#He just needs someone there to smooth everything over until the Day of Unity

[unfried-mouth-wheat]

What if Cain is the one who betrays Belos and Hunter remains loyal?

Belos would have never accounted for this. But he's quick, and can twist near any situation to his benefit. Deprive Cain of his means to control his curse then lock him up. Bring Hunter to the cell, show him what happens when you give into wild magic. See how your brother cries, Hunter? See how his own body has turned against him? His curse is eating him from the inside out. This, this is what wild magic does. You're all I have left, Hunter. My only family. Help me. Stay with me, and help me find a cure for your brother.

Let me save him.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Someone, Broom in Hand

Kaz died before he turned sixteen. That’s the story. When he reappears, it’s at the side of the Dark General, wearing the thin fluttering robes of the Sun Summoner. Jesper travels to the Little Palace to punch his fucking teeth out.

Kaz[/&]Jesper | 7.5k | content note: nonlinear narrative, past and offscreen abuse

The purple kefta is too big for Kaz. Jesper doesn’t want to think about why he dumped his coat over Kaz’ head, except that Kaz looks weird and cold in his ugly fancy yellow paper taffeta shirt, his one layer that he’s wearing apart from the underpants that leave his knees bare.

That he looks uncomfortable at all should be nothing but a trick of the violent light: there are two separate lit fireplaces in the bedroom, so awkwardly placed that they were probably retrofitted by a Fabrikator. It might have been David, though then Jesper would surely have heard a treatise on the stones used to erect the Little Palace, or Gaz, or Lizaveta or any of the other Materialki Jesper’s been bunking with but—but anyway, if Kaz felt like wearing more, he could order an attendant to fetch another shirt or two. Unless there’s nothing he owns that isn’t thin and revealing and fucking yellow. Unless he’s not allowed… Unless he can’t even dress himself anymore without a gaggle of attendants. Man moves up in the world and forgets everything he knew: tale as old as time.

“Just like you forgot us,” Jesper mutters, less viciously than he should.

The Kaz-doll makes no comment. No protest. No further manipulation of Jesper’s old affections. No snide mockery for Jesper passing his kefta on to the man that less than an hour ago, he tried to kill.

He just pulls the coat on. With his odd bare fingers—no claws after all, just thin and human—he closes button after button, including the top four that Jesper’s never once used, struggling to pull the material over the bone-tines sticking out of his chest. (And who back home would believe that Dirtyhands has ordinary fingers and a totally fucked up chest?) It would be easier to leave it open, but Kaz, even now he’s a sunny lapdog, doesn’t do easy. When he drops his arms, the too-long sleeves fall down over his hands, and with his thumbs he traps the fabric there. Sad little improvised half-gloves, more than Jesper’s seen him wear in the month since he let himself get conscripted into the Little Palace. He looks back at Jesper.

There’s no Thank you—Kaz Brekker never knew that word, and it seems in the two years they had him, whatever else they forced on him the Ravkans failed to teach him any more manners—but there is something new in his glare. It’s not just the purple washing the colour off his smooth—his way too smooth face. No. It’s something old: defiant, and angry, and scheming, just barely breaking through the placid paint and the rust beneath it.

Bit by bit, as he buttons up Jesper’s kefta Kaz simultaneously pulls on the moth-bitten coat of Dirtyhands he’s kept way back in the wardrobe of his brain, the ruthless killer, Bastard of the Barrel, Dregs lieutenant and future gang boss unless he gets murdered first. And it didn’t stick the first time. Pulls it over whoever it is that he was before. Over the doll beside Kirigan.

Over that person in the corner, that cornered boy, brittle and alone and stripped of armour and weapon and self, and Jesper wants to kill every single fucker in the Little Palace.

“Back home, you had a plan for everything,” he says instead. “I’m not assuming it’s a B or even a Z or a Q squared, but I know you. I know you’ve considered it. What do we do now your beloved long-lost friend’s shown up to help you steal the Sun Summoner?”

☼

Yesterday, Kerch accepted the terms of the Ravkan crown. Ex-crown. Dark fucking empire. Whatever. Test all children and send the Grisha to the Little Palace, conscript some people into the First Army—though what they still need an army for when they have the Fold is anyone’s guess—send food, booze, and, worst of all to the fastidious greedy Kerch, pay tribute without receiving anything at all in return. It was in the mouth of every paperboy on the streets, every mercher, every gang boss. By Ghezen how could we just surrender? they moaned, and Do you want to end like West Ravka? and Didn’t you see him? Kirigan’s going to crown himself king of everything. He’s unstoppable. And that boy next to him, the Sun—

Honestly? Jesper doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s paying fifty kruge just to sit on Inej’s bed for an hour and braid her hair. Ketterdam can burn to the sopping wet ground for all he cares. The world can rot. Like the Dregs did. Like everything Jesper cared for.

Inej, though, watched it.

“I had to see,” she’s whispering into Jesper’s ear, barely moving her miserable red-painted lips even though his hair should block out most lines of sight already. Inej’s smart, though, and desperate: if Jesper keeps returning to the Menagerie as nothing but a smitten small-time gangster with an incredibly vanilla hair fetish, he won’t catch attention. Tante Heleen will have fewer reasons to raise Inej’s rates. Jesper can barely pay for a visit a month as it is, and even those he allows himself mostly because he’s given up the hope of ever paying off her indenture unless he wins big.

“I snuck out yesterday. I had to see. Heleen got a new girl from Ravka six months ago, and she believes, too. Had a cheap pamphlet with her, last thing she had, of the new Saint. The illustrations… they looked just like Kaz.”

“Fu—” Inej elbows him. Jesper presses his lips into the braid over her ear. “Forget about Kaz Brekker. You’re the only one who matters now. He died, and you ended up here.”

She’s trapped in the Menagerie now because Kaz disappeared into the harbour like so many orphans before him; because he didn’t tell Jesper jack shit about Inej’s situation that might have helped him keep her safe in the Dregs; because he allowed senile Haskell who knows the names of all his five hundred thousand miniature boats and literally nothing else to stay in charge of the Dregs instead of killing him as soon as possible, which allowed Haskell to let the payments for Inej’s indenture lapse, which meant three months after Kaz just disappeared from his life Jesper got back to the Slat to find that Inej, too, had gone without a trace, and it was only luck and a pervert old Dreg that Jesper soon afterwards ‘accidentally’ shoved off a roof talking about the girls at the Menagerie that meant he found her again. Found her, only to realize he can’t help her at all.

Inej pulls Jesper’s ear back to her mouth. “I saw him, Jesper. I saw Kaz. Kaz is alive. He was there. I saw him.”

“You what?!” A sharp elbow darting out of her red sad nightgown that would have slipped right in-between his ribs if it was one of the knives she still mourns, and he’s not even given anything away. Heleen’s a hell bitch, but what use would she get out of random surprise?

“I saw Kaz. He’s the Sun Summoner. I was far away but—it was Kaz, standing next to General Kirigan, holding his hand, when the Merchant’s Council signed the terms of surrender. It was Kaz. I’m certain. Sankt Kaz.”

“I—” Jesper burrows his face into Inej’s hair. “You didn’t happen to have a knife on you, did you? A really tiny one she couldn’t confiscate. A super lethal one. Might never get as good a chance again.”

“Jes—”

“Fuck him sideways with a rusty shovel. That traitor. Did you forget how you ended up here? He left us. Saw a bigger pile of cash and skedaddled, I bet. He always wanted to be king. Guess becoming the Darkling’s queen was the next-best option.”

Inej doesn’t even defend Kaz. Jesper pulls away from her so he can look at her face. She always looks sad these days, unless she has specific painful orders to perk up, but it’s deeper now. She’s not doing the gesture, not holding her hand against her chest. Faith, now, is just one more thing Kaz Brekker took from her. Jesper can’t blame her, even though he never believed. Not even when Ravka’s new ‘Sun Summoner’ started gaining them the whole continent. Power’s power, though, no matter whether the stories around it are true. If Kaz truly is the Sun Summoner, then it’s not just Kaz Brekker who sent her back to the Menagerie—but one of her Saints. Fucking asshole.

He buries Inej in his arms. It’s all he can do now, to hold her until this month’s hour is up, because it’s not like he can just murder the Ravkans special weapon in retribution, can he? Can…

“This changes nothing,” he whispers. “The only priority is still paying off your indenture. Kaz quit the Dregs. He left us, and that means he’s nothing now. Less than nothing. I have a good feeling about the Makker’s Wheel at the Emerald Palace this weekend. Lots of pigeons there for the ‘Fete of Unity with Mother Ravka’ or whatever, and the minder thinks I’m hot. It’s risky, of course, but if I do this right—”

☼

Jesper’s just about to crawl right back out from under the bed—weapons raised, since hell knows what Kaz was planning back there, and fuck Jesper for apparently still harbouring enough trust in the guy to follow his lead two years after he deserted—but then, a series of clicks and rumbles heralds the opening of the door. Footsteps, and it slides shut again.

Shit, that was close.

And Kaz wasn’t bluffing, after all. Well, well… it certainly means something that Kaz, beloved Saint and Sun Summoner and ally to the Darkling, just told his attempted murderer slash old friend and-or stooge to hide. Kaz never did anything without a motive, be it profit or power or vengeance, and even this degraded, polished version surely isn’t so far gone as to engage in ideas as base as altruism. Ergo, Kaz will want to use Jesper for—something, though what is there he wants when he’s basically a prince of—but he isn’t, is he? He’s in a cell. A cell Jesper can unlock.

Three pairs of footsteps move around the room. One of them might be Kaz, but without his limp, it’s hard to recognize him. None of them says a word, which… it probably means this is a routine visit. Whatever’s going on, they all know their role.

Two pairs stop moving, while the third one—circles around them, it sounds like, and then someone else stumbles a little and catches themselves. Jesper hopes they’ll hurry up. He’s in mortal danger, technically—Kaz can still choose to reveal the intruder inside the Sun Summoner’s private room and-orprison, but, prison. Jesper’s far more useful alive, and so, hiding under the bed is fucking boring.

There’s not even anything interesting in-between the slat frame and the mattress. It’s the only place where you could hide anything—that Jesper can think of, at least, but there’s just nothing there at all, and Kaz used to be a real magpie. It’s a gaping void, just like everything else in this room. Like everything else in this palace, a chasm painted over with gilt and power. Unless—something’s stuck to the underside of a cross brace. Jesper slides a fingernail under the edge, and it comes loose easily enough. Not exactly a cache worthy of Dirtyhands, and anyway, it’s just a… a mangled piece of paper. A paper that looks like it’s been chewed on and spat out—and an entire corner actually torn off, or bitten, maybe—and whatever used to be printed onto it mostly rubbed off except for a couple of letters here and there, RAV. Curved lines and tiny hats. What would Kaz need to hide in his room? Apart from weapons he doesn’t have. Other people’s jewellery, dito. The only thing that Jesper knows about him now is that he’s trying to open the door. Trying to leave. It’s probably a map, then.

Which means an escape is planned, and Jesper’s just providing the desperately sought means. Good. That means he should have even more leverage here.

Somebody stumbles again, this time taking two steps to catch themselves. Almost as if they’ve jerked away.

“You’re falling behind,” slimes the smooth, rich voice of the Darkling. “On second thought, our people would miss you at the celebration. I’ll inform the staff that you wish to dance, all night long.”

☼

“You’re hanging around here because you heard that General Kirigan and the Sun Summoner are due back this hour, aren’t you?” The woman in a tidemaker’s kefta that just sidled up to Jesper speaks unaccented, high class central Ravkan. Even if her dark skin is an indication of Zemeni heritage, she came to the Little Palace long before the Darkling’s recent territorial acquisitions. She’s no ally, just like the rest of the crowd that surrounds them: an old-school Grisha, veteran Second Army, not someone whose loyalties may yet be pliable. Not someone like Jesper, whose skin started crawling the moment he showed his skills to a Ravkan occupation officer so he could sneak into the Little Palace. She’s friendly, though, and looks at Jesper’s face with clear appreciation. “You must be new. Hi. I’m Nadia.”

“Jesper,” he says, throwing a flirtatious grin like a blanket over his nerves and anger. It’s almost fun, playing the suave infiltrator assassin Grisha. Except Inej’s still in the Menagerie. And Kaz is still a piece of shit. “Yeah, I just got here! They didn’t test for Grisha ability in Novyi Zem when I was little, so I barely knew who I was… but once I heard about the Darkling, about this place, I crossed the True Sea as soon as I could!”

“That must have been so hard. So lonely. This place is…” She grimaces. “This place was our sanctuary. You’re lucky you’re Materialnik.”

“Why?” It’s the first time since his arrival that anyone’s had even a neutral opinion of Durasts, let alone good, and granted, it’s not like he cares that much about the ability his Ma died from, and he’s only talked to a dozen people since arriving yesterday, but…

“Listen, I know you want to see the Sun Summoner, and don’t tell anyone I said this but…” Nadia pulls Jesper a few paces away from the crowd on the training grounds, into a corner formed by two enormous bales of hay. Well-chosen: he can barely see the crowd that just surrounded them peek out behind the yellow stalks. “You’re sweet—”

“Listen, you’re gorgeous, but we just met—although, on second—”

“No!” She laughs, but it’s bitter. “You’re cute, but no. It’s my duty, to her, to protect you. The new ones. You’re Materialnik, so you’re not combat, so you’re not going to actually meet the Sun Summoner. Ever, if you’re lucky.”

“He’s that bad?” Kaz was always a dick, if Jesper’s honest—it was part of his charm—he was just a charming magnetic one, and back with the Dregs Jesper hated his ruthlessness just as much as he admired it. He was worst to his fellow Dregs and his enemies, though: he could charm a mark when needed. So it’s a tad unexpected that Kaz earned himself the hatred of a Grisha indoctrinated from childhood to see him as her Saint and saviour. Apparently, he’s just that talented. That obnoxious.

Well, Jesper’s not complaining. That makes his plan much easier.

“He killed my best friend,” Nadia whispers urgently. “The last time I saw her they were taking a walk, and then I found her, blisters and burns all over her body. Who else? There’s a reason he’s not allowed to have weapons. I heard the Darkling doesn’t let him go anywhere alone, or he would murder us all. He killed Baghra too, I’m sure—she was our teacher, but she disappeared two years ago. Just stay away from him, alright? He looks harmless, but he’s a rabid dog. Oh. There he comes.”

Jesper barely manages to whisper, “Thank you,” before she pulls away from him and returns to her previous place. Back to the crowd of Etherealki and Corporalki on the training field, but she finds her place in the last row, standing—hiding—behind two men much taller than her.

Jesper follows into the crowd. No need to alert Kaz that the past is hot on his heels, and then—

Well. There he is.

There someoneis, anyway.

If Jesper trusted Inej just a hair’s breadth less, he’d have cursed her and sneaked back out of the Little Palace the second he sees the person holding General Kirigan’s hand. Sure, the Sun Summoner is male, with dark brown hair and dark eyes and pale skin, and just a little bit taller than Kaz was at fifteen, but that’s where the similarities end. Dirtyhands had his impeccable mercher’s suits in a grim mockery of Ketterdam’s upper class, and gloves to feed the rumours, and a cane to walk and kill. His hair managed to be at once floppy and severe; just like his gaunt face, in the right light, made him look utterly captivating and not just like an annoyed scheming rat. He looked exactly like the Bastard of the Barrel should. Not pleasant or easy, but the person Jesper once would have followed into any lion’s den.

This—this Sun Summoner, on Kirigan’s arm, is beautiful. Healthful. Pristine.

Barely even a fucking person.

It’s the face, mostly.

You could never tell what Kaz was thinking, just looking at him, because he was, after all, thinking in layers upon layers of incomprehensible schemes at all times of the day and then went to bed and dreamt about ploys and deceptions. Jesper could barely follow him the three times total he deigned to explain part of his plans. But you could always tell that Kaz was thinking. Planning, scheming, plotting his greedy bloody vicious way out of and into every possible house on every possible street.

The Sun Summoner looks empty. He’s staring straight ahead, but he’s not even doing thatwith any kind of purpose. He’s like a pet on the Darkling’s arm. He looks more airheaded than all blackout drunk heirs and heiresses in Ketterdam combined.

It’s incredibly eerie, because now he’s searching for it Jesper can sort of read Kaz Brekker back into the Sun Summoner’s face. This face is much smoother, without the marks of past firepox, plumped and rosy-tinted, but that might partially just be a testament to the quality of Ravkan cooks—or, how skint the Dregs always were. He has a normal haircut. It probably suits him better, unless your standard for beauty is Dirtyhands, and unfortunately Jesper—anyway. The Sun Summoner doesn’t have a cane, either, and he doesn’t need one, apparently, because he isn’t limping. Ravkan royal healthcare, but honestly, Kaz could have pressed a Grisha healer into service back in Ketterdam only he always insisted—well, whatever. Fuck his words of wisdom. Fuck him. Fuck Kaz. Jesper shouldn’t even be remembering that snake.

Kaz Brekker betrayed Inej, left her to rot in the Menagerie, so whatever role he’s playing right now in whatever scheme this is—because it has to be a scheme that put Kaz into the yellow robe he’s in right now, so thin it’s translucent, and sleeveless too in the Ravkan winter. The Dregs tattoo on his arm is gone. Two Inferni are flanking him and the Darkling, their hands perpetually on fire just so Kaz can parade about in a robe no Menagerie slave would go outside in, but still, it’s Kaz. It’s definitely Kaz Brekker. Jesper can see it now.

Fuck him. He traded the Dregs for this. He abandoned them to Haskell’s mismanagement and let Inej go back to the Menagerie. He betrayed them all.

(Of course, Jesper abandoned Inej now too, and without a word, but—after that last catastrophic loss in the Emerald Palace, there’s a zero percent chance the Dime Lions wouldn’t have strung him up by his own entrails—or sold him into indenture, trying to make back at least a fraction of the fifty thousand kruge he owes—so really, he had no choice. It’s the next best thing, right? If he can’t help her anymore, at least he can kill the bastard that started all their troubles.)

Kaz just walks off, hand in the Darkling’s grasp, towards the Little Palace. Carelessly following the other man’s lead.

The old Kaz would have noticed Jesper.

☼

Footsteps and then, a series of clicks and pieces of wood and metal rubbing stones. The door. Kaz’s legs, taking steps backwards to the bed in a perfect, healthy gait. The rich soft creaking of the bed as he sinks down again, and in front of Jesper—the same two muscular, pale, bare, identical hairy calves. Like the legs of a statue, or one of those de Kappels he used to like, except the right leg is trembling finely. Barely noticeable if it wasn’t right in front of Jesper’s face. Those Ravkans maybe aren’t so crafty after all.

Then: nothing.

After what feels like an hour in which Jesper doesn’t dare move, even though the Darkling must have left already, a hand drops off the edge off the mattress. Middle and index finger erect, then crooking twice in quick succession. It takes a moment to connect. Jesper hasn’t seen those signals in such a—move, path clear. Yes. That’s what it was.

Jesper wriggles out from under the bed, annoyingly free of dust. Pristine. Empty, just like everything else.

“Didn’t think the Sun Summoner needed to use our secret code, boss,” he drawls up at Kaz from the floor. Kaz, with his barren black eyes and his new porcelain doll face, picking at the wide open collar of his yellow shirt.

“Never drop a tool you can still use,” Kaz says. A beat. “Didn’t think I was your boss anymore.”

“You aren’t.” Jesper turns his head away, looking at the spotless floor and the intricately painted walls from his low vantage point. Exquisite, imposing, empty: a Saint’s cage, as beautiful and terrible as Inej’s room in the Menagerie. The bare wall hiding the inaccessible door. “That guy really fucking hates you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. Jesper turns his head back to watch him again, even though that won’t give him anything more: Kaz used to be willfully inscrutable even back in the Barrel, but after whatever Grisha surgery they did to him, there are only traces left of the real person trapped inside him. Dollface, Jesper thinks again. Who’d have expected they’d turn fucking Dirtyhands into a dollface?

It’s Kaz who turns away, fingers clawed into his neckline. His voice is rough, even if it’s a shadow of the damaged rasp that used to be him. “I thought about it sometimes, back then. The first time.”

Every fibre of Jesper’s being wants to interrupt with, What are you talking about? I don’t speak cryptic anymore. I’m out of practice. He should get off the floor, raise his guns, resume—but whatever it is, whether it’s some stupid new Grisha power, whether it’s zowa, or his memory of Kaz is just coming back, he doesn’t—

“It was like this. I was on my bed already, usually, when it grew hard—and I thought you would be up for not being on the bed, and there wasn’t much else in my room. I imagined watching you. I didn’t touch it. That was better.”

Uh. What.

“He probably knows I threw up after we—I tried to hide it. I thought I could manipulate him into seeing me as his partner, I thought I’d healed, that I’d practiced enough—but he just saw that I was still weak. He saw he could control me. But if he didn’t do it again because I threw up, I’m—”

He was right. Jesper would have stayed on the cold hard floor back then for him. Even now, Jesper would crawl around like a worm jerking off for the fucking asshole he got himself trapped in the Little Palace to murder, if that meant Kaz never had to—

Kaz pulls the neckline of his flimsy thin single ugly yellow shirt closed. The shirt that doesn’t protect him. The shirt he didn’t choose.

☼

Jesper’s imagined the Sun Summoner’s quarters, of course. Most of the Grisha in the Little Palace are wretched gossips—or Jesper’s been charming as many people into spilling as many secrets as possible to him so he can plan his attack, same difference—and anyway, he needs a backdrop for his imagined kill shots. It’s Kaz Brekker, after all. Dirtyhands. The ex-Bastard. You’d want to rehearse that death. Think of some witty one-liners.

Nadia said it was gorgeous inside, like a dollhouse. Lizaveta, who Jesper’s been told to shadow so he can learn how to become a proper Durast, insisted it’s totally empty. Grzegorz said there were live kittens inside, so the Sun Summoner could sate his lust for innocent blood, Sayyna thought there was a giant swimming pool, and a lovely naïve boy from the edge of the permafrost up at the former border insisted it was just like the quarters of all other Grisha, except with a little more privacy. Since they’re all siblings fighting for a world that will be kind to Grisha.

Jesper, privately, imagined a few stolen paintings and a mishmash of furniture. Because he’s an idiot.

This is just like—

If it is the Sun Summoner’s bedroom at all. It should be. Jesper did his homework: he followed the Darkling and his Sun Summoner creature that wears the skin used to house Kaz, and a variety of Materialniks, to the end of this specific corridor, five times in total. Watched the Materialniks unlock a hidden mechanism, and then the two most powerful men in Ravka—in all charted countries, ruling everything this side of the True Sea but pockets of Shu Han and even that’s a matter of time—they walked inside, hand in hand. The Darkling always left, after a while, alone, and so it only made sense to assume that the hidden room that Jesper just snuck up to and unlocked is, in fact, the Sun Summoner’s room. Kaz’ room. It’s the best time for breaking into it, too. There’s going to be a party in two days, so hopefully everyone’s too busy, and even if the Sun Summoner’s out doing preparations then Jesper can just hide in here and kill him in an ambush. That’s probably easier, actually.

First, though, he locks and hides the door again, because… yeah, he went to Ravka expecting to get caught. At some point. This is a suicide mission for revenge, after all—suicide is in in the title. But it’s no fun if he gets caught before the gory glorious revenge part. Before Kaz admits he was a piece of shit. Both guns cocked and ready, he turns around, and actually inspects the room he broke into.

No. Nothing changes, even when he blinks and blinks again. That wasn’t a faulty first impression.

The room still looks like a fucking prison cell.

A fancy, clean cell, but a cell nonetheless. It’s empty except for the bed, and Jesper owes Lizaveta more money than he has on him (though to be fair, technically, Jesper’s fifty thousand kruge in debt anyway, so does it really make a difference at all if he’s a few Ravkan coins more in the red), and even the windows—Jesper’s had enough training now that he can look at the windows and see the subtly reinforcing mesh inside the glass. No curtains. No curtain rods. Nothing—there’s a subtle mesh inside the bedclothes too and the frame of the bed looks far too sturdy to be torn apart by anyone who isn’t a skilled Materialnik. There are meshes in front of the fireplaces.

Nothing in here that can be used as a weapon.

Not against others, and not against oneself.

No escape.

There’s nothing in this stark white massive room but a person, acting like he never did before and still looking more like himself than when he was walking through the training grounds. It’s probably the distance from other people. He’s got his back to Jesper and he’s in the furthest corner from the door, which should be a tactical misstep because he can’t escape from there but really—it’s as good as any other location, in this room. There’s nothing of use to anyone left, not even to someone as shrewd as Dirtyhands used to be before he lobotomized himself into the Sun Summoner. Or before he was—

Kaz pushes himself up from his kneeling position using the walls he faces. He mutters, “I beg your forgiveness for keeping you waiting, Aleks.” His voice sounds odd.

“Are you crying?”

“Jesper?!”

Kaz turns so quickly he has to brace himself against the wall again lest he fall over. His translucent shirt ripples. His dark eyes in his weird new too-handsome face trace over Jesper, again and again. If they were fingers, Jesper would feel like he’s being caressed. No, that’s the wrong thought. A thought from a book he won’t admit he’s read. Jesper’s got his guns out. He came here for a reason. A bloody, glorious reason.

“Inej wouldn’t want me to do this, but she’s locked up in the fucking Menagerie,” he announces, just to see whether Kaz can feel even a shred of guilt. “Just so you could be a Ravkan prince in ugly yellow lingerie.”

“Just follow my—”

No, then. Or maybe it’s just the new face Jesper can’t read. Not that it matters. “Shut up. Do you remember what you told me when I joined the Dregs? About what you’d do to traitors? Well, I have added a couple of my own ideas.”

“Shut up, Jesper. You can monologue when we’re done, but—”

Jesper aims right between his weird, smooth pebble eyes. “When you left us, you knew it would all go to shit. Inej’s in the Menagerie, and there’s no way to get her out again. Haskell let the Dregs collapse after you disappeared. No Dregs, no kru—”

Kaz flinches. “Quick. Get under the bed. Now.”

Whether it’s surprise, a sex instinct, or—far worse—a lingering sense of loyalty, Jesper obeys instantly.

☼

“We’re lost,” Jesper moans. They’ve been surrounded by trees for four days. He’s not even sure they’re trudging vaguely southwards anymore. Everything looks the same. What wouldn’t Jesper give to be back in Ketterdam already, with its lovely street names and pedestrians and garish landmarks (and gangsters about to string him up), or at least somewhere in Novyi Zem where he sort of understands the landscape. Or what’s left of Shu Han, so Kaz can unclench.

“We’re not lost,” Kaz rasps. “Keep going.”

“How do you—the map.” The half-chewed-up map hidden under Kaz’ bed, the map he snuck into his coat—Jesper’s kefta, whatever—even though he probably already knows it by heart.

“Yes. The map.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me to choose where we’re going if you’re memorized the map?!” What an asshole. Jesper just clean forgot what a piece of shit Kaz is. He forgot it so utterly he’s helping him break out of Ravka, without even extracting anything in return. He’s a fucking idiot. “Is it so you can blame me when we get caught?”

Kaz, the dick, rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t I rather not get caught at all? Think, Jesper—what’s the one advantage you have over me?”

“I’m prettier,” Jesper shoots back. “My winning personality. I have a better tolerance for hard liquor. Fashion sense. I’m funny. No, wait—I’m a much more generous lover.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Kaz hisses, making the pronoun sound even more slimy than the guy it’s referring to, which is honestly quite a feat. “Do you think this is my first attempt? He’ll send people to every single route out of his core territory that poses any advantages. He has enough soldiers for that. What he doesn’t have, though, is enough soldiers to watch every route your bird-brain might pick at random.”

And then, he stalks ahead viciously. No. Limps ahead.

It’s been growing much more pronounced over the days. At first, even without a cane he walked just like any person with two healthy legs, and that’s what Jesper expected. The Ravkans healed their Saint’s leg, didn’t they? That’s what they would do. Only Kaz can think around enough corners to make his bad leg into an advantage. But with every passing day, Kaz’ gait has grown closer to what Jesper remembers from back before the world went to shit. Kaz was touchy about accommodations back then, though, or people being nice in general, so Jesper hasn’t even brought up improvising a new cane. All he’s dared to do is slowing down his own steps to what he remembers would have matched Kaz, back then.

And insisting on taking breaks. Like he does now.

“It’s almost night, you refuse to make light despite being made of sunshine, and I’m hungry,” he complains.

“I’d assume that Ketterdam has made you soft,” Kaz rasps, “o cherished crown jewel of crime and commerce, and what’s the difference.” He limps back to the fallen tree that Jesper has chosen as their camp site, though, so he must be a just few steps short of utter collapse.

Jesper unwraps the two woollen blankets he’s been carrying on his shoulders. They didn’t get a chance to steal much, mostly because Kaz was a prick about it and didn’t even let Jesper go back to his room: apparently there was time for Kaz to fold up a paper bag into a facsimile of an envelope and write an address in Djerholm onto it and have Jesper talk a stable-hand into riding out to deliver it, right now, but no time to search anywhere else for supplies. They took just whatever they found in the stables, which amounted to extra coats, some boots, the blankets, and horse feed. And gloves. Kaz declared it was time to run as soon as he’d found gloves.

Balefully, Jesper chews on his oats. Even wrapped in his blanket, the night is cold, and Kaz—who’s still wearing nothing but underpants besides the robe/gloves/Jesper’s kefta/stolen coat combo and ill-fitting boots without socks—is shivering violently.

“We should steal you some real clothes from the next house we see,” Jesper mutters. “And some decent food.”

“We’re not stealing anything until we’re in Shu.”

They’ve had this argument before. Jesper shouldn’t be as thrilled about that as he is. There’s no way to resolve it, until they find the border—or until Kaz keels over from hypothermia, because then even his rational fear of detection won’t keep Jesper from finding some trousers. For the time being, though—

“I’m going to sit closer and steal your body heat. In exchange, you can wrap my blanket around your legs.”

Kaz glares. He can do it masterfully again: just like the limp snuck back as soon as he left the Little Palace, his face over the days grew thin and pockmarked. Vicious. Jesper’s commited it to memory, in case Oily, Tall and Dark steals it again.

“If you freeze to death tonight, this was all for nothing. I could be sleeping in a palace right now. Well, a dingy side house, with the other Materialniks, but joke’s on them. This whole escape would have been much more complicated if I’d been a Squaller. Or a Sun Summoner, who refuses to even use his power to warm us up.”

“Leave it.” Kaz runs a finger roughly over where his collarbone should be, and he shudders. The temperature, or something worse, some new pain he’s not revealing—but carefully, he leans his blanketed side against Jesper, and allows Jesper to throw his own blanket over him, too.

“I’ll make you a new cane tomorrow. With a head, too, if we can scavenge enough metal from the buttons. Not a crow. You haven’t earned that until we free Inej, but maybe… a worm.”

“That’s just a stick,” Kaz mutters. “Go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say: Kaz is taking the first watch, and so he’s not balancing on a fallen log in the cold without a blanket, trying to fall asleep sitting up while leaning against Kaz’ shoulder with as little contact surface as physically possible. After some hours or minutes, though, Jesper’s suffering is too much for even Kaz to handle. Who knew there was a limit! Who knew Kaz had heard of mercy! Maybe he just doesn’t like Jesper wriggling next to him. He fists a lock of Jesper’s curls and pulls his head down into his lap.

“I didn’t help you because I want to fuck you, just so you’re aware,” Jesper jokes, because this is actually—it’s actually almost comfortable curling up on the fallen tree with his head on the blanket on Kaz’ thighs, even though there’s the remnants of a branch digging into his hip and they’re on the run from all Grisha in the world and also the new, expanded Ravka that covers nearly every country on this continent and Inej’s still imprisoned and if they actually manage to get back to Ketterdam, Jesper’s going to be in so much shit. And still, it’s… “I mourned you, you know, when Haskell told me you’d died. I wasn’t just angry because the Dregs were a shambles without you.”

Kaz is quiet. Jesper sort of wishes he’d touch his hair again, or his shoulder—and he never seemed to have any trouble touching the Darkling, so what, is Jesper not good enough—but he also looked like a void back there, like in order to endure it maybe he had to smother—

“That’s not why I mentioned that fantasy back there,” says Kaz, lyingly. Sure. He just happened to invoke Jesper’s obvious past crush for no reason whatsoever. The awfully convenient infatuation Jesper didn’t have sense nor skill to hide back then. Kaz is exactly the kind of person who’d exploit someone’s first love. The person who’s realize, long before Jesper did, that maybe, he’s not actually completely over—but maybe that wasn’t the important bit then. It went on. And that story about the Darkling—

“You thought I’d help you out of pity?” Jesper would have done, if he hadn’t been so angry—if he hadn’t been already so freaked out by the placid expression, the clothes that looked expressly designed to torture the Kaz he knew, the cell… It wasn’t pity. What is it you feel when a person you knew—maybe not his secrets or his past or his thoughts or what trouble he just dragged you into because he’s a secretive dick, but still, you knew him, it was burned into your heart, his movements and the codes he taught you and just when a heist was about to trigger one of his fears he’d never mentioned and you needed to get him out now… What do you feel, when that person comes back from the dead, and comes back wrong. Like a stag with too many tongues inside its mouths and its hands locked behind its throat. Except the other way round, because Kaz Brekker was terrifying, and what he was made into or what pretended to be was only scary because it wasn’t. Anyway. Kaz is a manipulative commandeering asshole again, so it doesn’t matter. “You despise pity.”

“It’s a tool, just like everything else. One he couldn’t take. And pride just gave me—pity got me out of the Little Palace, didn’t it?”

“Something did.” Jesper tips his non-existent hat, and Kaz slaps the top of his head to make him stop wriggling. He keeps the hand there this time, knotted tight in Jesper’s hair. It stings, but it’s also… Jesper closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep before inevitably, it’ll leave.

“Pride. It was my fault.” Kaz’ voice almost sounds the way it did back home. Harsh, vicious—and damaged. Human. “I thought I could bear it. He was—the Sun Summoner could have no weaknesses, he said, nothing for our enemies to use, and I allowed myself to think… ‘our’ enemies. I practiced. It was easier, after a while, to bear touch. I thought—it seemed like the best option, to stand at his side, and to make him see me as his partner I should… I was tired of being a prisoner. I thought I could use him.”

That’s bad enough, but… “But you’re limping again,” Jesper hisses. “If he’s forming you like a clay doll to make you his perfect Sun Summoner, he should have started with healing you.”

“They did, when I first came to the Palace. I didn’t want—but I learned to accept it. After my first escape, he broke it again, personally. Had it tailored over, afterwards, every few days. Incentive for cooperation.”

There’s nothing Jesper can do to fix this stagnant, lifeless voice. He could hug Inej, at least, but this—

“It’s what I would have done, too. He was just better than me, and he didn’t need another one, so he had to change me.”

“By dressing you up and making you look like a doll. If you tell me it was a sex thing, at least I could—no, still couldn’t relate. His taste’s shit. That beauty was pretty ugly,” Jesper mutters into Kaz’ thighs.

Kaz pulls at his hair again—probably a rebuke, but the sting travels down Jesper’s spine to—well, it’s time to change the subject rather quickly. What’s there to… oh yeah, his head’s on a blanket. That’ll do. “I just had a great idea,” he says, and—yeah, his voice is still completely normal and steady. A little loud, maybe. Kaz hasn’t moved his hand away, though, so it can’t be too obvious.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off, my bright idea of breaking into the centre of Grishadom to kill you in a murder-suicide attack because what else was I going to do, let the Dime Lions grind me between millstones to press out the fifty thousand kruge I may perhaps still owe them—”

“You what?!”

Jesper powers on, because that’s really a conversation best left for when he’s not lying in a forest with his head in Kaz’ lap and trying to forget, desperately, the way it felt when Kaz pulled his hair. The way it feels when he does it again. “I’m just saying, it saved you. You’re welcome. So anyway. We only have one pair of trousers. I was going to suggest we alternate wearing mine, but we both know I wouldn’t get them back.”

“Your so-called idea is… interesting,” Kaz mutters, voice almost pulled asunder trying for both disturbed and mocking. “But I’m far more interested to hear about the fact you skipped out of Ketterdam without paying your debts. A crime punishable by death in every gang. Every gang in Ketterdam, the city where you want us to go.”

And yeah, that’s occurred to Jesper, but… “That’s a problem for later. You’ll think of something, boss, if we make it that far. You always have a plan. For now… I wouldn’t—well, I would carry you if your legs freeze off, but it wouldn’t be fun for either of us, so… You sewed yourself up constantly back home, and I’d wager sewing is just like swimming. Once you know, you can never forget.”

“Skills are useless if you lack every materia—Jes—”

“Yeah, I definitely can turn a button into a needle now. We just need to tear the second blanket into some vaguely trouser-shaped pieces, and for thread—well, we could just tear up your Sun Summoner robe, it’s useless anyway.”

“Jesper,” Kaz rasps again.

“I’m a genius?”

“No, you’re still an idiot. Why not, though?”

☼

Kaz Brekker disappeared between Sunday and Tuesday night. That’s all Jesper knows, and it’s that precise only because Kaz has been experimenting with the payroll recently. Apparently, handing out wages on late Tuesday maximizes the chances of flushing as much money as possible back into the coffers of Dregs-owned establishments, and he’s also taken to handing out the money personally. Some weird power play that Haskell hasn’t yet forbidden: everyone knows Kaz barely bothers to keep his accomplices informed about the job they’re currently doing, and the big boss tolerates him mostly because Dirtyhands is still more useful insubordinate than dead.

It’s Wednesday now, though. Wednesday afternoon.

And Jesper still hasn’t gotten paid.

Kaz is gone.

Jesper’s in Haskell’s office, inquiring about everyone’s money. Too irritated by the games of Makker’s Wheel he was forced to miss out on last night to perform anything but the most pro forma I remember my boss’ boss is technically my boss and can kill me pleasantries. Instead of promising to kick Kaz’ ass, though, like Jesper hoped, Haskell just tells him Pasko will give him his wages tomorrow.

Haskell won’t say anything else. Just, “That boy got himself mixed up in something he couldn’t handle alone, and it fucked him. You won’t like what you find, when you go looking for the dead.”

[lazarus-harp]

replicated envies | | |

after the events of everlock, matthew wrestles with finding his footing. especially when it concerns a certain savant and an old flame of his

You're used to the topic of Joey being flung around the circle ; the savant's name ground out by people's clenched mouths like it's that hard for them to say. It bothers you little now that you've settled in, forever leaning forward in your seat as though ready to rush to the bathroom at any time. Everytime the topic is summoned, you keep quiet mostly. Not wanting to engage in idle gossip about a man you still see to this day. Didn't seem right to you. And you're certain if you did speak your heart on the subject, it would end with yelling and scornful looks aimed your way.

Basically, Joey Graceffa was ill-viewed by everyone here. You, the lonesome fan of his art, are forced into silence.

Well, that's exaggerating some. There's no pure hatred in anyone's eyes no matter how sharp their tones are. If you allow yourself to be sympathetic, you can understand they're all simply still hurt and need to direct that hurt onto a single party. But they don't mean it. You can see the blank looks in their eyes sometimes when they say something incredibly anger-fueled about the man. That's not hate. That's following a quiet rule these survivors made that you want no part of. Being isolated with Nikita was better than faking loathing for a man you felt nothing negative towards. This unity wasn't something you ever needed. So you refuse to fall into their clutches, remaining iron willed in the face of conforming creatures.

The only thing you noticed, amongst all the variety of survivors, was the man with glasses. How unlike the rest, he always said Joey's name with this echo of ache. It's always rubbing you the wrong way. The tenderness the man's tone holds as he gently pronounces every syllable of the name. That glazed over look in his vibrant eyes. It feels painstakingly familiar to how you whisper your friend's name and you think you can find more hatred towards that tone than you can find towards Joey.

You know what this is, the thing that makes Tyler say something as mundane as a name like that. A four letter word that's always weighed your small shoulders, made you want to crawl. Though as you judge the former thespian in your tense silence ; you can't bring yourself to connect the dots. Refuse to. What a heavy word it is. All it does is bleed into your entire body and dirty you with its very presence. You know the name, but you won't say it out loud. Even in the safety of your own rotted mind. A childish fear holds you back from lacing it into Tyler's feelings towards your friend. If you imply the word even in your thoughts, it'll be true. And you selfishly never want to be right on this because if you are, then that means Joey might feel the same way back. Which spells your ruination and everything after.

Aching affections were for you, not Tyler Oakley. Especially in the name of being enamored with a certain wayward savant. That was your duty to carry because you've always been smitten with the littlest of things. Strangers on the bus stop that smile at you because of curtsy, friends of friends - tenderness for humans was etched into the cavern of your heart. Drumming you into fever. It's your thing, not his. And you shouldn't feel envy clawing at your throat everytime you even glance at him, but you do. After all, you think, who else could ever love someone like Joey properly, except for you? Your friend isn't a monster but he's certainly not pure nor normal, and neither are you. Care comes easier with understanding and you have that ; could stroke the dull flames in Joey's stomach into a raging fire. Finger his hair in a way that smoothes it out into mock perfectionism. You could because you know better than most.

Love, that weapon of a word, is reserved for you ; Matthew Patrick. For detectives who've already figured it all out and know their destiny. Love is your blessing and your curse and what will destroy everyone you know from the inside out while it leaves you complete. Puppy love is what Tyler might hold for Joey, but oh, you've carried the torch for much longer now. There's nothing small or growing in your own love for your friend. It's just yours. And it's deeper than Tyler's. And that matters, somehow, in the grand scheme of this.

—

He approaches you after a session once. You're gathering your leather coat ( orange today, you yearn for Everlock harder in the fall ) and calling out to Nikita who rushes out the door, furious. She always is, yet she never lets you permanently steal her away from this ; a vicious cycle of hurting herself and you like you have to hurt. You're blindly following her until there's an "ahem.." Which makes you look back to investigate, a natural instinct at this point.

And there Tyler stands, awkward. He shuffles on his clumsy feet and smiles radiantly at you. Blinding. You blink through the rays of white and feel green at the fact you smile so crooked and he doesn't. Perfect despite the hauntings and his unrequited feelings--- seeming confident in himself though you can pick up his nervous ticks as he stands before you. Excellent performance.

"Hey there." Tyler vibrates cheerfully, clicking his tongue with his nerves before pushing on to the point. You know he doesn't want to waste time chatting you up. "I was wanting a second of your time, if you could spare it?"

So polite. You gnaw the inside of your already hurt cheek, your hesitance probing the other male to finally go, "Please, Matthew, it won't be long. I swear.."

You give in at the begging. Soft 'please's always get you in ways nothing else does. You wish Joey and Nikita would beg more often for you, though their cursed independence would never allow it.

After nodding and brief pleasantries, Tyler's able to walk back into the room with you following. Suddenly you feel uneasy. Privacy. You don't trust yourself alone with people often, always nervous about doing something foolish. Smartness was a skill you honed greatly, leaving you with the knowledge of the many things this could be about--- and how you won't respond well to any of the topics. When you two slow to a stop, you're already glancing at your hands and flexing them ; watching your knuckles turn white against such strain. You're trying to think of how badly you could hurt the former thespian. All while he's looking at you with his mouth open, then closed. As he struggles to find out how to word his want, the want you need to yank out of him. A want that burns inside of you twice as bright already.

When Tyler finds the words, he peeks up at you from where he tilts his head downward. "How's Joey?"

The words gush out of him quickly, effective and to the point. You raise a brow and watch him fluster, yet he looks pleased. Like he's been dying to ask every meeting. It makes your stomach churn with something fierce. Any charmed part of you wilts away as the acidic jealousy coats you a second skin.

"He's great, actually." The lie tumbles out, as do the others. "Better than I've ever seen him! He's always thanking Nikita and I for helping him straighten his life out , but you know Joey. Natural born charmer!"

For added effect, you wink at him. Trying to squash out your rising delight at the way his face blanks. Every word was picked with precision in order to watch Tyler's eagerness fade like a dimming light. 'You know Joey' no, Tyler doesn't, not like you and you can tell he knows that. You preen from the make-believe praise you imply the savant gives you, and feel faint with how much you love the idea of Joey being happier with you than he ever was with the man before you. It's all a lie but you almost believe it yourself. You want to.

"Well, that's good.. I'm glad he's finally happy."

Doesn't sound like it, from the defeated wisp in his sigh. But you simply smile at Tyler, in your styled crooked grin. Letting him get away with his words

You place an assured hand on your hip, pronouncing it outward. "He really is."

There's no offer to relay any message, because you would never tell Joey anyway. He doesn't like to hear about these meetings. Very bleeding hearted at the fact he was never offered a spot. So your silence wouldn't only be an act smitten with selfishness, not when it would favor your beloved savant greatly as well. It's better to leave Tyler in the dust. Covered with cobwebs that smell of the past. It's time for Joey to let go and heal properly. If he clings to anything else, he'll never get there. This love would drag him down and you know it. You adore the man to the point of self destruction typically, but today you'll finally do something in his best interests. Something Tyler fails to do.

The brief encounter ends shortly after. With the former thespian stuttering about, side stepping you greatly on his way out. You fight back a satisfied grin, or a wicked smirk, while you follow far behind.

When Nikita notices your mood, she says nothing about it. Only calling attention to how famished she is.

For once, you're thankful for her inability to talk about things like this.

[sonderrow-moved]

ROY’S BIO IS FINALLY UP ! It is available on his about page, mobile about or under the cut !

♚ “AND LATER MY MACABRE JOY SOURS AND I’M WEEPING FOR MYSELF, UNABLE TO FIND SOLACE IN ANY OF THIS, CRYING OUT, SOBBING, “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED,” CURSING THE EARTH AND EVERYTHING I HAVE BEEN TAUGHT: PRINCIPLES, DISTINCTIONS, CHOICES, MORALS, COMPROMISES, KNOWLEDGE, UNITY, PRAYER - ALL OF IT WAS WRONG, WITHOUT ANY FINAL PURPOSE.”

This man has lived too long. A classic concept written, imagined by artists. To comfort them about their mortality, explore the ins and outs of an alien narrative full of ifs. How would this even work ? Even the people with the best memories, to a genius level even, eventually forgets, for the brain can only retain so much. This feeling people gets as they grow older, the biased nostalgia of glorified items they saw through their pure, untainted, still developing eyes and the resentment towards new trends as they cannot see anything without any scum anymore. The yearning not for those movements, but for this soft sensation, of looking, admiring something and think, for a moment, that it’s idealistic form was real.

This sweet, unadulterated notion became only a distant, forgotten memory as time hardened the one known today as Roy. For years. Decades. Centuries. Millenniums.

A man who was born during another civilization, another time, long forgotten with only myths remaining of it. Not even a relic to be talked about, as everything had disintegrated, returned to earth for another life cycle.

♚ “THE PAST ISN’T REAL. IT’S JUST A DREAM,” I SAY. “DON’T MENTION THE PAST.”

Roy was born under another name, one he still remembers, but has long buried away, as it is not his name anymore. No one remembers it. It is not him anymore, as much as he might like to. It is only an appellation to let go of. As humankind developed its technology to a peak, so did their power, as they yielded control over nature people nowadays couldn’t imagine. It wasn’t as clear as one making a motion to have the waves, wind and earth respond to it. It was a much more fundamental, rawer sense to it. Where the energy of the world could be used to build even new life.

Always the diligent person who only lived to serve, executing tasks exactly as he was asked to, Roy had been appointed to be the Right Hand of the High Priestess. A young female who had only recently bloomed into womanhood. So perfect in existence, like a bright, pale, white being given to their kind in exchange of their discovery over worldly power. She had embraced her role as a symbol since birth, and he was to accompany her every step of the way as she rose to an official position. To inspire and love. Untouched by anything, for her importance was too great as people shook the world order in their insatiable human curiosity. Nowadays, Roy could have been defined as a bodyguard, yet, in this time, there was no fear of another person’s mishap. Only was he to protect her from accidental injuries, get more menial tasks off her shoulder and, most of all, as they understood this aspect deeply, have her emotional and social needs satisfied.

The way she was so beautiful, the way she would only crack a laugh at his shenanigans, the way he knew how to soothe her and she, in her infinite kindness, learned to soothe him back when a crack of worry grew between his impeccable … how could he not fall in love ?

He loved the way she would recite poetry while he slowly got used to her wanting him to caress her head, and she loved the way he would sing her verses in his smooth, sultry voice. The way she would eye him while someone else was talking on stage with a soft smile while he was guarding the entrance and he’d let a smile crack.

It wasn’t a consummated love like you would see in the current, modern days. There were, of course, pairings who held deep affection towards one another and brought in the next generation, but she had a role where she would never have the chance to do so, for her symbolism was not to replicate, only to be a happenstance, a gift which mustn’t be tainted by an attempt to be artificially redone. She accepted her role with no issue, and so did Roy. And the two of them were perfectly happy with this.

This was a time before the continents even started to noticeably separate on Earth, or even before the initial ground became more and more flooded by the waters. A time where Roy’s kind felt so unified, at peace… until this built up, free of conflict power shattered in on itself.

Raw abominations started roaming, not in the form of creatures, not exactly. So ephemeral, yet spreading chaos and distortion at every corner, fueled by the abuse and infighting of those who had gathered too much and only yearned for more. Years and generations of peace had made civilization take harmony for granted, and the couple was powerless as they saw it unfold. As the world balance collapsed, Roy was approached by a group of pacifists, trusted people for outside the conflicts, everyone knew anyone, respect one another, grew with one another. And as sickly dear ones, growing tainted by the plague pleaded with him, for his position had him perfect for what needed to be done for the greater good: kill the priestess, so the good in her would spread across the land, calm the spirits through their weeps, and save them.

Someone like Roy, of unfathomable loyalty, had a decision to make. And despite the tugs at his heart, it was an easy one. For he believed that, if the Priestess was present, the choice would be simple. That she would understand, because, in her infinite goodness, she could forgive them, forgive him, in the end. And as his trust towards her was strong, it is during a bright morning, away from the war, in the beautiful temple they inhabited, up in the mountains, away from civilization, that he entrusted her with what the people wished of them… and like the great woman she always had been, she kept a serene, albeit slightly sorrowful expression as she accepted. If there was a chance the power built inside her since birth could save more than one person, she would die.

But when his blade pierced her heart, tainting her white, ceremonial clothing in the middle of the garden, she only clanged onto him, eyes wide with desperate sorrow, an expression she, and he, never ever witnessed in anyone before. Fear and betrayal spread across her dark eyes as they grew more and more obscure.

I don’t want to die. My love, I don’t want to die…

―were her last words before, as she wept and choked, the High Priestess expired in her guardian’s blood soaked arms, him wearing too stunned an expression for her to ever hear an answer for him.

Just like beliefs and idolization are made-up by man for comfort and, ultimately, are fake, so was the glorification that one death, from someone incredibly beautiful from the inside out, would be a solution to mankind creating their own demise.

And so, it was at his feet that Roy saw the last of humans slowly die out, first from their endless conflict, so harsh they forgot where it even started, and then to the unforgiving nature, taking back the life they had abused off her.

Only, as he himself felt like he was expiring, with all lifeforce living him in the deserted, now ruined temple he had taken cared of with his beloved.

♚ “THIS IS TRUE: THE WORLD IS BETTER OFF WITH SOME PEOPLE GONE. OUR LIVES ARE NOT ALL INTERCONNECTED. THAT THEORY IS CROCK. SOME PEOPLE TRULY DO NOT NEED TO BE HERE.”

And with the end of this first Humankind was the land so dry of its lifeforce that the cycle of resurrection immortality and resurrection ended. It was quite simple at the time, and helped with the utopia free of grief and unnecessary sadness for their knowledge-seeking kind. If happenstance had you gone, your aether would go back to the earth, only to rise again in the next year, century, no one knew, but they would rise again, the same people, to meet the ones they knew in another life again, with hazy memories, but just enough to recognize your loved ones, and find them again. The more time passed, the less did people come back from this dormant phase, millions and millions now sleeping under the crust of the Earth, never to awaken again. Only the one who had gathered more power could come back more quickly, not the servants, no matter how strong they were, like Roy, who was only, despite all his strengths, a support to a higher one.

Only, as their kind ended, in her last breath, was he given the last link to the cycle, to be connected to his brethren, when he wasn’t supposed to be the one to live again to better the world.

She gave it to him, as her last gift. As the forgiveness she could never give him while she clung to dear life so desperately.

For the greatest gift to give to someone where inevitable death surround them is to still live……… isn’t it ?

I have seen too little, did too little to be of any solace in chaos. You, my love, have seen, experienced. I cannot think of a finer person to carry out our legacy, for I trust that only the best will come out of you.

♚ “PEOPLE CAN GET ACCUSTOMED TO ANYTHING, RIGHT? HABIT DOES THINGS TO PEOPLE.”

Life went back to its natural course. Ancient structure became ruins as vegetation took over, and, strong as it ever was, mankind rose again from the ashes. At the dawn of a new civilization, an orphan would be found at a nearby river, taken in by farmers and eventually would be a child raised by the whole humble village… a child who hadn’t forgotten a thing, and worked towards the dawn of a new age where he could protect what was dear to him.

And so, the one these days called Roy, grew up like he did before, to train and refine his ways. Only, this time, he didn’t only focus on his personal growth, but on others’ too. Estranged from other children like he had always been, with adulthood reaching his mind too quickly, only devoted to his craft. Despite snarl from the youth, his reputation grew amongst the adults and elders, and the communities beyond. As soon as his body was barely out of its formative years, did the boy set home in the mountains. Out of the leftover ruins his past life would let him have. A strong foundation to not lose sight of his objective.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. Alongside harsh but fair mental and physical training, all from what he had been taught and remembered, Roy kept exploring martial disciplines he even hadn’t touched in the past, wanting to reestablish what had been lost, and, before he knew it, he was known nearly as a Sage Deity across the land. A man coming from another world, who set up his temple atop the mountains made of smooth boulders eroded with time, near a clear water source, in the middle of a blossoming garden full of colors and hybrid one never knew how such an abundance of different species naturally grew alongside one another in this location, like it was enchanted.

Often, the village elders sought Roy’s advice, which he hoped have given sparingly, in neutrality, since he couldn’t guide mankind every step of the way, only show them a flourishing path. Travelers would come from afar to seek both his teaching and words, with glorified stories growing slightly intimidating to the young man. Despite this, he did his best to carry on his duty, taking care of the new temple grounds he assembled himself, wearing flowing clothes he sew himself; all loyal to the form and aesthetic of the woman he cherished, adorning the same attire she did and flowing, long hair. He wasn’t hoping for them to meet again, only honor her memory. He had grieved and grieved, wept and wept before she gave him the gift of eternity. His salvation was throwing himself into his training, contemplating his sorrow, and so on and on again until he only felt peace.

Roy’s stories of a lady in white with the darkest of eyes became legends, tales of kindness, bravery and adventure. And, amongst his own legacy growing, did Roy decide, after much deliberation, to take in disciples. One, then two. People under his tutelage, who would, in return, vow to spread and defend what the temple fought for, alongside taking equal parts in temple duties. And as the young people he accepted under his wing grew, Roy would soon be surrounded by four bright students he deeply loved. Unable to truly have a father’s touch, he, at least, believed he was a good guardian, hoping that, with time, his students would become masters, and that humanity could flourish.

It was then that, surrounded by his disciples, minus one, actually, that Roy had just finished drinking light tea and eating some sweets. He sighed as a cloud formed in front of his thin lips, the cold air announcing the winter to come. Even as his eldest disciple spoke, Roy didn’t reply. He stayed still, unmoving, silent, for there was nothing to say about what he felt was to come.

He didn’t even groan when he felt the ornate blades of his disciples pass through him, all three at the same time, for they were bound to be guilty together. While the screeching pain enveloped his senses, he wondered if this was what she felt, when he betrayed her.

That night, the Sage’s remains were cut to pieces, scattered far and wide, while his head was burned in the courtyard bonfire, all in an attempt to stop the link he had with his brethren, to cease the “gift” he had been given and for the cycle carried by the billions sleeping to come to an end.

But, unlike what men thought, Roy’s cycle was only part of nature, and he was to rise once more.

♚ “MY NIGHTLY BLOOD LUST OVERFLOWED INTO MY DAYS AND I HAD TO LEAVE THE CITY. MY MASK OF SANITY WAS A VICTIM OF IMPENDING SLIPPAGE.”

It was always the same. Again and again. He would be reborn, train, work, bond, and die at the hands of the very ones he had linked himself. The only reliable companion Roy ever had was nature outside of mankind, harsh but fair, just like him. With a behavior he could coexist with peacefully. It started eating him from the inside out. This time around, Roy had come back from the dead a few decades after his murder, found stark naked in a rice field even farther East, still in a young adult form, regenerated. Mankind hadn’t been doomed yet, and so, he vowed to save it by himself.

Roy would travel far and wide as mankind spread its territory and the continents started separating, being the only one of his kind which could still read the flow of life, its remaining corruption, and how to neutralize them. He would never stay in one spot for too long, only focusing on what he had to do. Because if he didn’t do it, who would ? If he didn’t do anything, he would only be left seeing the same amount of suffering and death, all by himself.

He couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t lose hope.

But Roy’s respect for life took the better of him. As he helped others with his abilities, presenting himself as somewhat of a medium as others also showed special traits, he hadn’t seen how darker human’s hearts had become. So much more quickly than the society he had known in the past. People turned envious of his abilities, and, soon enough, he needed to fight and run for his own life, at the risk of being torn apart yet again.

This fight and flight narrative happened again. And again. Until Roy’s duty had no time to be done; if he wasn’t around, there was no way anything could be done. He had to survive. And as the world grew around him, his mind and memories became muddied, and the depravity surrounding his person slowly creeped into his mind, as any remainder of his initial purpose was muddled with a constant years of bloodshed. An age of decades where he was to be burned and tortured, captured again and again before he’d lay waste to entire villages for his own safety. So no witness was to remain, and less people were to go after him. His training was used in a way he had never done before. For a cause he couldn’t decide to stop. He learned how to kill as efficiently as possible, how to decimate communities, destroy morale through underhanded means. Jumping from one allegiance to another as he either killed or fled before they’d go after him. For the first time, Roy could see how much his raw abilities could be of use in carnage, with no ceremony, no cause behind them. Only death. The very somber death he swore to stop.

He didn’t even stop to wonder at the technology men came up with, using the growing devices as meant for an end, anger and rage creeping into his very soul, indulging in vices he was being offered by humans which morals he always despised. There was no relief in this life, no moment of quiet, only screams and chaos, and only sins could provide a moment of respite. Roy, actually, never remembered how he died, but he did, at some point, in some time, after all sane people had left the territory, and only savagery had roamed the land he had loved so dearly.

During this time, he had forgotten her name, even her face.

♚ “THE CONVERSATION FOLLOWS ITS OWN ROLLING ACCORD - NO REAL STRUCTURE OR TOPIC OR INTERNAL LOGIC OR FEELING; EXCEPT, OF COURSE, FOR ITS OWN HIDDEN, CONSPIRATORIAL ONE. JUST WORDS, AND LIKE IN A MOVIE, BUT ONE THAT HAS BEEN TRANSCRIBED IMPROPERLY, MOST OF IT OVERLAPS.”

At some point, Roy had no recognition if he had been in the same world, the same plane of existence amongst the cycles when he awoke once again. This time in a white, desperately empty desert. With no one at his side. He was still, somehow, a fully grown person, with the fresh memories of violence he had laid, and the scent of blood into all his pores, and the grotesque weapons he had used with no ceremony.

Yet, in this newly regenerated body, in this empty space by himself, his mind centered itself. His discipline kicked in between the silence and hunt for sustenance. He had spent so long a time by himself, alone, in the most chaotic of scenarios. With no one who remembered him, no one who remembered his loved ones, no one who remembered who everyone he even knew were.

After spending time and time, he couldn’t count how long, to rebalance his person, reshape his senses and skills yet again, Roy readied himself to reach civilization once more… yet when he started his journey again, he stopped, the sudden weight of his contact with humankind anchoring him to the ground, unable now to stand. His body was trembling, and everything he had packed fell to the ground. He knew what would happen if he gave up. What he would need to go through and experience. Again and again. He tried. He tried so hard. But no matter how good he could be, it seemed so… hopeless. However, even if it was an impossible endeavor, he couldn’t stop, or else he would have nothing.

He wouldn’t be able to, maybe, one day, see everyone again. How many times had it been ? His memory couldn’t bear so much, what important things could he not recall ? He could start counting, but there was no way to say if entire lifetimes were not thrown into the abyss, and if forgotten crucial knowledge would end up with yet another failure…

This is when, hunched onto himself in this deserted, white horizon, Roy held his head in his hand. He groaned of pain as his mind was strained to its limits, drooling as he agonized, and images faded far, far away as he life flow was being torn apart from him by his own hands. He could hear the screams of his brethren, their legacy being desecrated. Useless. Useless. He didn’t need to remember their names. He didn’t need to remember their faces. Everything deemed useless to the core of his mission was shred out of his very soul, making the pain, the worries fade away, for he only needed to focus on what needed to be done.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. For those virtues to lead mankind to a greater part. And maybe, just maybe, recover part of everything he had lost.

For it was the one thing she had not accounted for, for she saw this man as someone so perfect through her affection for him.

That, ultimately, he did all of this so he could see them, see her again if he ever succeeded, and mankind could doom itself if it wasn’t the only way he knew to move onwards. That he did what was needed of him, without taking it so much to heart, that, in the deep of his heart, laid a hidden, selfish reason for all of this. Yet, it may not be this one anymore, he couldn’t tell.

And as Roy literally lost his mind, all by himself, with not a soul around to witness his sorrow, he laid there, vegetable from the trauma, feeling but unable to move, in a haze of horror and pain, before, finally, dehydration took him, and he was back in the cycle again.

Only, this time, there would be no memories. Only physical ones. No loneliness, only fake memories pieced by the world to balance his existence. Only a man, his training, his virtues, and an impossible task that is his only defense against despair and insanity.

♚ “THERE IS NO TIME FOR THE INNOCENT.”

[gingerwritess]

Loki owns every single ounce of soul and my body radiates an overwhelming amount of uwu energy every time I see him it’s unhealthy. In other words, i wanna marry him oeriodt

good news babe, now you can ;)

here it is folks, the wedding of you and Loki.

it’s just the ceremony, i might do something about a reception later and will definitely be doing some honeymoon stuff !! but for now…here’s a very long piece about your wedding! ENJOY.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Loki Laufeyson is not a simple man.

Hell, he’s barely a man.

Everything concerning Loki is complicated; his past, his present, his future, his heritage, his family, his species, his abilities, his ambitions, his reasoning…

The list goes on.

You knew this. You know this, and yet here you are, stepping out from behind an oak tree, giggling and barefoot and arm in arm with your best friend, coming to greet him at the alter.

Nothing has ever been simple. Not when you met him and you each tried your respective times to kill each other, not when he spent a couple years convincing himself he hated you and that’s why you were in his head all the time, not when he had to somehow win your trust.

It’s been complicated. Complicated fights, complicated dates, complicated forgiveness.

A complicated wedding, too, which is why you’d agreed to just have a tiny little wedding in an Asgardian forest, miles out from the border, with barely ten people invited to attend.

The bigger ceremony can happen later. Right now, with the setting sun glowing off Loki’s pale skin, all that matters is making him yours.

It’s surprisingly simple, actually. Loki’s surprised. A couple chairs were set up in a little clearing of trees, shrouded by the oak branches with only a few rays of evening sunlight seeping through, and a walkway of smooth stones had been laid as a kind of alter.

No giant centrepieces to decide on, no music to choose, no kingdoms you have to invite so they don’t get offended, no sacrificial goat to find. Tonight, all you have to worry about is that Thor doesn’t cry too much while he officiates, thus setting the wedding back an hour.

And that you don’t completely lose your shit.

He looks so good.

You’ve never seen Loki looking so…so relaxed, so casual, so sure of himself. He looks confident, for once, genuinely confident in what he’s doing—or about to do.

On the inside, though, he’s a wreck. A nervous, giddy wreck, positive that you’re going to turn on your heel and run away, going to look once at him and find him disgusting, just as you should have since the moment he fell for you, just as you did the moment you met.

His hands shake and he shoves them in his pockets, swallowing hard when you step out from behind the tree.

Your friend insisted on that—“you still need a grand entrance, I wanna see if he cries”—and since there’s only an archway of tree branches tied together with fairy lights for you to walk through, the tree trunk will have to do as a cover.

You’re just as nervous as Loki, if you’re being completely honest. Just…marrying him.

This is kind of a big deal.

A little bit life changing, really, and when you think back to all that had to happen to get you to this point, the nervousness just multiples.

But, the smile that paints your face is in every way childish. Ridden by giggles, a nervous, anxious, excited mess of emotions and then you see him, waiting for you, and the space between you seems infinite and nonexistent at the same time.

Loki’s breath catches.

A sniffle is heard from the make-shift alter—not from the groom. Thor rubs his eyes and stands up straighter, trying his absolute hardest not to pull his brother into a bone-crushing hug.

Loki looks different.

Different than when you first met him. His hair is different, a little longer, cleaner, not so messy and untamed, tied half-up with a couple braids hidden in his almost curls. The thin gold cuffs at the ends of each braid glint in the sun when he moves.

He’s not covered in blood and rubble like he was when you met him, either. He’s not so pale, not so thin, so gaunt, and his eyes are much closer to green than blue when you meet his gaze and give him an excited, scrunched-up little smile.

Loki smiles back and that’s when it hits him: his eyes are swimming in seconds and he chews his lip, casting his gaze to the trees above and praying the tears don’t fall.

Things like this…don’t happen to Loki Laufeyson.

He doesn’t get the girl, doesn’t get to have a beautiful wife. An intimate, beautiful wedding is just something he dreamt of as a child, something that helped him fall asleep, just like that immature dream of having someone to hold close every night, lured to sleep by their warmth.

A few steps closer, he has to swipe a hurried hand over his cheek, and you bite back another excited laugh—there. You got him to cry.

You never thought you’d be the person to make someone cry tears of joy on their wedding day, much less someone who cries so beautifully.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Loki cry, but it’s definitely your favourite.

Your hands meet before you’ve even noticed covering the distance. The coldness of his skin is normal now, for whatever the reason you’ve stopped caring, and you wind your fingers through his and grin at his teary face before turning to Thor.

“Hey,” Thor chokes out with a smile, “are you two ready?”

You nod, Loki wonders if no is even an option.

He’s not ready at all, because as soon as this starts, it’ll be over, and this beautiful little ceremony is an end he doesn’t want to face. He’s not done marvelling at you, his soon-to-be wife, he hasn’t fully memorised what you look like this evening, he isn’t ready to let it end and lose this dreamlike trance where no past can intrude.

But Thor starts talking anyways, interrupted by an occasional sniff, and Loki’s left grasping at the moment.

He hasn’t even gotten to look at you, to truly ingrain your image in his mind, so as Thor begins to recite the service he’s read over time after time again, Loki’s gaze turns to you and everything else seems to fall silent.

Blue.

He’d expected green, to be completely honest, you know what you do to him when you wear his colour, but you’d surprised him with the pale blue dress.

A wonderful decision he could never thank you enough for.

You’re…a dream. You could be a light elf, with the way the setting sun beams down on you, but no, actually, no light elf could even come close to comparing with your beauty.

The dress floats over you, thin straps keeping it secured over your shoulders, that pale blue fabric softer than silk when his hand slips helplessly to the small of your back.

You’re real, solid flesh and bone under his hand. Breathing, living, a bouquet of white roses and sparse, leafy twigs in one hand, the other finding its way to his back and rubbing soothing little circles.

He’s staring and doesn’t plan on stopping. You catch his eye and send him a comforting wink.

It’s a simple dress, nothing to distract from the wearer. His gaze travels the length of it, from your bare feet to the thin gold chains around your ankles, to the smile dusting your lips, to the crown of olive branches and tiny white flowers his brother just placed on your head.

You nudge him in the side.

“Hm?”

Your crown, you mouth, nodding at Thor. You okay?

Shaking himself out of his daze, Loki blinks and looks back at Thor.

“…sorry. Where are we?”

“I’m crowning you,” Thor whispers, holding up the other crown of olive leaves and flowers, the connecting satin ribbon tugging on yours as he does. “Remember? ‘With these crowns, your power becomes shared, and with these crowns, your rule becomes one, to grow only in unity and to prosper as—’”

“Alright, yes, yes, I remember.”

You bite back a laugh as Loki runs an exasperated hand over his face, then bows his head to allow Thor to place the other crown over his head.

“Hey, sunshine,” you whisper when you duck your head as well, taking his hand between the two of you. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” He squeezes your hand, a sideways smile flashing your way. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” you laugh quietly. “Now shush, this is important.”

“No, it’s not.” He knows he’s not necessarily supposed to touch you more than just holding your hand, but he strokes the backs of his fingers along your cheek anyways, smiling softly at you. “It’s not.”

“Shh.”

With a teasing roll of his eyes he turns his gaze back to the ground, hand dropping from your cheek back to hold your hand tightly between the two of you.

You do look beautiful in blue. Absolutely breathtaking, jaw dropping, stunning.

The longer he stands there, slowly forgetting who he is and focusing on who he’s going to become for you, the more he wishes he had told you his only secret.

Half of him thinks you might already know about his true heritage—the blue dress, the fact that you don’t ask why he’s so cold anymore. But…if you knew, you wouldn’t be standing next to him today, marrying him.

He wishes he had told you from the beginning.

“No good marriages begin with secrets.”

Frigga was an absolute hypocrite for telling him that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

He’ll tell you soon. He knows he will, or, honestly, he might just bury that monstrous part of himself so deep that you never have to know. It wouldn’t be living a lie if he forgets it’s part of his truth, right?

“I will.”

Damn it, he missed it.

“Wait—no, can you repeat that part?” He quickly blinks back to reality, cursing himself for being so consumed in his thoughts that he’s missing his actual wedding. “Sorry, sorry.”

Thor gives a knowing smile. “Of course. Will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and honour, to treasure and love until death do you part?”

“I will,” you repeat, the grin evident in your voice. “I will.”

Loki swallows thickly, eyes burning. You accepted him again. To have him, to keep him, to love him and allow him to be your husband.

People don’t…want him, Loki knows that.

Not his birth parents, not even his adoptive parents, not your world nor his own, everywhere he’s gone has rejected him. No one wants Loki.

You, though, seemed to have skipped right over wanting him and decided to love him.

Husband.

He likes the title more than he ever liked prince, and much more than he ever liked king.

“And will you, Loki, have this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish and honour, to treasure and love until death do you part?”

A couple birds chirp overhead.

“Loki?”

His eyes have glazed over, dewy skin glowing in the rays of sunlight, a strand of hair fluttering over his face every time the wind blows.

“Loki.” You nudge him in the arm, an amused smile playing at your lips. “Can you answer him? I’d really like to kiss you already.”

He chokes out a laugh at that, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, sheepishly trying to get a hold of himself. “Of course I will,” he laughs, looking up at the trees and letting out a long breath. “I will.”

Beaming at him, you give his hand another reassuring squeeze and nudge him again.

“I will,” he whispers once more, staring at you. “For all eternity.”

Ohhhh goodness.

Why does his softness make your heart ache like this, how did he become so gentle??

“Hurry up and finish,” you laugh to Thor, heart pounding. “I’m not gonna last much longer, he’s…god, he’s just…hurry.”

Loki’s heart sinks a little, he can’t help it. This is nice, standing here with you, his brother bringing you together, your closest friends and family sharing the moment. It’s nice and warm, and Loki feels surrounded by a strange sense of home, for once.

Don’t hurry. He closes his eyes to focus in on the feeling of your hand in his. Don’t hurry, don’t end this moment.

Warm skin, soft skin, gentle fingers. Only one ring on your ring finger so far, bringing him back to reality right as Thor hands him the small box holding the rings.

He lets out a shaky breath and you turn to him—this time, it’s your breath that catches.

You hadn’t quite fully taken in all of…him.

Loki smiles, turning to face you and holding out the rings in an open palm. “Shall we?”

“Wait,” you breathe, clutching his ring in a tight fist. “Give me a second, I-I need to memorise how…perfect my life is right now.”

His heart twists as you look around, an uncontrollable smile growing over your face as you take in the little clearing amidst the trees, the sun rays cutting through their canopies, the couple people watching, until your gaze lands back on Loki.

Your eyes burn as you look at him, your husband, with his anxious little shrug of did I do alright? in his navy trousers and loose white shirt, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows; a perfectly informal ensemble to hoist a middle finger to the attire the other wedding wanted him to wear.

He looks comfortable here. A little nervous, maybe, a little anxious and kind of like he’s worried you’ll run away any second, but it’s an endearing, comfortable look.

“Perfect,” you whisper again, smile damp with tears, and you grab his left hand. “Perfect, okay, let’s finish this, I can’t wait anymore…”

The ring slips easily onto his ring finger, somehow still warm against his skin, the gold band glinting in the remaining sunlight as he looks at it.

There. He grins, that little gold ring changing everything.

He’s yours.

Loki Laufeyson belongs to someone.

Someone who actually wants him, someone who loves him.

Taking your left hand in his, his eyes flit up to meet your grin as he brings it to his lips; a royal gesture for the only queen he’ll ever know. He guides the wedding ring onto your finger, caressing your hand with a gentleness you remember knowing he didn’t possess when you met.

His slender fingers close around your hand, cool as always and promising to never let you go.

Breathe.

Once he moves his hand, you look at the ring, shining against your skin—oh god…now you belong to someone, too.

And it’s someone who wants you, and—

“No,” Loki whispers, shaking you out of your thoughts, “I love you.”

Damn, you were doing so good with not crying.

Your husband—yeah, let’s say that again, your husband—starts chuckling, that beautiful rolling laughter cutting right over Thor’s recitations and prayers.

Hand in hand under the trees, Loki laughs, you try to stop the tears rolling down your grinning cheeks, and Thor skips over a few lines, his own laughter starting to cut through the recitations.

He’s speeding up the ceremony, clearly, mumbling through probably important prayers and vows, but you figure that’s probably best—if it lasts any longer, you’re going to combust.

Your husband’s lips seem to be in need of a good kissing.

Finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity of not being able to wrap your husband in your arms, Thor closes his giant old ceremonial book with a snap.

You glance at Loki, then to Thor.

The two arguably strongest men you know, and both of them have tears pooling in their beautiful eyes.

“Thank you,” Thor whispers, laying his hand over you and Loki’s entwined hands and giving them both a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this, brother.”

Loki just nods, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth in an attempt to keep the tears from falling.

“Never doubt—” his voice cracks. “—th-that I love you.”

“I won’t.”

You can’t help but grin at them, the two brothers in their rare moments of softness, when all the warrior-guises, murky bloodlines, and pressures over a throne have worn away.

It’s…refreshing.

And to Loki, more than he ever could have hoped for.

“Alright,” Thor laughs, rubbing his damp eyes with two fingers. “Enough of that. You have a wife to tend to, brother, I’ve made you wait long enough.”

Loki’s hand tightens around yours and he catches your eye, an inevitable smile spreading over his face at the sight of you.

“I pronounce you husband and wife,” Thor announces, smiling broadly. “Now get on with it and kiss.”

It takes barely a single second before you’re dipped backwards, Loki’s arm around your waist as the other trails up to cradle your cheek, kissing you with the fervour of a man starved.

Kissing you like it’s the last thing in his life that he’ll ever, ever do, kissing you as if he just got to make you his and his alone.

Like he’s yours.

People have warned you about Loki’s “possessiveness.”

But right here, right now, with your fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging to keep him from completely frenching you in front of his brother and your couple friends and family, you know you were right; he was never really a possessive lover.

He’s terrified, and you know this. Not possessive, just scared. And if any possession is playing a part in your relationship—no, marriage…

It’ll be the fact that Loki gets to consider himself officially, undeniably, forever yours.

See, Loki never needed a second chance.

You weren’t his redemption story, weren’t the kind one who “gave him a chance.”

You just…love the right parts of him.

It’s a beautiful thing, really.

To see someone grow from a pure, innocent child into a tortured soul who’s been beaten by the universe, convinced they have no place in this life, then to transform into the person of your dreams?

It’s simple.

Just find the bit of love that everyone holds somewhere in them, no matter how deeply buried it might be, and love that part of them until someday, they can love it, too.

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hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine

[helaintoloki]

Season of the Witch | Michael Langdon

chapter ten: Rhiannon

masterlist

pairing: Michael Langdon x witch!reader

warnings: language, angst, violence, graphic descriptions, adult content, deception, toxic relationships, abuse, death, witchcraft, satanism and all that other good ahs stuff

notes: this chapter contains smut👺 

The return of Michael Langdon and Misty Day had led to the literal fall of Cordelia Goode, the reigning supreme collapsing in weakness as Michael rose to power. The alpha. The word made y/n nauseous, and she could not force herself to so much as look at him as she helped carry her mother to the nearest couch to rest.

“You’ve gotten so big,” Misty had cooed tearfully, hands cradling y/n’s face as she observed every change, every new detail and alteration her body had gone through. “I remember when you were just a little lily, and now you’re all grown.”

“I get that a lot,” y/n had laughed, tears falling down her face. It seemed as if her coven was growing, going through a Renaissance of power and strength and unity. But at what cost? “I’m so happy you’re back. We need you now more than ever.”

“Oh, honey,” Misty whispered, thumbs gently wiping away the young witch’s tears. “Whatever happens next, stay away from that boy.”

And now y/n sits at the bottom of the stairway, elbows resting on her thighs and chin held in the palms of her hands with Binx sleeping beside her as she listens to the White Witch serenade Misty, a gift to the girl who’d been through hell. Literally.

Cordelia and Madison had disappeared, leaving the girl to her own devices. Y/N could feel Michael staring at her from the top balcony, his hard gaze making her feel small and pathetic, her strength and independency shadowed by his raw power and intent. Her mind still could not wrap around the fact that her incantation had failed. Y/N had never failed in her life, not when it came to witchcraft. So why now?

“Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn’t you love to love her?” Stevie’s melodic voice echoes, and y/n silently hands her cat son to Myrtle as she rises from her seat and ascends up the stairs towards the cause of her misfortune and failure.

“Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover?”

“I thought you’d be happier for me,” his voice sounds, startling y/n. She turns to find him standing in the dimly lit hallway, a look of mock hurt on his face. “Especially since I still managed to pass the tests despite you trying to poison me.”

“You knew?” She asks, eyes wide and bewildered.

“You really are dumber than I thought,” Michael chuckles, stepping closer. She doesn’t feel herself begin to take steps back, not until her back hits the wall and they’re pressed chest to chest, Michael staring down at her with an intensity so great she has to look away. “But you are your mother’s daughter.”

“All your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind.”

“You’re horrible,” she whispers hoarsely, tears silently falling down her cheeks to her dismay. Michael only laughs, pulling her in closer by the chin to lick the salty drops away. And her breath hitches in her throat, body growing stiff and eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his hot tongue tainting her cool skin.

“I know,” he whispers back, nose brushing against her own. “It excites you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not yours,” y/n murmurs weakly, affirmation lost on her tongue and in his ears. “I’m not like you.”

“You’re better?” He mocks.

“You don’t have to be this way,” she pleads, eyelids flitting open so she can gaze into his blue eyes, gaze into his soul. “The warlocks idolize you because they believe your rise to the top will bring the coven to its end. But it doesn’t have to be that way, you don’t have to follow the path they’ve made for you. I-I can help you, Michael. I want to love you.”

“Would you stay if she promised you heaven, will you ever win?”

“Love is for children,” he sneers, “I don’t need you.”

“But you want me?” Y/N whispers, and Michael falters. There’s a difference between need and want, a difference in yearning, longing. The ache you feel deep inside your chest at the thought of not being able to have something. It’s what he feels every time he looks at her, so pristine and pretty and powerful, overshadowed by the ranking of her mother.

“She is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness.”

And he wants her. He so desperately wants her by his side, not only as an ally but as a lover. Someone to turn to for comfort, for compassion, to sit upon his lap as they watch the world burn together. To have on his arm, to carry his legacy in her womb. Mind, body, and soul.

Yet he feels her resistance, her defiance in the face of authority. Her mind and soul are locked away tightly in a place he cannot easily reach. But her body is his, he can smell her arousal, and he dips down to press his lips against her own.

“She rules her life like a fine skylark and when the sky is starless.”

Her hands find his hair, eyes shutting as her fingers entangle themselves in his blond locks. They’re soft and smooth against her fingertips, a sharp contrast to his hot tongue shoving itself down her throat. Saliva coats their lips as they swap spit, hands desperately groping at each other for something to grasp, something to ground them in the moment before it can slip away.

“All your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind. Would stay if she promised you heaven, will you ever win?”

Y/N isn’t sure how she ends up in his bed, the door locked shut and the room bathed in candle light as Stevie’s voice becomes nothing but a distant echo. The candles should have been romantic, but instead it made the surroundings eerie and uncomfortable. His hands desperately groping her breasts and his teeth raking along her jaw are enough of a distraction though, and any and all rational thoughts she may hold are quickly tossed out the door.

“Michael,” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as his wet lips trail down her neck to the exposed skin of her breasts. She watches with hooded eyes as his slender fingers diligently untie the front corset of her dress, exposing her naked breasts to his prying eyes. Michael lavishes her figure, illuminated by the soft candlelight. She looks angelic underneath him despite her sinfully puffy lips and perked nipples, and he can’t help but beam at the corruption he’s created within her. If only Cordelia could see her precious little daughter now, wet and wanting and ready for the new supreme, for the alpha.

The same slender fingers used to untie her corset are the same digits that dip into her panties and push past her slick folds. A small, breathless whine escapes her lips before she can stop it, and he gives her a chesire like grin.

“So desperate for your alpha, aren’t you?” He coos, fingers moving at a painfully slow and steady pace that has her writhing against the sheets.

“Michael,” she whispers, head thrown back against the pillows and eyes shut to hide her guilty pleasure. After the clunky, awkward kiss they’d shared just weeks ago, y/n never expected Michael to be so passionate, so experienced. What a nice surprise it was to learn he knew how to use his fingers.

The touch of the pads of his fingers against her interior is quickly taken away, but she has no time to protest as his cock is suddenly pushed past her panties and thrusted into her. Y/N lets out a strangled cry of discomfort, the feeling of being filled so unfamiliar and foreign to her body. But her pain seems to be Michael’s pleasure, and he begins to move without hesitation.

“Look at you,” he growls, one hand gripping at her thigh while the other wraps firmly around her neck to keep her in place as he slams into her with every harsh thrust. “So pathetic. So desperate for love and validation.”

“Please,” y/n whimpers, the pain evolving into pleasure. He fills her up so nicely, so fully. She can feel him everywhere, his tongue lapping at her breasts and his hands grasping at every part of her. He takes every part of her and she lets him. Without struggle, without hesitation.

“I can give you everything, fulfill every desire inside that wretched little mind of yours. Is that what you want? You want me to take care of you?” He coos, his words sweet and gentle despite how roughly he takes her. She’s so wet, and every word seems to make her gush onto his cock.

“Yes, please, yes,” y/n cries, hands grasping at the sleeves of his jacket. They’re sweaty and hot and fully clothed, but neither seemed to pay any mind. The feeling of their bodies connecting and souls intertwining was enough of a distraction.

She jolts at the faintest touch of his thumb against her clit, toes curling and thighs beginning to tremble at the stimulation. And he smiles maliciously, tickling her with feather light strokes in the place she needed him most.

“Michael,” she sobs, hips thrusting upward to meet his touch, to find some semblance of relief.

“Use your words, little lamb,” he coos mockingly, even slowing his strokes to punctuate his method of torture.

“Please, please.”

“Please what?” Michael asks, stilling completely and laughing at the pathetic whimpers that leave her lips.

“Touch me, please,” she begs, and cries in relief at the feeling of his thumb rubbing fast, hard circles into her clit.

“You will be mine,” he growls, pounding into her erratically. “Witches be damned.”

The talk of her sisters makes y/n shift uncomfortably, but the build up of his touch quickly yanks her away from any hesitation or discomfort. In a matter of seconds she’s pushed over the edge, a raw and guttural cry echoing through the room as her body trembles and spasms underneath him.

The way she clenches has Michael’s eyes rolling over black, a new surge of strength washing over him as his thrusts become erratic and uncoordinated, sloppy. Too dazed by her orgasm is y/n to take note of the way his eyes convert into bottomless black orbs, skin paling as dark veins outline his features. But the primal growl that leaves his lips as he comes is not human, and with his last full thrust the candles are blown out. And it’s just the two of them, breathless and sweaty and slick in each other’s bodily fluids as they recover in the dark.

“Mind, body,” Michael whispers with a shaky hand harshly grabbing her face by the cheeks, “and fucking soul.”

And she can only shut her eyes and escape to somewhere gentler, somewhere comforting to mask the first wave of guilt and regret that consumes her entire being.

She pictures somewhere domestic where sunlight shines through the curtains upon their naked figures, limbs and sheets entangled together so that they are one. The darkness is gone and he holds her in his arms, loving and protecting and caring like she desperately wishes for him to be.

He tells her he loves her, and for a moment y/n mistakes the vision as reality, a comforting illusion that soon comes crumbling down at reality’s brutal impact.

“Dreams unwind, love’s a state of mind.”

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

tag list: @ticklish-leafy-plant @gx-nji @anacerta @bluebirdbts @heda-mikaelson @redlovett @fuck-yeah-bruno-buccerati @ateliefloresdaprimavera @quechulitaaa @theeonlyroman @hecohansen31 @frenchzodiacgirl @michaelsapostle @spider-stud @hoeposey

[land-of-brains-and-chocolate]

i’ve finally fucking done it i’ve gotten the tragic backstory out of my system. i’m free. i’m free of the softness. hardcore head chomping only from now on

They feel different, definitely. New. Remade. More alive than ever, more aware. With every thread of their being that is neither one nor the other, neither claimed nor given, they are more. They are the building blocks for someone else.

Still, they are two-in-one. There are experiences they haven't shared. Understandings they've failed to reach. There are still things that require them to communicate. They're not just a person, but a relationship.

They find themselves wishing for perfect unity, sometimes. They know it'd get awfully lonely, though.

"Is now the time?"

It certainly seems like it could be. There's a sense of safety, or as close as they get, these days, in sitting on a rooftop, off the ground, away from everything. It's tinged by anxiety as the symbiote realises what he's referring to.

"I can tell you're trying to think of other things that require our attention," he says, "but we haven't taken the time to rest since we doomed and subsequently saved the world. There are limits."

Eddie thinks back to it. The separation, the invasion, the reunion. There's a tightness in his chest, then, that travels up to his neck, down his arms, into his stomach, all over. The symbiote can't open a channel of communication. It's either blanking out or overwhelmed. Maybe all at once.

It hasn't locked up like that in a long time. Not with him.

"It's okay," he says, trying to relax. "You don't have to." He pictures pressure, lifting with every breath.

"If there's anything you want to talk about, I'm listening."

They look out into the lights of the city, weak against the milky early morning sky. Eddie sits cross-legged, chin propped up on his elbow, weary down to his bones. A soft breeze gives him goosebumps, and in focusing on the sensation, slowly, they fall back in sync.

The memory appears vague, at first. Viewed at a distance. The symbiote doesn't offer it to him, exactly, doesn’t draw attention to it, but it's right there, right there in their mind. When he recognises it, Eddie automatically reinforces it with the brief flashes he got to see, a memory of a memory, until it is reconstructed.

The symbiote sits in a cage. It is sad, and angry, and afraid, but in a sharp, alien way, not yet shaped and given context by anything familiar. It is assaulted, from all sides, by the knowledge that it shouldn't be - not-it could be, and it could not-be - with nothing else for it to know.

The present symbiote thinks of it with disgust and pity, both. For what has yet to happen to it, for it to not realise it. For it to have been like this, when it could've not been. For it to not have learned to hide in time, having had to be taught.

Eddie thinks of the symbiote, the one he never got to know, too. What an innocent creature, he thinks.

And even in its cage, the symbiote thinks of the mind of another, the inescapable draw of it. The other's capability for endless strangeness. The wish to share their emotions, to have them directed at it.

It thinks of that.

For everyone to see.

For everyone to punish.

The memory fades away. Others take its place, but they aren't available in any coherent and concrete form. They are, more than anything, a series of states, flickering into their mind as one impact after the other. 

The symbiote is seen. It is described. It is opened. It is seen. It is described. It is opened. It is seen. It is described. It is seen. It is convicted. It is seen. It is filled.

Every muscle in Eddie's body locks up. His jaw feels like it's gripped in a vice. He can't breathe, but his heart is beating like it's trying to escape his chest cavity. The pain is solid, physical. It allows him to distance himself.

Eddie thinks. He thinks them back to the cage. He clings to every impression. The sky, oddly purple, perhaps cloudy. The crowd of aliens, the way the symbiotes seeped in and out of them, the faint fear and despair the hosts broadcasted into the network, the pleasure the symbiotes took from it. The slight twitch of their facial protrusions. Their smell, vaguely like leather.

Eddie puts together detail after detail, until the monotone drone of their mind lessens, until they come back to themselves.

Eddie aches.

It's sorry. It's so sorry.

Eddie hardly hears it. Eddie is standing, in some way, amidst the crowd. He looks up at the symbiote in its cage. It liked this species, he thinks. Anger flares up inside him, but only for a moment. It’s already over, after all.  

No one reacts to him when he takes a step forward. No one reacts to him when he climbs the odd apparatus. The symbiote is small and confused and not the one he knows, not quite, but it's more real than any of them.

"A sonic cage," he says, "right?"

Eddie reaches through it, effortlessly.

"Bad design on their part," he says. "It might stop you, but it won't stop your Other."

He can't quite reach it, at the back, where it's slumped into a puddle, so he crosses the barrier. It's a tingle across his skin. The symbiote looks up at him, wide-eyed.

He touches it. It doesn’t flinch away. It's never had to flinch away, and this time, it never will. It's curious, it's hopeful. It runs up his arm, presses up against his chest. It can feel his heartbeat. It wants to feel more.

"I'm here to protect you," he says, and it's never thought of anything like that, but it feels like something it's been holding inside, somewhere. Some yearning.

In bright sunlight, Eddie blinks his eyes open.

The symbiote is draped across him, purring in short bursts, as if feverish, shivering. Slowly, Eddie raises his arms around it. He runs his fingertips over it, then dips them inside, carding through its silky mass, over and over, top to bottom.

For the moment, the symbiote's mental blocks dissipate. Their thoughts tangle around each other, nudge each other, strengthen each other.

Most prominently among them: They're dead.

The corner of Eddie's mouth curls upwards.

There's nothing but vicious joy attached to the thought.

They picture it, all of them, disintegrating. In such immense pain, they'd rather let themselves fall apart than bear it. And it was driven by the symbiote's pain. The very pain they inflicted on it was their downfall.

Justice at its most efficient and most excruciating, truly.

For a second, the symbiote thinks, they were all one, they were all connected. It was part of the largest empathic network it's ever established. They all felt the same. But it survived. They didn't. They'd never been made to hurt like this. They'd only done the hurting.

It was stronger than them.

"Of course," Eddie says, eyes soft. "Of course you are. People like that are never strong. They may be powerful, but they're always... weak."

He pauses, thoughtfully, then gathers a pile of goo in his hands, and it rises, rounds out, grows eyespots, until he's cupping the symbiote's cheeks.

"You're worth all their lives and more."

There's something like a dull thump, like a massive leap of his heart, out of rhythm. The symbiote killed them. Not alone, but it did. That was one thing. It was right to do so, it knew that, knew that for all the species they subjugated. They brought and deserved nothing but death. But still... Some part of it still thought...

For so long, all it knew of itself was that it was wrong. All this time, it haunted it. Drove it not to be like them, but not to be like itself, either. To be like nothing and no one, in order to be so much as accepted. And now, that wrongness is supposed to be a badge of pride. Of triumph.

It churns with it. All the more, when Eddie brings their faces closer. Wanting still burns, sometimes. Wanting anything. Being anything. But his lips brush against it, and the burn subsides.

"I think," he says, quietly, mouth moving against its smooth surface, "it's up to us to decide what's wrong, now." He pulls back. "Who needs to be punished. Who needs to be protected. It's up to us alone. They’re gone."

It's up to Venom. Venom never would’ve let any of this happen.

"And it's up to me," he continues, "to decide whether I want you."

The symbiote stills, only for a moment, before it realises how hard he's trying not to smile, and headbutts him, gently.

"Which I do. Shame certainly won’t stop me.”

Fair enough.

[mieteve-minijoma]

Songfic Day 15: Smooth Criminal

Day 15: A song that’s a cover by another artist: Smooth Criminal - Alien Ant Farm

PART ONE: 

Tension between the Serpents and the Ghoulies has been on the rise and a full out war is imminent. 

Investigative Reporter Betty Cooper decides to dig deeper into the two gangs when she finds herself in hot water with the Ghoulies. Betty is on the run and takes shelter with the Serpents under the condition that she tells them everything she knows. 

It doesn’t take long for tensions to rise between the beautiful sassy reporter and the sarcastic broody Serpent Prince. But what starts as a tension being fueled by irritation and annoyance quickly turns into something entirely different.

*****

Jesus Betty, what the hell were you thinking? Malichi already put out a hit on you and you are going to walk into the bar owned by his sworn enemies? Betty could hear Kevin’s words echoed in her head as she stared up at the neon sign that read ‘The Whyte Worm’.

Betty Cooper was the owner and operator of the Riverdale Register and it’s sole news reporter. She had taken over a few months prior after her parents were killed in a suspicious car accident while on following up a lead on a story. 

It was difficult at first for Betty to uproot her entire life in the city but she knew she had to finish what her parents had started.

So for the last six months, she'd been investigating the gang problems on the southside of Riverdale after people started to go missing or dying mysteriously. 

For Betty, the last straw was when the body of Kevin’s boyfriend, Joaquin DeSantos, was found mutilated in a ditch outside of a construction site near the old drive in. 

Betty had figured out that most, if not all, of the sketchy dealing coming from the southside were all coming straight from the Ghoulies, a group of crazed mad max rejects who dealt in drugs, stolen cars, and mayhem. If it was dirty, the Ghoulies had a hand in it somewhere.  

She learned that, while they did have some shady business dealings, the Serpents were definitely the lesser of two evils. They had been known to help protect people and right now, that is exactly what she was needing. 

All she had to go on was the letter with instructions on what to do if she ever found herself in trouble so here she stood, steps away from potential danger.

Betty took a deep breath and stepped inside.

*****

“Hey, FP! There’s something downstairs you and JJ need to see, quick!” Jughead and FP jumped up front their spots in the office and ran downstairs. They both stopped at the sight in front of them: there, halfway to the bar, stood a curvaceous blonde in a tweed skirt and pastel blouse attempting to stand toe to toe with Tall Boy, a massive Serpent who stood head and shoulders over her.

“Hey!” The sound of Jughead’s deep voice broke the spell in the room, “What the actual fuck is going on here, Tall Boy?” Jughead noticed that the girl, even being outnumbered, didn’t flinch once. Jughead was almost impressed... almost.

“Blondie here seems to have stepped into the wrong bar. I told here we don’t allow northsider’s here, especially not reporters, and she refused to leave. When I tried to make her, she punched me,” Tall Boy turned his head slightly to show the Jones men his bloody lip and scowled some more.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me if this dickhead didn’t listen to my warning when I told him not to touch me,” the blondie firecracker spouted off, “I tried to tell him I am not here on a story, I am here to find someone and ask them for some help. Nothing more, nothing less”

“And what exactly is it that makes you think we will do a damn thing to help you , Princess?” Jughead crossed his arms over his chest, brow raised in question. “We aren’t exactly in the business of helping northsiders no more then you are in reporting the truth about southsiders.”

“Because asshat, I have information that I think you might want to have, information on the Ghoulies and how to take them down.” Jughead watched as the blonde slowly turned and his mouth went dry. He had never seen a woman as beautiful as her in his entire life. And to top it off she had guts, that much was clear.

“And why would we care, Blondie?” Jughead challenged.

“Because Belladonna sent me,” she said, her head held high. Jughead didn’t know what that was supposed to mean but he felt FP tense behind him.

“Who the fuck told you that name?”

****

“Who the fuck told you that name?” Betty watched as an older man stepped in front of the overly cocky -although hot as fuck- serpent and made a bee line for her, “I said, who the fuck told you that name?” he growled at her, grabbing her wrists.

“My mom,” she whispered, sorrow flashing in her eyes. The man must have seen it too because his expression softened instantly.

“Betty?” she nodded as he pulled her into a tight embrace. Betty let out a sob, finally feeling safe for the first time in weeks. 

“FP, I presume?” Betty choked out a laugh, “You look a lot different from what I pictured.” 

“Well, you look just like Alice,” he chuckled, sadness in his eyes. “What did she tell you about me?” 

“She said if I ever got in trouble, like life or death real trouble, I was to come here and look for her best friend from highschool, someone named FP and tell him Belladonna sent me. Something about an inside joke?” Betty shrugged, still confused on why her mother would be referred to as deadly nightshade.

“I’ll tell you about some time kid, but for now let’s see what information you have and see what we can do to help you out ok?” FP smiled briefly at her before his face fell neutral and he looked around him. "Listen up, from this point on Betty here is under my protection. You will protect her like she is one of us and treat her as such, do I make myself clear? In unity there is strength!" 

"In unity there is strength!"All the Serpents in the room shouted back in response before going back to their drinks and previous activities. That is, all except the large Serpent that Betty had punched. He growled and stomped out the front door.

"Don't mind Tall Boy, he's an asshole," FP chuckled, "Come upstairs, I want to introduce to my boy."

FP started up the stairs towards the man Betty had been arguing with earlier. The closer she got the more she realized how sexy this man really was.

His light olive skin was speckled with beauty marks, his raven curls that was partially hidden his crown shaped beanie were a sharp contrast to the blue depths of his eyes. 

It wasn't until Betty noticed the smug expression on his face that she realized she had been staring.

"Like what you see, Princess?" He smirked, licking his lips as he looked her up and down.

"In your dreams, Ponyboy," she scoffed, pushing past him quickly as the blush creeping up neck threatened to betray her. 

*****

"Names Jughead, sweet cheeks," Jughead chuckled when he saw the red tinge on the tips of her ears, knowing good and well he was having an effect on her.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive, even with her perfect girl next door aesthetic. Even that smart mouth and attitude she had going on turned him on.

He followed closely behind her steering into the office and closing the door behind the trio. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag as he leaned against the wall beside her.

"Do you mind?" She scoffed, swiping her hand in front of her face in exaggerated movements.

"Not at all, Princess," he said, blowing smoke directly in her face and making her cough. She scowled at him as he chuckled, walking towards the sofa in the room.

"Jug, don't be a dick," FP scolded and Jughead nodded curtly, frowning at his father. "Now Betty, why don't you tell us what happened and why you are coming to us instead of going to the cops."

Jughead watched from his vantage point as Betty took a seat in front of FP's desk, smoothing out her skirt before looking up to speak.

"I have been working on the case my parents were looking into when they were killed.  At first I was just looking to the circumstances surrounding the car wreck, that was until just a few weeks ago when my friend Kevin came to me in tears. His boyfriend Joaquin was found murdered," Jughead felt himself tense at the mention of his best friend's name. 

They had been trying to figure out how the Ghoulies had gotten close enough to one of their guys to take them and kill them but no one was talking. Jughead's jaw clenched in anger as she continued, "So I decided I couldn't wait any longer, I had to take all my evidence to Sheriff Minetta but somehow the Ghoulies figured out what I had on them and one of them paid me a visit."

"Some prick named Malachi tried to grab me outside the Register the other night but asshole didn't realize I have been taking martial arts courses since I could walk. I beat the shit out of that douche but not before he cut me," Betty lifted her shirt to show the superficial wound on her rubs that had Jughead grinding his teeth.

"Last night, one of my sources told me that a hit had been put out on me and that I was destined to end up like my parents," Jughead could tell the wounds of that memory were still fairly fresh and he walked over to her, laying his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

She glanced at him, smiling sadly before continuing, "So I did what my mother asked me to do: find the Serpents and you to ask for help." 

*****

This was the first time in months that Betty had actually felt safe. She stared down at her hands clenched in her lap, waiting for either man to reply.

She found an odd sense of comfort in the company of the two men she'd never met before. It was like she knew instinctively that she was safe with them and that they wouldn't like Malachi hurt her.

She would also be lying if she denied that she'd damn near come unglued when she felt Jughead's hand on her shoulder. A shiver shot right down her spine, the mix of his cologne and the smell of his cigarettes making her head swim in a deliciously sinful way.

"I'm sorry all this is happening to you Betty, but you came to the right place. Give us all the info you have on the Ghoulies and we will protect you," FP stated. 

Betty reached into her purse, retrieving one of the multiple jump drives she'd had made in case she needed it. She held it up, handing it off to Jughead to give to his father.

"Ok Betty, first things first, Jughead will be your bodyguard. I want you to stay with him at all times. Boy, do not let her leave your sight, got it?" Jughead nodded and looked down at Betty with a smile.

"I think this. Is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Jughead winked at her, making her heart flutter. Man this is gonna be harder than I thought...

To Be Continued...

[torestoreamends]

Mine to Make: Chapter 10

Scorpius attends his first illegal broom racing meet, Albus flies to win, and Delphi holds a meeting. But when Scorpius does some investigation, it turns out that danger is always close at hand...

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge read away if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done. 

Read it on AO3

*

X Eyrie

The stadium is a bubbling cauldron of atmosphere and noise. They’re racing in one of the smaller stadiums tonight so it’s packed to the rafters, and the crowd is so loud that Albus can’t even hear himself think. He’s grateful for that. The sound blocks out his fear. It stops him worrying about what he’s about to do.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Delphi says, walking up behind him and taking hold of his shoulders to spin him round so she can scrutinise him. “Please don’t pass out in the air and fall off your broom. That would be a bit of an embarrassing start. And try not to throw up either.”

Albus swallows and nods. “I’ll try? I don’t know if I can guarantee...” He glances over his shoulder at the exit to the tunnel, which leads onto the pitch. The crowd is obscured in darkness by the bright, silver glow coming from the grass, the lines, the stadium itself. The only thing breaking that soft silver light is the deep red glow of the Fiendfyre crates, which are still being lit. Every time one catches light the crowd roars louder in anticipation, and Albus grips the wall for support, his legs shaking.

“Sev,” Delphi says patiently, squeezing his shoulders. “You’re very good at this. You’re fast, you’re manoeuvrable, you’re more than a little bit reckless. Forget about the crowd and fly. You’ll be great.”

“I don’t think it’s the crowd I’m worried about,” Albus murmurs, looking at her. “It’s... it’s everything really. I mean, what if I get burned? What if I fall off? What if someone recognises me? What if I come last? Will you still be my manager if I come last? I don’t want to let you down.”

Delphi rolls her eyes and gives a heavy sigh. “You’re not going to come last. Trust me. Now stop worrying and get out there and race.” She spins him round and shoves him towards the tunnel entrance, so he trips over his feet and nearly sprawls headlong. He manages to catch himself though, and he heads out onto the pitch to join the other racers.

It’s a mass start race to begin. Sudden death – Albus still isn’t sure if that means literally or not – everyone in, utter chaos. It’s the most dangerous and difficult of all the races because there are so many people in the air, and he’s been dreading it. The game plan is simple: get off the front early and stay out of trouble. He just doesn’t know yet if he’s fast enough to execute it. This is going to be one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

Above him, the final Fiendfyre cage flares into life and the crowd scream and applaud. Albus’s heart pounds in his chest, so hard that he’s scared it might explode. He presses a hand over the top of his new dragon-hide jacket and takes a deep breath.

Calm down, he tells himself. Breathe. You can do this.

A whistle blast carries through the stadium, shrill and piercing. Around Albus everyone starts mounting their brooms. He pulls his goggles down over his eyes and lays his own broom up in the air, running a hand down the handle. It’s vibrating with anticipation, and Albus suspects it’s more excited than he is. He just hopes its excitement will be infectious. It’s been a good friend to him so far but today will be the biggest test.

He draws in another deep breath and hops onto the broom, which starts to lift off the ground instantly. It wants to be in the air. It wants to race.

As he rises one of the older riders, the one with the thick Welsh accent who he thinks is called Gareth, sweeps up next to him and claps him on the back. “Good luck, Sev. I hope it’s not too brutal for you.”

Albus looks at Gareth. “Isn’t it always brutal?”

He grins. “You’ve been around too long already. Just keep your head down, keep away from the fire, and keep flying straight ahead. You’ll be fine. Hopefully.” He soars off to join the mass of racers gathering by the start line, and Albus grips the handle of his broom and tries to feel less like he’s about to projectile vomit onto the pitch below.

It’s difficult to get any sort of position on the start line, let alone a good one. Albus is jostled from all sides, knocked around, buffeted through the crowd like a leaf on the wind. He’s easily one of the smallest racers in the league, which means it’s much harder to fight his way through everyone else, but he does have the advantage of being able to slip through the tiniest of gaps, so by the time the five seconds to start whistle goes, he’s managed to squeeze his way into the second line of racers.

With three seconds to go he spots a gap ahead of him and darts towards it. It closes up fast as people drift towards the line, but just as the starting whistle blasts through the air he reaches the gap and threads the needle straight through, flying like an arrow into clear air ahead.

There’s no one around him, and he flattens himself against his broom, coaxing it up to full speed. It doesn’t need much encouragement. He doesn’t think he’s ever flown this fast in his life, but of course that’s not necessarily a good thing.

“Shit,” he yells, as he spots a crate of Fiendfyre rushing towards them. “We need to turn. TURN!” He pulls hard on the broom, but it’s one of the scrappiest turns he’s ever made. They go skidding round the corner sideways, several metres away from the crate, and the racers just behind take advantage and go zipping through on the inside.

There are five racers ahead of him now, streaking off into the night, but once he’s on the straight with them he gets as low to the handle of his broom as he can, pressing his stomach into it and hanging on with his ankles and the tips of his fingers. He goes shooting forwards, slowly gaining, but there’s only so much he can do before he has to sit up for the next turn, which he makes much more easily. It’s a big, banking roll, and he goes straight underneath one of the racers, the Fiendfyre singeing the top of his hair because he’s so close to it.

“The baby racer wants to play!” He hears someone call, and another of the racers glances back at him, grinning.

“Nice flying, Sev.”

“Thanks,” he calls back. “I hope you like it so much when I’m front of you.”

One of them lets out a hoot of laughter. “Feisty baby racer. I like this one. How’s your diving, Sev?”

They reach a point in the air where there are several looping arches of golden light, directing them down towards the ground, almost arrow-straight down. As they approach, Albus can’t help but grin, because the answer to the racers’ question is that his diving is immaculate. It’s what he loves most. It’s what he’s best at. No one can stick with him in a dive, and they don’t.

He pulls straight down, shooting vertically towards the ground, letting out a whoop of pure exhilaration. There’s nothing to lose if he hits the ground. His family don’t care about him, Scorpius is better off with him out of the way, racing is all he has to live for now, and if he goes down in the process then it might as well be in a blaze of glory.

He descends in a lightning quick blur, passing two competitors. It doesn’t feel like he’s flying anymore. He’s falling, he’s dancing, he’s part of the sky. When he pulls out of the dive it feels like the easiest thing in the world. Why was he afraid of this? Racing is like learning to breathe again. Racing is coming home. Racing is where he belongs.

He banks round the next turn with a huge grin on his face. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is because he’s in front of all but one person, and he knows he can stay ahead because up here, in the sky, on a broom, Sev is untouchable.

The cages of Fiendfyre flash past, but he doesn’t feel the heat. He doesn’t hear the crowd. He’s alone in the black sky, all his focus on the broom tail ahead of him.

When rain starts to patter down he ignores it. The water slides off his charmed goggles so he doesn’t have to worry about his vision being obscured. All he has to do is grip the broom harder so he doesn’t slip off. Steam pours off the Fiendfyre cages and fills the air, but he doesn’t take his eye off the person in front for even an instant.

There’s another dive coming up soon. He remembers noting them all when he’d memorised the course. They’re where he can get his advantage. If he can get close enough to the people in front, he can go past on the dive and then pull away. After that dive there are just two turns to the finish. He can hold anyone off for that long.

“Come on,” he mutters to his broom. “Come on, just a little bit faster. You can do this. We can do this.” He brushes his fingers over the perfectly smooth, diamond hard wood. “Let’s go.”

Albus has never managed to achieve a true partnership with anyone or anything before. Scorpius was his best friend, who he loved, but they’d stopped talking properly before Albus had left. Albus’s wand has never really listened to him. His family are his family, enough said. This is the closest he’s ever got to unity of effort and ambition. He wants to win and so does his broom. They’re both built to race and win, and that’s what they’re going to do.

From nowhere comes another burst of speed. They’re closing, inch by inch. Albus isn’t even holding on with his ankles anymore, he’s just lying flat on the broom, toes pointed behind him, trying to match its shape, to become part of it. They sweep round a corner and gain even further. Albus could reach out and touch the tail of his opponent’s broom, but that would be cheating, and he’s not here to cheat. He’s here to win.

They’re neck and neck when they reach the dive, but that doesn’t last long. Albus is a raindrop, he’s a lightning bolt, he’s a bird of prey. He pelts towards the pitch and his stomach lurches. He has to grab on with his feet again so he doesn’t slip off his broom, and it’s a good job he does because suddenly the ground is right there and it takes all his strength to pull up.

His toes graze the sodden blades of grass and spray kicks up behind him. He’s in front now. He’s winning. He can hold on until the line. Just two more turns.

The wind whistling through his ears is the only thing he can hear. The icy hammer of rain on his hands is all he can feel. It’s difficult to see anything at all in the darkness. The inside of his mouth tastes dry. He can smell the Fiendfyre smoke in the air. Everything is the race. Everything is flying. Everything is winning.

He rounds the corner, shoulder brushing the Fiendfyre crate, and even that brief contact is unbearable. He yells and almost loses control, but his broom knows where he’s going, it knows they’re nearly home, and it keeps flying arrow straight even as he twitches and grabs his shoulder.

The long straight is enough to give him time to compose himself, drawing in a breath to hold himself steady. Just one corner left, then he can scream and cry and get someone to look at his shoulder. One corner left until he’s won his first ever race. One corner left until he’s seizing hold of his future and making it his present.

He skims round it in perfect balance and shoots towards the line. It’s almost too easy. There’s no one around. He expects something to happen, a fireball to hit him out of nowhere, someone to grab hold of his broom tail, for him to have got the course wrong. But then he crosses the line and he realises the crowd is roaring, and he’s braking, and one of his competitors is there slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair, and he’s done it. Sev has finished his first race. Sev has won his first race.

He yells his triumph to the sky and sinks to the ground, heart light as a feather, pure joy pumping through his veins.

He doesn’t win the meet that night, he loses his semi-final, but that doesn’t matter, because he feels like he’s found himself here in the sky above this stadium. The future is his to make, and it’s already begun.

 “This is my favourite one,” Scorpius says, tossing a magazine across the coffee table at Albus. “Look at you in this photo. You look incredible.”

Albus sighs and picks up the magazine from the growing pile on the table. The photo on the front is from a different angle to some of the others, but the image is essentially the same. He’s shouting at the crowd in Diagon Alley, blazing, a look of sheer ferocity on his face. There’s no denying that it’s a good photo, and the more he looks at it and all the others, the more happy he is with everything he’d said.

“Wait wait,” Scorpius says, picking up another magazine. “No, this one’s the best. Look at this.” He passes it across to Albus, who takes it and sees himself looking up at Scorpius. He looks besotted, the expression on his face soft, his eyes shining. The headline above it all says “I’m in love with him, and you should love him too”.

“It’s so sappy,” Scorpius says happily. “It’s beautiful. I want to frame it and put it on my wall.”

Albus bats at him. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“No,” Scorpius says, clutching his heart. “I’m just in love with you too. Listen to this.” He steals the magazine back from Albus and clears his throat. “‘It was a heart-warming declaration of love that left us all gooey. Yesterday, after seven years missing, Albus Severus Potter appeared on the steps of Gringotts in Diagon Alley and announced to the world that he’s in love with Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius has long been one of the most controversial figures in the wizarding world. Called ‘Son of Voldemort’ and accused of being the reason behind Albus’s disappearance, he has always stayed strong and graceful under suspicion, and now we know the reason why – true love.

“When you have a boy as gorgeous as this waiting in the wings to clear your name and tell the world he loves you, surely that helps you stay strong through anything. Now if only we could find ourselves the handsome Potter of our dreams... Turn to page 69 for the latest gossip about older Potter brother James’s love life.’”

Albus snorts. “69. He’ll love that. Can I send him a copy of this? What are they saying about him?”

Scorpius flicks through the pages and grins. “‘The Joker in the Pack – Good news ladies and gents, James Sirius Potter is reportedly still single and ready to mingle. A close confidant of young Mr Potter revealed to us that he hasn’t yet found the person of his dreams. Perhaps the new range of Wonder Witch potions he’s helped develop for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is a play to attract the right lady...’”

“A close confidant?” Albus asks, choking on his coffee. “Who the hell would that be?”

Scorpius shrugs. “It’s a magazine. They make it all up.” He tosses it on top of their mountain of papers and leans back in his seat. “I think you might have made a bit of a splash yesterday, Albus. I think people noticed you.”

“Half of them think I’m crazy or under the Imperius Curse though,” Albus says. “So they don’t count.”

“True,” Scorpius concedes. “But still. You’re not in hiding anymore... Do you think people will recognise you at your next race?”

Albus crosses his legs on his kitchen chair and stares down at the smooth, fine-grained top of his table. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.” What if Sev is gone just like that? What if everyone knows who they’re watching fly? What if...

It’s such a weird, incomprehensible thought that he doesn’t know how to engage with it, how to process it. He’s never been Albus in the air. He doesn’t know if Albus knows how to race. Sev is a seasoned winner, but Albus is just a scared kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Sorry,” Scorpius murmurs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. It’s just really weird to think about.”

“When is your next race?” Scorpius asks.

“Tuesday night,” Albus says. “I’ll have to check where.” A sudden thought strikes him and he looks across at Scorpius. “Have you been to a race yet?”

Scorpius frowns. “No. I haven’t yet...”

Albus smiles at him. “How can you investigate us if you haven’t even seen us race? That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know,” Scorpius says. “I didn’t think it was my sort of thing. And it’s illegal. Surely as a ministry official I shouldn’t be encouraging illegal behaviour by attending these sorts of-“

“Call it an investigation,” Albus says, waving a hand. “Dad won’t mind. He does stupid stuff like that all the time.”

“I suppose it could be useful,” Scorpius says slowly. “To see what a race is actually like.”

“You can gather evidence on how much destruction we cause,” Albus says happily. “You just have to make one promise though.”

Scorpius scrutinises him. “I can’t do anything illegal... or at least anything more illegal than coming to the race in the first place.”

Albus gets up and goes over to him, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face. “You have to cheer for me.”

Scorpius reaches up and pulls him in for a long kiss. “That,” he says, when they finally part and Albus is sitting on his lap, trying to catch his breath, “is definitely something I can do.”

 Albus arrives at the stadium on Tuesday night in a buoyant mood. They’re back in Holyhead again, which feels just like coming home. When he strolls down the corridor to the dressing room he grins up at his mum’s name on the wall. Maybe tonight’s race will be for her.

He lets himself into the locker room and finds that he’s the first one to arrive. It’s peaceful and still, and he stands in the middle of the room and inhales, closing his eyes and listening to the silence. The calm before the storm.

When he opens his eyes he walks across the room to his favourite stall. The best thing about getting here first is that he can sit wherever he wants. As he approaches it he sees something lying on the bench, and he frowns, wondering if he’s actually not the first person here, but as he gets closer he realises that it’s a copy of the Daily Prophet, with a piece of parchment stuck on top, and there’s no denying that it’s a note to him, and there’s no denying who it’s from.

What were you thinking?

Delphi.

He hasn’t seen her since Friday night, when they flew to the top of the Shard and drank Firewhisky. The last he saw of her was her disappearing into the night. And after that everything has changed. He hasn’t talked to her about any of it. He doesn’t really know what to say. She was the one who always told him the future was his to make. Now he’s really making it, and he doesn’t know if she’s very pleased about it. In fact, he knows she’s not.

He sighs and picks up the newspaper and note. Time to go and apologise to her. Again.

It’s not easy to find her. The stadium is a warren of corridors and passageways. Aside from the public areas there are all sorts of maintenance walkways and hidden rooms. Albus searches all the spaces Delphi normally frequents, from the broom sheds to the commentary booth perched halfway up the stadium to the tiny little meeting room where she coaxes money out of people. She’s not in any of them, so as a last ditch attempt, Albus scrambles up the ladder that leads all the way to the top of the stadium structure.

He finds her up there, perched precariously on a narrow metal beam, her feet hanging over the edge, twirling her wand between her fingers.

“You’ve remembered that I exist, then,” she says without looking round at him.

He sighs. “Delphi, I didn’t forget about you, I... I had a busy weekend, and... I’m sorry.”

She holds the wand delicately in one hand and taps the fingers of her other against the metal beam. “Was it all just words, what you said on Friday night, or did you mean any of it? Because honestly, Albus, I’m really not sure right now.”

Albus crouches down on the beam and carefully sits a few metres from her. He doesn’t especially want to shuffle all the way along to sit next to her. It’s a very long drop. “I meant every word,” he says softly. “And what I said was that it isn’t a choice, for me.”

She looks round at him. “You threw your identity away. You can’t be Sev anymore. You don’t have any options now. I’m worried for you.”

Albus nods. “I know that. I do.” He curls his fingers round the metal beam. “It scares me. Just being Albus is... I suppose it’s a bit exposing. I’m scared of how the race will go tonight. I don’t even know if I can race as Albus, but...” He swallows and stares down at his knees, hair falling into his eyes. “It feels like the right thing to do and I want to try it.”

“The whole world knows now, Albus,” she says, twisting round to face him. “You didn’t even do this slowly. You stood there in Diagon Alley and yelled it to everyone. I mean talk about unsubtle. It was reckless and really really stupid. You have no control anymore. They have everything they need on you.”

Albus frowns. “Who’s they? And you know me, Delphi, reckless is my middle name.”

Delphi swings her feet up under her and turns to face him, crouching low to the beam, arms out, perfectly balanced. “They is everyone. People who want to hurt you. Your dad, for starters. Other racers, any enemies you might have, I mean you are a Potter. You’d be a great target.”

Albus shakes his head. “My dad doesn’t want to hurt me. And I don’t care about all the rest of them, Delphi. They can do whatever they want to me, but as long as I’m happy they’ll never really touch me. And I am, Delphi. I’m happy. In a way I don’t think I have been for a long time.”

She rises to her feet, wobbling slightly as she does, then straightens herself up and crosses her arms. “Have you noticed,” she says, in a voice hard as steel, “that we always end up talking about you in these conversations? This friendship is one-sided. I don’t think you even care about me.” She flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “All I’ve ever done is want the best for you, Albus. I saved you when you were miserable, I made you into a star, I gave you a future, and when you were injured I saved your life. But here we are, still talking about you, what you want, what you did over the weekend, who you’re in love with. I’m not a factor here, am I? You don’t really give a shit about my life, my feelings, my opinion, any of it.”

Albus stares up at her, mouth open. “Delphi,” he breathes. “I... that’s not true.”

“Oh,” she says. “Isn’t it? When was the last time you asked me how my weekend was?”

“It’s not that I-“ Albus lifts his chin. “I used to ask,” he says. “I used to ask all the time, but you always refused to answer, so I gave up. If I asked what you did would you tell me?”

“That’s not the point,” Delphi says. “The point is that-“

Albus gets to his feet, wobbling as he does. He’s taller than her. Up here he feels taller than anyone or anything. He understands why she likes it up here. It makes him feel powerful.

“The point is that I tell you everything,” Albus says. “You know my name, you know my troubles, you know what I want from my future, you know how I feel about Scorpius and my parents. You’ve seen me at the worst moments in my life.” He takes a tentative step towards her. “I’ve shared things with you that I’ve told no one else. And what have you told me? Nothing. I didn’t even know your surname until this weekend.”

Delphi’s eyes widen. “My surname? How do you-“

“Black,” he says. “Delphini Black. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her eyes snap back to their ferocious slits and she glares at him. “Your boyfriend has been poking around, hasn’t he?”

“He’s doing his job,” Albus says.

“He’s ruining your life,” Delphi counters. “Our life.”

“It was just a surname.” Albus digs his hands into his pockets. “Why couldn’t you even share your surname with me, Delphi? If I’m your best friend why wouldn’t you tell me your name?”

“Why have you never told me where you live?” Delphi asks, pointing her wand at him. It’s not a direct, threatening point, far more lazy and casual, but Albus still takes a step back, eyeing it.

“I wanted one thing in my life to myself,” he says softly. “I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted... I wanted to be able to really disappear. I wanted to be safe.”

“Safe from me?”

Albus shakes his head. “Safe from the world. Safe from pressure and people and racing and the past and the future and... Just safe. Somewhere I could be myself. Why did you not tell me your surname?”

“You couldn’t be yourself with me?” Delphi asks, ignoring his question.

“That’s not what I said, I-“ Albus takes a deep breath. “Look. When I ran away I was seventeen. I was playing at being myself. I still am, Delphi. I... I am everything with you that I know how to be. I follow your rules, I try to make you happy, I win for you. I’m your Sev. But sometimes it’s nice to be... I don’t know. Sometimes it’s nice to play at being Albus’s Albus. Somewhere where no one will see, and I can fuck up and be happy and just exist.”

“But that makes no sense,” Delphi says, with a frustrated, disbelieving little laugh. “If my Sev and your Albus are different then you’ve been lying to me all along.”

Albus shakes his head. “No. At least you knew my Albus existed. I told you all his dreams. All my dreams. But my Delphi and your Delphini Black? I had no idea they were different people. I didn’t know Delphini Black was a part of you. I-“ He runs his hands through his hair. “You’re my best friend, Delphi. I was so happy to have a best friend I could trust when I met you. Someone who really understood me. Someone I could share everything with. But sharing goes two ways, doesn’t it?” He takes two steps towards Delphi and reaches out a hand to her. “I want to know you, Delphi, because I don’t think I do anymore. Introduce me to Delphini Black. What does she want? What do you want? What is the future you’re making?”

Delphi looks at his hand for several long seconds, then she inhales through her nose and looks at his face instead. “Delphini Black isn’t important, Albus. I’m Delphi to you. Delphi who saved your life, Delphi who made you who you are now. Delphini Black isn’t a person you need to see. She’s an illusion. And her future isn’t my future.”

“Then what is your future?” Albus asks, withdrawing his hand and screwing it into a fist.

Delphi glances sideways, out at the stadium. “Tonight my future is you winning in front of the Rowles. Tomorrow will depend on how tonight goes. That’s it, Albus. Delphi’s future is day by day. There is no grand plan. Just racing and winning and staying alive.”

Albus swallows. “But I don’t... understand, then.” He reaches behind his back and rubs a hand against his shoulder where his tiny wing tattoo is etched onto his skin. “Why is this so important if your future is day by day? Aren’t the wings about your master plan? Your vision of your life? Or are they an illusion too?”

“You can live day by day and still have your future in your hands,” Delphi says. “I would have thought you’d understand that reckless spontaneity better than anyone.”

Albus frowns. “I do, but... I thought the wings were a call to be better than that. More organised. More driven...”

Delphi shrugs. “Maybe they are to you. The wings are whatever you need them to be.”

Albus bows his head and rubs his shoulder blade. Finally, after several seconds of reflection he looks up at her.

“I’ve invited Scorpius to tonight’s race,” he says. “I’d like you to meet him. My best friend and my boyfriend. I’d like to introduce two of the most important people in my life. That’s my future tonight. Will you do it?”

Delphi twirls her wand, expression impenetrable. “You invited a Ministry official to our race.”

“As my guest,” Albus says. “Will you do it?”

Delphi gives an exasperated sigh and tucks her wand away, shaking her head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But he’d better not go poking around. If he’s your guest he’d better behave. This is Sev’s world, not Albus’s. He can’t get too comfortable here.”

”I hate to break it to you,” Albus says. “But Sev’s world is Albus’s now, and Scorpius is going to be part of it for the foreseeable future, so I hope you can get used to him.” He turns towards the ladder, putting his back to Delphi. “I’ll see you when Scorpius gets here. I hope you can manage to be civil.” And then, fuming, he starts to climb back down into the bowels of the stadium, leaving Delphi alone in her rooftop eyrie.

 When the other racers start to arrive, Albus begins to get twitchy. He’s already changed into his racing gear, and he’s flown a couple of warm up laps around the pitch to let off some steam, so now he’s sitting and waiting with nothing to distract him from the fact that all his colleagues probably now know his name.

Jamal is the first to arrive. He strolls into the room and gives Albus a bright smile. “Afternoon, Sev. You’re early.”

Albus nervously returns the smile. “I had to talk to Delphi about some stuff. I might have got here too early though...”

Jamal grins and starts unpacking his bag. “Two hours before the race and ready to go? You might have been.” He hangs his jacket up in the stall and kicks his shoes off. “Did you see the news at the weekend? That Albus guy is back. I still don’t get where he’s been all this time though... What do you think about the bewitchment theory, Sev?”

Relief floods through Albus as he realises that this means at least one of his fellow racers doesn’t know. He hasn’t been recognised. He’s still safe.

“I don’t know,” he says cheerfully, mood improving instantly. “Maybe he’s come back because he really is in love?”

“Do people really do that sort of thing?” Jamal asks, pulling a sceptical face.

“Yes,” Albus says, “I think they do.”

It’s another hour before Scorpius arrives. When he finally does, Albus has been standing by the gates jittering with nerves for fifteen minutes already, convincing himself that Scorpius definitely isn’t going to come, that he’ll have backed out at the last minute, that asking him to a race was the stupidest thing Albus could have possibly done.

But then, suddenly, there he is, climbing the winding, lantern-lit path up from the harbour with a sparkling view of the sunset over the sea behind him. Albus melts at the sight and skips the few steps to meet him, beaming.

“Scorpius!” He leaps at Scorpius, who by some miracle manages to catch him, and Albus wraps his legs round his waist and kisses him hard, not caring who sees, because this might yet end up being one of his favourite race nights ever.

The blissful romance doesn’t last long. Scorpius forgets that he can’t use his hands while he’s holding Albus up, and Albus ends up tumbling onto the grass by the edge of the path and banging his knee.

“Ow,” he says, sitting up and rubbing it. “What was that for?”

Scorpius crouches down next to him. “Sorry. Albus, you really should have known that was going to happen. I’m me. I can’t be relied upon to hold you up. Frankly I’m amazed it lasted as long as it did, and you should be too.”

“I’m injured,” Albus groans as dramatically as he can, rolling onto his back and covering his face with his hand. “You’ve ruined me.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes and kisses his hand before pressing it to Albus’s knee. “There. All better now.” He gets up and offers Albus a hand. “Here.”

Albus lets Scorpius pull him, staggering forwards and leaning on Scorpius to steady himself. He limps a step before deciding that he’s had worse injuries. His knee will live.

“You’re not wearing your robes,” he says, giving his knee one last rub and glancing at Scorpius.

“I’m not an idiot,” Scorpius says. “Sky blue isn’t exactly the best camouflage colour. I don’t want everyone turning on me.” He looks Albus up and down. “Is this what you wear to race?”

Albus glances down at his dragon hide and nods. “It’s the best way to prevent burns. Obviously it doesn’t always work, but it helps.”

Scorpius nods appreciatively. “I think I’m going to like it here.”

Albus smirks and takes him by the hand. “Come in, I’ll show you around.”

Scorpius just nods, apparently speechless.

They manage a little bit of a tour before they get distracted. Albus shows Scorpius the bowels of the stadium, the trophy cabinets and photos and boards of names, but then they get lost in the deserted visitors changing room and emerge half an hour before the race. Albus’s hair is more ruffled than it was, and he’s still trying to tuck his shirt back into his trousers, and cursing the fact that his fly is made of fiddly little buttons rather than a zip.

“Are you alright there?” Scorpius asks. “Do you need a hand?”

Albus shakes his head. “If you give me a hand we’ll miss the race. No, I’m fine. I’m exceptional.” He looks at Scorpius and his frustration with his buttons melts away as he gives Scorpius a brilliant smile. “It’s... it’s really nice having you here.”

Scorpius grins at him. “Well you’re certainly making the most of it so far.”

“Maybe if I win we’ll have to finish the tour upstairs later.” He finally finishes buttoning his trousers and winks at Scorpius before turning and waltzing away down the corridor. “You should probably go and find your seat now.”

“Probably,” Scorpius squeaks in a choked little voice behind him.

 It’s incredible how full the stadium is, Scorpius thinks as he stares around at the crowd. This place isn’t exactly small, but somehow a band of renegade broom racers have managed to pack it to the rafters. He supposes everyone is here for the thrills and spills, the danger of it all, and it certainly looks both thrilling and dangerous.

The racers are massed on the pitch, staring up as a couple of judges on brooms soar among a set of huge iron cages that are suspended in mid-air, setting light to them with raging, snapping bursts of Fiendfyre. The cages must be enchanted, because the beasts in the flames are constrained within, roaring through the bars, angered by their imprisonment, sending spectacular red and orange and black light swirling across the pitch.

It looks terrifying, and Scorpius can’t help but remember the heat of Fiendfyre at his back, claws and teeth snapping at his heels, faces of dragons and serpents looming up at him. How Albus managed to handle being inside that house, how he manages to race everyday, when he’s been so badly hurt by the fire Scorpius has no idea. Not for the first time he wonders how Albus ended up in Slytherin at school. He has such a quiet, solid courage to him. He keeps going when any lesser person would have run away screaming. Scorpius will never stop admiring him for that.

The final cage blazes with light and the crowd around Scorpius roars their approval. He grips his seat and leans forward, straining to try and see Albus among the group on the ground. They’re all so far away that it’s difficult to spot him, but as soon as the racers mount their brooms, Albus becomes obvious.

He’s like a streak of lighting, shooting off for a lap around the pitch. He’s tiny, powerful; so quick. He looks like he belongs in the air, like flying is so much easier for him than being on the ground. It’s breathtaking, and Scorpius feels his heart swell with every second he watches.

Albus invited him here to see this. Albus wanted him to see this part of his life, a part that he’s never seen before. Albus wanted to share this with him. Clearly this is what he loves, what he’s incredible at, and Scorpius understands instantly that it’s an honour for him to be here. Tonight, if he wasn’t in love with Albus enough already, he’s going to fall head over heels.

Everything after that is a blur. He forgets that he’s supposed to be here investigating and gets swept up in the race. Next thing he knows, he’s on his feet jumping up and down and screaming for Albus, who’s somehow managed to fall to the back of the pack.

“What are you doing?” He yells. “Fly faster! Go on!”

It quickly becomes clear that Albus is just messing with them all. Apparently he’s so good at this, and so confident in his speed and skill, that he can put on a show.

As the racers go into a dive, he drops like a stone beneath them drawing gasps from the crowd, and overtaking half the field in one go. He uses the next turn to slingshot himself past the rest, and goes soaring into third place.

On the stadium wall behind him is a huge, close up of his face that keeps blurring in and out of focus because he’s moving so fast. The expression there makes Scorpius’s heart race, because as focused and determined as Albus is clearly being, he’s also grinning, eyes shining with joy. This is all a game to him. He’s playing with the rest of the field, and none of them are anywhere close to him.

As he rounds another corner, brushing heart-stoppingly close to one of the cages, he looks up and directly into whichever camera is pinpointed on him. For a moment his gaze pierces Scorpius who forgets how to breathe. He has to grip the edge of his box for support, and by the time the world realigns itself, Albus has shot past two more people and is bearing down on the only person left in front of him.

All around Scorpius, people are on their feet, screaming for Sev, urging him on. There’s not a person in the stadium who isn’t rooting for him, and Scorpius stands for a moment and listens to the noise with pride, because whether they know it or not, all these people are cheering for his boyfriend. They’re cheering for Albus. They’re all on Albus’s side.

Albus is gaining, inch by inch, lying flat on his broom, moving so fast that he’s a blur. Scorpius jumps up and down.

“Come on! Go go go! You’re nearly there! Get him!”

He’s yelling so loud his throat is going hoarse but he doesn’t care. There’s not much of the race left. There’s not enough space for Albus to overtake surely? He’s still a foot behind, half a foot, a few inches, gaining, clawing his opponent back.

“Yes!” Scorpius screeches, holding onto the edge of the box. “Come on, Albus. Go on! You can- Ooo...”

The whole stadium gasps as the two racers shoot across the line, side by side, neck and neck. It’s impossible to separate the two of them, and they were moving so fast that they were nothing but a blur.

“It’s a photo finish for first place,” the commentator crows. “Everybody watch the board.”

The stadium falls silent as everyone stares up at the wall of the stadium. The two racers streak out of nowhere and stop suddenly, right in the middle of the wall, suspended in time. A red line, like a streak of flame, slashes across the photo, and the crowd gasps again as they realise what it means. Sev has been beaten by a fraction of an inch.

There’s a second of shock before people begin to applaud, and slowly cheering spreads through the stadium. Albus flies over to his competitor, hand outstretched, and they clap each other on the back, Albus laughing at something that’s been said. He looks so carefree and happy; it’s beautiful.

The two of them sink back to the ground, and they’re soon joined by other racers, sixteen in all, who get to race again. The commentator on the ground is running between them, casting a Sonorus Charm on each and asking questions. Scorpius doesn’t really listen to what’s said until the commentator comes to Albus last of all.

“So, Sev.”

Albus grins. “So.”

“You lost.”

Albus’s grin widens and he laughs. “I did, didn’t I.”

“Does it sting a little bit?”

Albus shrugs. “Not really. It was only a heat. And if I won every race it would get a bit boring, don’t you think? I like to keep things interesting. If I lose every now and again it keeps you all on your toes.” His eyes sparkle as he says it, and the whole stadium cheers with delight as Scorpius melts inside.

Albus is an entertainer. Albus is a star. Albus is incredible.

Scorpius cups his hands to his mouth and whoops, beaming down at the pitch. Albus must hear because he glances up in Scorpius’s direction and shoots him a smile and wave. Scorpius has no idea if Albus can actually see him, but he blows Albus a kiss just in case, then collapses back into his seat, grinning and hugging himself and feeling like a giddy teenage boy again.

He gets a couple of races to recover after that. The heats are run in groups of four, and Albus is in the third group. Even without Albus the racing is exciting, but it’s not quite so heart-stoppingly terrifying. Scorpius enjoys it, but he also has a look around the stadium to see what’s going on and to see if he can recognise anyone from their case files.

Most of the people he recognises are the racers gathered on the pitch, sitting on benches and chatting as the race goes on above them. He recognises a medic too, and a couple of other managers and league officials. It’s only when he starts to scan the crowd that he spots a very familiar, silver-haired figure in a box on the same level as him. Delphini Black.

It’s her hair that makes her so distinctive, silver, with blue tips, swept up in a messy ponytail that sways and bobs behind her head. She’s wearing a dress today, and since she has her back to the crowd Scorpius can see that it’s open, exposing all her skin as well as a familiar tattoo. Her wings are identical to Albus’s, but so much more impressive, covering her whole back. Even from this distance, Scorpius can tell that the work on them is intricate and beautiful, and he can fully understand why she’d want to show them off.

He shifts his gaze away from her and squints, trying to see the other inhabitants of the box. Everyone else isn’t instantly recognisable, but there’s something familiar about each and every face. Scorpius can’t place them, but they make him feel uneasy. He’s pretty sure that if he knew those names he wouldn’t be happy about it.

There’s not much time to dwell on it though, because the third heat is ready to go and he switches his full attention back to Albus. He can worry about Delphi and her supporters later.

The heat is much faster than the mass start race. The racers are far less unencumbered; they all have plenty of space in the air to do whatever they want. Albus is still the fastest though, by quite a decent margin. In fact it seems to be an effortless victory.

Right from the gun he’s out in front, soaring ahead of the field. The others catch up a bit on the straights and round the corners, but as soon as they have to dive he’s untouchable.

Albus’s dives are reckless and breath-taking. He seems to be completely unafraid as he goes bombing out of the sky and straight at the ground. There are moments when it looks like he’s falling rather than flying. If any of those dives took any longer than a blink of an eye then Scorpius would be hiding his face in his hands, but there’s no time for that. All he can do is stare, transfixed, unable to look away, certain he’s about to witness Albus’s death. But he never does, because somehow, for all that recklessness, Albus is always in total control.

Albus wins the heat with ease, all the dives giving him a clear margin of victory, and he does a little loop-the-loop to celebrate, that has the crowd laughing and applauding. Scorpius sits back down and tries to recover. Watching Albus race, while exhilarating, is not good for his heart.

While he’s sitting there trying to get his breath back – Albus looks like he’s barely broken a sweat so far, and Scorpius is quite envious – he turns his attention back to Delphi’s box. It’s still full of people, and still none of them are watching the racing. They all seem to be deep in conversation, and Scorpius can’t stop himself from feeling as if this is a conversation he should be listening to. Delphi is gesticulating wildly, and it looks from a distance like tensions in the box are running high.

A few years ago, when he still had hopes of establishing a career with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Scorpius managed to sign up for a surveillance training course that he definitely shouldn’t have been allowed on. He still has no idea how he managed to get approved for it, but by some miracle he did, and now that miracle is going to come in handy. He slips his wand from the pocket of his robes, careful to keep it well out of sight, and points it across towards Delphi’s box, whispering the incantation.

His ears buzz immediately with static, and he winces and rubs his fingers into them, trying to clear them, as if that will help when it’s magic making them hurt. It must do something though, because a second later the static clears and, sharp as day but perhaps a little distant, he hears people talking.

“I don’t know how else to make you all understand this,” Delphi is saying, frustration in her voice and in the tension of her distant stance. “He’s reckless and stubborn and a law unto himself. This can’t go on much longer. We got ourselves to a good place and now it’s all unravelling and you can’t even help speed things up. I don’t know why I bothered asking for help.”

Someone towards the back of the box sighs, a man with a rich, deep voice that Scorpius swears he heard at a party once, but he can’t be sure. “Delphi. There’s a lot that isn’t ready yet. We can’t go in all guns blazing and hope for the best. They’re too well prepared.”

“Are they?” Delphi asks. “They’ve always seemed ridiculously complacent to me. They’re not on top of anything, I know that for a fact. But they are getting there, and the longer we mess around for-“

“Putting people into position is not messing around,” says a blonde woman near the front of the box, who Scorpius instantly recognises as one of the Rowles, Evelyn.

“Perhaps, but the longer it takes the more we lose the key piece,” Delphi says.

A blond man to her right, another Rowle, leans against the wall and glances back at the racers. “Can’t you be more persuasive? It can’t be that difficult, can it? After ten years?”

“I’m trying to... isolate the problem,” Delphi says. “But it’s not proving easy.”

Evelyn snorts. “Romance is sickening. It’s only just been a week and they’re already declaring their love.” She pulls a face, and Delphi nods.

“There’s too much there to compete with. And if we don’t move fast then I’m going to lose everything I’ve spent ten years working on. If I can’t get him alone, permanently alone, then-“

The spell crumbles into static again, accompanied by a screaming, ringing shriek that feels like it’s burst Scorpius’s eardrums. He cuts the spell off and covers his ears as the crowd roars and a fireball comes tumbling out of the sky, thrown by one of the judges. He bows his head and tries to draw in deep breaths, reeling from the pain and trying to process what he thinks he’s just heard.

The words echo around inside his head. ‘Isolate the problem...’ ‘Romance is sickening...’ ‘If I can’t get him alone, permanently alone...’

He knows what they’re talking about. It’s not exactly hard to work out. It’s about him. It’s about Albus. And it’s about some sort of plan that Scorpius hasn’t heard about before. The plan relies on Albus though – his loyalty – and it sounds as though Delphi thinks that Scorpius is interfering with that.

‘If I can’t get him alone, permanently alone...’

Scorpius gulps in a breath and lifts his head. Albus is in the air again, rocketing around the stadium with a big grin on his face. He doesn’t know about this, that much is clear. He has no idea that Delphi is planning something, or that he’s a problem to be isolated. He doesn’t know that Delphi has now tried to kill him and Scorpius – or maybe just Scorpius – twice and is trying to plan a third attempt. He’s blissfully ignorant up in the sky, lost in his racing. Happy, as he should be.

Scorpius looks back towards the box. The safest way forward from here is to do this himself. If he tries to attract Albus’s attention and let him know he’s in danger, Delphi will know, but if Albus keeps racing she’s far less likely to notice that Scorpius has disappeared. And if Scorpius manages to disappear then there are probably clues to be found somewhere in this stadium, among Delphi’s belongings, her notes, anything he can find to prove that he just heard what he thinks he did.

He sits and waits for a moment. The conversation in the box seems to have momentarily died down. A couple of the inhabitants are watching the racing, but Delphi is hovering around, watching not the stadium but the door to the box. Curious, Scorpius starts staring at it too, wondering what she’s waiting for.

He’s not disappointed. A few seconds later the door opens and a man he definitely recognises walks in. Grey-haired, wasted more by his long years of imprisonment than he is by age, Rodolphus Lestrange inches into the box. Delphi instantly goes to him and embraces him, guiding him to a seat and crouching down next to him so they can talk.

And if there was some possibility of Delphi being ignorant of the history surrounding the other people in the box, and if there was a possibility of them having walked away from their recent family history, there’s no such possibility with Rodolphus Lestrange. He may be out of Azkaban but he’s still being closely watched by the Ministry. He still holds many of his former views, and regularly expresses them. The only reason he hasn’t been locked up again already is because he’s never been part of any larger conspiracies or attacks, and because he’s so frail now that imprisonment might kill him, and him being a martyr for the cause is the last thing anyone wants.

Scorpius points his wand at the box and tries his surveillance spell again, but now the races are getting more important there’s too much Fiendfyre flying around, and the static from the powerful dark magic keeps disrupting the spell. There’s only one thing for it. Scorpius is going to have to get closer, and keep an eye out for any useful evidence along the way. He waits until Delphi and Rodolphus are deep in conversation and the race is in full swing, then he pockets his wand, and slips out of his own box and into the deserted corridors of the stadium beyond, hoping that no one notices him leave.

It’s not hard to find his way towards Delphi’s box. What’s more difficult is working out which box she’s in, because from the outside they all look the same and he doesn’t know her box number.

He follows the curve of the corridor until he thinks he’s nearly on the opposite side of the stadium from where he started. There he starts pausing by the door to every box, listening to try and work out who’s inside.

Most of them are empty or silent. From some he can hear cheering and whooping, even people shouting for Sev. The racing must be heating up – hopefully not literally – and Scorpius wishes he knew what was happening out there, but he has no way of finding out, and right now, unfortunately, Delphi is more important.

He presses himself against the wall and pauses outside another box, listening intently, holding his breath and trying to quieten his heartbeat. There’s no sound from inside. Not that one.

He tiptoes down to the next and holds his breath again, but there’s only cheering from this one too. He draws his wand to cast a surveillance spell, just to check that this definitely isn’t the right box, but as he does a door clicks open down the hall and he flattens himself against the wall, straining to see round the bend in the corridor. A flash of blue and silver hair is all he sees as Delphi closes the door to her box and disappears down the corridor away from him.

For several seconds he stands there, stock still, not daring to move or breathe in case Delphi hears and comes back. He clenches his fists and closes his eyes, hoping the blood rushing in his ears isn’t really as loud as it sounds to him. Only after several seconds of silence does he finally relax and take a step into the corridor to check that the coast is clear, and thankfully it is.

Now he faces a choice. Following her round the corridor would be risky; it’s so open and exposed, and there’s every chance she would hear him. But if he goes back the other way what’s he gaining? Finding out where she’s going might be really important. He can’t do that if he just lets her go.

Chasing someone who he suspects might want to kill him through the deserted corridors of a Quidditch stadium might be one of the most stupid things he’s ever done, but he does it anyway. Maybe having Albus in his life is making him more reckless, or maybe this is just what happens when he has some responsibility in his job. Either way, he keeps his body pressed to the wall, casts a Disillusionment Charm over himself, and starts flitting from doorway to doorway, trying to keep Delphi in his sight.

It takes him about three minutes to lose her completely. He manages to stick close by as they go down the corridor, but then she goes through a side door that leads through to some sort of private area, with staircases leading up and down and another door leading straight ahead. Even when he stands and strains his ears for any sound of where she might have gone he can’t hear her, so in the end he has to make a wild guess, and he chooses to go up.

The stairs weren’t a good idea. They’re metal, and in the tight space, boxed in by four hard concrete walls, everything echoes. The first step Scorpius takes clangs painfully loud, and he stops dead, wincing, until the noise fades. After that he proceeds with much more caution, inching his way up the stairs, and casting Silencio on every step. It’s not the perfect solution, and it’s such slow going that he knows he’ll never catch Delphi now, but at least he’s moving and not clattering around loud enough to give himself away.

He goes up one flight of stairs, pauses to listen, then goes up a second before he decides that he’s well and truly lost Delphi, so he might as well go exploring instead. This time he goes out of the door that leads away from the Quidditch Pitch and off into the backstage parts of the stadium.

It’s clear immediately that he has no idea where he’s going and that he would never have managed to follow Delphi through here. It’s a warren of corridors, little rooms, maintenance walkways, pipes and vents, and in some places he even finds himself climbing across the very structure of the stadium.

He’s not scared of heights, but it’s a long drop into darkness below, and even the few maintenance lights and a Lumos spell don’t let him see the bottom. He clings to the railing of the narrow bridge he’s found himself on and steps one foot carefully in front of another.

He loses track of time and distance as he walks. It’s difficult to tell where he is in relation to where he started. Has he done a full lap of the stadium yet? Or has he barely got started? Everything is so chaotic back here that it’s impossible to tell. And then there’s the disconnection from time. Stupidly he didn’t bring a watch with him, and he’s so far back from the pitch now that he can’t hear anything. It’s painfully still back here apart from a quiet, crackling hum of whatever spell is working to power lights and heat and goodness knows what else. Anything could be happening outside – the meet could already be over and Albus could be waiting for him. He simply has no idea.

He walks down a short corridor, across a broad walkway, then a couple of interlinked narrow bridges, then through a door into a low, dark room, and out into another longer corridor.

It’s there that he hears it. A door slams behind him and he jumps and looks round, holding his wand up to light the path. The doors he just came through were shut. He knows they were because he held them to make sure they didn’t slam like that.

Everything is silent. Everything is still.

He draws in a long breath to try and calm his pounding heart, then he sets off walking again, down the corridor, through a door, onto another set of maintenance bridges. There are footsteps behind him, distant but undeniable. He turns and shines his light into the darkness but it doesn’t penetrate far enough into the gloom to see anyone.

“Albus?” He calls, and his voice echoes, the stadium calling Albus’s name back to him a hundred times, but there’s no other answer.

He clenches his fingers tight around his wand and presses on, walking with more purpose now, no longer trying to stay silent. If someone is following him they already know where he is. There’s no point hiding now.

The footsteps speed up behind him, keeping pace, growing closer. Scorpius’s heart is in his mouth as he speeds up further, not bothering to mind his step on the next narrow bridge.

His foot slips and he grabs the railing for support, almost dropping his wand into the darkness below. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he can’t quite manage to catch his breath as he grips the handle of his wand and plants his feet on solid ground. But there’s no time for celebrating being alive. The footsteps are still coming.

He breaks into a run and throws himself through the next door ahead of him. It bangs hard against the wall and slams behind him but he doesn’t care. Once he’s through he looks around wildly, hoping for another door branching sideways, maybe out to another set of stairs or a room, but there’s nothing, so he keeps running.

He’s jogging now, through the guts of the stadium, wondering if he should be trying to shield himself – how close would someone have to be back here to try and curse him?

There’s another door ahead of him. Maybe he should go through there and try to barricade himself in. Could he get a message to Albus? Maybe a Patronus or... Or he could try the spell that Harry gave him. Aurors would be able to take out one lone person easily. Once he’s through here he’ll assess his options.

He bursts through the door and looks to both sides. There are two other doors in this corridor, merciful escape routes. He can hide in either and wait for the person to go past. Perfect.

He throws himself at the one on his right and finds that it’s locked, so he tries the one on the left and goes sprawling through head first, right into-

“Scorpius?” Albus asks, frowning down at him. “What are you doing up here? Are you okay?” He reaches down to offer Scorpius a hand up.

“No!” Scorpius says. “No there’s someone following me, we need to-“

The door into the corridor bursts open and Delphi is there. She looks at Scorpius, looks at Albus, and her expression turns thunderous. “What are you two doing?”

Albus grins at her. “I was looking for you! And Scorpius, of course. You missed the final.”

Scorpius scrambles to his feet and stares at Delphi. She’s tucking her wand away, adjusting her hair, and then her dark, crackling expression turns to sunshine. “Sorry, Albus. I had to come up here and grab something I left behind earlier.” With her back to Albus she gives Scorpius a long, pointed look that makes him shiver, and she goes to the locked door and opens it up with a silent spell.

“Well,” Albus says, looking between the two of them. “I won, so...” He puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm and steps closer to him, lowering his voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Scorpius nods, pats his hair back into place, and tucks his wand away, nodding. “Sure. Definitely.” He gives Albus a smile. “So you won? I’m sorry I missed it.”

Albus takes one last long look between him and Delphi, then breaks into a broad smile. “Me too. I was brilliant, if I say so myself.”

Scorpius takes his hand. “Tell me about it?”

Albus squeezes his hand tight. “Of course. But first...” He turns to Delphi. “Delphi, this is my boyfriend, Scorpius. Scorpius, this is Delphi.”

Scorpius looks at her and gives what he hopes is a friendly smile. “Hi, it’s... it’s nice to meet you.”

She replies with a look so ice cold it makes Scorpius shiver. “Yes,” she says. “Likewise.”

 “So why were you up near Delphi’s perch?” Albus asks later, when they’re sitting side by side at the end of the harbour wall, staring at the endless oblivion of star-studded sky, and inky black wind-ruffled sea, neither of them wanting to be the first one to leave and go home.

Scorpius kicks his heels against the stonework beneath him and shakes his head, trying to work out what to say. “I just...” He pauses for a moment too long, choosing his words too carefully. “I remembered that I was meant to be investigating.”

“So you went into maintenance areas and ended up running into me like you were scared out of your mind,” Albus says, giving him a look. “What happened back there? You weren’t running from Delphi, were you?”

Scorpius looks at him. “While you were racing, I-“ He stops and takes a breath. Albus uses the break to poke him in the arm and grin at him.

“You?”

Scorpius swallows. “I overheard some stuff, Albus. It wasn’t great... They – Delphi and the people with her – they were talking about... well, I don’t know for sure. But it sounded an awful lot like they were talking about you, about us, about something they were planning.”

“Right...” Albus says slowly.

Scorpius nods. “I think they were talking about... I think I might be messing things up for them. By being here.”

Albus frowns. “By being here tonight? But you’re my guest. And what could they possibly be getting up to tonight?”

“No,” Scorpius says, bracing his hands on the harbour wall and staring down at the eddies and swirls of the waves lapping at the stonework just beneath his dangling feet. “No, I don’t mean tonight. I mean in general.” He looks at Albus. “They don’t want me here. They don’t want me around you. I’m guessing that the Dementors and the fire-“

Albus shakes his head. “No. No way. No.” He shakes his head again, even more firmly, then gives a disbelieving little laugh. “Why would you think Delphi’s trying to kill you? She didn’t even meet you until tonight. Anyway you’re you. And she knows how important you are to me.”

“I think,” Scorpius murmurs, “that that might be part of the problem...”

“And do you know what I think?” Albus says, squeezing his hand.

Scorpius looks at him. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re getting jumpy,” Albus says. “After everything that’s happened, I get it. But really, Scorpius. Delphi is just Delphi. She gets weirdly territorial, she makes plans. It’s what she does.”

Scorpius gently extracts his hand from Albus’s grip and stares out across the sea. “Did you know Rodolphus Lestrange was in her box?” He asks.

Albus’s gaze snaps to him in an instant. “What?”

Scorpius nods. “The Rodolphus Lestrange. Crazy Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange. Devoted husband of Bellatrix, servant of Voldemort, Rodolphus Lestrange.”

Albus opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then he shakes his head. “You were on the other side of the stadium. Maybe you didn’t see clearly, or...” He stares at Scorpius. “Are you sure?”

Scorpius looks at him and nods. “I promise. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t certain.”

“But why would Delphi...” Albus bows his head, face falling, and Scorpius doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Albus shakes his head. “No, no, I...” He glances up at Scorpius, forehead creased with worry. “Scorpius,” he says softly. “What if... what if you’re right? What if she is trying to... What if something’s going on? All these people she talks to, and the plans, and... I don’t think she’s a bad person, she’s my friend, but what if she’s, I don’t know, bewitched, or... What do we do?”

“I’m going to get evidence,” Scorpius says. “I need to find something concrete. I can’t prove anything that happened today. And if you want me to be honest? That’s why I was up there. Looking for proof. I didn’t find any, but there must be some somewhere, and if there is then I’ll find it. I’ll find it and I’ll work out who’s trying to hurt us, whether it’s Delphi or one of her group, or...”

Albus reaches out and puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm. “Please be careful? I can’t lose Delphi, but I think... I think losing you again would be worse.”

Scorpius takes hold of his hand and nods. “I promise.” He kisses the back of Albus’s hand, and Albus nods.

“Good...”

“And I am sorry,” Scorpius says. “That I didn’t see you win the race. Watching you tonight was...” He shakes his head and searches for the right word. “You’re extraordinary.”

Albus’s cheeks go pink and his eyes shine in the starlight. “Thanks. I had a lot of fun tonight. It made me...” He looks down at his knees. “It made me sad that you’re going to shut it all down.”

Scorpius looks across at him. “What will you do if- when it gets shut down?”

Albus shrugs and suddenly he looks very small, all hunched in on himself, like he’s lost in his own skin without flying to define him. “I don’t know. I... I don’t know.”

“Have you thought about it?” Scorpius asks softly.

Albus glances at him. “I... I left home to find myself,” he murmurs. “But sometimes I feel more lost than ever these days. Is that stupid? I think I always assumed I’d die in a race or in training, or... But now I’ve started imagining the future. A future with you, my parents, Lily and James... I don’t know what the future is or what I want it to be, I just sort of know who I want in it.” He gives Scorpius a little smile. “I guess I have a lot to think about.”

Scorpius leans across and hugs Albus tightly, squeezing his small, strong body in his arms. “If you ever need help thinking about it you can talk to me. I have some experience of reimagining life overnight.”

Albus hugs him tighter and buries his face in his shoulder. “I love you,” he murmurs. “And I’m still sorry.”

Scorpius brushes his fingers through Albus’s hair. “I’m sorry too,” he whispers.

[insight-analysis]

All about Egypt

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All about Egypt

The Arab Republic of Egypt, commonly known as Egypt is located primarily in North-Eastern Africa. 

It covers an area of about 1,020,000 square kilometers and includes the Sinai Peninsula, but the majority of the country is located in North Africa. It shares land boundaries to the west with Libya, to the south with Israel on the northeast. It is bordered by the Mediterranean and Red Seas. 

to the north and east 

The majority of Egypt’s population lives along the banks of the Nile River where the land is rich and fertile. However, a significant percentage of the land is part of the Sahara Desert and so has very few inhabitants. 

Egypt is famous for its ancient civilization and some of the world’s most stunning ancient monuments. The Pyramids at Giza, the Temple of Karnak and the Valley of the Kings attract many visitors. The southern city of Luxor contains an exceptionally large number of ancient artifacts. Today, Egypt is widely regarded as the main political and cultural center of the Arab and Middle Eastern regions.

Contents

1 Ancient Egypt

1.1 History of ancient Egypt: 

1.1.1 History of Greek and Roman Egypt: 332 BC to 639 AD

1.1.2 History of early Arab Egypt: 639 to 1517

1.1.3 History of Ottoman Egypt: 1517 to 1805

2 EGYPTOLOGY

3 Egyptian Art

3.1 Art

3.2 Architecture

3.3 Papyrus

3.4 Pottery

3.5 Statues

3.6 Hieroglyphs

3.7 Literature

3.8 Paintings

4 Egyptian Antiquities

4.1 Shabtis

4.2 Amulets

4.3 Cosmetics

4.4 Egyptian Museum

5 Ancient Egyptian Food

6 Egyptian Mythology

6.1 Egyptian Gods

6.2 Death

6.3 The monotheistic period

6.4 Temples

7 Egyptian Mysticism

8 Egyptian Pyramids

9 Mysteries of the Pyramids

9.1 Mastabas and Step Pyramids:

9.2 Bent Pyramid:

9.3 Smooth-sided pyramids:

Ancient Egypt

Egypt has the longest continuous history, as a unified state, of any country in the world. The need to have a single ruler to manage the waters of the Nile led to the creation of the world’s first state about 3000 BC. Its geography made it a difficult country to attack, and during the days of the pharaohs, Egypt was independent and self-contained. 

Once Egypt did succumb to foreign rule, however, it proved unable to escape from it, and for 2,300 years Egypt was governed by a long list of foreign governments: Persians, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, Turks and British.  

History of ancient Egypt: 

The history of Ancient Egypt proper started sometime around 3300 BC. As an independent state it lasted until about 1300 BC. Nevertheless, archaeological evidence indicates that there may have been an advanced Egyptian culture for a long time. A grain-grinding culture was replaced along the Nile in the 10th millennium BC by one of the hunters, fishermen and gathering peoples using stone tools. Research also testifies to human habitation in the southwest corner of Egypt, near the Sudan frontier, before 8000 BC.  

The changes in temperature and/or overgrazing around 8000 BC caused the drying out of Egypt’s fertile fields, finally creating the Sahara Desert around 2500 BC. Early tribes migrated naturally to the Nile where they established a prosperous agricultural economy and a more organized society. There is evidence of cereal production in the East Sahara during the 7th century BC. By 6000 BC, ancient Egyptians were herding cattle in the southwest corner of Egypt, and building large buildings using mortar by 4000 BC. 

The Dynastic Periods: 3000 BC to 332 BC

Egyptian history is broken into a number of different periods according to the dynasty of the ruling pharaoh.Egyptian chronology is in a constant transitional state, with most of the terms in question, and dates in disputeHere are the main dynastic periods:

Predynastic Period (Prior to 3100 BC)

Early Dynastic Period (1st–2nd Dynasties)

Old Kingdom (3rd–6th Dynasties)

First Intermediate Period (7th–11th Dynasties)

Middle Kingdom (12th–13th Dynasties)

Second Intermediate Period (14th–17th Dynasties)

New Kingdom (18th–20th Dynasties)

Third Intermediate Period (21st–25th Dynasties) (also known as the Libyan Period)

Late Period (26th–31st Dynasties) 

History of Greek and Roman Egypt: 332 BC to 639 AD

When Alexander the Great conquered Egypt in 332 BC, Greek influence took root for the next 900 years. Then after 300 years, Egypt was incorporated into the Roman Empire and ruled first from Rome and then from Constantinople. In 639 AD, the Arabs took over.  

History of early Arab Egypt: 639 to 1517

From 639 to 1517 Egypt was part of the Arab world, ruled at first by governors acting in the name of the Umayyad Caliphs in Damascus. In 747 the Umayyads were overthrown and the unity of the Arab world was broken. Although Egypt remained under the Abbasid Caliphate, the Tulunids and the Ikhidis were able to establish semi-independent dynasties. Cairo was established as capital in 969 when Egypt was conquered by the Tunisian Ismaili Shia Fatimid dynasty. This dynasty lasted until 1174, when Egypt came under Saladin ‘s rule, the Ayyubid dynasty of which lasted until 1252. The Ayyubites were defeated by their Turkish bodyguards, known as the Mamluks, who ruled under the Abbasid Caliphs regime until 1517, when Egypt became part of the Ottoman Empire. 

History of Ottoman Egypt: 1517 to 1805

Egypt was conquered by the Ottomans in 1517, but it was always a difficult province for the Ottoman Sultans to control. It remained dominated by the semi-autonomous Mamluks until it was conquered by the French in 1798. After the French were expelled, Albanian Muhammad Ali of Egypt and his descendants pulled Egypt even further out of Ottoman control. It lasted until 1882 when the British invaded and Egypt became a colony of Britain. 

The reign of Mehemet Ali and his successors was a period of rapid reform and modernization. Egypt became one of the most developed states outside of Europe. Unfortunately, massive government expenditures led to bankruptcy, and Egypt fell under the control of the British. 

History of Modern Egypt: since 1882

The History of Modern Egypt is generally considered as beginning in 1882, from the time it became a British colony. In 1922, Egypt was officially granted independence, but British troops remained in the country and true self-rule did not occur until 1952 when Colonel Gamal Abdul Nasser rose to power. Nasser’s one party state has seen many changes but has remained in place, firstly under Anwar Sadat, and until the present day, under Hosni Mubarak.

EGYPTOLOGY

Egyptology is the scientific study of Ancient Egypt. Someone who studies Ancient Egypt is an Egyptologist. Egyptology explores Ancient Egyptian culture – its language, literature, history, religion, art, economics, and ethics, from the 5th millennium BC up to the end of Roman rule in the 4th century AD. 

Modern Egyptology is generally thought of as beginning in the year 1822. That was when Jean-François Champollion first deciphered Egyptian hieroglyphics. He used the Rosetta Stone, a dark granite stone which provided modern researchers with translations of ancient text. Since 1802, the stone has been kept in the British Museum since. 

Egyptian archeology is in a constant state of transition, with differences of opinion as to dating and terminology. Archeologists may suggest solutions to many of these questions; others may never be solved. 

Here are some of the questions that Egyptologists are trying to answer: 

Who were the first pharaohs of Egypt?

Where did the Egyptians come from?

Was the Pharaoh really seen as a god or was the position he held just viewed as divine?

What were the pyramids used for? How were the pyramids built?

Are the Pyramids of Giza lined up with stars?

How old is the Sphinx?

What was the purpose of the Sphinx?

Which pharaoh was the Sphinx meant to resemble?

Why did the Egyptians mummify their dead?

Is there a connection between Moses and Akhenaten?

Why did the Egyptians use hieroglyphs?

Why did Plato write about Atlantis?

Egyptian Art

Art

Ancient Egyptian art refers to two-dimensional and three-dimensional art produced from 3000 BC in Egypt and used until the 3rd century. It is the symbolism of the past expressed in paintings and sculptures.  

There was a strict set of rules about how to represent three-dimensional forms. More important to follow the rules than to make a pretty picture, the intention of most of the artwork was to provide company for the deceased in the Other World. An artist’s job was to paint everything of the present time as clearly and permanently as possible. Through these vivid works of art, we are able to experience vicariously the life and times of Egyptians who lived thousands of years ago. Over decades, the Egyptian way of portraying man, nature and the world remained much the same and a revered artist was who duplicated the most beloved styles of the past.

Architecture

Ancient Egyptian architects used bricks, fine sandstone, limestone, and granite, both sun-dried and kiln-baked. Wood was not used as a building material because there were very few trees available. Without the use of mortar, stones had to fit precisely together. As the height of the construction grew, ramps were necessary to move people and materials up. When the structure at the topwas completed, the artists decorated from the top down, removing the ramps as they descended. 

As the time passes, primitive structures of clay and reeds evolved into magnificent monumental structures of granite, with very thick walls. The massive sloping exterior walls of pyramids contained only a few small openings. Brilliantly colored hieroglyphs and carvings decorated the structures, and included many motifs, like the scarab, sacred beetle, the solar disk and the vulture. 

The belief in the existence of life beyond death resulted in a mammoth architectural style to house the mummified bodies. Construction of a burial monument was initiated as soon as a pharaoh was named, and it continued until he was deceased. The longer a pharaoh lived, the larger his tomb would be. King Tutankhamen’s tomb is fairly small – he died at a young age. Another amazing aspect of ancient Egyptian architecture is that there was no structural support, except the strength and balance of the structure itself. 

Papyrus

The word “paper” comes from “papyrus,” a plant cultivated in the ancient Nile delta. The papyrus plant processing produced sheets of paper which were up to 30 feet long. The papyrus crafting method has been lost over time, and then rediscovered by an Egyptologist in the 1940s.

On papyrus are depicted all facets of ancient Egyptian life, including literary, political, historical and administrative records.

Pottery

Ancient Egyptians used steatite or soapstone to carve small pieces for vases and amulets, as well as images of gods and animals. They also discovered how to cover pottery with enamel, which they also used on some stonework. 

Some pottery items represented interior parts of the body, and were deposited in burial chambers of the dead – the heart and lungs, liver and small intestines, which were removed before embalming. Smaller objects in enamel pottery in large number of were also deposited with the dead. They contained the names, titles, and offices of the deceased, as well as stories about them. 

Statues

The ancient Egyptian sculpture art evolved in physical form to represent the ancient Egyptian gods and pharaohs, the divine kings and queens.

Very strict rules were followed while crafting statues: male statues were darker than female ones; in seated statues, hands were required to be placed on knees and specific rules governed the appearance of every Egyptian god. For example, the sky god, Horus, was to be represented with a falcon’s head, the god of funeral rites, Anubis, was to be shown with a jackal’s head. Artistic works were ranked according to exact compliance with all the conventions, which were followed so strictly that over three thousand years, very little changed in the appearance of statutes. 

Hieroglyphs

A hieroglyphic script is made of a number of images and symbols. In Egyptian hieroglyphs, some symbols had independent meanings, and some were used in combination. In a similar fashion to the Roman alphabet, some hieroglyphs were used phonetically, or to convey multiple meanings. The script was composed in three ways: from top to bottom, left to right, and right to left. The ancient Egyptians continued to use this type of writing, from 3300 BC until the third century AD. Many of the period’s works of art contain hieroglyphs, and hereoglyphs themselves form an impressive part of ancient Egyptian art.

Literature

Ancient Egyptian art and literature were recorded on papyrus or on wall paintings.

Included, were subjects like hymns to the gods, mythological and magical texts, and mortuary texts. Biography, history, science, mathematics, medicine, philosophy, and stories, also tied art and literature together. A number of such stories from ancient Egypt have survived thousands of years. The most famous is Rhodopis, the oldest version of the story we call “Cinderella” today. 

Paintings

We are fortunate to have Ancient Egyptian paintings which survived in the extremely dry climate. The purpose of the paintings was to make the afterlife of the deceased a pleasant place. Protective deities, introductions to the gods of the afterworld, beautiful scenes of life in the afterworld, were all subjects to be explored with paints and brushes.

Egyptian Antiquities

The history of Egypt is written in its artifacts. A timeframe of more than 3,000 years showcases diverse and detailed works of jewelry and sculpture. A variety of materials were used during different stages, from the polychrome (red, blue/green, yellow, black) decorations used on some shabtis (statuettes) around the end of l8th Dynasty and in the Ramesside Period, to the dark hard stone probably of the Middle Kingdom or 25th Dynasty,

Shabtis

The ancient Egyptians believed that for many, the afterlife would likely require them to labor in the fields. Those who could afford it, took funerary statues (shabtis, shawabtis and ushabtis) along to perform their tasks. In the Ramesside Period, the number of shabtis increased to include one for each day of the year, plus 36 overseers. Tutankhamun’s tomb had an additional 12 monthly overseers. 

Amulets

Some amulets held magical properties that could be conferred on the wearer. They would be taken along to the afterlife to provide assistance on the journey, or give protection.

An animal shaped amulet could inspire particular qualities or behaviors the wearer wished to possess. Or, if it were molded like part of the anatomy, it might give special related powers in that way. Amulets also portrayed symbols of power such as the pharaoh’s scepters. The eye of Horus was a very powerful Egyptian amulet, worn by both living and dead, which could protect everything behind it from evil. 

Amulets were made from a variety of materials including glass, semi-precious stones, bronze, gold, silver, and a ceramic composed of crushed sand or quartz called Egyptian faience. 

Cosmetics

Egyptians lived in a land of intense sun, where it was necessary to keep their skin oiled so it would not dry out. To prevent the sun from scorching their hair, it was treated with a lump of moisturizing cream that would gradually melt and give the wearer a pleasant fragrance. Many of the containers in which the oils and creams were stored can be found in museum collections. 

Egyptian Museum

In Cairo, Egypt, the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, generally known as the Egyptian Museum, is home to the world ‘s largest collection of pharaonic antiques. This has 136,000 items on display, with several hundreds of thousands more in the storerooms in its basement. 

The Egyptian Museum is an outgrowth of the effort by the Egyptian government to limit the looting of antiquities sites and artifacts, by establishing the Egyptian Antiquities Service in 1835. The museum opened in 1858 in an annex of the palace of Ismail Pasha of Giza, who had retained Auguste Mariette, the French archaeologist, to assemble the collection. In 1900 the museum moved to its present location, a neoclassical structure on Tahrir Square in Cairo’s city center. 

The highlight of the collection is often considered to be the tomb artifacts of the Pharaoh Tutankhamun, whose almost intact tomb Howard Carter found in the Valley of the Kings in 1923. The Royal Mummy Room, containing 27 royal mummies, is also highly prized.

Ancient Egyptian Food

Egypt’s Ancient Land was one of the world’s most rich plains, so it housed one of the world’s strongest cultures. Rich soil, created by the annual floods of the canal, deposited dense silt over the land often supplying two, or sometimes three, harvests a year. Herodotus, a famous Greek historian, once wrote that Egypt was the Gift of the Nile.  

In most Egyptians, bread was the staple diet. The average kitchen was normally located on the back of the house, or on the roof. It was mostly outdoors but may have been partly shady. Egyptian food was cooked, using wooden utensils, in simple clay pots and stored in jars.

Beer became the popular beer, and made from barley as well. The Egyptians would add spices to improve the flavor and it has usually been preserved in labelled clay pots. The importance of beer to the ancient Egyptians should not be underestimated since it was so highly esteemed that it was regularly offered to the gods as a libation.  

The wine was made from nearby vineyards for the upper classes. The workers would stomp the grapes after the harvest had been processed, and the juice would have been extracted. They made other wines from pomegranates or plums.

Though Ancient Egypt’s people in poverty enjoyed a relatively balanced diet including vegetables , nuts, and fish. But it was just the bigger farms that were feeding the livestock, mostly because the ordinary farmer had to use his small land to grow crops. Poultry was grilled to the table for the most part, but meat remained the luxury of the wealthy. Contains seasoning: cinnamon, pepper, cumin , coriander, sesame, dill, fennel, fenugreek, seeds etc.  

All the great festivals of the year were religious and were organized by the priests of the temple. The biggest of these was the god Amun festival which lasted an entire month. The ritual parade would have followed songs, dancers, singers, acrobats, and jugglers. Much feasting and partying continued with the consumption of a lot of wine and beer. There would be; dancing, poetry, laughter and the visitors would dance to entertain the younger members of the party.

Even though the ancient people did not write down their recipes or use cook books, it is well known the ingredients required to produce most of the dishes, many of which are still used in Egypt today.

Egyptian Mythology

Egyptian mythology is how we describe the succession of beliefs held by the people of Egypt until the coming of Christianity and Islam. For nearly three thousand years, the Egyptians were, for the most part, believers in many gods.

Egyptian Gods

The early beliefs can be split into 5 distinct localized belief groups:

* the Ennead of Heliopolis, whose chief god was Atum

* the Ogdoad of Hermopolis, where the chief god was Ra

* the Chnum-Satet-Anuket triad of Elephantine, where the chief god was Chnum

* the Amun-Mut-Chons triad of Thebes, where the chief god was Amun

* the Ptah-Sekhmet-Nefertem triad of Memphis, unusual in that the gods were unconnected before the triad was formalized, where the chief god was Ptah.

As the leaders of the different groups gained and lost power, so the major beliefs merged and mutated. First, Ra and Atum became Atum-Ra, with Ra the dominant of the two, and then Ra became absorbed in his turn by Horus and Ra-Herakty. Ptah, on the other hand, was absorbed into Osiris after he had become Ptah-Seker, becoming Ptah-Seker-Osiris. The goddesses fared no better, with Hathor absorbing the details of the other goddesses initially, but ultimately absorbed into Isis. Meanwhile, the villains similarly assimilated, with Set, who was initially a hero, absorbing all the aspects of the other evil gods, which he was doomed to do after having been chosen as the favored god of the Hyksos. 

By the time the Greeks influenced Egypt, all that remained was the trinity of Osiris, Isis, and Horus, and their enemy, Set, as exemplified by the Legend of Osiris and Isis. The trinity had absorbed so many of the prior cults, that each had its own center of worship �� Abydos for Osiris, Dendera for Isis, and Edfu for Horus. Even at this stage, the amalgamation was continuing, with Osiris all but an aspect of Horus (and vice-versa), and heading rapidly towards monotheism. Nevertheless, monotheism had briefly existed before, as, in the 13th century, Akhenaten had attempted to introduce the monotheistic worship of Aten, the sun-disc itself, although it was ultimately rejected. 

Death

Egyptians practiced embalming and mummification in order to preserve the individual’s identity in the afterlife. Originally, the dead were interred in reed caskets in the searing hot sand, which caused the remains to dry quickly, preventing decomposition. and were then buried. Later, wooden tombs were constructed, and the extensive process of mummification and associated burial rituals and rules began. 

Embalming was developed by the Egyptians around the 4th Dynasty. All soft tissues were removed, and the cavities washed and packed with natron, a white, crystalline mineral salt.Then the body outside was buried also in natron. Because it was a stoneable offence to harm the pharaoh ‘s body, even after death, the person who made the cut with a rock knife in the abdomen was chased away ceremonially and had rocks thrown at him.

After coming out of the natron, bodies were coated inside and out with resin to preserve them, then wrapped with linen bandages, embedded with religious amulets and talismans. Royalty was usually placed inside a series of nested coffins, the outermost of which was a stone sarcophagus. The intestines, lungs, liver, and stomach were separately preserved, and stored in canopic jars protected by Horus’ Four Sons. Other creatures were also mummified, usually the representations of the Gods. Ibis, crocodiles, cats, Nile perch and baboons can be found in perfect mummified forms. 

The Book of the Dead was a series of almost two hundred texts, songs and pictures written on papyrus and individually customized, which was buried alongside the body, or painted on the tomb walls, in order to ease passage into the underworld. One of the best examples of the Book of the Dead is The Papyrus of Ani, created around 1240 BC, which also contains many pictures of Ani and his wife on their journey through the land of the dead, in addition to the texts themselves.

Later on the belief emerged that the heart of the deceased’s soul would be weighed against a feather, and if found wanting in morality, would be eaten by the demon Ammit. 

The monotheistic period

During the reign of Akhenaten a brief period of monotheism (Atenism) existed, centered on the Egyptian sun god Aten. Akhenaten banned all other god’s worship, and founded a new capital (Amarna). The religious reform only lasted until Akhenaten ‘s son, Tutankhamun, died, and then soon returned. In addition, removals of Akhenaten and Tutankhamun from the Wall of Kings are likely to be linked to the drastic religious reform.

According to some Egyptologists, it is incorrect to regard this period as monotheistic. tThese researchers state that people did not worship the Aten but worshiped the royal family as a pantheon of gods who received their divine power from the Aten. It is critical to determine this time as monotheistic, according to other Egyptologists.. A recent alternative interpretation resulting from interpreting specific knowledge items relating to biblical and Egyptian history (by Ahmed Osman) suggests that Moses and Akhenaten were the same entity.

The original Egyptian pantheon survived more or less as the dominant faith after the fall of the Amarna dynasty, until the establishment of Coptic Christianity and later Islam, even though the Egyptians continued to have relations with other monotheistic cultures ( e.g. Hebrews). Egyptian mythology put up surprisingly little resistance to the spread of Christianity, sometimes claiming that Jesus was originally based primarily on Horus, with Isis representing Mary. 

Temples

Many temples are still standing today. Some remain in ruins with wear and tear, while some are completely destroyed. Pharaoh Ramses II was a particularly prolific builder of temples. 

Some known temples include:

* Abydos (Great Temple of Abydos) – Adoration of the early kings, whose cemetery, to which it forms a great funerary chapel, lies behind it.

* Karnak – Once part of the ancient capital of Egypt, Thebes.

Egyptian Mysticism

Egyptian Mysticism is a complex set of rituals and behaviors which looks for strength and guidance from a variety of otherworldly beings. These “gods” are the representations of human characteristics and qualities, and provide the practitioner with a way of understanding and living within the world. 

Ancient Egyptian Mysticism includes the “magic circle,” which is familiar to European Pagans, Hebraic Kabalists, Native Americans, and every other mystic. Participants stand in a circle to honor the four directions and the deities they worship, those of Egypt having been called, as a group, Neteru – to the East is Tuameteutev; to the South is Amset; to the West is Qeb Suv; and to the North is Hapi. 

There are three cradle gods – Shai, Renenet, or Meskhenet – which can be invoked to assist with good fortune, luck, or new life. 

Other rituals include efforts to integrate or resolve karmic issues brought from past lives or unconscious living. According to the Ancient Egyptians we live in nine dimensions, many so nebulous that we can only experience them during dreams. We can call forth an opportunity to learn and grow in this fashion. 

There are rites for assisting others to find their paths as well as one’s own. Totems play a very important role in the Egyptian Mystical practices. Totems are “composite creatures,” or archetypes, containing living elements of Nature embedded within our Psyches or Souls. In the American Indian tradition, there are many totems, such as bear, raven, frog, and eagle.  

The Egyptian list of totems is very extensive, and includes:

Heru, the Falcon of Spiritual Victory, is the totem for those who possess Christ-consciousness. Het-Heru, the Cow Goddess Of Spiritual Blessing, is for those who are deeply devoted to a life of blessing others.

Anpu, the Jackal of Soul-Guidance, looks over those who are natural-born counselors, therapists and Spiritual guides. Apis, the Bull of Fertility, is the symbol of security, wealth and fatherhood. Tehuti, the Ibis-headed Record-Keeper, is the one who keeps accurate records, who writes everything down. Amun, the Goat Of Everlasting Creativity, is profoundly connected to sexuality and creates solutions out of thin air. Nut, the Sky-Goddess, embodies everything revered about mothering and motherhood. Geb, the Earth-God, is the good and loyal husband. Ptah, the Great Designer, organizes and envisions great designs and is the patron of freemasonry. Bastet, who personifies the Maternal Instincts of the Cat, is the patroness of childhood and nursing. Ksheper, the Scarab-Beetle of Immortality, is the patron of inventors and creative writers. Nephthys, at the Altar Of Mercy, lovingly supports nuns, ministers, monks, and those who take care of our spiritual needs. Ra, the Eagle Of The Sun, represents the victory of light over darkness. 

There are certain gods of destruction – Set, Osiris, Isis, and many others- which should never be invoked, because they are associated with death and annihilation.

Egyptian Pyramids

The Egyptian Pyramids are some of the largest man-made constructions ever built. They are one of the most impressive and abiding symbols of Ancient Egyptian civilization. Although in an Egyptian pyramidno ancient Egyptian rulers have been found buried, most archaeologists generally accept that they were constructed as burial monuments. The majority were completed during the Old and Middle Kingdom periods. Egyptian homes were built on the east bank of the Nile River, the land where the Sun rises. The pyramids were built on the west bank of the river, where the sun sets, because the Egyptians believed it was the land of the dead. 

Since antiquity, the pyramids at Giza are probably the world’s most popular tourist destination. They were popularized in Hellenistic times when the Great Pyramid was listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Today out of all, it is the only one of the ancient Wonders still in existence. 

Giza, lies on the southern outskirts of Cairo and is the location of the three most famous pyramids. The Pyramid of Khufu is known as the “Great Pyramid,” or the “Pyramid of Cheops.” The Pyramid of Khafre is somewhat smaller, as is the modest-sized Pyramid of Menkaure. This is also the location of a number of smaller “queens” pyramids, as well as the Great Sphinx.

Mysteries of the Pyramids

The pyramids of Egypt are considered to be the last of the seven wonders of the ancient world. No one can say for sure when they were built. At any given time many archaeologists are studying them to try and unlock their secrets. 

There are some who study the effects of pyramids on animate and inanimate objects. They postulate that the center of a pyramid has energy that affects whatever is held there. Razors stay sharper, foods stay fresh longer, even injuries heal more quickly. People who meditate claim that sitting in a pyramid while doing so, brings many benefits, from more energy to greater feelings of peace and tranquility. You can easily find plans to build your own pyramid. If you do, you will have the opportunity to see for yourself if these assertions are true.           

Since the late 1890s there have been people who believed that the Great Pyramid of Giza holds the secrets to understanding Biblical prophecy. John Taylor, Charles Piazzi Smyth, Martin Gardner, Robert Menzies, Madame Helena Blavatsky, Charles Taze Russell, Erik von Daniken, and Edgar Cayce, each had theories as to the purpose of the pyramids and how they were constructed.

Throughout history people have had special places to bury their dead. Caves and mounds were some of the earliest. Then in Egypt and elsewhere, larger structures appeared. We call them pyramids, and they take three distinctive shapes.

Mastabas and Step Pyramids:

The first large structures built in Egypt were called mastabas made of dried mud bricks that looked like raised flat beds. Most of them have crumbled. About 2650 B. C., Imhotep, an architect, physician, master sculpture, scribe, and astronomer, built the first known pyramid for King Zoser. It began as a simple mastaba, but was added to twice more to give it six layers. At a height of 200 feet, this step pyramid looked like a series of giant terraces. It took several design changes for it to take its final form. Today the Saqqara Pyramid still stands where the ancient city of Memphis was.

Bent Pyramid:

The second type of pyramid is called the Bent Pyramid. The builder of the Bent Pyramid is thought to have been the Pharaoh Snefru (2680-2565 BC), who was the first ruler of the 4th Dynasty.  

The unique feature of the Bent Pyramid is the angle change. The base of the Bent Pyramid rises at an angle of 52˚, but the upper half is changed to 43.5˚. No one knows for sure why, but it may have been that the builders wanted to reduce the volume and get finished faster. Or perhaps they realized that it would not be a safe structure. It was abandoned after being worked on for twenty years. The Bent pyramid is located in southern Saqqara among the pyramids of Dahshur.

Smooth-sided pyramids:

Smooth sided pyramids were built starting about 2600 B. C. The first, at Medum, began as a stepped pyramid. Later, the steps were filled in with loose rubble. Finally, the whole thing was encased in smooth limestone. This pyramid collapsed because the casing was not bonded strongly enough to the core. Medum lies approximately 40 miles south of Giza. 

The most famous pyramids are those at Giza. They stand on the west bank of the Nile River outside Cairo. The ten pyramids at Giza include those of Kings Khufu, Khafre, and Menkaure. 

Khufu’s pyramid is called the Great Pyramid and a study of it shows how these gigantic structures were built. Since the ancient Egyptians had no machinery or iron tools, they used copper chisels and saws to cut huge limestone blocks. The limestone came from nearby, as well as from across the Nile River, and other distant quarries. 

It took thousands of men to drag the blocks to the pyramid sites and begin the first layer. They built long ramps to drag the stones up to the next layer, until they reached the top. The whole thing was then covered with white casing stones laid so closely that the remarkable result was the look of a single white stone. Most of the coverings are gone now, but some remain at the bottom of the Great Pyramid.

[magnet-rose]

The Division Bell - A Reylo fic - Ch 2

Chapter 2 Round and Round

As embers fall like rain, Rey opens her eyes. There's a painful ringing in her ears, lines of the room around her swim in all directions, and she can't seem to focus. She pushes herself up to sit and slowly the room settles into place. He is lying on the ground just couple hundred feet away. The power of a lightsaber was no joke. It had thrown them clear across Snoke's chamber. The shattered saber lie in between them, like a broken promise. She feels her breath catch in her chest, the tears want to come again, but she takes in a deep intake of air and pushes the exhaustion, the sadness, the betrayal away.

Living on Jakku she'd never had very many friends. Until Finn had crashed into her world she'd been on her own, lived as a hermit once she was free to live alone at the behest of Unkar Plutt and made no close friends because they would return one day. But with Finn, Chewbacca… Han… Leia... she had begun to feel like she had that foundation of friends that she'd never had-never let herself have-and her life had been filled with something she never knew she wanted: friends. There is a connection, a hope, a love tied to friendship that fills all the corners of her empty world and for a time had eased the pain of missing parents.

Rey pulls herself to her feet using the wall as leverage. Her back smarts angrily in reminder that she had hit that wall after the saber exploded.

When the impromptu Force connection with Kylo-no, Ben- had happened she had been angry, fueled by a revenge ridden urge to kill the man who had killed one of her friends, her almost-mythological childhood hero.

And then there on that tiny isolated island with Master Skywalker she had begun to feel lost, alone, and she was losing her mission to find her purpose. He had been there, an ear to tell her frustrations, a lost soul like herself. Ben, so she thought, was entering that realm of friendship. She had even entertained the idea of being with him. He was attractive, they had a momentary connection, a spark deep in the Force that had nearly shouted: You compliment each other, like shadows and light in a mirror. She had trusted it, that feeling. But maybe she shouldn't have.

Rey begins the slow walk towards Ben, lying on the floor, crumpled and knocked out from the blast. Ashes and embers are still falling around them, sparks and bits of dying ship glowing out ever corner of the window. The ringing in her ears has subsided only to be replaced by the emergency klaxon and an automated voice saying in a tonally boring voice that there was a severe breech and all personnel were ordered to their muster stations and escape pods.

As she passes it she grabs the pieces of the shattered lightsaber, each a testament to a broken trust. The rage is filling her again, betrayal isn't something she takes lightly. The way he treated her isn't the way she wants to be treated.

She isn't sure, as she stands over his slack body, how much the eyebrow pinched expression on his face is from nightmare or physical pain.

She kneels down and reaches for his lightsaber. That violent, uncontrolled, untamed, crimson blade that had killed those she cared for, and probably would again because of its owner if he wasn't ended.

"You're nothing! But not to me."

She isn't a nobody. She knows herself! She is Rey, crack pilot, woman, partially trained Jedi. She is someone. To her friends, her true friends, she is someone. She knows even if they aren't physically there, that Finn, Chewbacca BB-8, Leia, and even Han, are with her because the Force connects all things.

She draws her hand back and instead presses a single finger to the space of pale skin between pinched eyebrows. At her touch his expression softens and he seems to just be sleeping peacefully. She feels that blind rage drain away and she sighs.

"You can't fix what isn't broken, and you can't change people who don't want to," she says in a chiding tone. "I hope what I saw comes true, I hope you let the light back in, but I won't take your toxic behavior lightly. It's your job to change, Ben. If you ever want to redeem what we could have had. I believe in you, never forget that, but I have to take care of myself and the people who need me now."

She touches his hair, smoothing out the tangles on top, and then smiles sadly as she rises to her feet.

In the corner a small light blinks above a sign for the emergency escape pod. With one last glance back at the man on the ground she goes to the escape pod and begins the departure tasks. Flip a switch, press a button, confirm. Step back, close door, press button, confirm.

The gravity shifts as the pod takes over power, propulsion, gravity, and direction. She presses a small beacon pinned to the inside of her vest under the collar and tries to meditate in the spare minutes until Chewie catches the beacon signal and retrieves her.

Later, as she reaches out to pull an avalanche of rocks away she reaches out just a little too far and there he is, just out of sight between the streams of the Force. She doesn't acknowledge it, him, until just after she feels Luke presence, like a single strand of a lute being plucked across the galaxy just before it breaks. There is a chill because for a time she could feel that not just her, not just Leia, but Ben too felt that lifeline twinge and vanish and they flowed in the same stream of the force, the waves rocking them all to the core.

Before she severs her end of that last red string of the Force between them she makes eye contact with him and she whispers across streams, waves, and currents of the Force: I believe in you.

He feels betrayed too. They really are so much alike, but like the sides of a coin they face opposite directions.

Until we meet again.

It's not exactly a challenge, but a promise. They will meet again, equals, two sides of a coin, spinning around each other but always in balance, whether on the battlefield or across the oceans of space.

With determination she ruptures the Force connection between them. The amputation is punctuated by the close of the Millennium Falcon's gangway. As they speed away from Crait she takes a few deep breaths to release the stress that had piled on her shoulders. She smiles to herself as she watches Finn fuss over a small unconscious woman. She couldn't wait to tell him everything she had learned, and find out what he'd been up to. She had missed her friend and she can sense some measure of strength in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. She was proud of him no matter what he had been through because something had bolstered his place in this world.

Like Maz had said, the belonging she had looked for is ahead and not behind her. It is right in front of her the whole time. Maybe one day she and Ben could reconcile, maybe they could find themselves on the same page, maybe find themselves in the same stream of the Force behind a unity, a balance of that same Force. Only then would she ever put the maybe friend, the briefly entertained significant other, in his own place in her picture of her belonging.

...

"Please..." he says to her. He can feel the connection between them straining. Ever since their fight in the forests of the Starkiller he had recognized in Rey something that had always been with him. Something that he had yearned for for as long as his memory would take him back. The dream fades away and he wakes with a gasp. He is so angry. He wants to destroy it all.

He rages because Snoke manipulated his feelings. He created a bond with Rey that wasn't real. Had any of it been real?

He rages because Hux is weak, sniveling, and clearly doesn't see that he is in control now. No one was going to control him. HE, Ben, Kylo WHATEVER he was, was in control. He now had the power.

He rages, throws every ounce of his anger behind fighting what's left of what SHE cares for more than him. That stupid resistance. That stupid beautiful, strong woman. He wants her with him, but she has denied him. Just like his parents, just like Skywalker, and just as Snoke had done time and again, made him feel like he was an outsider.

He rages through the fight with Skywalker. Luke. His uncle. How could he have done this to him? It was his fault! And when he fades away with the final words that he would always be with him like... like his father... he shatters just a little bit more. It doesn't seem to matter how much resolve he finds, there's always another part of him breaking away.

And then there in the abandoned base he feels her, and looking up he sees her. Just out of reach. But so close he can see the look of sadness and hurt on her face.

Until we meet again. She says to him over their connection before her end of it breaks.

He's never felt more broken in his life. But then he realizes that Snoke is gone. The connection was still there. He reaches out for it, but her end is so tightly closed it would be like throwing a snowball at a star destroyer. If she were a weaker mind then it might have been possible, but always Rey had been strong. Just as strong as him and his equal in the force. He looks at his hand where they had touched, where he had felt the vibrancy of their connection. They had something. They had lost it. He wondered if he would ever feel that connection again.

He leads the troops out, feeling Hux's anger at him boiling in the background. He doesn't care. Right now he wants to sleep. The exhaustion is taking over and he still had so much work to do to fully establish himself as the new Supreme Leader.

TBC... 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

[sonderrow-moved]

IC          CANON          VOICE          BODY          TRIALS           PLOTTING

◭ I.D

FULL NAME: Roy Kaworu Spiegel BIRTH: March 14th, 27 y.o. SEX & GENDER: Male SPECIE: Human ETHNICITY: Asian American LANGUAGE: English, German, Japanese OCCUPATION: Intern in environmental research, masseur RELIGION: Shinto SEXUALITY: ??? ◭ ANATOMY

HAIR: Bright auburn red EYES: Light grey FACE: TBA COMPLEXION: Milky honeyed skintone HEIGHT: 184 cm BUILD: TBA VOICE: Melodious and serious

◭ PERSONA

LIKES: Reading, anthropology, people older than him DISLIKES: Injustice, vices, ignorance MBTI: TBA ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good POLITICAL STANCE: Middle ground EDUCATION LEVEL: PhD DRUGS: Do vitamin supplements count..? PHOBIAS: Acrophobia DISORDER: None diagnosed

♚ “AND LATER MY MACABRE JOY SOURS AND I’M WEEPING FOR MYSELF, UNABLE TO FIND SOLACE IN ANY OF THIS, CRYING OUT, SOBBING, “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED,” CURSING THE EARTH AND EVERYTHING I HAVE BEEN TAUGHT: PRINCIPLES, DISTINCTIONS, CHOICES, MORALS, COMPROMISES, KNOWLEDGE, UNITY, PRAYER - ALL OF IT WAS WRONG, WITHOUT ANY FINAL PURPOSE.”

This man has lived too long. A classic concept written, imagined by artists. To comfort them about their mortality, explore the ins and outs of an alien narrative full of ifs. How would this even work ? Even the people with the best memories, to a genius level even, eventually forgets, for the brain can only retain so much. This feeling people gets as they grow older, the biased nostalgia of glorified items they saw through their pure, untainted, still developing eyes and the resentment towards new trends as they cannot see anything without any scum anymore. The yearning not for those movements, but for this soft sensation, of looking, admiring something and think, for a moment, that it’s idealistic form was real.

This sweet, unadulterated notion became only a distant, forgotten memory as time hardened the one known today as Roy. For years. Decades. Centuries. Millenniums.

A man who was born during another civilization, another time, long forgotten with only myths remaining of it. Not even a relic to be talked about, as everything had disintegrated, returned to earth for another life cycle.

♚ “THE PAST ISN’T REAL. IT’S JUST A DREAM,” I SAY. “DON’T MENTION THE PAST.”

Roy was born under another name, one he still remembers, but has long buried away, as it is not his name anymore. No one remembers it. It is not him anymore, as much as he might like to. It is only an appellation to let go of. As humankind developed its technology to a peak, so did their power, as they yielded control over nature people nowadays couldn’t imagine. It wasn’t as clear as one making a motion to have the waves, wind and earth respond to it. It was a much more fundamental, rawer sense to it. Where the energy of the world could be used to build even new life.

Always the diligent person who only lived to serve, executing tasks exactly as he was asked to, Roy had been appointed to be the Right Hand of the High Priestess. A young female who had only recently bloomed into womanhood. So perfect in existence, like a bright, pale, white being given to their kind in exchange of their discovery over worldly power. She had embraced her role as a symbol since birth, and he was to accompany her every step of the way as she rose to an official position. To inspire and love. Untouched by anything, for her importance was too great as people shook the world order in their insatiable human curiosity. Nowadays, Roy could have been defined as a bodyguard, yet, in this time, there was no fear of another person’s mishap. Only was he to protect her from accidental injuries, get more menial tasks off her shoulder and, most of all, as they understood this aspect deeply, have her emotional and social needs satisfied.

The way she was so beautiful, the way she would only crack a laugh at his shenanigans, the way he knew how to soothe her and she, in her infinite kindness, learned to soothe him back when a crack of worry grew between his impeccable … how could he not fall in love ?

He loved the way she would recite poetry while he slowly got used to her wanting him to caress her head, and she loved the way he would sing her verses in his smooth, sultry voice. The way she would eye him while someone else was talking on stage with a soft smile while he was guarding the entrance and he’d let a smile crack.

It wasn’t a consummated love like you would see in the current, modern days. There were, of course, pairings who held deep affection towards one another and brought in the next generation, but she had a role where she would never have the chance to do so, for her symbolism was not to replicate, only to be a happenstance, a gift which mustn’t be tainted by an attempt to be artificially redone. She accepted her role with no issue, and so did Roy. And the two of them were perfectly happy with this.

This was a time before the continents even started to noticeably separate on Earth, or even before the initial ground became more and more flooded by the waters. A time where Roy’s kind felt so unified, at peace… until this built up, free of conflict power shattered in on itself.

Raw abominations started roaming, not in the form of creatures, not exactly. So ephemeral, yet spreading chaos and distortion at every corner, fueled by the abuse and infighting of those who had gathered too much and only yearned for more. Years and generations of peace had made civilization take harmony for granted, and the couple was powerless as they saw it unfold. As the world balance collapsed, Roy was approached by a group of pacifists, trusted people for outside the conflicts, everyone knew anyone, respect one another, grew with one another. And as sickly dear ones, growing tainted by the plague pleaded with him, for his position had him perfect for what needed to be done for the greater good: kill the priestess, so the good in her would spread across the land, calm the spirits through their weeps, and save them.

Someone like Roy, of unfathomable loyalty, had a decision to make. And despite the tugs at his heart, it was an easy one. For he believed that, if the Priestess was present, the choice would be simple. That she would understand, because, in her infinite goodness, she could forgive them, forgive him, in the end. And as his trust towards her was strong, it is during a bright morning, away from the war, in the beautiful temple they inhabited, up in the mountains, away from civilization, that he entrusted her with what the people wished of them… and like the great woman she always had been, she kept a serene, albeit slightly sorrowful expression as she accepted. If there was a chance the power built inside her since birth could save more than one person, she would die.

But when his blade pierced her heart, tainting her white, ceremonial clothing in the middle of the garden, she only clanged onto him, eyes wide with desperate sorrow, an expression she, and he, never ever witnessed in anyone before. Fear and betrayal spread across her dark eyes as they grew more and more obscure.

I don’t want to die. My love, I don’t want to die…

―were her last words before, as she wept and choked, the High Priestess expired in her guardian’s blood soaked arms, him wearing too stunned an expression for her to ever hear an answer for him.

Just like beliefs and idolization are made-up by man for comfort and, ultimately, are fake, so was the glorification that one death, from someone incredibly beautiful from the inside out, would be a solution to mankind creating their own demise.

And so, it was at his feet that Roy saw the last of humans slowly die out, first from their endless conflict, so harsh they forgot where it even started, and then to the unforgiving nature, taking back the life they had abused off her.

Only, as he himself felt like he was expiring, with all lifeforce living him in the deserted, now ruined temple he had taken cared of with his beloved.

♚ “THIS IS TRUE: THE WORLD IS BETTER OFF WITH SOME PEOPLE GONE. OUR LIVES ARE NOT ALL INTERCONNECTED. THAT THEORY IS CROCK. SOME PEOPLE TRULY DO NOT NEED TO BE HERE.”

And with the end of this first Humankind was the land so dry of its lifeforce that the cycle of resurrection immortality and resurrection ended. It was quite simple at the time, and helped with the utopia free of grief and unnecessary sadness for their knowledge-seeking kind. If happenstance had you gone, your aether would go back to the earth, only to rise again in the next year, century, no one knew, but they would rise again, the same people, to meet the ones they knew in another life again, with hazy memories, but just enough to recognize your loved ones, and find them again. The more time passed, the less did people come back from this dormant phase, millions and millions now sleeping under the crust of the Earth, never to awaken again. Only the one who had gathered more power could come back more quickly, not the servants, no matter how strong they were, like Roy, who was only, despite all his strengths, a support to a higher one.

Only, as their kind ended, in her last breath, was he given the last link to the cycle, to be connected to his brethren, when he wasn’t supposed to be the one to live again to better the world.

She gave it to him, as her last gift. As the forgiveness she could never give him while she clung to dear life so desperately.

For the greatest gift to give to someone where inevitable death surround them is to still live……… isn’t it ?

I have seen too little, did too little to be of any solace in chaos. You, my love, have seen, experienced. I cannot think of a finer person to carry out our legacy, for I trust that only the best will come out of you.

♚ “PEOPLE CAN GET ACCUSTOMED TO ANYTHING, RIGHT? HABIT DOES THINGS TO PEOPLE.”

Life went back to its natural course. Ancient structure became ruins as vegetation took over, and, strong as it ever was, mankind rose again from the ashes. At the dawn of a new civilization, an orphan would be found at a nearby river, taken in by farmers and eventually would be a child raised by the whole humble village… a child who hadn’t forgotten a thing, and worked towards the dawn of a new age where he could protect what was dear to him.

And so, the one these days called Roy, grew up like he did before, to train and refine his ways. Only, this time, he didn’t only focus on his personal growth, but on others’ too. Estranged from other children like he had always been, with adulthood reaching his mind too quickly, only devoted to his craft. Despite snarl from the youth, his reputation grew amongst the adults and elders, and the communities beyond. As soon as his body was barely out of its formative years, did the boy set home in the mountains. Out of the leftover ruins his past life would let him have. A strong foundation to not lose sight of his objective.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. Alongside harsh but fair mental and physical training, all from what he had been taught and remembered, Roy kept exploring martial disciplines he even hadn’t touched in the past, wanting to reestablish what had been lost, and, before he knew it, he was known nearly as a Sage Deity across the land. A man coming from another world, who set up his temple atop the mountains made of smooth boulders eroded with time, near a clear water source, in the middle of a blossoming garden full of colors and hybrid one never knew how such an abundance of different species naturally grew alongside one another in this location, like it was enchanted.

Often, the village elders sought Roy’s advice, which he hoped have given sparingly, in neutrality, since he couldn’t guide mankind every step of the way, only show them a flourishing path. Travelers would come from afar to seek both his teaching and words, with glorified stories growing slightly intimidating to the young man. Despite this, he did his best to carry on his duty, taking care of the new temple grounds he assembled himself, wearing flowing clothes he sew himself; all loyal to the form and aesthetic of the woman he cherished, adorning the same attire she did and flowing, long hair. He wasn’t hoping for them to meet again, only honor her memory. He had grieved and grieved, wept and wept before she gave him the gift of eternity. His salvation was throwing himself into his training, contemplating his sorrow, and so on and on again until he only felt peace.

Roy’s stories of a lady in white with the darkest of eyes became legends, tales of kindness, bravery and adventure. And, amongst his own legacy growing, did Roy decide, after much deliberation, to take in disciples. One, then two. People under his tutelage, who would, in return, vow to spread and defend what the temple fought for, alongside taking equal parts in temple duties. And as the young people he accepted under his wing grew, Roy would soon be surrounded by four bright students he deeply loved. Unable to truly have a father’s touch, he, at least, believed he was a good guardian, hoping that, with time, his students would become masters, and that humanity could flourish.

It was then that, surrounded by his disciples, minus one, actually, that Roy had just finished drinking light tea and eating some sweets. He sighed as a cloud formed in front of his thin lips, the cold air announcing the winter to come. Even as his eldest disciple spoke, Roy didn’t reply. He stayed still, unmoving, silent, for there was nothing to say about what he felt was to come.

He didn’t even groan when he felt the ornate blades of his disciples pass through him, all three at the same time, for they were bound to be guilty together. While the screeching pain enveloped his senses, he wondered if this was what she felt, when he betrayed her.

That night, the Sage’s remains were cut to pieces, scattered far and wide, while his head was burned in the courtyard bonfire, all in an attempt to stop the link he had with his brethren, to cease the “gift” he had been given and for the cycle carried by the billions sleeping to come to an end.

But, unlike what men thought, Roy’s cycle was only part of nature, and he was to rise once more.

♚ “MY NIGHTLY BLOOD LUST OVERFLOWED INTO MY DAYS AND I HAD TO LEAVE THE CITY. MY MASK OF SANITY WAS A VICTIM OF IMPENDING SLIPPAGE.”

It was always the same. Again and again. He would be reborn, train, work, bond, and die at the hands of the very ones he had linked himself. The only reliable companion Roy ever had was nature outside of mankind, harsh but fair, just like him. With a behavior he could coexist with peacefully. It started eating him from the inside out. This time around, Roy had come back from the dead a few decades after his murder, found stark naked in a rice field even farther East, still in a young adult form, regenerated. Mankind hadn’t been doomed yet, and so, he vowed to save it by himself.

Roy would travel far and wide as mankind spread its territory and the continents started separating, being the only one of his kind which could still read the flow of life, its remaining corruption, and how to neutralize them. He would never stay in one spot for too long, only focusing on what he had to do. Because if he didn’t do it, who would ? If he didn’t do anything, he would only be left seeing the same amount of suffering and death, all by himself.

He couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t lose hope.

But Roy’s respect for life took the better of him. As he helped others with his abilities, presenting himself as somewhat of a medium as others also showed special traits, he hadn’t seen how darker human’s hearts had become. So much more quickly than the society he had known in the past. People turned envious of his abilities, and, soon enough, he needed to fight and run for his own life, at the risk of being torn apart yet again.

This fight and flight narrative happened again. And again. Until Roy’s duty had no time to be done; if he wasn’t around, there was no way anything could be done. He had to survive. And as the world grew around him, his mind and memories became muddied, and the depravity surrounding his person slowly creeped into his mind, as any remainder of his initial purpose was muddled with a constant years of bloodshed. An age of decades where he was to be burned and tortured, captured again and again before he’d lay waste to entire villages for his own safety. So no witness was to remain, and less people were to go after him. His training was used in a way he had never done before. For a cause he couldn’t decide to stop. He learned how to kill as efficiently as possible, how to decimate communities, destroy morale through underhanded means. Jumping from one allegiance to another as he either killed or fled before they’d go after him. For the first time, Roy could see how much his raw abilities could be of use in carnage, with no ceremony, no cause behind them. Only death. The very somber death he swore to stop.

He didn’t even stop to wonder at the technology men came up with, using the growing devices as meant for an end, anger and rage creeping into his very soul, indulging in vices he was being offered by humans which morals he always despised. There was no relief in this life, no moment of quiet, only screams and chaos, and only sins could provide a moment of respite. Roy, actually, never remembered how he died, but he did, at some point, in some time, after all sane people had left the territory, and only savagery had roamed the land he had loved so dearly.

During this time, he had forgotten her name, even her face.

♚ “THE CONVERSATION FOLLOWS ITS OWN ROLLING ACCORD - NO REAL STRUCTURE OR TOPIC OR INTERNAL LOGIC OR FEELING; EXCEPT, OF COURSE, FOR ITS OWN HIDDEN, CONSPIRATORIAL ONE. JUST WORDS, AND LIKE IN A MOVIE, BUT ONE THAT HAS BEEN TRANSCRIBED IMPROPERLY, MOST OF IT OVERLAPS.”

At some point, Roy had no recognition if he had been in the same world, the same plane of existence amongst the cycles when he awoke once again. This time in a white, desperately empty desert. With no one at his side. He was still, somehow, a fully grown person, with the fresh memories of violence he had laid, and the scent of blood into all his pores, and the grotesque weapons he had used with no ceremony.

Yet, in this newly regenerated body, in this empty space by himself, his mind centered itself. His discipline kicked in between the silence and hunt for sustenance. He had spent so long a time by himself, alone, in the most chaotic of scenarios. With no one who remembered him, no one who remembered his loved ones, no one who remembered who everyone he even knew were.

After spending time and time, he couldn’t count how long, to rebalance his person, reshape his senses and skills yet again, Roy readied himself to reach civilization once more… yet when he started his journey again, he stopped, the sudden weight of his contact with humankind anchoring him to the ground, unable now to stand. His body was trembling, and everything he had packed fell to the ground. He knew what would happen if he gave up. What he would need to go through and experience. Again and again. He tried. He tried so hard. But no matter how good he could be, it seemed so… hopeless. However, even if it was an impossible endeavor, he couldn’t stop, or else he would have nothing.

He wouldn’t be able to, maybe, one day, see everyone again. How many times had it been ? His memory couldn’t bear so much, what important things could he not recall ? He could start counting, but there was no way to say if entire lifetimes were not thrown into the abyss, and if forgotten crucial knowledge would end up with yet another failure…

This is when, hunched onto himself in this deserted, white horizon, Roy held his head in his hand. He groaned of pain as his mind was strained to its limits, drooling as he agonized, and images faded far, far away as he life flow was being torn apart from him by his own hands. He could hear the screams of his brethren, their legacy being desecrated. Useless. Useless. He didn’t need to remember their names. He didn’t need to remember their faces. Everything deemed useless to the core of his mission was shred out of his very soul, making the pain, the worries fade away, for he only needed to focus on what needed to be done.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. For those virtues to lead mankind to a greater part. And maybe, just maybe, recover part of everything he had lost.

For it was the one thing she had not accounted for, for she saw this man as someone so perfect through her affection for him.

That, ultimately, he did all of this so he could see them, see her again if he ever succeeded, and mankind could doom itself if it wasn’t the only way he knew to move onwards. That he did what was needed of him, without taking it so much to heart, that, in the deep of his heart, laid a hidden, selfish reason for all of this. Yet, it may not be this one anymore, he couldn’t tell.

And as Roy literally lost his mind, all by himself, with not a soul around to witness his sorrow, he laid there, vegetable from the trauma, feeling but unable to move, in a haze of horror and pain, before, finally, dehydration took him, and he was back in the cycle again.

Only, this time, there would be no memories. Only physical ones. No loneliness, only fake memories pieced by the world to balance his existence. Only a man, his training, his virtues, and an impossible task that is his only defense against despair and insanity.

♚ “THERE IS NO TIME FOR THE INNOCENT.”

[thorndale-industries]

On Robert’s and Gillian’s Relationship

So, to my surprise a bunch of people approached me lately, asking about the relationship and dynamics Robert and Gillian have. I decided to write this little overview to give you a basic insight and to show you how they progress.

First of all, I want to point out at the very beginning that both of them are narcissistic, abusive, and sociopathic. They (emotionally) abused all of their previous partners as they did not really care about them and rather used them to full fill certain needs while barely giving anything back. One of the biggest issues is that both are skilled smooth talkers and charmers, who know how to  to charm the pants off someone. Their relationship to each other might appear as very affectionate and loving (and it is after a certain point), and I will try my best to explain to you why this is so.

2017-2020: Robert and Gillian first meet in 2017, when Morgan invites them both to dinner at his please and introducing his new student to Gillian, saying that the two of them will be working together in the future and he (Robert) might be a good recruit for Majestic 12. Two very strong and stubborn personalities clash against each other that night, both unwilling to step back just in the slightest and quickly a very toxic and tensed atmosphere between them arises.

Gillian hates Robert for having a choice to join the Illuminati, while she had been forced to be there since birth. She had to live under their rule, never had the taste of freedom the young man in front of her enjoys so greatly. She becomes jealous, envious, furious. She starts to point out every single flaw he has to undermine his competence, trying her best to get him kicked out of the Order. He is nothing but a beggar in fine clothes, pretending to be part of the Adult’s Club while rolling himself in mud - he is not worthy to be where he is, to be offered the chance to rise to the sun. Of course Robert refused to be the inferior Gillian tried him to be, and he fought back whenever he could.

The first change in their dynamic happens more than a year later in late 2018, when there is an outbreak in the VersaLife lab at Omega Ranch, killing big parts of the population of Singapore. The evening Robert gets the news about the incident, he is desperate enough to visit Gillian in his seek for help since he was in Paris and no one else answered his calls. While she did not take it very well that he showed up unannounced and told him that this is how the game is played and he needs to get used to this, she slowly realized how much he actually gets used by the higher ranked members of the Illuminati. She starts to see how Robert is just a puppet as a low ranking member, someone who gets thrown under the bus when necessary -  she starts to see a bit of herself in him. Her attitude towards him remains apathetic and stoic, harsh, but internally the ice slowly breaks.

A month later she visits him at his home in San Francisco, and although she does not outright apologize for behaviour as she is still convinced that she did nothing wrong and Robert is not suitable for the Order, she offers him a deal of partnership. Her previous attempts of getting him kicked out have failed, so she decided to turn him into an useful tool, one she could shape as she desires. They start to date quickly after this, but it mostly based on the mutual respect that they slowly accept and to take care of the tension between them. Their relationship is not really affectionate or driven by love, they are pretty casual and how they treat each other -  a way of satisfying certain personal needs. But  in its core they are still not highly in favour of the other, falling back into the abusive and narcissistic patterns they both have, but there is one thing none of them expected: They met an equal.

Over the next 2 years Gillian teaches him many secrets about the Order, actively promoting the unusual career the man makes to make him a powerful ally against the Council. Her goals are egoistic and selfish, just as much as he uses her to gain knowledge he wouldn’t be able to get otherwise, but over the time, the more time they spent together, the closer they grow. Gillian realized that her intentions shift from solely getting a strong ally for her own personal fight to wanting to protect the man from all the misery, lies and games she had to go through herself. She wants to protect him from all the pain the Council causes as he blindly stepped into this mess - and she can’t really tell why she cares for him out of the sudden. She feels like a distant observer, seeing a man getting on the path she had to walk on once, and she wants to yell and warn him to not do this. And she involuntarily starts to become softer around him. Robert on the other side notices that the white haired woman he used to fight and yell with does indeed care for him, doing more for him than was necessary, and instead of using this once again to his advantage, he reacts the same way. Finally, he is able to breath out and let all the weight from his chest fall off without fearing of being backstabbed. They start to bond through a mutual goal, and they become a team.

2020-2025: As the power couple starts to become an actual couple that stays together out of love and affection, their main focus is still their work and achieving what they want, together. They now know that the other is not an enemy, an obstacle in their way, but instead a helping hand that makes the climb easier. And someone who will catch you in case you might fall down.  

While their professional relationship gets stronger by the day, they still struggle in their private life. Both of them are not the easiest people to be around with, and they are both used to fight and demand in order to survive -  they never learned how to give. And they have to learn that there is someone else in their life now. But they are both willing to work on their rocky relationship as they see how much it benefits them in many ways, and how they both long for each other in many different ways and feel cold and left alone without the other. Over time, they feel like the other fills the deep gaps and holes they have, two broken pieces that only need a certain level of finishing, get a bit smoother around the edges to fit together perfectly. And they finally admit that what they feel is love.

Robert and Gillian are opposites in many ways like fire and ice -  Robert the hot tempered, easily angered man who constantly seems to be tensed and ready to throw a tantrum and Gillian, a woman who always appears calm and collected. A woman patient enough to endure the outbreaks the man has, never leaving his side. 

They get engaged in 2024 and marry in the following year, willing to stay together in public as business partners and in private as caring and loving married people. Until death tears us apart.

They even get a dog a few months later after the ceremony.

2025-2052:  Their bond gets stronger and stronger, and more and more they start to see each other as one. They plot together, work together, live together while still maintaining enough independence. They become a deeply connected couple, caring for each other, but to everyone else their attitude becomes worse and more cold over time. They are a unity, but one that is united in their hate towards everyone who stands in their way. The toxicity and abusive behaviour among them is mostly gone, but in reality it only shifted to everyone else around them.

Robert and Gillian start to get lost in their shared god complex, believing they were chosen to rule the world as King and Queen -  the only ones capable to take care of humanity. And they don’t back off from doing everything to achieve the role they perceive as being withdrawn by the Council. And so, they push each other deeper into this mad fantasy, making everything worse. Their hunger for power becomes insatiable. 

Together they overthrow the Illuminati, force the other members into hiding who they see as their real abusers and people who actively prevent the world from progressing. In their own distorted world Robert and Gillian see themselves as the saviours of humanity, freeing it from the chocking grip of old people who lost their touch to everyone a long time ago and only abused their power for their own goals. They are the perfect beings the Illuminati always talked about, they are the ones who are worthy of true leadership. 

Prior and during the events of Deus Ex 1, their relationship becomes more unstable, especially because of Gillian. She shows resistance towards the plan of her husband becoming a God through merging with an AI. Not only because she is convinced that the technology is not ready yet and will only lead to his death, she is selfish and egoistic and refuses to let him go. She has to accept to sacrifice him for the greater goal, since this is what they worked so hard for for decades.

They both know it won’t be like it used to be anymore, and this realization creates the strongest bond they ever had before it changes forever. 

[chainsawbettyloo]

Title: Armor Crafted by My Own Hand

Pairing: Prince Sidon / Link

Rating: General 

Tags: biting, kissing, fluff, confession scene, fish person loving a blondie, sweetness with a bit of bite

Summary: On a rainy, cold day, Sidon confesses his love to Link

Continue reading here or check out on AO3! Comments, reblogs, and kudos are much appreciated!

-

Lounging atop one of the watchtowers that sat at the end of the Inogo Bridge, Sidon gazed glumly at the rocky path that led away from the bridge and up into the mountains. Overhead, the sky was as grey as his mood. From that veil of grey, a heavy rain fell, turning the world into a blurred wash of blues and greens. The air was chilly but nothing his thick skin couldn’t handle. Though to anyone without tough Zora skin, it was a probably bundle yourself up and stay inside kind of temperature.

Of all the days for there to be a downpour, it had to be this day. Not that he minded the rain, he was a Zora, after all but he had been hoping for a sunny, beautiful day - truly one that would stand out in memory. He had dreamily imagined a scene set against the vibrant, rolling river, shimmering in the afternoon sun with the backdrop of the gleaming mountains, and a dash of green from the healthy grass growing along the banks. Not one where he could scarcely see the river through the haze of the rain and all color was washed away into a world of dullness.

Heaving a long, suffering sigh, he supposed that it was probably not that important. It was not the setting that was vital, but rather what was going to be said and who was currently traveling along that rocky path towards his location. A sprig of warmth blossomed in his chest. Right, Link was making his way towards Zora’s Domain with the intention of seeing him and staying for several days, during which Sidon was determined to have the young Hylian all to himself. It was a occasion that he had been looking forward to for weeks now. Too much time had passed since he had last been able to spend time with Link as being the Hyrule Champion and best friend to Princess Zelda kept him occupied much of the time.

But before those days started, there was something very important he had to do. Glancing down to his side where a loosely wrapped parcel sat, Sidon gently ran his fingers over the wet paper. Inside was a token, an expression of a feeling within his heart that had steadily been growing larger and larger ever since had had first met the Champion of Hyrule. Ever since that young one had appeared at the bottom of the watchtower he currently sat on, his serious blue eyes quietly taking in the world around him, Sidon had been taken with him; taken with his quietness punctuated with playfulness, his gentle and protective nature, his curiosity and determination to continuously move forward despite the hardships put in his path. He had admired him, respected him and soon, came to love him as a friend. Link, in turn, became attached to him. He often visited the Zora Domain during the sparse moments when he was unoccupied with other matters, usually spending every moment he was there with Sidon. Over the years they had spent building their friendship, they had shared in hardships, battled against wretched beasts and, most pleasantly at all, had just enjoyed each other’s company. Many of his days over the years had been spent conversing, playing and engaging with Link. To Link, he had showed parts of himself that he would not even show his father, and to him, Link had revealed vulnerabilities, fears and grievances of which he swore never to reveal to anyone. Between them, a deeply seeded trust had grown and with it, love, warmth and unity. Link was someone he would entrust his life, the life of his people and the fate of the world with, and would fight by his side till his very last breath.

He wasn’t certain when exactly he realized that the feelings he had towards Link went beyond the realms of friendship but when he had, it had been a feeling he had wrestled with, analyzed and scrutinized, before quietly, peacefully coming to a firm, solid conclusion.

And now, it was a feeling that he was ready to speak aloud.

Letting out a slow breath, he turned his attention back to the path. Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous. He had already moved far past those sorts of feelings, after having spent a great many agonizing nights debating if this was truly an okay thing for him to do. Link was a Hylian and one of his closest friends, if not the closest one he had. Not to mention, he had been the one his sister had wanted to give her heart too before that wretched Calamity Ganon had stolen her life away. True, the feelings had been one sided but that didn’t lessen the impact of him hoping to claim Link’s heart as his own.

For a long time, that alone had kept him away from voicing how he felt. The guilt, the feeling he was doing something wrong, unfair to his sister’s memory - it had eaten away at him until he thought for certain he would never reveal his feelings to anyone and simply remain Link’s close friend. It wasn’t until his father had gently reminded him that his sister would want both him and Link to continue living, to move onwards towards happiness and embrace it as everything could change within an instance. With a bemused, almost melancholy expression on his wrinkled face, he had said in a soft, distant tone, “Move forward so that when you look back, it isn’t with regret or bitterness at what could have been said and done.”

Those words alone had been enough to spurn him forward. With a little with what felt like shame, he had realized just how cowardly he had been acting. His father was right - he needed to follow his heart towards his happiness. Time would not wait for him.

With that in mind, he had, rather clumsily, set about creating a suit of Zora armor for Link. It had taken him some time as he had no experience or knowledge in the field of armor crafting, given that he's never done it before, and had ended up with something that wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as the one Mipha created but in a way, that felt right. He wasn’t intending to compete with Mipha or belittle the feelings she had had for Link. More than anything, he wanted to separate himself from all that so he could start a new path with Link by his side. To do so, he felt that everything needed to be done uniquely, by his own hand and with his own words.

Of course, that was on the assumption that Link would accept the armor as well as his heart. In all truthfulness, while Sidon is confident in his own feelings, he wasn’t certain as to how Link felt. There were hints he had picked up on: lingering gazes, warm smiles, shimmering eyes, a readiness to be close, a lengthening in the time they spent in physical contact with each other, how happy Link always was whenever Sidon invited him to spend time together or when they happened upon a chance encounter with one another, but nothing concrete. Nothing strong enough to absolutely convince himself that there was something deeper there.

Regardless, he would not back down from this. No matter what, he would continue walking forward. If Link didn’t feel the same, he would accept that with grace, dignity and implore him that they remain friends. Though he wasn’t certain Link felt the same, he knew that Link wouldn’t be offended by him harboring such feelings for him. Of course, he hoped that Link would accept his heart but he was prepared for the worst.

All of the thoughts of Link potentially rejecting him wasn’t doing much for his mood. Sighing once more, he gave his head a hard shake. He would not allow the atmosphere or those thoughts ruin this for him. He had spent too much time planning, too much time getting ready, he would not back down now.

“Quite the sigh. You alright, Sidon?” A familiar soft, concerned voice said below him.

Starting, Sidon jolted forward to look down at the ground. Standing at the base of the watchtower was Link, dressed in light tunic that easily blended into the dreary environment. The Hylian was drenched but seemed unbothered by the rain and cold. He had been so distracted with his musing that he hadn’t seen him approach.

“Link! There you are, my friend!” Sidon called happily, immediately feeling his mood pick up at the sight of his beloved Hylian. Picking up the parcel, he jumped down from the watchtower and gracefully landed next to him. Straightening, he smiled brightly at Link, “It is good to see you. How have you been?”

“Doing well but are you alright? That was a heavy, burdened sigh.” Link’s blue eyes were filled with concern, his blond brows knitted together. “Did something happen?”

Sidon waved a hand dismissively, not quite ready to confess just yet. Having Link actually right in front of him was proving to be a little more nerve wrecking than he had anticipated. While he certainly wasn’t ready to back down, he needed some more time to build up his courage, “Worry not, my friend. Nothing is wrong. I was simply thinking, a bit too hard most likely.”

Link tilted his head inquisitively but didn’t push the point any further. Instead, he returned the smile with a small one of his own, the concern in his eyes replaced by a gentle happiness, which immediately sent a spasm of welcomed warmth rushing through Sidon’s heart, and said “It is good to see you, Sidon.”

“And you too, my friend.” He responded, his heart fluttering inside of his chest. The smile on his face smoothed, becoming softer as he gazed down at Link with what he was sure must be a starstruck expression on his face. Such simple, innocent words but they were more than enough to nearly bowl him over, and leaving him feeling warm, tingly from head to toe. Unable to resist, he reached forward to stroke his thumb over the soft curve of Link’s cheek. To his delight, Link reached up to cover the back of his hand with his own. His skin was so soft, so smooth; he longed to be allowed to roam his fingers along every single inch of it, to explore every bared and hidden areas, and perhaps even find a place or two that would have Link turning a shade similar to his own skin color when his fingers played across them.

Starting slightly at such a thought, he nearly jerked his hand away out of embarrassment. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t entertained that line of thinking before but it felt a bit improper to be imaging such scenarios in such a situation. That needed to be saved for that, after all. Link must have felt the jolt because he once again furrowed his brow. The hand that rested over his own curled lightly, capturing it within his calloused, strong fingers, pressing it closer to his wet, warm cheek. Those gorgeous blue eyes, as clear and vibrant as the sea rolling underneath the high sun, gazed steadily up at him, searching and inquisitive.

“Talk to me, Sidon.” Link said, his usual soft voice hardened with a tinge of a commanding undertone.

“Of what, my friend?” Sidon replied distractedly, feeling as though those eyes were stripping him bare, leaving him completely exposed to the Hylian. It was a strange, intimate sensation that he didn’t find that unpleasant. Quite the opposite, actually. In that moment, he longed to lean down, cup Link’s face in his hands and press them close together - close enough that they could practically meld together.

“Something is going on. You’re trying to act normally but something is on your mind. What is it?”

Sidon gazed silently down at Link for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. It needed to be said, to be done now. No more running away, no more hiding. Before he could lose his courage, he needed to do this. In response, he simply offered the wrapped parcel to Link. With a confused expression, he took the gift from Sidon. After a quick, inquisitive glance up at Sidon, he set about opening it up. Holding his breath, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, he watched in anguished anticipation as Link made quick work of getting the wrapping out of the way. It didn’t take him long, and soon the armor inside was revealed.

Several long, tensely quiet moments passed, only punctuated by the rain pouring down from the sky. In those moments, as Link stared down, silent, at the emerald green armor in his hands, panic began to grow in Sidon’s chest. What if he had been wrong? What if this proved to be some great offense to Link? Was he angry, upset, hurt? Or was he just confused? It had been several years since Link had first come to Zora’s Domain, perhaps he had forgotten what armor meant? No, that couldn’t possibly be the case - if Link was confused, he would have voiced that by now. Something else, something possibly negative, was going on inside of the Hylian’s head.

Swallowing hard as the moments continued to stretch out, Sidon came close to saying something, to reassuring Link that it was armor given out of their friendship, and not what he was obviously thinking, when Link slowly looked up at him. His entire face was flushed a deep red, and on that face was an expression Sidon had never seen before. A touch of bashful with a tinge of embarrassment and overlaid with what was undeniably happiness. Clutching the armor close to his chest, Link silently stepped forward, pushed himself into Sidon’s stomach before falling still. Against his skin, he could feel how hot Link’s face was. All the tension bleed out of his muscles. Letting out a slow breath, he wrapped his arms around Link, delighting in how the Hylian snuggled into his embrace.

“Can I take this as a yes?” He whispered hopefully.

Without looking up, Link slowly nodded. His breath froze in his chest. Squeezing Link even tighter, he leaned down until he could bury his face into Link’s fluffy hair, “Truly? Will you accept my heart and, in turn, give me yours?”

Shifting, Link slowly lifted his head to look up at him. Remarkably, his face had flushed even a darker shade of red. He was so adorable, so painfully, unbelievably adorable. Fighting back against the urge to just cover Link’s red face with kisses, Sidon gazed into those eyes and asked again, “Truly?”

A warm, heart fluttering smile spread across Link’s adorable face. Reaching up, he rested his hand on Sidon’s cheek before pushing himself up onto his lips toes and pressed a soft, chaste, quick kiss against Sidon’s lips. He wasn’t given time to react, though his heart near about jumped out of his chest, up his throat and down onto the ground where he was certain it would have done a jig of absolute jubilation, as Link almost immediately leaned back, that warm, amazing smile still on his face, his eyes glimmering with happiness, and whispered, “Truly.”

Letting out a loud, boisterous laugh, relief and joy rushing through every inch of his body, Sidon picked Link up, swung him around a couple times before coming to a stop, squeezed him tightly to his chest and finally gave into temptation. Peppering little kisses all over Link’s hot, wet face, minding his sharp teeth so that they didn’t even come close to nicking his soft skin, he basked in the little giggles coming from his beloved Hylian. Link tilted his head this way and that, giving Sidon access to anywhere he desired to place a kiss. Once he was satisfied with the kissing coverage, he buried his head into Link’s shoulder, let out a long, shuddering breath and whispered, “You’ve made me so happy, Link.”

Looping his arms around Sidon’s shoulders, Link squeezed them even closer together, burying his face into the side of his neck. Being this close, Sidon could practically feel Link’s heart thundering inside of his chest, hear how quick his breath was moving in and out of his body, and took note of the slight tremble that had settled into his limbs, seemingly not from the chill but from the excitement, the happiness. No more words need to be spoken, the motion alone was more than enough to tell him that Link felt the same. The rain continued to batter down onto them but neither took any notice of it. Together, they fell silent, merely enjoying the closeness, the warmth of one another. For several moments, they remained like that, unheeding anything else until Link quietly spoke up, “May I admit something?”

“Of course.” Sidon leaned back slightly so he could look down at the Hylian. To his surprise, there was a slight mischievous glint in Link’s blue eyes.

Smiling slightly, Link quietly admitted, “I had thought a confession from you would have been more suave.”

Chuckling, Sidon nodded, “I was hoping for it to be like that but alas, when I’m around you, my tongue does not obey my commands. Were you disappointed?”

Link shook his head, his smile growing to match the mischievousness in his eyes, “No, it was rather nice to see you so obviously flustered.”

“Flustered?” Sidon asked incredulously, feeling his own cheeks start to burn. That was not something he often heard used to describe him. In control, smooth, kind and serious, with just a touch of playfulness, yes but flustered? He wasn’t even really sure how to react to such a description.

“Yes, it was subtle but obvious once I realized what was going on. You’re very cute, Sidon.”

Though his expression was playful, there was a serious edge to his voice that sent his heart racing once more. More heat flooded his cheeks, while a twinge of excitement sounding off in his mind. He had never seen this side of Link before - this playful, teasing, very adult attitude. While it did throw him a little as most wouldn’t refer to him as “cute”, there wasn’t a single protest voiced from anywhere instead his heart or head. In fact, he was a little pleased about the whole thing. He hadn’t thought Link would be a demure, passive partner but he also certainly hadn’t considered him to be so forthcoming either, especially not after having seen him so quietly and bashfully accept his offering of the Zora armor. It was a welcome surprise, one he was glad to be shown. But, he wasn’t about to outdone. If Link wished to play his cards in such a way, then he would have to respond with an equal or better gesture.

Steadying himself, he let a warm, smooth smile spread across his face. Leaning down, he captured Link’s mouth with his own. Link inhaled sharply in surprise at the sudden contact before letting out a long, slow breath that brushed pleasantly against Sidon’s cheek and returning the kiss. Reaching up, he wrapped one hand around the base of Link’s head, pulling him closer as he slowly, carefully slid his lips over Link’s. Nervous that his sharp teeth might catch the delicate skin, he kept the kiss simple, confined to gentle movements and lingering contact. The world around them seemed to go still once more. Rain nor cold bothered him, instead all he could feel was those delicious, soft, smooth, plump lips against his own, all he could smell was Link’s intoxicatingly sweet scent filling him - it was better than he ever could have dreamed, far exceeded every imagination he had ever entertained. He wanted to push deeper, to sink his tongue into Link’s mouth so that he could taste every inch, to slip his hands underneath his wet clothes, trace the lines of his muscles, his veins before sneaking down into a more intimate area but he knew that if he were to go that far, he might not be able to stop himself. While he couldn’t control the weather during his confession, he most certainly was not going to engage in an activity out in the open, in the cold and rain.

Gently breaking the kiss, Sidon leaned back slightly and drank in the view before him. Link’s face was flushed a scarlet shade of red, his eyes were heavy lidded, the irises inside dazed and heated, his mouth was slightly parted, his lips swollen pink. That sight broke what little composure he had left. He was so cute, so beautiful, so adorable, he couldn’t stop himself. Before he realized what he was doing, he leaned down once more but this time to the side of Link’s neck, where his armor had been pulled down a bit to reveal a patch of smooth skin. Opening his mouth, he settled his teeth against Link’s skin and bit down, a little harder than he intended but without near enough force to break the skin. It was just enough to leave a mark, and most likely a bruise that would form over the coming days. A jolt wracked Link’s small body and to his utter delight, a loud, unabided, breathless moan trickled down to his ears. Encouraged but still realizing that his very sharp teeth were very close to actually hurting Link, Sidon pulled back, swiped his tongue over the little marks, a sense of elation overwhelming him as the taste of Link’s skin filled his mouth, pressed a couple of soft kisses along the red patch of skin before leaning back slightly so he could look Link in the eye. Setting a kiss on the tip of Link’s nose, he whispered, “Shall we return to Zora’s Domain? I’m quite intent on you showing me just how cute you are capable of being.”

“And how do you propose I do so?” Link asked softly, his voice laced with want and heat.

His smile grew, a hungry tinge sneakily slipping into it. Without breaking eye contact, he responded softly, his voice husky, “By allowing me to slowly, thoroughly devour you.”

That got exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Link’s eyes widened, his face, remarkably, flushed an even deeper tantalizing, delicious shade of red and his breath noticeably quickened. His temperature heightened as a tenseness settled into his body before he swallowed hard, took in a deep breath, opened his mouth to say something but seemed unable to think of anything and abruptly shut it. But, perhaps the most satisfying reaction, was how undeniable excited Link looked. His entire face was wreathed in eagerness, his eyes swam with glints and glimmers of feverishness. Pleased with his response, Sidon placed another quick kiss atop Link’s nose, “Now, shall we start heading towards Zora’s Domain? I do believe it is about time we got out of this rain.”

Link nodded mutely, eagerly in return. Without setting the Hylian done, Sidon turned and started walking towards his home. Shifting Link carefully in his arms so that his position was, hopefully, comfortable, Sidon glanced up at the dreary sky and briefly thought of how it would have been so much nicer if the sun had been shining. However, when Link snuggled even closer to him, his arms tightening around his shoulders as he nuzzled intimately into the curve of his neck, he quickly decided that didn’t really matter much at all.

[so-caffeinated]

Amelia and Will baby sit Jules's kid and at each separate moments think, damn, "Amelia/Will would make a great parent" and basically they are super sappy and can't wait

Let’s pretend this was an actual flashfic instead of something I spent like a solid day on, okay? It’s roughly 5.5k and I believe I’ve totally fulfilled the sap requirement here. This might be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written. And yes the last line is a variation of something quite familiar. #sorrynotsorry

September 2045 - Small Blessings

It’s not like everything in Will’s life has been perfect lately. It hasn’t. He’s had his ups and downs like everyone else. But the ups? God, they’re so much better than he could have ever expected, so much higher than he’d thought they could get. It’s been six months since Amelia quite literally walked back into his life, proving beyond any doubt that they could be as amazing together as he’s always known they could be. He’s never loved anyone like he loves her, never understood how deep that love could run, not until she showed up like she walked straight out of all his dreams.

Or, well… all of his dreams at the time. He’s quickly finding that he’s building new ones.

“Did I just hear their car pull up?” she asks, placing a hand on his arm as she pulls back the curtain of his front window to look outside. He takes a moment just to watch her. Her dark hair is pulled back neatly in a ponytail - unusual for her - and she’s dressed casually, wearing jeans that really, really fit her well and a solid black t-shirt that he finds a lot more distracting than she means it to be. But he barely has a moment to look her over because her shoulders droop suddenly, answering in full her earlier question.

“Any minute,” he promises, pulling her back and kissing her shoulder. She sighs and leans back against him, letting him hold her and relish her scent. It feels like a gift. Everything with her feels like a gift, and he savors it so much every single day. He thinks he always will.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, looking a little abashed. “I’m just… I’m kind of excited, you know?”

She is. He knows that and it’s so painfully adorable that he almost can’t stand it.

“It’s gonna be an interesting weekend,” he agrees, smiling at her softly before claiming her lips. It’s far from insistent, nothing meant to escalate, but that doesn’t me that he doesn’t feel it shoot straight down his spine the instant his mouth touches hers. It’s fortifying, reassuring. He figured out months ago that he wants to kiss her like this every day for the rest of his life. There’s not even a question of that. He’s just waiting for the right moment to tell her, the right moment to ask…

They break apart and she nuzzles her nose against his with a quiet sigh of contentment. Moments like this are amongst his favorite, these days. Oh, he loves making love to her, loves exploring her body anew night after night, but something about this is almost as powerful. It’s honest and soul-baring and he wants nothing more than to revel in this unity he’s found with her.

“Think we can manage it?” she asks. He can hear the smile in her voice, even if she’s too close to see it.

“I know we can,” he counters firmly.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and Amelia jolts, stepping away ever so slightly and letting go to smooth down imaginary wrinkles in her jeans. It’s adorable and he has to shake his head as he grins and strides toward his front door.

For all of Amelia’s attempts to look calm and put together, the image that greets him on the other side of the door does not.

“Hey, so, she stinks and she hasn’t napped and I’m sorry,” Jules says immediately, holding his fourteen-month-old niece out toward him.

“It’s fine,” Amelia replies from over his shoulder, edging him out of the way to take the baby with an absolutely awestruck smile on her face. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greets. “We’ll get you changed so that you’re much more comfortable, okay?”

“Papa?” the little girl asks, looking around.

“Papa’s not here,” Jules tells the baby, brushing wisps of dark hair back from her brow before looking back to Will. She seems frazzled, but that’s probably just the effect of motherhood. “We’d never get out of here if he had to say goodbye and we’re running late as it is.”

Will glances at the clock. Sure enough, she’s a solid twenty minutes late. This isn’t surprising in the least when it comes to Jules these days.

“You have the number for where we’re staying?” Jules asks Will worriedly, pulling his attention back. In a rush or not, she seems like she can’t keep her hand from stroking her daughter’s back.

“And both of your cell phone numbers and your mother-in-law’s cell phone number,” Will confirms. “We’re good, Jules. Everything is gonna be fine. It’s just one night.”

Jules makes a stressed little whine at that and turns to her daughter to kiss her chubby little cheeks a few times, her eyes pinched shut. “You’re staying one big sleep with Uncle Will, okay?” she asks. “Just one. Momma and Papa will be back tomorrow around dinner to pick you up.”

Little Sylvia clearly doesn’t understand, but she picks up on her mother’s distress, suddenly looking like she might cry. “Just one big sleep,” Jules says again, forcing a smile onto her face and nodding at the baby. “Uncle Will and Aunt Amelia are going to take such good care of you, baby girl.”

Yeah, using those terms absolutely steals the air from Will’s lungs and from the look on Amelia’s face, he’s pretty sure it does much the same to her.

“Oh, I… sorry,” Jules flinches, looking between them. “It’s just… well… I mean, she had to call her something, right?”

“It’s fine,” Will assures his little sister, painfully aware of the way Amelia’s gaze burns against his skin. “It’s good, actually.”

“Oh…” Jules says, blinking at him. There’s a serious conversation in their future and Will is suddenly very, very aware of that fact. “Well… good,” Jules nods sharply. “That’s good.”

“Mama?” Sylvia asks, reaching her tiny fingers out for her mother.

“One big sleep,” Jules repeats, kissing Sylvia’s fingertips. Will has to wonder if the words are more for her daughter or herself. His little sister’s eyes are visibly teary and her voice sounds clogged. “And you’re going to have so much fun with Will and Amelia, baby girl.

For someone who really hadn’t wanted kids in the first place, Jules has surely fallen terribly in love with her daughter. Will still thinks she wouldn’t have chosen to have any children, even knowing how wonderful Sylvia is, and she surely won’t have more… at least not intentionally. But sometimes fate intervenes and Will is so grateful for his beautiful little niece as well as the effect she’s had on his little sister.

“She will have fun,” Will promises, taking the diaper bag and pack-and-play from Jules’ grasp. “We all will.”

“If you have any problems…” Jules starts.

“I have your number and Felicity’s number and Amelia’s mom’s number and your mother-in-law’s number and the pediatrician’s on speed dial,” Will vows, reciting it off like a list. “Plus, I’ve been a firefighter for fourteen years. We’re good, Julie-bug. Now go. Have a fun time at the wedding and tell my favorite brother-in-law that I said hello.”

“He’s your only brother-in-law,” Jules replies with narrowed eyes.

“Easy for him to be my favorite, then, right?” Will grins cheekily. “Stop stalling. She’ll be fine. I promise. I practically raised Beth, didn’t I?”

That point seems to mollify her some, but Jules is still a bundle of anxiety. Honestly, Will can’t blame her. Were it his own kids… fictional ones he might someday have… he can’t imagine he’d be in much better shape.

“Okay,” Jules agrees reluctantly. “Okay, I know you’re right. Sylvie, baby, I love you so much and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she asks, kissing the little girl a few times again, her hand cupping the baby’s cheek. “Be a good girl, okay?”

“No,” Sylvia announces loudly. Will chooses to believe that’s in reference to her mother clearly leaving rather than the notion of being good, but he supposes that remains to be seen.

“Yes, Sylvia,” Jules counters sternly. She’d nailed that ‘mom’ voice inside of twenty minutes after giving birth and it still kinda makes Will stand up straighter on instinct. Is that just a thing all women do? Is it a switch that flips the minute you have a baby? Would Amelia be like that?

“She’ll be a good girl,” Amelia says with certainty, cuddling the little girl close to her body in spite of the fact that the child definitely needs a diaper change. It doesn’t seem to bother Amelia in the least. “I know she will.”

“Yeah…” Jules echoes, swallowing hard and biting her lip as she strokes her fingers down Sylvia’s soft, chubby little cheek. This is harder for her than she’d thought it would be, Will can tell. She leaves her daughter with family often enough, sometimes even overnight with her parents or her husband’s mother, but she’s never been out of town and it seems that makes all the difference for her.

“If she sees you upset, it’s going to upset her more,” Will points out to his sister softly.

Jules blows some air through her thinned lips and nods before forcing a smile on her face and stepping back. “Momma’s gonna go bye-bye, now. Bye-bye, honey!”

“Buh,” Sylvia says, pressing her lips to her own palm with a smacking kiss and throwing her arm wide.

Even Jules can’t help but be touched by that, reaching out and pretending to grab the kiss out of mid-air and press it to her own cheek before returning the gesture. Sylvia grins at her mother and giggles, burying her face in Amelia’s neck. Will’s hard pressed to decide which of the women in front of him have the biggest piece of his heart in this moment. Amelia’s joy at Sylvia’s affection is blinding, but Sylvia herself is so painfully cute that it hits him hard. And Jules… he’d never expected to see Jules like this, not even when she told him she was pregnant. The softness about her when she’s with her daughter feels like an entirely new facet to her personality that’s come to surface. Will knows her well, he always has, but seeing her with Sylvia is like seeing her with fresh eyes.

Then again, sometimes she’s exactly the same person he watched grow up.

“Call me,” she demands suddenly, poking him in the chest as she turns toward the door. Her voice is bossy, insistent, entirely familiar, and Will has to fight back a grin because all of a sudden she seems eight years old and trying to hide in his room to get away from Nate’s wails all over again.

“You’ve got it,” he promises.

Jules leaves with a heavy sigh and a tight smile that is entirely for her daughter’s benefit. The second she’s out the door, Sylvia’s wriggling in Amelia’s arms in an attempt to get down.

“Hold on, little one,” Amelia cautions, lowering the toddler to the ground carefully. Sylvia scurries over to the window as soon as her feet hit the floor, peeking out through the curtains to watch her mother go.

“Buh!” she waves frantically before kissing the glass, leaving little lip-prints that Will has absolutely no intention of cleaning off anytime soon. “Buh-buh!”

She’s utterly adorable, standing on her tiptoes, pressed up against the glass, and Will can’t help shaking his head at his little niece. Beth is a teenager now… somehow… and he’s missed having a baby around, missed it more than he’d realized, even. He’s thirty-seven-years-old now and until earlier this year, he hadn’t really thought a family of his own was going to be in the cards for him. But now… now he thinks maybe. Now he wonders…

“Hey you,” Amelia says, perched on the floor next to the baby. She’s laid out a changing pad from the diaper bag while Will wasn’t even looking. “Let’s get you freshened up so we can play, okay?”

Sylvia clearly knows the drill and while her vocabulary is pretty limited right now, she seems to understand most of what’s being said to her. She lies down and sticks her chunky little legs up in the air while pronouncing “ick.”

Amelia just grins at her and kisses her toes as she grabs a fresh diaper. “Very ick,” she agrees. “But you’ll feel much better in a minute or two, okay? You’re such a good girl.”

The little girl beams at the praise and looks up at Will with a huge grin on her face. “You are,” he agrees, distracting her while Amelia makes quick work of the diaper change. Sylvia’s pretty well behaved for her diaper changes most of the time, but she’s even better when she’s distracted. He sits down next to her and lets her pat his face. She likes the feel of his scruff.

“Papa?” she asks again, looking around the room.

“He’s not here, honey,” Will tells her. Her cute little lips form a disappointed pout and she sighs. If anyone in the history of the world has ever been a daddy’s girl, it’s Sylvia. The subject of kids had not been something Jules and her husband had agreed on. Reluctantly, he’d decided Jules was more important to him than children, but Will knows that hadn’t been his brother-in-law’s preference. Sylvia had been a very-much-unplanned surprise and her father has thoroughly cherished his little girl every single day of her life.

And, even at a year old, she knows it.

“All done. Let me just go wash my hands and toss this and we can play, okay?” Amelia asks, standing back up with the dirty diaper in hand.

Sylvia grins and claps in response before maneuvering to her feet and climbing onto Will’s lap. She’s a cuddly little girl, always looking for a lap or someone to hold her - these things are not in short supply in her family - and Will is more than happy to be on the receiving end of his only niece’s affection.

“Happy to be clean again, huh?” he asks with a grin as she smacks a very wet kiss against his cheek. “Maybe save some of that love for Aunt Amelia,” he tells her, tickling her side lightly and earning a giggle. “She’s the one who fixed you up.”

From over by the sink in the kitchen, Amelia tosses him a glance over her shoulder with a smile, locking eyes with his. It’s sobering and dizzying all at once. And, for a minute, the only thing he’s aware of at all is her. God, he loves her so much, wants so much with her, wants to spend every day for this rest of his life trying to earn this same little smile that reaches her eyes. It makes his heart pound in his chest and his head spin.

He’s only pulled back to reality when Sylvia eases herself off of his lap and starts to wander around the space, taking stock of her surroundings. It’s been more than a few years since Will’s had to babyproof anything - teen-proofing is another thing entirely; he sort of trusts Beth, but he also no longer keeps hard liquor in the house because she’s fifteen and he remembers fifteen a little too well. Still… he thinks he did a pretty good job. And, really, Sylvia is better at following rules than Bethy ever had been at this age.

“Woof,” Sylvia says in confusion, peeking around the sofa. “Woof woof?”

“I don’t have a dog,” Will tells her. She looks supremely confused by this, but that kind of makes sense because she’s Jules’ daughter after all. Will has no doubt whatsoever that she will always have a dog in her life. “Sorry, kiddo.”

She doesn’t look any less perplexed, but she moves on, taking in her newfound environment little by little, peeking under the sofa and crawling beneath the coffee table.

“Need help with the pack-and-play?” Amelia asks, rejoining them and sliding her hand across Will’s shoulders before stroking her thumb along his spine at his neck. He sighs quietly at her touch, revelling in the feel of her fingers on his skin.

“I got it,” he counters, turning his face to kiss the soft skin of her inner arm. She shivers in response and he smiles up at her. “Want to keep an eye on her in case I missed something with the babyproofing?”

“Happy to,” she agrees. And she is, that much is immediately clear as she leaves his side and bends down to peek her head under the coffee table where Sylvia is just about to emerge. The baby gives a little squeak of surprise or delight. “Are we playing hide-and-seek, little one?” Amelia asks with a blinding grin. Sylvia giggles madly and tries to scurry away, but Amelia reaches out and grabs the little girl, swooping her up and blowing a raspberry against her neck.

Something about his niece’s laughter and his girlfriend’s flushed cheeks is utterly addictive and Will finds himself transfixed by the pair of them right up until Amelia turns away with the baby on her hip, talking softly to her as they head toward the kitchen. They make quite the picture together and Will finds himself hurrying to put together the pack-and-play so he can get back to being with them. The portable playpen/crib is fairly easy to set up and he’s done relatively quickly, moving it to his room before heading back out in search of Sylvia and Amelia.

They’re still in the kitchen and he finds them entirely because Sylvia can’t stop laughing. Those huge eyes of hers - so like Jules’, even if the color is different - alight with utter glee. She’s strapped into a booster seat at the table with a small plate of fruit in front of her, but she’s paying no attention at all to her snack, instead pulling a dishtowel away from Amelia’s face over and over in what has to be the world’s most entertaining game of peek-a-boo.

Will would be hard pressed to guess which of them looks happier. The delight on Sylvia’s face seems to fuel Amelia’s joy and he’s just… he’s so taken by it that he can scarcely breathe.

God, she’ll make an amazing mother. The very idea of her doing this with their baby one day, of their home together being filled with this kind of laughter and joy, it sends his pulse racing and his heart on fire. And he wants it.

If he hadn’t already bought a ring months ago, he’d be doing it the first chance he had now.

Abruptly, Sylvia grabs the dishtowel and yanks it a away, throwing it across the room with another boisterous giggle. The mock surprise on Amelia’s face seems to further delight the little girl and in spite of the fact that Sylvia really doesn’t know Amelia all that well, it’s pretty clear she’s developed a fast affection for her so-called ‘Aunt.’

“Up!” she declares, reaching for Amelia. “Up, up, up.”

Amelia’s more than happy to hold the baby and she unstraps her quickly before hoisting her into her arms. Sylvia gives a happy little sigh, snuggling up as close as she possibly can - she’s been a cuddler from day one - and Amelia looks so overjoyed by the toddler’s affection that Will wouldn’t be surprised to see her cry. She strokes the baby’s dark hair as she holds her close, looking like there’s nowhere in the world she’d rather be.

“Such a good girl, Sylvia,” Amelia assures her. “You’re very good at that game, do you know that? Thank you for playing with me.”

Sylvia nods and pats her on the cheek, like she’s offering up her approval, and it just makes Amelia smile more.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” Will tells them softly, closing in on the pair of them and wrapping his arms around Amelia before dropping a kiss atop Sylvia’s head.

“We are,” Amelia assures him. “But I think maybe I’ve worn her out.”

“No!” Sylvia protests. It would be a lot more convincing if she didn’t break into a yawn immediately at the end.

“You’re stronger than me, then!” Amelia tells her, raising both eyebrows as she looks down at the child. “You made me tired. I think I need a nap.”

“No,” Sylvia says again, shaking her head fiercely.

“Well, if I don’t nap, I don’t know how I’ll play more,” Amelia confides. “And I’d love to play more with you later, sweetie. Uncle Will and I had fun ideas for us to do together, but I’m too tired right now. Can I nap? Maybe you can help me fall asleep if you lie down with me?”

The skeptical look on Sylvia’s face is absolutely absurd for a one-year-old, and Will has to bite down on his lips to try and cage in a grin. Easygoing kid or not, she’s Jules’ daughter and the occasional case of extreme wariness is something she comes by honestly.  

“Up,” she says, turning toward Will and holding out her arms, clearly looking for an alternative to a nap.

“I need a nap, too,” Will tells her. “Putting your bed together was a lot of work.” She huffs and clings to Amelia again - clearly he’s only good for avoiding naptime when Amelia’s around. He can’t resent that. He’d choose her company, too.

“Let’s go see where Uncle put your pack-and-play. We’ll just check it out,” Amelia says. “Would you like to walk or have me carry you?”

The illusion of having a choice about what happens seems to help a bit and Sylvia clings to Amelia’s shirt muttering “up” on a yawn. Even as good and sweet as she is, naptime has never been easy with the little girl. She seems like she’s afraid she’s going to miss everything going on if she naps.

Amelia heads toward Will’s room - it’s hers too, more often than not these days - and bops Sylvia lightly on the nose as soon as they make it through the threshold. “Look at that!” she declares. “Uncle Will put it next to the bed so we can lie down right beside each other still. Wasn’t that a good idea? We should try it out.”

It almost works. Sylvia’s interested enough that she doesn’t wail immediately. But the moment Amelia’s set her down in the makeshift crib she bursts out into tears, stomping her feet and lifting her arms skyward. “No! Up! Up!”

“Okay, okay,” Amelia relents with a sigh, picking the baby up and soothing her hiccupping sobs by rubbing her back and making low hushing noises. There’s little chance of Sylvia letting go anytime soon, something it’s clear Amelia knows when she meets his eyes over the toddler’s head, giving a little shrug.

“Momma?” Sylvia asks suddenly, looking around the room like she’s just realized her mother isn’t there. Her big eyes water and her lower lip quivers as she works herself up to another bout of hysteria.

“It’s just us for right now, Sylvia,” Will says, sitting on the bed next to Amelia and cupping the back of Sylvia’s head gently. “We’re having a play date. Your momma and papa will be back tomorrow.

She looks so helpless, casting her eyes between them, and it sort of breaks Will’s heart to see her distress. “Momma,” she says again in a resigned, mournful little voice that would absolutely gut Jules if she heard it.

“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay,” Amelia consoles, rocking the little girl back and forth gently. Sylvia’s eyes droop tiredly, but she seems like she’s forcing them to stay open. “What does Jules sing to her to get her to sleep?” Amelia asks after a moment.

Will finds himself blinking back at her in surprise. “I’m pretty sure her singing isn’t capable of putting anyone to sleep,” Will informs her.

“She doesn’t sing lullabies?” Amelia questions in surprise.

“It’s incredibly clear right now that you’ve never heard my sister sing,” Will tells her. “Let’s just say it’s not one of her strengths.”

It is, however, one of Amelia’s. He’s known that for a very long time, since he walked into a supply room in City Hall more than a decade ago and stopped dead in his tracks, absolutely floored by her voice as she sang to herself, sifting through boxes of old files. Still, it’s not something he’s heard in a very long time now and it makes his breath catch in his throat when she stands up, starts pacing the room while holding Sylvia close and rocks the baby as she sings.

And he’s not the only one. Sylvia looks utterly entranced as well, her lips parting as she stares up at Amelia in awe.

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…

It’s incredible to watch the effect her voice has on Sylvia. For a moment, he’s tempted to take a video for Jules, but this feels too private for that, for some reason, too personal, and he finds he doesn’t want to share it. Not even with his sister.

Amelia tucks the baby’s head into the crook of her neck and rocks her gently as she goes through the song three times, a little softer with each verse, and Sylvia is fast asleep before much time at all.

“You’re incredible,” Will tells her without even thinking about the words as she settles the toddler down into the makeshift crib. Sylvia doesn’t stir in the least.

“It’s just a song,” she murmurs, though she clearly looks pleased by his praise.

“It’s not,” he counters, shaking his head and watching her in amazement. “It’s you. It’s everything about you.”

She blushes - actually blushes - as she looks down to where Sylvia sleeps soundly before taking Will’s fingers in hers and leading him out of the room. He follows easily, but doesn’t stop when she does, instead backing her up against the wall and pressing her to it with the length of his body as he cups her face in his hands and he kisses her breathless.

He pours everything into that moment - everything he wants to say, every ounce of what he feels - and when he pulls back slightly, she looks beautifully dazed.

“What was that for?” she asks. Her voice is soft and a little weak, something he revels in as he touches his nose to hers and strokes his thumbs across her cheeks. He could not cherish this moment more if he tried.

“Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love you more, you prove me wrong,” he tells her. It’s simple, but true.

“Because I sang?” she asks with a little laugh.

“For a million reasons,” he answers with painful sincerity. His voice is raw and a little hoarse as speaks, tracing the lines of her face with his gaze. Letting himself be vulnerable with her, with any woman, had been a hard-won lesson, but it’s so very worth it and moments like this one prove that to him every single day. She slides her arms around his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and kisses him in a long, slow way that leaves him feeling simultaneously like the world might be dissolving beneath his feet and like the two of them are more unified than ever.

“I love you, too, Will,” she says, scraping her fingers through his hair when they finally part. She doesn’t go far. “So much.”

In the end, Sylvia doesn’t sleep all that long - maybe half an hour at most - but they spend the entire time making out on his sofa like teenagers. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips swollen, her shirt a lot less tidy and her ponytail nowhere near as neat by the time Sylvia loudly makes it known that her nap is done.

He’s thirty-seven-years-old and this is the happiest he’s ever been in his entire life.

Because of her. Because of himself. Because of how far they’ve come both individually and together.

The future looks bright to him, these days. It’s not like everything’s perfect; it’s not. But the weekend plays out before him like a ghostly image of the future that holds everything he wants. And, for the first time maybe ever, it feels like it’s all in within his reach.

They shower Sylvia with enough love and attention that she only rarely asks for her parents and she copes pretty well well with the separation. Better than Jules and her husband, actually, if the text messages Will gets are anything to go by. But, they’re reassured by a handful of calls and a dozen photos of their little girl giggling and having fun.

And she does.

Will and Amelia take her swimming and she delights in splashing them both in the face at every opportunity, but especially her uncle. Will would love to dunk Amelia and start some kind of water war, but he doesn’t dare when one of them needs to keep a hand on the one-year-old at all times. So instead, he holds them both in his arms as Sylvia grins mischievously and slaps her hands against the surface of the pool over and over, sending a spray of water everywhere.

The whole thing wears the little girl out and she falls asleep on Amelia’s lap watching Sesame Street shortly after they get back to his apartment and get cleaned up. Amelia makes no move to put her in the crib this time, though. And it’s a full hour later before Sylvia wakes and either of them go anywhere. Will hasn’t moved in that time, either, honestly. He’d wedged himself behind his girlfriend so that her head rested on his lap as the baby napped. They’d talked in hushed tones about plans for dinner, for the next day, for the game next weekend as he stroked her hair and Sylvia slept on.

In some ways, it’s amazing how easily their lives change to accommodate a child. Sure, it’s just for a weekend, but everything feels like it slides just slightly so that it all fits into place and Will finds himself thinking he could do this - they could do this - day in and day out.

Some of that is a credit to Sylvia herself, though. She’s admittedly a very easy child, sweet and loving, generally happy and rule-abiding. She only tries once to get into Beth’s room - the teen isn’t around this weekend, but she still has her own space; she will always have a room at her brother’s home. The child safety door knob keeps her out, but she also doesn’t try it again after Will scolds her lightly.

The only real challenge with her comes around two in the morning when she wakes up in hysterics sobbing for her parents. That’s a hard moment and nothing Will or Amelia can say seems to make a difference. Amelia tries to sing to her, but it doesn’t work this time. Sylvia pushes Amelia’s face away with her little hands as she wails for her parents over and over again.

It’s only when Will lies down, holding his niece against his chest that she starts to calm down. Her fingers stroke the tattoo on his bicep and she looks up at him with increasing awareness in her tired eyes. He talks to her in low tones, tells her stories about her mom, about her aunt and uncle, about her dad, about her grandparents. She probably doesn’t understand much of it, but his voice is soothing and she seems to find comfort against the warmth of his chest, curling up atop him and drifting back to sleep as he rubs her back and rambles on.

When he’s sure she’s asleep, he finally looks to where Amelia lies next to him and finds her staring with an awed expression on her face and a look of realization in her eyes.  

“What?” he asks, wrinkling his brow as he smiles at her.

“Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love you more, you prove me wrong,” she echoes, repeating his words from earlier. “How did I get this lucky?”

“We both did,” he replies immediately, slipping his hand into hers and intertwining their fingers together.

“Yeah,” she echoes, scooting closer until they’re pressed against each other, Sylvia still fast asleep atop him. Amelia tugs his free arm around her and rests their joined hands on the baby. She’s basically as close as she can be, close enough that he can see the adoration in her eyes, the contentment, and it brings with it a surge of the most incredible feeling of completion. “We did,” she continues, pressing a chaste but meaningful kiss to his lips. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Amelia,” he sighs, soaking in her closeness and savoring it for the gift he knows it is. “It was always gonna be you. There was never another choice to make.”

[chickpow]

The Marron Sandwich 3: Different Definitions of Forever ❯ One-Shot

This old Fanfiction was written by the talented Kinomi <~ Click and Support the author! WARNING: This story is Marron/Trunks/Goten, if this pairing isn’t your cup of tea then scroll away. :)

Different Definitions of Forever

By Kinomi

****

4:30 pm.

I was supposed to be working on reconciling the Field Sales Office's Expense reports, they were overdue already, but I just couldn't seem to bring myself to work on something so mundane and boring two days before Christmas. My mind kept wandering into things I didn't want to think about or remember. Of course my other option was to head out of the office early - I was the Accounting department manager after all - it was my prerogative, but where would I go? Home? If I went home early I would probably just be sucked into Goten's relentless holiday cheer, and I just wasn't in the mood to pretend. He was perky enough on a daily basis to be almost annoying, but he was ten times worse at the holidays. Almost unbearable as he charged around grinning in that stupid Santa hat he wore the entirety of December it seemed.

He'd decorated our house within an inch of its life; I could barely make it in the front door past the lights, wreaths and other festive whatnot. The tree he'd gotten for us this year was massive; it took up the entire dining room, strategically placed in front of the window facing the street. I'd thought it was a little much considering it was just the two of us now, but when I told him so, his eyes had clouded a moment before he pulled me to the floor with him, and made love to me slowly under the gaily-decorated pine tree.

I rested my chin in my hand as I stared blankly at the spreadsheet of expenses I was supposed to be working on. I sighed, I knew why Goten forced the holiday issue so hard; he tried to be cheerful to take our minds off the fact that Trunks was gone. It would be two years on Christmas morning since we had seen our boyfriend. That's why every year Goten put on a big show of the holidays…to cover his hurt. I knew it; it was the same hurt I felt that Trunks had just up and left us, with no explanation. Goten and I were like night and day with regards to how we dealt with it, but Trunks' leaving had undoubtedly brought us even closer together, as we cleaved to each other in grief as well as love.

My eyes fell on the silver framed picture on my desk and I picked it up, leaning over to push my office door shut. Trunks had given me this picture of the three of us the year he left. Looking at it occasionally made me cry - and I didn't need someone barging into my office while I was possibly bawling. I had done most of my crying over Trunks away from Goten. He had taken Trunks' leaving much harder than I had, but then he had been closer to Trunks than me. Even though I had been Trunks' girlfriend first. Despite the unconventional relationship the three of us had shared, Goten and Trunks truly shared a unity of being that had little to do with fusion or their feelings for me.

I rubbed my thumb over the glass protecting the photograph, covering Trunks' face with the pad of my thumb and smearing the glass. How many times had I thought of replacing this photograph with a more recent one of just Goten and I? To not be reminded of Trunks by seeing his handsome smiling face looking out of the expensive silver frame everyday. His arms slung casually around Goten's and my shoulders on a long ago vacation at the beach. But I never could, I couldn't let go of him either. At home Goten kept the clothes Trunks left behind in his part of the closet as if he were coming back. He kept everything the same as he'd left it. The only fight Goten and I'd ever had was when I had started sleeping on Trunks' part of our bed and using his pillow. I never told Goten it was because the pillow still held his scent, but I'm sure he knew.

Almost as if on cue my phone rang. I picked it up still looking at Trunks in the picture, hazy under the smudge of my thumbprint.

"Accounting. This is Marron." I answered tonelessly.

"Merry Christmas Beautiful." My heart literally stopped a moment at the low voice on the other end of the line. Instantly, unbidden memories filled my mind at the sound of his voice. The life the three of us had shared, how happy we had been… My two best friends, my lovers…my family.

"Trunks." I whispered, and tears came to my eyes. I'd kept telling myself how much I hadn't missed him, that Goten had been hurt more than I had, but just hearing his voice was tearing me up.

"The very same. How's my girl?" He asked me, like he talked to me all the time and hadn't disappeared from our lives almost two years ago. He sounded like he'd seen me that morning. I didn't know what to say, I wanted to sob - I wanted to scream.

"Where have you been? Where are you?" I croaked out. His laughter was a soft purr in my ear and I closed my eyes against the involuntary parade of memories his chuckle raised: Weekend days the three of us would spend all day in bed together doing nothing but talking and laughing and making love. Being held in the sweat soaked cradle of their embrace, Goten against my back as Trunks held on to us both, kissing Goten and then me, whispering he loved us…that he always would.

"Nowhere…everywhere. Right now I'm outside your office." He said. I looked out the tinted window of my third floor office that overlooked the oh so fabulous parking lot, and saw Trunks on his cell phone, leaning against a sporty looking aircar. I knew there was no way he could see me through the mirrored glass, but he raised a hand anyway. He looked the same, clad in dark clothes and wearing sunglasses. My heart pumped frantically. Why was he here? Why now? Did Goten know?

"I haven't talked to Chibi yet." He said as if he knew my thoughts. " I wanted to see you first."

"Why?" I asked automatically, watching him through the window as he blew upwards into his bangs in that familiar gesture that spoke volumes he wouldn't say out loud.

"Well besides the obvious, I was hoping maybe you'd help smooth things over with Chibi-" I was annoyed as I cut him off.

"He doesn't like being called that." I snapped. The shock of him showing up out of the blue was wearing off and now I was finding myself getting angry, not just angry that he'd hurt me, but angry he'd hurt Goten too. Goten was more sensitive than Trunks or I…he hadn't deserved this.

"All right. Goten then." He said evenly.

"So after two YEARS that's the only reason you call me, because you need me to help you?" I asked incredulously, and that little insight hurt almost as much as his absence. He sighed.

"Of course not, you impossible woman. Quit jumping to conclusions. Now are you coming down to talk to me or do I have to come up there?" He threatened me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming at him, the absurdity of the whole thing making my stomach clench. Typical Trunks.

"Bugger off!" I yelled childishly, and hung up the phone sharply on him, clapping my hands over my mouth after I did it. I looked out the window and saw him snap his cell phone shut, head tilted up toward my office window. He put the phone in the pocket of his leather jacket and folded his arms. Across the distance I felt his regard, even though I couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, I could feel him looking at me…into me. Or maybe it was my imagination, but Trunks had always affected me so.

I was debating my next move - privately amazed that I did have options besides running downstairs and throwing my arms around him. I could run downstairs and kick him in the nuts instead. I wanted to call Goten, beg him to come save me from this moment, these feelings. To make it all go away. But it was the same as why I hadn't grieved for Trunks in his presence. Trunks had been Goten's and my strength, when he left; I'd been strong for Goten's sake, even as I'd wanted to cling to him and sob out my heartbreak with him. I didn't want to drag poor Goten into this until I had to.

I saw Trunks push off from the car he was leaning against and head toward the entrance of my building and I panicked. I was half way through dialing the kitchen line at Goten's restaurant, even though I knew they were in the middle of preparing for dinner and he'd probably be cross at me, when I came to my senses. I fumbled in my desk drawer to get my purse. Maybe I could sneak out the fire stairs while he was held up in reception. The fact he obviously knew where I lived not occurring to me at that precise moment. Only the need to escape.

I took precious seconds to shut down my computer, hoping that man-crazy twit of a receptionist we had would stall him long enough that I could save my work and still beat a hasty. I was in luck it seemed that I managed to scurry out of my office and over to the stairs without running into the purple haired wonder.

I bounded down the three flights of stairs, hoping to make it to the parking area and my car before Trunks realized where I went. I knew this wasn't the way to handle Trunks' sudden reappearance, by running away, but I was scared. Scared of what Trunks returning would mean for me and Goten…for all of us.

I rounded the last turn of the stairwell, the back exit door illuminated by a pencil thin band of bright sunlight that streamed in the crack of the door, cutting the gloom of the darkened stairway. I was fumbling in my own purse for sunglasses - it was going to be bright as hell out there - when I pulled up short three steps from the bottom.

"Shit." I muttered. Trunks was leaning against the wall of the stairwell next to the door arms folded, waiting for me.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to skip out on me." He said with a little smirk.

"Well you'd know wouldn't you?" I asked him sarcastically. He at least had the good grace to look a little chagrined at that before the mask of amused disdain Trunks always wore slipped back over his handsome face.

"Ouch…guess I deserved that." He said lightly. I was still angry, and hurt, and confused, and a million other emotions that all spelled trouble. I decided I didn't need to point out the obvious and agree with him. I folded my arms across my chest. I was sweating like crazy in my silk suit, even though the dark concrete cavern of the stairway was cold. Trunks and I stared at each other from five feet away in the dim light, saying nothing. He'd changed some in the two years he'd been gone. He'd been working out and he looked…good. Better than ever. Damnit.

My eyes locked with his and he smiled, as if he knew what I had been thinking as I looked him over. "It's been a long time Marron…I've missed you." He said softly, that voice of his stirring something in me, something very near and dear to panic.

"Trunks--" I started, and he closed the distance between us in a heartbeat. His face inches from mine. I was still standing on the bottom step of the stairwell, which put me eye level with Trunks. Goten was even taller, if he had been the one before me I'd have had to stand on the second step to be even with his eyes. I looked into Trunks' blue, blue eyes. He was so close to me I could see every fleck of darker azure that made up the crystalline color. It had been so long since I had looked into eyes other than darkest ebony from this distance. I could feel Trunks' breath on my face as I gazed at him in wonder. His pale lavender hair I knew would be silky soft and slick. Not coarse like Goten's hair.

I was so preoccupied with the differences between my former lover and my current one that I didn't even think to protest when Trunks leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were soft and warm, his kiss as skillful as ever, but it didn't move me like it once did. Once upon a time Trunks had been able to reduce me to a quivering mass with his kisses alone. He had always been able to play me like a violin…now there was nothing. No spark that leapt between us. Not like there was when Goten touched me.

I yanked my head back away from Trunks', more in surprise at my lack of response and realization, than any sense of propriety. After all, there had been a time when I welcomed both of them into my heart and my body. There was no sense pretending I had any high moral ground to stand on now. Trunks' eyes narrowed slightly and he moved to kiss me again - he must have some agenda I wasn't cooperating with, I thought - but before he could, the clang of the stairway door opening on one of the floors above us paused him.

I took advantage to retreat a step higher, away from Trunks. The move put me higher than him, and he had to look up into my face as he leaned nonchalantly against the railing, smirking at me. I refolded my arms over my breasts and tried not to look at Trunks while we waited for the people to leave the stairwell. I nodded at them politely, it was a couple of secretaries from the marketing department in my company unfortunately, and they looked at us curiously. I didn't want to know what they thought of seeing me with Trunks; since Goten came around my office with annoying regularity to take me to lunch, to bring me cookies he'd baked, or flowers… He always had a smile for everyone he saw, everyone he met liked him; and now I probably looked like I was skulking around with someone else. Or maybe it was just my conscience getting to me that I'd let Trunks kiss me.

I turned my head to the side when they opened the door to the parking lot; even so, the bright sun constricted my pupils painfully, just as I'd suspected it would. I saw the disapproving looks of my co-workers before they disappeared into the bright sunlight and it made me feel even worse. Still, they had no right to judge me. The exit door shut, enveloping us in relative darkness again. I closed my eyes, bright spots of color dancing against my eyelids as I waited for them to adjust. I stiffened as I felt Trunks' hands on my waist, lifting me off the step and down to his level.

"Where were we? Ah yes…catching up." He purred at me and folded me into his arms. Tilting my face up to his to kiss me again. His body felt strange against mine now, and I couldn't figure out why at the time. It was almost as if I couldn't get comfortable against him, as silly as that sounds. The door above us opened again with a bang…more people leaving work. It was about five now…quitting time. Trunks pulled his face back from mine with a scowl. "Goddamnit!" He complained. "Come on."

He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me after him out into the parking lot. I stumbled after him, not being able to see the cracks and uneven ground with him yanking me along. "Trunks! Where are we going?" I said, right before I tripped on a particularly large crack in the lot's concrete and nearly went to my knees. He hauled me back up to my feet none to gently.

"You're still a spaz. Can't you even walk across the parking lot?" He laughed, and I got mad. Digging my heels in I leaned back, yanking my hand back out of his.

"Not with you dragging me along like a three year old, no." I snapped, readjusting my purse on my shoulder. Trunks just snickered at me. Glad I was so entertaining.

"Sorry. I just figured you didn't want an audience is all." He told me. I narrowed my eyes at him. I wasn't much liking the insinuation in his voice. I put my hands on my hips. We were about halfway to Trunks' car, and I could see my older and far less sporty car a couple of spaces beyond his.

"Audience for what? What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked far too loudly, as I noticed other people glancing over at us nervously as they went to their cars. The same uncomfortable way you look at anyone making a scene in a public place. God, I was handling this badly, I knew it. But this was not exactly how I planned my day would go when I got up this morning. Trunks stepped closer again. He'd slipped his sunglasses back on - I guess when he was hauling me after him like so much baggage - but it meant I couldn't see his eyes. He took my chin in his fingers, leaning close to me.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He purred at me, and brushed his lips against mine in the briefest kiss.

This was too much. It was one thing that he had kissed me in the stairwell. The shock of seeing him again after two years had clouded my judgment, and honestly, I had missed him. But he was just making too big of an assumption here that he could waltz back into my life - OUR lives - and pick up like he had never been gone. And what about Goten? How was he going to figure into this if he was suggesting renewing our old relationship? After all, he had said he wanted my help to smooth things over for him with Goten, was this how he was trying to go about it? Using sex to manipulate me again, like he always had. Whenever we had an argument, he would seduce me until I forgot what I was angry about. It was a type of evasion with him, and I knew what he was avoiding, why he had laid on with the heavy seduction the minute he saw me. He didn't want to tell me why he had come back.

Or why he'd left.

Well it wasn't going to work this time. I pushed him away from me. Irritated with him for trying to use sex to control me, and angry with myself for almost letting him, and for making a scene in the parking lot of my work.

"Shall we go home and finish this?" Trunks said grinning. Obviously undeterred by my pushing him away. His voice was too seductive, too intimate, and it brought everything into focus for me. Having the opposite effect I'm sure, than Trunks had intended.

"No we shall not." I told him tartly, standing my ground. "Our house isn't your home anymore. And I'm not going anywhere with you, especially to bed, until you tell me why you left us. And why you've come back. Seducing me isn't going to work," I told him when he made a move toward me, "so you might as well save yourself the effort and start talking."

Trunks sighed, hopefully realizing at last that his usual tactics weren't going to work on me, and that after knowing him my whole life, and being involved with him sexually over a span of nearly six years, he was going to have to learn to deal with me directly. It was a small victory, but in wars of the heart you have to count every one.

"If you want to air our dirty laundry in public can we at least do it someplace where I can sit down and have a decent cup of coffee?" Trunks asked me with a long-suffering look.

"That I can do." I told him.

****

5:15 pm.

I took him to Beaniac, this trendy little coffee house not too far from my office. They had good coffee, but were way over priced in my opinion. So I made Trunks pay. The neat part about the place however, was the clusters of comfy cushy chairs scattered around that you could pull into groups, as you liked. The very best part was that it was on the opposite side of town from Goten's restaurant. Which suited me just fine.

We got our drinks and pulled a couple of chairs over near the windows. The café was on the second floor of the building, giving a good view of the street for people watching. Normally, it was the busiest part of the café. We were lucky that the place was dead. Not too many leisure coffee drinkers on these last frantic shopping days before Christmas. Which reminded me I still hadn't gotten a present for Goten yet. The piles upon piles of presents under our tree at home were all Goten's doing. That man loved to shop almost as much as Trunks' sister. I was mildly embarrassed by the number of presents with 'Marron' on the tags. I noticed there was even one that said 'Trunks', the same as last year. I was reminded suddenly of Goten's face when Christmas came and went with no word from Trunks, and how he had just quietly added the wrapped gift to the pile that he sent home with Bra when she visited the day after Christmas. I wondered if Trunks ever got that gift, and what it was that Goten had given him.

I watched Trunks as I sipped my coffee quietly. He propped his elbow on the armrest of the chair and rested his head on his fist as he looked back at me. The pose made him look boyish, charming, and endearing.

"So?" I prompted when he said nothing, just looked at me with a faint smile.

"You cut your hair," he murmured at me. "It looks pretty." I reached up and tugged absently on a lock. I had chopped my hair off in a blunt cut just below my chin over a year ago. My father said it made me look even more like my mother than I did before; only I parted mine in the middle. Goten said it made me look hot. I just thought it was easier to care for.

"Yeah…thanks." I muttered back.

"How's Chibi doing, Marron? Is he taking care of himself?" Trunks asked. I set my coffee down on the windowsill and tucked my hair behind my ear.

"He's fine. He spends too much time at the restaurant, but that's the way it goes with a new business. Restaurants take at least two years before they show a profit after all. I think Goten's refusing to hire another chef until he knows whether or not the place is going to be a true success. He works really hard." I told him, the pride evident in my voice. I was more comfortable talking profit and business in relation to Goten, rather than share with him about the long hours we'd spent together getting the place ready to open. All the recipes Goten had tried out on everyone, but mostly me. I was Goten's accountant as well; and I had been there for the realization of Goten's dream. Trunks had only been around in the earliest planning stages, when Goten had been applying for loans and looking for a location. Now his place was more than a reality, it was thriving. And Trunks had missed it all.

"How does he look?"

I tilted my head a bit on that one. It was like he hadn't even heard what I'd told him about Goten's restaurant. Trunks knew as well as I did that Goten had always wanted to own his own business and be independent. I would have thought Trunks would show a little more excitement or support about it.

"He needs a haircut." I said dryly. Which was an understatement. Goten's hair had been on the longish side when the three of us had been together. I had cut my long hair, but Goten had let his grow. He only trimmed the front to keep it out of his eyes, the back he kept pulled in a ponytail that went past the middle of his back. I teased him about it constantly, but I loved Goten's long hair. I swallowed back my unease. I didn't like Trunks asking me questions about Goten, like he was some puppy who had been left in my care and was now going to be returning to his owner. I had no idea how close to the truth I was then.

Trunks grinned at me. "Same old Chibi. He'll never change." I stiffened.

"He doesn't like being called that." I said automatically. Trunks' smile faded.

"Right. I'll remember that." Trunks said. "I'm glad he's had you to keep an eye on him while I was gone Marron. That really put my mind at ease. He needs to have his friends around him." I blinked at him dumbly.

"While you were gone?" I repeated incredulously, he acted like he'd just popped out for a gallon of milk or something. "Trunks, you up and vanished on us. On Christmas of all days, and now here you are acting like you've been gone a week. It's been two years. Where the hell have you been?" I snapped at him.

"I told you," Trunks said calmly, sipping his coffee. "I've been all over the world. No one place in particular. Spent some time with Uub training." He shrugged. Yeah, right…no big deal.

"Why'd you leave?"

Trunks gave me that smile, the one designed to charm the anything's off any woman - or man - he pointed it at. "Marron, you probably don't want the answer to that." He said gently. It sounded like a reproach to me and I tried not to take offense. But I could feel myself flush with shame at the implication that he had left because of me. I raised my eyes to his, my mouth trying to form the words when he said them for me.

"What you really want to know is why I came back?" He asked in that same gentle voice. I nodded mutely. Trunks leaned closer to me and took my hands in his.

"When I was gone there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't regret what I had done by leaving. I wanted to come back, I wanted things to be like they were, but I was…afraid. I've never been in a relationship like that before, Marron. You know how it was; it could be overwhelming at the best of times. I wasn't mature enough to deal with everything and I panicked. It was stupid." He told me.

"Go on." I prompted, when he fell silent.

"You and Goten have been my best friends for as long as I can remember. And you and I…we had some good times together didn't we?" He murmured. I mumbled something in the affirmative. "I know we'll always be close Marron, that's why I came to you first. Because I knew you could help me, will you help me?" Trunks pleaded.

My eyes widened. I had known Trunks my whole life, and in my twenty-five years of existence I have never heard Trunks beg for anything that wasn't sexual in nature. I didn't like it…it wasn't natural.

"Help you with what?" He looked up at me with those melting blue eyes of his. He really was so handsome, and I'd missed him. I really had. I reached out with my free hand and brushed the two rogue strands of his hair back out of his eyes.

"You've got to help me get him back." Trunks said quietly, and I froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. "I've missed him so much, Marron. He's my best friend, the other half of me. These two years have been hell without him. Uub was the one who finally convinced me to swallow my pride and come back. I love him Marron, I have to have him in my life."

Hearing those words come out of Trunks' mouth echoed what was in my heart. What had been in my heart for over a year. The realization hit me like a two punch along with Trunks' announcement. He's my best friend, the other half of me. I love him and I have to have him in my life Trunks had said…how ironic that I should feel exactly the same way about Goten.

"Wh-What do you expect me to do? You left, Trunks. You really hurt him." I said, finishing with and me, in my head. Trunks looked at me for a long minute before resting his forehead on our clasped hands. He didn't seem to be too concerned with my feelings on the subject at all, which felt like a slap in the face. He was more concerned with Goten, and that's when it hit me. He hadn't come back for me, or for us.

He'd come back for Goten.

I tried not to gasp aloud and I pulled my hands out of Trunks'. "You bastard." I hissed accusingly. "That's what this is about - and all that nonsense in the stairwell - you came back just for Goten."

"Yes," Trunks admitted, "I love him, Marron. I'm not complete without him." I put my hands over my ears. I couldn't hear this - I couldn't bear it.

"Don't." I whispered, but he kept talking.

"Please try to understand, every single day that I was gone I thought only of Goten, and how happy we used to be…before you. That day, four years ago, we invited you to our home hoping to receive your forgiveness, but it wasn't us who needed the forgiveness, it was you that needed our sympathy.

Chibi felt sorry for you, and brought you in, but then never had the heart to let you go. Things were so much simpler before that, and I want that simple life back. I can't live without him, and I know he can't live without me."

"Don't be so sure," I whispered. My eyes burned with unshed tears. My chest hurt, that Trunks would say that all we had been to each other had been born out of pity. Goten's pity.

Trunks was hurting me again to have what he wanted. It was just like the day I had found out about them, back when Trunks was my entire world. I had only to close my eyes to remember how I felt that day. But it only devastated me then because I had given Trunks the power to hurt me. This time it was only my pride that was really injured. Trunks no longer had that power over me; I'd had two years to get over him…two wonderful years with Goten. My stomach clenched at the very thought of losing him.

"Marron…" Trunks' tone was mildly condescending. "Goten and I were a couple. We belong together. I've made mistakes, with you and with Chibi, I know. But I'm going to fix it. I know what I want in life now, I want-"

"I'm in love with him, Trunks." I interrupted. I couldn't stand it anymore. Trunks was making me nuts with his selfish behavior. Like the sun rose and set on him alone.

Trunks looked at me surprised. "You what? Since when?" I looked out the window overlooking the street. Darkness was starting to creep around the buildings below - it got dark early in winter - and the streetlamps were just coming on as people hurried to and fro to finish their shopping. My coffee had cooled, forgotten on the windowsill. I didn't have the stomach for it anymore anyway.

"Quite a while now," I said quietly, "When you left…us, we didn't know why, or what to do. Goten was hurting so badly. He needed me, and I needed him, so we stayed together in the house. At first it was like we were waiting for you to come back, but after a while…" I trailed off. Trying to explain that after a time Goten and I had gone on with our lives without him. I turned my eyes back to Trunks. He was sitting back in the chair now, looking at me narrowly.

"I see. The minute my back was turned you just moved right in on him." Trunks said coldly. I stiffened, sitting up straighter in the chair.

"It wasn't like that. You left, Trunks. What were we supposed to do? We got on with our lives…" I tried to explain.

"And you just fell in love with my boyfriend." Heavy on the possessive there I noticed.

I flushed hot at the way he put it. Like I had gone behind his back or something. But there was no other answer besides an honest one. "Yes, I guess I did. I love him."

"Well we have a problem then." Trunks' low, dangerous, voice made me lift my head up to meet his eyes again. He was angry. I could see it in the tight lines of his body, in the snapping blue fire of his eyes. I had become the enemy.

"The only problem I see is you coming back." I told him, and flinched when Trunks leaned toward me, his handsome scowling face in mine.

"You think so? I mean to have him back, Marron. I had hoped that you would respect my feelings for him and help me. Instead I find that you've been sucking off Goten all this time like a leech." He told me. Ouch. He was really going in for the kill. "The only reason you and Goten ever got together was because of me, and Goten's big heart." He bit out. I took a deep breath to steady myself.

"Say whatever you want to me, Trunks. But I love Goten, and I won't let you hurt him again."

"It's not up to you." Trunks said. I fisted my hands in my lap.

"I won't give him up!" I said hotly through clenched teeth.

"I guess we're going to have to let Chibi decide then." He told me, and smiled. The knot of dread that was coiling in my stomach now felt like a stone. Because I couldn't be sure if it came down to a choice which one of us Goten would choose to be with. "You don't look so confident now, Marron. I had to choose between the two of you once remember? I chose him, because we belong together. Do you really think that if he were in the same position he would choose you over me?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. I bit my lip.

"I don't know." I whispered. Trunks put his hands on my knees as he leaned toward me to speak. We about had the place to ourselves, we could have screamed full volume at one another and no one would care - but this was a matter best settled in intimate whispers. Dirty laundry indeed.

"I do know, Marron. Goten and I have something together that you couldn't possibly understand, or compete with. And if you think you can than I feel very sorry for you." He told me gently, like he was truly regretful…which I doubted. "I don't mean to hurt you. That wasn't what I intended when I came to see you today. I had no idea that you two would have become anything more than casual lovers. I'm sorry."

I felt the tears that had been threatening the backs of my eyes make good on the promise as Trunks wavered in my vision. "Not sorry enough to go away and leave us alone though." I told him bitterly, my voice cracking. Trunks squeezed my knees.

"No Marron. I need him. I just wish there was another way besides making him choose, it'll be hard on him." I looked at him in confusion as the fat tears slid down my cheeks. I was already starting to mourn Goten the more I thought about it. I was his friend, his lover…but Trunks. Trunks was right…what he and Goten'd had I couldn't hope to compete with.

"Chibi cares for you, he always has. Hurting you will upset him. I wish I didn't have to put him through that."

I pressed my lips together in a thin line. "Maybe…" I started, but Trunks shook his head sadly. As if he knew what I was going to say. He probably had.

"You could spare him all that." Trunks suggested. I shook my head. He sighed. "All right then. If that's how you want it, but if I were you I wouldn't wait for Goten to make up his mind. Especially since we know what the outcome will be."

"Good thing you aren't me then." I said tightly.

"I'm just saying that if you really loved him, you wouldn't put him in this position." I closed my eyes tightly, squeezing the tears out. The nerve of Trunks was truly limitless. Yet at the same time I couldn't wholeheartedly disagree. He'd always known Goten so much better than I had. Maybe he was right…I believed he wouldn't say these things to me just to be sadistic. I think he really thought he was helping me. He had loved me once - that had to count for something. He took my clenched hands out of my lap, where I had been digging my nails into my palms while he spoke. "I know it won't be easy. Especially if you truly love him."

I gave a strangled bark of laughter as I looked away. What did he know about things not being easy? He'd always taken the easy way out. He wouldn't know difficult if it bit him on the ass. Trunks let go of my hands and stood.

"I'll give you some time to decide how you want to handle this, all right? I'll come over late tonight to talk to Chibi." He said, resting his hand on my shoulder. I felt I had to try one more time.

"Don't do this to us, Trunks. Please."

"I'm sorry Marron." He squeezed my shoulder as I dropped my head into my hands. I never heard him leave.

****

6:30 p.m.

I went home. Where else was I going to go? I don't even remember leaving the coffee house, or driving across town to our house. I remember that I made it into the driveway and parked before I broke down. I think it was the lights, the hundreds of cheerful Christmas lights Goten had put up while I grumped good-naturedly and helped him. He had left the Christmas lights on for me, set on their timer before he left to cook dinner at the restaurant, making our house look inviting. Like a home.

When I had myself a little more under control I went inside. I stood in the darkened foyer, lit only by the white glow of the Christmas tree lights in the dining room. Goten had decorated the tree with white this year, lights, ornaments, ribbons…everything pale against the dark green of the tree. It was stunning. I walked around it slowly, like I had never seen it before. I wandered our house in the ambient light like a ghost. Remembering everything, when we had painted, when I helped Goten remodel the kitchen so it was more to his liking. It was the kitchen I stayed in the longest. I felt his presence there the strongest, since this one room, more than any other in the house was Goten's domain. I could barely make tea.

I trailed my fingers over Goten's spotless counters. For all that everyone said Goten was so much like his father, in this he was more like his mother. I saw ChiChi's influence in many of the things Goten did: his discipline, his desire to make something of himself…and his clean streak. I put my head down on his counter in a pool of light thrown by the hood over the stove and cried again. The ticking of the cooling oven was soothing and I could smell cookies. I wondered if this meant that for the rest of my days the smell of Christmas cookies would remind me of heartbreak.

Wiping my tears on the back of my hand I drifted at last to our bedroom. I remembered when we'd bought this house, not long after the three of us had returned from that trip to the Papaya Islands. Goten had said it wasn't fair that I lived with them in "their" apartment; the three of us should have a place that was ours from the start. It hadn't been more than a handful of months after that when Trunks had left. This house had always been Goten's and mine.

I took my silk suit off, carefully hanging the jacket and skirt so I could get another wear out of it before taking it to the cleaners. I stripped the rest of the way down to my underwear and deposited my clothes into the hamper woodenly. I grabbed an old worn pair of jeans, the softest I owned, and a random sweatshirt out of the closet to change into. I carefully avoided looking at Goten's half of the closet where Trunks' abandoned clothes still hung. It hurt to think that if Trunks had his way it would become his closet again.

I was going to put my comfy clothes on when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was pale against the darkness of the room and I dropped my clothes forgotten as I stood before the full-length mirror and stared. The woman in the mirror was slender, frail looking, with wide haunted eyes. I wondered how much of my mental state was affecting the way I saw myself. My body was nicely proportioned, even if I was on the small side compared to Trunks and Goten. After all…height wasn't on my side, even if I am twice as tall as my father.

I reached over and switched on the bedside lamp so I could see myself better. The lamp bathed me in its warm glow and I studied myself with a critical eye. Taking in my flaxen hair and pale skin, such a contrast to Goten, I was like the day to his night. The red bra and panties I wore made my skin seem even fairer. I had no plain white or beige lingerie anymore - Trunks had seen to that when he lived with us. I had just never gotten around to replacing the sexier lingerie he'd bought me with the more functional, and frankly comfortable kinds. Still, I looked good - hot, as Goten would say - if you chose to ignore my red tearstained face and bloodshot eyes.

But was being pretty and having a good body enough? How could I compare to Trunks if that was what Goten really wanted? Trunks' body was hard, muscular…even more so now. I was definitely female, softer, rounder… how could I begin to compete? The truth was I couldn't. Even I knew that. If it were another woman Goten wanted then I might have a fighting chance.

There came a soft rustle from behind me and I raised my eyes to the mirror again. Already knowing whom I would see reflected there. Goten's large frame lounged in the doorway watching me. He'd thankfully taken off the Santa hat, but still wore his chef's jacket, although it wasn't as pristine white as when he'd left home I could guarantee. He smiled at me when my eyes reached his face in the mirror, so sweet and guileless he was. His eyes warm and loving, and I turned and went to him, letting him fold me into his arms. And I suddenly knew what was off when Trunks had tried to do the same to me earlier. Trunks felt wrong, we didn't fit together anymore…not the way Goten and I did. He lowered his head to me to give me a kiss that I met with unbridled ardor. Trunks may have had confidence that he would have Goten back - and he probably would - but for now Goten was still mine. I could pretend a while longer that we hadn't a care in the world and that his loving gazes would always belong to me alone.

"Mmmmm…I should come home from work early more often." Goten murmured smiling when I let him up for air. I was still on my tiptoes so I could reach his lips, well more like his chin unless he helped by leaning down, which he did. His skin was warm and velvety soft where I exposed it, reaching under the back of his jacket to subtly untuck his shirt and touch him. Despite my heartache, or perhaps because of it, I wanted him. I wanted to lose myself one last time in his big gorgeous body, to feel his hands on me, his lips on mine…to be one with him. I said nothing as I pulled him with me toward our bed. Our bed. I buried my face in his chest and clung to him, it was our bed now. Trunks had no place in it, and I felt the tears threaten again as I hugged Goten tight.

"I should shower, huh? I probably stink like sweat and garlic." He said apologetically. My shoulders shook in silent sobs that could have been laughter. The end of my world as I knew it was upon me, and he was worried about how he smelled. I loved and needed him so much at that moment I couldn't care less what he smelled like. He smelled like heaven to me.

I shook my head, still not trusting my voice. I moved far enough away from him so I could get my hands between us to start undressing him. I was halfway through his chef jacket when he tipped my face up to his with a finger under my chin.

"Have you been crying?" He asked me concerned. I must have been a complete fright if he noticed in the dim light. I gave him a little shrug in answer and kept diligently at his buttons. His hands on my head were gentle as he smoothed my hair, running his fingers through it. "Bad day at the office?" He murmured to me. I tried not to laugh bitterly aloud at the irony.

"You have no idea." I mumbled at him, freeing the last button of the jacket. I don't know why the blasted things had to be double breasted anyway. It made him like a box with too much packing tape.

"Only a little longer Marron. Pretty soon the restaurant will be in the black and then you can quit that awful place and come work with me. Like we always planned. It'll be great." He told me. My hands stilled on him as I was pulling off the jacket, my nose nearly against his t-shirt clad chest. God, something else I didn't want to think about.

From the very earliest planning stages, when Trunks and I had listened to Goten talk endlessly about the restaurant he wanted to open, and how great it would be, he had included me in his plans. When we had still counted on Trunks' income to supplement our own, Goten had wanted me to do the books full time for the restaurant from the very beginning. But when Trunks left us we'd had to make due with my income alone. There had been a few months when we'd been afraid that Goten might have to close the restaurant and get a job before I had been offered a promotion at my work to Department head. It was a lot more money, but it meant working directly under the company's Chief Financial Officer. He was a real asshole who had crossed the line of sexual harassment with me more than once. Once I took the position he seemed to think I owed him something for it - namely, my body. After a few months, when I'd made it obvious there was no way I'd sleep with him, he'd made it his personal mission in life to make me miserable. And here I'd thought that was Trunks' job.

"I know what you've put up with in order to keep the restaurant going, Marron…" Goten said softly. I looked up at him in surprise, I'd never told Goten about my boss's unwelcome advances. Afraid of what Goten would do. I didn't need to get fired when I was the one who paid our bills. Goten took my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones, I loved it when he did that. "…And I know why you never told me about it too."

"I'm sorry." I whispered, resting my hands on his wrists. "How did you know?"

Goten gave a little chuckle. "I'm not stupid, Marron. I've seen how he looks at you, how he talks to you. Why do you think I come by your office so much? I mean…how many late night budget planning meetings does one company need to have?" Goten said indignantly. I smiled slightly.

"I thought you came to see me 'cause you're hot for my body." I joked, even as more tears leaked out of my eyes. I had borne the burden of my boss's inappropriate behavior alone, the same way I had grieved for Trunks' absence alone, because I didn't want to trouble Goten with it when he had a business to worry about. And all this time he had known, and looked out for me in his own way. At that moment I hated Trunks with the same passion that I loved Goten. Trunks would come here soon and try to take my happiness, my love, my life, away from me. Goten had become my whole world - losing him would kill something inside of me, something that was fine, and good, and strong. The thing that made me a better person because he was in my life would be gone.

Goten pulled me closer into a hug, holding me tight to his muscular chest. "Of course I'm hot for your body," he murmured into my hair, "I'm just making sure nobody else touches it but me. It's mine." I gave a weak giggle. His possessive comment would have made me feel loved and cherished this morning, now it made me all too aware of what I could lose. Goten kissed the top of my head. "Let me make you forget about that jerk and your bad day. I'll take a quick shower then I'll make us a nice dinner. We'll have a bottle of wine and cuddle on the couch…" Goten said, and then tipped my face up to his before he gave me a seductive look. "…And then I'll have you for dessert. Sound good?" He asked.

My stomach took a nosedive and flip flopped as I looked up into his handsome face. It sounded more than good to me, but I knew Trunks was coming over. There might not be time for all Goten wanted to do. That and my own desire to enjoy Goten one last time motivated me. I curled my fingers in the waistband of his jeans and pulled him with me as I backed toward our bed.

"Sounds wonderful," I purred at him and sat on the edge, looking up to him. "But how about we reverse the order?" I suggested as I lay back on my elbows. Hoping that despite my tearstained face I looked appealing enough in the red lace underwear to make him forget his stomach for a while. I guess I was as Goten looked down on my body with hooded eyes and pulled his t-shirt off. I watched in rapt fascination as Goten slowly stripped bare in front of me. I wanted to lick and touch every inch of skin he bared, to just fall to his feet and worship the pagan perfection that was my Goten.

I reached for the clasp of my bra and he stopped me. "Nuh uh…I wanna do it." I let my hands fall away and tilted my head back to receive Goten's kiss as he lowered his body to mine. Parting my lips for his tongue at the barest brush of it, he tasted wonderful, he always did. He pulled back and smiled at me, his dark eyes sparkling in the low light of the room before he lowered them to look at my body. With one finger he traced from my lips down over my collarbones to between my breasts. "Look what I can do." He whispered, and with one hand undid the clasp of my bra in a quick motion. He looked so pleased with himself I had to smile.

"Very clever. Been practicing that have you?"

He wagged his eyebrows at me grinning as he pulled off my bra. He's the most playful lover I've ever had. Even when he's being passionate and intense, there is this quality of teasing and fun with Goten. Like he's a little kid and I'm the playground is the only way I can describe it. I closed my eyes and gave into the sensations of Goten's hands on my body as he stripped me bare as he was. Skin to skin we pressed; just holding one another close at first. I tucked my face into his neck, his long coarse hair falling me around like a cloak. Letting me hide from the reality that this could be my last time with him. Goten seemed to sense what I needed, murmuring sweet words of love as his caresses slowed.

He rolled on the bed pulling me on top of him, letting me set the pace. I pushed up on my arms to gaze down into his deep eyes before I lowered my face to his. I kissed his eyelids, his chin, his cheeks, before I let myself taste his mouth. I loved his kisses, but then I loved everything about Goten: his dark laughing eyes, his strength, and his tenderness… I loved the feel of his warm velvet skin under my hands and against my bare body. And I especially loved the feel of his hands on me; the hands I had seen do amazing things when he fought, and creative things when he cooked, touched me as though I were something to be treasured and cherished. The thought nearly brought me to tears again and I attacked Goten with a vengeance, stroking and fondling everywhere as though I couldn't get enough of him. Like I could banish all thought and feeling in his body, in the pleasure we brought each other…and who knows? Maybe I thought I could.

"God Marron…" Goten groaned, when I at last shifted to guide his penetration. I sank onto him slowly, reveling in the feel of this final joining. Arching my back, I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, leaning back on the hands I had propped on Goten's heavily muscled thighs. With my eyes closed there was only the feel of him, under me, inside me. His hands rested on my waist and caressed my hips as I slowly began to move on him, my body stretching to accommodate him as it did every time. He was ruining me for other men I knew, having had his big beautiful body all to myself for so long. I was spoiled. No one would ever compare to him. Not even Trunks.

I dropped my head forward, letting my hair cover my face as I moved on him faster, digging my fingers into the ridged muscles of his abdomen as I pleasured my body with his. I cracked my eyes open, watching him from behind the fall of my hair. His face was vaguely smeared with joy and his black eyes were locked on my face, not on my bouncing breasts or flexing hips as he watched me ride him. His eyes held mine and didn't let them go; telling me silently that he would be whatever I needed, whatever I wanted. I didn't deserve him.

I started to lower my head even more, like I would lean forward to kiss him and hide my innermost self from his magnetic gaze, but he stopped me. Caressing my breasts as he engulfed them in his hands. "Don't hide your face from me, Marron. I love watching you like this…you're so beautiful when you come." He breathed. I flushed scarlet at his words, my mouth dropping open. Goten's hands slid down my body from my breasts to my hips, his thumbs reaching to the center of my cleft to rub the neglected little kernel of pleasure I was grinding into his pubic bone. Unconsciously I tossed my head back, flipping my hair out of my face as I rode him desperately, chasing that elusive pinnacle and gaining. The pressure grew in me, building and building until I wanted to scream from it, my body tightening and releasing on his rhythmically as I flexed and bounced. No longer caring if he was looking at my face, no longer caring about anything as my hips strained against his, skin slapping as he raised up to meet me, his thumbs working furiously against my swollen nub. And then just as suddenly the tension broke and I came in a rush, an uncharacteristically long loud shriek tearing itself from my throat, I was usually never this noisy. My whole body stiffened against his and then I collapsed on his perfect chest, panting.

Goten stroked my back gently as I recovered, my body still clenching his with aftershocks. He pushed my sweaty hair off my forehead and tipped my face up for his kiss. Brushing his lips over mine teasingly as he purred, making them tingle. "Mmmm…I could watch you do that all day long." He told me, holding my head still in his hands as he leisurely traced my lips with his tongue then nibbled on them. His body was still taut with need and he held me to him tightly as he deepened our kiss, mimicking with his tongue what he needed for release. I opened myself to him, relaxing and melting into his desire…for I could be whatever he wanted and needed too.

With a groan Goten rolled us again on the bed so that I was on my back beneath him, my legs raised and clutching his waist. He stared down into my face as he began thrusting into me, his eyes glittering with lust as he stroked deep. "This will always be my favorite, " he panted, "having you flat on your back and spread underneath me." I smiled at him.

"Is that a male control thing?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light even as I was breathing as heavily as he was. His crooked grin seemed almost dangerous in the low light of the room.

"No way," he gasped, "that's an I love to be able to take you however I want thing. And I do love taking you." My whole body tingled at his sexy voice and I ran my hands down his back to his buttocks, gripping them and trying to pull him farther into me. In a sudden motion Goten pushed my legs up to my chest so that his thrusts had his whole weight behind them. I tried to grasp his upper arms for leverage, but they were too thick with muscle for me to get a good grip. The whole world narrowed down to gasping for air between my moans of pleasure as Goten took me, harder and faster than he had in a long time. My whole being tuned to his weight, his breathing, the plunge and slide of his thick shaft inside me. It was what I was made for.

He was ruthless in his drive, pistoning against me like a machine, he took everything I had to give, but he was generous too, pouring a current of sexual energy into me so strong I was dazed from it. I lost myself again and again, only to come back and find myself jerking and yelling beneath him with orgasm after orgasm. Then he rolled off of me to come at me a different way, reaching under my body to caress my breasts as he grunted. "Arch your back for me, I want to give you as much of me as you can take."

I groaned and obeyed as things in low places responded to the carnal demand in his voice. I could feel myself get wetter as he slid even deeper into me, pressing against the mouth of my womb. His hands splayed on my hips as he held me still, keeping me from rocking back against him and quenching that insatiable itch inside me. Slowly he withdrew all the way to rub the head of his cock up the length of my cleft from clit to ass. He circled the head around my opening, spreading my wetness there too. It had been a long time since he had taken me in this fashion, the last time being when I'd had both he and Trunks inside me at once. I looked back over my shoulder at him as he gazed down at me thoughtfully. I wondered if he was thinking of Trunks when he pondered having anal sex with me.

Goten's eyes lifted to mine as I held still and waited to see what he would do. I said nothing to break the spell we were both under, the energy still jumping between us. With a slow grin he guided himself back to my wet and waiting sheath, pushing slowly back in until he bumped my cervix lightly. I closed my eyes briefly at the sensation. He flexed his hips, pushing even harder against my womb. Some women find that uncomfortable, luckily I wasn't one.

"Like that?" he demanded.

I heaved back against him with an impatient gasp, oddly relieved that he'd decided to continue the way he'd started. "Yes."

"You want more? How do you want it? Harder?"

I shuddered, a lost slave to the power of his sexual magnetism. I'd crawl across cut glass for him at that moment if he asked me. It's kind of scary to lose yourself that way, but I trusted Goten like no one else in the world. I arched my back more and his fingers dug into my bottom. "Harder." I whispered.

"Harder?" He taunted.

I nodded, opening and reaching for him with every part of myself. "Yes." I demanded emphatically. "Harder. Now, Goten…please."

He thrust deep, his body slapping against my backside and jerking a sharp cry out of my throat. "Like that?"

"Oh God, yes." I gasped, seeking his rhythm and lifting myself up to meet him. Every thrust of his body into mine leaving me more soft and wet and wanting.

"Look, Marron." He said, his hand on the back of my head turning me so I could see us in the mirror over the dresser. "Look how your breasts bounce every time I put it to you hard, like…this." He punctuated with a hard thrust. "You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."

I stared at the stranger in the mirror, not recognizing myself. My hair hung over my face, my breasts dangled and swayed, my legs were opened wide and my bottom high. And Goten behind me, more perfect than a god, his muscular body driving into mine, gleaming with sweat.

He was so incredibly sexy, so strong; his big hands dark against my white flanks, the tendons defined in his throat. He watched us in the mirror with a look of fascination, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. I watched us astonished, my face rosy, wanton. As I watched, Goten reached around and pulled me up against him, my head thrown back against his shoulder and my back arched like a bow. With slow, controlled strength his hips pulsed and ground into mine. He fisted one hand in my hair, tilting my head to the side to graze his teeth over my neck, his other hand making its way between my legs to coax and caress another explosion out of me.

"Keeping count?" He purred at me, still grinding into my overly sensitized flesh. I could only hang weakly in his embrace and shake my head, too boneless and sapped to move or protest. When I could form a coherent thought, Goten had pushed me back down onto my hands again, his gripping my hips. Automatically I arched back and worked myself against him; trying to bring him to the same pinnacle he'd brought me to…what? Four times already? Five?

"Watch us, Marron." He urged, moving in me faster. As I did the fierce desire began to spiral up again, lending me the energy to give him what he needed and I did until he let himself come, his body curving over mine, supporting it as he let himself go, his hips pumping furiously. His sexual energy blasting through me like a furnace, lighting me up inside like a torch.

He pulled me on my side with him; still cradling me to his chest as he rained soft pleading kisses on my neck, my shoulders. Stroking my hair and murmuring to me in a soothing croon. It was only then I realized I was crying again.

"Don't cry…I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? Was it too much?" Goten whispered. I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. It was never too much with him; a lifetime of this would never be too much. It was the thought of going the rest of my life and never feeling this alive again that made me cry. At that moment I wished fiercely that I wasn't on the Pill, that I could have a part of Goten with me always. A way to keep him in my life when Trunks took him away, then just as quickly the irrational thought faded. It was a good thing. Life didn't need to be more complicated.

"I'm fine." I murmured back. Goten squeezed me in a hug, his arms crossed over my chest as he held me, his body disengaging from mine.

"Good," he purred, burying his nose in my hair as he liked to do whenever he held me after sex. I've never known a man who liked to cuddle more than Goten. He's very tactile, always touching me. Whether holding my hand, or putting his arm around me when we went out, or touching my hair or face whenever he passed me at home. I was never lacking for physical affection from Goten. "I love you so much, Marron." He told me softly.

My heart clenched, and I felt those damned tears behind my eyes again. Oh but for how much longer, I wondered. "I love you too, Goten." I whispered.

Goten half rolled on his back, still holding me against him as his hands roamed and explored my body lazily. Not to excite me, just petting me. "That was incredible, so totally intense. It hasn't been like that between us before." He murmured between kisses to my temple. I turned my head more toward him, letting him press more soft moist kisses to my forehead, my eyebrows. How right he was, sex between us had always been great, but never that raw or emotionally intense. I guess all it took was the thought of losing him.

"We're usually tired…" I offered lamely.

"Hmmmm…" Goten didn't sound convinced, and I was hoping he would let it go. He leaned on his elbow beside me looking down into my face. Always touching me as he traced my features with a fingertip. His eyes held a certain thoughtfulness that disturbed me so I blurted out the first thing I could think of to change the subject.

"Do you ever miss being with a guy?"

Goten blinked at me a moment. "Define being." He asked dryly, I blushed.

"You know…do you ever miss…having sex with a man?" I managed to get out. Goten looked at me for a long minute while he mulled it over, the hand he wasn't using to prop his head on lazily circling my nipple, I wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

"I miss Trunks." He answered finally.

I felt like a huge maw had opened up to swallow me whole. Sweet Kami-sama, Trunks was right! Me and my big mouth. I felt like I had been broad sided by a barn. My face must have reflected my thoughts because Goten was quick to pull me closer into his embrace again, raining small kisses on my face.

"I'm not gay, Marron. I'm not attracted to men in general. Trunks was the only man I've ever been with." Somehow his words weren't making me feel better. I swallowed down the lump in my throat.

"Do you ever…wish that it was…?" I whispered. Goten leaned down and kissed me softly, silencing me.

"Trunks here instead of you?" he finished for me. "I don't know. We haven't talked about him in a long time, Marron." I shrugged and looked away, but Goten took my chin in his fingers, turning my face back to his. "Let me alleviate your fears. Trunks isn't here, it's you and me now. And we have a pretty good life without him. We're happy. I don't know if I would feel the same if it were Trunks here in my arms instead of you, Marron. But there are certain things I want in life, that Trunks can't give me." Goten told me solemnly.

"Like?" I questioned. Goten looked down on me silently with his ebony eyes. So deep, like drowning pools.

"Loyalty, tenderness, comfort…children." I hissed in my breath and held perfectly still.

"Children?"

He smiled slowly, his eyelids lowering to let his thick dark eyelashes brush his cheeks. "Yeah," he murmured, "I've always wanted a family someday. I'm not getting younger; Gohan had a six year old when he was my age. But I do want to settle down and have kids…one of these days."

"I never knew that about you Goten." I told him. Did that mean I had a chance? Did I dare let myself hope that I might? Goten lowered his dark head to my breasts, where he busied himself licking and nuzzling at my sensitive flesh. I recognized these caresses of his, these were deliberately trying to evoke a response from me. One he didn't have to wait long for before I was arching my back to offer my breasts, or anything else he wanted to his clever tongue and expertly applied suction.

As much as I wanted to lose myself in him all over again, to sink into the deep and never resurface, I also had no desire to have Trunks show up in the middle of the act either. Gently I pried Goten's head away from my chest.

"Goten…stop." I gasped, as he moved on top of me, trying to nudge my legs apart with his knee.

"Why?" He purred, his lips finding every ticklish and tender place on my neck and shoulders, making my nipples tighten painfully. I couldn't bring myself to tell him it was because Trunks was coming. So I went with an excuse I knew he'd accept.

"I'm starving." I told him. That got his attention and he pulled back his head from mine. He rolled off me and got up.

"I'll go make us something quick." He told me, striding for the bedroom door still fully nude. I scrambled up after him.

"Aren't you going to put something on?" I asked breathlessly. Goten caught me around the waist and swung me around and up against him, lifting me off the floor as he kept heading across the room.

"Nuh uh," he purred with a mischievous grin, "I'm gonna need you again soon." He told me, pressing the proof against me as he moved. We got to the bedroom door and I managed to get a hand out behind me and push it closed, this didn't stop Goten however as he propped me against the closed door, moving between my legs. "Mmmm…this has possibilities." He hummed grinning, lifting my legs to clasp his hips.

I threw a panicked glance over his shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. 8:10 p.m. Trunks probably wouldn't be there until nine at the earliest, since he said he would be by late. It was like waiting for the hammer to fall. And I should have pushed Goten away and gotten dressed, but he was nudging at my entrance again with that thick, hard cock I couldn't seem to ever get enough of. I was still wet and soft from the last time and Goten slid into me with one long smooth motion. I let my head fall back against the door with a small thunk. Any thoughts of Trunks' arrival, getting dressed or food were banished as Goten took me against the door.

His hands under my bottom supported me as he thrust into me quickly, kissing my neck, my cheeks and finally my lips. The heat between us was intense and immediate as we clutched at each other, stroking and caressing wildly. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the door on either side of my head, and leaned on them. My legs around his hips and the force of his thrusts kept me sandwiched between him and the door. His face was in mine, his breath hot on my face as he made noises that were somewhere between a grunt and a growl.

His feral dominance excited me as he held me immobile. His eyes devoured me, and in his eyes I drowned as our bodies rocked against each other in perfect unison. Like waves breaking against a rocky shore we crashed over and over until we were sweat soaked and spent, leaning against our own bedroom door.

"Damn…" Goten panted, letting go of my wrists to wrap his arms around me and hold me to him while I got my cramped legs to unbend and support me. I felt like a newborn giraffe as I wobbled on rubbery knees, hanging on to Goten.

"You're going to make me bow-legged." I joked weakly. Now that our intimacy was over I was feeling fragile again, it seemed only our passion could banish the heavy cloak of dread that fell over me the later it got. Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and put on the clothes I'd gotten out earlier, worn jeans and an old sweatshirt. I didn't bother with a bra or panties.

Woodenly, I left Goten in the bedroom and padded barefoot into the dark kitchen, flicking on the overhead light. I half expected to see Trunks leaning on the counter waiting for me, like some kind of evil spectre. But only the blinding cleanliness of Goten's domain greeted me. I pulled out the teakettle to fill and started water boiling before I measured out and filled the rice cooker, the two jobs Goten let me perform in his kingdom.

Goten swaggered into the kitchen damp and fresh from the shower just as the tea was finished and I was blowing into my cup to cool it. He'd followed my lead and put on a pair of jeans at least, even though he hadn't bothered to button them, drawing my gaze to his body like a magnet. He was hypnotic. He moved past me to the refrigerator in a swirl of soapy scented maleness. After pulling some stuff from the fridge to cook, Goten turned his attention back to me, propping his hands on the counter on either side before leaning in to kiss me. He'd left his long hair loose and it was already almost dry…damn freaky Saiyan hair, I thought jealously.

"You should have come and taken a shower with me, hot water felt wonderful." He murmured against my lips.

"Well we both know what would have happened in the shower, don't we?" I teased him half-heartedly, a wan smile on my lips. Goten grinned at me, taking my teacup and polishing off my tea in one big gulp before he set the cup aside.

"Hmmmm…" he pondered, like he was really giving it some thought. "I'd have hogged the water?" He joked back. I couldn't help but smile at him. God, I loved him so much it hurt.

"Right in one." I said, thankful that my voice didn't crack. Goten leaned his body against mine, pinning me to the kitchen counter as he hugged me tightly.

"That's okay," he whispered in my hair, "I can wait until after we've eaten to fuck you again. I'm not a complete sex fiend." He told me with a little laugh. I wrapped my arms around him too, hanging on to him and pressing my nose against the damp bare skin of his chest. Fear and dread and guilt were piling on me like a landslide. Should I tell Goten about Trunks and what he wanted? Sweet Dende-sama, tell me what I should do? I prayed silently, rocked in Goten's strong arms, but Earth's guardian stayed silent. See if I ever send him a Christmas card again.

I don't know how I knew, but my whole body tensed against Goten's a split second before our doorbell rang. "Who could that be?" Goten mumbled into my hair. He started to pull away from me and I panicked, clinging to him like a burr.

"No. Don't answer it." I whispered, squeezing him harder. Please no…don't let this end. Goten disengaged from my embrace gently, a puzzled smile on his face.

"Silly, our cars are in the driveway. It's obvious we're home." He told me, stepping back and buttoning his jeans. He turned toward the doorway of the kitchen and I leapt into motion as if I'd been hit by lightning.

"I'll get it!" I yelled, pushing past Goten and all but running for the door. It might not be Trunks out there at all; it was two days before Christmas after all. It could be Bra dropping by to have a cup of tea and complain about her latest boyfriend like she often did while Goten and I nodded in sympathy. Or my folks, stopping by to drop off Christmas presents. Sure, that must be it, even though I knew my folks would never just drop by without calling first. So it must be Bra then…please Dende, let it be Bra, I prayed as I approached our front door like it was the enemy.

But it was the wrong Briefs who darkened our doorstep when I finally worked up the courage to open the door. Trunks stood there in all his gorgeous splendor. He'd changed clothes from earlier, now he was dressed to kill in costly black tailored clothes that hugged his muscular body. Showing him off to perfection and I could smell his expensive cologne mingling with the flowers he held in his arms. He looked like a male fashion model; too perfect to be real, and in comparison there I stood with hair snarled from thrashing around having sex, unshowered, and in ratty old clothes.

"Bastard," I hissed viciously, "you aren't playing fair." I told him. Trunks gave me that smirk of his as he stepped into our house, as if my scorn had been an invitation. He leaned down toward me.

"All's fair in love and war, remember?" He gloated. I got a small modicum of revenge when I saw him take a delicate sniff of me and then frown. I smelled like Goten and sex, I could smell it on myself and it gave me a perverse pleasure to know Trunks didn't like it a bit. "Get your goodbye fuck in, Marron?" Trunks asked with exaggerated sweetness, telling me it was to be open war between us. The prize? Goten's affection.

I was about to give him an appropriately scathing comeback when we heard a gasp from behind us. Trunks and I turned as one toward the kitchen door to see Goten standing there. His face was a mixture of shock, surprise - and the knife in my heart - love, as he stared at Trunks.

"Trunks…" Goten whispered, like he couldn't believe his eyes. Trunks turned away from me and held his arms out to the sides, nearly bashing me in the face with the roses he carried as he opened his arms to Goten.

"I'm back, Chibi." He told him. Goten hesitated a moment that made my heart soar to the heavens. I was wishing for Goten to tell Trunks to get out, that he had left us when we needed him most, now we didn't need him at all. I was about to snap at Trunks that Goten didn't like being called Chibi, when Goten broke his paralysis and rushed forward into Trunks' arms, sending my heart on it's sickening earthward plunge. A little part of me died to see Goten so readily embrace Trunks, and I felt like I was walking into quicksand country.

"Don't call me Chibi." I heard Goten say in a choked voice as he held Trunks to him. They stayed like that a long time, locked in each other's embrace, long enough to make me feel forgotten. I shifted and cleared my throat, which made Goten pull away from Trunks, swiping his eyes on the back of his hand. "Sorry about that. Marron hasn't had her turn to say hello yet."

Nothing in the world was going to make me step into Trunks' poisonous arms, and he knew it because he smiled at me gallantly and handed me the bouquet of roses. "For you my lady." He said smoothly, and I snatched them out of his hands. Trying not to let my face betray me. "Marron and I have already had our hellos earlier today." He told Goten, and my face flushed hot. Traitorous bastard…I wanted to rake his face with my nails. And to think I had loved him once. Goten turned confused and hurt eyes my way.

"What? You saw Trunks earlier? Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

Trunks stepped in smoothly again before I could answer. "I asked her not to, I wanted it to be a surprise."

Goten frowned a little, but accepted the explanation. Remembering his manners he invited Trunks to the living room, leaving me with the bouquet of roses to deal with. I took my time in the kitchen, putting the flowers in water. For a split second I debated getting a bottle of wine, but memories flooded over me of the day when I had been the hurt one, coming to my friends after their betrayal and that shared bottle of wine. Oh if only I had stayed away that long ago day, but it was a silly wish. To avoid this pain now I would've had to have given up so many years of happiness, before Trunks left, and the bliss of being with Goten. I couldn't put off the inevitable any longer and I joined them in the living room.

Goten sat on the end of the couch nearest the kitchen, Trunks on the opposite end. Leaving me to either sit between them or sit in one of the two chairs that faced them across the coffee table. Uncertainly I moved past the couch toward the chair, but Goten caught my hand as I went by and pulled me down to sit beside him, tucking me close to his side and holding my hand. Trunks' eyes glittered at me as he saw how Goten put me between them.

The silence between us was awkward, making me wonder what I had missed when I was in the kitchen. Trunks watched us from his end of the couch, his blue eyes taking in everything. Goten had his other arm across the back of the couch and he played with a strand of my hair idly, like he needed something to fiddle with.

"Would anyone like tea, or anything else to drink?" I asked, desperate for some action to break the silence.

"Tea would be fine, thank you Marron." Trunks told me in that same smooth voice. I got up to go into the kitchen and Goten hung onto my hand until the last second, like he didn't want me to go. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and he finally released me.

I started a new pot of tea and debated what to do next, wait in the kitchen for it to be done? I moved closer to the doorway thinking I would rejoin them in the living room when I heard my name.

"-Had coffee with Marron this afternoon. I explained to her why I left and why I came back. I had hoped that she would tell you. It would make this less awkward." Trunks said. I paused just on the other side of the doorway, waiting to see what else Trunks would say.

"Why don't you tell me yourself Trunks? The real truth." Goten said, his voice stiff. I held my breath, curious as to what Trunks would tell him.

"Chibi…" Trunks started, and I heard movement. Was Trunks sliding closer to him? "I don't want to bring this all up again. You know why I left, but I came back because you were right. We belong together, we always have. I was a selfish asshole to leave, I know that, but I just got to where I couldn't stand that we were never alone anymore. She was always there."

"Don't Trunks. That isn't fair. We both decided to share our relationship with her. I was happy with the way things were. Having both of you in my life and in my bed. You were the one who couldn't handle it. Why didn't you just talk to me about it? Why did you have to just up and leave?" Goten told him. My heart was beating like a cornered rabbit's. I felt awful eavesdropping, so I made a little noise getting the teacups down and filling the little metal tea ball with more loose leaves. All the while trying to convince myself I wasn't hearing what I was hearing…that I had been the cause of everything. And I hadn't even known.

"Because I didn't want to hurt her again after what we'd done to her the first time. Because despite what she thinks about me now I'm not a complete heartless bastard."

"What do you mean, 'despite what she thinks about me now'? What did you say to her Trunks?" Goten asked suspiciously. I was all ears in the kitchen as I poured the water from the kettle into the teapot to steep. Preparing the tray I would take in to them.

"I told her I wanted things to be the way they were between us before she came. I told her I wanted you back." Trunks sighed.

"Damnit Trunks!" Goten hissed. "You have absolutely no tact! What's the matter with you?"

I heard soft movement again, and I really had to crane my ears to hear Trunks' soft voice now. "I love you Goten, I've always loved you and I always will. I didn't know that you and Marron would have stayed together after I left. When she told me…I just lost my mind. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Marron." Goten said in that same tight voice.

"Chibi," Trunks cajoled in a low voice, "Didn't you miss me? Don't you love me anymore?" I held my breath, waiting.

"Of course I do, Trunks. But things are different now." I barely heard Goten's response his voice was so low. I heard Trunks murmur that they didn't have to be. There was silence after that and I took it as my cue to rejoin them. I was unprepared however to see that Trunks had moved to Goten's end of the couch and had him in his embrace. Cradling Goten's face between his palms as he kissed him passionately.

My hands gripped the tea tray until my knuckles were white, my heart turning to a cinder to hear the low growl of yearning come from Goten's throat as he wrapped his arms around Trunks and hold him tight to his bare chest. It hurt, oh god it hurt every bit as much as it had the first time when I'd caught them making love all those years ago. My hands were shaking, making the china rattle on the tray and the two of them finally acknowledged my presence.

Goten's face flushed with guilt and his eyes went no higher than my waist as he pulled away. Trunks on the other hand met my glare confidently. "Don't let me interrupt," I snapped nastily, "or would you rather I left?" I hurt, and I wanted to make them hurt.

"Would you mind?" Trunks asked sweetly. Poison sweet, that was Trunks.

"Trunks knock it off." Goten mumbled as I all but slammed the tea service down on the coffee table, and stalked down the hall toward the bedroom. I was angry, so angry I wanted to scream at the world. But underneath it I was afraid and that's what made me lash out at Goten when he followed me down the hall and into the bedroom, propelling me in the door as I struggled against him and he tossed me toward the bed, slamming the door behind him. I scrambled up and stood on the opposite side from him. Hands fisted at my side as I bared my teeth at him, breathing heavy.

"What the hell is your problem, Marron?" Goten snapped back at me.

"You kissed him!" I hissed. Goten's black eyes narrowed at me.

"And you didn't?" He scoffed. I looked away. "What's the big deal? I know he's being an ass, but that's no reason to act like a four year old." Goten said reasonably.

"I heard what he said, Goten. That I'm the reason he left, that he came back for you." I said bitterly. Goten raked a hand through his hair and looked almost guilty.

"He didn't say that, you must have heard incorrectly." Goten moved around the bed to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and running them down my arms in a gentling caress. "Now come back out with me, smile and be a good hostess. We haven't seen him in two years, let's hear what he has to say." Goten said soothingly.

I'd already heard what Trunks had to say; I really didn't need to hear any more. But Goten's dark eyes were pleading with me like a puppy's and I let him lead me back to the living room where the bane of my existence sat calmly sipping a cup of tea. Goten tried to pull me with him to the couch to sit, but I stubbornly pulled away and sat in the chair across from them, the image of their passionate kiss still burned in my mind.

"Get everything all squared away now?" Trunks asked. I hated how calm and condescending he sounded. It made me feel and act like an irrational shrew in comparison.

"Stop playing games, Trunks. And dancing around the issue, it's time to lay it all out on the table. You can't just come back after two years and expect to pick up like you never left. Now what are you really here for?" Goten asked Trunks.

I met Trunks' eyes and knew the truth. Yes, he did expect to waltz back in and have everything the way he wanted it. The same way he'd gotten his way all his life. His eyes told me that he had been as brutally honest with me this afternoon at the café as he'd ever been with me about anything. He wanted my Goten, and by god meant to have him again.

"Chibi," He said gently, his eyes never leaving my face. "I think we should talk about this privately. There are certain…things we still need to resolve without her around." I flushed hot as though I had been slapped in the face. Goten scowled too in Trunks' direction.

"Marron and I don't have secrets. Whatever you need to say to me you can say in front of Marron." Goten said staunchly. What a roller coaster I was on! I was down, and then at Goten's expression of loyalty I was flying high once again. I could only wait for the next inevitable sickening plunge.

Trunks' eyes moved from mine to Goten's, a slight flicker of surprise registering on his handsome face. "Really? Even things of a more…business nature?" Trunks asked archly. Goten's entire body froze, his face hardening into tight almost angry lines. "I didn't think so." Trunks said silkily.

I was confused and I looked between the two of them helplessly as their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. "What's going on?" I asked. "What do you mean 'business nature'?"

Goten stood in a fluid graceful movement, Trunks following suit less than a heartbeat after. I craned my neck up to look at them as they faced each other. Goten looked tense enough to attack; I could see it in the way his powerful muscles bunched, like he was holding back a tremendous amount of energy. Trunks on the other hand stood calmly in his expensive clothes, one hand clasping the other wrist as he held them in front of his body. Like he didn't see Goten as a threat. It was to be dominance and submission with them again, as always, endlessly…

"Marron…" Goten said in a low, careful voice. "I do need to speak to Trunks privately. Will you please excuse us? We'll be right back."

I could only watch helplessly, my protest stuck in my throat, as Trunks and Goten turned and headed toward the bedroom, not even glancing my way.

I heard the bedroom door down the hall shut with a thud of finality, leaving me alone…and forgotten. What do you do when you wait for your world to end? I slumped into the soft chair in disbelief. Where would I go if Goten chose Trunks? What would I do? How would I go on without the best of me? I wished I could be as certain Goten saw me as the love of his life as I saw him, but my eyes were filled with every loving look between them I had ever been privy to. Every tear Goten had shed in my arms over the loss of Trunks was a stone in my heart now. Goten loved him, he loved Goten…and I would have to surrender all the joy in my life. Unfair…unfair…

I don't know how long I sat there staring at the wall, the teakettle, the floor… I chewed my cuticles to bleeding on two fingers, a habit I'd outgrown along with training wheels. My stomach was a churning acidic pit and my eyes burned like I had been chopping onions. Unable to stand it any longer I got up and drifted down the hall to the closed door. The bathroom, I had to use the bathroom since I felt like I wanted to void my nearly empty stomach. As I passed by the closed bedroom door I heard low murmuring voices, but not what they said. I moved past to the shared bathroom and saw that the door from the bathroom to the bedroom wasn't completely shut.

Oh King Enma was going to send me straight to the HFIL for eavesdropping, but I'd spend eternity in the company of Cell and Juunana-ojisan to know what was going on. I moved closer to the door, just listening at first.

"-It's not a tie, Chibi. I wanted to help, it doesn't have to be like this." I heard Trunks murmur. His breathing came deep and slow, countering the quicker breath of Goten.

"Yes it does. Whatever happens Trunks I don't want to owe you anymore…for anything." Goten told him.

"But you do, Chibi…you do. For so many things I've lost count. How many times have I saved you in your life? How many times have I been there? No one loves you like I do…no one can. Not even her. You even owe me for that, you would never have had her if not for me." Trunks said gently.

"But Trunks…" Goten groaned, making the hair on my arms and back of my neck stand on end. What were they doing?

"Don't you see, Chibi? I'd forget it all…just to have you back again. Can't we go back to the way it was?" Trunks pleaded softly. Curiosity propelling me I moved to the crack of the door and looked, already pretty sure of what I would see.

Goten leaned against the dresser across the room, his head tipped back and eyes closed, his long hair falling behind him like a shadow. And Trunks, Trunks' lips made a provocative trail as I watched from Goten's throat down over his chest. Trunks' fingers moved from his abdomen to his lean hips and I would have had to be blind not to see the large bulge in the front of Goten's jeans.

"I love you, Chibi…" Trunks whispered, and I saw Goten tip his head down to look into his eyes, his fingers twisting in Trunks silky lavender locks. I wanted to scream that Goten didn't like being called Chibi…but I was drowning, dying where I stood to see so much love, so much conflict on my beloved's face. And I remembered what Trunks had said earlier, that I could spare Goten this pain. And I silently withdrew as stealthily as I'd approached.

Swiftly I ran down the hall on bare feet, fleeing as though I had the very hounds of hell at my heels. At the hall closet I paused, throwing on my jacket. I had no time to pack, but I grabbed my gym bag as an afterthought. At least I had a pair of clean underwear and toiletries in it. With shoes and my purse I was ready to go. I turned and looked back longingly at my home. Fighting every instinct that called me a coward, a fool for not fighting for what was mine, I stepped out into the chilly December air and softly shut the front door behind me.

Every step away from the house was like moving through mud as I slowly made my way to my car. Some tiny part of me still hoping that Goten would come after me, tell me that I was the one he wanted - the only one he'd ever love. But no one stopped me as I got into my car, started it and drove away.

****

11:00 pm.

I'd driven aimlessly for at least an hour, paying no attention to where I was going, like I was on autopilot. I responded to the stimulus of traffic lights and other cars on the road, but I couldn't remember it a second after it happened. I was numb, temporarily anesthetized and I knew I had to get somewhere before the blessed cloak slipped from me to leave me hurting and raw.

I tried to think of the places I could go, like home to Kame House, but I couldn't face my father who had never understood the relationship I'd shared with Trunks and Goten. I couldn't stand to go home and prove that he had been right all along. That trying to go against the norm would someday end in heartache. I tried to think of the names of any friends I had that I could beg a stay on their couch with, but it occurred to me that I didn't have any friends that were my own. All of my friends had ties to Trunks and Goten as well, the exception being Uncle Yamucha, but he lived a good seven hours away.

The enormity of what had happened and what I had done weighed on me like a stone on my chest, and I took the road that lead up into the hills that surrounded Satan City without even thinking about it. There was a scenic overlook about halfway up the mountain, a place with picnic tables and a public restroom. It wasn't the best place to be at night, inhabited mostly by teenagers looking for a place to be alone and park. But I thought I could maybe get a few hours sleep in my car and clear my head. Then I could decide what to do. It never occurred to me to check into a hotel, I don't know why.

Turning off the ignition I sat in my dark car, looking down on the city and the twinkling lights that had been my home. With the motor off the car cooled down quickly and I slumped down in the seat, huddling in my too light jacket and sweatshirt. My mind was filled with thoughts of the past, conflicting and nearly drowning me with their poignancy. I didn't want to take out these shining memories, each one like a perfect crystal bead: like the day the three of us had begun our unconventional relationship, or our first Valentine's Day when the three of us fed each other chocolate and champagne until we were gooey and giggling. The trip to the Papaya Islands that had ended with - I had assumed - them embracing me finally as an equal partner in the relationship as I accepted them both into my body at once.

And to hear Trunks tell it had all been based on pity. I refused to believe that. We'd had something rare and wonderful once, the three of us. Something that could only happen once in a lifetime, and then only to a lucky few. But we should have known it could never last. Even more extraordinary was the perfect love Goten and I had built from the ashes of that great failed experiment. But how perfect could I call it when it was so easily forgotten with Trunks' return? Tears poured down my face and my nose ran as I huddled in frozen misery in the front seat. I closed my eyes against even more painful memories of Goten and I. God, I didn't want to think about this anymore! I pulled my legs up and curled into the smallest ball possible in the cramped seat. Sobs shook my body as I finally gave into the overwhelming grief that had been threatening ever since Trunks told me he wanted Goten back. I cried for Goten, I cried for Trunks, but I mostly cried for myself…alone again, until at long last despite the cold, blessed sleep rocked me in its embrace.

I woke with a start some time later. I looked around wildly trying to remember where I was, and what I was doing. And then I did…in all too painful detail. I poked my head up above the edge of the door to look out the window. The parking area was abandoned now; mine was the only car left, all the teenagers had gone. The park lights were off, leaving deep black shadows. The only light was from a single bare bulb above the door of the public restroom. I was uneasy, wondering what had woken me up. Stealthily, I depressed the button that would lock the car doors, feeling a little better then. I peered blindly into the dark, trying in vain to discern any movement toward the trees or road. Never thinking that a threat would be right in front of me.

As I turned to look out the passenger side window I started to see the silhouette of a man standing directly in front of my car. The shape of his body was backlit against the city lights and stars. And I gave a short scream of surprise and fright. I didn't like being caught off guard, and I was disoriented from sleep. Visions of being raped and murdered (or worse!) filled my mind as I fumbled for my keys. The man approached my car quickly, moving around toward my side and I panicked, shrieking in alarm. Why, oh why hadn't my parents taught me martial arts? Why had they left me to be simply another weak human female whose only strength was that she could do due diligence with her eyes closed?

The man tried the handle of the car door, thank Dende I had locked it. I was so scared, my imagination running away with me that I was screaming like a fire bell at this point, my eyes closed and my hands over my ears. There was a pounding; the man was knocking on the window and shouting at me, but I couldn't hear him in my terror. I curled on the seat, trying to disappear, wanting HIM to disappear when suddenly the door of my car was wrenched open.

Still screaming I tried to scramble over the center console of the car toward the other door. Hands grasped me by the waist, pulling me back and I kicked out wildly. They weren't getting me without a fight! I heard an oof and the hands fell away. I managed to get the passenger door open and I started running, back toward the road on cramped legs. My throat was hoarse from shrieking and my ears rang from hearing my own screams in such close quarters. I wanted to look back and see if I was being pursued, but I had watched too many scary movies with Goten and his niece to know that's the quickest way to end up falling flat on your face and getting caught. Lot of good that logic did me as the thought no more than crossed my mind and it happened. I tripped on a crack in the asphalt and went down.

Strong arms grabbed me from behind as I was getting up, picking me up off the ground and holding me still. I fought like a wildcat, determined that whatever this Sicko had in mind for me I wasn't going to make easy for him.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking and struggling furiously.

"Goddamn it, Marron! It's ME! Goten! Stop fighting me!" Goten said, and slowly his words sunk in, stilling my struggles.

Goten! He'd come for me! I sagged against him in relief as he held me tightly. He set me on my feet, still keeping me close. My relief that he was my attacker gave over to anger that he'd scared the life out of me in the first place and I yanked away from him. Whirling to face him.

"You scared the crap out of me Goten! What's the big idea?" I yelled at him. He stood before me in jeans and a loose baggy sweater. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and I could see now that he was frowning at me.

"Scared the crap out of you?" He yelled back. "I have been looking everywhere for you all night! And you were up here where any lunatic could just walk right up to your car?"

"The only lunatic who tried to attack me was YOU!" I bellowed at him. "You ripped my car door off!" Stress was making my body shake like a high-tension wire. I felt like I'd drank ten pots of coffee…it would take me weeks to calm down from the emotional roller coaster of today.

"Because you were screaming! You weren't responding to me, I thought something was wrong with you." Goten shouted back at me. Why was he yelling at me? I was the wronged one here. I fisted my hands at my sides and threw my head back, screaming out my rage and pain to the star filled sky in an inarticulate howl.

"Of course there's something wrong with me you idiot! You woke me up! You scared me! And you FUCKED TRUNKS!" I screamed the last at him so loudly my throat felt raw. Baring my teeth I flung myself at him, pounding weak ineffectual fists against his chest. It was like punching a brick wall. I mean…he and Trunks were half Saiyajin; they used to kick the crap out of each other on a regular basis when we were together. And I knew Goten still sparred with his brother regularly…like I was going to do any damage to him.

Goten stood still under my assault as I took out my aggression on his body violently. I drew back my hand to slap his face and Goten caught my wrist, his eyes glittering at me in the starlight. "Stop hitting me." He said in a low growl. Breathing heavily I snarled in his face as I tried to get my arm free. Goten didn't let go and it made me angrier. I screeched loudly in frustration, tugging futilely on my arm locked in his grasp.

In an unexpected motion Goten yanked me up against him, shocking the breath from my lungs as his lips came down on mine…hard! I was only caught off guard for a moment before I renewed my struggles. Love of my life or not there was no way I was going to let him have me straight from Trunks' arms. I had precious little pride left at this point and I was going to fight to keep the last shreds of it. I bit him and he shoved me away from him. His glittering eyes narrowed and accusing as he wiped the blood from his lip.

"What the fuck was that for?" He snapped. I gaped…he had to ask?

"Don't you DARE kiss me, Son Goten!" I cried. "Not after what you did!" Goten's eyes narrowed even further and he stalked toward me. I had never seen him like this. He was like a panther, graceful and deadly. It was easy to forget in the face of his guileless good nature that he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Yay me and my big mouth, I'd made him mad.

"What did I do, Marron?" He asked in a tight controlled voice. I edged away from him, backing toward my car until I ran into the back of it. Goten stopped in front of me, so close I was trapped between his strong legs and the trunk of my car. I looked up at him nervously, trying to hold onto my anger. His eyes still snapped with an inner fire.

"I saw the two of you," I whispered, my voice raspy from screaming. "I saw him all over you, touching you. You just couldn't wait to have him back could you? All he had to say was, 'I love you Chibi' and you were all his again. Weren't you?" I said nastily. Goten said nothing, just stared into my eyes, and my anger built again. He could kill me, but by God I was going to get this out.

"Trunks tried to warn me, he told me you'd pick him…and he was right! Everything Trunks said was right! You never loved me…I was just a substitute until Trunks came back! It wasn't love…it was pity!" I spat, fat tears sliding down my cheeks and I let my hair fall to cover my face. Finally defeated.

Goten rested his hands flat on the trunk of my car and leaned on them, putting his face on my level as I crammed myself back against my car. "Marron…" he said softly, and so gently it made me raise my eyes to his. The anger was gone from Goten's face as if it had never been there, and his black eyes were liquid and wet. I hadn't seen his eyes look like that since…well, since Trunks left. "Marron, if I picked Trunks…what am I doing out here in the middle of the night in the freezing cold with you?" He told me.

I looked at him stunned. "What?" I breathed, afraid I had misheard him. He gave me a crooked little grin; perhaps satisfied he had my full attention at last.

"I didn't choose Trunks, Marron. I love you. You're the one I want to be with." He said simply. I frowned in confusion.

"But…I saw you." I protested weakly.

"What did you see?" He asked, and I told him. Goten gave a half laugh. "You left a minute too early then. You missed me pushing him away, asking him to leave and take his stuff with him." Goten told me. It was too good to be true…Goten had really chosen…me?

"I don't understand… Why? I thought you two were in love. That you had something special." I said. Goten reached out and attempted to smooth my hopeless hair, a small smile playing about his lips.

"We did Marron, once upon a time. But we're different people now, at least I'm different now. I want more out life. He and I will always be best friends, but I don't want to wonder when the next time Trunks is going to have a personality crisis and run away. And what you and I have…that's special too Marron. You stuck by me when I needed you most, that means more to me than anything." He told me.

"Oh." I said quietly, it was because of loyalty. Would Goten always pine then for Trunks? Even though he wasn't the right one for him anymore? I wanted Goten to pick me because he loved me, because he desired me…not because I was his friend, or his partner. I wanted to be Goten's heart's desire.

"You are, Marron. You're everything I've ever wanted in a woman…and more." Goten murmured softly, cupping my face in his palm. My mouth fell open and my astonished eyes met his. How had he known what I was thinking? Goten smiled at me. "Don't look so surprised. I know you too well, I know what you were thinking." He said. I returned the smile hesitantly and Goten leaned in, pressing a soft gentle kiss to my lips.

"I'm sorry I bit you. And ran away." I told him. Goten shook his head, his long hair falling loose around him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. And I'm sorry Trunks made you doubt us." He told me and I blushed. Tentatively, I reached out my arms to encircle his neck, to hold him close again. Goten needed no other encouragement and he swept me up into his arms, holding me so tightly against him I could barely breathe. "I really do love you so much, Marron. More than you'll ever know." He whispered in my ear. I sobbed with happiness.

"I love you too. I was so scared I'd lost you." I cried, burying my face in his neck. When I'd finally shed all the tears I had left I still clung to Goten. "What about Trunks? What did you tell him?" Goten rubbed my back soothingly and said nothing at first.

"I told him it was too late. He made his choice when he left. His time had passed and we went on without him. That we could only be friends now." Goten said simply. I sensed there was more to it than Goten was telling me, and I remembered the way Goten had dragged Trunks away, like he was keeping something from me.

"Goten…what aren't you telling me? Please don't keep secrets." I pleaded, turning my face to his. Goten couldn't quite look me in the eye. "Goten what is it?" I asked more sharply, feeling a cold finger of alarm.

"Remember before Trunks left? When I was trying to get loans for the restaurant?" He asked, I nodded slowly; Goten had been approved fairly readily for a more than adequate sum and excellent interest. "I never got approved for a loan…so I…got the money from Trunks. I never told you because of you warning me not to enter into that kind of informal arrangement. I was afraid you'd think less of me. Trunks urged me to take more money, but I only took the minimum amount based on our business plan."

I nodded understandingly, if that was the worst of it, then no problem.

"After Trunks left I was always worried. Would he take the money back? What would happen to us? Would he hold it over me forever? And sure enough, one of the first things he mentioned when we were alone was the money…" Goten said bitterly. I kissed his face over and over.

"Don't worry. I'll go over the books; we'll find a way to pay him back every cent plus interest. He won't have a hold on you anymore." I assured him. Goten smiled at me with so much love.

"I've already taken care of it. Why do you think we haven't shown a profit yet? It's because I've taken every last extra dollar and set it aside to repay Trunks. And tonight I did, we don't owe him anything anymore." Goten said proudly. I smiled back at him.

"That's wonderful Goten. How did you do it?" I asked, Goten was an excellent chef, but not so great of a business manager. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Well…" He hesitated. I narrowed my eyes at him and he cringed.

"You did! You let another Accountant touch your books?" I exclaimed in mock outrage. I was too happy that Goten was here with me, that he had chosen me to be too upset about it. Goten pressed himself against me again, cupping the back of my head in his palm as he kissed my neck, nuzzling it like he knew I liked.

"I will never, ever, let anyone else touch anything of mine but you." He promised. His wicked grin confirming the double entendre. I poked him in the bicep playfully.

"You better not. You're mine now." I told him. His face turned serious and he bent his head to kiss me, long and deep, his hands cradling my face.

"And you're mine," he whispered, "I was saving this for Christmas, but I think now is the perfect time." Goten murmured, fishing in the pocket of his jeans. My heart stopped, and then lurched back into triple time to see Goten pull out a small velvet box. "It isn't as fancy as I wanted it to be," he said opening the box to show me the small diamond ring inside. "The gem would be castle sized if it reflected my feelings for you. We've been through so much together in our lives…best friends, lovers…will you add mate to the list? Will you be my wife, Marron?" He asked me, but I was crying already. I didn't think I had any tears left, but I found some for this wonderful, tender moment I would remember forever.

"Yes!" I sobbed, throwing my arms around his neck. "Of course I will!"

Goten slipped the ring on my finger, lacing his with mine as he held my hand and kissed me. "I love you." He whispered into my hair, "But I'm freezing…can we go home now?" He asked. I laughed and nodded, my heart so full and bubbling over with love.

He tossed the door he'd ripped off into my car before he encapsulated it. "Sorry I broke your door." He told me, picking me up in his arms and lifting into the air. He got a devilish grin on his face. "I'll just make Trunks get us a new car for a wedding present." He said. I couldn't tell if he was joking or serious, until I saw the twinkle in his eye.

"It's the least he can do if he wants to be the best man." I said, playing along. Goten grinned again, nuzzling my temple with his nose as he flew.

"Absolutely…" Goten agreed. "Think it's tacky to cater your own wedding?" He asked me and I threw back my head and laughed with joy. Knowing absolutely that my life would be filled with it. Even with Trunks around and in our lives again, I had nothing to fear from him anymore…from anyone. I had Goten.

"Goten…you're too much." I said, tightening my arms around his neck as he flew a loop.

"I wasn't thinking of doing anything too fancy." Goten said, repressing a smile that made the corners of his mouth twitch. "We could always just give the guests sandwiches."

His eyes met mine and we couldn't hold it in any longer and the chilly December wind carried our laughter away into the night.

****

OWARI