodimus lifted his hands away from her first, then stood. //Sorry, if- I've been told. I tend throw myself into danger. Red keeps a tally of 'stupid injuries' between Hot Shot and myself.//Arcee smiled genuinely as she rose, thinking this Red sounded sensible. She was getting a better understanding of Rodimus's intentions. //Next time, if one of us is going to play tank, it probably shouldn't be the one with the range weapon.//Rodimus's laughter was conveyed over the comms. //Gotcha. I wasn't even thinking of that.// //I don't suppose you are old enough to have been one of my students?// Arcee asked.//Me? No.// He flashed a grin. //You probably would have remembered. I'm a pretty quick study.// Arcee noted the curious lack of arrogance in his tone, it was much more like self-deprecating humor. He was probably even younger than she had thought, and quickly rising in rank if his earlier verbal misstep was evidence. As if to demonstrate his worth, Rodimus quickly switched to business. //I'm thinking our options are: unscrew the hinges from the door, use the flammable solvent to set of the fire suppression system, or try to fit through that duct up there. Maybe a combination?//Arcee scanned the small interior with an aim to analyze Rodimus's plans. //Removing hinges would allow escape, but create noise and leave visible trace. setting-off the fire suppression or alarm would work best as a diversion, were we not actually here. It's wartime Decepticon construction, so we should fit through the duct, even with the spoilers.// She reached out to touch the tip of the yellow one at Rodimus's back to emphasize her point. His energy field flared hotly at the touch. Oh, yeah, he was still young, but he was no young-bot in need of an instructor. Yet now, Arcee was suddenly and strongly tempted to to play teacher and see whether Rodimus wouldn't go straight to the top of the class, given he was reportedly such a quick study. First, they had to stop Megatron. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- //Maybe you should go first.// Rodimus looked up at the precariously leaning shelves and crates now stacked to the ceiling. Truthfully, there wasn't much difference in mass between them, which made sense if they were both built for speed; and they were if the pair of well-curved fenders perched behind Arcee's shoulders were any indication. Even if the margin be narrow, Rodimus still supposed himself to be the heavier and broader of the two. It was a totally practical concern and had nothing to do with being uncomfortable with some bot being behind and watching him crawl. The inverse was only marginally preferable. Arcee's pout momentarily shifted to a too-knowing smile. //Sure. May want for some cover fire where we come out.// //Exactly!// That was a much better excuse than what he had been thinking. Rodimus busied himself with preparation of a makeshift incendiary device composed of common cleaning products, as Arcee made the climb to the vent overhead. The sloping stack shifted but ultimately held. Arcee put her swords before her into the connecting ductwork, then hoisted herself through the opening. Rodimus made the climb with a sloshing jug stuffed with polishing cloth hanging from several digits. The opening was only just large enough square that his spoiler fit through on the diagonal, but the interior of the passage proved roomier than the entrance. Arcee moved away, exterior running lights on her legs reflecting dimly off the cool-toned metal of the surrounding ductwork. Rodimus activated the lighting on his torso and shoulders and crawled after her. The thin metal groaned and reverberated with their passing. //Ready?// Rodimus stopped a short distance from the closet vent and prepared to light their rag and solvent bomb. //Go.// //Fire in the hole!// Rodimus lifted one hand to his mouth and flicked a metal digit against the edge of his upper dental plate to make a spark, which lit the fuming rag real fast. Fire licked his chassis even as he kicked the jug back through the vent and into the broom closet. Still, not the most reckless thing he'd ever done. //Move!// Arcee propelled herself quickly as a bot could at a crawl, kicking against interior surfaces, even as she pulled herself forward. Rodimus followed best he was able, until his arms tangled with Arcee's legs. He could feel the draft of the fire still danger close at several rooms away. //I ever tell you the one about the three swordsmechs?// Of course he hadn't, but Rodimus usually found risk of deactivation a good indicator of time humor be used to diffuse tension. Arcee didn't answer, but chose a connecting segment of the duct as they came to an intersection. //They have a contest to see who is the best. Seeing some insecticons flying around, the first one swings his light saber and cuts the bug in half. The next swordsmech slices with his katanas and cuts an insecticon into quarters. The third swordsmech draws a Great Sword-// The ductwork groaned and this time gave way. //Oh scrap!// Arcee slid headfirst from the torn duct and down into a large glass-fronted hall. Rodimus tried and failed to gain traction in the duct. The best he could do was to shift position as he fell so that he landed in a crouch. He had his energon bow drawn as Arcee rolled to a defensive stance nearby. Panning the space with rocket arrows nocked, Rodimus sighted the gang of fake-Autobots. "Stunticons. Awesome." He loosed arrows at Motor Master as the escaped Decepticon kicked through a glass door. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Arcee remembered these bots: Decepticons pretending to be Autobots pretending to be Decepticons. She'd gone to their show with Ratchet and the others. Their being here meant that some of those Decepticons that broken free within the arena that played venue to Megatron's trial had already made their way back to Trypticon to free the rest. That or the so-called Team Charr was more spread out than they knew having been sighted at both old HQ and arena already. But Arcee couldn't allow herself time for intel analysis with the five-on-two odds against Rodimus and she. //I say we take this out onto the streets!// Rodimus commed. He was already folding down into a hot rodded racer before Arcee could reply. Arcee saw Wildrider coming at her in time to dodge his lunge. She twirled about to drop her heel onto his backstruts and let the spin carry her fully around to face him, where she brought a single blade down between hip and wheel. Wildrider screamed for his teammates to get her, but Arcee took a leap - as Rodimus launched himself airborne and into The Motor Master's chest - shifted to alt-form and landed firmly on four wheels. She accelerated hard for the glass entryway, as Rodimus shifted back to his bipedal form long enough to pin Motor Master's arms to prevent a grappling hold, as he shot an arrow down into his chest. Arcee pulled her brake and drifted sideways through the glass wall, then transformed even as she rolled to disipate the force of impact. She got on her feet in time to parry the forceful thrust of Drag Strip's blades. Rodimus ran to her side as Dead End and Breakdown approached along another vector, driving up a flight of shallow steps from street level. Arcee saw rocket arrows fly, but the doomy coupe and the pale hot rod manuevered from the missile paths at speed. She ducked to sweep Drag Strip's legs with a kick, but the yellow femme cartwheeled away, landing on Breakdown's hood, as if they'd practiced the move. "We're in space!" Rodimus called aloud. Arcee hadn't consciously noted it either, though sensor records said she might have known. They'd felt the city move, and Arcee had even suspected this outcome, but it was a different matter to witness it. Wildrider limped from the HQ, still mobile in robot form. He said something about getting the doctor. //How are you at low-g driving?// Rodimus put his back to Arcee as the Stunticons squealed about for another charge. Arcee hadn't tried before. She thought she understood what Rodimus was getting at. The force keeping them grounded wasn't Cybertron's gravity; it was the inertia of Kaon's shield-like form traveling through interplanetary space of the Hadeen system. Arcee could see the Moon Bases, looming, but too distant to stop the city's movement. She'd had some instruction in spaceflight during Project Omega, and a lot of that time - good and bad - she'd been able to recall lately. //Haven't needed to try.// //Then you better stay close to me.// ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Rodimus was cutting it close; he knew. He shifted to alt-form even as the three mobile Stunticons were speeding toward him in a delta formation with Breakdown in lead. Arcee should have transformed already, Rodimus thought, but instead she ran at the 'Cons and went into a foot-first slide. //Arcee!// Rodimus's engine revved, but he couldn't do a thing for her while she was between him and the white knock-off. Arcee let her feet slide beneath Breakdown's front end, and Rodimus truly feared she'd be crushed, until he saw her use the position to leverage the Stunticon's front axle upward. Breakdown sailed over her body, then Rodimus's roof, and landed behind. From the sickening crunch, he'd hit a wall. Rodimus moved. He shifted into gear and drove toward Arcee, catching her on his hood as he mauvered into the narrow space between the oncoming Dead End and Drag Strip. //Close enough?// Arcee was draped over his hood and windshield. //Too close.// And then regretting how that sounded, //I mean-// //Left.// A hint of amusement was relayed across the comms. Rodimus bore left and Arcee rolled from his hood, digits lingering over his engine just a nanoklik longer than the rest, folded into her speedster form, and was soon racing alongside. Rodimus checked his sensors. //Two still on our tail.// //They're awfully acrobatic, but lets see how well they really drive.// //Not the only ones. Sure you didn't join the Corps?// Rodimus would have thought her combination of swordplay and defensive kicks and rolls would need to be trained. //My best friend joined the Cyber-Ninjas.// //University bot. Drouhard. But Jazz was able to show me a few moves.// Stupid, Rodimus thought, He should have recognized her before. He knew of Jazz; knew he was Corps and Guard and had arrived with Optimus. For his part, Rodimus had still been in the infirmary when Shockwave took Arcee, and though he didn't remember seeing her when Optimus arrived on Cybertron with Megatron and Shockwave captive, she must have been with them in Omega Supreme. Rodimus hadn't even realized there'd been an Omega Sentinel left in service before recent events! //There.// He changed the subject more out of want than need. For the moment they were outdistancing the following Stunticons. //The ramp to the the old TR-808. It'll give us altitude.// Rodimus accelerated to pull ahead of Arcee and raced up the incline onto one of Kaon's elevated Transstate Roadways. Trash 80 they sometimes called the labyrinth of local roadways. Some bots said it was because the road was in such poor repair since the war. Sargent Kup had said it was because there had been so many chassis dumps along its lanes before and during the war. It was probably both. The substrate was pitted and dented and bore occasional burrs large enough to shred tires. Rodimus scanned for a length of tunnel or gap in the walls: anything he could use to evade or trap the trailing Decepticons without having to stop and fight. There were others who needed him! //Watch the road!// Rodimus called warning to Arcee as he swerved around a glass and metal debris field, nearly spinning a rear fender into a guard wall; it was too easy to over steer at this speed. Arcee wove around the opposite edge of the field to rejoin Rodimus at his right side. //Make for the tunnel.// The elevated roadway divided, the leftmost section leading into a length of circular tunnel, which was just what Rodimus wanted. Scanners said Arcee hugged the lane divide, trying to lead the Stunticons into the half-deflated barrels where the roads diverged. While they followed her, Rodimus swung out left and gunned it up the slope of the tunnel wall. Linear acceleration over the curve gave him the centrifugal force needed to carry through an inverted spiral over the lanes below and descend the opposite wall to sideswipe Dead End. The dark coupe just missed Arcee's rear end as he spun out. He'd probably be back, but Rodimus was more concerned with Drag Strip on his tail, as he drafted behind Arcee. //There's a gap in the wall along the outside of the curve ahead.// //Bot after my own spark!// Rodimus's laughter was conveyed over the comm; Arcee knew just what he was thinking. //Stay close.// //Right behind you!// The 808 roadway was banked to slope toward the inside curves so bots didn't do just what they were about to attempt. Slope plus gap equaled exit ramp, only this exit lacked road below. Arcee launched herself from the roadway first, with Rodimus close behind. They fell in an arc over the lower level roads and cleared the roof of a building opposite. Rodimus broke hard and turned wheels opposite his direction of movement to pull to a stop, as Arcee shifted to robot form. Watching from the roof, Drag Strip was momentarily in view as she hesitated at the gap, unfolded into bipedal mode and caught the edge of the roadway with straining servos. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ //Do you remember anything that would reveal Megatron's strategy?// Arcee asked as they roof-hopped through Kaon toward the arena. The peculiar combination of low gravity and inertia caused Arcee to feel as if she hung suspended in slow motion with every jump. The shreds of atmosphere that had clung to the mobile fortress city had since dissipated which made vocalization outside of closed comms pointless. Rodimus, oddly enough, seemed to be enjoying himself, and struck poses while jumping seemingly just because he could. He touched hand to foot before landing on the scaffolding behind a busted video billboard. The moves seemed well-practiced enough that it must have been routine for him to operate in low gravity. It probably had to do with being deployed to defend space bridges. It wasn't work they assigned the Elite Guard or Intelligence agents, and Arcee was fairly certain it wasn't conducted by the Cyber-ninja Corps either. The security teams were, probably, in this 'missing time' after the war, the closest to they had to front-line fighters. //It was in the arena. Megatron had Optimus Prime in a headlock, and the AllSpark was in his other hand- the left. I couldn't watch for long, but it looked like Shockwave and Lugnut were free. Oil Slick was there with some kind of mini-con, I think.// Rodimus paused to scan the area ahead through an auxiliary visor lowered over his optics. //How'd you get out?// //I was never in the arena.// She had intended to enter, but hadn't trusted herself to see Shockwave after the details of his actions against her had become clear. She probably would have tried to hurt him and it wasn't the Autobot way to harm prisoners, so she was told. //I was outside and I saw that ship come down.// //Sighted it on the way in. Thanatos-class strike ship. Kalis' Lament. Personal transport to General Strika.// Rodimus rattled off the details with the combination of directness and precision of a reporting soldier. Then he raised his visor and turned to look at Arcee with a grin. //Want some gum?// Arcee looked down at the small flip-top container Rodimus offered. She gave a nod, pulled a stick of pink gum from the box, then folded it into her mouth. //Do you think they used the AllSpark to move the city?// Rodimus chewed at his own bit of gum. Arcee began a decent along a nearby ladder before making her reply. She saw Rodimus draw his bow to cover her climb. //I'm not caught up on the current status of Kaon, but I remember lessons on Cybertron's history.// //Before Megatron, there were Decepticons who believed the AllSpark could be used to power Cybertron itself. Make it mobile. Alive.// //That's exactly right, Rodimus,// Arcee lapsed into teacher-speak. //The early Decepticons broke from the Destron faction over this belief. However these were not Megatron's specific beliefs. His rhetoric focused on inter-facion social inequalities. Speeches from the period cite Ultra Magnus's implementation of the Decepticon Registration Act as a major factor in beginning the Great War.// Arcee dropped to an alley below, realizing she had probably sounded quite patronizing to Rodimus who would have graduated from the Autobot Academy. Arcee watched the nearby points of egress while Rodimus slid down after her. When he reached the alley, Arcee realized he didn't seem offended, though his very straight expression might have concealed amusement. //So...// Rodimus gestured toward one of the adjacent streets with accompanying questioning glance. //If Kaon didn't move until after Megatron got the AllSpark, do we go to the arena, or do we look for a place he might have harnessed the AllSpark's power?// Arcee suspected Shockwave would be the one to handle the actual connection if that were their plan. She peered around the corner of the building at her back. She could see two bots, a large blue one and a slighter reddish one half-concealed behind, but they moved away from the path to the arena, then out of sight. //Gangsters. 'Cons must have opened every block in Trypticon.// Rodimus had sighted the bots as well. //At least we know where the gladiatorial arena is. Once we get there we can gather intel and reassess.// Rodimus nodded. //If Team Charr's arrival enabled Megatron's escape and they've freed all the prisoners, we're going to be dealing with some really heavy hitters.// Arcee still wasn't familiar with the current rosters of identified Decepticon cells, but just knowing that all those prisoners Sentinel and Optimus had brought to Cybertron now had back-up made the danger crystal clear. //If we can, we should free any Autobots able to help.// //Springer will help if we can find him.// //Springer?// Arcee didn't know a bot by that name. //He's my friend. You'd like him. I mean- he's not as cool as me, but he is good with a saber!// ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Spying on the interior of the arena wasn't difficult, given no one had bothered to shut down the camera drones and jumbotron holos above the open-roofed venue. Rodimus didn't even need magnification to see that Megatron was still present. He was seated in the VIP box attended by one Decepticon and Optimus Prime, who was in stasis cuffs at his side. The AllSpark was with them, now surrounded by large conduits that likely shunted its energies elsewhere. The Autobot audience was pacified, though by what means Rodimus could not see; they simply were unmoving. The only Autobot that appeared mobile was Sentinel Magnus, and he seemed to be defending himself against Lugnut in gladiatorial style trial by combat. //Below, left, at a side exit.// Rodimus lowered his visor and looked in the direction Arcee indicated. //Oil Slick and- I'm sure the little bug was on the playing cards. Scalpel?// //Scalpel.// Maybe he was old enough that Arcee knew more than Rodimus. //A Decepticon scientist and Medi-bot- if you can call him that. He was known for reformatting experiments and theories on cloning.// //Could be the doctor Wildrider mentioned. Looks like they're leaving.// Rodimus watched Oil Slick shift to his cycle alt-form then drive away with Scalpel on his back. //At least that's five stunticons out of the picture, plus these two.// //Plus the new Spittor back at HQ.// //How many were in Team Chaar?// Arcee asked. //Five, but it looks like they replaced or added a few. I get the feeling this one's the new Cyclonus.// Rodimus gestured to the large holoscreen above the arena and the image of the VIP box. //He's in the deck, too. Trying to remember his designation. Aftwipe?// Arcee laughed. //Leaving Megatron, Shockwave, Lugnut, Strika-// //Toxitron. And probably Blackout, or another Bulk.// //Blitwing?// //Right, and two Starscreams- clones. Plus whoever else was in Trypticon.// //Do you think it's that Megatron is keeping Optimus hostage?// Arcee asked. Rodimus knew what she was asking, because he'd been wondering the same thing. Big though they were the Decepticons were outnumbered. How had they gained control? //Mindwipe!// That was the 'Con's name. //The creep standing behind Megatron. Mindwipe. He's got some kind of special ability to control processors! That must be how they've subdued the audience!// //Sounds like a prime target for a range weapon.// //As soon as I take the shot, it'll be obvious I'm there.// //Which means I need to be in position to free some Autobots before that happens, and without falling under Aftwipe's spell.// Rodimus smiled as he scanned the arena's exterior. //We need a better look at that side entrance before I find a perch.// Arcee backed away from the window of the old sprocket factory and Rodimus soon followed. Odds weren't really in their favor, but at least they were processing along the same wavelength. They darted, in turns, from one point of cover to another, until they were in line sight of the smaller side entrance. The arena was not itself built for defense but access by the masses so Rodimus didn't expect physical barriers to be an issue. And, technically, they weren't. //They have a Rock Lord.// //I got this.// Rodimus stood from his crouched position behind an open crate of rusted sprockets. He leaned slowly out the nearby doorway to scan the street, but saw no one, other than the hulking form like a living asteroid with arms and legs. //Roddy! It's bigger than a Decepticon!// Rodimus flashed a grin back at Arcee who was partially hidden behind an old desk. //Trust me.// He shuttered one optic in a wink. He wasn't actually as confident as he pretended, but Rock Lords weren't unknown in outer parts of the Space Bridge Network. There were basically two effective ways to handle them, and Rodimus knew both. It looked toward Rodimus as soon as he was on the open. Rodimus figured this argued for the theory that life in space made these big ones' eyes extra sensitive, as opposed to vestigial. They didn't seem to have anything like olfactory sensors, but they put things in their mouth more often then not. Rodimus strolled up, waved, then offered his tin of gum. It was customary to speak the Universal Greeting, but given the lack of atmosphere, Rodimus just mouthed the words. The Rock Lord took a broad step forward and loomed over Rodimus. He really hoped this worked. Rodimus took a stick of gum and mimed putting it to his mouth. He then chewed at his own piece rather emphatically to demonstrate the idea. He held his arm up, hoping Rocky didn't take his hand with it. It's maw opened along its quadfurcated mandible, revealing rotary dentition. Rocky took the gum and tumbled it in its mouth. Rodimus took a few more pieces of gum from his tin and offered these as well. As Rocky took the gum with a light scraping of sedimentary crust over metal digits. //Come over. Rocky's cool.// Rodimus waved to Arcee. She approached slowly, and made a nod in greeting. Their new friend was busily chewing gum in its rock tumbler of a mouth. //Gum?// //Yeah. Sometimes with aliens, you just gotta try being friendly.// It wasn't the way of all Autobots; but Rodimus didn't blame them. Most didn't get off Cybertron much. He smiled up at Rocky and gestured his intentions. //We'll be going this way.// The comm was for Arcee's benefit. They crept closer to the interior, passing through an arched corridor beneath the upper rows of seating. Given the odds, Megatron hadn't seemed to assign any guards. He had the Autobots pacified, and even if any escaped the arena, they'd still be confined to the expanse of Kaon without a ship to flee. Eventually Rodimus was going to have to deal with that. Who knew where Megatron planned to take this thing? //See anyone you know? Anyone nearby that can help?// Rodimus scanned as Arcee did. The seating and tables that had been brought in for the trial were now jumbled together and partially broken. Lugnut and Sentinel Magnus still fought. //It's who I don't see. Ratchet and the rest of Optimus's team. Our seats were supposed to be on the same side as the VIP box.// //We'll find them,// Rodimus promised, //but for now, other bots need us. That's Springer in the second row.// Lower rows were for the less important and the Corps tended to be treated as equals and below military ranks unless they had them, or had proven a master of one of their martial arts. //Green mech. His friend there with the white armor is a good fighter, but don't listen to him; he's a jerk.// ~~~~~~~~~~~
1173919	Thief Lords fan art	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": null, "Fandom": "The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by BairnSidhe", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-08T00:00:00", "words": "0", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Art Gifts", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }
1112689	Each Shining Light	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Steve Rogers, Darcy Lewis, Avengers Team", "Fandom": "The Avengers (Marvel Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by kennagirl", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-31T00:00:00", "words": "2,469", "Additional Tags": "Darcy/Steve Holiday Fic/Art Exchange, 5+1 Things, Christmas Decorations", "Relationship": "Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Darcy/Steve Holiday Fic/Art Exchange", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It started with the tinsel. It wasn’t their first Christmas as a couple, but it was their first one living together. The previous year, Darcy had been crashing in the spare bedroom on Thor’s floor and Steve had still been out in Brooklyn being stubborn. They’d swapped gifts during the the Official Stark Holiday Party the night before she’d flown out to see her parents and she’d returned just in time to kiss Steve at midnight at the Official Stark New Year’s Party. Four months ago, she had convinced him that moving into the Tower let them see each other more often. Three months ago, he stopped pretending she hadn’t slowly been moving her things onto his floor and completed the process while she was in the labs doing her daily scientist-wrangling. This meant that it was their space and Darcy was completely within her rights to hang tinsel everywhere. And he did mean everywhere. Every doorway was framed, every table was ringed, even the bookcase in the corner had some extra sparkle. Darcy was sitting on the couch, painting her toes in her favorite shade of Red Carpet red and humming along to her iPod. She looked up and pulled out an earbud when Steve opened the door. “Hey you.” “Hey.” He dropped his bag in its spot by the entry and walked over to the couch. Darcy tilted her head up and he dropped a kiss on her lips. “Where’d the tinsel come from?” She grinned. “You know how I took Thor as my bodyguard for Black Friday shopping today?” Steve knew. He had refused to get caught up in the craziness, even though Darcy loved it. Thor on the other hand seemed to thrive on the crazy and the idea of seventy-five percent off Pop-Tarts. “Yeah.” “Well, one of the stores had cheap Christmas decorations and Thor seemed to really like the tinsel.” She went back to painting her toes like she hadn’t taken the god of thunder out on the busiest shopping day of the year. “He had his Tony-funded AmEx, so we kind of bought all the sparkly things.” He blinked. “And how many yards was it?” “A lot,” she said, waving him off. “I only took what Jane said he absolutely wasn’t allowed to bring into their place. She’s probably dealing with three times as much.” Steve had a sudden pang of sympathy for Jane. Since Darcy had started decorating, Steve decided it wouldn’t hurt to get a tree. Before the ice, he’d never been able to afford a tree, and there hadn’t been a good way to get one up the stairs to his apartment. Now, he had an elevator and a space the perfect size for the beautiful evergreen he’d hauled from a tree lot in New Jersey using Tony’s only pick-up truck. He’d just gotten it into position and even wrapped a cheap tree skirt around the base when Darcy blew through the door. She went straight down the hall to the bathroom, hollering, “Gotta pee!” as she went. Steve rolled his eyes at her over-sharing tendencies and went to adjust some of the branches to make the tree look more full. When Darcy came out of the bathroom, she was sniffling a little. “You okay?” “Yeah, just my nose acting up,” she said. “When did you get the tree?” “Bought it today,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Thought we might want to get started actually decorating.” She looked at it a little closer, still sniffling. “Is this thing real?” “Um, yes,” he said, confused. “I’ve never actually had one before so I thought—” “Oh god, now I feel even worse,” Darcy muttered. “Steve, honey, the tree needs to go.” “What?” She pointed to her nose and inhaled sharply. He could hear how clogged it was and cringed in sympathy. “I’m allergic to Christmas trees. Haven’t been around one since my freshman geometry teacher had one in the classroom during semester exams. She got angry when I had to confiscate the tissue box for myself, but ten minutes after I left, my nose had stopped running.” It seemed bizarre, but Steve remembered how strongly some allergens had affected him before the serum. Besides, she had been fine that morning and now she couldn’t go three seconds without sounding like she had to blow her nose. He nodded and promised to find the tree a different home. She excused herself to get some fresh air and wait for the room to air out again. When the elevator came back, Steve loaded up the tree and took it down a few levels. Natasha had mentioned that she loved the smell of pine trees, so propped it outside her door with a note of explanation, and returned to try and crack a few windows in his apartment. A few more days passed before any other decorations appeared. Darcy had propped something in a large black trash bag in the corner of the room and left it while she went to work. Steve had been tempted to look inside, but considering some of the other things she’d pulled out of her personal storage wrapped in black trash bags, he left it alone. It wasn’t until that night, just after dinner with the team, that she returned to the bag and pulled out a small tree. It was already decorated and had a base attached to it with a power cord. It barely came up to her waist, but she smiled as she set it in the corner where the real tree had been. Darcy plugged it in, smiling as it lit up and started to turn. It quickly dropped into a frown when the tree froze and began clicking. “Not supposed to do that,” she muttered, unplugging it. She tipped it over gently and looked at the base. When she saw the cover, she went to find a screwdriver so she could access the electrics inside. “Where’d you get it?” Steve asked. “Family hand-me-down,” she said. “My grandparents were clearing some things out when I moved into my first apartment during college, so ended up with a bunch of mismatched furniture and one of the electric trees.” She continued taking it apart, although with the way so was looking at the pieces, she clearly wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “It worked last year, I just had to set it on one of my old textbooks to make sure it didn’t overheat.” “Maybe you could have Tony look at it?” Steve suggested. “He’d probably be able to fix it in a snap.” “Yeah, you’re right,” she said, putting the parts back together. “I’ll just leave it in the workshop and he’ll probably give it repulsors after a few too many glasses of eggnog.” Two days later, Darcy reported that Tony did not give the tree repulsors, but had fixed it so it rotated like it was supposed to and left it at that. However, Dummy had sprayed it with a fire extinguisher, giving it a nice, snow-frosted look. It was too messy to bring back to their floor. Besides, Dummy had kind of adopted the tree, getting defensive when Darcy tried to approach it. She decided to just leave it there. Maybe this time next year, Tony would have turned it into a complete tree-bot. Christmas was two weeks away and the extent of their personal decorations was still the tinsel explosion. The public areas of the Tower as well as the communal floor had been decorated on the first of the month by professionals that Pepper had hired. Granted, the decorations on the shared floor had been talked about the previous December when Tony wanted to make them all feel at home, but Steve had always enjoyed the actual process of decorating, even when it was just he and Bucky in a fifth floor walk-up with paper thin walls. That thought in mind, he crawled out of bed early one Saturday morning, causing Darcy to whine in her sleep and curl into the warm spot he’d left. He had plenty of white paper and even some fishing line tucked away somewhere, but he wanted a little extra something for these decorations. When Darcy finally stumbled out of the bedroom around noon, barefoot and still wearing pajamas, it was to see Captain America sitting on the living room floor and spraying silver glitter onto paper snowflakes. “Forget it, I’m going back to bed.” “Coffee’s on the counter,” he said as she turned around. She kept turning and headed for the kitchen. “Manipulative bastard.” He laughed and shook the can, trying to get more onto the regular paper than the newsprint he’d laid out to cover the floor. When she’d fixed her coffee and tucked herself onto the couch, she seemed a little more awake. “Snowflakes?” “Snowflakes.” “Why?” “Bucky and I used to make them out of old newspapers, even when we were in the orphanage. Found some extra string to tie them up and hang them in the window.” Steve shrugged. “It wasn’t much, but we could afford it.” Darcy nodded and sipped at her coffee. It was quiet, the perfect lazy Saturday, with the cold wind blowing against their fifty-first floor window. Eventually, Darcy set down her empty coffee mug and picked up a sheet of paper. She rummaged around in the craft box she had migrated to Steve’s apartment before almost anything else and pulled out a second pair of scissors. He continued spraying his stack of snowflakes with glitter as she folded and cut, then started on his own new set to design. He had gotten through three simple ones when Darcy dropped hers in the middle of his decorating space. He rolled his eyes when he saw the design, making her snort and giggle. Grudgingly, he spritzed it with glitter while informing her that there was no way in hell he was going to hang it in the apartment. She accepted, saying she had other plans for it anyway. Steve had mostly forgotten about the snowflake decorated with painstakingly cut out penises until he heard Clint’s raucous laughter echoing through the vent system on the shared floor. Steve had bought the ornaments when he had gotten their first tree. They were simple glass balls in different colors with wire hooks to hang them with. Nothing special, just something that he and Darcy could put up together on their tree. The tree went, the ornaments stayed, and Darcy had found them. She had spread them all around the room, piles in separate colors. It looked like the time she had tried to color coordinate some of Jane’s notes before she made a presentation, and he felt his nerves ratchet up a notch as he remembered the chaos that had come from that event. Fearing the worst, he asked, “What’re you doing?” “Making molecules.” “Why?” “Because I wanted to use the decorations,” she said. “We still don’t have a tree, if we can even find a fake one a week before Christmas, so I thought I’d give all these different colors an atom and make some molecules.” She held up three ornaments, two greens and a red, held together by their hooks. “Look, it’s water!” He nodded and stepped over a pile of blue balls. “And how were you planning on hanging these?” She shrugged. “I don’t know, bust out that fishing line you used for the snowflakes and float them around the room? I’m in my version of Science! mode right now, which looks like sixth grade craft projects, so I wanted something festive and sciencey. I didn’t exactly think everything through.” Steve kissed the top of her head as she worked. “What do you want me to do?” She put him to work hanging her creations around the room. The more complex ones ended up pinned to the wall to hold their shape, while simple constructions were floated among the snowflakes. It took about two hours for her to run out of steam, and she looked at her remaining ornaments, obviously trying to figure out what to make of them. Darcy spent a little while flipping through various chemical equations before she found one that made her grin. She got up and plucked a few ornaments off some already hung molecules, claiming that she would sacrifice their decorations because of how perfect this idea was. Steve let her do what she wanted, since it was all her idea. However, before she fastened this particular molecule together, she broke pattern and used a marker to note which element was which. The next morning, Bruce wandered into the lab to find a green tea molecule made of Christmas ornaments hanging above his kitchen area. It was December 23rd and Steve was smiling, satisfied. He’d gone to eight different Home Depots in the city before he finally found one that still had an artificial Christmas tree for sale. While he was there, he picked up some lights and some extra ornaments and tinsel, since he had grown attached to their current places as decided by Darcy. She had spent the day keeping the scientists focused (or as she called it, herding cats) because that evening was the Official Stark Holiday Party. She needed to make sure they got their work done and got out of the labs in time to get cleaned and changed for the festivities. Once they got out, she intended to stick around for another to make sure no one doubled back for “just one more thing,” which meant she was going to be short on her own prep time. Darcy came in, grumbling something about Tony and basic thermodynamics, only to be brought up short by the sight in the living room. “Steve, did you do this?” “Yeah,” he said, shrugging. The tree was seven feet tall, and wrapped in tinsel. The traditional glass ball ornaments adorned the branches, as well as an Avengers themed set he’d chuckled over before tossing them into the basket with the rest. On top, in all its red, white, and blue glory, was a miniaturized version of the shield to take the place of the star. It had come with the set, and if Darcy didn’t like it, he’d switch it out for the light-up angel he’d bought as well. “JARVIS, dim the lights please.” The AI did so and Steve squatted down to plug in the tree. He heard Darcy’s gasp as, not only the tree, but also the walls where Steve had hung the extra strands, lit up. When he looked at her, she was smiling, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.” He smiled softly back and her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned up to kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy holidays, Steve.” “Happy holidays, Darcy.”
1131921	in that bright white	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "One Direction (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by orphan_account", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-14T00:00:00", "words": "5,060", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - College/University, Bonfires, Intoxication, Fluff, Felching, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Blind Date, Friendship, Flirting, Unsafe Sex", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Niall Horan/Gemma Styles", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	~ “Nope.” Louis doesn't take his eyes off the screen of his laptop, teetering on his lap as his fingers snap against the keys. “I’m not going to babysit Gemma’s little brother while the rest of you- fuck about.”The bed dips beside Louis, yet he doesn't avert his eyes still. “You’re not babysitting him, Lou, s’just. Like a blind date of sorts. You’re still gonna be at the get-together.”“Right,” Louis says in a monotone, glancing up at Niall, who looks at him pleadingly. “While you, Gemma, Zayn and Liam all have fun yourselves. Some drinks. Maybe a couple fingers in places they shouldn't be.”Niall rolls his eyes, taking his snapback off, only to fit the beak backwards. “No, you two will both have fun. Drinks. Fingers. Whatever the hell you’re interested in.”“He’s seventeen, Niall. I’m not gonna drink with a minor.”Niall frowns. “This is why you’re single.”“It’s why I’m not in a relationship I don't want to be in,” Louis corrects, shutting his laptop and swinging a leg over the side of the bed. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prepare myself for a bonfire I will be attending alone.”Louis leaves the dorm, the last words filtering through his ears Niall’s grumbles. ~ When Louis makes his way back to their room, Zayn and Liam are sitting on Niall’s bed. Louis rakes a hand through his damp hair, and gives them a bored look.“Louis,” Liam starts gently, as Zayn grunts “would you just fucking meet the boy?”Louis cocks his head, unamused, as he shuts the door and walks into the room, opening up the closet and sorting through it. Liam’s sigh is disappointed, while Zayn’s is annoyed.“Y’know, Lou, you gotta give people a chance before you shut them out as a possibility,” Liam says a moment later, voice soft. Louis’ hand stills on the shirt he’s thumbing.“I don't shut people out, for God’s sake, Li. It’s not that dramatic.” He sighs. “I just don't want to go on a blind date, with someone’s little brother. Especially Gemma’s little brother.” Louis shivers. “Imagine what he’s like?”“He’s actually really nice,” Zayn replies, “not like her, very much. At all, actually.”Louis shuts the door of the closet, making sure it clatters and has a loud sound. “I don't want to, alright?” He gives them a glare over his shoulders. “Why do you even want me to so bad, anyway?”“Lou,” Liam says, and his voice is lower; a warning. Zayn sighs again and drops his head onto Liam’s shoulder. “You should really sort this out with us, and just agree, or-”“Or what?” Louis feels a bit like an over-dramatic housewife in a sixties black-and-white sitcom; spins on his heel and throws his hands out in front of himself. “Like. Gemma’s brother will come himself, and force me?”Zayn shrugs. “Something like that.” ~ It’s actually worse.As Louis’ sitting on his own bed, after Zayn and Liam have left, he teases his hair into a light fringe and smooths his shirt down. He hears the door open, slowly, and before he can jump out the window because he’s watched too many zombie films and that’s what usually happens, a warm body is landing on top of him.“You’re going to meet my brother, Tomlinson,” a voice says, commanding and firm. The person manhandles Louis in a flurry of hair until he’s laying on his back, flushed and shell-shocked.When his senses settle, he’s met with Gemma’s narrowed eyes a couple of centimeters away from his.“You are going to meet my brother.” She says it angrier this time, shaking his wrists where they’re clasped in her steel grip. She squeezes, then, and Louis panics.“Alright, alright-” he wheezes, pushing his head to the other side of the pillow, trying to avert her deep glare. Niall is sitting on his own bed, staring at them.“Good.” She lets go of Louis’ wrist and pats his cheek, fingernails brushing his skin. “And you will be kind.”Louis sighs as she clambers off of him. “But why do you all want me to do this? Meet him? I thought I was the easy party boy.”Gemma nods, standing to her full height and flicking her hair back. “Oh, you still are, don't worry. But we promised Harry that we’d help him meet some people.” Gemma then gives Louis a disgusted look. “You’re the only slightly-decent single person I know.”Niall snorts, and Louis smiles up at her as he gives Niall the finger. “Good to know.”“Yeah, yeah.” She walks over to Niall’s side of the room and sits beside him, tangling their fingers together. “Now get dressed. We’ve got to go soon, if you don't quite remember.”Louis pushes himself up onto his elbows, giving her a confused look. “Um. I am dressed.”She makes a face, eyes flickering down his body. “I don't think so.”Louis lets his body collapse onto the bed again, a loud, frustrated groan ripping through him as Niall lets out another amused noise.“You’ll thank me!” Gemma calls after him, amused, as he storms to the closet. ~ On the way to the bonfire, Louis walks behind his friends, thoughts in a mess and eyes barely grasping onto what’s before him. his name is harry okay that’s a fine name but wait he wanted to be set-up who wants to be set-up does this mean he can’t find dates himself oh fuck what if he’s ugly what if he talks weird what if he’s like gemma oh god what if he’s like gemma Louis’ about to have a mini panic-attack when Zayn’s hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him into the backseat of the car, where Louis’ sat beside him and Liam. Usually, he would mock and feign disgust at their loved-up attitude, but now he just presses his forehead to the window of the car, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the way his stomach knots up and he feels like he’s going to fall to pieces and the nervousness creeping into him. It annoys him, because he’s never nervous, especially at get-togethers. He’s the life of the party.Everyone settles into a low buzz of chatter around him as they speed down the relatively bare roads, and Louis pushes the jack of his headphones into his cell, turning up a loud song to blur out the voices in his head. ~ The ride isn't really long, but it’s boring this time, as Louis doesn't pipe into the conversation much. It makes it seem longer, and by the time they reach the cottage, there are many cars parked around, people sitting on picnic tables or the benches around the house or milling about.Louis steps out first, quickly, feeling messy and disoriented as he stretches his arms out and arches his back.“You’re looking for someone with curly hair,” Zayn’s voice breaks through, and he peers over his shoulder to watch Zayn and Liam crawl out the backseat. “Also a really deep voice.”“Really deep,” Liam adds. Louis wonders fleetingly if he should worry about this fact.“Alright. Curly hair, really deep voice, what else?”“He’s wearing a Ramones shirt,” comes Gemma’s voice, as she pushes the drivers door open. “And jeans.” As soon as she’s standing, she turns around and presses her hands to the backs of her thighs. “Sagging jeans, right under his bum.” oh shit hes one of those boys “Good, good. The more information, the merrier.” Louis clasps his hands together and peers around the clearing, eyes darting over people who don't fit the profile at all. “And-”He turns back towards them, eyes widening as he sees they’re already walking down the gentle slope of the grassy hill towards the cabin, Zayn and Liam close, Niall’s arm around Gemma’s shoulder.Louis scowls, slamming the door of the car hard. “Fine.” After deciding that it’s okay to be childish once in a while, he quietly adds “be that way." ~ The fact that now no one is watching over Louis has him tipsy quickly.He stumbles around the damp grass as it progresses towards evening, squeezing his eyes in annoyance before tipping his head back to swallow down more of his beer. It’s cold in his palm, nearly freezing it, actually, and it’s counteracting to the cold air of the outdoors, making a shiver run down his back.“You alright?” someone from behind him asks, and he nods, before turning towards them, smiling.“Tiptop. Cheerio.” He giggles. “Yes.”The person looks amused, and Louis blinks, taking them in. They’re a boy, and he’s got tight curls that surround his flushed face, sweeping over eyes. He’s wearing a Ramones shirt, and his jeans hang around his waist. His voice is deep.Louis thinks he looks very trust-worthy.“Can I ask a favour from you?” Louis questions, and the boy shrugs, then nods. “I’m looking for someone.”“Yeah?”“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “I’ve been set-up with him, this fine evening. But, the thing is, I can’t bloody find him.”“So,” the boy muses, as Louis takes another swig from his bottle. “You need my help to find him?”Louis draws back from the bottle with a slick pop, saliva and beer connecting his wet lips to the mouth of the bottle. “Exactly.”“Could I have a description, then? So I can understand who I’m looking for.” He leans against the tree Louis had unknowingly been standing beside, hands shoved into the pockets on the front of his jeans, thumbs sticking out. He looks hot and cocky. Louis would rather hang out with him than this Harry person.“Uh. Oh, of course.” Louis folds his arms over his chest, the wind picking up as the evening progresses. “Well, he’s been described to me as having curly hair, a deep- really deep- voice, wearing a Ramones shirt, and jeans that hang under his bum.”The boy barks out a laugh, and while it’s nice, it makes Louis jolt, then squint in suspicion. “What’s so funny?”“Are you Louis?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, a good-natured smile on his lips. He’s got dimples. Louis wants to press his thumbs in them to stretch his cheeks.“Why, yes I am. How did you know? Who are you?” Louis pales, stepping back. “Oh God, did they find out what I did last Summer-”“What? No. I’m Harry.” Harry pauses. “What did you do last Sum-”“Oh God Harry let me suck your dick,” Louis breathes, stepping forward quickly to press himself up against Harry’s chest. He’s satisfied and a bit turned-on to realize Harry is slightly taller than him, and- oh, his hands are big, where they’ve just settled on Louis’ bum.‘What?” Harry asks, eyes wide. Louis snorts, before pulling back and gripping his wrist.“Sorry, I needed you to forget the topic we were on.”“What?”“See?” Louis asks, pulling Harry through the trees and back to the clearing. “You forgot.”He glances over his shoulder to see Harry shrugging in agreement, and he smiles a bit. He’s awfully good-looking, really, and he seems cool enough.“D’you want to get hammered?” Louis asks, because that seems like the right thing to do.Harry thinks so too, apparently, as he nods and slips his hand out of Louis’ grip to hold his hand. ~ They sit around the fire an hour later, Louis comfortably wriggling on Harry’s lap and watching Harry’s face flush hotter each time. Gemma has reached over to pinch him quite a few times already.Everyone’s engaged in a circle-wide conversation, leaning into the people they’re sat beside, bottles of beer on the grass and clasped in their hands. Niall’s got the classic acoustic from inside the cottage, and is strumming slowly, humming under his breath as he listens to Gemma. The atmosphere makes Louis feel happy and warm; safe, and he nuzzles his face against Harry’s neck, breathing him in. He smells a lot like high school boy and something else good. Louis likes it.“So, you’re seventeen?” Louis asks, voice quiet, just for them. Harry nods, hand rubbing up and down Louis’ back, making him smile dopily. “I was seventeen once.”“Were you now?” Harry gasps in mock-surprise. “I would have never guessed.”Louis eyes Harry’s empty bottle of beer. For someone who drank so much, he sure can compose himself well. “Very funny.”In the past hour, he’s learned quite a bit about Harry: he has quite a few after-school activities, is seventeen, works at the cinema in the mall, is seventeen, aspires to be an architect, is seventeen, isn't very much like Gemma- at all- and is seventeen.Louis’ lost count on how many times he’s asked if Harry’s seventeen.He’s also just recently found out that there is something definitely poking against his bum, but just to make sure, he leans back to meet Harry’s wide eyes and ask, super-smoothly: “have you any clue what’s pressing against me bum?”He was just born that smooth. Probably.Harry flushes a bright cherry colour, fishmouthing once, twice, hand stilling on Louis’ back. Louis loves the affect he has on boys.Smirking, Louis leans in and brushes his lips against the lobe of Harry’s ear, murmuring in the best sexy voice he can muster in his current state: “well, Harry? Don't play shy.”It’s like a switch flips inside of Harry then; he’s sending Louis a smirk just as devious, dipping his head down and husking, “why don't you find out yourself?”Louis’ eyes widen where they’re trained on the toes of his shoes, and his fingers tighten around his bottle of beer, nearly empty. He realizes that that’s the perfect excuse.“C’mon,” he says abruptly, standing up quickly and holding a hand out to Harry. The sky is dark, void of stars, and the fire casts a nice glow, flames wisping into the air. “Let’s go get refills.”The smile Harry shoots him before mussing his hair with one hand and grabbing Louis’ with the other means he knows it’s not going to be a refill, but Louis doesn't really care. He hardly gives a shit about anything when he can remember his name and where he is, but now, senses blurred and drunk, he really doesn't fucking care. Fire and beer and a hot boy is more than enough.The fact that the cottage is actually useable and empty at the moment is just a wonderful, wonderful bonus.They stumble over pairs of feet and outstretched legs until they’re shrouded in the dark, walking up the small hill and to the railing around the cottage. Harry’s pressed to Louis’ side, an arm around his waist, neck arched down to rest against Louis’.His hand is on Louis’ arse as soon as Louis’ hand is on the doorknob of the cottage’s front entrance.“Jesus Christ-” he hisses, but his lecture slips away and off his mind as Harry pulls him inside the foyer, pressing him up against the wall as soon as he stumbles over the ledge. Then he’s leaning down to kiss Louis, lips soft and wet and tasting of Heineken. It’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.Louis barely hears the door shut as Harry’s hand falls down onto his hips, kneading the soft skin over his hips, tongue pushing into Louis’ mouth. Louis moans, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck for leverage to pull him down.As soon as the cold base of Louis’ bottle presses against Harry’s neck, Harry jolts and pulls back, smiling breathlessly at Louis. Louis smiles back, before nodding down the dark hall of the cabin.“D’you know where the rooms are? I’ve never been here.” He watches Harry step back and wipe his mouth, craning his neck down the hall.“Me neither, honestly. But I’m cool with an adventure.” His hand closes around Louis’ wrist then, pulling him along gently to the end of the wooden staircase before they step up onto it.It’s dark, and they can’t exactly find the light switch on the wall, but there are tons of windows along the case and at the top of the stairs, and the moonlight streams in. It might be nicer than natural light, Louis decides, making Harry’s skin pale and glowing around the edges, the frizz of his hair illuminated.“If we were in a horror movie,” Louis pipes up, as they climb the last two steps onto the landing, “we’d be the ones that die while having sex.”“Which means first.” Harry shrugs, then nods. “I think we would, yeah.” He’s then looking at Louis, gaze hard, and Louis flushes. “I think it’d be worth it, though, yeah?”He fucking winks then, and God, Louis needs to get his hands on him.He lunges forward and knots his fingers into the front of Harry’s shirt, pressing their mouths together quickly and forcefully, licking into Harry’s mouth as soon as he gasps in surprise. He then keeps them attached as he pushes Harry backwards, walking down the hall until they hit a door, and Louis just keeps on leisurely kissing him as Harry reaches back and fumbles with the knob, pushing the door open.Louis pulls back as they stumble into the dark room, eyes sweeping over the tall windows and dark oak floors and ancient study desk and the large bed in the middle of the room. He then thinks that this might do it.“Good?” Harry asks, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he nods appreciatively, mouth attaching back onto Harry’s neck, tongue swiping over the soft, damp skin before his sharper teeth nip at it.Harry backsteps him to the bed in the middle of the room, and as soon as the backs of Louis’ knees hit the edge he falls onto his bum, hands skimming down Harry’s shoulders to his hips and tugging the hem of his shirt. Harry smiles down at him, almost bashfully, before he peels his top off, and shit.He’s got an immaculate V-line that has Louis pressing his thumbs into quickly, gasping a bit, and he’s already got the base of a well-toned abs on his lean torso under the slight softness of his chest. As he tosses his shirt to the floor, Louis notices an outline of a black star tattoo on his inner bicep.Louis is so, so glad he didn't give this night up.He crawls back onto the bed, letting Harry clamber on top of him and kiss him again as they settle against the pillows, hands roaming down the others body as Harry licks into his mouth again, tongue sweet as it slides against Louis’, and Louis’ hands slide down his back to his hips, fingers stretching out to his bum and-“Oh.” Louis’ hand shoves into the pocket sewn onto Harry’s bum, fingers closing over a packet and pulling out a small lube foil. “Jesus Christ. When I was seventeen, I was innocent.”Harry just shrugs. “Times have changed.” He’s still smirking, not an ounce of remorse on his face. Louis wants to kick him and kiss him.“Well then,” he says a moment later, “make yourself useful, yeah?”Harry just smiles again, reaching into Louis’ hand for the packet. He leans back on his haunches, tearing it open with one hand, the other reaching down to unzip his flies. Louis watches him move under the sweep of moonlight, before stumbling out of his reverie and hastily unclothing himself as well.A moment later, Harry’s nipping at Louis’ neck, lips soft and sloppy as his fingertips brush over Louis’ clenching hole, before he pushes two in.Louis gasps, body twitching at the intrusion, hole fluttering as Harry ruts his hard cock against Louis’ bare thigh in time to the way he slowly pumps his fingers in and out, stretching them out each glide in.Louis lets his eyes flutter shut after he lets out another embarrassing noise, Harry kissing up to his jaw before pressing their lips together, soft and sweet for a moment until he wraps his free hand around Louis’ hip to for leverage, and Louis gets the point. As he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck again, he rolls his hips down best he can, keening into Harry’s hot mouth as his fingertips brush against his prostate.Louis drops a hand down, reaches between his legs and spreads the leg Harry currently isn't grinding against lower to the mattress, gripping Harry’s wrist to push his fingers inside himself deeper, the squelch of all the lube Harry hastily used making a noise that normally wouldn't turn Louis on so much, but Harry gasps hotly into his mouth, tongue brushing against Louis’ and leaking saliva everywhere- their swollen lips, chins, necks, and- and it affects Louis.Harry pulls his fingers out fully a moment later, before pushing back in three, and he fucks his hips down once more, cock sliding against Louis’ thigh and snagging against the dip of his hip, leaving slick marks over his tan skin. It’s different, but it’s so fucking hot, how he can use a part of Louis for his own pleasure without meaning to give any to Louis but still doing so anyway. It has Louis tugging on Harry’s curls once with a whimper, hole clamping down on where his fingers are currently making quick work of fucking in and out of him, stretching out and hooking inside of him, each brush against his prostate making his mouth drop open unceremoniously and body twitch.“C’mon, just-” Louis demands a moment later, when he feels ready to burst, his cock laying heavy and fat against his hip, smearing precome over the elastic lines. “Get in me-”Harry curses at that, fumbling to withdraw his fingers, but not before pressing them down and snagging them on Louis’ twitching rim once, making Louis arch and bite his bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut tight.“Fuck you,” he hisses, as Harry leans back on his haunches, head dipping down and curls hiding his face as he grips his cock. Louis sucks in one more breath of air, before hitching his upper body up on one elbow.It’s the first time he’s got a good look at Harry’s cock, and his eyes widen comically upon seeing it now, long and thick, curved up into Harry’s large palm, the head swollen and a purplish colour as Harry thumbs over it with slick hands, getting it wet all over. His balls hang beneath, heavy and drawn-up, and Louis can’t help the gasp he lets out.“Harry Styles or hung Styles?”“Heeeyy,” Harry whines, holding himself with one hand as he shifts back on top of Louis, bracing his body up with one arm, and- his bicep ripples with the exertion, and if that doesn't have Louis’ cock twitching. “My reputation hangs on bad puns, love. Don't steal my spotlight.”“Not exactly a bad pun,” Louis assures him, before letting his eyes flicker down when he feels Harry press the hot tip of his cock against his hole, wiggling his hips down uncontrollably and making Harry gasp a bit. “A true pun.”Harry just lets out a breathless laugh, giving Louis a look, and Louis nods, attaching his lips to Harry’s sharp collar bones, teeth sinking in roughly as the fattened head breaches into him, pushing past the slight resistance.Harry’s hands run up and down his sides as he sinks in fully, and as he stills, waiting a moment, Louis bucks his hips up by mistake and lets out a breathless gasp. It feels- fucking amazing, really, how he feels stretched open on Harry’s cock, thighs trembling in pleasure, having missed the feeling after being single for so long.He lets go of the sheets and hooks his arms under Harry’s, digging his nails into Harry’s back as he mouths at the bruise he created on his collarbone, nodding against him, hair dragging against his skin, and it’s then he notices Harry’s slightly shaking.“I-” he gasps, as he pulls out slowly, before sinking back in fully, quick, “I don't think I’ll last very long-”He burrows his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, and it’s not like Louis holds it against him, because he was seventeen once too, knows that it’s hard to- hold it when you’re so riled up, so he just moans, letting his inhibitions shut as Harry manhandles his thighs apart, leaning back, digging his knees into the mattress like he’s preparing for some sort of war when Louis’ so easy.His fingers dig into the tender flesh of Louis’ thighs, using them for leverage to begin fucking him in a steady pace, head ducked down, to watch the way he sinks into the stretched-out, slick pink between Louis’ thighs, hot and wet and drawing him in. Louis’ cock bumps against his soft tummy on each thrust, becoming fast and harder as Harry’s confidence picks up, teeth sinking into his bottom lip each time his cock screws back in, nudging against Louis’ prostate in teasing strokes, and it’s enough to make Louis cry out, hands gripping Harry’s flexing biceps.“God-” Harry breathes, eyes still trained downwards on the mesmerizing way his cock sweeps inside of Louis in quick, filthy strokes, “wish I could fuck you on your hands and knees-” Louis chokes a bit at that, squeezing around Harry, making him groan, drawn-out. “Fuck your arse properly, like how it- deserves to be-”Louis flushes hot at that, Harry fucking into his prostate again, and his toes curl against the bed, body jerking. He’s so- fucking close, and Harry feels so good inside of him, full and hot, and he really might come like this, without touching himself-He gasps in shock as Harry stills above him, mouth going slack and shoulders caving inward jerkily. For a second, he thinks that blood will spill out between Harry’s lips, and they really will be part of a bonfire massacre, but Harry’s eyes squeeze shut as he mouths sorry, sorry, sorry and Louis feels him coming inside of him, and he thinks he should be worried, but he can’t be, because it’s the first time he’s felt it and it’s so hot and it comes in thick pulses, literally filling him up.“F-fuck.” Harry flushes a deeper shade of red, smiling down at Louis lopsidedly and apologetic. “I’m- I’m so sorry-” He keeps churning his hips into Louis, gripping his thighs tight enough there’ll be bruises on them for days, until a shudder wracks over his sensitive body. “Sorry. You were just, like, really warm, and tight, mate-”Louis chuckles, reaching down to grip himself from the backs of his thighs so Harry can pull out easily. “I’m not mad. It was pretty hot, honestly.” As soon as Harry’s pulled out the whole way, he hitches his knees to his chest, keeping them in mid-air so he can reach two fingers down, circle them around his flushed, leaking hole and snake a hand around his cock, to pull himself to completion, but Harry’s own hands are knocking his away.Louis watches in interest and slight arousal as Harry licks his lips, like he’s nervous, before letting his eyes flicker to meet Louis’.“Keep your legs up,” he instructs, and Louis nods, hands gripping the backs of his knees again as Harry lays chest-down across the bed. As soon as he ducks his curly head down, Louis can see his small bum and legs dangling off the edge of the bed, and he’s about to giggle when Harry sinks two fingers into his fucked-out hole.A gasp comes out his parted lips instead of a laugh, as Harry’s head is buried between his arse, tongue sweeping over his rim as his fingers push all the way into Louis, stilling when they’re shoved inside and stretching themselves out.His tongue is soft as it swipes over the mess between Louis’ legs, warm and Louis can feel it collect what’s leaking out of him and drag it back up the inside of his thigh, the sensitive, delicate part that makes Louis clench around his fingers, which fuck into him quicker now. It all feels so good, and as he pokes his tongue against his rim, he lets out an unwilling mewl.Harry’s large hand smooths up the inside of Louis’ thighs to rest on his belly, before his hand, which is still tacky with lube wraps around Louis’ fat cock, stroking it swiftly and smoothly, thumbing over the twitching slit, collecting the precome and swiping it down. His tongue then sucks on Louis’ messy rim as his fingers fuck into him once more, and Louis gasps, little tears beading his eyes as he rocks his arse down against Harry’s face, cock twitching as he spills hotly over Harry’s fist.Harry continues to gently lick him out through it, fist stilling on his cock and letting it pulse freely over his loosened fingers, and when Louis’ body starts to jolt quick in aftershocks, he lets one of his legs fall from his chest and sink into the mattress like jelly and uses his free hand to knot into Harry’s mop of curls, tugging gently. Harry kisses over him once more, before he leans back, and even in the dim white light, Louis can tell his chin and mouth are wet and slick. Fuck.“How’re you?” Harry asks finally, voice thicker and deeper than Louis remembers. He flops down beside Louis, throwing an arm over Louis’ belly, wrist sliding through the slick mess on Louis’ lower abdomen. “I’m good, thanks for asking.”Louis huffs. He still feels languid and messy; tongue heavy in his mouth. He blinks sleepily. “I’m- I’m great. Sort of in disbelief.” He lets his head loll to the side, meeting Harry’s half-lidded eyes. “You’re a lot different than I’d imagined you’d be.”“You were imagining me?” Harry asks, but it’s not cocky, and there’s no smirk. He’s just smiling lazily. Louis huffs, before nodding.“Makes me feel less weird that I had been imagining you, too,” he says, and Louis smiles.“They told me I’d thank them,” Louis sighs, reaching out to brush the hanging curls out of Harry’s eyes. He freezes then, and Harry gives him a confused look.He’s going to have to thank Gemma. -end-
1148341	THE RASCAL	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Erestor (Tolkien), Glorfindel (Tolkien), Orophin (Tolkien), Celeborn (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel, Lindir (Tolkien), Galadriel \| Artanis", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by erestor", "chapters": "8/8", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-22T00:00:00", "words": "15,620", "Additional Tags": "Humor, Adventure, Romance", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien), Erestor/Orophin (Tolkien), Celeborn/Galadriel \| Artanis, Elrond Peredhel/Lindir", "Series": "Thieving Magpie", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "F/M, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It was said that the quickest way to get Lord Celeborn to Imladris was to drop a silver coin on the ground. If one silver coin could cause him to abandon all of his duties to ride to Imladris, how would he react to the news that mithril had been found under Green Meadow Hill? Elrond had no illusions on that score. Wild horses would not be able to stop Celeborn from coming, seeing, and possibly claiming the fortune. He would arrive with a large guard and, of course, Orophin, that wretched advisor of his. And said advisor would pull out an old tome or scroll and point out a passage that would confirm, at least in Celeborn's opinion, that part of the Mithril was Celeborn's. There would be arguments, tantrums, protests and in the end, defeat on Elrond's part. Ah, Orophin. Elrond had spent many, many hours dreaming up creative ways to get rid of Celeborn's advisor. Had the Valar given Elrond the choice between mumps or Orophin, he would have chosen the illness. A sore throat and headaches would pass eventually, but Orophin lingered on. In light of all of that, Elrond was not surprised in the least when a sour looking messenger from Lothlórien arrived to inform him of Celeborn's impending arrival. Elrond only looked up tiredly from his work, and asked: "When?" "A day. Maybe a day and a half, if you are lucky," the messenger replied. Elrond paled. That did not leave him much time to arrange things. Could it possibly get any worse? "Oh, and he will bring the Lady Galadriel with him," the messenger added. Elrond whimpered. Quite obviously, it could get worse. * * * "Now look at this - a bridge and no guards! What is this supposed to mean?" Celeborn grumbled, and gestured in front of them at the bridge over the Bruinen. Galadriel found the question too boring to answer, so Orophin felt obliged to reply. "It is very obvious that Lord Elrond does not possess your strategic genius, my lord," he said, bowing his head lightly. Galadriel snorted, but Celeborn was rather oblivious to sarcasm. "Indeed. I shall have to look through the Imladris guard roster", Celeborn said. "I always had my doubts about Glorfindel's abilities." The party from Lothlórien approached the bridge, which really did seem to have been abandoned by the guards. A lone fisher sat on the stony parapet, holding a fishing rod and staring at the bobber bobbing up and down in the water. "Go and ask him where the guards are, Orophin. I wish our arrival to be announced as is proper," Celeborn ordered. Orophin nodded and rode ahead, bringing his horse to a halt behind the fishing Elf. "Well met, Master Elf," he said, "how are the fish biting today?" "Sssshhh," the fisher hissed without looking at Orophin, "please be silent, or you will scare the trout away." Orophin arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. He was not used to being ignored. The Galadhrim snapped to attention at the mere sight of him, and even Lord Celeborn showed respect for his fiendishly clever advisor. Orophin's sharp mind was paired with a fair face and a warrior's stature, and it was said that the handsome advisor had broken as many hearts as contracts. "I am aware that you are currently busy with a very important task, my friend. However, the Lord and the Lady of the Golden Wood have arrived, and Lord Celeborn wishes to know where the guards are who should announce their arrival." The fisher shrugged, still not looking up. "Oh, the guards? Lunch break," he replied, "they should be back in a short time. Can your lord wait that long?" Orophin found himself at a momentary loss. Such impertinence! "My lord is not accustomed to waiting for mere guards," he snapped arrogantly, "so drop your fishing pole and announce our arrival to your master. Hurry, young one, my patience is growing thin." The advisor had expected the young Elf, whom he thought to be one of the kitchen or stable servants, to jump up immediately and hurry back to the Last Homely House. Alas, all Orophin got was another shrug. "Do you see me wagging a tail? Unless you should hear me bark, you can safely assume that I am an Elf and not a dog, and therefore I do not have a master," the fisher replied. Orophin opened his mouth to carpet the young Elf for his cheekiness, but right then the fisher turned around and gave him a blinding smile. Orophin's jaw dropped and he just stood there, gazing the Elf in front of him. Large brown eyes, twinkling with mischief. The nose too long, but oddly fitting on the handsome face. Perfectly formed lips. Made for laughing, made for singing, made for kissing. Oh yes, definitely made for kissing! Orophin felt as if he had been struck by lightning; his whole body was tingling. The Lothlórien Elf cleared his throat. "My apologies," he said, "it was not my intention to offend you." The fisher pulled in his fishing line and began to pack up his tools. Orophin admired the long dark hair that was, to his eyes, exotic, and the elegant long fingers. "I know," the fisher said, "you could do better than this if you tried. You are Orophin, are you not? Lord Celeborn's cunning advisor." Orophin laughed out loud. "Indeed! Though 'cunning' is not officially part of my title. You have the advantage of me, Master Elf - you know my name, but I do not know yours." The fisher rolled up the line and put it in the bag. "I am Erestor, Lord Elrond's advisor. I am very cunning as well. Every lord needs a cunning advisor, you see, otherwise someone might pull a fast one on him." Orophin did not show his surprise. So this was the Elf who had secured the Mithril for Elrond? He was hardly past his majority! Orophin had prepared for a seasoned warrior, a sly old fox like himself. So this would be his opponent in the fight over Green Meadow Hills? How delightful! "Far be it for me or my lord to cause your lord any harm, Master Erestor. On the contrary! We only have his best in mind." Erestor snickered. "Oh, I have no doubts about that! Lord Celeborn's altruism is legendary among our people. Indeed, I wonder how he has managed to keep his realm, considering his generous and peaceful nature!" Orophin grinned. "I like you, Master Erestor. You seem to be an Elf after my fancy." He looked Erestor up and down, and Erestor caught the double entendre in his statement very well. He slipped off the parapet, slung the bag with the tools and the fishes he had caught over his shoulder, and took the fishing pole. "We all have our fancies, Master Orophin. I shall now go and announce your arrival. I am sure Lord Elrond will be delighted to welcome you and your party," Erestor said, bowing politely to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. "My thanks," Orophin said, "and I am very much looking forward to seeing you again. Maybe you could show me some of Imladris' sights? I am afraid I never had much time to admire its beauty during my previous stays. I would very much love to see some of its more - romantic places." Erestor bowed his head politely. "Unfortunately, I do not know much about romantic places," Erestor replied, "but I would love to show you around the tannery and the smithy. Highly educational. You will never want to leave again." With that, he turned and left to herald the arrival of the Lothlórien party. Orophin waited for a moment, looking after Erestor with a smile. I will educate you alright, you cheeky little sprat, he said to himself before turning his horse toward the lord and lady, who had been waiting for him impatiently. "So? Is everything clear and in order?" Celeborn asked, and Orophin nodded. "Crystal clear, my lord." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "'Do not worry, my lord', you said. 'He is only an Elfling', you said. And what did he do, your harmless Elfling? He led us on! He made us look like imbeciles!"Orophin thought to himself that, at least with one of them, this was not too hard a thing to do, but he watched his words."I still say that you should not worry. I admit that Master Erestor's rhetorical skills surpassed my expectations, but we are only just beginning these negotiations."Celeborn snorted and kicked a pinecone out of his way."I hope that your admiration for this Elfling's 'skills' will not make you lose focus on the serious matters for which we are here. And I do not talk about bedding Erestor, Master Orophin."Orophin halted his steps, throwing his arms up theatrically."My lord Celeborn! How can you even think such a thing! My intentions are the purest! I feel that fair young Erestor needs some guidance, and I am willing to help him with... my experience. So you can see that I only spend time with him out of the sheer goodness of my heart."Celeborn groaned."Please spare me this nonsense, Orophin. I know you and your ways. You have set your mind on bedding Erestor. I do not mind this - your love life is none of my concern - but be warned: should your interests collide with my intentions, I will send you home, and you can spend the next two ages counting spiders in Mirkwood!"Orophin shook his head and gave his lord his most charming smile. Then he stepped a little closer."My lord, you certainly know that I do not do anything without a reason," he said, lowering his voice. "I admit that Master Erestor is a skilled advisor. And it can only be in our own interest if he and I become... good friends. He will be putty in my hands, my lord, and with Erestor out of the way, Elrond will be putty in yours."Celeborn gave Orophin a stern look. He had always secretly admired his advisor's fair face, but the razor sharp mind behind the hazel eyes and the winning smile made him feel uncomfortable."At times, you succeed in scaring even me, Orophin. Let us sit under this tree there and take a rest. I do not wish to return to the Last Homely House yet.""You wish is my command, my lord," Orophin quickly replied, and the two Elves dropped into the soft grass under an old oak tree. For a while, they sat in silence, each of them contemplating their plans, when suddenly Celeborn sat up straight, spitting out the blade of grass he had been chewing on."Now that is what I call a sight for sore eyes! Look over there, Orophin!"Celeborn grabbed Orophin by the shoulder, and when the advisor looked up, he saw what had excited his lord so much. Indeed, a fair creature!"My lord, you have impeccable taste, as usual. What a fair face, and what lovely hair.""And I am quite sure that even more precious treasures are hidden under that ugly robe. Pray tell, Orophin, do you know this beautiful creature?"Orophin grinned."That is Lindir. I heard he was expelled from Lord Elrond's council for total incompetence. I think he is now working as a minstrel.""Interesting. Very interesting. Maybe our stay here will be far more entertaining than I had thought," Celeborn said. His view followed Lindir until the young Elf disappeared in Elrond's rose garden."A word of caution," Orophin said. "Your wife is with you, as you remember, and I do not think that she would take kindly to any... multifaceted interests of yours."Celeborn shrugged."Orophin, we are in Imladris. She cannot read minds under the influence of Vilya. The Valar know that I would give my whole fortune if I could talk that ring out of Elrond. I have no wish for complications, solely for some entertainment. And fair Lindir looks very promising. He would look very decorative tied with silk scarves to the headboard of my bed."Orophin shrugged."As you wish, my lord. I just thought it to be my duty to warn you."Celeborn clenched his jaw."I appreciate your concern, Master Orophin, though I am not half the hen-pecked husband you might think me to be. And let me give you a word of warning in return: Glorfindel will not take kindly to any competition."For a moment, there was silence, with Orophin staring at Celeborn in disbelief. Then he began to chuckle, giggle and finally burst out into loud laughter."I fail to see what is so amusing about my remark. For the Valar's sake, stop this ridiculous laughter, you sound like a clogged drainpipe.""Heartfelt apologies, my lord," Orophin chuckled, trying hard not to laugh again. "However, the mere thought of Erestor with that dusty fossil is just - hilarious! I do not know who told you this, but the Elf was pulling your leg. Erestor is as much interested in Glorfindel as I am in Thranduil of Mirkwood. Glorfindel 's time is over. He would have been better off staying in the Halls of Waiting, instead of sitting here and being useless."Celeborn shook his head and gave Orophin a stern look."This might be true, but it is very obvious that Glorfindel cares deeply for the young one. Of what nature this care is, I do not know, and it is none of my concern. I just advise you to keep in mind that Glorfindel is still an excellent sword fighter. He might be a shadow of his old self today, but he deserves our respect. He has done a lot for our people."Orophin yawned and stretched, letting himself fall back on to the soft grass."Point taken, my lord. However, it will take me no longer than a week to have Erestor at my feet, worshipping every move I make. As for Glorfindel - bad luck. The winner takes it all, the loser stays behind. He will have to find somebody else to keep his bed warm at night."Celeborn had his doubts, but if somebody should teach his arrogant advisor a lesson, he would be the last one to object. And this aside, pursuing Lindir would be far more interesting than watching Orophin courting Erestor.He stood up, and brushed grass blades and dry leaves off his robe."Let us return to the Last Homely House, Orophin. We need to go through the papers for tomorrow, and I wish for some wine.""Wine is always a good idea," Orophin agreed, and stood up as well. "I might gift Master Erestor with a bottle of my finest.""You mean - that wine?" Celeborn asked, arching an eyebrow."But indeed, my lord. I do not doubt my talents, but sometimes, a little gentle persuasion can be most helpful in matters of the heart."The two Elves strode away from the tree, towards the Last Homely House, each of them contemplating their own upcoming hunt and the pleasure of bagging their prey.* "Are they gone?" Elrond whispered. "I cannot see them from here."Erestor peeked around the green curtain of the leaves."They have almost reached the gates, my lord. I think it is safe for us to leave this tree. It is about time; my legs have gone numb and if I had to sit on this tree any longer, I would have started to collect nuts and to build a nest for the winter."Elrond took a hold of the branch and swung elegantly towards the ground, landing on his feet without wavering once. Erestor hooked his legs over the branch and dropped down backwards, hanging there like a bat, gently swinging to and fro."This is a debacle," Elrond groaned, holding his head. "Of all the Elves in Imladris, he had to set his eyes on Lindir! What am I supposed to do now? Oh dear, I am doomed!""You are not, my lord," Erestor's voice could be heard from above "Just tell Celeborn that you have first dips on Lindir. I am sure he would respect this.""Brilliant idea, splendid!" Elrond snapped. "How do you imagine this conversation to go? 'Dear father of my late wife, would you mind if I started a love affair with this lovely Elf here?' Yes, I can see Celeborn dancing with delight.""Silly me, I had completely forgotten that he is your father in law. Let me think..."Elrond watched with fascination how Erestor swung gently, his long hair almost reaching the ground."Could you also think while sitting or standing, like every other normal Elf?" Elrond asked. "I find your behaviour highly irritating.""I would have thought that you knew by now that I am not normal, my lord," Erestor replied cheerfully. "This is the perfect position to think, because all the blood goes to the head and nurses the brain. Most of the evil in our world stems from Elves, Men and Dwarves thinking while standing. The blood goes in regions which have little to nothing to do with rational thinking, and the result can be seen everywhere."Elrond preferred not to comment, though he had to admit there was some truth in Erestor's words. He sat down in the grass, and sighed deeply."This will not end well for me, Erestor. Celeborn will sooner or later find out what Lindir means to me. If I am lucky, all this will cost me is the Mithril to calm him. In the worst case, Celeborn will take the Mithril and Lindir."Erestor chuckled, still swinging from the branch."My lord, do not worry about happenings that have not yet come to pass. Leave it up to me to handle this, and all will turn out well."Elrond looked up and glared at the young Elf."Your constant good humour is highly annoying, Master Erestor! Leaving this up to you would be madness. I do not trust you further than I can throw you."Erestor giggled, took a final swing and jumped down to land beside Elrond with an elegant backflip."It speaks for your intelligence that you do not trust me, my lord," he said cheerfully, picking some pieces of bark from his jerkin. "But as you do not have anything to lose, you might as well let me do what I think will be best for you, Imladris, Lindir and, last but not least, myself."Elrond considered his options for a while, then he slumped his shoulders and got up."Very well. Do as you think best, just make sure I will not be involved or know anything about it. And please do me this favour: do not run off to Lothlórien with Master Orophin. At least not before we have come to a decision regarding the Mithril."Erestor wrinkled his nose."My lord, I admit that Master Orophin is very fair of face, and had I met him earlier, I would not have beaten him off with a stick. As a matter of fact, I would have probably used the stick to shoo him to my bedchamber. Alas, times have changed, and the Elf has to be born yet that would make me grovel at his feet."The advisor sniffed arrogantly and wrinkled his nose."Orophin. Now seriously.""Do not be so toffee-nosed, Master Erestor. Orophin is a seasoned warrior and a sly old fox. You might grovel before him faster than you think."Erestor did not dignify this statement worthy of a reply, and he marched off towards the Last Homely House. Elrond had to hurry to keep up with the young Elf, silently envying him for the light spring in his steps.Erestor still had to learn a lot, he mused. Elrond knew all too well what was going on behind the fair face of his light-headed advisor, just like he knew what was going on behind Glorfindel's. And as he was a wise old Elf with a lot of experience, he knew very well that Erestor could not have cared less for his lord, Lindir, the Mithril or possible problems with Celeborn.Alas, Elrond also knew Erestor well enough by now to be confident that anybody calling Glorfindel a "dusty fossil" was in for unpleasant times. A prospect which, it went without saying, improved Elrond's mood significantly. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It was very late when Erestor returned to his chamber, and so he was not surprised to find Glorfindel gone. The warrior was always very cautious about staying the night.He worried that he and Erestor could become the talk of Imladris. He worried that Elrond might be upset. He worried about a million things. Erestor worried about nothing.Truth be told, Erestor and Glorfindel had nothing in common. They spent most of the time they were together arguing. Glorfindel did his best to teach Erestor some manners. Erestor did his best to forget everything Glorfindel had told him as quickly as possible.And yet, neither of them would have wanted to part from the other.It was an odd companionship those two Elves had. There had never been any talk of love. There were no shared rooms, no signs of affection in public. Erestor had simply claimed a place in Glorfindel's life and bed, and Glorfindel had allowed it. Both would have protested had anybody dared to suggest that they were in love. Glorfindel was too bitter about his former life to admit it, and Erestor was too young to know.Right now, Erestor was in dire need of company, so he directed his steps to Glorfindel's chamber. After looking right and left to ensure nobody was watching him, he entered.“Can you not, just for once, enter a room after knocking first like every other Elf?” Glorfindel growled, for he had just been in the process of changing into his sleeping pants and stood naked in front of the bed.“Pray tell, what Elves come to visit you at this time of the night?” Erestor asked merrily. “I certainly hope it is only I who has the privilege of your illustrious companionship.”Glorfindel rolled his eyes and tied up his sleeping pants.“You do not pay any attention to the things I say, but you already talk as stilted as one of Elrond’s other advisors. How come?”Erestor grinned.“Because I know it annoys you. And why do you wear those silly pants, anyway? As I will take them off very soon, there is really no point in putting them on in the first place.”Glorfindel glared at Erestor, but did not answer. He slipped between the sheets, pulling them high up so that only the tips of his ears and some strands of blond hair could be seen, and turned his back demonstratively to Erestor.Erestor was not impressed. He had figured out very soon that Glorfindel was all bark, but no bite. Quickly he divested himself of his garments, and slipped into the bed, pulling not too gently on the bedsheets.“Would you please stop stealing the covers, for the Valar’s sake,” Glorfindel muttered. “You have your own bed. Go and sleep in that red-plushed nightmare of yours and leave me well alone.”Erestor spooned behind Glorfindel and wrapped an arm around his waist.“It is not red. It is called ‘burgundy’. Furthermore, it is velvet, not plush, you peasant. And it looks far better and feels more comfortable than this chamber here that even an Orc would shun.”Glorfindel tried to move away from Erestor, but there was the wall, and so he accepted his defeat and allowed the rascal to pull him closer. He did not suffer too much, though, as it actually felt very nice being held like this.Not that he would have admitted it, of course. Instead, Glorfindel continued his lament.“Orcs shun my home, indeed? So what are you doing here?”Erestor snuggled closer up and began to nuzzle the nape of Glorfindel’s neck.“I am here to hug you and squeeze you and call you Fin.”“Very well, you can stop it then, because I wish neither to be hugged nor squeezed, and definitely not to be called Fin!” Glorfindel stated, but the last syllable turned into a slight squeak as Erestor had begun to run the tips of his fingers gently over Glorfindel’s chest and had touched a particularly sensitive spot.“Of course you want to,” Erestor purred. “Otherwise you would not have goose-bumps right now.”“I have goose-bumps because your nose is freezing cold.”“That is only because it is so long. You know what they say about long noses…”Glorfindel, on the receiving end of Erestor’s nimble fingers, had no idea what people said about long noses, and he did not care, anyway. It was so wonderful to let go, to allow Erestor to be in charge, and to succumb to the gentle caresses. Now if that ruddy Elf only had been able to keep quiet for just a minute!Right now, however, Erestor could not talk as he was far too busy nibbling on the tip of Glorfindel’s left ear, and the warrior almost melted into the mattress.Erestor let go of the ear and began to plant tiny kisses on Glorfindel’s shoulder, while he ran the tips of his fingers over Glorfindel's stomach and hip bones. Those were only ghosts of touches, and Erestor made sure not to touch Glorfindel intimately yet, but he could drive Glorfindel mad with it. The tease - Glorfindel knew well from bittersweet experience that Erestor could have kept this sweet torture up for hours.As with many things, this was a game of control and power. Every time, Glorfindel was determined not to give in, to make Erestor succumb, and every time, he could not bear it any longer and finally begged Erestor for his release.But right now, that point was not reached yet, and Glorfindel clenched his jaws. Today, this game would be played by his rules!Alas, Erestor had different plans. He was now raking his fingernails up the inside of Glorfindel's thigh, at a maddeningly slow speed. Despite his determination not to give in, Glorfindel involuntarily bucked his hips, longing for a more intimate touch. He could feel Erestor's erection nudge at his backside."Will you give in?" Erestor whispered, and Glorfindel, biting his tongue to prevent a groan, shook his head firmly."Are you sure?" Erestor asked, stroking over the tip of Glorfindel's erection with his fingernail. This darned tease! He knew well which buttons to push, and Glorfindel's self-restraint disappeared into thin air."Please..." he groaned, and the lovely fiend teasing him giggled."Ah, you are not sure. How comes I am not surprised?" Erestor licked slowly and sensually along the ridge of Glorfindel's ear. "I like it when you beg," he whispered. "Now take yourself, golden one... it is what you want, I know it."Glorfindel pushed back, sighing happily when he felt Erestor deep inside him. Erestor’s movements were in slow-motion, teasing and making Glorfindel's head spin.“That is it, just let go. Let me look after you, my beautiful dusty fossil.”Glorfindel started, and Erestor yelped at the sudden movement."Ouch!" he protested. "Do not break anything off that you might wish to use again in future!"“Beautiful what?”“Fossil. Dusty fossil. You know, the lithified remains of the giant wargs or dragons from the old ages that you can find in the mountains, and which are…”“I know what a fossil is!” Glorfindel boomed. “What I wish to know is how come you called me one!”Erestor giggled.“This, my dear Fin, shall remain my secret for a little while longer. I have to warn you that there will be quite some commotion in Imladris within the next few weeks. I would just kindly ask you to play along, not get upset, trust me in all things and, most importantly of all, not attempt to hunt me down with a battle axe, no matter the circumstances.”For a while, there was silence. Then Glorfindel asked: “Do I even want to know what you are talking about?”Erestor pondered on the question.“Probably not,” he finally answered. “You are only concerned peripherally, anyway. And now relax, Fin. I have dreamt all day of holding you. Do not let possible diplomatic disagreements with Lothlórien and Lord Celeborn on the war path distract you from enjoying the pleasures Middle-earth’s most nimble fingers will bestow upon you.”Glorfindel relaxed and closed his eyes, leaning back into Erestor’s arms. Who was Celeborn, anyway! ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Being the skilled hunter that he was, it did not take Celeborn long to find his prey. Lindir sat on a bench beneath one of Elrond's rosebushes and was reading a book. He was so engrossed in the tale that he did not notice when the Lord of Lothlórien approached him."Is this book worth reading?" Celeborn asked, and Lindir, taken by surprise, dropped the tome. He bent down to pick it up, but this had also been Celeborn's intention, and so their heads collided."My apologies," Celeborn said, and rubbed his forehead. "I hope I did not cause you any pain - I have been told quite frequently that I am rather hard-headed."Lindir smiled shyly and shook his head."Oh no, my lord, please do not apologise, nothing happened. I should have been more careful."Lindir sat back on the bench. Celeborn mentally rubbed his hands together over this wonderful opportunity to get to know the young Elf and settled beside him."So tell me, what is your name, young one? And what are your duties in Rivendell?"Slightly intimidated by the Elf lord, Lindir shifted uncomfortably."My name is Lindir, my lord, and I... do things. For Lord Elrond. Singing things, mostly.""Ah, I see."Of course Celeborn did not see anything but the lovely Elf in front of him. Lindir was impressed by him; good. And very flattered, no doubt. This would make things far easier."You are as fair as the roses you look after, Lindir," Celeborn said in a husky voice. Lindir dropped his gaze and a strand of hair fell into his face. Celeborn gently pushed the loose strand behind Lindir's ear, which caused the embarrassed Elf to blush even more."You are very kind to say such a thing, my lord, even if it is not true."Celeborn gave Lindir his most blinding smile."Ah, but it is true, Lindir! I dare say that you are the most beautiful flower in Imladris."Lindir, whose distress Celeborn mistook for being flattered, stood up quickly."I... I have to go, my lord, I have to... there are things... I may not be late..." he stammered, then picked up his book and pressed it close to his chest, like a warrior might clutch his shield."What a pity, I enjoyed our conversation," Celeborn replied, his face expressing serious regret. "I hope your duties will leave you some time to continue it one of these days."Lindir did not answer. Celeborn sighed and raised as well."Well met, Lindir. I hope we will meet soon again," he said, and was just about to turn and leave when something caught his eye. He reached out and touched the hairclip in Lindir's hair. It was quite a pretty thing, made of mithril with white gems in the shape of a butterfly."How curious," Celeborn said. "That looks exactly like the one Elrond usually wears.""Really? Oh, I did not know that..." Lindir spluttered. "I am sorry, my lord, I really have to go now."With that, Lindir all but ran away, leaving a puzzled Celeborn behind.Celeborn scratched his head. Now this was really odd - he was absolutely certain that the hair clip Lindir wore was Elrond's. But why would some gardener wear one of Elrond's precious pieces of jewellery? There could only be two reasons: either the young Elf had stolen the hair clip, or...Celeborn grinned, and rubbed his hands.'Elrond, you old rascal,' he thought to himself, 'you have lured this pretty young thing into your bedchamber! How very good to know. This will be most useful in further negotiations!'Things were really turning out interesting, Celeborn thought. And competing with Elrond for Lindir's affection would make the challenge even more interesting. Though it was not really a challenge after all, for who could resist him, the lord of Lórien?Celeborn returned to his chambers, a skip in his step and whistling a merry tune. * "And then he made moo-eyes... and then saw the hair clip... and he said it looks like yours... and then he had this look on his face... and then.... oh, beloved, he will ruin everything!""Shhhh, now calm down, everything will turn out just fine, trust me, Lindir."Elrond held his distraught lover in his arms, kissing Linndir's head and rubbing his arms. His own feelings on the matter were far less optimistic than his words, though. He knew Celeborn well enough to see that he had figured out by now what the true nature of his relationship with Lindir was. And he did not have the slightest doubt that Celeborn would use this knowledge to his advantage."You should have seen how he looked at me!" Lindir was red with anger. "He undressed me with his looks! It was disgusting! Who does he think I am?"Elrond sighed."Unfortunately, Celeborn has always had a weak spot for beauty. And you are beautiful, Lindir. Picking a rose and placing it in a vase on his night table or placing a beautiful Elf in his bed makes no difference to him. That the rose and the Elf will wither away after a while is nothing he considers. Once it happens, he will regret it, but all remorse will dissipate as soon as the next beauty catches his eye. He does not mean you any harm, Lindir. He just wishes for company and distraction.""Then I suggest he goes to bother Lady Galadriel or buys a dog!" Feronil hissed, and closed his hands into fists. "I will neither keep him company nor - distract him!"He covered Elrond's face with sloppy kisses."I certainly hope so!" Elrond said and tried to look outraged. "I have exclusive rights on your distracting skills!"Lindir had to laugh."You know you have, beloved."Elrond smiled at him dotingly."I have not been anywhere as happy for the last centuries as I am now with you, Lindir. I will do anything to keep you out of harm's way; you must trust me on this."Lindir pressed a kiss on Elrond's forehead."I know, Elrond. I fully trust you, with my life, if I have to."Elrond felt miserable upon looking into Lindir's trusting eyes. For the only hope he had was Erestor, and that was like relying on a paper ship while sailing down the Bruinen.'Do not fail me, Erestor,' he thought. * "Lord Glorfindel! You here on the training grounds? What a lucky coincidence! I finally get to see the legendary Balrog-slayer in action then!"Glorfindel gnashed his teeth. He did not like having spectators during the sword training with the guards, especially not Orophin. Looking at the handsome Elf with his silver hair, regal and noble in the uniform of the Galadhrim, Glorfindel felt very uncomfortable with his unkempt hair, and dressed in his old garments. There was not a speck of dust on Orophin's uniform, while Glorfindel was drenched in sweat and covered in grime."Unless you have brought a Balrog with you, I am most afraid that you will be disappointed," Glorfindel snapped.Orophin gave him his most charming smile."How could I be disappointed, my lord! Why, I consider myself favoured by the Valar to meet you here. Please do not let me interrupt your training, I shall sit here, watching you and hoping to profit from your wealth of battle experience."'Smug bastard,' Glorfindel thought, but he kept his mouth shut, shrugged and returned his attention to the guard with whom he had been sparring.The training had continued for about ten minutes when Glorfindel got distracted by Orophin's vocal welcome for Erestor.'Just the one I need now. How nice,' Glorfindel thought, and he felt like the hair on the nape of his neck bristled at the cheerful and cordial way Erestor returned Orophin's greeting."Break of five minutes," Glorfindel ordered. The guards nodded gratefully and retreated into the shadow, while Glorfindel strode across the training grounds to where Orophin and Erestor were already involved in a lively conversation.A conversation that was not immediately interrupted to welcome him when he reached the two. First Glorfindel had to witness at least another minute of laughter, lash-batting and hair flips.'He is flirting with Orophin!' Glorfindel's heart skipped a beat. This could not be! Erestor was his, he needed him! He was important to him!He - loved him.The enormity of this revelation made Glorfindel sway, and he would have stumbled over one of the tree trunks that framed the training grounds if Erestor had not quickly jumped up and steadied him. Glorfindel was once again amazed at the speed and elegance of Erestor's movements, though he would have preferred if the rascal had used those skills to get away from Orophin as quickly and elegantly as possible."Master Erestor.""Lord Glorfindel."Though Orophin's facial expression of polite interest did not slip, he was actually grinning. Those two, lovers? Good grief, Celeborn was really getting old. If anything, Erestor showed Glorfindel the respect and slightly snot-nosed attitude that a young mortal woman might show her senile grandfather. Romance? The laugh!Erestor had swallowed the bait and was now hanging on Orophin's hook, there could be no doubt. When Erestor sat down again and batted his lashes at Orophin, the advisor could not help a small, smug smile."It seems that Lord Glorfindel is tired from his training. Maybe we should not further tire him with our chatter, Erestor. Shall we return to the Last Homely House? You wanted to show me the most romantic spots..."Glorfindel's head turned lobster red."I am not tired at all," he hissed. "I could take you out any time, Master Orophin!"Erestor rolled his eyes, for he knew very well that this had been just the thing Orophin had been waiting for. And indeed! Orophin jumped up, all smile and cheerfulness."Why, how very kind of you to offer me a chance of sparring with you, Lord Glorfindel!" he said, bowing his head. "I have hoped for such an encounter, but would, of course, have never dared to ask you. Guards! Give me a sword!"Erestor slapped his head when Orophin turned his back to him. It was clear to see how this would end. Glorfindel was a skilled, seasoned warrior and, in his younger days, he would have taken out Orophin with one hand tied to his back. But now he was tired, worn out, and suffered from his many scars. Erestor knew it, for he had kissed each and every single one of them while Glorfindel had told him the tale to go with it.Orophin was given his training sword and, though it was a blunt blade, it swished dangerously when he made a few experimental swings."Show me what you can do, Balrog-slayer," Orophin smiled. "And show Erestor as well," he added in a low voice.Glorfindel attacked Orophin fiercely, but the other had no problem avoiding the blow. Blades collided over and over again. Sweat began to penetrate the back of Orophin's jerkin, leaving dark stains.Erestor bit his nails. He had been extra-flirty with Orophin to lure him away from Glorfindel, but of course this stubborn old battle-horse had to cross his plans. Now Orophin would embarrass him in front of all the guards.Needless to say, Erestor could not allow this to happen, and began to search around in his pockets for Glorfindel's rescue.Meanwhile, also Glorfindel realised that he was fighting a lost battle. His blows got weaker while Orophin, despite breathing heavily, was still strong and not tired in the least. What a humiliation! In front of his guards and, even worse, in front of Erestor! Glorfindel felt his hate forming a hard, hot ball in his stomach. It was a good thing they fought with blunt blades, or he might have been tempted to commit a kin slaying.For a moment, Orophin's smile disappeared and he shook his head in irritation. Something had blinded him, maybe the reflection of the sun off one of the guards' weapons, and black spots appeared before his eyes. Glorfindel used this short moment of confusion to strike and hit the sword from Orophin's hand."Thank you for the fight," Glorfindel gasped, and added some pressure on the blade which poked into Orophin's chest.Orophin's eyes sent daggers at Glorfindel, but he produced a charming smile with amazing speed."I see you are still a master of your skill," he said, bowing his head respectfully. "You have certainly won this fight."Glorfindel dropped the sword and took a deep breath."I have. And I am also willing and capable of winning the war, Master Orophin."Orophin grinned and shrugged his shoulders."We shall see, Lord Glorfindel.""You lost, Orophin!" Erestor crowed cheerfully and for everyone to hear, then he let the little mirror slip back in his pocket just before Orophin could see it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Just what were you trying to prove there?" Erestor asked. He applied the healing balm not too gently on Glorfindel's bruises, which made the warrior bite the cushion a couple of times."Orophin provoked me," came the muffled reply. Erestor snorted and slapped another dollop of balm on Glorfindel's shoulder."You sound like an Elfling. 'Nana, little 'Phin hit me first, so I had to kick him with my little booties!' This is ridiculous. And you are not making my work any easier.""Work? Batting your lashes at that imbecile is work?" Glorfindel turned around, looking at Erestor with outrage."Indeed, it is," the advisor answered. Seeing that Glorfindel was not willing to keep still for further treatment, he screwed the lid back on the little pot and put it aside. Glorfindel's mood did not improve at all when Erestor removed his hands, and he continued to rant."You are not working. You are flirting! Do you really think I did not notice? You have no idea what you are getting yourself into! Orophin does not have his reputation for his skills at flower picking!"Erestor shook his head."Fin, I do not care if Orophin is a masterful flower-picker or if he picks his nose in a so-far unheard-of manner. Celeborn wants the mithril, Orophin has every intention on taking it, and I have every intention of crossing their plans. Unusual circumstances demand for unusual actions."Glorfindel frowned, and Erestor had to smile. He played with a strand of Glorfindel's hair and inclined his head."I thank you for your warnings, but they are not needed. And I have to admit that I find your jealousy very charming."Glorfindel jerked back."I am not jealous! I have no reason to be - after all, this was never...""This was never what, Fin?" Erestor asked, and narrowed his eyes."This was never you and me being, well, you know... you can do what you want, after all we are not... and we have never agreed to..."Erestor felt the urge rise to stick his fingers in his ears and sing "la la la", for this conversation had been held many times before, and it did not improve with repetition. He probably would have to live with the fact that Glorfindel would never admit that Erestor meant something to him.A scary thought crossed Erestor's mind. What if Glorfindel was not just an uptight old stiff, and Erestor actually really did not mean anything to him?"... and it was my understanding that..."Maybe he was just a nice distraction for Glorfindel? After all, nobody seriously enjoyed being lonely..."... so I thought we had an agreement there..."Maybe it was true and he was really too young to truly understand the nature of one like Glorfindel?"... so what do you say, Erestor?"Maybe he had got lost in some childish dreams, and if that was the case, then it was high time to wake up. Erestor stood up from the bed and cracked his knuckles."I say that it is time for my dinner with Orophin," he said, slipped off the bed and headed for the door."Dinner? With Orophin? But - but I thought you wanted to dine with me tonight..." Glorfindel stammered.Erestor turned around."Yes, indeed. But then he sent me an invitation, and after your little speech I do not feel the need to watch your sourly face across the table all night."Glorfindel looked crestfallen, and if Erestor had not been so hurt, he might have felt pity for him."But I thought you and me would... I thought you would... you know... stay with me tonight...?"Erestor opened the door."You and me, as you so correctly pointed out, 'are not and will not'. At least not with each other. I wish you a pleasant evening in the company of mother thumb and her four daughters."With that, he rushed out, leaving a rather uncomfortable looking Glorfindel behind. * "I hope you enjoyed the meal," Orophin said, and dabbed his lips with a napkin."It was delicious," Erestor replied. The view he graced Orophin with and the sly smile indicated that he was probably talking not only about the grilled chicken, but about his host as well.Orophin leant back in his chair and stretched his lean body."This was a clever trick, by the way," he said casually, and reached for the wine."Trick?" Erestor asked, arching an eyebrow."This afternoon. The mirrors. I appreciate the way you helped Glorfindel to keep his face. It shows that you know loyalty, and that's a good quality if not overdone."Erestor felt caught, and a little bit angry with himself as well for not being more careful.Orophin laughed."Now, now, do not pull such a sourly face, my friend. You are without a doubt a very skilled thief and a talented advisor. But there is still a lot for you to learn. And this is lesson one: never underestimate your enemies."Orophin took a swig of the wine, then put the glass down. The hazel eyes sparkled with mirth, and Erestor swallowed hard."I have never considered you to be an enemy," he said after a moment of contemplation. "An opponent - yes. Have I been wrong in my assumption? Do I need to watch my back and hire a tester?"Orophin grinned."Ah no, there is no need for that. At least not if things will develop the way I plan them to." He dipped a finger in the wine and circled the rim of the chalice. A high-pitched, piercing sound could be heard, and Erestor winced."Will you share your plans with me, or have you invited me for the sole purpose of rupturing my eardrums?" he asked.Orophin stopped immediately."Now that would be a waste," he replied, and licked the wine off his finger. Erestor followed each of his movements with growing fascination."I have asked you to share dinner with me for two reasons: I want to convince you firstly, to follow me to Lothlórien, and secondly, to spend the night with me. One of many, I hope. I think we would both profit greatly from such an arrangement."Erestor shook his head, greatly confused by Orophin's offer, which had been made in a very casual, almost businesslike way."Orophin - I cannot decide if I should be flattered or insulted by your offer. Certainly you are aware that I do not - love you?""Love?" Orophin laughed. It was a cheerful, heartfelt laughter, which confused Erestor even more."My dear Erestor, of course you do not love me! Nor do I love you. Love is a luxury I cannot afford in my position. But I find you amusing and fascinating, not to mention the fact that you are most fair of face. I would enjoy your companionship greatly, and I dare say that you could learn a lot from me."Erestor stared at Celeborn's advisor open mouthed. Had Glorfindel been right? Was Orophin too big a fish to fry?"You certainly know that I cannot leave Imladris, Orophin. I serve as an advisor to Lord Elrond as punishment for my thieveries in the past. I cannot leave at leisure."Orophin rolled his eyes."Good grief, Lord Elrond. Why worry about him? Worry about yourself, live your life as it suits you best. You do not owe him anything. Nor do you owe anything to Glorfindel, by the way."Orophin reached for a scroll that was lying on a side table, and waved it at Erestor."This, my friend, is the answer to all your questions and Lord Elrond's prayers. Come here, I will show you what my admittedly very brilliant mind has come up with."Erestor obeyed, stood up and walked over to Orophin, who had pushed his seat back and patted the table invitingly."Sit here, my friend. You are a far more beautiful decoration than the flowers and the candles."Erestor's mind was racing. He was afraid, realising that Orophin really was a sly old fox who could be dangerous to him, but he was also excited. Intelligence attracted him, and in the warm light of the candles, Orophin seemed to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Glorfindel was nice to look at, all things considered, but Orophin was - enchanting. And Erestor felt that he was under his spell.Erestor pushed carefully dishes, cutlery and glasses back, and sat on the table. Orophin handed him the scroll."Read," he ordered, and Erestor began to unroll the paper. Once he had finished, he frowned."You must be joking," he said."On the contrary," Orophin replied. "Celeborn wants the Mithril, all of it, and let us be honest: he will get it. If you sign this agreement, Elrond will get 25%, which is far better than nothing. In return, you accompany me to Lothlórien."Erestor's eyes narrowed to small slits."Do you really think you can buy me, Orophin?"The Lórien Elf shook his head."No, and that is not my intention. Once we have left Imladris, you are free to go wherever you wish. I would welcome it if you would stay with me, of course, but the decision is all yours. But consider your options, Erestor: you could learn from the best! You would be in the centre of Arda's power! Imladris is a nice place to stay with nice Elves - but Lothlórien, Erestor, Lothlórien is the heart of Elvendom!"Erestor looked at Orophin, then he re-read the agreement. Orophin was right, of course. The books and contracts on which Celeborn based his demands were ages old and must have been set up by idiots, but they were still valid. He had only delayed Lord Elrond's defeat; he would not be able to prevent it. Especially not with Celeborn stalking after Lindir, as it would only take the sly old Elf a short time to figure out the nature of the relationship between Elrond and the young Elf.And then there was Orophin, of course."Can I think about it?" Erestor asked.Orophin smiled. He began to run his hand up Erestor's thigh, slowly, and all the while, he looked at Erestor with a smile that showed he was very confident of his victory. Erestor began to sweat; the evening had taken a most unexpected turn."I would rather say: learn about all options before you make a decision," Orophin said, and fumbled with the laces on Erestor's trousers. Erestor, still holding the quill, stared down at him in disbelief. 'I should shove that document down his throat and leave,' he thought, but at the same time, he longed for the touch of those strong yet elegant hands. He could not help but wonder what it would be like to be with Orophin."Nice," Orophin commented, and Erestor yelped when he felt the cool hands on his heated skin. Orophin said 'nice' like a farmer would have commented on the size of a carrot and, in a way, this comparison was not that far-fetched.Orophin's hand closed around Erestor's cock."How is the decision process progressing, Erestor?" he asked in the same casual tone, and at the same time, he squeezed slightly."How can I think about anything if you do this?" Erestor gasped."Do you like it?""I find this conversation bizarre, to say the least," Erestor replied.Orophin grinned."Really? I find it very inspiring."He made short work of Erestor's trousers, and they soon pooled around his ankles. He probably looked very stupid, but this was the least of his concerns now.More squeezing and pumping, alternated with slow licks of a wicked, wet tongue and the painful torture of breathing on his heated flesh. Indeed, Erestor found it difficult to think.Orophin enjoyed himself greatly. This was going better than he had hoped, and it was a delight to see Erestor in a state of such passion. To think that Erestor could be his! He truly liked the young Elf, and desired him. But he also saw the political potential of the advisor. Having someone to teach and lead, a loyal confidante by his side, was something he had desired for many years."Orophin..." Erestor groaned, and that was about the last thing that could be heard from the usually so vocal advisor for quite a while. Limp and exhausted, he lay on the table, not noticing that he had just flattened the apple cake."You look delightful. I hope we can repeat this experience soon, with mutual participation."Orophin joined Erestor on the table, his body covering Erestor's lithe one. He ran his hands through the dark hair, marvelling at its heaviness, and licked along the ridge of Erestor's ear."So... have you come to a decision, my lovely one?" he asked.Erestor purred and nuzzled Orophin's neck."You know me all too well already, Orophin," he said. "Do you have a quill?" ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Glorfindel was furious. He was angry with Erestor, with Orophin, but most of all with himself. He looked at his face in the mirror, saw the shadows under his eyes and shook his head."Fool," he said. "Idiot, moron, imbecile."He would have continued this self-chastisement had he not ran out of expletives. Erestor could have helped him out, of course, but Erestor was not here. Erestor was out doing - nothing Glorfindel wished to know.Then again, maybe he did want to know. After banging his head three more times against the wall of his bedchamber, he left to seek out Erestor and yell at him. Or apologise. Why did this all have to be so difficult? He wanted with all his heart to tell Erestor that he loved him, and that he wanted the happy-go-lucky thief to stay with him.And what had he done? Told Erestor that there was no commitment. Fantastic. Splendid. Just - brilliant.Glorfindel glared at the door of Erestor's chamber with such anger that the worms in the woodwork hurried to seek shelter in the doorframe."Life is full of difficult decisions," Elrond often used to sigh when trying to reconcile two squabblers while holding court, and Glorfindel heartily agreed with his lord. He could open the door, find a sulking Erestor and continue their argument. Or find no Erestor at all and spend the rest of the night brooding over Erestor's whereabouts and the company he was in.Then, of course, there was option number three, which he preferred not to consider, as it would end with either his or Orophin's early demise.Life was indeed full of difficult decisions. Glorfindel sighed deeply, then turned on his heels and returned to his own chambers. Sometimes, he thought, it was better not to know what was behind a door. * The next day saw Orophin entering the Great Hall with a spring in his step and whistling a merry tune. He joked with the maids who served breakfast and made them blush, amused everybody present with his witty remarks, and it took all of Glorfindel's self-restraint not to dive over the table and strangle the smug bugger.Luckily, Erestor was nowhere in sight, and Glorfindel was not sure whether this was a good sign or not. His spirits lifted slightly when he noticed that Orophin's gaze wandered through the hall, obviously searching for someone. Good, so Master Smirkophin had no idea where Erestor was, either. Maybe there was still hope.Glorfindel returned his attention to the food on his plate, and when he imagined Orophin's head on a plate, nicely decorated with lettuce, an apple in his mouth and parsley in his ears, he ate with renewed appetite. * Erestor was too busy trying to win Lindir for his cunning plan to think of a mundane thing such as breakfast. The two young Elves sat under a tree and were involved in a heated debate."I will not do it!" Lindir stated firmly, and shook his head."Now stop being so difficult," Erestor snapped. "Close your eyes and think of Imladris!"Lindir shivered."This is disgusting! I think Celeborn is revolting! How can you ask me to... expect me to... do youknowwhat!"Erestor rolled his eyes."Good grief, one would think I had asked you to drag him to your bedchamber and get involved in lewd activities.""Well, that is exactly what it sounded like to me!" Lindir snapped back."No, silly. I asked you to invite him for a romantic tryst. I did not ask you to tear off his clothes. All I want you to do is to bat those lovely long lashes of yours, grace him with a shy blush and lick your lips when he looks. Then you ask him to meet up with you in the pavilion tomorrow at midnight and do as I told you."Lindir shuffled his feet."And I will not have to do anything indecent?" he asked, still unsure."I promise you that neither your honour nor your backside shall be touched," Erestor declared solemnly. "And do not forget: you can help Elrond greatly by doing this," he added perfidiously.That was all Lindir needed to hear."Very well then - for Elrond, I shall do it," he declared, and took a deep breath. Then he poked Erestor with his index finger in the chest. "But this I swear: if you bring me in an embarrassing situation, or if anything should happen that could get Elrond into trouble, there will be no hole deep enough in all of Middle-earth for you to hide in from my wrath!"Erestor threw up his arms, all righteous indignation."Good grief, how can you even think of me doing such a thing! I am an Elf of great honour, renowned for both my sense of justice and my honesty! This aside," he grinned, "I am far too scared by your Finger of Doom. Put it back in your pocket, before you poke an eye out."Lindir returned the smile, but he felt decidedly uncomfortable about the whole matter. What if Celeborn would not fall for his charms? And, even worse: what if he would? ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- There was only so much banner-sewing one could take. When the discussion on the subject of cross-stitching became once again rather heated, Galadriel excused herself and escaped Arwen's sewing circle. She would have much preferred to see Elrond's guards spar in the training grounds, or gone hunting with her grandsons. Alas, everybody was busy, and she found herself seated on a nicely carved bench, reading a book that did not interest her.The negotiations had gone well so far, at least for Celeborn. She knew the value of Mithril, and it was nice to have it, but there were more important things to life. Somehow Celeborn had lost his spirit over the years, unlike Elrond's new advisor. And such a charming and handsome Elf he was! It was obvious that the rumours of his former life as a thief had been greatly exaggerated, if not even completely made up. Such an innocent face – how could Erestor possibly ever have caused trouble?Galadriel was distracted in her musings over Erestor's noble mindedness by a heart-breaking sigh. 'Someone must be in distress,' she thought, but though she looked around, nobody could be seen, so she returned her attention to her book.A few moments later, she was interrupted again, this time by a stifled sob."Whoever you are, come out and show yourself," she said kindly. "I do not mean you any harm."After a moment, the privet bush behind her trembled and Erestor emerged. The eyes of the young Elf were red and puffy; quite obviously, he had been crying."I am so sorry, my lady, I had no intention of disturbing you. Please forgive me, I shall leave immediately," he pleaded, looking utterly miserable.Galadriel patted the empty space beside her on the bench, and smiled at Erestor."Come, sit by me and tell me of your problem. I have lived for many ages, even if one could not tell from my youthful looks, and I am confident that I can help you with wise counsel."Erestor sat shyly on the bench, as far away from Galadriel as possible."Now tell me, Erestor, what has happened? Have you been treated unjustly? Has my husband been unkind?""He broke my heart! This miserable son of a four pawed female animal! Broke it and tore it out and danced a jig on it!""My husband?" Galadriel cried, but Erestor shook his head, so she passed him her handkerchief."Pray tell, who was the thoughtless Elf who has led you on in such away?"Erestor blushed, looking very young and helpless."O-o-orophin," he whispered."Orophin?"Of course Orophin. She could have thought of this herself. Had there ever been a case of heartache he had not been involved? The Valar knew why Celeborn insisted on keeping that rascal in Lothlórien."Tell me what he did, Erestor, and I shall see to it that he will be punished!"Erestor shook his head."Oh no, my dear lady, I do not wish to see him punished. It was entirely my fault, you see. Everybody had warned me, I just thought I knew better and did not listen. No, I do not want him to be punished; I care too much for him. I could not bear to see him suffer."By now, Galadriel's compassion was in competition with her curiosity."Has he cheated on you? Lied? Tell me all there is to know, Erestor. As he is one of my people, I am at my rights to know what he is up to."Erestor gave her a grateful look, accompanied by a shy smile."You are too kind, my lady, but I really do not think I could ever tell you what really happened..."He broke off. Tears hung in the long dark lashes, and Galadriel was filled with a holy rage against Orophin, this ruthless philanderer, who had broken the heart of this innocent young Elf."Enough with the riddles. Out with it!"Erestor the handkerchief in his hands nervously, and gave Galadriel a scared look. He considered his words, then he nodded."You see, my lady, I just learned that Orophin...." * * Glorfindel bit his lip and cursed. What in the Valar's name was Erestor discussing with Galadriel, of all the Elves? And why was he crying? He had never seen the usually so happy Elf crying. Had anybody hurt him?Of course someone had hurt him. And Glorfindel knew very well who that someone was. Oh, if he only had the ability to kick himself! There he was, poor Erestor, crying his eyes out, and all because Glorfindel had not found the courage to be honest with him!"Are you hunting for snails, Glorfindel, or are you picking daisies?"Glorfindel jumped and almost fell over Elrond, who had sneaked up on him. When Elrond detected the object of Glorfindel's attention, he smiled."Ah, I see. You are still trying to catch your thief.""He is crying," Glorfindel stated the obvious. He also looked very guilty."Has anything come to pass that I should know of, Glorfindel? I noticed that you two are not talking with each other anymore. Was there a disagreement? Is there anything I could do to help?"Glorfindel gazed sadly and longingly at Erestor. The sight of the crying Elf broke his heart."I caught my thief, but I was too much of a fool to keep him. Now somebody else is holding his heart, and I cannot blame anybody else but myself for it."How much Erestor's presence had changed Glorfindel, Elrond thought. The warrior had only truly returned from the Halls of Waiting when he had brought Erestor to Imladris. And now Glorfindel prepared for endless years of loneliness. The horror of this prospect reflected on his face.Seeing his friend in such pain distressed Elrond greatly, and he became angry. One did not need a palantír to know what had happened. Orophin had very likely found another trophy for his collection."I can only guess what has happened, Glorfindel, but this I know: Erestor might not be faithful, but he would never betray you," Elrond said, looking warmly at his friend.Glorfindel did not answer. He just stared at Erestor, who was just wiping his nose on the sleeve of Lady Galadriel's robe.* * Celeborn winked at his face in the mirror. What a day! He had to give Erestor credit for his strategy, and for one so young, he was certainly cunning. In a couple of centuries, he would be a power to reckon with in Imladris. Alas, this time, Erestor and Elrond had lost, had to leave the council with their tails between their legs, and it had taken all of Celeborn's self-restraint not to grin smugly.It was not that he disliked Elrond. He was just an Elf who appreciated the value of beautiful things, be it Mithril, gems or Elves. Ah, Lindir – this victory was almost sweeter than deciding the negotiations for himself! How shy he had been, and how sweet! And how naughty! Who would have thought that this pretty flower had thorns?Celeborn hummed a sweet tune. "At midnight, at the pavilion," Lindir had said, and the memory of his voice's husky tone made Celeborn's skin tingle. The pavilion had once been the guesthouse for visitors of great honour. After little Legolas had set the carpet on fire while visiting with his father, it was rarely used anymore, though. A romantic place, the distance to the Last Homely House great enough to guarantee discretion and solitude. The old-fashioned bed with the intricately carved headboard added to its special charm – and in that bed, victory would be his this night!Celeborn switched from humming to singing, and headed for the bathing chamber to prepare for his tryst with fair young Lindir. * Orophin's thoughts were of a similar nature to his lord's. How well the negotiations had gone! Tomorrow, the contracts would be signed, and Elrond had better not look as disappointed as today. Had they not left him 25% of the Mithril? This was far more than what was legally his. And ah, had it been a pleasure seeing Erestor fighting with teeth and claws! Orophin had not expected anything less from him, signed agreement or not. What spirit!And tonight, Erestor would be his. His, his, his alone. Take that and choke on it, Glorfindel. Orophin had greatly enjoyed seeing Glorfindel's discomfort during today's meeting. He did not wish the warrior any harm, but Orophin was not used to losing. He was a hunter, a warrior, and by now, he was in a state of excited expectation. Erestor would be his – he would not have been a suitable mate for Glorfindel, anyway. The old warrior should seek a nice, matronly Elven lady who would mend his socks and rub his sore back with a healing ointment in cold winter nights.Erestor was a free spirit, and should not be kept locked up here in Imladris, where nothing ever happened or changed. Orophin would teach him all an advisor had to know. Plus a couple of things an advisor did not need to know but which Orophin found very pleasant between the bed sheets. He could hardly wait to show off Erestor in Lothlórien, knowing very well that he would be the envy and talk of the town with such an Elf by his side.So Orophin headed for the bathing chamber too but, as Celeborn had used all the hot water, he had to take a cold shower. This, he decided, was definitely the worst possible way to prepare for a night of passion. * "What a sight," Celeborn said upon entering the pavilion. Lindir, clad only in a thin white linen shirt and a pair of loose sleeping pants, lay sprawled on the bed. His dark hair made a fascinating contrast to his fair skin, and Celeborn swallowed hard upon thinking of the pleasures he would enjoy this night."You are too generous," Lindir whispered. "I am nothing but a mere Elf who feels greatly honoured that you have even noticed him."Celeborn threw his light cloak carelessly over a chair, and headed for the bed."How could I not notice you? I would rather say that I must have been blind during my former visits not to fall for your charms immediately!" he declared, and sat down on the foot end of the bed.Lindir shifted slightly, allowing the shirt to slip over one shoulder."How could I resist such kind words," he said, fluttering his eyelashes and blushing like a maiden. "But as flattering as your words are, I would not mind if actions would follow your words. Much have I heard of your prowess, I cannot wait to find out whether the rumours are true."Lindir sat up, and his long hair cascaded over his shoulders. Celeborn was allowed to see even more flawless skin, and what little of his blood had been left in his brain headed south in a hot rush.Celeborn did not know, of course, that Lindir wished ten thousand unwashed Orcs on his chest, and on Erestor's too. That Celeborn fell for this travesty did not really speak for the lord's intelligence, but then again, when had the brain ever had any say in matters of lust? Lindir himself was not exactly the epitome of sensibility when lying in Elrond's arms, his vocabulary reduced to groans and grunts.Lindir felt a little guilty, for one because he was leading Celeborn on, for another because he actually did enjoy the flattery. He only hoped that Elrond would never learn of Erestor's plan, or they would both spend the rest of their days counting Orcs in Mirkwood or stealing horses in Rohan. Why oh why had he ever listened to Erestor and agreed to this madness? He must have been insane!Meanwhile, Celeborn had moved closer, and Lindir could feel his hot breath on his face. What was it that Erestor had said? "Close your eyes and think of Imladris.""Are you good to your promise, my lord?" Lindir breathed into Celeborn's ear."I am, my handsome," Celeborn replied. "Your rules, your wishes. I am nothing but a mere servant to you this night. For all other nights, however…" He broke off and winked at Lindir."So here are my wishes, my lovely lord," Lindir said, and Celeborn was only too ready to comply.*While Orophin made his way to his tryst with Erestor, he considered the options for the night. He had not fully figured out yet what kind of lover Erestor might be. Passionate – yes. But was he more the romantic type? Or did he prefer his lover to take the lead? Was he dominant? Probably the latter – he could well imagine how Erestor had led Glorfindel around by a yoke ring. For various reasons, this picture amused Orophin greatly, and he snorted.The place was dark, not a single candle had been lit. Good – Erestor was careful, also, in matters of the heart. It was one thing for Glorfindel to know that he had lost the war, but Orophin did not want him to lose face in front of all of Imladris.At least not yet.Orophin opened the door, and looked around, making sure that he was not watched. Then he slipped inside the room and, indeed, there was Erestor, waiting for him. The night sky was covered by dark clouds, announcing rain for the next day, and there was not much Orophin could see, but the agitated breathing of his partner told him all there was to know. He slipped out of his clothes as quickly as he could, then threw himself on the bed, covering Erestor's light body with his own."Now you are mine, my beautiful," he cried triumphantly. * There are moments in an Elf's life that he will never forget. The first time he fought an Orc, for example. The first time he rode a horse.And not to forget the first time he finds himself naked on top of his lord while noticing at the same time that said lord's wife is standing in the doorway."I cannot wait for your explanation of this situation," Galadriel said, and her voice was probably heard in all of Imladris and beyond.Orophin jumped off the bed and covered his nakedness with the bedcover. This was unfortunate for Celeborn, who had nothing to cover himself with, but as he was bound to the headboard with two pieces of silk, he would not have been able to move, anyway."My lady, I can explain this," Orophin hastened to say. "It is not at all what it looks like."Galadriel, her face lobster-red, stood there akimbo, clearly not amused."Orophin, I do not wish to hear another word from you. You are naked. My husband is naked. Do you think me a fool? This is an outrage! How long has this been going on behind my back? Not that it comes as a total surprise, of course – I had suspected that you advised my husband on more than contracts and agreements for a good while. But this is just… I have no words!"By now Celeborn had recovered from his shock enough to enter the discussion."Galadriel… petal… please believe me, I never ever thought of… I mean, it is Orophin, for the Valar's sake!"Orophin, still clutching the bedcover, spun around."Now what does that mean? I dare say nobody would have to be ashamed of being in my grace! What am I, cooked liver?""Do you want an honest answer?" Celeborn spat."Quiet, both of you! Immediately! I am the betrayed party here! I and this poor Elf!"The 'poor Elf' stepped out from behind Galadriel's back."My lady, please… do not get upset. I had so hoped that I was wrong, but alas… oh, how can I ever forgive myself for upsetting you so!"Both Orophin and Celeborn stared open-mouthed at Erestor. After a moment of shock, Orophin roared like a wounded tiger."You! You... you... you sneaky weasel! My lady, this is a trap, set up by Erestor! Look at the scroll in the pocket in my cloak! He lured me here, inviting me for a romantic tryst! Read it! Then you will see that me and my lord Celeborn are nothing but innocent victims of this... this rascal!"Erestor looked a little worried when Orophin mentioned the scroll, and Orophin almost felt on top of the situation again.Galadriel looked at Orophin, then at her husband. Finally she nodded and reached for Orophin's cloak."Very well. It is nothing but fair to hear both sides. But this had better be the truth, Orophin," she replied icily, and grabbed for the scroll. She unrolled it, read it, arched her eyebrows and then looked at her advisor."'Meet me at midnight, my silver-haired beauty, for I long greatly for your touches. Also, please take the lead this time, I love it when you are masterful. Celeborn.''"Galadriel tapped her foot impatiently. Orophin considered fleeing through the window. Celeborn considered this option as well, remembered that he was bound to the headboard, and instead closed his eyes, sending a prayer to the Valar, begging for a quick, hopefully painless death.Orophin stared at Galadriel and the scroll as if he had never seen the lady of the Golden Woods before."How is this possible? How could this happen?" he asked. Then he looked at Erestor, who stood behind Galadriel, wiggled his fingers and grinned."This could happen because neither you nor my husband have any self-restraint."Galadriel turned her back to the two naked Elves and gave Erestor a sympathetic look."My dear Master Erestor, you have earned my gratitude. The Valar know I had suspected that my husband had been picking flowers outside of our matrimonial garden for quite a while. Come, follow me, Master Erestor, and help me prepare for my departure.""But Galadriel... blossom..." Celeborn groaned. "You cannot leave me here... and what about the Mithril?""You can stick your Mithril where the sun does not shine but the wind always blows, Celeborn!" Galadriel barked at him. "May Elrond keep it, I sure do not need it. See to it that you are ready for travel tomorrow in the early morning, both you and your - silver-haired beauty!"With that, she rushed out of the pavilion, followed by Erestor, who at least had the good grace not to whistle.For a moment, Orophin just stood and stared. Then he began to tremble, making sounds so odd that Celeborn feared his advisor might have a fit over this incident. When he realised that Orophin was not howling in anger but with laughter, he yelled at him."Stop standing there, laughing like the village fool, you oaf!" he barked. "This is your entire fault, anyway! So much for 'Erestor will eat out of my hands'! It will be a cold day in Orodruin before I ever trust you again! Now come over here and give me a hand, my arms are getting tired!""Ahahahaha! That one has led us on fine, my lord – by the Valar, I might have met my match!" Orophin laughed."Good to know that you find this embarrassing, humiliating situation amusing. You are not the one who has to deal with my wife, after all! When she is angry, she has thirty fingers and four sets of teeth, and I will be the one on the receiving end of her wrath!"Orophin looked over his shoulder. What a sight! A very angry, very naked and very handsome Celeborn, conveniently bound to the bed frame. He considered the situation for a moment, then he closed the door to the pavilion, this time turning the key, then he bestowed a predatory smile on Celeborn.When Celeborn caught the implication of this gesture, he first arched an eyebrow in outrage and opened his mouth to protest. Then he looked Orophin up and down, liked what he saw and shrugged."Ah well – as we will be punished for it, anyway, we might as well do it.""It will be my pleasure to give you a hand, my lord," Orophin replied, and bowed his head. "And I dare say, it will be your pleasure as well." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Had his bed always been that uncomfortable? Or was it just the fact that he was all alone that made Glorfindel toss and turn, unable to find sleep?Glorfindel stared at the blank wall and thought back to the first time he had met Erestor. The inn he and his guards had stayed at during their chase for the robbers had been dirty, cold and damp, but at the moment, it seemed to be far more welcoming to Glorfindel than his own chamber. He looked up, out of the window, and could see the stars blinking in the night sky. Usually he enjoyed their calming light, but now he felt as if they were mocking him from their lofty home.To Mordor with them.Glorfindel sighed deeply. He had seen neither hair nor hide of Erestor since the end of the meeting. Not a single word had been exchanged between them for days, only angry looks. He had no doubt where Erestor was spending the night; Orophin's smug grin had told him all there was to know.The irony!He had caught a thief.The thief had stolen his heart.And now the thief had been stolen from him.This was the material tragic comedies were made of. Entertaining for the audience, but a torture for those who had to live through it. Quite obviously, he was playing the part of the buffoon.It was not fair: Orophin could have them all, why did it have to be Erestor, of all the Elves? Orophin did not need Erestor, but he, Glorfindel, needed him very much! As much as he had always complained that Erestor was too loud, too annoying, too cheerful, too everything – he had secretly enjoyed his company. It warmed his heart to listen to Erestor's silly chatter. At times, he envied Erestor for being so carefree and for his happiness; all the things Glorfindel had lost so long ago in a blaze of fire.Glorfindel almost hit his head on the wall when the door was opened and then smashed closed."What in the…" he began."No reason to panic, it is only me," Erestor said. He looked tired, yet very smug."What are you doing here?" Glorfindel croaked.Erestor arched an eyebrow."Well, as these are your chambers, it would seem to me rather obvious that I came to see you," he replied. He padded across the floor and sat down beside Glorfindel on the bed.Glorfindel eyed Erestor suspiciously."Are you here to mock me?" he asked. Erestor started at the cold tone of Glorfindel's voice."No. No, I am here to apologise," he said, staring at a spot above Glorfindel's head."Apologise?"Glorfindel could not have been more surprised if Erestor had entered to announce that he had just decided to join a wandering company as a minstrel. Somehow, the words "apologise" and "I" just did not seem to go together where Erestor was concerned."You see, I have been thinking," Erestor began."Now that is great news indeed," Glorfindel growled. At the same moment, he could have kicked himself. Why did he have to say this? The truth was that he was happy beyond words that he had his thief back, if only for a brief moment. All of a sudden, his chamber seemed to be the most beautiful one in Imladris, and the stars above were smiling down on him."I have been thinking that different characters need different approaches," Erestor continued without reacting to the interruption. "I wear my heart on my sleeve; you have yours locked up in the cellar with the potatoes for the winter. These are differences that one has to consider. Do you understand?""Of course," Glorfindel said, though he did not understand a single word."Of course you do not. What I am trying to say is: if you go hunting for Orcs, you will take appropriate weapons with you. Chasing them armed with nothing but a set of tooth picks would not do much good, now would it?""I guess not.""For reasons I cannot fathom you are not able to say something simple like 'I am happy to have you with me again'," Erestor continued. "Instead you come up with a predictable and unwitty remark about my intelligence. You also cannot say 'I love you, Erestor', though you obviously do. No, you would rather sit at a table and glare daggers at Orophin, entertaining all of Imladris with your obvious jealousy."Glorfindel turned crimson. Had he been that obvious?Erestor looked Glorfindel straight in the eyes, reached out and gently stroked his cheek."I like my life here, Fin. There are no big adventures, that is true, and maybe you are a little too staid, too settled in your ways for my taste. At times, you drive me insane with your traditions and rules. But you make me feel wanted and needed, and not alone anymore."This was a side of Erestor's character Glorfindel had never seen. So Erestor had felt lonely, too? Someone as merry and charming as him? Then he might be able to understand Glorfindel better than he had thought."I have been wrong, Fin," Erestor continued. "I wanted you to hunt me with the weapons I know. Maybe I should have seen that you care for me without expecting you to declare your love. You do not use big words, which is the way you are. But see, I need to know if you want and need and love me in return. That is the way I am."Glorfindel reached out, cupping Erestor's face in his hands. Erestor closed his eyes, leaning into the caress, and Glorfindel kissed him. It was nothing more than a short brushing of lips, a far cry from the passionate kisses they had exchanged in the past, but to Erestor, it meant the world."I love you," Glorfindel simply said."Good. Now move over," Erestor replied.Still wearing boots and clothes, he stretched out on the bed, wrapping his arms around Glorfindel and sighing happily when he buried his face in Glorfindel's chest. Erestor could hear his lover's heartbeat, could smell the mixture of wood and saddle leather and bow wax that was so typical for him.Glorfindel pressed a soft kiss on Erestor's head. Finally, he had truly arrived home. * Elrond could not sleep. So many worries! The Mithril was gone, which was annoying, but he would be able to live with it. Or without it, depending on one's point of view. He just truly hated being bested by Celeborn and Orophin. And then there was Lindir, who had been increasingly depressed these last days.Lindir came through the door that lead to the bathing chamber, yawned and joined Elrond in the large bed. He looked rather pleased with himself, and Elrond wondered what might have caused that mood swing."You look very happy," he said."That is because I am happy," Lindir replied. He kissed Elrond on the nose, and wrapped a strand of Elrond's hair around his finger. "I am always happy when I can be with you."Elrond allowed his face to relax in a small smile."That is most charming, beloved, and if it is the truth, it makes me very happy as well. Alas, I feel that there must be more to your merry mood it than just my presence."Lindir stretched out like a lazy cat, then he rolled over and came to lie atop of Elrond."Well, let us just say that this has been a very successful day, dear Elrond," he said, and began to unlace his lover's nightshirt.Elrond laughed bitterly."I have never thought you to be sarcastic, Lindir. The Mithril is gone, Glorfindel has lost Erestor to this – individual, and Celeborn is so triumphant I have a hard time not throttling him."Lindir snickered."I cannot see what is so amusing about it, Lindir," Elrond snapped, now slightly annoyed."It is amusing to know that the Lothlórien delegation will leave tomorrow, for one," Lindir said."They will? Really?" Elrond sat up in the bed, almost knocking Lindir over. "How come?"Lindir shrugged."Let us just say that Erestor had some rather convincing arguments speaking for their early departure.""Erestor? What has… is this about Orophin? Did he talk to Orophin?""Possibly."Elrond was very confused."I do not understand this. Only a few hours ago, Orophin was pestering me to talk with him tomorrow about a schedule for delivering the Mithril. And now this?"Lindir pulled the cover up over his shoulder."Orophin, it seems, has decided that Lothlórien does not need the Mithril."Elrond only stared at his lover."Not?""No. Furthermore, he also decided that he does not need Erestor, or rather, Erestor decided that he does not need Orophin. So Erestor is with Glorfindel, the Mithril stays in Imladris, the Lothlórien delegation will hopefully stay in the Golden Wood for many, many years to come, and I am here with you. It would be nice if you could pay some attention to that specific fact."Elrond gave Lindir a very suspicious look."Do I want to know what has been going on behind my back these last days?" he asked.Lindir shook his head rather firmly."No."Elrond wondered if he should further inquire in the matter, but as Lindir had now managed to open the lacings, he decided that this could also wait till the next morning. * *The courtyard outside of the Last Homely House was alive with horses and Elves. The sudden departure of the Lothlórien delegation caused quite a stir, and was a challenge for servants and stable hands.Orophin's horse neighed, prancing on the spot impatiently. The Elf patted the neck of the beautiful white steed and calmed him down. "There, there old friend. We shall soon leave, I miss our home as well.""I hope you will both arrive home well and unharmed," Erestor's voice could be heard behind them.Orophin turned around. For a brief moment he felt rage at the sight of the serious concern on Erestor's face, but in the end, he had to smile."I hope so, too, Master Erestor. After all, it is my greatest wish to return very soon and spend again some time in your company."He bowed his head, half in mocking, half in respect, and Erestor returned the gesture."I am looking forward to your return," Erestor replied."So am I."Orophin smiled."This was truly a masterpiece, Erestor. I dare say that I have not been so masterfully fooled since my days as an Elfling."Erestor blushed."Thank you. Coming from you, that is a great compliment."Orophin looked up in the sky, blinking at the brightness of the sun."I wonder, though. Has this all been planned? Our meetings? The dinner? The… dessert?" he asked, without looking at Erestor.Erestor blew a strand of hair out of his face."I will be honest with you, Orophin, and that is a skill I have not mastered very well as I hardly ever use it. Had I met you at another time of my life, I would have followed you happily to the end of Middle-earth and back again. You have all I admire in an Elf, and you are one of the fairest beings I have ever come across. I suppose I could look at you and talk to you for centuries without ever getting tired of you. Does this answer your question?"Orophin gave Erestor a thoughtful look. Then he pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead."It does."Then he mounted his horse, but before leaving to join the rest of the Lothlórien delegation, he could not help but play out his last card."As I said, this was a masterpiece, Erestor. However, it was not perfect. What would my lady Galadriel say if I gave her the agreement you signed?"Erestor shrugged."I am not holding you back, Orophin. However, before you show it to her, read it first to make sure it really is the agreement you think it to be, and not a request by Lord Celeborn to bring a whip along for your next tryst."Orophin quickly put his hand in his jerkin, where the scroll was safely tucked away.Erestor grinned."Ah, Imladris is a dangerous place, Orophin. Thieves and pickpockets wherever you turn!"Orophin laughed."I give up – for now. Well met, Master Erestor. And I freely admit that I have underestimated your skills as an advisor and thief."Erestor shook his head."Oh no, Orophin – you have only underestimated one thing."The Lothlórien Elf gave him a puzzled look. "Which would be...?"Erestor looked over to the gathering of horses and Elves, where Glorfindel stood with his guards, wearing the same old garb as he always did. He looked calm, happy, and when he saw Erestor watching him, he gave him a smile that outshone the sun."This would be that I love Glorfindel, and that neither wealth nor adventures nor the fairest face on Arda could make me leave him. Namárie, Orophin."He waved one last time at Orophin, then he walked across the courtyard, and when Orophin turned to have one last look at Imladris, he saw Erestor standing next to Glorfindel."Lucky bastard," he muttered. Celeborn, who, for some reason, sat very gingerly in his saddle and winced from time to time, gave him a puzzled look. "Who are you talking about?" he asked.Orophin gave him a thoughtful look. Finally, he laughed, bowed his head and winked at Celeborn."I have been talking about you, my lord," Orophin replied, and despite a certain discomfort, Celeborn could not help but agree with him.
1128625	Magic Show	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": null, "Characters": "Selina Kyle, Harleen Quinzel, James Jesse, Jason Todd, Sylvan Scofield, Pamela Isley, Lisa Snart, Arizona (DCU Catwoman), Holly Robinson, Jason Bard, Blaze (DCU), Satanis, The Untitled (DCU), Kara Zor-El, Nina Skorzeny (DCU), Hartley Rathaway, Helena Bertinelli", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Isabelle_Jennings", "chapters": "7/?", "completed": "", "published": "2015-01-18T00:00:00", "words": "26,346", "Additional Tags": "Golden Glider, Trickster (DCU), Scream Queen (DCU), Poison Ivy (DCU), The Rogues (DCU), Power Girl & The Huntress, Femslash, Male Slash, LGBTQ Themes, Gay Male Character, Lesbian Character, Harley Quinn/Catwoman, Gay, Female Homosexuality, Male Homosexuality, Romance, Magic, Intrigue, Male-Female Friendship", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Selina Kyle/Harleen Quinzel, Jason Todd/James Jesse", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "DCU, DCU (Comics), Gotham City Sirens (Comics), Catwoman (Comics), The Flash (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Batman (Comics), Birds of Prey (Comic), Worlds' Finist (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "M/M, F/F", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	#1: UNLUCKY IN LOVE---HAILEY---Gotham-Metropolis, a city born of two cities that grew together through constant expansion into one sprawling mass of human civilization--the biggest city on Earth. By the ocean, on what was still just called Metropolis Bay, Dr. Hailey Quinn and her fiance, a woman who just liked to be called Ivy these days, lived together. They'd met years ago when Ivy had just been Vivian Isley, college student/stop-at-nothing environmental activist, and Hailey, only a year older, a prodigy with several degrees and two doctorates to her name, had been a young visiting professor who'd decided to take on a permanent teaching position at the university when she'd fallen in love with one of her students. They'd been partners in crime--partners in Ivy's crusade to save the world's pant life--ever since.The wedding though, was off- the partnership, over."So that's it then..." Ivy spoke softly, a few tears falling from her eyes as she reached up and touched Hailey's cheek with her fingers. Hailey met her eyes and did not wipe away her tears as her instincts still screamed at her to do."Leave." Hailey told her. "Now." She spoke coldly, turning and walking over to look out the window of the house that she and Ivy had shared, looking out over the water of the bay."For whatever it's worth: I'll always be in love with you, Hailey... Always." Ivy told her.Hailey didn't turn around until she heard the door close and then she whirled around and threw a glass sculpture of two dolphins at the door. From there she proceeded to tear into everything around her, demolishing everything in the room regardless of value or sentiment. She just saw red, and the fury wouldn't leave her until it burned itself out. Because the truth was, as much as her pride meant she couldn't say it out loud, she would always, always be in love with Ivy too, and it just... It just, well, that had to be just about the most blatantly unfair and downright cruel thing in the world, didn't it?An hour later, as the sun was setting, her wrath was spent and she found herself sitting on the floor against a wall in the shadows just crying piteously, not able to stop or think. She just hurt. Why had she done it? Why? Why couldn't they just be happy together?She ended up finally getting up and going to bed in their room--her room--falling into a dreamless sleep.The morning came and when her eyes opened, she felt like years had gone by since yesterday, but she knew they hadn't. Her thoughts mainly felt like just white noise, even though she knew that wasn't what it was... she knew her heart was broken the worst it had ever been and her head was still screaming and screaming and screaming from the pain of that... still, she was in control enough not let the screams out, and she just spent the morning taking all the plants out of the house and setting them on the large front porch. It was a warm day with a soft breeze coming in off the ocean--idyllic, really. She called a moving service and waited. An hour later they arrived and she told them to take the plants to the address she knew Ivy would be at, and warned the movers in no uncertain terms not to let them come to harm for anything (she knew that if they did, Ivy might very well kill these men for it, especially with the state she had to be in about now).Once they were gone, she cobbled together a quick incendiary device and flipped the switch, walking away. She was a block away when the house went up in a fireball. She smiled a cold smile and went shopping, buying a new set of clothes and burning everything she'd had on in a trash bin in an alley.Ivy just might have hated her forever if she'd burned the plants too. Hailey knew that. And even though, honestly, she'd been a little tempted to do it out of sheer spite, she knew she couldn't bring herself to got that far--to have Ivy actually... hate her like that. It just... it hadn't worked out, that's all.She hadn't been enough for her.She hadn't been able to make Ivy love her. Not how she wanted--not in the end. Simple as that. Now it was done. Burned. She'd just make a new life- be a new person.She felt like nothing really mattered to her anymore. Her heart felt cold.So... if nothing really mattered, why not just... have some fun?---JAMES---[about eight months later]James Jessie (more infamously known as The Trickster) looked up into his boyfriend's eyes, caught spellbound. His breathing was just becoming more even, though his heart was still beating fast like a drum in his chest from what they'd just been doing in bed... He smiled an imminently satisfied smile and pulled his lover down for a kiss. "Come here, you." He whispered as their lips met again. As usual, Jace Station wasn't the type to kiss you half way, and James felt himself melting before his lover's passion yet again and loving it.Their lips parted and Jace ran a hand through his hair, over his cheek, James returning the gesture as they stared into one another's eyes. "This won't last, you know..." Jace told him, a strange sort of distant wistfulness in his voice. "Nothing ever does.""...Why so cheerful all of the sudden?" James asked, only half playfully. Jace got these looks sometimes, like he was... older than the world or something. James never quite knew what to make of it, and he'd always been reluctant to ask after it somehow."I like you, do you know that?" Jace asked him.James laughed. "I had gotten that idea, yes. I like you too."Jace sighed. "I'm being too serious again, aren't I?" He asked."I've never minded that..." James told him, tracing his fingers over Jace's face.Jace smiled and shook his head. "The way you mess with my head sometimes, I'd almost call it a miracle..." He told him, moving to snuggle up to him and kiss his chin, his neck, nip at his ear."A miracle, huh?" James replied, Jace's hand on his ribs going down to his hip and then stroking his sex a little. "Imagine that.""Imagine..." Jace told him softly, titling his head to the side and kissing him.They made out like that for a while, in no hurry at all, and, in time, fell off to sleep together. It had been a good day- one of the best. They'd actually gone out on a date, just a regular date. They'd never -done- that before, and James thought he liked it for a change.He fell off to sleep holding and being held by his lover. He'd never really thought himself the settling down kind, but, he thought... maybe one day, with Jace, years from now, he just might be.Instead of dreaming of possible bright futures though, his dreams quickly turned, quite literally, to Hell. He saw his family burning. He saw Jace laughing in joy, not a care in the world, then stabbed through the heart by Professor Zoom, The Reverse Flash--his murder's laughter a haunting refrain. He ran, but how could you outrun someone like Zoom? But then he wasn't Zoom, he was someone else... someone he never wanted to remember, and he was being raped, again...Then there were demons, clawing at him, tearing his flesh away, dragging him down to Hell, and there were burning eyes... those eyes, and a symbol, and a familiar voice that told him to run. Then Jace was there, and he was being dragged away through a wall by demons. "I'm sorry about this, really, but you have to run James! Run!" He called to him (so that's who the voice had been).Then he was waking up, sitting up stock straight in panic, his heart beating faster than he could ever remember it beating, sweat poring down his skin. He looked around, trying to get his mind to work right again. "Jace?" He rasped, his throat feeling dry.Jace was gone, but his eyes alighted on the wall, and that same symbol burned into it, and it felt like his heart dropped out of his chest and someone had sucker-punched him in the gut at the same time. "Run..." He imagined he heard Jace's voice in his head. "It's not over yet."He got up and grabbed some pants, getting out of the apartment as fast as he could, not caring about anything else.He was on the street minutes later, having just put his pants on, when an explosion rocked the air and almost blew him off his still bare feet. He turned and saw his apartment--burning. Jace... not to mention all the money they'd had in there... What was -going on-?! What the fuck was...He needed help, there was no two ways about it. "Hailey." He spoke to the night air.Why hadn't he grabbed his cell phone when he'd had the chance?---HAILEY---[still about eight months later, plus a few days or so]She was in Sylvan Scofield's bed, holding her down by the wrists, soft fabric that seemed alive caressing their skin in such completely sensual ways. Her newest lover offered no resistance; her eyes spoke that she was eager and wanted to be dominated--wanted someone to be in charge of her. At least, that's what she was like now anyway, what she was usually like in bed if you didn't know what things to say and do to set her off. Hailey smiled and claimed her lips in a suitably predatory kiss, coming down over her and then moving to kiss her neck, letting go of Sylvan's wrists and feeling her lover's arms wrap around her back. "Oh yes, oh Hailey yes..." Sylvan breathed as Hailey slipped her fingers inside her and started to play the body below her like a fine instrument, she a skilled and gifted musician of the highest order. And that wasn't bragging... or, if it was, it was also simply a fact. As smart as she was, as fast as she learned things, anything really, it usually took her very little time at all to figure out just exactly how to please any woman at all in the ways she most wanted, most needed. It was probably her favorite activity in the whole world, actually, despite how easily it came to her... Perhaps even a little bit because it was so easy--so easy she didn't even have to really think about it--and, at the same time, she really couldn't explain, even to herself, exactly how it worked. What it was in a woman's eyes, in the ways she moved that told her these things so eloquently? And, of course, it felt completely amazing... to be with another person like this. There was no way to put a value on it. It always left her feeling a sense of wonder, in fact, because it was one of the two things in the world that, at the end of the day, she could never really comprehend completely, and the only thing that still left her awed--what she saw spoken silently on another woman's face, in her eyes, and felt in her touch when love was involved between them.And it had been a blast, the last eight months... well, mostly... She'd spent most of it in the Gems (another mash-up city--it used to be Central and Keystone Cities, nicknamed the Gem Cities, but, over time, people had just started calling it Gem City, or the Gems). She'd been carrying on a rocky but very engaging and rewarding love affair with Lisa Snart (better known as The Golden Glider). Things had ended badly between them. And that was a long story, but sufficed to say, Lisa blamed Hailey for her brother's death... which, really, was mostly fair. Even if Hailey hadn't been the one who'd killed him herself, she'd basically goaded him into getting himself killed for what had been, truthfully, just her being petty and cold (which... was kind of funny and ironic, because her brother was Captain Cold). True, she hadn't meant for him to die, hadn't thought he would, not really, but, well, she hadn't been exactly sad about it either, and Lisa could tell.The break-up had hurt, and had been hard on both of them... It had taken Hailey weeks to get it through her head that Lisa really wasn't going to forgive her and to finally give up and leave (taking a truly spectacular bag of stolen party treats with her--which didn't make up for the loss of Lisa by any stretch, but was definitely a lot better than having nothing but more heartbreak and memories of love she couldn't have again to show for it). After a little aimless wondering, she'd ended up back here, in Gotham-Metro, where she and Ivy had lived. She hadn't tried to find Ivy again though, as much as a part of her wanted to. Because she had her pride, because she knew her and Ivy were probably about as over as her and Lisa were now, and because she couldn't imagine Ivy wasn't with someone else (probably more than one someone else, knowing her) and she really, really, really, really, -REALLY- hadn't wanted to see that right then (or ever, honestly). She'd started up a therapist's practice to occupy herself with something that was usually at least nominally interesting (sometimes genuinely rewarding, in fact), and done the crime thing after hours--nothing really big--mostly just political statements and murdering people (only the ones who were just asking a good murdering though, of course). For the most part, she went after corporate types, or the mob, or domestic abuse cases. And it was, she had to admit, mostly out of nostalgia--mostly so she could still feel some sort of connection to the women she'd once been in love with. The corporate types because of Ivy, because her ideals about saving the world were still in her and Hailey just couldn't fault the logic of it. The mob stuff because of Rose, and the domestic cases too. Rose, Ivy's estranged adopted sister, had been the first time she'd fallen hopelessly in love. Ivy had been the second (she'd only found Ivy because she'd been looking for Rose after Rose had left her one night without even a note for an explanation). And Lisa... Lisa might have started to be the third...But, even as she held Sylvan in her arms and kissed her gently as her new lover came down from her climax, Hailey knew she wasn't going to fall for this one--that Sylvan wouldn't be the fourth woman to conquer her heart. She could tell that easily because, when Hailey looked her in the eyes, Sylvan too easily looked away. She was too timid that way... Hailey just couldn't see it--that spark, that bravery that would let a woman really own her own life. Because a woman would need a lot of that- would need to be much more intense, more driven and... maybe a little out of her mind too, in just the right ways, to really handle her in the long term. Because, since Ivy, well, she knew herself, knew her profession well enough to know that she'd been losing it more and more. She'd been so... utterly convinced that Ivy and her would be forever. She should have known better though- she'd been convinced of that with Rose too, and look how that had turned out? They were sisters! Like, really, take a clue Hailey! She really must have been stupid or something... It hadn't wrecked her any less though, for her own stupidity. She'd been more careful with her heart with Lisa, or tried to be at least, with not nearly as much success as she'd set out intending... A lot of the time, she didn't even try to stem the damage of it all. She was trying for Sylvan of course--trying to be a better person with her, trying to be a good lover to her... Mostly she was succeeding in playing her part, except for this one thing... It was just too tempting--too much of a thrill--to see, to feel, what was inside this woman... To have it crash over her... To just have her mind blown to dust and sparkles and lose herself for a while...Sylvan wouldn't meet her eyes and so Hailey clasped her head and moved it a little roughly to the center before her. "Look at me. Look..." She told her coldly- though, inside, Hailey only felt heat, perhaps even need...Hesitantly, but obediently, Sylvan opened her eyes. "Hailey, please..." She pleaded meekly."Please what?" Hailey asked, a cold but curious smile coming over her lips. "Don't you like me anymore?""You... You, that's not.... huhhhh!" Sylvan gasped as Hailey ground her thigh into her sex in a way she knew would melt her. Sylvan's body arched, her head lulled back, her mouth parting in a way that drove Hailey a little wild, and made her want to kiss her, which she did--owningly."You do like me, don't you?" Hailey asked softly into her lover's ear.Sylvan didn't answer right away, but she started to struggle and, soon, Hailey found herself on her back, the silken fabric that surrounded them in the elegant bed they lay in holding Hailey down like tempered steal, and Sylvan over her, a wild look in her eyes. "Shut up. Just shut up... You know I hate it when you do this to me..." She complained. "You just won't stop, will you?" And she kissed her, hard.Hailey smiled to herself and did as told, shutting up and letting her lover have her way. Sylvan was all wild edges and instinct now, grasping and needful. She repressed this side of her, but Hailey had found the ways to trigger it, to get her to show this side of herself. It was like a fever took hold of her, and Sylvan couldn't stop toughing, taking, trying to get closer, trying to burn herself away in the heat of what was between them. No, Hailey didn't speak, she just met Sylvan's desire with her own and lost herself right with her, letting a burning sort of lustful oblivion take her. They'd do this until Sylvan eventually passed out from it, Hailey knew. Sylvan was a strong woman, and something more than human somehow (out of respect for her privacy, Hailey hadn't pried for details on that point), but Hailey was a lot stronger, had a lot more endurance because of Ivy's formula. So Sylvan could go at her as fiercely as she wanted and it wouldn't matter, it wouldn't hurt her, it would just feel good- feel exciting, and so exquisitely primal and thoughtless...Sylvan was a very beautiful lover, but Hailey knew, in the morning, she still wouldn't be able to hold her gaze- she'd still be meek and pliant, still wouldn't open up to her, let her in--not like Hailey wanted. There was just something... closed off there, inside her. Like a wall.Oh, with enough time and patience, Hailey thought she'd surely be able to get past her defenses or get her to lower her guard more, but... she knew there were only two ways to do that. One would be to pretend to be someone she wasn't--someone kind and overly solicitous and cloyingly sweet probably--and the other... It was something she very much hoped she would never do, never even truly consider, no matter how far she let herself fall. No, to have something real with Sylvan, she would have to really earn her trust- really be... well, someone she couldn't be--just didn't have it in her to be. So, the sad fact was, they just weren't right for each other. Not in any sweeping romantic sense at any rate. She couldn't touch that place inside Sylvan that her lover really needed. There would always be something missing. And even with how brilliant she was, she couldn't put a name to what that was, that missing thing. She'd had it before though, with Rose, and with Ivy, and, yeah, with Lisa too, much as it made her kind of hate herself to admit it because it really had been all her fault that she'd messed it up so badly with her when she'd known that that could have been it, that Lisa could have been it for her--her happily ever after... So she knew what it was, and she knew she'd only be fooling herself if she tried to find it with the woman who's bed she was in.Still, for what it was, what she and Sylvan had was beautiful, and she... She hoped that when things had run their course for them, that they could still be friends- that Sylvan would find someone who was right for her. But, as pointless and illogical as it was, knowing herself, she had to realize that the whole 'friends' thing, it probably wasn't going to happen... maybe she'd take a try at playing cupid from afar for her though? That could be fun...She liked her... liked her a lot, and wanted her very much to be happy... And maybe it was wrong of her to even be here, with her, but she didn't have anyone else in her life right now- no one at all, even a friend (well, she had one, but he didn't live close by), and, after what had happened with Lisa, she simply didn't want to be alone--she felt she needed, or at least wanted very badly, someone to be with--even if she wasn't in danger of falling hopelessly in love again... Maybe even -because- she wasn't...(2b continued) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- #2 THE MURDER GAME---HAILEY--- Some time later found Hailey, her body humming with very pleasant feelings of satisfaction, gazing down at a sleeping lover, idly running a hand through her hair. "You really are so beautiful..." She spoke softly to the sleeping woman, and she meant it, because Sylvan -was- beautiful, inside and out--very much so. It was a crime that no one else seemed to know that but her, not even Sylvan herself- not really. But then, that was common, wasn't it? Most people didn't see what was best in themselves nearly as easily as they saw the worst. Hailey considered herself different than the norm in that way, in that... well, she had never really had the knack for judging herself. Was she a good person, a bad one, something between, or something else? Was that even a real question? She knew she was beautiful, knew she liked herself quite well, or had until recently with the whole thing with Lisa making her doubt herself like she never had before. It had gotten to where, now, she was finding it hard to tell even that. Did she like herself anymore? She honestly wasn't sure she even had an opinion about that now, or if she did, if it was still a positive one, and the uncertainly bothered her.If it were anyone else, she'd say the best guess would be that she was avoiding her own feelings, her own self, to cope. And maybe that was the answer, trite and depressingly mundane as that seemed. She certainly couldn't come up with another theory at least, at least not one that seemed more likely. But neither could she find evidence within herself to support that most likely of psychological diagnosis either. Other than that... perhaps she'd simply became numb somehow, or broken in some way she couldn't quantify...? or maybe she could quantify it and she just didn't want to? That was probably it, actually. The reasons were really very obvious, if you thought about it honestly after all..."So, honesty is overrated sometimes..." She told her sleeping lover softly, touching her hair and forehead fondly as she got up and turned away, getting out of bed and going to get dressed. She cast an occasional contemplative glance at Sylvan as she did, and when she was ready, she looked at herself in the mirror and she wasn't Hailey Quinn anymore, she was The Harlequin. She smiled in a way that sent a thrill of anticipation through her and walked forward, through the mirror and into another world that looked as though it were made of glass or polished crystal.One of those party favors she'd taken from Gem City was the technology Evan McCulloch (better known as The Mirror Master) used to enter this other-dimensional world, having killed him one night after he'd said something she really hadn't been able to forgive. While she'd been in The Gems, she'd made friends with James Jesse, The Trickster, and they'd collaborated on improving his flying shoes, which had left her with the design schematics too (he was that one friend she had that didn't live close by- he'd stayed in the Gems when she'd left, and, as of now, he was in Faucet City, pulling con after con with a new boyfriend who was pure trouble, but just delicious to look at, and especially to fuck). She'd also 'appropriated' the Weather Wizard's control rod too, after he'd tried to sell everyone else out to Grodd for a payoff and she and Lisa's brother, Leonard Snart (Captain Cold), had put him in the hospital for it. She had Len's cold gun too- had taken it after his unfortunate (for her) death. She'd considered leaving it for Lisa as a small way of saying sorry, but she hadn't done that. True, she'd been to blame (undeniably, stupidly to blame), and the death of a beloved brother was no small thing to forgive, but even so, she still mostly believed that Lisa should have forgiven her--they'd been in love after all. So... that was her small bit of petty, utterly stupid revenge.The real treasure though, was what she'd gotten from Abra Kadabra, the time traveler from the future whose technology was so advanced it looked like magic to the present day world. That, she'd wanted just because she couldn't resist the idea of it--the mystery, the wonder, the challenge of it. She'd befriended him, used her skills as a therapist to kind of get in his head, tell him what he wanted to hear. It hadn't been hard, really--he was such a lonely sort--which wasn't a surprise, because he wasn't really an easy person to like. She didn't really like him either- or she kind of had at first, but then he'd raped James... So of course that was when she'd gleefully tortured (she usually wasn't the type to torture people, but in this case, she'd made an exception) and killed him with his own technology- which he hadn't really thought she'd be able to understand, but, of course, she had been. She'd figured out how to use it with a good deal more skill than he could, in fact (it wasn't as though he'd invented anything, he'd just used what was commonly available in his time and stolen a restricted time travel app to come back here and make trouble because he couldn't fit in in his own time and he wanted to... well, matter, she supposed).She hadn't told anyone but James, even Lisa, that she'd done it- to the others, he'd just disappeared, gone back home to the future or whatever, and since he didn't actually have any friends, in this time at least (sad as that was), no one looked for him, or even seemed to miss him. No one but James knew what she had, or just how very dangerous a person she'd become. She hadn't really used it for anything big yet, mostly because she just didn't feel like it--mostly because she was still getting over what happened with Lisa. Not that she was under any illusions that she'd actually ever really get over it. If past experience was any indication, she never would, she'd just manage to get to a place where she could live with it better, and then go looking for another woman to break her heart again... or, hopefully, not break her heart. That's what kept her going, really. That, if she kept trying, she'd get there eventually--find the one for her. When that happened though? When she met someone new and stopped feeling like she wanted to just hide away from the world? Then, oh then she was going to make some noise--and the world was -going- to listen. It wouldn't have a choice!Still and all, for all the 'magic' of the future-technology, the mirror tech was really interesting too. The mirror world was beautiful, truly. She'd spent days in here once, just walking around and sightseeing, having packed a few things to tide her over. It was like one big crystal palace. She walked along in no hurry until she found herself at her destination: A mirror in the master bedroom of Cecily Carter's palatial up-town penthouse. She walked through, easy as a regular person would step from one room to another, and saw her there, laying in her bed, asleep, curled up contentedly between two prostitutes (one male, one female).She felt herself grow cold inside looking at the scene. She was here because this woman and her two brothers, Jenson and Michael Carter, owned a furniture business, passed down from their now deceased father and mother, that was responsible for clear-cutting acres of forestland to make their obviously un-needed products. She'd already paid a visit to Jenson, as a matter of fact, and Michael was next on her list... but, seeing the scene before her, she found herself even more eager. She'd known Cecily Carter paid for prostitutes, so had Jenson in fact (though, in his case, he'd had a steady lover recently, so hadn't done so for the past few months), it had come up when she'd looked into the finances of the company, but seeing it in person was a lot different than seeing sums on a page.Then she thought of what to do and she smiled, delighted by her own ingenuity and sense of fun once again. "Let's play a game, won't we?" She asked the room softly, touching each of them lightly on the forehead and using her future-tech to put them in a sort of sleep-lock that they couldn't wake from without her releasing them from it. She then went about grabbing dear Cecily by the hair and unceremoniously pulling her out of bed, then tying her up and hanging her from a hook in the ceiling. She considered the scene a second, then decided to gag her too. She wasn't really in the mood to hear... well, -whatever- Cecily might have to say. It was blatantly evident that she deserved what was coming, after all. A mass tree-murder and a Jane?--she deserved this and then some. Of all the completely mad and nonsensical things people did in general, people who paid for sex were one of the things that just... really, truly irked her. It was like... you know, watching a sunset with your girlfriend and someone walks by with a dog and starts kicking the dog because the dog won't fetch a Frisbee right. And she despised people who kicked dogs as much as she despised, well, anything in the whole entire world really.The scene set, she snapped her fingers to release her audience of sleeping beauties from her spell. She then clapped her hands loudly. "Wake up and be happy, prospective new friends of mine." She told them.The two prostitutes blinked the dreams from their eyes and sat up, looking around in half-awake confusion. Hailey laughed just a little. "Aw, cute." She told them, getting out a knife. Alter all, one of the reasons she despised dog kickers so much, was because, obviously, she liked dogs. And, in the sunset analogy, the dog was representative of prostitutes- not a flattering analogy, some ill-informed people might say, but she was not an ill-informed person, and dogs, in her opinion, were one-hundred percent amazing.The woman of the pair's eyes caught hers and widened a little, widened further when her gaze traveled over to poor doomed Cecily Carter and the knife in Hailey's hand. "Shit..." The woman swore softly. "Jason... I think we're... in a lot of trouble somehow." She spoke to her male counterpart.Jason turned and looked where she was looking. "What the..." He backed up in bed a little and got quiet. "What do you want?" He asked, his face suddenly growing closed and weary in that way someone gets of being weary when they've lived on the streets and had to do a lot of things they'd really rather not have had to do in order to stay alive and provide something in any way approaching a life for themselves."Her. Dead. She really does deserve it. Do you disagree?" She asked.Jason remained quiet, watching her with a calculating look. He wanted to say something, but wasn't."I wouldn't know." The woman answered for him."Honesty. See? I knew I was going to like you. Tell me your name?" She asked hopefully."Holly... Robinson." She replied."Well, Holly and Jason--I'm The Harlequin, and I'm pleased to meat you both. So, now that we know each other a little better, would you like to play a game with me? If one of you wins, you'll be rich?" She offered enticingly."And the one that loses?" Jason asked, voice still weary and cold."A consolation prize, you mean?" Hailey asked delightedly. "Hm, well, how about I just let the one who loses riffle through Cecily's jewelry box or something--sound fair?""So... you're not going to, you know, kill us?" Holly questioned."Hmm." Hailey considered playfully. "Probably not. But let's check, just to be sure. Do you knowingly own, direct, or take significant actions that support a business or corporation that's significantly environmentally or ethically irresponsible? Abuse your lovers? Beat children? Do you murder plants for no good reason? Involved in human trafficking? A protection racket? Kick puppies or other animals? Run a cult that worships insipidly cute glazed mud sculptures and bilks old people out of their retirement money?" She seriously doubted these two would qualify for any of that, especially the last one."No." Jason spoke."Um, me either?" Holly replied uncertainly."Oh good. Then no. No killing you by me. Want to hear more about the you becoming rich game?" Hailey asked."Yes." Holly replied impulsively.Hailey smiled, liking Holly even more. "Ambitious. Good for you. Alright, so here's the deal: Dear despicable Cecily Carter and her two equally despicable brothers have been, well, despicable! So I was planning on doing everyone but them a favor and murdering them all dead. Cecily, for instance is going to be killed with this knife right here. The only question is: Who's going to be her killer? It was going to be me of course, but if it turns out to be one of you, I promise, everything that's hers is yours. Her money, this penthouse, her company, even her brothers' shares of the company--everything she and her two low-life brothers has in fact: Yours. On one further condition: You'll have to close that company down, donate all of it's forest land holdings to conservation groups, and trash any and all logging equipment it owns. Sell even one chainsaw, I come back and kill you with it. Understand?""So, you're an eco-terrorist then." Jason spoke."It's one of my hobbies, yeah." Hailey replied, annoyed by his tone. "Though I prefer the term 'passionate revolutionary', or 'tree-hugger'--I always liked 'tree-hugging'. Have you ever hugged a tree Jason?""Slept in one a few times." He replied."Well, there you go then. Insert overly precious, slightly condescending monkey joke here. We're practically family." Hailey tossed the knife in the air and caught it absently. "Annnnywaaay... So how 'bout it? Who wants to get to the stabbing part? Any takers?"Hailey could already tell Jason wasn't about to take her up on it. The look on his face told her that he held her in contempt, but valued his own life too much to say so and risk her anger. She didn't hold that against him though, even though it was slightly irksome that he apparently didn't think much of passionate revolutionary tree-huggers. Some people could really be thick, you know? Holly on the other hand... Holly was looking at Cecily thoughtfully. She then looked to Jason. He gave her a look that said clearly 'don't do it, you'll regret it if you do'. She then looked into Hailey's eyes and nodded. "She's dead anyway... and it's not like global-warming's actually fake or something. And I... you know, I really hate doing this--being... being a whore. Don't you?" She told Jason. "I'm doing it." She decided, moving forward a little nervously and stepping onto the floor from the bed.Hailey smiled. "Somehow, I thought it was going to be you." She handed her the knife, hilt out.Holly took it and walked over to Cecily. She looked into Cecily's terrified eyes. "I'm sorry about this. You were nice to me." She told the doomed woman, stabbing her in the chest.Her hand dropped from the knife after a beat and she stepped back, eyes wide as the life faded from Cecily Carter's face. A few tears fell down Holly's cheeks, and Hailey went over to her and wrapped her up in her arms from behind in a gentle embrace. "There, there. The first one can be like that. I cried too, if it helps--I still do sometimes. You were very brave." She told her. "And you won. You're rich." She confirmed to her, coming around in front of her and unhooking the dead body from the ceiling, carelessly tossing it through the mirror. She smiled to Holly. "You okay?" She asked thoughtfully, noticing that Jason was beating a stealthy yet hasty retreat, having snatched the jewelry box on the way out. She laughed. "Not so principled after all then, was he?" She smiled. "Good for him." She complemented."Huh?" Holly turned around and saw that Jason was gone. "Shit... You... You don't think he'd tell anyone what I did, do you?" She asked."Mm, kinda doubt it. If he does, I'll protect you and kick his butt off to some remote tropical island where no one'll ever find him or something, so don't worry about it. After all, we're friends now, you know, or something. If you wanna be, I mean." She told her off-handedly, ruffling her hair a little."We... We could be more than friends... if you want?" Holly told her a little apprehensively, approaching her in a hesitantly seductive way, touching her cheek. "I'm apparently rich now.... I could... I could even afford to take you out on a real date?" She offered kind of shyly.Hailey considered that a moment. Holly's offer, and her interest, were obviously genuine, but she could also tell that she was looking for comfort and security more than anything. She might also still be a little nervous for her life too, Hailey supposed. She also suspected she was probably kind of Holly's type: A risk-taker, decisive, charismatic, mysterious, exciting, even dangerous, and probably bad for her. All of which Hailey could easily understand, but Holly just wasn't what she herself was looking for in a love interest, and she certainly didn't have any interest in being bad for anyone in that way. Oh Holly was interesting and attractive, someone she'd enjoy spending time with as a friend she thought, but, for a perspective romantic interest? So not going to happen.Hailey took Holly's hand in both of hers and smiled. "Trust me- you don't really want that. I'm a hand-full and a-half, believe me. Besides, I'm taken at the moment." She let her hand go and touched her face in a fond caress. "I am newly arrived back in town though. I could definitely do with a friend?"Holly smiled, still seeming kind of nervous. "Yeah, me too I guess..." She told her, letting Hailey give her a hug. "It was probably a dumb idea anyway. Fuck, I really just killed someone..." She told, starting to cry in Hailey's arms a little."Don't be sad." Hailey moved back and looked her in the eyes. "It probably doesn't even matter nearly as much as people think it does. From what I can tell, life is like a game really, in some ways at least. And I'm sure it's not like killing someone means they stop existing or anything. I think... they just go on and live another life somewhere else, or something of the kind. Besides, the fact is: To be alive is to kill, one way or another. Plants, animals, humans, aliens, whatever... Even just turning left or right down a street's usually a life or death decision, if you look far enough off into the future at the consequences. The truth is we're all mass murderers of staggering proportion, even if most people try to justify it away because they're too afraid to acknowledge it. We can't help it. So, try to look on the bright side... You're normal." She told her softly, kissing her forehead fondly. "And anyway, you also saved the life of a lot of plant-life today too. Trees are every bit as important as humans, I've seen proof of that. Empirically speaking, you're more a hero than a criminal, Holly. To me at least, and my capacity for reason is far in advance of most people's, even if I am also kind of nuts in some ways, so that's not an insignificant thing at all.""...Um, thanks, I guess..." Holly replied, backing away and turning her back to Hailey, looking at the bed she'd just been in and folding her arms in front of her. Hailey could very easily tell Holly didn't really believe what she'd told her about being a hero of course, but was just humoring her, and maybe herself, but Hailey couldn't really blame her for it either. After all, she'd seen the proof- Ivy had shown it to her very vividly. The Green--the living community of all the Earth's plant life. Beautiful, vast, hard to comprehend, even for her, but definitely just as alive and worthy of respect and continued life as the human population of the planet. All Holly had was her word on it, and it was reasonable enough for her to doubt it without seeing the proof herself. Not that there weren't a great deal of widely acknowledged practical reasons why protecting the Earth's eco-system was of very great importance of course- though, by her words before, Holly probably understood that at least. "So, how does this work then? Me taking her place?"Hailey was about to reply, when she heard something and went still. It had been very faint, hardly noticeable, even to someone with her enhanced senses, but definitely there, definitely here, in the apartment with them. And it wasn't Jason- he was gone and Hailey seriously doubted he'd come back, or be able to sneak around so softly. She activated her future-tech sensors app and saw there was indeed someone there."What's...?" Holly turned to her and Hailey put two fingers to her lips."Oh, sorry, lost in thought there for a moment." She came up close to Holly then and whispered very softly into her ear. "There's someone else here and I'm going to turn myself invisible and go find out who. Don't be scared, okay new gal-pal o'mine?"She looked into Holly's eyes then and Holly nodded that she understood, and Hailey used her tech go slightly out of phase with reality (making her invisible and completely undetectable to most people), then moved quickly through the penthouse.In the main living area, Hailey slowed down to a stop and just watched as a woman in black bent down in front of a display of cat statuary and figurines and began to quickly disable the alarm system protecting them. Hailey started to smile as she recognized who it must be by the cat ears and tale on her gear: Catwoman! What a curiously interesting coincidence! Though it was hardly surprising, she supposed- she'd never bothered to become an expert on such things, but she knew from her research that the collection over there was ensured for three hundred thousand dollars, and, of course, the cat theme was an easy match...She -could- just let Catwoman go about her business of course, it was really none of hers after all, but where was the fun in that?"Hi there. Is it just me, or is this a surprisingly busy penthouse for this time of night?" She introduced herself, stepping back into phase with reality.(2b continued) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- #3 THOSE UNEXPECTED THINGS ---HAILEY---Catwoman turned immediately, claws extending from her fingers to answer the possible threat."And who are you supposed to be? Why are you here?" Catwoman asked softly, gracefully getting to her feet when she saw no aggressive action from Hailey."I go by Harlequin. But... you can just call me Hailey if you want to...?" She offered, fascinated with Catwoman's eyes and how it was they seemed to glow with intelligence and life as they swept over her appraisingly. She was very intrigued by this pretty cat-burglar she'd found all of the sudden. "As for why I'm here: just good timing on my part, apparently. I came here to commit a murder, you came here to commit a theft--would it be too forward if I asked you to go out dancing with me later?" She asked playfully. "I think I just made a new friend in the other room, we could make it a girl's night out?"Catwoman smiled daringly. "Sorry. Not interested." She replied, moving around to get closer to the balcony window she'd came in from."No? That's too bad, kitty..." Hailey answered back as, predictably, Catwoman moved, swift and silent as her namesake, to jump out the window into the night. She smiled. "...because I definitely am now..." She spoke to the empty room, looking out into the city after dark, the scent of the night air coming in from the still open patio door.She decided then and there that kitty was someone she definitely wanted to get to know better. Just something about that look in her eyes when their eyes had met... She just -had- to know more about her...Holly chose that moment to come in the room from the bedroom. "Is... everything okay?" She asked."Hmm? Oh, of course." Hailey replied absently, turning to meet Holly's eyes. She touched the center of Holly's forehead with her index finger. "There. Just say my name, 'Harlequin' (though you can call me Hailey), and you'll look and sound just like Cecily Carter. I've even included access to all my research on her and her brothers. You now know their bank account numbers, pass codes, general family history, all that sort of nonsense. Just think of what you want to know, and, if it's in the database, the information will come to you. Say my name again and you're back to you again, easy as a smile." Hailey touched the tip of Holly's nose with her finger, and, yup, made her smile.Holly laughed. "Really?" She asked. "It's really as easy as just that?" She sounded a little in awe."Well, I'm not making things up just to mess with your head if that's what you're asking." Hailey told her playfully, all of the sudden in a very good mood for some reason--probably having everything to do with her encounter a minute ago."Harlequin." Holly spoke softly and was changed, looking down at herself in wonder. She went over to a nearby mirror to look at herself as Cecily Carter. "...Out of this fucking world..." She spoke."My number's in your cell phone now. Call me. We'll have fun. Go dancing. Kill a few of your old Johns and Janes or something if you want. I could put them all in Playboy rabbit outfits and we could play Elmer Fudd with the shot guns and the hats? Or, you know, mini golf. Totally up to you." Hailey offered as she walked back to the bedroom. "I'm going to go inflict unnecessarily prolonged egregious violence on the last Carter brother now. Would you believe it? That cold hearted so and so actually kicks his dog? I mean, hurting a cute defenseless doggy like that... It really gets to me, you know?" She sighed. "...You can come with if you want?" She put forward, a little of a dare in her voice. "No pressure of course. I understand if you wouldn't want to.""No, yeah, I... You go ahead... my, um, yeah, I think I'm more the mini golf kind of person, you know?" Holly answered quietly, going in to sit on the bed. She smiled to her. "I'll call you later, okay Hailey? Or, you know... you could call me too. That's good also.""Okay." She agreed simply, smiling back and feeling warm and fuzzy about the whole thing as she turned to leave. Holly was going to make a good friend, she could just tell. Okay, so they wouldn't be murder buddies or anything, but she could tell Holly wasn't going to judge her for it either, and that counted for a lot in her book. In fact, she could tell Holly was genuinely grateful to her for what she'd just done for her... that she'd maybe even already started to feel safe with her and think of her as a friend too... how great was that? Not many people really got her like that right off and saw her for who she really was, and not who most people just assumed she was. It showed that Holly had a talent for unconventional thought and intuition.Yup, tonight was turning out to be double plus extra lucky, no doubt about it.She was humming happily to herself as she went out through the mirror the way she came, walking along the mirror-world road on her way to her next stop. She was going to make Michael Carter's bloody death quicker than he deserved (she'd had a dog growing up after all and he'd been her best friend back then, which was the root of her whole 'I hate dog-kickers with a burning passion' thing). After that, she was going to head back to her apartment to do some more research... Her subject this time? Why, a certain captivating cat-thief who'd caught her eye, of course...Somehow, Hailey just knew, the new kitty in her life was going to be good for her. She just has a sense about it.---SELINA---It was nine in the morning and Selina was lazily lounging in bed after having gotten in at two AM. She'd only gotten six hours sleep, having woken up at around eight, but she'd felt no particular need to get up and so had simply lain there, cozy and warm in bed, with her cat, Isis, well fed and happy, purring softly on the next pillow over.The doorbell rang and Selina's eyes opened immediately."Don't get up, I'll get it!" She heard her roommate, Arizona, call.Selina smiled and closed her eyes again. She just hoped it wouldn't be another of Arizona's ex-girlfriends again. Really, her roommate was entirely too good at getting women to come home with her. It kind of surprised Selina that she hadn't tried it with her yet... Probably knew she'd get turned down. Or, well... probably turned down...She couldn't hear what they were saying, but whoever was at the door was definitely not one of Arizona's--he was a guy for one, and Arizona was one-hundred percent lesbian. In the year or so Selina had known her so far, she hadn't seen her roommate come anywhere close to even checking out a guy.The door closed and she heard Arizona's footfalls approaching her room, then a soft knock on her door. "Um, it was for you."Selina sat up and stretched, yawning. She blinked and looked over to her roommate, who was definitely enjoying the view. Selina smiled playfully. "Like what you see, do you?" She asked, rolling up into a crouch and leaping from the bed to land on her feet in one graceful motion.Arizona gulped a little. "Is that even a serious question?" She asked with a little of a bemused and flirty kind of a smile."I suppose not." She replied absently. "So who was it?" She asked a little warily. Her ex-boyfriend, Jason Bard, was out of town and wouldn't be back for weeks. He could have sent flowers or something in an attempt to get back in her good graces, she supposed, but she seriously doubted it... Other than that, she owned the building, and the building manager was a woman named Alison Markus, and Alison, and those that worked under her, knew better than to send anyone to bother her without calling first. There really weren't that many other people who knew who she was, or especially where she lived. Naturally she was curious, but she was also cautious--very cautious, when it came to Arizona's safety especially. She had exactly two real friends in all the world after all, and she was in no hurry to lessen that number."Delivery guy." Arizona replied softly. "Seriously, you won't believe this...""What is it?" Selina asked.Her roommate silently handed over a rather hefty red and black box. Selina took it and turned her back to her roommate, opening the box. A little gasp escaped her lips."I know." Arizona spoke. "I think they're all real too. And there's a note."Selina spotted it and tossed the box onto her bed, opening the note and reading it. It said 'Hi kitty. Presents! Sure you don't want to go dancing with me? ~ Love, Hailey.'"Who's Hailey, by the way?" Arizona asked softly."...She's... someone I... met last night." Selina replied, dropping the note on the bed and looking at all the gems and jewelry and such that had spilled out on the bed. Isis was curiously sniffing some of it."You must have really made an impression. How much do you think all that's worth, by the way?" Arizona asked.Selina sat down and the bed and looked through it, her eyes bright with interest and outright avarice. "At least..." She looked from the necklace she was holding and dropped it on the bed, picking up a small rose that was made of gold and jewels, looking over to meet Arizona's eyes. "There's got to be more than a three-hundred million dollars worth here." She spoke in quiet reverence. "Maybe even five-hundred million, if you could find the right buyers..."Arizona let loose a little whistle. "Wow... You must have done more than make an impression." She replied, going to sit down on the bed with her, picking up a few of the valuables and inspecting them curiously. "Who is she by the way--this Hailey of yours?""...Harlequin." Selina nearly whispered the word, actually more than a little uneasy at the idea.Arizona's reaction pretty much said it all. She was speechless, eyes wide."I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Selina spoke with a little of a daring smile."Zo? Where'd you go?" They heard a woman's sleepy voice call from the other room." 'Zo'?" Selina teased softly in a playful voice.Arizona smiled unapologetically and shrugged. "She came up with it, not me." She whispered, getting up and going to attend to her current lover. "I'm here. You hungry?" Selina heard Arizona offer... Katy, Katy Harris, Selina recalled her name. It was kind of hard to keep track usually, but Arizona had managed to keep this one for almost two weeks so far so Selina had bothered to learn her name. Two weeks was better than her roommate usually did, actually. Somehow though, she had yet to know Arizona to spend a night without a woman in her bed, even if it was just a one night stand. In a way, Selina was actually a little jealous. Her own track record was something on the order of few and far between. She just didn't open up to other people very easily--she never had.She looked down at the rose in her hand and tossed it on the bed. "Not going to happen." She told Isis, getting up to go get a glass of water from the bathroom sink and then take a shower. It wasn't that she had a problem with a woman as a lover, mind you. She'd had romantic interests of both genders at times in her life--men more than women, but still.And she liked trouble, of course she did... It was only, The Harlequin... Hailey apparently... Well, if her reputation was anything to go by, that was trouble on a level she really didn't need, and wasn't at all sure she could handle. Not that her 'courting gifts' weren't appealing, but it had the uncomfortable notion attached that Hailey was trying to buy her affections or something, and that part wasn't so appealing... The problem was, she could be pretty sure that just ignoring this particular problem wouldn't make her go away.No... This was probably going to get worse before it got better.Still though, she remembered the look in Hailey's eyes when their eyes met, and somehow... Somehow she couldn't help but smile to herself a little.Why was that?---HAILEY---"Sylvan..." Hailey spoke. She was standing in Sylvan Scofield's living room when Sylvan walked in from a night out doing... well, whatever it was she'd been up to lately. Hailey hadn't bothered to find out or ask, actually... mostly because she got the idea Sylvan didn't want her to know (she wasn't usually the type to volunteer things about herself very often)."Oh, you're here." Sylvan smiled softly to her as she came in the door. She put down her things on a chair and walked over to where Hailey was standing. She moved in for a kiss, but Hailey held her off. "Um, you might want to wait until we've talked before you decide if you want to do that or not."Sylvan looked confused at that a moment, then her features took on a more guarded look. "What's wrong?" She asked in a cold-sounding voice."I'm breaking up with you..." Hailey told her softly."...Why?" Sylvan asked."...Would you prefer tactful or blunt?" Hailey asked. "Or... Do you even really want me to answer you at all?" She was fairly certain what Sylvan would choose, but she felt she owed it to her to at least ask first."Blunt." Sylvan answered in a flatly hostile tone."I met someone last night. Our eyes met, we exchanged a few words, she left, but I want to peruse her. I think we could have a real connection... and I think I'm ready for that in my life again. Or, at least I want to be." She told her."-We- have a real connection, Hailey." Sylvan countered, making it almost sound like a threat."Not enough of one for my tastes." Hailey told her, trying not to make it sound too cold. "I do care about you... a lot. Maybe I even love you in a way. But you're still scared of me..." She explained softly."Fuck you." Sylvan told her in a hushed voice, looking into her eyes with contained fury (that fear was still there though, even now)."You have--repeatedly and very, very thoroughly--it hasn't helped the way one might hope... Not that I really expected it would, I just didn't want to be alone--and we were so beautiful together, I guess I just couldn't help myself. So I suppose you do have a good reason to really hate me... If that's the way you wanted to go about this. I'd hope it's not, but I can understand if that's your choice.""What's her name?" Sylvan asked coldly."Don't know that yet, actually. She goes by Catwoman. I've already nicknamed her 'kitty' in my head though." Hailey replied honestly. It was more honesty than was at all needed, obviously, but Sylvan had chosen blunt, so Hailey felt she owed it to her to be very blunt. That way, maybe she'd hate her for it and it would make the breakup easier on her in the long run.The level of sheer anger in Sylvan's eyes at her saying that though actually shocked Hailey a little. It made her smile. She wanted to say 'you're cute when you're angry', but thought that would probably be just a -little- insensitive of her, and, really, she didn't want to hurt Sylvan any more than she already had if she could avoid it. The way things were going though? Her prospects on that didn't look too good. Maybe she hadn't gone about this the right way after all...Sylvan visibly clamped down on her fury before Hailey's eyes though, turning away as a few tears escaped her eyes. "We're meant to be together." Sylvan told her, her back turned to her."You think so?" Hailey asked curiously. This was actually pretty darn unexpected--it hadn't been one of the reactions she thought she might get at all, actually. It made her curious... and a little bewildered, actually, that she somehow hadn't even remotely seen this coming (that just usually didn't happen with her)."I know it." Sylvan told her. "I'm not losing you to her.""Why not?" Hailey asked. Frankly, she was riveted- she wanted to know more.Sylvan walked away without answering, going towards her bedroom. At the door to her bedroom, she turned her head, but still didn't meet Hailey's eyes. "You can either stay and forget about leaving me... or you can leave. It's up to you. Either way, you're going to be my wife one day." She told her softly, actually sounding... very vulnerable as she said it--maybe even a little desperate. She went into her room and closed the door behind her.Hailey stared at the door in bemusement. "I think I might just have underestimated her." She spoke to the empty room, actually feeling tempted to take Sylvan up on it to see what would happen... and... because she really hated to see her cry...She looked through the walls like they weren't there with one of her future apps and saw that Sylvan was laying on her back on her bed, arms spread out and looking up at the ceiling, like she'd just let herself fall there. She was still crying, though she wasn't making a sound.Hailey's heart went out to her, but there were some things you just couldn't fix. She couldn't fix this, not without going into that room and telling Sylvan that this had all been a horrible mistake and that she'd changed her mind.And, despite Sylvan's unexpected and very intriguing behavior, and the pull she couldn't deny she felt towards going to comfort her now former lover, in her heart, Hailey knew she didn't actually want to do that--didn't want to try something that still seemed like it would be futile. No, what she wanted was to go find the kitty she'd met last night and try to get frisky with her. She wanted to be in love again. She wanted it to be right this time. She wanted it to last this time. And, somehow, without anything but her feelings and a few fleeting moments of eye contact to assure her she was right, she found herself having an almost absurd level of faith that kitty was the right woman for her.So, she left.---JASON---It was getting close to dawn and Jason Todd was just getting home. He'd sold some of the jewelry he'd gotten to some unscrupulous sorts an acquaintance of his had put him in touch with and hidden the rest in a safe place so he could go back for it later (it didn't pay to have a lot of cash or valuables on you in the neighborhood he lived in). After that, he'd gone and bought some groceries: A few apples, oranges, oatmeal, lettuce, trail mix, that sort of thing.As he walked up the stairs to his apartment, the events of last night were playing through his head again. He was thinking of Zane and wondering again if he should have said yes to that woman's offer as soon as the words had left her mouth. Holly had been right--Carter would have been dead either way, and there was nothing either one of them could have done about it. The Harlequin: He'd used his smart phone to look her up online, and, really, if she'd wanted that woman dead, there was no damn way short of maybe Batman or Power Woman showing up that she was ever going to keep breathing come morning. Had he been selfish to throw away the opportunity, even given what he would have had to do?No, he told himself. No, he'd done the right thing. He was a father now, and that meant that doing the right thing was even more important, not less. It meant that he owed it to his son to set a good example. And committing a cold-blooded murder to get ahead was about the worst betrayal of that responsibility he could think of.When he got to the third floor and turned down the hallway towards his apartment though, he froze when he saw the door open. Kelly would know better... He dropped his groceries and raced ahead, burst into the apartment and was stopped again in his tracks by a sight that was infinitely worse than an open door. Kelly was laying on the floor, dead, her blood on the floor from a crack in her head...Jason backed away in denial of what he was seeing. He stopped though, and raced into Kelly and Zane's room. "Not here..." He spoke in a soft, agonized voice....There was, however, a note.Still in shock, he moved forward and picked it up, holding it for just a second before unfolding it to read.'Kill yourself before noon today or he dies.'He stared at the words, willing them to make some kind of sense--any kind of sense."Harlequin." He spoke the word aloud in a voice that cracked as if he were starved of water or horse from speaking too loud.It was the only thing that made any sense after all--who else in his life could possibly be responsible for something like this? The serial killer/eco-terrorist he'd met last night was the only name that came to mind.He got out his smart-phone and searched through his contacts, finding the number he wanted and tapping 'call'.The phone rang three times before she picked up. "Holly? It's Jason. We need to talk." (2b continued) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- #4 LUST AT FIRST SIGHT---SELINA---She'd spent the day at home, relaxing with the luxury her ill-gotten gains afforded her. Arizona's girlfriend, Katy, had left early, her having had to get to work (poor woman). So she'd had her roommate/best friend all to herself for the day, which was just fine with Selina. She loved spending time with Arizona, maybe even more than she liked prowling around rooftops at night and stealing things that weren't hers... maybe more than that... maybe.Selina gave her friend another martial arts lesson, taught her more about lock picking, they made lunch together, talked, swam in the pool for a long while (she could only take the cat theme so far after all, water aversion was where she drew the line--she was one cat that loved the pool). By the time the evening came around, Arizona had somehow managed to convince her to go clubbing with her again. Katy was apparently going out of town for the next few days to visit a sick uncle."And you really don't feel bad about this?" Selina asked curiously as they walked over to the club entrance. She didn't think it was particularly amoral or anything, she was more looking to gain additional insight into why Arizona was the way she was about this. Since Katy wasn't going to be available, Arizona was on the hunt for a replacement lover for the night. It wasn't surprising--it would have been far more surprising if Arizona -wasn't- doing this."Nope. In fact, I expect to be feeling very, very good about it shortly. You should try it more often, you know." She playfully prodded."Yeah, maybe..." Selina answered. "It would be kind of nice... Why don't you just go with her? You know, to visit her uncle? I mean, I'd miss you, sure, but..." Selina inquired further.Arizona sighed. "I like her, okay... but...""She's just not the one you're going to marry?" Selina asked playfully.Arizona looked at her with annoyance. "It's not like that. You should know it's not." She answered."No, I know... I didn't mean it like that." Selina replied, feeling a little betrayed that Arizona would think she had meant it like that."I know. Sorry. I shouldn't have said that..." Arizona answered.Selina sighed. "It's okay... but I wasn't criticizing you. I guess... I guess I'm just trying to understand you more. That's all.""And I get that." Arizona replied. "Sometimes I wish I understood me more too."Selina laughed. "Now -that- I understand. And it's not like I'm exactly an open book or anything either. Guess that means we're a good match, huh?" She smiled to her friend as they arrived at the club's entrance. She looked up at the sign above the door. 'The Beach' it read in very tasteful metallic golden lettering. There was a long panoramic painting of a tropical beach at sunset just above the sign. Selina gave her name at the door. She and Arizona were members so they were let in without having to pay the cover charge.The Beach was a very up-scale (and scandalously expensive) lesbian dance club/water park, and it was Arizona's favorite pickup spot by far--for obvious reasons. It was a theme club for sure. The temperature was tropical, the humidity perfect, there was a very impressive and scenic network of pools, the lights were sunny and bright, there was beach sand recessed into the floor in a lot of places, tropical plants and trees, state of the art real-view screens on the walls giving the illusion to anyone who looked that they were looking out at the ocean, a high ceiling full of skylights, cheerful Caribbean style music playing, and then of course there was the dress code...Selina and Arizona proceeded to check their shoes and outerwear, stripping down to the bathing suits they wore underneath. -That- was the dress code, just like on a beach."I love this place." Arizona's eyes had gotten that hazy sort of dreamy look she sometimes got when surrounded by beautiful women... especially such scantly-clad ones.Selina's eyes caught on a particularly sleek looking Asian woman with a certain type of sparkle in her eyes. "It certainly does have its charm." She had to agree. Besides, she loved the beach. And The Beach was very beach-like, except with an obscene amount of just about all the best modern convenience had to offer. "I'm going to go play in the water park, coming?" She asked Arizona as they walked through the club, the warm sand feeling very nice on her feet."Um, maybe later." Arizona smiled apologetically. A woman with long, raven hair had caught her eye apparently, and somehow, with a look, she'd enticed said woman to zero in on her and head her way."That's some trick." Selina spoke, shaking her head and smiling a little. "Have fun." She offered, leaving her roommate to fend for herself."You know I will." Arizona replied, heading over to meet her latest prospect.Selina spared them a backward glance, then set her sights on the pools and headed over to get wet and have fun.She wasn't expecting to actually meet anyone that would have her number or spark her curiosity enough for it to go anywhere, but she did enjoy all the constant flirting anyway. It did her mood (and her ego) no end of good.And so it was that, an hour or so later, she excused herself from one of the pools and a woman that she liked talking with, but who was obviously intent on getting her into bed later. Not necessarily a bad thing, of course, but Selina found, predictably, there was no real click there. And, unlike Arizona, she'd never been the type to be able to do the whole one-night-stand thing. Like it or not, she was firmly the relationship type.Besides, she'd had enough of the water for now and wanted to dry off, get a drink, and go dancing.Dry and hydrated with one of those designer health drinks with the fanciful names, she headed over to the dance floor. A woman with blonde hair came up next to her and stepped in front of her. "Dance with me?" She asked in a soft voice that sent small shivers through Selina's body. The woman took one of her hands gently in hers, and Selina found her hand closing on that hand."...All right." She agreed with a warm smile, somehow instantly hooked--instantly intrigued.She was led out onto the dance floor and found herself seamlessly shifted into this woman's arms and gazing into her eyes, just caught there, unable to look away. How was she doing that? And would she please not stop anytime soon? Selina somehow felt so warm, her body alive in a way that made her want more. It was intense and heady, how she felt. The look in this woman's eyes was just doing things to her--things that made her practically want to purr like Isis did when she scratched her chin just so. "Who are you?" Selina asked softly, feeling just happy somehow. There was this undercurrent there too, like she felt when she was walking on a wire or something--exciting, but like she could fall if she wasn't careful."The woman you're dancing with, of course. Or, did you want my name? ...Don't you know?" She asked softly, moving in close and saying the last part at almost a whisper.A shock of recognition went through her. She shivered, but somehow didn't tense up for a fight like logic told her she really should be doing. "...Hailey." She spoke the name softly. It wasn't a question. Those eyes? They were so much softer now, but still, how hadn't she known instantly?"Hi kitty." Hailey smiled to her softly. "Or should I call you Selina instead? ...Personally, I like 'kitty'. Did you like the presents? They're all stolen, by the way." Hailey continued in that same damnably soft voice.Selina couldn't help but smile at that. Why did she find this woman so charming? It was inexplicable, really. If anyone else had dared to just start calling her 'kitty' like this, she knew she definitely wouldn't find it charming. When Hailey did it though, she actually found herself liking it. "How thoughtful." She bantered back. "But... You wouldn't be trying to buy my affections, would you?" She asked."And if I was?" Hailey asked back, a challenge in her eyes.Selina studied her dance partner then. "You weren't, where you?" She replied, smiling. "What, was it meant to be my equivalent of a dead mouse on my doorstep?" She asked playfully. "Or maybe... maybe it was a dare?" By the look in her dance partner's eyes, Selina could tell she'd guessed right."Mm, it could have been something like that..." Hailey smiled, a little shyly actually. Though Selina had the feeling that Hailey knew -exactly- what she was doing. "...Besides, trying to buy them wouldn't work anyway. I don't know you nearly as well as I think I'd like to... but even making allowances for that, it's obvious what I have to do to get your affections.""And what's that?" Selina asked softly as they continued to dance, having moved yet closer together, much to Selina's rather bemused enjoyment. This was -really- a bad idea. But, hell, it looked like she was going to do it anyway. What else was new? It's not like it was exactly out of character for her, after all. It was probably why she hadn't had much luck getting a relationship to last that long--she kept picking love interests that were just plain trouble."Why... steal them of course." Hailey whispered in her ear in a way that almost had Selina asking her back to her place on the spot."Mm, so perceptive... are you like that with everyone, or just me?" Selina fairly purred as she moved to capture Hailey's lips in a kiss. She just couldn't seem to help herself. Hailey was pushing her happy buttons in just the right ways, like no one else ever had in fact, and she really didn't want her to stop."Oh, wow.... um," Hailey smiled, clearly dazzled by the kiss. "No, I'm always perspective I suppose... it's just rare for me to find someone else who appreciates that about me." She answered. "You might find it hard to believe, but some women find me kind of annoying that way.""And you think I'm the type that wouldn't be, is that it?" Selina asked curiously."Well... You're not exactly keeping it a secret, now are you?" Hailey teased. "I mean... It's only our first dance, and you already want... what you want... Don't you?" She challenged softly.Selina felt her eyes focus, felt her soul spark and flare, felt her skin anticipating a touch in that way she always felt when she had something she wanted in her sights. When she was sure it was going to be hers. She stopped dancing and moved in as close as close could be. "Yes." She spoke the simple word softly into Hailey's ear. And then she kissed her again, and she was positively reckless about it.Hailey seemed a little surprised, but definitely was doing anything but resisting. Their bodies closed and pressed together, the pressure against her chest exhilarating, as their hands slowly quested and their tongues danced for a supremacy that Selina seemed to be winning. Hailey moaned a little and Selina was very acutely aware of her reactions, of the surrender she felt from her. That feeling thrilled her and made her want more. Made her want-- She broke the kiss. "This club rents rooms by the night. I'm buying?" She offered softly, her voice a bit husky actually, and her hands reinforcing the offer with seductive touches."...Consider me yours." Hailey replied back softly, looking into her eyes in a sort of dreamy and completely love-struck sort of way. She was hooked and captivated, Selina could tell. Talk about an ego boost.Selina smiled and kissed her again, kind of possessively actually. "That's a dangerous thing to say to someone like me."Hailey smiled sort of bemusedly. "Likewise." She replied in a playfully sort of way."Mm, I had gotten that impression... And, maybe I'm dumb for doing it, but... I kind of think I trust you anyway, though." Selina replied softly, taking Hailey's hand in hers and leading her off the dance floor, Hailey coming along very willingly. Everything logical about this told Selina she was being as stupid as could be. Everything illogical about it told her just the opposite though. When she looked at Hailey, all she could see, all she felt was 'don't be dense Selina--don't let this one get away--she so belongs in your bed right now'.One check in, elevator ride, and hallway later, they were in a very nice suite that was theirs for the night. The sound system automatically activated when they came it, playing soft music with ocean sounds in the background. Selina pulled a blissful and ready looking Hailey towards the bedroom, took her bikini off, then promptly tossed her on the bed, stripped herself naked too, and basically pounced on her.Her lips claimed Hailey's demandingly, and she held her new lover down on the bed, caressing her forearms as she gentled her kiss and took her time thoroughly kissing her until her lungs started to protest the abuse. She was in no hurry, but her heart was beating fast in her chest, her head was buzzing with a haze of pure want, and the only thing driving her was that she had to have this woman. Had to know her, please her, possess her... love her...She broke their kiss, reluctantly, nipping at Hailey's lips and looking into her eyes for a long moment that had her pulse speeding up even more. Somehow, Hailey's eyes just drew her, thrilled her... like jumping off a building high in the sky. Most people, she imagined, had never done that... at least not and lived to tell the tale. To her though, it was her idea of a good time--to her, it was joy and freedom. She'd never met another person who could give her a feeling like that, not really, but here it was, in the Harlequin's eyes. "Such a rush." She whispered in quiet wonder. "How can you be real?" She asked softly, her hands trailing up Hailey's arms to tangle in her hair, before she kissed her again.They rolled over onto their sides and Hailey's hands were on her, softly caressing her skin in slow, sensual ways that had Selina in heaven already as she focused intensely on kissing her. She was finding she was just in love with kissing this woman, and she was in no hurry to go further quite yet.Next thing though, she found herself rolled over onto her back. She smiled between kisses and rolled Hailey over so she was on top again. "You're mine now, remember?" Selina whispered in her ear, nipping at it a little playfully before she moved on to trailing a series of kisses down her neck, down between her breasts, one of her hands already having cupped one of Hailey's breasts, finding their firm softness and heat amazing to touch."Yours..." Hailey spoke in a breathy gasp that had Selina thrilled, the body under her arching against her touch in such erotic ways. Selina knew she was hooked just as much as her new lover seemed to be, there was no use denying it. She could hardly remember wanting anyone this much, and they'd just met. She couldn't help it, it just felt somehow like... Finally... someone who gets me. And when her mouth closed over one of Hailey's erect and ready nipples, the feeling it gave her only seemed to confirm her instincts that much more.---HAILEY---Kitty's lips, her fingers, her oh so very talented tongue were doing just the best things to her breasts and Hailey very definitely didn't want it to stop. A smile came to her lips, a bright and joyful sort of smile that she couldn't remember smiling since Lisa... This really was it--she was starting to fall in love again.'Oh heart of mine' She thought playfully 'You really are a sucker for good sucking, aren't you?'. Was she setting herself up for another heartbreak? Maybe... but then again, maybe not. Either way, the plain truth was, she'd been going quietly mad without this. Three failures at love, one after another--it was wearing on her, and she knew it. She hated failing at things, hated being bad at them, hated having to admit that to herself. But this was more than that. Without being in love, she knew, it would keep hurting so much worse than another heartbreak. She'd eventually lose herself, either this time or the next one. She'd spiral out. She'd kill people, she'd break things, break people, break whatever she could until someone broke her and then, maybe, she'd end it herself.To be in love? To, with her maddeningly perfect memory, remember it with perfect, vivid detail--every touch, every intimacy, every heartwarming burn of feeling that made you want to cry... and then to live without it, and to have it haunt you almost every minute of every day... It was the worst torture Hailey could imagine. And now... Now it might be over for her again. She might have found love again. She wasn't going to fail this time, she just wasn't... "Oh, kitty, yes... Yes, please..." Hailey gasped blissfully as kitty switched breasts and Hailey buried a hand in her long raven hair, wrapped the other around her shoulders, and held her to her. She wrapped her legs around kitty's waist next and just let herself relax in the sweet surrender. "Harder..." Hailey gasped again in pleasure as kitty did as asked and sucked her harder. Her eyes fluttered closed and she just smiled and held her lover closer, feeling so warm inside in a way that finally made her truly happy to be alive again.The heat was scorching her, and the want for release, for kitty to go lower, grew to where it felt like a drumbeat in her ears, and a fire between her legs. She didn't ask for release though, no, she happily endured it, savored it, knowing it would be all the more perfect when her time finally came. There was a certain poetry, a certain clarity that came with being so completely turned on. Her mind was exploding between her ears, thoughts being driven from her in one way, but, in another way, her senses were sharpening, her focus becoming stark and feelings vivid like a rainbow on a spring day.Time seemed to lose it's meaning, and before she knew it, kitty's kisses were trailing down her belly, down towards just where she needed her... Her pelvis was being lifted up off the bed, and, at the first barest touch of her kitty's tongue on her clit, there was no helping it, she was gone for her--just -Boom-! She cried out her release, long and soft, as sensation flooded her body in pounding, blissful waves of lustfully pretty feelings. Thought gone. Just feeling, and the warmth of knowing... She was going to make kitty hers--she was going to win her heart, and they'd be together forever. She'd make it happen, whatever she had to do--there just wasn't anything else for it.But, as her orgasm ebbed, and she came back to awareness of the world around her a little more, she found herself laughing in delight! It seemed she wasn't the only one with intentions! Kitty was licking her folds, drinking her juices, and busily bringing her very close to another orgasm right after the last. Hailey hummed and moaned in complete pleasure. "Oh kitty, yes... Fuck me... just fuck me until I'm dead..." She spoke kind of blearily, her thoughts already abandoning her again.All the concentration in her focused on the way kitty was using her tongue on her--every stroke, oh, and how she sucked off her clit, oh, that too... that too...It all just sort of blurred into a long, long, blissful series of combustions. She felt so warm and loved inside. Oh wow, did kitty ever have her number... She was playing her like a violin, and making such beautiful, cheery, cheerful music.She vaguely recognized it when kitty's lips claimed hers again, and talented fingers possessed her, both her dripping wet sex and one of her sensitized breasts. She felt kitty's grinding on her thigh too, but all she could think about was those fingers and kissing kitty back. The next vaguely coherent thought process she had was when she realized kitty's sex was laying next to hers, her scent attracting her like a magnet to taste her. Then her head was between kitty's legs, and her head felt like the ocean was roaring inside as she ate her out.From there, they went at each other like starving women, desperate for each touch, every pleasure they could find in one another. And wow was there a lot of pleasure there to be had. It was almost like having Ivy or Lisa or Rose back. In one essentially important way, it felt just the same, and, of course, in other ways it was unmistakably different.At one point, kitty was holding her down and looking into her eyes again, staring... intensely staring at her, like she couldn't look away. Kitty's eyes were... wild and bright--so much life, and not a trace of fear of her, just the beginnings of love, just desire, wanting--even unvarnished avarice. Those eyes felt like they were possessing her, owning her, demanding she lose herself... and just like that, Hailey felt something break inside her and she smiled, feeling so free. She laughed and surged up, rolling them over and pinning kitty down with vice-like grips powered by the meta-human strength Ivy's formula had given her. She couldn't talk, she just kissed kitty with everything she had in her to give. All the pain and yearning and madness and love she had to offer, she gave it--gave her everything.---SELINA---Hailey had changed--her arms were like solid iron, holding her down. She struggled against them a little at first in surprise, but soon realized she had no chance, and gave up. And then Hailey was kissing her, and escape was the very last thing on her mind. Something was happening though, something she didn't understand. Hailey's eyes, they'd been mad, and dark like an abyss there for a moment. It should have scared her, she knew. It didn't though, it just excited her. She wanted this version of Hailey, just as much as she'd wanted the plaint, soft, eager lover version of her. It was such an exhilarating feeling, a thrill that was doing such good things to her. It was better than theft! (and she usually couldn't honestly say that about the lovers she'd had in her life)Hailey took her then, and then took her again and again and then they were at each other like before--if anything, even more desperately. Every instinct Selina had in her told her this was right though, that she'd found something with this woman. It... felt like home... It was... It was a feeling she couldn't remember ever having before.As their night continued, they didn't stop making love longer than to catch their breaths a few times until her stamina just couldn't last any longer, and she felt thoroughly spent, and more completely sexed and sated than she'd ever dreamt she could be. She was panting, her skin glossy with sweat and burning with fever and she felt like she was going to faint soon. She was smiling though, looking with such intense emotion as she was sure she'd never felt before up into Hailey's eyes. Why did she feel this way? And how had this woman not even broken a sweat for that matter? It just wasn't fair.... That was when she passed out, feeling herself being cradled gently in her lover's arms. She felt safe and loved, and as she drifted off, she thought... I could get so used to this...(2b continued) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- #5 GIRL TALK AND A HOUSEGUEST---HAILEY---She watched kitty fall to sleep, and sighed, kissing her neck from behind, feeling protective and just so... good. She'd have to offer to give kitty a dose of Ivy's formula at the soonest opportunity though. She'd lasted longer than any baseline human had any right too (kitty was obviously in exquisite physical condition--as close to perfect as Hailey could imagine, really, except for the scars she had here and there that looked to be from early attempts at her cat-like 'gymnastics', though even those seemed perfect), but it had still been disappointing that they'd had to stop before the sun came up. And it had been kind of frustrating that she'd had to be so careful not to hurt her too--she didn't want even that barrier between them.There was this soft little smile on her lover's lips though--this peaceful and thoroughly content looking smile that told Hailey that kitty... that Selina felt safe with her. Really safe, like she didn't have a care in the world. Warm feelings bloomed in her heart anew at seeing that, and she knew this was the start of a truly epic obsession for her. She was going to get it right this time, and she wasn't going to quit until she did. She just hoped kitty would like all that attention, because by this point, she knew herself well enough to know that it would take a lot -a lot- for her to get anywhere near over this enough for her to back down or back off.She was hooked, and there was no going back, not now. She hadn't always been this obsessive, mind you, it had gotten worse for her each time. That fear of failure, fear of losing the one she loved again. She knew it was there, but she also knew she couldn't make herself not feel that way. She just... wasn't capable of it right now.Still... she was hopeful this would work out anyway. That kitty would want her as much as she wanted kitty--that look in her eyes... that... that greed for her... Hailey was sure she'd be seeing that look in her dreams... frequently, day and night.So, with an almost giddy sort of anticipation, she closed her eyes, snuggled up nice and close to her new kitty, and fell off to sleep.In the morning, she woke up happy and rested and her kitty was gone... She couldn't help it, she cried.At least, that is, until she saw the note on the pillow. She snatched it up kind of desperately and read it: 'I could get addicted to you, I think. Tomorrow 10pm. Find me. Love, ~kitty'Under the note, there was a small ruby.Hailey clutched the ruby to her heart and laughed, falling back on her back on the bed and feeling positively giddy again. "She wants to date me!"She wiped the tears from her eyes and couldn't stop smiling as she got out of bed and walked over to the mirror and left.Her future-tech did have a teleport app, but she liked the mirror thing better because it was so pretty. And right now especially, she was in the mood for pretty sparkly landscapes that went on forever and looked like something out of a fairytale.As she walked through the mirror world, she looked down at the ruby in her hand. "I wonder if it's a clue?" She thought out loud to herself. She had kitty's location locked in with an app, all she'd have to do would be to ping her to find where she was anytime at all. But, she considered, what fun would that be? Nope, she was going to play kitty's game and follow the clue fair and square. It'd be downright unromantic not to, after all.A little while later, she walked into her living room through her mirror there and saw she had a houseguest sleeping on her couch. One she recognized right away."Aw, cute." She smiled fondly.She blinked and used another future-tech app to get dressed in a white tank top and pale blue-jeans (just casual stuff, no socks or anything). She went over to the couch and nudged him awake, curious why he was here. They talked on the phone a lot, but she honestly hadn't thought he'd come all the way to Gotham-Metropolis for a visit like this. What a nice surprise. Today was turning out to be a really great day so far... Not as good as yesterday evening yet by any means, but still, she had hopes of getting kitty in bed again later, so things were really looking up for her about now."Wakey, wakey, my darling James. Rise and shine." She ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead fondly.James Jesse blinked and woke, getting up a little and leaning on an arm. "Oh, hey. You're back." He smiled in that causally confident way he had about him."Back I am." Hailey replied easily, getting up and walking over to the sink to get herself a glass of water. "Water?" She asked."Sure." He agreed, sitting up and getting up, in typical graceful fashion, and following along over to the kitchen. "So... You're probably wondering why I'm here?" He asked."Nope." Hailey answered, handing him his glass of water. "You're in trouble--sacred and in trouble." She took a sip of her water. She'd figured it was either that or a break up, but she couldn't tell which while he was sleeping. Awake, on the other hand, she could read him like a book. It wasn't even hard, even though he was trying to hide it. "Don't worry, I'll fix it."He looked at her bemused. "I'd almost forgot how good you are at reading me. You're probably the only person in the world I couldn't pull something on if I tried.""Mm, maybe. Don't take that as a challenge though--you know you'd probably regret it." Hailey told him playfully. She didn't really mean it of course. James Jessie (alias: The Trickster) was her friend, and she had precious few of those. He was probably (okay, definitely) her best friend in the world, really, if she were honest. He'd have to do something really awful and monumentally stupid for her to really get mad at him that way.He just smiled and looked troublesomely thoughtful. Like he was trying to think of a trick she would fall for. Actually, she kind of hoped he'd try it. She'd always been a little curious if he actually could do it. And at least it would be fun... probably. Just not now. Preferably, not until she and kitty were happily married or something... Mm, talk about a nice thought.Hailey shook her head. "So who's the dead guy? Dead guys?" She asked after who she'd be killing shortly."Alas, would that I knew." He confessed."Really?" Hailey asked, her interest piqued. "Curioser and curioser. Do tell? And where's Jace in all this by the way?"James sighed. He ticked off the points on his fingers. "Missing boyfriend. Nightmares about being sent to hell. My apartment blew up. There are these burning eyes that seem to be watching me all the time, I can almost just see them out of the corner of my eye. Then there's those things." He pointed over to the left at the wall.Hailey's eyes widened a little. There was some kind of symbol burned into her wall! "Now how in the name of all things whacky did that get there?" She wondered, walking over to where it was, her curiosity well and truly piqued. She was going to touch it, then decided to use a future app to scan it instead. The magical energy signature came back with a match in her future records in no time flat. She whistled. "James? Darling? I hate to break it to you, but you've really been cursed or something." She turned and looked at him. "That basically says your soul's gonna get dragged to Hell, but not before she messes with your mind some first.""She? She who?" James asked, leaning back against the counter and trying not to look as nervous and scared as Hailey could tell he was.Hailey shrugged. "Some black magic hottie I've never heard of before, apparently." She tapped the side of her head. "He-who-shall-not-be-named's gizmos have all sorts of interesting info on file. This lady's apparently a big deal--the queen of Hell, believe it or not. Serious dark magic--real magic--not like what I do... James, really, what'd you do?" Hailey asked.James just smiled that smile of his that made her want to either whack him on the back of his head or laugh because it was funny and charming and sweet. This time she was more in the whacking state of mind. "I don't know. Nothing jumps out. Could be anything, I guess.""Really." Hailey replied absently, yawning and plopping down on a chair. This was going to take a while, she could just tell. It was frustrating. She -wanted- to be figuring out kitty's clue right now. But, she had time she supposed, and James was her best friend and all. She could be patient--to a point... If he kept being annoying about it though, she -was- going to whack him on the head or something so he'd get to the point faster."Really." James replied, going to sit down on the couch where he'd been sleeping, elbows on his knees, hands joined. "See... Jace... he kind of had this way of inspiring me...""I bet he did." Hailey couldn't help a knowing smile at that. Jace Station -was- devastatingly handsome, for a guy (she wasn't the best judge for guys, of course, because they had never interested her that way, but even she could see why James would go for him in a heartbeat). He was built like a model, had a smile that was pure trouble, and eyes that were all lusty bad intentions. In other words, James hadn't had a chance (maybe not even a snowball's chance in Hell, if she wanted to bring a common saying into uncommon use as a literally accurate pun over this).James had met Jace shortly after Hailey had left the Gems; after his last boyfriend (Hartley Rathaway, a.k.a. the Pied Piper) had dumped him and gone 'legit' (little weasel was probably giving The Flash a blowjob even as they spoke). Jace'd been trouble from the start, and the two of them had been chased out of town in no time flat. They'd ended up in Faucet City, and Hailey had had to come break them out of prison once. Sylvan had come with her for that, she recalled absently... A flash of Sylvan's eyes when she'd broken things off with her came to her mind unbidden, accompanied by more than a little guilt."Well, there was that." He agreed with a sparkle in his eyes, one that quickly faded to concern and sadness."We'll get him back... You know, if possible." Hailey assured him, sitting forward and assuming a more thoughtful pose. "Okay, so lets start at the start. What were you and lover boy up to just before this whole 'damned to Hell' stuff started up?""Nothing big. I swear. Wait. Do those future records have her name--this 'black magic hottie'--or a picture?""Blaze." Hailey replied, snapping her fingers and causing a life-size, very real looking projection of the woman in question to appear before them. Hailey wasn't above enjoying the view, either. She couldn't help it, she had a thing for women who knew how to cause trouble. This one looked like she was trouble down to her toes! "Be still my heart, by the way." She licked her lips a little. True, she was going out with kitty now, and she wasn't dumb enough to want to date the queen of Hell or anything, but none of that meant she couldn't enjoy looking."Blaze..." He spoke, understanding clicking in his eyes. "Angelica Blaze--that's got to be it. Fuck..." He got up and started to pace a little."Let me guess, Angie's a mark, you conned her, kapow--cursed to Hell?" Hailey stopped the projection with a little bit of regret. Apparently, being bad had it's benefits. If there was a heaven and a hell like a bunch of religions said, she'd take Hell any day over some shiny cloudy place with a beard-guy if the women there looked like that! The again, religions said Hell was supposed to be run by a horny guy, not a horny gal, so obviously they couldn't be trusted as travel guides.He looked at her. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Basically."Hailey did a hack and records search in Faucet City and found her. Angelica Blaze--blonde, Caucasian, blue eyes, but that was the same lady alright. Some things a magical makeover just couldn't hide. And this was definitely the same back magic hottie in question. "That's her all right." Hailey relayed."...Any idea what we do next?" James asked hopefully."Well, this for starters." She went over and tapped James on the center of his forehead. "Now your soul should be locked where it is. Your dreams should be shut tight too.""Well, that's a relief." James replied. "And hey, no more eyes looking at me." She reported with obvious relief. "What next?"Hailey shrugged. "Idonknow. Wait I guess.""Wait? That's it?" He asked."Yeah, well, while my bag of tricks does have an app that I suppose could teleport me to Hell, I'm not really very keen on using it, you know? Probably better to wait and see what happens. Besides, I have a date later. I'm not missing it." Hailey told him."Even if Blaze comes to collect my soul and drag me down to hell?" James asked, a little incredulously.Hailey pondered that a moment playfully. "Well...""Hailey!" James cried.She smiled. "Kidding. I'm not going to let any luscious hell hotties muss your perfectly styled hair. Promise. If it happens, kitty will just have to understand."He sighed in relief. "Well, that's good then." He sat down. "Poor Jace though. I don't suppose there's any chance he's still alive and we can save him, do you think?" He asked hopefully."Oh, I think he's probably still among the living and can probably take care of himself." She replied, getting up to go get cookies."You're being cryptic again, you know." James replied, getting up."Cookie?" Hailey offered."No thanks. What aren't you telling me?" He pressed.Hailey sighed and took a bite of her cookie. "Well... when my future 'magic' I.D.d Angie, it also pinged Jace's energy signature from my personal past records, which it auto-stores. They, um, sort of matched.""Matched?" James asked, a look of apprehension coming over his face."As in brother and sister." Hailey supplied."Brother and..." James's voice trailed off."Yes, dear James, loveable ne'er-do-well friend of mine... You've been dating and romping around in bed with Satanus, exiled twin brother of the queen of Hell... It doesn't necessarily mean you have to break up with him though." She qualified. "He could have real feelings for you. Granted, this brings up trust issues, but I'm a romantic, so I tend to hope for the best."He rubbed his face. "Fuck...""Well, that was how you got into this mess, I imagine... Not that I couldn't imagine how that could happen. If Angie had met me when I was single, I might be in the exact same boat. Who knew the royalty in Hell were so damn pretty anyway?""Not me. So... We're basically going to wait for her to make the first move?" He asked."Yeah... My guess is she's using you for leverage on her brother though. That is, unless you did something that -really- got her mad at you. You didn't, did you?" Hailey asked."I don't think so. We just stole a lot of money from her, that's all... Well, as far as I know, I suppose." James allowed."You think Jace was up to something else, I take it." Hailey replied."His name is Satanus, remember? And don't you? It doesn't make sense any other way. Exiled means bad blood. Doesn't track he'd risk bad sister's boot prints on his finely shaped ass if he didn't have more in the game than just money. Any number of ways he could get that without putting his head in the lion's maw, and mine with it by the way." He explained a little bitterly."Can I take it Satanus probably just found himself dumped?" Hailey asked."Looking that way, yeah." He replied bitterly. "If it was real between us, he would have told me the score going in.""...Probably for the best then." She answered softly, setting down her cookie, having lost her appetite. "I hate break-ups." She muttered."Right there with you." James replied. "...at least he was drop-dead gorgeous and the prince or king of Hell or something though. Otherwise this would be downright embarrassing. Me, the mark for once.""It's still embarrassing." Hailey teased him."Well, okay, not -as- embarrassing then." He corrected."True." She agreed absently, already having moved on to thinking about a certain ruby again.---SELINA---She was sitting in her bed, legs tucked up against her chest, arms folded on her knees, gazing out her windows at her room's view of the city skyline. She'd spent the morning putting together a romantic scavenger hunt for Hailey and feeling ridiculously happy while she was doing it, and now she was just sitting here in her bed and she couldn't stop thinking about her. It... It actually scared her a little, now that she'd had time to really think about it."What am I doing, Isis?" She asked her cat softly.Isis came over and rubbed her leg and purred to her. Selina absently scratched her chin.Arizona hadn't come home yet, and it was bugging her that she hadn't. She needed someone to talk to about this, and, as much as she liked Isis's company, her cat just wasn't up to this particular job. For that, her best friend was needed.Of course, she could hardly blame Arizona for being out. She was probably having wake-up sex with her latest lover. After last night, she felt she understood the need for a lover in a way she hadn't ever quite understood before. She'd had exactly six other lovers in her life--four men, two women. They'd all made her feel really good about herself... well, most of the time anyway. But the point was, a lover was always someone who made her feel nice, gave her comfort, sexual satisfaction, and made her feel less alone in the world... Once or twice, she'd even imagined she might have found love, fleeting though it would turn out to be in the end. Even then though, she hadn't felt like this.Hailey's every touch, her every look, they seemed to live on her skin, be burned into her heart... They'd hardly even really talked, had they?Just a little simultaneous illegal entry, a little scantily clad close-quarters dancing at a beach-themed lesbian dance club, a little flirting, then hours and hours of the best, most mind-blowing love-making she'd ever had... Tonight, she was definitely going to have to make it a point to have an actual conversation. It only seemed sensible, right?...When she'd gotten home though, she'd web-searched her new lover. The Harlequin... She'd known her by reputation before, just about everyone in the city did, but she hadn't ever actually looked into her.Wanted as an eco-terrorist, a serial-killer... she was suspected of all sorts of crimes, really--though, apparently, only a few of them would actually stick if anyone ever managed to get her into a court of law (which they hadn't yet). Of personal information, there was precious little. The common consensus was that she had to be some kind of genius, or maybe a telepathic meta-human. Genius, Selina would guess. Those eyes--had to be.There was a lot of speculation. Some people claimed she was a Robin Hood type. Lots of accounts of her saving people's lives--just as many of her ending them though. Some were kind of really asking for it, she supposed, but a significant number of them didn't appear to be particularly bad people and she'd killed them anyway (probably Hailey had her reasons of course, or she'd at least hope so). No acts of -mass- destruction though--so, there was that at least...How did she feel about that? She, herself, had only killed anyone once... And that was undeniably self-defense (even though the cops might not see it that way if they ever found out about it). She'd rarely even hurt anyone... She was not a cold-blooded killer, or a hardened criminal. She was a thief, a compulsive and exceptional thief, one of the best that ever was, she was sure, but still, a thief, pure and simple.Was she really going to... do whatever it was she was going to do with Hailey... with The Harlequin? What if Hailey wanted her to help her kill people?And even if she didn't, could she really live with herself? Having a cold-blooded murderer as a lover? And then there was the obvious question... If it didn't work out between them... If Selina ended up turning her down, would she end up Hailey's next victim?Intellectually, she was worried about those things... Somewhat worried. Okay, a -little- worried, if that. (Did that make her a bad person?) At heart though, she wasn't actually at all scared of Hailey hurting her, at lest not physically, and certainly not of her killing her. Having danced with her, having gazed into her eyes, tasted her lips, tasted... other things... Her head was inclined to give Hailey the benefit of the doubt for now. After all, a reputation only meant so much, and having met her, it didn't really match the reality of her that she'd seen for herself. That was what her head said. And her heart? Well, it was obvious by how fast her heart beat and how warm-all-over good she felt whenever she thought of Hailey that her heart thought the woman walked on water or something. So, she couldn't actually get herself to believe there was a chance Hailey would kill her, even though, logically, maybe that would be a good idea to be at least cautious of... No, she was more scared of what would happen if things actually worked out... She wouldn't have pegged herself as being scared of commitment, but apparently she was a little... maybe more than a little...Still... eco-terrorism she could understand. She was a big proponent of animal rights herself. She at least partially funded most of the cat rescue organizations in the country, in fact. It actually was a point in Hailey's favor for her that she seemed to care about a cause like that. The murders though... maybe Hailey would stop doing that sort of thing if she asked? Ethics aside, that kind of public attention she did not need, and certainly didn't want...It was at least worth the discussion, right? She had yet another very pleasant flashback to Hailey under her in bed... Hailey on top of her in bed... Okay, so the murder thing, it didn't have to be a sticking point, did it? ...Fuck, she really was a bad person, wasn't she? She smiled to herself. Well, she'd kind of suspected it for years anyway... She could live with it.She was tired of staying in one place now though, so she rolled up onto her knees and stretched a little, her body still feeling like it was fairly glowing with satisfaction from last night. She couldn't help the happy, kind of sappy love-struck sort of smile that came to her lips. She looked at the clock. Ten PM was about eleven and a half hours away... She sighed.What was she going to do with herself all day?It was then that she heard the door open and she smiled. Arizona was home. Thank fucking goodness.She put on a shirt (she'd only been wearing bike shorts) and went out to meet her. Thankfully, she'd come home alone. "Good, you're here." She grabbed her hand and pulled her along with her back to her room. "Hey, Selina, what are...?" Arizona good-naturedly protested, following along and giggling a little."I'm in serious need of girl talk." She hopped up on her bed, crossed her legs Indian style, and patted the bed. "Sit." She prompted.Arizona giggled some more. "Am I off base here, or did you meet someone?" She asked, getting up on the bed and crossing her legs too."Met her, danced with her, kissed her, dragged her up to a room with me, had my way with her..." She smiled bemusedly. "Okay so we had our way with each other... for hours... She tired me out, Arizona... She had my number... like no one else ever has..." She finished softly, looking down at her hands."Well, hey, that's great. I mean wow. Has that ever happened to you before? Like, in bed? That you were the one who got tired?" She could tell Arizona doubted it. "Hey, I've seen you naked, -and- I've seen you work out. -I- keep in shape. -You- are -insane-."Selina smiled bemusedly at that. "No, insane is who I was in bed with last night.""...You mean her, don't you?" Arizona looked over at the small chest full of treasure displayed prominently on a table over by her dresser."Hailey." Selina supplied."Harlequin, you mean." Arizona countered softly, meeting her eyes. She was scared."You're scared for me, aren't you?" Selina asked softly."Selina... My best friend just got very serious with a stone cold, probably dangerously psychotic, serial killer. How in that situation am I not scared for you? For me, for that matter? What if she sees me as competition for your affections or something?""That wouldn't happen." Selina told her adamantly."And you know that how? I mean, great sex is nice and all... really nice--hell, if you're like me, it's practically your reason for living--but it's never been any sort of guarantee of good behavior. Heck, it's fifty-fifty sometimes if she's even going to be there in the morning, let alone make you breakfast." Arizona argued."Yeah, you're always good about that though." Selina spoke. It was true. For all her faults, Arizona always treated her lovers with complete respect. She always made breakfast."Was she?" Arizona asked.Selina felt a little guilt at that. "I, um... wouldn't know." She admitted."...What... Wait, you ditched her, didn't you? ...You did, you totally walk-of-shamed a serial killer! Selina! Are you freaking nuts or something!?" Arizona exclaimed."I left her a note." Selina defended herself."Oh, phew, well, if you left her a -note- that's -completely- different. We're totally dead, aren't we..." Arizona looked actually pretty scared that they might be."Arizona, hey. I wouldn't let that happen. And Hailey's not like that, I swear. She's got a good heart, I can tell..." She told her. "Besides, it was a good note. I asked her on a date later. It was supposed to be, you know... romantic." She smiled hopefully.Arizona let out a breath. "Damn..." She smiled a little hesitantly to her. "You really are kinda nuts sometimes, you know that right?""The thought has occurred to me on occasion, yes." Selina smiled."...You really don't think she's dangerous? You swear?" Arizona asked.Selina smiled, kind of smirked a little. "Well, I wouldn't say -that-... I just don't think she's dangerous to -us-, physically I mean. I... I just rust her."Arizona rubbed her face. "Well, that's something, right?" She sighed."...Hey... if you're really worried, just say the word. Seriously, all expenses paid trip, anywhere in the world. Paris? Sidney? The Caribbean? A cruse around the world? Whatever you want. I can call you and let you know when I'm one-hundred and ten percent sure we're safe." Selina offered in all sincerity.Arizona smiled, looking genuinely grateful. She seemed to be considering it a moment. "Thanks, but... I... um, I think I'm staying." She replied softly."But why?" Selina asked, curious. She'd honestly thought, the things she'd been saying, her friend would take her up on it in a heartbeat.Arizona sighed. "You might need me. I mean, who're you gonna get your girl talk from, if not me? ...And besides... I couldn't really enjoy myself at all if I was always worrying about you, could I?" She smiled, almost a little shyly in fact.Selina smiled back, wondering, just for a moment, why she and her best friend had never been lovers. "Well... You know, we haven't really gotten to the girl talk part yet, you know?"Arizona shook her head and rubbed her face again. "Fine, so... go on crazy cat lady: spill."Selina smiled happily at that. "Okay, so I was just getting out of the water at The Beach, and I was getting something to drink..."(2b continued) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- #6: READY OR NOT...---HAILEY---Somewhere in her head, because that's where the interface was for her future-tech, there was something like a blinking indicator light (it wasn't really like that, it was more like a thought, just a certain kind of thought, laid out among other thoughts in a remarkably fluid and intuitive sort of way), it told her that she had a message waiting to be listened to on her 'phone' (it wasn't really a phone, she'd just set one of her future apps to monitor her phone number and record the messages. She'd known it was from Holly of course, but she'd had... other things on her mind, with kitty at first, then the James of it all, but she was back to eating a cookie, so she thought she should check what it was."Um, hi... Hailey?" Holly Robinson's voice spoke in her head. "It's, um, it's Holly. You said I could call, and well, you, um... I don't really think you did, but I guess, anyway, I guess I just have to ask... Jason... When he got home last night, his adopted daughter, Kelly, was killed and his son, Zane, was kidnapped... He got a note saying that if he didn't kill himself by noon today, Zane would die... He thinks you did it. But um, you didn't right?"Hailey stopped listening. "James, darling? We have to go." She went over to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him up to his feet. She activated her teleport app and was in Holly's living room in the blink of an eye."Hailey, what the?" James started to say."Shush. Important stuff." Hailey scolded him.Holly was there, and so was Jason. When Jason saw her, he grit his teeth, stood up, and asked. "Was it you?" With a parent's barely contained furry and terror."Nope." Hailey answered. "I've never hurt a kid in my life, and I didn't kill or kidnap yours... nor have I clubbed any poor defenseless sea lions to death with a baseball bat for kicks either by the way in case that was your next question." She looked to Holly and smiled a little, then looked back to Jason. "I will, however, happily hunt down the soon to be diseased people who did this bad, bad thing and get your son back for you if you want?" She offered brightly. This would also (probably) win points for her with Holly and lock in their friend status for sure... Not that she wouldn't have helped the little kid anyway, but it -was- a happy fringe benefit, wasn't it?"...Yes." He spoke."Stay here, you. Find out stuff in case I don't." She told James, activating her app and teleporting away again, appearing in Jason Todd's apartment (which one of her apps had searched out in less than a second once she'd asked it to). There were two cops there, who were startled by her appearance. She touched their foreheads in quick succession though, and they fainted at her touch. She went down on her knees by Kelly's dead body, touched her forehead and, after about thirty seconds, her body healed and she came back to life with a start. It was another app she had. Bring back the dead app--very nifty (standard stuff in the future, apparently). It worked as long as the head was in fairly good shape and hadn't been dead too long."What on... ohh, my head..." Kelly sat up and rubbed her head, looking around. "What's going on? Who are you? Cops... Ohmygod, Zane!" She got up and looked around."He was kidnapped. Mind if I look in your head to see who did it, please?" She asked solicitously."I what... Who are..." She closed her eyes. "I... I was dead, wasn't I?"Under other circumstances, Hailey might have asked her if she'd seen a certain Hell queen hottie while she was away, or maybe some scantily clad women with dove-like wings dressed in white perhaps, because she was a little curious, but she put that thought aside for now. Her new friend's friend needed her help, and so did a little kid. "Yup, I brought you back to life. I'm handy like that. Now, head looking? Yes? No?" She asked, feeling impatient but trying not to show it too much."Um, yes?" Kelly offered, confused."Good girl." Hailey smiled, touching her forehead with a finger again and looking through her brain's visual and auditory memory for the last bit of time before her death. It actually startled her a little when she saw who it was. Not that she recognized him, but there was just something... hollow--cold--about him. She scanned him though, and then took her finger away from Kelly's head and let her info search app work, looking through every scrap of information available to it in the world today and in her future archive, while she also scanned the apartment for an energy signature. The results cross-referenced with each other and came back with one result: "The Untitled." She spoke the word.Only a few vague references of them had survived to the time her future-tech was from, but there was more info on them from a few government servers in the here and now. Still, not much. They were magic, and immortal (though obviously killable if they'd died off long before her tech's time). They were body jumpers--secretive and hard to track. They did damage and moved on. They were apparently very dangerous, and she had no info on how to kill them. "Oh well." She tapped Kelly on the forehead again and teleported her back to Holly's place.She didn't have enough info to track the Untitled who'd done this, but she had a complete bio imprint of Jason Todd and used it to geo-lock his only living close biological relative. She didn't even have to use satellites, he was here in the city. She teleported to his location.There was a man on a chair, his arms on his knees, hands dangling in the air. He was looking at the floor, but slowly looked up when she appeared next to his (thankfully still alive and mostly unharmed) hostage. Their eyes met.The man must have kept the child alive in case his father didn't go through with his suicide, for leverage. Looking into his eyes, she couldn't believe he would abstain from killing the boy just because he'd said he would. "Damn. You are one ugly ball of monster gunk, aren't ya fella." She smiled to him."You should know: coming here like this, you've just gotten yourself killed." He spoke, tearing out of his chair and coming at her, inhumanly fast. He promptly vanished through a hole in the air she'd made that lead to, um, somewhere in outer space. She didn't really care where particularly.She did kind of smile a little though, 'cause it -was- kinda funny. "Bye now." She spoke to the empty air. See, she'd had no idea if she could have won against him in a fight or anything, so the sensible thing was not to fight. Especially 'cause there was a kid in the room an all, and it wouldn't be quite as heroic seeming to Holly if she accidentally traumatized the poor boy after all. "Annnnywaaay..." She turned around on the spot and went over to Zane and knelt down before him so their eyes could meet. "Hey, Zane. Has anyone ever nicknamed you 'Zany' by they way? Never mind, not important. Daddy yours sent me. Here, he's probably really worried." She tapped his forehead lightly and teleported him back to Holly's place. She stood, activating her app, and she was back at Holly's too. Her and Holly's eyes met first. "There, all better. Anyone want cookies?" She asked, looking around the room. "What?" She asked a silent Holly."Um, thanks?" Holly replied."You're welcome." Hailey smiled brightly. "So, is that a no on the cookies?" She asked. She looked over at Jason who was hugging his family."Thank you." He told her.Hailey sighed. "Whatever. Bored now." She looked over at Holly again. "Call me sometime, we can hang out. Preferably without all the bothersome kidnapping stuff. James? Darling? Stay here and seduce the happy dad or something. He's hot. You could do a lot worse... And he's got scruples and then some in that head of his, so he's -probably- not a prince of hell in disguise or anything like the last one." She teleported away again before he could answer, leaving darling James with them for now. She couldn't have friend time with Holly at the moment with all the Jason drama obviously, and she really wanted to figure out that ruby, and people kept interrupting her. It was getting annoying! ...She did tag and geo-lock them all before she left though, just to be safe, so she'd get an alert from one of her apps if any of them got into anymore trouble while she was off playing kitty's dating game.Bright side? She seemed to be making friends and meeting people. (Emotionally healthy! Yay!) Bad news? They apparently were the kind that got into trouble a lot, and might be a little on the needy side. (Not a deal breaker by any means, but it was obviously less than ideal.)She went home and got cookies. For some reason she was craving them today. She didn't usually. Was it some odd, random, and yummy side-effect of falling in love with Selina Kyle? If it was, it was... well, no, never mind, odd, random, and yummy basically covered it..."What's that about?" She wondered absently to herself as she pondered the ruby.It surprised her that she hadn't figured it out yet, even with all the distractions. It meant either kitty was smarter than her (which would be awesome, unlikely as it was), she was being hugely obscure (even more unlikely, give what she knew of Selina's personality), or the clue was some place she had to go to figure it out (like a treasure/scavenger hunt maybe) and not a riddle or puzzle by itself.She smiled happily. Kitty was clever, and very fun. She liked that. A lot.She ate the cookie and stared at the ruby, using a self-guided info search instead of an automated app to research where the gem could have come from.It took a over a minute, but she found out that it was part of a crown that had been in a downtown museum. Surprise, surprise: Stolen two months ago, the thief unknown and never caught. That meant kitty was the thief for sure. It also meant it was a treasure hunt like she'd thought for almost sure."In other words: Fieldtrip." She spoke to the ruby.She put down another half-eaten cookie, changed clothes from the jeans and tank-top to something more for everyday walks about town, and teleported there. Not inside, outside. It was open today. She bought a ticket and went in to look around with the rest of the art aficionados that were visiting that day. She had plenty of time to figure it out, and this was really putting her in an extra good mood... The thought of kitty being so thoughtful to come up with this, just for her. She didn't want to rush it.---JASON---"Hailey!" That James guy called in protest as the woman he'd come with disappeared before their eyes.The Harlequin. Or, Hailey, apparently... He never thought she would... It had only taken her, what, five minutes? Fuck... "Kelly? I, uh..." He looked at her and spoke with care, hardly believe what, who, he was seeing. "Can you tell me what happened? I mean..." He felt shaky just looking at her. More absurdly grateful that he'd ever felt for anything in his entire life, but he still wasn't quite sure he believed it. She'd been dead. He'd checked her pulse. Dead. How on Earth..."I died, yeah... I know..." Kelly replied quietly. She looked up and met his eyes. "She um, she brought me back to life... I guess..." She told him.He looked over to 'darling James', who'd taken a seat in a chair and was watching them with what he'd describe as mild curiosity. "She's your friend, I guess... Can she do that?""I don't know. Probably. You'd think she would have brought Len back if she could've though. So, who knows?" James replied."Who's Len?" Holly asked."Len. Leonard Snart. Her ex's dead brother. She accidentally got him killed. Broke them up, too. Bad times, those." He told them soberly. "Even I steered clear of her for a week or so after it ended with them. Seriously, heartbroken Hailey is -not- a woman you ever want to meet, even if you do happen to be her friend.""Huh..." Jason replied. "Kelly, Zane... what, um, what can you tell me about who...""Killed me?" Kelly asked. "Freak broke down the door like it wasn't there. I tried to hide... Went for the gun." He kept one in the apartment and had taught Kelly how to use it. "Shot him. Didn't work though..." She related in a quiet, almost shy voice. She tried to sound tough, but the act wasn't very convincing. She was still scared. Of course she was. Kelly had been a twelve year old runaway when they'd met. He'd been a high-class whore who'd been stuck with a baby by a Jane who didn't want the kid they'd accidentally made together. He'd needed a baby sitter, she'd needed a place to stay that... well, a place that would be safe. And she'd impressed him right off with how much help she'd been. Over the years, it just... kind of started to feel like he had two kids, not one. He was ridiculously relieved and happy that she wasn't dead, however it had happened. "He had these eyes, see... I don't know how to describe... Looking into'm though, felt worse than when he hit me in the head and I died." She admitted softly. "He never said anything but 'Bah!' and 'Annoyance' before he whacked me over the head... Who even says 'Bah!' anyway?" She muttered."Only a truly uncouth individual, I'm sure." James provided unhelpfully. Damn he could work a smile though."Duh." Kelly told him mockingly, but smiled a little when she did it."They call football 'soccer' in the rest of the world." James replied."Huh?" Kelly asked."I was on a role. You know, being duh." He smiled."Really." Kelly told him."Anyway." Holly interjected."Now you're imitating her. That can't be good." James put in before Holly could say whatever it was she'd planned to say."Huh?" Holly asked."Hailey. It's a thing with her. 'Annnnywaaay', she says it a lot. Of course you know this means you're probably soul buddies or something." He answered.Holly just looked at him oddly. "Anyway. You know, we really don't even know what happened. What Hailey did... You three should stay here with me. At least for now. It's safer."Jason looked at her in question."Look, I know we're not -exactly- friends or anything, but say yes anyway. I'm trying to help out here." Holly told him. "So don't let your pride make you an ass or something.""Fine." Jason told her. It kind of grated him, but she was right. He needed a safe place to stay. Safer anyway. His apartment was probably a crime scene by now, he'd have to assume. He had that jewelry stashed of course, but if there were people still after him, going back to his old neighborhood was a -bad- idea. Holly was an opportunistic murder. And by staying with her, it was pretty close to him saying he was okay with that. He wasn't. But his kids... And Harlequin had saved them, even though she was probably the worst person, on paper at least, that he'd ever met. Fuck though, he hated being associated with murderers. It felt like he was betraying his family or something... Not the family he had now, just the one he -used- to have..."Well, I, at least, should probably be going." James put in."What? Why?" Holly asked."Kids on the premises. Not sure Hailey really thought this one through... I'm not exactly safe to be around right now. Cursed by the queen of Hell as I seem to be." He told them."The queen of Hell?" Kelly asked, clearly doubting it."Believe it or not, some people find me even more annoying than they probably find you." He smiled charmingly to her.She was quiet and actually blushed a little at that."If I get un-cursed though, I might just take Hailey up on her suggestion and give -you- a call." James smiled very flirty to him.Jason smiled back, a little flattered actually. James was really something to look at, he had to admit. And that smile was a heart-stopper for sure. "I'm not exactly dating material, you know." Jason told him. "And your best friend -is- a murder. Maybe you are too, for all I know.""Being a little judgy, aren't you? After what she just did for you?" James countered, opening the door. "Ta, all." He waved, and was gone, the door closing behind him."He's got a point, you know." Holly put in."Maybe..." He allowed. Still not liking it one bit though."Hey, come on... Zane... What's wrong, kiddo?" He heard Kelly saying.He looked over at Zane, who was crying in Kelly's arms. Jason felt well and truly frozen in his tracks."Has he said anything since Hailey brought him back?" Holly asked in concern, sitting down on the floor next to him and looking at his kids now too."No..." Jason spoke, feeling his mind kick into gear again, and he went over to his son. "Zane?"It felt like the world had been kicked out from under him all over again.(2b continued) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- #7: LIGHT AS AIR, HOT AS HELL---HAILEY---Hailey strolled through the museum, just aimlessly looking around for a while and pondering things. Kitty, dear James's troubles, kitty, Holly (her prospective new gal-pal), kitty, Jason who some ancient magical fug-ugly wanted to force into committing suicide for some odd reason, but mostly kitty. Still, she was sure the Hell-hottie who cursed her best friend wasn't going to be put off by her 'tricks' indefinitely, and it was entirely possible that Jason's fug had some fug-friends who would bother him (and, by association, her) again, possibly soon. It really would be smart to have some sort of idea what she was going to do when Blaze did make her move... You know, if one actually -could- plan adequately for an antagonistic visit from the queen of Hell... It was entirely possible dear James was simply doomed she supposed, no matter what she did to try to stop it. Mostly though, she was trying to think of the perfect romantic gesture... Kitty obviously was the romantic type, which Haley found very encouraging, and promising, because she definitely was too. Her new lover had started the game with the note and the clue, which meant she had to have something equally as romantic ready for tonight, something to (preferably literally) sweep her off her feet... Her thoughts were interrupted though, by a notice from one of her apps.She sighed. "James, you dope." She spoke. He was back at her place now and having an unusual sort of dream. He'd left Holly's, Jason left un-seduced, when she'd specifically told him to stay put...Still, maybe that meant he wasn't over Jace (alias Satanus, alias male edition hell-hottie) yet, despite what he'd said before? She knew, if she were in his place, she sure as hell wouldn't be. But then, she'd learned by the time she was two (seriously, that's when she'd realized it) not to expect other people to think like she did (before that, life had been all-together entirely too frustrating, not to mention very confusing). It was nice when they did think like she did sometimes though, because it made her feel less alone. And it was kind of a hugely romantic story if it were true: exiled prince of Hell falls in love with a mortal but his past catches up with him, or he catches up with his past actually (which wasn't as romantic, true, but she didn't know the whole story and there might be a good reason for everything), trouble, curses, kidnapping, rescue, reunion, reunion sex, James and Jace--happily ever after! She sighed again (but more of a dreamy sigh this time), feeling warm and fuzzy about her imagined romantic scenario. She'd always loved happily ever afters. And when she'd seen them together, she'd thought James and Jace had made a very cute couple. Maybe there was still hope for them?The dream was what had set off her app, but the telemetry said that her soul-lock wasn't broken and that Blaze wasn't the one that was giving him the dream... someone was though. Jace maybe? She couldn't tell for sure by the readings, but really, who else would it be? Especially with how aroused James seemed to be. She decided to give them their privacy and not peek at the readings anymore though. It was only polite, after all.Wondering around a little more, she stopped a little bit later, looking at a painting of two women making out. She considered it thoughtfully... It was a really good painting. Mysterious, otherworldly even in some ways, but there was definite heat. Still, somehow it reminded her of Ivy... She wiped away a few tears and turned away from the painting before she did something dumb like setting it on fire. Thinking about Ivy usually made her want to set something on fire again... she wished it didn't make her feel like that, but it did.From there, she wondered through the Egyptian exhibit, where there was a definite cat theme to some of the pieces on display. That helped, made her feel better--more hopeful again, because it reminded her of kitty. She walked around a little more, before ending up in the room where the crown had been housed. She looked around curiously. At first perusal, nothing seemed out of place and nothing seemed like kitty had left it there for her. Then she looked up. Was that a red ribbon way up there on the skylight sill? She considered using an app to zoom in with her eyes so she could see it from here, but decided that wouldn't be any fun. Instead, she started floating up with her flying shoes. She had a flying app of course, but she liked the shoes... call it an indulgence of sentimentality. She liked indulging her sentimentality and did so often, actually.She collected the expected exclamations of wonder and surprise from her fellow museum patrons, but it only made her smile because it was funny to surprise people like this. Then, of course, there were the perfunctory museum guards who came in and demanded that she stop, freeze, come down from there. Bla. Bla. Bla. As if they had any real right at all to be saying those sorts of things to her or anyone else for that matter. She ignored them, and one took out a gun and said he'd soot--he did. Talk about rude! And definitely -not- in keeping with the romantic theme of her museum visit today. Hailey made it ricochet back and hit him square in the forehead. It was only fair, he -had- tried to murder her first after all.She reached the ribbon and saw that there was a little golden locket there. Not the kind that opened, but it was shaped like a heart. There was a small note too. "Warmer" Hailey read the one word note out loud, a sappy sort of dreamy smile on her lips. She held the locket to her heart and closed her eyes, humming to herself happily and imagining kitty putting this here for her to find. She'd been thoughtful and clever and taken her time coming up with this game, Hailey could tell. "She must love me." She spoke in a happy, sing-song voice, as she began to hear sirens. She sighed. "Why are they so dumb, huh?" She asked the red ribbon the rhetorical question. No one could hear the question, probably, and certainly the ribbon couldn't respond (as far as she knew) but that wasn't the point. She looked down at the milling security guards and smiled. She teleported them all to a field in Norway with a windmill and a bunch of flowers. "Learn to relax, jeeze." She shook her head and went all ghosty insubstantial (with another of her apps) and floated through the skylight, alighting on the roof. She shifted out of synch with reality a little (like she had when she'd first met kitty) and went to sit down on the roof's ledge, pondering the ribbon, note, and locket."Were to next, lover of mine?" She asked happily, a goofy smile still on her lips. It was gold and pretty and it was shaped like a heart even...---JAMES---"I'm sorry, alright?" He heard a soft, familiar voice say. That voice sent shivers all the way through his body and had his naughty bits starting to stand up and pay attention.He opened his eyes, and Jace was there. A soft, secretive, oh so seductive smile on his lips. Mysterious eyes that so easily held him in their sway. They were somehow naked in bed, together again, the length of Jace's oh so shapely body laid out over him like a gift. Jace's hands were caressing his hair, and, oh yes, his sex was hard all right. "What the fuck?!" He snapped himself out of that tempting sexual haze Jace had had him in. He sat up and looked around. They were in bed all right, but everything else was all a roaring fire. Flames above, flames below--hot as Hell, in more ways than one. He looked down at Jace, who was smiling up at him, head resting on one triangled arm, and looking so ridiculously sexy it very, very nearly made James forget why he was mad at him all together. "Well, I thought we were overdue for... a little honesty, perhaps?" Jace asked."...All right -Satanus- please do then." James offered, leaning back and bracing himself on his hands, appraising his lover shrewdly, and trying very hard to keep his wits about him. "Where are we, by the way?""Oh, my mind, your mind, some little corner of Hell or Purgatory that I may have secreted away somewhere safe just for me, who can say? And no, in case you're wondering, my dear, saintly sister most likely still can't get in here to taunt you, thanks to that surprisingly talented friend of yours. It's why I thought it might be safe for -me- to pay you a visit, while we have the chance to be alone." He explained."If she can't get in, why can you?" James asked, playing it cool... well, as cool as one could play it when surrounded by what might be hellfire and one's manhood was on pole-like display, telegraphing one's continued interest in what one's erstwhile boyfriend seemed to be offering."Oh, well, there are certain things a lover knows about the one he loves that even his best friend or my erstwhile sister may be... shall we say, less privy to?" Jace got up and caressed his face, coming onto him and backing him up until he was lain back on the bed, at his lover's apparently lacking mercy. "I know your mind as well as I know your body, lover mine... and believe me when I say..." His hands caressed James's body in a way that had him trembling with want and pleasure just from that small touch. "I know your body very, very... very well by now, wouldn't you agree?" He asked softly, his lips mere millimeters from James's own."I... think I can concede that particular point, yes." James admitted softly, caught in his lover's eyes and helpless to look away."I thought you might..." And then Jace was kissing him, pressing him down on the bed, and James's head felt like it was about to combust, not unlike the flames that were all around them that should rightfully be scorching them with unbearable heat, but somehow managed to make him feel welcome and energized. "We might not have much more time though..." Jace sighed. "So, as much as I might be enjoying this, we really should talk, don't you think?""So talk." James spoke simply, swallowing his desire with effort. His mind told him firmly that he needed to hear what Jace would tell him, while his body wanted Jace's hand on his sex right now... luckily though, his sense of self-preservation won out in that particular tug of war, and he held himself still."I'm... playing something of a game, you see... and, you, I'm afraid, are playing it with me." Jace told him. Before his eyes, Jace changed. his skin turned crimson red, his eyes went dark and deep, and then there were the horns... Those eyes though, darker as they may have been, they were still pure Jace though. James swallowed his feelings, both of unease and of intrigue."Let me guess: you want to be the king of Hell, is that it?" James offered."Well, it has crossed my mind a few times over the years." He smiled. "Would you like that? Married to a king? Living forever...? Having a bed like this all our own?" He tempted.James swallowed again. "I can... see the appeal..." He answered."Oh, and I can see the wheels turning, lover mine... I know you too well." Satanus smiled fondly. "You're so... unlike anyone I've ever met, did you know? Do you know how rare that is for someone like me? ...I've been alive longer than there has been a human race, even longer than this universe itself has lived... and no one... no other lover has had me so thoroughly wrapped on his finger as you've managed to do... I have to say, your capacity for seduction and deceit, it's quite... addicting...""Likewise, I'm sure." James smiled, actually perversely flattered. "Though, I can't be all that good... If you didn't let me in on... well, you know... can I?" He asked."Mm... It wounds me that's you'd cast me in such an unflattering light, truly... No, I simply thought it would be more entertaining if you found out on your own, actually. Call it... flirting?" He asked, moving in to lick his skin and nip at his ear. "Or... perhaps, a courtship?" He offered. "If you can best me... perhaps, just perhaps... you might win my heart? As no one ever has? If someone did that... anything, absolutely anything it would be in my power to grant, why... you would have but to ask, wouldn't you?""A wager then...?" James asked softly."Mm, I like the sound of that..." Satanus kissed him, hard and owningly.James gasped, and melted against the force and heat of it. Their bodies strained against one another, and James found himself on his belly, Satanus penetrating his ass and fucking him to a steady, sensual cadence. He gasped and his breathing came hard, he couldn't form words. He was rolled onto his side and felt his lover's hand on his sex, stroking him... His body arched, his eyes fluttered shut, and he was brought face up, with Satanus under him, still in him, holding him firm with one hand while his other stroked his sex and spurred him on towards climax... He came, looking up into the flames, his ejaculation landing hot and wet over his chest and on his lips."One way or the other though, you're mine now..." He heard his lover's voice in his ear. "I own you... Never doubt it."He gasped and woke up, breathing hard. He sat up and looked around. He was on Hailey's couch again, having gone back there after leaving Holly Robinson's place. He'd been exhausted and sleep deprived after the nights previous where he'd had decidedly less pleasant dreams of being dragged to Hell... He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to catch his breath... "Fuck me..." He looked down at himself. He was dripping wet, and he was still hard from it. He got up and, a little unsteady on his feet, he went over to get some water. "So thirsty..." He muttered, putting his head under to faucet for a while, then getting a glass, pouring the water, and downing it all in one long drink. He coughed a little and leaned against the counter, his hair dripping rivulets of water over his body, trying to catch his breath.What was he going to do now? Should he play the game, concede it, or try to play the gamers? He ran a hand through his wet hair. "I'm in it this time, whatever I do..." He felt a sinking feeling of dread wash over him. He had the distinct feeling that no matter what he did, he didn't have much chance of coming out ahead this time. A man needs to know when he's out-matched, and Jace... Satanus... He'd played him like a first class mark, hadn't he? He'd never even suspected him to be anything other than human. No one -no one- had ever played him so thoroughly for a fool. He'd be an idiot not to think he wasn't still being played... But, what if he wasn't? What if... what if Jace really did love him?If he did, and James truly played him false, thinking he didn't, that would be a sadness and a betrayal fairly fit to cut a man's heart out, wouldn't it? But that was the twist, wasn't it? Heart or head? His heart said he'd be a fool to turn Jace away, even knowing who he really was, and his head said he'd be a fool damned to Hell if he didn't... and what was the payoff here? Be the king of Hell's lover if all went right? Despite what he'd said to Jace, he didn't want that--not at all. He wanted Jace, just Jace, and not any of this... and it looked like, win or lose, that just wasn't in the cards, was it? So... that was it, the obvious thing--there was no percentage in this for him, and no big win to be had waiting in the wings. It was a stacked deck, and the house would win either way... so why did that make him want to play all the more? Why couldn't he get Jace out of his head and be smart about this, no matter what the facts or the odds were? Maybe it had something to do with those smoldering eyes, that smile that made him weak, and the way Jace's hands could...He sighed, and went to the bathroom, intent on taking a nice, long, -cool- shower. As the water washed over him, he let himself see his own life for what is really was probably. He'd liked his life, or so he'd thought... but, really, he'd always been... sort of running away, hadn't he? One thrill, one trick, after the other. Just games. Well, now he had a game he'd never wanted, and one he was very likely to lose... one that could, literally, get him damned to Hell for all time, if he made the wrong moves... Either as lover to the king of Hell or enduring a more traditional hellish experience at the hands of his sister. Obviously, one would be much more preferable than the other, but still...For the first time in his life, he found himself sincerely wishing he'd never left the circus...(2b continued)
1129272	No Time Like Christmas	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley", "Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by eidheann", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-10T00:00:00", "words": "3,504", "Additional Tags": "St Mungo's Hospital, Auror Harry, Healer Draco, Established Relationship, Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Mini-Fest 2013", "Relationship": "Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Draco hates hospitals. It seems an odd thing, as he's nearly a decade out of Healer training and spends entirely too much of his waking time in St Mungo's, but something about them always sets his teeth on edge.It isn't just St Mungo's, either. After the war, his mother had deemed it prudent to finish his schooling in France, so after finishing his NEWTS at Beauxbatons, he was accepted to Université de Médecine Magique in Paris.He hates French hospitals, too. Maybe it's the antiseptic smell of the cleaning charms, or the bright lighting that leaves him stuck choosing between a headache or a pain potion after the first four hours. Or maybe it's that he just looks horrible in lime green.What Draco doesn't hate, though he will threaten to Avada Kedavra anyone who mentions it, are the children. Oh, he says the part he likes the most is the challenge; being faced with the sheer variety of complications the little hellions can get themselves into, each day is something new, never boring, etc. But even if he does nothing but administer Pepper-Up (which always seems to happen the week before Christmas when the Hogwarts Express rumbles back into London bringing the plaguerats home to their families) he has a soft spot in his heart for the little buggers.Which is why he's not too bothered when on Christmas Eve, he's still on the Pediatric Ward thirty minutes later than his planned shift lets out and he's free through Boxing Day. He isn't bothered when thirty stretches to forty stretches to almost an hour, and he's just getting to his office and peeling off the lime green robes, feeling the sudden rush of exhaustion from nearly thirteen hours rushing about with only a pair of tea breaks and a dreary cafeteria sandwich to keep him standing, when he hears the alert ringing through the halls with the hospital's modified Sonorus. "All on-duty healers, please report to Spell Damage." Pulling his robes back on, he mentally prepares a list of apologies to Harry. He knows it will do no good: had he left an hour ago at the end of his shift, he wouldn't still be here to hear that bint from reception put out the all-call he now has to answer. And Harry knows him well enough to know it, too. Buggery.Jogging to the lifts, he exchanges a nod with Healer Abramson, who always reminds him of Professor McGonagall, were she cursed with Snape's nose, and who rules the second floor with a velvet glove barely covering the iron fist, and they wait impatiently for the doors to slide open. There is a ding and the doors open with a shiver and rattle, and both Healers rush inside and he presses the button marked Floor 4.Spell Damage always tends towards the chaotic, but the rush and yelling that greets them when the doors open again is unusual for mid-evening on Christmas Eve. The prevalence of red robes in amidst the green causes his breath to catch and his stomach to sink rapidly. Aurors.He is stepping forward to follow Abramson off the lift when the sight of hair, as red as the robes, causes him to stumble as the familiar feeling of panic rises within him."Weasley!" He credits their time at Hogwarts for knowing the exact tone to use to catch Weasley's attention, even across the frantically busy hospital ward. Sure enough Weasley turns, and the expression on his face, something between relief and dread, causes the nascent panic to take firmer root. Draco runs to him, experience lending the ability to dodge in and out of the rush without slowing or bashing into anyone, and takes stock automatically. The first thing he notices is the blood darkening Weasley's robes. It is concentrated on his right arm, but not linked to any major veins or arteries-- not his, then. Otherwise, there is a nasty cut above his left eyebrow that is already starting to clot, and something about the way Weasley is standing indicates there may be a cracked rib.Draco doesn't care about any of that. "Where's Potter?" It's Potter now. Auror Potter and Healer Malfoy whenever one of them is on the job. One of the first agreements they made when they started this thing."Malfoy, calm down." Those three words have the opposite effect, and Draco grabs Weasley by the robes. "Fuck calming down! Where the hell is your fucking partner?"Weasley's glance behind him, further into the ward and into the tightest hub of activity, tells Draco all he needs to know, and he dashes past him.It doesn't take long. The second knot of roiling lime green surrounds a gurney covered in red; so much red. Red robes, red blood, Harry. He feels the tingling in his extremities and greying of his vision that tells him he needs to do something before he loses consciousness at the sight, but Abramson, in the way she always seems to know everything, bellows, "Malfoy, get the fuck to the waiting room! You were off duty an hour ago!"Then Smythe, his formerly-favorite orderly, has his arm in a surprisingly firm grip, and he is marched to the lift and gently shoved inside. Smythe gives a sympathetic smile. "Get some tea. I promise to come get you as soon as anything happens." Then he punches the 5, sending Draco up to the cafeteria to pretend St Mungo's overly-stewed tea is enough to distract him from what is going on below.He really hates hospitals. -:- -:- It isn't Smythe who finds him later, hunched over his cold tea, but Granger. She plops down across from him, sliding over a large paper cup of that Muggle coffee that is mostly sugar and cream and chocolate and peppermint that Harry gets him addicted to every December, only to pine away when they stop making it after the New Year.Part of him wants to thank her, but right now it just makes him remember the blood. He isn't usually squeamish; he thought he'd lost his aversion to blood and everything else in his first year training, but the sight of Harry pale and still, and with all the red, he can't even remember if they had cut his robes off yet."You need to drink that. It's hot and full of caffeine and sugar. You're going into shock.""I think I'm the medical professional here, Granger." It still causes his shoulders to tighten in irritation when she goes all know-it-all on him. But the irritation allows him to push the image of Harry away and he takes a long sip, knowing she is right.She just smiles blandly in reply, sipping from her own cup. "Ron floo'd me and told me what happened. And that he saw you being strong-armed off the ward.""Smythe was my friend." And he knows he's whinging, but it's almost midnight, almost Christmas, and he is feeling too raw to care."It was a Diffindo." Her words are as calm as her presentations to the Wizengamot. "Bad that it seemed to hit an artery, but not anything I would imagine causing complications after the initial patch-up."He gapes at her, his mind racing through potential outcomes. He is relieved to know something, anything, and the Harry in his head is no longer bleeding out as the Healers scramble about, attempting to locate a suitably esoteric countercurse to whatever hit Harry. He is bleeding, but the chaos surrounding him is controlled; pressure and bandaging and salves, then a Blood Replenishing potion and a few days observation, which is really just Healer-speak for "don't go off and do something stupid for at least a few days."He takes the first real breath he thinks he's had in hours and smiles at Granger. "Well. I would like to state for the record that I've Christmas off, so my spending this one here is entirely his fault.""Leave me out of your games; there are some things about your sex life no one needs to know." -:- -:- Ron joins them before Draco's coffee is half-gone. His robes are held over his arm, hiding the blood, and his white button-down is open at the neck and untucked. He busses Hermione on the cheek and slides another chair to the small table, the scrape echoing in the otherwise empty room. He looks as worn as Draco feels, and he steals Hermione's cup and takes a large gulp."All patched, then? How's the rib?""If I didn't know that you didn't care, I would point out what a shit thing it is that you knew I had a bruised rib and ignored me completely. But I'm inclined to grant you extenuating circumstances in this case.""Appreciated, Weasley." Draco toasts him with his cup. Hermione makes a low sound of disapproval and runs her hand along Weasley's side. "I'm fine, I'm fine." He grabs her hand and kisses it, smiling at her in that besotted way he has. "All patched up.""I know. They wouldn't let you off the ward otherwise, but--""Healer!"Draco looks up and sees Smythe standing at the lift, and he stands so quickly his chair tips over with a crash. "Go." Hermione's words barely register, and he hurries around the table and across to where Smythe is waiting. "He's stable?"Smythe nods as the lift dings open. "Regained consciousness and is asking for you.""Oh thank Merlin." He doesn't even mind the hand Smythe claps around his shoulder. -:- -:- He ignores Harry's hopeful face as he rushes into the small white room. He also ignores the relieved, "Draco!" and begins waving his wand in the standard set of scans he would use on any other patient. They've cleaned up the blood already, leaving Harry looking washed-out in the pale blue hospital robe. "Oy! Malfoy!"He gives Harry a fierce frown, unwilling to give up the frustration that he feels is all that's keeping him standing. "What?""Good to see you, too.""Yes, I'm so glad you're alive and not bleeding out in St Mungo's on Christmas Eve."Harry winces, then his expression shifts; pathetic with big eyes. "Happy Christmas, Draco."Draco sighs and gives up his scans; they're all showing what he'd expect anyway. He slumps down on the bed beside Harry, running his fingers through the tangled mess of black hair. "Happy Christmas. Why the hell do you want to spend the holiday in St Mungo's anyway?""They won't let me go home tonight under Healer supervision?" Harry fidgets with the sheet, his expression hopeful.Draco wrinkles his nose, grabbing Harry's hand. "I'm not allowed to be your healer. Conflict of interest, remember? Don't trust us not to shag ourselves silly."Harry lets out an amused bark of a laugh. "Shag? There's no privacy in these rooms."Draco returns Harry's grin, feeling the last of the stress beginning to fall away. "All the more reason to not send you home with me. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time someone was caught shagging in the rooms."Harry's eyebrows shoot up and his smile grows. "Oh? Do tell?""Not allowed." Draco smirks, squeezing Harry's fingers just to feel the return gesture. "Though I will say the threesome was most unexpected."There is a quiet knock on the door and Draco cranes around to look, unwilling to move or release Harry's hand. Hermione's bushy head pokes through, and she smiles, stepping into the room with Ron following."Hello, Harry.""Hey, mate.""Hello!" Harry returns the hand squeeze and arm slap of greeting while Draco pretends he simply doesn't wish to move from where he's seated on Harry's bed, and the other three pretend they don't realize he's just too exhausted to do so. "Sorry to ruin your evening, it must be late.""Well, most of the pubs closed a couple hours ago, and I suppose it's technically Christmas…" Hermione silences Ron's teasing with a well-aimed elbow. "Happy Christmas, Harry. I received a memo just before Ron floo'd me that Marcus had been apprehended and was spending his holiday in a holding cell.""This is her 'wait on backup' speech, again." Ron gives Harry a completely unsympathetic glance that Draco can't fault him for. He's often fought with Harry over his continuing habit of jumping into things without a plan or exit strategy, and he wishes Hermione better luck. Draco gives up any pretense of appearing to follow the conversation, instead turning his focus back to Harry. He watches as his expression goes from a grimace to the stubborn jawset he's so familiar with, then to sheepish schoolboy, which hasn't worked on Draco for years, but Hermione still seems occasionally to be caught by. All the while, Hermione's soft voice rises and falls in soothing cadence. -:- -:- Draco wakes in the dim light of a St Mungo's room, dim in the way the charmed windows always seem to accurately capture the earliest early morning hours, and it is a moment before the evening catches up with him. Then he remembers: working late, the all-call, Harry. That sends a jolt of adrenaline through him and he sits up, looking around frantically before realizing the warmth and steady movement beside him is Harry, asleep and breathing under the blanket Draco's still on top of.He realizes he must have nodded off while Ron and Hermione were here speaking to Harry. Normally, that would bother him, but he knows the feeling of less than three hours sleep and exhaustion continues to pull at him. Giving it up for lost, he stands just long enough to strip off his robes and shoes, then pull back the blanket to curl in behind Harry. He'll deal with tomorrow later. -:- -:- He awakens to the feeling of something tickling his nose. He swats at it, clenching his eyes tightly against the light outside them. When it happens again, he groans, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head. The feeling against his face is stiff cotton over stiffer mattress, and he recognizes the familiar antiseptic smell of St Mungo's cleaning charms; the smell of hospital making sleep all the more tempting.The tickling moves to the fine hair on his neck, and he swats blindly again mumbling, "If you don't stop that, Potter, I'm going to hex your hand off entirely.""Oooo, he's feisty this morning." Harry's amused tone is familiar, though the quiet feminine giggle that follows is not. Draco pushes the pillow off his head and looks around, blinking blearily in the brightness filling the room. He sees the pale violet of the Mediwitch robes, and chucks the pillow at it. "Sod off, he's fine." He ignores the shocked, "Healer!" and flops back down, half-crawling until he's got his head buried again, this time under Harry's pillow."That's mine, you bastard." Harry's voice has mellowed, fondness weaving in amidst the amusement obvious in spite of the words used. "Never get him up now. He'll use a Sticking Charm to stay under there, just for sheer spite." Harry's hand returns, this time rubbing softly along his back, and Draco snuggles in closer, the same arm he'd been swatting at Harry with earlier now moving to wrap around him, almost clinging. He's vaguely aware of the Mediwitch still in the room, and of the battery of spells she performs, but Harry's pillow smells like him, even underneath. He holds tight, eyes closed, and breathes. -:- -:- It's the smell of bacon that finally pulls him out from under the pillow. Harry is grinning, attempting to hide the expression behind the bacon and the chewing, but failing utterly. He looks damnably chipper for being in a narrow hospital bed on Christmas day, instead of in their bed, or on the overstuffed couch in the library, wrapped in fluffy blankets and watching the fire."What are you so happy about?" Draco knows he sounds surly, his words clipped like they were back in Hogwarts. He also knows that nothing is more likely to get Harry's temper up, but at this moment he's too worn to care. He's been in this hospital for something approaching 24 hours, and it's Christmas.Harry just continues to grin. "Oh I dunno, not too bad a day so far. Sleep in, even if someone did steal my pillow, breakfast in bed, your smiling face. What's wrong with it?""How about being at my fucking job that I spent all last week doing overtime to be able to have the fucking day off because you threw yourself into a bloody Diffindo? And it's Christmas? Ring any bells?""Yes. Happy Christmas, Draco." Draco can never stand that thing Harry does when he just ignores the bluster and attempts to bypass Draco's anger, and he's just winding up to tell him so when Harry leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back and stuffing a slice of bacon in Draco's mouth. "Bacon's good this morning. Must have Plinket in the kitchen today."Draco chews, allowing the grease and salt to delay the yelling he's planning on doing. Harry's right; the bacon is good, tasting exactly like the bacon served every morning at Hogwarts. Plinket spent nearly forty years at Hogwarts before retiring to the relatively slower pace of St Mungo's, so Harry is likely correct about that, as well.He takes another slice, eyeing Harry as he piles bacon and egg on a slice of buttered toast before shoving the entire thing in his mouth. Once Harry's mouth is overfull, he strikes. "So what could be so important as to send you into a situation without backup?""Mmm mmm mmff mm." Harry makes big innocent eyes at Draco, pointing at his exaggerated chewing."Yes, yes. You've more manners than Ron Weasley. But isn't it funny, backup was close enough that the villain in question was apprehended and you were brought to hospital before bleeding out from an artery strike? Almost as if you'd waited, oh, one minute maybe, we'd both be sitting in our kitchen right now."Harry gives a large swallow. "But then we wouldn't have Plinket's bacon." He leans forward again, giving Draco a messy kiss on the cheek, leaving the feeling of crumbs and grease lingering there. "Don't worry, I asked Ron and Hermione to stop by and bring our presents before they go to the Burrow."Draco nibbles his bacon. "Presents?""They'll be here at nine when visiting hours open." -:- -:- They aren't there at nine, instead rushing in a few minutes after with a bag full of shrunken boxes and smelling faintly of smoke.Hermione dumps the pile on the bed. "Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas! Can't stay or Molly will have our heads. Need anything?"Harry cuts in before Draco can think of something, just for the pleasure of making them run even later. "No, we're good! Happy Christmas!""We'll be by this evening, mate. Bring you some pie.""Thanks Ron. Bye!"The door closes with a bang. "Well. That was rather abrupt.""Oh be nice. They brought us presents, didn't they?""And forgot to take theirs out of the pile…" Draco holds up a miniature box wrapped in Cannons-orange paper. "I hope they didn't smell like smoke because they burned our flat down."Harry snickers. "That was the smell of Hermione's cookies. I recognized the combination of flaked coconut and forgotten oven timer."Draco laughs as well, digging out his wand and resizing all the boxes. "Merlin, I'll always remember when Lovegood brought Scamander to dinner the first time, and she tried to do that tofu stir fry thing and set the stove on fire.""Mmm, good thing everyone likes that Indian takeaway on the corner.""A miracle Scamander came back for another dinner."They share a grin before diving into the boxes. Soon the room is filled with scraps of paper, and a pile of open boxes totters precariously at the side of the bed. Draco is congratulating himself on his haul when Harry clears his throat, holding something out to him. It is a box; flat and about the size of his hand, simply wrapped in matte silver paper."What's this?""You missed one, you berk."Draco frowns, certain the only way he could have missed it was if Harry had hidden it for some reason, but he rips the paper off, anyway. Inside is a plain white box, which he opens to reveal a silver pocket watch.He lifts the watch from the matting, examining the engraving until an inscription catches his eye: For Draco, for all time He blinks up at Harry, knowing his confusion is written on his face. "What's this?"Redness is climbing Harry's neck, reaching across his ears and cheeks but his voice is steady. "You're a Healer, and I know you can't wear a ring." He smiles at Draco's gobsmacked expression. "Marry me.""You fucking wanker." And the last thing he says before throwing himself across the pile of forgotten presents and snogging Harry silly is, "Yes."
1179967	Short Stories	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Marc-Andre Fleury, Maxime Talbot", "Fandom": "Hockey RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by NickDragonRise", "chapters": "2/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-11T00:00:00", "words": "1,401", "Additional Tags": "Short Stories", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Marc-Andre Fleury/Maxime Talbot", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Magnum Norco”Sid knew he said something wrong the millisecond his mouth closed. Well, he always knows, he’s not stupid. Sometimes it’s so easy to spot, like that time he told Flower how much fun he had in the shower with Matty.Flower literally crumbled on the floor, out of breath and purple in the face from laughing non stop for over ten minutes. What Sid really meant was: Matty was being silly and throwing soap at me, so we wrestled for a while and slipped and fell, but then we ended up sliding from side to side on the tiles, then Matty had the idea of throwing me a bottle of shampoo to make the floor more slippery, which lead to the curling game with said bottles of soap. God knows what Flower imagined. Probably something depraved or immoral. Not that he was against anything like that if it’s your cup of tea. He’s against Flower having these type of thoughts about him. Gross. Only Flower had laughed so much because Sid kept saying “Matty” with the most boyish and innocent doe eye the goalie ever saw on his captain.Sometimes it’s harder to catch the subtleties letting him know he screwed up though. He misses a lot of them. Mario usually let him know when they drive home, or Geno tease him in a corner of the locker room. Or in Mario’s office. Not that Sid really want to remember that time. It leads to grumbling. Then pouting. Sometimes when he’s poked and teased enough and flattered enough and cajoled enough… He would say very coldly that it happened only once. It was sarcasm, it wasn't suppose to be taken personally like that. He learned the lesson though, Sid assure right away. No more French sarcasm. Never. Ever. Again. Then everyone starts to laugh and someone would tell the story to whatever player or girlfriend that had not heard it yet or needed translation. Secretly, in his head, Sid always added: No French Around Talbot Policy; don’t forget. Dupuis still eyes him suspiciously when he sees his captain eating a croissants for breakfast. Tagner brings the story back every single year at the Christmas party. Asshole.But at that exact moment, Sid knew he was screwed as he’d ever be in his life. All the checkpoints from the “THIS IS A VERY BAD SITUATION ALERT ALERT ALERT” list were on “ALERT” status. The reflex he miraculously had, to close his eyes because five different mouth spitted beer spray were coming toward his face? That was “ALERT” number one. Anything involving the mouth; spitting, jaw dropping, pouting, weird mimics, was “ALERT” number one.The lost of sight had the effect of making his hearing slightly more accurate. Which made handling the level of how much decibel his ears can stand before stabbing his own eardrum with a skate blade tolerance level much lower. In a situation where the decibels level go from 50 to 120 in a fraction of seconds, let’s admit that better hearing is a very bad enhancement. That also covers the “NOISE ALERT ALERT” also known as number two. Number three, Sid had to actually open his eyes and scan the people’s face around him to gauge the reactions.There the lists gets complicated. It has three sections: “You Are Screwed”, “They Laugh At You” and “Blackout”. That’s what happened with the croissant story; total blackout. “They Laugh At You” is the most common one, the one he has to face in the locker room all the time. This was a “You Are Screwed” situation though. A situation where he would have needed his somehow disconnected connection to the global social beehive-mind-like that everyone has about things and stuff. Like what’s cool, laughing at the appropriate time, the latest TV show to watch that won all those prizes, what mean thing was popular to yell when someone trips and fall in a stack of garbage bags, the newest internet sensation video or clip or wine or slapchat or whatever. The “You Are Screwed” steps toward “Fucking Zen Calmitude” is first to disengaging his hearing. Just ignore everything everyone say. “Shut Your Mouth Protocol” is phase two. Let them laugh until they have to wipe their eyes or hold their rib cages because their diaphragms hurt. Let them repeat it over and over again, as if saying repeating it makes it funnier. Let them ran out of breath about how stupid it is. Just find a focal point and recite all the names of the treaties signed to end World War Two.Although, since the croissant incident, a new exception had been added to the You Are Screwed subsection. If Geno was there, Sid would automatically look toward him. Geno was great with those social clues and usually helped Sid to gauge how he should react from there. He usually gets a fond look, meaning he had said something silly, the guys will tease him a bit, but it will pass. Then there’s the the frown, bad news because it means “We’ll Talk Later” and Sid hated those. It ends mostly with him apologizing profusely. What Sid always hope for is the deep belly laugh when Geno understand his sarcasm or when he just generally understands him. That’s the best. Well maybe second best.The look he was getting right now could be qualified as… sultry? It was as if Geno was daydreaming about something depraving or very kinky. Contrary to Flower, Geno is allowed to have such thoughts about him. It’s even encouraged. Feeling his cheek heat up, Sid lower his gaze, fixing his half untied skate. Around him, his team mates are still dying of laughter. The Captain undid his skates as fast as he could, undressing rapidly under the hollering laughs.He’s running away in the shower, stuffing his face under the hot spray to drown his misery. A few seconds later, he can feel a presence to his side. Groaning, the Canadian athlete turn his head. Geno is standing next to him, his goofy and happy grin on.“Metal Rod. If I is stripper, my name is Metal Rod.”He winked, and started to wash his hair. Sid smiled and finished his shower, making a mental note to google strip-tease on youtube and maybe, just mabye… give it a try. Just for Geno. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- - Va-t-en.Les mosts sont froids, durs et sans pitié. Max ne reconnait plus Marc, son grand idiot au sourire éclatant avec ses chiklets parfaite caché derrière ses lèvres pincées par la rage. Le coeur brisé en mille miettes, Max fait un pas vers son amant, tendant sa main dans un ultime geste désespéré.- Marc, tu sais pas c’que tu dis, c’est le choc.Il ose faire non de la tête, ses mèches d’ébène voilant délicatement et éphèrement son visage fixé dans une expression si innabituellement distante.- Véro veux des flots Max. La nouvelle frappe comme une mise en échec par derrière, coupant le souffle, ôtant tout repères et bousoles. Faire demi-tour et prendre la fuite semble être la seule option. Sortir, claquer la porte, fuir, se cacher lâchement derrière les barrières orangés de haine qu’offre les Flyers. Baissant la tête, Max réalise sa défaite, âmers aux revoirs sur le bout de la langue.L’idée de vivre sans la présence de Marc traverse soudainement l’esprit de Max. Une peinture assombrit par la tristesse et la rancune, si ce n’était que les seuls troubleurs du futur dépeint sur un canevas basé sur la haine. Non, Max refuse de s’abaiser au même niveau, vivre dans le déni et la peur d’être découvert.- Félicitation Marc! Moi d’mon côté j’vais dire oui à la date qui m’a été offert.Rien de la part de l’autre homme, son regard froid et vide fixé dans un trou de pensées noires loin derrière Max. Ramasser ses maigres possessions dans nid d’amour secret, où ils ont vécu leurs passion charnelle ces dernières années, ne fût qu’une question de minutes, passé dans le silence. Au pas de la porte, Max hésite, main sur la poignée de porte, encore l’espoire de sauver leur amitiée dans l’âme.- J’vais y aller, je te texte quand j’land à Philly.Deux pas, relâcher et tel les fils du destin des Moires grecs, Max laisse la porte se refermer derrière lui, incertain du futur destin le liant à Marc, puisque le gardien possède les rouage pour tisser.
1149774	Free at last	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Nicholas Brody, Carrie Mathison", "Fandom": "Homeland", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by okelay", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-23T00:00:00", "words": "317", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence", "Relationship": "Nicholas Brody/Carrie Mathison", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply", "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"You know...when I was over there...in that hole...I'd think about my family...but now I think about you...about us, what it would look like""and what does it look like, in your head?""amazing...sometimes I imagine I'm free...away from everyone, finally resting...and happy. and you're there,too. the picture is not complete without you.""it does sound nice. are we on a beach? I always liked that idea""It could be a beach...we could sail or fish...have a little garden""I'd like that""Do you know how to sail?""My dad used to take me...""You could teach me""I don't remember much""Then we could learn together""That'd be nice""Yeah...""Hey Carrie?""Yes Brody?""Do you hate me?""Df course not""Good...does your family?""...I don't know"At first they keep moving, keep travelling,always changing.They meet others fugitives like them, running from past lives,and learn a few tricks. They find a beach somewhere secluded, in a country with no extradition.It's a nice lake in a very green place.They change their names and appearances and keep a low profile.They learn the language quickly and do their best to adapt.At first they are sue the CIA will bring down their door any day And make sure to be ready to run at a moment's notice.But nobody comes. everybody thinks they're dead.They are by themselves, they ignore the world and it returns the favour.They find peace. They have long conversations,read to each other from their favourite books. They keep each other warn during long cold winters.They learnto fish and cook and sail and all the things they always wanted to do and never could.They learn to trust one another.When they kiss, when they make love,when they say "I love you"They mean it.
1159609	Homestuck Skin	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by mercuryandglass", "chapters": "3/3", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-29T00:00:00", "words": "1,554", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The following is an example of what you'll be able to do with this skin: That started the background. Type what you want, but this font looks a bit strange, doesn't it? Do you want the Homestuck font? ===>Type in the Homestuck font. Now you can type with the Homestuck font. You can even colour text in this. You can also simulate the persterlogs with this function. Don't forget to never use the paragraph markers in this part. Instead, use the 'br' function. if you need to, you can always enter it twice, like this: You can type like any character you want. Just remember, Hussie and Grimbark Jade type with normal black text. Here're Eridan and Cronus being assholes. Here's Calliope cheering you on. Here's Caliborn being a douchebag, although not a complete douchebag because he hasn't kill Calliope yet. Here're Sollux being annoyed and Mituna being annoying. Fedorafreak types in this colour, although I can't imagine how useful this function will be... Dave, Lil Hal, ARquiusprite, and Equiusprite all type in this colour. Dirk, Calsprite, and Davesprite type in this colour. Here's the annoying colour that you need to highlight, as a certain Mr. Vanilla Milkshake likes to type in. Jade and Erisolsprite type in this colour, but not Grimbark Jade. Jake, Becsprite, and Jadesprite type in this colour. This is Jane and Nanasprite, but not Jane in Crocker Tier. Jaspersprite is weird in that he's the only one to type in this colour, although the pattern dictates that he should type in the same colour as Roxy. John and Tavrisprite both type in this colour. Crocker Tier Jane, Squarewave, and also future Karkat in the one conversation all type in the same colour as Kankri. Here's Karkat being loud. Here's Nepeta and Meulin being adorable. Here's Caliborn as a complete douchebag after killing Calliope. He stays like this even after becoming Lord English. :o) Here's these two adorable and psychotic clowns. Here's Kanaya and Porrim and also the Mothersprite. Here's Aradia and Damara and also Aradiasprite. Here's Tavros and Rufioh. Here's Feferi and Meenah and also the Condesce. Here's Terezi and Latula and also the Dragonsprite. Rose and Fefetasprite both type like this. Here's Roxy. Here's Vriska and Aranea and also Mindfang. Finally, here is Equius and Horuss and also Aradiabot. Do stuff without the backgroundYou can do that too.Here's the pesterlog thing outside the background. Here's some coloured textYou can even colour the text without the font. Or just be boring and write in black.Anyways. Have fun ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Go to your dashboard, and click "Skins", which can be found in the left sidebar on the desktop version of the browser, at the bottom of the first group of buttons (right under the greyed out "Dashboard" tab that lists "Profile", "Pseuds", and "Preferences"). If you're on mobile, this button can be found along the top of the page (although if you're confident to attempt this endeavour on mobile then I'm going to assume that you're already proficient enough with the system to no need further instructions and have clicked into this work solely to grab the CSS).Next, go into "My Work Skins" and select "Create Work Skin" (to the right of the page, above the line of buttons for selecting the various skin categories).The new page will allow you to input various information. First, for "Type", make sure "Work Skin" is selected. Next, enter whatever title you'd like EXCEPT "Homestuck Skin" (since that is the name of the public skin). Enter a description of the work skin if you want.Finally, in the large "CSS" box, copy and paste the following:#workskin .background { width: 100%; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; background: #EEEEEE; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 20px; } #workskin .command { text-align: center; width: 92%; font-weight: bold; font-size: 28px; font-family: courier new, courier; color: #000000; } #workskin .text { text-align: center; width: 92%; font-weight: bold; font-size: 14px; font-family: courier new, courier; color: #000000; } #workskin .block { font-weight: bold; font-size: 14px; font-family: courier new, courier; text-align: left; width: 84%; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; border: 1px dashed #808080; padding-top: 19px; padding-bottom: 19px; padding-left: 19px; padding-right: 19px; } #workskin .ampora { color: #6A006A; } #workskin .calliope { color: #929292; } #workskin .caliborn { color: #323232; } #workskin .captor { color: #A1A100; } #workskin .dad { color: #4B4B4B; } #workskin .dave { color: #E00707; } #workskin .dirk { color: #F2A400; } #workskin .docscratch { color: #FFFFFF; } #workskin .jade { color: #4AC925; } #workskin .jake { color: #1F9400; } #workskin .jane { color: #00D5F2; } #workskin .jaspersprite { color: #F141EF; } #workskin .john { color: #0715CD; } #workskin .kankri { color: #FF0000; } #workskin .karkat { color: #626262; } #workskin .leijon { color: #416600; } #workskin .lordenglish { color: #2ED73A; } #workskin .makara { color: #2B0057; } #workskin .maryam { color: #008141; } #workskin .medigo { color: #A10000; } #workskin .nitram { color: #A15000; } #workskin .peixes { color: #77003C; } #workskin .pyrope { color: #008282; } #workskin .rose { color: #B536DA; } #workskin .roxy { color: #FF6FF2; } #workskin .serket { color: #005682; } #workskin .zahhak { color: #000056; } ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Go to you Dashboard. Click "Post New". Fill in the required fields until you reach the "Associations" section.Under "Associations", you will find "Select Work Skin". Choose the name of the work skin that you created according to the instructions in Chapter 2. Do NOT select "Homestuck Skin", since that would be the public work skin, rather than the work skin that you just created.Under "Work Text", MAKE SURE YOU'VE SELECTED THE HTML TAB.Then, copy and paste the following:<p>The following is an example of what you'll be able to do with this skin.</p> <p> </p> <div class="background"> <p>That started the background. Type what you want, but this font looks a bit strange, doesn't it? Do you wan the Homestuck font?</p> <p class="command">===>Type in the Homestuck font.</p> <p class="text">Now you can type with the Homestuck font. <span class="docscratch">You can even colour text in this.</span></p> <p class="block">You can also simulate the persterlogs with this function.<br /> Don't forget to never use the paragraph markers in this part.<br /> Instead, use the 'br' function.<br /> if you need to, you can always enter it twice, like this:<br /> <br /> You can type like any character you want. Just remember, Hussie and Grimbark Jade type with normal black text.<br /> <span class="ampora">Here're Eridan and Cronus being assholes.</span><br /> <span class="calliope">Here's Calliope cheering you on.</span><br /> <span class="caliborn">Here's Caliborn being a douchebag, although not a complete douchebag because he hasn't kill Calliope yet.</span><br /> <span class="captor">Here're Sollux being annoyed and Mituna being annoying.</span><br /> <span class="dad">Fedorafreak types in this colour, although I can't imagine how useful this function will be...</span><br /> <span class="dave">Dave, Lil Hal, ARquiusprite, and Equiusprite all type in this colour.</span><br /> <span class="dirk">Dirk, Calsprite, and Davesprite type in this colour.</span><br /> <span class="docscratch">Here's the annoying colour that you need to highlight, as a certain Mr. Vanilla Milkshake likes to type in.</span><br /> <span class="jade">Jade and Erisolsprite type in this colour, but not Grimbark Jade.</span><br /> <span class="jake">Jake, Becsprite, and Jadesprite type in this colour.</span><br /> <span class="jane">This is Jane and Nanasprite, but not Jane in Crocker Tier.</span><br /> <span class="jaspersprite">Jaspersprite is weird in that he's the only one to type in this colour, although the pattern dictates that he should type in the same colour as Roxy.</span><br /> <span class="john">John and Tavrisprite both type in this colour.</span><br /> <span class="kankri">Crocker Tier Jane, Squarewave, and also future Karkat in the one conversation all type in the same colour as Kankri.</span><br /> <span class="karkat">Here's Karkat being loud.</span><br /> <span class="leijon">Here's Nepeta and Meulin being adorable.</span><br /> <span class="lordenglish">Here's Caliborn as a complete douchebag after killing Calliope. He stays like this even after becoming Lord English.</span><br /> <span class="makara">:o) Here's these two adorable and psychotic clowns.</span><br /> <span class="maryam">Here's Kanaya and Porrim and also the Mothersprite.</span><br /> <span class="medigo">Here's Aradia and Damara and also Aradiasprite.</span><br /> <span class="nitram">Here's Tavros and Rufioh.</span><br /> <span class="peixes">Here's Feferi and Meenah and also the Condesce.</span><br /> <span class="pyrope">Here's Terezi and Latula and also the Dragonsprite.</span><br /> <span class="rose">Rose and Fefetasprite both type like this.</span><br /> <span class="roxy">Here's Roxy.</span><br /> <span class="serket">Here's Vriska and Aranea and also Mindfang.</span><br /> <span class="zahhak">Finally, here is Equius and Horuss and also Aradiabot.</span></p> </div> <p class="command">Do stuff without the background</p> <p class="text">You can do that too.</p> <p class="block">Here's the pesterlog thing outside the background. <span class="makara">Here's some coloured text</span></p> <p><span class="kankri">You can even colour the text without the font.</span> Or just be boring and write in black.</p> <p>Anyways. Have fun</p>Upon pasting the above into the HTML input box, select preview, then save as draft. You'll see something rather similar to Chapter 1. By referencing between the results and the HTML above, you should be able to figure out most of the relevant commands. If you can't, I suggest that you seek out a basic HTML guide before proceeding with using this skin.
1117083	I Just Cant Be Happy	{ "Archive Warning": "Rape/Non-Con", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Kuwata Leon, Ensemble, Original Characters, Naegi Makoto, Fukawa Touko, Alter Ego (Dangan Ronpa), Asahina Aoi, Oowada Mondo, Celestia Ludenberg, Togami Byakuya (Dangan Ronpa), Hagakure Yasuhiro, Kirigiri Kyouko, Maizono's Father (Dangan Ronpa), Togami's Siblings (Dangan Ronpa), Fujisaki's Father (Dangan Ronpa), Kirigiri's Grandfather (Dangan Ronpa)", "Fandom": "Dangan Ronpa", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Teakay", "chapters": "5/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-03T00:00:00", "words": "25,719", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Past Sexual Abuse, past bullying, Victim Blaming, Survivor Guilt, Dysfunctional Family, Self-Hatred, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse", "Relationship": "Kuwata Leon/Maizono Sayaka", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Hope is no more behind a closed door", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The doctors who looked him over in the Tokyo Sanctuary Zone said he was an extremely lucky young man. He'd bounced back the very best that could be hoped for from the pummeling he'd gotten a couple months ago. He was lucky not to be stuck in a wheelchair. He was lucky that after taking multiple baseballs to the head his face had healed pretty much back to where it'd been before. He was lucky not to have serious brain damage from the baseballs or the constant throttling with the chain he'd stopped wearing. He was lucky to be alive.Not long before seeing the doctors, while Leon was settling in the tent they assigned to the boys, it'd occurred to him he didn't have to keep the piercings Junko Enoshima gave him. He burrowed into the threadbare sleeping bag and worked out the nipple and navel rings and tossed them to the tent floor hoping they would be quietly lost. After he took off his shirt at the hospital one of the doctors noticed the places where they'd been. That one at least didn't ask any awkward questions, though maybe that was only because he was a volunteer from Korea and didn't trust his Japanese that far. Either way after he talked about what might be done about the scatter of scars where Leon's skin had been torn open by the studs on his own belt, the scar in his right earlobe where Enoshima tore out one of his earrings, he gave him advice on DIY washes to help the holes heal faster and uninfected. They had the water and power up, and stacks of foreign donations. There'd be a whole lot more in Seoul. That was where they were headed, at least at first, once they got around to taking a plane from the patched-up wreck of Narita Airport. Most of the refugees who made it out of the country had landed in Korea. What was left of the imperial family and the National Diet had been flown there, too, and apparently Korean politicians were smug as hell about it. Others went to Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macau, Russia, mainland China, the Philippines. As far as America, as far as Europe. Togami was going with them for now but making plans for soon after, once the doctors and scientists in Seoul figured out how to do the operation to get everyone else's memories back without giving them concussions. He'd already invited his old classmates to stay at his family digs in France with an air of, how did they say it, noblesse oblige. It'd take a while to sort out what was left for him to inherit, but while he was working on that he had his own savings to fall back on. The money he'd had in Japanese banks and stocks and such was a lost cause but he'd kept a good chunk of it in other countries, a lot of them dinky ones like Singapore and Liechtenstein. Leon was surprised at first Togami'd spare a yen (or would it be a penny now, a cent, a won?) for the likes of him – Togami'd stopped being quite such an asshole in the last two years but he'd gone right back again and Leon knew he wouldn't have to be an asshole not to want him around – but the way Togami talked it was like a package deal, he might not give a shit about Leon himself but he was still part of the great big "you." Nobody had exactly turned down his offer yet. Fukawa was definitely up for it, if she could go. Celes was game too; she'd had some stashes of her own offshore, and wanted to see France for real. The rest of them had lost pretty much everything they'd had outside the school, down to their university savings, down to their kindergarten drawings. Oowada would've been most likely to say no – he'd never liked Togami even before what that fucker'd done to Fujisaki's body – but he'd lost most of his fire and had even less of a place than the rest of them to go because they hadn't even found his family. That was where their folks were right now, the ones who were still alive, in Seoul – so they were told by the Self-Defense Forces officer who met them in the Zone. Their homes were trashed for Enoshima to get ominous pictures, but the people there mostly escaped – she'd let them escape, like she'd let the rest of her class live for another year, and for reasons that were just about as selfless. There were exceptions: she'd killed Togami's dad straight off, Kirigiri's dad to kick off her televised mindfuck, though given the way Leon and Oowada and Celes had turned up they'd had to have Alter Ego go through the school database with a digital comb before they could be sure the bones Kirigiri found were real. Jin Kirigiri because he was headmaster of Hope's Peak and shut in there with them, and Ryuunosuke Togami because what with how Togami bragged about the pull his family had all over the world, he was by far the most likely to get in her way. Togami's mom was in France when the Incident blew its top, and stayed put, but the rest of them had stayed or been stuck in the waterlocked warzone Japan turned into almost overnight. The ones who might've left didn't, not while their kids were still holed up at the school. A whole bunch of them, ones who already lived in Tokyo and ones who didn't, found each other in the refugee camps nearest to Hope's Peak, as close as they could get considering how often people tried to break in and how much mess usually resulted. Celes's folks she nearly never talked about, the Yasuhiros, stayed in Tochigi, and Hagakure's folks likewise stuck to Tohoku, so they'd been some of the hardest to find.But they'd found them, and alive, too. The people trying to trace these things lost the trail of Oowada's parents in the early days of the despair outbreak. They knew for sure what happened to Oogami's dad: he'd died protecting the family dojo, keeping it safe for Oogami to come back to (Asahina let out a horrible little cry when she heard this), and took out like forty bear-headed Monominions before he went down. Among the survivors there were shattered limbs, blinded eyes, hideous scars. She didn't go after the rest until after each trial, once she'd wrung all the despair she could out of them watching their kids die or look like they had. She'd gone after Leon's parents and Maizono's dad after the first trial, Monominions attacking the camp (the officer managed to get Leon to laugh when he said "Your mother brained one with a skillet. I suppose it runs in the family." "It does," he'd said without effort, light as his laughter knowing she and Dad were alive, not even considering any other meaning there might be to runs in the family, "she used to play tennis."). They'd all three gotten on the next flight the UN people could wrangle; there were more foreigners coming in by the day now that the rest of the world had got their own shit together enough to start poking at the mess overseas, and more efficient ways to send people the other direction. It was easy to guess the pattern so they tracked down the rest and hustled out Fujisaki's dad, Yamada's mom, Kirigiri's grandpa, the Ishimarus, the Yasuhiros, the Hagakures, the Fukawas, the Asahinas, the Naegis. There were still cells of Super High School Level Despair scattered around the world but they were no longer nearly so coordinated as they'd been in the first awful days when it looked like everything would burn. Other countries had things under control by then and the tries the Monominions made in Korea failed miserably. Enoshima and Ikusaba's mother and father congregated with the other families, commiserated with them, mourned with them, were evacuated with them. They'd realized early on that the girl saying she was Junko Enoshima was her twin sister in a wig, but they didn't know what to make of it. Another thing they hadn't known what to make of then was that as far as they knew Ikusaba had been killed between Maizono and Leon but the Monominions hadn't paid the least bit of attention to them on their first attack. Their best theory was that they were being spared until they'd seen an equally horrible fate for their other daughter. But where was their other daughter?Within hours after finding out with the rest of the world, Junichiro Enoshima dangled from a ceiling fan and Shizuka Ikusaba bled out in a bathtub. *The doctors said physical therapy, to get back his old strength and flexibility. Leon hadn't realized how constricted his movements had become since the fake execution, how subdued, until they pointed it out. He'd been laid up for weeks with the broken limbs, chained to a bed, half-starved, and by the time he was on his feet again he'd about forgotten how effortless it was to move just as he liked before, loose and easy; it seemed as distant and impossible as when he flew in his happier dreams. Just the trek from Hope's Peak to the Sanctuary Zone left him exhausted. He'd kept his underwear on during the exams. They hadn't thought there might be a reason to take it off and he didn't tell them. He wasn't bleeding anymore. He could sit down and he could take a shit no problem. If Enoshima had the clap or something it'd probably have shown up by now. If he'd picked up diseases from the Monominions that one night he wasn't feeling them yet and there was no chance of him passing them on (unless someone else – but that highly hypothetical someone would have it coming, right?).They said there was nothing wrong with his brain but he was pretty sure there were things wrong in his head all the same. One step. Another step. A third. Looking too far ahead paralyzed him with the weight of it. He could get up in the morning, he could eat at the right times, he could wash, he could go to bed and stay there all night. He could go to Seoul and see his parents. He could tell them he was sorry. If he was feeling ambitious he could start to think that maybe he could face Sayaka Maizono's father and tell him how sorry he was what happened to her.How sorry he was he'd killed her. She hadn't stabbed herself in the gut.He could close his eyes and still hear Enoshima crow You killed her with your stupid! and the worst thing among hundreds of worst things was she hadn't been wrong. At breakfast on day two Kirigiri reported things were under control and cordoned off at the school. Aside from her father's bones and Enoshima rotting in the lower levels (let her rot), the bodies were planned to be sent along behind them in the near future. The food stores were still good, the edible plants in the greenhouse still flourishing, the generator and plumbing still going strong, and the other refugees would welcome it. There were hopes that with Enoshima dead the Sanctuary Zone could expand to include Hope's Peak as another home base. Everything they'd thought they had to leave behind could be retrieved. Their things could follow them or maybe even come with them – Leon couldn't keep himself from thinking of the electric guitar, the mike that had gathered dust for months. They wouldn't have to go back for their stuff. There were people to take care of all that for them. So much for his Plan B of running back in and holing up just like they'd been meant to all along. What would those people make of the room underneath the execution chambers with only one bed and no walls around the bathroom? It looked cushy. It was cushy, the same way as the rest of the school. How about the fancy TV and trappings? How about the bottle of whiskey? The vibrator Enoshima once told him to jerk off with? The footage where he screamed and cried and shoved a dildo up his own ass?How much did they already know? Did they hear on TV what Genocider Syo yelled about boys fucking? Him and Oowada had ended up at the foot of their long table, picking at their trays and not looking at each other. Celes sat near the others to try and prove she didn't give a flying fuck, that she didn't feel anything, that she didn't flail around or try to scream in her sleep. He'd been friends with Oowada before. They'd stayed like friends down there, even after he knew what Oowada did to Fujisaki (sometimes he thought he and Oowada were just as bad as one another, comrades in horrible arms, but other times he thought: no, there was no way Fujisaki had tried to so much as scratch Oowada, no way the dumbbell just slipped, and it didn't matter there that they'd forgotten they were friends because you didn't do that to people who weren't friends, either, unless you hated their guts in a way Fujisaki would never have deserved). They'd held on to each other, looked out for each other, because they had no one else left. Now, though, especially after what Enoshima made them do one of the last days locked up, they hardly spoke. Oowada had tried, just before they left. Leon told him to fuck off. And there they stood. Or sat. Kirigiri approached. She stopped close enough for him to know she was there, far enough away so he didn't feel crowded (it was a lot easier for him to feel crowded, these days, in the before he'd been the one who crowded other people). She leaned over beside him and said in her these-are-the-facts way, "Our friend knows the importance of privacy," and was gone. Kirigiri knew. Of course she did. He wouldn't be surprised if somehow she knew more about it than even him. It was nice to know, though, that some of it wouldn't get out, that Alter Ego would keep a secret for his sake. Most of the showers and sinks running out here sputtered out tepid water. The bars of soap always seemed to be down to slivers and the push-top bottles always seemed near empty. The lines snaked back and forth. Despite valiant efforts everything stank. One thing about Hope's Peak, one thing about that cushy cell, was that their facilities were well-stocked and clean and worked right. He caught himself thinking this and could've kicked himself. Everyone else in the Zone was running around pulling their weight, doing everything from rebuilding apartments to tending vegetable patches in the broken streets, but they actively discouraged him. Said things like no, no, he'd done quite enough. Done quite enough. They said it to the others who'd come out of Hope's Peak but not so firmly. Celes and Togami and Hagakure seemed to take them at their word. Oowada still had plenty of muscle and there always seemed to be something a guy could do in the way of heavy lifting and so on if he was persistent enough about it. What was left of his gang was sticking with him through everything. Kirigiri stared them down. Naegi and Asahina pushed their way in out of sheer earnestness but they joined forces when it came to him – it's fine, Kuwata-kun, rest, get back your strength, and he didn't know how to tell them he'd had it up to here with resting or that he'd never be strong again. He managed to argue himself back to the school with Oowada and the Crazy Diamonds to help move things because it was reasonable to pack his own stuff, wasn't it, even if he didn't have to, and Celes and Hagakure came along for the same reason because Celes didn't trust anyone with her fancy things and Hagakure had "highly sensitive divination equipment" that needed to be persuaded to behave. Once Leon did that they pushed him to the side again, wouldn't let him help carry even the smallest of the sacks of supplies they loaded up in the trucks, he hadn't thought it was possible to get more awkward with Oowada but it was. Things were as quiet with Celes as ever. Hagakure talked loud but seemed almost scared of him; maybe he still thought Leon was a ghost, but Leon didn't think it was something he could brush off so easy as Hagakure being a weirdo. The looks from the regular people who saw the room didn't help, even though he knew they'd be coming. He knew they had to be thinking he was a lucky fucker, having the foresight to kill someone instead of getting killed for real, getting to live in the lap of fucking luxury. Or maybe they were imagining him and Celes and Oowada in bed together. They sent him back with the first fleet of trucks. Even counting the hours he didn't actually do anything that took up only half a day. The Zone rationed gas and kerosene but not electricity (the Monominions had deliberately spared that too, to power the TVs, what was the point of a broadcast no one could watch?) so he could play albums in his boombox or games on his handheld but when he tried he felt like an even bigger douchebag. He thought of talking to Alter Ego, part of him liked the idea, but Alter Ego was off getting his electronic brain picked under Kirigiri's supervision. What a waste of everyone's time that'd be, him barging in on things, especially since he didn't even know what to talk about. He lay on the sleeping bag, a useless lump, and wondered why he'd used to be so desperate to live. Near noon of day three the media descended. He was lucky it took that long. What'd he expect? Their job was getting in everywhere. He'd seen people like them on TV before, reporting from places like the place this was now. He saw them with Celes near their tents as he came back from the restroom, shoving cameras and mikes in her face. From what he could hear they were asking about what it was like to murder two people to get out of a place and then find out you'd shut yourself in that same place for your own good. Do you really feel no remorse at all? Did you really kill those boys for a cosplay vampire castle? Celes didn't sound upset as she answered but that didn't mean an awful lot. What he wouldn'tve given for Naegi's hoodie. That might've at least done something about his hair, his earrings. It wouldn'tve done anything, though, for him bolting in a panic, which was what he did next. That made absolutely sure they noticed him. He was so busy freaking out that it took a while to hear one of them calling after him – "Excuse me – excuse me – Kuwata-san? This is –" He pushed himself even harder. The established people in the Zone gaped at him, after him, he could feel their eyes on him like he'd felt them those days before. He was being ridiculous, of course, goddamn ridiculous. Fleeing from the press was the kind of thing that ended up online set to wacky music. But he kept running and jumping and running some more until his legs were screaming and his lungs were empty and the ache in his side felt like he'd been clobbered by an axe, and he just couldn't go any longer and he hadn't made it nearly as far as he knew he could've, once. He stumbled behind a wall of stacked rice sacks and into the smoky underside of yet another tarp on poles. There were people cooking and handing out lunches, and people waiting in line to take them, and they stared like the rest. He hadn't had lunch and didn't want it. Maybe he could get some anyway and pretend to be too busy stuffing his face to – that was the second stupidest plan he'd ever come up with. He slid to the ground with his back to the sacks and put his face in his hands. They caught up and found him like that and one of them was just starting in when above him one of the lunch ladies said, cold enough to make him shiver before he understood what she was saying, "I don't think he wants to talk to you.""We'd just like to get –""I don't think he wants to talk to you. Now, would you like to help with something?"A little ways off someone else said, "Hey, now they know who she is I hear they're gonna get off their asses and take in Genocider Syo! Why don't you check that out, huh?"He didn't know then if that was true or not, but he knew this other person sounded convincing enough, and his pathetic huddled figure was boring enough, and the lunch lady was intimidating enough, that the reporter and his entourage left in search of bigger prey. "Thanks," he mumbled when he was pretty sure they were gone. The lunch lady stuck a plate in front of him and went back to her work before he could tell her he didn't want it. He dutifully cleared it with his head down. If he didn't look up he couldn't see any more staring. If he couldn't see it maybe just maybe it wasn't there.Togami was holding court with some more reporters when Leon slipped back over to the boys' tent. Those noticed him, too, but Togami raised his voice just a fraction and drew their attention back to him. Leon didn't know whether or not Togami meant that as any kind of kindness but he appreciated it either way. Inside, he pawed through the clothes he'd brought. Not much luck there; like with his hair and his piercings, he'd always chosen his clothes to draw attention. There wasn't even a single turtleneck to cover the fading bruises. And there was nothing at all he could do about his hair. He thought for a moment about chopping it all off, halfway through that moment shook off his instinctive revulsion at the idea because it wasn't like he didn't deserve it and a whole lot more. But for a long while the go-to picture of him floating around the Internet had been one they took his first time at Summer Koshien, when he was next to bald, so how much good would that do? Dye, maybe, to get it back to unremarkable brown or maybe black, but who the hell'd have dye on hand out here? One breath, two breaths, three, four, five. At dinner with everyone recongregated at the table he found out what the one guy said was true – what was left of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police had gotten themselves together and arrested Fukawa, being sure to confiscate her scissors, because out here that was still what you did with serial killers. The run-of-the-mill one-or-two-people killers they were leaving alone for now. Still, Leon wasn't the only one who was vaguely amazed to hear it. They'd gotten so used to Genocider Syo traipsing all over the place with impunity it'd just settled in as how things worked. How things worked now was she was still leaving with them, under guard, whenever the plane could take off. He didn't get all the loopy legalese that'd get her in a Korean jail, he thought there was something about how one of the guys she'd scissored to death was Zainichi and had family over there, but if she was going to break out better that it was in a place with things set up to deal with her than in a refugee hub surrounded by bear-headed anarchy. That was logical enough, but he hoped she wouldn't have to sit near them. Fukawa's second personality only came out after he was "executed" so she hadn't had much time to leer at him and call him things like Red-kun and Rei-chan. She'd done it enough after he got out for him to know he hated it. It made him remember Enoshima saying things like our dear Sayaka-chan. Togami and Celes were having a tense exchange in French. Oowada had returned from the school today with a black eye and a bloody nose and that was the next item on the agenda, as Naegi and Kirigiri got out of him that while he was unloading someone recognized him even with his hair down and promptly went berserk until the other Diamonds pulled him off. Because what kind of rotten punk who's supposed to be a man goes and kills a little kid like that, huh, he recited word for word. And then – this took even more doing to get out of him – one of the Diamonds, one of the more assholish ones, said something about Fujisaki that Oowada refused to repeat, and that kicked off another brawl which ended in the guy handing over his gang coat acting all wounded and shit, hey boss I thought we were buddies why're you throwing me under the bus over that shrimpy little – Leon wished he'd been wasting his time over there, he could've felt like he was doing something useful or upstanding punching that fucker with whatever force was left in his skinny arm. Naegi said, "Oowada-kun..."Hagakure said, "At least the reporters're all busy now with Fukawa-chi, hey?" He frowned. "Unless they come back and talk to us about it..."Togami said, "Then talk to them about aliens until they leave.""There's good news as well," said Kirigiri. "Activity from Super High School Level Despair has plummeted. The SDF believes their numbers are depleted by mass suicide. This means we should be able to leave tomorrow. Be ready."The next morning the reporters waited outside ready to make everyone run the gauntlet to a reinforced highway bus that might've made the trip to Narita hundreds of times before. Their SDF escorts had managed to finagle their way through, and did their best guiding them back. By some unspoken consensus Naegi and Kirigiri went first and took the brunt of the first rush. "Naegi-san, Kirigiri-san, do you have any comment on the arrest of your classmate?"Kirigiri kept going, never quite hitting anyone with the briefcase that held Alter Ego's laptop, while Naegi did the talking; the pair of them made a vanguard through the crowd. Naegi didn't talk about Fukawa at all, mostly chattered about how glad he'd be to see his parents and his little sister again, how he was sure everyone was glad to reunite with their families, and this got them maybe two-thirds of the way through before some of them got really insistent. "If you'd rather not talk about your time with Genocider Syo, do you have anything to say about the other killers in your midst?"Hagakure shoved his way in at that point, waving his arms, flapping his jacket about. "Okay, okay, let me tell you all about what's in our midst!"Leon took everything he ever might've said or thought back and back and back. Hagakure was fucking awesome. He knew how to get attention and keep attention and his gesture-laden story about false advertising and aliens abducting his burger got them all the way to the bus. By the time the reporters started trying to get through him Leon had already jumped on and joined the line in the aisle, hurrying past Fukawa sitting handcuffed just behind the driver with five SDF guys taking up the rest of the row. One by one Naegi and Kirigiri and Togami turned aside and took their seats, which left him a clear path to the back. He dropped into a seat just a row ahead of the restrooms (would it be too much to ask for them to still work?), dropped his duffel bag beside him. He watched the others stake out their spots – Asahina, Hagakure. Celes sat just behind Fukawa. Oowada beelined for the back too, until he saw Leon and deliberately sat down a couple rows forward on the other side of the aisle. He could take a hint. Some of the original lacy curtains were still on the bus windows. Others had been replaced with large tacked-up rectangles of burlap that did the job as well. Someone had thought ahead and closed them all beforehand, shielding them from the reporters and possibly from Monominions. More SDF guys came in. The bus doors closed behind them; they looked around to check that everyone was settled and then settled themselves in empty rows. Seatbelts buckled and they started to move at the speed of rush-hour traffic back when Tokyo had a rush hour. A lot of the roads were damaged and the SDF needed to scout ahead, check for ambushes and mines and that kind of thing. The rest of their stuff from the school was boxed up under their feet in the baggage hold. Last he heard the bodies in the biology lab would go to Narita once they figured out how to keep them frozen the whole trip. Well, things had gone along this far, might as well give their folks the prettiest corpses they could. Leon put his seat back and shut his eyes and tried to practice falling out of the world. The SDF kept provisions in the overhead racks; around noon they brought down bento boxes and handed them out like flight attendants. Leon set his aside next to the duffel for when he felt hungry and picked up about where he left off, which wasn't much. It was a little weird when he thought about it. He remembered being so hungry after the fake execution, bedridden at Enoshima's mercy. For a while he'd been doped up and living off the IV, and Enoshima kept him starving for a while after that as what was left of his body kept melting off his bones. He remembered begging her for food and water when he wasn't begging her not to hurt him. That one time when he tried to refuse an order she left him starving and thirsting in the dark until he gave in. He'd cared about food a lot, back then. It wasn't until after she started letting him into the kitchen during Night Time, until he could decide what he wanted to eat and how much, that he started losing his appetite. In the days since they left the school he couldn't remember feeling hungry at all. He'd been strong once, hadn't he? Strong in body at least, and back then he could at least pretend that he was strong-willed and strong-minded and all that. He'd been strong, he'd been fast. He had the best pitching arm Koshien ever saw and his legs, too, could run so very quick even if he paid for it later. He had real muscle then, not as obvious as some people but wiry and definitely there. His bones were straight and his neck was straight and his head was high and his eyes were bright and he smiled and smiled and smiled and never cried not once. He didn't get sad back then, he got mad. Like when they boxed him in at Summer Koshien and said: we took a vote, Kuwata, and there's no time to do anything about the color but you're not going out there looking like a Yankee delinquent, and shoved the clippers in his hand and wouldn't let him out of the locker room until nearly all of his hair was on the floor or clinging to his jersey. He'd gone in furious, pitched furious, batted furious, because he might look like a dumbass but there was no way he was going to slink off the field like a dumbass with the consolation prize of a handful of dirt. He didn't cry then, not for a second, he needed his eyes. He was fifteen then. He'd hated them all since that day and thought they must hate him too, hated them until he was too busy to remember to hate them. Maybe if he saw them again, nearly three years on, he'd think different. But it'd make sense if they'd hated him. Not like he'd ever joined in with the team bonding. The first-year hotshot who thought he was too good for them and too good for rules like the ones about hair dye and uniforms, that was what they must've thought. The next March, the last day at that school, two weeks to go before the train to Tokyo and from there Hope's Peak. He'd been getting ready ever since he got the letter. His hair had grown back out and either they'd been satisfied with that one time or the coach had had a word (the coach had a word with him, too, after Koshien, because he knew how Leon was about his hair, but Leon knew better than to whine or snitch – the guys took a vote, he said, like that was that, the cost of living in a democracy). He'd gotten all the piercings he'd planned out so many times (figured the cost for, picked out the top-reviewed studio). He'd ordered the gear he'd bookmarked online, the guitar and the mike and the amps and all that. And he'd turned around in the middle of the front gate and waved at the school at large and yelled something he no longer remembered exactly but still had the gist of – "Fuck all you sonsabitches, fuck you very much," something like that, and he'd run home laughing. Those guys were the worst, he'd thought. He'd had no idea what the worst was. He woke to the explosion and was on the floor of the bus almost before he knew it, even before one of the soldiers began to yell for everyone to get down, ambush. The rattle-tat-tat of machine guns outside and he knew the sound of the bullets hitting something, someone. The covered windows meant they couldn't be aimed at inside the bus, but it also meant they had even less idea what was going on. "Fukawa!" Togami's voice was tight. "Don't look."Leon looked, clinging to the seat as the bus swung around. Up front, blood had splashed across the windshield along with other things that looked disturbingly solid; as he watched the wipers started to move. Limbs in the aisle – Asahina's sneakered foot, Kirigiri's gloved hand, arms and legs in the worn SDF uniforms. That someone kept yelling: stay down, stay calm. He'd do better yelling it at himself, Leon managed to think. Then something else blowing up behind him brought him back down. "Celes-san!" Naegi. "Celes-san, please get down, it's dangerous – !"Naegi had said they were safe. He hadn't lied. But he hadn't known. They'd come to a stop. Pounding echoed from all sides – something, someone, a lot of things, a lot of someones, hitting the outside of the bus again and again and again and again and – – and it jerked him off the ground again and his eyes rolled back further and glimpsed something else – a scoreboard, really, a scoreboard? And his back slammed into something long and narrow and cold and his legs dropped and he fell for only a second before more things, black bands, snapped around him held him with his feet pointing down straining to touch the floor with his arms trapped against his chest his hands still scrabbling at the collar and the spotlights clicking on and the chain-link gates slamming shut in front of him. And he tried to struggle but there was no give in the bands at all and he could barely breathe with the collar pulled tight holding his head back against the post with the rest of him and he stared ahead – had that been there before no he would've smashed into it – and what was it – what was it – oh – oh nononono – and Monobear in a cap with a bat over its shoulder – and everyone on the other side of the fence, staring like they stared when he'd lunged forward against the drag of the collar his hand outstretched into empty air screaming nonono I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die – – and he would've kept screaming it then: I don't want to die! No! Please! Help me! I'm begging you! except he didn't have the air and the cannon started firing before he did again and again and again so when he got a breath in it went out again screaming without words because his arms and his legs and his ribs and his guts all, all – too much it was too much but again and again and again they kept coming and he couldn't breathe and he realized in flashes of thought in between blows with his eyes screwed shut that not one of them had hit his head, his face, probably planned that way, and for the next too-long seconds he prayed not for his life but for the balls to smash his skull in quick and end it – except in the split second before they did, as he opened his eyes and saw them coming – no no no I take it back I take it all back please please I'm only sixteen I didn't mean to I didn't I don't want to die I don't want to die – "Don't look." Togami's voice close now, tighter, more tension, most people that much tension would've broken by now with a shout. "Don't look."Even closer to him another high desperate noise from the back of someone else's throat. Leon drew himself further in, knees to his chest, arms over his head, and shook and whimpered and didn't look. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Someone touched him, kept touching him, he tried to pull away but there was nowhere to pull away to, they followed him, they grabbed his arms and forced his head up and said things at him but they couldn't make him open his eyes. Then they picked him up and carried him and he didn't struggle, just kept himself tucked small as he could so they wouldn't drop him. They set him down finally on metal, with his back to a metal wall. He pressed himself against it. Far away someone moved, someone talked, something slammed, something rumbled. "Kuwata-kun? Kuwata-kun, can you hear me? We're at Narita. The plane's ready."He blinked and peered up from under the flimsy shelter of his arms (pinned like they were they'd shielded his ribcage only a little and now they shielded even less). Naegi peered back. He lowered his arms, raised his head, blinked again around the big metal box open on one side. Inside the box were piled more boxes, in a variety of shapes of rectangle and sizes tending to the large, marked with names. One of those names was his. Outside it was evening. Outside people talked, called out. "Where're we now? 'sides Narita.""It's an armored truck," said Naegi readily. "From a bank, they used it to carry money. They put us in here to go the rest of the way after those... those people attacked the bus. Not as comfy, but... the cargo people will be over soon..."Someone had been thoughtful enough to leave his duffel next to him. He picked it up and slung the strap on his shoulder. "Okay. Done being crazy."Naegi frowned. "Oh, and, um, Hagakure-kun ate your bento, sorry about that, but there's a lot more on the plane.""Okay." He'd completely forgotten about that, that he was supposed to eat it. He didn't miss it. There were a bunch of planes on the tarmac but only one that was open with the stairs going up into the cabin and lights inside; as they walked over Hagakure and then Oowada got in, leaving them last. Leon hadn't been to Narita before but he'd been to Kansai International, been on planes, on vacations, visiting relatives in America. This one looked much smaller than the ones he remembered. It was only going to Korea, it wouldn't have to make it across the Pacific. And it had to hold a lot fewer people. Holding a lot fewer people meant a lot more room even in such a small plane. The seats were huge, to start, with an incredible amount of space between them. The three new guys keeping an eye on Fukawa looked like they didn't know whether to be comfortable or not. Fukawa just stared down at her cuffed hands or her skirt or the floor. Leon glanced around for an empty seat; Oowada and Celes had already taken two of the four closest to the corners of the cabin. Togami was close to the third, up in front, but he was on his feet and talking to a woman Leon didn't recognize, not looking very happy. The fourth, in the back across from Oowada, was still empty. Leon hurried down the wide aisle. The way things were set up the rows were only one seat on each side of the aisle, six down each side; two by six made twelve. He sat down and was about to stuff his duffel under the seat until he saw the electric socket in the armrest. When he looked forward he saw that Kirigiri was already plugging in Alter Ego's laptop, nodding briefly to Naegi as he took the seat across from her. With the seats so far apart he wasn't sure how the tray tables would work until he found the one in his, that flipped out and over from the side. He flipped it back for the moment and unzipped the duffel to dig out his handheld and the headset. Togami sat down. The woman stayed standing at the front of the plane, at the head of the aisle, and cleared her throat. She looked part-foreign the same way Togami did, though she was dark-haired where he was blond, and she was dressed the same crisp way, in an expensive-looking suit and shoes. She looked maybe thirty, tops. When she addressed them in a carrying voice she had some kind of accent he couldn't place and her Japanese was just a bit stilted. "I'm pleased to have your acquaintance. My name is Naomi Rothenberg, and I'm Vice President of Marketing for the Rothenberg Group." Some confused noises. Celes said, "The German corporation.""Precisely, Ludenberg-san." Hearing the names so close together, they sounded very similar. Leon squinted. "We've contributed to the support of the Tokyo Sanctuary Zone since its initial establishment. We're pleased to extend what helping hands we can to our brothers and sisters in Japan –"Togami snorted. Rothenberg continued unperturbed. "– and not only am I the copilot on this flight, I'll do everything I can to ensure your continued comfort and wellbeing once you're there." "That won't be necessary," said Togami.In the seat in front of Leon, Hagakure leaned forward; Leon could tell by the shift of his mass of hair. "It's not?" "The Togami family is perfectly capable of taking care of its own.""Come now, the competition is over. You won't die if you accept a helping hand, Byakuya-chan."They both switched to a different language then. Togami sounded pissed off and Rothenberg sounded smug. Leon couldn't follow it but was pretty sure it was French, "le" this and "a la" that. Asahina repeated, "Byakuya... chan?" "At any rate," Rothenberg turned to them again, speaking Japanese again, with the kind of perky smile that had Leon shrinking back in his seat, "We can offer you a galley up front, restrooms in the back, satellite Internet service, sadly no in-flight shopping –" She got a little laugh from Asahina. "– and sadly no lounge, though all your seats can swivel three hundred and sixty degrees and you may use electronic devices at any time. We'll be in the air for approximately three hours and we sincerely hope you enjoy your flight. Also, as a safety measure, please refrain from opening your window blinds until the plane has left the ground."Once Leon felt the lift he immediately slid up the plastic cover of his window. He'd turned his seat to face it; this way there was no facing anyone else. The sparse lights of Narita dwindled into the scattered lights of Tokyo at large. He alternated between staring into the growing dark and the blinking light on the wing of the jet and replaying his new favorite levels of Project: Zombie, the ones where the rhythm wasn't too easy or hard and you didn't see that much of the main character, the rock singer with an undead harem, the one he used to think looked incredibly badass brandishing a microphone and a whip. A little while after the plane evened out, while the game loaded something in silence, he heard a light and familiar voice; he craned his neck around the back of the seat and saw Naegi and Asahina and Hagakure gathered around Kirigiri and Alter Ego. Kirigiri had turned her seat outward so that her back was to the window; the others conversed in low voices while she typed and Alter Ego replied. He thought of getting up and joining them, but his legs didn't move. He turned off the handheld and sat staring back out the window listening to Alter Ego saying things like yes, it's still lovely to see you again, and I'm terribly excited to go out into the world with you, I'm so glad it's not as bad everywhere as we feared it was. It's horrible what happened to the rest of Japan, but at least that was the worst of it, and, oh! This is the Internet? There's so much here! At some point Kirigiri said, a little louder than the people around her and therefore audible, "I can answer that."Asahina next, her voice rising to match Kirigiri's. "Really? What is it? Who is she?""I researched this for a previous case. Rothenberg-san is Togami-kun's eldest half-sister."Leon glanced around the seat back again to see if Togami had anything to add to that. If he'd reacted at all, Leon couldn't see it from here. Naegi said, "Oh!"Across from him Oowada said, just barely audible, "That girl? Shit.""She said Togami-kun's family was destroyed," said Naegi, his voice rising another level, the way it did when he put something together. "And we know that wasn't quite right because we know now Togami-kun's mother is alive. She wasn't technically a Togami, though, she, ah... had her maiden name. And this... he told me – didn't you, Togami-kun? – that all his older brothers and sisters were... they were disowned. They weren't part of the family anymore. So some of them are alive, too.""Wait," said Oowada, louder. "Wait a second, disowned? All of them?"Togami deigned to speak, and matched volumes again; it sounded off that way, from Byakuya Togami who tried to play everything cool. "Of course. They were weak and unworthy of the Togami name."Naegi said, "Togami-kun –"Celes threw in her two yen from the other front seat. "Despite her weakness, Mademoiselle Rothenberg seems to be doing well for herself. Her mother's family is nothing to scoff at. Also..." Singsong, "she has yet to 'make an ass of herself on live television.' I did translate correctly?"Togami made a noise like he was about to say something to that but didn't. All the while Kirigiri had been typing. "There's a list," said Alter Ego. "Five of Togami-kun's brothers and sisters are confirmed to have survived the aftereffects of the 'Worst, Most Despair-Inducing Incident in the History of Mankind.' Four others are suspected of collaborating with Super High School Level Despair, and their whereabouts are currently –"Togami interrupted, flat and cool again. "Which ones?""Rothenberg-san is alive, of course. The other four known survivors are Katsuya Shimizu, Arisa Lau, Maria Sokolova, and Ryouta Kim. The missing persons under suspicion are Noboru Takahashi –""I see."Hagakure said, "Um, I don't."Leon stared. Kept staring. Behind him Naegi talked to Oowada. Naegi sounded earnest. Oowada sounded terse. Blink. Blink. Blink."Kuwata-kun?""Huh?"Naegi leaned in from the side with another tray to put on top of the tray table. Not a crappy disposable sectioned tray either. A can of cola and a cup nearly full of ice cubes (maybe all airlines did that, ice the shit out of the cups to get away with putting in less soda, but that didn't matter in this case because the whole can was right there). A bowl of steaming beef and potato stew and a smaller bowl of rice just as hot. A thick wedge of double-chocolate cake. "I, um, I asked Oowada-kun what he remembered you liked," Naegi whispered. "It's around dinnertime now. I hope you don't mind.""Oh. Thanks." Naegi smiled at him and withdrew. Leon felt a little bit hungry now. He ate. He did like this kind of stew. Before April he hadn't had any meat besides the occasional chicken for months – everything else ran out quick, even the stuff in the freezer, leaving just the little fish flickering in the sealed restroom aquariums they'd half-seriously contemplated prying open. (He remembered dinner in the cafeteria the evening they'd chopped up the very last pieces of beef in a stir-fry, how Naegi offered the strips in his share to a disconsolate-looking Asahina, how Ikusaba slipped out her wit in that way she had, like flipping open a pocketknife, and made a crack about herbivore men. Somehow that turned into half of them trying to set it to music while Naegi blushed along with Fujisaki, who'd been roped in beside him owing to being the most herbivorous boy in the building. Maizono and Enoshima belting out in English with their arms around each other's shoulders Herbivore man, herbivore man, doing the things an herbivore can – )(No. No. Stop it.) After that in the few days before Maizono and the trial he remembered eating it in the cafeteria, remembered thinking well at least the slop here's decent. And after that sometimes he'd thrown some together in the kitchen during Night Time. He did like cake, too, sweeter the better, and cola; the cola had a longer shelf life plus they'd rationed it very careful. They might not have actually had much less of it after Enoshima started her thing, but it wasn't as easy to see how much they had (had left). You had to stand there feeding tokens into the prize machine hoping it'd decide to spit out the familiar red-and-white can instead of earmuffs or dolls or some shit. Or after that maybe Enoshima would give you a can as a reward for particular spinelessness – stop it. Bite after bite. Drink after drink. Eventually he emptied the tray and he got up and went up the aisle to return it to the galley, watching the floor where he'd take his next step. They parted ways with Fukawa when the plane landed at Incheon. Her guards took her off first. Just before they left she whispered something to Togami and Togami, looking uncomfortable, whispered something back. Rothenberg had arranged for a bureaucrat to come take care of their paperwork on the plane and a limousine to drive straight onto the tarmac for the rest of them and take them to the skyscraper hotel where their families were being put up, also by the Rothenbergs. Two exceptions: Fukawa's family who'd moved themselves out around the time they found out about Genocider Syo, and Togami's mom by herself in another five-star place but rest assured she'd be over there this evening to greet them. Before all this, he knew, he would've been excited to hear it – a fancy hotel, an actual limo. It arrived just in time, Rothenberg informed them as they lined up in the aisle with their bags, Kirigiri holding Alter Ego packed up again; people keeping an eye out around the airport had caught wind of Fukawa coming through and now they were on the hunt. They should get moving; the rest of their boxes and bags could follow later. They all hurried but when he glanced across the stretch he could see camera flashes. He looked away, down, caught between making a run for it and staying in the crowd; in the end he stayed and they all crowded up to the doors and into the limo together. Rothenberg introduced them to the driver, a Westerner, said she was going to stay and distract the press and she didn't have to say she'd distract them with talk about how the Rothenberg Group was so incredibly awesome and incidentally their VP of Marketing wasn't an asshole who fucked around with dead murdered bodies playing serial killer. She waved to them and said one last French thing to Togami and closed the door she was holding. They pulled the other doors closed themselves – slam, slam, slam – and tumbled into the seats. The seats here were smaller and closer together than on the plane. Leon ended up between Asahina and Hagakure. The windows were tinted and came with more curtains. Most of the curtains they pulled down, but not Celes, who held hers aside and looked through the gap with her face so close it nearly pressed into the glass. There weren't reporters waiting for them in the hotel garage, probably because of the security; fancy place like this was used to handling famous people and all the shit they came with. The driver muttered updates into his headset, went with them into the swanky elevator all gleaming with mirrors and dark wood and brass rails, handed out room keycards, explained things in brief. They had suites on the twenty-fourth through twenty-sixth floors; their closest family members had pretty much taken over there, some of them had a few other relatives scattered on other floors, and leftover suites on twenty-four through twenty-six went to extra security people. If any remnants of the Korean Monominion cells tried anything, they'd do it here. They could call the hotel staff and get pretty much anything delivered, the staff was used to dealing with Japanese people on business so you could always get hold of someone who spoke the language, or English in a pinch, and there was a very nice Japanese restaurant on the second floor, they should deliver upstairs as well... "Miss Rothenberg" would cover everything. Togami twitched. Hagakure lit up, saying, "Seriously? Everything?" and Asahina looked sidewise at him and wondered aloud if the Rothenberg Group would soon be ruing this day. Leon almost opened his mouth, almost chimed in – he remembered how Hagakure had this tendency to make a lot and spend it just as fast, on things that "seemed like a good idea at the time," just try and imagine him with someone else's wallet – he caught himself. The elevator stopped a few times before they reached the twenty-fourth floor. No more camera flashes though Leon glimpsed one gaping guy around their age hold up his cell phone. The driver stood in front of the doors saying things in different languages like so sorry, we're full up. Which wasn't quite true but his tone brooked no argument. Leon had squeezed into a back corner, wishing he was smaller, but he managed to arrange himself behind Hagakure and his hair so that was all right.The panel above the door beeped over from 23 to 24. Leon checked his keycard. Room 2605. He put it in his pocket and leaned further back against the rail. The door slid open. A second passed before the others began yelling and running forward. As the elevator cleared, several pieces of luggage left behind in the rush, Leon saw the driver standing there holding the "door open" button. In the elevator now there was him and the driver and Celes and Togami who crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Oowada was leaving with his bag but didn't look like he was going toward anyone. He didn't have anyone to go toward, did he? Maybe he would've been better off staying in Tokyo with his gang, the ones who were smart enough not to bash Fujisaki in front of him. A specific voice rose through the general noise. "Leon? Leon!"He looked up. Looked over. "Mom?"She maneuvered deftly through the abandoned bags and was on him, holding him, boxing him into the corner of the elevator. He went rigid in her arms, frozen or petrified, which was stupid he knew if he couldn't trust Mom who in the world was left – but he still couldn't move. The last time she'd hugged him like this was forever ago and he didn't even remember the specifics because he hadn't thought he had to. He was taller than her by now, her heels didn't quite make up for it, and her hair was in his face and she was crying on his shoulder with her silk scarf brushing his neck – "You're alive, you really are, my little boy, you're real, you're here, you're alive –""Mom." He swallowed. His nose stung, his eyes blurred, he was going to cry right there in front of everyone – Dad was already crying, though. Dad stood just outside in the same sort of suit and tie, leaning on a cane (what happened that he needed a cane?) and the tears were just pouring and Dad was reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, or trying to, his hand was shaking and he kept missing. "Megumi," he said at last. "We should...""We're coming – we're coming." Mom drew him with her out of the elevator past glimpses of Togami and Celes, drew them all into a hug with Leon's arms limp and his duffel banging around between them. Dad was the same height as Mom, shorter when she wore heels, so of course Leon was taller than him too. It was weird being able to see the top of his graying head. He hadn't been this close to Dad, physically, since more than forever. He remembered to say: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."Mom said and kept saying: "You're here and it's all going to be okay, Leon, it's all going to be okay..."Eventually Dad said something else as he dabbed at his face with the tissues he'd finally fished out, sounding uncomfortable, but even now Leon could tell it wasn't because of him, it never had been, Dad was like a lot of old guys that way. "We'll always love you, Leon, always."He shut his eyes. So they knew, they knew what he was and they... they still...But this didn't last because a sneaky voice that sounded a little like Enoshima's whispered: But they don't know, not really. They know you're a coward and a killer, sure. But they don't know how big a coward. They don't know how many times you got off with her, how many times you ate her out. They don't know what she had done the day Celes tried to poison her. They don't know that you sucked off Oowada. They don't know how many times you told her you loved it. No, they don't know all of what you really are. With Rothenberg money Mom and Dad had gone out and gotten him a sleek latest-model Korean phone with the language and service set up because they knew even if he'd found his old phone (he had but it wasn't with him) the carrier company was long gone. Their new numbers were already programmed in. They hadn't been sure how much luggage he'd have with him so they'd stocked up on shirts and pants and underwear, shoes and socks, some waterproof jackets and coats in the front closet because Dad knew the rainy season was almost on them. "They're a bit plain," said Mom who loved her glitz, her scarf was a night sky of glitter stars. "We didn't know what...""No," said Leon, "that's great, thank you."Had he eaten? He was glad he could say yes, he had something on the plane, he was full, thanks. Mom said he needed to do a lot of eating from now on, she'd make sure of it. Shit, he thought, and right afterward felt a bit more guilt for thinking it. There was one bedroom in the suite, did he want to...? He took one look at the huge bed, neatly made, and said no thanks. They said tomorrow they could see about switching, they were pretty sure at least one of the other suites had a bed going unused. He said they didn't have to do that. They called the concierge for a futon, or what they called a futon over here anyhow. They'd have to put it in a corner of the living room but that was fine. Better than being alone again in a bed that size and he couldn't ask to sleep with his parents he was eighteen-fucking-years old. Besides, the futon would be right up near those huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Windows he could actually look through. The novelty hadn't quite worn off yet. Mom said, "That broadcast... you didn't see it, did you, what they showed us?""I didn't.""By the time we got to Korea they'd figured out how to air it here. With subtitles, even." He'd never heard such a bitter laugh from her before. "And when nothing much was happening, when things were getting boring, that little monster would show reruns. Every single death, every single trial...""I'm sorry.""No," said Dad. "Don't be sorry. There's one good thing about their showing it so many times – by now everyone with sense knows it was an accident. We all know you meant well. The trouble was with..." Everyone. Everyone knows. Mom said, "When Fujisaki-san came to tell us, we couldn't believe it. I was horrible to him. It took a while for him to convince us to go to that channel again. And when we did... we still couldn't believe it, not until we saw you actually walking out of that place. I thought that would be too much trouble to fake. They faked things all the time, didn't they, when it suited them." He found the DVD in his duffel. When he held it out to them Dad said, "Isn't that...""The first part's my birthday," said Leon though probably they already knew, probably saw that part, watched him freak wondering where Monobear got it. "My sixteenth birthday. I thought maybe if..." Because they'd probably had to leave in a hurry, probably didn't have time to pack all of Mom's home videos. "It's sweet of you to think of that," said Mom. "We had some extra copies – your Aunt Yukari." Aunt Yukari was Mom's sister and lived in America, in Los Angeles, and used to always have tickets to Dodger Stadium when they came to visit. So she was okay, and since Mom didn't seem particularly upset talking about it her two sons, Leon's cousins, were probably okay too. "She saved every one I ever emailed, can you imagine? I'm not sure I sent her this one, though, I'll check..."Someone had drawn and photocopied a helpful map of the three floors to pass out and make things easier if they wanted to go visiting. He looked at it. Asahina across the hall in 2604, 2603 was the security people, 2602 had Togami penciled in, 2601 was Maizono. Shit. Twenty-fifth floor: Hagakure, Naegi, Fujisaki, Ishimaru. Twenty-fourth floor: Yasuhiro (he remembered how Celes had hung back along with him in the elevator, and wondered), Kirigiri, Yamada, and finally Oowada in pencil. Dad explained with some reluctance that his leg had been broken during the Incident, broken again by the Monominions trying to kill them and Maizono's dad – "Did you really beat them off with a frying pan?" he couldn't help but ask Mom, who nodded looking grim; it was Dad who smiled just a little as he thought back on that. They didn't want to talk about Maizono's dad, it was clear, and neither did he, though he wondered why they'd ended up on the same floor, couldn't they have switched with someone? And he wondered why Dad was the one with the limp, it wasn't fair. Dad already had appointments with a physical therapist about his leg so it went right to him answering that yeah, the doctors he saw in Tokyo said he should probably... Right away they called downstairs about it to see about setting it up for him and when Leon said softly um there's another thing – right away they asked to send up sea salt. He needed it for the piercing wash but he didn't elaborate that far. The salt arrived fast. The therapist would have to wait until morning. Eventually he excused himself. The bathroom had walls and a door and a lock and a bathtub. Leon double-checked the lock, started the water running, stripped and scrubbed up in the shower, mixed up and used the salt wash, finally dropped in while the tub was still filling for a real bath in a real bath, his first since April. He actually relaxed, a bit. Didn't think about anything. But then the water started to cool and he'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes with him. There were towels of course, and the hotel also had fluffy bathrobes that thinking reasonably were actually thicker than any clothes he might wear in this weather, in summer. But they weren't the same. When he put one of the bathrobes on he couldn't help but think it was so easy to take off. He could almost see Enoshima's fingers with their red nails pulling out the double knot he'd tied in the belt. That was another weird thing. He'd taken off his clothes so many times down there in front of other people, in front of the cameras, and now sometimes he wasn't sure whether he'd done it so much he didn't give a shit about it anymore or he'd done it so much he never wanted to do it again. He hadn't used to give a shit; it used to be his body was just there, and his, and who wouldn't want to show it off a little in the locker room? He walked behind his parents watching a K-drama in the living room and got his fresh clothes, picking from the new ones, including a plain T-shirt and plain shorts that went down to his knees; together they'd cover the scars from the belt. Back in the bathroom he slipped off the robe and pulled it all on. Used the hairdryer. When he went back into the living room he didn't understand a word of the drama and all the hangdog faces and sad music to match didn't look like it was going anywhere good so he went to one of those big windows and for a while he just looked out at the evening lights of Seoul because this was a thing he could do, now. Far below he could make out the illuminated blue of the hotel's massive swimming pool, Asahina should love that, and tiny figures moving inside it.By the time his parents turned in for the night his boxes from the plane had been delivered and the futon set up in a corner. He crawled in under the covers. They were a little too heavy for summer, a little too thick and he felt himself sweat but he didn't want to lie on top of them, didn't want to leave himself wide open that way even if he was dressed, even if there was no one here to see but Mom and Dad. When he thought about other times he'd been in bed without covers, before he could get to the memories of sprawling around with a fan and a cold drink and the stereo playing on sweltering summer nights he had to get through all the memories from the months down there, those times when she... when she... when she fucked him. There. She never fucked him under the covers. She wanted a clear picture for the cameras and besides she liked to sit up and ride him. Eventually he went to the thermostat and jabbed the temperature down and down and down until the room was cold enough it felt right rolling up in a head-to-toe cocoon. He managed to sleep. He didn't remember much of what he dreamed, which was fine because what he did remember wasn't very good; he remembered dreaming he was a zombie dancing and dancing on feet that were about to fall off. He woke up shivering in the small hours of the morning with the covers kicked off the futon. He pulled them back around himself and lay back again and counted to a hundred eighty-six before he gave up. The guitar and other music-related activities were out at this time of night. His new phone, though, had Internet among its bells and whistles. He investigated it lying on his stomach inside the blankets. He checked the site where he remembered having an email account, just for laughs. Of course it wasn't there; it was Japan-based and it would've gone down at the same time as most of the servers in the country. He thought of looking up his own name like he'd used to, see what came up, hope that one damn Koshien picture was showing up lower in the image search, but thought again and decided he didn't want to know. Instead after he found that Google was still up he pecked out Chihiro Fujisaki. The first thing he saw when the results loaded was a picture of Fujisaki in the Hope's Peak uniform, brown jacket white shirt black ribbon bow at the collar, hands folded, smiling just a little bit, the second a picture of Fujisaki in the old uniform with the green jacket from his last high school, the clothes he'd died in, he thought it was the same picture that stood in the courtroom in black and white with a bloody X over it. The first site on the list was his Wikipedia entry (Chihiro Fujisaki (14 March 2004 – 18 May 2022) was a Japanese computer programmer and one of the five teenagers murdered in the Hope's Peak Academy Massacre of 2022 – and there was an argument in the editing discussion about whether it qualified as a massacre like the Hope's Peak Academy Massacre of 2021 since it took so long to happen, more arguments about who to include in the count, if Oogami counted since she'd killed herself, if Ikusaba counted since she'd been in on it. And without thinking he scrolled down and right into an earlier argument about if he and Oowada and Celes and even Yamada counted since they'd done some killing of their own and before scrolling back up he glimpsed someone saying hey breaking news they're not actually dead so we can just drop it and someone else saying but what about that crazy otaku huh and he remembered the day of the trial saying to Yamada something like: guys like you, eventually two dimensions just don't do it for you anymore and that's when you go and –). The second site was called Hope's Peak Academy Perfect Edition and came in eight languages and advertised Every Minute From Beginning to End; he hit the back button fast. The third site was Fujisaki's, where he kept his software for download and his blog. After all this time it was still online. He'd had backups, what were they called, mirror sites and shit. He clicked. And there – there was Fujisaki's last post, video, uploaded a couple days after his seventeenth birthday, less than a month before the Incident exploded. In the preview screenshot Fujisaki stood looking into the camera and smiling broader than the picture the search engine threw up. Fujisaki tended to look more sure of himself in the videos – he could rehearse and so on, make sure he got it right, even if it was hard sometimes for Fujisaki to be convinced he got anything right. The topic was something innocuous about getting the right computer for what you wanted to do with it. The first kick in the gut was around the beginning of the video when he realized the framed photograph set up behind Fujisaki was one of the class's group pictures. He remembered the picture, could identify each figure at a distance – there was the bulk of Oogami and Yamada in the center, there was him in his favorite white jacket getting chummy with Maizono, there was Maizono next to him flashing a V sign, there was Ishimaru being careful this time not to stick his elbow in front of Enoshima's face. The second kick came at the end when Fujisaki smiled at his audience and said, "By the next time I update I'll probably be started on my last year of high school. Please wish me luck?"The third kick came when he was stupid enough to check the comments section. The earliest comments were the usual accolades and some belated happy birthdays and offers of marriage for "Chihiro-tan," running the gamut from the sweet to the creepy. He saw a cheerful one from Yamada, see you soon Fujisaki Chihiro-dono. It was the ones in the surge after the night in May Fujisaki died, after his secret was revealed to Japan and then to the world, that got really ugly. There was the occasional comment in another language before but the proportion rose dramatically after that date; the one upside to this for him was that while they were probably saying equally fucked-up things in Korean and Chinese and French and so on, he didn't understand them. He didn't understand a lot of the English either but enough to know that those slangy words he didn't know, at least not in this context, were nothing good. These were the kind of manly-man assholes Fujisaki had been trying to avoid by pretending to be a girl, and of course once they found out they were twice as awful. They knew he wouldn't be able to read those things anymore, but they got off on plastering their nastiness in this place where he'd used to be. He stayed just long enough to see that at least a few people were arguing back and calling them on their bullshit about Fujisaki, that the world out there didn't completely suck, and then buried his face in the pillow and burst into tears yet a-fucking-gain thinking of Fujisaki smiling and Fujisaki crying just before he died. When was he going to run out of fucking tears? He was sure not even Fujisaki cried this much and Fujisaki was the one who'd had it really bad, he was the one who actually had to put up with douchebags like that. When he finally calmed down he went back to the bathroom to wash his face and clear the last of the snot from his nose. He checked the mirror that held his dull-eyed spindly reflection and all of a sudden hated it so much he imagined dramatically punching it out and sending reflective shards all over the place. He controlled himself. He had some self-control. After he left the bathroom he looked at the hotel directory printed in five languages, found what he thought was the right number, dialed. They answered in Japanese, how they knew to do that he didn't know, hello how could they help him. "Hello? Could you get me, um, some hair dye? Yeah. Brown, please, kind of medium dark? And extra towels, gloves, that kind of thing. I know it's the middle of the... oh, thanks. Yeah, room 2605. Thanks."While he was waiting for that he went over to the minibar and grabbed a bottle of cola and thought while he chugged it that two years ago he would've gone absolutely nuts in a place like this, laid waste to the minibar, called at all hours saying bring this bring that seeing what he could get away with, run up a bill that'd give Dad a heart attack. Dad wouldn't be paying for this, there was an upside after all to losing next to everything. He could keep going on like this, step by step. He could do something after all for Mom and Dad, besides be uselessly sorry. He could try not to hurt them any more than he already had. A hotel guy had the dye at the door inside of half an hour. He'd brought the towels and things in a plastic bag and a tray of boxes for him to choose from with the brand of the hotel salon on the second floor, offered him the range of shades while trying not to make his stare too obvious. Leon looked them over and picked the one whose picture looked most like the brown he'd been born with. "Thanks," he said like a parrot. "Have a pleasant night, Kuwata-san."So this was what it was like being a celebrity. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- After he finished dyeing and rinsing Leon curled up on the futon and eventually drifted away, drifted back in at seven in the morning as his parents' alarm started going in the bedroom. He was up and turning the thermostat back where it should be when Mom came out. "Morning, Leon. Oh, it's cold in here...""Yeah, sorry. G'morning.""As long as it works for you," she said, but she looked skeptical, maybe because she saw goosebumps rising on his arms and legs. "Your hair.""Thought it might be better." He jabbed the temperature up a few more degrees. "Stands out less.""I guess it does."By itself maybe it wouldn't do much. But one thing Leon had noticed all the hours he'd wasted in front of a mirror was how you did your hair made a difference in how your face looked under it. If it was brown, if he didn't gel it, if he left it down so that it fell over his forehead and covered the rings in his right ear, if he shaved completely, he definitely looked different from either of the boys in the pictures and the videos and the dresser mirror in that windowless room and maybe that difference would make a difference. He'd been told off before with that old saying, told he was a nail that stuck out, a nail doing its best to pull right out of the wood where infinite wisdom had driven it in. Now was a good time to keep low. There was still the labret and the tongue stud. He'd deliberated over those. The dumb reason he eventually had to accept was the only one he had was that he still wanted to look a little like what he'd used to be, what he'd wanted to be, didn't want to be hammered down completely. It was the same reason he hadn't taken out any of his remaining earrings even if sometimes in nightmares he had fits of crazy thinking he felt Enoshima's lips and tongue and teeth ready to bite down on another one and yank. "We're planning to go to the café downstairs around seven-thirty. Did you want to...?" The driver last night had told them about the café in the hotel lobby, where anyone could walk in, anyone could see. "We're meeting the Asahina family.""No, thanks, I'd, um, rather order in if that's okay.""Of course it's okay. Just be sure and eat, all right?"When seven-thirty came around Asahina was more persistent. "Kuwata?" she called, catching the closing door and peering in. "Kuwata? You sure you don't want to come with us? What happened to your hair?""Dyed it back." He was sprawled on the couch pretending to watch the morning news. The Koreans had plenty of other things to talk about even if he wasn't quite sure what they were, and he hadn't had to change the channel so far. "I'm sure. Thanks. See ya.""But, um, I don't see why you're in disguise if you're not going out anyway.""'s not a disguise. 's the hair I was born with." It was only a shade or two off from hers for that matter. Asahina looked at him a little bit longer before saying, "Okay, but we'll be down there if –""Right. Right."To eat something he raided the minibar for another bottle of cola and a chocolate bar with nuts. Then he imagined Mom's face if all he could show her was an empty bottle and an empty wrapper, so he looked over the room service menu, shut his eyes and jabbed a finger at it, ordered the Traditional Korean Breakfast platter, took it from another trying-not-to-stare hotel guy, and told himself it was here so he should get over himself and eat it already. One bite at a time he managed to clear all the little plates. Then he managed to smile at his parents when they finally got back; they'd done a lot of talking down there after they were done eating. The Asahina family was Asahina's father and mother and sister and brother and brother-in-law. Asahina's sister was some five or six years older than her, he thought he remembered, had another flowery name that started with an Ah, and one weekend the first year at Hope's Peak Asahina and Oogami went to her wedding. Asahina showed around pictures to the other girls and the guy she'd thought was a girl, and he'd been there when Fujisaki had a look. The way Asahina talked about her baby brother, he was ready to grab the Super High School Level Swimmer title the moment she wasn't in high school anymore. "Asahina-chan's a nice girl," said Mom. "Do you know her very well?""She was in the baseball club," said Leon, and let them take that as a yes. Asahina was all right and he might've been interested in her, well, that way, but she was too enthusiastic for him, or him as he'd been. Six sports clubs. Six! He scrounged for something else to say. "And the tennis club, she tell you about that?""Oh yes, she did. I wish you'd introduced us to all your friends sooner." I wish you'd dared introduce your friends to us, trusted us not to drive them off with the force of our supposed uncoolness, before half of them died.And out of his very best friends from the last two years, Maizono was dead because Leon killed her. Fujisaki was dead because Oowada killed him. And to top it off Leon had tried to throw Naegi under a bus (and Oowada and Fujisaki and everyone else left, while he was at it). What a lineup. The appointment with the physical therapist was scheduled at eleven in the morning, right after Dad's at ten-thirty, an outcall in the living room of the suite. The name on the therapist's card in Roman lettering below the lines and circles of Korean was Yi Seung-ji, but his Japanese didn't have an accent. Well, it did, but it was an Osaka accent, the rhythms Leon heard all around for years before he started boarding at Hope's Peak. "Oh yeah," Yi said when Leon ventured to ask, "My folks were lucky, caught a boat west last year, called up some cousins." Zainichi had a leg up getting visas and things in Korea, 'specially if they knew the language, and by now he'd managed to set himself up decent. When he lived in Osaka, he said, his name'd been Katsumi Araki, and Leon could call him that if it was more comfortable. Leon shrugged and said Yi was comfy enough. "So you're –" When he started that sentence he definitely wasn't saying what he ended up saying, which was "– Kuwata-san's son. He's talked about you a lot." And you're a lot more pathetic than I thought you would be. That was what he was polite enough not to say or show on his face, Leon knew it. Mom had gone downstairs to the hotel tennis courts, planning a set or two with Asahina, asking Leon along again. He'd turned her down again which led to loitering awkwardly in the corridor during Dad's half-hour, hiding behind his phone. He didn't see the security people Rothenberg hired but now that he was looking he saw the surveillance cameras tucked up where the ceiling met the wall. He tried not to look. The Japanese-language Internet was small and slowly rebuilding. There were online newsletters and things and when it came to news out of the homeland they were still on the front page. In between muddling through articles about Okinawan independence and the logistics of elections for the Diet, he read about the soundbites they'd gotten out of Naegi. Naegi and Kirigiri got the most fuss-in-a-good-way, with Asahina close behind. He stuck to the pieces that covered specific people. Thumbed quick past each mention of his own name, each photo with him in it. One photo tripped him. A high surveillance-camera angle. Him and Maizono in the music room on the fourth floor, on the stage, with the grand piano in the background and a couple of mikes standing nearby and his guitar propped against the amplifier. They were holding hands, kind of, her hands were inside his and he was clasping all four hands together and they were both leaning in over them. He thought he remembered that conversation, thought he remembered it was just this year, in February, before Enoshima started her games, one of those times he very nearly kissed her. He scrolled away and couldn't make himself stop thinking about it so he redoubled his efforts to find something else to think about. He found a summary of Togami's press conference in the Zone. He'd thought it looked like holding court but the courtiers were mutinous. Togami-san, how do you think the broadcast of these past months will affect the public image and future of your company? Togami-san, would you like to explain your actions in the case of Chihiro Fujisaki? Togami's answers didn't satisfy the reporters, it was obvious from the tone, and they didn't do much for Leon either. Was it really like he'd said to the others, that he'd done it all for the laughs?An article about Celes. Some more quotes from the Zone and descriptions of how cold and porcelain she acted as she said them, how she still wore fancy dresses and fancy hairdos. Lack of remorse. Lethal fantasy life. Quote from Yamada's mom saying she knew Celes dying for real wouldn't bring back her son but if only it could she wouldn't hesitate. Quote from Ishimaru's parents, sounding as stiff as he'd imagined them (and what a shitty thing to think), saying they hoped she wouldn't get away with it, that justice could be had somewhere outside of their broken country. Footsteps. His head jerked up. A man walking slowly from the other end of the hall, almost to the midpoint with the facing elevators. An older man, in a suit, looked like he might be Dad's brother in spirit, another transplanted salaryman. A man who looked up a split second after he did, and looked back. A man he thought he might've seen all starched and stiff-backed in a family picture long ago, when he didn't have one to offer in return even with all of Mom's camera-craziness because he'd never thought he might want one until it was too late.Shit!He looked away, toward where the hallway turned around to the even-numbered rooms on the other side of the elevators. His hand still holding the phone dropped by his side. He heard the man who had to be Maizono's dad walking some more, heard the elevator door ding open, waited for the sound of it closing before he looked back. Maizono's dad stepped away from the elevator he hadn't gotten into, stepped toward him. He hadn't taken his eyes away. His face was a lot easier to read than Yi the therapist's; his disgust was out in the open. Leon clutched the phone and stared back, a trapped animal. In his mouth his tongue was frozen and he knew if he tried to speak it'd be clumsy and stumbling as when he tried to tell the others it was self-defense, which wasn't true but sounded more justified and so much less stupid than the truth. He tried anyway as the man moved closer. "I'm... I'm sorry...""You should be." He wasn't trapped and he wanted to prove it, wanted to run as fast as he could run now. His free hand went behind him to the doorknob of Room 2605 but he stopped it there. No. He had to take it like a man. Even as he thought that he heard himself whining, "I didn't mean to –""You did." Other stupid things he could've said: It was an accident. She started it. I didn't want to leave her like that. If I'd remembered I never would've... If I'd known what would happen I never would've... He didn't say anything. Far away again an elevator went ding."To think I ever... I can't believe... for a lazy, stupid boy who's never worked a day in his life except to hide his crimes..." He thought wildly that he'd heard that was Maizono's dad's problem, working every day in his life. His own dad was always super-busy but when Leon thought back he remembered he'd always made an effort to make up for it, even if Leon hadn't appreciated those efforts (You're growing, you'll need to know how to tie a tie. Let me show you. You like Western music, don't you? Aunt Yukari sent some of her boys' favorites, why don't you see if – ). And Mom was there when he couldn't be. The way Maizono talked about life at home, when she'd talked about it, it hadn't sounded like her dad did the same and if he hadn't she hadn't had a mom or nice grandparents or anyone to take up the slack. But what right did he have to say anything? Her dad might've worked overtime a lot but that wasn't close to sticking a knife in her. "And to think it was you – it was you –""Excuse me?"Naegi rushed over from the elevators, looking alarmed. Had something happened? Mom and Asahina at the tennis court – Alter Ego's laptop – his mind had reeled through endless fragments of possibilities by the time Naegi stopped to the side of them, very nearly between them. "Excuse me, sir? Are you, um, Maizono-san's father? I'm Makoto Naegi, I don't think we've met, unless it was one of the things I've forgotten, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry about... about..."Oh, Leon thought as Maizono's dad turned toward Naegi, away from him, they were the ones being alarming. "No, we haven't met," Maizono's dad said at last, "but it's a pleasure, Naegi-kun." He put out a hand. After a second Naegi put out his. They shook. "There's no need to be sorry. Actually, I'd like to thank you and, ah, Kirigiri-san for all you've done, getting justice for my daughter..." Naegi made various demurring noises and soon segued into, "Actually, I wanted to talk to Kuwata-kun about something, do you have a moment, Kuwata-kun?" "I." He swallowed. It was uncomfortable looking at Naegi but it would be even more uncomfortable looking anywhere else. "I, I've got to see someone at eleven, um, in here, there's an appointment so. Um.""Okay," said Naegi. "Only, Alter Ego's been asking after you, so when you have time –"Behind him the door opened. Yi had assessed the situation by the time Leon made himself turn around. "Kuwata-kun?" he said fast. "I'm ready to see you, if you'll just, ah, come this way –""Maizono-san," said Dad as Leon passed him in the foyer, the coldest Leon had ever heard him, and it was really strange, wasn't it, how you could call two different people the exact same thing.(Maizono-san? he called past the door he'd tried and cracked open, all formal with nerves. A girl's room past midnight. Somewhere he'd never been though he did his best to act like he had because he figured that'd make it easier to actually get there. In the near-dark in uncharted territory it was harder to act easy about things like he had that first day, to just go ahead and volunteer them both to lug Naegi's knocked-out ass to the dorms with a flip I'll carry him with Maizono-chan! He couldn't get his smile to go on right but he told himself maybe she'd like that, a little bit of awkwardness, not too smooth–)Somewhere back near his usual voice which you couldn't call warm exactly but wasn't cold, Dad said, "And you must be – "In the living room proper, Yi looked back at Dad still in the foyer, talking to Naegi on the threshold. "Should we wait?" Until they were actually gone, Leon thought he meant. They stood there and time passed but the voices kept going and the door didn't close and Leon wished he was brave enough or not wimpy enough to go back and ask to be alone, or even ask Yi to ask for him. A while after wishing he started to move his feet. He had them back in sight and was just about decided on asking, even though he still wasn't sure when he could actually make himself open his mouth, when Naegi said a little bit too loud "So when it comes down to it, it was Junko Enoshima and Super High School Level Despair who was responsible for it all.""I see your point, but it wasn't that lunatic girl who put a knife in my daughter –""But wasn't it a lunatic girl who lured my son to that room?" Dad's voice had frozen over again. "Who attacked him with that knife, twice? Or was she a lunatic? She certainly seemed to know what she was doing when she planned it. And you blame Leon that your precious daughter reaped what she sowed, the conniving –""Dad! Stop it!"Everyone stopped it so they could stare at him, and he wished he hadn't said anything but he couldn't have let it go by. After what he'd done to her – he just couldn't. "Please don't," he managed to squeeze out of his throat, "Don't talk about Sayaka like that. Please." "And you think you have the right to talk about her that way?" said Maizono's dad, and then Leon realized what he'd said, how he'd said it, how familiarly. Sayaka. That was what he'd started calling her in their year inside, that secret year, the year the world didn't see – that was what they thought, anyhow, but that picture – but even if the whole world saw it didn't matter anymore what stupid things the idol factory had her sign because it was gone with everything else (and he remembered how the year before that, when she patiently explained what was what, impressing on him the stakes involved, he'd shuddered at the mental image of them making her hack away her hair). (He thought now, and felt even sicker thinking it, if the thing Enoshima said would've been her secret was true the fucking perverts at that company probably wanted her to themselves.)He got more words up and out like puking glass. "N... no, I don't, I...""We can discuss this later," said Dad, like someone else would say I will stab you in the face later you fucker. Leon cringed at the tone before he realized it wasn't for him. They all left after that. Dad said something about checking on Mom, Naegi said something about checking on Oowada and Celes, Sayaka's dad didn't say another word. After that the examination was a hell of a lot more awkward than the awkward it would've been anyway. He should've expected Yi to ask him to take off his shirt, so he could get a good look at what he was working with, but when Leon did take it off he got the shakes and crumpled the shirt in his hands the whole time while Yi checked out his posture. At first Yi tried waiting for him to calm down which just made him shake worse. He kept saying I'm going to do this and that, would you do this and that, is that okay? Leon just shut his eyes and kept nodding and kept thinking: he'd used to imagine he loved her. Yi asked questions. The doctors in the Sanctuary Zone hadn't asked much maybe because the answers were obvious, maybe because they were all caught up on their TV. Actually he mostly asked half-questions, he had this habit of letting them trail off for Leon to fill in the other half, and with Yi's gaps there for them to fill the words just slid out of him and there was no chasing them down: Yeah, he hadn't been eating that much. Yeah, he'd been tied up for a long time. Yeah, she used to hit him with a belt. Yeah, she liked to choke him. "I had this lock on a chain, wore it on my neck, I mean it was mine, she didn't put it there. She'd... twist it...""I see." Maybe he'd seen him wearing it, those first few days.Yi talking got things along a bit easier, he thought. When he was listening to Yi and listening to his own words sliding out of him he wasn't thinking so much about the pressure and movement and probing of Yi's hands and his body forgot to flinch or cringe beneath them. Eventually when he flinched anyway and felt the blood go to his face Yi's voice got quieter, embarrassed almost (why should he be embarrassed?), as he said he'd treated other people who'd been – dot dot dot – tortured, it was okay to be uncomfortable getting touched, took the brain a while to catch up, that was normal. Something was normal. His pelvic bones and all the innards and joints and things were in good shape, and the X-rays from the Zone said the same thing, and he said the same thing (maybe Enoshima had wanted it that way, wanted him to have a working dick for her to fuck), so Yi didn't ask him to take off his underwear. No worries words would slip out about that. When they were done he started to say something else Leon knew was something like how he was so very very lucky, but he didn't finish it, or leave it to be finished. Instead he showed him exercises to do, stretches and so on, and told him to keep to a healthy diet and gain weight and work out and after a while of that he should improve and eventually be all the way okay physically speaking and Yi would check back in after a week at most, sooner if necessary. And then after he'd handed out copies of general instructions and written down some personalized ones he said, in that quiet embarrassed way again, that there were places now that were used to looking after Japanese refugees, helping them settle and so on, and here's a list. Leon took this sheet of paper with the rest of the diagrams and things because it was less trouble than giving it back, and after Yi left it seemed like less trouble to leave it where it was. Maybe if he got into a fight with Naomi Rothenberg or something, needed a place to crash fast. Sounded crazy, but for more than a year he'd been dealing (or not) with crazy impossible things. Some ten minutes after Yi left, Dad came back with Mom. "We all said terrible things at first," Mom said, "but then there was the attack.""Your mother saved his life," said Dad. "One of them was about to split his skull with a hatchet.""For a few weeks after that," said Mom, "in Seoul, we and Enoshima-san and Ikusaba-san were the only ones who were... well... grieving in quite the same way. Kirigiri-san lost his son, of course, before any of that, but he'd said goodbye to him long ago, and Kirigiri-sensei was a grown man, after all..." Leon couldn't remember Enoshima ever actually telling him that she killed the headmaster but somehow, he thought now, ever since he started to remember again he'd always kind of known underneath. The first time Leon remembered thinking outright he's dead it was the time Enoshima showed up at the bedside with a bottle of booze saying look what Kirigiri-sensei had stashed in his office, but even then the thought hadn't shocked him. He'd never expected to see him again, hadn't even hoped for it. Maybe in a weird way he'd had the trust of a little kid lingering in his subconscious: Jin Kirigiri promised to keep them safe and nothing short of death could've stopped him. "We used to visit one another. When we moved in here we asked for rooms on the same floor. We'd reminisce, and so on. Our children were dead and we all came to understand who was really responsible. At least, I thought he understood."Oh. "I wasn't dead."Mom hugged him again with ferocity. He didn't know how to tell her that her grip felt too tight. "And we're glad you're not. As if since a miracle didn't happen for his own daughter it shouldn't ever happen for anyone else.""But it shouldn'tve happened," he choked out staring over her shoulder at the window. "It's not fair."It wasn't, not the least bit. Why him and not Sayaka. Why Oowada and not Fujisaki. Why Celes and not Ishimaru or Yamada. "It's not your fault it's not fair," said Mom. "Someday he'll get it through his skull. And if he doesn't it doesn't matter what he thinks."At least with all the commotion nobody said anything about him not having lunch. He wasn't hungry. It'd been a big breakfast.Kirigiri wasn't in but her grandpa was. When he answered the door Leon almost turned on his heel and fled under the searching gaze that ran in the family (he'd seen a look like that in the headmaster's eyes, sometimes) but he said "It's about Alter Ego" and the old man nodded and showed him in straight away. "Good morning, Kuwata-kun!""Morning," he said and typed as he got comfortable at the desk. "I'm glad to see you again. Are you all right?" I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? "Ah, I've thought of possible reasons."Leon took a second before putting his fingers back to the keyboard. How's the Internet? "There's so many things here. Kirigiri-san advised me to consider them critically, but if only a fractional percentage of the data is true it's still so much! And I understand there was even more available before the 'Despair-Inducing Incident.' I'm downloading more languages to my database. It'll take some time to parse them all. Don't you know some English, Kuwata-kun?" I know a bit. "Would you mind if I asked you to give feedback on my usage? The pronunciation is much less consistent, and with my voice recognition protocols currently incomplete..." Currently? "My master's first major project was such a system." He thought he remembered Fujisaki saying something about that, about him tweaking one of his dad's programs into sudden amazingness. "It was never widely distributed because of expense, but I understand the functionality was good. I believe that with time I can reproduce it from the existing data, but more input would help very much."I'll probably be bad at it, but I can try. "Heh heh, thank you!"He felt himself start to smile. On the screen, Alter Ego's smile widened in return. You don't actually say the G, he was doing his best to explain a half hour later. It's just kind of there not making sense. "Ah, I see. 'Right.' Is that right?"Right! The hotel rooms weren't as meticulously soundproof as the dorm rooms at Hope's Peak, so he heard some hint of the pandemonium in the hall and the smile that'd made itself at home on his face slipped off before Naegi rang the doorbell. "Kirigiri-san? Kirigiri-san!""She's looking into some things at the University Hospital," said Kirigiri's grandpa, very calm. "Do you need her right away?""The hospital?" Naegi's voice swayed on the border between hysterical laughter and hysterical tears. "No... I guess not, but she should know, something's happened...""What?" said Leon, making for the foyer before he could think not to. "What happened?""Kuwata-kun?" Naegi looked like he'd fallen into a pool. His clothes were soaked through and the sleeves of his hoodie were rolled up to his elbows. Leon stared at them, trying to piece things together in the dark. "Yes... you should know too, it's Celes-san... she... she's tried to kill herself." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Naegi got his number and promised to call with updates. He had to explain what just happened to Alter Ego, and that was it for English lessons because Alter Ego was tearing up and saying he didn't understand, he didn't understand at all, and Leon felt like he'd gone halfway out of himself, floating over his own head like a tethered balloon. He went back upstairs. He was glad he didn't have to go up actual stairs, just walk in and out of the elevator, because at that distance from himself his feet were slow and clumsy and he didn't know if he could manage any more than forward and left and right. Back in the suite he did some unpacking. Set up the guitar and the mike and so on. Opened notebooks and looked over his old drivel. One of his few realistic assessments way back when had been knowing he'd have to get someone else to write the songs. While he did all this he sank slowly back down and in. Later that afternoon, when he was pretty much back into himself, the doorbell rang and he looked through the peephole before he opened up and signed for a fat envelope with visa paperwork. He'd found his last passport stuffed inside the cover of a notebook dating from around the time of the Incident and it still had another two years left in it. If he was someone else he'd have worried that some official guy at some border would look between him and the smiling picture and say, like hell that's you. If he was someone else... Dad had been in Seoul loads of times before, on business. One of his favorite restaurants from those days was still around and did delivery, so dinner was cartons of takeout with snap-apart chopsticks in front of the TV. Mom channel-surfed. It was baseball season in Korea too, he should've remembered that, chances were it'd land on a game, and when it did he didn't have a split second to be unreasonably surprised before they were both giving him worried looks. Mom switched the channel to the evening news. "No, wait –" They looked at him again. He swallowed. "Could you go back?" "Of course," said Mom, and surfed backward. He didn't understand what they were saying here, either, but it was a lot easier to guess and the movements were pretty much the same. They all watched that while they ate barbecue and rice and scallion pancakes until in the sixth inning or so Leon's hands started to shake and his eyes started to blur and Dad took the remote and flipped to another K-drama. * He'd been nervous about going to the hospital when Naegi brought it up but when they got to it, after word came from Kirigiri that Celes was awake, it was quick and simple as peeling off a stick-on bandage. The hardest part was explaining to Mom and Dad where he was going, and who he was going for – it was up to Naegi, again, to say it was for Celes, which they didn't take as badly as he'd momentarily feared they would. They took the elevator down, met the driver from yesterday in the garage, piled into another car with tinted windows, and off they went. Him and Naegi and Oowada and an old lady who turned out to be Celes's grandmother, the one whose recipe they followed once, him and Celes and Oowada rolling out the thin little circles of dough in the kitchen one night, spooning in the filling, fold and pinch. A smear of flour on Celes's face, more white over the makeup she put on so careful every morning, and put back on after Enoshima was done with her. He found that out for sure as they waited in traffic; it was so slow he started feeling nervous all over again. A little after the sky opened up for a gush of summer rain and the windshield wipers started going at top speed, he blurted out something along the lines of hey were you the one with the gyoza recipe? and could've sunk right through the floor of the car, right through the road below. But the old lady nodded. "At least my girl remembers that." Celes still had a mother and a father and another grandmother staying in 2401, some aunts and uncles and cousins in somewhat less fancy rooms on lower floors. None of them came. Made too much sense, considering Celes hadn't wanted to admit they existed; maybe they didn't want to admit she existed after she killed Ishimaru and Yamada on live television and gave everyone such a lame reason for doing it. * What he could gather: last night, after he left with Mom and Dad, Celes finally got off the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor. She tossed the room key they'd given her and moved in with Oowada in that way she had, like she never once imagined she might be turned down or turned out. Oowada didn't turn her down; there were two beds in his suite ("Don't ask me why") and he got the front desk to cut another keycard for her. Then this afternoon she'd shut herself in the bathroom with an antique straight razor she ordered in by phone and lay in the bathtub in her fanciest dress while the water ran. What happened next was even more confused. Hotel security was involved – something like someone on the staff mentioned delivering the razor and someone else asked why the hell's the crazy Japanese chick from TV want a razor, hey wait you think she's gonna kill someone else oh fuck oh fuck stop her before she kills someone else, and the upshot was with Oowada's help they broke down the door. Naegi slipped and fell into the tub during the pandemonium, hence the soaked clothes. She'd lost enough blood to pass out but that meant she didn't try to stop them from saving her. * The hospital was called the National University Hospital. It was past eight-thirty at night now, but still visiting hours. Kirigiri joined them after winding up her talk with some researchers from the university part of the hospital about the data Alter Ego had on their memories. Naegi explained to him and Oowada that she'd brought over a copy of the files that had to do with it on a flash drive. Leon wondered if there was a bit of Alter Ego in the drive, too, and bits of him on the university computers. He wondered how Kirigiri figured out which files had to do with it. "This is quite a turnout," said Celes in a voice that was too small to be as sarcastic as she aimed for. Granny Yasuhiro crossed her arms. "You think I wouldn't come see my favorite granddaughter?" Celes's smile looked slightly more real. She said, the words worn soft-edged with some old habit, "I'm your only granddaughter." "My favorite grandchild." Celes's left arm was bandaged from elbow to wrist. Leon couldn't stop his mind from spinning like the slot machines at the trials and it settled on the irrelevant fact that this was how Enoshima and Ikusaba's mother offed herself, wasn't it? Cut her arm open and watched the blood go down the drain. Whose idea was it to name a kid Corpse, anyhow? He shook himself. "Celes-san," said Naegi. He was clutching an armful of the books from her baggage, ones he'd thought she might like to read while she got better. "Celes-san... I don't understand..." "Of course you don't, Naegi-kun," said Celes. She lifted her head a very little bit before putting it back on the pillow. "Have you ever felt a moment's spite in your life?" "Spite...?" "I have," said Kirigiri. When Leon glanced over she had one of her considering looks. Celes looked them all over again. "I'm not your granddaughter, I hope?" Leon moved his shoulders up and down, put some breeze in his voice. "Seemed like the thing to do." "I was gonna say!" Oowada very nearly shouted; a passing doctor flinched. "The fuck's going on in your head? You go and do this after we got out of there?" "But exactly!" Celes smiled so sweet, like a painted doll. (I'm not a doll, said Sayaka in the entrance hall, with one of those smiles that could've had anything behind it, I'm very much alive! She wasn't anymore) "Oowada-kun, Kuwata-kun, surely you know how she set the stage. Sharp objects, morphine, silverware to jam in the power outlet. I was never going to die there. I'd never give her the satisfaction. Ah, and now I've ruined my favorite dress for nothing." * One of the doctors Kirigiri had been talking to wanted to scan all their brains to help figure the best way to get the missing memories back for everyone else. Leon fumbled for way too long taking out the labret and the stud and the earrings so they wouldn't get fucked up by all the magnets in the scanning machine. Nobody was exasperated with him out loud. He fumbled even worse putting them back in but at least that wasn't holding anyone up. He wondered how much worse the looks would be once they remembered. When he'd have to take a good look at how much was smashed to bits between them. While they were going about that, taking their turns, some more people took their chance to gawk. Staff, visitors for other patients, a constant trickle through the halls and glancing in through the doorway. Some tried to look casual and some didn't bother. He tried not to look at them looking at him but sometimes he heard their footsteps, heard how they paused and then started walking again, and other times he saw how Kirigiri's eyes moved, gave each passerby a once-over. Once she seemed to lock onto something and he turned around to see what she saw, which was a guy maybe their age, tall but slight, wearing glasses, melting away almost before Leon got a look at him. When he looked back to Kirigiri she had her head tilted forward just a bit, like she was acknowledging that vanishing guy, and he didn't know where to start figuring that out. On the ride back to the hotel Granny Yasuhiro, who'd been having a long private talk while all the brain stuff was going on, conspicuously buried herself in a tattered paperback. Naegi said it was definitely great having so many people to talk to again, but he thought it would also be nice for everyone to keep getting together sometimes, how does another breakfast meeting sound? Eight in the morning, maybe, would that be all right with you, Kuwata-kun, or should it be later...? Even when Naegi brought up the café in the lobby – have you tried it yet? It's really good – somehow Leon didn't say no. Oowada mumbled something. It wasn't a no either. * When he got back to the suite Dad was alone on the couch in the half-dark staring at a sleeping laptop (not Alter Ego, wrong size, wrong color) and a couple of empty little minibar bottles on the coffee table in front of him. He had a third bottle in his hand. "Here," he said when Leon got close, and held it out to him. Leon tossed it back to scorch its way down his throat and put it in line. For a while they sat wordlessly on opposite ends of the couch staring at the turned-off TV. Then Leon started doing leg stretches. A little after that Dad said, "I'm sorry. I should have remembered she was your friend." "Not like I talked about her." "Yes, I don't suppose you did... but... the broadcast, sometimes, showed other footage, earlier footage..." He remembered that picture on the Internet, him and Sayaka in the music room. He remembered Enoshima saying she wished they'd fucked so she could cut it in for dramatic irony. So she'd settled for what she could. "Oh. What... what else...?" "Not much else," said Dad. "Not about you, because it... it happened very early on. Recordings from Koshien. Nothing else so... so... private... I know I shouldn't have, but I thought...I thought, then, that was all that was left." "No, it's fine. Anyhow I probably should've said." Leon couldn't remember the last time before the Incident he'd confided in Mom, let alone Dad, not when he knew there was all that shit he didn't dare say a word about. And now Dad said words about that. "Before all this... we didn't know you were so unhappy." "I wasn't," he said, and knew even as he said it that he talked too fast to sound honest. He switched to working on his left leg, holding on to his toes. "It was a long time ago. I was just being... dramatic and... and stuff. I got over it. I just. For a while there I forgot I got over it." Dad looked over to the corner, to the mike and the guitar, and looked back and gave him a nod. "'s not like I even had a real reason." And if they saw all that why didn't Dad see that? Why hadn't he noticed how small and stupid the reason was? He'd told Naegi about it all over again, he remembered that much. The girl he was always eying up at the salon back in Osaka, the one he tried to get all his appointments with not just because she was hot. She wouldn't go out with him, told him all her boyfriends were musicians. So he thought: that's it, I'll be a musician, I'll be the best punk rocker in the world, maybe I won't even have to be a really good musician, they say Sid Vicious was a shit bassist – (and they say Sid Vicious knifed his girlfriend)– and then maybe, he'd imagined, I'll get my hands on that dynamite body and her magic fingers'll go somewhere past my head. That was it. And the really stupid thing was now looking at it from the ancient age of eighteen he could see that was probably a nice way to brush him off. She was a university student shoring up her tuition and he was like five years younger than her and she probably couldn't straight-out tell a customer to go shove it. To fill the silence he got up and got them more neatly-packaged doses of booze. * "'m sorry. I fucked it up, didn't I?" Once it was all laid out so neat so clean. High school on a scholarship, wowing the crowd at Koshien, picking the sweetest offer from the major leagues, fame and fortune. He didn't know exactly when it had settled this way but he knew it had been settling almost as long as he could remember. Mom hadn't smiled at his quizzes and worksheets covered with red ink but she smiled at the scoreboard every game. After he started playing baseball and being so great at baseball Dad didn't take him aside to say things like you'll have to be grown up and take care of yourself someday, you need to listen to the teacher. They were soothing when he told them he hated school, didn't say anymore that he had to learn to put up with it, that was life. He knew exactly where to go, exactly what to do, the winning formula. Why had he ever thought of that as a burden? Why did he give up on it the moment it stopped being as fun as he was used to? Stupid lazy boy, ungrateful little shit never realized what he brushed off, threw away. They'd always loved him, would always love him whether or not he deserved it, even if idiot that he was he hadn't always been sure it was him they loved, but the rest of the world? Who else'd touch him? What team in the world would want someone who'd stabbed a girl in the gut? Who in the world'd want to listen to his warbling whining? And they'd worked so hard and they'd lost everything and that, part of that was his fault too, wasn't it, because if he hadn't been so stupid, if he'd seen what Enoshima was up to some time in that whole peaceful first year, if he'd stopped her – "Fucked up... fucked up everything. 'm so sorry. So sorry." * It was so warm. Everything so close. He wanted to melt into it, wanted to struggle free of it. Too close. Too close! No. I don't want this. No. No. Stop. Don't do this. I'm begging you. No. And the voice murmuring right in his ear. He jerked away and into something else. No. No. Nonono. Stop it. Please. He went under. In the dark eventually he heard singing. * Sayaka's hands in his. Sayaka's fingers with the nails so neat. Sayaka looking as anxious as he felt. Sayaka saying, this is, this is all pretty new to me, because, well, you know what I mean. I know what you mean. Is it all right if we take it slowly? Sure, sure, no problem, I mean, we've got all the time in the world. * There had probably been hangovers worse than this one but none of them were pounding away from inside his skull right this instant as the chimes of the alarm pounded in from the other side. He drew himself halfway out of his curl to pull a pillow over his head and held it there, groaning. As he'd felt for the pillow he thought he felt more than one. The futon under him felt different. No. It wasn't the futon. It was... the alarm was so close... it was the bed, the king-size bed in – in – in – in the bedroom, the one Mom and Dad slept in, what was he doing here? "Morning." Mom sounded different from yesterday. Wary, almost. "Are you feeling all right?" "'m fine," he said into the pillow. His stomach churned. He couldn't figure out which position aggravated it least. "Morning." Shit shit and shit. He must've made an even bigger ass of himself after he got completely blotto last night and he didn't even remember how big an ass. "I'll leave this here, if you're..." A clunk on the nightstand. "We thought we'd order in this morning. What do you want? I'll get the menu if –" He tried to figure out the best way to say he'd just throw it up, it'd be a waste of money even if it wasn't their money. Then he remembered he had an explanation that could sidestep all of that, a little more time before he had to cross that bridge. "Thanks, but actually I was gonna meet the others for breakfast. At, um, eight. It's not eight yet, is it?" "No, you have nearly an hour." She sounded tremendously relieved. How did saying such a little thing relieve her that much? "Be sure and drink plenty of water." He uncurled himself and drank the glass of water Mom had left on the nightstand. Did the usual morning things. A little before eight Mom answered the door, and when she called "Asahina-chan!" he felt obliged to go over. "Morning, Asahina." "G'd morning." And that was different from yesterday too, quieter, her smile more dutiful, and he was glad and then guilty for his gladness that she wasn't wasting her exuberance on him this morning. "I thought I'd check about the breakfast meeting. I guess you're ready, right?" "Yeah." In the elevator Asahina tapped out a rhythm on the brass rail and Leon pulled out some particularly stubborn tangles in his hair. When the elevator opened in the lobby they passed through without seeming to catch any notice. Naegi waved them over from the far end of the bustling café where they'd pushed a couple of tables together. When Leon and Asahina took their seats there were still two chairs left empty out of eight. He looked around. Celes and Fukawa weren't there, of course, and neither was Togami. There were seven menus laid out, one for if Togami had shown up; Leon muttered too-ordinary hellos as he picked up his to hide behind and tried to figure what he'd be least likely to throw up. They'd notice if he didn't eat anything. Hagakure started reading off the list of breakfast drinks and his voice pounded away to intensify the throbbing just over Leon's ears. Naegi murmured something, somewhat abashedly, about how the rest of them were still underage. "C'mon, Naegi-chi, looks like we could all use a drink, right?" Leon glanced over the top of the menu and realized that Asahina wasn't close to the only one who wasn't up and at 'em. Naegi and Oowada both looked down. Kirigiri looked neutral. Hagakure looked determinedly cheerful as he kept rattling off mimosas and bellinis. When the waitress came by he recited seven of the drinks, supposedly all for himself, and preemptively brandished his passport. The waitress blinked at him and took everyone else's orders for tea, juice, different kinds of coffee. After she left with the drink orders and before she came back to take meal orders they said things for the sake of saying them that dangled limp in the air once they came out like hey, have you decided what to get, oh, the ham and eggs, okay, sounds pretty good, well I'm getting the – Leon decided on one of the cheapest things on there so there shouldn't be too much to chew through. He was lucky; he didn't have to say all this to anyone, because nobody asked. He held his menu under the table and out of sight as the waitress collected the other six, in case he needed to hide again. It wasn't until everyone's drinks and breakfasts were delivered and the waitress left for the third time and Hagakure was starting to push his assortment of cocktails on the rest (Hagakure himself claimed something clearish in a shallow glass, Oowada stared for a while before grabbing something thick and red), that Naegi said, "Do we all know about... yesterday?" Asahina methodically tore bits off one of the pastries she'd grabbed from the baskets in the center of the table. "I heard. You and Oowada... you got there in time..." Leon stirred his yogurt, remembering how Enoshima gloated about it. Oogami. She'd managed it without anyone getting there in time. Oogami was the toughest of them, no question, the strongest girl in the world, they said, and stronger than the strongest guy, turned out the only one who could kill her was herself. "Asahina-san –" "It's not fair!" Tableware jumped on the white cloth, startled as the rest of them by Asahina's fists slamming the table. "It's not fair! Sakura-chan... she didn't even know. Monobear... Enoshima... made her forget... she never would've agreed if she knew it was already gone. Her father was dead and the dojo was gone and she made her forget! Sakura-chan died and it was for nothing!" Naegi bit his lip. Kirigiri tilted her head downward at the slightest angle; Hagakure lowered it outright. Leon thought: Oogami never would've agreed to what? He looked over at Oowada, who soon looked just as mystified. He'd known Oogami killed herself and Asahina tried to get herself voted the culprit but he hadn't known exactly why either of them did that. No, wait, he hadn't known even that – Enoshima had said so, and Enoshima lied all the damn time when she thought it would make you feel worse, though he knew for sure now part of that was true. Before that – he'd seen the things on the two other murder-and-trial DVDs, and he'd heard what they told him about the fake trial with Ikusaba and the final trial after that, and he knew what Alter Ego knew about the time in between, but there were still these gaps. What happened? Could he just ask? Hey, Asahina, you really tried to frame yourself after your BFF kicked the bucket? So how'd that happen? Or go snoop on the Internet, go over the news stories, look it up at Hope's Peak Perfect Edition? He'd already gone voyeuring reading about Togami and Celes, why stop there? "But she gave us a way into the headmaster's office," said Kirigiri after another moment, and her voice was low like it often was but it was also now a little soft around the edges, maybe even hesitant. "And she brought us together so that Junko Enoshima had to forge a murder and break her own rules for the next trial. And that was the beginning of the end." Asahina didn't seem to hear her. Tremors moved from her shoulders down to her fingers where they clutched the edge of the table. The people at the nearby tables were staring. Leon hoped they didn't understand any more Japanese than he understood Korean. The silent stillness broke when Togami swept in past the glass doors and took the seventh chair, leaving the eighth empty between him and Kirigiri. "Glad you could make it," said Naegi as his hand went up to signal the waitress. "Let me just get you a –" Before he could really think about it Leon had reached over and pressed his menu into Naegi's hand. " – oh, thanks," said Naegi, and passed it on to Togami barely missing a beat. Togami opened it up and started to survey it without missing another one. Asahina took deep shuddering breaths that twisted something in him to hear and went back to maiming baked goods. Kirigiri said a couple more low soft things to her and looked almost relieved when Asahina waved her off and lied that she was A-okay. Naegi said some halting things about how he hadn't been able to get hold of Togami. Togami read the menu and said some things about staying in a different hotel with his own money. Said something snippy about how it was obvious he was getting shoved into a spare room because why would anyone think he needed or wanted a suite with two bedrooms? Asahina roused herself to mutter, with a strain of incredulity, "You don't like that you got too much?" "Well, if you ever want to do some entertaining," said Hagakure, trying to look smirky and knowing. Sometimes Leon found it as hard to believe he was twenty-two as he'd once found it hard to believe he was twenty. "They probably did give you the nearest vacancy," said Kirigiri. "They're trying to keep us close together, and we know Fukawa-san's family stayed here at one point." "Oh yeah," said Hagakure, "and she's got a father and a mother and a mother... even with these beds it could get crowded, right?" As he made himself lift the spoon Leon remembered Togami's room was on the twenty-sixth floor. He remembered something Mom said, something about how in the beginning they'd wanted to share a floor with Maizono's dad, and with Enoshima and Ikusaba's parents. Enoshima and Ikusaba's parents had still been Enoshima and Ikusaba; if they'd been married they weren't by then, maybe they'd broken up and even if they were okay with being roommates they wanted a room and a bed each... The conversation had moved on and tripped spectacularly. "Then..." Hagakure was saying, "that means... that room was those people's! They offed themselves in there, and then yesterday, she went and–!" His arm flew out into his most dramatic point. "It's haunted! Cursed! A Suicide Suite! Get out while you still can, Oowada-chi!" Oowada gave him a long look. People were beginning to stare again. Leon managed to say, "It wasn't theirs. Theirs was Togami's room." "Oh," said Hagakure. "Okay then." Togami made another little contemptuous noise. * They were at the stage of gradual drift-offs with mutterings of see-you-later. Leon got up and noticed Oowada was still sitting there, his fork poised on an empty plate. He'd finished his red drink and there was another empty glass next to him and one still half full centimeters away from his other hand. For a moment looking at him Leon was scared for no reason he could point at. To chase it away he opened his mouth and said, "Gonna go see Alter Ego. You coming?" Oowada didn't say anything but when Leon started to turn away he heard the clatter of Oowada putting down the fork. They went to the twenty-fourth floor in the same elevator as Kirigiri, in silence, and ended up walking down the hall to 2402 not-quite-together. Kirigiri's grandpa let them all in. Right away Kirigiri started getting ready to head back out. Leon guessed it was more stuff to do with the memories and Alter Ego's data but he didn't ask. When Leon woke up the laptop Alter Ego smiled and said, "Good morning! Oh, it's nice to see you again, Oowada-kun!" Oowada looked like he was about to bolt. Eventually after the door closed behind Kirigiri ("See you soon, Kirigiri-san!" Alter Ego called as she passed, and she turned her head long enough to nod) he pulled up a chair next to Leon but stayed tensed near the edge of the seat while Leon typed and Alter Ego talked about the English project, ready to take off at the slightest notice. One problem with that plan: when the bell rang and they heard Fujisaki's dad talking to Kirigiri's grandpa in the foyer there was nowhere to take off to except maybe the bathroom – Oowada took a long look at the bathroom door before looking back – and the bedroom was right out. They both knew his voice from when they'd stayed at Fujisaki's place over winter break, and if they hadn't remembered there was old man Kirigiri, really-old-man Kirigiri, saying, "Of course, Fujisaki-san. You should be aware there are some other visitors right now..." He kept talking but the exact words dropped low and out of hearing. Probably something like: the killers that didn't try to kill themselves are in there talking about different kinds of Yankee. "Shit," Oowada whispered. His words were pointed away from Leon, into empty air. Shit! "Should I come back later?" Fujisaki's dad had a voice like Fujisaki's, soft and diffident, only a little bit deeper. He wasn't as small or frail as Fujisaki, Leon remembered, but when they stood side by side he was shorter than Naegi, who was the second-smallest guy in the class, and as slight as Naegi. He'd wondered a couple times what kind of shit Fujisaki's dad had to put up with when he was a kid. Maybe not quite as much, because he had a squarer face and thicker bones and all those things that added up to looking definitely like a guy, just a short one and a freaky-young one – he was one of the youngest dads their class had, to start with, and Fujisaki had said that in restaurants and so on even as young as he looked they kept being mistaken for brother and sister. Maybe Fujisaki would've looked like that, one day. "If that's what you'd like," said Kirigiri's grandpa. Pause. "No," said Fujisaki's dad. His voice now was like how Fujisaki talked when he squared his shoulders and got ready to show how strong he really was, how brave he really was, you couldn't be brave if you couldn't be scared, "I think I'd like to see him now." Oowada stood up and turned around but didn't run. Leon got up just as the two men came in from the foyer. "Hi," he said, stupidly, because everything else he could think to say in that moment was even stupider. "Good morning, Kuwata-kun." Nobody would ever mistake Fujisaki's dad for Fujisaki's brother now. He was the same size as before, or maybe skinnier, but during all the shit of the last two years, the last three months, everything else about him was catapulted forward in time, to where a guy his age ought to look and then past it, the lines in his skin, the gray in his hair. "... hello." Those words fell a lot heavier out of his mouth; his left hand, hanging at his side, folded tighter. "I've got no excuse," said Oowada, and after that whispered shit! he was keeping it together, not a stammer in sight, and in that moment Leon hated him so much he could almost understand the kind of hate Oowada must've had in his head when he swung the dumbbell, how can he do it, why him, it's not fair, it's not fucking fair. "I know I've got it coming. Whatever you want me to –" "Please don't talk to me right now, Oowada-kun." As he walked forward he still spoke so soft. "I don't want anything from you but that –" "Hello?" Alter Ego piped up over him. "Who is it? ... Papa? Oh, excuse me –" In the long seconds before Fujisaki's dad choked out "Chihiro?" Oowada got the hell out of there fast as he could without actually running, circling wide around Fujisaki's dad and then a straight line out the door except for sidestepping Kirigiri's grandpa. In the seconds after the word came out Leon thought the way he'd said it reminded him of something, someone, and wondered what. Then he realized what: Mom, as she ran into the elevator. Only it was worse, way worse, because when she called his name Mom knew for sure he was the same person, or at least the same flesh and bones. Alter Ego was real, too, Alter Ego was a person, but he wasn't that person any more than Leon was Mom or Dad. (The third DVD, the What Really Happened: Ishimaru walking to his death, different gait, different set to his shoulders, with wild bright eyes that Leon didn't understand until days later when Celes said Ishimaru-kun went a little mad) He started trailing after Oowada because he couldn't think what else to do, just wanted to move, do something, but as he went forward left foot right foot with his eyes on the door a hand closed on his wrist. He bit back a yelp, babbling in the inside of his head that he already knew whose hand it was, whose hand it had to be even if he didn't see it right now, if he could just make himself look he'd be doubly sure, it couldn't be anything anyone bad, nothing worth screaming about, it was okay, it was okay, it was okay... "Kuwata-kun? Could you stay for a moment? Please." He took another few breaths before he turned his head to Fujisaki's dad and nodded. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- A long while ago they'd confessed to each other that they hadn't had sex once in their lives and then said to each other what, you've never, no fucking way! Kuwata had said, the hell, chicks dig that shit, is it like one of those man's honor things, you gotta get married or something? And Mondo had to explain while even more blood went to his face that he wasn't sure if he'd go that far with a girl because he hadn't gotten close to the kind of situation where he'd have to decide. To go with the easy baseball quip that had Kuwata rolling his eyes but laughing, you didn't think about trying for a home run if you couldn't even make it to first base. Kuwata, on his part, had no trouble getting girlfriends in general with his cocky grin and his easy moves, but he never got that far with them. Had a knack for going after the ones who wouldn't. It was like when Chuck strained at his leash after cars and bikes; he wouldn'tve known what to do if he caught one. * She's into some kinky shit, Kuwata said, and on the surface it was more of the old swagger, like he was bragging about another of his nonexistent conquests. But even then Mondo saw the empty space in his eyes, and the layers of bruises on his neck, and how loose his old uniform hung. * "Oh-ho!" cried Enoshima. "So we have a martyr on our hands! A penitent! A man's man who would immolate himself on the altar of manly principle, defiant to the end! Such inconsiderate people, martyrs, they don't care what happens to them so of course they never think about the poor wretches they leave behind –" "Shut up." He didn't have enough voice anymore to shout it and that bugged him, couldn't help the crazy thought somewhere deep inside that if he could just be loud enough she'd shrug and say, okay, you got me, it's all a dream, you shouldn'tve had so much of the greenhouse moonshine, you can wake up now. Last night Kuwata asked if he could bring himself to hit Enoshima, knowing now what he did, what she did. He knew now that he could certainly try. There was no trying now, not with his hands tied to his feet like this, but he'd tried before she laughed and clapped her hands and sent lightning up his spine, and for a while rocking back and forth on the cold floor of the camera room he'd tried to try. (And he remembered standing outside the bloody bathroom where Maizono's body lay, saying something like, what kind of shit would do something like that, when we find out who the fucker is I'll give him the goddamn death penalty myself, and he was saying it to Naegi, watching for a flinch. Then big-eyed Naegi, nervous but not any more nervous than before, said something like, um, but what if we find out the killer's a girl?) Enoshima rambled on about some guy named Lorenzo who was a martyr too, and Nagasaki, and Sadako Sasaki, and how much she hated virgins. If he shut his eyes he could see her coming back from Shibuya yammering all this a mile a minute to her sister, who'd be lugging more than her share of shopping – he could see it up until she said wasn't it sad how Fujisaki died a pathetic virgin killed by a doubly pathetic virgin, and yapped right over him trying again to tell her to shut up. He wasn't any kind of martyr of course. The whole thing about martyrs was they were good people. People who didn't deserve it. Okay, he thought. So maybe I'm gonna die. Okay. She fiddled with the camera screens flick-flick-flick. There went Asahina brushing her teeth over the bathroom sink, there went Togami in the library, there went Ishimaru staring at the ceiling, there they all went until it was all Kuwata at different angles. Kuwata lying on the bed with his arms folded under his chin watching the black screen of that big TV. "Now you shut up," she snapped as she grabbed a roll of tape. And when she was done with that she started throwing things into a shopping bag that looked too goddamn new and crisp and all to be a year old. While she did that she said all prim-librarian, "Well now, young man, it looks like you're need of an object demonstration of how this sort of self-destructive behavior hurts your family and friends, no, wait, just your friends in this case, isn't that right?" and only then he realized the smallest part of what she meant to do. * He'd regret it later, like he regretted all the mountains of shit he couldn't take back, but at least these thoughts as terrible as they were weren't so obvious out there and un-take-backable. At least when he thought What're you doing? Why're you just doing it? What kind of man are you? Kuwata didn't see him think it. He saw Kuwata lie back on the bed. He saw Enoshima pull down his pants. He saw Kuwata's hands clench and Kuwata's eyes shut and Kuwata's lips press together. Forever later he saw Enoshima turn her head and wink up at one of the cameras as she pulled things out of the shopping bag, and not long after that he heard Kuwata start to scream. * When he stumbled in and turned on the light Kuwata looked just like he had on the screens. His hands were still tight on the head of the bed while the rest of him lay loose on the blanket like a dropped puppet. Mondo looked hard at Kuwata's hands because the white at his knuckles and the tremors that went through his fingers every few seconds meant he was still alive. Not like Daiya's hands large and callused, open and slack. Not like Fujisaki's tiny hands with his thin fingers curling in toward his palms. Kuwata's fingers twitched when Mondo pried them from the headboard. He didn't stir when Mondo tried saying things, fucking useless things like hey and sorry and you hearing me? but he whimpered faintly into the blanket when Mondo touched his shoulder and whimpered again when Mondo started trying to get the pillows out from under his too-skinny ass and thighs. The pillow on top was dotted with drying blood from somewhere Mondo didn't want to think about. When he thought, he thought of taking off the pillowcase. When he started to do that he saw the stain had leaked through to the pillow so he tossed the whole thing under the bed. With his clothes off, Kuwata seemed even smaller. Not nearly as small as Fujisaki but for him, way too small. It was even easier to see how close his bones were to his skin. It used to disgust him, hadn't it, how easy Kuwata had it. He was from the kind of rich that didn't think they were rich because they weren't Togami-rich; cash flew from his pockets. His biggest gripe was that his folks got too excited about him, too happy that even if he was a lazy dumbass the major-league teams were shoving each other out of the way waving offers at him as far back as junior fucking high, too glad that even if all their money happened to vaporize he was set for goddamn life. The worst thing that ever happened to him was someone made him cut his hair, and okay, that wasn't fun, but... ("He's... terribly confident, isn't he?" Fujisaki ventured one day in the cafeteria, early on. And Mondo said something like, yeah, the kind of confident you get when you always get what you want. And Fujisaki, who was speaking up more by then, said something like yes, but he's nice about getting what he wants. And Mondo had to admit Fujisaki was on to something there. Kuwata was full of himself, sure, but it wasn't the same way as Togami, the nose-in-the-air way, it was a smiling friendly way. He was too busy being full of himself to bother being as cruel as the kind of popular boys, the strutting sports stars, that Fujisaki remembered with tears welling up in his eyes. That was one of the things no one would have guessed about how the three of them would click together.) Kuwata started moving again when Mondo started working the covers out from under him to do some covering – rolled away, rolled into a ball. Mondo leaned in as he pulled the covers back up, heard something, leaned in closer, but Kuwata wasn't talking to him, wasn't really there, from somewhere else muttered no, no, no. "Fuck, I fucked up." Kuwata kept whispering no, kind of twitching his head side to side, and Mondo knew better than to think it meant anything like no, you didn't, it's okay. "This shit..." He straightened up. "All this shit... Shit. Fuck." After some pacing he paced himself to the shelves full of albums. He stuck his hand in and started fumbling through the cases. Eventually he grabbed one, couldn't say why that one, he remembered Kuwata going on about English music but couldn't remember what he'd said about it. He went to the stereo – Kuwata's stereo, he'd seen it enough times to know that. He pressed the button too many times and when the CD tray popped out, right away it started sliding back in. He caught it in his hand, tried to pull it back. When it wouldn't he almost pulled harder – (fuck's sake haven't you broken enough shit for the rest of a hundred lives, for the cherry on top now you've gotten him assraped gonna fuck up all the stuff he's got left?) – but thought better of it. (for once) He got the CD in on the next try. As the first song started he pulled one of the chairs from the card table up to the side of the bed and sat there, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He watched Kuwata twitch. He knew enough English to know when the English singer started singing I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry, though, that was just words. Show, tell. He had to show it. Had to do something. Had to make something right, whatever little things he could. He thought this, and he tried to do it. Trying counted as much as it ever had. * Such a fuckup. Such a goddamn fuckup. Fucking piece of shit. Daiya in his bloody white coat, whispering sorry for messing up and saving his sorry waste of a life. Fujisaki, tears in his eyes, stammering What's wrong? Kuwata screaming into the mattress, begging stop please stop hurts so bad and he'd never found out why Enoshima did it to him that night because Mondo, coward that he was, never said. Ishimaru's watch and then Ishimaru's skull breaking under Yamada's hammer, Ishimaru's eyes and mouth open, not understanding why Yamada would shout that he'd done such an awful unforgivable thing... He figured out soon enough that she'd hurt Kuwata no matter what he did or didn't do but he kept trying, because maybe that would keep her from hurting him worse. And for a while he could fool himself that he was doing something. That because he played the martyr for her she didn't make Kuwata bleed that bad again until Celes and those sick bearheaded fucks came along. Because Kuwata still sang along to the stereo, sometimes, and insisted on sharing the bed, and hadn't walked out of himself and not come back. ... Kuwata again, shrugging, playing it cool. Cameras've gotten an eyeful a billion times already. Kuwata pulling away with his hand over his mouth, Kuwata scrambling off the bed and running behind Celes's black sheet to throw up Mondo's come. Kuwata saying I'm sorry. Like it was his fault. He'd never said shit like that before, never a sorry when he didn't have to. He'd never been scared of Mondo, either, until then. Then after everything was over Kuwata hadn't wanted to go. Scratch that. Hadn't wanted to go with him. He knew from the first day down there with Kuwata throwing the cola can that he hated him, had to hate him, for Fujisaki, but it wasn't until then that he started throwing things again, words again, making it so clear again. Making it clear, too, he knew what Mondo had been trying for all those days and weeks and knew it didn't count for shit because Fujisaki was dead as ever, Kuwata yelled, killed as ever. And he thought sometimes that if he'd finished things the very first night, stuck a fork in the socket like Celes pointed out... he wouldn't have been able to do those small sorry things he'd done for Kuwata, for Fujisaki and then Ishimaru's ghosts, but he wouldn't have been able to do any more of the large terrible ones either. But he couldn't go back and do that. So he kept getting up in the morning, because now that he'd done those things there was nothing for it but to hope he could still put something right again in the time he didn't deserve. *** Shiro Fujisaki. A little guy like his son, a nice guy like his son. First met him at the door when Mondo headed to Fujisaki's place over Golden Week to take him riding. Looking him up and down, judging him but not the judgment most people made – You must be Oowada-kun. How do you do? I'll get Chihiro. Would you like some coffee? And what could he ever put right for him?
1186758	The Mysterious Troll	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by divinePlushie, fallenTerpsichore", "chapters": "2/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-15T00:00:00", "words": "584", "Additional Tags": "Original Character(s), Imaginary Friends, Cussing, It's Homestuck of course there is cussing", "Relationship": null, "Character": "Nasare Siluva", "Relationships": null, "Series": "My Homestuck, Neeyou and Nasare", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Reader... be the mysterious troll. You are the mysterious troll now. Everyone thinks you are all cool and mysterious(when they don't think you are Neeyou's imaginary friend) and you don't know how the hell that happened, but apparently being mysterious is cool. IF someone had asked you as wriggler what you would be when you grew up, "cool" would have been your last guess. The very last one even, because you are about as uncool as it gets. You are a mutant. Your blood is as freaky as freaky gets. In fact, it looks like that liquid silver metal shit that they put in those temperature assessment devices. The only person who knows is your Moirail, a kind and innocent little blue-blood, Neeyou Skyale, who lives to sew plushies and watch rom-coms. She has even made little plushie versions of all her friends for you. She worries about You being lonely seeing as you live like a hermit all alone on a small volcanic island off the coast. Oh, wait you do live like that, because you are a hermit. You have to be, because of that whole stupid mutant thing. Your name is Nasare Siluva. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- You have just exited out of Trollian, after chatting to your Moirail. She wanted to talk you into playing a game with a bunch of her friends. Maybe it has a lot to do with hiding your secret, but you are very shy about meeting new people. Not to mention You have heard enough about some of these trolls to be wary of them. Like Vriska for starters, she has always sounded pretty cutthroat and you know that she drives Neeyou straight up the wall. You are pretty sure you have talked Neeyou into playing said game with just you. It should still be fun, after all you two do things like that all the time and you have never felt like you were missing out just because it was just the two of you.Looking around your hive, you smile at your Steampunk collection, the plethora of Neeyou made plushies she has given you and the transforming robot toy she gave you for a Wriggling Day present. The thought of playing a new game with your very best friend makes you surprisingly happy. You pick up your favorite pair of drumsticks and begin tapping out of few rhythms on your desk, while you wait for your copy of the game to finish downloadIng. You are startled out of your reverie by a noisy alert from Trollian. CG: YOU SUCK!FT: Hey, Karkat.CG: NO. DON'T EVEN TRY TO BE NICE TO ME. I KNOW YOU ARE THE REASON NEEYOU REFUSED TO BE ON MY TEAM FOR THE GAME. CG: I AM PISSED AND I AM NOT SPEAKING TO YOU NOW!FT: Ooookaaaay... FT: You know ...You could always play with us instead. CG: NO. FUCK YOU! I AM THE LEADER OF THE RED TEAM. I CAN'T BACK OUT NOW.FT: It's just that I don't really know any of these people. You know that strangers make me really uncomfortable. CG: BAH! YOU WOULD KNOW NEEYOU, GAMZEE AND ME. SEE THIS IS WHY EVERYONE CALLS YOU NEEYOU'S "IMAGINARY FRIEND".FT: Hee hee, do they really say that? Beside I thought you weren't speaking to me? };)CG: OH. RIGHT. FUCK YOU! YOU STILL SUCK!FT: Yea, yea... good luck, Karkat. CG: ........CG: THANKS.carcinoGeneticist has logged outcarcinoGeneticist has logged inCG: YOU TOO. carcinoGeneticist has logged out
1158978	When the Dust Settles	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley", "Fandom": "Harry Potter - Fandom", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by Reera the Red (orphan_account)", "chapters": "20/20", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-29T00:00:00", "words": "11,725", "Additional Tags": "Practically the Trio's Whole Generation", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Notes from the Wizarding World", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Katrina Abel’s boy was capable of upending garbage bins over the neighborhood bullies, she reported. He taught her how to eat new things. He believed — just pretend! Of course it was pretend. How nice of his Mentor to be such an imaginative person — that in their fantasy-play, he might make a nice Gryffindor.Finch-Fletchley’s girl, rather alarmingly, was partial to Slytherin. But Finch-Fletchley felt, in the interests of fairness, that one had to remember that she thought it was all make-believe at this point, and also that it was terribly far-sighted of her to want to enter the den of the snakes and reverse its thinking. Marvelously ambitious, that one. Full of promise. Shame she thought it was all a game.Tremlett simply wrote: Tariq is more than ready to find out. For that matter, I’m more than ready to tell him.This was the new development closest to Hermione’s heart, the program she’d crafted all on her own, the first thing she’d fought for and succeeded at, even if the more conservative relics of the old Ministry had exacted some concessions. And so she’d meant to sit and think it over that very morning — properly think it over, research similar approaches in other countries, determine how best to propose it to Kingsley. But she didn’t have the time to respond. At the start of the work-day she’d had a screaming row the Prophet would later characterize as a “lively debate,” with Smith, over the issue of leveling any taxes at all on Gringotts’ vaults which were more than two hundred years old.Then came the problem of hag immigration. Travers, who handled that department, was of the opinion that it was a non-issue. No hags were emigrating. Thank Merlin. When she pointed out that this was due to his long-standing policy of awarding witches and wizards a slap on the wrist for killing foreign-seeming hags on sight, he took offense. He’s offended! she thought, still fuming, going over her revisions to that particular MLE imbroglio, He is! I’ll show him offended!Noon brought a goblin crisis to a head, which the stupider Undersecretaries seemed to think might be well solved if someone would just go out and procure the head of a goblin. Afternoon ushered in the oldest relic on the Wizengamot now that Dumbledore was gone, Crepusculus Nott, complaining of the educational resources siphoned away from nice, sensible children to be given to the werewolves. For roughly three hours, he stood in her office and threatened to turn Kingsley into a peach."I don’t believe that’s what impeach means," she’d told him, trying to keep her temper under check, "Or that we do that in our current political system."“You don’t tell me what an impeachment spell does!” he’d cried.Yes. It had been a headache day. And now — now memoranda shot in from every corner of the Ministry, exploding from her chimney and bursting from the desk drawers she really shouldn’t have given over to Secretarial Correspondence. Horrifying! screamed one.Despicable waste of the Minister’s time, to have him sign off on such a program! shrieked the Howler from Care & Representation Magical Creatures, a department which had never forgiven her for limiting their ability to control and regulate.The Prophet will hear of this, vowed Games & Sports (which really ought not to have had any kind of opinion on it, but which was — and had long been — in the pockets of the Baddock-family-owned Baddock Broomstick Company).You’ll overturn the Statute of Secrecy! cried Muggle Artifacts, which had been getting rather cheeky ever since Hermione had granted their senior-most member a generous severance package before he could do anything troublesome based on his shaky grasp of Muggle culture. (Given what working at the Ministry could drive a witch to, she would have had to murder him. And her husband would have been rather upset with her.)She called in her junior secretary to deal with the mess."Well, news of the Muggle-born mentoring was bound to hit their ears sooner or later," said her secretary."Just as the children are coming along tremendously," she said, "Do you know what I think? I think they’ve finally realized that — that Dumbledore had the right of it all along. That children are powerful. That the way you shape them matters.”"That was your lot that taught them that," said her secretary, "That wasn’t mine.""And — and after complaining for years that Muggle-borns are stupid, that they don’t know anything—""Up until now they haven’t, and I shouldn’t think it’s been anything but lovely for some people, having all that empty space to shove revolutionary ideas into—""Oh, shut up, Greengrass," Hermione said, "You sniffed about it, too. You all did. But you didn’t do anything. You just laughed at these — these children who were torn from their world and dumped in yours, and you didn’t want to teach them anything. And now that we are—""Yes, yes," said Daphne, "Now they’ve lovely Guides to help them. Muggle-born helping Muggle-born. It’s sweet. It’s…"Hermione shot down a memorandum rather ominously, daring her to say something dismissive."You’re going to need to put the MLE on it," was all Daphne said, "Let them know who to protect, now that these little darlings are in contact with our big bad world. And it’ll puff up Weasley’s chest a little more; he’s your robin ginger-breast, isn’t he?""Yes, turn this into an opportunity for a dig," Hermione snapped, "Just like one of your lot.”"My lot does things like make a lot of noise about hag policies, and then slips in an awful new change for Muggle-borns when everyone’s caught up in the hag mess," said Daphne, "My lot is political. Don’t say you haven’t learned from us."This was, regrettably, true. She had learned. If someone had told her, a very small her, that there was a world with people like Greengrasses and Notts and Smiths in it, she would have wanted not just to beat them. She would have wanted to learn from them, too. She’d been, in her own way, an ambitious marvel."Now they’re making noise about this," Hermione said thoughtfully."Yes," Daphne said, rolling her eyes, "Yes. Stars in your eyes now. We can push this, and let them worry over it enough to let us do something about the poor little house elves, or, knowing you, even the bloody centaurs. Then we’ll push that, and behind their backs—""Bend the Statute a little," Hermione said, "Maybe. Move forward, at any rate.""Pretending to compromise, and then not compromising at all. I really don’t know why you Sorted where you did," Daphne grumbled. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The Johnsons were fortunate, said Angelina’s parents. They said this in spite of all logic and mounting evidence to the contrary; in spite of several tragedies; in spite of small cruelties which had been committed upon the wizarding-born, foreign side of the family throughout the years; in spite of terrible injustices which had plagued the Muggle-descended, local side for nearly a century in the British Isles. They said it reverently, with complete assurance. They said it and Angelina believed them. This is because they — and she — had a strange, stubborn, surviving quality in them. Faith. Faith. Ugh. Odd and illogical and very Muggle, wrote many a Minister, over the years. Ought to be banished from the wizarding world, said a portrait of Dexter Fortescue, just last week. Thankfully not in vogue for several centuries, sighed the late Lucilla Malfoy, one hundred years ago. A panacea for small and miserable and unintelligent folk, said young Nicholas Flamel in 1350.For, illogical as magic was, it welcomed logic. The wizarding world adored cool explanations and easy blood theories, worshipped methodical thought and cold deconstruction. It stood uneasy next to such inexplicable things as belief, love, unfairness, death, the divine. These were the great problems generations (and Dark Lords) had attempted to solve, and would try their hand at forevermore. So that when someone like Angelina appeared in sight, sure of herself, thanking the world for her good fortune, confident even when she was clearly a half-blood, clearly had hair quite beyond the normal, clearly was not top of her class, clearly spent too much time on the Quidditch pitch, clearly had little understanding of her tender gender and muddled blood and her occasional limits, clearly was not favored, by all the blood theories and social thinkers and rational minds of the time; the wizarding world would throw up its hands and declare her quite silly, very stupid, a conceited little mind. Grasping for pretty straws from a cold and hard and scientific universe.Which was not to say that Angelina cared a whit. She saw the world as divided between the fortunate and good and loving; and exacting, pitiless, heartless people, not guided by morality or kindness, merely consumed by egotism, an entire parade of fallen star names. This was the sum of all their pure blood and their mathemagical, scientific exactness, in Angelina’s estimate.Until! Until she should go away to school. Oh, school blasts open the mind and the heart, or at least proper schooling does; and it does this not so much through textbooks and theory, as through a sudden and terrible exposure to one’s peers, their strange personalities, their unflinching quirks. It was at school that Angelina met a pair of genuine Experimenters.Experimenting with color-changing charms, and with the patience of Professor McGonagall. Experimenting with getting rich quick, and with exploding potions. Experimenting with the boundaries of magic itself, and with the toilet seats in the boys’ loo. Experimenting with the points system (how many could one lose in one day, really?) and with bits of canary fluff, and with beating out Zonko, and with the limits of transfiguration, and with ickle Ronniekins. Experimenting not because of, but often in spite of pure old Mum and Ministry man Dad. Always experimenting.And having fun at it, too. Fred and George were fun, above all; warm and merry, not cold and (too) merciless. They were quite the opposite of Angelina — not believers in the slightest; that seemed like such a mum thing to be, really; probably people like Percy became believers, because for all their intelligence people like Percy had stubborn cores and couldn’t really get creative, couldn’t really get dangerous and face hard truths, right Gred?Right, Forge.But, see, they were not at all what Angelina had been expecting, from a pair of scientific minds. They were not lost in blood obsession. They were not in need of the divine. They were brilliant. And funny. And good friends to her — they happened upon her and the older MacLaggen in Madam Puddifoots, once, and transformed a dismal date into a prank-filled delight. They showed her where the thestrals were, they looked the other way when she and Katie snuck out after hours, they stole Firewhiskey before the Yule Ball and shared with all. They took her to see a mirror in which all the sweetest and most perfect things were reflected, like a vision of God. (It’s only a tricky bit of illusory charmswork, they said, half-bragging, half-modest, as if not sure whether they wanted to impress her with this or not. As if not sure which one wanted to impress her, even.)And so Angelina made peace with this atheistic experimentation. She knocked around her mind, not to mention her heart, until there was room in it for these two, these pitiless purebloods, for she suspected that someday with all their experimenting they might crack the code to curing some terrible illness, might bring the world struggling forward into a brighter day — this was the hand of God in science. And who better to accomplish it than such a pair, so united, so perfect, so fortunate — for the two were never, ever alone; and there was always one there to check the other; they were twin suns at the center of a galaxy of good cheer, and perhaps they thought very highly of themselves, perhaps they recognized no Higher Power or even the lowliest school authority, but still! Still, they were not egotists. How could they be? Each loved the other better than himself. Having expanded her heart and mind so, she could not shrink them back down again. You must know that a week after Fred died, without fulfilling this grand miracle she had been so sure they would unleash on the world, Angelina stood before her faithful parents and church and community, and doubted. For the first time in her life, she could see no divine reason. Only pitiless, exacting truth. An unfair universe. No fortune for anyone, not really. And how horrible it was, how evil and silly and small, to crow about their good fortune, their survival.When Fred lay dead.Fred. Who had gazed with her at the mirror of heart’s desire and joked that her expectations were too high, that he saw no divinely-made world, that he needed no divinely made world. That he saw only himself and his brother, as they were, together, working on building a life for themselves. A bit silly Angelina was, right Gred?A bit demanding, I’d say, Forge.And for a year after, Angelina was numb and cold, and curbed her demands. She went to the Wasps, and let them put her on reserve though she was a better player by far than old Derwent. She composed several Owls to the Weasleys, but never sent them. She felt for the first time that she was not a flesh and blood miracle, a strange bit of chance made living, a walking fortune; but instead a kind of failed experiment, a clockwork woman sitting alone on a bench, with her faith mechanism quite broken. Until one day a freckled hand should reach out from the stands and poke her.“Reserve?” George said. “That’s not you. You’re better than that.”"Closed down your shop for months," snapped Angelina, who could not bear to be the only broken mechanism in the place. But then she felt bad."It’s open now," George said. "Percy’s helping. Running it. Probably into the ground.""What do you do, then?" asked Angelina, genuinely curious. "If you’re not running it, I mean."George picked at his scarf (black; did not suit him), and said offhandedly. “This and that. I went to see you once.”"My mum didn’t say so," said Angelina."It was at your church," George clarified. "You were wearing this thing over your hair. I thought it was silly, covering up all your hair like that. I like your hair.""Bet you thought the whole thing was silly," Angelina said."No," George said, suddenly stubborn. "No. I — I thought of the mirror then. When that fellow, your dad or whoever, started talking? I thought of—""My dad made you think of your heart’s desire," Angelina said flatly. "Made me think it wasn’t just my heart’s desire," George said. "But something, somewhere, some fortune I might get. Someday."She stared at him. For the first time in as long as she’d known him, he looked almost embarrassed, and not at all brilliant. Young and alone. He muttered, “Not that it makes any sense. I just. Maybe someday. After I’m dead. I’ll see what I saw then.”-The Weasleys were fortunate, said Fred and Roxanne’s parents. They said this in spite of evidence to the contrary, in spite of what people said about the family, in spite of pointless deaths and mourning that would not go away. They said this in spite of the world’s injustices, which they were fully aware of, and which Mum poured a Quidditch fortune and most of the shop money into correcting; and in spite of a stubborn part in Dad that could not let go and face hard truths no matter how many times Uncle Percy laid them out before him. They said this even when they felt broken. And when they said it, Fred and Roxanne believed it. Mum and Dad simply seemed very sure, glancing between each other in perfect understanding.It was, against all odds, a very happy marriage, this marriage of knocked-about heart and expanded mind, of a Believer and an Experimenter. The Weasleys were fortunate. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- There are publishing laws, though imbecilic persons like Xenophilius Lovegood disregard them, and are henceforth fined accordingly.Laws that say what children may read, and what adults may impart. Laws that rail against obscenity, and protect young minds from monstrosity. Laws that accord with Mr. Malfoy’s view of the world – best to present Muggles as something foreign and odd – and likewise with Mrs. Weasley’s view of the world – best to give the impression that all magical persons are sexless as monks. Indeed, there are laws to please everyone, laws of all varieties, laws that have cut the volume of wizarding-published books in half over the last few centuries, and what a relief thatis; for a book may attack one, a book may fly about one’s head, but Merlin forbid a book expose some precious tot to what mummy or dad do not see fit to teach.The Ministry does not believe in freedom of the pen. Ink and pen are mightier than the wand, said Albus Dumbledore. And, fearing what that man’s supporters might publish, Mr. Fudge reeled out seventy-two laws the next day, realizing for the first time that such terrible weapons must be handled with the utmost caution. Bravo, Mr. Fudge! cried magical adults everywhere. Bravo! Best to be careful, around a book.But the children – they do not agree. Young Dean Thomas, on the run for a year, with only his wand and his paints to protect him, found safety in the wand, yes. But the paints gave him comfort. He began to sketch out, on every available surface, the tale of bold Lady Courage (alias of a mild-mannered halfblood), who fought and bested seventy times the vile Unforgivabelle, a golden-haired fiend determined to lock innocent persons in dungeons.Seamus Finnigan, himself not averse to penning a tall tale, later added in Dayanara Dietz, a ward and faithful sidekick.Miss Mandy Brocklehurst dreamed up the White Wand Gang, to pass the time waiting for the Carrows. The White Wand Gang, creeping in and out of castle passageways, always under threat from amoral ruffians like Gunnvor the Strange, the Black Potion King — yet never truly defeated by them!Ernie MacMillan, who fell in love with Miss Lavender Brown, sketched out a story of El Gentilhombre, the son of self-sacrificing werewolves, bitten by a cursed unicorn at the age of seven, counteracting his parent’s disease and giving him power over all magical creatures.And Daphne Greengrass, at her father’s trial, created amoral Conlan Blood, A ruffian born, whose parents supported the rise of Grindelwald and taught him to do the same, a chance battle side by side with a handsome Muggle-born taught him the error of his ways — and saved him from prison.Society rails against these stories. Dreadful! Not educational! Not at all what mum and dad intended! And so racy.But they sell, you know. And by now most attempts to censor them have been struck from the books. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "I look a right tit," hissed Roger Davies."All the Muggles dress like this," said Anthony Goldstein, "What were you going to do: stroll into a Muggle neighborhood with your dress robes on?""Nice neighborhood it is, too," said Roger. He looked around, paranoid, at the strange metal staffs on each corner that flashed a cryptic pattern of red, green, yellow; at all these people without proper robes on, the women in skintight denim and odd bright chemises, wires feeding dissonant noise straight into their ears; at the sinister way young men in this area walked with secret chiming rectangles in their hands, violently beating out indecipherable codes. "Where’s your man, Tony? When’s he going to get here? Is he even coming?""He’s coming. He’ll be here," Anthony said. But he didn’t sound too confident.They waited. They tried to look nonchalant. Around them, the Muggle city grew darker."This had better be worth it," said Roger, "Do you know what we’re risking? Do you know what they say? This stuff is dangerous.""It’s mind-blowing, is what it is," said Anthony, "I tried it once — you should’ve been there; Su Li had this haze of charms and transfig—""Good, powerful magic’s supposed to block it," said Roger. His hands were clammy. He wanted to leave. "Good wizards aren’t supposed to—""Listen to me," said Anthony, "This—this is a high like you’ve never felt before. This is it. The boundaries of all knowledge just melt away. You feel like you could know anything, like you’re connected to every other living being. It’s nirvana. It’s total transcendence. My man’ll be here.”But his man was a woman. A Muggle, looking dangerous in skintight denim, looking like she didn’t realize what they were risking, what they’d come for. Maybe she didn’t care. Roger didn’t look her in the eye as he handed over the payment they’d painstakingly transferred to Muggle currency earlier this morning.But then after she’d gone he looked down at the books and traced their titles, wondering. Coding for Beginners. Advanced Topics in Types and Programming Languages. The Expert’s Voice in Software Development. "Mix that with some Arithmancy," said Anthony knowingly, "Throw in some of Su Li’s stuff. And then you’ve got yourself a cocktail resistant to even the most magical abode, my friend. And then you can go—""On the internet,” Roger said. He looked half-drugged with delight. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Captured by old Nott, my grandfather in Knockturn, in his prime and at the cutting edge of society, really," says your host, "People do talk about him, but those were fanatical days; Grindelwald had not yet fallen, and everyone had what would now be deemed an unpopular opinion, not just grandfather. And there, on the wall, the portraits — meant to echo each-other — of his father, who was on the Wizengamot, and of mine; they have the general look of the family, as you can see. Great-grandfather of course is also somewhat disliked today; they say he was monstrously unfair, but if truly you read his opinions I think this is exaggerated. One could only do so much before the great Muggle-lovers’ reforms swept in, and he did not believe in judge-made law. I agree. I do think it’s a bit like overstepping one’s station, don’t you?" Here he gives a small laugh. "We have never liked oversteppers, I must say…"This is an understatement, so you do not comment."…of course you’ll note that my father is in the cut he wore back then, when there was a great mania for traditional wizarding regalia and such. When you are a family like ours, you do tend towards tradition. Other people treat it as a bogeyman. Unfairly, I think. But then again there is my son. Here’s his photograph; the very image of my father, only in a great flapping Muggle kind of belted cloak. Very embarrassing, but my wife had Dippy take the picture. A very devoted mother, my wife. It’s a shame we don’t have the women’s portraits in here; they far outstripped the men, I think. Now here—""But wait," you interject, suddenly noticing something very odd, "Where are you? I don’t see your picture anywhere.""Oh," your host says, with a kind of only barely-concealed dread, "Oh. I’m afraid we generally sit for portraits at eighteen, and my eighteenth year was not a portrait-painting sort of time. And of course I’m by far the least prepossessing in the line. A pointed chin, you know."And then he sweeps you out of the very imposing, cold room (which looks terribly old, but which they say had to be rebuilt after the war), and a house-elf appears at your elbow to make sure you don’t try to turn back for another glimpse, and there is your host’s mother, distracting you with light, canny talk; and out of the corner of your eye you can see your host looking relieved. Is it because he no longer has to discuss this with you? He is a renowned coward, after all. Far too much of a coward to face the reality of his family, you think. But then you turn your mind back to all those proud brows and haughty chins, and begin to wonder if, really, he is relieved that there is no picture to complete the chain, nothing to demonstrate he may echo his forefathers, no voice which might say, “Oh yes, there is old Draco, who is exactly like the rest of them, really; note how much like his father around the eyes.”Perhaps the relief is because he would not like to be like them at all. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Headmistress McGonagall was nowhere near as controversial as her predecessor. She was given a thankless task, but rose to it with aplomb. Her work rebuilding the school was lauded even by the Prophet. And she never once had a salacious biography published about her early romance with some budding Dark Lord. Young wizards and witches mourned the loss of her presence when she gave up her post, cheered her retirement, and toasted to her good health. Their parents, however, raised some complaints. McGonagall had a habit of hiring young, untested staff. Longbottom for the Herbology position. Thomas to cover a year of transfiguration. Granger as a contentious visiting professor of Muggle Studies; she stuffed the children’s heads with anti-establishment notions, and proved to be difficult grader, besides. And, as if this was not bad enough, sometimes these young radicals did not merely visit or stay for a year. Longbottom was gifted Head of Gryffindor in short time and proved to be a fixture, patient and smiling and impossible to oust even at the efforts of school governors who swore up and down that his wartime actions were a fluke brought on by desperation. In truth, screamed parents and governors, he had very little magical power, quantitatively speaking, and ought to have been driving the Knight Bus, not handling magically powerful children. But nothing could induce Professor McGonagall to fire him. And so too with his fellows, for Thomas and Granger came and went as they liked; and, worst of all, on the eve of the Headmistress’s retirement, flighty adjuncts Vane, Chang, and Brown were awarded tenure.Awful! Vane was a bubble-headed creature, as arrogant as her name suggested, who was far too gossipy to be an effective librarian. True, she seemed to know instinctively which books which children desired, but often these were books on young love and skincare and fashion, not the proper thousand-page Instructional Tomes of yesteryear. And Chang was given to emotionality; everyone knew that. As flying instructor, people whispered that she let her adoration for a long-lost Hufflepuff override natural house pride. Accordingly, she was distressingly fair when it came to judging matters of Quidditch, putting down anyone from any house who looked to spice up the game with a little cheat here or there. And besides, she seemed more interested in teaching escape tactics and defensive flight from Dark wizards than manly feats of derring-do like the Wronski feint; blending flying and Defense in ridiculous new ways, entirely ignoring the Ministry-approved syllabus. As for her friend, that near-werewolf Brown? She used Divination not so much to foretell the future as to instruct the children on how to weed out charlatans and liars. She whispered that the point of teacups and tea leaves was fun, and also knowing when someone was having you on. She claimed that nine out of ten prophecies had no real point; they always came true, whether you knew about them or not. But knowing where to find the excitement in magic, where to let yourself enjoy it, even if it was wooly? She could teach them that.Oh, these girlish beings were unbearable. Governors and parents could not abide them; it was not simply that they failed to care much about testing and studying, but that they were failures as witches. They did themselves up in Muggle fashions instead of pointy hats, flaunted boyfriends (and girlfriends) in Hogsmeade, and cheerfully gabbed to students about using Mugwort to make lipgloss, of all silly things! It was terrible of the Headmistress to lock them into their positions. The Headmistress! Formerly so sensible.Of course, in the year leading up to the Headmistress’s retirement, she had considered gently sending them away. She did not dislike them, but they were not as clear-headed, as stiff-lipped as her favorite students. They had recommended that she hire Daphne Greengrass (of the very much still blood purist Greengrasses) for the Potions position, purely because they’d met and admired her hair at some mixer in Diagon. And they went to mixers in Diagon! They did not don long, professorly nightshirts and patrol the halls like the staff of yesteryear. They tossed on dangly earrings and danced the night away in these new nightclubs, and then quaffed hangover remedies and exhaustion-curing potions before their morning classes. True, they knew their subjects and taught them well. But this was still very cavalier behavior.But then, over Christmas, Yasmina Yaxley went missing.Yaxley was a silly little Slytherin. Her family was dreadful, her father imprisoned, and yet the daffy little creature seemed not to notice. She floated through the halls discussing Witch Weekly to anyone who would listen; she cared very little about politics or current affairs; and she had begun a strange kind of dungeon sorority that ran on networking and gossip. It occurred to the Headmistress that of courseYaxley would go missing for no reason; Yaxley was just the type to cause trouble like that, not at all a rational, sober, and shrewd child. Protocol was followed by most teachers. Search parties dispatched to the forest. Owls sent home. Students send to their dormitories. Rote, sensible procedure, carried out with methodical accuracy.But Vane, who’d had long, girlish talks with Yaxley and seen her check out books on the war alongside books on haircare, immediately conferred with Chang. And Chang had lent an ear to Yaxley when she’d seemed down, and helpfully flown her near a certain still-cursed section of the grounds that Yaxley had seemed particularly interested in. So she suggested they take what they knew to Brown. And Brown confirmed it. Yaxley saw particularly morbid things in tea leaves; she had a kind of secret fixation she rarely revealed to her fellow students, but she would come out with it, if you happened to be her favorite professor.So Vane seized up her owl to send for help should they need it, a sensible notion. And Chang grabbed her broomstick to get them to where they had to go — also very clear-thinking. And Brown? Just to make sure, she cross-referenced school records, and also brought along a certain book by Horace Slughorn, a book not much noticed in these postwar days, for it discussed the role of Slytherins in the war, and the truth was: much of the Wizarding World longed to pretend the worst of the war had never happened.Then, when they found Yaxley, they gave her the book, and also cocoa, and also they looked each other in the eye. They privately decided that, the student having been unhurt, despite straying into a place very badly affected by Dark Magic, and in fact no one having been hurt, perhaps they ought to take this cause up with the Headmistress. Perhaps, in this case, it would be fairer to leave off point-taking and detentions."She’s really not so very silly when you get to know her," said Vane to the Headmistress. "The truth is, the silliness is a bit of an escape.""Speaking of," said Chang, "That’s just what her brother did. You know, in the war. Escaped. And then after that he was struck down here at the Hogwarts grounds, blown to pieces by some curse.""Slughorn has the time and place of death recorded," said Brown, "And it appears to be right where Yasmina likes to go. Of course, she didn’t realized the full extent of the trapping hexes there, and she got herself caught by one.""Well, that is foolish in the extreme!" said the Headmistress. She was horrified and angry, scarcely able to believe that some child in her care was obsessed with the resting grounds of a Death Eater. Silly Yaxley had probably made an idol of him, as foolish little girls were wont to do. “An in-dungeon suspension should—”"Deter her not at all," said Vane.Chang gave a delicate cough. “Begging your pardon, but it didn’t deter her brother. After you sent him and his housemates back down to the dungeons, he came right back up. And fought. For us.”All words dried up in McGonagall’s throat."Speaking as someone who was there, professor, you weren’t wrong," said Brown. "But you rather are now. See, sometimes I think we assume we know the measure of people, when really all we know are silly little details. Houses. Colors. What they read. Not who they are.""So we recommend tutoring in hex defense,” said Vane."And therapy," said Chang."And perhaps a shoulder to lean on, a fellow Slytherin. It’s been so long since we had a Slytherin on the staff," said Brown. "Still longer since we had a nice one with nice hair."In the end, McGonagall decided to keep these three girlish creatures on a more permanent basis. They were new thinkers, in their way. Good for the school. And Yaxley received her tutoring and therapy. And Greengrass, in short time, was hired.Which was lovely, because she made an excellent hangover remedy. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Oh, but that place is legend. You won’t find a place like that today. People wanted to forget, you see. When graduation day is your best friend murdered in a duel, a former professor felled by a Death Eater, a Quidditch rival crushed by debris before your very eyes— reconstruction is not the first thing that springs to mind. How can one rebuild, after that? How can one put the pieces back together, as though nothing had happened?Oh, maybe it would have been the right response. But we couldn’t all be Potter and Granger and Longbottom, could we?No, we wanted to forget. And to have fun. We wanted to see Veela hostesses, a constantly-changing Charmed Backdrop, and the ceiling raining glittery powdered Runespoor scales on New Year’s Eve. We wanted new holidays, new fashions, and elf-made wine served in goblets made of werewolf claws and bent-out-of-shape galleons, money tossed aside like it was nothing. We wanted the stupid relics of Ministry culture tossed aside too, in favor of nude parties and Weird Sisters albums played with reverence, from start to finish at full volume, with no interruption. We wanted that old Knockturn theater of our fathers reclaimed, made our own pleasure hall. We used the old dressing rooms for groping, the great stage as a dance floor; and in the lobby we drunkenly voted, every morning before staggering home, whether to crown Snape’s portrait, or to set it aflame. It wasn’t the real portrait, of couse. Just some naughty scribbles that resulted from Finnigan and Thomas hitting the Firewhiskey too hard.Warbeck showed up, and got a booth to herself, and we all stood and gawked even though she was Mum’s celebrity and not ours. A couple of Ravenclaws hawked potions that made you see things you couldn’t believe. Cho Chang, always the best-looking girl in the room, wearing crup-bone earrings and her old flame’s portrait in her miniature locket, took up with Krum; and they had a booth to themselves as well. Hannah Abbott wasn’t married then, just had an arrangement with a fellow Hufflepuff, and they showed up one night with a supposedly famous Dark Wizard huddled between them, and had everyone shrieking and making a fuss about it for days, until Hannah confessed it was just her brother, and they’d only wanted to do it for a laugh.Almost everyone was there: in spray-charmed pink Death Eater masks, in Muggle bikinis, wearing hollowed-out cauldrons for skirts, in rank-smelling dragon-hide jackets, in nothing but gold paint. The Ministry shut it down that same decade. The owner, some Nott in our year, boasted a bit too much about the profit he’d made (bankrolled by Malfoy, until he lost out in that suit to Parkinson; you could sometimes see them sitting and arguing in their booth, but they never mingled, not that anyone would have wanted them to). And people claimed the manager — that Goyle — had murdered someone in the back room. Goyle claimed it. We all laughed. He was on a potion at the time, and probably joking. And we had a murder night, where the walls dripped blood, and a night where half the patrons were rumored to be werewolves, and even a night where a goblin drank too much and was found dead the next morning in the alley.Yes. That place was a legend.If you managed to make it past the door, that is. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- In magical Paris there was a place where one would find the love of one’s life. This was its sole claim to fame. Culinarily-speaking, it was no great restaurant. Certainly not for Paris. The bread was always a bit stale or a bit soggy, and the main courses very dry. The wines left one gagging. And best not to mention the desserts. And it was always either full to bursting, at a glance, with so many patrons spilling out onto the street that anyone feeling ready to die of starvation would still have reconsidered, passed it by, suggested the party go elsewhere to avoid the crowds; or else it was empty and eerie and still, when one finally got in, with the waiting elves looking very bored, as though nothing had been prepared all the day.So for ambience, this was not the place.And yet still the rumor persisted. Here — here! — one would find a soulmate. It had been woven into the wall panels by some clever French witch, long ago, this spell to bring about purest love; it was some kind of curse left by a handsome wizard troubadour whose beloved had been whisked away to a convent; it was simply a part of the magic of Paris, perhaps.For Katie Bell, the place was a mere whim, something Angelina and George had booked for her, hoping to bring her out of her slump. Katie was at odds with magical notions of love, you see; she was too retiring, perhaps the result of some terrible accident in her seventh year; she did not collect beaus as some witches did, nor did she bother to meet men, nor did she flirt very much: the business of romance seemed to escape her entirely. And indeed the experience of being kissed by a young wizard brought about more a crawling, bored sensation than any true fervor. Her solid Muggle minister father was alright with this; everyone else saw it as a kind of defect. Katie had been far more alive in her schooldays, quick as a flash on the pitch, at home with her fellow Chasers, so bright and delightful and laughing and not closed, in that way she was now, with all these fellows Angelina and George would throw at her.She would have to try a bit harder, that was all. To apply herself, to really work at finding a soulmate. Perhaps it would be someone as closed-off as she was, a man left equally bored by the prospect of a grope after a candlelit dinner; someone she could simply talk to, not someone to curl up with or bat her eyes at — for some people were not ever passionate; it was not in their natures. Or perhaps it would be some lothario to draw her out of her mouse-hole, some great lover to incite her to eroticism; some people preferred to jump straight into the sex, and it was the romance that bored them.So to the restaurant Katie went, her place reserved in advance. She was full of trepidation and dread. She sat at the table and looked around at the empty room, and felt like she’d been made a fool of. For there was no one here! She rang for the elf. The elf came over, and in crisp French that was far far better than hers, told her to stop being silly — there were fellows everywhere. If she could not see them, then they were not for her, yes?"So it’s something wrong with me,” Katie decided. For that must have been it. Katie was ill-suited to finding a match, and this was surely a character defect. "I don’t know that it is," noted a voice, coming up to the table from somewhere behind the house elf. "Hallo, Katie. I think this is my seat."It was a quick, laughing voice, a voice from some long-ago memory. It corresponded to someone whose brown hand on her shoulder had once made Katie light up with delight, someone whose friendly jokes inspired far more ardor than any candlelit dinner. "I can’t see the men either," confided Alicia Spinnet. "Only you. Not that I’m surprised."And solemn Katie, with her Muggle minister father, had never contemplated that it might turn out this way, but she was not the least bit surprised either. This made a terrific amount of sense. A great rush of relief came over her.She put her hand in Alicia’s. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The girl who was cruel to you at school did not get married. What a thrill!Secondhand, we discover that she did not get married. And perhaps she moved away in disgrace. She did not get married and perhaps she moved away in disgrace, and Morag who was in Ravenclaw says that the boy she was suppose to marry is now married to someone else, and is happy without her.Oh, how that must stick in her craw!Oh, and someone saw her, once, and her nose is still awful. Her calves have gone dumpy, too. Sources report no improvement in the nose, and severe deterioration of the calves, and disgrace, and no marriage.Good.Secondhand, the victims recreate her, only now she is not living and breathing and sniping at one, but stuffed and bloated, hidden behind glass so that she cannot hurt a soul, punished for her crimes, now completely on display for all the world to see her failures, her agonizing popular girl’s death. She deserves it, that girl who was cruel to you at school.Never again will you suffer her taunts. Never again will you have to consider her a person while she does not return the favor. Never again will you have to envision her, standing opposite you, laughing. Smiling.You do not wonder if perhaps the boy she was supposed to marry wasn’t a prize, after all. You do not wonder if she’s found a young man or a nation that suits her better. You do not wonder why she always needed to put you on display and point out your flaws. You do not wonder if she has fallen in love, perhaps not with a boy at all, perhaps with a city or a discipline or a girl, frizzy-haired or freckled or boring, not unlike the girl you used to be.You do not think of how unlikely it is, this idea you have that she will spend her life never smiling, never happy, all because she was cruel to you at school. You do not think because it is still painful to remember her as she was, and to realize that, despite all she did, she might not suffer all her days for it.Perhaps it is good that she left. You deserve to be free of Pansy. And Pansy of you, for somewhere, at some point, she is probably not miserable and dumpy, but smiling.(Make your peace with it. I’ve heard — secondhand, of course — that Pansy already has.) ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Diagon’s finest jokemaker dressed always in black, and his smile was strange and somber. Children would whisper about it as they bought puking pastilles and extendable ears. Because mum had said he used to be the funniest boy in her house. And dad said that he & that brother of his once turned all the third-years into canaries, just for a laugh. Mr. Weasley hardly seemed like the sort of man to do that.What they didn’t know was that years ago, about a week after the last battle, he’d thought he heard his brother calling him. And for just a moment his face lightened, and he turned his head to respond, and at his back he found—Nothing.And the strange, somber smile froze into place then, and after that it never went away. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- On the south-facing side of the drawing room is a portrait carefully coated with charms to prevent sun damage, in the best frame money can buy, daubed with colors so bright and perfect that they make one gleeful just to look. It is the portrait of the handsome young man. He is open, friendly, laughing, and he will always be kind. He is a delight to talk to. Everyone says so. He will point out the best books on the shelves. He will tell you of the garden with its wide Quidditch pitch. He will describe his friends. He has many friends.And on the cold opposite side, partially hidden, is the portrait of two people who wanted to look on the young man even after they died. But sometimes it seems they can’t bear to look at him. They will tell you that he fills them with joy, and he does. He also fills them with pain.It is Cedric’s portrait that faces the south. It is Cedric’s portrait that collects the sunshine. Cedric can see, through the drawing room windows, the bright and cheerful pitch they once set up for him.The other portrait is of the people Cedric left behind. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Colin, on the run, refused to give up on photographing everything they came across. The Dark Mark over Dorking. The spot where someone had been Crucio-ed ‘til they scratched and bled and pissed themselves and scratched and bled some more. The terrified cast to Muggles’ faces that you could only capture when they thought you weren’t looking, because they didn’t quite know what they were so terrified of. Dennis told him to quit it, but he wouldn’t. He thought that someday someone might want to see these photos. He thought that in days like these, everyone had to see them."The moments when— when the world’s gone and fractured? Those are the moments you record," Colin said. After the Battle, though, it turned out that no one wanted to remember those moments. Everyone wanted to move on. It was all too painful.Until one hundred years later, actually. Until Dennis, an old man, found the pictures in the attic and donated them to that memorial museum in Harrowyck Alley. A small white placard was put up next to them: Life on the Run During the Second Rise 1997-1998, Colin Creevey (14 June 1981 - 2 May 1996), shot with a Bernhard Mago-Panoptical Instant, graciously donated by Mr. Dennis Creevey of Ottery St. Catchpole.And people came to see them. Lots of people. Sometimes their eyes would close and reopen, watering at the corners like they were leaking away anger they didn’t know they possessed. Sometimes their mouths would go hard or they would inhale very suddenly like something inside them had broken and only a quick jolt of air could fix it. But they all went away understanding something they hadn’t before.This was why Colin had recorded the fractured moments. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Of course I only decided to holiday here because everyone knows Bulgaria is experiencing the greatest surge of magical development since the rise of Basil II," said Viktor’s Ministry contact, "I’ve read the most tremendously underrated book on it, Thaumaturgic Improvements in the Balkans: One Witch’s Quest to Reclaim Dark Magic’s Hidden Wilds. Naturally, it focuses mainly on Lisa Turpin’s personal contributions to the so-called Tarnovo Magical Revolution, and so I do think further study is needed, and her citations need work, but then again she never could cite properly…” As she spoke, she charmed the contents of her hidden handbag into his pocket. It was a pretty piece of magic, very much worthy of a Unspeakable. But of course anyone listening would only notice her rather conspicuous luggage, charmed to alert her to Dark Wizards at twenty paces, or possibly they would be so bored by her recollection of esoteric travel literature that they would fail to recognize a meeting between two underground soldiers in the fight for recognition of Eastern Magical Creatures’ rights. "It is good to see you again, Hermy-own-ninny," Viktor decided. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- People said that she and Lavender had never talked about anything but boys, but actually they had talked about music and those marvelous stories in Teen Thaumaturge, and dragon riding and unicorns, and shoes and the stupidest Ministry decisions, and bangles and wandmaking, and purses and politics, and where in London to find the best food and the nicest Muggles, and ten million other topics besides. Once, they had even talked about their post-graduation trip around the world, which they would naturally take together.When Parvati finally made up her mind to do it, Padma offered to come along instead. Padma, of all people, could have been an able replacement.She and Padma talked it over. But Parvati, courageous Parvati, brave even in the face of insubstantial monsters like gone and alone, Parvati who’d never not had a companion, figured she had to get used to loneliness. Or the overwhelming terror of it would never leave her be, not for the rest of her life.And to plaster Lavender over with Padma (who was dear to Parvati, but nothing like Lavender, after all) did not seem right. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Time and time again, Luna, whose primary interest in Quidditch was the Asynchronous Broom Mites, creatures she knew propelled themselves into the paths of very cocksure players, would go out to certain pitches: for example, the ones the Harpies might play at in a week or so. There, she would sternly communicate to these malevolent beings the terrible importance of not interfering with certain games and specifically not interfering with a certain Chaser.And Ginny, more and more over the years, would take a moment now and then to examine growing things that seemed mundane, but would turn out to be wondrous: creeping vines and leaves that dripped sap and branches that bisected to create odd star patterns. She would insist that whoever was with her at the time — Harry or her brothers or Hermione — help her take a sample for a particular friend she had, a friend particularly interested in all manner of curious greenery.And as he aged, Neville would come across the occasional atmospheric clearing and he would pause, staring at the very blank space something with long nostrils and magenta feathers, a great snuffling wild thing that stole children’s teeth out from under their pillows in order to cast magnificent prophetic spells. He himself swore this something existed, even if he couldn’t see it, because a very clever and embarrassingly honest person had once described it to him. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- There are many popular pilgrimages and travel sites in the magical world. There is Godric’s Hollow, that sacred birthplace which was once nothing but Muggles, but which welcomed many a passing sorceror paying homage to its most esteemed son, and so became over time a shared place — a place unique for its value to both worlds. And more and more we see this happening with other curious Muggle places with round-sounding, simple, odd Muggle names - Surrey, where a certain hero spent his youth; and a dental practice in Bloomsbury, which might go completely unnoticed were it not associated with the cleverest witch of the age; and an ugly town in the North where perplexed wizards and witches in camouflaged purple and green now wander the backstreets between Tinker’s Way and Miller’s Mile, asking if perhaps one knows where a famous spy once lived, or where a girl with oddly bright green eyes might have received her letter."Her what?" say the residents, squinting up at these very out-of-place beings, these excitable and hurried persons who nevertheless always manage to block the street, rolling out curious maps and holding aloft strange looking guidebooks (Peregrine Somerled’s Sorcerous Sightseeing, Series Seven)."Her letter! Oh drat, I would have said Owl, but it’s very clear that the term here is just ‘post’ with no mention of owls, and naturally it would have been delivered in person to her, so I suppose—""Sorry miss," the locals will say, "We’ve no idea what you’re talking about."And then, once out of hearing, they will shake their heads and add, “Tourists.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The dollhouse had been his mother’s, a perfect miniature of the modest country den her father had built. How boring. And unsuitable for a boy. But he never got rid of it. That would have saddened her very much.Still. Better to gratify father, to play with the racing brooms, with crystalline toy cauldrons, with real pewter soldiers that battled and shouted and turned the great nursery upside-down, blackening the painted ceiling with soot. Over the years, the various bits of the house — small upholstered divans, beaded lamps the size of a thumbnail, the three pretty dolls with their hair ranging from dark to medium to light — became fodder for the soldier wars, were stuffed in the fireplace as a lark, were catapulted from windows or else tossed sullenly at the house elf. And the shabby little country house stayed in its corner, gathering dust, unless by chance the soldiers should need a place to lay siege to, or a blood traitor’s den to commandeer in the great war for the Wizarding World.The little men uncovered every nook, and tortured the wooden house elf when they found him lurking underneath the stairs, and loosed the trapdoor that made the attic magically appear, the attic where they set up operations in the name of purest blood, freeing the fairest of the dolls from vicious Muggle captors made of wire and string, and setting them afire as revenge.And it seemed to him, at the time, that this was terrific fun. For the real house had not been occupied yet, in the name of purest blood, and the real family had not seen such mischief done, seen their every secret loosed on the world, and a house elf bleeding in the hall.Sometime during that occupation, the dollhouse vanished or was stolen or set aflame by some bored Snatcher, and Draco never saw it again.But he remembered it, and, because he could not bear to see the nursery ceiling blackened with soot (for a part of him would start, and not see the had not been the work of his son’s pewter soldiers, but instead a hazy vision of Greyback and Rowle and Gibbon having fun with a Muggle-born), he decamped to its counterpart.Very shabby, compared to the Manor. Very small. Suitable, perhaps, for a family of three and one elf, and how his mother and her sisters had survived a childhood here he could not quite understand. But she would come to visit and would exclaim with delight over some odd corner, some place she had adored when small, would say, “Oh, they always hated it— they remembered living in the heart of wizarding London with the rest of the family, Father struggling to wrench free the purse strings from his elder siblings, but Mum so joyous, so delighted to be at the heart of society. They both said this was a house for a forgotten country squire, for the family’s last-born and least-noticed. But I loved it here.”Scorpius did, as well.It began to seem to Draco that life as a forgotten and unnoticed country squire was worth it. Very much worth it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The office situation was becoming untenable. Here they had given up the best one next to the Minister’s, with such a delightful view and surely earthquake-proof, as it was under that nice, sheltering stair. And for who? A cocksure interloper. A swaggering sort of young person who’d done them all one small favor, and now was to be repaid for it with the nicest office, though he’d barely been on the job five years.And he wasn’t even grateful. He didn’t seem to know what most Ministry men knew, in their heart of hearts: that there was the Ministry, a safe factory of laws which was bound by wards and walls and existed largely to perpetuate itself; and then there was the abnormal world beyond, which needed far too much fixing for a simple Ministry man to be of much use to it. But while the Undersecretaries undermined anyone who might come between them and their new carpets; and Regulation and Control waged war with Muggle Artifacts for the fourth-floor canteen; and the MLE outfitted their floors in finest marble and erected a third dueling hall — where was he? Out. Out there. In Knockturn, finding the half-breed street children who had nowhere to go until he gave them a place, but who knew every crevice and corner of that dangerous lane. In Hogsmeade, where the effects of a nearby battle were making themselves known to the locals — curse backlash, like a kind of magical radioactivity, they said. In Azkaban, which he and those two shadows of his seemed determined to close down.If he’d done it to eventually obtain the Minister’s office, they might have understood. For if the world outside should go to pieces, well, then at least then he would have the office with the nicest view, and that sort of thing is something Ministry men understand perfectly. But that was not why he did it. That was not why at all.Harry Potter was well aware that one could choose not to face the dangers of the outside world. Doing so was abnormal. Most Ministry men, they were not so different from the Muggles, ignoring the extraordinary and horrible things around them, focused instead on canteens and carpets. But he’d long stopped worrying about being abnormal — being a freak. And besides. He’d definitely never asked for the stupid office under the stairs. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The truth was: people did not like Potter, Weasley, and Granger coming to work for the Ministry. Powerless people felt it was a breach of trust to have their heroes suddenly side with the government. And those in power resented a bunch of upstarts coming in on the coattails of that rebellious replacement, Shacklebolt. They gave the trio impossible tasks in order to stay on, all the better to fire them when they inevitably failed. Potter was told that he would have to solve the decades-old murder of Tiberius Ogden’s cousin, with his only clue a photo in the Prophet. All the other evidence had mysteriously vanished along with the body. Potter winced, went to work, spent a week furious and bored out of his mind in the newspaper offices, and, miraculously, cracked the case (Wilkie Twycross did it. And, as they say in the MLE, he would have Apparated away with it, too). They also tried to remove Granger. They sat her at a desk and kept a snowy owl’s vigilant watch on her. They told her not to leave until she had tracked down the Department of Mysteries’s missing collection of flying and teleporting seven-league boots (overkill, but that was the Department of Mysteries for you), which they claimed had been absconded with by some fashion-conscious Voldemort supporter. The truth was, every last boot had gone up in Fiendfyre during the war and they all knew it, but the paperwork documenting this was conveniently missing. Granger sifted through reports all day, and then, finally, sent off a missive through the floo. They left her working through the night, and rejoiced to find her desk empty in the morning. But at half past she floated in, well-rested, and said, “Oh, is this what you were looking for?”The easiest to oust should have been Weasley. He was the weakest link, in their opinion; they knew all about his rigid mother and his bumbling father and his upbringing, and they suspected that they could have a bit of fun with it, they could make him squirm in the process. So they told him he would be doing a routine patrol of Knockturn, and of course he would be fired if he couldn’t clean the place up, but not to worry: it was routine, and this was positively the easiest stretch of Knockturn, just a few smuggling rings and a dragonsblood dope den, no trouble at all. Perfect for a beginner. And then they deliberately assigned to him the worst route, the fool’s route, that long stretch with all the houses of lewd foreign monster girls. When he appeared the next day, bleary-eyed and somewhat horrified-looking, they pounced on him and said, “We notice it’s just as bad as it was before,Weasley!” Weasley blinked at them. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s a cleaner place now. Go and see. Why, even my old mum would approve.” They did go and see. It was, to his credit, a cleaner place. The placards did the trick (<b>This is not a brothel. There are no prostitutes at this address</b>). His old mum would have approved.So the miraculous trio stayed on. They could not be ousted. They seemed unstoppable. No one knew how they had done it.Except for Ms. Lovegood, whose father had snuck into the Prophet offices years ago and seized up copies of all their lost work on the Ogden case. And Winky the house-elf, who had access to the Hogwarts time turners and was fully capable of defending against fire. And Fleur Delacour, who spoke the language of the Veela and could provide helpful pointers on how not to inadvertently proposition them.She’d also laughed herself silly when she’d received Weasley’s Owl.Potter later reformed the Prophet and gave a boost to the Quibbler’s public image. Granger championed the cause of house-elves everywhere and made sure their Fiendfyre-repelling methods went public, with full credit to the elves themselves. And Weasley became a passionate magical creatures immigration advocate (and, thanks to some research Hermione forced onto him after the Knockturn Alley affair, a fierce protector of the rights of the working girl — or fellow). Heroism at its finest is not an individual endeavor. Sometimes one cannot win on one’s own. A true hero recognizes this. And, if they end up taking all the glory, they still find a way to pay it back, somehow. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Tell me what you think,” said Harry Potter. He was ready to give up and beg off dinner. All would-be biographers bothered him. They never got the story right.“Truly?” said his dinner guest. The dinner guest seemed bored. He glanced all around at the tapestries on the walls, the many souvenirs these Weasley-Delacours had brought from abroad. He could not tell if he hated them or not. Weasley was an avid collector of the foreign, which was slightly nauseating. But he was also a friend – they had met inside a pyramid, running from the same curse, and though they had competed for the same priceless treasure he had won it. But he’d surrendered it to Weasley for a story; Weasley had said, “Let me tell you of the Damia’s cavern…”Harry Potter was beginning to look impatient.“I met a wizard on the trip over, looking harassed, waving off Ministry Passport Regulation, terribly upset because his luggage was un-shrinking itself. A prank, he said—”“What does this have to do with—“ Harry Potter said.“Listen,” said the dinner guest. “He said he’d won the enmity of some persons at school. I said, ‘Tell me more.’ I love a good story. He said, ‘It happened like this. I was in my common room, and in came the girl I adored at the time. Though, perhaps not adored. She was a nag, and her nose turned up too much, but my parents liked her. But someone had gone and given her a pug’s whiskers, which was cruel. I said, “Who did this, Pansy?” She said, “There I was, returning my corrected essay to that complete imbecile, Lupin—”’”“He wasn’t a—” Potter said, furious.“Listen,” said the dinner guest. “’”There I was returning my essay, which you know he wanted to be all about how we should hug and cuddle trolls and make love to hags; he’s so enamored of all that filth,” said the girl I somewhat liked at the time. “He’s such a champion of the half-breed—“ “Like all of them,” I put in. My people never did like half-breeds. And also Pansy was alright. Not my favorite person. But alright. “Yes,” said she, “And I told him so, and in came those horrible Weasley twins—“ And Pansy did not need to say more,’ said the fellow with the luggage. ‘Pansy did not need to say more. I knew right away where that was going.’ And as his luggage attempted to eat him, he explained that these twins were awful pranksters fully capable of hexing everything one owned, even if one owned quitea lot, and on that day he earned their hatred very fully. I will not bore you with the details of how—““No, please do,” said Harry Potter. “I think I’m going to like this story.”“Well, what interests me, really, are the twins,” said the dinner guest. “I came upon a shop with their name while I was attempting to find my hotel. I bumped into a young fellow with odd green hair outside it. He said, ‘’Scuse me. James and I have got to get these new exploding quills. It’s a matter of life and death.’ I said, ‘Djinn’s drawers. Really?’ He looked somewhat shamefaced. ‘Oh, well. I suppose not. Gran says I shouldn’t use language like that. I mean, nowadays nothing’s really a matter of life and death. Certainly not some schoolboy prank.’ But I said, ‘Now, times must have changed. Just this morning I heard of an enmity that began at your Hogwarts and continues to this day, and—‘ ‘Well,’ interjected the fellow, ‘See, Hogwarts was different, once. It was a real battleground! Why, Mr. Weasley’s brother laid down his life there, and, and—‘ ‘And?’ I prompted. ‘And my mum and dad!’ he said stoutly. But he would not go on, and I would not press, as it was rude. Still, I got the story of these heroes out of— Well. I’m going on too long, I think.”“No!” said Harry Potter. “I want to know who was talking about them! Tell me!”“You know the fellow,” said his dinner guest. “Tall, red-haired. Weasley’s brother. He met me at the Apparition point. He seemed upset, possibly in a rush. I said, ‘Friend, I can see you work for the MLE. It is a trying profession. Do what you must, and I will wait.’ ‘Hang on,’ he said, looking guilty. ‘It’s not that. It’s the date. Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Now, the person you’ve got to hear it from is Dennis Creevey, who lost his brother. So did I, but Dennis is a better storyteller. And the way he told it to me is that while I was off camping and having an awful time, the time they were having at the school was worse. “Ron,” he said, “Ron, You and I both? We don’t what it was like under Snape.” Alright, to give Snape his due, he was working undercover, but he was a real arse, so nothing Dennis said really shocked me. “Thing is, Ron,” Dennis said, “Your sister probably keeps it from you, but the truth is that when we saw them again, the rest of the DA was all ready to die by the time the Battle rolled around. Dying couldn’t have made it worse. See, people just tell the story of that one day. But what they miss is the lead up to it. ‘Dennis!’ Eloise Midgen said when she saw me, before I went on the run. ‘Dennis! There’s been so much death. Mad-Eye Moody’s gone, did you hear.’ And she repeated it when I saw her a year later. Mad-Eye had been gone for a while, but she’d fixated on it. People do, when there’s a lot of awfulness. They pick one point and keep to that. They can’t handle it all,” said Dennis. Wait. Merlin’s balls, but I’m muddling the story,’ Weasley said.”“Not at all,” said Harry Potter.“That’s what I said to Weasley,” said the dinner guest.But then he didn’t say anything else after that. He cut into his meal. Chewed. Looked thoughtful. Swallowed. “Well, go on!” said Harry Potter, “I’m sure you’ve heard of what happened at the school all that year, and the people who died for us, and the build up, how even as kids all that hatred was there, and that death, and—”“That story should be told,” said his dinner guest.“Yes,” said Harry Potter, “Not my story, but—““But the story of a whole society, of a world,” said his dinner guest.“Yes,” said Harry Potter. “Yes.”And this was how Mr. Shahryar, he who could find — within a single tale — the countless other tales that gave it a foundation (for they say he is son of the son of the son of the son of Scheherazade herself), was invited to pen Harry Potter’s biography. Only not Harry’s, not really. Everyone’s. One couldn’t tell the story without the buildup, the ones who’d died, the small hatreds of children, the great deaths of the men and women they became—Well. One could. But why on earth would one want to?
1186189	Transfert de culpabilite	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Shaka de la Vierge, Virgo Shaka, Saga des Gémeaux, Gemini Saga", "Fandom": "Saint Seiya", "Language": "Français", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by OiseauVermillon", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-15T00:00:00", "words": "887", "Additional Tags": "Culpabilité, Prise de conscience, Aveuglement", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Shaka : de certitude en doute", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Disclaimer : L’univers et les personnages Saint Seiya sont copyright Masami Kurumada/Shueisha, Toei Animation Co. Ltd and Shonen Jump.Titre : Transfert de culpabilitéPersonnages : Shaka, SagaRating : PG13Nombre de mots : 832Notes de l’auteur : Histoire écrite dans le cadre de la communauté Hybridation sur Livejournal. Thème « Shaka/Saga (gris) – « Tu aurais pu tout arrêter » » Transfert de culpabilité Le sang goutte sur les dalles de marbre du Sanctuaire millénaire. Là se tient Saga, le sceptre de la déesse aux yeux pers enfoncé dans le ventre, sur lequel il s’est lui-même empalé en expiation de ses fautes, alors que les ténèbres l’ont quitté pour se mêler aux ténèbres de la nuit. Pour ne pas avoir à subir toute sa vie le regard de ses pairs, qu’il ne connait que trop bien pour l’avoir porté sur lui toutes ces années durant.Son esprit vacille tandis qu’il voit posé sur lui le regard voilé par le pardon et par une certaine forme de tristesse à son endroit de cette jeune fille dont il avait tenté de prendre la vie, avant que son ami ne se sacrifie pour elle. Sa vision se trouble comme il parcourt de ses pupilles malachite l’assemblée restreinte de ce qui avait autrefois fait la fierté du Sanctuaire, sa fierté.Avant que l’ombre ne vienne s’abattre sur son être, il lance un dernier regard sur chacun d’entre eux. Pour leur demander pardon, pour les exhorter à être de meilleurs hommes qu’il ne le fut lui-même ou bien, pour adresser un reproche discret mais qui n’échappe pas à celui sur lequel il est déposé, nonobstant ses fines paupières, fermées sur ses yeux d’azur clair.La Vierge sent fondre sur lui le regard de Saga. Et bien que la conscience de savoir le Sanctuaire enfin libéré du mal qui le rongeait procure à son âme un bienfait inédit, il ne peut s’empêcher d’être ébranlé par cette soudaine attention à son endroit. Puisant au fond de son pouvoir, son cosmos se déploie, captant l’aura du Gémeau qui pulse faiblement, comme un écho lancinant sur le point de s’éteindre. Il retrace, dans sa mémoire, tous ces instants passés en compagnie de Saga, aussi bien sous la défroque du Chevalier des Gémeaux, que sous le masque du Pope du Sanctuaire.Peu à peu, le fil qui le lie à Saga s’épaissit, alors même que ce dernier paraît s’enfoncer un peu plus dans le néant à chaque instant qui passe. Les fragments se reconstituent et il voit, il vit comme si cet instant était aussi présent que palpable, cette image de son aîné qu’il reconstitue mentalement. Le jeune Saga, en face d’un Shaka moins âgé encore, en proie à la panique. De ses mains se dégage une odeur âcre et forte, ferrugineuse. De son aura tout à fait troublé exsude une agitation sans précédent, et un mal, si consistant, qu’il heurte le cosmos paisible du jeune Indien. Shaka demeure immobile devant le Gémeau désorienté, tremblant, les sens innervés et de la bouche duquel semble refluer un sanglot constamment retenu. Le Grec reste tout aussi hiératique, figé dans l’espace comme une statue antique, en proie à un désarroi évident. Il semble vouloir hurler, se jeter aux pieds de la Vierge, le supplier, pleurer. Son cosmos trouble paraît coupé en deux, incomplet, imparfait, conflictuel.Et alors qu’un seul mot, qu’une seule parole prononcée aurait pu donner aux évènements un tour tout à fait différent, Shaka adresse un sourire au pauvre hère qui est son pair, puis se détourne à pas lents. Saga le voit s’éloigner, ses pieds nus ne produisant aucun bruit sur le sol calcaire. Ses jambes, sans force, inaptes à le porter encore se dérobent, il s’affaisse à genoux, se roule en boule et épanche son chagrin en longs chagrins silencieux. Ses lèvres tremblotent, récitent en sourdine une mélopée hésitante, presque une prière : « Reviens, Shaka, reviens… »La prise de conscience est brutale pour Shaka qui se tient droit aux côtés de ses pairs, comme frappé par la foudre, et par une force bien plus dévastatrice encore. Indépendamment de sa volonté, ses jambes esquissent un mouvement en direction de Saga, intention rapidement remisée par son esprit qui intime l’immobilisme à son corps. Bouger lui serait impossible, tant chaque parcelle de son être est affairée à canaliser l’horrible détresse qui s’empare de lui sans crier gare, alliée au poids écrasant de la culpabilité.Pour la deuxième fois en quelques heures, ses paupières se soulèvent, révélant ses yeux rendus pâles par les plis agités de sa conscience. Ses prunelles filent en direction de Saga qui parvient à soutenir son regard dans les derniers soubresauts de son existence. Le Grec voit, comme un spectacle qui ne sera offert qu’à lui seul, le visage décomposé de la Vierge qu’il peine à reconnaître en dépit des années passées à le côtoyer. Un visage sec, aride, déformé par le désespoir, par la culpabilité d’actes qu’il n’avait pas commis, mais pour lequel il se sentait tout aussi responsable. Lui, l’homme qu’on disait le plus proche des dieux, se targuant de pouvoir débusquer le mal où qu’il se trouvât et qu’il avait pourtant ignoré au cours de ces années. Lui qui aurait pu tout arrêter, et qui avait choisi, à la place, l’aveuglement symbolisé par ces yeux auparavant fermés, mais qui s’ouvraient douloureusement sur un monde dont il découvrait toute la cruauté.
1133117	I Only Tried To Protect	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, Ed Sheeran, Eleanor Calder", "Fandom": "One Direction (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by L_Stylinson246", "chapters": "14/14", "completed": "2014-07-13", "published": "2014-01-12T00:00:00", "words": "36,895", "Additional Tags": "larry stylinson - Freeform, lourry stylinson, Happy Ending", "Relationship": "Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	1.There will always be room to grow, there will always be a step taken backwards. There will always be justice, there will always be unfairness. There will always be acceptance, there will always be rejection. There will always be men, there will always be women. There will always be hate, there will always be love. Everything balances itself out. Harry doesn't understand why he's thinking about this, in this moment. Maybe he's trying to find a reason for things that happen. A reason why bad things happen to good people and why good things happen to bad people. He's come to the conclusion that life is unfair and that nothing is his fault, it's destiny that creates sadness. But, he doesn't believe it because he knows. He knows it was his fault. Maybe not one hundred percent, but he was a major part of it.So here he was, driving home, thinking about everything that happened four, almost five years ago. Had it really been that long? Harry sighed. No, he was over it. He was. He shouldn't be thinking about it. He smiled and parked the car. It was his mother's birthday and he was going to act like any other day. Sometimes he had depressing days, but he was determined to push his feelings and thoughts aside for his mother. Harry talked to his mom for a while on the phone and, when she asked him to go to the store for drinks, he listened. As he was walking inside, he made sure to cover his head with his hood. No one would notice him and that was the point. As he was in the soda aisle, he bumped into the man standing in front of him. He hadn't meant to. He grabbed the soda and didn't see him in the aisle, so when he stood up, he bumped him."Hey, lad, I'm sorry I was-" Harry shut up.There stood, in front of Harry, Zayn Malik. He looked like his old self, wearing ragged, black jeans, like always. A black t-shirt was thrown over his chest and his eyes seemed dark. He was tired. He was worn. Harry remembered vividly what their life was like; always on the go, never sleeping, stressing. He didn't look great, but he seemed to be getting on with life ok.Harry didn't do anything, but stand there, looking at Zayn, who also stood there, assessing Harry. So, Harry waited until he was done. He wasn't sure what to expect from Zayn. He could probably yell, or be chill, but Harry had no idea. He was unpredictable."Harry," was all Zayn said.Harry flinched, expecting Zayn to yell at him, to accuse him of all the pain that went on, to remind him of the memories. "Zayn, I'm sorry." Harry said and he wasn't totally sure if he was apologizing for everything or just for bumping into him.Zayn had a snarky smile on his face. "Yeah, ok." He started to turn away.Harry panicked and quickly ran to Zayn. He needed to know. He couldn't just leave it at that, he needed to know how much pain he was still causing or if he was even causing pain still. "Zayn, wait." He grabbed his shoulder. Zayn flinched away from his hand."What?" Zayn asked, clearly annoyed, but still curious to what Harry wanted or needed.Harry felt the lump in his throat before he even spoke. He could tell that tears would form. "How...how are you doing? You ok, yeah?""I'm terrific. It's great to be competing against someone who was like a brother to me. Just grand chap." Zayn rolled his eyes.Harry didn't really know what to say. Yes, he had broken away from all four of the boys, but it was for the best. He didn't like competing against them, it was just the way things were. They had their fans, and he had his. "Zayn, I...""What Harry? You don't like competing against us? Sure, that's why you decided to go solo." Zayn was obviously going for the guilt trip and he had every right. Harry had never explained himself or his actions, so it was predictable that Zayn would be confused. Harry felt selfish and like a total dick, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was over and done with, now, all Harry could hope for was a friendly, maybe even close acquaintanceship. No, he wouldn't even hope for that.Harry slouched his shoulders. "Zayn, I didn't want this to go like this. I was so fed up. I just couldn't...""Maybe I didn't understand, but it would have been fucking better to know why, to at least let him know why you left, why you deserted us, why you abandoned him, why you were such a fucking dirt bag to him. Why Harry? Why?! Fuck! You ruined everything, everyone." Zayn was shaking his head, trying to regain control of himself.Harry couldn't believe he had the nerve to ask Zayn this after he had just went off on him. "How... How is he?" "It's been five years Harry. Five years and he's still not ok. Sure, he may act like he is, but we all can see it." Zayn growled.Harry could feel it all now. He felt the pain he had been holding back. All the feelings he had kept inside, not wanting or letting anyone know what was going on with him. He wanted to hurt himself countless times, and he had occasionally. He cried a lot still, and this moment was another one. He felt the tear roll down his face, then another, then another. He wiped his face. He thought it was all over, he had never realized that he was holding all these emotions inside. His heart was telling him he needed to let it out, cry for however long he needed to, but he was too stubborn. He was believing a lie, convincing himself he was all right. People and movies could deceive everyone, making love seem like a dream, a reachable, perfect fantasy, but Harry knew what love did to people. Love was destruction and pain. That's all he had ever felt when he was with Louis. If love was a fantasy, then the pain that tagged along was reality, waking everyone up from there lousy dreams. Harry understood this now.Harry looked back at Zayn, to see that his face had softened, realizing that Harry felt it to. "Zayn, if there was something else I could have done...""Don't Harry. You and I both know you didn't have to do this to him. Didn't you realize how much he fucking loved you? Shit, how much you both loved each other? You fucked up... You really fucked up, Harry." Zayn's voice was filled with pain and Harry didn't realize that he had affected everyone, not just Lou.Lou. Lou. Lou. The word was so familiar, so comfortable. Waiting and sitting on his lips, waiting for Harry to just say it out loud. Waiting for him to scream it to the world. He couldn't though. He just couldn't. He was the one that left, he was the one that ruined things. It was his fault. "Zayn, I didn't mean to hurt him. If you knew what happ-" Harry started, but then shut his mouth, not wanting to take advantage of the situation, not wanting Zayn to turn on Louis."But you fucking knew what it would do to him Harry, so don't try to act all sweet and innocent. You can act like the great guy in front of the press, but the boys know." Zayn was closing in on Harry."Zayn... I... I don't know what to do..." Harry said the words that had been scaring him for six years. He never knew what to do and that's why he had screwed everything up. He was scared, and, even though he was twenty-one, he was still a young man, learning life. He was scared of his decisions. He was so scared that he had let Modest ruin his life. Sure, no one knew about it except the fans that realized the real lies he was living.Zayn laughed. "There's nothing you can do. The best thing is to let him get on with it. He's better, doing better. He'll get back to normal."Harry ran a hand through his hair and then down his face. "Has he...has he..." Harry can't bring himself to ask. He doesn't have the right to ask, but he wants to know. He thought he was done with this, but he can't him off his mind now. Never.Zayn froze. He seemed to soften again. "Hazza..."Harry could tell by the tone of his voice that Harry didn't want to hear this. Harry didn't need to know this. "Zayn, just... I know I've been the biggest fucking dick, but...""No." Zayn whispered.Harry sighed. It was bad that Harry was happy that Lou hadn't had a serious relationship. He should want him to be happy, but, to be honest, Harry was excited. "So... How are the boys?"Zayn seemed to slip back into a comfortable atmosphere. "They're grand. Actually, they're in the car. You could... if you wanted to..."Harry hesitated. Could he handle more accusations? "Maybe I shouldn't...""ZAYN!" An Irish voice yelled. Harry could see him coming down the aisle and attack Zayn. Zayn's mood flipped a switch then and was a goofy, loving boy. Everyone was fond of Niall, you couldn't be mad or sad around that kid. Harry could see the brotherly love present in the atmosphere and he felt as if he was interrupting it, he didn't belong here. He needed to leave, needed to get out of here before the tears started falling."Get the fuck off me you little shit." Zayn laughed, obviously not mad.Niall smiled, but listened to Zayn. "You were taking so long and you know how ancy I get waiting, so I decided to come look for you. And-" He had glanced at Harry briefly, but that was all it took for him to become silent. Niall wasn't going to lash out on Harry, which Harry knew, but he wasn't comfortable, he was guarded around Harry."Hey." Niall said and then walked down the aisle, not taking another glance back at Harry, and then he was gone.Harry sobbed right there. Niall had been a younger brother, the one he had set the example for. Harry had taken the job of becoming his role model and to see that the kid didn't even acknowledge him was heartbreaking. Harry cried harder, knowing the pain he had caused Niall, his brother, his close friend. Zayn saw what it did to Harry and couldn't help but put a reassuring arm around his shoulder, this made Harry cry even harder though, because it showed that Zayn still cared. They all still cared obviously, or it wouldn't be hard to greet each other or hang out still."Harry, it's ok."Harry got mad at those words. He had heard everyone telling him that over and over for six lousy years and it was a lie. No, no one was ever ok, and if they were, there was surely going to come a time when they weren't; when they would experience the pain, the heartbreak, the loss, the death."Don't lie to me Zayn. You never used to lie to me." Harry pushed Zayn's arm away gentle.He sighed. "Harry, he's just...""Disappointed, lonely, broken, hurting, dying." Harry replied. "Zayn, don't lie to me. I can see it in his face, in his voice, in his eyes. I know that kid like no one else. I need to talk to him. Need to make things right." Harry answered."Don't think that's the best thing mate. Sorry, look, I have to go. Maybe I'll see you around. Let's just go back to the way things have been ok?" Zayn was already leaving before Harry could reply.Harry wiped his face and threw his hood over his head and walked out. Crap. He had forgotten the drinks, but he honestly didn't feel like going to his moms party right now. He couldn't. She would understand, so he texted her, saying that he was feeling sick and he was super sorry. Harry drove to his house, typing in the code for the gate when he got there. He unlocked the front door after parking and climbed upstairs to his bedroom.It was empty. It was all empty. His life had no meaning, no explanation, no story. It is what it is, he thought. There's nothing he could change and this was the way it was going to be. He was going to live in this empty house, with these colorless walls, caged inside his room. He pulled the covers over his face and switched the TV on."...on Harry Styles?" the interviewer was asking.The camera switched to none other than Louis Tomlinson, the boy that Harry was trying not to think about.Louis looked tired. "Yes, he's a lovely lad.""So, nothing to say on him? We had heard there was a thing going on between you two a couple years back, is it true?" the interviewer smiled and leaned towards Louis.Louis laughed. "Gosh, we haven't seen each other in six years. But, anyways, I'm pretty sure he's happy with whoever he's dating now."He hadn't denied it. Harry laughed at this because he remembered all the interviews they had done together, giving the audience obvious hints to their relationship, and never denying it. It had killed Harry, but it was funny now, because Louis was still the same, not denying, neither confirming questions about them. Always skipping around it somehow. Louis had always been good at that; that's why Harry was never allowed to answer the Larry questions, he was a bad actor."So, you've never had feelings for each other?"Louis hesitated. "Of course I did."Harry froze. Was this it? What Louis going to come out and ruin their careers? After six years, was this the time? Harry was still frozen on his bed, waiting."We were best friends you know? Obviously I loved my mate. I loved all of them."The interviewer seemed disappointed. "Oh, well, what about now? You said you guys don't talk anymore. Would you like to still be friends? You boys are competing against each other, but that never means you cannot like each other.""I guess," was all Louis said.Harry was on the edge of the bed. He couldn't take this, so he switched off the TV. He couldn't take any of it. Why was he such a fuck up? Why had he hurt everyone he loved? He didn't understand. He had loved his four best mates. Management was the one who had done this, who had fucked them all up. Nobody realized how hard it was to be famous, to have your life planned for you. No, no one knew. Harry and Louis had thought the X-Factor was going to help them, they would always be on the road together, they would be doing what they loved. Where had things gone wrong?Harry just couldn't sit anymore. He grabbed his black pea coat and car keys. He didn't really know where he was going until he pulled up to the house. It was so familiar, so bright. The lights were on inside, Harry could see someone moving throughout the room. Harry sighed and then opened his car door. Walking up to the front door, he noticed that there was a picture that he could see through the window. It was a tiny picture on the fireplace, but, to Harry, it signified something so much bigger. Inside the frame was a picture of Niall and him, at the fair. They had churros and popcorn. Around their necks they had glow sticks and they were hugging each other. Harry pretty much died in that second. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door."Coming!" An Irish voice yelled.Harry felt like sobbing. He heard the footsteps and was almost tempted to run away, but the door opened to soon.Niall's natural smile fell. He wouldn't look at Harry, he wouldn't speak to him, he wouldn't even acknowledge him."Niall." Harry whispered. It was a breath of relief.Niall finally looked at Harry, and he could tell that he was trying not to cry, but Harry knew. Harry knew the pain that he was feeling. He was so familiar with it."Harry." Niall spoke. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 2.What did he expect? A welcoming, loving hug? He probably should have been expecting Niall to be distant and uncomfortable, but it had never been like that. Niall had always clung to Harry, always looked up to Harry, always wanted to be with Harry. And Harry had always liked feeling as if he had a brother, but now...It was different. Everything was different because of him."Hey." Harry felt stupid as soon as the words came out, but what was he to say? It was hard, so so hard. He was talking to someone that seemed like a ghost. No, this was not the Niall he remembered."Niall, look. I know...I know I left you. I abandoned you. I disappeared on you. I know I did that and I know it was all my fault, but... I regret it. Gosh, Niall, you don't know how much I fucking regret it. I know that there is no way that we could be that close, or anything close to that, but if you let me, I'd like... I don't know... I just..." Harry finally looked up at Niall. He had tears flowing down his face, like a river, flowing. Niall was trying to wipe his eyes, but that just made them red.Niall sobbed, but then held his breath. "I don't know you Harry... You just left... and... I had no one. I mean, the boys were there, but you were... Gosh Harry, you were you. No one could have replaced you. I looked up to you and I honestly wanted to be like you. You set the example for me, but who wants to look up to someone who just gave up? Who wants to be the person that leaves his loved ones behind? No, I didn't wanna be like that Harry." Niall was wiping his nose on his sleeve and Harry couldn't stop his instincts from pulling Niall's sleeve away from his nose."I thought I taught you to use a napkin." Harry wiped his eyes.Niall looked at the ground. "You also taught me to take the easy way out."Harry cried. He fell to his knees and then on the ground. He sat there, crying harder when Niall sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around him. Harry used to do that to him when Niall cried over not seeing his family for months, or falling too hard for a girl. Harry had been the grown up, the one to comfort, and seeing Niall do his job just made the tears come faster. Niall had grown up in the past five years and Harry realized that he had missed it."It's ok Harry. I... I forgive you." Niall whispered.That did nothing to help the emotions Harry was feeling. Somehow, Harry ended up in Niall's house, waiting on the couch while Niall got snacks and hot chocolate. Harry had always found his home comfortable, that's why he had liked visiting Niall the most. Niall had pictures up on the walls of the boys, all not including Harry except one. It hurt and stung, but Harry deserved it. Niall had nice, light brown furniture filling the living room and a nice flat screen TV up above the fireplace. It was great. Harry felt at home, but he knew when Niall got back, things would be awkward.Niall turned the corner and walked in. "I didn't put too many marshmallows in yours, I know you don't like them that much."Harry smiled. "Thanks, mate."Niall sat across from Harry, falling into the plush sofa. "So.""Yes?" Harry looked towards him, ready for the interrogation."You left." Niall started.Harry slowly put his hot chocolate down and stood up. He walked towards the fireplace, where the picture of Niall and him was sitting. "This was my favorite picture of us ya know.""Yeah, that's why I kept it. The boys wanted me to take it down..." He added the last part, considering that it might hurt Harry.Harry sighed. "Yeah, that's understandable.""What's confusing is that they all hated you when they didn't even know why you left. I mean, I didn't like you for a while, but I never hated you." Niall was fiddling with his fingers, obviously uncomfortable bringing up the guys when they weren't there. "That's always confused me too though. I don't get why.""There was so much more than you knew. I was going through so much Niall..." Harry trailed off. No, the lump in his throat was coming back, but he couldn't cry now. He was about to admit to Niall what happened. Everything that he was feeling, everything he was living, all the lies. Real eyes only realized real lies."Harry, you know for a fact that we were all going through shit too. I mean, you could have come to me, or... or..." Niall hesitated.Harry decided to finish for him, "or Lou?""We don't call him that anymore..." Niall sighed and seemed genuinely hurt by the statement.Harry was confused. He had never called Louis anything but Lou. That was just the way things were. It had been awkward calling Louis by his real name. Lou had never liked it either, so it was a shock to hear that he didn't like his nickname anymore. "What? Why?"Niall shrugged. "I know it has to do with you. He's never exactly explained why. One day I just walked into his house, screamed 'hey Lou!" and he lost it. Threw a couple of plates and kept saying 'my name is Louis, my name is fucking Louis!" After that, we never said anything about it."Louis had broken plates, gone on a rampage, because of the nickname. Harry needed to know how bad Lou was. Or how bad he had been. How much he had hurt him. Honestly, Harry wanted to know how much pain Lou went through because he wanted to make sure he himself went through it too, to even things out. Harry had repeatedly used and reused the knife in his drawer, or the razor in his shower, or even a piece of paper. He had always hurt himself the first year. It didn't really help, but Harry knew that at least he was feeling some pain. He felt as if he deserved the pain. And maybe he did, right?"Niall... I want you to tell me... Tell me about Lou." Harry stuttered, forcing the words out of his mouth.Niall shook his head. "I don't wanna remember. It's too painful Harry. You don't wanna know. You honestly don't."Harry fell onto the sofa and looked Niall in the eyes. "I need to know, Niall."Niall hesitated and then a flicker washed through his eyes. "If you tell me why."Harry immediately nodded because he had intended to tell Niall anyways. "Niall," Harry started. "First, let me apologize to you. I'm sorry. When I left, I knew what I was doing to you, but I didn't acknowledge it right away. So, I'm sorry that I abandoned you. I'm sorry for all the shit I've caused. I'm sorry for everything."I want to tell you everything Niall, I do, but some of it might be too... I don't know, but I'll try. You deserve to know. I guess... I guess it started when Louis and Eleanor went public." Harry flinched at the memory. The magazines, the press, the interviews. "I knew Lou didn't want to. I knew that, but it still hurt, you know? It hurt to see them out all the time. I used to sit and cry, wishing that I could be the one holding hands with him, taking him out on dates, telling interviewers that he was the one all the songs were about, he was the one that I loved. Anyways, I got over it, but it doesn't mean it didn't hurt. Then... Then everything just came crashing down one day."I was at our house... I still remember so vividly. I was watching TV and the celebrity news was on. It showed a clip from Halloween. Louis was in the back, kissing Eleanor. Really kissing her. At first I thought, 'no, Lou wouldn't do that', then the camera showed them pulling away from each other and waving over. On Eleanor's finger was a ring. I don't know and I still don't know if it was part of the costume, but, suddenly, everyone was talking about it."Now, all of a sudden, Modest was telling me I couldn't talk to Lou during shows, I couldn't go out with him in public, I couldn't even see him. It was like a breakup, but by someone who wasn't in our relationship. It hurt, Niall. I tried to go out with other friends, get drunk and forget everything for a while, but all I saw was Lou. I loved him. Being apart from him was too hard. I couldn't take the media. And with everyone saying I was a heart-breaker and such, that's not who I am. Everything caught up with me. I thought about killing myself. I truly did, I'm not going to lie to you. I bought the pills and everything and I even went as far as to write my suicide note. I don't know how, but I ended up chickening out and ended up cutting myself in the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. By some miracle, Lou chose to drop by the house that day. He found me. I was just lying there, unconscious. I can still remember waking up to Lou's voice "say something. Say something, I'm giving up on you.""I woke up then. Lou was in tears, he was hugging me and kissing me, but, after he cleaned me up, he seemed on edge, so I asked him. I asked what was wrong and he seemed to put off whatever was on his mind. Finally, he said he needed to go. We said bye and that was it. Later though, I found a note on my bed. It was from Louis." Harry ran his fingers through his hair. The note brought back so many memories, so many painful feelings and emotions. Harry tried not to cry. He bit his tongue so hard that blood started to spill on his lip.Niall fiddled with his feet, trying not to look at Harry while he was crying. "Harry, what... what did the letter say?"Harry seemed to come back to reality and he whipped his head towards Niall. He was crying then. "Louis... Lou... he... Shit, Niall. I can't... I don't wanna remember.""You promised..." Niall whispered. He was so curious. He was also angry though; angry at what could cause Harry so much pain.Harry seemed to switch. Anger surged inside his body. "I don't wanna talk about it." He knew that all the anger inside of him was just a result from all the sadness he carried and he definitely shouldn't be taking his anger out on Niall, but... it was all stuck inside him... for five years he's kept all these emotions inside. No, that's not good for anyone. It can make someone go crazy; make someone crack, and break down.Niall stood up, offended how quickly Harry could change on him. Harry never used to be like this. "You said... Look, Harry, I get it... Well, maybe I don't, but I'm like your brother! Well...I was.""I'm sorry. You're right, and I'd still like for us to be that close, but I don't know if we can." Harry replied.Niall seemed shocked; taking aback. "Why can't we go back to that, Harry? Why? Why, huh? Why does it have to be so different? Why are we so different? What did I do?""Niall. Niall. Niall. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you. It was Lou. It was me." Harry explained.Niall wiped his nose, then his eyes. "I want to know Harry. I think I deserve to know after five fucking years. Explain."Well, Harry knew there was no way he was getting out of this one. When Niall uses his angry Irish voice, you know he's serious. "Fine. I know you deserve to know. I know that. Ok, so the letter. I found it on the bed and I knew Louis had written it. Something told me that I had to read it, but I knew it wasn't going to be good. So, I read it. And," Harry paused. He looked over at Niall and took a deep breath. "The letter was Louis saying that we needed a break.""That's it?" Niall asked, obviously confused."No." Harry ran his hand over his face. "Louis was forced to give me the letter. Modest had written it. Later that week, Louis had an interview with Ellen. He announced that-""That he was marrying Eleanor..." Niall finished. He seemed to click everything together, to finally understand.Harry felt like a hundred pounds had been lifted off of his shoulders. It felt good to finally explain his side of the story. Louis, for years, had probably told the boys his side and Harry never had a way to defend himself. It felt amazing to him."But, Harry?" Niall asked a second later.Harry looked up at Niall. He knew what was coming, more questions and such."Louis never married Eleanor." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 3. "So Louis, we heard about your engagement. What happened? You announced it then months later you said you broke up. What was that about?" "Well, it was... I just wasn't feeling it, you know? It was a mutual agreement between Eleanor and I. Sometimes, you need to take a step forward to see that maybe it was too big of a step. You get what I'm saying Paul?" "To some extent. Now, did this engagement have anything to do with Harry Styles? We've heard rumors about Larry Stylinson and we also know that Modest may be playing a role in your love life. Is there any way that Modest could be the-" "I really don't want to talk about that to be honest." _____________________________Harry knew that Louis never married Eleanor because of him. Louis had gone behind Modest's back and told an interviewer that it was all over. Harry had already left the band by then though, so there was no going back, and, at that time, Harry was angry. He was angry at Louis, at Modest, at himself for letting this happen. It had been his fault after all, agreeing and signing the contract from Modest.When he was visiting Niall, they had discussed Harry and Louis meeting again, and working out their differences, explain to each other the why's. Harry had bluntly disagreed, but Niall seemed to understand. Niall always understood. After that, they talked about what they had missed. Zayn had broken up/ divorced Perrie, which Harry had heard on the news. Liam was single at the moment, so was Niall, though Harry had missed Niall's first love. They didn't talk about Louis until the end."So... You promised to tell me about Louis." Harry mentioned when the conversation died down.Niall groaned. "Honestly, Harry, you don't wanna hear about it. If it was hard on us, it'll destroy you.""Niall, you promised too." Harry tried to smiled, but it ended up being a pained look. "It's ok."Niall began, "It was horrible, Harry. Modest told us you left and before they could even finish, Louis was out the door and gone. We still went on tour but it wasn't the same. After shows, Louis would lock himself in his dressing room until we left for the hotel. Before shows, we would go get him and find him throwing plates, ripping clothes apart, punching walls. Sometimes, his fists would be so bloody that they would make him miss the first half of the shows.""I thought it was way worse," Harry admitted.Niall glared at him. "It was. When we got to come home for vacation, I'd check up on him sometimes. I'd walk in to broken glass covering the floor, sometimes he'd be in the bathroom, arms or legs covered in blood. One time, he was so drunk that he'd climbed to the roof, threatened to take his own life. We got him down though; I... I told him I'd get you back, which was a lie." Niall looked at Harry, scared that he would be defensive.Harry just sat there, mentally picturing all the damage he had done to Louis. But, the one thing that Harry never considered was all the shit Louis had put him through too, though he never wanted to. But, if Louis didn't want to date Eleanor, he could have broke up with her, just how Lou broke off the wedding. Harry became furious. He had gone through so much too! It wasn't all his fault. Lou had caused so many problems as well. It had taken a piece of Harry. Harry had always been the one to give love his all. There was no holding back for him; it was all or nothing. Had there been something they could have done differently?He didn't know.___________________________________ "Come on! It will be great! The gang will be back together, you know? Well, not really, but it will be fun. Mingle with some people, get to know my friends! Come on!" Niall begged Harry.Saturday was Niall's twenty third birthday, crazy to think about. Over the past month, Niall and him have reconnected slowly, but it was progress. Niall had been begging Harry all week to come to the party, but Harry knew that everyone would exclude him. He didn't really care, because this would all be for Niall though. What he was really worried about was Lou. He could say that name all day if he liked and he guaranteed he would never get tired of saying it."Niall... I don't wanna ruin your party." Harry whispered into the phone.The line seemed to go silent for a while. "Well, then don't do anything stupid.""But... if i see him..." Harry panicked thinking of the scene already; imagining the most horrible possible things to happen.Niall laughed. "Honestly Harry, he probably won't even want to talk to you."It stung. It hurt Harry, but he knew it was true. If he were to put himself in Lou's place, he wouldn't wanna even see him, which made this whole party idea even worse. The only reason Harry was actually considering it was because it was Niall. All he wanted to do was reconnect with him and this seemed to be a good start. Friends went to other friends' parties."Fine." Harry sighed and then rolled his eyes as Niall started babbling at how awesome Saturday was going to be. He hung up after about fifteen minutes of listening and decided that he should find something to where to Niall's house tomorrow. This wasn't easy; no, Harry had this empty feeling in his stomach that seemed like a black hole. Could he honestly handle this? Would he be able to handle this after six years? Better yet, would Lou be able to? Harry didn't want to cause Louis any more pain than he already had, but he needed to go for Niall."I'll stay away." Harry said to himself. His voice seemed to echo through the mansion and it just made him feel even more lonely. There was no point in having all this without having someone to share it with. He never did anything with his money; it was all going down the drain, well, most of it anyhow. Some was actually going to multiple charities, but that didn't make him feel any better.When he was sitting on his couch, watching the news, Harry started to honestly contemplate his future. He wouldn't be singing all his life, that was for sure, so what was after? He wanted a family, definitely, but whenever he thought about it, all he could see was Louis. Louis lying in bed next to him, Louis falling asleep on the couch and having to be carried to bed, Louis trying to make dinner, but setting off the smoke detectors, Louis wearing a nice ring. Louis wearing Harry's ring. Louis and Harry growing old together.He never wanted this. No, he was doing this to protect Lou. Wasn't he? Wasn't that the reason? Was there maybe something else that had caused him to leave? Harry felt like he was missing something. There was something that wasn't clicking right. He had abandoned the band because he was trying to protect and do what was best for them, but there was something else. Maybe... Maybe he was scared. Maybe he had been scared that Louis would change his mind. Maybe he was scared that Lou would leave him for someone else; someone better. Maybe, just maybe, he got the idea in his head that Louis had actually fallen for Eleanor. I mean, that was the whole idea right? That's what Modest wanted everyone to believe? Had Harry fallen for the deceiving lie? Had Harry believed in the lie instead of Louis?Yes, yes. He was so stupid. But maybe he was right. Maybe Lou had really started to fall for her. Harry was so confused with the world. To be honest with himself, he was just a kid. He was so young, so innocent, so gullible.Harry sighed and grabbed his keys. He really just wanted to take to Ed. Ed would make his feel relaxed, maybe they could have a beer or something too. He pulled out of his garage and headed towards his friends house.When he finally got there, he quickly knocked on the door. "Ed, open up. It's bloody cold out here.""Who the fuck knocks at a friends door at 12?! Harry, gosh, get a fucking life." Ed was joking and let Harry pass in."Sorry. Just really needed to get out of the house." He mumbled and fell on to the brown sofa. He slowly closed his eyes, remembering what sleeping by Lou had been like. FUCK. He needed to stop thinking about him.Ed was looking weirdly at him from across the living room. "Well, are you just going to waste my time or tell me what's on your mind you block?""Nothing. Nothing. I just wanted to see you." Harry whispered.Ed laughed at that. "Harry, you're one of my best mates. I think I know you a little by now. Something's on your mind.""I don't really know myself."Ed grunted. Harry was a really stubborn person at times. He was so stubborn sometimes that the answer could be right in front of him and he would refuse to see it. Ed loved Harry, honestly he did, but sometimes, once in a while, Ed would get so fed up with Harry's pouting. Of course Harry never actually admitted that he was pouting, but Ed could see it clearly. And it was always over the same person. Louis, the bastard who had ruined Harry's life and couldn't even acknowledge it. Louis was an immature fuck-face, but he made Harry happy. Ed knew that Louis was the key to unlocking happiness for his best mate. Ed also knew that Louis was the key to unlocking a war. "Louis.""What? Huh?" Harry sat up quickly. How did Ed know?He laughed and smiled at Harry. "Honestly I'm not as stupid as you think. I know you still love him.""But that's the thing! I don't..." Harry looked down to the ground. He was telling the truth. He didn't love Lou anymore. There had been so many bad memories that he could remember. He didn't wanna go back to that. No, he didn't love Lou anymore. But he was afraid that if he were to see him, his feelings would coming rushing back to him.Ed knew that this was stubborn Harry talking. He didn't clearly see the desperation on his face when Ed had mentioned Louis' name. He could remember the way he had lit up like a Christmas tree whenever Louis was around. They BOTH were stupid as hell, Ed thought. Both so naive, but so perfect for each other."So, why is he bothering you then?" Ed questioned. Raising his eyebrows.Harry stood up and threw his arms in the air. "He's not! I came here trying to forget about all this and now you're just bringing it back up!""You need to talk about it Harry."Harry could feel all the emotions rising. Mostly anger. "Talk about what, huh? Talk about how much I fucking miss him? Talk about how much pain he caused me? Talk about how many times I thought about killing myself just to stop it all? Why the fuck do I need to talk about that? What did I do? Why is it MY fault? I didn't do any of it! It was Modest and Eleanor and Lou and One Direction and... And...""Calm down."Harry screamed, pulling his hair. "Don't tell me to fucking calm down because my WHOLE life has passed me by. The love of my life fell in love with someone else, I lost my four best friends, I let a company rule my love life, and I let everyone down. Somehow it all goes back to me. My fault. It's all my fucking fault.""Well, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?" Ed leaned back. He already knew how this was going to play out. Harry was a people pleaser. He always had to satisfy everyone and he wouldn't stop until he succeeded.Harry buried his head in his hands. He looked at his arm "I CAN'T CHANGE" was written there and it was perfect. He couldn't change because no one would alter his feelings about Lou. It didn't matter how much anyone tried, he was still going to be in love with him. Louis could act like a total nob sometimes, but Harry was always there to shut him up before he went off on someone or got out of hand; it's what Harry was made for. He was there to be the better half of Louis and he knew it all too well. It sucked, it really did; to be the one to tame the lion, to fight an un-winnable fight, but it's what Harry had always done and he was damn good at it. Harry was there to take all the crap Louis threw at him, but he would stand tall and that's what Louis had loved the most. Louis loved that Harry stayed through it all because he knew that Harry loved him.But Harry was maturing and now he didn't want an untamed boyfriend. He wanted someone to treat him as an equal, to show him the same love that Harry had given. He wanted what he deserved and that was Louis. He had put up with Lou's shit far too long."I don't know what to do Ed." Harry admitted.He laughed at how oblivious Harry was. "Of course you know what you're going to do.""What?" Harry was confused. No, he had no clue what his plan was. He just wanted to be friends with Lou. That's all he was asking for.Ed rolled his eyes and then went to the kitchen, but before he left he sang:"You think the only person you can depend on is you, But even you can tear yourself in two. He's out there and he cares, You just have to take the dare."Harry smiled sadly. It was true. He didn't like depending on Lou, but when he had fallen in love, that's what happened. And he left because he knew he was going to be broken someday."Guess I'm going to that party..."___________________________ The music was flowing everywhere. Outside everyone could see the lights and people moving throughout Niall's mansion. Harry was trying to cover his face, make sure no one was looking at him, He didn't want to start a fight or anything because half of these people already knew about his beef with the boys. He was happy that most of these people were drunk already, so they weren't paying any particular attention to him. He sighed, finally building up the courage to walk inside.He immediately felt self conscious. Maybe he was exaggerating when he said a thousand eyes landed on him, but he definitely saw a few eyes land on him. He mostly didn't know anyone, but he did realize that Liam was staring right at him from across the room. It was awkward because Harry could feel the disappointment that was radiating from him. Liam's eyes were sad, longing to go up to Harry, but he was hesitant. His eyes flicked away from Harry very briefly, looking at something or someone next to him, and then back to Harry. He shook his head and then left the room.Harry felt relieved that no one was talking to him, and he decided to sit in the corner of the room, just by himself. He was wearing a black v-neck with some ripped, black jeans. His hair was styled back and it was a little long, but he liked it this length. His cross was hanging down to the middle of his chest, in between his tattoos.He felt the couch sink in, signing that someone was sitting with him."Hey! You came! Oh my gosh, I'm so happy." Niall said as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist.Harry laughed and returned the hug, maybe holding on a little too tight. "Hey." He sighed."Whoa buddy, I don't swing that way!" Niall said, throwing his head back in laughter and punching Harry's arm.Harry raised his eyebrows. "Aw, dang, I always thought you were sexy. That hair of yours and that killer laugh man.""Aw, stop it you. You're making me blush."Niall was so drunk by this time that he literally passed out on Harry's shoulder. He laughed to himself, remembering the days when Niall would do this; he would get so shit-faced that he would wake up not even knowing where he was. It had been quite funny, except when the press would take pictures of Niall passed out, underwear's only, on the grass of someone's lawn."Come on big boy." Harry laughed and threw Niall over his shoulders, walking towards the staircase. He walked upstairs, stopping at the double doors, opening them and throwing him on the bed. He was about to leave when he heard someone in the bathroom."Calm down, calm down Louis!"Oh no, Harry needed to leave. He needed to get out of there. He didn't wanna hear Lou's voice because he knew he would feel the need to talk to him, to explain. He knew he would feel the love that he used to feel. But, he couldn't leave. Even though he didn't want to hear him, he needed to hear his voice. He waited. And waited. That's all he needed."How can I? He's here! I can't do this. Take me home Liam. Take me home... please..." Louis sobbed.Harry could hear Liam sighed. "Fine, Louis. Just, let me go get the car and I'll text you when I come back. ""Harry?" Niall said quite loudly.Everything happened at once. The bathroom door opened. Niall woke up, looking at Harry. Liam stood in the doorway. Harry froze. He didn't look away from the door. He couldn't. He didn't want to.Then it happened. The nightmare came true."Get him the fuck away from me." Louis said.He was crying. Harry saw him wearing almost what he himself was wearing. He had a black shirt on with the word Vans written with red letters. He had black jeans on with the ends rolled up of course; showing his ankles. Harry had always liked the triangle on his ankle. His hair was messed up, probably because he had just been pulling it, but Harry didn't mind. He had always loved Lou regardless of if it was a bad or good day.Now Harry was just staring at Lou, taking him in. It was probably creepy to anyone looking at him, but he didn't care. To be honest, he didn't give a shit about what anyone thought. All he wanted to do was to mentally take a picture of Lou."I said get him away from me!" Louis shouted.Harry took a little step towards Lou. "I..."Louis backed up into the wall, scared of Harry.Harry felt a tear roll down his face. Just one single tear, but it was so much more. Harry couldn't speak,Louis was sobbing by now. "I...I'm leaving."Harry opened his mouth but was cut off."Don't... I-I don't wanna hear your voice... No." Louis' voice was quivering and the tears were clearly streaming down his face. He looked towards Liam, looking for a rescue.Liam seemed to realize that he needed to take action. "Lou go-""MY NAME IS LOUIS. LOUIS. Remember?" Louis threw his arms out in front of him in frustration. Everyone was annoying him. He needed to go, he couldn't look at Harry right now; it brought all the horrible memories back of sleeping alone, the nightmares, the suicidal thoughts. No. He would forget that. It had been 6 years. He needed to forget.Harry reached for him again. Slowly stepping towards Lou. He had always gravitated towards him, he always needed Lou to support himself. He was his rock, the only thing keeping him grounded. He stepped towards Lou and Louis froze. He stood in the doorway, back to Harry. Finally, he whipped his head towards him, giving him the hardest stare he could.Louis' hand went to his neck and ripped off the necklace that was previously hanging. "Here." He threw the necklace at him, turned, and ran down the stairs. Liam followed him.Harry fell to his knees, desperately trying to grab what Lou threw. He found a necklace with a ring hanging from it. It was black with a silver rim around the edges. Inside was inscribed the words Love Conquers All. Harry suddenly went into a fit of tears. He looked towards Niall, who was staring in shock at the empty doorway. He turned to Harry.Niall was confused. Harry seemed to be overly emotional about the ring. "Harry, what's that?"Harry cried harder. "This is the ring I gave Lou the first time I told him I loved him.""Oh."Harry saw that Niall still didn't get it. He sighed. "He told me that he would keep this ring as long as he loved me." Harry curled up in a ball. "He doesn't love me. He doesn't love me. Lou doesn't love me."All of a sudden, Niall didn't know why, but he burst into laughter. Maybe it was because he was still drunk. "You're so stupid.""What the fuck Niall? I'm telling you that the love of my life doesn't love me and you laugh? Well, fuck you too!" Harry yelled and continued to cry in his sleeve.Niall stopped laughing only long enough to say, "You must be the dumbest person I've ever met.""What?""You really think that Louis doesn't love you anymore. Harry, if I can see through that lie, you better be able to." Niall said, a little bit angrily.Harry sighed. "I don't know."That's when it happened. A scream was heard downstairs and Harry shot up like a bullet. He would know that sound anywhere."Lou..." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- 4. Harry ran downstairs, determined to find out what was going on. The scream was definitely not a cry for help, but it was Lou's and Harry couldn't fight off his instinct to go find him. He was downstairs now, standing up against the wall, looking to find Liam or Lou. He saw that the dancefloor had gathered around two people. Harry got closer."I fucking hate you!""Stop. Stop! You're just fucking upset. Stop it. I didn't invite him." Harry heard Liam yell. Someone hit Liam. "Sure you didn't. Go away! Get the fuck away from me, all of you!" Louis yelled. "I don't have to deal with this shit now."Harry saw Liam go after Lou, who was now headed out the door.Harry knew all of this was his fault. He honestly and truthfully felt bad and the best thing he could do now was to leave. He finally got what he came for. He had been looking for an answer. An answer that Lou had just answered. Lou told him that he didn't love him and that was enough for Harry. He was done.Harry ran outside. He walked up to his former best friend and his former boyfriend. "It's ok. I'll go." And with that, Harry walked away, walked away from the boy who had once been his whole life. _____________________________________________________________ It's been a month since Niall's birthday, and Harry hasn't returned anyone's calls. He sleeps until three in the afternoon, eats something small, gets dressed up, and goes to a bar. It''s been his routine for weeks now. He usually calls up Nick and invites him along. No, Harry isn't best friends with Nick, but he knows that Lou was never fond of him, so in a way, it's like getting back at Louis again. Harry doesn't intentionally want to hurt Lou, but he knows that he does. And maybe he's a little happy that he does. Harry's brain and heart are contradicting each other right now. His mind is telling him that the logical actions are to forget Louis, date Nick, get drunk, and live his life like that because Lou's a fucking dipshit. His heart is telling him that nothing comes easy. Nothing that's truly worth it is ever going to be easy. Love isn't easy. But that was six years ago, Harry reasons. No, Louis won't take him back now. Never.Harry is a mess right now. He's drunk at a club downtown in London. It's a very public place, so he knows that Nick and him will be seen together. This is all part of his plan though. He knows that Larry Shippers are still going crazy over the scene at Niall's house, so he's trying to let that die down. He knows that Modest won't be happy with Lou or any of the boys because of that night, so Harry thinks he'll do them a favor and get the press off their back. "Harry! Come on, have another shot! Drinks on me." Nick says, coming up to Harry and draping an arm around him.Harry feels uncomfortable, but is too shy to say anything that could hurt Nick. "I already have a drink.""That's a beer mate, not an actual drink."Harry just shrugs. "Ok. Sit down. What's wrong mate?" Nick says, stepping back and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "All you've done for the last month is drink, sleep, and wank yourself off."Harry attempts to laugh at Nick's joke, but it comes out as a muffled sound."One Directions' Louis Tomlinson... confirmed..." Harry couldn't hear the small TV in the bar, but he picked up what it was saying little by little. Harry shushed Nick, but he kept talking. "Shut the fuck up!" He screamed."Yes...heard it here first...Louis...gay!"Harry's heart sunk in. No. No. No. Not now! Why now, Lou? Why the fuck now out of all the years they were together? Harry pushed himself off of his stool and strode right out of the bar, not paying attention to anyone that was calling his name. He could feel the heat overtaking his body, he could feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, but most of all, he could feel the hurt and betrayal in his heart. No. No. No. This was all a bad dream, this couldn't be happening. Fuck! Why did Lou have to do this now? After almost four years together and now he wants to fucking come out? Shit, Harry was getting out of control. His whole body was shaking as he got into his car and fumbled with the keys to start the engine. "Fuckin' shit!" Harry yelled and hit the glass window of his car. The sound of breaking glass didn't even make him flinch and the wound on his fist wasn't felt. "Fucker!" He yelled and could feel the heated tears streaming down his face. He was speeding down the highway, needed to leave the bar. He was so angry. There was no way to possibly understand the anger and hurt he felt. No, this was too much for him. He raced through the streets of London and almost got into a couple of accidents. He heard his phone going off, but he didn't even bother to see who it was. Once he was parked, he flung his door open, slammed it behind him, and ran up the stairs of the house. He rang the doorbell. He rang again. One last time. The door opened. "What-" The voice said, shocked."You fucking shit! Now? Now, out of the four years we were together, happily? Why now? I deserve to know! After all the shit you put me through. You think you were the only one who went through it? You saw what I did to myself the last time you came to my flat six years ago! You never thought that maybe I was hurting way more than you could possibly know? I was there Lou! I had always been there for you, and the one fucking time I needed you, where were you? Off getting married? Off leaving me? Can you really blame me for leaving? Huh? ANSWER ME!" Harry was holding Lou by the collar, shaking him furiously.Louis stared at Harry in shock. He knew what he had done, but he didn't think that his love of his life would be at his doorstep, yelling and cussing him out, crying and screaming. Louis saw the tears streaming down his face and choked back anything he was going to say."Lou, if you would have asked me to come back after I left, I would have." Harry looked into Lou's eyes. He sobbed. "But you didn't and now things are the way they are." Harry laughed like a maniac then. "You are such a shit, you know that? Not once did you ask me to come back. Who the fuck does that? Let's the love of their life leave without a fight? I'll tell you who. You. You asshole and inconsiderate fucking dick.Louis was dumbfounded. He didn't know that such a simple answer to his problems had existed. No, Harry was lying; he wouldn't have come back that easily. Harry was a dick, Harry was the one that had left him and it wasn't Lou's fault. Harry let go of Lou and took a step back, running his hand through his curly locks. He was pacing back and forth, not knowing what Lou was thinking. He was angry that Louis didn't have any answers for him because after all this time Harry thought that the least Lou could do was give him some answers.Harry stopped and looked over at Louis. Now that the anger was let out, Harry felt the wave of sadness washing over his body and filling his veins. "I was always there Lou. Even when you didn't know; I was there. I was there when you and Eleanor were kissing, I was there when you proposed to her, I was there when you cried in my arms. And, where were you when I got my heart crushed? Where were you when I tried to hang myself in our bedroom because that was the last place you had been and I never wanted to forget the image of you standing there? Where were you when I overdosed on drugs? Where were you, Lou?"Louis was staring at the ground. Louis opened his mouth to speak, and he could see Harry's eager, baby face. "Harry-"Harry's eyes flew to Louis'. He remembered that name and all the memories it brought back. Lou telling Harry the first time that he loved him, Lou stroking his hair back, whispering his name to him. Harry's body immediately reacted to the loving name, and he could hear the emotion that came with that simple word. "Haz... You... I didn't..." Louis took a deep breath.Harry sighed, not satisfied. "It's just not enough Lou... It's just not enough now..." He walked to his car, started the engine, and drove away.When he was safely in his car, Harry let it all out. He sobbed until he couldn't see the road in front of him. He cried so loud that he couldn't hear anything besides his heart breaking. He hit the already broken windshield, just so that he could feel some other pain than his heartache. He pulled onto the side of the road and just cried in his arms. He brought his legs up to his chest and rocked back and forth. He noticed the car lights that pulled behind him. He heard a door open and then shut. He couldn't see who it was because of the tears that were surrounding his eyes. Soon, his door opened."Come here." He said and then two strong arms wrapped around him.Harry cried even harder when he realized who it was. "Liam," He breathed."It's ok, Mate. You don't have to say a word." And then Liam just sat there, holding Harry as he cried and screamed.Harry stayed like that for an hour, just crying. Finally, he fell asleep and he couldn't remember anything that happened after he shut his eyes._______________________________________________________________ "No, I'm not going to do that. You expect him to be able to? Well, fuck you too." Niall said.Harry was barely regaining consciousness. He could feel the covers around him, he knew that he was tucked into his bed, but he didn't understand why there were people in his house.Someone was whispering back to Niall, but Harry couldn't identify who it was or what they were saying.Harry heard Liam laughing. "You're some sick bastards, you know that? We should have dropped you a long time ago."A whisper was exchanged."Yeah yeah, we fucking know we're under contract, why don't you think we haven't sued you yet?" Niall replied.Harry rubbed his eyes, almost fully awake. He threw the covers off of himself and padded his way to the bathroom. Man, he looked like shit. His eyes were puffy and red. He had a headache from all the crying he had done, and he just didn't feel right. He slipped on his slippers and walked downstairs. He found Liam, Niall, and two random guys sitting at his dining room table."Um, what's up?" Harry asked everyone. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of cereal, then he returned to the dining room and took a seat by Niall. "So, not to be rude, but you the hell are you guys?""I'm Richard Griffiths and, this is my partner, Harry Magee." One of them said."Oh, ok." Harry said, shrugging his shoulder. He didn't know them, but Harry wasn't really concerned with them.Niall coughed. "They're from Modest! Management."Harry immediately stopped the spoon that was holding his cereal. "Get out.""Mr. Styles we would like-"Harry walked up to the man and was several inches taller than him. He pushed his chest against the man's and said slowly, "Get the fuck out of my house."Both men looked at each other, apologized, and left quickly. Harry fell down into his chair and ran a hand down his face. "Harry we-""Hold on." Harry said calmly. He stood up, walked towards the window, stood there for a couple of minutes, then repeatedly punched the glass until it broke. He kept repeating the words "fucker" and "so stupid". Niall rushed over to his and pinned Harry's arms behind him. "Get off of me! Get off of me!" Harry screamed, wiggling back and forth, trying to punch the window again.Liam came over and grabbed Harry. He threw him over his shoulder and walked to the couch. He flung Harry down and then climbed on top of him, stopping him from running back. He was having a fit and Liam was done. "Can you just sit still for one second?" Liam yelled.Harry stopped, but said nothing."We have to discuss something important!" Liam was holding Harry's arms above his head.Harry sighed and nodded his head. Liam finally got off and stood up. Harry sat on the couch, crossing his arms in anger."Just hear me out, ok?" Liam said.Harry huffed. "Fine.""They were here because... well, Harry, it's about Louis." Liam finally said. Instantly Harry sat up straight, he was hanging on to every word now. "Lou?""Well, we all know he's- well, he's out now. Modest... Modest wants to make this as easy as possible. You know the fans will hate, we'll lose some. The bloody paps won't be very nice. Well, we also know that you are loved by millions of girls too. If...if people saw that you two were hanging out again. Well, you know that the rumors of Larry would show up, people would be waiting for it to come out and... Look, Harry, everyone likes you and there would be no one better for Louis to start dating- that would be acceptable by the fans- than you." Liam said, scared that Harry would burst out in anger again.The whole room was quiet. Niall was sitting next to Harry, and his heart was racing. Everyone was a little uncomfortable.Harry burst out in laughter. "You think that we could ever date again? Look, Li, Lou hates me.""But you don't hate him."Harry huffed, "well, I think I do.""I know you're lying twat. You still say his old nickname and we both know you went to his house after he came out because you're jealous and mad. It's ok Harry. Look, you guys don't have to actually like each other, just in front of the cameras and fans. That's all." Niall said, standing up and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.Harry contemplated the idea, looking at the pro's and con's of it all. First, he would probably get more money and fans and obviously more attention. The horrible benefits involved having to see Lou, having to talk to Lou, and having to (maybe) seriously date Lou. Harry sighed. "No."Liam and Niall both took a step back. Each boy had not expected that answer; they all assumed that Harry loved Louis still and could make the real Lou come back to them. A love like theirs never dies, it's infinite, beyond reach. Or, well, it used to be...Liam cleared his throat. "Well, it looks like you have no choice.""What?" Harry asked."See, Modest has already contacted your management. Supposedly, you've been wanting to come out for years and they also agreed that the best person to come out with is Louis." Liam stated. He honestly wasn't even mad about the situation they were having. He had always wanted a reason to reunite the boys, to have his family become one again, Maybe, just maybe, this was the way. Harry set his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "Shit." He chuckled sarcastically after a few minutes. "Well, I guess that settles it then lads?" ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "How are we supposed to date if I don't even like the fucking twat." Louis yelled. Louis was talking in another room while Harry sat on the couch, looking uncomfortable and out of place. They were all at Louis' house, discussing expectations, routines, appearances, dates, and everything that came with having a staged relationship. Harry was on the verge of leaving because it was obvious that Lou didn't want his help. In fact, Louis had almost attacked everyone when he heard the plan. So, here Harry was, in a beanie, a black shirt, and some gray sweatpants, looking deathly tired, and sitting patiently in the room while he heard Louis bicker with everyone. Harry felt as if he was crossing some invisible line by just being present at Louis' house. Obviously, they didn't want to see each other, but business wasn't about what they wanted, it was about what the fans and public wanted. Harry stood up, done with all the arguing. He walked over to the room, knocked lightly on the door, and then slightly opened it. "Look, I'm just going to go. Obviously, I'm not wanted.""No. You're not-" Louis started, but was hit in the stomach with a soccer ball. Harry scoffed. "You're so immature.""Excuse me, but I'm older than you."Harry rolled his eyes. "Doesn't mean that you're more mature. Look, all I wanted to do was help, but fuck it.""You boys both have a date tomorrow. Act like friends." The man said and then walked out of the room.Both the boys were left in the room, staring at the floor. It's funny how strangers become friends, then those friends become best friends, then that becomes something serious, but then ends. And when it ends, so does the friendship. It sucks, it really does, but there is nothing that can change the past.Louis looked up at Harry at the exact same time that Harry looked at Lou. Neither of them looked away. Louis held a loathing stare while Harry's was longing. Maybe he was longing for answers or just longing to have the old Lou back, but he knew that he had taken him and murdered that Lou when he left him six years ago. "Well, are you just going to fucking stand there?" Louis asked. He had his hands on his hips, one hip out, and his foot was tapping. Harry realized that Louis was nervous. Nervous? Really? Of Harry? Well, if Harry was being honest, he too felt nervous. There was no telling what Lou would do. Harry rolled his eyes. "All I need to know is the time we're gonna meet and where.""I'll text it to you later." Louis sighed. He was clearly annoyed and not trying to hide it.Harry pulled out his phone. "My number is-""I know what your fucking number is." Louis said , clenching his teeth and his fists.Lou still knows my number? He still has is? Harry gaped. Harry had deleted Lou's contact after five years, but that wasn't any help because he had memorized it for life. He felt his mouth pull up into a slight smile after he heard Lou say that. Louis seemed to notice his mistake and rolled his eyes."Everyone knows your number." Louis said nonchalantly and then started to mess with his phone.Harry's smile faltered. "Um, so is yours the same?""Yup." Louis said, popping the p. He didn't look up from his phone, so Harry walked out of the room. As he passed by the living room, he noticed that all the guys were sitting and playing FIFA."Yes! I win again! Fuckers!" Niall laughed and threw his head back. He was standing up, moving as if he was actually playing the game. "Goalllllllll!!!!!" He screamed and dropped to his knees, pulling his hands in the air."Hey mates." Harry said, stopping only to say hi.Niall jumped up and ran over to Harry. "Wanna play? These guys are getting boring because I keep kicking their asses.""Niall?" Louis asked as he was coming out of the bedroom. He looked confused.Niall skipped over to Louis and pulled him in for a quick hug. After, he returned to Harry's side and kept begging him to play."I didn't know you guys were still so close." Louis sneered. His blue eyes were fierce.Niall shrunk a little. "Well, um...""You invited him to the party?" Louis yelled, getting closer and closer to Niall.Harry stepped in between them, so Louis couldn't hurt Niall. "No! No. A friend of mine did."Louis completely ignored him. "You've been talking to him, Niall?"Niall hesitantly looked at Harry again and then switched his gaze over to the other two boys who were sitting down. "Lou, you know-""Louis!" He corrected."Louis, you know I was the closest with Harry. I just... He showed up... and..." Niall put his hands up in surrender.Louis paced back and forth. "Even after he hurt you? Even after he left us? Even after...?" Louis just looked up at Niall in confusion. He didn't understand how Niall could be so forgiving. Harry had left him. Didn't he see that?"Even after he left you, you mean? Look Louis, I get why you're upset. Harry left. And I know he took a part of you when he broke you, but you never stopped to think about his side of the story, and I think that if you did, it would be much easier to forgive him than you think." Niall stepped towards Louis, but Lou took a step back, shaking his head."You saw what he did to me. I saw what he did to you. You became my best friend. He doesn't just get to steal you back!" Louis shouted. His face was red and he had stopped breathing. Harry knew that Lou had always masked all his emotions with anger. Harry knew that Lou was still hurting because of him, but he wanted to make it all better. He was determined to make it all better. Harry went again and stood in front of Niall, coming face to face with Lou. Louis tried his best not to look away, but Harry knew he was dying to run."Lou. I know I hurt you. I know that. And I also know that, right now, I'm still hurting you. But I also know that at this second, there is no way that you will forgive me. You're not going to let it go that easily because I wouldn't either. Now, you need to know that I'm not gonna stop. I love Niall, Liam, and Zayn just as much as you do and I'm determined to become part of their lives again. And you can either accept that, or not. But I hope that later we can become friends again." Harry stuck his hand out, trying to show that he was honestly trying to become his friend, or respectable person in his life. Louis laughed and turned around. He stormed out of the front door, slamming it with a bang. Niall was still standing in awe. He was staring at Harry like he was his big brother again. "I'm glad you stood up to him, I'm getting tired of his sassy ass." Niall said and then plopped down on the couch next to Liam. Harry sighed and followed him. Liam looked up and smiled at him, greeting him, but Zayn didn't acknowledge him. Harry decided to sit down by Zayn, hoping he could find out what was bothering him. "Hey." Harry smiled.Zayn nodded his head slightly and quietly mumbled "hi.""What's up? Did I do something?" Harry whispered, hoping that the boys wouldn't hear them.Zayn ran a hand through his hair, something that was very rare because he hated messing up his hair. "Well, you just messed up all his progress.""He was better?" Harry asked, amazed.Zayn rolled his eyes. "No, he's usually sassy and all that shit, but now he hasn't been going out, he hasn't been calling us regularly.""Sorry?""Listen Styles, that's my best mate right there okay? And if anything or anyone hurts him, I will make them miserable. He's already gone through enough shit, so either be extra nice, or leave." Zayn said, and then turned his attention back to the FIFA game.______________________________________________________________________ "Hello everyone? Are you all having a good time? How 'bout you guys in the back? Yeah! And what about you chaps over hear? oh no, not you guys, I meant those guys!" Harry yelled into the microphone.He was smiling and having a great time at Madison Square Garden, but it just wasn't the same tonight. He couldn't feel the music take control. All he could think about was how he used to feel playing with the other guys. It had always been so much fun on stage with the four greatest lads he ever met. Now, he could finally feel the loneliness."Okay, here's the first song. It's new and it's called 'A Secret'.""A secret like this is hard to hide,A secret like this cannot be confined.I cannot let the past go and say goodbye,But I know the deal we both agreed and signed. Don't they know they can't take away our love?I'm sorry to say, but I'm almost done.Can't we just go back, rewind the past?Maybe, that way, this thing would last. I loved the way these things used to be,Baby, maybe they won't notice if we flee.I wanna go somewhere we can't be judged,For all of the things, places, and people I've loved. Is it so bad that I love you?Is it so bad that you want me to?Is it so bad that I kiss you?Is it so bad that you love me too? Come with me, let's tell the world our story,I don't care if we lose all our glory.We have each other, isn't that enough?We can get through it all, even if it's tough. A secret like this could not hide,A secret like this could not be confined.I cannot let my future pass me by,So let's forget the deal we both agreed and signed. The crowd was silent as Harry ended the song. He was nevous. Did they not like the song? Did they know that he had written it when Lou and him were together? These questions were filling his mind. He tapped the microphone and smiled slightly."So? What did you guys think?" Harry asked, praying everything was alright. Suddenly, there was a wave of applause and screams. Harry could see some of the girls up front and saw that they had tears in their eyes. Yeah, Harry had cried when he wrote that song as well. Right now, he wasn't focused on everyone. Two people had captured his attention. There was a girl hugging her best friend. Harry stared in awe as they pecked each other on the lips real quick. Most of the people around them clapped as they saw them too. They turned back to the stage and saw Harry looking at them. The taller girl grabbed the other girl's hand and put them in the air, with their fingers twined together. Harry honestly felt like crying again. He had always wanted that. He had always dreamed about loving his best friend and everyone knowing about it. The fans here didn't even seem to care about the gay couple and it made Harry's heart ache. How come I can't have that? he thought to himself.The two girls unzipped their jackets and Harry saw the writing on them. Now he really was going to cry. He felt the tears building up and soon, he was wiping the corners of his eyes before they ran down his face.The girls shirts read: I Still Believe In Love. There was a picture of Harry and Lou at the AMA's 2013. The picture was them looking at each other right before getting into a group hug with the other boys. Lou was smirking over at Harry, but Harry was trying his best not to smile back, because he knew management was watching. He failed though, because he saw the smile playing at the edge of his lips. It was right after they had won Album of the Year. Suddenly, Harry heard the whole stadium screaming. No, it wasn't exactly screaming, it was chanting. The whole theater was chanting something and soon, the floor people were also chanting it. "Larry!""Larry!""Larry!" A riot broke up, soon, girls were trying to run up on stage, Harry was backing away slowly, but he wasn't going to leave. He wanted to remember this moment. He wanted to remember how many people would have supported Larry Stylinson. The crowd was getting angrier then. Screams were heard everywhere."Let them love!""Love isn't a gender!""Larry! I still believe!""We won't stop until you surrender!""Gay is Okay!""Larry equals love! Let them love!""I ship it!"Harry pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He took a video of all the girls screamed, he tried to make the clear screams sound muffled, but if you listen closely, you could still hear what they were saying. He posted it on twitter.@Harry_Styles: Best crowd. Je suis d'accord avec eux.Retweets:@L_Stylinson246: did anyone else hear what I heard on the video?!?! FRENCH TOAST I'M DYING!@Stylinson_HazLou264: FUCK! IT's SOON! LARRY IS GOING TO COME OUT. @Harry_Styles: "Best Crowd. I AGREE WITH THEM."@RonneyCV231_CT: I don't even ship Larry, but Harry is definitely talking about Louis from One Direction.@Sam92GH: OMG. I thought they broke up!!! #LARRYISBACKON@LARRYLOVE761: #LARRYISBACKON@StephanieTomlinson231: As long as Louis' happy, I'm happy. #LARRYISBACKONTrends:#LARRYISBACKON#RIPPaulWalker#LARRYLOVE#HarryGiveLouisYourGravyAgain#SassMasterRespondToHarryLater that day@Louis_Tomlinson: Yeah, same here. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Harry sat down on the dining room table, looking at all the empty seats surrounding him. Originally, he had gotten this table to fit ten people, four for the boys and five for extra people on the holidays. Now, there was no one. His mom and sister hadn't been ready for the fame or fortune. Sure, they asked him for help whenever they needed it, but they didn't want anything else usually. Harry didn't blame them, how could he? Even Harry himself didn't want the fame. He had thought it was going to be glamorous, getting everything he wanted. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers Simon telling him and the boys: "When you come into the music business, there is this saying that states that each one of you has to give up someone you love the most for your biggest dreams. The music industry is a deal with the devil is what people say. I hope to God this isn't true for you boys, but for my other clients... well..." Well, now he had no one. He still had his friends like Nick and them, but they would never replace his four best mates. No one could or would. But, now that he thought about it, he was getting them back. Niall was already on his side, Liam didn't seem to take a side; he was neutral, but Zayn... Zayn was different. They used to get along great because Zayn knew that Harry was gay from the start, so he concluded that Harry couldn't steal any girls away from him. Harry shoved a spoon-full of Lucky Charms in his mouth. The doorbell rang. Great, Harry thought. He stood and went to the door in only his boxer-briefs. He unlocked the door and opened the screen door as well. "What the fuck? I texted you an hour ago telling you I was on my way!" Louis screamed. He groaned and pushed passed Harry. As he stepped inside, he noticed Harry's almost nakedness and gulped. He shook his head and walked towards the kitchen. "Um, good morning to you too. I didn't get your text." Harry said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.Louis pulled the refrigerator open and grabbed the milk and Lucky Charms. He remembered where the bowls were and started to build his breakfast. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go get ready! We have a reservation at two.""Okay! Alright. Gosh, let a man wake up." Harry said, holding his arms up in mock surrender. He picked up his robe and walked towards the stairs. Louis sat down on the table. He as well could feel the emptiness this house exerted. He shook his head. This was a bad start. Not only had he just walked past Harry and into his house like they were best friends again, he went and snooped through his kitchen and got whatever the hell he felt like. Louis slapped his hand to his forehead. So stupid! Get a grip, you guys aren't friends, you're only pretending to be, he said to himself. He took one last bite and then put the bowl by the sink. Harry could wash it later. He roamed around the house, Looking at new and old things. There were still pictures of the boys from five years ago, pictures of Harry's family, and there was still a picture of all the boys family's taking a group photo. They were all placed perfectly on the fireplace so that they would be seen by anyone who walked in. Harry had always liked photographing everything and anything. It used to piss Louis off, but now it seemed like Harry got to keep memories that Louis didn't. Louis recalled that most pictures Harry had taken were of him, but he had probably burned those. Louis sighed. It was hard to be mean to someone that you had loved for so many years. It was also hard to be mad at that person when you didn't know their true reasons for leaving.Louis heard the shower start upstairs and he decided to walk up there and inspect some more. He opened door after door, but they were all the same old boring bedrooms, or bathrooms, or computer room, or filled with boxes, or the gym room. Finally, Louis opened a door and walked in. It was super bright with windows on three walls. Louis could the backyard pool and field, he could see the neighbors house and the front yard. Louis turned to inspect the room. It was a room used for developing pictures. Louis looked around, peaking through boxes. He found pictures of Nick Grimshaw, recent pictures of Niall, and old 1D pictures. Louis sighed. He was a little disappointed when he didn't find photos of himself, but it didn't matter. Everything that was, was over.Louis closed the door silently as he walked out and was glad that the shower was still running. Louis walked to the double doors of the master suite, but stopped before opening it. Quietly, he opened one and slipped through. Harry's room had never ceased to amaze Louis. Everything was so clean and open. The light was stabbing through the curtains in every window and it make the carpet become lighter in color. The floor was so soft that Louis just wanted to lay down for a second. He walked over to the bed and stopped. He didn't want to touch it. Louis remembered that it had been six years, of course Harry had slept with someone. He saw the doors for the closet and bathroom. He was tempted to look at all the clothes Harry had, but he thought against it. He walked back towards the entrance doors, but stopped when he saw one picture by the nightstand. He walked quickly over to it and picked it up. He sucked in a breath.The picture Harry had framed was of the two of them. They both had matching gray beanies on. Harry was smiling with his perfect pearly teeth. Louis was as well, but Harry seemed beautiful. Louis had a white shirt on as Harry had a blackish, gray t-shirt. They were both close together. It was only of their chests and up in the picture. Their heads were tilted towards each other.Louis sighed. Those were the days. Those were the happy days.The shower turned off. Louis bounced out the door and ran downstairs, he jumped over the back of the couch and landing on it. He flicked on the TV and almost burst into laughter as the porn came on. Louis quickly turned it to a different station and waited.Fifteen minutes later, Harry came trotting down the stairs. He had on a dark green beanie with his hair pulled back under it. He Had on a gray tank-top that had a pocket on his left breast and it also had a red heart on the breast pocket. He had thrown on some casual black jeans that weren't as tight as he usually wore them, they were a little lose, but still skinny. He had on white, flat tenny shoes. Overall, he was going for a laid-back outfit. "I'm ready."Louis sighed. "Thank goodness, I could have finished that porno with the time that you took." He got up and went towards the door."Oh, gosh." Harry blushed. "T-That wasn't mine.""Sure. Let's just go. I want to get home as soon as possible." Louis said and opened the drivers-side door to his Porsche.Harry pauses. "You think we should maybe take my Range Rover?" "No, I think my car is fine."Harry scratched his neck. "Well, it's just that it's so small. Mine's a bit... roomier.""Fine." Louis groaned.They walked towards Harry's garage and both got in his Range Rover. Harry smiled, trying to calm his nerves he felt. This was it. He was finally getting his chance to take Louis back. But would he succeed? Harry hoped so. "So, how have you been?" Harry asked as he pulled out of his driveway. Louis rolled his eyes, but Harry didn't see. "Grand... just grand," he whispered."Look Lou, I know we made some mistakes. We went through hard stuff, but I'm ready to put that all behind me." Harry said. He had noticed Lou's attitude towards him, but he understood. Louis had every right to be mad. Harry had left him without as much as a goodbye or reason.Louis scoffed. :That's easy for you to say. You're the one that made all the mistakes.""Admit it, Lou. You made some too.""Sure," he shrugged. "I've made mistakes, but at least I wasn't the one that gave up on us."Harry could feel his insides starting to hurt. "I didn't want to! There was just so much shit! No one wants to live like that.""But you knew that they were going to let us come out the next year!" Louis yelled.Harry took one hand off the steering wheel and ran it through his hair. Louis had always loved to argue, but in the end all he really liked was the making up part. "Yeah, after you married El.""But you also knew that that wasn't real! Gosh Harry."Harry decided to tell Lou a little more that he had not known. "I didn't want to marry someone who had already had a marriage. I wanted to be the first one. I didn't want to be seen as second choice. I wanted to be the first one to walk down the aisle for someone."Louis shut up then. "But it wasn't real. Fuck! Can we just stop talking about this? I don't want to get into it. You left me without anything, I mopped around for six lousy years, and you don't get to just come back into my life. No. Now shut up about this shit so that no one sees us fighting in the car." Louis threw his feet up on the dash and turned up the radio.Harry could feel the wound in his heart. Maybe Louis was right, maybe he didn't deserve another chance. Maybe this was all Harry could ever get- A fake friendship and relationship."Where are we going?" Harry finally asked. Louis looked down at his phone. "To a restaurant downtown, but that's at two. We have an hour until we need to be there. Richard wants us to go out and act like friends first. Let me remind you, this isn't actually a date. He doesn't want this to be our first date. He simple wants the fans to know that we might be friends again.""So just two friends hanging out. Cool." Harry said and parked the car. The two of them got out and walked into a shoe store. Louis went straight to the TOMS and Harry just followed. No one was out shopping here yet and no one had noticed them. Harry sat down as Louis picked shoe after shoe. Harry decided that they should probably start acting like friends then."You're foot is too small for that shoe." Harry said smirking.Louis glared at him, but in a joking way. "Excuse me, not all of us have size ten and a half feet.""I'm not embarrassed. You know what they say about a mans foot." Harry laughed.Louis blinked a couple of times. "Are you saying I'm small?""I don't know. I'm just saying your foot is small." Harry sighed and leaned back on the seat. Louis huffed, but he found a smaller size. "I think I want these ones. And those, and maybe those two over there.""Go for it. Except, maybe you should take that pair too. I like those." Harry said, pointing to the shoes Lou had in his arms.Louis picked them all up, but they fell out of his hands. He was too small to carry all of them. "Here." Harry grabbed all five of the boxes and walked towards the counter. A girl was working and was shocked when she saw the pair. "This has to be a dream..." She whispered and then pinched herself. "Ouch!"Harry laughed and put all the shoes on the counter. "We'd like to take all of these.""I would like to take all these." Louis corrected. The girl nodded her head, but couldn't find words. She silently scanned all the shoes and kept glancing up at Harry and Louis. She finally got the courage to smile at them. "Um... That will be $270."Louis reached into his pocket, but couldn't find his wallet. He had left it in his car. Damn it! He screamed mentally.Harry was quick to notice Lou's dilemma and pulled out his wallet. He handed the girl his credit card and she was visibly shaking as she swiped it. "There you go. Um, would it be alright if I got a picture with you two? No one will believe me if I don't.""Sure." Harry smiled brightly at her. He grabbed her phone as they mushed together and he took a picture of them. The girl squealed and then ran behind the counter. Louis and Harry walked out of the store, but they could hear the girl inside call a friend and scream. "They were hear! Who else? Larry Stylinson! OMG, I'm going to send you a picture. We need to post that on our twitter and tumblr!""Six years later and they still believe." Louis shook his head in disapproval. Harry smiled. "Well, they weren't wrong the first time.""Yeah, but now they are." Louis said and then left Harry standing there as he threw the bags in the car. Harry followed Lou as he started walked to what Harry presumed was the restaurant. They got there and were quickly seated. The two boys barely said anything as the waiter asked for drinks and such. Suddenly, as the waiter left, Harry and Louis could hear something outside. It was screams."Oh no, they found us!" Harry laughed.Louis joined in, playing his part perfectly. "Just like old times. It still amazes me. They never stop. It's been over ten years and they are still chasing us.""Yeah same here." Harry said, smiling as he took a drink. Louis seemed to get uncomfortable. "So, you wrote a new song eh?" "Oh, that was old, but I just never showed anyone I guess. I was too embarrassed to." Harry laughed nervously.Louis smiled. "It was good. Joe and I watched it. So did the boys. Good song. You know, you could have got in deep shit if that was a year ago or before that.""I know. Honestly, I was freaking out when I sang it. My manager didn't even know I was going to. Plus, I thought it would help us. Get all the fans ready." Harry shrugged. To be honest, even though Harry thought the lunch was a bit boring, he was having a good time. It felt nice to be able to sanely talk to Louis without him having a fit. Harry smiled more genuinely now than he had in, well, six years. Louis seemed to be more relaxed as well."Well, I don't think that was necessary. I've been looking at twitter. All these fucking fans are crazy. Have you seen the fucking trends? All Larry Stylinson shit." Louis laughed.Harry's whole body perked up. "Well, I think if I was a fan, I'd definitely believe too. I mean, all of a sudden you come out, we are hanging out, what's next? They are definitely going to expect something with the two of us." "I know. They'll get what they want too. That song... It was good shit. You wrote it by yourself?" Louis asked taking a sip of his drink.Harry shook his head. "Ed came up with the music, I did the words.""Got any other songs?""Yeah, but I'd rather not share them." Harry said, looking away from Lou. It was embarrassing all the songs Harry had written about them. It was a little over obsessive, but Harry loved Lou. Louis seemed to take offense. "Fine." He snarled and then looked back at his phone, texting someone.Harry sat there, playing with his fingers. He didn't like upsetting Louis, he never had. Every time that he did, he would apologize all night until Lou finally felt bad too. They didn't talk. Their food came out and they still hadn't said a word to each other. What Lou didn't know was that Harry had found his voice when they broke-up. He wasn't the quiet, shy guy anymore. He said what he felt because he didn't want to deal with the stress that he would later feel."Look, we need to stop acting like kids. I'm doing this to help you and you are acting like a child. Just because I don't want to share something doesn't give you the right to get upset." Harry huffed. He was sick of Lou's childish ways. He wasn't gonna put up with it.When they were together, Lou would get everything he wanted. Harry would sacrifice anything to make Louis happy, but Harry realized that that isn't how a relationship worked. Both people should sacrifice things to make each other happy. All Lou used to have to do was whine and Harry would give in, not now though. Harry was a whole different person, that's what life does to you. It corrupts your happiness and crushes your fantasy. But life also strengthens you, build you into a person that can withstand so much.Louis looked a little stunned. "You've changed.""No, I just speak my mind now." Harry said respectfully. Louis laughed. "Good damn thing too. I was starting to think you'd let me tease you all the time. It's always good when someone fights back. More entertaining.""Ah, Lou, you haven't changed a bit." Harry laughed, but all he left was anger and Louis noticed. "Same sarcastic, immature, dickhead.""You've got anger too?" Louis raised an eyebrow. Harry was actually taking this conversation to heart. Yes, he was angry and he wanted Lou to know. He wanted to understand all the pain.Harry smirked, but it wasn't funny. "I've got a lot of that."Louis seemed to catch on and his 'friendliness' slipped away. "Huh, me too pal."And that's when Louis hit Harry square in the jaw. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "Cut it out! Cut it out!" Liam screamed, holding Louis back.Louis spit at Harry, who was on the floor. "Fucking shit! You stupid ass bastard."Harry sat up and grabbed his face. He knew that Louis hadn't broken anything, but he definitely left a bruise. The blood was gushing out of Harry's mouth, sweeping down the length of his chin. He spat on the floor then settled into a standing position."Well, that was unexpected." He uttered. "What are you guys doing here?"Liam and Niall had appeared expeditiously from the back kitchen as soon as Louis had percussed Harry. If it wasn't for them appearing, Louis felt that he would have continued to repeatedly beat Harry. It was as if the animosity was there, steadily increasing inside of him, eating at him. Lately, he had been undoubtedly angry at Harry, especially after hearing that they were supposed to act like friends again.Niall laughed a little. "Well, we knew something would happen. Six years about and you are left alone with each other? Knew it wasn't a good idea." Niall placed his hand towards Liam."Here," Liam grumbled then handed over a hundred dollars."You made a fucking bet on us?" Louis yelled and then released himself from Liam's grasp.Harry walked over to Liam too and collected his one hundred dollars.Louis looked appalled. "You? Bastard! Dick! Fucking dick! You mess everything up, you know? I was doing fine, perfectly fine. You come along and... and... I fucking hate you. I hate you. Do you know how many times I slept outside your house? How many times I called you and received no answer? How many times I waited for answers?That's pretty fucked up for a boyfriend of three years to do.""You know what's also pretty fucked up Lou?" Harry snickered. "For a boyfriend of three years to marry someone else."Harry twisted around and left the restaurant. There were girls screaming outside and Harry couldn't focus. He never could with everyone calling his name, wanting what he couldn't give them. Louis had been the one to calm him down, to guide him away from the chaos.Maybe Harry had been a fucked up boyfriend, but Louis had never complained about anything while they were still together. Louis loved Harry at some point. They had been perfect for each other, but now... Harry couldn't understand how everything changed so drastically. It hurt, it really did. Harry would cry in the shower, just so that no one could hear him sob. He used to wait for all the boys to fall asleep until he fell apart. The people that seem 'strong' are the ones that break down when no one can see. Their laughs and smiles are fabricated from lies and sadness, but the words 'I'm fine' seem to fool everyone."Harry! Harry!" Niall called from behind him.Harry turned around and smiled. "Hey there.""I'm going with you. I can't take more of Louis's crap."Harry slung an arm around Niall and they climbed into Harry's car and sped off to his house. "You know, the last time I was here I think it was Christmas." Niall said, taking off his shoes and sliding across the floor.Harry followed him and knocked into him. They ended up laughing on the floor."Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were seen at this restaurant apparently after their dinner date, Louis Tomlinson was seen repeatedly hitting Harry Styles. We don't know the full story, but we will be updating soon." A news reporter said as they sat on the couch."They make it seem like I was attacked. Oh Niall, help me, I think I have broken ribs and a concussion." Harry portrayed.Niall started laughing hysterically. "It's like Louis is a criminal. That's actually believable. He's pretty violent.""It was just a punch, he hits like a girl anyways."Niall snorted. "He kind of is one.""Hey, hey, just because we're gay doesn't mean we lose our masculinity. I'll have you know that no one has figured out I'm gay because I am pretty manly." Harry crossed his arms and smiled in triumph."Oh no one except for the fifteen million people that ship Larry, your boss, your publicity team, so pretty much everyone." Niall pointed out.Harry grinned. "Well, we should see what's happening on twitter after that scene."They both pulled out their phones and scrolled through their feed. The trends were all about Larry or either of the boys. Some people thought that Louis was in the wrong, but some actually sided with them. Harry was a little taken aback when he saw quite a few people actually supported Louis. But most of the trends involved Louis saying sorry or Harry hitting Louis back. A lot of people were asking questions.Harry shook his head."I think it's funny. Honestly, he needs to chill out. We all know he still likes you, he's just too scared." Niall said while falling onto his back."He has a right to be angry, I mean, what I did was pretty fucked up. That's why I didn't hit him back. Hey, I have a quick question." Harry added."Shoot.""Who's Joe?""Joe? Who told you about him?" Niall gasped.Harry raised his eyebrow. "Lou did.""Oh. That's Lou's friend." Niall said slowly.Harry scoffed. He knew Niall like he knew every line to Love Actually. "His friend? You fucking liar." He laughed."Well, yeah. They're friends. Boy-friends..." Niall whispered."What?" Harry yelled. "You're telling me that I'm just a cover-up for them? Now I'M the Eleanor? Bloody hell."Niall shook his head. "Harry, this is the first person Louis has been with for a while, he doesn't love him.""How do you know?" Harry crossed his arms.Niall gave him a pointed look. "It took three seconds for Louis to agree to go on a date with you. It took him barely a month to say 'I love you'. He's been with Joe for three months and Louis' is finally admitting that Joe's his boyfriend, but you can tell he hates it. He always flinches when he says it. You are honestly asking me if he loves him? You are one stupid mofo.""Anything could happen."Niall smiled. "Don't you think that if Louis really liked or loved Joe, he would have made a huge fuss about dating you? I barely heard him complain."Harry sighed. Certainly it wasn't fair to Louis to be messing with his heart again. Would Harry even be able to go through all the shit again? Would he even want to? And right now, Harry wasn't even certain about his feelings for Lou. He had just gotten punched, cussed out, and tackled by him.There was a knock on the door."Five hundred dollars it's him." Niall winked.They shook hands on it. Walking to the door, Harry had doubts that it wouldn't be him. He sighed and unlocked the front door.Nick Grimshaw stood, smirking at Harry, looking him up and down like a hungry cat, ready to pounce."Hello there." Nick raised his eyebrows.Harry disappointingly grunted. "What do you want?""Heard what happened. Just wanted to make sure you were alright babe." He walked past Niall and Harry, making his way to the kitchen.Harry followed, scratching his head. "Look, Nick, I just want to be alone." He smiled. "With Niall.""Come on, just relax. Have a little fun baby." Nick laughed."I want you to leave please. Now." Harry scolded."Come on Hazza, really?""The name is Harry. Please Nick? I'm not it the mood right now." Harry sighed and motioned towards the front door."Whoa whoa. Not in the mood? I'm never in the fucking mood when you call me at two in the morning to get drinks or go out or do whatever you want. So fucking Louis gets to just come back and I'm kicked to the curb? Not how friendship works bud." He laughed, grabbing a drink from the refrigerator."Get out.""What-""You. Heard. Me.""Why are you so pissy?! Gosh. Damn what did the fucking bitch ass queer do to you? He married a bitch, he forgot about you, he cheated on you, he left you after you almost committed suicide, and he wasn't even there when you woke up in the hospital. I WAS. He's a fucking dick." Nick threw the bottle at the wall making fragments of glass go everywhere.Harry stood still. Niall didn't know about half the stuff Nick had just blurted out, so he peaked over at him. In all seriousness, Harry wasn't mad at Nick, he just wanted him to leave. It was true that he had been there for Harry through all his rough times, but Harry never saw Nick in that way. He never would.Harry sat down on the couch, frustrated. He heard Niall and Nick fighting in the other room, but he just waited. Soon, the front door closed."Look, Niall, I'm sorry I never told you Lou cheated on me. It just wasn't-" Harry squeaked. He didn't want to think about it.He turned around because Niall hadn't said a word. He was surprised to find Louis standing in front of him."Oh. H-hi." He stuttered.Louis just glared at him. "You never told them?""Um," Harry started.Louis looked at the ground. "Why didn't you tell them? You could have totally made them take your side.""It wasn't their business. It was ours. It was only between you and I." Harry whispered.Louis scoffed. "You know, you're making it really easy to hate you, but hard at the same time." He sniffed. "I'm mad ok? I've been mad for a while Harry, but I'm over it. I don't need you like that anymore. I thought that... I thought we would last, but it was too hard. I get it. I just want you to know that I am still fucking pissed off about what you did, but I'm slowly getting over it. I need time and I know it's not all your fault ok? I-I know I had a part in it, but I wasn't the one who ultimately gave up on us.""I just want you to be h-"Louis sighed. "Please, just don't. I can't be happy like I was. I've changed.""Lou, you're still the same to me just hurt and broken." Harry reached out towards him. "Let me help.""I-I-I can't let you back in Haz." He whispered.There it was. Harry's old nickname that he yearned to hear coming through those lips and rolling off Lou's tongue. Instead of breaking his heart even more, it seemed to pick up some broken pieces and put them back together.Harry hesitated. "You don't have to. Just let me make you and Joe happy. I can help.""You found out?""Yeah. I'll help you, but we have to stop this revenge shit." Harry stated.Louis cracked a smile. "It felt good to hit your sorry ass you know? Bloody hell that was amazing."Harry laughed over at him and started walking him to the front door. Finally, Lou turned to Harry and stood there, not sure what to do."Bye." Louis said.Harry smiled a genuine smile. "Goodnight." He pulled Louis in for a hug but somehow ended up leaning forward. His lips connected with Louis's and they briefly, but surely kissed Louis for a second or two. Harry pulled away, frightened not by his action, but of the feelings that were bubbling inside of him. Even when Lou was in the same room, Harry felt something in his gut. It wasn't love, but longing. Maybe he was longing for love, or just desperate to have Lou, but he knew he needed him. Louis stood still, shocked.Louis shoved Harry away from him. "You fucked up again. I didn't give you permission to kiss me," He sighed roughly. "The only reason I'm doing this is because I want people to get used to me being gay. I want Joe, Harry. I don't want you, don't you get that?" Louis's eyes filled with water. He put on his beanie and left, slamming the door in Harry's face.What did I do? Harry cried. How could he fuck up so much in one day? Gosh, he was stupid, he really was. Anyone could see that Lou didn't have the hots for Harry anymore. It was clear and Harry realized it a little too late. 'I don't want you anymore,' was what Lou had just told him. The words rang in his head, banging him around. There was no chance, no way. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Harry continued to stare at the ceiling, letting the sun stream in through the windows and hit his body as he lay on the ground. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular, just letting his mind run. He remembered what it was like to be a kid; innocent and sweet. He remembered his high school years and all the tormenting he got for being an openly bi boy. It wasn't easy, that's for sure. He remembered going on the X-Factor, never actually believing he could make it, never thinking or considering that he would meet the love of his life there. And finally, though he tried not to recall it, he remembered leaving. He remembered why.FLASHBACK"Lou? Hey, Babe, are you here?" Harry called out into the seemingly empty house. He had just come back from the studio. Louis had went out for drinks with Eleanor before, so he couldn't make it, but promised he would be back before Harry was home. Harry smiled as he saw Louis's phone on the counter. "Come out, come out, where ever you are."Harry set down his back and pulled off his jacket. He snuck through each room, trying to find the hiding Louis. "Come on Lou."Harry heard shuffling. He grinned and popped around the corner of the wall. No one was there. "Lou? Don't fuck with me."Harry began to have a panic attack. A thousand horrible things crossed his mind at once. Did Lou even make it home? Had something gone wrong? Had he gotten in a car accident on the way back? Why hadn't he called? Did he get jumped? Did someone hurt him? Not once did the seemingly impossible thought cross him mind.Again, there was shuffling from upstairs. Harry rushed up to the bedroom, flinging the door open. "W-what?"He turned around and ran as fast as he could. "No," he thought. "Louis, no."He heard someone running after him, calling his name maybe, but he was deaf right now. He grabbed his jacket, making his way to the front door, but someone pulled on the hood and he turned around."Haz. No, this was a mistake. All a mistake." Louis cried. He had bloodshot eyes, indicating that he was drunk. His clothes were gone, he stood fully naked in front of Harry.Harry's body was jerking violently, unable to keep still as salty teardrops fell down his face. He was in denial, yet angry because he knew. Harry had seen them, he had seen Louis hover over her body, kissing her lips as he went inside her. He had heard him whispering sweet nonsense into her ear and thrust inside of her. He had seen his boyfriend make love to somebody else.He had seen LOU make love to somebody else.He had seen LOU make love to Eleanor."We need to talk about this." Louis said.Harry laughed hysterically. "Talk about what? T-there's nothing to talk about LOUIS."Louis's mouth fell open. Harry hadn't called him by his full name in three years. It stung, he knew it was done right there. There was no forgiving. No forgetting. No second chances."Haz, please."Harry snapped at him, turning cold. "You want me to fucking just forgive you like that? You're fucking stupid you prick! You were fucking a girl! I don't care if you were drunk or not. I'M YOUR BOYFRIEND. People who love each other don't do that. I would never do that shit to you. I'm leaving.""But-" Louis started.Harry punched him. "I don't want to listen to any of your lies you gay prick. I loved you and this is what I get Louis? Well, go suck someone else's dick."He walked out the door, falling against it, crying into his arms. This wasn't just pain, it was Hell. Harry screamed his heart out, just sitting there and screaming while Louis just probably went back to bed, able to let his frustration out on Eleanor. Harry screamed and screamed until it hurt too much to yell anymore.Until he couldn't scream.Until he couldn't take it.END OF FLASHBACK Harry fell onto his knees, unable to stand from the pain he felt internally. He clutched his wheezing stomach and began to gag. Anxiety started to chase after him. Those were bitter memories. He had never forgiven Lou, but he thought that maybe leaving him had made them even. Harry was slowly recovering, trying his best to push that aside and move forth with his life. He had never truly wanted to leave Lou, but he couldn't stay with him then. Finally, he was now able to ask himself "am I ready? Ready to leave that behind?" He didn't know the answer, but he would force himself to try. To try and love Lou again, to forget mistakes that were made.He got up, emotions running inside him, through his veins. Harry had always had anxiety attacks ever since he was little. He would feel his throat closing, the walls around him getting increasingly smaller, his brain not being able to concentrate. Harry would usually faint in severe cases, but that hadn't happened in a while.He sighed and went into the living room, where the phone was ringing."Hello?" Harry sighed.Niall was yelling. Liam answered. "Harry? Can you come over here? We have a bit of a situation."Louis cried."What's wrong?" Harry screamed into the phone.Niall came on the line. "Get your ass over here. Joe broke up with Louis. We need you NOW."Harry slammed his phone shut and ran to the garage. This was his chance. God was giving him a second chance to help Lou and maybe win him back. Harry stomped on the gas, putting the car into reverse, whipping down the driveway. He raced through traffic, swerving. He knew that cry that he had heard Lou scream. He was in love. And heartbroken.LOU was in love.Harry slammed on the breaks. He should have known better than to hope for something. He wasn't prepared to see Lou all devastated and broken. He didn't want memories to come flashing back to him. And if Lou had been in love with Joe as much as he had been in love with Harry, then Harry definitely didn't want to see what Lou would be like. He didn't want to know how he had left Lou.His phone rang again, signaling a text message. Niall was rushing him. He shoved any personal feelings he had aside and continued to pull up to Lou's house.It seemed different. Darker in a way. He parked the car and ran to the front door.Zayn answered. "What the fuck are you doing here?""Look, I know how to deal with Lou. Let me in." Harry argued, trying to get past Zayn.He snorted. "You think you of all people can help him. You're just going to remind him of the shit you pulled on him. How you tore him up.""I'm sorry ok?! There's nothing more I can say. I regret it. I hate myself. I've died more than I have lived these past six years Zayn, so let me find a way to liven up. Lou can help me and I can help him." Harry pushed past, not waiting for a response.Liam and Niall were both sitting on the couch, looking exhausted. They had their head in their hands. Harry came up to them."Where is he?" He simply asked.Niall looked up. "You don't want to talk to him mate. Right now he is one crazy MoFo.""Where is he?" Harry asked again.Liam answered this time. "In your old room."Harry felt something tug at his heart. He climbed the stairs, hearing someone sob, then yell, then a crash, and a sob again. Harry ran to the door. He flung it open and saw a small boy, covered in cuts."Lou!" Harry ran over to him and dropped to his knees. "Stop it." Harry whispered, while trying to take the glass away from him.Louis whined like a kid, crying even more when he heard Harry's voice. "No. Leave me.""Stop it." Harry said calmly.Louis got mad. He turned around and starting hitting Harry's chest. "Let me do it! Let me do it you fucking dick.""It's ok. It's ok, Lou." Harry whispered, trying to encircle his arms around Louis."Stop it! Give me it back!" Louis yelled again.Harry finally was able to wrap his arms around Lou. "Stop, Love. It's ok.""Y–you fucking b–bastard." Louis cried and then clenched Harry's shirt, just crying an oceans worth of tears.Harry grasped Lou, just smoothing his hair down and whispering sweet nonsense into his ear. Lou gave up then and just let Harry be near him. He didn't care right now that this boy had also left him without a single reason. Harry was here. That was all. Louis finally fell asleep in Harry's arms, where he was being cradled. Harry got up and walked to Lou's bedroom. He opened the door, noticing that there was broken glass in here as well. Clothes were thrown everywhere. Dishes were covering counter tops and scattered everywhere. Harry sighed, then put Lou down on his bed.Harry couldn't leave. What if Lou woke up, with no one around and decided to try cutting himself again? What if he got drunk and left the house? No, Harry needed to stay and fix everything. The room would have to be cleaned, then Harry's former bedroom, and pretty much the whole house.Lou whined when Harry let him go, but he was just probably having a bad dream. Harry left the room and met with the boys in the kitchen. There was still blood smearing his jeans and shirt, drying slowly. The boys seemed to take special notice to this and began to crowd around Harry."Did he really fucking hurt you? I'm sorry Harry." Liam said, shaking his head.Harry laughed. "No, he was...""We remember." Zayn cut in. He seemed to be annoyed with Harry.Harry rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt off. "You guys can head home if you want. I'll just stay here.""You sure?" Liam asked.Zayn walked by. Harry noticed how his fingertips brushed Liam's waist, but he didn't say anything. He glanced up at them and smiled. "Ya, I'll probably end up cleaning the rooms and stuff. Don't worry about it.""Don't worry about it?" Zayn mumbled to himself, but was hit by Liam's hand.They soon left and Harry immediately started cleaning. He wanted to hurry and finish so he could be prepared when Louis woke up. To be quite honest, Harry was terrified that Lou would throw another tantrum, lock Harry out, and then proceed to cut himself numerous times. It was a scary sight. Harry finished the kitchen and started to pick things up from the living room. He heard plops of rain colliding with the ground and thunder starting to crackle. Soon, he was finished with the living room as well. He heard shuffling upstairs."Lou? You awake?" He called out. When he didn't hear anyone answer, he climbed the stairs and knocked on Lou's door. He slightly opened it. Lou was curled up in a ball, whimpering quietly. Harry flipped out, unsure what exactly was wrong.A crack of thunder and lighting lit the room. Louis' body went ballistic. He cried harder. Harry quickly went towards the bed, pulling Lou into his chest. He cried, but let Harry hold him. Harry smiled, recalling the years when they would sleep together during storms. The first time had been on the tour bus, before they were together. Lou was shaking in his bunk and whining lowly, but Harry was wide awake, frightened for his best friend. He remembered Lou getting up and walking over to his bunk, asking to lie down with him. Of course there was no way Harry would refuse, so they were found by Paul, cuddling closely with each other. That's when it began; Larry Stylinson."Harry?" Lou croaked after a while.He looked down. "Yeah?"But Louis was already fast asleep again and Harry was left to wonder about everything and the past. Harry sighed, putting Louis down and going to lie down on the couch."Sweet dreams, Love." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "You think I'm ok with this? I'm not, and I don't care about the shit you guys try to fucking tell me. I'm looking out for Louis while you guys are setting him up for disaster!" Zayn urgently whispered.Niall was silent. He didn't like fighting, he was always trying to avoid it. "Zayn, I think you should cut him some slack. I mean, look at Louis.""You think just because he can fix a problem one time that it makes up for everything else he fucking did? You guys are shit. No, worse." He ran an angry hand over his face.It was true, Harry couldn't just come back into their lives, but everyone seemed to long for it. One Direction had been a lost miracle that all the boys wanted. Liam sighed. Zayn was just jealous that Harry had come back and swept Lou away from him; everyone could see that. Zayn would never admit it, but it was true.Niall knocked on the front door.No one answered.He knocked again.Finally, someone opened the door. All the boy stared wide eyed as Harry opened the front screen, nearly naked except for his boxer briefs. He looked extremely tired, as if the boys had just woken him up. He didn't say anything, just walked back inside, leaving the door open. They followed, looking at the house. It was spotless. They hadn't seen this home so clean since... Well, since Harry lived here. They all gathered in the living room, squeezing on the couch."So..." Liam started.Zayn quickly interrupted. "Why the fuck are you naked Harry? Put some damn clothes on for fucks sake.""I'm hot." Harry blushed, but grabbed his sweats and t-shirt from his room."How is he?" They hesitated, scared of the response.Harry smiled a little. "He's fine. 'S in the shower actually. Had a bad night 'cause of the lighting.""Nothing else? No screaming? Cutting? Drinking? No attempts to kill you?" Liam was extremely shocked.For years Louis had complained and threatened to torture Harry if they ever saw each other. That's why the boys took every precaution to keep them away from each other. But Niall had to go and be cupid for a day, invite Harry so that they could make up. They all snorted at Liam's comment.Harry smiled awkwardly. "No, went pretty well actually. Listen, I was waiting for you guys to get here. I need to go.""Where you off too?" Zayn asked.Harry cleared his throat. "Um, well, I've got a concert tomorrow. Just gonna catch up on sleep and whatnot. See you lads later."Harry quickly slammed the door behind him. All the boys were confused, but didn't say anything. They waited in silence until they heard shuffling upstairs. Louis' door opened slowly and then he came out in sweatpants. His beanie was on his head, covering his bed hair. He wobbled to the couch and then plopped down. He didn't say anything, just snuggled up to Zayn."You ok, Louis?" Zayn finally cut in.Louis sighed, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. "No, I'm not, but I'd rather pretend I am for today, ok? Just... Let's drop it.""M'kay.""Where's Harry?" Louis asked, looking around his house.Niall coughed. "He had to leave."A little squeeze hit his heart. Harry left? Without saying goodbye? Louis plastered a smile on his face. "Oh."Niall was the only one who seemed to notice Louis' discomfort. "Just walked out the door like five seconds ago. He has a concert tomorrow, so he's gonna go sleep and do his usual routine. You know him.""I don't care Niall. I don't fucking depend on him just because he's been forced back into my life." Louis got up and stormed to his bedroom.All the boys didn't take it personal. Louis was confused. He didn't want to let Harry back in his life, but everyone knew that they fit each other perfectly. They weren't the same, that's for sure, but they were their other half. Louis was the dark side of them both, while Harry was the loving side. It worked perfectly. Even Zayn had to admit to himself that Harry was the one for Louis, but it didn't matter what anyone thought. Louis had to figure it out for himself. Harry sat at the bar, waiting for his fifth shot. He had a few beers and drinks, right now he wasn't able to see anything ten feet from him. He was giggling and nodding at whatever this man said to him, that was talking with him. To be honest, Harry didn't really care what the guy said, he was just trying to get his mind off the concert. See, Harry had a difficult time being alone on stage, even after six years of doing so. The crowds got the best of him at times nowadays, and normally he would end up in the bathroom before shows, gagging. There was no way to cope with it really, he has taken every class you could think of to get rid of his stage fright, but nothing worked.Finally, the bartender decided Harry had had too many drinks tonight and demanded he turn in his keys."Hey, how am I gonna get home?" Harry whined. The bartender shrugged, but gestured to the man flirting with Harry."Oh, sorry," Harry laughed, "I have a boyfriend."The man rolled his eyes and left. Harry decided it was time to go and called the only person he could think of in this state of mind. So he pulled out his phone as he exited the club and sat on the curb.The phone rang and rang. "What do you want?" came the answer.Harry cleared his throat. "I'm kind of stranded." He giggled, the alcohol affecting him."Haz- Harry, are you drunk?" Louis asked, clearly annoyed."Not really." Harry smiled into the phone.Louis huffed on the other end. "Oh gosh, you are drunk. Where are you?""Huffington street."The phone line went dead and Harry sat down on the curb. He was happy that Lou had answered and that he was coming to his rescue, even though he probably didn't see it that way. After fifteen minutes of waiting, Harry finally saw the familiar car pull up and honk at him. He got up lazily and opened the door. Harry rested his head on the head rest and closed his eyes for a second. He could feel the car pull onto the road and speed off. Louis always drove fast. Harry opened his eyes and found Louis in a gray beanie and black sweats. Harry turned his face away, not wanting to get caught staring."Thought you were going to get some rest." Louis finally murmured. "Seeing that you have a concert tomorrow."Harry didn't panic, just sat still, breathing evenly. "My nerves got the best of me. I always drink the day before a show.""You barely used to drink."Harry smiled. "That was the old me.""You're not that different to be honest." Louis rolled his eyes.Harry's eyes closed. "I am though. I'm the womanizer now. I'm everything that they made me out to be. I'm what they had planned for me to be. I'm just like the rest of them."Louis stayed silent at that. He didn't really know what to say because he doesn't know Harry anymore. Its been six years since they were with each other and a lot has changed between them. Harry has grown up, gotten taller, passed up all the boys and has matured. Louis has gotten meaner because of life. That's what it does to you, it wears you down until there is nothing left except a show. It's all a show for publicity and money."I don't feel anything anymore. It's like I'm the tin man, Lou. And I'm getting rusty. I'm not shiny anymore, the weather has damaged me. People have neglected me, forgotten about me. I don't have anyone. I'm alone." Harry smiled. "And they say that it's better to feel pain than nothing at all, but I don't think so. Pain hurts too much, no one should only have pain. I'd rather feel nothing than feel pain. It's better that way."Louis seemed to feel a tug on his heart. On TV Harry looked the same, always caring, always nice. He was going out with friends with smiles always on his face, always shining like he used to. Louis never thought about how hurt he was because he hid it well and Harry never liked to complain about anything. He should have known that Harry was broken inside, ready to rot away and do nothing about it. Harry wouldn't even complain if he had gotten cancer. He'd probably think it was his own fault, blame it on himself.People never actually considered his true feeling, his true life. His sister never talked to him because what he had done, his best friends didn't even put up a fight when he left, and his boyfriend? His boyfriend never truly tried to get him back, never asked for him to come back. All he wanted was the reason he had left, but nothing else. Louis had been a sissy. And no one had considered why. No one was really concerned with why. They were all just furious. They were all so caught up being mad that they never considered what each of them had done.Louis. Louis had stopped talking to Harry, had stopped trying to talk to Harry. That's what Modest wanted and they were controlling him. He had to push Harry aside. He thought that Harry understood why Louis was doing it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt Harry. Liam was so controlling, always trying to make sure everything was perfect and alright that he had stopped talking to Harry as well. He stopped asking how Harry was and Harry felt neglected by his other band mate. Zayn always had Louis' back, always trying to make sure he was ok. When management tried to split up Harry and Louis, Zayn was always by Louis' side, making sure that only Louis was ok and thus forgetting about Harry as well. Louis came back to reality after thinking about it and looked over at Harry. He was still smiling with his eyes closed. It was a soft, sad smile. Louis could feel his heart tug as he observed the new Harry. It definitely wasn't his Harry anymore; it seemed that life had got the best of him, sucked him dry of all his positive, charming qualities. All that was left now was a lonely boy with no one to turn to because everyone had abandoned him and he thought it was all his fault. Suddenly, Louis felt like he wanted to throw up. Harry thought it was all his fault. He really did, Louis could see it written all over his skin. The way Harry angled his body away from Louis, the way Harry always slapped a smile on his face, the way he tried to stay away at every possible cost. Harry was trying to make up for what he did. He was trying to make Louis feel comfortable around him, but Louis had managed to reject Harry once again. He felt bad. Louis could see the effort Harry was making and he could see how his cruel words have been affecting Harry. All Harry had been trying to do these past two months was help Louis, and what had he done? He had refused him again, just like he had done six years ago. Harry never had confidence now. It was Louis' fault too, he realized. When he cheated on Harry, he should have seen the way Harry's ego dropped. He should have seen how Harry was trying to please him all the time after that because he didn't want Louis to leave him. He should have seen the reason why Harry had left him.He should have seen it. Lou should have seen it.He should have seen how he was breaking Harry down and how he was sucking Harry dry of all his positive, charming qualities.He should have been able to see that he left Harry broken the night he cheated. Lou was the one who left that night. He was the one that left Harry crying that night, cutting himself in a hotel room. Lou had been the first one to leave, and that's why Harry finally lost hope, got up, and walked the other way. No, it was never Harry who had left first. It was Louis. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Louis began to cry in the car as he drove Harry home. After realizing that it was all his fault, he had been overwhelmed with everything. He had felt guilty as well. Now he finally understood Harry and why he did everything. He wiped the last couple of tears and got out of the car, waking up Harry, and trying, unsuccessfully, to carry him partly. They made it to Harry's bedroom and Louis helped him take off his shoes and socks. He tucked him in like he remembered, and walked out. He looked down the empty hallway on the second floor and sighed. He remembered opening every door except the last one, which had been locked. He walked down, approaching the door. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Louis knew Harry though, so all he had to do was go on his tip toes and find the key that was above the door. He unlocked the door and walked into the pitch black room. He flicked the lights on and he stood there, in awe.In the middle of the room was a black grand piano. It was beautifully sitting still in the room, with the bench tucked under, but as you got closer, you could see the dents in the piano. You could see the areas where it looked as if it had been struck with an ax. There were fingerprints of blood hidden in the corners and on one or two keys. The walls were splashed with dark paints and there were holes as well. The room instantly reminded Louis of Harry and it was as if the room represented him. Louis began to let his eyes wander to a box set in the corner. There was the words 'I can't take it' and 'I stand alone' written everywhere with much more. Louis approached the box and looked inside. A tear rolled down his face. He opened it up and found pictures of the boys, all gathered for multiple photos. They all looked happy and they were. Louis sighed, wishing that he hadn't left and made mistakes. Wishing that Harry was still the old boy Louis had fallen in love with. He put that box aside and opened the biggest one. On top, there were bracelets from Leeds, there were teddy bears and a blanket, there were billions of pictures of Lou and Harry. Each thing inside had a significance. Every thing posed as a memory. Harry had saved all of them, not throwing away anything. Louis found the necklace he had thrown at Harry at Niall's birthday party, the one that he never meant to throw, it had just happened. And now it was stuffed away in a box and it was yet another horrible memory for Harry. Finally, Louis was done looking through everything. As he was closing the box, he saw a velvet jewelry box lying next to a letter at the bottom. He picked up the box and opened it. Inside was a ring. It was a thick silver wedding band with three separate layers, each layer having diamonds circling around the ring. It was a bit much, but it was beautiful and something that Harry would definitely pick out. Louis continued to stare at it, holding it between both his hands. He finally slipped it on and sighed as it fit him perfectly. IT seemed too perfect, as if only made for Louis. He quickly took it off, afraid that the lump in his throat would finally break loose. Engraved on the inside was Half a Heart Without You, Lou. "I got it when we were still on the X-Factor." Someone spoke from the door entrance.Louis flipped his head around, startled. He gulped, not prepared to speak because he was still in shock. "What?""I got that ring the day that we got voted off the X-Factor. I chickened out later though 'cause I thought it was a bit soon for you. So, after three years I wrote Half a Heart about us. I guess since I couldn't give you the ring, I wrote you the song, though you didn't know how special it was to me." Harry was half asleep, trying not to fall to the floor. Instead he sat down close to Louis. "You know, you shouldn't go snooping through other peoples things, Lou. Never know what you might find."Louis crawled over to him, leaning against the wall as well. "H-Haz...""I don't want pity. I'm over it." Harry panicked."It's okay to be mad."Louis would do this in the past years. Harry would think that he was totally fine after a rough day, and when he would get home Louis would just say 'it's ok' until Harry broke down and told Louis what had been eating at him all day. Sometimes Harry didn't even know that he was sad until Louis said those two words. But Harry couldn't take this right now. He could still feel the unresolved mistakes hanging in the air that neither of them would address. This was too much. It was too much how Louis was here, going through his secrets, finding everything Harry had kept locked away. It wasn't fair that Lou could just enter his life and Harry couldn't even put up an actual fight. No, Louis had always been his worst weakness, and it wasn't a good thing. Louis would be his Achilles' heel. He would be the cause of his greatest downfall, yet Harry was paralyzed, able to do nothing but want him even more.Louis was taken back. He kept forgetting that this boy wasn't the innocent, immature, dependent boy he used to know. He kept failing to remember that his boy was broken and he couldn't be put back together. This wasn't like the movies where Louis would be able to pick him up and glue him. Life would just come back and drown him. Even now, right now with Louis in the room, Harry was drowning. Louis could see it, and he was able to do nothing but watch in horror and fascination as each wave came, drowned him to the point of death, and then Harry resurfaced at the last moment.Louis didn't dare look at Harry. He didn't know what he would see and he didn't want to witness Harry drowning."I got that ring the day I found you cheating." Harry sniffed. He was crying.Louis felt his shoulders hunch and felt a lump leap in his throat."I was so happy to come home." Harry laughed and wiped his nose. "Thought you knew or one of the boys had told you and when you didn't reply I thought you had left. I thought you freaked out when you figured it out and you left.""I thought you said it was from the X-Factor..."Harry turned to Lou, then looked away. "I thought that would be better to tell you.""I-I-I. H-harry," Louis began.Harry sniffed again. "No, I'm sorry." He stood up and wiped his face on his shirt.Louis didn't understand. Harry was a confusing person nowadays. "What? For what?""We can’t escape the fact that I wasn't enough for you. I knew that was going to happen. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I was always scared that you would realize you could do better. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman or man. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I don't hate you for not loving me anymore, but I hate myself for still loving you. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much that would hurt, but I was wrong." Harry's smiling while a storm is surrounding him, the rain is pouring down his cheeks, yet he chooses to dance through it; smile through it. Louis gritted his teeth. He couldn't take any more of this guilt. "I-I..." He couldn't say it. It was always hard for Louis to spit those two words. So, he said, "I fucked up," instead.Harry's smile fell. Was that it? Was that all Louis could say about what he did? "Say it, Lou.""I..." He swallowed. "Harry..."A sob came from Harry's lips. He turned on his heels and walked to his bedroom, leaving Louis to stand there. "I'm sorry..." He mumbled, knowing that Harry couldn't hear. Louis would never be able to tell him to his face. No, Louis was too proud. "...I hate myself for still loving you..."Louis was on his couch in his house, staring up at the ceiling, in the dark, replaying what Harry had said. Gosh, he should have kissed him. The last time they had kissed was when Lou was with Joe, so he hadn't enjoyed it as much. Not to say that Harry was a bad kisser, if anything Harry had gotten better, but Louis knew that it came with experience.He heard his flat door open. "What the fuck Liam? Someone could see us." Zayn said."He's probably not even hear. The lights are off. Come on." Liam laughed into the darkness.Louis crawled off the sofa and hid behind it. He couldn't exactly see anything, but he could make out little movements of bodies."Ugh, come here you twat." Zayn seemed to be smiling. Liam got closer and then Louis heard the joining of lips and then moans.Zayn moved to the couch and Liam straddled him. "Fuck, Liam. Maybe-""Shut up.""Like it when you get all dominant." Zayn whispered.Louis was practically gagging. Ok, this was not acceptable. Liam and Zayn were shagging on his couch? What else had they done when Louis wasn't here?!"Need you inside of-" Zayn began. Louis decided it was time to make his presence known. "Stop right there!"Liam flipped backwards and hit the ground. Zayn zipped his pants up. Both boys got up and looked at each other."What the fuck is going on here?" Louis was trying his best not to burst. Zayn stepped towards him. "Lou, this isn't-""Shut it, Malik. How long?" Louis asked.Liam cleared his throat. "Six.""Six months? Six days? Six fucking what?" Louis screamed. He wasn't initially angry, but now he was frustrated. How dare his best friends keep this from him when he never kept anything from them. Liam coughed. "Six years." Then he hid behind Zayn."You fucking bastards." Louis surged forward, but it was as if Zayn and Liam had the same brain and they both moved at the same time, dodging Louis."Stop! We didn't want to tell you because we knew what you would say." Zayn grabbed a chair and used it as a shield.Louis was trying to get to him. "What? I wouldn't have said anything.""You would have disapproved. You were in love with Harry. We knew you wouldn't approve of us." Liam interjected. Louis scoffed. "Was. I don't care what you fucking people do with your life. I'm not fragile. Do whatever you want! Fuck each other, shag each other. I don't care!"Both boys looked at each other. They didn't like to see Louis so upset. This was what they were trying to avoid from the start."Get out. I need to think." Louis pointed towards the door."Lou, we-""My name is Louis." He put his chin in the air and turned his head the other way, waiting for the boys to leave.Zayn crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't see why you're so upset. See, this is what we were trying to stop. We want to be with each other without my best friend doubting us and not supporting us. You're the only one who has a problem with it! Niall doesn't care, Harry was happy, and what do we get from you? Huh? Louis, this is-""Harry knows?" Louis turned toward them. "You fucking told him before me? What the hell is this Malik? Out of everyone I would think my best friend would tell me first instead of the asshole who left me!"Liam was pulling Zayn back, but was failing to do so because Zayn got right in Louis' face. "Out of everyone I would think my best friend would be happy for me.""You wanker! I am! I just can't believe you. Really, Harry? Zayn come on." Louis frowned. "Why do I feel like everyone is leaving me for that stupid wanker.""Watch your language Louis." Liam interrupted. "You may not be friends with Harry, but we've all kept in touch with him. You think he didn't go through the exactly same things as you did? If anything he was worse.""I know! I know what I did was wrong, ok? I'm working on fixing it." Louis sighed. "It's hard. Look, I'm sorry. I just need time to process everything. Harry just told me he was going to propose the day I cheated on him, he told me he still loved me, and he-" Louis sobbed into his hands. "You messed up.""I know." Louis wiped his face. "I'm sick of crying you guys. I'm done."Liam coughed. "Louis, to be honest, I don't know if you're the best for Harry. I'm sorry, but I don't want him hurt again.""Then I can just be his friend. I'll be his friend. I don't care, I just want him back.""Well what are you waiting for? Why are you still here? Go!" Liam yelled.Louis got up from the floor and walked out the door. He drove quickly to Harry's and threw the front door open, knowing that Harry never locks it because he's in a gated estate."Harry?" Louis shouted.Footsteps came from the top of the stairs. Harry appeared wiping his eyes and nose. "What do you want, Lou?"Louis ran up the stairs, right up to Harry. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, Haz. I'm sorry that I wasn't better; I'm sorry I wasn't committed like you were; I'm sorry for making you feel abandoned and hurt. I'm sorry for everything. I understand if you don't forgive me, but please know that I didn't understand. I didn't realize I was cold and cruel, but now I realize that I am. I don't want you to wrap me in your arms and forgive me right now. I just hope that we will be able to go back to when we had laughter, and the world was coloured, not black and white and grey. I am so sorry for hurting you. I could inflict all kinds of pain on myself, but it would not take back any I gave to you." Louis was crying, but he felt a huge weight being taken off of his shoulder. Harry stood still, he also had tears falling down his face, but he stayed quiet. Suddenly, he jolted forward and smashed their lips together. "I'm sorry, Lou." He said in between kisses. He bit down on Lou's bottom lip, then sucked it in his mouth. Louis was pushed against the wall, trapped there by Harry's lips and arms. Louis wasn't used to dominant Harry; he had never experienced it, and though it was a huge turn on, it was also difficult to allow it to happen. There was no question that Harry had gotten better, but that just reminded Louis of all the men and women Harry had been with in the past six years. Harry pushed his knee between Louis' legs and began to grind against him. Louis was slowly coming undone, not used to Harry having this much power over him sexually. His head was leaning against the wall while Harry sucked on his neck, leaving red marks everywhere visible. Louis finally built enough strength to push Harry onto the opposite wall and do everything to him. Harry seemed to agree, seeing that he didn't put up a fight. Louis pushed Harry's mouth open, then slide his tongue inside. Harry tasted the same as he did when they were younger and Louis couldn't get enough. He had been deprived of Harry for far too long."Lou." Harry begged. Harry was grinding down harder on Louis now, wanted more.Louis smiled. "So impatient as always." He laughed and then looked Harry straight in the eyes. As soon as Harry looked back, Louis dropped to his knees, unzipping Harry's jeans."Harry?" Came a voice down the hall.Louis flew towards the other wall, struck with fear and disbelief. "What the fuck?""Hey there, Lou." Niall smiled as he came out of Harry's room with only his boxers on.Louis' mind went blank. "It's-""Yeah, yeah. It's Louis. We all know." Niall laughed and then leaned against the door frame.Harry was groaning was he leaned on the other wall. It was clear that he had a full on erection, no way to hide it now. "Fuck, Niall. Really?""Well, I wasn't just going to sit in the room while you two got off on each other! I could hear everything. Gross. Get a room." Niall smiled. Louis groaned. "Well, maybe we fucking could if you weren't here. Dammit, Niall. Always ruining the mood.""Sod off, Tommo. I was here first, so I'm not leaving. Harold and I are having a sleepover." Niall laughed when he saw Louis' disbelieving face.Harry put his hands over his erection and laughed out loud. IT was a full out laugh; something Louis hadn't heard in six years. He smiled over at Harry, knowing that he was the reason Harry was happy again. He went over to Harry and gave him a hug, holding onto his waist after. He kissed Harry's temple, which was not as easy as it used to be. "I'll see ya tomorrow, Harry." Louis let go and pressed his lips to Harry's'. When he passed Niall, he grabbed his hair and then shoved him away. "Cock block."Harry smiled after he saw Lou shut the front door behind him. "So, let's finish the movie." He turns to go back to his bedroom."Harry? Can I ask something, though it's not really my business?" Niall silently says, then scratches his neck.Harry turns around and it's evident that there is panic in his eyes. He knows what Niall wants to ask, and he's thankful that Niall is about to bring this subject up because Harry doesn't know what to think or do; his mind is clouded by lust, love, and unrequited feelings that he has had for years. "Go ahead.""Can you trust him again? Could you live through it all again? Are you prepared to lose your heart for a second time? I don't... I'm going to be honest with you... I don't think you can take it again Harry." Niall was almost pleading with Harry to realize the damage he would not be able to take once again. Niall couldn't sit there without warning him.Harry sighed and leaned his head against the wall. "People aren't always what you want them to be. Sometimes they disappoint you or let you down, but you have to give them a chance first. They are going to make mistakes, but you have to take that chance with love. Everyone's a work in progress, Niall. And I forgive him.""But what if you're blinded by love and-"Harry shook his head. "When you're hanging on the edge of a cliff, at the end of the line, you'll reach for any little thing to keep from falling, Niall. When you're hanging off the edge like me, you hope from anything. Anything.""You're willing to look past things and to give people second chances. But the thing is, Harry, some people don't deserve them." Niall whispered. "Do you trust him not to make the same mistakes?" Harry sighed and Niall saw the tears falling from his eyes. "There's this quote I once heard from someone. I can't remember who. Khalil something. He said 'you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy'. Louis makes me happy and I know that though he is capable of killing me, he's also the only one that is capable of saving me.""But do you think he'll be faithful, Haz. Say it. Say what you're thinking."Harry slid to the floor. "I don't know." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "You guys ready?" Harry screamed into the microphone. The crowd yelled at the top of there lungs and Harry probably would have gone deaf if he wasn't used to this already.He laughed into the microphone. "This last song really means a whole lot to be because I've been marked as a cliche. I've been put down by hateful words and saddening comments, but you know what? This song is a big fuck you to all those negative things. This is about me being undefined by anyone. This song is about being able to love who you want without being judged if it is a man or a women. This song is us saying that you can all say whatever you want about us, but we belong here. This is my love song and I wanted someone to sing it with me so I invited a friend. Come on out Lou!"Louis came out from the stage and walked his way over to Harry, who was standing in the middle of the arena. Louis smiled and waved as everyone cheered for him. "Hello there. Bet you guys didn't except to see me." He laughed.Once they were by each other, the music began and they sung:[Harry] "Define me with all your words Then find me a lesson to be learned Try to brand me or burn me and I won't let it hurt me [Louis] Define me as what I am Then try me as just a simple man I’m no harm to you, I’m just doing the best I can [Harry] And if I’m defined by what I do Then what am I supposed to call you? The shadow of a broken past you abused [Louis] And if I can stand on my two feet I’ll break the wall where we will meet I’ll document our combination for you [Harry] We’re starting this party tonight Where people will be undefined And love who they want, when the judgment is done And won’t have to hide [Louis] We’re starting this party right now Where people can shake off their doubts And send out their love as it moves through the crowd And people can shout [Harry] That they love a man [Louis] Or they love a woman [Harry] And no one will be judged for love [Louis] And I can’t be judged for who I am [Harry] Define me with broad cliches [Louis] But I won’t undergo any hate for a stranger’s mistakes [Harry] I've struggled through the boundaries of society’s needs [Louis] And now I’m not trying to please [Both] It’s freeing [Harry] Define me as God’s child [Louis] I am human and we’re all in the wild [Harry] This Earth is as much mine as yours in the end [Both] So let’s unite as friends [Harry] But if I can lie in nature’s bed Without the roses killing me dead I think the Earth has got a point And we’re a moving joint [Louis] And if I can say my prayers at night I think I’m doing something right Let’s open up a song of safety And carry through the night [Both] We’re starting this party tonight Where people will be undefined And love who they want, when the judgment is done And won’t have to hide [Both] We’re starting this party right here Where people will shake off fears And mass tolerance is replaced with resistance And everyone cheers [Both] That they love a man Or they love a woman And no one will be judged for love And I can’t be judged for who I am." Harry was crying by the end of the song, not really for any particular reason, it was just relieving to finally be able to say that words meant nothing. He was glad that this song would motivate people to say encouraging words instead of insults. This song was about Harry and his struggle and what he thought about everything. He wanted everyone to get along. He wanted to be able to love whoever he wanted without someone judging him or saying negative comments. Harry wiped his eyes and then turned to smiled at Lou, who had gotten up and put his arm around Harry. They looked at each other silently for a moment and then Louis busted into laughter. It wasn't a teasing laugh, it was an awe laugh. "You guys wanna know a secret?" Louis hissed into the microphone. As everyone shouted, Louis removed his arms from Harry and then grabbed his face in his palms. Harry's eyes widened, knowing that Louis was going to kiss him. Harry was mentally shouting no, it was an instinctive reaction. But as Louis leaned in, Harry found his body responding instantly. This moment would change everything and it was a shock to Harry because he didn't mind at all. He wasn't afraid anymore. Louis pushed his lips onto Harrys' mouth and then continued to pry his lips open and slip his tongue inside. Both boys could see flashes going off, girls screaming, fainting, and pushing to get on stage. Harry was the first one to pull back, knowing that some would need to get used to this. And although Harry felt happy, he couldn't stop the flashes of memories that filled his mind, reminding him of what Niall had said a few weeks ago about trusting Louis, recalling the day that he walked in on Louis and Eleanor. He tried to push back the memories, but he wasn't feeling to well now. He scooted away from Louis, trying to do so nonchalantly, but Louis looked over at him awkwardly, as if confused by Harry. They had been dating for three weeks now and every time Louis tried to be intimate in the highest level, Harry had ended up pushing him away. He had lied slightly to Louis and told him that he wasn't ready, and then Louis stopped immediately. Now though, Harry could sense that Louis was becoming suspicious, asking Harry if there were different reasons that he didn't want to have sex. The stage lights went dark and Harry and Louis walked down the stage until they were finally out of the peoples view. "Something wrong, Love?" Louis asked, coming up to Harry and kissing his forehead. Harry turned towards him and smiled widely. "Nothing, everything's perfect. Do you mind getting me a water? Feeling a little dehydrated." He laughed. "Sure." Louis turned around and walked away. Harry sat down on a couch in a dressing room and covered his face. As much fun as it was to be famous, if Harry could go back to that day that he auditioned, back to that day when he met Louis in the bathroom, he would turn around and walk away and soon as possible. He wouldn't go to that bathroom, and he would most definitely not go on that X-Factor stage. People didn't understand what it was like behind it all. You barely got to see your family, you weren't allowed to talk about certain things, you couldn't date whoever you wanted. Everything was planned out for you, and no ones life should be like that. Harry saw Niall poke his head into the dressing room. "Hey there, Harry." Niall plopped down next to him. "Great bloody performance." Harry tried to smile. "Yeah, it was something." "Something's bothering you." It wasn't a question. Harry shook his head, but continued to stare at the ground emptily. "Nah, I'm just stressing on the tour. Not going to be able to see Louis for a while." "You were thinking about the last time you left and came back." Niall assumed. Harry smiled sadly. "I can't remember every happy moment I've ever had with Louis, but I can remember all the bad ones. It's funny to me how I hold on to something that I said was forgiven. Well, Niall, don't worry about it. Now, come on! I need something to eat then we are all going to Zayn's." They both got up and left to find Louis, but Louis had been in the room when Niall was talking to Harry. He had known that was the reason Harry never wanted to become too intimate with Louis. This just said that Louis needed to prove himself to Harry, prove that he would never do that again. And he was determined to do that because he would never make the same mistake twice. "Wait up!" Louis called. He ran up to Harry and slipped his hand into his. Harry immediately pulled away. Louis was shocked. "What-" "Sorry, sorry, Love. It was instinct, I'm sorry." Harry laughed. "I have to get used to this." Louis smiled sadly at the ground and whispered, "it's ok," and walked off towards the van alone. "Shit." Harry said, but continued to smile for the cameras as the flashes went off. "Louis!" He ran towards the van, catching up to him. HE pulled his wrist, turning him around, and kissed him softly on the lips. "I'm sorry." Louis smiled against Harry's lips. "Just like the old days; fighting over nonsense and you always being the one to apologize." "It's 'cause I'm smitten with you." Harry laughed. They both got in the car followed by Niall and security. Harry pulled Louis hand into his lap and gazed out the window. His heart felt whole again and it hadn't been like that in six years. To Harry, it was as if the sadness had mostly been lifted away, only his fears remained. His fears of the future and of the past. Five Months Later "Look Harry, I've got to ask you about this one. This is a famous magazine This says you and Louis are a couple. There's pictures of you kissing!" The interviewer said as she pulled out the magazine, showing it to Harry. Harry squinted, trying not to smile at the same time. "Geezuz. That, that is photo shopped." "So there's nothing going on between you and Louis?" She smirked. Harry laughed. "I didn't say that; I just said that some of those aren't real. The real ones are probably getting printed right now." He slipped a hand through his hair, trying to keep from automatically denying the accusations. The interview looked bewildered. "I saw the video last night, but you never know what's a joke and what's not anymore. So, what took you so long to come out? Why now? Why not back a few years? And were you together with Louis back then?" "Um, well, the music business isn't something you want to get yourself involved in. You always have to sacrifice one person when you sign the deal, that's just how it is. I didn't know I'd be suffering as much as I did. I wanted to come out, to stop being seen as a womanizer, but management wouldn't let me, and that's ultimately why I left. Now, I've decided to come out because I've lived with too many regrets and I can't live like that anymore, I won't live like that anymore. I'm finally happy and I really don't care what anyone thinks because you can't help who you fall in love with." He shrugged. The interview and the audience were both quiet. "So, regrets? What regrets do you have?" "Don't get me wrong, I love my job and all my fans, but if I could go back. If I knew what would have happened, I would have never set foot on that X-Factor stage." Harry sighed and then bit his tongue, trying not to cry. "So why did you leave Louis if he was your true love?" Harry coughed into his sleeve and swallowed. "Um, I'd rather not talk about that. My love life is personal and I'd like it to stay that way." "Management is trying to set up a joined concert with you, Love." Louis called from the living room, where he was in nothing but boxers. Lou's hair was tousled and going in every direction. He was laying down, waiting for Harry to finish making breakfast. Harry snorted, sprinkling some salt on the eggs. "Yeah? Well, fuck them. I'm not going to." "Be nice, it's not like they can keep us apart anymore, they seem to be loving all the press we are getting." Louis came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. He kissed his shoulder blade and then turned Harry around. "Come on. People want to see us together. I want to be together again. One Direction." Harry laughed. "That's not gonna happen, Babe." "Why not?" Louis looked startled. "Because, management isn't going to let me join your band anymore. People are making too much money off of One Direction and me separately. It's all about money, don't you see? It's all fucked up, but it's true." Harry grabbed the back of Louis' head and brought his lips down, slowly moving against Louis. He slid his tongue in, loving the sensation of Louis tongue fighting with his. Louis was a dominant person, that's always what Harry had needed; someone to take control, but at times, Harry wanted Louis to do whatever he wanted, it was more fun. Harry understood that Louis being dominant had its negative aspects: Louis got really jealous easily, he was always mad at Harry, and he never took ownership for his faults. Louis somehow thought he was superior to Harry, but at the same time, Louis would do anything for him, no matter what. Harry was the first to pull away and that's when their first big fight happened. "Ok, what the hell? We've been together for six months and I'm not pressuring you to do anything, but, damn it, I need answers! We aren't uncomfortable around each other, things are just the way they were six years ago. I don't understand why you're being this way!" Louis yelled, throwing his arms up and hitting the cabinet. Harry leaned against the counter, a smirk coming onto his face. He wasn't happy, no, he was furious. Harry learned to control his anger, that's maturity and it was very obvious that Louis was back to him childish way. "You don't understand? You don't fucking understand?" Harry said with a leveled voice. "Look, I'm sorry that-" Louis rushed. Harry laughed. "You want answers? Well, here. I'm not fucking comfortable fucking you because you were the dick that cheated on me. You abandoned our relationship and fucked me up ok? I'm fucked up now, no turning back. I told you I wasn't the same, blind boy that would bow down at your feet and would stand there and take everything you threw at me. I'm not okay anymore, get that through your tiny brain." Louis blinked and opened his mouth. "Haz-" "I can't even have a boyfriend without thinking that he's gonna do the same thing you did to me six damn years ago. I can't flirt with anyone at the bar because your always there in the back of my head. You're always there with her, Louis. I'm going mad because you're the one that's holding me back from moving on. You're still holding me back right now." Harry breathed in, still keeping his voice leveled mostly. Harry hugged himself, sliding to the floor and panicking. The memories always brought him back to the day, as if he were reliving it. He cried and cried and cried to himself in his car after that, having no where to go. After he had collected himself, he went straight to Modest and told them he was done. He hadn't cared that they only had one more year until they could come out, he simply didn't care. Harry came back to the present time and saw that Louis was next to him, trying to wrap his arms around Harry, but he was pushing him away. "Stop. Stop, please." Harry pushed himself away as Louis obeyed. He scooted into a corner and just put his head between him legs. He wasn't going to cry, Harry had learned to build up a tolerance for these things. Every week, Niall and himself would go out or just hang, but the subject would always stray to Louis and how Harry still did not trust him. It was a fact, Harry couldn't trust him, no matter how much he begged himself. Harry realized that trust was an unwritten agreement that was between two people, and when broken, it could never totally be fixed. Obviously you could try, but that itch would always nag you in the back of your brain. "Harry-" Harry whipped his head around, looking Lou straight in the eyes, daring him to say another word. "I need to think. Time to think. I think you should go. You need to leave." "But-" "Go. Now." Harry growled. "Don't come back until I'm in bed." Louis nodded, contemplating whether he should kiss Harry goodbye or not, he decided against it and just strutted out the front way. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "I don't think you should just forgive him like that Harry!" Niall shouted, while throwing his glass in the sink. Harry sighed and slouched in the kitchen chair. "It's been nearly three days. I'm not mad anymore, I think he gets it.""No, he doesn't get it! Look, I love Tommo just as much as you do." Harry gave Niall the look. "Okay, maybe not as much as you do, but I do love him. I love you too, though. And I'm telling you the truth when I say that Louis is a bastard. He strings you along and you're too obsessed with him to notice a thing. I mean, to be fair, he doesn't realize exactly what he's doing, but the day will come when I knock some sense into that boy and he's gonna hate what he see's in the mirror when he realizes what he's been doing."Harry sniffled. "But I miss him so much, Niall. It doesn't make sense. Why do I love him so much if it's so wrong?" Harry looked at Niall with pleading eyes, as if Niall held all the answers."It's not wrong. Love isn't wrong, it could never be, but the way people define love or the way they think love should be expressed is wrong. Love is to give yourself to someone and care about them and just want to be there for them. Damn it, I don't even know what love is, but I know this thing between Louis and you isn't love. Maybe you love him, but he has a different definition of love nowadays." Niall ran a hand through his hair and then got up, pacing around his living room.Harry hadn't been home since Thursday and it was now Sunday. Three whole days without seeing Louis and for some reason he felt himself breaking, little bits of himself cracking off and falling to the floor. He didn't understand it, what he and Louis had. Niall was drilling it in his mind that this wasn't love, but Harry knew that the first time they were together, from the X-Factor and until he left, that was love. Harry guessed that he just longed for that Louis back. His Louis.There were twenty-one missed calls from Lou and over thirty-five text messages. Harry was a bit happier with every text and call that sounded off his phone. "I really do think he regrets it." Harry whispered.Niall pulled his hair. "Fine, call him!"Harry rushed to pull out his phone and dial the number. It rang once and then there was an answer. "Harry?" A voice yelled and sobbed simultaneously. "Lou, I'm sorry, I-""Don't, Love. It's my fault. I'll wait until you're ready. Please, come back home, the house is dull and dead without you." Louis was pleading through the phone and Harry loved it.Harry smiled and nodded even though it was evident that Louis didn't know. "Yeah, I'm coming. I'll just be a bit. Having some tea at Nialler's.""You been there this whole time?" Louis asked curiously."Yeah, why?"Louis snorted. "I went by his house Friday night, asked if you were there, he said no. What a fucking liar."Harry laughed into the phone. "He's just being a good friend, Lou. Plus, I didn't want to see you that day.""Well come home now. I'm waiting." Louis begged."I'm leaving. I love you." Harry giggled into the phone.Louis laughed deeply. "I love you, you wanker."Niall was in the living room, suddenly with two other people. Liam and Zayn seemed to have showed up, hand in hand, which made Harry smile. He walked up to Liam and gave him a hug. He glanced at Zayn and smiled. Niall was on the couch, his head in a stack of pillows, obviously distressed about something."What's wrong with him?" Liam asked, laughing.Harry replied. "Thinks I'm being to lenient with Lou."Liam quickly looked over at Harry. "Hm, has everything been alright? Zayn's phone has been blowing up, but he won't say anything. Did you two get in a fight?""Yeah, it's over though. I should be getting home though. I'll see you lads tomorrow, eh?" Harry waved as he walked to his car. He unlocked the door to his flat and walked in. "Lou?"Silence."Lou?" He whispered again.There wasn't an answer, so Harry decided to check the bedroom. He had taken an hour to get back home, seeing that he stopped to get dinner. He walked in and Louis was asleep on his stomach, breathing in and out slowly. Harry's heart nearly broke after not seeing him for three days. Gosh, he was obsessed. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Louis's lips. The boy instantly woke up, smiling at Harry."You're back." He said sadly.Harry smiled. "Of course, couldn't stay away that long.""I love you.""I love you more, Louis Tomlinson." Harry pulled off his jacket, shirt, and pants. He climbed into bed next to Louis and wrapped his arms around the older man. He sighed to himself, content with life at the moment. Little did he know that three weeks later he would get the worst news ever. Beep. Hello, Mr. Styles and Mr. Tomlinson. It's Harry McGee, from Modest Management. We'd like to have a meeting with both of you this evening. We'd love for both of you to be present at our office at 2:30. I assure you that you both will be happy with the news we have for you. Good Day... Beep. Harry woke up after hearing the telephone voice mail go off. He tightened his arms around a body and curled into it. He shimmied a little, trying to get comfortable."Don't do that unless you want this to get really awkward." A raspy voice rang.Harry smiled. "Sorry, can't help that you're sexually attracted to me. By the way, you did amazing last night, was watching the live webcast. Perfect, as always.""You sap, now get up and go make us some breakfast." Louis laughed and threw a pillow at Harry, who just smiled and obeyed.He didn't dress, just walked downstairs. He heard the noise indicating that there was a voice mail left for him, so he played it. Instantly his mood dropped. He became very unsteady and was a little scared. Of course there was nothing Modest could really do to Harry, since he didn't work for them anymore, but anything linked to Louis would involve Harry.He continued with his business though and soon finished omelets for Louis and himself."Modest wants us down at the office at 2:30. Wonder what that could be about." Harry said while stuffing his face with eggs.Louis shrugged. "Probably just going to tell us that we're doing a good job." Harry didn't believe a word Louis said because he knew Modest, and they only phoned when they wanted something, not when they had great news to give. All of them were liars and Harry was glad he had left when he did because if he had stayed, he's sure that he would have killed himself by now. He didn't see why Louis hadn't tried to because Modest was hell. It was the definition of hell.They both got ready silently, not awkwardly though. They would catch each other staring and giggle like idiots. They would slide an arm around each others waist, pulling the other closer to their body. It was times like these that made Harry Love him just a little but more. The way he would catch Louis staring at him from the other room; the way Louis would randomly kiss him in the most sensitive areas; the way Louis just knew how to handle Harry. This was why love had grown between them. Harry walked back into the room, and immediately saw Louis clothes left on the floor here and there. He picked it all up and threw it in the laundry basket. He walked downstairs, taking the laundry with him and washing the whites. He proceeded into the kitchen and found the milk and cereal left on the counter, a few flakes accidentally covered the counter too. He put it away and grabbed his shake. In the living room, Harry could see mugs of tea decorating the tables. He sighed, picked those us, and washed them. Finally, when he sat down, Louis came down the stairs, looking gorgeous. He kissed Harry on his way to the kitchen, probably going to make a mess again.Harry decided that he needed to clean, always having OCD about a dirty house. HE grabbed the vacuum and started with the living room. He then when to the hallway, then the stairs. In about forty-five minutes he was done with the downstairs carpet. Something about cleaning always seemed to relax Harry, just the thought of focusing on something unimportant for a while was comforting. "Love, you don't have to do that." Louis wrapped his arms around Harry, kissing his shoulder from behind. "We can call a maid."" 'S no big deal." Harry sighed. It was one of those days where he just wanted to be alone. He wasn't mad at anyone or anything, just thought a day to himself was needed. Dont you ever feel like that? Just wanting to stay curled up in blankets all day? Or just watching a show on Netflix? Maybe take a walk. Louis shrugged and walked to the couch, plopping down and kicking his feet onto the table. Harry rolled his eyes. "Feet off the table.""Oi! Fine, Mom." Louis laughed, but listened.Harry stopped cleaning after he had dusted and turned to Louis. "We have to leave. Best to get there early. Get this over with.""I'm ready, lets leave."They both held hands in the car, but it was more for paps then for themselves. Harry was just depressed today. He remembered his mom telling him that there is a certain point in a relationship where the excitement dies down and it just becomes a regular thing. The love may not go away, but the energy dies a little. Well, they've been together for seven month now, and Harry couldn't remember ever feeling like this when they were a band. Every day had gotten better when he saw Louis, he just brightened Harry's life.They finally pulled up to the building, getting out of the car. Neither of them voiced what they were thinking, but Harry knew that they were both dreading whatever was waiting inside for them. Harry pulled his hand away when they entered and shoved it in his pocket. They were escorted into a room with a long table for meetings. They sat across from each other, silently panicking. The door opened and in came Harry McGee. "Ah, hello boys! Tell me, how has it been going?""Fine. Just fine." Harry cut in quietly. He had seen Louis about to sarcastically answer the man, but he didn't want fighting right now.Mr. McGee smiled too much. "That's great to hear. Fantastic, in fact-""Can we get to the point?" Louis rolled his eyes.Mr. McGee sighed. "No point in getting rude Mr. Tomlinson. I'm just here to inform you that the PR stunts have been quite successful. In fact, One Direction and Harry Styles are getting most mentions on twitter, tumblr, and instagram. Magazine sales have sky rocketed. Merchandise has nearly sold out of most products. You both are magnificent. Nothing could go better. I wanted to congratulate you both and thank you, personally.""We were forced into it." Harry whispered, but Mr. McGee didn't acknowledge him.Louis was shaking his head with a confused expression. "I don't understand. You wouldn't call us here just to say this. This is bullshit. What's the real reason?""You haven't let me finish. This is all for the fans right? To please them, give them what they want." McGee smiled."What about what we want?" Harry was whispering and it seemed like he didn't want anyone to hear, but of course he wanted everyone to hear that. He wanted people to understand that this was all fake.McGee's smile faltered, but then replaced by a professional look. "Look, we are here to please fans, and we here at Modest were thinking that the next step should be soon. We want both of you to take the next step in your relationship."Harry's eyes bulged out. He shook his head and looked over to Lou, who didn't look worried, if anything, Louis seemed a little relaxed, unaffected."It will get everyone to talk about you both. The shock of your relationship is vanishing. No one cares anymore, but they think you've been together for years, so why should you two be taking your relationship to the next level? It's only logical that you do." Mr. McGee was looking at Louis now, not really concerned about Harry.No one said anything.Mr. McGee cleared his throat. "Obviously this is a lot right now. Go home, process it all, and then we will meet here in a month. Harry, you ok?"Harry nodded his head and smiled, but it was like he was going to throw up. "Fine," he whispered."Hm, okay, well I think that's about it for today. Nothing else for you boys. So, I'll see you in a month!" And he was out the door. Harry tried his best to look like Louis, calm. They didn't say anything as they left, but when they got home, Louis was the first to speak."We have to talk about this I'm guessing." Louis fell on the couch. Harry scoffed to himself, but he knew he was just scared. Marriage? MARRIAGE?! He was barely twenty-six years old. Well, of course he's always wanted to be with someone at a young age, but Louis and him still had problems that needed fixing.Harry sat in a single arm chair. He snuggled in it, not saying anything."To be honest, I don't really see a problem with it. It's just acting, yeah?" Louis smiled and took Harry's hands in his.Harry pulled them back. "Acting? I don't want it to be all a scam, Lou.""No, babe. Of course I love you and I want to marry you, this just speeds things up a little faster than we planned." Louis smiled.Harry could see the joy in Lou's face and maybe Harry should be happy right? Harry should want to marry Louis and have kids with him and grow old together and die together, but he didn't. Well, ok that was a lie, of course Harry wanted that with Louis, but he needed to get over his fear of Lou breaking his heart. Lou. Lou. Gosh, he could never not love him. Louis was like Harry's favorite movie; Harry could watch it over and over again, yet each time his love for it only grew stronger, each time he memorized the little hidden details that no one else could possibly see the first time they saw it. Seeing Lou look so happy convinced Harry that this must be the right thing to do.Harry gave in. "Okay," he said, and yet there was still this churning feeling in his stomach."We'll sort out the detail later, okay Love? This is great, fantastic! We should call the boys, yeah? Well, not right now if you don't want to, but soon." He laughed out loud and threw his shirt off as he walked into the shower.Harry sat there, closing his eyes, worrying because he didn't want to marry Louis. There was still this warning sign flashing off every time he saw Lou. It was a proper reaction, knowing what Lou had done to him six years ago. And if people were curious as to why Harry couldn't forgive him, well, it was because Louis had been the love of his life and at that moment when Louis was cheating on Harry, Harry knew that Louis hadn't wanted to be the love of his life. He had wanted to get away from Harry's love, so he went and found someone else for the night. That's hard to let go. Five minutes later, Harry found himself crying; crying so hard that sobs were pouring out of his mouth. And, you know, sometimes a weeping session can make you feel better, even if the reason why you had been crying hasn't changed afterwards. Soon, Harry found himself walking out the door, not leaving indefinitely, but just for a while. He needed to stop worrying. Maybe this would help. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "What do you mean you can't fucking find him?" Niall yelled into the phone.Louis pulled the telephone away from his ear. "I mean exactly what I said! I went to take a shower and he was on the couch and when I got out he was gone. I thought he went to the store or something so I waited two hours. Then, he just didn't come home.""You waited until three o'clock in the morning to finally observe that he was missing? You dumb arse. What did you do this time, Tommo?" Niall was angry. He knew this was going to happen, it had always been unavoidable. Louis wasn't mature enough to fully love someone yet, and Harry just didn't trust anyone anymore. They were both disasters and yet they were perfect for each other.Louis groaned into the phone. "Stop it okay? I didn't fuck up again. Nothing even happened today! We just had went to Modest and came back and he was gone." "Well, what the fuck happened at the meeting that got him so sad?" Niall was already getting into his car, making his way to Lou's house.Louis shrugged. "I don't know. If anything it was great, nothing bad.""What. Happened." Niall growled.Louis rolled his eyes. "Modest wants us to take out relationship to the next level. It's not like Harry would object. He loves me.""Did you even ask Harry's opinion?" Niall's voice was softer now because he knew why Harry had left now. IT was obvious and staring Louis right in the face, but he was such a dumbass. Louis started to speak and then held his tongue. No, he hadn't asked Harry what he thought, but he had seen the pain in his eyes. "Um, well...""So you did fuck up again." Niall laughed. "I'm outside, open the door."Louis hung up and did as he was instructed. "Welcome, Nialler.""No time to make fucking jokes."Louis pushed Niall a little. "Why are you such an arse to me these days? I never did anything to you!""You didn't do anything to us? You made us believe for six years that this was all Harry's fault. Not once did you have the balls to tell us, 'hey guys, I cheated on Harry with the girl I was supposed to marry and he caught us'. Fucking dumb arse! You did all of this. You broke us up, you made Harry leave, and now you're just fucking with his feelings and not once did you own up to any of it. You got everyone to be on your side, you got the media to hate Harry, our fans to hate Harry and not once did the boys actually know that you were the one that deserved this. You deserved to go through Hell like Harry did. You took away my best mate and not once did you pay for it like he did. So, yeah, you did do something to me and I'm fucking angry." Niall shoved Louis back and then pulled out his phone, calling Harry."I tried that, he didn't answer." Louis whispered.The phone rang six times and then someone picked up. "Harry?" Niall sighed in relief. He put the phone on speaker.A strained voice replied. "I can't, Niall. I just can't...""Harry, where are you, come on, I'll pick you up and you can crash at my flat, yeah?" Niall tried to make his voice sound steady.Harry sniffled in response. "Was it my fault, Niall?""What are you talking about?" Niall clutched the phone. No, no, no. This wasn't happening."Was it me who did this? Was I the reason that I stopped loving Louis?" Harry was sobbing on the other end of the line.Louis was glued to the ground, staring at the phone in Niall's hand."No, you listen to me-" Niall growled.Harry whined into the phone. "It's all my fault. I left him, Niall. I left my Louis. I left him for six years and now he's not my Louis. Make the pain stop, Niall. I-I don't want to feel it anymore. Every day and night I feel it. When will it go away, Niall? When?""Harry, you need to tell me where you are." Niall said firmly.Harry replied, "I'm in a telephone box by Floosy's Bar.""What are doing there you wanker?" Niall tried to laugh.Harry was silent. "Why does it hurt so much?""I'm coming to get you." Niall was pulling on his jacket."I hate myself. Why can't I be good? Why can't I be there for Louis like I used to be?"Niall sighed. "Because now you know how to stand up for yourself and not take everything he throws at you. I'll be there in ten minutes."Niall hung up the phone and looked back at Louis, who was just sitting silently."This is why you don't deserve him," Niall said softly. "There he is, alone for the billionth time in his life, crying over you, thinking that there is something wrong with him because he doesn't love you. That's how unselfish he is."Louis nodded. "I know."Niall slipped his hands in his pocket. "Look, both of you need to grow up a little if you want to be together. Everyone knows you are both perfect for each other and that there is no one else in the world that is better suited for either of you. You need to learn how to properly love him and treat him with the same love that he treats you. Cook him dinner once in a while, pick up after yourself, don't expect him to clean and wash your clothes. Do stuff for him, that's all I'm asking. I'm also asking that you let him go, Tommo. You've got his on his knees just trying to please you and he needs to learn how a relationship should be. Equal. Until then, you both need some time apart.""But, I-""Yes you can, Louis. You're his other half and he's never going to get over you and no matter how much you think that he will, he wont. You're going to wake up one day and realize what you did to him all those years ago. You are going to truly understand what you did to him and you're going to regret it. You're going to regret it so much, that you'll finally mature and take ownership for your faults. When that time comes, that's why you deserve him." Niall put his hand on Louis shoulder and then walked out of the house. Niall pulled up to the phone box and jumped out of the car. He could see a figure sitting on the floor, crumpled into a ball. He wrenched open the door and saw a bloody Harry."What the hell happened?" Niall sighed as he picked up Harry and brought him to the car. "We're going to the hospital."Harry just moaned.Niall drove at the speed of light, flying through traffic. "What happened, Harry? Harry? Come on, oh no you don't, stay awake mate.""I feel so bad." He whispered. "Needed to feel the pain I caused Lou."Niall groaned. "Harry, you've gone through pain for six years, I think that was enough.""No... No, no, no..." Harry cried.Those who cry hurt, but those who cry alone hurt more."Niall, I'm so lonely and sometimes I can see how alone I am and it scares me so much because I know that being alone destroys me." Harry smiled and it was the most heartbreaking thing anyone ever saw.Niall shook his head and wiped a couple of tears from his own eyes. "No, Harry, you're not alone. I'm here, yeah?""Yeah... You are." Harry smiled and then fell asleep.And Niall pulled up to the hospital and handed over his best friend to the professionals, who would know how to make him better, who could only fix him to a certain point though. Niall hoped and prayed that someone would be able to fix Harry, and although Niall knew that one boy could fix him, he also knew that that boy had some growing up to do before he could do that. Harry opened the door to his house as quietly as he could and then shut it. It had been two days since he had run off and Niall had found him. Maybe he could play it off and make up some excuse, say he was visiting his mother or something, but Louis would know; Louis always knew.Harry tiptoed to the kitchen and grabbed some juice. He turned back to the doorway to leave and saw I figure propped up against the door. "Oh, hi Lou." Harry smiled easily. He was fine now. He was okay. He only had a break down once in a while.The figure didn't move or say anything.Harry coughed. "Look, I'm sorry about these past three days, I was... A little overwhelmed with everything so I-" "I know what happened. I was the one who called Niall. I was here when you talked to him." Louis said in a leveled tone.Harry nodded. "Oh.""We need to talk, Haz. We need to sort things out. I'm ready to listen to you, no need to hold back anything, I can take it." Louis stood straight, trying not to show any signs that he was coming apart on the inside because he knew what had to happen.Harry shrugged, but was quiet. "Yeah, ok.""Marriage." Louis whispered. "I sh-should have seen how uncomfortable you were and-""Yeah, wasn't hard for everyone else to notice." Harry huffed. "Soon as we left the office Modest text me, wanting me to go in alone and sign a contract saying that I would stay with you. Lou, even they knew I didn't want to do it and I can't believe that you didn't..."Louis just stood up, waiting for Harry to finish. "Look, Haz, I'm sorry about pressuring you these last-""Are you really sorry? Because it seems that you're just repeating yourself these past months, saying 'I'm sorry for this and that' and then you get mad when I don't want to let it go. I'm tired of letting things go, Louis. I'm so, so tired, can't you see it in my eyes? You're wearing me out slowly and yet quickly too. Your words reel in my heart and seduce me, making me forget everything you've done, but this time I need more. Words won't fix it." Harry was still sitting on the floor, looking at Louis' pained face.Maybe some would consider Harry an over exaggerator during this time, but Harry knew what he was doing. Louis nodded, looking at Harry and smiling. "I'm not going to say 'you're right', because it's obvious that you are. And I'm not going to give an excuse, because that's not the right answer, but just listen to me for a second. I love you.""Lou-""Stop. I've loved you since you left the band and many years before that and I don't think I'll ever stop loving you. In fact, I know I won't. I know- I know I've never been that great of a boyfriend, I've thrown a billion things at you that you didn't particularly deserve, and I'm sorry. I can't-I can't change. I've been like this for twenty-eight years of my life. I'm trying ok? But I need you here to make me a better person." Louis walked towards Harry, but Harry showed no signs of regret or sympathy.Harry stood up and walked to the kitchen table, where he sat down. "I can't stay here, waiting for you to finally become a new person." He sighed and whispered, "don't you think I've had enough, Lou?" There were tears silently, slowly streaming down Harry's face while he closed his eyes. His voice broke as he looked up at Louis. "I think I-I'm worn out. Don't you think I deserve a break? Can you see it, Lou? Can you see me drowning? Can you see yourself drowning me?" Harry sobbed, but never covered his face.Louis looked at Harry, his love, and finally saw what everyone had always seen, besides Louis himself. He saw Harry, dead. No, he wasn't drowning Harry anymore, Louis had completed his task in taking away Harry's life. All the years that Louis had fought and kicked Harry were coming back to him. He had always left Harry to pick up his mess or fix him when he was down, but Louis realized that Harry was a prisoner to Louis. The love between them was true, sure, but Harry was the only one that showed it. Louis had always held back, and it's what let to Harry's fall. Louis had kept Harry at his knees, wiping him whenever he wanted and Louis had called that love.Harry deserved better, Harry was the one person in the whole existence of humans that deserved love and happiness and children and affection and anything he ever dreamed of. Well, right now, that wasn't Louis and maybe that would never be Louis, so what was the alternative? Louis had to make the decision because Harry couldn't- wouldn't. Harry would always do what Louis wanted, but that didn't mean that Lou had to be selfish and drag Harry along. Everything clicked inside his mind and maybe this was the way things were always headed.Maybe there had been no way to prevent this because Louis was the bad guy.It had been Louis all along, all his fault, but he had let Harry take the blame; he had turned everyone against Haz and succeeded in making him suffer. Well, now it was Louis's turn, but he didn't mind.Louis walked to Harry. "I'm so, so sorry, my Love. I know... I understand... Sometimes the answers are simple and the answer is: You don't love me and right now, how could I possibly understand how to love you. You're to perfect and yet I still find excuses to drag you around. I don't want to be the one to hurt you anymore, Haz, and if that means I have to give you up, then so be it. I'd do anything for you, Love, and know that this is the right thing for you." He kissed Harry's forehead and then turned around, walking away. He stopped in the doorway though and turned around, smiling. "I hope you find it all, Haz. I hope you find amazing, grateful people. I hope you feel things that you could never possibly experience with me. I hope you live the life you want, and if you don't, well, you'll be stuck like me. I'll see you later, Haz."And Louis Tomlinson walked out Harry Styles life. He left Harry there, sitting at the kitchen counter, crying by himself and yet, he knew that Harry was finally happy. Harry was free and able to live life, explore. It was a good beginning for Louis and he was happy. In time, he would learn to understand and own up to everything he had done and this was the starting point. This was the start to love and Louis was satisfied with his decisions. He smiled to himself as he walked down the path to his car, which already had his things packed away inside. Louis laughed out loud to himself. "I love you Harry Styles." He got into his car and drove away.Away from the love of his life.Away from Harry and to the start of a new life, a new beginning where he would learn to love properly and honestly.God, the things he would do for Harry, Louis smiled. Thousands of teenage fans of One Direction and Larry Stylinson are heartbroken this month. The last thing we heard about Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson was that they were both in a committed, passionate, and stable relationship. Now, it seems that after dating for a while, the couple has called it quits. Radar Online reported that Harry Styles broke it off with previous band mate Louis Tomlinson as their hectic schedules made spending time together a near impossibility. It seems that Hollywood's favorite couple Larry Stylinson (Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson) has called it quits. Louis Tomlinson, member of One Direction, was seen leaving their shared home Thursday evening with a car full of suitcases and furniture. Weeks later, Harry Styles was reportedly seen out with Niall Horan and Nick Grimshaw. Speculations have led to the idea that Larry Stylinson has been a PR stunt from the beginning. The couple was together publicly for almost a year, sharing romantic evenings and kisses with each other, looking like a marry couple. So sad to say that they are finished. "So, Harry, it's obvious what everyone wants to know. Are you and Louis Tomlinson officially over?" The interviewer asked behind the camera.Harry fidgeted in his seat and looked at her sadly. "Well, first of all, let me say that I love Lou, I always will. Yes, w-we had a falling out, but it was sort of mutual. Of course schedules made it even more hard and..." Harry went on with the lies, letting them pour out of his mouth so easily."You say 'sort of mutual', can you explain?"He sighed and crossed his legs. "Well, I just think both of us were on two different pages really. He wanted to move forward and I was... I wasn't""Move forward? When you say this, do you mean marriage? Was Louis wanting kids and a family and a wedding and everything and you just weren't ready?" She was speaking kindly, but also curiously. She wanted the juice gossip while also trying to play it cool for Harry.Harry coughed, becoming uncomfortable answering these questions. "Well, I want all those things too, just...""Just not with him." The interviewer finished for him.Harry shook his head, no. "I think that's enough, please. Turn the cameras off. Please." Harry choked, "please," he sobbed.The camera shut off. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- EIGHT YEARS LATER Today on Everyday News we have a major story. Niall Horan, former member of One Direction, has been in a car crash. The singer was driving down South 580 during a rainstorm and the tires of a semi-truck behind him didn't operate properly. The truck driver skid until he hit Niall Horan's car at a speed of 70 mph. The impact was so strong that he is reportedly in a coma. The truck driver is in critical condition, but expected to live. This is Everyday News at six. Harry sat in the hospital room, holding the hand of his best friend. He held Niall's hand in both of his and had his head leaning against the bed. He could see the tears falling to the floor where they made a pool. They didn't cease, nor did Harry think they would ever stop. Life has a funny way of messing with you. Harry's life had been fairly well nowadays and then... this had to happen. He was mad too. Mad at no one in particular or at anything, he was just furious at life for always dealing the worst cards. And Harry always seemed to get them. He could hear himself sniffling and it was horrible. To cry alone was a dreadful thing and Harry hadn't done it in years because Niall had always been there. Niall had told Harry that he would always be there when Harry was down in the dumps or just whenever he needed a friend. Harry sobbed and felt his whole body shake. He was scared, scared that again he would lose another person he loved and that wasn't alright. Harry was a dependent person and would always need someone to be with him, be it a friend or boyfriend.The door opened and he looked up. Harry smiled slightly when he saw Zayn and Liam walk in, hand in hand, happy as they could ever be, seeing that their wedding was a little over two years ago. Liam was obviously crying, not holding anything back really, and Zayn had a hand on his lower back trying to console Liam. And when both boys say Harry, a little piece broke in both of them. Harry would be the worst during this event and everyone knew it. While Zayn and Liam had been off in their own world, Harry only had Niall, which Harry shared with Louis. Most of the time, Harry would be with Niall, sleeping at Niall's, or just hanging out, but sometimes Louis would call Niall and ask to spend a day with him. During these days, Harry called up other friends or just stayed out, did chores around the house. Harry had been out with a few different lads these past few years, the relationships never lasting longer than a year. The shortest one lasted for a week and then Harry called it off. Of course, Harry could never put himself into it; he always knew that no relationship would click like Louis's and his. "How is he?" Zayn asked.Harry scoffed. "How is he? How fucking is he? Do you see him, Zayn? Can you see that he's in a fucking coma or are you blind?""Harry I-" Zayn started.Liam patted Zayn on the arm and then let go of him. He walked over to Harry and tried to hug him, but Harry pushed him away."Stop, I'm fine." Harry growled, trying to keep it together.Liam didn't say anything, but pulled Harry in for another hug, which Harry reciprocated halfheartedly. He knew he was being a dick, but he wasn't that heartless. The door was flung open, almost hitting Zayn, and a heavy breathing Louis Tomlinson appeared. He was older, that's for sure, but he didn't have wrinkles or any signs of age, he had just grown into a man. He was also crying, which wasn't surprising given the circumstances, but Harry couldn't take his eyes off him. He hadn't seen him in seven years, obviously an unsaid agreement between them. Louis didn't stop or say anything, he just ran to the bed. He took Niall's hand in his and just cried. No one said anything, just let Louis do it. Everyone needed to cry and it's best to leave them alone and just be there when they are ready."Louis." Zayn said and walked up to him.Louis flicked his head up, as if he was just realizing that there were other people in the room. " Oh, hey, Zayn.""He's doing fine. He's gonna be fine." Liam interjected randomly.Harry groaned. "He's not fucking fine! Why do you keep saying that? That just makes me have expectations. Expectations for him to wake up, expectations for him to remember us, me, you, everyone. What if he's not fine? Then what? You're giving me false information. Niall isn't okay. He's in a fucking coma. Is that fine to you?"Everyone was looking at Harry now, who felt as if he was hyperventilating. He was breathing heavily and he wasn't okay. The fear was creeping inside of his mind, leaving him with negative thoughts. He grunted and then ran out of the door and out to the hallway. He found a random room and just walked in, finding that it was a bathroom. He opened a stall and sat inside, crying silently. Harry discovered that the silent cry was the worst because you want to scream so loud, but you hold the emotions back.Harry didn't know how long he stayed in there, but he had a headache and his face was so puffy that it was numb. His eyes were glossy and looked sick. His throat hurt as if he hadn't drank water for years and he was just breaking down.He heard shuffling outside his stall."Harry?" A thick voice called.It was Louis."Haz-Harry. Are you in here, Mate?" Louis called again and it was evident that his voice had gotten deeper and sophisticated. It was sexy and formal at once.Harry stayed quiet. He heard Louis pushing open every stall door until finally he came to Harry's door and he knocked instead. Harry sighed, knowing he was caught. It was a very awkward situation, talking to Louis as if the last seven years weren't important. "Harry, come out mate." Louis whispered.Harry huffed. "No, I'm fine.""Stop lying to yourself." Louis rolled his eyes and pressed his fingertips to sides of his forehead.Harry opened to door. "I'm stable.""Liar." Louis retorted.Harry gripped the sink. "What do you want me to say? Okay, how can anyone possibly be fine in a situation like this? MY best friend is in a coma! And if I say I'm fucking fine then you should go along with it so that I can convince myself that maybe I actually am okay.""It's okay." Louis walked towards him slowly.Harry felt his eyes tear up. He remembered this, he remembered Louis always using the 'it's okay' line and making Harry spill all of his fears and secrets. It was simultaneously a sad and happy memory, something that Harry should have forgotten, but never would. "Stop." Harry whispered.Louis put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's okay, Harry. Everything is okay.""Stop it, okay. I'm keeping it together."Louis put a hand on Harry's lower back. "We're in a hospital where your best friend is in a coma. Of course you're not keeping it together."Harry sniffed. "Don't tell me something that I already know.""Stop it, Harry. Just let it hurt, okay? Let yourself get sad and cry." Louis grabbed Harry and then pulled him into a hug.The hug was awkward for a few minutes, but then Louis felt Harry start to shake and then Harry was wrapping his arms around Louis and sobbing."He's gonna die, Louis. Oh my gosh, what if he dies? What am I going to do? I c-can't do it. Niall c-can't d-die. He's always there for me. Every time I need him." Harry gripped Louis's shirt as if he was trying to rip it off.Louis was shushing him. "He's gonna be alright, you just wait and see." Louis felt a sad smile crawl on his face, envious of Niall for being there for Harry when Louis knew he couldn't. Harry gathered his things back from Niall's hospital room and said bye to the boys. He apologized to both Liam and Zayn, who were too forgiving. He walked out, ready to go home, take a shower, and then return to the hospital in the morning.He opened up his umbrella and walked to the parking garage."Harry! Harry, wait up." Louis called.Harry turned around, watching Louis run in the rain towards him. Harry waited until they were both under the cover of the umbrella.They stood in silence until finally Louis spoke up."So, how have you been?" Louis coughed. "Seven years."Harry fiddled with his fingers. "Fine. Been into writing music for a while I guess.""Yeah, I heard!" Louis scratched the back of his head. "Um... So you've matured. I-I mean, I've matured. And I t-think, well... I t-think. Would you like to go to d-"Suddenly, Harry seemed to slip in a puddle and fell to the ground, gripping Louis's shirt in the process and taking him down with him. "Oops," Harry laughed.Louis smiled down at him, leaning on Harry's chest. He stayed where he was at, waiting for Harry to lean in also, giving Louis permission to kiss him. Finally, Louis couldn't wait any more. He had waited seven more years for this boy who was the love of his life and he didn't want to wait any longer. He was ready, he was done soul searching and done facing his flaws. He had learned how to love and take ownership for his mistakes. He was ready to have Harry in his life now.Louis kissed Harry like it was the answer to all there problems and somewhere in that kiss Louis expressed his regret, his devotion, his love. He showed Harry how dreadful and difficult life had been without him and also how much he had learned. The kiss was the answer to all the problems because it provided Harry with the information he needed. And finally, Louis pulled away, ready to start a new life with Harry.And this time it wouldn't be temporary or just a publicity stunt.It would be the real thing."Hi," Louis replied and laughed.THE END
1156343	The Return of Vulcan	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Star Trek: The Original Series", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by klmeri", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2010-07-02T00:00:00", "words": "1,124", "Additional Tags": "Mirror!verse - Freeform", "Relationship": null, "Character": "Mirror Spock", "Relationships": null, "Series": "TOS Gen One-shots", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Once the Empire infiltrates and conquers Vulcan, the second precious thing the Terrans take from the people, after their freedom, is the Vulcan salutation "Live long and prosper." It becomes forbidden, even between Vulcans—though in their hearts (and minds) they quietly greet one another this way. Their race lives by the mercy of the Terran whim. There are no ambassadors or delegates, no representation for Vulcan and little rights granted. The Vulcan Science Academy restructures its purpose—teems with scientists and engineers who adapt and improve space warfare. Those unlucky enough to not test into the Academy become soldiers in Starfleet, few given rank higher than Lieutenant, and casually wasted as the Empire seeks to expands its hold on the galaxy.Terrans do not trust these Vulcans—people with telepathic capacity (mind-control) and long life. So Vulcans are brought to their knees, ordered to bow their heads and be One with the Empire.And yet, there is one thing that the Empire desires from them. Such a small, vital thing…The Vulcan Sarek is selected to bond with a Human female. Of their union, the Terrans desire a hybrid—a half-human with superior physical and mental capabilities, a prototype to be studied, manipulated and refined. If the half-Vulcan, half-human creature can be trained successfully, used for the greater good of the Empire, then a new breed of warrior can emerge—faster, smarter, more ruthless. The Terran Empire will dominate, the eternal Rome.Sarek and Amanda seem compliant with the experiment; there is no choice or reward. The process is tedious, sees much failure and wasted expense (and hope). Finally, as an embryo develops in a test tube, the Empire nods its greedy head with yes, this will do. When the fetus is implanted into Amanda Grayson, they treat her with vigilant care, salivate over the (budding) potential. What happens, however, they do not expect; the protégé hybrid slips from their grasp.In the last months of the pregnancy (incubation), Sarek and Amanda submit, prevaricate, and disappear. For three and a half decades, the traitors elude the Empire that searches fiercely for their stolen property. Finally, the small family is discovered on a backwater planet, hot like Vulcan but so wet that the foliage never stops dripping. They are betrayed by Sarek's only Vulcan confidante—the matriarch of his clan, T'Pau. This wise, aging Vulcan tells Sarek, on the night before his home is raided, that his son, named Spock, is their race's last hope. Spock must experience to learn, to regain what was lost.So it is that Spock—raised in proper Vulcan tradition and steeped in the human love of his mother—falls into the hands of the Terran Empire. He watches the execution of his mother and father for treason and never once flinches. He wears his Vulcan mask and quells the weeping of his human heart.He is tested, probed, and remorselessly tortured for two years until the Empire is satisfied with his obedience. Then Spock is drafted into Starfleet on a double track, science and command, where he excels and rises to the rank of Lieutenant-Commander. He receives commission on the Enterprise under the captaincy of the watchful Pike and stoically performs an admirable job of science officer, all the while aware of the eyes on his back and side-stepping phaser blasts and sharp blades. Then old Pike is mysteriously assassinated and replaced by the rising star Kirk. When the new Captain performs a quick and merciless purging of the Enterprise crew, Spock stands on trial."The ever-famous half-breed, Mr. Spock!" Kirk grins his shark's smile and makes a slow turn around the Vulcan. "Tell me, Spock, are you a dutiful officer, or shall I save us both trouble down the line and cut your throat now?"Spock never unlocks from Kirk's gaze as he says flatly, without pandering, "Captain, I am Science Officer of the Enterprise, at the behest of the Empire."There is a mirthless quirk to the corner of Kirk's mouth. "Science Officer, Commander Spock… and my new First Officer." Spock raises an eyebrow at this statement, makes no comment (or thanks). Kirk snaps to Security, "Release him."Spock does not attempt to understand the (mad) captain's thinking. His fascination for Terran behavior has long since been replaced with a cold burning that remains unnamed. When he does study their behavior, it is with more calculated purpose than strictly necessary (or permitted to a Vulcan).Years pass, a time in which he does his duty as required: keeps the Enterprise functional and responsive to orders, oversees executions and torture, steals thoughts and makes calculations for death and destruction. He does all with hard Vulcan reserve and never with need of a second command from Kirk, who often watches him through narrowed, assessing eyes. Spock shows no weakness or pride.Kirk remarks to his First Officer, after a profitable mission (and another race enslaved), "You have honor, Spock. I'm not sure if I like that." Kirk warns him. "Keep your place, Vulcan, and I may overlook it."The ISS Enterprise terrorizes half the known galaxy in a span of a few short years under Kirk's rule. Then the catalyst comes that sets a long-held, quietly nurtured plan into motion: the parallel universe incident.Spock meets a man—a Kirk—who is just as proud as his Captain and as honorable as the other is ruthless. It gives him pause through the few days in which the counter-crew act in odd ways that catch his attention. By the time he draws conclusions on the situation, through a meld with the reluctant (strangely docile) Doctor, the alternate others are back on their Enterprise and his Captain returns, fierce and angry as ever.But now he has a key that he did not before: he knows that on this ship, somewhere, there exists the means to eliminate a man without warning, without contact. He discovers such through Sulu's statement of bearing witness to the event, insures that Sulu forgets it, and excludes it from his debriefing. There are silent dots to be connected and past events (assassinations) to peruse.When he locates this device at last, he will recall the tale of T'Pau's words, and the choice becomes easy. There is a Captain—and an Empire—awaiting the swift, unyielding hand of justice. There is a race who hopes in the recesses of their minds—who never forget their roots in Surak or their traditions, despite the oppression that bears them down. In the emptiness of the Captain's quarters, Spock will look at his hand, fingers spread in the formal greeting of Vulcan, and visualize an era in which all will "live long and prosper." So it shall be. -Fini
1145906	Hearts Desire	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski", "Fandom": "Teen Wolf (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Dira Sudis (dsudis)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-21T00:00:00", "words": "3,099", "Additional Tags": "Mates", "Relationship": "Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Fandom Aid Typhoon Haiyan", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"Hey, uh," Stiles said, pulling back a few inches from the frantic kissing. "This is--this is just, like, for a while, right?"Derek gave him a glare every bit as dubious as Stiles deserved for stopping the really pretty great kissing for this conversation, but Stiles didn't want to start this off by being a jerk or lying about what he wanted. Derek had been through enough of that."I mean, we're not committing to anything," Stiles persisted, leaning back against Derek's grip. "We can just--I like you, this is awesome, but I'm not, you know. Committing to anything long-term. Not now, with the Nemeton and all the--everything. Okay?""Are you committing to the next hour?" Derek asked, and rolled his hips pointedly against Stiles's."Oh, man, I don't know how you think I'm gonna last an hour, but sure," Stiles agreed, and Derek's smile was sharp and knowing before he pushed back into the kiss.It turned out Derek could keep things going for more than an hour, and Stiles was definitely willing to commit to the entire afternoon. A few days, and countless text messages--at least a third of them not even about sex they could or soon would be having--later, Stiles realized he should probably try having that talk again when nobody's dick was doing all the thinking. Stiles considered trying to talk about it in person, but pretty much any time he and Derek were alone they weren't stopping to talk. All of the actual conversing they did now was by text message, so text message seemed like the best way to do it. So just to be clear I like you and the sex is great but I'm not ready to get werewolf married. He stared at it for a minute before he sent it; it was kind of presumptuous, but Derek needed to understand. Stiles could feel the inevitability of him and Lydia coming from a long way off. He didn't think Lydia had figured it out yet, so he had about ten years to kill and seriously the sex with Derek was amazing, but he didn't want Derek to misunderstand.He hit send, and after a solid minute of staring at his phone, he set it down and turned back to his laptop. Of course as soon as he got half a sentence into explaining to the idiot on the Talk:Lycanthropy page why his edits were being reverted his phone buzzed, and Stiles grabbed it. Did I werewolf ask you? Stiles smiled a little at that, and then the next text came in. You're seventeen. I get it. Stiles scowled at his phone, his thumbs curling up, ready to argue. He'd decided on Lydia when he was eight years old, thanks, and he'd never wavered. Sure, he'd have been happy to lose his virginity to Heather, and he actually had finally succeeded in losing it to Derek. The making out and sex and arguing about movies by text message was great, but that didn't really change anything. Stiles was way past old enough to pick someone and commit. He just wasn't committing to Derek.On the other hand, it was probably simpler to let Derek think it was that. That wouldn't require him to explain to Derek exactly why he was so sure about Lydia, which would be sort of hard to do persuasively over text message. Even in person he'd never succeeded in making Scott--or his dad, who definitely should have known better!--really understand it. Stiles shook out his fingers, sighed, and then grinned and texted back, Speaking of getting it, you want to tonight?There was exactly enough of a pause before Derek replied for Stiles to picture him rolling his eyes and shaking his head, but then the text message came in. Sure. I'll order pizza.Stiles grinned and shoved his phone into his pocket, feeling completely virtuous. He could keep fucking Derek with a clear conscience now; his cards were on the table. The whole Nemeton thing worked out eventually, after a lot of blood and an unreasonable number of nightmares, and one of the many results was that Stiles had a lot more free time to hook up with Derek. Another one of the results was that Stiles had stepped up his getting-Lydia-to-kiss-him-outside-of-trauma-situations forecast from ten years to maybe six; five if he managed to go to the same college with her. For now, though, there was Derek: Derek's dick, and Derek's mouth, and Derek's ass and his abs and his hands and his stubble scraping over all kinds of places Stiles hadn't realized needed stubble scraped over them. Stiles didn't tell anyone about him and Derek, mostly because there was no point. Between half his friends being werewolves and his dad being the sheriff, Stiles had exactly no hope of getting away with anything unnoticed. He had two awkward conversations with Scott about it, got a single slightly impressed, thoughtful look from Lydia, and had a weird, circular talk with Deaton. He wasn't sure Deaton had actually been talking about him having sex with Derek at all, but if that wasn't it then Stiles had no idea what it was about.His dad didn't say anything, and didn't say anything, even after Stiles made obvious, marked changes in his sheet-washing frequency and use of Kleenex. He didn't say anything after Stiles bought condoms at the Walgreens on Main Street, or after Stiles went to the door to get the pizza at Derek's while definitely not wearing enough clothes and the person delivering it was Deputy Ruiz's daughter Amy. Stiles coped with the silent treatment for about a week after he became sure that his dad had to know and then he said over dinner, "You know, right? You have to know."His dad smiled slowly, sat back from his bean stew, and said easily, "I know many things, Stiles. Was there something in particular you wanted me to know?""No," Stiles said firmly, and then he lasted another thirty seconds before he said, "Me and Derek, we're. You're not going to arrest him or anything, are you?""Sorry, you didn't finish that sentence there," his dad said, raising his eyebrows. "You and Derek Hale are...."Stiles groped desperately for a word that didn't misrepresent things and didn't make it sound like something his dad should arrest Derek for and wasn't a word he didn't ever, ever want to say to his dad. "We're sort of. Hooking up. Casually. Mutually casually, he's not breaking my heart or anything!"His dad's eyebrows did not come down. "Son, I can't remember the last time you were casual about anything or anyone.""I, you know," Stiles said, because he didn't have a counterargument for that that wasn't I know you don't believe me about how the love of my life is going to be a literal magical big fucking deal but it is going to be a literal magical big fucking deal and it's going to be Lydia. "I mean, casual can mean a lot of things, in World War One there were these casual companies that were just all these guys who were left over from other regiments for some reason, that's what they called them. Casual, even when they were storming hills and stuff, it doesn't have to mean you don't care about it at all. It's just temporary, I'm just--Derek's just temporary. That's all I'm saying. We agreed on that.""You feel like you're left over from Scott's pack?" his dad asked, gaze turning sharp and thoughtful."No, I," Stiles waved his hands, like he could bat away the whole question of his place in, or not in, Scott's pack, because that was more than he wanted to deal with right now. "It's not about that. I'm just saying, you don't need to ask Derek about his intentions or anything, please don't arrest him. It's fine.""I won't arrest him without due cause," his dad said in a firm end-of-the-subject voice, and Stiles knew it was no good arguing with him about how he carried out his sheriffly duties.Derek got pulled over for phantom traffic violations six times in the next week and a half--never by the sheriff, but pretty much every deputy who saw him took a run at him. They all let him off with warnings, at least. Derek griped at Stiles about it but insisted it wasn't actually Stiles's fault whenever he tried to apologize, and insisted on going down on Stiles right back every time Stiles tried to make it up to him with blowjobs. Stiles took cookies to the station and talked to Marta for half an hour about how happy he was about everything in his life including his boyfriend who he coyly declined to name. After that they let up on Derek, so Stiles figured that was a win. At some point Stiles realized that he was spending three nights a week with Derek. Derek cooked sometimes, and sometimes Stiles helped. They did the dishes together after--Derek wouldn't let Stiles just do them himself--and then they would sit on the couch and watch TV or work on whatever required their attention until one of them succeeded in distracting the other into sex. Stiles slept over pretty regularly; Derek was good at reducing him to a puddle that didn't reconstitute enough to drive until the next morning, and cuddling was pretty great. Stiles still had nightmares sometimes, too, and it was good to give his dad a break from getting woken up by them. Waking up thrashing around in Derek's grip wasn't really better, exactly, but calming down enough to get back to sleep could be a hell of a lot more fun.In January, when the days were starting to get long and the afternoons were occasionally sunny, Stiles went over to Derek's after school on a Wednesday. They had pasta for dinner--meat sauce Derek had cooked down until it was almost chili, and tricolor twirly noodles because Stiles liked them--and they had the same argument they had had at least three times before about whether the meal could be called spaghetti when they weren't eating spaghetti noodles. By the time they were cleaning up, Stiles was outlining his plans for his next research paper, and Derek was arguing passionately about why Strunk & White's was a terrible style guide and offer-threatening to buy Stiles half a dozen others that he said were better.They took the argument to the couch afterward, and it fizzled out in favor of watching DVRed episodes of Criminal Minds, which they both found equally weirdly soothing. After the third or fourth time they forgot to fast-forward the commercials because they were busy making out, Stiles mumbled, "Bed, maybe?""Mm-hm," Derek agreed, and stood up immediately, tugging Stiles after him by the hand like Stiles might get lost or distracted on the way there. That had only happened once, and there had been some legitimately distracting weather visible out the bathroom window.They made it safely into Derek's bed this time, and Stiles climbed on top of him and got on with the kissing without any distractions.Of course, the quiet outside--just the sound of their mouths on each other and that little extra hitching breath Derek took between kisses, even though they were nowhere near straining werewolf lung capacity--meant that Stiles's brain whirred on frantically. After a few minutes of kissing he mumbled into Derek's mouth, "I'm just saying, they assigned Elements of Style, if I don't do it that way my teacher's going to take points off."Derek huffed against his mouth, whether at his argument or the fact that Stiles was picking up that thread again now that they were in bed. "Your English teacher," Derek said darkly, and then stopped. He stopped talking, and he stopped everything else, too, freezing in place with his hands spanning Stiles's ribs.It took Stiles a second to realize why--Ms. Blake seemed so long ago now--but when he got it he eased his weight down onto Derek, kissing along his jaw and nuzzling at his throat. Derek definitely would not want to talk about it, but he would have to let Derek indicate how much of a mood killer whatever thought process he'd just had was. Despite all the reasons he might have had for feeling otherwise, Derek still found touch comforting when he was in a bad place, and Stiles knew how to give it to him without setting off any land mines by now.Derek sighed around the time Stiles was rubbing his face into the base of his throat. His arms tightened around Stiles, and he hauled Stiles down so they were lying on their sides. When he kissed Stiles again he punctuated it with a mutter of, "Don't let anyone tell you where to put prepositions as long as you're completing your thought."Stiles figured that meant it wasn't too bad, but the kissing went on for a long time without advancing into anything except the two of them falling asleep like that. Stiles woke up to the incredibly weird sight of Derek still asleep, sprawled out on his back and taking up two thirds of the bed. He had one arm across Stiles, his hand curving around Stiles's hip. If Stiles shifted just a little he could rub his half-hard dick against Derek's forearm--except when he tried it, he realized that Derek's forearm was directly on top of his bladder, and the squirming involved tipped the morning balance toward definitely have to pee first.Derek still didn't move, though. Stiles looked over at his face again and realized that Derek was sincerely asleep, undisturbed by Stiles waking up. Stiles raised one hand to poke at Derek's defenseless face, but his heart gave a weird little twist before he connected, and he brushed the back of his hand against Derek's cheek instead, the stubble prickling at his knuckles. Derek's face went through a couple of weird contortions, trying to frown and smile at the same time, and he tilted his head toward Stiles's touch.Stiles just knew, suddenly. He didn't even question it, and there was no chance that this was anything else."Oh, fuck," he said out loud, and Derek's eyes opened, his face definitely deciding on a frown, although he rubbed his cheek against Stiles's hand as he did it. He only looked concerned, not angry. "Fuck," Stiles repeated, and he should probably be bolting from Derek's bed, but it was too late, way too late. It was days or weeks or months too late and he'd never noticed until right now. "Fuck, I'm sorry, shit.""Stiles?" Derek said slowly. "Too early. Try that again with words.""I'm sorry," Stiles repeated, and his heart was pounding pretty much exactly like it did when he was trapped in a confined space with Derek, in or out of a nightmare, "but we're mated for life."Derek rolled his eyes and turned on his side--though facing toward Stiles, not away--before snuggling into his pillow with the obvious intention of going back to sleep. "Werewolves don't actually mate for life, Stiles. That's not a thing.""Oh my God, it is not about you," Stiles insisted, sitting up and flinging his arms out. "Not everything is about you! I mean, this concerns you, because you're stuck with me for the rest of your life, but--"Derek opened his eyes again with a weird look on his face. Possibly he could hear how much Stiles wasn't joking right now."It's me," Stiles said, his voice dropping down under Derek's gaze. "It's--it's a spark thing. A belief thing, I guess, we--when we--my mom told me, before she died. Not the spark part of it, but she told me to be careful about giving my heart away, because whoever I gave my heart to would give theirs to me, and I would have to take really good care of it, because they wouldn't ever get it back."Derek's eyes narrowed a little, and Stiles looked down at his own hands. "My dad--he still wears his wedding ring. Some guys do that, but I talked to Deaton about it, and--we're different, my family, me and my mom, we do this to the people we love. I didn't mean to do this to you, I swear I didn't.""You meant to do it to Lydia," Derek said, and Stiles couldn't read anything in his voice.Stiles shrugged, his shoulders feeling like they were jerked up and down on puppet strings. "I--honestly, I always thought she could take it. And I figured I was probably getting back a lump of coal back, but--yeah.""You think I can't take it?" Derek said, and now he sounded a little amused. Stiles looked up as Derek raised his eyebrows. "You think you're the worst thing I've fallen in love with?"Derek still didn't look mad, and he didn't look appalled at all, and he didn't hesitate to say I've fallen in love.Stiles hesitated, and Derek lunged, hauling him down to the bed and rolling half on top of him. "This is the terrible thing that happens," Derek said, and there was an honest note of relief in his voice, almost giddy. "The other shoe drops and this is it. I can never fall in love with anyone else. That's what you're telling me?"Derek, Stiles realized, probably had been looking forward with terror to the possibility that he might fall in love with someone else at some future point in his life."Never," Stiles said, starting to smile, letting the guilty-fearful racing of his heart settle down into this: Derek grinding him down into the bed where they'd slept together last night without even fucking first, where they argued and cuddled and kissed. Holy shit, he'd fallen in love with Derek, and now Derek was his for good. "You're stuck with me for the rest of your life.""To be fair," Derek muttered, lowering his head for a kiss, "The way things go around here, I may not have to put up with you for long.""Okay, no, are you kidding," Stiles said, "I'm not letting go of you for--"Derek shifted his weight, and Stiles winced."For anything longer than a pee break," Stiles decided. "Just, like, hold that thought.""Apparently I'll wait for you forever," Derek said solemnly, and let him up.
1116426	A childs laughter	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Leia Organa, Bail Organa", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Jena Bartley (jenab)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-03T00:00:00", "words": "103", "Additional Tags": "Community: tpm_100", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Posted to tpm100 I have such a hard time trying to keep to 100 words.The high pitched laughter and childish giggles drew Bail from his work. He put down the latest Senate report, grinning as he listened to the sounds of his daughter's laughter echoing through the house. No doubt she was running her poor governess off her feet again.His child's laughter and happiness was such bright spot in his life. Every time he heard Leia laugh or giggle, it warmed him, gave him strength in the deepening darkness around him.Leaving his work behind, Bail went in search of Leia.
1183045	Rieaktsiia na striess	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey", "Fandom": "Teen Wolf (TV)", "Language": "Русский", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Lahaine", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-02-13T00:00:00", "words": "1,590", "Additional Tags": "Romance, Fluff and Humor, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Valentine's Day Fluff, Omega Verse, Alternate Universe, Between Seasons/Series, Alpha Lydia, Omega Stiles Stilinski", "Relationship": "Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	— И что я делаю не так? – Лидия протянула одно яблоко Эллисон, от другого откусила сама. Яблоки были сладки, сочные, какие бывают только в супермаркетах со «здоровой» едой. — Ты бы видела, какими испуганными глазами он на меня смотрел, когда я его поцеловала, как будто я снежный человек... Эллисон уже привыкла к почти ежедневной церемонии жалоб из серии «он меня не замечает, я ему не нравлюсь, что мне делать?!» Периодичность приступов после отъезда Джексона резко возросла, а с тех пор, как Скотт стал Альфой, Лидия буквально полезла на стены от ревности. Робкая попытка убедить ее в том, что тот с большей вероятностью подкатит к Айзеку, чем к лучшему другу, не возымела действия. — Не все альфы помешаны на омегах, Ли, — едва не взвыла Эллисон от очередного замечания о том, что Скотт сегодня таскал за Стайлзом сумку и преданно смотрел щенячьими глазами. – Даже так, большинство не помешано. Признай, только у тебя есть пунктик «Стилински», ты его даже к Дюкалиону ревновала...— Ты что не заметила, как он его облапал?! – воскликнула Лидия, привлекая к себе внимание всех в кафетерии. – Педофил лохматый. И Питер туда же. Эллисон закрыла ладошкой глаза. Потом подумала и закрыла двумя, очень хотелось постучать головой о стол, позволив волосам художественно растрепаться в дополнение художественной композиции «муки лучшей подруги», но мать всегда говорила, что боль надо уметь терпеть. Она терпела, видит бог, терпела. Только Айзеку жаловалась раз в неделю, ну, может, два раза. — Ты Лидия Мартин, ты не сдаешься, — сквозь зубы произнесла она, надеясь, что звучит не хуже, чем кричалка девочек из команды поддержки, — никто не может отказаться от тебя. А, если откажется, я его побью. — Я его сама побью, — обиженно заявила Лидия, надув губы. От этого ее жеста пару человек в столовой голодно облизнулись. Оно и понятно, Лидс была некоронованной королевой школьного бала, почти одинокой и достаточно недостижимой, чтобы к некоторым являться во снах. А ей снился Стайлз, которому, впрочем, не было до мисс Мартин никакого дела. Для проформы, его вообще мало интересовали антропоморфные формы, если не являлись частью одного из его экспериментов. Наблюдая за ними Эллисон прочно уверовала в злую кармическую иронию. — Если даже дарак не помог, мне уже точно ничего не поможет... – Лидия злобно тыкнула трубочкой в пакетик сока, силясь проткнуть ее насквозь. – Этот идиот мог погибнуть, если бы ей вдруг не хватило жертв— девственников, и я, правда, предложила ему помочь. А он мне впихнул тот пыльный фолиант и сказал «переведи вот это, очень поможет», я почти разрыдалась. Зачем, спрашивается, он интересовался у Дэнни, привлекателен ли он для альф? – шипела Лидия на грани возмущения и раздражения. Вероятно, ее окончательно допекли экзамены, приближающийся День Святого Валентина и дождливая погода. Погода исправляться не думала. Эллисон утром с тяжелом вздохом оставила резиновые сапоги в машине и в школу вошла в туфельках, промокших насквозь за дорогу от парковки до лестницы: красота требовала неумолимых жертв.— Потом эта тварь меня чуть не придушила, а Стайлз бросился меня спасать. И я уже думаю, ну вот, вот правильный момент! И когда я уже готова забраться к нему на колени и благодарить за спасение, он убегает за Скоттом, а потом не отходит от Коры. Пронырливая...Далее Лидия выразились непечатно и крайне витиевато. В адрес Коры она всегда высказывалась только так, потому что Кора была альфой, уже подозрительно, и постоянно «цепляла» Стайлза, непростительная наглость. «Цеплять» Стайлза имела права только Лидия, всем другим настоятельно рекомендовалось засунуть свои комментарии и руки... хм... подальше. А уж после «искусственного дыхания», репутация сестры Дерека в глазах Лидии была разрушена навсегда. — Это безнадежно, — Лидия отшвырнула сок в мусорку и решительно встала из- за стола. — Я приглашу его 14-ого на свидание, а он снова рассмеется, как над шуткой, или потащит меня в библиотеку переводить Бастиарий, как в прошлом году.— Ну, попробуй что-то другое, вдруг, до него дойдет. Или понадейся на божественное провидение.Прозвучало жалко. Эллисон никогда не приходилось никого завоевывать, она, конечно, была бетой, но в наши дни мало кому было дело до таких формальностей: беты, альфы, сверху, снизу – лишь бы предохранялись и головой думали, ну, хотя бы иногда. Лидия родилась альфой, ей нравилось приручать и покорять. Бетам такое отношение даже льстило, альф выбешивало, но с ними получался отличный жесткий секс на один раз. Стайлз был омегой. Кто этих омег знает, что у них в голове? Секунда – и он убегает по своим делам, забыв что вообще говорил с тобой минуту назад. Большинство омег существовали как-то параллельно ко всему остальному миру, будто и не соприкасаясь с реальностью, что позволяло им становиться блестящими изобретателями, учеными и инженерами. Природа создавала их гиперактивными, шумными, смешными, неловкими и, часто, пугающе гениальными. Лидия была первой по успеваемости в их потоке только потому, что Стайлзу нравилось спорить с учителями и пропускать контрольные. — Его интересует больше адронный коллайдер, чем я! – хмуро заметила Лидия, доставая учебник из шкафчика. – Он мне полчаса показывал фотографии из их лаборатории. Тридцать минут своей жизни я смотрела на металлические трубы и проводки, к концу не выдержала и говорю: «Знаешь, мне кажется, что лучшее изобретение человечества – это торренты, столько порнографии можно скачивать, но я не против образования черной дыры у меня под раковиной, мусор выбрасывать удобно». Как он на меня посмотрел. И после этого предложил запатентовать идею. Стоило признать, что Лидия помешалась на одном единственном парне, которого действительно интересовал адронный коллайдер, пожалуй, даже больше, чем оборотни, охотники, друиды и магия вместе взятые, даже больше, чем привлекательная рыжая альфа в его кровати. Десять лет, как помешалась, даже составила подробным план будущей совместной жизни, так что излечить «болезнь» не представлялось возможным. — А вообще я как раз собиралась в торговый центр, чтобы купить открытки... – Лидия мгновенно сменила тему разговора, когда Стайлз появился в конце коридора, она всегда так делала, хоть он бы и так и так не услышал: уши у него постоянно были заткнуты наушниками. Из всего опыта общения с лучшим другом своего бывшего Эллисон точно знала, что Стайлз ненавидит шум; он всегда что-то слушал, когда обдумывал очередную идею, посетившую его. Он помахал ей рукой и рассеянно улыбнулся. Эллисон кивнула. Подошедший Айзек пихнул Стайлза в бок, потом приобнял за плечи и вытащил его наушники:— У меня сегодня хорошее настроение, поэтому я хочу кого-нибудь осчастливить. — И? — Стайлз незаметно отстранился. Вот так виснуть на себе он позволял только Эрике и Скотту, но Эрики больше не было, Айзек не мог ее заменить. — Тебе нужно развеяться, я считаю, так что Лидия пригласит тебя на свидание, правда, Лидия? – Айзек подарил девушке самую обаятельную улыбку из сражающего арсенала. – В честь приближения Дня всех влюбленных. Как тебе идея?— С какой стати...— Да, приглашу, — выпалила Лидия и прикусила нижнюю губу, жалея о собственной слабости. Стайлз вытаращился на нее так, будто она отрастила себе рога. — Что обсуждаете? – Скотт подошел к ним. Эллисон не сказала бы, что альфой он стал выглядеть и вести себя как— то иначе. Пожалуй, превращение в оборотня уже изменило его однажды, остальное просто приложилось само собой. Она не знала его человеком, сравнивать было не с чем. Она как— то не решилась спросить у Стайлза, заметил ли тот разницу. — Лидия с моей помощью приглашает твоего недогадливого друга на свидание, — откликнулся Айзек таким голосом, будто готовился рассказывать длинную трагическую историю. – Стайлз снова сопротивляется, я не справлюсь без твоей поддержки.— Я хочу нормально подготовится к химии, кроме того, я уже два дня как обещал сварить то зелье для Моррелл...Его прервал прозвеневший звонок.Это было так безнадежно, что Эллисон почти взывала на луну, и посреди этой безнадежности находился Стайлз. Стайлз, который мог бы уже прекратить планировать сверхсветовые двигатели и обратить свое внимание на целую одну одинокую альфу, выплясывающую что—то виртуознее шаманских танцев вокруг него. Лидия покраснела и приложила все усилия к тому, чтобы ускорившееся сердцебиение и подергивание руки на подоле платья ее не выдало. Скотт широко улыбнулся, что—то прошептал Стайлзу на ухо и впихнул ему в руки учебник химии. — Удачи, и, Стайлз, не беспокойся, химию я пришлю, — он подхватил Эллисон одной рукой и Айзека другой и потащил по опустевшему после звонка коридору в класс. — Я могу сварить с тобой зелье для Мор.. – начала Лидия, когда Стайлз прижал ее к шкафчикам и коротко поцеловал. Поцелуй был требовательный, напористый, она раскрыла губы и потянулась к нему, притягивая ближе, поглаживая короткие волосы и чувствительное место за ухом.— Наконец-то!— Я думал, ты просто так каждый раз реагируешь на стресс, — выдохнул Стайлз не спеша отстраниться, он пах сладко, как сахарная вата. Его губы были еще в миллиметрах от ее, что заставляло коленки Лидии предательски подгибаться, а теплый клубок, свернувшийся внизу живота, превращаться в тлеющие угли. Наверняка, весь коридор уже затопили пресловутые альфа-феромоны. — Лезу к тебе в штаны, серьезно?— И шутишь про свидания, ага, снисходишь, чтобы проявить свое превосходство над..— Омегой? Ты идиот. — Ну, ты всегда встречалась с кем-то, что я должен был подумать? Я читал одно исследование... что Альфы... к черту исследование, — Стайлз едва не взвыл, когда Лидия прикусила кожу на его шее, ей не удалось сдержать довольное урчание:— Согласна. Стайлз был здесь, с ней, не убегал никуда и не пытался вырваться. Это было потрясающе. Головокружительно. — К черту свидание. Лидия оторвалась и посмотрела на него, недоуменно моргнула.— Кабинет Моррелл в это время дня всегда пустой и у меня есть ключи.— Я слышала, что омеги умные, но никогда не догадывалась насколько. *** Телефон Скотта Моргнул и он разблокировал экран, чтобы прочесть сообщение от Эллиосон:«Что ты такого ему сказал? Потому что это очень похоже на магию». «Сказал, что, если он не попробует поцеловать ее, то мы с заставим его пересматривать «Титаник» десять раз». «А если честно?»«Честно. Он всегда плачет во время просмотра. И, если это не помогло бы, то пришлось привязать бы его самого к кровати и отдать ключи Лидии, на их страдания уже было невыносимо смотреть». «Гениально». «Не хочешь к нам в гости? Раз уж Лидия будет занята вечером, а Айзек пообещал приготовить ужин. Подготовимся к химии». «Ну только если к химии», — Эллисон отправила сообщение и мечтательно улыбнулась.
1182811	Harry Potter and the	{ "Archive Warning": "Underage Sex", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Harry Potter, Molly Weasley", "Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by JessicaX", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2005-04-13T00:00:00", "words": "8,270", "Additional Tags": "Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Older Woman/Younger Man, Hot Springs & Onsen", "Relationship": "Harry Potter/Molly Weasley", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Fandom_Nerd123_HP_OneShots, Cheating Is The New Black", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Harry Potter and the Charmed Bath ~~ Chapter One: Bashful Boy At The Burrow Harry Potter had always loved summering at the Burrow. The surrounding countryside was very enchanting in a rustic way. The Weasleys only cut the grass immediately bordering the house, and the tall grass that surrounded it on all sides had a glorious scent, one that the ardently-maintained lawns of Privet Drive could never hope to match. Even a garden gnome or two couldn't detract from a glorious day such as this one. This particular summer day found Harry lying in the field, staring up at the spotted clouds. He idly wished to get in a bit of Quidditch practice, but there was nothing for it; the Weasley family had gone to visit an old friend of Mr. Weasley's, and though he was welcome to tag along, Ron had given him the distinct impression that he shouldn't, and that Ron himself would rather have remained behind. So here he was, being swallowed up by the grass, content to the fullest. It would be nice if Hermione was here, but she said she wouldn't be by until the following month, as she'd opted to spend some time with the parents she'd been neglecting of late. It didn't matter today, though. He was perfectly fine here in the grass, and he hadn't a care in the world. Someday he wanted his own home, and he hoped it would be this grand. Maybe not so far from civilization, but just so long as it wasn't stuffy and rigid like the Dursley's. Speaking of which, he must've begun to doze, as the next time a thought came to him, the sun was a bit further on in the sky. Now he felt slightly stiff all over. He realized this also applied to the contents of his knickers. He had a fleeting flash of embarrassment, then realized it was for naught. There wasn't a soul for miles, and nobody could care less. The Weasleys were to have afternoon tea with their acquaintance, then go shopping in Diagon Alley, so they most likely wouldn't be back until twilight. In fact... He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. The tall weeds were hiding him anyway, so again, nobody could care less... He pulled off his shoes and socks, stuffing the latter into the former. His t-shirt and trousers immediately followed, and he tossed them beside the trainers. He hesitated again. "Oh, why not..." He quickly removed his underpants and tossed them on top of the lot. He suppressed a nervous giggle as he returned to lying in the grass, wearing nothing but his glasses and his epidermis. He glanced down at himself and recalled the words of a wizard he'd overheard at the Quidditch World Cup: "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks." Harry found himself agreeing fervently; it was refreshing to feel only the wind against your body. Sometime later he was startled into consciousness by the sensation of something slimy landing on his forehead. His eyes peeled themselves open, and he found the sun had moved several positions on in the sky. Had he really been asleep for an hour? His fingers reached to his brow and curled around the body of a tiny earthworm. He stared at it as he sat up. The receding flapping of a bird's wings reached his ears. "Ahh," he said to the worm. "So you've managed a daring escape, have you? Off you go, then." He tossed it gently into the nearby grass and made to lie back down, when he heard a POP! and some hurried footsteps. Harry froze. Who could possibly be here, today, now? There was faint muttering mixed in. He stood on his knees, trying to see without being seen. If only he had the cloak with him... Unfortunately, all he caught sight of was a whip of green cloak and the door slamming shut. His hand rested over his wanger. Should he dress? He didn't think whoever it was would make a beeline for him when they returned, as they probably had no idea he was there at all. Then a rather nasty thought occurred to him. What if they were an intruder? The Weasleys didn't have much, but they certainly couldn't afford to be burgled. Erring on the side of caution, he quickly scrambled into his trousers, drew his wand (which was in the pocket) and crept up toward the house. He had just entered the clearing in front of the porch when the door burst open and the "intruder" emerged. "AAAAAH!!!" they both shouted. "Oh, Harry!" the ever-so-slightly plump form of Mrs. Weasley panted, picking up the tiny sack she'd dropped in fright. "You nearly made me soak my knickers! What..." She glanced down at him. "Where've the rest of your clothes got to?" "Oh," Harry said, suddenly remembering how nude he had been, and still was mostly. "They're, um, over there." He pointed in the general direction of where he'd been reclining. He idly wondered if he'd have a bit of difficulty finding them again. "I was just relaxing in the field, and I heard you rush the house, and well... I didn't actually SEE you, and I thought you might've been a, erm... thief or something. Sorry." He stuck his wand back in his pocket sheepishly. "Ahh," she said, eyes closing with relief, still panting and running her hand through her fiery red hair. "Quite alright, dear. Good to know we have you guarding the house, I can think of no man better suited." She opened her eyes again and beamed. She had that look playing across her features that she only had when looking at him, a sort of admiration. Of course, loads of people had that look on their faces when they saw him; one of the drawbacks of being the unwilling hero. But Mrs. Weasley always had a mixture of admiration, and... perhaps it was pity? Pity for being known as the Boy-Who-Lived, pity for having to live with the Dursleys for most of his formative years? Pity for being prophecied to defeat the most vile sorcerer ever to walk the Earth? Harry couldn't place it, but he didn't mind most of the time. It was nice to know that a few people knew what he'd gone through and seemed to understand. "I've just stopped back in to grab a few extra Sickles," she said, becoming aware that she was burning holes into him, "and in my haste miscalculated, ending up in the field instead of the kitchen." "I see," he said, trying not to feel too self-conscious about wearing nothing but his trousers, which he had thankfully fastened. If he got too self-aware, an embarrassing situation might "arise"... "You've got some muscle there, haven't you?" Harry blinked, then realized what she'd asked. "Er, yeah... I guess it comes from Quidditch practice. I've been trying to get more exersize so my game'll be better." He glanced down at his developing physique. He wasn't some kind of hulking beefcake, but at least he had tone now. She laughed apologetically. "Sorry, just that you don't normally walk around half-dressed." "No, I suppose I don't," he said, smiling. "I wonder why..." "Hmm?" Her eyes snapped open a bit wider, and her cheeks became slightly pinker. "Nothing, nothing. Well, I'd better be on, need to finish my shopping. Arthur and the kids'll be waiting for me." She rolled her eyes slightly. "I'm sure they'll all have landed in Fred and George's abomination of a shop." "Aw, they're doing alright for themselves." "I know, I know," she said with a sigh. "And I don't really blame them for leaving Hogwarts when they did, considering the circumstances. I just... I wish they'd have stuck to it just a bit longer, finished their seventh year and been done with it." "C'est la vie, right?" "I suppose." She took a deep breath. "Well, see you in a couple of hours. Unless... you're sure you won't come along?" He shrugged. "That's alright. I'm not too keen on traveling by Floo Powder today, and I'm rather content just lying in the field. I'll see Fred and George when I buy my school things for next term." "Alright, then," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. She gave a slight squeeze. "Ooh, firm. You keep up that exersize!" "I will," he said, laughing nervously. She smiled brightly, then with another POP! she Disapparated. Harry sighed with relief. He had felt very exposed and slightly ashamed the entire time she was here. He wondered if she knew he wasn't wearing his Y-fronts under his slacks? Probably not. Did she know he'd been lounging nude in their field?! Certainly not, he hoped. Either way, he thought it would probably be best if he just dressed again. He started walking in the general direction he'd come from, casting around for the rest of his things. ~~ Chapter Two: The Bathing Glade Charm Harry awoke the next morning to a knock on the door. His eyes squeezed slightly, then pried themselves open. He tried to answer whoever was knocking, but his mouth didn't seem to want to work properly. Sleep was still lingering on his brain, and for a moment he didn't recall where he was. Then, of course, he remembered the Burrow, yesterday, and last night. The previous evening, he'd finally found his things and gone indoors, so bored on this lazy day that he'd begun reading Hogwarts: A History. He'd only gotten through the first page or two when he gave up and settled in for a nap in an easy chair. An hour later, the Weasley's returned and shortly after that they tucked into a nice dinner of roast duck. They'd all turned in at the same time, but Harry couldn't sleep, probably because of all the naps. He'd crept outside and gone for a long fly on his Firebolt, careful to stay away from the roads and cities. He was thankful for the moderate warmth of the summer night, as he'd not changed out of his pajamas. His mind blearily drifted back to the present as the doorknob turned and Mrs. Weasley came in, wearing only a short nightdress and slippers. Not noticing him there, she bent down and began picking up the clothing littered about the floor... Suddenly, Harry was fully awake. His vision had been slowly improving ever since he'd begun charming his carrots (Hermione's advice), and she was close enough to him that he didn't need his glasses. Though he hadn't intended to in the slightest, he was looking straight down the front of Mrs. Weasley's dress, and unfortunately, from his angle, he could see straight between her cleavage and on through to her crimson-tinted bush. Harry was disgusted with himself. It was Molly Weasley, a married woman who was probably three times his age, the mother of his best friend, and he was aroused. Of course, he already had had the morning wood, but if it had been fading, it wasn't going anywhere now. He wanted to look away and pretend he'd never seen it, but as she bobbed up and down picking up things, her rather large, soft-looking breasts rippling, framed by her red locks falling down her shoulders, he found he was mesmerized. His hand had already crept downward of its own accord, and had just reached the strengthening bulge in his pants. He was afraid to move any more, so he just held it there. Then, without warning, she stood, yawning. As she stretched her arms out to the sides, still clutching several shirts and trousers and things, her thin white nightdress pulled taut over her full chest, revealing the slight indentations of her peaks. Harry stifled any sound he might've emitted, be it a gasp or a moan. Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still closed, sort of rolled her neck around, sighed, then turned away from him, bending to retrieve more laundry. A part of Harry had hoped that not being able to see down her dress would have lessened his arousal. Alas, it was the other part of Harry that was satisfied, as the new view he was presented with wasn't any less stimulating. Her bum, albeit not terribly slim, was quite round and had a good form to it. Also, as the nightie fell to about her knees, it had hitched up to just under her fanny as she bent down, and her bare legs were VERY easy to look at. He could still see her bosoms swaying to and fro from behind, and Harry was doing his best not to start panting. Then, to Harry's horror, she kneeled on the floor and began to dig underneath Ron's bed. Because of the way she was bent, her gown slid up her back, displaying her rear completely unfettered. Her legs spread slightly as she tried to tunnel her way deeper under the bed, and he saw far too much. "OW!" she cried, and Harry saw the bed move upward slightly, telling him she'd hit her head. She scrambled backwards out from under the bed, clutching her head with a hand that had a sock in it. She turned, staring at Harry, a terrified look on her face, her already-wide eyes going even wider as they settled on him. With a start, he realized he'd gasped when he'd seen her beaver. Her lips moved and no sound came out. The colour in her face had drained, but now it was rushing back into her cheeks, as red as her hair. Her other hand was hurriedly clutching at her gown, pulling it down below her chuddies. By now, her mouth had finally stopped trying to form a word, and was now simply hanging open, her breath coming faster and faster. Harry's mouth was also fumbling. He tried to think of something he could say, something that would make her feel less embarrassed, but he was too embarrassed himself. He felt like a pervert, just sitting there watching her like that, but if he'd spoken up, she'd have jumped out of her skin, like she just did. What did you THINK would happen? he asked himself. Did you think she'd just leave the room without ever noticing you were there?! Suddenly Mrs. Weasley squeaked slightly, her hands moving to her mouth. Harry followed her eyes and realized she'd seen the bulge in the sheets. He'd moved his pajamas down and was gripping his knob without realizing it. He hurriedly tried to push it back down, but it kept springing back up. He glanced back over at Mrs. Weasley, and noticed a strange look on her face. Looking down, he saw a puddle forming beneath her. Great, he chided himself. You've made her wet herself. At this, she burst into tears. Harry was frantic. He had to do something, ANYTHING to make this less of a disaster, but it seemed like anything he did would only make things worse. "Fine kettle of fish, this," he finally settled on, his voice quivering. She gave a short blast of laughter mixed in with her sobs. "I'd say they've rotted," she sniffled. "Listen, Mrs. Weasley, I'm... I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to-" "No, no, it's alright, dear," she said, getting up to sit on Ron's bed. "I... suppose I just put on quite a show for you, didn't I?" Harry gave a quiet, nervous laugh. "I'd say it was worth a Galleon or two, yeah." She smiled slightly. "That'll teach me to wear such a short nightdress around the house." "Or look into rooms more carefully if you're going to be bending over in them." Her smile faded slightly. "Oh, I am sorry, dear boy, I swear I didn't see you there, I-" "It's okay," he said, trying not to get her crying again. "I was sleeping when you knocked, or I would've answered... I meant to, I just couldn't wake up quick enough... and then you were... well... I didn't want you to think I was TRYING to..." "It's quite alright, quite alright," she said, the smile returning and her face flushing. "I can't blame you for me thrusting my jacksie in your face, now can I?" "Er, maybe it would be best if I just got up and washed or something..." She looked sheepishly at the puddle. "I'm in queue, then." He hesitated. "Mrs. Weasley-" She waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, go on, I'll just finish tidying up in here while you get on with your bath." "Alright," he said, sliding out of the bed, "I'll let you know when it's your-" He instantly realized his mistake, and though Mrs. Weasley's bulging eyes reinforced it, they only built on what had already dawned on him. "M-M-M-M-Mrs. Weasley-" Her gaze was fixed unmoving on his John Thomas, which he had had no success forcing back down and was sticking straight out of his knickers and into the air. He bumbled with trying to replace it inside his pants, but there was nothing for it; his hands were shaking too much and it was too hard to go anywhere very easily. His hands still wrapped around it, his eyes slowly raised to look at her. Her hands were at her mouth again, and he could see a trickle of liquid running down her leg and onto the floor. She still couldn't move her eyes from his thickening member. As his eyes moved over her, he noticed that her nipples were jutting out a bit. Harry felt so ashamed he could die. "Mrs. Weasley, I-" "Harry, come with me." He blinked for a moment, then he realized that she was moving out of the room. Harry, still trying to shove his piece into his pants, trotted after her, his mind reeling. What the bloody hell was going on?! Was she chucking him out on his ear, had he offended her too much? As he passed a bedroom, he heard her call something from inside. He went in, but no one was there. "In here," he heard her call from a door in the back. Stepping inside, he saw it was a lavatory, and the shower curtain was moving slightly. He pushed it aside hesitantly, and received a shock. He was suddenly deep in a jungle, and there was a waterfall nearby. The foliage was so lush and green, and when he looked overhead, he was surprised to see the moon and stars, as it was probably around noon. He turned to the shower curtain, and he saw it appeared to be a curtain of vines from this side. "Get in," a voice said. He turned to his left and saw Molly sitting under the waterfall on the edge of a shallow pool, her nude form obscured by the cascades. Harry blinked for a few moments before she repeated herself, and he reached for his pants, then stopped. "I'll shut my eyes if you like," she said, smiling sweetly. She did so, and Harry quickly undressed and slid into the pool, sitting across from her. Thankfully, his seat was a bit lower than hers, so his rock-hard wasn't breaking the surface; it seemed to be built something like a jacuzzi. The water was cool, but not freezing, surprisingly. As long as I'm here... He splashed some water onto his face, running his hands through his hair, and when he re-opened his eyes, he saw Mrs. Weasley had already done the same. Her hair had not been wetted yet, but small droplets of spray were clinging to it. Her chest was blurred slightly by the water running down it, and the water came up to just below her navel. If the situation wasn't so insane and he wasn't sharing a bath with his best friend's mum, he might have managed to go limp with the lessening of stimuli... but no such luck, of course. Suddenly she sighed deeply, bringing him up from the depths of his thoughts. "Harry, listen. This situation... it's very... difficult, I realize. We both needed to bathe, and I figured we might as well talk during it. I mean, we've already seen each other's goods, there can't be any harm in it." Harry grinned sheepishly. "I suppose that's true... alright, then. Erhm, this bath is nice... amazing, really." She smiled. "Standard Bathing Glade Charm; a combination of several charms, really. It became so common for wizards and witches some centuries ago that they named it... though most modern witches and wizards go with the normal bath." "Why haven't I seen it? Why's the other bath standard?" "Well, this is the master bath. Arthur didn't want both baths charmed like this, you know how he gets with muggle things and all, so the other bath is more traditional... but I wanted my glade in here, and he let me have it. Soap's there," she said, pointing to a violet cake nearby. He started soaping up with it as she continued. "Anyway... I'm not really sure what we should do about this. I mean, it'd be hard for me to get your... well that image out of my mind very soon... but you shouldn't think you have to go back to your Aunt and Uncle's, I wouldn't have it." He smiled. "I really appreciate you opening your home to me all these times... I only wish I could pay you back some way other than waving my willy under your nose." "I didn't mind much," she said with a slight smile. "But all of this wouldn't have happened if I wasn't bloody oblivious to my surroundings. I still can't believe I put my you-know-what on display." "It was quite a sight to see." He started to grin, then caught himself and stared downward. She blanched slightly. "Oh come off it, my body went to seed ages ago." "Well, if this is what it looks like after going to seed, then it-" He cut himself off again. "It... what?" "Well, it.. must've been flawless before." He wanted to curl up and float away through the pond and off into nothingness. "You... d'you mean that?" "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be saying such things..." He heard a slight splash and looked up. Molly was gliding through the water toward him, her peaks slightly above the surface. Harry began breathing harder, his eyes glancing around wildly as if someone would suddenly Apparate and see them bathing together. When he turned his eyes to her again, her face was a mere twelve inches from his as she glided to his left side. He could feel her hand underwater, stroking his leg gently. Her other hand reached up and caressed his cheek. "Harry... dear, sweet Harry..." "M-Mrs. Weasley, I, I don't-" "Shh," she said, putting her finger to his lips. "Just... just hush." He looked down into her eyes. They were glittering slightly, a turquoise colour in the artificial moonlight. He could tell she felt terrible about doing this, as did he. His hand went to her cheek almost on reflex, his thumb brushing a forming tear from under her eye. It amazed him that she suddenly didn't seem so much older than him... it amazed him even more than things like that were suddenly flashing through his brain. He shouldn't even BE in this situation! He shouldn't be naked in front of a naked married woman! Her hand shouldn't be touching his thigh whatsoever! He shouldn't- -Be kissing her. It had been so natural, so fluid, that he hadn't even realized it was happening until their lips touched. He just sat there rigidly for a moment, afraid to do anything. Then her right arm slid up to his shoulder, and he took her deeply, tongue exploring the inside of her mouth, his arms wrapping around her. He could feel her ample bosoms rubbing against his bare chest, her left leg draping over his, her pubic hair brushing against him. "Mh... Mrs. Weasley..." The woman in his arms broke the kiss and whispered in his ear. Her voice was choked, strained. "I'm sorry." Then she pulled away, a sinful seductive smile playing across her face, a hungry look in her eyes. "Call me Molly." Harry's confusion must've been obvious, as then she smiled wider and put an arm around his waist. "It's okay, Harry. Sit up here, dear." She patted the wall behind him, and Harry, curious, obeyed. She, however, did not get out, but moved forward. With no warning, she grasped his wanger in her right hand. Harry began to pant again, his hands grasping the side of the pool. It throbbed at her touch, and she smiled up at him. Then she kissed the tip of it. A shiver ran down his spine. He couldn't believe he was doing this at ALL, much less with Mrs. Weasley. Molly, rather, he said to himself. She really was a beautiful woman. Time had been extremely good to her; he couldn't see a sag or wrinkle anywhere on her. Couldn't that be because your glasses are off? a voice said, but he ignored it. She was nothing less than a gorgeous, kind, stunning creature, and he wouldn't deny her what she seemed to want, as much as he knew it was terribly, unforgivably wrong. Her lips wrapped gently around his manhood, and his mind went blank with pleasure. The inside of her mouth felt so amazing, so warm and soft, he felt as if he'd been transported to another world. His head tilted back slightly and his mouth opened as she began to suckle gently, her hands on the insides of his thighs. Then, to his surprise, she shifted and took the whole of his shaft in her throat. Mr. Weasley, you lucky bastard, he thought, a slight moan escaping his lips. She gave a muffled laugh, then began sucking in earnest, her slightly-damp red hair bobbing with every movement. He could feel his cock swelling at her ministrations, and he whiteknuckled on the edge of the pool. "Oh..." She stopped briefly to look up at him and smiled, then started going at it harder and faster than before. His eyes flew open and his jaw dropped, and he almost instinctively wrapped his legs around her back. He could feel his wang filling up, ready to burst at any given moment. "Ohhhh, Molly..." At that moment, she cupped his rocks in one of her hands, and began running her tongue along his length while still sucking. Harry couldn't stand it anymore. With a shout that would've awakened the dead, he shot deep into her throat, panting. He glanced down and watched as she swallowed every drop, caressing his sack gently as if to coax more from it, her beautiful lips still wrapped tightly around him. "M-Mrs-" "Molly," she reminded him, holding his softening cock in her hand. She licked her lips and smiled, patting his leg with the other hand. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He nodded numbly. What can one possibly say about something like this? "Good, good." She took a deep, settling breath and rose slowly. "Well, I suppose we'd better towel off and dress." "Wait," he said, puzzled. "What... what about you?" Her brow furrowed. "What ABOUT me?" "Well... I've been pleased, but you haven't." Her cheeks flushed a bit. "Oh, Harry, that's sweet of you, really, but I don't need anything..." Harry stood and placed his hands on her waist, feeling her supple skin beneath them, staring into her bright eyes. Since his most recent (and probably his last) growth spurt, they were almost exactly the same height; something his being a rather short person was a factor in. "I... I need to... you've done for me, and I wouldn't feel right taking and not giving back." He couldn't bring himself to tell her that in earnest, he wanted to, more than anything. "Okay?" She just stared at him, the confused, anxious expression still swimming across her face. He couldn't stand it any more, so not knowing what to do, he pulled her into a deep, subdued kiss. What the bloody fuck am I DOING?! he thought to himself. I have NO IDEA what I'm doing, I've never done this stuff before! While Mrs. Weasley probably had decades of experience (which she'd just demonstrated quite effectively), he'd only had a handful of quick snogs from Cho Chang... other than that, his love life had been empty as a cenotaph. In the absence of knowing what to do, he moved a hand down to her bum. It was as firm and smooth as it had looked, and he enjoyed the sensation under his fingertips. Molly, however, gave a short yelp. "Bit frisky, aren't you?" she giggled. "Well, it had been advertised so enticingly upstairs..." In response, she pinched his, a sensation he wasn't sure what to think about, but he jumped automatically. "Molly, how dare you!" he said playfully. Her nose crinkled as an impish grin spread across her face. "Mind your manners," he said. "Do I have to spank you?" "Oh, would you? I have been rather naughty." Harry began to sweat slightly. He hoped she wasn't serious; he couldn't bring himself to strike this woman, even if she wanted him to. "I need a time out, I'm sure," she said, laughing. Her eyes rose to look into Harry's. "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be going on like this, I feel like I've gone completely nutters, I..." "It's okay, I feel the same way." He kissed her cheek gently. "Mmm..." Taking this as a good sign, his mouth slowly moved down her neck, coaxing another quiet groan of pleasure from Molly's throat. As his mouth traveled down her soft chest, he could hear her breath quicken ever so slightly. At long last, he reached one of her peaks and took it in his mouth. "MMmh..." Her hand moved behind Harry's head, holding him to the spot. He continued to suckle, his tongue flicking across the tip, heated breath coming fast, his right hand fondling her other bosom. It was the softest, most luscious thing he'd ever held. He moved his other hand to her bum again, and this time her gasp was much more subdued. "Mmm, Harry, that's... th... Oh, Harry..." He couldn't quite believe himself, but he'd become slightly aroused again. He didn't normally this soon after taking care of it, but this was definitely a special circumstance. He began planting light kisses all over the knocker in front of him... "Oh!" She'd cried out the instant his hardening member touched her leg. He looked down, then looked up at her sheepishly. "No no, it's alright," she said upon seeing his expression. "Just... surprised me a bit." He laughed nervously, then went back to kissing her bosom, this time slowly moving down her abdomen, and pausing to lick her navel, producing a giggle from Molly. Then he reached the beginning of her pubic hair. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "if I'd known I was having company I'd have trimmed it up a bit." "I think it's beautiful," he said. He could almost feel her blushing. He slowly moved his lips down through the hair, pulling at bits here and there with his lips. She seemed to enjoy this, though her soft cries also seemed to hold some pain, so he restrained himself from doing it often. Then, when he had started to get fairly deep into the forest, she pulled back slightly. "What's wrong?" he asked, standing up straight. She panted, completely red now, shaking a bit. "I... I don't know about this... it's... you don't have to do it, Harry, I- we shouldn't-" "I want to," he said, hugging her and thereby grinding his wanger, now nearly full strength again, against her hip. He could scarcely believe how bold he was being. "W-well..." Harry put his hands on her shoulders and pushed down slightly, to convey that he wanted her to sit on the edge of the pool, and she did so, then she lie back. For a moment, he took in the beauty of her full, curvaceous form, how perfect it was from head to toe, framed by the jungle foliage; it was the most elegant and enchanting thing he'd ever seen, nearly bringing a tear to his eye. "Wake up, Harry..." He blinked, then blushed slightly. "Just taking in the scenery..." It was her turn to darken a shade, but even as she did so, he bent and planted a soft kiss on her toe, causing her to raise an eyebrow. "Starting at the other end this time," he told her with a slight grin. "If you say so, dear," she replied, supressing a titter. "It's just lucky they're clean right now." He smiled, but said nothing, leaving a trail of kisses across the sole of her foot and up her calf. As he passed her knee, she began to breathe a little faster, and the speed only increased as he moved further up her thigh. A light peck where the leg met the torso coaxed a slight moan from her, and her legs jerked together. "All right?" he asked. "Mmmh, yes, Harry," she said, both of her hands on the back of his head. He could tell she was hesitant to allow him to pleasure her, and though he wondered why, he knew he wanted to very badly, if she was willing. But as he descended again, her legs parted obligingly, and there it was; Molly Weasley's fertile crescent. NOW what? he thought shakily. He had never been this close to the female anatomy before -- the soft, pinkish lips, like glistening rose petals... the small jutting bit just above them... it was all so foreign. He passed a finger over the lot. "OhhH!" she cried quietly, clutching his hair tighter. He placed his middle and index finger on either side, lowering his lips toward her flower hesitantly, praying to any god that was listening, Please don't let me bungle this!!! He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then his lips parted and he licked. Molly's body seized slightly, as it had tensed in anticipation, and he could now hear her breath, almost feel her chest heaving from where he was. "That's, that's got it, Harry," she panted, "kh-keep going!" From then on, he simply did whatever came to him, sometimes preying on the inner walls, occasionally flicking his tongue over the clitoris, and sometimes merely kissing the area surrounding. The taste, the smell... it drove his senses wild. He began to feel a bit light-headed, but he blinked and kept at it. Not knowing what to do with his other hand, he threaded his arm under her leg and rested it on her stomach. As her shuddering gasps became louder and more frequent, he licked harder and faster, sucking on parts that he otherwise would've thought too fragile-looking to subject to such treatment. Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, his face was blasted with a hot and sticky substance. "Ahhh... hahhh..." Mrs. Weasley forced herself to her elbows, glowing exhaustedly at him, then she began to laugh. "What?" She must've noticed the puzzled look on Harry's face. He slowly reached a hand up and started pushing the fluids from his face. "Sorry, didn't mean to coat you in the stuff," she said, still giggling. She sat up, then got to her knees and licked his cheek, taking some of it. "I'll lick you clean if you want." "N-no, you don't have to," he said, blushing perhaps harder than he had thus far. "I'll lick YOU clean if you want." "I'm not sure I could handle it," she said, smiling mischievously. In the end, they both returned to the pool and washed Molly's cum from each other's bodies. A part of Harry didn't want it washed off at all, but the rest of him said it wasn't practical to walk around with it stuck to his face for all his life. In return for his very articulate cleansing of her fanny, she took a particularly long time washing his wanger, even though she'd devoured most of his cum. If she would've kept it up much longer, he probably would've shot again. As they finished toweling each other off, she said, "Well, the kids should be home in an hour or two, and Arthur will be home for supper, so I suppose we ought to dress." "I meant to ask," he said as he caressed her bosoms through the towel, "where did Ron and Ginny go today?" "A Cannons game. They wanted to invite you, but they just couldn't get you to wake up. Dead to the world, you were." "Oh, well. I'm glad I fancied a late-night fly, or they might've got me up." She turned and smiled into his bright green eyes. "Been a real corker, hasn't it...?" "I never knew a body could feel so much pleasure all at once." He was being totally honest; it had been the most exhilarating experience he'd ever had the fortune to have. "Oh, you do go on," she said, pinching his bum again. He smiled and grabbed a handful of hers, and she screamed, which quickly gave way to a fit of giggles. "Harry Potter, you are incorrigible." "My mental tides change under influence of heavenly bodies." She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't suppress the colour rushing to her cheeks. "Come off it, you. Let's go, then." Harry turned to go, then stopped. "What's that?" "Hmm?" He pointed, indicating a smaller pool half-hidden by large stones. "Oh, that's the hot spring... sorry I hadn't mentioned it earlier, sort of slipped my mind." "Understandable," he said, grinning. Then his smile slipped uneasily. "Mind if I...?" Mrs. Weasley also shifted a bit. "Listen, Harry, they'll be home after a bit... it's not a very good plan, dear..." He frowned, then nodded, resigned. "You're right, of course. Sorry... maybe another time." After a moment of hesitation, he kissed her on the cheek, then turned to leave. But she caught him. Her hand was clasped around his wrist and she was dragging him toward the jacuzzi. "Molly..." "Children are all spoiled, these days," she said as they approached the poolside, her towel slipping from her body. "Always getting what they want, aren't they?" Then she turned around and beamed at him, her face a shade deeper than her hair, and his heart leapt. He didn't know what wonderful thing he'd done to deserve this day, but he needed to find out and add it permanently to his to-do notes. "You know I fancy you, just a bit," he said. "Mutual." Her foot was slowly moving up the inside of his leg. "A bit." He grasped her hand and they both descended into the hot spring, slowly at first to get used to the heat. When they were both submerged up to their chests, they turned to each other. "Oh, Harry..." She placed a hand on his cheek, her eyes glittering once more. "What will I do with you?" "Do as you please," he said, putting his own hand over hers. Before he knew what was happening, she was pulling him on top of her. "Take me," she said, shakily. "Wot?" he exclaimed, slightly panicky. "Stuff me like a turkey... I want it terribly, I... I can't believe what I'm doing, but..." Her hand was already massaging his swollen member, so he probably couldn't have said "no" even if he'd wanted to. He responded by massaging one of her voluptuous breasts, using his thumb to play with her nipple. She smiled. "Cheers." "Anything for you," he said. Harry engaged her in another heated liplock, reveling in her taste. The swirling waters held a magic of their own that heightened the pure pleasure of every moment. His hands wandered all over every inch of her, his breath coming hard and fast, his heart pounding. As his eyes fluttered open for a brief moment he caught a glimpse of Molly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes squeezed shut, leaking tears that mingled with the water clinging to her face and the beads of sweat rapidly forming. Further south, the sensation of his wanger rubbing against her fur was driving him mad. She seemed to be able to tell, for without warning, she broke the kiss. "Go on," she breathed. As they re-entered the kiss, sweat began to pour down Harry's face. Before he had time to think, she was arching her back slightly, inviting him to be on with it. It seemed there was nothing for it. He knew he'd either have to plunge ahead, or he'd never be able to at all. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, cleared his mind, let it out slowly, and eased forward. "MmmMm..." His conscious thought seemed to leave him. Suddenly his brain was filled with a swirl of emotions, images, sensations, all alien to him. He'd never imagined anything could feel like this, so unearthly, so... wonderful. "Oh, Harry..." He was still pushing his length into her, the wet, soft folds closing around him as he did so. He felt like he could keep pushing forever, until she swallowed up his entire body, and he could feel her all around him for all of eternity. Then his pelvis was flush against hers, his jewels swimming up to touch her arse, and he hand no alternative than to pull back outward slowly. Distantly, he could feel her hands gripping him, and he realized he was gripping her, as well. "Harder!" Panting, he began pushing into her more quickly, the terrible, fleeting feeling that he would rip her apart rushing through his mind, only to be whispered away when the moans reaching his ears were of nothing but pleasure. He kissed her neck violently, giving her soft love bites as he kept pushing, then pulled. His hands passed over the soft folds of her skin, wanting to experience as much of her flesh as he could in a single moment. He could feel her breath hitting his skin as her hands curled around his shoulders, her fingers cutting into him slightly. "Oh, mh-Molly..." "Oh, yes, Harry, YES!!!" He could feel himself swelling within her body, forcing her inner walls to stretch further outward. He leaned forward slightly, bracing his feet against the bottom of the spring, and for the first time he noticed her legs were wrapped around his. He quickened his pace, thrusting into her rougher and faster each time. His breath was ragged, and he could hear her gasping for air. "GOD, YES!!!" He couldn't even tell who had screamed it, his mind was swimming so badly. Their bodies were moving as one, and at fever pitch. It was almost painful to him, but he could do nothing but continue; he wanted this, he NEEDED this. The feel of the woman below him, the heat of her body, her bosoms rubbing against his chest, her hands grasping at his shoulders desperately, and the water surrounding both of them... Then, just as it was almost more than his fragile psyche could bear, he stiffened, and he could feel himself spurting his seed deep within her. At the same moment, he was aware that she was shuddering as if being shocked. He was holding her as close as he could, his breath in her ear and hers in his. After what seemed an eternity, she became still, and lay back, her eyes glazed and unfocused, completely limp, save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Not wanting to burden her with his weight, he rolled to the side slightly and lay next to her, still inside her. "Mh... M... Molly... th-that... that was..." She smiled in response, her arm weakly reaching up to his cheek. He held it there. He was aware that the room was getting darker. He could feel her lips brushing his, hear her speak something softly, but it seemed so far away... He knew he was slipping into a dream, but no matter... he was here, next to her. As long as he could feel her beside him, everything was fine... ~~ Chapter Three: Epilogue He slowly became aware that he was returning to consciousness. Everything was still dark, though, and he was floating. Why was it so dark? Oh, of course; his eyes were still shut. How bright I am, he thought. He slowly prised them open. Suddenly he was fully awake. He was in the bath! He was still here, it hadn't been a dream! But... where was Molly? He looked around. Everything was as he'd left it; his bedclothes were nearby, lying next to the main pool. He was in the hot spring. But Mrs. Weasley had disappeared. He supposed she must've been impatient in waiting for him to awaken and gone off to do something else. Either that... or it really was a dream. Of COURSE it was, he couldn't have had sex with Mrs. Weasley! It seemed the obvious explanation. He got up and quickly pulled on his things, then headed out into the house, still kicking himself mentally for believing the dream to be real... and for having the bloody dream in the first place. He continued this as he changed from his pajamas into fresh clothing. He became aware that something smelled absolutely tantalizing. He followed his nose down into the kitchen, and there she was, wearing a maroon cloak and apron, huddled over the stove. "Wh... wha?" his still-groggy mind managed. "Oh, good morning, Harry dear," she said, smiling warmly, wand in hand. "Have a good nap?" "I... yeah." He moved a few paces forward, out of the doorway. "I... I think I had a dream." "Really? What sort?" "Well, I... I er... nevermind." His brow knitted. "But... Mo- err, Mrs. Weasley, did you notice me sleepwalking?" She frowned. "No, why?" "Well, I woke up in the bath... YOUR bath. It's strange..." "Well, that's where you fell asleep, dearie," she said, an amused expression on her face. "Why shouldn't you wake up there?" "But... but that would mean..." He studied her face very carefully, but nothing on it gave anything away. "Supper'll be ready shortly," she said, her voice even lower and warmer than before. "Ron and Ginny are outside, de-gnoming. They got home a bit ago, and I told them you were busy bathing." She laughed slightly. "They said you were a 'lazy sod'. I told them to watch their language and sent them out on the chore." Harry began to sweat slightly. "M-Mrs. Weasley... did, did we...?!" She held a finger to her lips. "Supper will be ready shortly, Harry dear." He sat down heavily. He couldn't believe what had happened! And it was REAL! He pinched himself to make sure THIS was real, and the sting told him yes, it was. He'd gone mad, absolutely wonky. He just had to ask again. "Mrs. Weasley, please, don't toy with me..." She sighed, then turned to him, her face looking slightly sadder than before, but still beaming at him. If he wasn't mistaken, it appeared her face had both more and less colour than before. "Harry... you know as well as I do that it would be best if we didn't speak of it. Nothing good would come of it." "But-" "Please, Harry..." He could see the pain on her face, and he suddenly realized what she was trying to convey to him. Nobody could know about this, not a single soul. If anyone found out, he would be ridiculed by his friends, hated by the Weasley family... and think of HER fate! The weight of it hit him as if it were a hippogriff. He stood up and moved toward her. "H-Harry--!" Before she could become more anxious, he flung his arms around her, laying his head on her shoulder. He could feel a sigh of mingled relief and despair escape her as she embraced him, one of her hands caressing his unruly hair. "I'm sorry, dear... I really am." "It's okay," he said, muffled by her shoulder. "I suppose I knew it all along." He wanted to stay like that just a little longer, but he grudgingly let go, afraid of being found like that. She beamed into his face reassuringly, her hands on his shoulders. "Harry... you're a strapping young lad, you are. I'm sure the girls are quite fond of you." "I suppose that's true." "Oh, come off it!" she shouted, waving a hand. "You're probably beating them off with a club! You'll find one you fancy, and that'll be that." He smiled a bittersweet smile. "I won't forget this." "Believe me," she whispered, "neither will I." As a POP! resounded outside signifying Mr. Weasley's arrival from work, she gave him a fleeting kiss. He knew it would be the last time he ever felt her soft lips against his, so he reveled in it, memorizing every detail. Then, it was over, she had turned back to the stove, and he was left standing there. As the door opened, he recovered himself, and ran from the room. As he listened to the sounds of greeting, he allowed a single tear to slip from the corner of his eye, but no more. Despite how horrible he felt now, he knew what she'd said was true. He'd keep his eyes open for a girl... maybe patch things up with Cho. Despite last year, he DID still fancy her. But he would never forget this day. Never as long as he lived. ~~ The End ~*~
1104872	Window To The Soul	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Tig Trager, Herman Kozik", "Fandom": "Sons of Anarchy", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Scribblesinink (Scribbler)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-27T00:00:00", "words": "3,285", "Additional Tags": "Phobias", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Following Kozik through the opening of the tent, Tig looked around, scrutinizing the interior. Despite the sunlight outside, it was gloomy among the canvas walls, despite―or perhaps because of―the colorful hangings that attempted to liven up the place. The air was thick, heavy and sickly-sweet with the smell of incense. Tig’s throat itched and he coughed; what Kozik expected to find in this place was beyond him. Fortune tellers, tarot readers, crystal balls: it was all a big steaming heap of bullshit.At least it was Kozik’s money that was being wasted on this crap, not Tig’s. Kozik had insisted on making a beeline for the tent, soon as they rolled into town and he spotted it among the other carnival attractions. It wasn’t what they’d come out for, either, but as they couldn’t make their move until nightfall, they needed to kill some time. Tig could think of a number of better ways to do that, though. He’d seen a bar advertising nude dancers and―he licked his lips―a cold beer would go down well, after the long and dusty ride they’d had.While he was muttering as much to Kozik, keeping his voice low in spite of himself, a curtain screening off the rear section of the tent was pulled aside and a woman stepped through. Tig assumed she was the palm reader advertised on the board outside. Turning toward her and squinting into the gloom, Tig found himself pleasantly surprised. Maybe Kozik wasn’t as dumb as he’d thought.Tig had been picturing the usual: a wrinkled old crone with teeth missing. Instead, the woman who greeted them was young and pretty, her dark green eyes heavily rimmed with kohl. A scarf covered her hair, except where a few wisps had escaped, revealing it was a deep auburn. What little Tig could see of her skin, beneath the patterned flowing robe with its long sleeves that only hinted at the body hidden underneath, was smooth and tan. Tig smirked; he couldn’t care less about her party tricks, but he wouldn’t mind taking her back behind that curtain and getting her out off those robes. See if she’s a true redhead, he chuckled, letting his gaze run her up and down openly, imagining her naked. She gave him a quick glance, and then ignored him as she took a seat and invited Kozik to sit down on the stool across from her.Her fingers, tracing the lines in Kozik’s palm, were slim, nails painted a blood red. She mumbled quietly under her breath, but Tig wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. It was all a load of crap, anyway. Kozik was sucking it up like it was the gospel, though. Or perhaps it was just her touch he liked. Well, maybe if she put that hand on Tig’s dick, he might be tempted to listen to her too.He sniggered; that could be a whole new market: dick reader.The woman shot him an irritated glance and Kozik hissed, “Shut up, dude.” Tig rolled his eyes and planted his feet further apart on the carpeted floor.At last, she released Kozik’s hand and sat up straight.“Thanks.” Kozik got to his feet. “Him next.”“Wha―?” Tig was pulled from a pleasant day dream where the palm reader was giving his dick as much careful attention as she had Kozik’s palm. “Nah, I―.” He didn’t get the chance to finish his objection. Already, Kozik had passed another ten dollar bill to the woman, which she deftly folded twice before slipping it into her robes. Mesmerized, Tig watched the money disappear.“Please, sit.” She gestured at the stool Kozik had vacated, her accent musical and exotic. Probably fake, too, Tig reckoned, shooting Kozik a glower before taking the seat. Bullshit or not, he really had no desire to have his fortune read. But she held out her hand expectantly, and, with a resigned sigh, he offered her his own.Her fingers were dry and cool against his skin, her nails sharp as she dug them into the flesh of his palm. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, so Tig remained where he was while she hummed and mumbled under her breath. “Well?” he demanded at last, running out of patience with the charade.“Eyes,” she muttered. “I see eyes.”“Eyes?” Tig echoed. What the hell did that mean? “What the hell?”“Eyes everywhere. Watching, waiting.” Her fingers clamped around his wrist, holding him in a surprisingly strong grip as he tried to pull his hand back.“Yeah, what the fuck ever!” He yanked himself free. She whipped her head up, staring at him, though he doubted she saw him. His blood ran cold in his veins as he caught her expression.“Eyes!” she cried out again, her voice rising with each iteration. “Eyes, eyes, eyes!”A shudder ran along Tig’s spine; this bitch was fuckin’ crazy. Shaking, he leapt to his feet, the stool toppling over as he stumbled out of the tent into the open field buzzing with fair-goers. The bright sunlight after the darkness inside made his eyes tear up and he squinted into the glare as he sucked in the fresh air, filling his lungs with oxygen to chase out the incense-heavy fumes. Taking another deep breath, he willed his racing heart to slow down.“What the hell was that, dude?” Kozik appeared through the tent flap. “You okay?”“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tig snapped. “Goddamn gipsy bitch.”“Hey, it’s all for fun, right?” Kozik gave him another concerned look and shrugged. “She’s probably not even a real gipsy.”“Whatever. Let’s go. I need a fucking drink.”Or two. Or three.o0oSeveral hours, and a couple cold beers later, the palm reader and her hysterical ravings had been forgotten, and Tig was focused on the job they’d come to do. Leaving their bikes a block away from the old factory building that was their target, he and Kozik walked the last part, long shadows trailing them as the sun set. Soon, it’d be full dark. The perfect cover.“Hurry up,” Kozik prompted as he kept watch while Tig worked to pick the lock of the factory door. “Let’s get this over with. You still owe me a rematch in those Bumper Cars.”Rolling his eyes at himself, Tig finally pried the lock open. Digging a small flashlight from his cut pocket, he switched it on and slipped inside to―. He froze mid-step, weight on one foot, the purpose for their break-in vanishing from his mind.Kozik bumped into him from behind. “Shit dude, get outta my way.”Kozik gave him another shove, and Tig stumbled forward an unwilling step as Kozik pulled the door shut after them, before adding his flashlight’s beam to Tig’s. In the meager light of both beams, row after row of mannequins peered back at them with dull eyes (eyes! a small voice gibbered in the back of Tig’s mind) painted on fiberglass molded into human shape. Eyes that seemed to be boring straight into Tig’s soul. Tig discovered he couldn’t look away, much as he wanted to.“Hey!” Unaware of Tig’s terror, Kozik tugged at his sleeve, breaking the spell at last. “Up there.” He pointed with his flashlight, the beam reflecting off a window set into the wall of a small office built on a raised platform. A steel staircase led up to it. From up there, the supervisor must have had a perfect view of the entire floor, back when the place had still been a working factory.Kozik was making his way toward the staircase. Tig trotted after him, glad he no longer had to face the damned dolls, but unable to keep from twitching as he sensed their dead gazes still aimed like laser sights at his back.They reached the top of the stairs and Kozik tried the handle of the door leading into the office. “Crap.” It was locked.Jostling Kozik aside, Tig crouched in front of the door, placing his flashlight on the floor while he fumbled for his lock picks. Trying to insert one of the picks into the keyhole, he nearly dropped it, he was trembling so hard. “Shit.”“You okay, bro?”Tig wiped his face with his sleeve. Was it hot in here? Pushing back to his feet, he shoved the picks at Kozik, hoping Kozik wouldn’t catch on to the way his hands were shaking. “Your turn. I’ll keep an eye out.”Even as he offered the trade, Tig regretted it. Keeping an eye out meant watching the floor with the dolls. But it was too late to snatch the words back. Besides, Kozik stood a much better chance at getting the lock to give than Tig in his current state.Kozik gave him another strange look, but accepted the tools and went to work.As Tig waited for Kozik to spring the lock, it took all of his self-control not to pace around on the small landing or tell Kozik to hurry. Kozik knew as well as he did their plan was to get in and out as fast as they could―if initially for entirely different reasons than the ones Tig was currently entertaining.Wait…. Did something move? Tig angled his flashlight, but the beam was too weak to penetrate far into the darkness of the hall. There! He swiveled on his heel, sure he’d caught something shift from the corner of his eye. He leaned forward, hips resting against the guard rail, to see better. Behind him, Kozik muttered a triumphant, “Ha!” and, loud in the silent hall, Tig heard the snick of the lock giving way. He started to turn back.“Meeooow!” Something small and black came zipping out of the office as soon as Kozik pulled open the door.“Fuck!” Kozik cursed.Tig, already on edge from the mannequins, sprang back. “Gaaah!” Losing his balance, he tumbled backward over the rail. The next instant, he landed hard enough to force the air from his chest and cut off the rest of his cursing.For a minute, Tig’s lungs failed to work. Then his brain caught up and he sucked in oxygen, at the same time trying to sit up. Somehow, his flashlight had survived the fall, and it revealed―.“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Tig swore, scrambling to get to his feet. Torsos without heads, limbs without bodies. A foot poked into his ribs and the curved fingers of an armless hand clutched at his jeans, unwilling to let him go. “Whoa!” He’d swung around and came face to face with a bodiless head. He couldn’t move, unable to look away from the head’s sightless eyes staring back at him. The nose was chipped, which was probably why they’d chucked it into the dumpster with the rest of the mangled mannequins.But Tig didn’t really care why the head was there. All he cared about was getting the fuck away from it. Tripping and kicking at the fiberglass limbs and torsos that ensnared him, he fought his way to his feet, at last managing to grab onto the edge of the dumpster. He held on to it like a man at risk of drowning, wheezing in quick, shallow gasps of air.“Hey, dude, you a’ight?” Kozik popped up in his line of sight, grabbing Tig’s wrist and helping him climb out. Panting for breath, Tig slumped to his knees on the dirty concrete floor. Blood was roaring in his ears, and his heart was racing a mile a minute. It felt like it’d burst out of his chest any second.“Christ, man. You look like you had a run in with a ghost, not a bunch of broken dummies.” Kozik was hauling Tig back to his feet, laughing.“Yeah, real funny, asshole.” Before he could stop himself, fear and adrenaline found an outlet in violence, and Tig swung a fist that connected with Kozik’s jaw, hard.“Shit, Tig. What the hell was that for?” Kozik clutched his jaw, glaring back at Tig.Tig gave a shake, not wanting to explain. Not really able to explain. He held his head hunched between his shoulders, hands curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms, and tried to collect himself.Something shifted in Kozik’s eyes, and his anger disappeared. “Crap, you’re really freaked, ain’t ya?” His voice had turned softer, more understanding.Tig shook his fist in Kozik’s face. “Not another word, you hear. To anyone. Not now, not ever.”Kozik’s lips twitched, but he bit back the smile. Smart man. He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”Tig forced himself to relax, making himself loosen his hands and stand up straighter, fighting off the defensive stance he’d fallen into reflexively.“Anyway, I found the disk.” Kozik held up the plastic case triumphantly. “Was in the drawer, right where McKeavy promised it’d be. Ten second job. So let’s get the fuck outta here.”Tig couldn’t agree more. He trotted toward the exit, not caring he was pulling ahead of Kozik. He just wanted out. He yanked open the door. “Oh shit.”He slammed the door shut again just as fast.“What?” Kozik caught up with him.“Albanians. Outside. Two vans. Just pulling up.”“Fuck,” Kozik agreed. “They see you?”Tig shook his head. “Don’t think so.”“Good. We gotta hide,” Kozik decided. Like Tig hadn’t thought of that already.“I ain’t goin’ back in there.” Tig jerked his head toward where the dummies were lined up all through the hall. “No fuckin’ way.” He’d rather face a mob of angry Albanians than deal with those goddamn dolls again.“A’ight. Upstairs.”Their boots pounded on the steel staircase as they ran back to the office. Tig glanced around, searching for a place to hide, while Kozik locked the door behind them.“In there.” Kozik pointed to a closet, barely bigger than a full-sized locker.“We can’t―.” The rest of Tig’s words died on his lips as below and behind them, the warehouse door slammed open and voices echoed through the hall, coming closer by the second.“No choice, bro,” Kozik whispered. “Unless you wanna shoot your way out.” The steel stairs started to ring with the clatter of boots.Fuck, fuck, fuck. Two vans, that had to be at least eight guys. Probably heavily armed. Against the two of them. And the Albanians weren’t known for their sense of humor or their inclination to mercy. So much for doing the Irish an easy favor that would pay back double in the future.Cursing their luck under his breath, Tig shoved aside some coveralls on hangers and squeezed into the cabinet without another word. The already tight space got even tighter when Kozik crammed himself in after him. “Ow,” Tig complained when Kozik stepped on his toes.“Shut up,” Kozik hissed, pulling the door shut behind him.Just in time too. The next instant, the light in the small office flicked on, piercing through the gaps between the closet door and the doorframe. Tig nearly went cross-eyed when he looked into Kozik’s face, mere inches from his own. They held their breath.Something tickled his nose―probably inhaled dust from those fucking dolls when he fell on them. “Ha―ha―.” He scrunched his eyes closed, hoping to keep the sneeze at bay. Suddenly, something pinched his nose. Tig’s eyes flew open and he saw Kozik was holding him between thumb and forefinger. Tig glared, but at least he no longer felt the desire to sneeze. Kozik arched an eyebrow in silent question. Tig nodded and Kozik let go.Several long, uncomfortable minutes later, the voices grew muted again as their owners walked out of the office. The Albanians didn’t leave the factory, however; Tig could still hear muffled sounds―someone speaking, footsteps―coming from somewhere else in the building. Crap, how long before he and Koz’d be able to get out of this box? His left leg was starting to cramp, and he fumbled to rub a fist against his thigh, hoping to relax the muscle.“The dummies.”Tig stilled and stared at Kozik, cramp forgotten. “What about them?” He kept his voice as low as Kozik’s had been.“They really freaked you out. Why?”Tig narrowed his eyes. “Thought I said: not a word about that.”Kozik gave a small shrug, more felt than seen. “Hey, you want me to have your back, I need to know.”“Christ, I don’t know, dude.” But he did know, didn’t he? He just didn’t want to think about it―let alone tell anyone, even Kozik. “It’s that lunatic,” he said. “The palm reader. All that ranting about eyes. Got to me, I guess.”“Hm.”Tig wasn’t sure if that meant Kozik didn’t believe him, or if he thought he was a fool for letting the crazy bitch get under his skin, but he seemed willing to let the matter go. At least, he didn’t say anything else, much to Tig’s relief. In the next instant, they heard car doors slamming outside the building, engines starting, tires screeching. They waited another minute, until blessed silence had descended once again over the warehouse.“Think they’re gone?” Kozik asked in another whisper.In spite of the small space, Tig managed to raise his shoulders. “Only one way to find out.”He managed to get his gun out from the holster under his cut, and gave Kozik a nod. Tense, expecting a warning shout or gun fire at any moment, they inched open the closet door. Neither shout nor bullets came, and Tig let out a sigh. Looked like they were in the clear.“Goddamn, look at that.” Kozik laughed nervously, pointing with his flashlight toward the desk.Smack in the middle sat a black cat, licking its paws. Had to be the monster that had made Tig lose his balance, earlier. It looked up at the sound of Kozik’s voice, its eyes glowing in the beam of the flashlight. Green eyes, not unlike―.Behind the cat, something shimmered in the shadows. Red hair, long robes…. Cold trickled along Tig’s spine and his heart jumped into his throat. Without thinking, he whipped up his gun, aiming it a fraction over the cat’s head, and fired three times in rapid succession. The shots echoed around the office, along with the cat’s screech as it flew off the desk and Kozik’s curse as, wildly angling the flashlight and waving his own weapon, he searched for the threat.“Jesus Christ, man.” Kozik cursed again when the flashlight beam settled, revealing more clearly what Tig had shot at. In the corner, behind the desk, stood another mannequin, similar to the ones below in the warehouse. Except this one―female, wearing a red wig and a length of cloth draped over its body―had three neat, round holes clustered together in the center of its forehead. Its glassy eyes stared at Tig accusingly.“I thought―,” Tig croaked, not finishing.“Obviously.” Kozik was shaking his head as he put his gun away. “Shit, remind me to never take you to see a fortune teller again.”Tig glared at him as he uncurled his fingers from the butt of his own gun and reholstered it inside his cut. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”Kozik paused with his hand on the door knob. “Nice shooting, though, bro.” He snorted a laugh. “I think you killed her good and dead.”Tig muttered an “Asshole” under his breath as he pushed past Kozik and clumped down the steps. But truth was, he discovered, as they hurried back to where they’d parked their bikes, he did feel better. If only he could solve all his problems so easily.
1119189	Under the Darkened Sky	{ "Archive Warning": "Major Character Death", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Newsies (1992)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by stillgoldie1899", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-04T00:00:00", "words": "1,113", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": "Les Jacobs", "Relationships": null, "Series": "Dreams and Sunshine", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	There were bombs landing all around him, dirt torn torn from the ground and flung in all directions, until it felt like it was hailing frozen mud. It was cold, and he was frozen through to the core, shaking slightly, with a soul-deadening sense that he would never be warm again.In spite of the cold, there still managed to be water, collected in the bottom of the trench he was huddled in, back braced against a damp wall of dirt. It had long since started soaking through his boots, and his socks, and he could feel the skin of his toes wrinkling, although that was about the only thing he could feel below the knee as the temperatures continued to dip.It wasn't as though he hadn't endured cold before. He had. He'd grown up in the city, running around on the streets selling newspapers when he could skip school, and on weekends. Even in the winter, amid the piles of snow, he'd stuck with it long after his brother had put his focus on his schoolwork. He had liked selling papes, liked the freedom it had given him, the sense of purpose, and the knowledge that he was helping his parents, and his siblings, out.He'd kept up with it, well into his teens, when he should have been spending his time doing school work and thinking about his future. He had never thought too hard about his future, a trait he'd picked up from most of the others. Although the further along he got in school, in life, the more bitter some of the others got about his accomplishments. And when he graduated, and got an offer of work at one of the local banks, it was the end of an era, for him.He stayed in touch with some of the others. Snipeshooter, whose real name was Stephen, was a good friend, and one he went drinking with on occasion after he got out of work at the bank and Snipe got out of work at the factory. And Boots was often around as well, although the older they got, the harder it was for them to all be public together without at least a bit of trouble.But he made friends at the bank, as well, and then he met Martha. She was...beautiful. Sweet, gentle, brilliant. She lit up his world, her smile could make his head spin, and for the first time in his life, he thought about the future. He wanted a future. With Martha.Sarah did most of the planning, he and Martha were both still busy with work and life. But the wedding was perfect, if somewhat small. Much like their first apartment, a cramped, almost miserable affair, with too many things crammed into too small a space.And by the time they'd reached their first year anniversary, they'd been forced to move into a larger apartment, with the arrival of their daughter, Annie. Perfect, just like her mother, with a scrunchy red face, and a set of lungs that could deafen god himself.He thought life was perfect, then. And it was perfect. For him, it was perfect, although he was aware that his sister was becoming an old maid, and that David was taking forever to find a woman of his own. His mother was sick, besides, and his father no longer able to work the hours he had been before. And he helped them, as best he could, but his life was his own. And it seemed as though it was going to be golden.But then, the US entered the war. The War, the Great War. He was almost too old to enlist, and Martha begged him not to, but he couldn't turn his back, when he had it in his power to do something, to fight for something. After all, that was a lesson he'd learned young- that if the cause is just, you should never give up the fight. And this was a just cause.He could still see the pain on Martha's face, as he kissed her good bye that day, kissed his daughter on the head, and set her off crying again. He laughed a little, because there was nothing else he could do. If he hadn't laughed, he would have cried. They were his world, his wife, his love, and his daughter, and they were worth fighting for. He would go over, and fight, and then come home, and grow old with Martha, see Annie grown up, and married herself. He would see his grandchildren grow up in a safer world.It was just that it was taking a very long time, and the fight didn't seem to want to end. Another explosion, this one far closer to his trench, shook the ground so hard he felt the dirt behind him shift, and he quickly moved to get out of it's way, in case it collapsed. There was so much noise, voices yelling, bombs exploding, men screaming, that it was impossible to make out what anyone was saying, to understand what the hell was going on. And the bombs kept landing closer, like a gunman slowly moving in on the center of a target, bit by bit, before he finally hit the bulls eye.He saw the bomb itself, for a split second before it exploded. And then the light was so bright it blinded him, the roar so loud that he couldn't hear anything else, would never hear anything else. He was flying, through the air, as though he weighed nothing, like a rag doll, peaceful for an instant before his flight was cut short by an impact with the ground, yards from where he'd been standing. And, for one horrible moment, his entire world was agony, there was nothing but endless pain that dragged that second into years, into eternity.Then it was over. Then there was nothing. Nothing but the memory of a beautiful girl with a baby in her arms, struggling not to cry as her love sailed away. Nothing but the love of his family, his parents, his stiff necked brother, his passionately foolish sister. Nothing but friends made in what had felt like long years, but really, years not long enough.The telegram nearly killed Martha. She knew, of course she knew, that she wasn't the only woman to have to open one. She knew she wasn't alone. But she was. She and her daughter were alone. Without him, forever. He was never going to come home, or see Annie married, or see his grandchildren. For her, for Annie, nothing was ever going to be right, ever again.
1157803	The Dean Winchester	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Katie (katieandsav)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-28T00:00:00", "words": "1,880", "Additional Tags": "Alcohol, drunk!Cas, drunk!Dean, drunk!Sam, Kissing, First Kisses, katie's shit", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“I feel rather intoxixicated, Dean.”Castiel’s announcement made Dean laugh. Not because it was particularly funny or anything, but because it was painfully true. The fearsome, wrath-filled angel of the Lord was sprawled beside Dean, drunk as a boiled owl, and having severe difficulty pronouncing the word “intoxicated” correctly (since Cas’ declaration, he’d attempted to say the word without any extra syllables at least a dozen times, but had not succeeded as of yet).Cas had long since lost any of the motor control he’d had before and had apparently developed a steady rhythm in which he knocked at least one object over every three and a half minutes (Dean had been timing him).Dean too had left the land of sobriety a long time ago—though, unlike Cas, he hadn’t become a complete and utter klutz. Once Sam had headed off on his date, the two had been at a loss for what to do. After around half an hour of awkward silences, Dean had lived up to the Winchester name and had brought out the booze. Castiel had not objected.“Yeah, you’re acting like it, too,” laughed Dean. He took another swig from his beer and swished the liquid around inside his mouth before swallowing. There was a grunt—presumably, Cas had knocked something over. It had, after all, been three minutes and thirty-five seconds—and suddenly Castiel toppled over so he lay with his head in Dean’s lap.Cas looked somewhat surprised by this development. “I did not intend for that to happen,” he told Dean with a befuddled blink.“You know,” Dean said, poking Cas’ cheek, “you’re way more fun to be around when you ain’t acting like you’ve got a tree up your ass.”“Then I shall stop acting like I have a tree up my rear.” Castiel nodded, then grabbed Dean’s hand and kissed the back of it. In the brief moment that Dean felt Cas’ lips on his skin, he noted that they were a little chapped, but warm.Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly but didn’t yank his hand away. “Sorry to break it to ya, Romeo, but you got the wrong place—Juliet’s down the road.”“According to your pixie tales, it’s tradition for the handsome prince to kiss the hands of the fair princesses he encounters,” Cas said with an amused smile.“They’re called fairy tales, and if you want a princess, you should look in the mirror, hotshot. Have you seen your eyes?”“I have a beard,” said Castiel matter-of-factly.“I have stubble!”“I never said the princesses couldn’t have facial hair.”“That’s contradicting yourself.”“That was avoiding the truth.”“That’s lying!” “That’s how you become president,” Cas countered, mimicking Dean’s voice.Dean shoved him playfully, resulting in a small sound of alarm from Cas as he clung to Dean so he wouldn’t fall off the couch. “I don’t sound like that,” Dean said defensively.“Yes,” Cas said, sitting up and looking at Dean seriously, “you do.”They sat there for a bit, staring at each other. It evolved into a sort of contest between the two—well, for Dean, at least. He was adamant that Cas would blink before him, but for what seemed like minutes, the angel just stared back at him with those blue eyes. Eventually, Cas blinked, tilted his head, and overbalanced so comically that Dean would’ve laughed had he not been what the angel fell onto. Dean was knocked over to lie on his back, Castiel sprawled on his chest.“Jesus!” Dean exclaimed. “You’re like a goddamn… a goddamn tree!” He paused and poked Cas again. “How’re you so heavy? You weigh almost as much as Sammy.”Cas seemed disinterested by Dean’s comments about his weight; instead, he lifted his hand to gently brush his thumb along Dean’s lower lip. He looked genuinely curious about something.Damn, he’s touchy-feely when he’s drunk, Dean thought. However, he didn’t object.“Dean,” Cas asked, “what does kissing feel like?”There was a moment of silence between the two.“Dude, you’ve never even kissed a girl? I mean, I know you’ve never done the horizontal tango but—seriously, what the hell d’you angels do up there?” Dean asked incredulously.“I told you, I never had occasion! And if you’re going to mock me rather than actually answer my question, then it’s best we drop the subject,” said Cas briskly.“No, no, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. Just. Cas. Do you even know how to kiss?”Cas hesitated. “Yes—it’s just pressing your lips together. Which is why I don’t understand what makes it so pleasurable for humans.”Dean released a laugh. “No, man, it’s more than that. It’s like…” He shook his head. “I dunno. I can’t explain it.”“Dean, could you teach me how to kiss?”There was another quiet moment as Dean considered this, then shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Normally I’d say no because, dude, you’re a dude. But it’s okay since you’re Cas.”“Should I feel offended by that?”“Nah,” Dean laughed. He leaned up and closed the already small distance between their lips. For a while, they just kind of sat there—well, Cas did. Dean attempted to add some movement to the kiss but for the first few minutes Cas just looked confused and was as rigid as a bar.Dean sighed and pulled back a little. “Cas. Are you enjoying this?”Cas seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking his head.“Exactly. Look, you can’t just… sit there. You gotta do something with your hands, first of all.” Without asking, Dean took Castiel’s hands and gently guided them down to his waist. “This is where you’d put them with a girl, see? Pretend I have hips.”“You do have hips, Dean.”“No, I mean, like, bigger hips. Feminine hips. Anyway.” Dean lifted his own hands, now, resting one on the small of Cas’ back and the other on the side of his neck, stroking the spot beneath his thumb soothingly. “Relaaaax,” he singsonged softly, nudging Cas’ nose playfully with his own. “It’s no fun for anyone if you’re all stiff and crap.”“My apologies, Dean.” Cas frowned, then immediately relaxed his stiff muscles. He stretched out on top of Dean, gripping Dean’s waist loosely. “Is that more appropriate?”Dean grinned. “Yeah. ’Specially what you’re doing with your hands. That’s good.” He slid his hand to the back of Castiel’s neck, carding his fingers through his thick, dark hair as he thought. “What’s next? Right. Legs. If you just… schlump on top of me like a dead weight, my legs are gonna go numb after a while, yeah?”“That makes sense,” Cas said as he moved a little to the side to allow Dean to prop his leg up. Upon Dean’s instruction, he parted his own legs a little, one on either side of Dean’s left leg, and looked up at Dean for confirmation. Dean nodded.“There you go,” Dean praised quietly. “You might move during the kiss, but don’t go all stiff again if whoever you’re kissing tries to change position.” He paused, then added, “Just don’t turn into a ragdoll either. Okay. Now for the actual kiss. The guy’s s’posed to lead, usually, but considering the fact that you’d probably just bash her nose you should probably let her lead. No offence.”“None taken,” replied Cas. He was watching Dean with an odd expression—curious, but content at the same time. Dean suddenly remembered that he was the first person Cas had ever kissed.“Okay,” Dean murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “You ready, featherbutt?”“I may be mistaken, Dean, but I doubt comparing your partner to a rear is particularly mood-sett—”“Shut up and just follow my lead,” said Dean, ducking his head to press a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. This time, thank god, it wasn’t as awkward. Of course, it was a little clumsy—teeth knocking, occasional bumping of noses—but Dean didn’t really care. He didn’t want to admit it, but the fact was that with each gentle movement of Cas’ mouth on his, he felt drunker than he had all evening.This continued for around fifteen minutes; at some points during that time, Dean’s lips found their way onto Cas’ neck and jaw. Dean was just reassuring Cas that the occasional light nip to the lower lip was a good thing when the sound of a slamming door reverberated through the bunker.“Sam is here!” a voice called. “Okay, so, my date was a bitch. Actually, she was a vamp so I had to cut her head off. Which kind of sucked.”Sam staggered into the room, apparently not noticing Dean and Cas (who were still kissing on the couch and not paying the younger Winchester much attention).“…so then after my fifth Jaeger, I remembered you guys probably had some rotgut so I headed back here—”There was a moment of silence.“Dean,” Sam said.Dean pulled away from Cas with an irritable huff. “What?” he asked flatly.“Are you shirtless?”“Yep.”“And are you making out with Cas?”“Yep.”“You do know Cas is a guy, right?”“Uh-huh.”“Alright.” Sam paused. “Why, exactly, are you making out with Cas?”Dean yawned and stretched, retrieving his shirt from the floor. (Cas had got a bit excited when he’d found out that under-the-shirt action was allowed.) “Cas wanted me to teach him how to kiss.”“Oh.” Sam nodded, his gigantic form swaying a little. Dean suspected that his younger brother was just as incapacitated as Cas and himself, if not even more so. Then, Sam frowned. “Wait, you can’t teach Cas how to kiss!”“Why not?” Dean asked, bristling.“Because, Dean, you always use too much tongue. I’ve seen you kissing girls. It’s like you’re trying to lick their faces off!”Dean scowled. “Well, I hope you know what that says about your kissing because, between the two of us, little brother, I’m the better kisser. At least I don’t half suck my partner’s face off. And, anyway, Cas asked me to teach him What, you suggesting you swap some spit with him too?”Castiel blinked, crossing his arms on Dean’s chest and resting his chin on them as he looked between the two.Sam seemed to consider this before defiantly saying, “Yeah!” and marching over to the pair. In one swift movement, he picked Cas up off Dean, tilted the angel’s face up to his own, and planted a fast-paced, albeit more than a little clumsy, kiss to his lips. He set Cas down after a couple moments. “There.” Sam nodded, then stumbled over to an armchair and collapsed in it. Within a second, he was snoring.Cas tilted his head at the Winchester perplexedly then turned back to Dean and carefully crawled onto the couch again. He nuzzled into Dean with a quiet yawn. “All due respect to Sam,” he said, his voice suddenly soft with tiredness, “but I much prefer your style of kissing, Dean. And I don’t think you use too much tongue.” He pressed a light kiss to Dean’s bare chest. “You’re a good teacher, Dean,” he murmured sleepily.“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said with a slight smile, but the angel didn’t hear him. Cas was already fast asleep.
1157762	Not The Blues	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Alexandra Cabot, Olivia Benson", "Fandom": "Law & Order: SVU", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Lilly_C", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-28T00:00:00", "words": "102", "Additional Tags": "Community: 100_women, Female Characters, Female-Centric, Chocolate", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "inking it out (2014-2024)", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Alex had spent the last ten minutes removing and silently counting the offending colour from her pouch of M&Ms, she pulled a face as the one she didn’t like started to outnumber the others that were lined up in order on her desk. “I should complain,” she muttered unhappily to herself.Entering the office, Olivia asked, “Complain about what?”“My M&Ms, there are too many blue ones.”“I don’t like the orange ones,” Olivia said, taking a couple of pieces of the offending confectionery, popping them in her mouth.“Hey! Save me some,” Alex said when Olivia took another handful.
1125122	A Better Night Than Most	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "due South", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Wagnetic", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-07T00:00:00", "words": "1,886", "Additional Tags": "Pining, Fluff", "Relationship": "Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Nighttime sucks. Mornings aren’t great, but they’re not too bad. Before Ray’s had his coffee, there’s a lot of grumbling and staggering around like a zombie, and after coffee it’s just the same old morning routine. He showers, gels his hair, finds something mostly clean to wear. It’s easy. Work is great, unless he gets stuck with paperwork, but Fraser normally takes over that part of the job anyway. He does the whole “official composition” thing a hell of a lot better than Ray ever could. When they’re not in the bullpen, they’re out getting into all kinds of crazy danger that really should get them killed but somehow ends with them saving the day. Their duet has been working even better since their adventure in the Northwest Areas. Him and Fraser, they’re a fine-tuned machine. As it turns out, living out of a tent and a dogsled in the middle of hypothermic nowhere really forces you to listen to each other, and they’re still doing it in Chicago even though there’s no immediate danger of death by popsicle-ization. So days are fine, days are greatness, and afternoons too, because they spend them at Ray’s apartment or at Fraser’s (and thank fuck he finally moved out of his tiny office and got a real place to live) and they have dinner and watch hockey and Ray feeds Dief junk food even though it makes Fraser grumpy. And all of that’s good, really good, but it doesn’t make the nights any easier. Nights always end up the same, with Ray alone in his apartment, which suddenly feels way too empty, and Ray feeling kind of empty too, like there’s a big chunk of him that’s missing. His apartment is too quiet since he came back from Canada, and that doesn’t make any sense since there were no cars passing by in the middle of the wilderness and there definitely weren’t any people yelling at each other right outside their tent, but still… It just feels wrong. Ray goes through his nighttime routine the same way he goes through his morning one, except that he’s always completely awake no matter how tiring his day has been, and somehow that makes the whole thing feel kind of sad. Then the sad feeling only gets worse once he’s lying in bed, staring at the ugly ceiling with the water stain in one corner. At first he tried to ignore the urge to mope, but it never worked and so now he just gives in and thinks about all the things he wants. It was a little like this after the divorce, except that with Stella, Ray had actual memories to draw from, but with Fraser all he has are fantasies. Really, he ought to just be glad that Fraser’s here at all. When Ray climbed out of thirty feet of snow and saw Fraser’s face out there in the middle of that ice field, he was sure their partnership was done for. He thought Fraser would stay up there in the middle of nowhere and he’d have to come back to Chicago alone. With Vecchio back in town, Ray would be back at his old precinct with his old shitty life and he’d be right back at square one. It’d be just like the last two years had never happened. He still doesn’t know what made Fraser decide to come back, but when he’d bought his ticket, Fraser had booked one too, and that had been that. There have been plenty of times when Ray wanted to ask, but he’s never actually done it. It feels like bad luck somehow—like if he were to bring it up, Fraser would realize what a mistake he made coming back to the ugly, crowded city. The thing is, Ray’s more than a little greedy when it comes to Fraser. No matter how happy he is that Fraser’s still here in Chicago, he can’t help imagining what it would be like to have him even closer. Ray wants him as close as possible. In Ray’s mind, Fraser curls up in the bed with him and puts his mouth everywhere or he pins Ray down and rocks into him, strong and desperate. Sometimes Ray imagines that Fraser, control freak that he is, would even let Ray lead. Why not? It’s Ray’s fantasy, and it’s not like any of it’s going to happen in real life, so why not take it that one step further? Ray pictures Fraser with half-lidded eyes and half-open lips, breath hitching as Ray nips at the patch of skin just under his jaw, and kisses the pulse-point at the base of his throat, and touches every inch of him. They’re good fantasies, but once he’s gotten off and he rolls over to burry his face into his pillow, he finds that he still wants more. He wants to come home from a run to the grocery store and find Fraser sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. He wants to kiss Fraser good morning, and to make him chocolate chip pancakes just because he’s sure that Fraser never had them as a kid and no one should go their whole life without eating chocolate chip pancakes. He wants to rub Fraser’s shoulders after a long day and wash his hair in the shower. If it was just a sex thing it might not be so bad, but what Ray really wants is the whole deal, and he wants it with Fraser and he knows that isn’t going to happen. And that just really sucks. But then there’s the case with Dan Marelli, a low-level dealer who they think might be part of some bigger operation, and somehow they end up following the guy to a gay club. Ray’s sure that seeing Fraser in that setting is going to kill him for sure, and man, it really does. The club’s all full of flashing lights and shitty music, but all Ray can see is Fraser, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand (an actual beer with actual alcohol, and since when does Fraser drink?) and looking just like he belongs there. He’s probably keeping an eye on Marelli, but he seems like he’s scanning the dance floor to see if there’s someone he’d like to take home and it makes Ray’s hands itch. He wants to grab Fraser and make sure everyone knows that Fraser’s his. He wants to stake his claim, which is D-U-M dumb because he doesn’t have a claim to stake, but his instincts seem to have missed the memo on that one. “I didn't think you'd be so calm about this whole thing,” he says. Better to make small-talk than moon over the Mountie. “I thought you were allergic to drinking and flirting and stuff.” “You’d be surprised,” Fraser says, and he looks downright cocky. That’s an actual smirk on his face, though anyone who didn’t know Fraser would think it was just a polite smile. “I have some experience with less traditional clubs in Chicago, actually. Remind me to tell you about the time I was charged with escorting the ambassador’s daughter. It was a fascinating experience.” “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Ray mumbles, and he glares at the bear in biker gear who’s eyeing Fraser from across the room. Back off, buddy, or I’ll kick you in the head. “Oh dear,” Fraser says, and Ray snaps back to cop-mode. “Oh dear” is the sign of oncoming disaster. “Oh dear” is what Fraser says when he realizes there’s a blizzard on the way and they’re miles away from anywhere. “What? What’s going on?” “He’s heading right for us,” Fraser whispers. “I believe we may have been spotted.” “Oh dear” is right. Marelli’s getting closer and closer and if they don’t do something now it’s going to ruin the whole operation. Ray does the first thing he can think of: he steps in front of Fraser, puts his hands against the wall on either side of his head, and kisses him on the lips. Stupid, stupid, stupid, but it’s too late now, and Ray’s never going to get another chance, and he wants this so badly. Fraser’s mouth is open, probably in shock, and it’s a bad thing to do but Ray takes the excuse to deepen the kiss. He slides his right hand down to cup the nape of Fraser’s neck, brushing his fingers through the short, soft hair. And before he knows it, he’s stepping in closer and clinging to Fraser, and his thigh is between Fraser’s legs, and Fraser is kissing him back. Fraser is kissing him back. Oh God, either Fraser is really determined to fool Marelli or he actually wants Ray, and the idea that Fraser might actually want him sends Ray’s body into motion. He’s rocking against Fraser now, desperately trying not to moan because it feels so damn good. He’s moving the hand that isn’t holding Fraser’s head down to wrap around Fraser’s waist and press him closer. Fraser pulls back, and his face is pale and that’s when Ray realizes what he’s done. He lets go, springs back. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to…” Fraser’s just staring at him. “Why did you do that, Ray?” He might as well come clean now. He’s already fucked everything up, so there’s nothing left to lose. “I wanted to.” He can’t meet Fraser’s eyes and he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets so he can’t reach out and touch. “Why?” Fraser asks again. Does he have to ask? Can’t he spare Ray from having to say this? But it’s Ray’s own fault and he should never have grabbed Fraser like that without his consent, so really this is the least he can do to make up for it. “We needed to keep Marelli from figuring out that we were watching him, but I mean, it’s not just that. I’m, um, it’s just...” It’s so hard to say, but he’s got to say it now. “I love you. I know how stupid it sounds, but I’m in love with you.” And now that he’s said it, he can’t stop. “I want to go to bed with you and wake up with you and wash your hair—” It’s too soon. It’s way too soon and if Fraser was freaked out before, Ray can only imagine how he feels now. "Thank God,” Fraser says, and his voice is soft and sweet, and he must have stepped closer because Ray can feel his breath on his skin. Fraser’s arms slip around him, holding him tight, and all Ray can do is cling and gasp and burry his head in Fraser’s shoulder. “Do you really want this? Are you sure?” Fraser lets out a breathy laugh and says, “You have no idea, Ray,” and he grabs Ray’s hand and guides him out of the club. “Come home with me,” he says. And Ray is a complete moron, so he opens his mouth to say “yes” and what comes out is, “I want to make you chocolate chip pancakes.” Fraser just grins at him and says, “You can do anything you like with me, but I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to first.”
1170964	Control	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Anduin Wrynn, Wrathion", "Fandom": "World of Warcraft", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by AurigaVenatici (p_3a)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-08-10T00:00:00", "words": "1,718", "Additional Tags": "Omorashi, Hand Jobs, Watersports, Situational Humiliation, Oral Sex, Dom/sub", "Relationship": "Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Wrathion was growing rather frustrated indeed with this particular champion.Usually, he didn’t mind their rambling, even if it went on for hours. In fact, he usually revelled in it – he was an inherently curious being, devouring stories that others told to turn into his own tales in time. Usually when the original hero was dead enough on whichever mission they’d met their match in that Wrathion could do so without fear of actually being accused of plagiarism.But this time, the paladin had been rambling on for hours, and Wrathion really needed to go.Oh, he’d tried several times to leave politely, to stand up and sneak off, to firmly tell the champion that he had other pressing matters to attend to – he’d even slipped in a few more flippant excuses (which his Blacktalons had raised their eyebrows at), claiming that, for example, Anduin Wrynn was on fire or that his room had been kidnapped. But the man in front of him had made it clear two hours ago that he wasn’t listening to a word Wrathion was saying – and clear again an hour and a half ago, an hour ago, half an hour ago, and just now as well.So Wrathion squirmed in his seat as the dwarf started with another ‘Oh, that reminds me of the time…” He couldn’t believe this. He’d even considered going before the paladin had arrived, but had neglected the opportunity, thinking that his next guest would be a quick turnaround before he’d seen exactly who it was. He should have known; the forces that be in Azeroth always seemed to have it in for him.He could think of nothing more embarrassing than actually showing this paladin how desperate he was, so he kept his shuffling and leg-jiggling to a minimum for as long as he could. He could feel the pressure building the longer the paladin talked, and the fact that this particular story was about where he was during the Shattering didn’t help, especially given it was on Stonewrought Dam.The paladin described the way the waters had burst forth in a great gush and surged forwards over the lands below, soaking everything in its path – and Wrathion felt his resistances waning, suddenly afraid that he couldn’t stand without leaking. But, he supposed, leave it any longer and he might not be able to sit, either; and besides, his tabard would do a neat job of hiding any… loss of control he did experience.Rather than make an excuse, he stood up abruptly and waved a hand to one of his Blacktalons to take his place listening. The paladin didn’t skip a beat, apparently used to being abandoned like this or at least understanding that the prince really did have to leave this time. He could practically feel the fluid inside him shifting as he moved, which made it all the more difficult to hold on – too difficult to climb the stairs, so instead he headed out the back of the tavern to find a suitably shielded place to relieve himself with dignity.His hopes of doing so shattered when he heard two words in that infuriatingly wonderful voice that could belong to no other than Anduin Wrynn: “Wrathion, wait!”He cringed and tried not to cross his legs too obviously as the three-tap footsteps approached him. Turning, he put on a pleasant smile and clasped his hands in front of himself. “Why, Anduin, what is it? If it could wait, I’d be most appreciative. I’m rather indisposed.”“If you’re about to sneak off for one of your top secret assassinations, Wrathion, then I’d rather keep you here,” the Stormwind prince quipped, but his eyes scanned Wrathion’s posture and the dragon’s blush deepened so much it was visible when he realised that Anduin knew exactly what he wanted to rush off for.“In fact,” Anduin said, approaching Wrathion and backing him against a wall, “perhaps I’d better keep you here for the greater good.” “Anduin,” chided Wrathion has he tried to squirm out of Anduin’s arms, “you know I act in Azeroth’s best interests at all times.” But Anduin pressed a kiss to Wrathion’s lips, wedging one knee between the dragon’s legs and abandoning his cane to press both of his shoulders to the wall. “I don’t trust you,” he repeated – quoting himself from much earlier, but with a distinct difference in tone. This time, it was an excuse. “You’re staying right here.”Wrathion let his breathless lips fall open only to have them pressed into another kiss. He was left absolutely hopeless with lust whenever Anduin got like this, especially in public, though a part of him still wished he hadn’t chosen now. That said, he had to admit – at least part of the thrill that rose in his chest and left his clit hard as obsidian was the fact that if Anduin Wrynn didn’t let him go right now, he was going to—He felt a few drops of urine escape into his pants, further soaking his already-wet underwear. He went to bend forwards, to cringe and cross his legs to stop further leaking, but found himself prevented from doing so by a grinning Anduin. He swore in Draconic as he felt more warm urine trickle down his leg – then as Anduin kissed his ear, gave up entirely with a quiet whimper.A deluge of piss flooded his trousers, soaking them through and running down onto the leg of Anduin’s which was wedged up against Wrathion’s crotch. Wrathion found himself rolling his hips down against the growing warmth, cheeks burning and digging his claws into Anduin’s shoulders until he consciously made himself stop.“I don’t need to leave any more,” he quietly admitted. That made Anduin grin. Oh, when had the older Prince gotten so deviant? Wrathion ever so hoped he’d had a part to play in that, but as of now he was far too—wait, where was Anduin’s hand going?The White Pawn’s hand weaselled its way into Wrathion’s saturated trousers and quickly moved to grasp his long clit between forefinger and thumb. Wrathion had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out as Anduin jerked him off, and he reached his climax in a matter of seconds, his forehead falling forwards against Anduin’s shoulder. Damn.He panted hard as Anduin softened his actions a little, gently kissing his cheek as he withdrew his hand. “Are you alright?” he muttered, and Wrathion nodded – then cursed himself for playing so well into Anduin’s hands. He was always so nice, and it was a trait that, thus far, Wrathion had been doing his best to discourage. He squirmed against Anduin again out of habit - oh, he’d made quite a mess, hadn’t he…Anduin reached for his cane again and backed up, then grinned at Wrathion. “I don’t suppose you could help me with a similar predicament,” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Wrathion smirked, bringing back some of his former confidence. “I suppose I might deign to do so, for my dear Prince.” Anduin gently directed the younger Prince to his knees – and what a sight he was. He glanced around to check nobody was coming before taking out his half-hard cock – Wrathion was all too eager to nest his head under Anduin’s tabard and take him into his mouth.It always took Anduin a few moments to let go when he was like this, but with a sigh he let his torrent into Wrathion’s mouth. The dragon swallowed dutifully for the first few moments - then, when it got too much, let the blond’s cock out of his mouth so the downpour spilled down his cheek and shoulder. The dragon always loved being marked by Anduin, and this was no exception; feeling the warmth soak through his clothes gave him satisfaction like no other.Once the flow had slowed enough to allow it, Wrathion took Anduin back into his mouth and, grasping his length with his hand, began sucking him off. He felt Anduin thread his fingers through his hair, then tug sharply as Wrathion began to build up speed – on cue, Wrathion gave a lewd moan, hating and loving in equal measure how easily Anduin could prompt him like that.The closer Anduin got, the more constant the pulling on Wrathion’s hair was, but he also brought his other hand to caress lovingly at the Black Prince’s cheek. When he finally gritted his teeth and went ever so quiet, balls contracting in Wrathion’s gentle grasp, his thumb continued to stroke at his cheekbone as he came deep into the dragon’s hot, tight throat.The irritating champion was forgotten as Wrathion purred and purred under Anduin’s attentions – he was always surprised at how… safe he felt while being so utterly debased by his fellow Prince. He caught Anduin as the blond’s leg finally gave way – he cursed softly in pain, but Wrathion kissed his cheek, pressing the clean side of his face against his lover and continuing to purr loudly enough that Anduin was quite afraid he might get deafened.“You should take a bath and we should go upstairs,” Anduin eventually said. “I need to lie down, anyway.” “And whose fault is the bath part?” smirked Wrathion, kissing Anduin’s ear. “Yours,” the other Prince grinned back. “Don’t pretend you forgot it was you who started this.” “It was not,” Wrathion protested. “I just—” “…held for hours with no intention of doing anything even a little kinky?” finished Anduin incredulously. “…well, maybe a little,” the dragon pouted.He stood and helped Anduin up as best he could without furthering the soiling of Anduin’s clothes. Although Wrathion could shift to whelp form to disguise his less-than-Princely state, Anduin could hardly do the same. At least the mess he had made could be passed off as a spilt drink for the time it would take for Anduin to find a change of clothes.“Meet you upstairs in half an hour?” Anduin suggested. Wrathion nodded. “Make it twenty minutes, my Prince. I only take a long time to bathe when I don’t have anything else pressing to attend to.” “And I’m pressing, now?” “Very.”Wrathion planted one last kiss on Anduin’s lips, then pulled away and shifted to whelp form to go and get himself cleaned up.
1143568	Gems	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Leonard McCoy, Pavel Chekov, Hikaru Sulu, James T. Kirk", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by dammitspawk", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-19T00:00:00", "words": "2,342", "Additional Tags": "Chekov finds some pretty rocks", "Relationship": "Pavel Chekov/Leonard McCoy", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The planet that they were surveying was close enough to Earth's physiology and gravity that it was comfortable for the away team but it's blue star made the life on the planet infinitely more interesting with its soft cool hues and purple plant life. Bones was still irritated by the fact he had been put as part of the survey team (sometimes he wondered if Jim could sense his mood for the day all the way from the bridge and did these things to bug him) but after getting a good glance at the planet his mood softened with the blue light. Bones also felt his mood lift a bit when he found Chekov, crouched down beside a stream looking at some very interesting rocks. The site of the curly haired ensign could take is breathe away with just the fact that he existed anywhere near McCoy. Even so every time he got those feelings he would mentally chastise himself. He had no right to be feeling that way around a boy of just seventeen, even if that boy had the cutest hair and the sweetest smile, and perhaps the most captivating eyes the doctor had ever seen. Right now those eyes were fixed upon a gem the ensign held in his hand. A glorious specimen to be sure, it sparkled like a diamond and nearly glowed with the beauty of the rainbow. The rock was pretty but nothing could compare to the glowing and sparkle of Chekov's eyes at that moment. He was so focused that he didn't even see McCoy approach him. Bones had to remember to suck all the air back into his lungs before he could speak. "Ensign Chekov, found some pretty rocks I see." Chekov blinked when he heard McCoy's voice. When he turned his head to see the doctor he smiled. "Yes Doctor McCoy. Zey are most interesting! Zey are made of a substance similar to mozer of pearl but in a form like a diamond. I hope to take some samples back to ze ship." Soon enough Pavel's eyes were fixed back on the gem and his tricorder. "Yeah I wouldn't mind one myself," the doctor said off handedly. At that point he wasn't quite sure if he was even talking about the rocks anymore. Just before he turned away he felt a small stone hit the back of his head. He turned in the direction of it's source and found Sulu by some plants. He whispered (loudly) in the direction of McCoy, "GAAAAAAAYYYY." Chekov didn't seem to notice but for a moment McCoy's blood boiled and seriously thought about maiming the Lieutenant until he realized he was joking. "Very funny," Bones said as he passed Sulu on the way back to his work station and hit him in the arm. By the end of the day Bones was positively exhausted. That blue sun was hotter than it seemed and after being out surveying the surface all day McCoy decided it was time for a drink and some relaxation time. Not sooner than had he put down his bottle than did Jim Kirk come sauntering into his sick bay."Hiya Bones," he said as he sat right across from him."God Jim can't a man have a moment to himself!" Bones said with a sigh as he leaned back into his chair."Not today," Jim said. He then proceeded to fill his ears about the boring events on the bridge that day. The only interesting part of the day was when Jim had beamed down to the planet to oversee the away team's surveying progress, but of course Bones had been there for that part."You would not believe these rocks that Chekov found-""Yeah I know I saw them," Bones replied in an unamused voice."Of course you did, doesn't surprise me," Jim responded with a slight roll of the eyes."What is that supposed to mean?" Bones asked as he sat up in his chair."Oh come on Bones," Jim started, "you were looking at Chekov more than you were looking at your work today! And it wasn't just today, I've seen the way you stare at him on the bridge when you think no one is looking. I'm just surprised you thought you couldn't tell me."Damn. McCoy thought as he took a final swig of whiskey out of his glass, his second, and filled it up again. I guess I wasn't doing as good a job hiding those as I thought I was."Jim there's nothing to tell," Bones tried. He had a feeling it wouldn't work, not against Jim anyway."Oh don't give me that Bones! I've seen it and I know you. There's definitely something in your eyes when you look at him," Jim said at he crossed his arms and smiled at Bones across the table. Bones sipped his drink again, looking into the glass before looking back at Jim. With a sigh he leaned back again."So what Jim? What am I supposed to do? The kid's seventeen for God's sake! I'm nearly old enough to be his father, I have no right. And besides that what makes you so sure he would return my feelings even if I tried. It's a lost cause Jim, I've had my heart broken before, I'm not about to go down that path again."Jim could understand Bones' feelings but he knew what was there and he wasn't about to stop trying just because McCoy was stubborn."And what makes you so sure that he doesn't return your feelings?" Jim asked. He knew more than he was letting on. Not only did he see the looks that Bones gave Chekov but he saw the way Chekov's head would always swirl around when he heard McCoy's voice on the bridge, how he would nearly ask Bones to sit with him in the mess hall before deciding against it, but most of all he saw the way the kid's eyes lit up every time Bones spoke to him, how he would subconsciously avert his gaze when McCoy turned to him as not to be caught staring. He enjoyed McCoy's company just as much as McCoy enjoyed his and they were both too blind to see it, thinking that the other would never accept and return their feelings. It killed Jim to watch it and it would change soon, he would make it change. Bones looked at him with an 'are you crazy' look on his face before turning back to his drink and shaking his head."Come on Bones, just give the kid a try! I know you want it.""No Jim," Bones nearly slammed his cup down hard enough to shatter it. The noise made them both jump."There is no way in hell that kid could feel anything for me and god damn it, it's wrong!" Jim could see Bones was becoming angry, but not at him, only at himself. "It's so damn wrong!"At that moment they both froze as they heard the swoosh of the sickbay doors open. For a moment it was silent until they heard a hesitant voice,"Doctor McCoy?" It was Chekov.McCoy's eyes widened and Jim fought the extreme urge to laugh."Uh in here ensign." McCoy said after he recovered, voice a bit unstable.Chekov practically bounced into McCoy's office but was taken a little aback when he saw the captain already there."Oh I'm sorry doctor I did not realize you vere still busy. I'll come back later," Chekov said, eyes now downcast."That's not necessary ensign, I was just on my way out anyway," Jim said with a sly grin at Bones who just glared at his betrayal."See ya later Bones," was that last thing they heard before the swish of the doors signaling the captain's exit."What is it you need kid," McCoy said as he put his whiskey and glass away."Oh zere is nothing that I needed doctor, I just came down to give you something," McCoy turned back to Chekov and noticed something in his hand. The kid seemed a bit nervous and wouldn't look at McCoy's face."Well what is it ensign?" Finally Chekov looked up at Bones and extended his hand, palm open, to reveal one of the glimmering gems he had been analyzing that afternoon."I heard you say you vouldn't mind having one so vhen I vas collecting ze samples I took an extra," Pavel had a pink tinge to his cheeks as he offered the stone to McCoy.McCoy was surprised to say the least. He hadn't thought that the kid had actually heard him when he'd said that and definitely didn't expect him to act on McCoy's wants. Bones reached out to take the stone from Chekov, their fingers brushing while he did. Chekov’s hands were warm and McCoy could have sworn he saw the kids eyes sparkle when their fingers met.Wishful thinking, the doctor told himself and quickly looked away from the young ensign."Thanks Chekov," he said a bit awkwardly. Damn this kid with his eyes and his hair and his sweet gestures. McCoy looked down at the gem, it was the same one that Chekov had been fiddling with on the planet. Some how it didn't look quite as pretty now as it had in the young man's hands, being studied and observed by his liquid eyes. Still the sides of his mouth twitched and he tried to cover it up by licking his lips. McCoy looked back at Chekov who quickly looked away from where he was staring at McCoy's face. Bones wanted to take the boy in his arms and kiss him senseless, run his hands through those golden curls and whisper into his ear. Instead he asked,"Is that everything ensign?"Chekov's eyes locked on his for a moment. They captivated McCoy as they always did but tonight there was something different in them, emotions that swirled in eddies around the liquid gems. Desperation, want, loneliness and a cry of 'please don't let me walk out of here alone'. The force hit McCoy so hard he thought he must have imagined it. Suddenly Jim's words echoed through his head "What makes you so sure he doesn't return your feelings?" McCoy swallowed hard before Chekov looked away. His expression dropped as he said,"Yes doctor, zat is all." He turned to leave before McCoy did something that surprised himself even more than Chekov.Bones reached out and grabbed his arm, not too hard but enough to cause the ensign to whirl around, nearly into McCoy. Chekov's eyes were alarmed but not frightened."Doctor?""Oh god I hope I don't regret this," and before Chekov could ask any questions McCoy crashed his lips against the ensign's.Pavel gave into him immediately, reaching his arms around the doctor's neck and pressing even closer to him. Finally McCoy gave into the urge to feel Chekov's curls and he moved their lips together as his fingers slid through Pavel's soft hair with both hands. Chekov's moan brought McCoy back to reality and in an instant and he pulled away from then ensign with such force it nearly sent him careening to the floor. Chekov's eyes burst wide open at the sudden absence of the doctor in his arms. McCoy shook his head against his desire."I can't," he nearly whispered. He stared down at the rock on his desk, he hadn't even realized he'd put it down, before taking in a deep breath.Chekov was still standing still in shock, breathing hard before a look of determination took over his face as he looked at McCoy."Vhy can't you? I can see you vant it, just as much as I do!" He came to stand right in front of McCoy, the doctor had never seen such a fighting light in Chekov's eyes."After all zis time you finally act and now you say you can't?"The doctor looked back at Chekov as he spoke."Kid you're seventeen! I'm an old man to you, it don't feel right!" Even as the words came out of his mouth he knew it was a lie and that's what bugged him the most, that it did feel right. It felt so right. Chekov raised his right hand to cover McCoy's cheek and looked him straight in the eyes. He had wanted this just as much as the doctor and there was no way he was letting it slip away now."How can you tell me zis," Chekov placed a light kiss on his lips, "does not feel right. Because it feels right to me." The young Russian had a pleading look in his eyes as he looked back to McCoy. That look melted Bones' heart and again he had to remember to breathe. He lost his resolve and in that moment he knew he would give absolutely anything for the kid."I-...I can't," he admitted.Chekov's eyes lit up at his words. "I knew it," he said before bringing their lips back together in a passionate kiss. They melted into each other's touch. One of McCoy's hands was in Chekov's hair while the other slid across his waist, both of Chekov's came to rest around McCoy's neck, playing a bit with his hair. For McCoy it did feel right after all this time and he smiled into the kiss. He could already hear Jim saying "I told you so" but it didn't matter any more. When he and Chekov pulled back for air he stared straight into his eyes, not ashamed to hide his stares any longer. After panting breaths McCoy spoke again,"Kid, you are going to be the death of me, one way or another." Chekov giggled a bit at this before replying,"Perhaps now it vould be appropriate to call me Pavel, Leonard." It was the first time he had heard the ensign call him by his first name and McCoy felt his heart swell."I guess so, Pavel."
1103840	Scars	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Enjolras, Grantaire, Les Amis de l'ABC", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by MisanthropyMuse", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-26T00:00:00", "words": "924", "Additional Tags": "Barebacking, Rimming, Biting, Rough Sex, Very tiny bits of angst because Grantaire's a cutiepie, Smut, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Top Grantaire (Les Misérables), Anal Sex, Oral Sex", "Relationship": "Enjolras/Grantaire", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, les mis", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Enjolras bit his lower lips for the umpteenth time trying to muffle a moan. Grantaire would have laughed at him, if he hadn't his mouth busy in sucking his cock. They had just ended a meeting, an especially inflamed one, one in which Grantaire had done his best to enrage the young revolutionary, and, as it often happened, Enjolras had taken shelter in the Musain rest room to calm himself down. Calm down his rage and another kind of fire. It was a kinda twisted thing, and it was a bit difficult to admit, but giving speeches about his ideals never failed to turn him on as almost nothing else could. The only thing that aroused him more than that was arguing over those ideals. Grantaire knew that perfectly. And, by now, he also knew what subjects to put on to fuel his friend, to make him crash against his limits, to make him curse and run to the rest room, slamming doors to show off his rage. He also knew how much time he had to wait before getting up and, with all the calm he had, reach him, looking forward to his sweaty curls and his tight jeans that asked with a certain urgency to be taken off. As always, none of them had to say anything. Grantaire pushed his rival against the tiled wall and took posses of his lips, grinning. Enjolras fought fiercely: he bit him, he jostled him, he punched and kneed him, he pulled his hair and tugged at his clothes. Certainly he didn't looked for his lips when they got out of his control, surely he wasn't longing for physical contact as a shipwrecked for firm land. "Get that fucking smile off of your face, asshole." he snarled with a very low voice, biting his ear. "Yes, Sir." Grantaire replied, pretending to be serious and kneeling in front of his leader. The first moan Enjolras tried to hold back was, as usual, when his jeans were unbuttoned and his pants lowered, freeing his erection in the moist rest room air. The second one when Grantaire took is in his mouth, deeply, and sucked hard. The others came in a quick sequence, following the lunges of Grantaire's head on his groin, the movements of his tongue across his thin skin, the accidental teeth that touched him lightly, maybe not so randomly, and made him startle. From the other room they heard Jehan making a smart metaphor about Enjolras' anger. Grantaire pulled apart from the above-mentioned angry boy and made him turn around, starting to rim him greedily, lubricating him as much as he could. Bossuet told Jehan that Enjolras' passion could serve him better in other activities. Enjolras would have laughed at their foolishness and naivety, if only he hadn't been too busy in holding back otherwise obscene moans. Grantaire got up, taking a moment to stretch his aching knees, and then lowered his jeans, rubbing Enjolras' dilated hole with the tip of his cock, making him startle again. "Hurry up." Enjolras ordered in a rough voice, panting and parting his legs. Grantaire plunged into him right when Musichetta suggested with a giggle an alternate activity to his talking, making everybody laugh. Luckily, the two boys thought, for they covered the scream Enjolras couldn't contain. "I said hurry up." he snarled. Grantaire smiled and obeyed. Enjolras kept a hand on Grantaire's thigh, digging his nails into his flesh, and the other in his own mouth, biting it not to scream. Grantaire was fast and strong, making his friend shiver with every push. He knew he was hurting him, but he also knew that Enjolras liked it. They were constantly hurting each other, in words and in deeds. Scars marked both their skins, but only Grantaire's heart. He shook his head to send away that thought, and dig his face into the curve of Enjolras' neck, biting him. Marius, alarmed by the silence, asked if they should go and check if the two guys had murdered each other. Combeferre calmed him, reminding him that those two were, weirdly, completely able to end their own fight in a peaceful way, on their own. Bless you, Combeferre, they thought, once again simultaneously, already close to their climax. "Come inside." Enjolras moaned. Surely he didn't want to say that in such a squeaky voice, but in that moment it was hard to have control. Grantaire moved along the wall until they reached a urinal. Once assured that Enjolras' cock was right above the porcelain, he grabbed it and started stroking it hard. The less signs they'd left, the better it would have been, and stains of seed on the floor weren't actually a secret. A few other minutes passed, a few other pushes and a few other moans before they both came, together, Enjolras shooting into the urinal and Grantaire inside his lover, feeling his own seed wrapping his cock, scorching against his sensible skin. Enjolras waited until his breath calmed down and his legs stopped shivering before pulling away and getting into a stall to clean himself up. Grantaire approached to a sink instead and cleaned himself with a handkerchief while smiling at himself through the mirror. Then he put his clothes back on, slowly, washed his face and hands, trying to calm down, to look like someone who just had a difficult conversation and not a quick fuck. "I'm leaving." he said then to Enjolras, who answered with a sigh. As always, none of them would have said anything else.
1159860	Not About Dolphins	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Matsuoka Rin, Nitori Aiichirou", "Fandom": "Free!", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by sarahnlove", "chapters": "3/?", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-29T00:00:00", "words": "3,371", "Additional Tags": "Fluff, ALL THE FLUFF, Misunderstandings, MY BABIES, My First Fanfic, Confessions, Blow Jobs, Porn With Plot, Lots of plot, my first time ever writing something like this, Oh My God", "Relationship": "Matsuoka Rin/Nitori Aiichirou", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It was late on a January Tuesday night and Ai was just about to fall asleep when he heard Rin enter the room. Rin was very careful and quiet like always, not wanting to wake up his roommate. Ai was facing the wall so Rin could not see that his eyes were open or that his cheeks were bright red. Ai has liked Rin since the day he moved in and he hoped that Rin liked him back, but there was no way Rin would ever like a boy... Especially one like Ai. “Shut up!” Ai thought to himself. Rin quietly sat his bag down and went to the bathroom for a shower. He had finally finished his nightly workout so he was exhausted. His shower was short but for him, it felt like forever. He spent just long enough drying his hair to make it look presentable. After, he put on the tank top that he knew made Ai blush and stare a little longer while trying not to notice his hands shaking. “This is it,” he whispered to himself in the mirror. Ai was startled out of his semi-conscious state when he heard the bathroom door open. He nuzzled his face into his warm fluffy blanket and hoped that Rin hadn’t noticed. For days, he had been trying to find the right time to not only confess his love to Rin, but to at least come out to him. Thought Ai was fairly sure the whole swim team, no, the whole school knew he was gay, he knew Rin was oblivious to things like that. He wasn’t afraid Rin wouldn’t accept his orientation, but he was terrified that Rin might get mad at him for not saying anything sooner. It was almost February but they still hadn’t talked about relationships yet, so he had never felt that he needed to bring it up. Rin was shaking all over. His nerves had finally won so he stopped for a while and sat down on his bunk. He hoped that Ai was actually asleep so he couldn’t hear the way his breathing was starting to sound. Rin’s legs turned to jelly as he tried to stand back up so he grabbed the railing to the side of the bunk bed and pulled himself into a standing position. This was it. This is what he was planning to do for so long. Ai heard Rin get up and wondered if he was getting sick. His breathing made him sound like he was going to throw up and he had never needed the railing to stand up before. Ai started to roll over when he caught a glimpse of Rin’s bright red face. “Matsuoka-senpai! Are you alright?!” Ai nearly yelled. Rin froze. He never expected Ai to be awake. “Nitori! Um… you’re awake? Did I wake you up?” Rin grumbled. “No, Senpai, I was already awake. Are you sure you’re okay though? You sound like-“ “Ai.” Ai froze. This was the first time his senpai had ever called him by his name. “Come down here so we can talk,” Rin mumbled. Ai nervously got up and climbed down the ladder from his bunk. He had no idea why Rin would want to talk so late at night. He began to feel his stomach drop when Rin started pacing. He realized what was going on. Someone had told Rin. Rin had read his Journal. Something had happened and Rin knew the truth and he was absolutely horrified. Rin realized how upset Ai looked and sat him down on the lower bunk. He could feel his cheeks burning and tried to speak but all that came out was a choked stutter. This was not him. He’s not this weak. Why was it always so hard for him to express his feelings to people? He silently counted to ten and took a few deep breaths before looking at Ai. “Ai… Are you straight?” He asked nervously Ai lost it. His face was burning and soon tears were streaming down his cheeks. He started sobbing out apologies about how he should have told Rin sooner and that he’s a horrible roommate and kouhai. When he was no longer able to speak, he finally looked up at his senpai and recognized the face that Rin was now making. He wasn’t upset. No, he looked terrified. “I’M SO SORRY, SENPAI! You don’t have to be my roommate anymore! I can move out!” He cried. Rin had no idea what to say. Why did Nitori think he was mad? Why hasn’t he said anything to calm him down yet? His mind went blank and before he knew it, he was reaching out to pull Ai in for a hug. “W-w-what’s going on Matsuoka-senpai?” Ai gasped. He was astonished. “Ai. I need to talk to you, so please breathe.” Rin whispered gently and leaned back out of the hug. “Now, I’m not very good at things like this, but when we talk I feel like I can tell you anything, so I’m just going to say it. “Ai, I like you. I have since we first met. You don’t have to accept me, but I think you should know.” Ai thought he was going to die or that maybe he had suffocated on his blanket when Rin went to shower and that he actually was dead. He couldn’t do anything but stare blankly at his hands and blink for a few moments. “If you don’t like me back, I understand. We can just go back to nor-“ “I like you too,” Ai whispered. “Y-you do? Are you sure?” good one… Rin thought “I have for a while too. I thought you were straight,” Ai admitted. He had no idea what Rin liked outside of swimming, so he hadn’t really considered that Rin might actually like guys. “Well I don’t know what I am and I don't really care. If I like someone, I like someone, whether they’re a girl or not.” Rin admitted. He had never felt the need to put a label on his sexuality just as he had never cared about anyone else’s until now. “So... What now?” Ai asked timidly. “Um... We can’t really go anywhere… everything’s closed around campus.” Rin sighed. “Wanna watch a movie?” Ai asked. “Sure, as long as it’s not about dolphins.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Rin rolls over for what must be the 50th time since he laid down. He halfheartedly looks at the clock then slams his face down into the pillow when he makes out the numbers 3:00. For the first time in the 2 months since he and Ai began dating, the sound of Ai slowly breathing hasn't been enough to kill him to sleep. Rin doesn't want to wake his slumbering boyfriend, but he needs to do something other than stare at the walls all night.After a few minutes of debating internally, Rin sits up and blinks lazily towards the bathroom. He gets off his bunk, pillow in hand, and looks over the railing at his boyfriends sleeping face. Rin hates to wake Ai up when he's sleeping so peacefully, but he can't take the silence and restfulness anymore. "Ai!" he whispered towards the sleeping boy. Ai made a face and sighed in his sleep. After a few more tries, Rin grows impatient and decides to just climb the ladder. Rin climbs into Ai's bed and the boy finally wakes up, confused. "Senpai! Is everything okay?" Ai asked frantically. "I can't sleep, Ai. Everything's fine," Rin sighed, " and you don't have to call me senpai." "Sorry... Rin," Ai said with a half-smile, "you can sleep up here if you want!" Rin laid down facing Ai and wrapped his arms around his already asleep boyfriend. Ai nuzzled into his neck and Rin put his hand in Ai's soft hair. "Goodnight, Ai. My Ai..." Rin whispered as he fell asleep. The next morning Ai woke up still wrapped in Rin's arms with Rin's lips pressed to the top of his head. He smiled and put his arm around Rin's waist wishing they could stay like that forever. Rin began to stir soon after. It was a nice change to be high enough that the sun wasn't directly in his face and it was even nicer to be completely surrounded by Ai. Rin opened his eyes and was greeted by his beaming boyfriend. This was truly the happiest he'd waken up in years. Soon the two began to feel the stiffness of waking up, especially the stiffness sitting uncomfortably in their pants. Ai was the first to notice and blushed a bright red. Confused, Rin kissed his cheek and gave him a questioning look. Ai answered with giggling and motioning toward their tighter-than-earlier pants. Rin's face turned the brightest shade of pink Ai had ever seen. When they first started dating both Rin and Ai decided to take things slow so the most they had ever done was kiss and some light petting once when things were really heated. Both boys were unsure of how to handle their present situation as to not go too far, but both also wanted the same thing in that moment.After some lighthearted giggling, Rin kissed his boyfriend gently and was surprised with the passion with which Ai kissed back. Soon, Ai darted his tongue to swipe Rin's bottom lip who gave entrance easily to his lover. Rin's hands were the first to wander. He rubbed and massaged his was down Ai's right arm and under the hem of his shirt where he caressed Ai's abdomen and chest. Ai's hands found their way into Rin's hair and across his back, under his shirt. Rin pulled back and gave Ai a glance that was met with an assuring smile. With this, Rin pulled Ai's shirt over his head and rolled him onto his back. Rin carefully placed his knees between Ai's parted legs and leaned down to kiss him from his lips to his neck. Ai leaned his head to the side to give Rin better access and tried hard not to make any lewd sounds. Rin kissed his way down Ai's neck and sucked a bruise on his collar bone. This brought a breathy moan out of his boyfriend which quickly covered his mouth and turned scarlet. Rin laughed a little and missed him on the cheek to convey that any sounds Ai made were definitely ok. Embarrassed, Ai uncovered his mouth and kissed Rin on the cheek to get back at him. Soon, Rin's shirt was hanging off the railing of the bed and both boy's torsos were covered in light bruises and saliva. Rin looked at Ai desperately and finally asked if it wad ok to go farther. Ai took a few seconds to think and Rin could practically watching the gears in his head turning. After the few seconds, Ai looked up resolutely and nodded with a smile. Rin grinned and hooked his fingers in the waist and of Ai's pajama pants. Before he pulled them off, Ai stopped him. "Wait, Rin." he moaned. Rin looked terrified. "We don't have to go any farther if you don't want to. You don't have to do this for me," Rin said frantically. "No, Rin, its okay. I just want to ask if you wanted to change bunks so we aren't so far from all of our stuff," Ai laughed. Rin stared for a second before registering what Ai had meant by "stuff" when something clicked. He nearly jumped off the top bunk after he quickly nodded an okay. Rin laid over Ai on his previously empty bed and kissed from Ai's chin all the way down to the waistband of his pants which he bit and pulled down. To him, the moan that came from his boyfriend was nothing short of perfect. He looked up at his squirming boyfriend and smiled a toothy grin which got the moaning reaction out of Ai that he hoped it would. "Why didn't you tell me you liked my teeth?" he whispered into Ai's ear before biting the shell. Ai moaned and scratched down Rin's back causing Rin to whimper. Rin liked his new toy and wanted to figure out just how far Ai would go with it, but he decided that there were more pressing matters to attend to. He palmed Ai's bulge through his boxers before reaching though the waist and to grip his lover's erection. Ai let out a high pitched whine and shuddered at the contact. Everything was almost too much with Rin stroking his dick and sucking on his nipple. He moaned without deserve and pulled his own underwear down so Rin could have more room to work with. Ai's eyes flew open when the wet warmth of Rin's mouth was around the head of his dick. Rin sucked the head and teased the slit tasting Ai's salty precome before taking as much as he could. Ai's breathing soon became erratic and he tried hard not to thrust up into the pleasure that Rin was giving him. "R-r-rin.. I'm-" Rin reached up to fondle Ai's sack which pushed him over the edge. "RIN!!" Ai gasped as he came. Rin swallowed everything that was in his mouth and licked what escaped off of his lips then Ai pulled him up into a heated kiss where he could taste himself while he pulled Rin's pajamas off. He kissed down Rin's chest while pushing him down onto his back and licked his painfully hard bulge through his underwear. Rin's low breathy moans were the perfect encouragement for Ai to pull down Rin's boxers and throw them on the floor. Ai went straight at Rin's dick, licking from the base of his shaft up and swirling around the head. Rin softly tangled his hand into Ai's silver hair and guided his boyfriends head as he pleasured him. Ai tentatively sucked the head before putting as much as he could in his mouth and using his hands for the rest. Soon, Rin was panting and biting the back of his hand to avoid being loud enough for the entire hall, including their captain, to hear. Rin tried to pull Ai up before his orgasm hit but Ai refused to come up until Rin had already came, gasping Ai's name. The two curled up under Rin's blanket completely exhausted. Rin thanked Mikoshiba-kun internally for cancelling the Saturday morning practice and fell asleep once again with his arms around Ai. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- "It's hot.." Ai sighs as he sits down at his desk to study. It had been a bit cleaner for the past few days since Rin cleaned it on Monday, but they both knew that wouldn't last long. His textbooks were already in a pile with folders of homework and other study material, making the desktop a bit crowded. Thankfully Ai had a single room this year so he wouldn't bother a roommate with his messiness. Wednesday evenings were Rin's favorites. The new swim team captain didn't hold Thursday practices so when Ai's afterschool practices were over, he was free till school started the next day. The boys had started using Wednesdays as movie nights or date nights since they started dating in 2 years ago, so Rin had to turn down some a few people from work that invited him to a party that night. Rin blew them off with "Who has parties on Wednesdays anyway?" Though they already knew his real reasons for saying no every week. These days were special to Rin, especially this week. Rin had a surprise for his unsuspecting boyfriend. Ai was getting nowhere trying to study English. He was too exhausted from swimming to focus on subjects that he actually enjoyed so he didn't feel bad for giving up on his worst subject. He was getting antsy waiting for Rin to show up from work and he wished that he could have called him, but Rin usually stayed after the swimming classes to swim by himself to keep up his Olympic training. This wasn't exactly unusual for Rin, so Ai thought nothing of it. Rin was glad that Ai didn't question him being late to hang out. Today was one of the few chances he had left before Ai graduated and he wasn't going to miss it. Soon, he was inside of a store that he never thought he would need to go in and was counting the money in his wallet. He knew he had enough, but it couldn't hurt to count a 3rd time. Ai was laying on his bed reading manga when he heard Rin knock on the door. He smiled to himself and got up to greet his boyfriend, like he had every Wednesday this school year. They had a nice weekly ritual that Ai knew he would never get tired of. "Let's go to dinner," Rin suggested when he got through the door, "anywhere you want." Ai grinned from ear to ear and chose the nice Italian restaurant 2 train stations away. Rin gladly accepted and called to make a reservation so the boys spent the next half hour changing into their nice clothes. Rin knew that Ai had wanted to go somewhere nice for a few weeks and was stoked that he had chosen today to go to the special store. Once ready, they walked, hand in hand, to the train station. The restaurant looked a lot nicer inside than it did outside. The table Rin had reserved was next to a window where they could see the sun starting to set. 'This is perfect,' Rin thought as they sat down across from each other. This was a very new experience for the two and they really didn't know how to look or act proper, but they were together in their own world. Rin ordered their dinner when the waiter came then subtlly put his arm under the table to fumble around in his pocket. Once he found what he was looking for, his hand and the item in it sat heavy in his lap. It had been a long time since he had been this nervous and he was trying hard to remember if he was supposed to do it before or after they ate. He decided before was best and took a few deep breaths. "Ai.." "Yeah, Rin?" "I'm really glad we're doing this. Thank you for choosing to go here," he stalled a little. "This place is really nice! I'm glad you knew to dress well or I may have worn sweatpants," Ai giggled with his turquoise eyes shining in the orangey glow of the sunset. "Well.. I'm glad I looked it up," Rin smiled. Ai really looked beautiful, making the butterflies in his stomach multiply exponentially. "Um.. Ai?" "Hm?" "I'm really glad we got together 2 years ago. This has been the best time of my life," Rin sighed nervously as Ai's eyes went wide with surprise. Rin was never this open about his feelings and Ai was almost worried about the sudden change. "Um.. So.." Rin sighed resolutely, "I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone and I wanted to ask you," He brought his hand out from under the table, holding a small silver box, "Ai, will you marry me?" Ai was speechless. He sat there alternating between staring at the box and at Rin's face. He couldn't say what he was thinking so he closed his mouth into the biggest smile he's ever made and nodded as a tear slid down his cheek. This was the happiest he had ever felt and Rin's flabbergasted face was making it even better. He was suddenly so happy that he had chosen swimming and even happier that he and Rin were assigned as roommates when they got to Samezuka. The ring was beautiful and the waiter was very congratulatory when he arrived with the food. Nothing could have made this evening better for the two. Ai was graduating soon, then they could live together as Ai went to college or got a job or did whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter to Rin because they were actually engaged and so in love.
1131219	numb feels like this	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles", "Fandom": "One Direction (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by teamfreeawesome", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-11T00:00:00", "words": "1,044", "Additional Tags": "Depression, Liam-centric, Crying", "Relationship": "Zayn Malik/Liam Payne", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Liam feels fuzzy.It’s like he’s wrapped in cotton wool, the air muffled and distorted around him as his heart beats steadily in his chest. thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thudHe feels unsettled in his skin, eyelids rusted – heavy with a bone-deep weariness.He’s tired.University was supposed to be an adventure – nights fluorescently bright as the beat pounds through his body, skin salty with exertion. Instead, it’s endless (the heavy drag of his feet, placed one in front of the other). Liam gives all of himself - works until his skin is crumbling beneath the pressure and his hands are left clutching uselessly at the distant reprieve of summer.Liam is so tired. * He wakes up, sometimes, and it’s like the world is crushing him. He blinks and the universe is too heavy for Liam to breathe.His eyes sting, eyelashes fanned out under his eyebrows as he watches the minute hand tick slowly forward. His alarm springs to life, the shrill sound piercing through the still of the room – and Liam rolls over, kicking the clock to the floor as he goes. He listens to it ring, face pressed into the pillow – and it’s the only thing that feels real. He rubs the tip of his nose against the material beneath him and sighs into it.He rolls back over and he’s lost an hour.He only closed his eyes for a second.He wonders idly if something is wrong. * Louis bounces and Harry smiles – and they’re both so happy it hurts.It hurts under Liam’s skin, like the scorching buzz of electricity peeling the muscle from his flesh. It’s a burn of i can’t cope * He doesn’t revise.Exams are looming – but he sits, knees pulled up against his chest, gaze hollow - and doesn’t revise.His head droops, eyelids fluttering – and he startles awake to the realisation that he’s lost another hour.He just wants it to get easier. It’s supposed to get easier.It isn’t supposed to be this hard to breathe. It isn’t supposed to be this hard to get out of bed.It isn’t supposed to hurt like this. * He doesn’t leave his bed for three days.No one notices. * Liam cries.He lies in bed, the dark a blanket of silence around him – and he cries. Great, gasping sobs are tugged from his chest, tears dribbling down his cheeks, rolling slowly like desolation until they hit the pillow beneath him.It doesn’t feel good.It doesn’t feel like anything at all. * Louis asks him if he’s okay, his lips chapped and eyes worried.“You look so tired, Liam.”And –Liam shatters. He’s a dam breaking beneath the weight of the water behind him – and it hurts. He sobs, fingers clutching the hem of his own shirt as he fights to stay standing. His chest heaves with the effort of it, and his knees buckle. He slumps to the carpet, face twisted around a wailing sob, the pain breaking free from his chest and ringing round the room.Liam lets go.He sobs and sobs until everything is dry. Until he’s hacking up nothing, chest rattling around the sting of it. The pain has been wrung from him – and he’s left limp and tired.He’s so tired.“Lou. I’m – I don’t think I’m okay.” He says, voice cracking around the admission.Because –It’s an admission to himself too. He admits that he’s not okay. Accepts that he’s allowed to not be okay.Louis hugs him – and it doesn’t feel like good. But it doesn’t feel like nothing. * “I’m so stupid. Everything I do is so stupid. There isn’t even anything wrong with me and I don’t understand why sometimes – sometimes I can’t even move a step because the whole of me is too heavy. Why the very idea of lifting pen to paper, or hearing someone speak in my vicinity makes me want to hide from the world forever. Like it’s painful. …Like it’s not. Because – sometimes. Sometimes it’s just empty. I’m empty and I – everything is nothing.” * He goes to counselling.“How you feel is how you feel, Liam. It’s not stupid.”He cries less.It’s good. * He tracks the time by how many days he goes without crying desperately into his pillow.Sometimes he goes a week and everything is fine. It’s not good, but it’s not heartwrenching. Like it was before.Sometimes he can’t even go half a day before he’s weeping into his sheets - breath coming in short, sharp pants as he struggles with the pain.He’s not even sure what happy is anymore. * “It’s okay to feel like crying, Liam. Breathe deep. We’re going to work through this.” * He finishes an assignment and something like pride creeps in, his parents’ praise seeping in through the shell of him.A crack appears. Light shimmers through – timid and wavery.It feels warm. * He’s not better. But he’s less sad and that’s good. * It’s not –It’s not something that ever goes away. Sometimes it rears its ugly head twice in three months. Sometimes it’s a year and he laughs and smiles and really feels it. Feels the happy in his bones.Liam’s glad he didn’t forget happy forever. * He’s still friends with Harry and Louis.They were his anchors, in the midst of the worst.They still are. * Liam meets Zayn on a Friday at the pub – and it’s like sunlight. Zayn is like sunlight across Liam’s skin – and he wants to hold him gently (softly). * Zayn’s laugh is like burnt toast, all crackly and sharp. It’s brilliant.He tells Zayn (hand warmed by his morning tea, the crumpled sweetness of Zayn in the seat opposite like soft waves lapping the shore) that he’s not always good.Zayn understands. * Zayn is like a rosy sunset across the sky - his love a perfect, shining thing that fills Liam’s heart with hope. It’s a floating contentment that carries his weary bones.And when he’s not okay –Zayn doesn’t ask for a solution. He holds Liam through the worst and he smiles softly when it breaks. * It’s not always perfect. They fight and cry and scream, sometimes.But – nothing ever is. Perfection is not always perfect. And Liam thinks Zayn is perfection. * Zayn kisses Liam and everything fades away.They’re in love.
1161787	Lost in the Haze of the	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Brian Zeller, Will Graham", "Fandom": "Hannibal (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by orphan_account", "chapters": "2/2", "completed": "2014-03-29", "published": "2014-01-31T00:00:00", "words": "1,518", "Additional Tags": "Alcohol", "Relationship": "Will Graham/Brian Zeller", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Another case solved, another round of drinks to celebrate. It’d become a habit, a ritual almost, the forensics team and a few members of the BAU would go out for drinks, talk a bit usually—about anything but the case, and then head home. It was nice. Nicer than picking killers minds in the chilly morgue could ever be, at least.Today, however, none of the other forensic techs had shown up, Katz had other plans, and Jimmy had been too exhausted, leaving Brian alone, waiting for others to show up at the bar. Alana usually came, sometimes Jack, Lecter, or Will.Will Graham stepped in, looking around, searching for the others, and when his eyes only found Zeller, a small sigh escaped his lips. Great.He pushed awkwardly over through the unfamiliar people in the bar, to Where Zeller was. He may not have liked him, but at the very least, he was a familiar face.“Others gonna be here soon?” He said, as he sat at the bar beside Brian, the curly haired man jumping a bit at the voice, having been lost in his own thoughts.Will ordered a drink, the usual whiskey, as Brian replied, “Price and Katz aren’t coming.” He took sip of his beer, hoping Will would say that others would be coming soon, so they wouldn’t be alone.Dryly, examining the wood grain of the bar in front of them, Will sighed back. “Great.”They were going to be alone, weren’t they.Filling the empty space between them with words was impossible, any conversations they had just ended in arguments, after all. So instead, they drank.Words came to their lips more easily as the liquor built in their systems, talking about Jimmy some, then Katz, traded stories about the day. They migrated, from the bar to a booth, sitting side by side. They were close, close enough that Wills breath could be felt on Brians cheek, his sweaty hand resting on the others thigh. Zellers own arm had found its way around Will’s waist, hand at his hip.Beer and whiskey mingled on their breath as they spoke, and--god they were close, weren’t they?Zeller blinked at the other, drawing back. Very, very close. Too close, probably.“‘s getting late.” He said, the warm feeling that had nestled so pleasantly in his chest flying away as he let go of the other, pushing his hand away, trying to stand. He failed, sliding back into his seat, cheeks pink. “I’m gonna go.”Will drew his hand back, swallowing, nodding. Of course he hadn’t wanted... to do anything. He was Zeller. Zeller who hated him, who’d told Freddie all about him without a second thought. Zeller who, for a moment there, he’d wanted to kiss. “Right.” He said, pushing himself up, standing, holding onto the side of the table as he did, watching Brian scoot out.“....see y’at work.” The taller man said, avoiding his gaze, stepping away.“See ya.” Graham repeated, his eyes on the others shoes, examining the frayed fabric at the edges of his pants. Then up, over the rumpled shirt he wore, his stubbly neck, his chin, his lips.In a shaky moment of decision, Will stepped forward, his hands finding either side of Zellers face as their lips met, chapped and rough against each other. It felt, for a moment, like Zeller was kissing back--but no. He drew back abruptly, giving Will an incredulous look. “...what the fuck?”He didn’t respond, and the two stayed, looking at eachother, red-faced. It seemed like an hour, before Brian pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and looked away.“Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Will?” He said, finally, looking back. Eyes didn’t meet, as Will fixed his gaze firmly on the ground.“Think it’s already been said.” He replied, a bitter half smile twisting his lips.A nervous laugh, before Zeller looked away once more. He could still feel the others lips, pressed against his, warm and wet. The kiss brought up feelings Zeller, feelings he had long since buried beneath jealousy and sarcasm. He placed a hand on the empaths shoulder, guiding him outside, not saying anything.The doors opened with a small creek, letting in a rush of cold air that slipped in through any crevice in the clothes they wore, sending shivers down their spines. The two drew closer together, conserving warmth. To the left of the door, a metal bench, cold and frosty among discarded cigarette butts and dead leaves, waited like an island for them to sit.Zeller sat first, his hand leaving the others shoulder. Will looked him over, before he too, sat down.The chilly air bit at noses and ears, wind howling through alleys, pulling bits of trash with it. It was the only sound, for a bit, before Brian spoke up. “...wanna go home?”Will looked up, clearly surprised. “With you?”Zeller nodded.“...I kissed you, you really think I’m gonna say no?”“...lets go, then.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Zeller lived in an apartment, a small one, but comfortable. They entered into the living space, and a kitchen and table could be seen further back. To the right, the bathroom and bedroom. Will looked around, while the other man watched his face, trying to gauge a reaction. trying to guess what he was thinking, if he could see in the empty beer bottles on the counter, the tv dinners in the trash, how he lived. Of course he could. It didn’t take any empathy to feel how unlived in this place was, save for sleeping and eating, getting ready for work in the morning. The silence stretched on, before Brian finally broke it, “So--uh. Do you want... something?” Graham looked over, though his eyes did not meet the others, resting instead on his shirt collar. He regretted coming, now, the awkward silence hanging over them, the previous alcohol induced ease evaporating like a puddle on a summers day. “Something strong.” Came his reply, and Brian nodded, moving to the kitchen quickly. His liquor cabinet, above the microwave, was better stocked than his fridge, and he pulled a bottle out. He frowned at the label, vodka was... probably too strong, wasn’t it? He looked back at the other man, whose eyes had found the few pictures of family that Zeller had put up on the wall. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to point out who was who--his sisters, his nephews. But that seemed too... friendly? He settled on whiskey, the bottle he and Bev had before. He poured two glasses, hands a bit shaky, a bit of the amber liquid spilling on the counter. Will was still looking at the pictures when Zee walked over and handed him the glass, and he began to wonder if he’d simply decided to look at them for a lack of anything else in the room to examine. Fuck it was quiet. Heavily, he sat on the couch, downing his drink far too quickly, leaving his stomach warm. It took a moment to realize Will was looking at him, drink in hand, a question in his eyes. He looked like a puppy, asking to be allowed on the couch. “You can sit down...” The other nodded, pursing his lips and sitting down, perching awkwardly on the edge of the couch. The stillness hung between them, even more uncomfortable than usual. Will swallowed, taking a drink of his whiskey, working up something to say. But before he could, Zeller had leaned over, catching his lips, kissing him. For a moment, Will didn't react, caught off guard, simply registering what was happening. The whiskeys taste overshadowed everything, warm and burning in the back of Wills throat as Brian took the glass from his hand and set it aside. His lips were firm against Wills, more confident than before. Will blinked once, twice, before kissing back. For a long moment, they kissed like that, before Brian half tugged the other into his lap so their hips pressed together Will could feel Brians growing arousal, and it sent a shiver up his spine. Shy kisses got a bit bolder, and he reached up to tangle his fingers with curly black hair. The empath pressed against the other man, hungry for contact--he hadn't realized just how long it'd been since someone held him--and Zeller made a soft noise, one that would've been hardly audible had Will not been so close to him. Gently, Will kissed down the others jaw, to his neck, pressing his face to his skin. He stayed like that for a bit, not sucking at his skin, simply breathing in, out, listening to the other do the same. Zeller didn’t question it, not out of understanding the want to be close, intimate, without anything overtly sexual, but more out of fear that disturbing him would send him scurrying away. So the scientist wrapped his arms around the other, resting his chin on brown curls, not saying anything. Guessing that means no sex. He thought, sighing into the others hair, rubbing his back lightly.
1161945	Happy Free Confused and	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Jamie Benn, Tyler Seguin, Jordie Benn, Antoine Roussel, Alex Chiasson, Valeri Nichushkin", "Fandom": "Hockey RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by beguinn", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-31T00:00:00", "words": "2,256", "Additional Tags": "Birthday, Dallas Stars, Blow Jobs", "Relationship": "Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	When Tyler Seguin heard the name ‘Taylor Swift,’ he thought of two things: the time his agent tried to convince him to fake-date her (“It’ll be win-win!” he’d claimed. “Your young fans will be drawn to her relatable songs, and your good looks will bring in new fans, and new revenue, to the Bruins organisation!”) and the stupidly catchy song he would be forced to listen to every day for the next year. Did it really feel like the perfect night to dress up like hipsters, Taylor? Did it really? Tyler hit the snooze button on his iPhone one too many times, telling himself it was okay because he deserved to sleep in since it was his birthday. But when he finally opened his eyes to see that he had to be at the rink for practice in fifteen minutes, he made the realisation that he’d made a mistake. He jumped out of bed and quickly got dressed and was out the door and on his way to his car in less than three minutes. He rushed into the rink with four minutes to spare, and when he walked into the locker room, he was greeted with a chorus of birthday wishes. When Roussel noticed he was there, he smirked and started playing the chorus of 22 on his iPod. “I don’t know about you but I’m feelin’ twenty-twooooo,” the Frenchman sang terribly, still smirking. Tyler approached him and punched his arm, obviously not amused with the second liner’s antics. Rouss frowned and turned off the song. “It’s joke!” he insisted, rubbing his arm where Tyler had hit him. “Stop,” Tyler muttered in French, putting to use his three years of French class for the first time since high school. He’d just waken up – it was too early for playful banter. Tyler turned around to go to his own locker, only to run into the 6’4” Russian rookie, who was peering down at him nervously. “Hi,” he muttered in his impossibly deep voice. “What’s up, Val?” Tyler asked, his expression softening a bit. He never could seem to get irritated with the rookie. Jamie said that he babied Val too much, but Tyler didn’t care. He was a kid in a new country that didn’t make any sense to him – Tyler understood that feeling and, even if Val couldn’t verbalise how he felt (without his fellow Russian teammate, Sergei Gonchar translating), he knew that the kid was probably scared shitless half the time. Val straightened up a bit and blushed before he even began speaking. “Just wanted to tell you…” He spoke slowly, and it was obvious he didn’t trust himself speaking English. “It’s happy birthday for you.” Tyler smiled; that was exactly what Val didn’t trust himself speaking English – he just wasn’t good at it yet. But he appreciated that he tried, though, and he especially appreciated that he’d wished him a happy birthday. “Thanks!” he replied enthusiastically. “Hey, remind me one last time. How’s your name pronounced? Val or Wal?” Tyler smirked, suddenly remembering hearing Val pronounce his own name during Christmas and being both confused and intrigued at how he’d pronounced it. Val frowned, obviously confused. He thought for a moment. “I’m Val Nichushkin.” He spoke like he was introducing himself, as if Tyler could forget the most talented rookie the Stars organisation had seen since Jamie Benn’s debut five years ago. “Need my skates on,” he added before wandering off to his own locker to get prepared for practice. Once Val left, Tyler looked around the locker room curiously. It seemed as though the entire team was there, except for the one Tyler cared the most about. “Hey, has anyone seen Jamie?” he inquired, glancing around the room once more in case he’d scanned over the boy’s familiar flow. Seconds after Tyler asked his teammates where their captain was, he felt someone wrapping their arms around his waist from behind. Instinctively, he jumped from the sudden, unexpected contact before he turned around, a broad smile appearing on his face when he saw that it was Jamie that had hold of him. “Hi.” Jamie returned the smile. “Hi,” he replied, glancing around for their coach before pressing a quick kiss to Tyler’s cheek (Coach Ruff always got irritated and exclaimed “Not in my locker room, gay boys!” if he saw Tyler and Jamie even look at each other for more than a few moments) before releasing his waist and moving so he was in front of Tyler instead of behind him. “Hey, happy birthday, by the way.” He smiled – if Tyler wasn’t having a good birthday now, Jamie was sure he’d take care of that later. “Thanks,” he responded, moving toward his locker so he could get dressed for practice while he and Jamie talked. Jamie sat down on the bench and stared up at Tyler. Tyler smiled down at him as he pulled a few things out of his locker and began getting dressed. Most players would feel uncomfortable to have their teammate so close while they were getting dressed or undressed, but it didn’t bother Tyler in the least. Jamie had seen him naked way too many times for Tyler to pretend that he was modest around his captain. Once Tyler was dressed, Jamie stood up and wrapped his arms around him again, hastily pushing Tyler’s body toward his own. “You wanna come over tonight?” Jamie asked, staring into Tyler’s eyes. “It’s my birthday,” Tyler whined. “Why can’t you come to my place?” In all honesty, if it weren’t for the fact that Jordie lived with Jamie, he would have agreed in a heartbeat. He liked Jordie and all, but he was still a little wary of Tyler, which always made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want that on his birthday. Jamie feigned a pout. “You mean I have to lug my guitar all the way to your place?” Tyler’s eyes grew wide with curiosity – it wasn’t every day that Jamie brought out his guitar around Tyler – but he nodded. “Well… since it’s your birthday, I guess I can do that.” Suddenly, Val appeared in front of them, and Jamie turned his head, raising an eyebrow to silently ask Val what it was that he wanted. “Um… Your brother looks at you again,” Val informed him in broken English before nodding toward Jordie. When Jamie and Tyler looked his way, the older Benn brother pretended to gag as he got up and walked toward the pair, not-so-gently shoving a shoulder into Tyler’s back as he walked by and left the room to head to the ice. Tyler frowned at Jamie, who was chewing on his bottom lip as he shook his head. Why couldn’t his brother ever be happy for him when he found someone he was attracted to? “Don’t worry about him,” Jamie told Tyler for what had to be the thousandth time. ~ A shrill whistle caused all the players on the ice to stop moving. Coach Lindy Ruff folded his arms over his chest, obviously unimpressed. “Seguin!” he called out, skating over to where Tyler, Jamie, and Val had stopped. “You’ve been playing like shit all morning. You feeling okay?” “He’s feeling twenty-two, Coach!” Chaser responded from across the ice, and he and Rouss fell over into a fit of giggles. They began chatting back and forth in French before Coach Ruff blew his whistle again. “English only, Frenchies. We’re trying to teach Val English, not confuse him so much he goes back to Russia. You’re doing awesome today, by the way, Val.” He nodded at Val, who was standing beside Tyler. Val smiled nervously, unable to remember if ‘awesome’ meant really good or really bad in English. “I don’t know what this twenty-two stuff is about, but get your shit together, Seguin.” Ruff skated back to where he’d previously been standing and blew on his whistle so practice would resume. ~ After an afternoon alone with Netflix and Marshall (as requested), Tyler heard a knocking on his door around six o’clock. Pausing the eighth episode of Jimmy Neutron he’d watched that day, he got up to answer the door, a smile appearing on his face when he saw Jamie, guitar case thrown over his shoulders, at his doorway. Before Jamie could even make it inside, Tyler had their lips pressed together. Jamie let out a pleased moan at the unexpected contact, wasting no time in pressing their bodies even closer together so he could feel Tyler get hard from just kissing (he was almost too easy to please). “Come inside,” Tyler muttered breathlessly when he pulled away. He stepped aside so Jamie could enter his apartment and closed the door behind him. His breathing had returned to normal, so he wrapped his arms around Jamie’s shoulders and leaned into him, only to have Jamie shake his head and back away from him. Jamie placed his guitar case on the couch and opened it so he could pull out his guitar. “I didn’t bring this down here so we could have sex then fall asleep.” He chuckled nervously. It was rare that Jamie got nervous around Tyler, but when his guitar was involved, he became incredibly nervous. Tyler didn’t understand why. The few times Jamie had played for him, he’d been impressed with what he heard. “Alright, serenade me then you can suck my dick,” Tyler said playfully, moving the guitar case off the couch so he could sit down. After strumming a few chords, Jamie sat down beside Tyler and smiled at him. “I learned to play this song just for you, Ty,” he announced. And before Tyler had the chance to protest, Jamie began playing the opening chords of 22 on his guitar with a smirk on his face. “It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters… and make fun of our rivals. It feels like a perfect for breakfast in a new city, to fall in love with Tyler. Yeah, we’re happy, free, confused, and have each other all the time. It’s mystical and magical, oh yeah. Tonight we’ll forget about the race to the playoffs, it’s time. I don’t know about you, but Tyler’s twenty-two. Everything will be alright, if you stay in Dallas, boo. You know all about me, even if you didn’t want to. Everything will be alright cuz I’ve got all I want…. in you. In you.” Trembling hands moved away from the guitar strings as Jamie hesitantly looked back up at Tyler. The team had been giving him grief all day about the song solely because they’d all known Jamie had changed the words and planned to present it to Tyler for his birthday, thanks to Jordie’s big mouth. “Um…” Jamie scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Oh my god, that was so fucking cheesy,” Tyler commented with a straight face. And it was, but it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. He took the guitar out of Jamie’s hands and gently placed it on the coffee table before he kissed Jamie roughly, not-so-gently pushing his back against the cushions of the couch. “Sometimes, you’re just practically fucking begging me to dominate you, Benn,” he whispered breathlessly into his ear before nipping at his earlobe. A low moan escaped from the back of Jamie’s throat, and Tyler chuckled, grinding his hips into Jamie’s just to hear him groan again. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked, and Jamie almost immediately nodded. “Suck my dick.” It was something Jamie didn’t need to be told twice. Almost immediately, Jamie unbuttoned and pulled down Tyler’s pants, flipping the pair over so Tyler was laying against the cushions. Without a word, Jamie gave Tyler’s length a few strokes before he placed his mouth over the tip, using his tongue to gently swirl slow circles over it. He glanced up at Tyler before he closed his mouth around the twenty-two year old’s cock, moving his mouth up and down his shaft slowly. Deciding he wanted to take control of the situation, Tyler grabbed a handful of Jamie’s hair to hold him still and began thrusting, slowly at first then picking up speed until he found a steady rhythm. The sound of Tyler’s moans of pleasure filled the small apartment, and Jamie had to fight back the smile that threatened to appear on his lips because he knew he was the one responsible for Tyler’s pleasure. Jamie was more than ready to swallow the result of his partner’s climax when it arrived, but instead Tyler pulled out before that happened. Jamie looked up at him, both concerned and confused before Tyler smiled at him. “You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?” Again, Jamie nodded eagerly. “I want whatever you want,” he insisted (but, really, he wanted to have sex). “Lube’s in the bedroom,” Tyler stated, getting up from the couch and walking toward his bedroom. “Come on, I don’t wanna get cum all over my couch. Can’t wash it as easily.” Jamie obediently followed behind him. ~ “Hey, Ty..?” Jamie asked, although he was sure Tyler hadn’t fallen asleep already. Grumbling, Tyler snuggled up closer to Jamie, a soft smile placed on his lips. “Yeah?” Jamie paused for a moment, almost forgetting what he’d wanted to ask. “Did you have a good birthday?” “Yeah, it was perfect because I got to spend it with you.” Jamie smiled and ran his fingers through Tyler’s hair as he began to fall asleep himself. “Night, Ty. We should do this again next year.”
1101151	Puti s piervogho po	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": null, "Language": "Русский", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Mikao", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-25T00:00:00", "words": "5,746", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Gokudera Hayato/Sawada Tsunayoshi", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Egypt Mythology", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	* Тсуну вышвырнули в коридор, как щенка, и он прилип к стеклу, распластался ладонями, оставляя влажные следы. За стеклом было шумно. Метались врачи, верещали приборы, взблескивала трубка капельницы и хромированные поручни койки, и только Гокудера лежал неподвижно, словно кукла. Это как представление, подумал Тсуна. Ситком такой. Все бегают вокруг куклы, а кукле всё равно. Затем всё как-то незаметно закончилось, врачи угомонились, а самый замотанный и представительный вышел в коридор и тихим голосом сказал, что Гокудера впал в кому. Тсуна ничего не понял. Как - в кому? Он же только что со мной разговаривал. У него была забинтована голова, и на груди краснели царапины от осколков бетона, и он стискивал одеяло, как будто ему больно. Но он разговаривал! Врач вздохнул. Объяснил. Было много длинных слов, и Тсуне показалось, что врач просто заговаривает ему зубы. Тсуна оборвал его и спросил - когда Гокудера придёт в себя? На что врач ответил, что они будут делать всё возможное. Качался светлый больничный потолок. Качался белый халат уходящего по пустынному коридору врача. Тсуна стоял у стекла и смотрел на куклу-Гокудеру. Вспомнил, что надо позвонить Ямамото или Реборну. Ямамото сказал в трубку, что они уже едут. Кто-то спрашивал издалека, как там Гокудера и надо ли купить апельсин. Затем в телефоне возник Реборн и равнодушным голосом поздравил Тсуну, что тот не смог защитить своего Хранителя. Тсуна осторожно отключил телефон, затем разбил о пол. Гокудера лежал с безразличным восковым лицом. Тсуна закрыл глаза рукавом и расплакался.В половине седьмого вечера встало сердце. Тсуна, обмирая, смотрел, как тело Гокудеры выгибается под разрядами дефибриллятора. По чёрному экрану у койки бежала ровная зелёная линия, и Тсуна ненавидел эту линию всей душой. После третьего разряда линия скакнула зигзагом вверх, и Тсуна без сил прислонился к стене. Около десяти вечера начались проблемы с дыханием. Приборов стало ещё больше. Апельсины, купленные Хару, лежали в пакете на кресле. Тсуна иногда доставал один и нюхал - яркий цитрусовый запах его успокаивал.Глухой ночью, которая тянулась, как расплавленная резина, Тсуне разрешили зайти в палату. Заходя, Тсуна зачем-то спросил, сколько времени. Оказалось, без десяти три. Почему-то вспомнился фильм про несчастную девушку Эмили Роуз. Гокудера был таким бледным, что терялся в складках одеяла. На лице у него поблескивала кислородная маска. Бинты на голове делали его похожим на раненого солдата из американского фильма про войну. Тсуна встал рядом с койкой, не решаясь сесть. Ему было страшно прикасаться к Гокудере. Казалось, что приборы могут начать истеричные сигналы, стоит только подышать на него. Тсуна сел на пол и положил голову на край койки. Рука Гокудеры оказалось прямо перед глазами, и Тсуна стиснул прохладные неподвижные пальцы. Не было воспоминаний, не было мыслей - только серый мутный поток в голове и айсберги страха, плывущие по нему. Тсуна заснул в тот момент, когда большие часы в холле больницы показали ровно три пополуночи.Во сне было лето. Синело высокое тёплое небо, по траве скользила лохматая тень от листвы. Где-то шумела река. Тсуна шёл по тропке - в земле был виден четкий след велосипедных шин. Тсуна точно знал, что должен кого-то найти. Тропка оборвалась, выйдя на залитый солнцем луг. Тсуна сощурился на свет и вдруг увидел далеко впереди, за качающейся высокой травой, чью-то худую фигуру. Человек быстро удалялся. Солнце вспыхнуло на светлых волосах, и Тсуна кинулся в море травы. - Гокудера! - крикнул он. - Гокудера, стой! Гокудера уходил, не оборачиваясь. Тсуна бежал, задыхаясь, и солнце припекало плечи, и шумел ветер в траве, и качались мелкие жёлтые цветы на изломанных стеблях. Тсуна запинался и проваливался в невидимые маленькие овраги, ноги попадали в кроличьи норы - а Гокудера шёл быстро и ровно, как будто по дорожке в парке. - Гокудера-а-а! - заорал Тсуна, надрываясь. Впереди показалось что-то странное, и Тсуна успел удивиться - стена? Откуда высокая стена на лугу? - как вдруг споткнулся и упал. Запах земли и цветов ударил в нос. Тсуна потерялся в море качающейся зелени. Он встал и увидел высокий откос, покрытый валунами. Гокудера стоял перед откосом, выделяясь тёмной курткой на фоне белых каменных лбов. Тсуна пошёл к нему, чувствуя нехорошее. Он был метрах в семидесяти от откоса, когда Гокудера полез на камни. Тсуна похолодел. Под палящим солнцем, разгорячённый бегом, он остро почувствовал озноб на мокрой спине. Он кинулся вперёд, пытаясь закричать, но горло было сорвано. Гокудера лез наверх. Даже издали Тсуна видел, как ненадёжны камни. Легко было представить, как валун весом под центнер сдвигается с места и катится вниз, образуя лавину. Тсуна глубоко вдохнул и закричал так, что в горле завибрировало и как будто порвалось: - Хаято-о-о! Голос сломался и пропал. Тсуна закашлялся. Гокудера обернулся, и Тсуна взмахнул руками. - Слезь! - хрипло каркнул он. - Пожалуйста! Это опасно! Гокудера смотрел на него сквозь летний прозрачный воздух, и Тсуне показалось, что его не узнают. Он хотел было заорать - это я, Десятый! - но Гокудера отвернулся и полез дальше. Тсуна подлетел к подножию откоса, когда Гокудера был уже высоко над землёй. Остановился, не зная, что делать. Светлые каменные лбы резали глаза, по одному пробежала ящерица, странно похожая на Леона. - Гокудера! - беспомощно позвал Тсуна. - Остановись! Давай вернёмся, а? Гокудера оторвал руку от камня и помахал. Как попрощался. Тсуна вцепился в волосы. - Да что же это, - вырвалось у него. Он потрогал тёплый каменный бок и вдруг решился - поставил на него ногу и полез наверх. Но нога тут же соскользнула, и Тсуна упал, проехавшись рёбрами по краю. Вскочил, тяжело дыша, полез снова. Мелкий валун вывернулся из-под руки. Тсуна взвыл, полез на большой, надёжно вросший камень, но тот накренился, низко и страшно проскрежетав. Тсуна облился холодным потом, представив, как валун раздробит ему кости. Задрал голову, пытаясь разглядеть Гокудеру в сиянии солнца, и обнаружил, что тот смотрит на него. На мгновение всё стихло. Тсуна таращился на Гокудеру, растеряв все слова и просьбы. - Десятый, не лезь, - сказал Гокудера, и его голос потонул в шуме травы и ветра. - Это моя жизнь. Камни - мои поступки. Ты не пройдёшь. - Вернись, - задыхаясь, попросил Тсуна. - Ты же насовсем уходишь, ну не надо, пожалуйста! Глаза Гокудеры были как стоячая вода в озере - отражение этого пустого неба и дикого луга. У живых не бывает таких глаз, подумал Тсуна. - Не иди за мной, - сказал Гокудера и полез дальше. Тсуна оцепенел. Застыв, он наблюдал, как Гокудера лезет всё выше и выше, как редкие камни падают из-под его ног и катятся вниз, поднимая пыль. Он очнулся, когда понял, что Гокудера совсем близко от края откоса. Паника надулась в его груди, упёрлась в горло, и Тсуна полез следом - торопясь, срывая ногти и набивая синяки. Где-то в параллельном сне Тсуна лез в стылую речную воду, тёмную, как предрассветная тьма, а угрюмый паромщик увозил Гокудеру на другой берег. Ещё - Тсуна бежал сквозь толпу незнакомых людей, разыскивая Гокудеру, и клубился туман, и сиял далеко впереди горизонт, и кто-то в толпе сказал Тсуне, что лучше бы ему, живому, здесь не быть. Ещё - Тсуна метался по коридорам адской канцелярии, и чёрт-лоча со знаками чиновника среднего ранга кричал на него, чтобы он убирался обратно в подлунный мир, и что Владыка Янь-Ло устроит всем разнос, если опять обнаружит в Преисподней живого. Ещё - Тсуна верхом на олене мчался сквозь метель, оставив позади избу без дверей и старую мудрую финку, а впереди раскинулись бескрайние ледяные пустыни Страны Мёртвых, где никогда не бывает света, зато сияют в темноте дворцы северных ветров. Ещё - Тсуна шёл по радуге к белым стенам города, и кружили в небе два ворона, и гремела в отдалении тренировка на мечах, повторяющаяся изо дня в день. Ещё...Затекла поясница. Предупредительно пикнул прибор, и Тсуна чуть сдвинулся, не выпуская пальцев Гокудеры из ладони.В зале было жарко. Боги септов с шумом и перешёптываниями рассаживались по скамьям. Выкрашенные яркой лазурью колонны с цветами-капителями источали холод, и каждый норовил сесть к ним поближе. Нарет-Хеметет вполголоса рассказывал что-то Уабуи - слышались обрывки слов про беспорядки у Огненной реки и странное происшествие у Седьмых Ворот. Вошёл Тот - очень высокий, прямой, с деревянным ящиком в руках. Сев за свой стол, он тут же скрылся в полутьме и как будто исчез из зала. Он очень не любил привлекать к себе внимание. У подножия весов вдруг оказался Анубис - непонятно, появился он только что или был там, ещё когда септы обменивались новостями в приёмной. Амат, разинув зубастую крокодилью пасть, бухнулась на бок и подставила Анубису брюхо - почесать. Анубис рассеянно почесал, и Амат задрыгала в воздухе когтистой львиной лапой. Хвост с сухим шорохом мёл пол. Потом вошёл Озирис. В зале тут же запахло близкой водой, мокрым илом и зеленью - как пахнет в зарослях тростника на берегу реки. За Озирисом по полу и стенам протянулись нежные молодые побеги, и брызнул из колонны холодный родник. Тот встал, склонил голову - клюв блеснул серебром, - и Озирис на ходу махнул ему рукой. Анубис не поприветствовал, только обернулся и посмотрел тёмными непроглядными глазами, и Озирис быстро улыбнулся ему. Септы вскочили и нестройным хором затянули славословия. Амат рыкнула, и септы умолкли. - Что-то происходит с утра, - не глядя на Озириса, сказал Тот из своей полутьмы. - Что-то странное на пути из мира живых. - Хорошо. Тот поднял глаза: - Хорошо? Озирис пожал плечами: - Интересно. Разве нет? Анубис, стоя за весами, улыбнулся краем губ и даже дёрнул Амат за хвост. От его улыбки в зале свежо и остро запахло лекарственной мазью. Озирис сел на трон. Септы тут же смолкли и насупились. Анубис толкнул Амат в бок, и та села, обвила колонну весов хвостом. В наступившей тишине отчётливо журчал родник, бивший из расколовшейся колонны. - Начинается суд, - тихо сказал Озирис, и исполинские врата, вырубленные из скал с Края Мира, со скрежетом и стоном распахнулись. Взвилась пыль, в зал вылился полуденный свет. В проёме сияло знойное небо и прямая, как стрела, дорога, и виднелись арки девяти распахнутых Врат. За дымкой и песчаными ветрами неровно мерцало зарево Огненной Реки. На фоне этого ослепительного полудня темнел силуэт пришедшего на суд человека. - Войди, душа, - сказал Озирис, не приказывая, но приглашая. Человек вошёл. Тсуна бежал сквозь раскалённый сухой воздух, ныряя в тень огромных ворот, как в воду. Дыхание рвалось наружу хрипами и стонами. Тсуна стискивал зубы и считал про себя шаги - раз-два-три, раз-два-три... Кроссовки громко шаркали по белым плитам дороги. Позади осталась река огня и восемь врат. В сияющем небе, растворившем в себе солнце, кружил сокол. Когда Тсуна пробегал под пятыми вратами, птица облетела его кругом и уселась на перекладину. У сокола были умные золотые глаза, и Тсуна чувствовал его взгляд на своей спине. Впереди чернел провал входа в храм. Здесь нет другой дороги, значит, Гокудера вошёл в него. А вдруг там лабиринт? Вдруг Тсуна не найдёт его? От этой мысли Тсуна подпрыгнул и попытался бежать быстрее, но тут же посунулся носом вперёд и чуть не растянулся на белых плитах. Побежал медленнее, шаркая подошвами и взмахивая руками для равновесия. Если бы он упал, он бы уже не встал. Так бы и остался лежать, заносимый песком и медленно тлеющий под солнцем. А в храме, наверное, прохладно. Когда Тсуна, наконец, добежал, он не поверил своим глазам. Исполинские статуи мелькнули мимо, песочного цвета свод навис над головой. Тсуна с размаху влетел в тень и тут же ослеп. Он прислонился к стене, загнанно дыша и часто моргая. В горле и под языком саднило, во рту чувствовался привкус крови. Тсуна прижал руку к груди и, щурясь, огляделся. Гокудера стоял прямо перед ним. Неподвижный, освещённый со спины, он был контрастным кадром на фоне полутьмы зала. Тсуна шагнул к нему. Ноги подогнулись, и он упал на одно колено. - Хаято, - прошептал он. Гокудера оглянулся и изменился в лице. - Десятый? - выдохнул он. - Какого... какого хрена ты здесь? Пришёл за тобой, хотел ответить Тсуна. Ты - моя Семья. Ты - первый, с кем я так облажался. Если я этого не исправлю, это повторится. Я не смогу защитить кого-то ещё. Но вместо ответа Тсуна сухо закашлялся, держась за горло. - Уходи, - выговорил Гокудера. - Быстрее. Ты ведь ещё жив, да?! - А ты? - сквозь кашель спросил Тсуна. - Живой на Суде? Тсуна огляделся и только тут увидел, где он оказался. Зал был огромен. Его потолок терялся в вышине. Колонны, выкрашенные лазурью и киноварью, уходили ввысь и там распускались цветами узорных капителей. Посредине зала, мерцая сизым стальным блеском, высились Весы. Две исцарапанные чаши висели на цепях толщиной с корабельные канаты, по начищенному стержню вились глубоко вплавленные иероглифы. Рядом с Весами темнела какая-то невнятная громада размером с грузовик. Она пошевелилась, подалась ближе к свету. Стал видел частокол неровных желтых зубов, длинная чешуйчатая морда и мускулистое кошачье тело. Тсуна не удивился. Он потерял способность удивляться. Он только подумал, что, наверное, ни в одном зоопарке, даже в Пражском, про который Тсуна делал доклад весной, не содержится лев с головой крокодила. Тем более - такой огромный. - Что ты здесь делаешь, живой? - спросили из-за Весов. - Здравствуйте, - ответил Тсуна. В глубине зала на помосте высился трон. На нём сидел бледный красивый человек в белом сложном одеянии и с высокой короной на голове. За ним лестницей уходили ввысь ряды скамей, на которых сидели неприятного вида люди. Присяжные, догадался Тсуна. Их было много, не меньше сорока, и все они с удивлением взирали на Тсуну, как на таракана, выбежавшего на сервированный стол. - Как давно сюда не приходили живые, - задумчиво сказал человек на троне. У него были яркие зелёные глаза, до висков подведённые углём. Тсуна шагнул было вперёд, собираясь всё объяснить, но ему заступили дорогу. Тсуна вскинул глаза - перед ним стоял высокий смуглый парень, худой и злой, как степной хищник. - Прогнать? - пролаял он, становясь похожим на дикую собаку. - Не надо, оставь, - сказал человек на троне и посмотрел на Тсуну. - Ты - его хозяин? - Нет, - ответил Тсуна. - Да, - ответил Гокудера. Тсуна дико посмотрел на него. - Хорошо, - сказал человек на троне. - Тогда ты можешь остаться. Говори, душа. Гокудера на мгновение закрыл глаза. А затем заговорил. В параллельном сне Гокудера рассказывал одноглазому старику, что, хоть умер он в тёплой постели, смертельную рану получил в бою. Ещё - стоял перед воротами редкой узорной решётки, и высокий человек с ключами в руках решал, открыть их или нет. Ещё - уходил по серым бескрайним полям, и вились в воздухе серебристые огоньки, и кивали головками ему вслед бледные восковые цветы. Ещё - лёжа под чёрным небом, на котором никогда не бывает солнца, вмерзал в лёд. Ещё... - Я не знаю имён сорока двух богов, - говорил Гокудера. - Паромщик не узнал моего имени. Я не делал гнусного перед богами... - Стой, - сказал человек на троне. У него сделалось усталое огорчённое лицо. - Не надо этих речей. Представляешь, сколько раз я это слышал? - Что тогда? - спросил Гокудера. - Расскажи, чего ты стыдишься, - просто ответил человек на троне. Гокудера смотрел на него своими изменившимися глазами-отражениями. Тсуна вдруг понял, что Гокудера на самом деле сейчас начнёт рассказывать, и ему захотелось зажать уши ладонями. - Так много всего, - сказал Гокудера. - Мне было восемнадцать, я был в Милане. Я вызвал шлюху в номер, и её стошнило на костюм, в котором я должен был идти на встречу на следующий день. Я думал, она пьяна. Я ударил её несколько раз, затем понял, что ей на самом деле плохо. Вызвал врачей. Они сказали, что у неё проблемы с давлением. Но её увезли не из-за давления, а потому что я её сильно избил. На глазах Тсуны одна чаша весов дрогнула. Отчётливо заскрежетала цепь. - Дальше, - сказал человек на троне. - Я убил просящего о пощаде, - продолжил Гокудера. - Стычка в лесу возле Флоренции. Он был ранен и просил не убивать его. Он отдал оружие. Я сказал, что он может идти. Но потом подумал, что нельзя его отпускать. Я кинул ему вслед динамит. У Тсуны застучало в висках. Весы вновь дрогнули, и свет прошёлся бликами по звеньям цепи. - Дальше, - сказал человек на троне. - Я спал с мужчиной. С моим другом. Тсуна медленно поднял ладони к ушам. От стыда ему было трудно дышать. Он не имел права слушать всё это. - Дальше, - сказал человек на троне. - Я не смог защитить моего босса. Я просто умер и оставил его без своей помощи... - Хватит! - заорал Тсуна. Гокудера вздрогнул. Человек на троне выпрямился. Присяжные подскочили, как укушенные, а парень, похожий на собаку, подался к Тсуне, словно собрался выгрызть ему глотку. Тсуна обвёл зал взглядом, и Пламя вдруг толчком выплеснулось из его головы. Тени метнулись прочь от него, на каменном полу заплясали отблески, и парень-волк сделал шаг назад - все дикие звери боятся огня. Живое пламя, пульсирующее, как сердце - против белого полудня над Дорогой Мёртвых. - Хватит, - спокойно и страшно повторил Тсуна. - Он из моей Семьи. Я отвечаю за него. - Он поднял голову и посмотрел в зелёные глаза бога. - Я, Небо, беру его грехи на себя. Весы дрогнули, выравниваясь. Озирис смотрел на Тсуну, щурясь, и пламя расцвечивало его лицо красками жизни. Золотые искры плясали, отражаясь в глазах, и казалось, что бог вспоминает кого-то. - Ты - Небо? - спросил он. - Ты совсем не похож на мою Мать. - Я - Небо, - равнодушным голосом старого, как мир, существа ответил Тсуна. Огонь изменил его лицо, лишил возраста, лёг на губы отпечатком бесконечного знания. Его свет разогнал темноту, и даже Тот не смог удержать ночь возле себя. Озирис сказал: - Бескрайнее Небо вместит в себя сколько угодно грехов. Но Небу придётся отвечать. - Я отвечу. Тсуна обернулся к Гокудере и протянул руку, объятую пламенем: - Пойдём. Пальцы Гокудеры окунулись в огонь, и его взгляд изменился. Отражение прошедшей жизни пошло рябью и исчезло, и Гокудера удивлённо посмотрел на залитого оранжевым светом Тсуну. - Десятый?.. Тсуна повёл его к выходу. Так случилось во всех параллельных снах.Тсуна проснулся рано утром, когда медсестра пришла проверить данные приборов. Шея затекла, пальцы, сжимавшие ладонь Гокудеры, окостенели. Тсуна со стоном встал, попытался потянуться и схватился за спину, как старик. - Не надо было спать в такой позе, - сказала медсестра. - Легли бы в кресле. Тсуна тут же смутился. - Да, спасибо, ничего страшного. Он тревожно посмотрел на Гокудеру. Ему вдруг показалось, что тот выглядит лучше - хотя трудно выглядеть лучше, лёжа под капельницами и с кислородной маской на лице. Он спросил: - Как он? Девушка странно взглянула на Тсуну. На её лице отразилось облегчение, какое бывает, когда человек решает выдать неприятную тайну. - Вы знаете... Господин Сакагахира думал, что ваш друг не переживёт эту ночь. Но теперь... - Ему лучше? - подсказал Тсуна. От радости у него спёрло дыхание. - Он стабилен, даже есть положительная динамика, - признала медсестра. Тсуна прижал кулаки ко рту и взвыл от счастья. Медсестра шикнула на него, и Тсуна замолчал, широко и бессмысленно улыбаясь. - Я так и знал, - сдавленным голосом сказал он, глядя на девушку сияющими глазами. - Он очень сильный! Мне всю ночь снилось, что он справится! Медсестра улыбнулась ему. Стало вдруг видно, какая она молоденькая. - Может быть, хорошо, что вы спали рядом с ним, - сказала она, и Тсуна почему-то покраснел до ушей. Кто-то постучал в стекло. Тсуна посмотрел и заулыбался, помахал рукой. - Ну вот, - сказал он, - опять апельсины принесли. * Утро над Карпатами было пасмурным и пронзительно-холодным. - Чёрт, - сказал Гокудера, и Тсуна обернулся к нему. – Я… я забыл очки в номере. Наконец-то, подумал Тсуна. Вернись за очками. Или я пойду. Мы же не потащимся вдвоём и с сумками, правда? Там крутые лестницы, узкие пролёты и чьи-то чемоданы, наваленные на площадке между вторым и третьим этажами. Гокудера быстро взглянул Тсуне в лицо. От холода у него покраснели щёки и нос, отросшие волосы мели по воротнику куртки. Глаза Гокудеры были светлее, чем небо над горами. - Ладно, - сказал он, - ерунда. Куплю новые. Пошли, Десятый. Тсуна на мгновение зажмурился. От ненависти ему стало трудно дышать, как будто в горле что-то застряло. Ему захотелось убить Гокудеру, расплавить Гокудеру своим пламенем, скинуть его с лестницы и сломать ему шею – что угодно, только бы забрать деньги и все фальшивые паспорта и добраться до аэропорта. - Десятый, не надо. Тсуна открыл глаза. Вокруг были белые стены Кечкемета. - Гокудера, - сказал Тсуна, и Гокудера заранее нахмурился. – Давай вернёмся. Хватит. Набегались. - Нет, - ответил Гокудера и сошёл с лестницы мимо Тсуны. – У тебя не очень тяжёлый рюкзак? Хочешь, я понесу? Тсуна запустил пальцы в волосы. Гокудера искоса наблюдал за ним – сочувствующий, понимающий… готовый в любой момент схватить за руку и всадить снотворное из пневматического шприца. - Нормально, - сказал Тсуна. – Я сам. Такси подъехало только через десять минут. За это время они бы добрались до вокзала пешком. Но в воскресное утро людей было мало, и Гокудера не хотел ходить по пустынным улицам. Всё это время они с Тсуной молчали. Тсуна пялился на брусчатку, Гокудера просматривал карты в своём смартфоне. На вокзале они сели в поезд до Вены. Оттуда, пересадкой, в Дрезден. - Зачем? – только и спросил Тсуна, когда Гокудера растолкал его по прибытию в Германию. За окнами поезда уже вечерело. - Здесь нам подготовили квартиру, - хмуро ответил Гокудера. Выглядел он устало, и Тсуна испытал злорадное удовлетворение: не спал, караулил меня. Но затем ему стало стыдно. - Кто подготовил? Гокудера молча подтолкнул Тсуну в спину. Они сошли на платформу, вышли под открытое небо и оказались на длинной широкой улице с запахом стройки и МакДональдса. - Здесь безопасно, мы хорошо запутали следы в Венгрии, - сказал Гокудера. - Мы сможем погулять, если захочешь. Зайдём в галерею. Пройдёмся по набережной. Около архитектурного института очень красивые деревья. - Ты здесь был? - Да, два раза. Тсуна смотрел по сторонам. Европейцев он не любил. Они были шумные, грубые и слишком высокие. Особенно немцы. Увидев прошагавшую мимо женщину со светлыми волосами, круглым бело-розовым лицом и размахом плеч ресторанного вышибалы, Тсуна остро захотел увидеть маленькую тонкую Киоко. - Для начала зайдём в квартиру, - сказал он. – Мне надо принять душ. Возможно, там будет пожарная лестница у окна, подумал он. Или обнаружится подходящий табурет, который я смогу быстро схватить и опустить на твою голову. Они поймали такси. Тсуна невероятно удивился, услышав, как Гокудера медленно, тщательно подбирая слова, говорит на немецком. - Когда ты?.. - Недавно, - со скрытой гордостью ответил Гокудера. Когда готовился к побегу, понял Тсуна. Их квартира оказалась в доме на широком проспекте, с охраняемым двором и окнами, выходящими на реку. Тсуна ушёл в ванную и оттуда слушал, как Гокудера заказывает еду на дом. Затем он краем глаза увидел разбросанные по дивану банкноты в пачках. Таскать с собой деньги было неудобно и нервно, но ещё на границе Венгрии Гокудера сознался, что случайно сжёг взрывом большую часть кредиток. В этом весь Гокудера. Случайно подорвать опору моста, случайно зашвырнуть динамит под крошащуюся бетонную стену, случайно раздробить скулу китайскому партнёру на переговорах. Хотя партнёр это заслужил, стоит признать. Тсуна вытирал волосы, когда приоткрытая дверь распахнулась. Гокудера, осунувшийся, кажется, ещё больше, прошёл к раковине и стал плескать воду себе в лицо. Тсуна смотрел на его затылок и думал, что никогда не сможет ударить по нему. Только не так. Не со спины. Не Гокудеру. - Хаято, - бесцветным голосом позвал Тсуна, и Гокудера застыл. – Мы должны вернуться. - Нет, босс. Тсуна глубоко вздохнул. - Почему раньше ты слушался меня, а теперь перестал? Гокудера поднял голову, поймал взгляд Тсуны в отражении в зеркале. - Потому что ты собрался умереть. Тсуна не дёрнулся, даже не сжал пальцы и не моргнул. Он что-то такое подозревал. Никому нельзя верить, особенно людям, которые слишком сильно тебя любят. - С чего ты взял? - Не думай плохо о Рыжем, Десятый, - улыбнулся Гокудера. – Этот очкастый ублюдок хранил твой план в секрете. - Тогда… - Да. Тсуна онемел. Не может быть, думал он, только не Хибари. Зачем? - С каких пор Хибари воспылал ко мне такой любовью? – Тсуна опустился на холодный бортик ванной и поёжился. – Когда мы обсуждали это с ним, он сказал: «Хоть умрёшь с пользой». - Кёя всё такой же… Облако, - Гокудера поморщился. – Но он узнал… Я не знаю, как, но это же Кёя… Он узнал, что твой план не сработает. - Он бы сказал мне. - И что бы ты сделал? Я бы всё равно уничтожил кольца и инсценировал свою смерть, подумал Тсуна. Гокудера наблюдал за ним через плечо. Вода стекала по его щекам, висла каплями на носу и ресницах. Вокруг глаз залегли красноватые тени. - Тебе надо поспать, - сказал Тсуна. – Можешь вколоть мне снотворного, и я никуда не денусь. Гокудера помолчал, затем стал раздеваться. - Ты хоть представляешь, - буркнул он, стаскивая майку, - как мне неприятно делать с тобой такое, Десятый? Это, конечно, не удар битой по голове, но всё же… Тсуна нервно засмеялся. Гокудера забросил рубашку и майку в бачок для грязного белья и достал сигареты. - Почему ты сказал мне только сейчас? - Теперь мы достаточно далеко от Японии. - И что?.. Послушай, Хаято, это глупость. Хибари рассказал тебе не всё. Я не собирался умирать по-настоящему… Гокудера посмотрел на него поверх огонька зажигалки, и под его взглядом Тсуна растерялся. - Тебя собирались убить, - сказал Гокудера. - Какая свежая новость. Меня пытаются убить с четырнадцати лет. - Не так, как в этот раз. Всё серьёзнее. Бьякуран узнал о твоём плане и решил наложить на него свой. Всё очень гладко, Десятый. Ты делаешь вид, что умираешь, а Бьякуран помогает сделать сказку былью. Тсуна молчал. Он пережил столько покушений, что хватило бы на миллион американских президентов. Его Семья – его служба безопасности в частности, - научилась относиться к этому адекватно. Боссы Вонголы традиционно защищали свою жизнь сами. И раз теперь Гокудера при поддержке Хибари предпринял настолько безумную эскападу… - Десятый, - Гокудера поднял на него измученные красные глаза, - пожалуйста, пообещай, что не сбежишь. Я, конечно, ещё могу продержаться пару дней на кофе и амфетаминах, но… - Спи. Я никуда не денусь. Гокудера недоверчиво разглядывал его. Краше последний экзамен сдают, подумал Тсуна. - Ты… Правда? Тсуна кивнул и, поддавшись порыву, признался: - Прости, что я хотел проломить тебе череп или сломать шею. Гокудера поморгал: - Хотел? Когда? - Я про себя хотел, - объяснил Тсуна. – Молча. Гокудера неуверенно улыбнулся. Тсуна завернулся в полотенце и вышел из ванной. Походя он сжал голое плечо Гокудеры, и тот накрыл его руку своей. Когда прибыл курьер с едой, в городе окончательно стемнело. В коробках Тсуна обнаружил пиццу с салями, печёную курицу, маринованную рыбу, варёный с приправами рис, пересыпанный зеленью и мясом, несколько странных блюд, имитирующих бенто, суши, рамен и даже удон, две бутылки красного сухого и одну – шнапса, и гору закусок. Поражённый Тсуна заглянул в комнату с воплем: «Мы это не съедим!», но осёкся, увидев, что Гокудера спит, раскинувшись на кровати и обняв подушку. Тсуна постоял на пороге, думая об открытой двери, о сложенных в рюкзаке деньгах и лежащих там же документах… и пошёл сгружать еду в холодильник. Через пару часов он вошёл в спальню и расстелил свою кровать. Гокудера похрапывал, свесив руку в воздух. Тсуна видел изгиб его бока, голую ногу и три спутавшихся цепочки на шее. Волосы Гокудеры тускло сияли, отражая свет из окна. Тсуна сел на свою кровать, положил локти на колени и замер так, рассматривая Гокудеру. Этот человек столько лет учился понимать его приказы с полувзгляда и выполнять их раньше всех возможных сроков, и этот же человек в один прекрасный день усыпил его и провёз через три страны как своего коматозного друга, над которым оформлена законная опека. По стене протянулись огни прожекторов проезжающего по реке катера. Тсуна вспоминал, как Гокудера набрасывал ему капюшон на голову; просил подержать кипу проездных билетов и пытался разобрать, какие не просрочены; покупал еду; переживал, когда на станции где-то в Хорватии они попали под дождь, и Тсуна весь промок. Этому всему – как и фальшивым документам опеки и пневматическому шприцу со снотворным, - было объяснение, и Тсуна сам мог бы догадаться, не будь он так занят планами побега. Гокудера во сне всхрапнул, перевернулся на спину. Он был высоким и широкоплечим, с плоским крепким животом и длинными ногами, с руками, покрытыми ожогами и тонким светлым волосом. Подростком Гокудера был угловатым и тощим, и Тсуна скорее заподозрил бы такую стать в Ямамото. Сам Тсуна почти не вырос. Он остался худым и лишь чуть выше среднего для японцев роста, с бледным тонким лицом и большими карими глазами. До старости буду щенком, усмехнулся про себя Тсуна. - Хаято, - прошептал он. Гокудера не отреагировал. Тсуна пересел на его кровать, положил ладонь ему на голую грудь и понял, что Гокудера замёрз. Он перетащил одеяло со своей постели, набросил его на Гокудеру и залез рядом. Места было мало, и Тсуна улёгся на краю. Гокудера на мгновение открыл бессмысленные сонные глаза, проворчал что-то и сдвинулся. Тсуна пригрелся у него под боком, обнял за живот. Перед глазами кружились пейзажи Карпатов, пустоши близ Харбина, зелёные открыточные луга Германии, которые он видел из окон поезда, островерхие крыши европейских ратушей, и брусчатка, брусчатка, брусчатка – бесконечная, разноцветная, крупная и мелкая, в лужах дождевой воды и лучах солнца. Под утро они проснулись – так уж получилось, что одновременно, - и долго смотрели друг на друга, щурясь в рассветной темноте. Под одеялом было тепло и пахло ими обоими. Когда Тсуна сдвинулся, чувствуя, как колет онемевшую руку, Гокудера схватил его за плечо. Наверное, подумал, что Тсуна хочет уйти. В этой непроглядной темноте Тсуна наощупь нашёл его лицо, потянулся поцеловать, но попал в нос. Гокудера смеялся тихо, хрипло. Они возились на нагретых простынях, тискаясь и вылизывая друг друга, но, когда Тсуна перевернулся на живот, Гокудера вдруг смутился и стал сбивчиво объяснять про долгий недосып и усталость. Тсуне было неловко слушать его голос с паническими нотками – о-нет-я-разочаровал-своего-босса! – и он побыстрее опрокинул Гокудеру на спину, попросил его замолчать и раздвинуть ноги, а потом сопел от неловкости и неумения, не попадал в темноте, возился коленями, пытаясь встать поудобнее, но в результате у них получилось долго, хорошо, до самого рассвета. Когда спальня наполнилась жидким бледным светом, а Гокудера снова уснул, Тсуна вышел на балкон и постоял там, глядя на реку, мост и уток на зелёной набережной. Этот город начинал нравиться ему, но надо было составлять новый план и возвращаться в Японию. Тсуна подозревал, что Гокудера этого не одобрит. * Ворота поползли вверх, открывая бетонный пол ангара и жёлтые линии разметки. Тсуна задумчиво смотрел, как электрический свет заливает носы его туфель. Естественно, чёрных - ведь на часах уже половина девятого вечера. - Кого там черти принесли? - заорали из ангара. - Это Савада, кэп! - гаркнула Леви. Тсуна неприязненно посмотрел на неё. Леви была огромной, громкой и пахла так, словно ночевала под токарным станком. Лицо её походило на морду медведицы. Под одеждой она представлялась Тсуне коричневой и твёрдой - куском засохшей глины, - и всё обилие её плоти не вызывало мыслей о чём-то мягком и соблазнительном. Сквало издевательски завопила: - Входи, Савада! Не бойся! Тсуна отвернулся от входа в ангар. Гокудера всё ещё не могла дозвониться Хибари. От того, что она услышит, зависит участь останков Джонатана Хоука и всех его азиатских компаний; человека, разорившего шанхайский банк «Фатум-X» и принёсшего Вонголе многомиллионные убытки. - Ты что, оглох? - спросила Леви. - Входи, тебя позвали. Тсуна перевёл на неё взгляд. Леви замолчала, слегка приоткрыв рот, и как никогда стала похожа на огромное несообразительное животное. - Я войду, - вежливо сказал Тсуна, - когда сочту нужным. Леви пожала плечами, буркнула что-то с сильным сицилийским акцентом. Гокудера отняла мобильный от уха и заспешила к Тсуне. - «Пар-Кон» согласны на сделку! - воскликнула она и отсалютировала кулаком. - Сорок миллионов наши, контракт на десять лет, эксклюзивные права на вывоз и патент техники! Хорошее извинение, а, Десятый? Тсуна улыбнулся ей. Связь «Пар-Кон» и Хоука доказала именно Гокудера. Она же вела все переговоры, оказывала нажим и выдвигала условия. Извинение было не просто хорошим — оно было шикарным: десятилетний контракт сулил огромные прибыли, а техника в начале двадцать первого века - единственное, на что стоит делать ставку. - Отлично, - искренне сказал Тсуна. - Ты молодец. Гокудера засияла светлыми кошачьими глазами и с удовольствием припечатала: - Так мы их. Пусть знают, на кого полезли, сраные янки. - Савада! - заорала Сквало, и Гокудера сверкнула яростным взглядом. - Заткнись, дура! Мы разговариваем! Тсуна увидел, что Сквало быстрым шагом направилась к воротам, и сжал плечо Гокудере. - Спокойней, - устало сказал он и встал на пути Сквало. Та остановилась - худая, жилистая, очень красивая. - Мне перешагнуть через тебя? - спросила она. Тсуна чувствовал напряжение Гокудеры, её сексуальное возбуждение и острое желание драки. Как с ними сложно, подумал он. - Проводи меня к Занзас, - сказал он. Сквало смотрела поверх его головы. - Ты ослеп? - спросила она. - Вон босс стоит. Дотопаешь сам. Тсуна взял её под протезированную руку и ощутил себя так, словно сунулся головой в капкан. На лице Сквало мелькнуло потрясение — мелькнуло и пропало. - И всё же проводи. - Не трогай меня, - сказала она и пошла обратно. Ангар ярко освещали лампы дневного света. Люди и предметы отбрасывали резкие тени. Здесь пахло пластиком и резиной, но, чем ближе Тсуна подходил к дальней стене, тем отчётливее ощущал медный запах крови. Кровь, кстати, была не чёрной и не багровой. Она была красной, какой её изображают в фильмах, и в ней всё отражалось, как в зеркале. Обнажённое мужское тело лежало на открытом прицепе, в котором, очевидно, перевозили бетонные блоки. Одна рука свешивалась за край, на ней темнел ремешок часов. Белая кожа трупа была похожа на мороженое тесто, а кровь — на потёки клубничного сиропа. Тсуна остановился в трёх метрах, не желая подходить ближе. Занзас обернулась, держа в руках заляпанный секатор, и оглядела Тсуну с ног до головы. - Ты отвратителен, - сказала она. Презрение в её голосе могло бы испепелить Тсуну на месте. - А ты отлично выглядишь с этими ножницами. Занзас щёлкнула секатором. Тсуна любовался её ленивыми и уверенными, как у большой кошки, движениями. Она ткнула остриём лезвий в бок трупа и спросила: - Ты хотел упаковать это мясо и отправить родителям? - «Пар-Кон» извинились. Я отдам тело Джонатана его брату. - Ты вовремя, - небрежно сказала Занзас. - Я ухожу. Тело должно было достаться Бельфегор. У стены захихикали. Тсуна не посмотрел туда. - Оно должно быть целым, ты ведь понимаешь? - Оно почти целое, - сказала Занзас. У стены ржали в голос. Тсуна, начав догадываться, подошёл ближе и внимательно взглянул на труп. Хоук был крупным мужчиной в начале его тридцатых. Смерть исказила его лицо: он умер со сведёнными судорогой губами и широко распахнутыми глазами. На всём его большом белом теле почти не было ран, но между ног на месте гениталий чернела дыра. Живот и бёдра были красными от ожогов. Судя по количеству крови, член и яйца ему отрезали - хорошенько поджарив перед этим, - когда он был ещё жив. Тсуна стиснул зубы и выдохнул. Занзас наблюдала за ним, улыбаясь. Отвратительно, думал Тсуна. У них нет чувства чести. Они опозорили меня, и теперь моё лицо потеряно навсегда. Заложник изуродован низко и подло, и все будут говорить, что я не могу справиться со своими проклятыми подчинёнными!.. - Зачем? - спросил он сквозь зубы. Занзас подняла брови: - Зачем? Из-за этого ублюдка разорился наш банк и три дочерние компании. - Он шутил с нами, - сообщила Бельфегор из-за спины Сквало. - Заигрывал. Урод. - В самом деле, Савада, ему стоило засунуть язык в жопу. - Он очень раздражал. - Он хвастался, что следующим рейдом проглотит наш «Циклон»!.. - Заткнитесь, - сказал Тсуна, и Вария замолчала от неожиданности. Занзас подошла к нему вплотную, так, что запах крови стал невыносим. - Ты что-то сказал? - Да, - ответил Тсуна, - я сказал, что ты отрезала заложнику член, как обиженная баба, которую поимели. Ты дала Вонголе такое лицо. И теперь я должен возвращать его брату это изуродованное тело, хотя мы пришли к соглашению, и компенсация с его стороны огромна. Ты, Занзас, влезла в нашу сделку со своей мелочной местью, настолько мелочной, что вместо того, чтобы отсечь голову, ты отхватила ему яйца! Занзас ударила его по щеке. Тсуна шатнулся и снова замер — низкорослый, очень прямой, с застывшим от злости бледным лицом. - Ты просто дура, - сказал он, и она оскалилась. - Приведи тело в порядок. Я заморожу тебя, если ты не сделаешь всё возможное, чтобы оно выглядело пристойно. - Пошёл в жопу, - выплюнула Занзас. - Твои церемониалы просто смешны! - Это называется достоинство. Ты об этом ничего не знаешь. Она странно посмотрела на него. Глаза у неё были тёмно-красными от бешенства. - Ты как мой папаша, - сказала она. - Такой же двинутый, старомодный идиот. Ты слаб. Лицо у Тсуны стало невыразительное. - Приберись здесь, - бросил он и зашагал к выходу. У него разболелась голова. Он видел тонкую фигуру Гокудеры на фоне провала ночи и мысленно цеплялся за неё, чтобы успокоиться и не выпустить пламя, скопившееся внутри. Гокудера, конечно, увидела выражение его лица. - Они напортачили? - огорчённо спросила она. - Немного. - Хибари или Йемитсу должны узнать об этом? - Нет. Просто вопрос этикета. Гокудера, девять лет прожившая в Японии, восприняла это серьёзно. Снаружи было ветрено и пахло морем. Выйдя под звёздное небо, Тсуна глубоко вздохнул, подумал и поделился с Гокудерой мыслью: - Я чувствую себя владельцем гарема. - Крутое чувство? - спросила Гокудера. - Нет. Утомительное.
1139839	Way Back When	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Ashlyn Harris, Ali Krieger", "Fandom": "Women's Soccer RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by Deirdre14 (littlemonster)", "chapters": "9/9", "completed": "2014-02-02", "published": "2014-01-17T00:00:00", "words": "13,465", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Ashlyn Harris/Ali Krieger", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Ali ran her hands over the navy new blazer for what must have been the fifteenth time that morning. She was stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom for the past 10 minutes. She was looking at herself, studying herself, figuring herself out. Starting a new school is never easy, everyone knows that. Starting a new high school, in a new city, with no new friends, not easy doesn’t even cover it. Ali was scared, petrified. She wanted to look her best; she had bought the school uniform, a brand new soccer kit and all the required school books. But now she was totally regretting that. She was starting to think she was over-prepared and was now even contemplating turning up in trackies and a vest. What was cool in her old school might not be cool in Satellite High School. Who was she kidding, Ali Krieger wasn’t cool. She was far from cool, on outsider, an inbetweener if you will. She wasn’t one of the geeks or nerds, but she never stood out. No one really noticed her but she kind of preferred it that way.“Ali! Get a move on, the car has started!”Ali jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice and was quickly transported back to reality. She sighed deeply before grabbing her backpack and gear bag and headed for the stairs. Here goes nothing.***********************************************************************************************************************************************************The place was huge and Ali was lost. There were hundreds, no thousands; it must be thousands, of kids walking up and down the hallways like they were on some kind of mission. Everyone chatted to each other loudly on their way, laughing could be heard from every side and Ali couldn’t even tell her left from her right. “Excuse… sorry, excuse me! Hello! Someone!”Ali’s attempts to stop various students on their tracks were all in vain. It was like everyone except Ali had been told there was a thousand dollars somewhere in the school and they had to search to find it. The day had not got off to a good start then. Suddenly Ali felt a stiff arm on her shoulder and she turned immediately. Looking down at her was a man in his 50’s with balding white hair and glasses. His huge stomach looked like it was asking to be released from the clutches of his tight shirt and Ali wondered if that was painful for him.“Hello young lady. You’re looking a bit lost. My name is Mr. Simmons and I’m the principal here at Satellite High School. If you’ll follow me I’ll get you set up.”He said the words in such quick succession that Ali was immediately aware he had been repeating them all morning to various students along the hallway. She followed him as he made his way up a wooden staircase which looked centuries old. He opened the door to a small office labelled “Mr. Simmons, Principal.” At least he was telling the truth, Ali thought.“Please take a seat. We seem to have found a lot of new wandering students along the hallways this morning,” the man said with a chuckle.Ali let out a relieved laugh. She liked Mr. Simmons. He was the first friendly face she encountered that morning and he removed her from the horrifying situation she found herself in on the hallway. “Now, what’s your name? And where have you come from?” Mr Simmons asked while rooting out a pile of folders from his filing cabinet. He must have been doing this all morning; finding lost, new students and getting them acquainted.“Ali Krieger. I moved from Forest Park High School, Virginia.”Ali glanced around the dimly lit room while Mr Simmons searched for the correct folder. Trophies, medals, plaques and certificates lined every corner of the walls. Some trophies were shaped into footballs, others into basketballs and surfboards. The thought crossed her mind that if the school won anything else, it wouldn’t fit into Mr Simmons office and what then?“Ah! Ms Krieger!” the man finally spoke. “Here we have your file and…“ He stopped suddenly as he was reading Ali’s file. Ali gulped and blushed a little.“Wow. This is an impressive sporting record, Ali. Soccer captain, 10 goals in one season, All-Virginia AAA selection.” He let out a long exasperated sigh as he sat back in his seat.“You do intend on joining the soccer team here too right?” Ali could see the man’s eyes light up with hope at the thought of her addition to his team. Sport clearly meant a lot to him.Ali nodded her head, “yeah I guess, if you’ll have me,” she smiled.**********************************************************************************************************************************The rest of Ali’s first day had been a blur. An eventful, frightful and not knowing where the hell she was blur. Mr Simmons had given her a timetable and allocated her a locker to put her gear bag into. He promised to add her to the roster immediately and inform the coach of her arrival. Ali was most anxious about joining her new school mostly because of joining her new soccer team. She loved her team at Forest Park; they were all so close, all such good friends since childhood and as a result, their teams worked brilliantly together. Ali was devastated to leave all that behind. She was sure she was going to fit into her new team here. She wouldn’t understand their tactics, their developed set of skills and how they communicated with one another. She felt she was going to be intrusive and was not looking forward to first practice later that day.After being late for almost every class due to not knowing which way was up or down in her newfound environment; Ali was glad the day was over and she could stretch her legs on her much-loved soccer field. She grabbed her kit from her locker and made her way to the changing rooms.“But I was sure she was dating Kevin Bridges?”“Kevin Bridges?! Ew, he looks like a foot!”Ali could hear the mindless gossip as she approached the girls’ changing rooms. She took a deep breath just as she was about to open the door, she hated this. Like a Mexican wave, all the girls in the changing room turned at once in Ali’s direction. Ali could see the confusion on their faces at this new addition to the group. No one spoke for what seemed like forever in which Ali just stared at the floor.“Hellooo?” Ali looked up. Standing in the middle of the floor with a sports bra and shorts and what looked like a tattoo on her arm was a blonde haired girl with her arms outstretched. She was clearly the dominant one in the group then, Ali thought. Probably the team captain who everyone answers to and who speaks for the whole group.Ali realised they were now staring even more and she wasn’t making a good first impression.“Erm, hey. I’m Ali… I’m a centre-back… I’m new…” she mumbled quickly. God, these girls were judgmental. This is last thing Ali wanted. Why couldn’t she be back with all her friends in Virginia, enjoying the cool, but not boiling weather like here in Florida?All the girls slowly turned to the dominant one in the middle who continued to stare blankly at Ali. Jeez, why were they treating this girl in the middle like some kind of God with all the answers?“You any good?” the middle one finally asked. The others turned around quickly in Ali’s direction eagerly awaiting a response.“So I’ve been told…” Ali didn’t like to boast about her athletic achievements. She was just focused on always bettering herself and besides, they would all see what’s she capable of on the field soon enough.The girls turned their heads quickly once again in the middle one’s direction. They were like puppets on strings, Ali thought.The middle one seemed to stare at Ali for what seemed like forever and a century, her jaw clenched tightly and her hands clasped together at her front.Eventually, she shrugged her shoulders and turned away, “alright.”The other girls immediately continued their mindless gossip from earlier and continued to change into their kits.Ali stood there, not really sure what just happened. But when she realised no one was now staring at her anymore, she proceeded to change into her kit. This was going to be one hell of a journey. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ali’s first training session didn’t go as bad as she expected. She had surprised the girls with her quick feet, her stamina and her ability to get the ball in any situation. She was even pretty sure she received some back-handed compliments from her team-mates after the session and Ali was beginning to think they had already accepted her. However, one person stood out in particular for Ali; the girl in the locker room who stood in the middle and asked if she was any good. Turns out her name is Ashlyn, she’s the keeper, the captain and the one everyone answers to. But Ali could also understand why. Ashlyn didn’t let one ball past her in the entire training session. Her ability to dominate the net and cover every angle with such precision was something Ali had never encountered before. Back in the locker room, Ali was the main talking point among her team-mates. “Yo, where you from?!” an African-American girl shouted across the locker room at Ali. “Erm, Virginia! Forest Park High School!” Ali attempted to shout back. It was at times like this she wished her voice would actually rise above a certain decibel. The other girls seemed to nod at her response like it was understandable. “You did good out there,” standing beside Ali was goalkeeper Ashlyn. Ali hadn’t even seen her until now. Her face was expressionless and Ali couldn’t tell if she was jealous or happy for her. “I’ll tell coach you’re worth starting for us” Ashlyn continued and stared at Ali for a response. Oh, she expects me to thank her? Ali thought.“Okay. Thanks.” Ashlyn smiled for what Ali thought must have been the first time in her lifetime and walked back to her locker to change. At least Ali had proved something that day. ******************************************************************************************************* “Oh shit” Ali whispered to herself as the tonne of books she was carrying fell to the floor. She swore Florida somehow required double the amount of reading Virginia did. Her school bag was nearly almost empty at Virginia but here she always felt like she was carrying a tonne of bricks on her back every day. She bent down to retrieve the offending items when she noticed someone was already helping her. She looked up and saw a dark haired girl with glasses about Ali’s age. “I presume you’re new?” the girl giggled. Ali laughed, “Yeah. Pretty sure I’ve never seen so many books in all my life.” The girl picked up the remaining items and handed them to Ali. “Thanks.” Ali smiled. “Ali… I’m Ali.” The other girl’s eyes widened in surprise, “Ali? Krieger? You’re Ali Krieger the new girl?” she asked. Ali looked to the floor and shuffled her feet a little. Good news travels fast. “That’s me.” The other girl gasped, “Wow. Everyone has been talking about you since you started practice for the soccer team. They say you might even have more talent than Ashlyn Harris.”Ali didn’t really know how to respond when people said things like that. “Thanks I guess. And you are?” The other girl laughed, “oh sorry! I’m Stacey. I write for the school newspaper. Don’t play soccer unfortunately. I might have to do a piece about you in the paper if you don’t mind? It’s pretty big news around here.” Ali already felt like a local celebrity or something. She didn’t really understand why people made such a big deal out of her. She shrugged her shoulders, “yeah, sure, whatever.” Stacey grinned widely; she didn’t usually get a positive response to that question. “Awesome!” she handed Ali a piece of paper. “Here’s my address. Come by whenever you can and we’ll do something. See ya later!” Stacey quickly walked off in the other direction. Ali wasn’t sure but she thought she had just made her first friend. ********************************************************************************************************************************************************* A few weeks had passed at Satellite High and things were going good for Ali. Stacey, who turns out to actually be a really nice person, published an article about Ali in the school newspaper. It had highlighted her athletic achievements to date and what she hoped to achieve in the future. She was even asked is there any tension between her and other “star athlete” Ashlyn Harris. Apparently people thought they hated each other. Ali barely knew the girl. Training had been pretty intense recently as a big game was coming up; first game of the season and a chance for Ali to really prove herself. The pressure was really on due to the article published and the “buzz” surrounding her. Things like this were never made a big deal of in Virginia; people just supported her and wished her the best. Here, she felt like they were judging her and secretly wishing she would mess up. The girls were having a pre-game pep talk in the locker room. “It’s the first game this season,” Coach pointed out, “I want a good start. No, scratch that. I want the best start. I want to win here today people. I want to win because there is no losing! Satellite High School doesn’t do losing! We are the best team in the league and with our new star addition; there is no room for losing!” I wonder who that could be, Ali thought. The girls entered the pitch and as Ali looked to the crowd, she smiled when she saw her Mum, Dad and Stacey waving back at her. The game had got off to a good start. Satellite High School were 1-0 up due to Katlynn’s header in the 15th minute. Ashlyn had, as expected, played brilliantly throughout, saving everything that she came into contact with. With Ali being on the back line, she could hear Ashlyn shouting commands to the players throughout and watched her every move. In many ways Ali admired her; it was like she had been playing professionally for years, she knew exactly what she was doing. The game was heading into the final 10 minutes and the opposition were really driving into them. Attack after attack was being launched and even Ali was finding it hard to fight them off. They had conceded a corner in the very last minute and the pressure was certainly on. Number 7 of the opposition launched the ball into the 6-yard box, Ali was at the far post guarding Ashlyn’s back. Several opponents leaped into the air, the ball colliding with only one girl’s head. It was too quick, too high for Ashlyn who failed to connect. All Ali could see was a round shaped object flying in her direction. She did what she had been taught to do in any soccer situation and managed to get her entire body in front of the ball on time in order to clear it off the line and halfway down the pitch when the whistle blew for full time. The crowd cheered and Ali could hear faint chants of her name through her dazed state. She hadn’t felt pressure like that in a while but she smiled when she realised what she had just done. *************************************************************************************************************************************** Back in the locker room, several team-mates congratulated Ali which really made her proud to be there and helped her feel more involved in the team. As the other girls left to go home, Ali stayed a little while longer in the locker room. There was something she found comforting in a locker room environment. Maybe it was the positive energy emanating or maybe it was just the smell of sweat which reminded her of the hard work everybody put in. She liked to just sit there after games and assess her performance in her head, always trying to think of ways she could improve. “You really saved my ass out there.” Ali turned around on the bench she was sitting on to see Ashlyn standing the other side of the room. She was still in her kit which she clearly hadn’t changed out of yet. “I thought something would actually get past me,” the blonde girl smiled. Ali laughed, “Yeah, well. That’s my job I guess.” Ashlyn walked the distance of the room to sit next to Ali. She took a deep breath as she stared straight ahead, “well, you’re really good at it. Your job I mean.” Ali could sense a tinge of worry in Ashlyn’s voice as she spoke. “So are you,” Ali assured her. Ashlyn smiled a little, “Yeah. But the pressure is unbearable sometimes you know? I feel like I can’t even let one goal in or I let everyone down. Surely you know what that’s like?” she turned to look directly at Ali. Ali hadn’t even thought about that. She and Ashlyn were the stars of this school. They were the ones everyone expected to go onto achieve amazing things in life; the ones whose names would be plastered all over the country. Yeah, shit, that was immense pressure. And Ali could see it was getting to Ashlyn. “Hey,” Ali said sternly. “I’ve seen you in goal. You have an amazing talent. You have a gift. And it’s ok to let goals in. It’s ok to let as many goals in as you like. Cause it’s ok to screw up. Cause you know what happens when you screw up?” Ashlyn looked dejected to the floor and shook her head. “You learn, Ashlyn. You learn from your mistakes. That’s what they’re there for. So don’t ever feed me that bullshit ok?” Ali smiled.Ashlyn laughed and looked at her. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I really needed to hear that. Well, I hear it a lot but not from people who really know what it’s like. It’s good to hear it from someone who’s in the same boat as me.” Ali smiled, “I’ve got your back.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Things had been going good for Ali for the past few weeks. Her team had won their first 3 league games, Ali’s grades were high and she was making new friends. Everywhere she went, be it school or otherwise, people were complimenting her soccer ability; telling her she was destined for great things and to “keep it up.” She was beginning to understand exactly what Ashlyn was talking about the other week in the locker room. She had never felt this kind of pressure before, but she felt she could handle it; she knew she was talented and she was excited about her future. She replayed the conversation with Ashlyn over and over again. She hoped she did enough to reassure the blonde that she didn’t have to worry. Yeah, all eyes were on her and Ali during games but it can also be a good thing that people admired them and looked up to them. In Ali’s mind that was something to embrace and not fear. She hoped to have a similar conversation again with Ashlyn in the future. That conversation wasn’t as far away as Ali expected. 4th game into the season and Satellite High were playing against Abraham Lincoln High School. Every time Ali had played against this team, it had also been dirty. They didn’t like losing and ended up taking it out on the opposition with risky fouls and pushing and shoving. In the second half of the game, Satellite High were leading 2-0 and they already had 1 team-mate injured. The opposition had given away 8 free kicks, some dangerously close to the penalty area and had 5 players booked. Suddenly Ali saw number 11 charge forward down the field straight in her direction. She had a look of anger and determination written all over her face. Ali suddenly remembered her from previous games and didn’t like the thought at all. The last thing Ali needed right now was a serious injury. Ali attempted to tackle the girl unsuccessfully as she sprinted past with the ball. All Ali could do now was look on as it was number 11 against Ashlyn. Ashlyn dived at the girl’s feet to safely retrieve the ball in her hands. Instead, Ashlyn let out a screech of pain as the girl’s boots collided with her face and the ball rolled away outside the post. Ali immediately rose to her feet and rain to Ashlyn’s aid. “Ash… Ash, are you ok?” Ali bent down on one knee trying to see into the other girl’s face who was face-down on the grass, her hands gripping her face. “Hey, medical!” Ali called over to the side lines as everyone watched bewildered. “Medical! We need medical, she’s injured!” Ali shouted. ************************************************************************************************* Ali couldn’t concentrate for the remainder of the match. She kept thinking of that image of Ash face-down and lifeless on the grass. She had been taken off in a stretcher, groaning in pain and Ali couldn’t wait until the game was over to check if her teammate was ok. Back in the locker room, all the other girls were surrounding Ashlyn who was sitting on the bench. Ali couldn’t see her but recognised her voice immediately. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Honestly, it’s just bruised. I’ll get her back next time.” Once the others had stopped fussing and left to head home, Ali took the opportunity to speak with Ashlyn alone. “Hey…” Ali said as she approached the bench where the keeper was still sitting with an ice-pack to her face. Ash looked up and tried her best to smile, “Hey” she mumbled. “Where’s it sore?” Ali asked as she sat next to the blonde. “Everywhere” Ash laughed. Ali gently reached for the ice pack and removed it from Ashlyn’s face for a closer inspection. There was bruising mainly around her lips and mouth and what looked to be dried blood on her cheeks. Ashlyn looked to the floor and blushed. She didn’t like people seeing her like this, especially Ali. “Did they say how long you’ll be out for?” Ashlyn shook her head, “Nah, not really.” Ali looked at her sternly, “Are you serious? You’re not thinking of playing like that? No offence Ash, but you look like shit.” Ashlyn seemed to be a little taken aback; she wasn’t used to people trying to tell her what to do. “It’s a bit of bruising Ali, I’m not gonna die.” Ali took a deep breath before she contemplated her words. “I understand you feel under a lot of pressure to perform to the best of your ability, Ash. But sometimes you gotta take a break. You got beat up pretty bad out there today. You need to rest. Yeah, the team won’t be as good without you and yeah we might let some goals in. But what did I tell you huh? That’s ok. It’s ok to lose sometimes. It’s ok to be gracious in defeat and it’s ok to fall, as long as you get back up.” Ali looked at Ashlyn and could see tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you” Ash managed to choke out before burying her head in her hands and sobbing. Ali was a little alarmed at seeing the goalkeeper show so much emotion but she did the only thing she could do and wrapped both arms and around her and let her sob into her shoulder. “It’s alright, it’s alright” Ali soothed the keeper as she let out all of her pent of frustration. Trying to lead a team, being a “star athlete”, having the whole town’s eyes on you and just getting injured was not easy for Ashlyn Harris. For the first time in a long time she let down her bold exterior because Ali let her. Nobody let her do that before. It was like everybody expected things from her, demanded things. But Ali didn’t; Ashlyn felt like she could be herself around the brunette. She had never met anyone like her before. Once her sobs subsided, Ashlyn released her tight grip from around Ali’s neck and wiped her nose. “Sorry…” Ash laughed a little. “That’s ok,” Ali smiled. Ashlyn caught the brunette’s eyes for the first time that day. She had been too ashamed to look at her in her bruised and bloodied state. But looking at her right now, she was grateful. Grateful that someone like Ali had come into her life at a time when she needed it the most. Grateful that she knew someone as understanding, talented, smart and kind as Ali. Ash realised she was now staring and diverted her eyes to the ground. “You know we gotta stop meeting like this and having these deep conversations,” she laughed. Ali giggled and it made Ashlyn’s heart soar. She always felt better when Ali was around, she always made her feel better. There was a moment of silence between them when neither really knew what to say until Ashlyn remembered. “Oh, there’s a house party at Megan’s house this weekend if you’re up for it? Kind of to celebrate the start of the season. You’ll probably get to know more people from around here too.” Ali smiled at the kind offer; she had a made a few friends in Florida but nothing big and she didn’t really fit into any clique or social circle so she never got invited to parties. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” “Awesome. Let’s just pray my face is healed by then,” Ashlyn smirked. Ali playfully pushed her over as she stood up, “girl, all the praying in the world ain’t gonna fix that face.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ashlyn didn’t turn up to practice for the rest of the week, just as Ali had hoped. It was not that she didn’t want to see the keeper; she just wished Ashlyn would take things easy for a while. It was the night of Megan’s house party and Ali was beginning to feel her nerves creep in. She knew who Megan was, she played midfield, but she had never really spoken to her apart from the odd “hey” in the hallway or “pass it here” on the pitch. So she wasn’t sure if it was ok to attend tonight; I mean she hadn’t received an invite from the host but she received an invite from the host’s friend so that counts right? Ali really didn’t get how things worked around here. Dressed in a short, tight black dress and black heels, Ali arrived at the house at 9.30pm. She was informed things would get started around 8pm but she figured if she came a bit later, people wouldn’t notice her as much. Sure enough, the party was in full swing; Ali could hear the music two blocks down in her mother’s car as they approached. Upon entering, Ali could see hundreds of people her own age laughing, drinking and smoking in every area of the house. The entire school must be here, Ali thought. She was glad for the commotion and the size of the crowd. Most of these mustn’t have even got an invite and at least Ali did. She squeezed her way past the guests to make her way to the kitchen to find someone she knew. “Ali! Over here, Ali!” Ali recognized Stacey calling her from the kitchen, her arm waving erratically in the air, desperate to be seen through the crowd. The brunette pulled Ali into a tight hug once she reached her. “You made it! You’re here!” She girl slurred, a half empty cup in her hand. “Yeah and I’m totally sober,” Ali laughed. Stacey grabbed an unoccupied cup and a bottle of Vodka from the counter and poured some in. “Not anymore,” she smiled, handing the cup to Ali. “Have you seen Ashlyn?” Ali tried to shout over the mixture of loud music and voices. Stacey smirked in response. “Why, do you like her?” Ali laughed awkwardly; she didn’t quite know what Stacey meant. Sure she liked Ashlyn, but was that what Stacey was asking? “Yeah, she’s my friend.” Stacey smirked again. “People have been saying you two have been very close lately. You do know she’s gay right?” Actually, she didn’t. Ali hadn’t really thought about it and to be honest, it didn’t really matter to her. It’s not like it was any of Ali’s business. “Nah, didn’t know that,” Ali shrugged. Stacey gave her a side-eyeing look. “What?” Ali asked. Stacey laughed, “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, Al! You can tell just by looking her. Tattoos, that swagger, the hugging of other teammates. It’s pretty obvious.” Ali shrugged again, “Anyway, have you seen her?” Stacey drunkenly pointed in the direction of the sitting room while squinting her eyes. “Thanks.” “Go have some fun,” Stacey winked. “Whatever.” After successfully weaving her way through the crowds and avoiding being fallen on by drunken men and women, Ali located Ashlyn sitting in the living room with some other girls she recognised from the team. Ali noticed Ash dressed in a dark blue blazer, black jeans and brown boots. She also had her hair down over her shoulders which Ali had never seen before. “Al!” the blonde shouted excitedly upon recognising her. She immediately jumped to her feet and enveloped the brunette in a tight embrace. Ali tried not to think back to what Stacey said. When Ash finally let go, Ali could see her face had recovered pretty well, given it had only been a few days since the injury. The swelling had got down and all that was left were a few small cuts. “You look much better,” Ali observed, “look what a few days off can do.” Ashlyn smirked in response, “You trying to flirt with me, Kriegs?” Ali, taken aback by the remark, blushed and looked to the floor wishing it would swallow her. Ash noticed and rescued the brunette, “only kidding, don’t freak out.” She shoved the brunette playfully and watched as she stumbled back a few feet in her high heels. “Come sit with us,” the blonde motioned to the girls drinking and chatting on the sofa. ******************************************************************************************************************************************* The conversation and the drinks flowed for the remainder of the night and Ali felt relaxed in the company she was in. The girls chatted about soccer mainly and how happy they were at Ali joining their team. “Why did you move from Virginia anyway?” Ashlyn asked, placing her hand on the small of Ali’s back. “If that’s not too personal.” Ali suddenly felt very hot from the touch, or maybe it was just the excessive amount of alcohol she had now consumed. “Um, no not personal. Dad got a new job down here, so we had no choice really.” “Must have been hard,” Ash observed, “Leaving all your friends, teammates, boyfriend…” Ashlyn trailed off, smirking at Ali. Ali blushed again; suddenly it felt like 100 degrees in the room. Ashlyn was totally flirting with her and Ali kinda liked it. She shook her head back and forth, “Negative on the boyfriend. Everything else, positive.” Ashlyn grinned, “It was hard leaving your boyfriend or you didn’t have one?” Wow, she’s pushing it, Ali thought. “Didn’t have one,” Ali confirmed taking another drink of Vodka. God, she needed it. “Ever had one?” Wow, Ashlyn Harris was really pushing it. She must have had a lot to drink and she won’t remember any of this conversation in the morning, Ali thought. Ali shook her head. Ashlyn sensed the brunette was uncomfortable at the questioning and directed conversation to one of the other girls. “I need to pee” Ali announced for what must have been the 10th time that night. ******************************************************************************************************************************************* That was a relief, Ali thought. The peeing and the escaping Ashlyn’s questioning. What did she want? Did she like Ali? Did Ali like her? Did Ali like girls? Do girls like Ali? All these questions were swimming in Ali’s head and she couldn’t concentrate on any of them as her head itself felt like it was swimming. As she attempted to make her way downstairs, she heard a voice calling her from one of the bedrooms as she passed it. Inside was Ashlyn, staring up at 4 or 5 swords on the wall of the bedroom. “Have you seen these swords? Who the hell keeps swords in their bedroom?” the blonde asked, her back to Ali. Ali shook her head, “Megan’s parents, it seems. Leave them there.” Ali was afraid the blonde would attempt to take them down, ending up in one of them getting broken. Then for sure, there would be no more house parties at Megan’s and Ali was having too much of a good time and wanted to do this every weekend. Ashlyn turned around and smiled at the defender, “You drunk?” “A little. You?” “A little.” The brunette closed the door behind her, “Did you follow me up here?” Ashlyn shrugged her shoulders and smirked, “I got lost.” The keeper took a few steps towards the brunette, “are you having a good night?” Ali suddenly felt her heart beat quicken. God, Ash looked hot. So confident, so sexy, but so beautiful all at the same time. Even if Ali’s vision was blurred, Ashlyn still looked incredible. Everything about the goalkeeper she admired. The defender took the last few steps forward, close enough to whisper, “The best.” The two girls just stood there looking at one another for what seemed like an eternity; Ashlyn with her hands in her pockets, Ali with her hands clasped in front of her. Ashlyn glanced to the floor before asking, “I never got the chance to ask earlier, have you ever had a girlfriend?” Ali laughed awkwardly at the question; this girl just doesn’t give up. “Nope, never. How about you?” The blonde shook her head. “What?!” Ali said a bit louder than she wanted to. She couldn’t believe someone like Ashlyn had never had a girlfriend. Confident, charming, talented, smart, sexy Ashlyn Harris; no girlfriend. Ashlyn raised her eyebrows, “why are you so surprised?” “Sorry, it’s just I imagined you’d have been with plenty of girls before, that’s all.” Ali hadn’t really thought about it until tonight when Stacey told her Ash was a lesbian. Since then she imagined she’s been pretty popular in Florida’s gay scene. Ash shrugged her shoulders, “what can I say? Never met the right girl, I guess.” Ali just waited for her to say it and Ali felt something in her soar when she did. “Well, maybe until now,” the blonde almost whispered. Suddenly, there felt like nothing else to do in that moment only other than what Ali was about to do. She slowly closed the gap between the two of them and brought her hands to rest on the other girl’s jawline. Ali studied the goalkeeper’s face; was this what she wanted? Was this too much? Ash could sense the brunette’s hesitation so she nodded ever so slightly. Ali could see the blonde girl’s lips calling out for her as she slowly pressed her own against Ashlyn’s. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, but just for slight moment, she thought it possible that she could fly. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ash took a quick step back from this heated, sudden kiss with Ali. The brunette girl’s lips on her own felt so good that the blonde desperately didn’t want this to be a once-off, drunken mistake. Ali’s hands fell to her sides in disappointment, “what’s wrong?” she asked. The soft, gentle tone in Ali’s voice always got to Ashlyn. It was always so sweet and caring. Ashlyn felt bad for even thinking that Ali didn’t care about her. She shook her head back and forth and captured the brunette’s lips again, “nothing” she whispered against them. Ali moved her hands down the goalkeeper’s defined abs which she could feel through her shirt and landed them on her hips. Ashlyn responded by gently entering her tongue into the defender’s mouth. Ali couldn’t repress the moan that escaped her lips as a sudden rush rippled through her body. Ali instinctively moved her hands to clasp the keeper’s bum in her own, fusing their bodies together in the process. “I think you’re amazing,” Ash whispered against the brunette’s lips. Ali pulled away and curled her lips into a smile as she slowly opened her eyes again. Ash felt her heartbeat quicken once again as her eyes met Ali’s dark brown ones. She licked her lips before speaking again, “I want you.” Ali rested her forehead against the keeper’s with a sigh, “I want you too,” she admitted. Ash felt Ali capture her lips in a kiss again, but this time it was much more urgent. Ali’s tongue immediately met with her own and Ash felt herself being pushed even further into Ali’s body. Ali’s hands moved to the button holding Ash’s blue blazer in place and popped it open in one quick motion. Her hands then moved to Ash’s strong shoulders and slipped the garment off to fall softly on the floor. Ash then felt herself being pushed slowly backwards onto the bed. She never imagined the defender to be this domineering when it came to this, and God, did she imagine it, but Ash liked what she was seeing; she liked it a lot. With the brunette’s lips still firmly attached her own, Ash sat down slowly on the huge bed. Ashlyn’s mind wondered for a few seconds whose bed exactly this was. Probably Megan’s parents, like Ali had said. She hoped it was Megan’s parents and not Megan’s. The thought of doing it for the first time on her team mate’s bed didn’t settle well with her. If that’s what they were going to do; she hoped that’s what they were going to do. Ash snapped back to reality when she realised Ali wasn’t kissing her anymore. Instead she was stood a few feet away from the keeper with a mischievous smirk across her face. Suddenly, without warning, Ali reached behind her for the zipper on her dress and with one swift motion; the black dress was at the defender’s ankles. Ashlyn’s mouth dropped at the sight before her. When she thought she could manage a coherent sentence, the blonde stammered, “You’re beautiful.” And God, did she mean it. Ali blushed a little at the compliment and it made her wonder where this sudden burst of confidence had come from. She put it down to Ashlyn. Ashlyn makes her confident. Ashlyn makes her feel like she can do anything. She stepped forward towards the girl on the bed and began to straddle her, hands lost in her blonde locks and kissing her like she wanted to savour every minute. Ash’s hands roamed her newfound territory; Ali’s strong, defined thighs, her lean, athletic abs and landed to cup her soft, full breasts in her hands. Ali’s lips moved to Ash’s neck, nibbling and gnawing on the soft flesh. Her hands moved to the tie the blonde was wearing and once removed, it was flung to the other side of the bedroom. Without looking, the brunette unbuttoned the crisp white shirt and it shortly joined the other discarded items of clothing on the floor. Ali’s lips once again devoured the blonde’s as she felt her hands creep behind her and unbutton her bra. Ali responded with the exact same action. Without warning, Ali felt Ash’s tongue on her nipples and she felt her body jerk forward at the newfound feeling. She found herself moaning loudly in response to the touch; with her head thrown back in elation, she writhed her lower body into the goalkeeper’s. Ash could sense the brunette’s urgency and with her strong arms, she lifted the brunette to put her lying down on the bed. As she removed her jeans and shoes, Ashlyn watched in awe as the defender writhed about on the bed, desperate to be touched again. Ashlyn soon found herself lying on top of the brunette engaged in a heated kiss. Ali wrapped her legs and arms around the blonde; eager for closer contact. Ashlyn moved her lips the defender’s neck and felt her stomach muscles contract at the noises Ali was emanating. “Touch me,” the brunette breathed into the silent air and Ash had to repress a moan. God, Ali was so sexy right now. Ash, pretty sure she could never say no to the defender, slid one hand up the other girl’s leg until she cupped her softly over her underwear. Ali moaned in response and clutched the keeper’s tattooed arms for protection. Pulling back, Ash swiftly stripped the defender of her remaining underwear. Overcome with desire, she shifted her body further south and licked just above Ali’s naval. Ali’s body jolted in response as her panting became louder and faster. Looking up at the brunette, Ash immediately entered her index finger into the other girl. Ali moaned in delight and pushed her head back against the bed. Ash couldn’t ignore how wet she felt the brunette was as she felt the desire within herself increase at the discovery. Ali’s hands were now gripping the pillows above her and her eyes were clamped shut. As Ash entered more fingers inside the other girl and quickened her speed; she knew the defender was close. Ash decided to do something she had always imagined and moved her mouth to the brunette’s wetness. Ali almost screamed in response to the touch and it wasn’t long before her back was arched and she was calling out Ashlyn’s name. With Ali’s hand keeping her head firmly in place, Ash helped the brunette ride out her orgasm until her breathing had levelled out and she rested back down on the bed. “Oh my god,” the brunette finally spoke. Ash flopped her exhausted body next to the brunette’s and stared at the ceiling, “Nah, just me, Ashlyn,” she joked. Ali laughed a little louder than she expected to; she was relieved at the lighter mood Ashlyn gave after such intense, powerful desire engulfed them both. After a few more moments of silence, Ali got under the covers and turned her back to Ash. The blonde felt her heart drop at the cold action. She wasn’t sure what she wanted but did she not even get a kiss? Was that it? When Ali realised the keeper wasn’t joining her after a few minutes she spoke up, “Ash, get in the damn bed and spoon me.” The blonde giggled at the defender’s sense of humour and wrapped her toned arms around the other girl’s body as they drifted off to sleep. **************************************************************************************************************************************** Ashlyn groaned loudly as she awoke from her slumber. Her head was absolutely pounding and her mouth felt like the Sahara desert. She tried to think back to what exactly she drank last night but she couldn’t remember anything. Well, she could remember a certain brunette squirming beneath her fingers and her screaming her name still echoed in her mind. She smiled internally at the memory and she forgot her throbbing headache for a split second. The light glaring through the curtains told Ash it was probably after mid-day. Megan’s parents were coming back today and people were probably leaving already. She turned on her side to wake Ali. However, Ash’s eyes widened and she felt herself fully awake as the space beside her was empty. Ashlyn’s eyes searched the room for Ali’s clothes; maybe she’s just gone for a quick wee, but all of her items were nowhere to be found. It was as if last night was just a dream. An amazing, intense, very, very hot dream that Ashlyn hoped would certainly happen again. She flopped her head back down on the pillow with a thud as those expectations went out the window. Ali regretted last night when she woke up totally sober and probably totally straight; I knew this was a huge mistake, Ash thought. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ash hadn’t seen Ali for the next two weeks. She wasn’t at practice and she wasn’t in school. Ash tried texting, calling, Facebook or any other form of communication and got no answer. Ashlyn’s head was in a complete mess. Yeah the last night they were both really, really drunk. But they had both said they wanted this; they wanted each other. It wasn’t like Ash forced anything on her; she had said the words “I want you.” Now Ashlyn was wishing she never did. She wished nothing ever happened between them. She had ruined any possible healthy relationship by drunkenly sleeping with the girl of her dreams the first night they were alone together. She remembered having doubts when Ali first kissed her; doubts that Ali was just experimenting, or this was just some horny, drunk endeavour. Now she wished she had listened to them. Ali hadn’t been in school for two weeks but she was training soccer at home with her Dad. She just couldn’t face Ashlyn after what happened between them. She was embarrassed, ashamed and scared. She had never been so forward with anyone like that before. Drunken Ali was sure as hell a lot different to sober Ali. But she didn’t regret it. She liked Ash; really, really liked her. And that night was amazing; she couldn’t get it out of her head. She couldn’t get the feel of Ashlyn’s arms around her, her tattoos, her smile, her eyes, her lips out of her head. And that’s what terrified her. This girl had a hold of Ali. She had never felt like this about anyone before and definitely not a girl. Was Ali gay? Bisexual? Ashlyn-sexual? She had never even thought about girls before Ashlyn. But come to think of it, she hadn’t really thought about boys either. She just assumed she liked them because that’s what everyone else was doing. One night during the week Ali was getting ready for bed when her phone rang. “Not Ashlyn again, leave me alone!” she mumbled to herself before looking at her phone. “Stacey,” the screen read. Ali contemplated before finally answering. “Ali? Ali? Is that you? Are you alive or what the hell?!” the girl shouted dramatically. “I’m alive…” she stated plainly. “Well thank God for small miracles! Where the hell were you? You weren’t in school for the past two weeks and everyone was saying you weren’t at practice either. Some were saying your Dad went to jail and others were saying you had bird flu…” Stacey rambled. I wonder what people would say if they knew the truth, Ali thought. “My Dad is not in any legal trouble and my health is fine,” Ali said as she flopped down onto her bed. “Then what the hell, Krieger?! Did something happen at the party? What a night by the way!” the brunette laughed. “Yeah it was a good night…” Ali smiled to herself, suddenly remembering Ash’s face when she took off her dress and the way she told her she was beautiful. “So something did happen?!” Stacey shrieked. “Oh my God, with Ashlyn?” Ali stayed silent. She didn’t want to deny it because she kind of wanted someone to know. She obviously couldn’t tell her parents and she wasn’t close enough to any of her friends, apart from Stacey. Maybe if someone else knew, they would tell her what to do; tell her how much of a fool she’s being, to grow some balls and talk to Ash. “What the fuck, Alexandra Blaire?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” she paused to breathe for a second, “Wait, what happened exactly?” Ali blushed when she thought back to that night. Did Stacey really have to know all the gory details? She really wished her friend wasn’t such a nosy parker, but it did make her write great articles for the school newspaper. She just knew she wasn’t going to get away with telling her the bare minimum. “Well, we kissed. Then we spent the night together,” Ali said shyly. “Spent the night together? What does that even mean? Like you played scrabble? What?” Ali sighed heavily, “we slept together…” she mumbled. “You what?!” the brunette practically screamed down the phone. “You heard me…” There was a few seconds of silence before Stacey finally spoke again. “Jesus Als. That’s pretty deep. So are you gay now or what?” she asked, her voice levelled out now. “I don’t know Stace…” Ali sighed. “I like her, that’s for sure. Does it even matter anyway?” “Yeah you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Why have you been avoiding her though? That’s why you weren’t in school, right?” “I’m scared Stace. I’ve never done anything like that before. It’s embarrassing. What if she doesn’t even like me and it was just some fooling around?” “Oh come on, Ali! She’d have to like you at least a bit. You need to talk to her; avoiding her won’t solve anything, that’s for sure. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Al. And I’ve seen the way you look at her. Don’t be an idiot and throw that away.” As much of a joker as Stacey was, she sure as hell gave good advice when Ali needed it. “You’re right,” she nodded. “Thanks, Stace, for understanding.” “No problem, kiddo. Just don’t try it on with me, alright? I ain’t into that.” Ali laughed, “I promise. See you tomorrow.” ****************************************************************************************************************************************** Ali finally showed up to practice the next day. The other girls, apart from Ash, embraced her and told her how much she was missed. She told them she was sick but had been practicing a little, which was partially true. Ashlyn watched this encounter without saying a word; she was going to wait until after practice to have her say. Ali waited until the locker room had cleared after practice to catch up with Ashlyn. She was mad; Ali knew it and Ali didn’t blame her. Ash hadn’t passed the ball to her all evening, ignoring her pleas, deliberately passing it to someone else. She knew it was childish, but she needed to let the defender know she was in the wrong. “Ash…” the defender said softly as she approached the blonde quickly packing her sports bag. No answer. “Ash, we need to talk…” The keeper roughly threw her remaining belongings in her bag, zipped it and tried to barge passed the brunette. Ali shot her arm out to prevent the keeper from passing. “Excuse me; I’m trying to get past.” Ali could sense the annoyance in the taller girl’s voice and pleaded with her. “Ashlyn, I’m so sorry. If you’ll just hear me out, please.” The brunette searched the keeper’s light blue eyes. They were full of hurt, anger and betrayal; all caused by Ali. Her heart sunk at the realization of what she had done. “You think you can just fuck me and not speak to me again?” the blonde snapped. “I’ve never felt so shit in my whole life. Way to treat someone.” Tears were now forming in her blue eyes and Ashlyn tried her best to suppress them. Ali couldn’t stand to watch the keeper so upset; she felt herself blubbing up at the sight. “I’m so, so sorry Ash,” Ali said honestly, placing a tender hand on the other girl’s forearm. “I was just scared. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. And I’ve never done anything like that before. I was embarrassed. I’m not like that. I didn’t want other people to find out and I just…” the brunette could feel her voice croaking at her admission. “Do you regret it?” Ash asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. Ali shook her head back and forth immediately, “of course not. I really, really like you Ash and if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I’d love to try again.” Ashlyn took a deep breath and sat on the bench. She was relieved that Ali didn’t regret that night and that she really liked her too. “There’s nothing to be scared of, no one knows. And I really like you too; I’m crazy about you. But you’re not even out, Ali. How could we have a relationship?” Ali took a seat next to the keeper, “No one has to know. It’s no one’s business,” she shrugged her shoulders. Ash raised her eyebrows at Ali, “What, you want us to have a secret relationship or something? Sneaking around behind everyone’s back?” Ali knew it wasn’t ideal and Ash deserved better but she had no other option until she came out to her family and friends. The brunette shrugged her shoulders again, “do you have a better idea?” It was a good thing Ash was so crazy about the defender, so she took what she could get from her, even if it meant a secret relationship. The blonde sighed heavily and shook her head, “Alright, Kriegs, you’re on.” Ali grinned widely before wrapping her arms around the keeper and locking their lips together. What had Ash just got herself into? ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ashlyn giggled as her back collided hard with the locker room wall. Ali had her hands on her shoulders and was kissing her sloppily. The familiar foggy haze of desire wrapped around them as they felt themselves getting carried away. This was becoming a regular thing now, making out at any sign that they were alone. It was usually after practice or a game in the locker room. It wasn’t ideal but they had to take what they could get. A moan rippled through Ali’s throat as slender fingers thread through her hair, pulling her even closer. Ashlyn let out a sigh of approval as the older girl’s thigh slipped between her legs and she felt herself instinctively push down on it. Ashlyn trailed her hands under the brunette’s jersey, running her fingers over her defined figure. Ali moved her lips to the keeper’s exposed neck, attacking the soft flesh beneath. Ash moved her hands to cup the brunette’s bum, instantly fusing their bodies together and any space that was between them instantly vanishing. Ash felt her body shudder at the kisses Ali was leaving all over her neck and jawline. She pushed harder down on the other girl’s thigh; praying that she would get the not so subtle hint. Ali seemed to understand the blonde’s silent plea as she pulled back to envelope the girl in another heated exchange. The brunette trailed one hand down the keeper’s slender stomach and let her finger trail inside the waistband of her shorts. Ash moaned at the contact and wished the brunette would touch her all over. “Al…” the keeper managed to breathe out between heated kisses. “Mmm?” the brunette asked innocently as she slides one hand into the keeper’s shorts, cupping her wetness over her underwear. “Oh fuck”, the blonde moaned absently. “You’re so sexy, Ash,” Ali mumbled into the blonde’s mouth as she slid her tongue inside to meet hers. Ashlyn loved how dominant and vocal the defender was during sex. It was the complete opposite of what she imagined the otherwise quiet, shy, introvert would be. Even if they were just making out, the defender would moan and sigh and tell Ashlyn how hot she thought she was. Ashlyn was brought back to reality when the brunette suddenly slid two fingers inside her and began nibbling her earlobe. Ash slams her head back against the wall with a moan as the brunette moves inside her. “You’re so wet” Ali mumbles into her neck and the blonde feels like she’s going to cave any second with that remark. Ash’s fingers clutch onto the defender’s broad shoulders while she thrusts her hips into her as her fingers continue to pump in and out of her. Ash’s heaving breathing suddenly hitches as Ali curls her fingers inside her, desperate to send her girl over the edge. There is no rhythm to her hips anymore as her whole body goes numb and all that exists are her and Ali. Sensing the blonde is close, Ali leans back to meet her brown eyes. They hold each other’s gaze for what feels like forever, until Ali leaned forward slowly and gently swept her lips across the blonde’s. She felt Ash whine against her lips before her tongue enters the girl’s mouth and they connect softly. It was with this action that Ash felt herself start to unravel. “Al…” she mumbles through the kiss as their lips fuse together hard pulling the brunette flush against her. Ali felt Ash’s inner muscles contract and clench around her fingers, their bodies so close it wasn’t possible to determine where one ended and the other began, she whimpers Ash’s name in response. Her fingers finally slowed as she allowed Ash to ride out the end of her orgasm. She kissed the blonde slowly, before she pulled back and rested their foreheads together. Ash went limp against her and she leaned forward to rest her forehead on Ali’s shoulder, breathing deeply as Ali just held her. After a moment of silence in which the whole world felt like it was waiting on their next move, Ali spoke. “I love you.” Ash instantly raised her head from Ali’s shoulder and looked at the brunette. She could see the sincerity, honesty but most of all the love in her face. Her chest tightened as if to tell her she loved her too. “I love you too, Ali.” ****************************************************************************************************************************** “The dinner was beautiful, thank you Mrs. Krieger”. Ali’s mom shook her head in dismissal, “It’s no trouble, Ashlyn. And please, call me Debbie.” Ashlyn smiled at how well she got on with Ali’s family. Her parents adored her and always said how much of a good influence she was on her daughter, how she was Ali’s idol and she never stopped talking about her. It made Ashlyn wonder if things would be different if they knew she was in fact her daughter’s girlfriend. That they were in love and it wasn’t just some teenage phase. “We’re just going to go upstairs, mom,” Ali announced as she stood up to leave the table. ************************************************************************************************************************* “Your parents love me,” Ashlyn teased as they lay on Ali’s bed watching tv absently. “Yeah, sometimes I think more than me,” Ali smirked, her head resting on Ash’s shoulder. “Who couldn’t love you?” Ash asked as she playfully smacked Ali’s bum. Ali didn’t respond to the blonde’s playful nature. This was beginning to irritate Ash a little. Whenever they were in Ali’s or Ash’s house; Ali was anxious about choosing her words or even looking at Ash the wrong way. It was like she was terrified of being found out. Ash knew it wasn’t her fault, and she wasn’t ashamed of her, she was just scared that people would see her differently. Treat her differently. Since moving to Satellite High, Ali had become somewhat popular; a far cry from her previous social standing in her last school. Ali relished on this newfound popularity and was terrified of it all crashing down in flames. Ash put both arms around her girl and pulled her closer. She placed a soft kiss on the defender’s head but Ali still didn’t respond. If they were anywhere besides their parent’s house, Ash was sure Ali would be ripping her clothes off by now. Ash didn’t understand, it was ok to potentially be caught in public by the entire school but not ok for their parents to find out? “Do I get a kiss?” the blonde asked, testing exactly how far the brunette would go. Ali leaned up and placed a quick peck on the keeper’s lips. “A proper kiss?” “My parents might walk in, Ash,” Ali whined in response. Ash rolled her eyes, “no, they won’t.” “What are you rolling your eyes for?” the brunette snapped, moving away from the blonde’s embrace. Ash sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I just don’t understand, Ali! It’s ok for you to have your way with me in the locker room when anyone could walk in, but when it’s your parents or my parents, we can’t even kiss? It’s stupid, Al!” Ash threw her hands in the air in frustration. She knew this was never going to be easy. “I’ve told you before, Ash! It’s hard for me, ok? I’m not like you; I don’t look like a lesbian, I’m girly. People think I like boys. People think I’m normal. I want to keep it that way,” the defender blurted out before thinking, immediately regretting it. Ash sat there, speechless. Was her girlfriend really that ignorant and narrow-minded? “I think I should leave,” the keeper mumbled, rising from the bed and beginning to gather her belongings. “Ash, babe, please,” the brunette begged, “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t go, please. We can talk about it.” “What is there to talk about? I know exactly how you feel now, Ali. And that’s fine.” Ashlyn reached the door of Ali’s bedroom but turned around before exiting. “If your reputation with some stupid high school girls and a community where people don’t even know you beyond the name ‘Ali Krieger’ means more to you than I do, then I guess we’re done.” Ashlyn slammed the door behind her before rushing down the stairs, not bothering to say goodbye to the Krieger family. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It had been weeks since Ashlyn had even acknowledged Ali; on the pitch there was no communication, no banter and absolutely no physical contact. Ali missed that the most, the flirting on the field, other players just put it down to friendliness but they both knew it was something deeper. Ali knew she did something terrible and she regretted it deeply. She wanted to make it up to Ashlyn but the blonde was completely blanking her. She knew she screwed up big time. On the other hand, Ashlyn felt betrayed by Ali. The girl she loved was not who she thought she was. She was a self-centred, judgmental, ignorant person in Ashlyn’s mind. She couldn’t even bare to look at the defender when she saw her. She saw and heard her pleading, apologetic glances and remarks, but the keeper couldn’t bring herself to even acknowledge her. She was heartbroken and nothing Ali could do could fix that. She knew it was a bad idea getting in this deep with closeted soccer star Ali Krieger. ***************************************************************************************************************************** “Do you want more potatoes, Alibean?” Ali shook her head at her mother. She knew she was being ungrateful and rude towards her lately but she couldn’t help it. She was mad. Mad at herself for being so scared. Scared to be who she truly is. She knew it was wrong to take that out on her mom. Debbie sighed and sat next to the brunette at the table. “Honey, what’s wrong?” The older woman searched her daughter’s eyes for any kind of an answer. Ali had been so distant lately, so not herself. She hated seeing her daughter like this. It had never happened before and Debbie wasn’t so sure how to approach it. Kyle and Ali were always smiling, happy kids and for that Debbie was eternally grateful. Ali shook her head slightly and turned away from her mom’s burning gaze. “Nothing” she whispered. She felt her voice croak when she spoke and she internally cursed herself. She was sure if she never opened her mouth, the tears wouldn’t form. But here they were, threatening to escape, her body warning her that it was hurt, heartbroken. Debbie felt her heart in her throat too at the sight of her daughter in such despair. Especially not knowing the cause of her pain made it even worse. She enveloped the young girl in a tight embrace and let her sob loudly into her chest. Whatever was causing this hurt to her daughter, Debbie was determined to find out. Debbie soothed the brunette until her sobs subsided and she was ready to speak. “Ali, baby, please tell me what’s wrong. Whatever is bothering you, it sure as heck won’t go away unless you talk about it.” Ali knew her mom was right. She had to tell someone what she was going through. These past few months had been a whirlwind of emotions; moving school, becoming a local figure in her new town, joining a new soccer team with a group of girls she’s never interacted with before, meeting Ashlyn, falling in love with Ashlyn, falling out with Ashlyn, realizing she’s gay. Yeah, that happened too. Ali was pretty damn sure she was gay. “Are you being bullied? Because if you are Ali, we can sort it. All you have to do is nod.” Ali didn’t respond. “Is it the soccer? Is there too much pressure? You can stop playing for a few weeks Ali, if that will help?” “Are your grades failing? I’m sure the school would contact me if that was the case. Or are you just struggling with your grades because we can get help for-“ “-I’m gay mom!” Ali wasn’t sure where that came from, but she sure as hell was sick of lying, sneaking around and fooling herself. It hurt her but more importantly it hurt Ash. She did it for Ashlyn; this is what she would want. She would want her to be honest with herself and not care what other people think. That’s the only way she could be happy and successful in life; she knew that now. Ali’s mom didn’t speak for what seemed like an eternity. She still held her daughter tight in her arms. She was still the beautiful, talented, kind, smart Ali she was 5 minutes ago. Now she was just beautiful, talented, kind, smart and gay Ali. And Debbie was totally ok with that. She placed her hand on her daughter’s chin to signal her to look at her. Hesitantly, Ali raised her head and looked worryingly at her mother. Debbie could see the fear and worry on her daughter’s tear-streaked face and it tugged at her heart strings. “I want you to know Ali that I completely love and support you no matter who you are. Please don’t ever hesitate to tell me anything again because you’re my daughter and it’s my job to protect and support you throughout your life. And that’s all you’re gonna get from me, 100%.” If Ali wasn’t bawling before, she sure was now. She definitely had the best mom in the world. ******************************************************************************************************************************************** Ali was determined to tell Ashlyn the good news. After all, the main reason she told her family was because of Ashlyn. She wanted them to be together, properly, and that couldn’t happen if they weren’t honest with those around them. After yet another practice session in which the keeper chose to ignore her, Ali cornered the blonde in the locker room when everyone else had left. This must have been the first time in a long time the keeper didn’t throw everything into a bag and rush out the door in case Ali would approach her. Instead she was slowly packing up her stuff next to her locker when Ali met her. Ash spun around once her bag was packed and bumped straight into the defender who was standing right behind her, wordless. “Jesus Christ! You nearly gave me a heart attack.” The blonde struggled to get her breath back, Ali genuinely terrifying her. “Sorry… I just, um, I wanted to talk.” Ashlyn took a deep breath before speaking, “what is there to say, Al? You want to get back with me? You want to work things out? If you’re not willing to grow the fuck up then I don’t want anything to do with you.” “I told my mom,” the brunette snapped back. Ash couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “What? That you’re gay?” Ali nodded. “I didn’t say anything about you. But yeah, my family knows now. They’re fine with it. I did it for you.” Ashlyn scoffed, “For me? You don’t get it, do you Ali? I wanted you to be honest with yourself! Tell your family for yourself, not me!” “What are you yelling at me for? I did what you wanted and it’s still not good enough!” Ashlyn sighed and ran her hands through her hair. As much as she loved the girl standing in front of her, all they seemed to do lately is argue and disagree on everything. Maybe they were too alike, she thought. Suddenly, a girl dressed in full kit entered the locker room. It was Megan, Megan who had the house party all those weeks ago. She had a smirk on her face. She just heard everything. Ashlyn stared blankly at the midfielder past Ali, causing Ali to spin around to see who was there. “Well, well, well,” Megan said as she stood in the middle of the floor with her hands on her hips. “What’s going on here then?” “None of your business,” Ashlyn snapped back. Ali smiled internally; did she just indirectly protect her? “Well since I just heard your little encounter; it’s definitely my business now,” the midfielder smirked. Ashlyn stepped in front of Ali to be face to face with Megan. “You tell anyone about this I’ll have you kicked off the team,” the blonde threatened. As scared as Ali was right now of her secret being exposed; she felt comforted that Ash was protecting her. She knew she wasn’t ready to come out yet and even though she wanted her to, Ash still wanted it done in Ali’s own time and on her own terms. “And how are you gonna do that huh? That armband saying ‘captain’ doesn’t give you any power. It just makes you think you have power; makes you feel important.” Ashlyn looked to the ground. She was right. Megan was a key player. There was no way coach would take her off the team if Ash asked. “No one is supposed to know about this, Megan. Please, don’t say anything,” she hated it but all Ashlyn had left was to beg and plead. She’d do anything to protect her girl, even if they didn’t see eye to eye sometimes. “On one condition.” Ash swallowed, “yeah?” “You give me the armband, make me captain. And I’ll pretend I never heard anything.” Wow, this bitch was cold. Being team captain meant the world to Ash, she worked hard for the title and leading the team was her thing. People looked up to her, came to her for advice. The position was like it was made for someone like Ash. Not Megan. Megan couldn’t lead a flock of sheep into a pen if she tried, never mind a soccer team. Ashlyn glanced at the defender standing next to her. She could feel her eyes burning into her, desperate for a response. Ash could see she was terrified. She knew one day Ali would be ready to tell people about them, but the last thing she wanted was to be outed by someone else. Given that Ali had told her family; that was a huge step. A huge step that Ash both admired and commended. Still looking at Ali’s big brown eyes, filled with fear, Ash responded, “Deal.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ashlyn felt completely drained for the next few weeks. In a short space of time, she had lost the girl she loved and lost her position as team captain. The two things she cherished most in life gone in a flash and Ashlyn felt hopeless. She still enjoyed playing for the team but seeing Megan’s desperate attempts to lead the team made her frustrated and angry. It should have been her shouting out orders and giving motivational speeches. But she can’t say she regretted giving up her position; she did it for Ali. She would do anything for Ali, any time. Sure, she could become captain again sometime in the future, but Ali only had one chance to come out to everybody and she didn’t deserve to be outed by everyone. Ali also felt the consequences of Ash’s actions. She could see how Ash felt completely hopeless recently and she felt it was all because of her. The smiling, joking, flirty Ashlyn was gone and replaced with someone Ali didn’t recognise. Ash explained over and over to her that it wasn’t her fault, that yes, Ash did it for her, but Ali’s happiness meant more to her than team captain. Ali was grateful; no one had ever done something like that for her before. But she couldn’t repress the overwhelming feeling of guilt as a result. As for their relationship, Ali and Ash were back on speaking terms. They weren’t back dating again but Ash was beginning to forgive Ali for all her wrongdoings and faults. They both had realised over the past few months that nobody is perfect and no relationship is perfect. The only way relationships work out is if both people are willing to work at it and fight for one another. They were both growing up faster than they had to recently but this was healthy for them in the long-term and maybe they could start again in the future. ******************************************************************************************************************************************* One night Ali was watching tv with her Mom, Dad and brother in the living room when she heard her phone ring loudly. She sighed as she thought it might be Stacey or one of the girls on the team wondering again, why Ash wasn’t captain anymore. She looked at the screen with a confused expression, she didn’t recognise the number. She hesitated before answering. “Hello?” “Hello, is Alexandra Krieger there?” The voice sounded like a man, a professional man. Ali sat up straight and cleared her throat, “Yes, yes. Speaking.” “Oh great. Hi Alexandra, my name is Clyde Williams speaking on behalf of Gatorade. After much speculation and deliberation, I would like to congratulate you on winning Gatorade National Women's Soccer Player of the Year award. The presentation will be held tomorrow at your school for you to receive this award.” Ali’s mouth dropped. She was speechless. Gatorade National Women's Soccer Player of the Year award was the award every young soccer player dreamed of winning. She never even imagined she would be considered not alone win the damn thing. She repressed the urge to scream in delight and spoke again when she realised she had not said anything for a few moments. “You still there, Alexandra?” “Yes, yes, I’m here. Thank you so much. Thank you, it means the world. I can’t even explain.” Ali stopped talking when she realised she was about to burst into tears of joy. All the hard work and determination had paid off for once. This was definitely a huge relief after everything that had happened recently. The man at the end of the line laughed lightly, “Always great to hear, Alexandra. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow. And congratulations, again.” Ali managed to mumble a quiet “thank you” before she hung up and the tears started falling. She explained what had happened to her family which resulted in lots of jumping up and down, kisses and hugs and screams of delight. ******************************************************************************************************************************* The next day Ali was a bag of nerves. She usually never got nervous but today she was told she would be making a short speech upon collecting her award in front of the whole school. Her family had also come for the big day and Ali was feeling the pressure. The assembly hall was beginning to get full now as the students noisily made their way inside. Some smiled and offered their congratulations when they met Ali inside, who was standing awkwardly at the back of the hall. She was told to stand here so the man operating the spotlights knows where to go once her name is announced. Not terrifying, not terrifying at all. Ali immediately noticed a familiar blonde keeper approaching her across the hallway. She had a big smile planted on her face, something which warmed Ali’s heart as she hadn’t seen it in so long. She enveloped the defender in a tight hug; Ash’s hugs were always the best. Ali felt so safe and cosy in them and never wanted to let go. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you,” the keeper whispered into the brunette’s hair. Ali felt her tummy flutter at the exchange. She hadn’t been this close to Ash for a long time and God, did she miss the familiar scent, the feeling of Ash’s defined muscles and the sound of her soft, gentle voice. Ash placed a soft kiss on the defender’s cheek as she pulled away and Ali blushed a little at the unexpected action. “Thanks. I just got the phone call last night. Completely out of the blue,” Ali shook her head in astonishment. She still couldn’t believe it. “I knew you’d do it, Kriegs. You’ve got a killer talent. Just don’t get it again next year, it’s my turn next year,” the keeper grinned widely and Ali couldn’t help but laugh which caused Ash to grin even wider if that was possible. They hadn’t had an exchange like this in a long time. There was no arguing, no disagreements, just two girls who knew they were made for each other trying to make it work as best they could. If they both kept this up, Ali thought, they might just be back on track. But Ali had one last thing left to do. Both girls were pulled from their trance of just staring at one another when the principal announced that the ceremony was beginning to start. Ashlyn grabbed the brunette’s hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. “Go get ‘em, kid.” ******************************************************************************************************************************* “Alexandra has been mentioned countless times both here and Virginia. People can’t stop talking about this young girl who stuns everyone on the pitch with her energy, her strength, her agility but most of all her positivity when it comes to the game. Teammates have come to me numerous times asking for Alexandra to be made captain, commenting that Alexandra needs more recognition for the hard work she puts in. I’d also like to take this opportunity to announce Alexandra as the new team captain at our school. Alexandra is a credit to our school, as both her academic and soccer performances tell us. I can’t think of anyone better to present this award to than Alexandra Krieger.” The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Ali made her way to the stage. She tried to ignore the huge crowds that had formed cheering her name as she focused on trying not to fall over in her heels. Both the principal and spokespeople for Gatorade hugged and congratulated her as they presented her with her award. She beamed with pride and delight as she recognised her family sitting in the front row. Of course her Mum and Dad were in tears and Kyle whistled loudly through his fingers. Once the crowd had quietened down, Ali gulped before speaking, “It’s such an honour to stand up here today to accept this award. I’ll admit I was terrified before moving Satellite High School from Virginia. It’s amazing how different two states can be but I immediately felt welcomed and wanted by the school, my teammates and my classmates.” Ali looked up and her eyes immediately caught the blues of Ash’s. The keeper smiled encouragingly and Ali felt motivated to continue. “I feel overwhelmed by the support. But there’s one person I wouldn’t be standing up here today without. Ashlyn Harris, since I’ve met you, you’ve stood by me, encouraged me, supported me but most of all, loved me. You are an amazingly talented, kind and generous person and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you, Ash.” Both girls now had tears streaming down their face as the crowd erupted once again into cheers. Ali made her way down the steps of the stage to meet the keeper, the blonde, the girl who taught her to be brave no matter what. Ashlyn outstretched her arms for a hug once she approached but Ali had a different idea. She cupped the keeper’s face in her hands and kissed her harder, with more love, with more compassion than ever before. The entire school cheered with delight and support at the action. Ashlyn’s tears were not stopping anytime soon and Ali could taste them on her own lips. She was overcome with pride and joy at what her girlfriend just did. Yeah, girlfriend, she was pretty sure they were back on now and neither could be happier.
1146513	Once upon a Midsummers	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Multi", "Characters": "Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Swann, William Turner III", "Fandom": "Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by OokamiKasumi", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2014-01-21T00:00:00", "words": "5,795", "Additional Tags": "Romance, Threesome - F/M/M", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Warning: Rated NC-17/Mature: Adult (M/F/M) content, adult language, (J/E/W) One-Shot ~ COMPLETEPirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney Pictures / Buena Vista. ~ * ~ Elizabeth stood on the midnight beach staring out past the island cove's stark cliffs to the distant moon-kissed waves. The night wind came from across the sea to sweep across her cheeks, pulling curling dark gold tendrils from her neatly coiled mane. The warm breeze continued beyond heading inland to rustle through the palm trees behind her. Music borne of fiddle, drum, fife, and concertina drifted down from the house. It was Midsummer Night and the wedding party of her youngest daughter was in full swing. A freshening wind pulled at the silk skirts of her sea green gown and lifted the long fringe of her black wool shawl. She drew the shawl closer around her shoulders covering her modest neckline. Wife and mother, she had a reputation to protect. Once upon a time, pirates had sailed before a wind on a night such as this. The greatest pirate ship of them all, the Black Pearl had anchored close to this very beach on almost every Midsummer Night. Driftwood fires had lit the sky for miles around scenting the air with smoke, gunpowder, and rum. Wild music had filled the night and wilder dancing by the sailors and their barefoot, land-bound wives had churned the sand. Little did anyone beyond her husband know that she had once stood on that pirate ship's deck wielding cutlass and pistol in defense of her love, or that she'd been the captain of her own pirate ship. Little did anyone know the things she had seen, the adventures she'd had -- Aztec gold, the walking dead, haunted ships, magic, monsters, blood, and cannon-fire… She'd tasted it all. Once upon a time, she had faced the Lord of the Seven Seas himself over love. She'd held his prized locker in her hand and touched his beating heart. Once upon a time, she had been the most beautiful maiden in the islands and had captured the heart of two men, a pirate captain, and a blacksmith. Both handsome, both clever, one devoted to land, the other devoted to the sea, but only one could she marry. Once upon a time, she had lived a life of adventure beyond anyone's wildest dreams, but that time was long gone, as were the days of the pirates. She was older, and supposedly wiser, but that didn't stop her heart from aching for the pirate captain that had kissed her one midsummer night while her husband lay passed out by the dying fire, happily drunk on music and rum. The pirate's hands had closed on her shoulders, warm, strong, and callused from swords and pistols both. The scent of gunpowder, rum, and ocean had drifted from his salt stained red-velvet coat. Coins and glass baubles tinkled among the thousands of braids in his waist-length hair. His sun-creased black eyes held humor and love. His Cupid's bow lips had curved up under his slender mustache in the saddest smirk she'd ever seen him wear. “Elizabeth…” She'd smiled even as her heart clenched in her chest. She knew that look. She'd seen it one too many times. Whatever it was he was going to say was going to hurt. The wind had tugged at her red velvet skirts and her long wavy gold hair, freed from its pins and bindings and frothing at her waist for this one night of celebration. “Jack?” “So…” Jack's smile broadened briefly. “How many sons do you have now?” He tilted his head toward her sleeping husband. Elizabeth couldn't help but look over at William, his shoulder-length doubloon-gold hair spilling over his up-flung arm that he used as a pillow. “Two sons, one daughter.” Jack looked down and nodded. “Good, that's good.” He looked up at her and gave her that sad smile. “Elizabeth, this is my last visit. I won't be coming back.” She stared at the only other man she loved. “No…” She could feel the tears creeping down her cheeks. “Jack, no…” She grabbed onto his arms, feeling the strength and muscle under his full white sleeves. “You can't leave us.” Jack shook his head. “The time of pirates is over. There is no place for me in the coming century.” She fisted her hands in his sleeves, gripping him tightly. “Then stay here with us.” “I can't.” He looked away toward his dark-hulled ship out in the bay. “You and William have a family. You belong here. I…don't.” She shook her head. “You do belong. You are a part of our family. You will always have a home with us.” He scowled. “As what? Uncle to your sons? The close family friend you can't introduce to your polite society friends?” He leaned close, his lips only a breath away from her. “Your secret lover?” Her cheeks burned and she turned her face away to hide her secret guilt. She had married her childhood love, but had never lost the desire for the only other man that stolen her heart. He sighed. “My home is the sea, Elizabeth. I was born there and I would die there.” He shook his head. “I am far too old to change my ways and far too much a man of the sea to ever settle on land. My fate belongs to Lord of the Seven Seas.” She frowned up at the pirate captain. Did he mean the master of the Flying Dutchman? “Jones is dead.” “I thought so too.” Jack winced out a crooked smile and shook his head. “It seems that someone still had a use for him.” She frowned. “Calypso brought him back?” Calypso, the goddess of the sea and once upon a time, Jones's one true love, did have that power. Jack flashed a true grin, but it was only a flash, then shook his head. “She is one of the greater powers, but no.” Elizabeth shook her head. “If not Calypso, then who…?” Jack leaned back on his hands and looked out at the ocean. “I've a mind to visit the palace of Poseidon.” Elisabeth blinked. Did he just change the subject? “Poseidon, how…?” She threw up her hands. “Wait, forget I asked.” She rolled her eyes and smiled sourly. “If we can go over the edge of the world to the land of the dead, then visiting Poseidon's palace should be just as possible.” Jack winked. “I still have the map, and my compass.” Elizabeth stared at him wide-eyed. “I thought the map was destroyed?” That map showed routes to places that didn't necissarily exist in this reality. He shrugged. “Well, most of it was.” Elizabeth sighed heavily. “I should have known.” She frowned at him. “Why…Poseidon?” Jack pulled an old silver coin from his pocket and began rolling it over his fingers. He “You might say, I received an engraved invitation.” Elizabeth snatched the coin from his hand. It was pitted with age but the bearded face on the front and the stylized dolphin on the back were still very visible. It was old, very old. In fact, it looked… “Is this Roman?” Jack held out his hand for it. “Greek, actually.” Elizabeth gave it back to him, but she really didn't want to. “Where did you get it?” Jack's lips curved up into a half-smile. “Funny thing, that.” He looked down at his coin. “A bunch of years back, I awoke on the beach with it in my hand after the strangest dream.” A chill ran up her spine. “A dream?” His gaze drifted back out to the sea. “It was a wonderful dream.” He winced. “Pity I can't remember much of it.” He lifted a finger. “But I do remember seeing a palace of living coral, and mermaids.” He tossed the coin and caught it. “Odd thing about the mermaids though. They were all sharks.” He shoved the coin back into his belt pouch, buckling it closed. “So I figure, it's time for one last journey.” Elizabeth threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him as tight as she could. “If you ever loved me, you wouldn't leave, you would stay.” His arms locked around her. “I do love you, Elizabeth, that's the problem. You see, you love someone else.” Elizabeth buried her face in his shoulder, hiding her tears. “I… I love you too. I love you both.” His broad hand swept down her back and his lips brushed her cheek. “I know, I know.” He caught her chin and tilted her head up to stare into her eyes. His lips touched hers in the briefest of kisses. “Elizabeth, before I say goodbye, would you…?” He dropped his chin and took an unsteady breath. “For this one night, would you be mine? Would you lay with me here in the sand and let me have you just once, tonight?” Elizabeth stared at him, her heart beating in her throat. Her gaze drifted to her sleeping husband, then drifted back to the man that held her. He had cheated death for her, gambled his soul for her, and given her away to another man even though he loved her too. And she might never see again. She smiled through her tears. “I…would.” His hands cupped her cheeks and his mouth took hers in a kiss that tasted of the ocean, and the sweet burn of spiced rum. One arm closed tight around her corseted waist and his palm cupped her butt. He pulled her hip to hip, pressing her against the hard ridge that proved just how much he truly wanted her. His kiss was hungry, devouring, and not tender at all. Her answering kiss was fierce and just as merciless, parrying his tongue to vie for entry into his mouth. Her nipples tightened and her belly clenched with a desperate hunger. Her fingers dug into his arms. He moaned and broke the kiss to grin at her. “So full of fire. You made a damned good pirate.” His other arm slid down, under her knees. He gathered her up in a froth of silk skirts and satin petticoats, only to lay her down in the sand right where they stood just beyond the bonfire's light. She squeaked in surprise. “Right here?” He threw his leg over her and dropped down to straddle her hips on his knees. “Right here, right now.” He unbuckled the belts at his hips holding his sword and his pistol and let them fall to the side. “In the sand, under the stars.” He tugged his leather vest from his shoulders. “The way it should have been.” He tossed his vest to one side, staring at her, his black gaze hot and hungry. “The way it almost was.” She stilled, his words reminding her of another moonlit night of fire and rum. They had been alone on a deserted island and she'd almost let him have her, but she had still been an untouched virgin and afraid of the unknown. After three children, all secrets had been revealed. She had no regrets, but one. The only other love she had never held. He was right. This is how it would have been. “But…” She glanced over at her sleeping husband who lay in plain view. “What if he wakes?” Jack glanced over at his rival and grinned fiercely, showing white teeth. “No need to worry about that.” He pulled his white shirt over his head, baring his tanned chest and muscular belly. His dark nipples were hard and pointed. He balled the shirt and tucked it under her head grinning. “Your pillow, my lady.” She smiled and reached up to sweep her palms across the hard muscles that defined his chest, her fingers tugging at his masculine nipples. He gasped and captured her palms in his hands. “Damn woman, are you trying to unman me before I even reach your cove?” Her lips curved in her smuggest smirk. “Are you saying I'm too much for you, Captain?” He dropped over her to rest on one elbow by her head. His smile evaporated. “I'm saying I waited a very long time for this night.” His lips took hers, kissing her as if she were the last woman he would ever taste. She replied in kind, closing her arms around his neck and burying her hands in his black braids, kissing him back just as hungrily. His tongue entwined with hers, his hands tugged her neckline down, freeing her breasts. He cupped them and squeezed. Fierce sweet delight burned through her and she moaned into his mouth. He pulled free from her kiss to take one breast into his mouth, sucking her nipple almost desperately. His fingers plucked the other nipple then pinched. Fire seared from her nipples straight down to her core. She gasped, arching under him and her knees rose. He lifted from his kiss, his lips parted. Staring at her, his smile nowhere to be found, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. He moved back, lifting his leg to ease one knee between her parted thighs, and then the other. Kneeling between her raised knees, he shoved her red velvet skirts and petticoats up, pushing them up to her waist and revealing her bare legs. He grinned. “No shoes? No stockings?” She grinned right back. “No pantaloons either.” She never wore them on the nights the pirate ship came to land on her beach. He chuckled and waggled a finger before her nose. “You are a very naughty woman.” Her smile disappeared and she swallowed. “I know.” She was committing adultery. He winced then leaned over her, falling to his elbows. “Elizabeth…” He brushed fine strands of her blowing hair from her cheeks and brow. “I wasn't going to tell you this, but…” He took in a deep breath and gave her a small smile. “He knows.” She blinked. “What?” Did he mean her husband? Jack bit down on his bottom lip. “I told William I wasn't coming back. I asked him for…tonight.” He glanced toward the man sleeping on the sand only four body-lengths away. Elizabeth looked over at her husband. “You did?” Jack nodded and smiled at her. “He's my closest friend. I wouldn't…do this behind his back.” Elizabeth felt hot tears spill down her cheeks. Her husband had shared the same adventures she had. All three of them had faced fates worse than death alongside each other, and for each other. When Jack left, William would lose the only friend that knew him as he truly was -- more than just a maker of fine swords. “I…see.” Jack smiled sadly and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “He always knew you loved me too.” Her heart aching, she looked over at her sleeping husband. He was facing them with his eyes open. His lips parted. “Be with him.” It was only a whisper, but she heard it as clear as if he'd spoken directly in her ear. She smiled though her tears and nodded. “I love you.” William smiled back. “I know.” He rolled up onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm, clearly setting himself to watch. Jack's brow lifted and a smile lifted his lips. “You are just as naughty as your wife.” William grinned. “Oh I doubt that.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Men…” Jack caught her chin and grinned at her from a kiss away. “Now, where were we?” Resting between her raised knees, he arched, rubbing the ridge of his erection against her naked feminine flesh. She groaned and reached down to grab his butt with both hands. He gasped and ground against her. “Ah yes.” He reached back and slid his hand up the back of her thigh, then stroked the soft inner flesh. His fingers skated upwards and inwards. “This is where we were.” He brushed her intimate curls. She shuddered in heady anticipation and felt her body release a spat of cream. He lowered his mouth to her breast and captured a nipple in his teeth. Staring hard into her eyes, his slid his fingers among her intimate curls and against the warmth of her flesh. Aching hunger clenched deep in her belly. A small whimper escaped. He lifted his mouth from her breast and smirked. “Mm…wet. Someone is happy to see me.” Elizabeth bit back a hungry moan. “I'm always happy to see you.” “Good.” His fingers stroked the tender dampening folds of her feminine core. “Because I want you very, very happy, love.” He tapped the damp pearl at her apex. Elizabeth gasped and set her heels in the sand, pushing upward into his touch. He dropped his head to suckle hard on her nipple and took her unspoken invitation, sliding two of his fingers into her. His thumb brushed her stiffening pearl while his buried fingers flicked the secret nub deep inside. Elizabeth released a small soft cry and bucked in reflex. She came up on her toes and ground into his fingers. “God!” “No need for deification.” Jack chuckled against her breast. “Captain is good enough for me.” He nipped her nipple. “Oh?” In sheer retaliation, she reached between them to grasp the bulge in his pants. She wanted him inside her and she wanted it now. “Is your cannon loaded and ready Captain Sparrow?” Jack gasped and pressed himself into her hand. “Ready and primed for battle, my lady.” Smiling into his black gaze, she rubbed his considerable length through the fabric of his loose trousers. He sucked in a harsh breath and ground his teeth, but didn't pull away from her hand. “I do not want to cum in my pants, if you don't mind?” He scowled fiercely and wriggled his fingers inside her. Elizabeth shuddered in pleasure, but refused to release him from her hand. “Then put it where you do want to cum.” Jack blinked then turned to frown at the man laying a few body-lengths away. “Is she always this demanding?” He pulled his hand free of her flesh and sucked on his wet fingers. William grinned. “You're lucky she hasn't turned you on your back and taken you.” Jack's brows rose, then pulled his fingers from his mouth to grin broadly. “You lucky dog.” He licked his damp palm. “Mmm, tastes good too. Like fresh butter.” William nodded. “No argument there.” He grinned. “On either account.” Jack grinned down at Elizabeth. “As for you my lady…” He sat up between her thighs and pulled the ties to his pants. “Don't mind if I do.” He let his trousers fall to his knees exposing the upward curve of his cock rising proudly from a nest of jet black curls. Elizabeth lifted one brow. “You're not taking your pants off?” “Hell no.” Jack dropped over her to rest on one hand while the other hand nudged the head of his cock against her damp flesh. “Sand is harsh on the bare knees.” He pushed into her with a long slow glide and groaned. The exquisite ache of his rigid heat was almost more than she could bear. Elizabeth closed her arms tight around his shoulders and dug in with her heels, arching up under him to welcome him into her body. All too soon, he was fully sheathed. Jack released a soft gasping cry and sank his fingers into her right butt cheek. He closed his eyes. “Blood and fire, you feel good.” He repositioned his knees and ground into her. The hot interior caress of his cock rubbed against the nub deep within her delivering a mouthwatering kick of brutal pleasure that forced a soft cry from her lips. She dug her fingers into his bare back and ground against him, looking for more. He sighed and grinned. “There it is.” He pulled back and thrust hard, slamming straight into that delicious spot. The bolt of pleasure was so intense Elizabeth had to close her eyes even as she cried out and bucked. Jack gasped and thrust again, then again, rocking hard against her, thrusting in a strong unforgiving rhythm that tore grunts from his throat. She locked her legs around his hips and shoved hard against his thrusts, giving as good as she got. Pleasure compounded and coiled in her belly, tightening into a searing knot. He leaned up and grabbed her breast in his left hand while grasping her right thigh. His black narrowed in concentration, he ground deep into her, then slammed fiercely, hard and quick into her body, rocking her in the sand. Elizabeth felt the knot within her belly clench brutally tight and arched rigid under his relentless pounding, her breath stilling. The knot released and an explosion of ecstasy crashed over her tearing a scream from her throat. “Jack!” Jack choked, stilled briefly, then thrust hard once, twice, then once more, slamming in as deep as he could go. He dropped down onto her while his cock flexed inside her, spilling his essence deep in her body. He ground into her and groaned. “Elizabeth…” Elizabeth grabbed him and held him to her, gripping him as tight as she could while tears spilled down her cheeks. “I love you.” Jack panted against her ear and whispered. “I love you too.” He leaned up and smirked. “As a matter of fact, I think…” He looked off, pursed his lips, and ground his hips against her. A very rigid cock moved in her depths. He nodded and licked his lips. “I'm about ready to love you again.” Elizabeth gasped and wiped at her damp cheeks while chuckling. “So soon?” “Let's just say…” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “I have years of pent up love.” He smiled. “You don't mind, do you?” Chuckles echoed across the night-drenched sand. Elizabeth and Jack turned to look. William had his mouth covered in a very poor attempt to hold back his laughter. He finally released his lips and laughed openly. “Does she mind?” He shook his head. “Elizabeth honey, forgive me, but…” He gasped for breath. “Jack, she could take us both on and wear us both out.” Jack's brows rose to his hairline. “Is that so?” His gaze narrowed and his smile curled into one of demonic proportions. “Then why don't you come over here and give us a hand?” He nodded toward Elizabeth. William's eyes opened wide. His gaze drifted to his wife then back to Jack. “Are you serious?” Elizabeth started, looked over at her husband, then up at her lover. “Jack?” Jack turned his demonic smile on her. “You're up for a bit of adventure, right love?” William sat up on the sand, frowning. “What kind of adventure?” He wiped sand from his buff leather breeches. Jack leaned over Elizabeth and perched his chin on his upraised hand to look over at William. “Have you ever used the um…” He waggled his brows. “The back door?” William's brows rose, then he smiled and it was just as demonic as Jack's. “Almost as much as the…err…front door.” Jack blinked down at Elizabeth. “My, you two have been adventurous!” Elizabeth's cheeks filled with heat and she bit down on her lip to hide her smile and shrugged. She'd heard about the pleasures of `the back door' from one of her married lady-friends, and immediately sought out her husband to try it. The sheer naughtiness of it appealed to both of them. Jack looked over at William. “Well then, what say we put both doors to use?” William swallowed. “At the same time?” Elizabeth's belly clenched around Jack's cock in delicious agreement. Jack eyed her and smiled. “Oh, liked that idea, did you?” Elizabeth was convinced that her cheeks couldn't get any hotter. Having both of men in her body had been one of her favorite personal fantasies for years, but she never thought she'd ever get a chance to actually fulfill it! She licked her lips and dodged his gaze. “Maybe.” She looked over at her husband. Jack looked over at William. “I think Elizabeth can handle the two of us.” He grinned. “Unless you're intimidated by me?” William rose to his feet with a pronounced bulge in his snug breeches. He lifted his chin. “I've never been intimidated by you.” Jack grinned and waved him over. “Good man.” William strode across the sand and dropped to his knees at their side. “Are you alright with this, Elizabeth?” Elizabeth smiled. “Perfectly fine.” Her smile faded and she looked up at Jack. “But what will we use for…?” Jack's brows rose. “Lubrication?” He patted his shirt and trousers then lifted a finger. “One moment.” He leaned over to the far side reaching for his belt with all the pouches and rifled through them. “I have just the thing!” William's gaze dropped to her lap and locked. He swallowed and absently stroked a hand down his bulge. Elizabeth blinked then realized that William was staring at Jack's cock still lodged in her, though partially withdrawn. She eyed her husband's clearly uncomfortable erection and reached over to tug at his laces. William jumped and looked down at her busy hands. Elizabeth grinned and tugged on his waistband encouraging him closer. “Just trying to make you more comfortable, my love.” She pulled the laces free and reached into his breeches to grasp his hard hot shaft. William leaned closer and took a shuddering breath while she freed his cock from his breeches. Elizabeth gripped his firm and familiar length, then leaned over and sucked him into her mouth. She suckled on the purple head, tasting the soap he'd used to clean with and the slightly salty liquid musk of his excitement. She lashed the flared edge with her tongue. William shuddered and gasped. He set his hand in her hair and bucked up into her mouth. “God, Elizabeth!” Jack leaned up and chuckled. “William, I must say you are truly blessed with Elizabeth as your wife. Elizabeth ignored him and sucked hard on her husband's cock. William threw his head back and groaned. “I count my blessings every day.” “Every day?” Jack rolled his eyes. “Rub it in, why don't you?” William choked out a laugh. “That too.” Jack snorted. “Before you get carried away there, would you rather spend in her mouth or up her ass?” Elizabeth shivered at Jack's excitingly crude words and released William's cock from her lips. She turned to Jack. “Do you have…?” “I do.” Jack pulled an ivory-colored cake that looked very much like soap from its waxed cloth wrapping. “This is made from cocoa butter. It's for softening weathered hands.” He waved the cake. “Good for burns too.” He held it out to William. “Rub it between your palms. It makes a nice thick, slippery paste.” William took the cake and sniffed it. “It smells like chocolate.” He rubbed the cake between his palms. Jack nodded. “That's because cocoa butter is used to make chocolate.” He reached down and pulled Elizabeth upright in his lap. “Time to reposition, love.” He closed his arms about her and leaned back on the sand. After a brief struggle with the rearrangement of their legs, Elizabeth found herself atop her pirate straddling him, and still very much impaled. She grinned. “Oh, my favorite position!” She rolled her hips and felt him shift deliciously within her. She groaned. Jack arched up under her and gasped. “I would have never guessed.” He curled his arms around Elizabeth, drawing her down to his chest. “I'm assuming I don't need to remind you to push out when he enters?” Elizabeth licked her lips and nodded. Pushing out to avoid the pain of first entry was something she'd figured out early on. William spoke from behind Elizabeth, his voice husky and deep. “Room for one more?” Jack smirked and pulled up her red velvet skirts and her frothy petticoats, baring her butt. He spread his legs wide. “Make yourself at home.” The sand crunched behind Elizabeth. “Don't mind if I do.” His hot slick finger pressed against the tight bud of her anus. She pushed out against it. His finger slid in leaving fine tingles in its wake. A second finger joined the first and writhed about, slathering her interior with slickness. She shivered. She couldn't believe that she was about to have her ultimate fantasy come to life. She was about to make love with the two men that owned her heart. William's finger left her. She almost moaned at the loss. Jack reached up to cup the back of her neck then pulled, urging her to tip forward. He leaned up to take her nipple into his hot and talented mouth. He lapped then sucked hard. Elizabeth moaned. The hot broad crown of William's cock nudged against her anus, and pressed. His hand caught her hip, the fingers digging in. Elizabeth pushed out hard, opening herself to him. William leaned over her, one hand on the sand at their side while he forged past her tight opening. The other hand gripped her hip with bruising force. He hissed. “God…tight!” Elizabeth could feel William's shaft sliding next to Jack's only one thin layer of flesh away. The utterly riveting sensation of being filled to her very limits tore a gasp from her lips. William halted, only halfway in. “Elizabeth?” She sucked in a hard breath and gripped Jack's shoulders. “Don't stop! Keep going.” Jack groaned. “Yes, for God's sake, don't stop!” William swallowed loudly and grabbed onto her hips. He drove inward slowly but steadily until his hips pressed against her ass. “I'm in.” Beneath her, Jack shivered and leaned up to bite her nipple. The hot bolt of erotic fire speared straight down making her core clench around Jack's cock. Her ass muscles clenched reflexively squeezing William's cock in the process. Both Jack and William groaned. Jack rocked Elizabeth forward, causing both William and himself to slide partway out. He groaned and grabbed her right breast. “William, you push, I'll pull.” William pushed in and gasped. “God, tight!” This won't take me long at all.” Jack groaned. He held Elizabeth tight with one arm around her while gripping her breast. He arched, sliding himself a bit further out. “I know exactly…” He flexed, shoving right back in. “…How you feel!” Elizabeth moaned. She couldn't begin to focus on what either man was doing to her. The wicked ache in her ass overlapped the delicious pressure in her core mixing the sensations together. All she knew was that she wanted more. “Less talking. More fucking!” Both men stilled then choked out a laugh. Jack grinned up at her. “Do you kiss your husband with that dirty mouth?” Elizabeth scowled down at him. “I suck his cock with it too.” William tried to stifle his chuckle. Jack blinked up at Elizabeth then cleared his throat. “You heard the woman William, more fucking!” William snickered, then coughed. “Aye, aye Captain.” He pulled back and shoved in. Jack withdrew on William's thrust and waited for William's withdrawal to slam up into Elizabeth's wet heat. Elizabeth gasped then moaned between them. They continued to thrust and counter-thrust against each other, rocking Elizabeth between them. Moans, gasps, and soft whimpers erupted between them. She could do nothing more than hold on and let them take her how they willed. It felt so good. It felt so wicked. It felt so right to give herself to both of them. They both loved her, and she loved them too. William slammed in deep, stiffened, and shuddered. “Oh…shit!” Elizabeth felt him flexing within her. He was cumming in her ass. Jack threw back his head, gritting his teeth. “Ah…fuck!” His cock throbbed within her too. Elizabeth's heart thumped hard and her breath stilled. They were both cumming inside her. Abruptly her body spiraled into a violent release that burned all the way up her spine, the merciless pleasure forcing her to writhe between them, wringing gasping cries from her. The three of them fell apart gasping for breath on the sand. With Jack on her right and William on her left, Elizabeth writhed on the sand between them trying desperately to hang onto the echoes of pleasure that continued to roll through her. “That was so damned good!” Both men laughed while struggling to pull up their pants. They cuddled together and spoke of old adventures. They laughed, they kissed, they touched, and they loved again. On her hands and knees, Jack took her from behind, pounding into her core while she sucked her husband's cock, delighting in their moans. Elizabeth fell asleep on the sand between them, held by both, a smile of contentment on her lips. * * * Dawn chill opened her eyes to find that Jack had gone from her side. She sat up and discovered that the black-sailed pirate ship was gone from the cove. She rose to her feet looking for a trace of dark sails in the distance. Nothing. He was gone, and he would not be returning. William rose behind her and closed his arms about her shoulders. He buried his face in her hair and held her tight. She let her tears slide down her cheeks and felt dampness on her shoulder where her husband's tears fell in silence. Nine months later, Elizabeth bore a daughter with midnight hair, midnight eyes, and a streak of cleverness that could not be repressed. She did not match her blond brothers or sister, but she was the darling of William's eye and the child they both treasured. Elizabeth walked up to the edge of the moon-kissed ocean and let the water lap over her bare feet. The wind caressed her cheeks and tugged at her bound mane. It was Midsummer's Night under a full pirate moon. “Tonight is your daughter's wedding Jack. She's bright and beautiful and she looks just like you.” She wiped at the dampness on her cheek. “She married a sea captain.” Once upon a time, she had been the most beautiful maiden in the islands and had captured the heart of two men, a pirate captain, and blacksmith. Both handsome, both brave, both clever, one devoted to land, the other devoted to the sea. Once upon a time, she had held them both in her arms and loved them on the sand, but only one could she keep. In a fit of pique, Elizabeth tore the pins from her hair letting them fall to the sand. Her long hair uncoiled and spilled around her. “I miss you Jack. You were the other great love of my life.” She closed her eyes tight but the tears still fell. “My sea husband.” ~ * ~
1150321	GRS The War	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Michelangelo (TMNT), Raphael (TMNT), Donatello (TMNT), Leonardo (TMNT), Original Characters, Original Animal Character(s), Charles, Baxter Stockman, Hun - Character", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Serabelus", "chapters": "19/19", "completed": "2016-01-12", "published": "2014-01-24T00:00:00", "words": "48,118", "Additional Tags": "Dimensional cross over, Magic, Dawn - Freeform, Dusk - Freeform, torture by family, Psychological Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Hostage Situations, Betrayal, Control Issues, Attempted Seduction, Feminization, Corsetry, Scars, Insanity, Anal Sex, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Family Dynamics, Harm to Animals, Partner Betrayal, Abuse, Unrequited Love, Forbidden Love, Sibling Incest, Crossing Timelines, Past Child Abuse, Violence, Minor Character(s), Minor Character Death, Romance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Gang Violence, Seven Deadly Sins, Mortal Sins, Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Military, Lies, Family Secrets, Secret Crush, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Manipulative Relationship, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Friendship/Love, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Brotherly Love, love is deadly", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Michelangelo/Raphael (TMNT), Donatello/Leonardo/Michelangelo/Raphael (TMNT), Leonardo/Michelangelo (TMNT), Michelangelo (TMNT)/Original Character(s), Donatello/Raphael (TMNT)", "Series": "Green Rock Shooter", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types, Black Rock Shooter - All Media Types", "Archive Warnings": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con", "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Prologue"I'm going away, Mikey." A soft caring, yet scared, voice spoke. The face blurred from the youngest vision again, small beady tears in the smallest eyes, as the other leaned in kissing Michelangelo's cheek. "I promise... I'll come back someday, but... be strong, okay, baby brother?" Michelangelo nodding to that face, the face that belonged to the one who he always had with him there to hold onto when Michelangelo was scared of the most stupidest of things.It had been one of the worst nights of Michelangelo's life as one of his older brother's, eyes glowing a purple tint, turned around walking out the door. Donatello had been the first to leave him and the Dawns' way of life.That had been six years ago, when Michelangelo was eight. Donatello, so gifted in life at sixteen, had become a monster. One of the Dusks' who were a group that were violent and tragically sinful in so many ways Michelangelo had yet to learn of in his young age.A shiver rushed Michelangelo's spine as he turned, swiping his arm in the air, his mind cluttered with thoughts... with so many problems that had happened that year... that one year... Donatello had been gone for only a week before the news reached the capital.When the news finally got to the ears of the temple in which Michelangelo's family had been living in for the years since his infancy brought Michelangelo to grieve his life just slightly. Michelangelo had taken a few minutes that day, only because he had been curious to see if they had found his older brother, his sweet dear caring older brother, to sneak into the office of the high Lord of the Summer fiefdom.Michelangelo, after finally reaching inside the room, had failed to leave a small trace of energy outside to warn him if someone was coming. The small turtle child had been in far too much of a rush and in his hurry when the sound of the booming footsteps neared the door, the slight creaking of the knob, Michelangelo had rushed under the desk for his only source of cover. He felt every inch of his scaly skin prickle before two sets of feet came near the desk which slightly creaking as someone sat on it."It's happening again, isn't it." The voice of the Summer Lord, Casey Jones, stated to another person Michelangelo couldn't see. The second spoke before coming around the desk, Michelangelo placed a hand on his small beak to quell any more of his harsh breathing. The legs that appeared in front of his small hidden body were slender legs of a woman, black material wrapped around her legs to hold her shoes wound up her legs like fine lace, and a hour glass looking figure from the waist below were all he saw of this woman with no face to be identified.The voice of the woman spoke so softly, but the crisp in her words were like the frozen ground under one's footsteps, "If more children begin to vanish, Lord Casey, we will have to act... it has been centuries since the song played... since the Dusks' were reborn in numbers..."Michelangelo remembered his fear, he had been taught few things in his life. Dusks and Dawns being one of the main ones. Dawns, as he was, were the light of the world. They had been gifted the use of magic, the pure of heart and the trust of the flowers in the plaza's where the Angels dwelled... Michelangelo fought the tears as his mentor's, and father's, words of the last great war with the Dusks' came to his mind.'They fight without honor, my children.' Splinter was an old rat, wise in his age and his body so frail but to those who fought him doubted he was anything so. 'They are immoral, sinful...' the look of great sadness crossed the rats eyes making his fur skin seem dull. 'And once they were great fighters, children, women, and men much like you, of the Dawns light.'Splinter had smiled at the four young turtles all eagerly leaning into every words like sponge in a bucket of water, 'No one knows why a Dusk is created or how they are chosen, but when one is chosen in a family... a family such as the oldest late Lord Springs youngest brother...' The rat sat down on his chair before waving his hand shooing them all off to bed, 'Sleep well, no Eclipse comes ...'Michelangelo looked up as the chair was pushed back breaking the memory, the woman sitting down swirling just once before leaning onto the table, her legs only inches from Michelangelo's body, "We must have a plan..."He had stayed there longer than he had ever planned to, the two had sat and enjoyed a wild conversation from their own students even to the weather changing soon in all their lands. By the time they had left it was well past midnight and his mind was exhausted when he stumbled out into the corridor towards his room where his older brothers', Leonardo and Raphael, were waiting.Michelangelo sat in his classroom six months later bored, his teachers gone and the groups forming around him, and he hummed waiting for something to happen."Hey," Raphael had come into Michelangelo's room during class, Raphael's smile had always been one that freaked out many of the teachers and students, before he sat down next to Michelangelo. It was a short break, another emergency meeting for all the teachers, Ladies and Lords. Michelangelo had been feeling a bit lonely, out of the class he was the 'unsuited' one for the flowers because of his personality and disposition, also because of his family name and his attitude towards things."Raphie." Michelangelo called his brothers childish name and had smiled giving Raphael a hug, "I hope you don't get in trouble, big brother."Raphael only smiled, but the sorrow, somehow terrifying look it displayed, made Michelangelo frown. "Mike... I... think I'm going to take a break, okay." 'Break' was only allowed for when you graduated, when the teachers were called away, or when you were sick."Why? Are you sick?" Raphael chuckled hugging Michelangelo again before getting up. "Raph? What about me? What about Leo?"He continued walking out the door, others in the room giving Michelangelo a curious, fearful, look before he tuned out the whispers that he knew would spread gossip. They would say what they said about Donatello. They would say that Raphael had become a Dusk, a sinful creature living in the dark... doing whatever the sinful did.Michelangelo had wasted no time after that thought to get up and chase after Raphael, but he never found the older like he had desired. Michelangelo cried as he ran around another corner seeing Raphael smiling at another familiar face, "Donnie! Raphie!"Donatello turned his face slightly surprised, "Mikey," before a smirk grew as he lifted his hand out looking into Michelangelo's face, "Are you coming also?" the voice was not his brothers. It was cold, unorganized with its pitch raising and falling, its eyes cold, glowing an illuminating purple. Though it was the smirk, on the borderline of psychotic and blood thirsty, that made him freeze."Donatello?" Michelangelo called more quietly. "What happened to you, brother!""Come with us, Mikey. It's fun." Donatello stretched his hand out a bit as he pulled Raphael closer to his sleek chest."No cares. No worries. No one telling us what to do." Michelangelo watched as Raphael's normal smile of anger turned up farther, taking on a maniacal smirk before his face turned his hand rising from his side out to the younger brother turtle."Family should stick together, right, Mike?" Raphael's voice was the same but the change was there, growing the more Raphael stayed next to Donatello. It frightened the young Michelangelo.The darkness swirling out around them from a small rip in the fabric of space, Michelangelo knew what it was... it was hell welcoming back its children. It was the pit of sin to bring the two he loved into its embrace to corrupt their souls."NO!" Michelangelo shouted out as he ran forward reaching out his hands not to go with them but to pull them back. "We are a family! Please, Donnie! Raphie, please!"Their hands dropped to their sides as they snickered turning into the dark before a pair of black-reddish pair of hands reached out taking their shoulder pulling them in that materialized inside the ripped fabricated space.Michelangelo never thought he'd hear the music that six months ago he had over in the lord Summer's room that the Lady Winter and Lord Summer had talk about, not when he knew he had no shred of black tainting his skin, or so he thought. He looked into the face of what held onto his brothers as the gate was closing, he couldn't slow it down anymore then it seemed to purposefully do. His eyes grew wide as the fabricated face in the colors that glowed inside the pocket dimension. It smiled, it's shape shifting into something familiar but so far and so distance. Slowly it grew into something, so low, so brittle, so painful... Something his heart was pounding for and lusting for.Michelangelo felt his legs giving out on him as he rushed to where the two had been, falling to the floor face down. His legs spread out before he stopped inches from where the portal had once been. Tears bloomed in Michelangelo's eyes as he looked up, a small orange star like crystal fell from the small part of the portal that had slightly lingered long enough for him where it landed against the ground. The sound echoed through the hall making Michelangelo cover his ears as he slowly scooted over picking it up.The tears still pooled around his eyes as he curled into a ball, the sounds had faded and the echo of footsteps could be heard, all the while he tucked the small crystal into a pouch he had received from Donatello on his seventh birthday just a year ago."Where... oh dear god, Michelangelo?" a teacher said dropping down next to him. "Grab a doctor! Get the nurse! GET SOMEONE!" the teacher returned to their cooing even as he looked up."I still hear the music..." he whispered, "I... want my brothers..." he closed his eyes as he cried harder into his legs tying his small pouch onto the fabric of his sash around his waist before the world was spinning.But he didn't remember the months after that until he returned to class the look of great fear in the students eyes. The look one would give the sinful.Michelangelo remembered that spinning, remembered that pain that cracked his heart. He opened his eyes to look into his instructors who smiled clapping their hands together cheering him on. He slowly bowed after releasing the stance, something he learned somewhere else, and he turned walking off the stage. He wanted to escape this prison, escape to his room where his photos of his family were laid to be forever hiddenly admired.'Donatello, Raphael.' Michelangelo had not heard a word from them since ten years ago, his age now eighteen. Had not seen them since the day Donatello came and took Raphael with him, he never regretted leaving but he regretted never being fast enough to get to them before the music came to spirit them away to that hell."-lo." Michelangelo barely caught the end of his name before he felt someone grabbed his arm in their three fingered grip, his eldest brother... his brother who had graduated only a year after their brothers went missing. He turned to see the worried expression on Leonardo's face before the sigh and disgruntled worry replaced it. "I've been calling you since you left the room... Are you still thinking about them?""Yes." Michelangelo nervously said looking the other way his hand touching the necklace before back at his brother. "They're family, why can't I still think about them."Michelangelo's face turned into anger before he turned his head left while taking deep breaths, "They are Dusks now, Mikey... they are sinful, disgusting creatures. They only want to kill us, maim us... you know what dusks are, after all... this is the new era where the Dusks are beginning to rule again.""Donnie and Raphie aren't part of it!" Michelangelo had shouted only to receive a slap to his face from Leonardo over the conversation with his older brother's free black covered hand."They are..." Leonardo stated looking at his brother. "Michelangelo, I've been apart of this war longer than you. I've read the reports. I've seen the pictures... I've looked at the dead... they are part of it, they are disgusting things because they listened to the song, because they went off and left their family for... for that life!""What is wrong with having freedom, Leo!" Michelangelo retorted. "Being here... suffocating... every day it feels like that!""And you 'sneak' off." A small wide eyed expression grew on Michelangelo's face as denial was approaching his lips, "Don't think I haven't noticed." Leonardo stepped forward eyeing his younger and only 'living' brother up and down. "Avoiding reality... making your memories wrong... Do you think that is honoring our family, honoring our dead?"Michelangelo shoved Leonardo away before running off the tears growing faster even as he pushed open the portal door to his and Leonard's house before another, slamming it in the process when he entered, as Michelangelo crashed into the bed... all he wanted was to 'feel' like his family was whole again. Feel as if Leonardo wasn't desperate to kill the family still alive on the other side. As if Leonardo wasn't planning it every day since Donatello vanished into the night.Michelangelo picked up the necklace and watched it glow a brighter orange then usual which he smiled at his lips softly kissing it as he whispeed, 'Let me be whole again' before his body shimmered with warmth. Pleasure coursing through Michelangelos blood, under his skin, nails, and as his vision turned white, slowly to grey, before finally black.All Michelangelo saw when he woke up again was a blue mask, a look of worry. He wondered how long he had been gone from this world since only a day for himself had gone by. This world had no time restraints as Michelangelo's did from the lapses that had taken hold during years, Michelangelo noted, of going in and out of this loving, better, more honorable family of Green fighting Turtles. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo slowly opened his eyes while at the same time feeling a small smile pull at his lips. That world was so nice with how they, the four turtle brothers, were all together. That was the perfect image of a family in the young Michelangelo's mind. Michelangelo rolled over so his feet could touch the floor as he stood up slowly yawning while he stretched out the kinks his shoulders had developed during the long unmoving night. Rubbing his eyes with his left hand Michelangelo reached out grabbing some clothing sitting on the night stand ready for wear on this 'brilliant happy day'.It was his graduation ceremony clothing, particularly developed, or a hand down, from Leonardo. Michelangelo gave a small look of disgust at the bright white clothing that would wrap around his body which was unmarked by anything. He slipped on the long robes folding it around his middle much like a iromuji, a style of Kimono, before using a Datejime, a hard piece of cloth that slightly loosened at the ends of a warm grey color, to hold the whole outfit tightly together.Michelangelo moved out of the room to see Leonardo who was already up wearing their families traditional color: Black. They were the shadows of the Dawns, the clinging black that kept the safety of the younger generation. It was part of the fact of their unusual look and high performances on the battlefields. Many times he had heard from his foster father, an old wise rat named Splinter, that they were descendants of the Dusks, the true dusks that lived long before the music. Long before both sides came and hated each other. Thus why black was both strong and feared amongst the Dawn's."Michelangelo." Leonardo said looking up from blowing his tea. His eyes shone brightly as a few blue flower petals fell from the table where the flower was perched upong onto the floor from the 'life' flower not yet put into Leonardo's mask, but the flower was still full even from the loss of flowering petals. "How was your sleep? Filled with other 'brothers'?" it held a slight disgusted tone, but the edges of amusement were in there also that Michelangelo could only faintly detect.Michelangelo turned his head to the side, he wished sometimes that he was stronger in spirit as to be able to stand up to Leonardo and speak his mind... though as it were now and always impossible. Michelangelo was scared of being persecuted for being a slight defiant one. Fear that he would be accused like he had been as a child of turning Dusk. Even though he was outgoing and childish as a child, but Michelangelo had become timid in areas such as fighting or arguing with people around him after his memory loss. It mainly dealt with the way he had been raised. Avoided by others, no one but Leonardo, Raphael, and Donatello had give him much time to talk after Splinter. It might have been because of that that his family, what remained of it, felt disappointment in him. Maybe the latter and not the former? His mind clung to that idea.Michelangelo shoulders shook slightly, but unseen through the cloth, as he sat down at the table eating the pre-made food Leonardo took time only for this one special occasion to make Michelangelo as a first gift on graduation, "Thank you for the food." Michelangelo bowed his head as he said this before slowly taking a few bites of the toasted bread. Michelangelo kept his eyes down even when Leonardo set, none to gently, his tea cup down and frowned eyeing Michelangelo across the table."Look at me, Michelangelo." Michelangelo lifted his head hearing the creaking of each joint in his neck. "Today is your graduation ceremony. You cannot allow other thoughts, other temptations, to cloud your judgement or actions." Leonardo set his hands on the table the cup still in them but obviously having cooled down after the time he had started sipping it. "We are fighters. Born for the front lines. I will not allow you to ..." a small echoing booming sound came from the open window at the left near the kitchen. A signal that all graduates must come at once to the great skyward halls of the cathedral."Let us not be late." Leonardo stood up bowing his head again to his brother, not a show of love or anything like that but a show of dominance and that this topic might be brought up again, "And you'll clean up when we return, I will be gone to the front lines again after your ceremony."Michelangelo didn't fight against his older brother's words. That was against the rules set down by the dawns. Leonardo was the oldest and the only heir to the Hamato line in this house thus his word was law, "Of course." Michelangelo stated as he stood up leaving his unfinished breakfast on the table, he rarely ate much because of his 'addiction' that made him sleep later than normal. It contributed greatly to his weight and waist size. He was on the abnormal small side for his family, no, to everyone.Leonardo put on his shoes watching as Michelangelo did the same and he softly smiled before standing by the 'gate' of many doors. When the two brothers walked through it they gave courteous looks towards those they knew at the hallway where others were coming from separate gates slowly fabricated in the hallway door holders in the walls before vanishing. Each would slightly bow at the others that they saw walking beside or hurrying ahead, but it was the low bow to Leonardo that always made Michelangelo feel like an outsider. Those few in black, not just his brother and soon to be him after the graduation, were honored and feared. He held back the disgusted grunt as he walked passed the multitude of colors, his white so... plain... A small bow he did to a few of them before he turned to look straight ahead to the end of the hallway where a bluish glow had appeared.There was the gateway to the cathedral. It lead to the crater sized buildings where the stalagmites had grown, carved into intricate designs of flowers, wings, plants, and overgrown in real flowers over time. It was a beautiful artistic design showing thousand of years of the Dawn's architectural advantage in life. This room, nearly the same size as New York City, rose from deep under a cavern to the sky but Michelangelo didn't know how tall it was. All he knew was the ground was beautiful and the sky was crystal clear.This was the graduation room. Michelangelo took a breath as he walked through, eyes half brimmed, before he turned looking to the left seeing his fellow classmates. Michelangelo's eyes turned right seeing the teachers and the cloth that they wore. A smirk grew on his face. The enchanted cloth that was created in these halls, spun by the angels that lived in their nests high in the bell towers."I will see you at the end." Leonardo's voice broke the spell that began to rip at Michelangelo's mind, his second time being in this dome. "Do not make a foolish mistake, please. It will bring ill words towards me as your eldest sibling.""No." Michelangelo defeatedly said to Leonardo as he walked away towards a few of the classmates who waved their hands at him with excitement. "I'll do my best." spoken like a whipped dog indeed. That was his curse as a dawn living with his proud and mighty brother.The time Michelangelo had been born, twenty one years ago, to now had always been a path of difficulty. Holding back every inch of his personality from shining through. Michelangelo always felt like a piece of dead flesh, but today was suppose to be a memorable moment. A time to cheer and celebrate. It had been eight years since the last graduation and that time it was Leo who had reached the chance to gain his flower. It was an ever glowing blue that didn't fade as it glowed several different shades each representing Leonardo's inner feelings.'How bright would mine glow?' he lifted up the crystal a stunning orange that hummed slightly in his palm. 'Would it be so beautiful... look so... orange?' He wanted to be that free spirited other 'self'. Though a orange flower was uncommon to the black dressed fighters since it showed vitality and free spirit. The orange clothing, the flower, they were a beautiful combination he'd never get to wear or try for in his lifetime."You still looking at that weird crystal?" Michelangelo jumped shoving the necklace back under the white clothing before spinning around blushing deep enough it showed through his green skin."N-n-no..." Michelangelo stuttered as he hurriedly began to fix his outfit. "I..." He blushed deeper as his classmates turned him around so his ruffled appearance wasn't shown to the crowd. A few of the girls beginning to help him tidy up his appearance."I swear, Michelangelo, you really are an out of control Dawn... You're more suited to being a caretaker than a fighter." Mikey looked down at Angel, a friend who had only started to hang out with him the last three years when his emotional state had been at its worst."Sorry..." Michelangelo turned his head looking down feeling how hopelessly pathetic he was. "Thanks, Angel."The group became silent as they all touched a finger to his skin. A light warm feeling, untamed magic, rushed against the flesh and under the clothing. It was a sign of understanding, support. It had made Michelangelo giggle a bit as it tickled along his arms and neck before he looked at the group smiling again, "Thanks.""Well of course we're going to support you!" Charles stated standing taller than the rest of them, Michelangelo though he was a male was that of the height and size of a female. It was unknown why to others outside his family why this was, but Michelangelo had noticed that for some reason his family HAD been more feminine in areas and things. Why, he didn't know.Michelangelo turned his head blushing as he spotted a few Blacks, only male since Blacks were leaders and fighters and never could be females, walking next to his brother.His brother's body was a bit more bulkier then Angel's. Though Leonardo's legs were thin, Michelangelo could still see the prominent muscles coil under the skin. Leonrado didn't smile even as his eyes turned, glowing a dim blue with a look of pride slightly flashing through them. Michelangelo smiled even as a low cat whistle came from one of the boys behind Michelangelo."You know..." Jonah said as he whispered into Michelangelo's ear, "I can't believe your brother is a guy. I mean look at his outfit!" Michelangelo rolled his head a bit. "His gloves have hearts on them for pete's sake!""It's to show his love," Michelangelo knew the meaning behind the enchanted clothing.The boots were loose but made thick to stand in the dense deadliest parts of the battles. A belt, a haramaki, that held the leggings, left side a short piece of cloth to represent shorts that rode up showing more than Michelangelo knew was deem 'appropriate'. The left covered to the ankle in thigh tight slowly loosening out fabric, to Leonardo's body even though they rode up his thighs clinging in a small clump between his legs.Why his anal brother never fixed them was beyond him. He did remember one time where his brother and another black said something... he couldn't remember at that moment.Michelangelo's eyes trailed up his brothers plastron to the cape that fit as a coat swirling behind inch of his arms covered underneaths the sturdy magical material stronger than even dragon scales. He looked at how far the cloth drew behind his brother. A foot, Leonardo said once to Michelangelo, enough to wrap myself in just in case.He never answered Michelangelo's 'incase what' question and Michelangelo never asked again because it wasn't right to ask questions twice.It was the mask that Michelangelo had loved the best. The intricate design the bow was as it was pulled into a flourish design. The tails reading down before braided. They reached to his knees and they had been the only way to touch his oldest brother for the longest time."Michelangelo?" Angel asked touching Michelangelo's collarbone slightly. "We need to get on stage, it's nearly starting." Michelangelo blinked owlishly trying to remember what was going on before he nodded realizing quickly that he had been staring at his brother longer than deemed necessary. He'd be scolded later."Hey, Angel?" Michelangelo asked walking up the small stone pillars dripping eternal water that fed the magic flowers. "What do you think will happen when I become a black?""You'll be killed like most of them." Angel said sadly straight to the point. "The Dusks will try to drive you into their madness, force you into their sins... i just hope you come back to me someday."They looked into each others eyes even as Mikey smiled and said in a short unheard whisper, "I will."Michelangelo looked down the line as the women went first their flowers ranging from pink to purples some even blues, greens, and white. He smiled as he knew the whites were always the ones to be placed in the medical field.Charles slowly came up on the males side, Michelangelo had forgot to look further on the woman curious now as to what flowers his male friends would get. He knew it would be a while before their clothing, white graduation gowns, would be changed with the enchanted threading. He smiled slightly bouncing on his heels as the line moved, far faster than he anticipated. He came to the vine where the flowers shifted around the pole and down before one flower bloomed in front of him. Michelangelo smiled as he picked it up watching the color glow to light from the dull orange to a vast shades of orange.Ushered off the stage he followed after his friend before smiling, they each rolled their eyes already figuring that would be his color choice since the jewel around his neck was. Michelangelo slowly began to notice each of his friends eyes glowing the flowers light. Charles were deep red, Michelangelo smiled with a chuckle."Wow, Mikey." Angel said coming over, "I've never seen your blue eyes look so orange." Michelangelo turned his head blushing, "It looks good on you." Angel's flower had been placed in her hair, the vines had wrapped around and into the strangest way pulling it up into a messy bundle, something that Angel was far from, and Michelangelo laughed softly."You're flower... doesn't match your attitude, Angel." Charles said poking his own as he watched it shrivel a bit. "Ah... Um... it's dying..."It was everyone's turn to laugh as the flower turned black and Charles froze. Slowly it grew back to life into a fiery fickle before Charles frowned, "I hate you." Everyone grinned before laughing walking over to the area they were waved to by the teachers."Welcome!" Lord Summer, mainly known as Casey Jones, shouted allowing his voice to boom through the dome. "This is a splendid year for us, never have I seen so many of our people so new to the magic and the ways of adulthood look more fantastic with their blossoming flowers then I see this year. No offense to those old like I am... we have ... dulled through this never ceasing war." Michelangelo spotted his brother raised his glass like many others."This year, though I am afraid to say to many of you, has come at a high cost. So many of our brothers, our sisters... Our loved ones..." Michelangelo looked up at Lord Summer smile weakly with tears falling down his face. His wife, Lady Winter April O'Neil, had been taken into the brace of the Dusks only a month earlier and found dead only last week. She had been leading Leonardo's team at the time.Michelangelo only knew this because he had never seen Leonardo come home his eyes so dead, his face so pale, nor his body so marred with blood. Leonardo had spoken only an hour afterwards saying it had been his fault. Leonardo had frozen up when he saw something from his past. Michelangelo had first thought it was the person who defeated him the first time on the battlefield.A few days had passed before Michelangelo learned the truth eavesdropping on Leonardo and others who survived the incident.It was Donatello and Raphael. They had..."-here is where we rise again, stronger than seconds before." Casey Jones raised his hands making Michelangelo look up again at the man, his mind was drifting off a lot today... he hoped it wasn't because he was forcing magic through his body without his flower... He raised his hand slightly clutching his necklace feeling the soft beat coming through from it. It soothed his feelings as he listened more intently."Now, graduating class." Michelangelo looked around as did everyone else. "Time to put on your armor, your vows," one of the girls screamed making the class look at her as she was dragged away up into the air.Michelangelo watched, like all the others graduating, as members of the graduating class were being picked off one by one as Casey Jones kept talking. Michelangelo looked up watching as things... human shaped with wings growing out their wrist were flying around their faces covered in metal and cloth. A thin linen tightly wrapped around their mid stomachs to their waists down to their calves before swirling around each leg fluttering around like a tail. Menacingly.These were angels. These were the ones who were once like them... gifted with magic and did a great deed in their past life to grant them immortality and a future to help others.Another scream was heard, Michelangelo's skin crawled as he turned shouting, "Angel!" he reached out trying to grab her wrists as the angle holding her went higher out of his reach. It tilted its head before it flew into the air heading towards the tops of the chapel like building. Michelangelo watched as slowly his friends, classmates, were plucked up one my screaming one.Michelangelo felt his shell hit someones back, taller than him... "Charles?""What... is going on!" Charles said his flower shifting into a mace. "WHERE are they taking them!""I don't know." Michelangelo said holding his flower to his chest. He didn't remember this from his last time here. He closed his eyes feeling his magic course through his body before he opened them again and he looked up as a few of the angels circled the two of them in a predatory way. Michelangelo knew in his own way they too would be following after Angel and the others."Why are they..." Michelangelo shifted to glance at Charles before he saw his brother's face his head shaking slightly, in a 'Let them' fashion which emphasised on his disgrace knowing his brother didn't know about what was happening."I... think they are ... the ones who give us our... clothes..." Michelangelo looked at a few of them. "But... i got this bad time feeling...""Me too, buddy... me too." Charles allowed his weapon to dissolve into petals before Michelangelo and Charles were lifted up into the air. A small shout at the sudden loss of air mixed with the sudden high escaping from both of them as they fought back the urge to struggle, afraid of dropping into the tile floor nearly looking a hundred feet below.'There is nothing to fear, young one.' Michelangelo's head snapped up, 'You are strong, kind, but there is a seed in you we must cover...' the angels covered face touched Michelangelo's cheek making him turn, the metal... it as slowly shining in a spot. The face that looked at him was rotting away, even though the body was beautiful, unmarred by any previous battles Michelangelo could see from the closeness.'We'll save you... but we can't save you.' It said this as it gently lowered Michelangelo into an opening to what the turtle assumed to be the nest. Michelangelo watched amazed and frightened as his clothing, thread by thread, was undone. His arms moved up to try and stop this only for the thread to moved twining around his wrists then moving like he was being sown into some cocoon.A hard turn left smacked Michelangelo's head against the wall where he felt frozen for a few seconds, something small crawled along his wrists and legs before vanishing with it the hold. He screamed again as he plummeted downwards before he hit something heavy. Michelangelo coughed as he opened one eye to see one of the vast Angels looking down at him. It's legs bounds like a straight jacket tightly together as if sown. Michelangelo took stock that it was only bound to its ankles. The Angels wrist bore no wings but they were warped wwith loose fabric that tightened slightly before loosening with every move it made.'Strong will.' its voice pounded in Michelangelo's head as he felt something, not something... a group... a hive! Michelangelo's head snapped to the left looking down and his eyes no longer could grow any widder as he saw the feather shaped spiders weaving across his body. Tears grew as he looked up into the face of what was looking at him.'You are fine, as are the others...' it walked stiffly over to a cacoon. 'They are being remade, perfect creatures like yourself. Your flower will show these makers what your soul, your magic, needs made. It will be made to match you, so rest... rest...'Michelangelo cried again as he closed his eyes a tug from the jewel pulling him under a thin veil of what felt like water. As if Michelangelo felt his soul split before his very being, he opened his eyes looking down at an old rat smiling up at him, saying how good he had done today.Michelangelo head swirled around to look at Leonardo smiling goofing off with Raphael and Donatello holding a first aid kit before looking at him, "Seriously, Mikey, did you have to fall backwards after doing that kick off the mountain at the trash mans?"Michelangelo heard his voice, not his the Mikey from this world, giggled. This soft scene, this perfect dream, helped to ease the worry Michelangelo felt on what he saw, and felt, in his own world. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo felt the tug at his body. The feeling of hands prying into something wet, pulling at his clothing to drag him free of the sticky, wet cocoon he was tightly bound in. He didn't want to leave the world where 'his family' were having so much fun being so tightly bound in unison.Michelangelo's eyes opened without his desire as they looked up to stare into Leonardo's glowing blue eyes. A smile lifted the corners of his brothers beak, it had been years since Leonardo smiled so lovingly at him. Michelangelo felt his brother's arms easily lifted Michelangelo's body up before the younger turtle gave a startled call as he couldn't walk right. Though the younger, now awake, turtle looked down at the clothing Michelangelo was now adorned with. Even though it was only cloth it felt like metal had been piled heavily onto his body."Michelangelo?" The casual use of his name brought his eyes to his brother again. "Come on, we need to get you home." Leonardo's hands felt like flower petals against Michelangelo's skin as he wrapped the weakened arm over the sturdy shoulders."What..." Michelangelo's throat felt parched, his eyes slowly tilted to closing again as he felt how exhausted he was, but the small rumbling from his stomach made him realize his time in the cocoon was longer than he anticipated. He scanned around the room, they were back in the graduating hall, finding empty cacoons scattered around like a spiders feeding ground. He shivered as he drew into his brother finding that he had been one in here, in those things.Leonardo gave a soft snort of a laughter before Michelangelo gasped turning his full attention to his brother again. Leonardo seemed different. Leonardo was acting as if Michelangelo wasn't... wasn't what? Leonardo never showed this side to Michelangelo not even when they announced that Michelangelo might be killed one day if he ever became a dusk.Other families would have cried, held him close... Michelangelo sighed before he looked down at his feet. He really wished he understood Leonardo better.Michelangelo had always enjoyed running around the halls, through the mystic protals, but he had always feared the trouble being so free willed would cause. He had been told, so many times he forgot how many in one day how troublesome it was for others around him and how it made him 'odd' in their eyes. His eyes now, so down cast that the floor could have been nonexistent as the world around. He had not listened to Leonardo talking, to the passing scenery, but when he felt his legs hitting something making him fall forward splashing around in water before turning around looking at his ever annoyed brother he took the time to see again."Have you even heard a word I was telling you?" Leonardo throw a bar of soap at Michelangelo who dodge a bit of panic now settling into his face and body. "I'll repeat it then," Michelangelo's eyes grew an inch. Leonardo repeating what he had said was fear in duced horror." I said, 'We'll be spending a lot more time together, maybe, so that you can learn the rightful colors. To stand against the Dusks as not only my brother but my fellow fighter.' Now, I'll bring you a towel so you can shower and change before you come out to get some food..." Leonardo turned around suddenly his face growing bright red, "NOT IN FRONT OF ME!"Michelangelo blinked before looking down at his bare chest, it wasn't Leonardo's first time seeing him shirtless... Leonardo had always been stoic about wearing proper uniform or being alone when ready for showers and the like. He gave a sigh at his eldest brother apologizing before he closed the shower curtain watching his brothers shadow turn slightly at the noise."As I was saying before," Leonardo coughed a few times clearing his throat. "You will also be taught the proper conduct that suits our class. Weapons and magic training will begin and also you will be doing the basic grunt work for a while.""Leonardo," Michelangelo said after he had stripped of all his clothing, "What about my new clothing?" he held them in his arm before Leonardo spluttered obviously not having thought of the 'wet' clothing.Leonardo went silent before Michelangelo heard something crinkle and he looked up to see a basket being tossed over the bar into his face. He yelped in surprise before falling back down causing the water to ripple flowing over the edge of the tub before he felt his head pounding. Leonardo... Leonardo..."Are you okay, Michelangelo?" Leonardo asked moving a bit back, "Uh... if you're still among those awake... put your clothing in the basket and I'll take it out when I bring back your towel." Leonardo nervously said stepping to the door in a slight rush to escape the room.Michelangelo waited for the door to close to laugh as he pulled the basket off his head to look at the ceiling pushing forth his magic to dim the lights making the ceiling turn into a starlight scene. His smile grew sad as he felt a few tears falling down his face. He had lost a small amount of freedom when he graduated."How long ago was that?" Michelangelo said standing up pulling the curtain back and stepping out of the bath to properly place the clothing and basket in the place Leonardo always placed his own clothing when he had showered.His eyes closed as he turned back to the shower seeing the water shimmering slightly orange before turning pitch black while a small sphere rose from the water making his eyes wide all the while he pulled back trying to find something to cover himself up with. He was in the nude and now of all times was no time for one of his friends to summon him or be summoned to him!"Is this thing on?" Charles's nose appeared in the water before it zoomed out, "Hey... Why are you naked?" Charles chuckled out before the orb spun around and a low whistle came from his lips before the orb was back on Michelangelo who was covering up with one of his wet garments pressed to his nether regions."Do you NOT know how to buzz?" he asked walking forward whispering all the while. "Keep your voice down so my brother doesn't hear you! I am NOT going to be put in confines because of your idiocy." Michelangelo gave a soft sigh before walking into the water and dropped the shirt to the ground where it hit with a squelch sound making Michelangelo's stomach slightly turn."So..." Charles' eyes didn't leave Michelangelo as Michelangelo moved to the middle of the room sized bathtub."Are you rich?"Of all the things his friend could say... that was not the first that was among them. He turned his eyes up, the orange illuminating his face and slick body a bit, before he picked up the sponge and began to wash, "If you must ask, yes in a way I am."Again Charles gave a whisper as the orb began to shift into a familiar human form before a small splash was heard where Charles blinked even giving a small chuckle to see Michelangelo's face grow slack and he turned around, "What are you doing! Did you over charge it!""I think so... sorry, huh... how do I get back?" of all the things he ever heard his classmate say about the magical essence and law this had to take the cake. To make a portal and not know how to keep the magic at a minimal, separate the transportation of it all... could he be that stupid?"You need to do the same spell." Michelangelo pointed out turning around his cheeks a bit pink. "And turn it into a transportation spell. That is what you did last time."Charles smiled as he nodded his red flower and eyes glowing a bit brighter. Michelangelo had always known Charles would be a good fighter but he didn't want his friend to be in his bathroom, soaking wet, with his usual dressings, red due to his class, to be skin tight against his body.Michelangelo turned his head again one hand above his chest resting on his shoulder while trying to hide as much of himself as he could. His other hand was below the water keeping 'that' area from view even though the dark kept that as it was."You okay?" Michelangelo's neck snapped up his head flying over to look at his friends looming muscular build. His blackish brown short cut hair dripping with water and his mussle pulled in a worried line. "Ah, sorry again for just popping in on you when you were bathing... I didn't... you know... mean to peep or anything.""I... I know." Michelangelo turned his body a bit, "Just... leave before my brother comes in and starts spouting out his normal nonsense.""Well, I would, but I didn't cast that spell. I touched the orb and ... over charged it, but I didn't cast it." Michelangelo should have figured! Charles had always received minimal marks in magic casting. He couldn't use a simple wind charm let alone a complicated energy consuming portal. Even he had problems keeping one stable for longer than five minutes."I'll cast you one, but... could you turn around, this is embarrassing being naked." Charles chuckled before leaning in a bit, "What are... you ...doing?" Michelangelo spluttered as Charles raised one of Michelangelo's arms."You're a lot thinner than your brother." if his mouth could have dislocated from his jaw Michelangelo knew it would be at the bottom of the pool. How could his friend insinuate he was more... feminine then his brother who wore such revealing clothing! "It's kinda cute in the way you're blushing.""And you're going to end up falling to the dusks!" Michelangelo turned back around yanking his hand out of Charles's grip before he began to cast. His skin slightly glowing, his flower over against the wall shining illuminating the room brighter, and his necklace rose slightly against his chest before he saw the portal rising up from the water. He pictured one of the most public places but opted against it and thought of where his friend must have came from.Two options hit him: Charles house or Emily's. Either way his friend would be in safe hands."Michelangelo," Leonardo's voice came from the door as it slowly began to open. Michelangelo's concentration stopped making the water return normal with a bit of a splash. His head whipped around looking at the door open wider before he grabbed Charles, who blinked, before pushing him to stand in front of Michelangelo's chest."Go under the water!" Michelangelo said eyes huge with fear. "DON'T come up until I drag you up!"Charles looked over at the door nodding, he understood the situation. He might slack on the moral code often but with one as high in the ranks and a black cloth Dawn soon to enter the room where his baby brother was showering, naked, with another person in the bath... yeah, that was against the rules and an early death for both parties whether they were participating or not. Charles took a deep breath as he went under the water, his hands reaching out grabbing Michelangelo's legs, who blushed as Charles meshed his face against his lower plastron, an area Michelangelo knew very well was going to infuriate his brother if he saw this scene.Leonardo's head popped out the door before he looked over blinking before turning his head, "Close the curtain, Michelangelo, showering is suppose to be private not for the world to see! What if a Dusk were to walk in here? Or some of the other blacks." He walked in lifting up the clothing, sighing at his brother's mess, before placing it in the basket. "And why are the lights off? It's bad to shower without the magical glow.""L-Leonardo, I just wanted them off." Michelangelo turned his head the grip from Charles arms tightening and he felt something rush through him as his friend nuzzled his face into his crotch, he might be a turtle and with his sexual organs inside hidden but that didn't mean that a bit of pressure right there combined with how... awkward... wouldn't make him feel like that.A sin. That was what was happening now with Charles. This emotion was a sin to feel without the elders blessings for his mate or given a mate if the elders deemed it was demanded of him."Are you okay?" Leonardo moved slightly closer to look at his brother wondering if something might be bothering him."I'm fine, just... can you leave so I... can bathe?" Leonardo blushed turning around mumbling 'Yes yes' in a fast manner, a towel left on the table with fresh white clothing from his school days, before he was out the door with it closing with a small click.Michelangelo sighed relaxing his muscles before he felt his body being lifted into the air, a loud gasp from lungs to inhale air, and he looked down gripping his friend's arms to support himself as Charles said with each deep pant, "You're very skinny and light."Michelangelo blushed harder as he slightly struggled to get free, "Well Thank You for pointing that out!"He struggled harder, "Let me -!" he felt Charles slowly lower him as Charles face rubbed against his plastron and his arms sliding up the sensitive skin on his flesh sides holding his shell and plastron together from falling off."Something wrong?" Charles set Michelangelo down who turned panting a bit at the strange feeling, not unwelcomed but not wanted again. "Ah... Michelangelo?""Next time... don't cling to me." Michelangelo turned around feeling more like a girl stuck in a sinful situation. "And visit through the front door, this ... is sinful."Charles shook his head the fur splattering water in all directions, "Yeah, will do." he yawned a bit, "Well, you sending me home or am I heading out through the front door?"Michelangelo hissed in anger before rechanneling the spell. His friend at most times was annoying and rather brash but he did feel a small chuckle in the back of his throat because he also was one who was like Michelangelo. Different.The clothing, he never noticed before, always showed how thin he was. It was Leonardo who always shopped for him because his brother rejected any idea that Michelangelo wore color thus it was black or white. He sighed walking out of the bathroom spotting the dishes on the table with fresh food.Leonardo sat already in his chair looking at his flower like he did every night. Michelangelo sat down, bowing his head thanking the light for his food and his brother for preparing it."Michelangelo?" Leonardo asked as Michelangelo was halfway through dinner."Yes, brother?" Michelangelo set his chopsticks down looking up at his brother."Who was in the bath with you?" Michelangelo's face paled as he looked at his brother a weak grin followed by a chuckle came from him as he turned his head to the left."I don't know what you're talking about." he stuttered out even as the glare from Leonardo grew at how annoyed he was from the obvious lie. Michelangelo moved back a bit so he had room to run as Leonardo also moved slightly. The sound of his brother getting up made his arms tighten gripping his knees along with the fabric clenched in his hands."Michelangelo," Leonardo's voice was stern as he walked across the small table to his brother, "why were you taking a bath with another person?"Michelangelo bit his lip eyes searching the floor trying to piece together his words so that he could perfectly explain the situation and the conditions that often happened around why Charles usually came and talked to him. Charles always did this, always contacted him..."Michelangelo." Leonard's voice dropped down, the murderous tone so evident that Michelangelo's scales slowly stood on end and he lifted his eyes his head not moving the down position. His eyes rested on the middle of Leonardo's chest. "Did you two do anything while I was not in there."Michelangelo's eyes widened as his jaw slowly fell down as his head snapped up shaking 'No' in a wild movement. His heart pounded in his chest as Leonardo squatted down, Michelangelo's head and eyes following, "Do they do this often?""No!" Michelangelo didn't mean to shout, his eyes closing expecting his brother to yell at him about the proper tone to use inside a building. "I mean... no, this is the first time he's tried... a spell like that... he just charged it too much making it a transpor...tation... spell." Michelangelo turned his head down for the third time eyes squeezed close his body tense before Leonardo's presence left in front of him. The slamming of a door made Michelangelo jump falling out of the chair and he looked at the door before taking deep heavy breaths to calm his heart.What... happened?The mirror, crystallized water, shown in front of him slightly see through to see the vibrant view of the marble floors and the five star pillars that climbed high in the library. He had came through the portal created after the urgent message from Emily involving Charles. He had been surprised to hear from Emily, he had gotten wind only two days after he woke up she had been transferred to a different district in the Fall land.Now, the crystallized water slowly melting into a orb he lifted up a vial as crystal water filled it up before he put it back into his bag. He took a deep breath and started walking around tentatively. He couldn't hear anything but his heart started beating as many students of various ages looked at him.Yes, he had taken to wearing his uniform like his brother but it wasn't because he wanted to. The first day he had opted for normal clothing but Leonardo sent him back into his room making sure he came out dressed in his proper gear. Something about getting use to the weight and the full extent of the gifted outfit.Unlike his brother, whose outfit would be considered a sin if it was regular cloth, the angels had gifted Michelangelo the black cloth that covered him from head to toe. His shoes were nearly plan cloth like the medics providing him swifter movements. The folds of his fabric in his pants tucked in by light thin leather stips cut thin into threads.The pants were loose from the waste below yet tight just below the knee. They suited him, more then he had ever thought would because even his brothers was a pain for Michelangelo to even bare looking at. It was the same with most other blacks he had been meeting with the last day and a half.His shirt was long sleeved the fabric trailing down to reach slightly below his waist. The collar reached to his chin the fabric buttoned up from the inside the thin line could be seen as the magic kept that hidden unlike any traces that many normal fabric would have.A thin woven thread wrapped around his waist, loose yet oddly strong to tie his pants up. Though on more than one occasion he had to pull them up because of his thin waist. It had gotten thinner from the stress that now surrounded him more."Emily?" Michelangelo called out raising his gloved hands up to make it seem a bit louder even though it was barely a whisper. "Charles?" The four tails on his mask shifted as he turned his head a small orange petal falling down past his left eye. He frowned before something was tossed at his head.He blinked before another hit his face. Looking down he saw the items, rocks, slowly melt into the stone. He shook his head at the childish antics of none other than Charles. He pivoted on his heel to walk over to Charles and Emily, Emily holding onto Charles arm jumping up and down trying to grab the pebbles."Why did you call me?" he asked with a smug grin wrapping his arms around his chest. The two froze before they stood at attention, the normal way to greet any person in an informal way."We ... heard you were being put into the training camp your... brother runs..." Emily said her thumb on her bottom lip her eyes darting left while her hips moved slightly. "Charles said... it was because of... what happened a few days ago." Her eyes snapped onto Michelangelo's glowing orange and Michelangelo blushed at the intensity in them. "Did Charles do anything to you while you were bathing!"It was a low whisper, thankfully, and Michelangelo stepped back even as Charles fell to the ground the fur hiding his own blush."No!" Michelangelo stated stepping closer, Charles now up and standing also moving into the circle. "It's not like that! Why do you think that!"The look that Emily had before she shot a glare at Charles was enough that Michelangelo sighed. It wasn't above Charles, how stupid of him to think what he had said. Charles, a member of the wolf clan, were known for their habitual advantages. They were owned by their animal instincts for 'sinning' why else would Charles be so easily dismissed for half the things he did when he entered puberty."Yeah, I'm leaving with my brother tomorrow." Michelangelo said smiling as he moved to find a seat and table. "My brother has been annoyed at several growing problems since I awoke.""Oh?" Emily said clearly interested in this. Emily, his dearest friend, had a habit of spreading rumours and the oddest of gossips that she fabricated from the truth. Like the one time she had stumbled in on Michelangelo stretching with another turtle type person from a different year class.It had been hell when she came up to him demanding to know if he truely was a female and how disgusting it was that he had easily took off his shirt in public. He had been so stunned because, to him, she had pointed at his figure stating she should have known.Emily paid dearly for it not by his own hands but by Leonardo's who came to school that day his eyes glowing so brightly. His sword out. His clothing swirling around him. He remembered her face as he pointed the tip of the blade at her throat and said, 'If another suitor for my brother comes to my house again for his hand I will promise your life will be hell under the black thumb.'She had been absent for two weeks after that by her family and the elders. The punishment was shame to be placed on her head. It was a time where their bond grew and Emily never joked about how feminist he was again."Michelangelo," Her voice took on a sadder tone, "I hope the three of us will be together again.""Yeah," Charles rested his clawed hands on Michelangelo's shoulders, "I'll miss my buddy." He rubbed his cheek against Michelangelo's head before growling, "And you're brother is... horrible." He pulled back up walking over to Emily's side standing with his arms crossed his torso , eyes narrowed looking more like the soldier class he had been assigned to a week earlier.How shameful that Charles was the first to wake up nearly two weeks before Michelangelo!Michelangelo turned his head frowning, "Thanks for worrying for me." Slowly he felt Emily stand up before the cool crisp of her power wafted around him."Michelangelo Hamato, black of the Hamato clan of the ninth original families. Brother of the elite leader of the military force, Leonardo Hamato. Friend to Charles Astrand, next leader of the Wolfan. Third son of Etla family. I, Emily Anderson, wish you fair well on your journey." She bowed down, "May the light stay with you and the flower petals plant the seeds of your efforts amongst your time reborn."Michelangelo looked at Emily smiling as Charles straightened his posture, "Michelangelo Hamato, fighter of the magic, one who stands tall amongst the gore of the Dusks' sins. I, next in line of the Wolfan, request that in our next meeting we celebrate our front line battles with the traditional Wolfan celebration. A friendly spar between war comrades in arms."Michelangelo stood up also his feet spread slightly before his left hand crossed his chest resting above his heart, his right drew behind him resting at a odd angel for most people but for his family an easy trick.He bowed his head as he said the traditional farewell from his family, "Emily Anderson, Charles Astrand. Let the light shine on your souls, no sin to touch such beautiful flowers. Let no taint cross your body and no shame enter your blood."He lifted his head smiling softly, "Let your flowers and souls merge and be the sun so when we meet again, battlefield or in our gracious home, we shall twine our thorns together and let the songs of old grace our ears as we dine on a feast of magnificent standing. I, Hamato Michelangelo, give you farewell. Forever shall your friendship and names be etched amongst my heart and memories that no Dusk will tear asunder." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo's last memory of a childhood was when everything was happy and cherished. When Donatello and Raphael were still with them. Leonardo had never been so rough with him, never so violent when he did something wrong, but loving and always displayed how much he cared about their attempts.Donatello suddenly vanishing in the night, never saying a word to the eldest, had taken a bit of Leonardo's love away. His eyes dulled and his words turned colder towards his two remaining brothers. Even when they were clinging to his legs crying as the small bruises would appear on their arms from a small mistake of being 'sinful': hugging Leonardo in public."Michelangelo," Soft words that nudged with their sound of each syllable didn't even budge the sleeping turtle up but threw Michelangelo's mind in more turmoil.The memories stung his eyes as he felt something light grip his arm. The slight pressure made his body freeze while his brain drifted to after the time Raphael had left. To when he had been given the necklace. He had been considered for a month as an enemy.Leonardo, his eldest brother, had visited often as the interrogator. Had come waving the flower across his chest as he began degrading Michelangelo for such words... such sinful words and actions... along other things.The tears stung harder as they came faster. He struggled to move but the grip on his arm tightened making him feel the pain of what Leonardo did that one time as a child to reprimand him..."You're pathetic." Leonardo had said only a few days before Michelangelo was cleared from the records. "They had the decency to leave! They had the guts to go where they wanted... YOU just stayed." the glowering look, the heavy panting breathing, the fear and shame Michelangelo felt only sharpened at Leonardo's next word, "Pathetic."The pain that laced through his arm at the sudden tightened grip the harsh twist of hand on scales in a indian burn then slowly just the feeling of his brother's hands swiftlyg moving to trail from his beak downwards slightly to grip his throat. A thumb reaching up to push into his mouth to hold his tongue down silencing any sounds.He remembered all of these things that had happened but even as they came to the forefront of his mind they vanished as he opened his eyes looking up into Leonardo's cold blue glowing eyes the small shine of concern there but it faded instantly when Michelangelo identified it."Michelangelo?" Michelangelo blushed feeling the hot air of his brothers breath caress his neck and beak. The look of worry and something else flashed across Leonardo's eyes making Michelangelo confused before he pulled back turning his head a look of small confusion on his face, "It is about time you woke up. Training started five minutes ago." The tone turned harsh as Leonardo stood up his hands gripping his cloak as he walked out of the room growling out words for Michelangelo to get dressed and meet him with the other black robes in the training grounds.Michelangelo pushed himself up onto his feet hissing at the pain that laced through his body, the small bumps and bruises showing against his green skin. He took a deep breath as he stumbled to his folded clothing sat in the center of the table on the other side of the room. His eyes slightly faded in before he closed them feeling with the tip of his fingers the hard smooth edge of the furniture in which his black outfit sat.A deep breath came as he opened them forcing them to focus on the fabric. In only a week he had been reduced to a whining child weakly trying to stay alive with the other men laughing at him."How shameful." Michelangelo said as he stood up on quivering legs pulling the night gown up over his body. He set night clothing aside, artistically folding it before hand, then he grabbed the pants tugging them on slowly over his ass. His brain only focusing on one thing at a time being: Leo will be back, get done soon.A small noise outside caused him to look over at the door nearly falling down as the blast shook the whole foundation of the camp. He stood up, all his weight put against the table, before he grabbed his shirt, shoes, bracers, and gloves. He walked over to the door, mask slowly stitching itself to his face from his magic. The flower floating from the desk twinned itself, thorns and all, in the tails that flowed out from behind Michelangelo as the orange magic user opened the door allowing the dust to come in covering his body as he coughed."GET THEM OUT OF THERE!" Leonardo's voice shouted over the noise of screaming and other things that made almost no sense. "This isn't a break! We are preparing for battle! WORK together as a team!"He admired his brother so much but at the same time this brother in front of him his eyes wide with the battle edge. Lips pulled smirking and his body littered with rubble clinging into his fabric or his skin."Michelangelo!" A black came to his tent grabbing his arm, he barely had time to look up at the man to see that he was a close range fighter, before he was dragged into the fray and saw what was attacking them for training.Green fighters, their clothing shifting in and out of the forest scenery. He almost wanted to shout that he couldn't go any closer but the man didn't let up as he continued to pull him into the swarm of people. Michelangelo's legs ached as they fell a couple of times before his shoulder was yanked up with a ripping feeling at his joint to keep him walking.He held back the pain before the hand let go, his breathing was raging in his chest nearly impossible for him to mutter an incantation. His eyes carefully scanned the area before he felt the slither of a spell crossing over his skin. He moved rolling across the ground, under a bush, before his spell hit the tree making him grunt his focus lost working on his own incantation of protection."Oh dear!" Michelangelo's eyes lifted up seeing a Green robed frog hopping over to him before it croaked his laughter. "Hello, hello! Welcome!"The frog was new to this exercise as was Michelangelo for why else would it... Michelangelo's eyes widened as he got up dashing from his spot as another thing, a cat he spotted, fell into the area he was once curled against. He closed his eyes thinking of any spell he knew, protection of his own self was out of the question with how in combat quarters they were 'practicing'.This wasn't his field! That Black dragged him into the midst of the commotion without even realizing that Michelangelo was a distant fighter. He couldn't-.Michelangelo opened his eyes shifting his stance smiling, he could fight close combat! How stupid was he? He had watched, felt, each move that the other he took time to watch did."Come, Eral of the night, brace my hands with your cold steel. Let me fight, but guard." he whispered as he felt his skin and joints becoming stiff. He watched the two looking at each other before they began running in opposite directions forcing Michelangelo to shift to look at the cat, the most deadliest in his opinion, and he shouted in pain his mind slipping allowing his arms to dull a bit."Letting your guard down to a frog!" the frog laughed as Michelangelo fell to the ground as the cat raised his hands.Michelangelo forced his focus onto his forearms as he raised them over his head. He could feel the pain rushing over him even as the scratches drew blood."Whaa..." the frog hopped around, "You should not be able!" the frog said in anger. "You are weak! No fighter! Magic isn't for close-.""I fight both ways!" Michelangelo spat out flipping onto his shell using a small incantation of wind to turn him causing the air, leaves, and surrounds to form into a cyclone."Pull back!" the cat finally spoke his claws digging into the ground as the frog was pulled in not having the luxury. "Get him to stop!"The sound was like a humming but he still could hear the sound rounding on the wind being pull upwards."Michelangelo," It was his brother's voice. "The training is over, release your spell." The presence in his head dulled before going out with a small trace of a fingers against his skin. He sat down back onto his feet eyes closed as he felt his body pulling to be submerged into the dark. He watched as his flower petals slowly fell past his face from his mask as he saw black clothing, not his brothers, grab his arms hauling him up onto his feet."Good job, kid." one of them, sounded like the one who dragged him... he wasn't sure truthfully.His legs were lifted up off the ground before he was flung into the arms of one of the blacks, again not his brother, and they began walking back to their camp. He overheard a few people talking saying it was strange seeing a magical user able to do such a complicated spell. The tone of his brother soon met his ears making him smile as he was praised with a few small words. It was enough to know that he wasn't hated by his brother for how weak he was.``````His arms had been bandaged before wrapped around his chest so that his hands were nearly resting against his chest criss crossed pattern. He could feel the pain beating through him. His head spinning as his eyes came in and out of focus. He knew what was happening because he had seen Leonardo go through this once when he came home. He refused to even accept anyone to come in from his group to check on his condition when Michelangelo had went out saying that he was fearful for how Leonardo was confined to his bed.To think he'd be forced in that position now only after casting two spells at the least. Yes one was a higher class that was technically forbidden for him to cast, or would have if he was any color other than black to wear. No one would have thought he'd actually cast a suicide spell but he really felt like he had no choice. It could have been from his exhaustion but the doctor had said that he was even past that.He had even placed his flower into a special healing water because of how the petals continued to fall fluttering before burning. It was only when ones flower began to show sign of turmoil that people knew someone had been pushed past their limits of both sanity and strength. He closed his eyes feeling the sleep waft like a warmth wool blanket being draped over his body. His lids heavy as he felt the black abyss in his mind.He could hear the laughter of his counterpart, feel the muscles under his skin move as he danced to some unfamiliar beat. Next to him was Leonardo his hands above his head as his eyes were close. His brother looked so peaceful as if he was having fun not pretending to be something other than himself.He heard his voice say something and a small blush came up to Leo's face as he turned his head looking at Michelangelo before shaking his head smiling as he said something also. Strange... normally he could hear what was being said.Slowly the music changed as Michelangelo felt the atmosphere also switch as Leo blushed only slightly, but it was HIS face that was on fire. The look that ghosted over Leo's eyes, his mouth slowly falling open, the hands reaching out grabbing his wrists pulling him into his brother's body. The small feel of two three fingered hands gripping below his waist on the outside of his thighs. His face grew hotter as he felt his beak buried in Leo's neck breathing heavily as he began to pant a small throbbing below making Leo chuckle in his ear as he said something that finally came through the murky water feeling, "Do you want me that badly inside you, baby brother?"The shock of hearing those words spoke so low in Leo's voice, the small feeling as Leo's hands expertly ghosted to the back his finger touching something Michelangelo never really thought existed to feel THAT good. Yet it wasn't as good as Leonardo slowly grinding into him making him moan, his legs weak...His eyes opened his breathing labored as he looked around trying to figure out where he was. He turned his body, allowing his mind to clear up as the pain laced through him sending him to fall flat on his arms a small groan as tears escaped. He could barely believe what he saw … what he still felt lingering over his skin. The words ghosting over his ear or...He moaned closing his eyes feeling the feelings return as he wanted that touch, wanted that motion again, he moaned louder as he failed to feel any part of his body. The pain only seemed to add to the pleasure as if someone was touching him, holding him down softly but with such a firm bruising grip- he felt utterly lost."Michelangelo?" Leonardo came into the room looking at his brother, "What are you doing on the floor?" his brother was at his side before he even though the turtle brother had moved. His hands gripping Michelangelo's shoulders lifting him up as they slide down taking the crossed arms into his palms for a grip.The pain exploded making him moan again eyes half opened before looking at Leonardo who froze. Something so small flickered to life under the cold stone gaze of winter and hatred in those shining orbs. Michelangelo watched as his brother licked his lower lip slightly before he returned to lifting Michelangelo up to sit on his legs with a traditional japanese style, yes he knew this from that world... he looked at Leonardo again as his brother looked at him in the eyes.The look turned ravenous as Leonardo leaned in, Michelangelo's brain stilling on just Leonardo's eyes, his beak inches from Michelangelo's, "Are you okay?" it was husky as he spoke his hand resting on Michelangelo's chest, right where the feeling of heat swelled within Michelangelo's body.He knew his brother could feel it, knew the look on Leonardo's face was growing too strong for his will to defeat and push back, but that look brought fear into Michelangelo's core. Something Leonardo had did or done before that time... what time?"Leonardo," Michelangelo whined softly, "This... is a sin..." Leonardo pressed harder against Michelangelo making his head fall back, "You... should not... con-." Leonardo's hand moved and Michelangelo whined. Leonardo looked disgusted suddenly, the rage that Leonardo displayed at a 'sin' shining with sadistic pleasure.Michelangelo cowered as the fingers gripped his throat squeezing as Leonardo said, so darkly … so much emotions bundled together, "I will not fall into the Dusks!" he spat, "I will not give into anything that will take me away from my PATH!" he had leaned in straddling Michelangelo's legs, "I will not be tempted by something so... foul and you, Michelangelo... stop messing around with my head!" and the pressure eased as Leonardo sat there, fingers grazing his throat, before he stood leaving the room and his baby brother,Michelangelo, crying knowing Leonardo did something horrible as this to him.He shouldn't have saw that sin, shouldn't have been affected by it... shouldn't have wanted that feeling that his other was probably now feeling at the hands of that Leonardo...He cried as he moved feeling the pain, no longer pleasure wrapped up into it, to stay awake and away from ever feeling that way again.The time was unaware to Michelangelo as he moved, methodically, through the weeks. His mind dull as he thought of nothing but the incantations: protection, defence, offense, and the ever so occasional mass homicidal ones. These usually placed him back in his brother's room where he'd smile looking around the room fighting off the much needed sleep, his flower off to the side drowning in the magical suave before he was trapped, always trapped by his pendant, in the world where he felt so much pleasure and so much disgust.He hated himself but the love of being touched, caressed so hopefully, so passionately...Today though was different then the times on the camps where he came across his friends from school but none of them even tried to talk to him on their breaks. Not one of them even seemed to want anything to do with a black who had caused such disgust. It was hurtful because they had said nothing would tear them apart, not even color.Though Michelangelo enjoyed being alone it also hurt him, today was no different. His brother had allowed him to easily move around the camps of the Red district today, they had not fought in a week, and he smiled seeing a few nervous looks.Yes, fear the black... fear the one who has only done what he was ordered to... fear him because he was one of the elite... FEAR him because he was Michelangelo the cursed brat of the Hamato clan! Of the facts piling against him because of the necklace around his throat along the chain of his brothers pierced through his skin the day he graduated.Michelangelo paused as someone grabbed his arm. His eyes narrowed as he stated in a tone so similar to Leonardo's, "Release me now, Red, I am in no mood for a brawl.""Calm down, my friend." A slightly jog on Michelangelo's memories hit him before he turned looking at the one holding his arm in a firm grip. "It's me, Charles... god you look like a Dusk."That lingo was used often for Black Dawns. Dusks only wore black, their clothes tinted the color of their passion. The darker the color the more their passion grew. Donatello was a near midnight purple... Leonardo had said that once. Raphael was nearly a deep blood red so thick that even black would not hide the color.He shivered turning to look further at his friend, "And you look like you've been in hell's front gates like an angel for slaughter." the context was out of his usual character that Charles knew for the turtle... but Hell was always a character changer."Let me buy you something to drink, okay... you look like you'll need it... I know a great spa in the Red's training camp..." Was Charles just concerned for him or was it something else? Michelangelo had become devoid and dislocated from any groups or conversation. He had isolated himself during his sleep, even after that incident with his brother, so that no one would see the growing feelings in his heart that were stitching themselves into his eyes."That.. would be nice." He smiled as he followed after his friend. A few glances were shot his way but the looks at Charles were confusion mixed with such worry. They must respect his friend if they were worried so much about him. Red's were the fighters, second to the Blacks, and they were the most skilled... but their true strength was that they stood together tell the bitter end.'What about us blacks?' Michelangelo questioned as he turned into a building his eyes low on the ground. He felt the looks, the icy glares. He felt the sheer animosity of the room that he wanted to choke but that wasn't what a proud Black like his brother would do. If he did that... he'd be hurt..."Is there something you find interesting?" the magic wafted off his body as he turned his eyes, the glow was different around his body as the smile turned demented. The look in his eyes growing with lust, with such sin, but that was a black for you when you threatened their pride. They would become one of the sinful to make you suffer. They would take the sin that would fester in your heart...The music of the room suddenly filled his ears making the look vanish as he turned looking at the stiff muscles of the men in the room. If the music was making them... Michelangelo's eyes widened as he turned around feeling... oh god what was he feeling pressing down against his body trying to force him to the floor?The spot, so small, distorted the space of the area in the room. The men stood up, most half naked humans since humans were so prideful with their saying of never leave a person behind, and they rushed behind him almost as if they were seeking refuge behind something, in their eyes, that would protect them.He might be a black but he was no stronger than they were! His anger grew as he watched a hand reach out grabbing onto the air, Michelangelo saw the distorted space tighten like cloth in the clenched hand. Watched as the hand pulled forward out of the space its body slowly appearing in a deep red, no... blood red... so old the blood it nearly was black... so old that the stains were in the clothing... on its face soaked into the mask. The horns on its head went up past its skull before dropping down to meet only inches from the eyes on either side.It's eyes were red as its mouth opened taking in a deep breath before the pupils lifted up, flickers of gold mixed in with blood red... oh god... blood, so much blood was a stench on the thing in front of him.Slowly it fully appeared in the bathhouse, eyes roaming over the naked men with a sly lecherous grin, before on the only black, on Michelangelo."I thought I felt something pleasant here." the voice was gruff, the tone teasing, but Michelangelo would never forget the underneath vibrations that lulled him to sleep night after night when he had been punished. The voice of anger that would tease or argue with Leonardo."R-Raphael?" he stepped forwards eyes opened wide in shock. This... couldn't be... his brother?"Oh!" the smile grew as Raphael rushed over wrapping his arms around Michelangelo nuzzling into his neck licking slightly up before pulling back giving his brother a once over, "Black suits you, yes it does." he grinned before looking around at the other men around before back at his brother a small pout on his face, "Were you seriously going to have that much fun!" he whined.Michelangelo blinked, his mind couldn't process what was happening. Did... Raphael just lick him? Did Raphael just hug him? Did Raphael just say he was going to have … sin … what? He looked up at Raphael who looked at him as if there was no care in the world.Michelangelo took this time to view his brother, so long missed, and assert what situation this might be. Though he felt Charles behind him growling his flower shifting obviously by the feel in the air. The magic from all the other reds as they realized what was in front of them happily greeting a black like it was normal everyday occurrence.Michelangelo closed his eyes before opening them swiping his hand so that Raphael dropped his arms to avoid the cut from the metal coating his fingers from the spell he cast in those few short seconds.The look in Raphael's eyes changed as he stepped back the smile growing as it turned from calm and collective to that of the borderline psychotic all Dusks wore. The looked pained Michelangelo due to the earlier words Charles said, 'You look like a Dusk.' how much those words stung now."Raphael!" the words left his mouth like a whipped dog he was, the tears building behind his eyes that fell into the fabric of his mask, "By order of the light, you are to be cleansed." He shifted though... a feeling of chaotic bliss flowed through him."Well, I don't want to fight..." Raphael pouted sticking out his hips to the side his pointing finger on his lips as he pouted, "I felt something fun... I only wanted to see what it was..." the look grew more pathetic by the second as he looked his brother over. Though his eyes changed as his body grew weak his arms dangling at his side, "Dear brother."Michelangelo felt the shiver rollin over his skin, pleasure filling every pore in his body as he began panting but the connection between their eyes could not be broken, "I can't wait to see you again... Can't wait to feel that skin without that clothe protecting it..." the smile grew lustful as slowly his body began to dissolve. "I hope you don't get too … overpowered by the music of that flower."Michelangelo's eyes grew wide as he only saw Raphael's left eye, snapping out of the trance, before he felt the arms wrapped around his body. his hand outstretched desperately trying to grasp Raphael as he was vanishing. He didn't remember moving, didn't remember the tears flowing down his face, didn't even feel the breath as someone shouted his name... All he could even feel pulsing around the air was his brother... that power..."Michelangelo!" Charles said lowly, "You must snap out of it! The monster is gone!" Charles arms were fully wrapped around his body his muscles bulging but it wasn't him alone... all the men were holding him back.The small turn of his eyes showed their horrified expression, not directed at him but directed over their fear of what had appeared inside a protection spell. It would spell a pandemic of fear, thoughts would build... He had to take control of this situation because no one had come in, no one had left and the slithering against his skin like a fire from a pistol while the backlash from whatever spell Raphael had done took effect hit him all at once.He dropped to his knees coughing as he vomited. Charles dropped to his side fear on his face as Michelangelo said between each hacking cough, "Confine... them all... this is... an order..." A black was to be followed... A black was the law... nothing was above a black but the elders and a black's Leader.Who better to lead then the devil living in hell? ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Both Red and Black clothed Dawns watched at a hopeful safe distance as Leonardo looked at the smaller slimmer black with whom he had blood relations with, Michelangelo, whose head was bowed, biting his lower beak enough that it bled. It was a situation that many did not want to be in with the leader of the Blacks. Leonardo Hamato, one of the ruthless, uncaring, sadistic, and high standard blacks. Leonardo had just finished a morally degrading- many would also like to think mentally- speech to all of them there. He had spat out that if the Dusk had wanted to do something when it came in to their sanctuary instead of toying with their minds and to scout out the new 'recruits' then they all would all have been dead due to their lack of reaction and survival instincts. The look that crossed Leonardo's face made the two different colored groups shiver. Leonardo turned his head eyes flashing a darker yet brighter blue when they landed on the younger turtle, "Michelangelo." Michelangelo, orange flower wilting just slightly with his fear, looked up to his brother. Michelangelo's eyes widened all the while his lower lip quivering ever so slightly, "As punishment for not engaging, to falling prey to that things power..." the look grew on the older brother's face as Leonardo stepped forward a sort of twitching under his eyes that showed his 'concern' for the younger turtle. The crowd held their breath as Leonardo knelt down grabbing the material of his brother's shirt and yanking him forward, "Why don't you show me what you should have done instead of being the weak, pathetic, sorry excuse of a Hamato. To bear that name and still snivel in front of the enemy, hold your hand out to have them 'whisk' you away..." he leaned in, "I should just kill you, traitor." Michelangelo shifted his gaze, a few tears growing at the corners of his eyes, before Leonardo pulled back. He had spoken those words so low that only Michelangelo knew what was spoken. To the others around them it looked as if it was only a growl and a glare that was given from the older brother to the younger. "Brother," Leonardo looked at Michelangelo, "let us fight then. If I were you I would take my punishment as a proud black." A small cheer went through the black side hearing the words. Leonardo blue flame like orbs that represented his eyes were trao;ed over them all silencing them before Leonardo nodded moving away a few paces turning his hand as he went, the one always clutching the rose so blue even the sky was envious when he fought, until the petals slowly developed into a long slightly curving blade looking in all remarks tothe other 'Leonardo's' katana. The metal wasn't silver it was midnight blue with a glow so demonic that it showed enough of Leonardo's disdain. The crowd backed up allowing room as the two brothers looked at each other. Some worried over this sudden development but others knew it was something common for blacks. "I'm sorry," Michelangelo said with a faint smile. "I... didn't mean to be weak." "Then stop being weak now." Leonardo charged swinging his katana in a low arc from his left side. His body turned with the move giving it more momentum along with a deadly penetration. Leonardo's eyes went wide as he started seeing the wind forming around Michelangelo's body when he too took a shift for a more defensive stance. The blade bounced against the wind, inches from Michelangelo's face, before being sent backwards. The older brother rolled with the block coming low to the ground as he skidded to a stop. His knee scraped against the ground to keep his balance but his eyes never left his brother. The air of confidence was lacking in the thin feminine frame all the while as he stared the determination was faltering in Michelangelo's eyes... Leonardo didn't like this sign of weakness in any of his men, not even in his brother. Standing up again he looked over his sword lifting it up near his left eye before moving, the sword slicing around him almost creating the illusion he had more than just one. Michelangelo knew this move, he had felt it before and lost, slowly began to back up. If he was hit the wounds would be deeper than a normal spar he occasionally had during practice with his older brother. Leonardo was dead serious... He really meant to kill the 'traitor'... Michelangelo felt the fear ripping at his stomach before he shifted his stance widen his right hand grabbing the flower in his mask, still so weak of a flower, before casting another spell. More complex, more time consuming, and he wasn't sure how he would last if it went wrong. "Oh hear me, please, and let this work." Michelangelo felt the spell course through his mind as it lashed around him in a cold thread seemingly like liquid before slowly falling to the ground taking form joint by joint of his brother, Leonardo. The head was the last to be made before the eyes opened, hollow empty eyes. They looked at Leonardo, who faltered enough his sword became singular again, until the thing stepped forward. To those around them they only blinked wondering what this thing was. To those who knew magic they cheered seeing Leonardo step back away from the doll as it slowly began to fall apart. "Wha-." Leonardo said as he reached the crowed even as the face in front of him smirked a sword developing in its hand as it raised it up. "Chop his head off!" Michelangelo ordered sternly but tears of fear laced his face. The doll raised the sword nearly identical to the one in Leonardo's hands above its head. It turned it to a angle before widening its stance bringing the sword down to strike the real Leonardo across the chest. The thing about being a soldier is your feelings are never accepted by anyone. You can't cry without being punished. Can't love without being called weak. The worst of it all was you can't feel scared because you'd be shipped out on the front lines without training, without a single friend you hold dear, and you would lose your life in the end of things. Alone. Scared. Desperately crying to be with someone in the end even if it was the enemy. Michelangelo could barely hide his own feelings as he looked over at the barracks he was in. There in the corner was two men, licking their blades, and their eyes would occasionally look him up and down. They were judging him. They were judging him because a black did not look like anything like the scrawny boy turtle who had far too much female attributes or used magic. "Well?" Charles walked over handing him a cup before jumping up onto the top bunk. "Looks like we get to be friends even out in the middle of war." Michelangelo recorrected his terms of being alone as his eyes trailed up to Charles of the Wolfan and he smiled, "Yeah... i guess so..." he looked back down at his feet until he rotated lying on his bed eyes closing as he thought of his life. Thought of his three brothers, two of whom people would presume dead. "Does it matter?" the question arose as Michelangelo's heard the squeak of Charles shifting, his head hanging down to eye Michelangelo. "Does it count now that I lost and still wont turn my head and accept defeat?" what did Michelangelo lose per-say but a bit of his sanity to a pot still stewing. Leonardo, his brother and commanding officer, had lost the battle he had started. Lost because he saw his worst fears come alive. He had been killed by a secret he held deep in his heart. "Michelangelo." Charles was soothing with his words as Michelangelo turned his face looking up at Charles who had leaned far too close into Michelangelo's personal space. "Are you suffering from your victory over your alpha?" "You wouldn't understand, Charles. My brother is too prideful. For that break in his emotional mask..." Michelangelo closed his eyes again and he felt Charles snout touch his cheek making him smile. "I am fine, I need rest. This moving barrack is making me sick." "Ah..." the feeling of Charles breath was gone as the bed above him creaked before settling down. How strange to be comforted by a wolf when they did not comfort themselves. The rocking, left right left right, sent Michelangelo's stomach to knots as he shifted onto his side curling into a ball. Michelangelo hated moving transportation. Michelangelo started to shift awake unsure of the time of day but knew he had a full night sleep. Eyes opening to the blinding light of the inside of the cabin he was in he closed them. Closed eyes tightening as they adjusted to the light, a snore told him Charles was asleep still above him, he turned around again opening his eyes before screamed...although it would have awoken those in the cabin if a hand was not covering his face. "What is a kid like you doing here?" it was a black robed fighter. Scars decorated his face, his left eye missing, but it was the mark seared into his neck... a mark only a Dusk made with their jewels. He didn't think as his hand reached out touching it before he pulled it back blushing. "Curious bug, aren't ya." the man chuckled as he removed his hand from Michelangelo's arm before sitting down on the floor looking at Michelangelo. "What's the leader's brother doing all the way out here on the front lines... and straight from boot camp judging by the lack of cloud in your eyes." "I... beat him in a fight..." the man laughed before a few people shouted at him to shut up. "Um, who are you?" Michelangelo said sitting up. "The, and your, commanding officer the moment you stepped foot on this transit, mate." He was human, Michelangelo took more stock of the man before him, his eyes a deep dull grey that didn't shine like they should have. He wore no flower anywhere on his person and the muscles along his body were rippling under the torn, shredded clothing. Was this man really a Dawn and a black cloth? "Curious curious. Ever heard that being a curious kid might get you killed?" Michelangelo shook his head even with the low chuckle leaving the man's throat. "Come on, kid, let's get ya something so you don't moan and groan like some Sinful Dusk." Michelangelo blushed as he nodded getting up out of his bed and following through the maze of legs, bags, and arms of the sleeping men in their bunks. He looked at the mans back, a small pause as he finally saw where the mans flower was. It was woven into his hair that reached the middle of his back. The hair was yellow, or so he thought, and the broad shoulders had hidden it. "What's your name?" Michelangelo said jogging a bit to catch up with the six foot man whose strides were twice Michelangelo's. "Amel Ama'ge." the Amel looked back at Michelangelo. "And you're Hamato Michelangelo." blushed the young turtle nodded looking at the ground before the man laughed, so loud and it was a shock to even hear something so free spirited. "Kid, you got a lot to learn and fear out here without those old goons blamin' every small thing we think or do as a sin!" Michelangelo looked back up a bit surprised, "What?" "Here in this area, with only a few men by your side all fighting to survive..." Michelangelo froze as the man before him turned striking some type of horrific pose. One hand resting on his face, two of Amel's fingers on his lips slightly inside his mouth. His eyes low and hooded looking at him, but it was the mans thrusting of the hips in the air that disturbed Michelangelo the most. What was this man doing! "We are free people here." Amel let go of the form before smiling. "We think as what we are, fight to protect our comrades. Our only sin is the will to survive and the murder in cold blood of the things that have possessed those we have come to love as Dusks." "We can't 'love' dusks, Amel, they are sinful-." Michelangelo was interrupted. "Creatures, things, disgusting pathetic excuses of what will kill us." Amel grunted in disgust, "Claim your pure soul. Sorry to disappoint, but I don't believe in that shit." Amel turned walking again. "I believe we choose our path. We become what we want. We lift our heads or bow them to whatever will we want. Dawns are sad creatures bound by ropes. So tight around your wrist that a yank of that rope and up in the air above our heads do they go. Our eyes covered by cloth... Our legs spread so we're screwed standing up with the knowledge that those Elders who never saw a day of war..." He cut off mumbling in a bit of fury. "Um..." Michelangelo was blushing at the analogy of what Amel thought of Dawn's laws. To have them put in such a crude and Dusk point of view... was new and very disturbing for him. "Could we not... talk... like that?" Amel turned pausing again in the middle of the path, "Oh... sorry..." He rubbed his head sheepishly. "I've been in combat and away from home too long I no longer know if I'm a Dawn or a Dusk or if I'm just some dead flesh neither side wants." "You're a Dawn!" Michelangelo said hands up to his chest as if he was cheering. "Why else would your flower still be alive." The look that crossed Amel's face was something that made Michelangelo lower his hands and look away, "You're cute when you get fired up, you know that, Hamato?" Michelangelo blushed even harder as he turned away clenching the fabric of his pants in his hands. Not something he expected again and it was more off setting to his balance to hear that towards him. They began walking in silence, something Michelangelo was use to and enjoyed, before a door appeared in front of Amel and the young silent turtle. He watched Amel open it before a gust of wind nearly swept him up and sent him flying back down the hall. It would have, Michelangelo looked up feeling his body being pushed against Amel's body, if he was not secured to something heavier than he was. He did take note that Amel was rather large and muscular. Faint deep scars he could feel under the fabric. "Look at the view." Amel said helping Michelangelo stay on his feet as his eyes were barely open looking around. The moments paused as Michelangelo opened his eyes wide to the point he nearly rushed out of Amel's arms to the edge just to see the scenery before him. The mountains stood high, the tips covered in snow, the ground littered with old ruins that showed how powerful the people had once been. He could see flowers shimmering below him telling him a story of who had once lived in such a beautiful land. There was smoke in a few places but he paid no heed to his as Michelangelo looking to the left seeing the rich rolling hills of what he assumed to be wheat or some other type of yellow cat tail like crops. The splitting grin as he turned his head right his mouth dropped seeing a cathedral littered with cracks only a few miles away. The dome was slightly caved in, the pillars black with green vines crawling up and over them the flowers all the same white color illuminating the coming bright sun. It was a memorial scene that captivated his eyes until he saw it. There in the small glistening sunset something shining. It traveled through the air pushing past the smoke, the dew that fell from the heavens, and the clouds. It cut through, like flesh, the surroundings as Amel snickered pulling Michelangelo closer to his side, "It seems we've been spotted." Michelangelo turned his head seeing Amel raise his hand before cupping it in a fist. His dull grey eyes shining black as his ponytail rose into the air the flower also shone a midnight black. Michelangelo's eyes stayed on Amel even as the smile... the smile... dear god was that what he looked like when he was smiling during a fight? So lost in the thoughts of killing his opponent? Was this what Leonardo wanted to see on his face? A mindless fighter only living for the thrill of being on the front lines ready to DIE for this war that claimed two of his family members? The explosion sent him to his knees, Amel's arm gone as it took on another seal. Michelangelo tried to grip the smooth floor as he felt the wind picking him up slightly. Dragging him to the edge of the deck to take him over into the grasp of a free falling death. His eyes grew wide as his feet soon dangled off; Amel just laughed as another bullet hit something in front of them. Michelangelo felt the wind again rip at his nonexistent grip on the ground pulling him further off the ship. Tears started blooming in his eyes while trying to think of any incantations to speak but the weight growing in his chest, the senseless feeling that came with the touch no flower... he had left his flower back at his bunk. Stupid! STUPID! "Leonardo..." he whispered as he felt his hands finally being forced into the air the wind started pulling him back and he hovered in the space. Amel's eyes turned, slowly growing wide, as he realized his mistake. His mouth opened as he screamed Michelangelo's last name. 'What a wonderful way to die.' something in Michelangelo's head said. 'But you don't need to die, just say it... say it... You know what needs to be said, dear brother, and it will be done...' ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo looked at his arm slung across his chest as he walked, eyes then turning heavily onto the ground. With each stumbling step he took allowing his body to sway with the heat in his flesh that caused the blurring in Michelangelo's vision turning him into something like an undead. Even though, for some reason he didn't know, he had been asserted as second in command of this group because the previous had vanished during the middle of the last major battle a week ago before his enlistment in this group. Now, Michelangelo let his eyes shift up from his downward position to be looking at the man leading them all to their next location, he was forced to deal with this 'man' day after day, even at night where he would shiver with fear over never 'knowing'.This man... Amel...scared him more than even the thought of being killed in battle did. Amel had the fear of his soldiers and yet Amel fought with tunnel vision that made nothing around him even matter. Only a few days ago had been their first battle with this leader. It was one Michelangelo would remember. To see the men believing they could win yet after this thought seeing their leader 'attack' one of their own in his blind fit of 'passion' for the fighting.It was never pleasant and the men had ran cowering away from such a ferocious man."Amel!" Michelangelo shouted out pushing his weary legs faster to be walking next to the sly smirking dolt of a leader. "We need to rest now, it's past nightfall and none of us are use to this type of punishment!" He looked back at the men, most smiling happily that he at least seemed to care about other colors, and then back to Amel."There isn't-." Amel froze as he spotted a few men actually fall down. "Fine, we'll camp here for the night. I don't like it though." He hissed this last part out for them to hear."Then go ahead. I know where the envoys are staying." the look that shifted, so furious, from Michelangelo's narrowed eyes turned up at Amel before the man nodded stiffly walking away strangely without a fight.The group stood silently watching before Amel was far out of hearing range. When gone out of sight as well as hearing they too fell to the ground. Michelangelo turned looking at them seeing some nearly already out cold before softly smiling.A strong arm wrapped around the turtles waist and lifted Michelangelo up into the furred chest of Michelangelo's best friends chest, "You are strong, Michelangelo, but even you must rest too." Charles had seemed far more attached to Michelangelo these last few days. Almost to the point as if stitched into Michelangelo's shoulder. It was a comfort because Charles was the very reason the young black clothing turtle was still alive now after these few days."Just let me sit down... I still have to make sure..." Michelangelo felt how weak his legs were along with feeling the groups eyes turned worriedly at him. "Just get the tents set up, Charles, and make a short inventory... please...""Of course!" Charles, a vibrant wolf, made Michelangelo giggle as he was leaned against one of the ever growing trees in this scattered. His eyes closed as sleep dragged through his body but thoughts of punishment for disrespecting his commanding color was tossed like a salad through the air in his mind, the contents spilling making him twitch uncomfortably.Michelangelo had been shocked when a red envoy for the blacks that traveled with him that he knew from his time training. He was a close friend with Charles so when the man walked in cursing out Amel it was a system shock to Michelangelo.The man had said that it was far to late to retreat... to save the group they were in... Michelangelo had sat up as the ews sat down holding his hands in the air before down on his knees. They talked for a while before Michelangelo learned how so many of them had already died when it was only a small scuffle. Michelangelo felt sad to not even realize it since he was still tending his own wounds.Amel sacrificed his men. He killed them in cold blood just to get a thrill out of the fight, Charle's friend said. He had never expected that such a man was still a Dawn. Amel's actions, his words, and the way he treated some of the men like they were nothing but... things...Michelangelo didn't see those things until he became second in command... he had his suspicions as to what happened to predecessor. Just like he knew the inkling of burning flesh always wafting to his nose when he watched Amel beginning to fight when Amel took another dusk to its grave.Just like on the transportation ship... Just like when he was beginning to fall down... That memory still so vivid. He had been falling to his death down into the forest below. He had only seconds to call out Amel's name and seeing the other looking shocked. His face didn't last long in Michelangelo's view. When things turned blue and Michelangelo's eyes were facing the sky was when he felt the arms around his waist. Fingers tightening in the fabric of his pants. Amel's words yelling out something so incomprehensible.All Michelangelo saw was eyes tinted a black purple. The smile, close to borderline insanity and love, meeting his own. Then the words that rang out of the person he knew so well, "I haven't given you permission to die, yet, brother. Wait a little longer before throwing yourself off another train."He opened his eyes breathing labored as a few greens were next to him holding his shoulders and arms so he couldn't slump and fall into the mud."Sorry," Michelangelo had grown to understand that though he was a black wearer he was somehow … kinder... when he didn't have to worry about pretenses. The group, his soldiers and now friends, had taken that kindness to heart. The bond that grew because he stood up for them against that tyrant on many different occasions had only boosted their affection for him."It's fine." A human green said smiling as he let Michelangelo's head rest on his shoulder, "Your tent is last like always... we just thought you didn't want to get muddy before going to bed..."A few others nodded as one stated behind him, "And you'd do the same for us... well... you already have in some ways..."Were these the same people on the transportation who looked at him with disgust? Who thought of him as some mindless pathetic black only wanting to kill... well if they fought with him to a point they would agree with it.The progress was slow work but the group worked well together, Amel was right about how tight knitted battle would make them, and he smiled as he forced himself up, much to the Green's dislike, and walked over to help with one of the tents. This was his family until he went home. Michelangelo would do anything to protect them. Even if he was low in strength it could still be harvested up from somewhere inside him to help."You really should rest." Charles had come over standing behind the battle exhausted turtle who still had a hard time standing up straight. "The inventory is done and the tents are up, I've told them all the time of their shifts and the basics. Come, let us head to bed together." If Michelangelo wasn't sluggish in his head he would have blushed and asked what Charles meant by that. The wolfan grinned like a fiend, they always do, as he walked Michelangelo to the tent in the middle of the group. Michelangelo had the faint feeling that his friend would be sleeping in his tent by his side. Maybe, if nothing did interrupt and destroy that feeling.Only second in command slept in the tent with their commander. It was the law of things because if the commander needed to issue orders at night he didn't want to hunt for someone, he wanted to go back to bed.Michelangelo hated the ranking system at times. Blacks were the leaders, they were the ones who dictated all others then the elders you never saw in the great city. Reds came next in the ranking line due to their usual brute strength and loyalty. A black and red always fit together in fights because of their strong dictation towards something in common. To that point Michelangelo's and Charles's relationship prior to their graduation ceremony was a help to their bonding agent.Greens were the third class, they were usually the stealth class, Michelangelo always believed it was because they blended in so well with their environment. Even a friend in his class was a green, he knew the girl but she was always so illusive. It stunned him and he spent days trying to find out how to do that... what a mistake because he had gotten in trouble.Then the last of the fighting class were the blues. They mainly consisted of the spell casters. Always so strong in their way with no fist violence from such a distance of casting that they made the blacks look like trash. They could move and flow like the water. It was beautiful to see, but it was also rare for a black to be a plain spell caster like Michelangelo was... so in a way he had adopted the 'violent beauty' on the battlefield from his ranged and close battles.Michelangelo smiled as his shell hit the cot and a sigh of love came from his lips. Slowly Michelangelo felt his shirt being unbuttoned and slipped down showing his chest, he blushed feeling slightly exposed but he couldn't seem to say 'stop' to his friend doing such a thing.His pants were unbuttoned from that one side before the small string was attached to his waist allowing it to pulled down a bit. Another stronger feverish blush flowed over to cover his beak as he turned his head looking at Charles over him, stripping him.Wolfan had no decency... but Michelangelo didn't complain. Charles had already saw him naked once, even touched him naked... that made a slight moan come to his mouth as Charles froze looking up at his friend as if he had hurt him."Sorry, stretching legs... good..." the chuckle that was met made him turn his head as small fleeting images of his brother doing what his friend was doing now was making his body respond instantly to the soft touches of furred fingers.He somehow could feel Leonardo lifting up his shoulders, to feel the three scaly fingers touch trailing down pulling the fabric away from Michelangelo's chest. The soft sound of his shirt hitting the floor made his heart jump as Leonardo's image smirked, those blue eyes narrowing as they shifted to Michelangelo's lap trailing down pulling the smaller turtles pants down. Hungry eyes trailed over the small slit acrossed the young turtles bone like shell before another hand joined trailing to the side. His hips were lifted using the material of his pants then yanked down to his knees.The cool air chilled Michelangelo's skin causing him to shiver involuntarily while the hands, the image of Leonardo, continued to strip him of his shin guards and cloth like boots. He gave a soft sigh as he felt a blanket being drooped over his small frame before a tongue licked his head and he almost had a thought to say 'Ewww, brother' but it was restrained.He then remembered who was doing this and it wasn't the one whom he lived with.Morning had brought a cold damp of heat that soaked into him like the water from the night. His eyes opened weakly before he turned onto his right side using his elbow to push himself up. His face felt hot as he tried to remember what he had saw last night in the other world.Strange how each night his counterpart was doing something sinful. Always returning back here to his home, to the battlefield, before they could go far into … that. His eyes lifted up as a water skin sack full of spring water and herbs met his lips, his head tilted back so he could drink. Slowly he looked into Charles' concerned face as he pulled the waterskin away and replaced the cork in so that the smell of the herb scented water and the contents of the water itself wouldn't spill as he dropped it to the floor.."You must rest, as must we all." Michelangelo was confused as he sat up more, the blanket falling revealing his body to his friend, he didn't feel a bit to seem to even care as he stood up looking around so he could change. "Michelangelo, did you-.""What happened last night?" Michelangelo grinned finding his pants and began slipping them on. He now loved the feel of the material caressing his body. It had become such a comfort, his outfit, that the thought of it ever ruined hurt him like a blade of his brothers slicing his skin.Charles didn't say anything as Michelangelo put on his shoes and shin guards. The orange eyes turned up to give a curious look before Charles turned around walking out of the room before Amel entered."My my..." Amel smiled standing with his hands at his side, "You have seemed to capture this groups heart... how disgusting for a black to be so sympathetic and comforting to a group that'll die." Michelangelo set his shirt off to the side as he stood up from the cot he sat on for walking to Amel, barely reaching the middle of Amel's chest, before he looked into Amel's face."Is that wrong to put my comrades first before myself?" here he felt the usual thing Amel did in the morning. The index finger touching his neck before trailing down. The finger slowly cut across his throat then taking a turn down the middle of his plastron. A shiver left Michelangelo's body as Amel leaned his smile twisted into a grin that only Dusk's ever wore when they were about to claim one of the Dawns for the first time. For their first in bed and in the 'hell' of their own living ways on the sinful side. His lips were mere centimeters from Michelangelo's.Death's kiss was what the Dawn's called it because the sins you would never feel without permission would arise. Overwhelm your body making you kiss back, your hands would travel over the Dusk before you. He had seen a few men fall to it and it had always brought tears to his face since they had been good and close friends to him."I think you are forgetting something, Hamato Michelangelo." Michelangelo stepped back feeling the pressure on his chest, Amel's energy, coursing to his heart. He winced as another step was forced from him. "You're MY second in command like your predecessor before you." Michelangelo closed his eyes as the back of his knees hit the cot sending him flailing onto it. Amel's finger didn't follow but the man straddled Michelangelo's body pinning him down as he leaned over the turtle's chest whispering again, "You belong to me until I or you die."This was how Amel started his days, Michelangelo looked at Amel's eyes before he felt the human hands trailing over his body. Was this what his predecessor suffered through every morning? Was this why some men from the prior group of Amel's would come into Michelangelo's tent before they set off always looking like something was wrong, something had violated them?'Of course.' that inner voice spat with disgust as Michelangelo held back a gasp as two hands wrapped around his throat showing Amel had finished 'playing'. The words when Michelangelo had been brought into this tent the first time still carried some sort of 'sacred hold' in his head. FlashBack 'You are here to be promoted to my second in command,' so snide was it said, 'your body is mine, the words out of your mouth are mine, and how you die is my choosing.' Amel had stood up from his cot dragging Michelangelo to the bed stripping him of every article of clothing in seconds, though nothing happened other than an 'evaluation', with his own magic causing Michelangelo to realize that Amel had complete dominance and fear over the second black, Michelangelo.Michelangelo cried after Amel had left because he had no understanding if this was true regulations. His brother had never let him stay long enough to learn what to do when you were the second in command. He remembered sitting away from the group his arms tightly wrapped around his body, his legs locked together trying to forget how Amel's hand felt putting pressure 'there'...'When I take what is sacred from you it will be my own choosing. Until then I hope you like teasing.' He hated Amel, hated this battle, and at first he hated this group for never coming in to save him. Charles had been the worst to deal with for a few weeks. His friend, every day after the sinful treatment, would try to interact like normal with Michelangelo. A very Wolfan way: Touching, rubbing, playful wolf style.The words Michelangelo used, along with the actions,over the time period of days must have hurt his friend. For that month alone Michelangelo cast aside everyone because he wasn't sure if they even cared about a black cloth in second in command being used as a Dusk would use their victims.Michelangelo learned that he was wrong. The company had been worried. The long walk between the camp before the last two had assured Michelangelo of it. They might not have known what was happening and he was so thankful for it. The day that he was took a side on one of the walks to 'scout' ahead was one he thankfully felt content with.The look, the tone, Charles had given Michelangelo at the time was furious but sympathetic. He had not said anything after the talk before just standing there staring at Michelangelo until he began to cry. Charles had wrapped the small fragile looking turtle in a warm embrace, telling him that he along with the others would be there to support him, but only second later Charles had pulled back eyes wide before he began sniffing Michelangelo's scent. Charles' eyes had become as red as blood as his fangs grew larger.Michelangelo watched as realization dawned on Charles' face. He could see the fury welling up as he again was pulled into a hug where Charles rubbed his head against Michelangelo's head and neck, it was scenting Michelangelo knew that much from how many years he had known Charles and his family.It was a mark for all other animal based fighters to know that he was owned, but Amel was human and wouldn't be able to pick up on it. Though the sentiment was strong and it brought hope and happiness Michelangelo had not felt since his time always by Leonardo's side. No matter how small. End Flashback Michelangelo's eyes snapped open as the memory faded and he looked up into Amel's face as his lips covered Mikey's own. Amel didn't force himself into Michelangelo's mouth, like usual, before he pulled away grinning then standing up only beginning to demand what his status allowed him to, "Get dressed and make sure the men are ready."The seconds only dragged as Michelangelo threw on his shirt not even bothering to button it up. He wanted away but he knew he'd never get there fast enough.'Bound by honor the blacks follow like whipped dogs,' Michelangelo spat in his head before finding Charles first, the ruby eyes looked down his body the growling of fury and possessiveness increasing every morning, every time Amel touched Michelangelo's body in any such way.Charles, his dear friend Charles..."I'm fine, he didn't do anything." Michelangelo relaxed as Charles nodded standing closer to Michelangelo a small whine leaving his wolfan chest. "I need you to get the men ready, tell the other reds to start packing up the tents and the blues to get everything rounded up. He'll want to move shortly and I doubt we want to hear him throw a tantrum."Charles nodded his head, bending his snout down rubbing his nose against Mikey's check before leaving to do as he was told. Michelangelo smiled at his friends antics before he walked over to talk to a few men in charge of supplies and see how much was consumed during the rest last night and this morning. He hoped they had enough to make it to the Envoys.`````The second trip had no rest in it, Amel did not budge this time, and they walked for nearly two and a half weeks before coming finally to an opening in the forest like area to which had twisted into an open empty battle scarred plain, most of the men were wide eyed their faces looking around with worry. In the middle of the afternoon none of them could blend in easy with their backgrounds. None of them could freely move without having another person check their left or right."Oh... I can smell it in the air!" Amel said grabbing Michelangelo by the arm and pushing him against the taller man's body. "There's a fight up ahead! Ohhh... and it smells like fun!" The sick twist to his words made the contents in Michelangelo's stomach turn, but he had refused to eat because unlike Amel he didn't want the group to starve.The man ate twice as much then he should have. He would drink more than three mens fill of water. Michelangelo felt anger towards his commanding officer. Amel would often try to make Michelangelo do the same as Amel, though Michelangelo was easily on a few occasions to fool him into letting the turtle not into such a rude horrible way of hurting the company of his 'friends'.He had no care that he was looking thinner than before. That Michelangelo's body showed the abuse that Amel and he himself were forcing upon it.Amel grinned raising his hand making the group stop, "I want Blues to head north about two miles towards that rock formation. Greens you are to scout ahead planting weapons and traps. Reds, go wild."Go wild... of all the things to say to insult the Red pride... Michelangelo looked over spotting Charles fangs bared the red eyes on Amel and him. He could tell his friend's animal side was trying to break free. He hated how this must look to the group... they must feel disgusted by him.'They are disgusted.' That voice returned, it bothered him. 'He's going to make a move when they leave... when Charles isn't here to save us...' it sounded like a childs voice. A weak, pathetic, and needing protection every second of every day voice.A small gasp came from him as Amel's grip tightened as the leader whispered, "Tell them to leave before I make them.""You... have your orders..." Michelangelo's pain filled voice was raspy before the reds, blues, and greens nodded with rage as they left.Michelangelo could feel the lack of presence around him, feel only Amel's arm traveling down to lift his shirt up. If he was only stronger he knew he could have stopped what Amel would do next.His orange eyes looked up, after closing for a shear moment of pain, up into Amel's face. The man was licking his lower lip as his hand continued to pull up the shift eyeing the hard plastron beneath. The smell of his breath heavy as it grew labored.'I guess... it's actually... happening...' Mikey felt the tears of fear lace his face before his pants were pulled down the button popping off and the fabric slightly ripping. In a day or two it would mend itself like skin but it would be noticeable for the group... they would know that his body would be soiled. He would have allowed a sin upon himself to be committed. Their trust in him then would no longer be there... He would again be alone with no form of comfort from more abuse that Amel would obviously do to him.Lowered to the dirt and rocky ground Michelangelo's legs were lifted up shivering at the feeling of Amel's tongue on his inner thigh, "Ah... you can voice out, you know that, right, kid?" Amel's tongue tailed up towards his tail making Michelangelo bite back any sound of pleasure or pain."I don't want to hurt you severely, Hamato, just a bit of suffering..." His legs were placed back down, wrapping around Amel's waist, before the man leaned over laying his full weight, suffocating weight, on Michelangelo's lean and thinner form. The small younger turtle stared up barely able to get a lungful of air into his lungs while Amel also gazed down with a sick twisted humours look.The look was degrading even combining with the words made caused Michelangelo's skin to crawl, "You're a good quiet slut, you know that... I doubt you even know what the greatest of the Dawn's sins are." the man laughed sending the vibrations into Mikey's chest. "It's sex... having someone take you so roughly, violate your body and your mind. Their tongue inside your mouth..." Amel kissed Michelangelo again while his hand grabbing Michelangelo's throat. "Why don't we see how you break... If a Hamato breaks easily, I heard from books, it means the Dawns are meant to fall..."Michelangelo quizzically looked at Amel his understanding lacking."Oh, they must have taken the books down when your father and mother were killed." Amel laughed, "The Hamato clan, one of the eight living family blood lines. So pure but so tainted."The man sighed sitting up still straddling Michelangelo's legs, "Ah, now you've put me off my mood with such a depressing situation." He rolled onto his back next to Michelangelo with a pout, "And I was sooo going to make you feel good.""How could it feel good when he won't enjoy the pleasure from it from the likes of a disgusting black as yourself?" The voice was low, fueled with fury causing Amel to tilt his head for his eyes to look up staring into the foreground as a dark blood red robed turtle came forward. A gun, nearly the size of his body, was trailing behind him. His eyes shown a deep crimson red before Michelangelo, seeing him once before, knew who this was.Hamato Raphael. This was his older brother brother."I've been looking everywhere, Amel, for you scum riding ass!" the smile grew on his face as he stopped ten feet away from Michelangelo and Amel, the later turning over narrowing his eyes."Well well well," Amel's energy swirled through the air the pressure like chains strapping Michelangelo to the ground as his hand tried, struggling, to reach up to grab his neck almost as if something was strangulating him. His eyes never left Raphael's body though as the smile dropped replaced with rage. "I guess I was too slow this time... hm?""Oh, I think not... you see, the honor of my little brother isn't yours, whore." The gun was lifted up, like a feather even though it looked nearly the weight of a stone column... or twelve, before Michelangelo felt a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shifted and Donatello's smile greeted him."Wha-!" Amel looked between them both, "How did you get into my circle!"Donatello lifted Michelangelo up into his arms the chuckle that left Donatello's mouth made Michelangelo's skin feel feverish as the weight of Amel's energy vanished."Simple," Donatello said, "I know all the powers a Dusk have. And you, foolish trickster, are no exception to that." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo moaned as he curled his toes his head turning so that more of the rough treatment he was getting could be felt through his fogged up mind. A few snickers to his left came forcing him to open his eyes to look up into Raphael's face as his older brother kept Michelangelo still in Raphael's lap. Another moan left Michelangelo's beak as he fell back even more into Raphael's embrace. Donatello chuckled breathing onto the wet skin on Michelangelo's neck for a moment, "You taste very sweet, Mikey." Donatello laughed as his hand traveled down the shredded fabric to Michelangelo's crotch. His head low as he moaned. "But you don't taste perfect... not yet." Raphael chuckled his eyes looking at Donatello who leaned in kissing Raphael. Their tongues twisted in the air with a small gap allowing Michelangelo to see the action between them. The action again awoke something in Michelangelo's chest making him moan as he leaned into his brother even more. Michelangelo wasn't sure what he was feeling as a slow mist of confusion clouding his mind along did the pleasure when Raphael leaned Michelangelo's head back looking into his baby brothers face before softly kissing Michelangelo's slightly abused lips, "Shush, it's okay..." He said smiling. "Just getting that stench off ya, okay, Mikey?" Confusion grew as Donatello stood up looking at both Raphael and Michelangelo, "Raph, give him a massage, he's tense!" The joking matter was still in his voice as Raphael moved Michelangelo down to be laid down on the nest of beds that they both had stolen from the dead and from the packs of those they had just 'turned'. The cold red eyes traveled over Michelangelo's body as the hands shifted rubbing at Michelangelo's neck spreading down the skin. He never knew Raphael could do this before? Or was this learned while in the Dusks? "I shall be back, don't do anything without me, please, Raphael." Donatello snickered as he left through a portal, a small boy smiling as a few feathers fell from his arm before he closed his eyes and went unmoving like a statue. Is this how the Dusks moved? Those things much like the angles of his Dawns? He moaned arching his back as Raphael shifted grinding slightly into him. He hated this feeling because he couldn't control it but the more Raphael moved over him, the slight shifts against area's of his body he never knew in this world, on himself, were sensitive like this and it was driving him crazy. "You really liking this, aren't ya, baby bro." Raphael leaned in trailing his tongue up Michelangelo's cheek and paused below Michelangelo's left eye. "It's okay, Donnie isn't going to let us do 'that' just yet..." Raphael chuckled as he moved lifting the right leg of his brother into his lap, "He's still waiting for 'him' to crack..." Michelangelo felt his legs stumble as he moved. His face was flushed, almost as if with a fever, but he couldn't help but look up at the bright full moon laid against a black sky. The moon looked nearly like a smiling beast laughing at his weak and unwilling self. He couldn't even remember how he had gotten to the point he was from the moment he passed out beneath Raphael and … God, he shivered as his hands reached up rubbing and clawing at his skin trying to make the feeling of Raphael's tongue go away. The growing tears stung his eyes as he began to walk through the brush. The cat tails tickled his nearly bare legs, the fabric of his clothing mending slowly but it wouldn't be fixed before he was found by ally or fiend. Michelangelo's eyes were swollen from tears before he fell flat on his chest, heaving like the five mile sprint he had just done only hours before. Fighting the sleep that was claiming him he hear low growls from around him, his eyes lifted up a bit as he tried to stand, but a pawed hand gripped his neck threateningly. "Move and I'll rip you apart, Dusk." Michelangelo didn't move as he chuckled, this was a Wolfan... they thought he was a Dusk... He laughed before he started coughing. "Get the others, we'll see what the leader wants to do with it." the hand tightened as Michelangelo stilled his eyes closing just as sleep claimed his body. Small whispers, along with touches, met his skin pulling the sleep like a web from his mind. Michelangelo's eyes opened as if under heavy water. His vision swam like heat rising from the lava flow. He could barely see or hear anything, but his skin was on fire as another stroke down his arms made it tingle and itch. The area over sensitive. "This isn't right!" a muffled voice from outside bellowed. "He's sick! He shouldn't be alone... not with that man!" the voice's rough tone made a small bell go off in his mind but he pushed it out as the ringing hurt his head. The finger moved to his right leg going from the outer thigh to the inner, the hand slipping between gripping the flesh. He moaned pulling his head back hands gripping the sheet he was on, but the moan was cut off as heavy cloth covered his mouth. "No no no, my second in command, you don't get the choice to be vocal now." Another yell was heard outside as other voices joined in, but they seemed intent of stopping the one throwing such a fit. 'Move your hand.' the voice in his head returned as the hand just sat in between his thighs in a teasing manner. 'Let me feel good... let me fall back into that heat again.' The voice grew more obnoxious as flashes of two green skinned turtles fell upon his closed lids. One smiled only touching, trailing its hands, if the other said so. Then it would join in claiming his mouth in a deep breath stealing lip lock that caused his body to panic for how long it would last. He shivered as his eyes drew open to see the man, it was a human male with his hair braided up falling down his shoulder. His black flower withering away as if dead no longer clinging to life. Slowly he looked up into the black eyes twisted by greed and malice. The smile turned up farther, "I guess it's a good thing only you know... isn't it, Michelangelo... I've fooled everyone so far... taken so many of your comrades..." He gripped the sheets not in pleasure but in pain as the hand, the fingernails turning into claws, dug into his skin ripping at the flesh. He opened his eyes wider as his legs were pulled apart. Michelangelo knew how a Dawn turned into a Dusk and here he saw a man in his final stages. The skin, so tan, paled slightly as Amel stripped of his clothing. His eyes illuminating such emotions, so negative and destructive, but the smile opened into a grin showing his teeth. The rows of sharp teeth four prominent fangs protruding from the rest. He swaggered back over, stipped of his garments, before climbing on top of Michelangelo. Moving his fingers softly against the skin where his hand started trailing the blood from the wound up to Michelangelo's face, "I do have to thank you though... you see, I can't be like this because you smell like a Dusk..." He leaned in sniffing Mikey's neck, "BUT i still smell no sin on you!" "My... brothers... didn't touch me... like that..." Michelangelo wheezed through his mouth arms being pulled up along with his body so his head hung off the cot and his hands were places so they too fell off the bed, the pain from the joints pulling making Michelangelo close his eyes. Amel snickered as he put pressure on the arms before he moved spreading Michelangelo's legs farther apart. "Oh... wonder why? A Dusk loves to be a Dawns first sexual playmate." Amel laughed as he trailed a finger over the puckered entrance, "Love to take a Dawn's first, to sin them... to make their mind fall so hard into self loathing..." Amel put a small amount of pressure on the entrance before pulling back, "Once a Dawn has sinned, Michelangelo, they never are treated right! They are sent to the slaughter!" It was a low hiss but the fury was there as if screamed from the top of Amel's lungs. A brutal slap met Michelangelo's face, "No one cares about them anymore!" Michelangelo struggled to lift his head to see the fuzzy face of Amel before the human bent down his hands trailing over Michelangelo's arms twining with his fingers before resting his forehead over Michelangelo's throat. "Why..." "Why... what?" Michelangelo relaxed not caring he could barely breath. "Why... what?" A hum was emitted from Amel's chest as he continued to lie still, nearly acting as if he was a sleep. Michelangelo gave a sigh as if Amel was just a child and he was the adult. It was weird, during his time with Amel he had never seen the man act like he was now. Never broken like a dog, never so lost, and he had the perfect chance to sin Michelangelo. A smile cracked on his face as Amel said so softly that even to him it was almost unsaid, "A Hamato is one so pure, but so tainted. Just perfect in every way." It didn't make a lick of sense, at least not at this time for the youngest Hamato bare before the human sinner who said it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The sounds outside had dwindled to murmurs. Michelangelo didn't mind it because it only meant that he would be alone when Amel actually lost whatever mental battle he was in. Michelangelo shifted his head up, the pain in his neck was becoming problematic, and his eyes landed on the deep red patch on his shoulder just barely within visible range where Amel would come back to suck or bite. He frowned as Amel looked up then to see his orange eyes staring back into slightly dull humorless eyes that were Amel's changing Dusk color. A perverted smile fell on Amel's lips as he lifted his hand up pushing Michelangelo's head back down as he lifted each tight sore muscled arms into the air before he licked down the curves from shoulder to palm sucking at the wrist then began smiling at Michelangelo once more, "My head is killing me..." he leaned back down placing Michelangelo's hands on the plastron to use as a pillow. "I never understood why the horns grew last, did they tell you?" Mikey looked back at the cloth of the tent, he could see the swirling magic leaking off Amel feeding the barrier, "It's because sanity, digression between right and wrong... are then blurred." "What does that mean?" Amel shifted grinding slightly but he only was stretching in his mind. "It means what you would have valued... is nothing but dirt. You're only going by animal instinct." Amel laughed softly as he closed his eyes humming. "But you already know what happens after the horns grow, don't you." "Yes," Amel stated with a bit of grief, "I wont be able to play with you or any other second in command." This time it was Michelangelo who laughed, the laugh started small before it wracked his body making Amel sit up looking down at the turtle. "Play... is that what you call the torture you are putting me through? The sins you placed on me so far and the sins you'll do to me shortly?" Amel watched as the pupils of Michelangelo's eyes shifted to a deep dark orange. "How you lie on top of me even now?" Amel continued to look on as his face tilted, "Is what you did to us... my predecessors and me... was that even PART of being in command?" "Oh," Amel finally understood what Michelangelo was talking about, "You mean me doing 'that' every morning... no, command doesn't require that, I just do it because it's fun." "FUN!" Michelangelo yelled his shell being used to help him up by rocking forward as he looked into Amel's face his hands dangling weakly at his side, his eyes blurring in and out of focus and blood oozed back into the membrane of his head. "Threatening to do … to..." he couldn't see as he fell into Amel's chest heaving as his head pounded. "I think you're pushing yourself, second in command." Amel reached down lifting one leg of Michelangelo's so that the young turtle was scooted up onto Amel's lap. "I guess I've dragged this out too long, now haven't I..." The labored breathing turned into panic breaths as he felt how hard Amel was pressing against the circle of muscle. Michelangelo felt tears falling faster as he tried to struggle but his limbs were numb. "I'll be gentle only for you." Amel kissed Michelangelo's head as he lifted the smaller frame up, the turtle closed his eyes trying to mentally prepare for what he knew would happen. The feeling of Amel's hands moving and pulling his legs wider, the muscles clenched into that position by Michelangelo's own fear and dread over what is to come next. His eyes were dancing with colors ranging from white to red to blue and back again to green and purple before yellow. He could feel the weight of something curved and wet against his inner thigh that caused Michelangelo's breathing to stop and come in panicked slow gaspes. He was going to be raped and he couldn't stop it. He waited a few minutes in his mind but it had been longer as he felt over and over the sick sleek feeling of that wet against his entrance wanting in but almost waiting. No, Amel was 'preparing'. Wetting Michelangelo down so it would be 'easier' to push in. So this was being 'gentle'? The fear, the pain, the nauseating sick feeling, the spiral down into the desire to bite one's own tongue off? That was being gentle? Michelangelo didn't want to see forceful then. Then slowly it changed. The feeling was pulled back and...Soft... Michelangelo's mind purred out the words even as something warm splattered his arms and face. His eyes were taped shut by something as a few hands grabbed his body, carrying him almost... what is this? Pain flared in his body as something, clawed hands, pinned him to the ground straddling his naked body. He knew he was crying again as the pressure on his wrist grew to the point he wasn't sure if his wrist were broken or ripped off. Something spoke, low in a thrashing tone, that sent waves of pure fear through his body. The tears wouldn't stop now as that warm liquid dripped down onto his face and neck, his mind screaming that he wanted away... this was not what he had expected... what was this? A loud scream met his ears making him turn his head in the direction he believed it to be from. His mind wondering if the camp was being attacked. Pulled back from what he was hearing he felt his legs being pushed apart wide enough that the joints hurt. He bent his legs easing the pressure just a bit, though a hand touched his knee almost as if to comfort him. He relaxed wondering if this was how Amel said he'd be 'gentle also, a sick sort of 'Here, I'm still 'human', so I'll give you physical touching comfort, take all you can it's the last you'll ever get'. A clawed hand removed itself from his left wrist before tilting his head back soft words whispering into his ear, 'You'll be fine'. Another hand moved feeling almost Michelangelo's thighs as if searching for something to be wrong... or to tease... what was going on? He froze his head tilting back as the hand touched the sensitive muscle. He felt the tears renew again as he breathed heavily. This … would be it... wouldn't it? "He's fine," the cold calculating anger rose in that voice, "Take him to the medical tent, I want him fully checked on. You, you're Michelangelo's friend... you sent for us, didn't you?" "Yes." the low unconfined growl was in that one word before Michelangelo felt his body being lifted up. As if never meaning to be heard the words that came to greet his ears gave him confidence but plunged his soul into a black sea as Leonardo said, "Kill that bastard and bring all those who might be infected to the secondary tent for testing! I want this damn UNIT thrown into quarantine!" "I'm here." the tongue was a bit rough on Michelangelo's hand but it still brought a smile to his face seeing Charles looking at him like a lost scared puppy. Who knew his friend would risk his life in such a manner as to try a Mirror spell, one even Michelangelo had a hard time with, and then bring his brother with other blacks here … "Are you hungry?" Charles nuzzled Michelangelo's palm making Michelangelo laughed. "I'm fine... I swear, your clinging to me is making me feel spoiled." The turtle smiled as Charles leaned forward licking, again, at Michelangelo's neck. "Charles..." the small turtle warned. "Can I help that I'm still worried?" the Wolfan just smiled as he stood up walking to the door before leaving. "I have to return... I'll be back later." Michelangelo watched the door close before vanishing. How he wished to go out into the forest and away from this pocket dimension created for containment. He looked to the other men in here, most blues and a few greens, before he sighed, "And again I'm locked with the boredom squad!" he sarcastically said before a few of them chuckled in agreement. Time. Something you take for granted when you never had to forgive it and let it take you on a ride through hell. It was something that always came to him, like a knife through the jugular vein, and it wasn't as merciful as fate who left you many paths to walk. Here, now, time had taken Michelangelo on a small trip to a deeper part of his mind where he forced his brain never to go on a normal day. Here he laid in bed waiting, unlike many of the men, to leave. Yet Leonardo had refused to let Michelangelo free and even Charles was soon refused into the pocket dimension a few days later after they learned of Amel's escape. Time, what a miserable thing, had came with him in the deep lonely dull glow of the room. The swirling flowers losing their petals before the light would go out showing how it was night out in the world of actual living. "I WANT TO GO OUT!" Michelangelo screamed throwing another fit as he had banged on the wall of the now smaller room to just fit just him. "I'M SICK OF BEING IN HERE, BROTHER!" he knew no one could hear him but the outburst was good to control what he was still feeling over this whole situation. To nearly being... 'raped'... having his brothers torture him in the most horrifying ways that still made his skin crawl and his heart ache to be near them...to feel that love they still seemed to have for him even if it was twisted now. No, he refused to turn... refused everything because he wanted to be home with Leonardo... wanted his brother to understand that no matter what he was really part of this family. Screwed up as it was. His eyes narrowed again as he paused, his nails digging into his hand before he screamed. Long, loud, and emotionally filled that when it was over tears had spilled down his cheeks, his throat ahcing, and Michelangelo's body no longer willing to hold him up. He fell to the ground curling up as he thought, 'Does Leonardo blame me for this?'. It wouldn't have been the first time Leo pointed an accusing finger at his little brother over things. No, it was his fault Donatello left Leonardo. Leonardo would smile at Donatello, hug him, talk to him, and even play with his younger brother. When Raphael left Leonardo was enraged accusing Michelangelo to have somehow force him to leave... but Leonardo had been so cold when Donatello left... always coming home later... always staring out at something like something indeed was wrong. Michelangelo coughed as he pounded his skull, "NO! NO! NO NO NOO!" He screamed again thrashing at the ground or anything he could touch, including his own body. He didn't want these memories to resurface in any way, manner, or form. He didn't want to remember Leonardo coming home a few times swaying as blood dripped down his arms. His eyes narrowing on the two crying cuddling brothers trying not to show how much Leonardo scared them. Michelangelo remembered being picked up... remembered Leonardo's cold frosty tone as he was thrown like a rag doll into his room. Nor Raphael's muffled screams as Leonardo would become violent...would hurt... "Stop..." Michelangelo begged the tears flowing as his body lost the will to fight the flooding memories. "I... I don't want these..." The looks Raphael had gotten at times coming to school with him, the blood that still bleed form some of his wounds... Raphael was always teased for being Duskish. Michelangelo remembered... One time a person, only weeks before Raphael left, had actually scared Michelangelo's older brother when he leaned into his golden eyed brothers space whispering something the youngest knew naught. Raphael avoided him for days... up until the last few days he vanished. Now, as he stared as if death was he himself, he watched as Leonardo's feet came walking through the portal and his brother knelt down lifting his small frame up allowing Michelangelo to see the small smile on Leonardo's face as Michelangelo was set on the bed, "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey." The words were like rocks hitting his stomach. Each one sending off warnings that made his eyes close, "You need to shut up and stop causing such commotions, brother." Michelangelo's lower lip quivered slightly as Leonardo leaned in his head close to Michelangelo's, "I have had to replace five people since you started throwing a fit like a child, wake up and act like an adult!" Michelangelo pulled back yet tears streaking down again with fear as Leonardo had leaned in growling his blue eyes shifting from blue to a midnight color, "Now, do you want me to make you be silent or will you do it?" "I... I... w-will.." Michelangelo stammered out his body shaking violently on the bed. The smile softened as his brother nodded getting up and shaking his hands, "You don't have much longer to stay in here, Michelangelo, so i expect no more problems." Leonardo's left his back facing the one on the bed, another thing Michelangelo hated... but he loved ... He smiled as he remembered one night after Raphael had left and he had been allowed to go home. He had sat on his bed crying with fear thinking Leonardo would be gone also. His brother had come into the room, sat down next to him, and he had been pulled into a hug where for the first time in years he saw his brother, Leonardo, cry. It had been that moment where his brother let down all his guards, acted like a real living and not a black brother... so sympathetic... it had captured Michelangelo's heart and he never wanted to do anything to betray Leonardo just to once again see that 'real' side his brother boxed up and locked away. There was something off here. Something that, he had noticed it before but never this strongly, caused him to focus his eyes on the soft inhuman glow to the baby blue eyes. The sight and feel of something else watching contently through all the life and the actions and the feelings of brotherhood... He felt the hand he had control over for a breath moment touch the face making them look at him. He leaned his face forward as he huskily said, so low... so feral... almost like a lover of death... "Mikey?" The word ghosted off the skin of the body in front of him making him shiver before the blue eyes shifted to the side almost scared but … the light glow... it was orange. "Michelangelo..." The smile that bloomed on his face just made the body shiver as he grabbed the chin tightly so it couldn't move, "I see you." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo never knew his brother could be so cruel to anyone other than to Michelangelo himself. He was a brutal leader who showed his skill on the training field, a talented mind when it came to strategy and warfare, but he had never shown such sadistic love or malice to anyone before but as Michelangelo stared at Leonardo now he knew his brother had that side.If Michelangelo would have been asked why he followed his brother with no questions asked many would assume it was out of fear. Leonardo's friends had admitted a few times that Leonardo was cruel to them. Would punish them if they would pursue a lover on the field, known to happen often, without permission of the family of the person they wanted. It was mixed up and slightly unknown why to Michelangelo that when his fellow clothed colors said this they actually turned red and looked the other way.He did try to confront his brother after a particular bout of screaming and objects of magic being tossed out the door as a man ran out looking for all the world like his life would be forfeit if he stayed there. Michelangelo believed, as Leonardo's sword was tossed missing the man by a mere inch, that indeed it would be.Since his return to duty he had noticed more and more people seeking his brother for relationships. His brother was granted that ability to give it out, up to a point. Sex was not allowed unless the high elders granted the eternal marriage. A shame, Michelangelo heard most men complain, because it was the bond that was made through the act that made two pairs united without sin if the blessing was given.Michelangelo smiled thinking of how nice it would be to have someone there to hold at night. Someone not even Leonardo could tear him apart from if his blessing was given.The young orange eyed turtle stepped into the room thinking no one else would be bothering his brother but stopped seeing Leonardo looking into Charles's face. The black leader's gaze stern and his mouth in a growling state. Leonardo looked as if ready to kill Charles but his friend had a temper of his own he never showed. Charles was vicious when he desired something. Come to food or tocomplete something he could not do the wolfran put in everything until the bitter end.Here was no change as Charles stepped forward leaning down so his snout nearly touched Leonardo's beak. The look, a bit of discomfort, crossed Leonardo's face as he twitched to step back but of course didn't give any ground even if to the sharp teethed wolf with a vicious look in his eyes to show he vowed to win this 'match'."Am I allowed?" Charles growled his tone of voice no longer the soft caring one Michelangelo loves, but this one sent pleasure down the young black orange eyed turtles arms that made him blushed."Well," Leonardo turned his eyes to look at Michelangelo, even Charles followed the movement. A flash in both their eyes made Michelangelo feel like he was being tugged between them and it was uncomfortable but delicious feeling of wanting lust hitting him low in his stomach, "I suppose you would be best for him."Him? Was Charles seeking a relationship with someone? Who? A pain twisted Michelangelo's heart as he thought of his friend not being there as he was now. Charles' would be with his new lover more than with Michelangelo."Is that permission?" Charles asked his breathing growing a bit wilder with obvious hope and something more: ownership?"Yes." Leonardo's eyes closed, the look on his brothers face was utter defeat as if he lost some battle he had promised never to lose. The struggle Leonardo took to turn from both Michelangelo and the wolf as he got to his feet, his body weighed down, as he took slow steps to his bed before he again spoke,. "Leave my room, Wolf. Brother, may I help you?"Charles growled as he passed petting Michelangelo's shoulder slightly before leaving. Michelangelo stared at his shoulder a bit surprised. Petting was... new."Who is Charles' new lover?" Michelangelo asked walking over to his brother and his eyes traveled over the obvious weary body as Leonardo laid down his legs slightly spread and his arms spread up above his head. His lips opened, tongue wetting the beak a bit, and Michelangelo felt his heart twist as he forced himself to stay still, swallowing hard. Oh his brother look so deliriously good that Michelangelo wanted to taste and feel with his own body the one spread out before him."You'll find out soon enough." Leonardo turned his eyes, the look so inviting that Michelangelo had to step back, "Is something bothering you, brother?""I heard news that... you've been... sending a lot of people to the medical team, why?" Michelangelo saw the plastron shake under the thin very sparse cloth over it as Leonardo laughed, one hand dropping down to cover the older turtle's mouth making the shaking of his shoulders more obvious. "Are you okay, Leo?""I'm fine, I'm fine." Leonardo turned a bit, his hips up more sliding forward as his other hand was trailing down his thigh. "They are all being affected by my appearance here. Most wanting to start a relationship so that when they return home they can marry for the full effect of their lust. You, dear brother, have caught quite a few horny men." Leonardo pulled up grabbing Michelangelo's shirt. With a sharp powerful jerk Michelangelo stumbled falling over Leonardo's body so his face was inches from his older brothers face their bodies feeling each others granted through their clothing.Michelangelo held his breath eyes closed thinking his brother would do as the other two siblings had, but was shocked to hear Leonardo speak, "I try to protect you so often, Mikey... so so often..." He pulled back then turned his head from Michelangelo's, "I just hope I can find someone to make you happy instead of all these lousy inconsiderate pricks who care only to take what is dear to the Dawns!"Michelangelo yelped but the look on Leonardo's face returned to the calm expose, though... Michelangelo saw the exterior of what he let others see vanish as he laid back down, "Mikey," Mikey hummed letting his brother know he was listening, "Don't let anyone take what you do not want them to have."The younger brother though heard another sentence below that though. A powerful one that was directly to the point stabbing into Michelangelo's heart: 'I want to be the one to have you.' but it couldn't have been those words Michelangelo felt inside he so desperately desired to hear for himself instead of in actions, undertones, that were always uttered from the older's lips.Michelangelo blushed deeply turning around and nodding, " I wont, you... taught me that...""Then why did you almost allow Amel to that then?" The grip was harsh on his skin. Leonardo didn't seem to notice as he shifted on the bed moving Michelangelo's thin, small, body to slot itself between Leonardo's legs. The other was sitting up more. Hands pulling Michelangelo up so that his pants hand slipped down showing more of Michelangelo's hips the tip of his slit visible if Leonardo was to look. The older brother breathed the air cold leaving Leonardo's lips to touch Michelangelo's cheek."I wasn't … doing it on purpose, brother!" Michelangelo felt weak as he turned his head, his eyes catching how close Leonardo's were to his own. His breathing speeding up as he felt... suddenly aroused... God why did his three brothers make him feel like his head was floating? Why did the feel of Leonardo, the voice of Leonardo, the look, or the way he would show the true way Leonardo loved to sleep when he was alone at home... The curves of his body when he stripped of his clothing not knowing Michelangelo could sometimes see when he was home and his brother left his door to his room or bathroom wide open...Michelangelo bite down a moan as the pressure grew under his plastron. He wanted free to get fresh air now."Mikey, you still gave in without a fight." Leonardo growled his chin resting on Michelangelo's shoulder, who thought of how wonderful it would feel if it was on his skin and not the angel's gifted material. "You let him touch you... like a Dusk would to a future sexual playmate.""I didn't..." Michelangelo felt the hands sliding up his chest and his face blushed as he closed his eyes his body heating up. He wondered how long he could last before he lost control."Mikey, are you sick?" the anger turned to pure fear as Michelangelo head was turned and his hazy eyes looked up into Leonardo's. "You're burning up... You should rest, I'll bring you some water... By the light, you should have told me you were feeling ill..."And Michelangelo felt his eyes closing the light headed feeling swirling around in his head as the real Leonardo, the fearful, loyal, loving brother, finally showed up at the worst time possible.He stumbled, hours later, into the tent he shared with Charles before collapsing and he sighed snuggling into... fur? He lifted his head and he heard Charles coughing eyes blinking and Michelangelo blushed looking around, "Are you in...my bed?""Well, I was going to talk to you, but I feel asleep... is this how I'm going to wake up every time you get an ear full of that brother of yours?" The words took a while to process and Michelangelo blushed sitting up on Charles waist his eyes looking down at the naked Wolfan and he then realized the look that had crossed between his brother and his best friend."You mean... you asked my brother... Are you wishing to die?" Michelangelo threatened leaning his body back down as Charles wrapped his arms around Michelangelo's waist and shell."No," He nuzzled Michelangelo cneck, "I only wanted to be with you closer, is that alright?""Yes..." Michelangelo smiled submitting because in a way his dream of being with someone like this was finally answered and he did care a great deal about his best friend."Can we... kiss?" Michelangelo's smiled even brighter his beak nuzzling and kissing Charles snout.The hand touched his cheek making him look up, it was Leo and he looked pleased with something. The other Leonardo from Michelangelo's dream world."Hey, bro, sorry for waking you up... Splinter just left for the Charmed Marathon at April's." Leo smiled as he lifted up his younger brother's body. Michelangelo paused as he slowly became aware of what was happening.It was late in the night as Leo helped carry him to his room, a deep blush flushed his face as he saw Donnie licking up Raph's neck already stroking the hard cock. He didn't know if he could do this but he felt his body react as he became more awake."Hey, Mike..." Raph moaned as Donnie squeezed a bit harder, "Donnie..." they locked beaks kissing before a bit of saliva trailed down between them."Well, since you two started I'll get Mikey all ready." Leo chuckled as Michelangelo felt his body being lifted up, the lips sucking on his neck... god he wanted his Leonardo now.He jumped slightly feeling Leo lift his body up and pin it to the wall his chest trapping him up there with minimal effort."Leo..." He froze hearing... was he in control? "Stop..."Leo looked up perplex before Michelangelo felt a smile, "Bed?" No he wasn't in control... no he didn't want to go the bed... no he didn't WANT this... no no no...Leo smiled as Michelangelo's legs wrapped around Leo's waist and he carried them both to the bed next to Don and Raph.His head turned watching as Raph's legs were spread, a groan of pleasure coming from him. He couldn't stop watching as Raph's eyes turned to look at him as the eyes glowed flashing red before Don's eyes followed Raph's the deep purple glow there along with the smirk.They both smiled as they continued with their 'sin' even, it would appear, in another world.Michelangelo gulped as he felt Leo's body pinning him, moving softly against his body... he didn't know how long he would be here this time... he tried to break the connection, tried to wake up, felt himself screaming inside of the body.There was a smirk in this Raph's face as their eyes never broke contact. Until Raph closed his eyes his head leaning back as he called out Donnie's name as Raph was pushed forward a bit, Michelangelo felt himself sick as he watched them having sex.```Michelangelo's eyes snapped open, his stomach was turning as he grabbed his mouth and crawled out of the tent and a few pace away toward a tree before he began to heave. He cried as he couldn't believe what he had seen. He only wanted his family back... not... not that... not witnessing something that would make him feel...Just like Amel had made him feel. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The hand touched his shoulder, shifting up and down the arm and curve of it, in a hopeful soothing motion showing the wolves worry. Charles looked down at Michelangelo smiling slightly but it was strained and stretched across his wolfish features. Michelangelo had lost some weight and it was becoming worrisome to Charles because not only he had noticed something this drastic with the only person these men seemed to trust in any form of a leadership position. Charles knew Michelangelo had started to forgo meals, all three meals to be precise, and his less than normal sips of water a day showed in his cracking lips. Though what worried Charles to an extent that had him fearful that even if Michelangelo did eat he wouldn't hold it down for more than half an hour was had Charles stomach twisted in knots. Michelangelo was unable to hold down anything with how he was hovering or curled into a spot where the smell of vomit heavily saturated the air. Some people were talking as they knew to be blaming Amel for it. Others blaming Leonardo's treatment of his younger, softer, and kinder brother. Many blamed the war, finally affecting a far too caring creature that Michelangelo was. Then there also was the fact the two leaders who now replaced Amel and Michelangelo, the younger turtle staying with the group only for the fact that he was in a courting relationship with Charles, were always on the prowl to stir up trouble and blame it upon the third younger black in the group. These two men were not, in the retrospect of Amel, leaders. They would have prefered a leader who could handle things and not keep drawing attention to their bickering and spit fights. They had an obvious hate towards Michelangelo, for whether being Leonardo the slave drivers brother or the fact he was still so kind and someone people seemed to look up to in this desolate war driven time, but it was obvious each day they went out of their way to harm mentally if not physically the feminine looking turtle boy. It was no different now, Charles was soothing Michelangelo who was sitting against a tree with the other in his arms resting after for once finally eating something and drinking a cup of water. He had a group, most of the original company they were in, around Charles and Michelangelo shielding the tempering storm and darting snake like tongues with words foul enough that it would turn a Dusk away with disgust from harming the peace that Michelangelo had slightly found with friendly faces. The men worried this new fight over something as a simple 'go left' or 'go right' would end up being spat at Michelangelo for trying to put his own incentive words into the conversation. These words that actually, to the men, made sense! Though when the fight escalated into a full on screaming match that made birds fly into the air and critters that were resting dash into the forest and grassy type lands not far away it made Michelangelo sigh a low grumble upon his beak that had some balm on it from the few medical blues who knew a thing or two on white clothing knowledge. They were tending to the younger black behind their 'leaders' back out of worry and their desire for their true leader to regain his strength. Michelangelo looked at Charles with his orange eyes showing how he felt this not right that the men suffered from these arguments but that he had to stand up or nothing would happen but an ambush from the noise that would dissipate and turn into tension. Michelangelo shifted and he stood with some resistance in the form of the grip from his lover from their spot against a tree trunk. He was unsteady on his feet moving out of the circle of protection to stand before the two, "Ease your tongues. Enough of this dispute. This is not any way for leaders, or blacks, to act for their troops. We are leaders, or would you rather they call us children?" The two looked at him with disdain before moving away snarling out retorts that they didn't need a childs help nor a brats words in something they could handle, "If you could handle it we would not be behind schedule, we would not be losing valuable time, resources, encouragement, so many things!" both blacks had stopped at Michelangelo's words eyes narrowed their darker colored eyes, contrary to Michelangelo's brighter colored eyes, and rose their pitch to a squawk of vocal cords unpleasant to any forms of ears to hear them in unison in a sort of complaining until Michelangelo spoke up again breaking their attempts to push him down with garbled blabbering tongues lacking in fluid linguistics as Leonardo had taught Michelangelo to do since he had been but a baby. "You're destroying our troops with fear! Giving us a weakness to our enemy for what? Petty arguments for what reason other than the fact you two don't get along! They are tired, they are afraid, WE as their leaders are to give them hope not tear them down!" Michelangelo looked at them before away seeing their faces. Discrimination. Why, he didn't know. "You're young." The first blow was shocking but somehow Michelangelo expected it, though the group behind him seemed in a sudden uproar, "You should be back home sucking on a bottle!" There was more rousing from those he knew, those who would back him up in an instant, "You're pathetic, get back to your 'spot' weakling!" "I'm doing your jobs!" Michelangelo snapped hand up holding back his 'friends' and at the moment family, "You. Are. WEAK." Leonardo would, Michelangelo felt, be proud of him. They both suddenly seemed out of control as they moved one tackling Michelangelo's lower legs and the other moving attacking Michelangelo's chest. The young turtle was shocked unable to put up much of a fight as he felt a punch to his lower plastron and the wind knocked out of him for a few seconds. The slice to his neck was a deep enough warning to not kill him but to show power. They were in control, he was not. They had power, he had none. It made no sense to him why his brother gave this to people who were insane. Michelangelo would never understand Leonardo no matter how much he tried and wanted to. Michelangelo broke free rolling to the side getting up holding a hand to his neck looking down over his body seeing the bruising. The men behind him were bristling and obviously the news was spreading by the feel of magic in the air. Michelangelo sighed lowering his shoulders and he raised his hand, "You two..." Michelangelo clenched his teeth fear for his friends growing. "See, you're the weak pathetic 'coward'." They both laughed charging again. Michelangelo stood his ground but his eyes widened as he realized the attacks were not aimed at him but at those ready to attack for him. "N...no!" he shouted, "Leave them out of this! They have nothing to do with our dispute!" Michelangelo turned around his eyes brimming with tears as he saw the men's faces eyes wide shocked as they, some, stood their ground protecting others who they knew needed it after months of being together and fighting alongside each other. They were family now, every one of them felt that way. Michelangelo screamed rushing out casting a spell grabbing his flower feeling the petals fall to the earth, "Infatasi ha!" He felt his strength diminish as the shield flew around those he could reach protecting them reflecting the attack back to the attackers. Those bastards. Michelangelo barely turned seeing the smug look the small turn of the short dagger in one of their hands pointed at him then across their throat. Michelangelo swallowed vision swimming as his flower turned a dark brown orange. He had used too much of his magic protecting those he cared for. That spell was to high of a level for him to use at this moment when he was far too weak physically. "W...worth it, a...bast...ards." 'Cry my baby, cry your eyes on out. Let the tears go right at the blue mooned sky. Cry my baby, let me know, let me know when I can hold you tight. Listen, baby, listen close because my words might drop and die. Let me kiss your tender lips and wipe away those nasty tears. Hold me, baby, hold me now. Cut and squeeze me so my insides know you're there and always will be near. Don't let go, not right now, not when the world is screaming out... screaming out their pain to you. Hold me, baby, hold me only till I die because soon I'll be lying on the ground with my heart strewn across the muddy soiled ground.' The lyrics were familiar to Michelangelo but he knew not why. They were as if a dream but a dream he didn't know fully how to see. It was not something Michelangelo wanted to think on too much because if he really did learn where he had heard this song it might mean him trouble. Michelangelo look at the fur underneath his hand as he thought, "It has been a few months hasn't it. Three, right...Since our graduation into this hell on the front lines from training..." He eyed where he was noticing that he was in their tent. "Yeah..." Charles said with a frown, "A month with these two imbeciles, two with Amel... Somehow our luck with them is very low." He looked at Michelangelo seeing the other moving and twining his three fingers through the thick fur. "Right now we are in a corner, Mikey, trapped in it with every step we take leading to a demise that we cannot fight. I'm afraid to lose you. I do not want to lose you. If I do I know what will happen." "W...what will that be?" Michelangelo looked up shifting as he then moved legs on either side of Charles' waist, "Tell me, even if the words are not pretty and the words a black should not hear." "I'm afraid I might become a dusk." Charles stated his grip tightened on Michelangelo's hips as his hands had rested there when Michelangelo had shifted leaving clear bruises when Michelangelo would remove his clothing, "I know this in my heart. You are my light. The only light I have." Michelangelo's eyes closed heart breaking and yet it was so tight in his chest. Somehow that was not what he wanted to hear. He knew what Charles was going to say before the other was to say it but that was not what he wanted to hear. "We need to stop the two 'leader' blacks than before they... make it hard for us." Michelangelo whispered. "Har...hard for us to be anything, a family in the further future where this war ends." "How?" Charles leaned up cupping Michelangelo's beak tracing the rough scales that lead to softer ones under the curve of his chin, "How can we do that when they are stronger than us both when they have no fears in using their own team?" Michelangelo was breaking inside more because he wanted to scream and yell at his love that the other was in pain ,suffering because two of his ribs were broken by those bastards. That his fur on his back had been shaved off because of stitches. That he was suffering all because of him: Michelangelo. Michelangelo felt like he was breaking from everything that was happening. His life was crumbling around him and he had no control of even the smallest dirt of it. He opened his eyes, "Take everyone. Take them... maybe that might..." "NO!" Charles roared sitting up as Michelangelo fell off his lap onto the ground, "We stood by your side, we took the blows by your side! WE FOUGHT THEM EQUALLY! Do not deny us the chance to do that again. Do not deny me the chance to be with you!" Charles searched Michelangelo's face before his own grew expressive, "Mikey, please don't tell me you are considering that!" "YES, can you blame me for it?" Michelangelo questioned. "Here I am being beaten down both physically and mentally, Charles, and that... what happened to you all... I will not stand by and let it happen again. I will not let you be hurt. Charles WE are through!" Michelangelo knew that Amel was gentler than these two somehow. He did not attack the men, he valued them in some- no more than some ways- and he always... what was it that Michelangelo saw that Amel valued in his men. The fact that in battle he knew they were there. Michelangelo's eyes turned before he laughed causing Charles to move touching Michelangelo's shoulders fearful that Michelangelo had hit his head or worse: snapped, "Mikey!" "Oh god! He... he was... he meant..." It clicked in Michelangelo's mind then what Amel did back there on the transit that day. The first day Michelangelo had met him. It all was starting to fall into place and why Amel had been able to keep his flower then lose it at the end. So many things he learned. Michelangelo shrugged off Charles hands before he gripped them, "Charles," he began with a soft tone, "My friend, my dearest friend..." Charles looked confused before he saw Michelangelo get up, "Mikey, what is wrong?" "I just realized something, something that is so obvious that I didn't realize... I was, I am, a fool. I care for you, yes, but I am sorry, Charles, we are through. I will do my duty as a black. After all that is why a red is with me. I am a black that you can tame that you can 'top'." Michelangelo looked to the ground standing tall facing the front but his eyes were down so only a fraction of his face was visible to Charles form on the ground. "MICHELANGELO!" Charles gripped the young orange eyed turtles shoulders before feeling an overwhelming burning in his skin under his fur. "I 'never' loved you, Charles." and that seemed to have stopped all the fighting from the wolf from his shock at hearing the others declaration as Michelangelo ran off crying in the night hating the invisible eyes that seemed to peer at him from all angles. His small stature, his black clothing, and the high tree tops seemed to be his only refuge from them. There Michelangelo cried hearing soft voices in his head, 'We fight to protect our comrades.' Amel's words, some of the first he said, "I believe we choose our path. We become what we want. We lift our heads or bow them to whatever will we want. Dawns are sad creatures bound by ropes. So tight around our wrist that a yank of that rope and up in the air above our heads do they go. Our eyes covered by a cloth... Our legs spread so we're screwed standing up with the knowledge that those Elders who never saw a day of war..." Michelangelo gave a dry humorless laugh repeating Amel's word. God, someone who he hated made more sense to him now than life itself seemed to! ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Soft, it was what he felt when he shifted eyes peering through the cracks, with hints of firmness that was beyond him. Michelangelo tried to put together what it meant in his head but it didn’t fully appeal to him-not yet though. All he knew was that whatever his head was on it was soft and while he nuzzled his beak into it thinking of Charles's fur and how the damn wolf had a habit of grooming it after Michelangelo’s comments on how he loved to feel the fullness, the thickness, the soft texture under his scales, under his body, and rubbing between his legs this soft texture was not Charles's fur. Michelangelo opened his eyes wider slowly adjusting his vision from the white fluff of the pillow, a normal for him as a black to have such a pristine color pillow and his blankets would be a brown muckish color, that when he rolled over to greet Charles, for who else in his bed could it be, did he smile but the name that fell from his lips was not his lovers or the soon-to-be mates stating they had made up with kissing and hugs and words of love and devotion to one another that would transcend this battle ground scared by blood and enemies, “Leonardo, why are you in my bed again, bro?” Michelangelo’s blood ran cold as he stared into brown eyes, almost honey-tempting color but they held a mischievous nature that had Michelangelo’s skin running cold and the hands, god Michelangelo wished the hands had not been felt upon the scaley under sides, wait now inner thighs, and the shiver was one that had the magical turtle arching as much as any turtle could. Not that much, Not any arch period but the meaning still implies. The straining of muscles under the shell as they attempt the pleasurable act, the thighs tightening, the feet straight until they are locked and the muscles cramping. Michelangelo’s arms grip Leonardo’s arms pulling Leonardo forward into a dominating kiss and he only pulls back when there is a loud bang from outside. “Mikey?” Leonardo pulls back feeling Michelangelo flinch as there is another loud head splintering sound that knocks his body flat on the bed as if tossed like a rag doll, “MIKEY!” Michelangelo just blinks heavy breathing and he stares up for a few short moments he is in aw, eternal aw because he can move! His hand lifts up and he touches Leonardo’s cheek the blue wearing mask turtle blinks eyes growing wide like melons before the hand comes up, “Michelangelo, what is wrong?” “You know, I sometimes wish my brother was like you.” Michelangelo whispered weakly, “Though at others I fear you’re far too much what I dream I want from him to show to me.” The hand dropped to his thigh and he frowned, “Dusks... Damn them.... I was having a very ....” Michelangelo felt his world slipping, the dream vanishing, “Very good dream.” “Donnie! Michelangelo, don’t worry, Do-.” Leonardo’s worried frantic voice tapered off at the words forming and Michelangelo wanted to push and swim back up to hear the rest. Though could he really when he woke up in the tree looking down at his camp and then into the arms of a blue healing him as best as they could a whole in their lower stomach and one leg missing. A smile though was plastered on their face and they looked up at Michelangelo’s face, “Oh thank god you’re alright... I... thought I didn’t make it in time. You were so...” The blue coughed blood dribbling down his chest and onto Michelangelo’s own black uniform, “Still.” Michelangelo moved to grip the blues body eyes wide with fear and worry for the other, "What happened?" "We have been attacked." The blues eyes were sadly looking away, "We are dwindling in numbers and people have been in a panic, Michelangelo, since both those two bastards went missing! Then... Charles realized you were gone. We had a few of us searching for you. My group was wiped out protecting me in keeping you safe while I healed you. You were hurt." Michelangelo felt his eyes grow wide and he looked down at his body seeing that there was blood on his clothing where it was ripped or in sections almost ripped off. He shivered fearful to think how far deep he must have been in the world and without the link that Charles had provided in the morning it was as if he could not have woken up when he did by this blues sacrifice, "I'll get you to the medical tent or anyone who can help you, just stay with me, alright." Michelangelo moved to lift the other up into his arms or to have them onto his back. Though the male blue shifted shaking his head leaning against the spot, "No, please, I am fine. I don't need it. I gladly accept death that is on my corner of my vision. Go, please, lead our battalion and take us to victory or to safety. Please, Michelangelo!?" Surging fear was growing into Michelangelo's eyes before he was slightly cursing the males hand dropped to his lap and another to his side off the tree. Dead. Dead from saving Michelangelo’s useless pathetic ass. The orange eyed turtle felt so pathetic that he was in another world sexualy taking 'pleasure' and 'comfort' from another form of his brother while his friends were left here to suffer. What type of person was he? A cruel, sick, demented bastard obviously to be a friend. Moving to stand up Michelangelo giving the body one last look wishing he could bring peace or at least say goodbye by using the persons name jumped down into the forest surroundings below into unknown peril that fell upon the battalion. The glowing orange eyes scanned the broken tents, the upturned pots and pans, the thrown around clothes, and the few bodies of his men lying there on the ground dying or dead. There were dusks of course fallen around dead from the fight but he gave them no bother as they were not the issue that took deep and firm root in Michelangelo’s mind. He rushed out looking and calling for a moment before stilling. Why ... Why were there so few? Why had that blue found him and not ran away? What was the meaning of this all and there was one, of course, but he had been stripped of its meaning by an icey clock of death with ticking hands. When Michelangelo found the two useless black leaders he would drill and beat and abuse the information out of them because this, the death, the loss, the damn chiseled gruesomely into his brain Michelangelo had been teetering on for so long he had just slipped off of and into some murky depth where there was light but it was so far away. For now he would take all his rage out upon the two bastards who caused hell for those he loved in this group that became family: the so called leaders. It was a challenging run as Michelangelo dodged through trees following wisps of magic from people he knew, marks in the ground and trees from battles that were not that long ago, and to the most horrifying scene in a grassy field that had his eyes so wide that he knew if he didn’t blink they would fall out. His men were pushed to the ground tangled and screaming out in pain and horror. His people were calling desperately for help their sounds like animals wailing for relief or in sheer desperation for someone, anyone, to be there for them like they were still infants wanting their mother after a terrifying monster in their closet sprang forward and scared them. The steps as Michelangelo’s flower had moved along the breeze created magically from where it perched in his bandana over his eyes now was in his hands as he ran petals falling from it as Michelangelo screamings out his incantation. The enraged, fearing for those he loved safety, turtle would not let his men fall to the Dusks. He would not let his failure to see around him, to pull from the brink of that world and to realize his surroundings be the downfall of his battalion.[i] He would not lose his family again![/i] He watched as his petals floated in the air the sound a buzzing noise before screaming not from his men to stop, for saving, but of agony, death, and blood from the cuts to impacts of each petal hitting their target while they were imbedding into their bodies and each one exploding. “GET UP!” Michelangelo screamed at the top of his lungs, “You will not fall today!” There was silence as the few Dusks that were still alive stood hesitantly moving away from the ripped and tattered clothing of their prey they were about to be their dining pleasure of pound to pound of flesh from. The Dawns’looked to each other nervousness etched clear as those near, free, when their captors exploded moved scrambling to their feet eyes falling onto Michelangelo. The turtle in black allowed their emotions to sink into him but not effect the air he let sour out high and wide around him. He did not let the petals of his that fell from his rejuvenating flower fall as they hummed around him and those of his ‘family’ form close to his side. He was, at this moment, their leader and head of house so he would do everything to act accordingly. Michelangelo moved forward and the Dusks moved back fear seeming to swim around them as they realized Michelangelo wasn’t their typical Black with an inflated ego or a messed up psyche, at least not yet on the last part. Michelangelo was a force to be reckoned with and he would use every inch of his power, his status, and his magic to save his fighters. “Red, take weapons! Blues, take place!” Michelangelo called as he took his stance, “Greens hold a strong formation! Watch each other’s back. This is our bond, We are family, friends, they will never break that: THIS will be what keeps us alive!” and he watched as more of his kind, Dawns, rushed to his side taking positions able to fight off the enemy. So to the green turtle his words as he watched his men, felt them at his side and back, were what made him finally feel like he had a reason to be a leader. They needed him to be pure, to be strong, but most of all to be him, “CHARGE!” Thus began the second battle upon the grassy field some animals most likely treaded upon to graze, migrate, or wonder. The fiend of life that struck down everything but it was the changing point in Michelangelo’s life. The open space, the slight greys to the honey oat hay-like plant that sprung from the ground spreading as far as his eye could see into another three thicket. The sounds of war on all four sides of him as he weaved like water striking down all those who were in front of him that were Dusks, people who could have been like him if not for a sin as simple as pride, lust, envy, and anger, and Michelangelo didn’t hear the sounds of silent feet because the Dusks that were being fought were fodder just like the Dawns under his jurisdiction now. Soldiers of war not meant to ever return. These were dead men standing. Soon Michelangelo was screaming in pain as his arm was yanked high over his head a shrill laugh meeting his ears as his flower ripped from his hand and thrown to a pair of boots who stepped upon the petals and pollen crushing it with three turns of their heel and a raised foot before stomping hard enough to dig it into a ground, “We missed one. This ones strong. Very strong, well... It WAS strong.” “Sadly. We’ll see if it’s like all the others we killed. The blacks are so much fun. Such great Dusks in training! Oh, this one had a pretty face... Can I, please... CAN I... Can I please?” Michelangelo yanked his head around struggling before he was in shock before he froze in horror. He remembered a mention in a report on two brothers, wait not brothers....What... were they? His eyes were glued to the faces before he knew then: Hun and Stockman. They were enemies in the Dawns but when one turned the other turned as well. Some had assumed they were lovers behind walls and that was their sin, some assumed their hate was just that deep, but Michelangelo didn’t know as he just looked at them and their seemingly easy co-dependency on each other. He could feel it around them but more so feel it inside him as Hun raised Michelangelo off the ground and Stockman quickly went to work removing the weapons, few he had, and tossing them to the side. “Go a head, Hun, have your fun. I have other people to attend to. I will see you at the compound. Don’t take too long, I hate it when you do. You know they’ll hate it as.... Don’t GLARE you oaf!” Stockman snarled, “God you’re nothing but a rotten ring-wormed, parasitic, rotten meat of a thug Dusk! Get your killing over with! Toy with your mouse! Toy with this field of damn rodents I just want to get back to slicing your hide since I was winning.” “If you assume you were, you are far more deluded, Bax-stabman.” Hun huffed. “Even your comebacks are lacking in intelligent remarks. How you’ve survived I’m still unconditionally confused.” And with that Michelangelo watched the end of the exchange as they both seemed to smile friendly as i this was not enemy warfare but just a game between friends and the chilling thought was: his brothers acted like this. How much mentally did you change as a DUSK? He never wanted to know. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter elevenThe only thing Michelangelo could do was run. His lungs burned, his chest ached, and his eyes were wet with tears as he gave orders to retreat. Retreat to the forest and stick together. He couldn't stand what was happening to his people any more than he could stand what was happening to him being hunted by a deranged Dusk out for 'fun' with his lover. Michelangelo's gaze swept over the plain of golden field tramped by hundred of feet some running, some limping, but plenty carrying wounded comrades. With worry hovering over his heart Michelangelo wondered if this war was truly a battle Dawns could win. Every turn he had seen his people make were overthrown when only a while ago they seemed to have made a few seconds come back against this genocide of their squadron.Michelangelo ran ducking under attacks that ranged from rocks to real magical shots. His body was bruised, his clothing torn, and his mask had been lost some time ago due to a ferocious grip to his skull he barely managed to get out of. Michelangelo felt like a mouse in a maze hunted by a raging bull. The Bull wanted his blood for a reason Michelangelo knew all too well: He was a black thus a bulls eye was painted in 'red' all over his back. He lunged into the trees seeing his people scatter and it made him smile as once they were there, they had each other more than before, they were able to do things they couldn't. Those two bastard blacks... He felt relief they were dead but terror that he too would leave his family. He hoped that with time Charles could become strong. The red, his lover, was a leader in a way that a black could not be ever. Michelangelo stood up leaning his body against a tree closing his eyes as he focused around him his eyes now becoming his other senses.It felt strange using an ability he had honed in the other world. He shifted slipping into the trees centering his body, finding a balance, and slowly he opened his eyes his hectic heart rate prior had slowed into a melodic one. He watched Hun slow noticing the way that Hun was looking for him and any other Dawn. Michelangelo's eyes ran around spotting pockets of power, other things that his people were hiding behind. He had to give them time to run away. His flower had been destroyed but he had his crystal. His eyes darted down as he lifted it up and he raised it to his lips, "Mikey, I'm going to borrow you for a moment. I'm sorry if this seems weird but I am not a fighter like you." Michelangelo whispered to the small crystal before crouching down the feelings running through him were strange. IT felt small, it was actually now that he took stock of what was happening. Just the small twitch to his mind and his body felt natural up here like it knew what it was doing hiding in the shadows. It was so small that it didn't know fully what to expect.He yearned for his weapon... He eyed around before he smiled dropping down near a red, "I need your weapon."The other looked surprised eyeing around before carefully he removed his flower from around his sash handing it to Michelangelo who tied it with his crystal. He moved finding a few others, a blue and a green, before he moved back to his perch noticing that Hun and Baxter were now looking in the forest with looks of fury and arguing with each other over how to continue. They had been winning but now they would lose. The other Dusks were behind they vibrated and Michelangelo had to blink the dizzy wave as the Dusks turned into people fully clothed with a symbol in red on their chest. He frowned seeing another, darker, sharper with metal figure slightly ahead of Baxter and Hun. His body sent shivers down Michelangelo's body. He felt scared but it vanished soon after it came this vision having left him buzzed somehow. He stepped forward on the branch before he gave a deep breath his Father's words returning to him as they were one of the last he had ever heard, 'Take not for granted, my son, the light of a vision that creeps into your eyes. It means a future you shall face as a black, a future you will regret in ways.' Swaying on the trees Michelangelo let the wind swirl around him. Magic was on the air and it felt familiar and yet so distant. He opened his eyes they glowed brighter before he launched himself a word screamed from his mouth, "Hinokami: Karada no hakai!" A language he didn't know but it felt like it was from his life he knew it. He watched the air swirl before the ground below where he landed began to melt. A skin of rock, so thin, melted over his body sizzling his skin but his clothing was left untouched. He turned as it hardened and he took another stance watching Hun and Baxter stop arguing eyeing him with the first sign of unease. This to them had to be 'new'. They both shifted eyeing the flowers that glowed, shifting different forms even to the point of nearly growing into the thread around his necklace."What spell was that, little baby black Dawn?" Baxter asked frowning obviously not happy with not knowing what it was."Something I came up with." Michelangelo whispered his voice sounding raw and abused as if he had been in a desert. His eyes glowed orange before the orange began to fade into a baby sky blue clear and innocent looking where his skin looked normal and Michelangelo began walking raising his hand smiling, "My people are safe, they will not be harmed."Hun laughed stamping his foot down twice before smacking his stomach wiping his eyes and he looked at the small black turtle as if he was crazy in thinking he alone could fight off the horde of Dusks that were surrounding he forest and still save his pathetic men, "Try it.""As you wish." Michelangelo closed thinking of what the Splinter of this world taught him and he shifted bending his body until claws of rock, red, grew out of his three fingers. Michelangelo swallowed his throat feeling like it was bleeding raw as if thirsty. He felt so exhausted knowing it was from so many different points. "This is your last chance to retreat.""Never." Hun said before Baxter could say anything. Hun grinned moving forward a sword developing into his hand and Michelangelo swallowed, "Right now you are the only thing I want to kill. You're 'fun' but not that fun."Michelangelo growled stepping forward, "Meat head, I'm a lot more fun than you think, you're just not exactly 'meeting' me at a decent standard." Michelangelo felt shocked at his words but he grinned raising his claws, "Come on, lets dance. I'll show you a good time you have never seen in your life.""Really? Somehow I think you're all talk and no 'play'." Hun charged as Baxter yelled for him to stop.Michelangelo moved his body feeling light, his skin feeling tight. The rock over him felt like it wasn't his body or scales. It seemed to help with what he called from the crystal: Mikey. He dodged Hun's cuts, moving with more precision than he had ever managed without magic on himself. He felt the thrill of this as he weaved himself in a dance of some sort that was so foreign to him. He was soon moving in every few seconds slicing into Hun's body before moving away. Every time he pulled away he was dragging the giant of a Dusk away from the forest but his senses were on Baxter to make sure he didn't do anything. Every so often he would attack a regular Dusk but they were paralyzed or knocked to the ground by Hun's own clumsy attacks."HUN!" Baxter screamed as he came to look at four Dusks that Hun had taken down, "Stop! He's-." Baxter looked up as he felt a heavy weight against the back of his neck his eyes growing wide as he looked slowly behind him. He saw the forest swarmed with the Dawn's.Hun didn't have much time to react as his body was tackled nearly to the ground. His head hitting the floor of the field dirt raising in a small puff cloud before Hun's eyes blinked a few times as Michelangelo flipped off Hun's body landing a few feet to the side. Hun's eyes turned to Michelangelo's body frowning as he slowly stood up noting the slight change in stature. The more confident but less 'black' standing before him but a mere child in the act of playing. Hun's eyes roamed it for several minutes before retaking his stance his hands gripping the sword more firmly then grunted out, "Come at me, Black.""Don't need you to tell me, Hun." Michelangelo smiled softly shaking his wrist before he crouched, "I shall remove you all." He moved nearly stumbling slightly before he threw a punch at Hun hitting the sword dead on the rock cracking and Michelangelo hissed. He felt the magic the flowers had draining the longer the fight went on. They were not attuned to his power usage and this form of magic with the crystal was much stranger to him than expected. He would need to train with it again after he regrew his flower once he found the seeds on the battlefield.Those watching eyed the battle as Michelangelo seemed to be handling the battle well except those who drew power from spells could see the structure around Michelangelo's body breaking down with each hit to his body. His borrowed flowers were not holding up to the assaults that ranged from swipes of the deranged Dusk and the hectic power drain that was wearing him mentally down. They knew it would not be long before Michelangelo would fall. They turned whispering this that they had to be ready to support their leader, their fellow comrade, before the end approached.They shifted uneasily behind the reds before yelling out a few things furious when Michelangelo had been tossed. The blues, greens, and reds were shifting around the field that were spared from the Dusk that was in their captured hands. They were now taking aim killing the dusks that were weakening and having been taken to the ground by the leading Dusk that Michelangelo was fighting. They had no care since the war had stripped their humanity nearly fully away. The dusks killed them, they killed in return. It was how 'sanity' was kept. Slowly they were able to take the positions that they had been all assigned some in more advantage ones than others before Michelangelo fell again to the ground a weapon that he picked up that he was using, a Dusks, to stop the sword from cutting into his shoulder and further down into his chest cavity.It was then that a loud scream was heard causing Hun's attention to divert to look where it came from both shocked before a look of horror then fury came over it. Slowly anguish as he watched Baxter's body fall to the ground head rolling a few feet away from the body. He took in the sight before looking at the mass of Dawns gathered around him his mind so focused on Michelangelo, the one black, he failed to realize the 'army' still at the blacks command. How had they regrouped without their leader? HIs lip curled as he put more pressure on the sword, "You'll let me leave or I'll slice him from shoulder to the sweet little 'heart' he has." Hun raised a hand about to let it smash down atop the sword ready to kill and die if it meant revenge for the other of his group.Slowly a red walked forward and Hun's eyes noticed the wolf features, the way the eyes gleamed dangerously. The already taint there hidden deep down unaware but it would be pulled out one day if it was allowed. He leaned into Michelangelo who was still struggling to win."Move away from him, now!" The wolf snarled hand raised, "We have every intention of protecting our leader as he has for us! You will die if you do not stand and remove your body from atop of his own."Hun swallowed trying to make his dry throat an it less like a dessert before he slowly pulled himself up noticing how some nearly rushed forward but the wolf kept them back by a growl. Second in command? A red? Interesting with how loyal he was but he had their support did he have the blacks trust?"Hun," Michelangelo coughed, "You will... not win... against me or... my troupe..." The turtle moved slowly away before getting up, "I may not have been strong enough at this time to kill you or your 'friend' but next time I shall be."Hun's eyes twinkled before he eyed them all, "I look forward to the thought of destroying you all. My revenge will be sweeter on that day." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter Twelve Heavy was the air around the cat tail field that had laid golden in the sun on the clear day. The tails of honey dew broken scattered like dead bodies around a ten mile wide with area speckled red in some spots or blotches in thick puddles like a lake of their own shining and drying in the sun from the battle raging on around. The trees the only ring seeming to boarder them in to this meadow. The air was heavy and tangent with the copper taste of fallen blood from warriors of both side and the burning smell of corpses as they were used by the Dawns to distract Hun’s attention every so often from Michelangelo as he maneuvered his way across the blood soaked fields his feet slipping, his shirt missing, and his shell cracked from the abuse of ten tons of Dusk fists hitting into them from the brawl of flesh on flesh fighting. Animal even to those who were descendants of dogs, wolves, and bears. The fight was growing longer, the time of day shortening to night, but to them it was seeing who took the moment to kill.The dawns could tell that Michelangelo, their Black leader who they would stand by, was not going to make it no matter how much healing magic they poured into his being. His body was being ripped, his muscles being shredded, and his eyes were bleeding. They all could see this spell was taking too much out of him and they feared he would not make it when it was the time for him to ‘end’. Would the dusk win? Would the dusk kill the whole group? Would they all turn on their friends? These thoughts they knew were tainting their magic, their circles of trust so weakly forged by Michelangelo’s fighting. It was not until Michelangelo had fallen once more landing on his stomach slowly, much more than before, did they see it the waving of the magic in the air and then the shattering that pulsed in the ground hitting them all that had Hun salivating. The crystal around Michelangelo’s neck lay on the ground lace broken and burning before Michelangelo turned his head seeing a fist raised to hit his vulnerable skull.A small gasp before he closed his eyes, “It is the end, you disgusting pathetic-.” But he didn’t get far before Michelangelo’s body shivered as a loud scream came from the group with terror.The music. The music was so strong and crystal clear. It had the turtles eyes opened wide staring up into Hun’s eyes who was looking around horrified as if he too could not understand this. This music he should know by heart.Donatello appeared his scythe twirling around his arm as he watched them singing softly, “Light or Dark, dusk or dawn. Pick or choose which side to be. A choice we all must make one day.” It was followed by Raphael who moved in the dirt trailing his own weapon his body a bit more hunched but his head was high and his teeth showing that he was also salivating for a fight.“Not the faint of heart can choose, but easier when your heart stolen by the love I grant.” Raphael’s position paused a few feet as Donatello moved forward looking at them all and he gave a bow his scythe slicing into the ground and in this action he hissed the verse that made many step back.“My hand shall reach your wounded state for I love you ever more. Not I who care for either Dusk or Dawn, Light or Night my child it is you shall pick!” To again repeat to Raphael as if this was a duo concerto their voices opposite with one being lower and the other a higher pitch. One with a higher lust of insanity and one more safe and understandable. Raphaels though one clearly in this line one desiring blood then and there but held it back in Donatello’s presence and maybe Michelangelo’s.“Fight or die. Kill for me. I stand everly proud of thee. You’re near my heart if you look just right. I’m next to thee always.” It shifted from rough and violence to a almost sweet tone, loving, and very discreetly sexualized from Donatello his hand tracing up and down the shaft of his scythe and he looked at Michelangelo.Donatello moved forward but never letting go it dragged for only a short bit before stopping and he hissed, “ Love me, hate me, I shall guide you correctly. Hate me, love me. I shall kill you firstly. Know this, my sweet child I’ll say this: Thou are my perfect creation.”Followed by their eyes trailing over Raphael's body soon he and Donatello soon were standing side by side one with a look of pure malice and desire for blood and the other logical, calculated butchering murder on his facial expressions but with a sweet twist of his lips and a show of kindness to just one in his sight, “Wings of an angel. Feathers to soar in the sky.” As this was said by Raphael Donatello stated at the same time, “Wings of a devil. To plunge and stab the bird on high.”“Light for the Dusk. Night for the Dawn. I call upon you, my children.” Michelangelo whispered tears in his eyes the words of that song that stole his brothers had never left his mind once since that day he first heard it. The day his life changed for what he believed to be the worst.Hun had stepped back some more eyeing them as Donatello bowed before the whole group a small smile on his lips, “IT is a pleasure to meet you all!” He said in a rather sarcastic cheerful voice standing up leaving his scythe stuck in the earth. “To finally meet the friends of my dear youngest brother is rather making my skin crawl with excitement.” His eyes gleamed a purple three shades lighter than their darker hue as they trailed over them all, “I’ve kept my eyes on you lot, tested out your bonds, but I must state- you are all drivel when it comes to actually putting mert in sacrifice.” The words fell into a scratchy, irritated tone as he moved to stand before Hun and Michelangelo.The dawns eyes were mixed between Donatello and Raphael before the red eyed turtle spoke walking forward, “Well, they are not Dusks, that’s for sure.” He chuckled eyeing a few, “They don’t know the means of what it takes to protect and serve with people. Just yourself and their virtuous ways. They’d rather let another rot under a dusk then attempt to save them, Donatello, that is what they are taught. Why else do they hide behind Michelangelo who always does their dirty work for them? Hm??A few dawns attempted to step forward but were stopped by Charles as he eyed them, “Michelangelo come over here now.” He growled not caring of the rank difference because he could see the lost and confused look on the face of the orange eyed black reptile. He growled out orders to others who took defensive and offensive stances. Charles stepped forward then nearly next to Michelangelo, “You’re wrong.We respect Michelangelo’s choice to protect us. He stood forward and we stood back because we supported him in a way that our ability allowed us. We all are unique and standing by Michelangelo, a sympathetic and strong black, makes us know what real power is!” Charles growled slamming a fist to his chest.Donatello turned his attention to Charles his eyes critical in his study before he growled uneasily, “Are you getting in my way of attempting to be brotherly towards my dear younger brother?”Charles chuckled, “If you cared you would have stayed as a Dawn by his side.”Michelangelo’s eyes snapped to Charles shocked before Raphael’s outburst of laugh caught all their attention even Donatello’s having the second oldest turtle turn around eyeing him with a slightly surprised look. The red eyed turtle just grinned before stating, “I like him. We should keep him. He’ll be fun to play with!”Shaking his head Donatello looked at Charles before Michelangelo, “Raphie, Raphie he has no glow! We cannot just ‘take’ what isn’t fully ours yet.” He smiled before bowing, “Brother, if you will retreat with your wounds and tail between your legs we’ll gladly take our own from doing any more damage.”Charles paused before he swallowed wanting to take this order noting how Michelangelo eyed the two of them unsure, “I want assurance that we all will be alright.” Michelangelo growled grabbing onto Charles waist and then upper chest using his fur to pull himself up, “Can you... promise.... One week, brothers, one week where we will not be attacked?”Donatello eyed Hun accusatory before Michelangelo curiously his intrigue peaked before he nodded his hand twitched as a chain dragged out of the ground from his scythe into his hand his palm slitting it before holding it out, “Acceptable. Besides I would not wish you harm, Mikey, only Leo and others.” Donatello grinned seeing how Michelangelo struggled to slice his own hand upon his friends thrones from his flower and shake his hand. Turning Donatello waved his hand, “Take care of him, little wolf, until I find you are no longer fit to stand next to and support him. Until then Raphael shall keep a close eye on you lot.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The rain was in thick sheets spreading out over the field as they headed past the last remaining hills to a steep decline into a vegetation of vines and high grass. This was swollen with rain water, this valley of marsh, that the group walked through was less easier to get through to as they walked helping those who had a harder time with water on their shoulders. It was a while as they made it to a decent tree that they made camp up inside it using wood they gathered and dried with magic to make a tree fire.“Michelangelo.” A blue shivered as he spoke, “Do you think any of the others survived? The other groups ahead of us?”Michelangelo shrugged before taking a breath his voice was broken up as he thought of all the people that were ahead of them in this area or that he had ran into when they had made meetings for information exchanging. He eyed the outcropping of high trees with no leaves, dead from the fires that magic wrath and real fire caused, before he spoke in a soft voice, “All I know is I sent messengers to them all in hopes of a meeting. IF they are there we will know how many survived this damage that has taken many of our own in this group.” The blue nodded weakly before he moved dangling his feet off the branch eyes narrowed over the whole expanse of forest, “It is beautiful if not wrecked by destruction.”“Beauty is many things,” Michelangelo whispered, “but it lays in the eyes of one who sees the world as above the standard of light and the dark, the green and the ash of the destroyed world.” The turtle looked at his comrades all huddled together, “We, our family, shall stand strong. From this point on we will begin training so that no one will be the weakest member of our group. We will not allow our fears to destroy us. That song we will counter with our own.”He took a breath and stood up, “Everyone hear that!” The chorus of his comrades screaming their tears, their anger, and other emotions of ‘yes, Black-sama’ had him raise his hand a white platform building itself in the air as he stepped onto it a soft call forming in his throat as he looked up at the stars before he slowly began to dance to his fallen comrades to send them to peace and to allow those in his group time to heal as he did the complicated dance. ---Fifty men and animal humanoids had survived the battle with Hun and his men. Michelangelo couldn't stop feeling it was his fault. He let his people fall victim to a terrible death. His eyes were straight ahead but he was seeing as if in a fog. The camp was coming into view and there was fire, there were tents, and there were people coming forward from them to a rather strong, complicated magical barrier fearful of stepping out and worried about letting anyone else in. Michelangelo understood their fears but at this moment they had to get his weary few troops to a magically enlarged tent for medical treatment. HE still had a few severely wounded. Michelangelo looked down at the ground before he peeked at Charles with a small smile, “We made it.”“Almost. Still got to get inside.” Charles smiles back but he leaned down nuzzling Michelangelo’s shoulder, “Then we are safe like you and I both want.”They reached the barrier before the shield slowly dropped and many of those inside shuffled about helping the many different colors to specific tents. Michelangelo felt panic at the separation of his company but a hand came down upon his shoulder his head snapped to the side a knife in his and made of wind pressed into the person's stomach, instinct now, and he looked up, up... wow, This person is tall… into the dragon red eyes glinting gold here and there. His hand dropped, Michelangelo quickly took stalk of his disheveled attire and broken arm in a sling, before he questioned, “Are there any other blacks?”“You’re the first and only one we've seen since-.” The dragon paused obviously taking a moment to collect his emotions, “Each of our own leaders had been killed in their battles against the Dusks.” Michelangelo couldn't hide his horror at the mere thought before he stepped back, “No! That’... that is im-.” He snapped out of slightly before his brother’s face slipping forward into his mind, “My brother! Leonardo, was he in any company here?”“I do not know. Many of them have yet to show or we came across massacres during our travel of other dusk companies. Please, can we discuss this with little less public means of those around us, black?” The dragon uneasily eyed the small group looking them over uncertainly. “Oh, yes, sorry.” Michelangelo stood up moving to follow the dragon who obviously knew the camp more than him. They came to a secluded section of the camp and the dragon looked down at Michelangelo waiting for anything that the turtle might state.“I was barely put into the position of command here of this camp from the fact I was quick to take control of the situation after our commanding officers died. After we got your message, as I am now positive it was you who sent it, my company joined two others on the way here who got your message in the same way as I had.” The dragon stated upon Michelangelo’s questioning gaze as to why he came forward to talk to the black instead of anyone else.Michelangelo nodded, “Thank god they had a leader for the most part...” Michelangelo turned his head thinking on everything that had happened in this war. Amel would have come up with something, but Amel was the enemy now. He turned his head back, “Do you have anyone you trust, four people form the group you are in. Red would be the best.”“Yes...” The Dragon shifted standing taller than Michelangelo, he towered at nearly eight feet, and Michelangelo cranked his neck up further to just get a view of the Dragon’s chin, “I take it you want the position of command.”“I don’t want it, no, but I’m going to make sure we’re safe before someone challenges for it.” Michelangelo bared his teeth stating that now would not be the time to fight. The Dragon seemed to approve of this statement as he left Michelangelo who stood there finally allowing his fear rolling over his body.He could not believe that his brother was indeed dead. After all this time fighting, all this time in the war, training, his brother was the strongest of them all. Yet somewhere inside him he felt Leonardo still existing, neither evil nor good, and he felt the exhaustion slowly begin to crawl into his system. He’d have to assign someone as his second... Right now he needed to set up something that was a leading role for these men who lost so much and gained very little but doing it dead on his feet was literally impossible. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Michelangelo found himself in a room after his body wandered around the camp soon discovering one that was empty with a black mark tally on it for any of his cloth kind to be situated in. He sat down on the bed eyes roaming several other empty cots in the room and he felt tears bristling behind his eyes. How had the world come to this? How had he fought for so many months to end up in hell? How had Leonardo been killed by this ambush? It all seemed like a nightmare as he attempted to put the pieces together in his mind from the start of the adventure to the trial of being nearly raped, welcoming the sin of lust into his heart for Charles, and more so than anything fighting the strange urges to go slip to the other world and desire Leonardo’s hands over his body.His head hung in shame and tears streamed down his eyes as he plucked his flower from its perch where it regrew so many days ago to hold in his hands uttering a soft prayer for their fallen friends and his fallen brother. His heart hung heavy in the air as he curled up tossing a blanket over his shoulders before thoughts crept into his mind. Would he really be so upset like this if it had been Charles who had died instead of Leonardo? He cared for Charles, yearned so for the wolf, but he had on several occasions thought of scales, gone to the other world for a blue masked Leo to hold him, and he loved every second he had under his brothers care in his world be it abusive or not. Charles was perfect if not pushy in his affections to kiss, hold, and to on those rare out of control moments ‘make-out’ as the other world Donatello pointed out the action would be called, he did it with the whole family in the other world beyond the stone.His eyes drifted thinking upon so many things until a familiar low growling like purr came from the door and he turned to spot Charles, “What is it? Any more troops arrive?”“No, but the Dragon asked that I come to care for your wounds. He believes you should look presentable and strong in front of the people. You... you’re exhausted both in the physical realm and the realm inside your head where your emotions lay thriving upon knowledge your eyes have given, ears have provided, and your realization of loss and tormented them into even more so.” Charles moved kneeling down at the head of the bed, “Michelangelo, my love, I know this is terrible. I know everything we have gone through, you have suffered, was a price none of us wish to suffer but please take refuge that you have those outside looking for your welfare, offering to care for things they know you would put first before your own needs. They desire you to know they have the will to carry on; can you, my love, carry on for them in our greatest peril?”Wolfran eyes moved inch over slow inch over the covered body he knew well from years at the others side before he shifted touching Michelangelo’s cheek, “You look like you are at death’s gate, my dearest friend. Rest?”Michelangelo almost wanted to but a look at Charles’ face said more to Michelangelo than anything. He needed to be out there than resting, “I’m good. I rested long enough.” He whispered, “Just let me go out there and get our people safe and more organized?”Charles watched as Michelangelo struggled, swaying as he got to two feet then to keel almost completely over nearly hitting the bed if not for two strong arms around his waist, “No, I think you need to rest. Please let me handle this as your second-in-command?”Charles moved sitting on the bed pulling Michelangelo up against him, more alone than they had been in so very long, and he listened, “There is no blacks, Charles. There is no spot for rest for me. I am in need of staying with my head high, feet to the ground, and everyone knowing there is hope.”“But everyone needs to know that the person they look towards is not going to just keel over from stress of lack of proper care to themselves. You need to rest, please, for the rest of the night and then I will help you with everyone, everything, in our camp.” Charles’ words meant so much to Michelangelo and he hugged the wolfran tight to his chest crying into his fur that was exposed at his chest, Oh how happy he was to be with Charles, to feel love, to know that someone was with him through everything. He moved lifting his beak up into Charles own snout kissing the other softly before smiling shyly darting his eyes away. Oh how he would do anything to just feel wanted. He knew in his heart that Leonardo would never want him the way Charles continued to profess his love to Michelangelo. Why was he even thinking so hard on how Leonardo might be like the turtle brother from the other world? That was just a dream! This, right here, was where he should be focusing his attentions.A pawed hand lifted his chin up and Michelangelo’s eyes caught onto Charles before the emotions behind them held their gazes firm. Oh how long they wanted to be one... Michelangelo felt one hand slide under his shirt spreading it out from the wrapped position it held and he was carefully pushed to the bed. His orange eyes stayed upon the red darting between each lingering gaze, the dipping look of Charles’ sight as Michelangelo felt his shirt undone and his chest exposed. The soft, strong, but dominant grip upon his waist as the cot dipped, shifted, to accompany Charles’ weight pushing his legs wide apart but it felt so natural after so long being with the other, not sexually but just with. A soft rumbling growl left Charles’ lips before a name passed the tongue of the wolf on top of the turtle, “Michelangelo?”“Yes, Charles?” Michelangelo swallowed eyes wide, aroused and shocked by this turn of events, but he smiled because in truth he needed, wanted, this distraction from everyone outside. From the realization he lost his world, his brother, and that he too was being hunted down. He needed to feel loved, wanted, and to feel appreciated after everything this war had begun to strip him from. Michelangelo wrapped his arms around Charles’ shoulders gripping the fur his hands having tugged and pulled the fabric as much off as they could before he was soon feeling the soft strands of his... what would he officially call Charles if this went further?“I love you.” Charles whispered into Michelangelo’s ear before he slowly began to pull the pants down. Michelangelo flushed so red he knew his scale skin was changing colors. He moaned though due to the fact he loved the forcefulness of Charles, the sheer strength his friend would show when he wanted something. Wanted to kiss, bite, suck, or... Michelangelo blushed as his legs were lifted up and his pants, shin guards, and shoes were taken off. His orange eyes wavered with lust as he stared up at the half naked toned fur body. Even without being a Wolf he could see the desire rolling down Charles’ skin standing the fur high on end. “Michelangelo...” the tone... low... no... Lower than anything Michelangelo had heard before when they would cuddle, kiss, or touch each other to make the sensations higher. This was new. Michelangelo closed his eyes as, again, his name was said sending the vibration through his body. “Michelangelo, my love.” “God just start!” The black panted as his body was pinned by the muscle that lined the lean body of the wolf man. He moved up as his hands gripped the fur while Charles kissed him deeply, the wolf tongue roaming inside the turtle’s mouth taking his tongue into a fierce battle.It lasted for a few seconds before they pulled apart, the pressure becoming unbearable. Michelangelo looked up into Charles face and saw he too was suffering this lust. The look, small to the point of fleeting, crossed the bright red orbs and Mikey felt a sudden completion: This was undying love. Thus he began lifted his hips grinding softly into the hardening cock of Charles and the moan... the lowering of the body the wolf had, and the sudden flush to Michelangelo’s face.“Charles?” he stopped the action but the face turned, the mouth husky, as he growled that Michelangelo couldn’t stop. Mikey grinned as he continued with his friend starting to do the same.“Drop down, Mike.” the commanding voice had always sent Michelangelo over the edge, he thought maybe it was because he was always the one being commanded and never the commanded.The feet of the rough pads of Charles’ fingers and palm caused pleasure to course through the turtle’s body as he bucked and twisted under the Wolf. He wanted more, he suddenly realized with deep shame, and he wanted Charles. He knew this was a sin but he didn’t care...“Charles~” he gasped out as his friend pulled away. “Please...” the word was so small, so forceful, that Charles seemed almost taken back. He pulled away, his eyes narrowed, before his head shook.“That’s a sin, not without... the Elders permission. I don’t want to lose you to that path, my love.” Charles leaned over pulling Michelangelo into his arms, “I won’t...”“I’m... stronger than that. I won’t leave you, I promise.” He used the same words Charles had when Michelangelo had felt all alone. Charles never left him when Michelangelo tossed him to the curb. He wanted his first taken by someone who he loved and not a Dusk, not Raphael nor Donatello.“Michelangelo,” it was that question again, the one of ‘are you sure’, “My love?” but it was urgent and barely contained beneath the skin.“Yes.” It was all that had to be said as Michelangelo’s legs were lifted up to wrapped around loosely against Charles hips as the wolf started to push a single finger into the puckered hole. The moan, clenching of sheets, and the fire blazing in Michelangelo's eyes was tipping the control Charles was not use to losing.“You... don’t have... to be gentle... and prep...” Mikey panted through the pleasure.“I could hurt you.”“And you won't, I know you won’t.” The soft knowing look of trust was in Michelangelo’s eyes as he said this to his lover. Charles nodded smiling as he pulled his finger out and he began adjusting himself to push in. He just watched his lover’s face as the hands drew up clenching into the fur on the Wolf’s chest.Charles continued to look at Michelangelo but as he nearly started to push in he gave a deep startled inhale at the stabbing feeling of metal puncturing his back between his shoulder blades. He widened his eyes looking carefully around though his sense of smell told him more than he needed to know about who was behind him.“And what do you think you're doing to him?” it was the rolling anger from each carefully punctuated word that made Charles feel that he had just lost the only chance to ever be with Michelangelo. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 15Charles moved to the corner of the tent grabbing whatever clothing he could before actually reaching it that were his eyes watching the sword and Michelangelo’s older brother both in concern and fear for what was about to happen in the next few minutes or more so over a longer gap in time for their lives. Charles watched as Leonardo’s eyes moved from the wolf’s face, pure disgust rolling threw the twitches in his snarl, to his brother who was ripping off a blanket pulling it over himself as if a female shame in every fiber of the move eyes low to the ground tears in his eyes that occasionally slipped down. Disappointment for allowing this to go so far that now his brother knew about and fear that the one person who ever showed him such love, loyalty, and kindness might be punished for something they both wanted. Michelangelo’s eyes looked at Leonardo’s questioning ones before he turned his head sharply tensing up ready for any sudden lashing, any verbal abuse, anything his brother usually gave him when he failed. Oh how he wanted to prove he was still the good little brother turtle who followed rules, who did what had to be done, who was not a failure in the eyes of someone a young blue eyed turtle most looked up to in his entire life.“Look at me.” Leonardo’s voice was cold as he spoke to Michelangelo eyes narrowed as they peered over the best they could the covered body shivering with fear and sobbing tears, “I said, ‘Look at me’!” He snapped louder than his prior demand making Michelangelo jump dropping the sheet to his waist as he sat ramrod straight eyes wide tears now trailing down his face as he gazed up almost in a haze, prior memories of an angry elder brother surfacing, and he nodded showing he was at attention. His arms clenching the dirt though he desperately wanted to pull the blanket back over him, cover him up from his brother’s peering gaze, and he looked at Charles briefly before his brother. HE could see the fury there over his face, the worry under it in his eyes as they looked over his skin exposed, and a shudder went through Michelangelo’s body at the slight hurt look that Michelangelo could not define in his number of understood face signs his brother gave. Hurt for what? That he was about to sin? Hurt that he was about to be with the one he loved? HURT because he was half bare to his elder brother and lover, who he both cared for n a way a heart should not?, and it caused him to look down baring his shoulders and neck to Leonardo.“Tell me what is going on, brother.” Leonardo’s voice was calm, a force calm to control his rage that at any moment would split through and slice anything up he felt was against the Dawn’s rules.The younger black opened his mouth attempting to force the words that were needed out but he almost cried instead a deep shake plowing through his body as he curled tight into a ball mouthing out words again.“Do not make me repeat my question or he shall suffer, brother.” Leonardo threatened with a tone that had Michelangelo’s head sling upwards eyes on his brother. There was so much love in that tone, so much confusion, so much disgust, fury, hurt.... Vulnerability.Was his brother attempting to understand why he was allowing this with Charles? A Dawn black leader attempting to understand sin of the heart for love where he felt so alone without love from the one he had lived under his whole life? A brother who was so overprotective to...“Do-...” Michelangelo began swallowing to get moisture in his throat, “Do you hate me for what I was about to do?”Leonardo actually flinched stepping back torn by the words, by his sword at Charles throat, by his dagger of his eyesight pinned upon Michelangelo before he looked to the ground a nervous habit of his surfacing as he bit his lip until it actually began bleeding then he eyed them both more somber as he spoke, “I revoke my permission for you two to mate or be intimate together in a way that leads to any sin.” The calm was unlike anything Michelangelo ever heard in Leonardo's voice, almost relief, as he eyed Michelangelo, “You two will not in any way be together so that a Dusk may ‘take’ this sin you two have began and twist it even more demented than a mating should be. If you both make it... maybe the elders will allow it but it all depends on how they ‘feel’ about what you have done here, today, out here on the battlefield.” He turned to Charles eyes turning cold, “Get up, get dressed, and get out. You are never to see or speak to my brother unless I or another are within earshot or sight. I expect you to be ready for your new ‘reassigned’ division, Charles, you lack loyalty my brother needs in a fighter.”Charles held his head down as he stumbled forward gathering his remaining clothing only to flinched as he clearly heard ‘stay away from him’ from a deep growl in Leonardo’s throat. Charles was horrified to be caught doing something like this to the one he loved by the others brother since he, like Michelangelo, had also assumed Leonardo was dead after returning here to find no surviving blacks.A few minutes was all it took for the wolfran to be fully dressed where after a second of double checking Charles gave one last look to see if Michelangelo would be okay with a brother in such a state could see the small smile that was only meant to give the wolfran courage that things would be fine before Charles left the tent. To everyone who knew the two turtles relationship they knew like he how abused Michelangelo was to the older turtle who was Michelangelo’s legal guardian. Knew the measures that went behind closed doors and he felt his chest tighten knowing he couldn’t protect the small turtle like he had sworn the day he knew his love for the reptilian was actually love on a sexual forever level.This was all his fault and he feared for whatever state Michelangelo would be in the next he saw him.Michelangelo watched as Charles left the room his eyes soon hanging low as he looked away attempting to look anywhere that was not his brother’s body or face. He did not want to know what his punishment would be for this crime he about committed. It took him several seconds to realize that Leonardo was in front of him and his eyes moved up to his face to the smile, so familiar as a child that made his body ache with the pain it always brought, that his stomach dropped. He watched Leonardo drop down to the floor in front of him moving to grip his arms to pin them at Michelangelo’s own side and said turtles stomach twisted with distress making him nearly nauseous.“How long have you had these thoughts, brother?” Leonardo whispered leaning in closer to Michelangelo the words trailing off into a hiss as the strength turned bruising, suffocating, from Leonardo’s grasp. Michelangelo’s eyes looked at his brothers before struggling weakly before Leonardo began again his face inches from Michelangelo’s sending shivers down the younger turtles body of fear yet the same of pleasure knowing his brother was so close... so much closer than he ever had been before. “Is it from what Amel did to you before?” Leonardo's eyes, Michelangelo felt, were piercing into his skin seeing all the flaws that lay inside him before against the slit of his ear the leader of the blacks whispered, “Or is it your brothers who plant such thoughts?”This caused Michelangelo’s eyes to snap open his gaze focused on Leonardo confusion before fear. No, his brother couldn't... no..., “Our worlds... or that worlds that tempt you so, my dear sweet brother.”“Neither!” Panic spread through Michelangelo’s body as he struggled with renewed passion to throw his brother off but he failed to see how close Leonardo had gotten both Michelangelo’s legs spread wide with Leonardo pushed between them the clothed body of Leonardo’s pressed firmly into Michelangelo’s who gasped a full body shiver pulling a moan out of him as the struggling caused him to push his erection that had dimmed slightly but flared a few times back into life his body suddenly fully sensitive, needy, and he felt power he had before accumulated drain from his very limbs. His hips seemed to gather all that strength that his other body lost moving to push up against Leonardo.Leonardo’s eyes were wide as the crystal around Michelangelo’s neck his gaze hazed by the deep panting moans but to his not so surprise Leonardo felt his body respond to his younger actions. He tightened his grip trying to pull Michelangelo out of this but in the back of his head goading his brother on for more. He glared but Michelangelo’s eyes were lost in the lust, the sin, and Leonardo felt soon he too would fall close behind his brother. He-... He felt the lust grow in his chest and loins. The love, desire, need he always forced away that lead him to Michelangelo. In his own need for years created, his own demented desires, he moved pinning Michelangelo more so that their palstrons were tight together except for the clothing.With the sin beginning Leonardo closed his eyes figuring he had no other way but forward from here. He moved lifting Michelangelo’s arms up to the bed pushing them hard down in a command to stay there before he breathed over Michelangelo’s lips, neck, and he could see the confusion over Michelangelo’s eyes. Leonardo watched as Michelangelo bared his neck after tilting his head back and he felt such pride that it was now for him while not realizing Michelangelo’s slight fear that he would be harmed.“Mikey.” Leonardo churred feeling the body freeze beneath him as he kissed then licked up to a pulsating vein in his brother’s neck, “You’re just like Donatello and Raphael, you know that, they were curious also about the sins.” The tongue and its owner moved back before standing uneasily as Leonardo fought his body, his need to be near Michelangelo, his eyes looking down upon the open body beneath him and he yearned for more than what he had just dipped in and tasted, “Get dressed and go to the lake nearby. I expect you to take a long bath to cleanse your body of your sinful lusting.”When Michelangelo looked up to his brother confusion on his face minored by the sins he held he watched the look of defeat as if a battle raged wound had coursed its scar across Leonardo’s face showing a splatter of defeat like blood. The way his body was tense, shivering, and curled with one arm around Leonardo’s waist holding back as if injured was a look of confinement to suffering that Michelangelo felt under his robes blood coursed down his body like rivets searing his flesh. This weakness, this lusting, this-... whatever had just happened had injured his prideful brother to now being ashamed struggling with things inside his well organized head and whatever it was Michelangelo fully didn’t know was winning it would seem slowly but surely.----The water for bathing was outside the protective barrier. Michelangelo felt saddened that he had to cleanse himself of something he felt was great but he knew it would lead to tragedy later on for his people he would lead. Thus being caught in the tide of emotional distress and the slow growing fear of knowing that the one you had yearned for knew of your sexual desire was something that sunk like a rock in the young turtles chest. Michelangelo was not known for handling his problems like others. He let it grow it like a plant in his chest letting it ripe before it demanded all his attention before he broke down. This plant had years to finally grow its fruit and only three hours earlier he had taken a bite of the delicious thing: His romantic love for Leonardo, his brother.If Michelangelo could have taken it back, could have changed his reactions and not have grown so aroused … Michelangelo dropped his body again into the water, halfway out into the lake, and he mumbled at the feeling still building behind his plastron. He wanted his brother in such a way... he wanted to be ravished, to feel that tongue again, feel the tightened grips...A moan left his throat as he began to knead the feeling loving how it made his skin extremely sensitive. A touch of the water was like hundred pieces of cloth rolling over him. Michelangelo let out a small gasp as he dropped into his hand. He knew what he was doing was sinful. ‘Masturbating’ was a crime as it meant you used another person selfishly in your mind. Abused them... misused them... wanted them without their permission.And how he wanted Leonardo in a way he had for a while wanted Charles.Another moan left him as he began pumping himself loving the feel of the water as a lubricant. Enjoying the vibrations of the pressure in the water as it moved with his body. Michelangelo felt closer to a climax but it didn’t come just like usual though his frustrations turned to horror as small snickering could be heard behind a rock. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 16 The water didn’t care that it was blue, that it was crystal clear, or that behind a rock would be a painful sight, horrifying one indeed, for a young orange eyed turtle who gave a deep gasp before turning doe eyed as he gave a swallow attempting to covered himself up when he turned the corner to gaze behind the rock. To Michelangelo’s shock stood his brothers bare of clothing and eyes sluttily moving over each other in a way their younger brother would rather wash from his mind but.. the two elder Dusk brother’s were not that different from the other worlds Donatello and Raphaels’ goo-goo eyes with added lovemaking that his alternate self would sit in on with his ‘popped corned’ all the while make slight suggestive filthy comments over their affectionate attention. Oh to know it was true in his own world made Michelangelo re-evaluate how one world he could handle but another, his own, was making his jaw unhinge. So as Michelangelo watched both terrified and confused he witnessed Donatello squeezing tightly to Raphael’s throat making the crimson eyed turtle sputter, gasp, and moan his darker green legs spreading all the while his arms attempting to find perch on the near smooth rock surface he was pinned to. The deep black, near purple, eyes turned to the Dawn magic weaver only to nod with a crooked smile. The kiss Donatello gave to Raphael was violent to the point of pulling out breath leaving one Raphael wheezing a sound of untold pleasurable asphyxiation just until there was tensing in his eyes that flying open unfocused to hazy landing upon Michelangelo’s face. The sight made ice bloom in Michelangelo’s stomach as knew Raphael was suffocating under Donatello’s cruel, it seemed to their baby brother, touches. “My dear, sweet brother.” Donatello whispered pulling back curling his fingers around Raphael’s quickly bruising neck, “Turn your head for me, let me taste you for a moment as you greet our lost little brother, Mikey, to see.” Raphael was putty in Donatello’s hands moving to eye, so hazily it made the younger question if he was even in his head at this time, Michelangelo but nodded with a sadistic grin, “Mikey... Why didn’t you make a sound... or you can come closer? It’s always more fun when there are more people involved.” He licked his lips eyeing Donatello, “And I sure wouldn’t mind you participating, Michelangelo, in snuggling our bodies.” Michelangelo’s first thought was of his childhood where Raphael and he laid on the couch under a single blanket curled tightly together and nuzzling each other’s chests keeping warm in the cold winter months when Leonardo was first shipped around and their home moved from the Warm summer lands of their school year then to the lack of school to the Winter lands during such , almost, enjoyable breaks. He flushed never before thinking those times were any which way perverted or insincere to where Michelangelo now wanted to cry. A part of his brother he loved was now being tarnished. With a deep steadying breath Michelangelo shifted to turn away, “You’re not suppose to be here! Nor am I suppose to interact with you, Dusks.” Michelangelo stated somewhat firmly, or so as he hoped, sloshing his way to the deeper part of the water to swim away back to the shore and to his clothing. “Oh do not be like that Mikey.” Donatello purred like silk his hand touching the small shimmering metal with the Dusk stone imbedded into it where it lay upon the rock the two lovers were against. Without realizing it a heavy weight slivered over Michelangelo’s body eyes eerily wide with small, still firing, rationalizing parts of his brain had him know he was captured by his enemy, his sadistic brothers. Eyes turning slowly, disbelievingly down, to the chains slithering around Michelangelo’s waist pulling him into the rocks smooth surface turning his head to eye the sight of the Dusks’, “We’re here to see you, silly little child.” Donatello licked his lips softly before he leaned down when Michelangelo felt his body chained to the wall unable to the move for his desired freedom. “You’re such an important little thing to me. To us, Mikey. The dawns have no idea how important you are to to everything in your two siblings hearts laying inches from you.” Donatello eyed Raphael who looked torn between pleasure from his elder brother and wanting to be near his younger, long ago lost, sibling. Donatello found it hilarious before he whispered into the middle where they both were trapped, one by chains other by a hand to the throat of their dearest sexual partner, “Who would like to ‘feel’ and who would like to be the one enjoying the touches through sight?” Raphael groaned but his eyes turned to Michelangelo unsure, “Mikey... let’s ... Mike..” He was barely able to get the words out before going nearly limp from the lack of oxygen in his body. ------ As time had passed normally for everyone else inside the dome or on watch it was then as the young green turtle began to realize small things, sorrowful things, about himself. So thus as Michelangelo was shaking when he got out of the water to the moment his body was dry enough to dress his mind was nearly too far scatter bound with what had just happened to him behind that rock in the lake. He knew the bruises from the chains were around his limbs still blooming so he’d have to be careful about not letting anyone see it for fear they’d realize what they were and who they were from. No one in camp seemed to have chain flower weapons, as far as he had witnessed so far, and they all knew his brother, Donatello, had the Scythe with the chains that was powerful enough to massacre an entire battalion if he so desired that ‘ bombardment of fun’. The clothing, haphazardly strewn on him in his reckless thoughts, was almost looking as if he was pinned and demoralized in a sinful, inappropriate, Dusk like manner as he took a look at himself from the waters unmoving, mirror like reflection before laughing at how he had failed to button it up right or do the simple thing as put his guards on his arms or legs in their right spot (left leg to left leg right leg to right left) before he sat down fixing these small issues. Why had this happened? It wasn’t like his brothers, his Dusk brothers, had violated him. No they teased him, kissed his cheek, neck, and-. Michelangelo’s face was a burst of shades of green and red that he sat looking eyes out towards the water. He remembered how things had switched from him to Raphael. IT was... erotic and so much the other world that it was hard to tell if it was his or the crystals gift. Raphael whispered softly from the now severe pressure on his vocal cords, “Screw me now, Donnie, please...” Raphael couldn’t wait much longer to feel something in him and to feel the pressure from the deep pounding he knew his older brother would give him like he usually did at times back at their own palace. “Now you can just wait, Raphie.” Donatello sharply gave words allowing his sharp fangs to show slightly at the red turtle even as he leaned in taking a kiss. Raphael seemed to have appreciated it as he pulled Donatello into his body grinding against him extreme need. The snicker that left Don’s mouth and the eyeroll of the purple turtle made Michelangelo think more of the foreplay he had seen in the other world. “Stop...” Michelangelo felt his voice return. “I... let me go, Donnie, please!” the urgency was there and clear but the look of calculation on Donatello’s face as he stopped paying attention to Raphael even as he showed his now re-found annoyance. “I come all the way here to help seduce you, Mikey, why ‘would’ I let go?” Donatello slowly lowered Raphael down making the turtle sputter and gasp, the grip on the edge of the wall tightening, and Michelangelo turned his head not wanting to see this. Not wanting to learn that Raphael was very vocal about how he loved the feeling of being smashed against the rock. How his beloved soothing Donnie pushed against the most pleasurable spot in his body. It was for Michelangelo to know how good it was. Tears fell down Michelangelo ’s body before the chains slackened when Raphael grew louder. Donatello wasn’t focusing on him anymore he was trying to make Raphael pant, make the red turtle yell out his name, and Michelangelo gave one last look at his two brothers and the feelings he didn't’ understand rushed to the surface as he swam to the shore where his clothing was. He had not realized he had been on the other side of the lake until that moment... The thoughts subsided of the last, who knows the minutes, passed his mental memory filter that was broken to give him a sort of acceptance. So with as many calming breaths as it could he create Michelangelo stood pushing everything to the corner of his mind caging it up with as much willpower as it took magic then off he went dressed to his camp figuring he would need to rotate the guards since his brothers found them too easily for his renewed liking. Oh how he was growing use every second on the battlefield to atrocious sins his Dawn life never accepted. Sins he found were not as damaging to him as he once prior thought would shatter his very soul. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 17 The time between the trip to the bathing incident to the three weeks gathering information and sending out scouts had taken up so much time of Michelangelo's schedule that his thoughts did not drift so easily to the incident that the Dusk’s had created but more to the fact that he had noticed a change in his men from their realization of the fallout between Charles and himself. He was surprised it spread this far before it came to the point even Leonardo felt it hovering over him with much regret and anger. It bothered Michelangelo to see his brother so tense over the words spoken behind their back that Michelangelo was forced not to be with Charles over his brother’s insecurities and cruel Dawn ‘treatments’. Though there was no one to actually stand up and tell it to Leonardo’s face with the fear of heading out of the enchanted cage around them that so far proved to be their only protection from the beasts lying in way outside. It was because of this why on the third week the scouts that were sent out along with the young orange eyed turtle finally found truth that there was no ambush to come in the near future but it had helped with finding food that would be able to be of use soon in the near future. With this realization Michelangelo felt some form of freedom from the pain in his shell that hunching brought from the long hours working to the headache bursting behind his eyes from the paper pushing Leonardo and there's thrust upon him up to the worst in his mind being his throat so dry from talking to his brother over information that they briefly, secretively, discussed over scrying crystal in a morse code that Charles helped the whites who returned home to set up for the main city to hear of their major suffering. It was difficult to see him return home for a short time before returning with a silent relieved sigh from Michelangelo in the shadows. Of course this small terse in freedom was by one of the worst incidents that Leonardo had to take care of because it impacted them all in this desperate hour: Food. It was to happen eventually when their sources of food from hunting, where they had not done so as they just barely scouted around their dome more, left the vulnerable to hunger until such things as leaving camp for a period of time came into a bigger role. Michelangelo had been again put in charge for the next few hours while a hunting party was put into place by those with the skills and the few red leaders deemed above Leonardo’s understanding was now a must. Michelangelo understood why, unlike his brother he felt, that those tense and desperate rushed around for gear, location ideas, and the need for food rip in their eyes. There were species amongst his men that instincts would overrule the higher brain and it would be a massacre inside their sanctuary. The ticking clock counting down the party’s leaving, an unruly black turtle with blue eyes, left the youngest turtle with a feeling that Charles would be sent outside to hunt being a wolfran because of the pack mentality and acued hunting instincts along with his brethren. They were skilled hunters as were the few diagoon’s that were in the dome. It was this thought that as everyone saw the dimming light felt slee was more important to be early than erratic like usual, but to Michelangelo it would mean that sleep would indeed involve the world beyond that his crystal showed him. His resistance to it the last few weeks had been strong but his craving to be in the company of his brother’s, those who loved him, was so powerful in these last few days with Leonardo’s unpredictable needs and irrational emotions it had him almost in tears to acknowledge he needed his safety net for his own sanity. ----“Black?” The dubbing name for his color had him in seconds turning his head before raising a brow slowly giving out a gasp in shock as he noticed the color the person was wearing, white, one that was not allowed upon the battlefield because of the female factor that this class was . “Yes?” Michelangelo was taking deep breaths to try and calm his mind down. Out of all the colors white were never tainted and thus the female resounding fact was probably why they, the Dawns, still existed. Michelangelo remembered his tenth birthday, the naming day that honored the birth name he had been given, and he remembered the whites ... designated whites for his age faction... being aligned next to others. He had always felt weird being the one left out but it was given. He didn’t learn until later from Leonardo that they were assigning the marriages if one did not happen before a certain age to procure a good breed for the next generation in those who at such a young age showed sign of potential of greatness. He remembered ‘why’ he didn’t have one. He was viewed as a traitor. A ‘Dusk’ in the making because even Leonardo, Donnie, and Raphael had their ‘mates’. He stood alone along the like getting blessed. He never felt so alone before until reaching the top. A sin was to judge and cast blame or disgust upon another Dawn who was innocent. As he was always seen or judged guilty of a sin by many with their scornful look and near dismissal, to be outside of an affiliation with others was also a sin of isolation, had placed Michelangelo through his life with a inadequate need to appease people and hide everything, such as the dreams of the other world and the need to feel loved even if by his only brother who remained by his side.“If you do not mind could you direct me to where the injured are? We opened up a temporary portal to send in your reinforcements and medical supplies.” She was almost in a stuttering phase looking everywhere but at him. Weird but he wasn’t going to snap at her for it. “Ah, well-.” Michelangelo flushed then motioned to several tents, “We’ll either need to gather them up or-.” “NO! It’s fine! We can deal with the walking.” The white jumped eyeing him. “um, do you mind if I ask what’s wrong?” The young turtle shifted uneasily noticing the darting glances. “Sorry... you’re just not....” she flushed looking down at the ground. “Not what you were expecting in a black.” Michelangelo finished once realizing what she had actually felt towards him. Insecurity for her belief of what someone should and probably normally looked like, “Yeah I’m not the typical black build or-... everything.” With a small laugh, one full of self hate and other emotions, he gave her a small carefully laced kind smile, “Come I’ll show you the second-in-command. I’m rather tired from my long haul the last three weeks thus I’m not able to actually help you right at this moment.” stating as so the orange hue to his eyes drifted into a darker, exhausted, color that made the White dressed female blinked, “So... this way to the tent. He’s in here helping, or should be...” ---Charles frowned when Michelangelo had returned with a white to the tent most of the wounded were in for easy access. He had been bothered by things of late, so many that it was far too much for him to think of all at once, and his need to understand was driving him into a frenzy of bloodlust and small disobedience. He caught how Michelangelo looked, exhausted and so worn down, that as he had someone help the white he rushed out to grab the others shoulder only in a troubled minded state noticing Michelangelo walking outside the barrier towards the water's edge by the lake. How, he wondered, could Michelangelo think of swimming when he looked like he could fall over any second from his need to sleep? Tossing the idea of just walking away he moved out of the dome heading to the waters front watching his love... no Michelangelo couldn’t be called that without permission again, without-... something to understand what happened in that tent. He paused a few feet from Michelangelo taking in a lung full of air before speaking catching the other off guard, “Michelangelo, we need to talk.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter eighteen Michelangelo looked up at Charles his eyes wide slightly but he smiled before turning to fully face him, "Sure, what is it you want to talk about? Though if it just works... I think I'll be a bit depressed about it." He caught the slight smile Charles gave him before he moved closer eyes looking straight down a Michelangelo's face their differences in height being so plain in sight this way. "Tell me, what is your relationship with your brother?" Charles' voice was tense when he looked the other over the conflicting emotions, thoughts, plainly thrown out in how his gaze lingered over Michelangelo's body and face. "My brother? Normal... I suppose..." Michelangelo flushed because he really had no clue. He did lust for Leonardo, he did yearn to be taken, touched, and a lot of other things but at the same time he felt maybe that was because of the other world and its influence on him here on his own. "I'm not exactly sure what are ‘relationship' is some days. He... doesn't like being near me so maybe not very ‘family' orientated." With this stated, he looked down at Charles' chest taking a few deep breaths. Charles though eyed Michelangelo before growling leaning over the other wrapping his arms around Michelangelo's shoulders pulling him tight against his front, "Mikey... Please then, please tell me if he's done anything to you that you never wanted to be done. Touched you, kissed, things brothers should never take from each other." At this Michelangelo's head shot up his eyes wide and frightened remembering after Charles had left the tent what his brother had done and he paled. Did he want those things to have happened? Did they feel like he had been violated by his brother who was suppose to be the clan's leader for him and the older turtle? Did he feel as if it was unwanted? Michelangelo didn't know because while it felt rather strange for his brother, not the other worlds brother to have touched him it wasn't unwelcomed just rather frustrating since the way Leonardo seemed to do it was very arousing and very focused as if at any second things would pop between them and the most delicious, cruel, and pleasurable things would happen that Michelangelo felt he wouldn't regret but Leonardo might. Did he hated that he felt want for his own brother or, perhaps, did he hate that he shouldn't? Michelangelo looked down anywhere but at Charles if he could help it before whispering that he just didn't know anymore. His words weren't taken well as Charles tightened his grip on Michelangelo's shoulder all the while growling out more in his throat in question, in a need that lay hidden in the rumbling growl from Charles' chest, "Did you love your brother while we were together, Mikey?" It was the question that ripped Michelangelo apart because he weakly nodded and looked up sadly at Charles' face saying in a very audible tone and a whisper of a ‘Yes'. He could feel the tears falling down his cheeks as he looked at Charles sharp muzzle, his bared fangs, and the slightly wild look in Charles wolfish eyes. Michelangelo watched as the look grew darker with every passing second until Charles dropped his arms and stepped back the look of feral horror leaving to be replaced by a feral disgust and anger. Charles snapped his jaws as his hands clenched at his side before snarling in an almost unnatural way, "You used me! You used me as his replacement!" "No!" Michelangelo's eyes widened in surprise hands waving in front of his body and face trying to show he had not meant for that to happen but he couldn't deny it. A lot of the time while he had been with Charles he had thought of Leonardo both versions and his chest sank with his heart. "Yes...." He submitted the tears increasing as they fell down his face, "But I do love you, I do care for you! You meant everything to me while we have been together. I just, I'm just... a disgusting turtle like everyone says. I-." "Then why!" Charles howled in anguish the sound carrying Michelangelo was certain back to the bubble with everyone in letting them all hear the tortured sound and know it was their disgusting black ‘orange' user. "WHY did you do it! Why would you be with me, call me your lover, hold me, all of it! WHY if you wanted him! Why did you let him touch you in that tent!" "Because I couldn't have you!" They both stared at each other in shock before Michelangelo flushed the skin turning a different green and Michelangelo again said, "I couldn't have you and I wanted you, I wanted you as my mate, not Leonardo while we were together. I still do. I love you, Charles, and I don't know why I love my brother at the same time. I'm... I'm a mess! I don't know if it's my bloodline or the dreams or if it's whatever the Elders say is in me but I -... I do want everything we've done, wanted to do, but I just... We were so close, Charles." Michelangelo collapsed onto his knees weeping in a longer effect causing his tone to change towards a higher one his eyes a bit puffy as he kept speaking his emotions and the actions around them, "Then it was over because of him and.. And he was there, on top of me! I was so aroused and I wanted a release. I wanted to mate, to be loved, held! Everything-.." Charles turned around slamming his fist into the rock nearest him snarling out unaware of Michelangelo's labored and troubled breathing, "Then you should have stopped him!" Charles didn't see the panic striking over Michelangelo's face as the thought of doing that would have caused a severe issue. Charles Didn't see the blood draining Michelangelo's face or his whispered words laced with the fear of death by the hands of one so dear. "He would... have tried to beat me to death if I stopped him." The words almost didn't reach Charles drawn back ears if not for the fact he was turning around at the lack of sobbing to see the terror in Michelangelo's wide glazed over eyes at the mere thought that came with memories of denying Leonardo something or fighting back. Charles took a step forward until a sword met with his own weapon sending him flying into the rock he earlier punched. The sound of skin being hit met both Charles and Michelangelo's ears before both realized that Leonardo had used the back of the sword to hit Michelangelo's own neck near the back of his shell sending him falling to his side. Both turtle and world stared at the blue eyes raising up from eyeing Michelangelo to stare into Charles' face with an uneasily placed emotion. "I see you've disregarded my warnings, Charles, and above that turned my brother, a black and your leader, into a sobbing mess unfit for fighting." Leonardo raised his sword his top lids on his eyes dropping down to turn Leonardo's gaze into one of a furious monster, "I, the leader of the units, who bore witness to your crimes state now on the record in front of another black that you, Charles Astrand, have begun and already fallen past the first reversible steps in becoming a Dusk. The punishment is," the words didn't come out of Leonardo's lips fast enough as Michelangelo watched Leonardo move his sword slicing through Charles own weapon with ease the crafted flower gift scattering into petals before Charles blinked falling to his knees coughing up blood, "Death." Leonardo looked down at the slash wound on Charles' chest before reversing his blade behind Charles' back stabbing it through Charles' chest and running it up through the wolves shoulders slicing free from muscles, bones, and ligaments in a shower of blood. Michelangelo stared in shock watching Charles blink in surprise the glow to Charles gaze slowing vanishing until he fell slumped forward onto his stomach head in the dirt. Charles, the wolf who captured Michelangelo's heart, had been killed, murdered?, by Michelangelo's own brother. For what reason Michelangelo couldn't see other than talking to each other as lovers tended to do in a small spat of fighting that happened once in awhile. Something normal, something Michelangelo felt was natural, but... was death because it because of the Dusks ability to infect lovers? Was this a sanctioned kill? Did... Did Charles' heart turn for real? If so didn't that mean Michelangelo's had also? The sound and feeling of moving clothing and his head being lifted Michelangelo felt his eyes pulled away from the dead wolf of his best-beloved friend and lover up into the eyes of Leonardo who smiled in a loving needing way that demanded all attention to be on him, "That's it. You're alright, Mikey.... I'll always keep you my pure little brother, safe, and mine." The look turned from loving to lustful the smile of kindness to one of vindictive nature to hurt. It twisted Leonardo's face to the point Michelangelo didn't think he was looking up at his brother. Michelangelo's gaze stayed fixed upon Leonardo's face just as the crystal glowed around Michelangelo's neck sensing the need to pull it's master away. Sensing that right now there was no reason to keep its master in a situation where the other would suffer in agony if it could help. Leonardo held Michelangelo but saw the glow and couldn't stop it nor could his shouts which drew attention from those in the bubble now no longer blocked from his power hearing the repeated calls of ‘Mikey' as Leonardo shook Michelangelo's shoulders and body, begged his younger brother to stay with him before Michelangelo's eyes went black in a death like measure. No emotion, no movement, no living essence remained as many of the fighting forces came rushing to see the seen. May already forming that Leonardo came to his brother's rescue and that Michelangelo's trusted friend, his lover, fell into the darkness all Dusks' at one point in their beginning formation gathered. They blamed Charles for whatever ailment Michelangelo currently suffered as Leonardo cried continuously fighting off the blues who attempted to check up on Michelangelo's body and his mental condition. None aware that Michelangelo sat in limbo fighting his own growing and new demons.

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