#I’ve been vague with the other shit but like. I’m not gonna be visibly ok for a hot minute so idc about sharing

[greenlanterns-light]

Wanting to read bc I want kell rn vs having absolutely no energy to read. My boyfriend is trapped within the pages

[astralaffairs]

so hear me out- mafia!thom where mc is a spy! working with the rival group or the government (probably run by hamilton) and gets caught? I’m just a simp for e2l~

ok but this prompt is FUN !!!!! ugh the tension

in which thom is a meanie >:( and james isn’t a softie

-------

“...one of Hamilton’s soldiers. Yeah, we found her down by the docks with a couple others; looked like they were trying to make a hit where we planned our drop.”

“Really? What happened to the others?”

“Got away. She was stationed closest to us, but by the time we got our hands on her, everyone else was starting to split.”

“Some loyalty.”

When Y/N found herself gradually beginning to drift into consciousness, disembodied voices polluting the dank, cold air around her, she found a splitting pain in her head and a dull ache in her shoulders. Cautiously, she cracked an eye open, squinting in the low light as she found herself in some clichéd, nondescript warehouse. Figures.

Her ass was getting sore from the metal folding chair she’d woken up tied to (seriously, they couldn’t have sprung for anything more luxurious?), and the harsh metal of the handcuffs around her wrists was digging into her skin. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out, if only vaguely, two — likely male — figures standing leaned against the wall, chatting about her circumstance as casually as if it were the weather. She sniffled, her nose running in the cold, and she itched to wipe at it. She sniffled harder.

“...She awake?”

“It sounds to me like she is.”

Y/N’s pulse began to accelerate as she heard footsteps echoing across the concrete floor, headed in her direction. She didn’t dare lift her gaze. She searched for any way out of the bind she was in — even if she could pick off the handcuffs, her ankles were tied to each of the chairs’ legs.

“Glad to see you conscious.” The voice was flat, cold as he finally addressed her, and Y/N swallowed hard. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer, head still bowed, instead responding with, “Where am I?”

Her tone was gruff, as menacing as she could manage with as small, weak as she felt, but the man who’d addressed her laughed. “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours. Surely, you understand the concept of a quid-pro-quo?”

“You first.” Her glare was burning as she forced herself to look him in the eye, and while the man next to him looked annoyed, he remained entirely undeterred.

“I’m rather surprised that you think yourself in a position to be making demands.”

She scowled. “C’mon, what d’you have left to lose, telling me where we are while I’m your captive? God knows you’re just going to end up moving me, assuming I live that long.”

“A bold assumption,” one of the men said, tone dry and irked, but the man directly in front of Y/N gave him a tired look.

“Aaron,” he warned. “I’ll handle this.”

“Then handle it”

He visibly rolled his eyes as he turned back to Y/N, and the other man (Aaron, apparently), retreated to the outskirts of the expansive room, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“Anyway,” he went on, and Y/N huffed, yanking at the rope binding her arms to the chair. She knew it was futile, but it was more for her discomfort than any genuine attempt to escape. “It seems to me you have even less left to lose than we do. And you must know that we have other, less pleasant means of getting what we want, so it is in your own interest to comply.”

Y/N hesitated a moment — surely, once they’d taken her captive, they’d rooted through her belongings, opened her wallet, screened her for weapons, and checked her ID. Was this just some kind of intimidation technique? A power play? He was unfortunately correct; she didn’t have much to lose.

“My name’s Y/N,” she grumbled, finally. “As though you haven’t already torn through all my documentation.”

“How perceptive of you. Most try a few pseudonyms first.” His smile was serene. “This just might be fun.”

“What might be fun? Torturing and killing me? Throwing my body out to sea?” she bit back, the fury in her gaze never wavering, but he raised an eyebrow.

“What would make you think such a thing?” Mocking offense saturated his voice.

“I know you’re part of Jefferson’s fucking mob.” She yanked at her handcuffs; they clanked loudly against the chair. “I’ve heard about what you do to people.”

“Oh, have you? Thomas will be pleased with our notoriety.” As if on cue, three pairs of footsteps echoed behind Y/N — one of them must have been Aaron’s, as he was suddenly nowhere to be found, but the satisfied smile the man in front of her wore told her that she wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Her eyes widened. Surely, they didn’t bring Jefferson himself to come see her, right? Dealing with captives was grunt work, not the responsibility of a mafia boss. She tugged and picked aggressively at her handcuffs, desperate to find a lock she’d be able to release.

“James.” The voice came from just behind her, a sadistic mirth in the man’s tone as he addressed the man who stood before her (James, apparently). The footsteps stalled at the exact moment Y/N grunted, throwing her shoulders forward with the link of the handcuffs caught on the chair’s edge. To think that she might actually be able to break her hands free was a desperate hope, but the man behind her laughed — not a taunting, mocking laugh, but one that made it clear how genuinely entertaining he was finding her pathetic struggle.

“I gotta say, when you told me you got one of Hamilton’s crew, I didn’t believe you at first.” A chill ran down Y/N’s spine when he circled her, and though she didn’t have any desire to look him in the eye, her curiosity overwhelmed her. When he reached her front, Thomas Jefferson, in the flesh, blood, and magenta business attire, crouched before her, and she swallowed roughly. He still managed to dwarf the chair to which she was tied. “But that mark is unmistakable, huh?”

Her skin burned as his gaze fixed on her neck, where she’d been branded just above her collarbone upon being sworn in as a member of Alexander’s mob. She turned her head away from him.

“She isn’t just any of his soldiers, either.” While James’s voice came from her left, Jefferson didn’t move, watching her with pleased intrigue. “She’s a Hamilton by blood.”

His eyes flashed with delight; his grin widened. “Oh, is she, now?”

With her head turned, Y/N inadvertently met James’s content stare, and though she didn’t waste a moment in tearing her gaze away, Jefferson occupied the remainder of her line of vision. She couldn’t help it when he caught her eye, and she couldn’t seem to look away. The way he watched her was predatory.

James hummed in confirmation. “His sister.”

“No.” His surprise was unmistakable, as was his perverse triumph. When she sneered back at him, he finally drew himself up to his full height, giving a satisfied chuckle. He turned to James. “Where would I be without you?”

“Same place, worse administration.”

“You got that right,” Jefferson said. “Just think about everything we’re gonna be able to do with her. She’s just the leverage we’ve been lookin’ for.”

“We searched her when she arrived, but nothing she had on her person gave us any new information. Her phone was a burner.”

“Normally, I’d call that disappointin’, but,” —Jefferson glanced back at her with a smug smile, if only for a fleeting moment— “we don’t needa dig up any of their communications when we’ve got the primary source all to ourselves.”

“If she’s really a Hamilton, I doubt she’s just going to talk that easily.” A feminine voice came from behind Y/N; she’d assumed Jefferson had entered flanked only by men. “Don’t get overconfident.”

“‘Course not, Maria. I know the limits of my own strength.” Y/N resisted rolling her eyes. “But I can tell she’s gonna be fun to break.”

She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut; she wasn’t sure if she was more disgusted by the words they were saying or by how they were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there to listen. Maria scoffed. “Be careful. We need her responsive if we’re going to use her as bait.”

“Please. Bait’s thinkin’ too short-term. We can do a whole lot more with her than that.”

“Seriously? But if we keep her around—”

“I’m sitting right here, you know.” Y/N cut them off forcefully, looking up unabashedly with rage in her gaze. No one seemed so much as taken aback by it, hardly reacting to her outburst, and Jefferson met her eyes with an entertained smile, taking a step toward her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, we know.” As he leaned down, Y/N could feel him looming over her, and any of her confidence in her actions was leveled. He hooked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and she grit her teeth.

“No one’s forgettin’ about you, here. After all, you’re the guest of honor,” he cooed, and his soft, condescending tone made her skin crawl. When she tried to jerk away from his touch, he gripped her chin. “And such a pretty little thing, too. ‘S a shame you’re a Hamilton, ‘cause I wouldn’t mind havin’ you all to myself.”

“Get your hands off me,” she snarled, and he laughed.

“You’re adorable, actin’ as though I’m gonna listen to a word you say.” He plastered on a pout, and she was shaking when he reached up to cup her cheek, run his thumb across her bottom lip. “Y’know, it’d do you well to learn who’s in charge here. As of today, I own you, and you’re lucky I like a challenge.”

“You don’t own shit,” she spat, but her voice trembled, and he raised an eyebrow. She could feel her eyes welling up. “My family’s coming for me. And when they do, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Now, don’t tell me you really think that?” Mocking pity saturated his voice, and when Y/N only stared back at him blankly, he went on, “Nobody’s comin’ for you. If they really cared about you, they wouldn’t have fled so easy at the docks at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn’t have abandoned you there.”

“Excuse me?” was all she managed to say in a shaky, breathy whisper. He nodded sympathetically.

“That’s right. I know all about how your family left you for dead.” Her eyes stung when the first tear rolled down her cheek, and Jefferson brushed it away. Despite his contrived pout, satisfaction shone in his eyes. “Aw, no need to cry. ‘M sure all that hurts to hear, but you’re with us now. Your family’s the least of your worries.”

“I fucking swear,” she said, and despite the determined look she wore, her tears were now falling freely, “I swear, no matter what you do to me in here, I’m not going to break. I’m not going to let you break me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no need to be scared. I have every confidence in you,” he assured her, “but I don’t intend to try and break you.”

“I’m not scared,” she hissed, and he smiled.

“I’m sure you aren’t.” He leaned in closer to her, and as he eyed her expression, he smoothed a piece of her hair back, wiped the tears from under her eyes. “And you don’t have to be. If you can be a good, obedient little girl and behave yourself, I think you’ll be surprised at just how gentle we can be.”

“And if I don’t?”

"You will.” The words were spoken with a degree of authority that sent chills down her spine; he spoke as though this were an inexorable truth. “I’m not gonna have to break you, and I won’t bother to try. You’re gonna give in to me all on your own, and it’s gonna be so much sweeter that way.”

“You’re delusional,” she seethed, and the smile that split his expression was wide, confident, but above all, unsettling.

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, he finally pulled back from her, looking beyond smug as he redirected his focus to the group, but he quickly adopted a harsh tone. “James, Aaron,” he barked, nodding toward the chair she was bound to. He caught her eye one final time, and while panic flashed in her gaze, he was beyond satisfied. “Set up a room for our guest. Looks like she’s here to stay.”

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Commie, can you do a fic of the BN thieves + any other thieves from Super Sentai/Kamen Rider?

Absolutely I can! And since you haven’t given me a specific prompt, let’s say that

U is for unknown

Balance isn’t, like, a suspicious guy. In fact, he’d generally describe himself as friendly. He likes people! They like him, too! Good feelings all around. But when he spots a flicker of a red tailcoat that definitely shouldn’t be in one of the back corridors of this weird little vault satellite, he maybe gets a little worried.

So he says, “Hey, love cobra.”

“Please don’t call me that in public, Balance.”

“Who’s in public? Just you, me, and twenty dead security cameras, baby. Anyway, you love it.”

Naaga stares fixedly into space for a moment, which is pretty nice, since that blue blush of his is so cute. “Notwithstanding my enjoyment of your pet names, they are not appropriate in public.”

Balance sighs theatrically. “Whatever you say, baby. Did you also see a LupinRanger just now or do I need to re-calibrate?”

“I have not seen the LupinRangers recently.”

“Well, that’s worrying, not gonna lie.”

“But my eyesight is not as acute as yours.” Naaga’s tongue flickers out for a moment. “I can smell them, though.”

“Oh. Good, no re-calibrating on the menu for the evening. Still worried, though! You think this thing Lucky needs is one of their whatsits?”

“I strongly doubt it, given that they are not from this universe.” Naaga scents the air again. “They are this way.”

They catch up with the Lupins after two corridors, and the first thing that happens is that Umika sees them, makes a happy noise, and bounds over to kiss Naaga on the cheek. Then she does the same to Balance, interrupting him in the middle of, “Hey, hey, don’t go kissing on a guy’s--oh. Hey, fancy meeting you guys here! Wait, isn’t he a cop?”

Umika frowns. “Isn’t who a--wait, you mean Noël? No. I mean. Kind of? He’s with us, it’s fine.”

“You’d better not be here after a Lupin Collection piece, though.” Kairi’s hanging back, although he doesn’t look unhappy to see them. “We’ve got dibs.”

Naaga’s nictitating membranes flicker shut for a moment over his eyes. “I am certain that we’re looking for different things, the Lupin Collection is not native to this universe.” He flashes them a brief, awkward smile. “Also, hello.”

Tooma nods. Noël Not-A-Cop waves, smiling, and says, “Bonjour, mes amis, I was sort of hoping we’d get to see you again. How have you been? How’s your handsome friend?” He’s also the one who starts walking again, and since it’s also in the direction that Balance and Naaga are going in, it seems reasonable to walk along with him.

Naaga nods in his direction. “We’ve been well. You will have to be more specific.”

“Yeah, all of our friends are pretty cute.” Balance skips out in front of the group and walks backwards facing them, relying on his sensors to keep him from tripping. “You gotta say which one you mean.”

Noël looks amused. “Fair enough. The very tall one, with the red coat and the dramatic attitude.”

“Tsurugi! He’s doing ok, I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

“Please do.” Noël looks past Balance’s shoulder. “Ah, good, I think this is the storeroom we were looking for, we’ll bid you adieu here.”

Balance glances at the door, but Naaga beats him to saying, “This is also the storeroom we’re looking for.”

“Ah,” Tooma mutters. “That’s reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” Balance flashes him a thumbs-up, which will either make him feel extra reassured or weirded out, and either option works under the circumstances. “Let’s go in together! Like a team! Good times.”

They open the door and crowd through it all together.

The storeroom is entirely bare of anything interesting to steal, let alone Lucky’s whatsit or the Lupin things. Not that it’s a boring room, though, because there are already people in it, and it only takes a second for Balance to take in two of them and say, “Hey, baby, isn’t that Stinger’s pirate buddy and his girlfriend? The scary girlfriend, not the princess one.”

Naaga nods, as on Balance’s other said Kairi visibly brightens up and says, “Hey, Marvelous, what are you doing he--you again.”

Because Stinger’s pirate buddy and his scary girlfriend are having sort of a staring contest with a third human, who’s got bleached hair and a white jacket and a big blue gun. He glances at Kairi and says, “Oh good, it’s the brat. I hope you brought--there you are, Nicky, nice to see you.”

And Noël says, pleasantly, “Bonjour, Dion, fancy meeting you here.”

“This has gotten overly complicated,” Naaga and Tooma say simultaneously, to Balance’s delighted cry of, “Jinx! So who’s this guy?”

“Daiki! Hi!” Umika bumps Naaga with her shoulder. “Naaga, Balance, this is Kaitou Daiki, he’s also a thief, he’s sort of Noël’s ex? And he’s a, a something, a Kamen Rider! That’s it!”

“No shit?” Balance flickers his eyes, just for dramatic effect. “We met a couple of those once. Nice guys. One of them had a suit with hair on it, fun look.”

Daiki nods to them, still watching Captain Marvelous out of the corner of his eye. “There are a few of us around. Anyway, evening, Nicky, Nicky’s friends, I’m assuming these two are also Sentai?”

Naaga nods shortly. “We are Kyuurangers.”

“Yeah, I thought so, you guys have that look.” Daiki glances around. “So, anyone happen to know why we’re all here? I’m supposed to be able to find an interesting treasure here, a Dark Mirror, I was going to give it to Tsukasa as a present, but I’m really not seeing anything. Starting to think I might have been misled.”

Tooma huffs. “We may have all been misled, I don’t see a Lupin Collection piece here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Balance scans the room. “Definitely nothing in here like the whatsit Lucky wanted us to get, the, uh, baby, help me out here.”

Naaga pats him on the shoulder. “The Heracles Cape.”

“That’s the one, yeah.”

“So we’ve all been tricked.” Daiki eyes Marvelous and Luka. “Marvelous, I hope you know that if you’re the reason I’m here, I’m going to punch you.”

Captain Marvelous shrugs. “I’m not exactly happy to see you either, Kaitou. No, I’m not why you’re here, I’m just along for the ride with Luka so she doesn’t get kidnapped by evil armor again.”

Luka huffs. “Shut up, Marvelous, that was one time. I was promised a ruby the size of my fist.”

Balance bounces on the ends of his feet, just to make his earrings swing a little and get everyone’s attention. “So who got us all here, then? That’s the big fun question of the moment.”

And a quiet voice says, “I’d be happy to answer that for you.”

Everyone jumps and turns towards the back corner of the room, where there’s yet another person waiting. She’s wearing a black dress and boots with lots of pink details and pink gloves, and her hair is bright pink too. Balance is pretty sure it’s a wig, but he’s not positive, he’s not great on hominid hair.

Luka squints at her and then turns to Marvelous. “The Go-Busters didn’t have a Pink.”

“I didn’t think they did--” Marvelous pulls out his cell phone changer thing, taps a button, and says, “Gai, did the Go-Busters have a Pink?”

There’s a faint crackle from the phone, and then a voice Balance vaguely recognizes says, “Not really? There was someone who called herself Pink Buster, but she was a civilian criminal. Basically a cosplayer." A pause. "Why? Who's dressing as Pink Buster?”

“We’ll get back to you on that. Thanks, Gai.” Marvelous hangs up the call, but doesn’t put the phone away. “Who the hell are you, and why are you dressing up as a fake Sentai?”

Naaga says, slowly, “We don’t appreciate being tricked.”

Kairi and Daiki say, much more succinctly, “What the fuck?” and then glare at each other.

Not-Actually-Pink-Buster nods. “That’s understandable. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you all here. I require your assistance in a matter of some...” a dramatic pause, which Balance appreciates, before, “delicacy.”

And--it clicks. Balance nearly shoots off the ground in delight, and then throws up his hands in a wide enough gesture that it gets everyone looking at him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You called a bunch of thieves together--”

“I’m not a thief,” Marvelous says, sounding irritated. “Luka’s a thief. I’m a pirate.”

Tooma looks unimpressed. “The difference being?”

“Thieves sneak and snatch. Pirates smash and grab. Totally different approach.”

Daiki rolls his eyes.

Balance senses that he’s rapidly losing control of the moment, so as soon as he can he barrels on ahead. “You called a bunch of thieves and pirates together under mysterious circumstances in a weird place and you’re showing up wearing a disguise. And saying things like, ‘I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you all here.’“

“She said exactly that.”

“I know, baby, I’m being dramatic.”

“Ah. Carry on, please, I enjoy your dramatics.”

“Thanks, love you too, anyway! Did you pull us all here for a job? Is it a heist? Are you trying to get us to team up to do a heist?”

Pink Lady opens her mouth--

--but Balance is now fizzing with so much energy that his earrings are jangling. “Because I am here for it, pink lady, I’ve always wanted to do a heist! Are we robbing a bank? Wait, no, not sexy enough, please tell me it’s a casino.”

Everyone’s staring at him. It feels fantastic. Pink Lady gapes at him and then says, slowly, “It’s. Ah. A museum, actually.”

He punches the air. “Hot damn! Lady, I could kiss you. I mean, I’m not gonna, I don’t have lips and I’m pretty big on monogamy, but if it wasn’t for that then I could. A heist!"

Naaga nods and says, "I am also enthusiastic to participate."

He even sounds enthusiastic. Balance isn't sure he's ever felt so loved. "The BN Thieves are gonna do a heist!”

He and Naaga do the pose. Umika, Noël, and Daiki all clap politely. It’s amazing. It’s the best day of his life.

Kairi also looks pretty thrilled, but then he gestures to Daiki and says, “A heist sounds great, but I’m not working with that guy.”

Daiki sighs. “I’m not thrilled about the idea of working with you either, brat. Flattered to be asked, though,” to Pink Lady.`

“Oh, come on, guys, a heist! A museum heist! It doesn’t get any cooler than this!”

Tooma’s raising his eyebrows high enough that they’re actually visible over his mask. “You’re very excited about this.”

“Balance has wanted to participate in a heist since he was fifty years old.” Naaga looks pleased.

He’s so cute. Balance is going to die of joy. “I’m gonna marry that reptile,” he says to Umika, who pats him on the shoulder as Naaga turns bright blue. “Anyway, come on, you guys can put aside your weird human differences for the crime of the millennium, can’t you?”

[fallen-gravity]

Fightin’ Back Chapter 4

Chapter Notes: I’d like to give a shoutout to @elegiesofemptiness for throwing suggestions my way for this chapter and helping me out of a rut.

We’re really in it now, boys. Scary-oke this time around, and the next chapter following this one takes  place in my favorite episode in season two. >:)

AO3

“You have to promise me you’ll only use the journal for self-defense, and won’t go sniffing around for trouble.” 

Dipper crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, but only if you promise that you don’t have any more bombshell secrets about this town”.

“Promise” Stan replies, placing one hand against his heart and the other crossed behind his back. Dipper squints at him for a moment, but then he sighs.

“Promise”, Dipper echoes, and his tone doesn’t sound any more genuine than his own. 

Maybe he should just hide all the black lights in the house so the kid doesn’t get any big ideas. For now, though…

“Oof, we have a lot of zombie damage to clean up.” Stan pokes at his recliner with his foot. “Where’s my handyman, anyway?” 

As if on cue, the zombified Soos wanders into the room from the kitchen, arms outstretched and eyes glossed over. 

“Holy Moses!” Stan yelps, instinctively grabbing for the nearest piece of furniture to smash it over Soos’s head, before Dipper stops him, placing a hand on his arm. 

“Wait! It says here there’s a cure for zombification. It’s gonna take a lot of formaldehyde” 

“Ooh, and cinnamon!” Mabel beams, popping her head over Dipper’s shoulder. 

“C’mon, Soos, let’s fix you up” 

Mabel picks up one of the dining chairs off the floor and prods Soos in the stomach back towards the kitchen. Dipper’s about to follow her into the kitchen, but Stan places a firm hand on his shoulders to stop him in his tracks. 

“Not so fast, little man,” he scolds. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I saw that zombie pick you up”

“Are you...accusing me of being a zombie?” Dipper turns to face him, and Stan almost laughs that he looks more baffled than he does angry.  “Wouldn’t my head have exploded while we were singing together if that were true?”  He asks, and visibly cringes at the mental image. 

“Well, yeah. Maybe you weren’t infected as quickly as Soos, but zombies don’t always gotta bite you to infect you. It’s about direct contact.” Stan grins. “Matter of fact, most zombies only bite cause they’re hungry! If they’re just looking to infect, they’re more likely to leave a nasty scratch” he offers out his hand. “Lemme see” 

Dipper places his hand in Stan’s, and Stan tugs him a bit closer so he can get a better look at Dipper’s arm. His shoulder looks fine, which means it isn’t spreading as quickly as Stan expected it to. That’s a relief. He turns Dipper’s hand to inspect the other side of his wrist, and sure enough, there are three large gashes right on the spot where the zombie had grabbed him. It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding, but the skin surrounding the gashes are already turning a sickening grayish green.

Dipper’s face goes white as a ghost at the sight of it, and if Stan weren’t holding his wrist he’s almost sure the poor kid would pass out right then and there. Stan squeezes his hand, just to give the kid a grounding gesture to prevent him from passing out a second time. “Whoa, whoa. Deep breaths, kid. You said it yourself! There’s a cure for this. We just gotta follow your sister into the kitchen before she uses it all on Soos, okay?” 

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay” he replies, and he takes three steps forward before he stops. Stan’s afraid he’s going to pass out again, but he turns back around and points a finger at him. 

“How did you know that?”

“Know what?” 

Dipper’s rubbing at his infected wrist, and the sound it’s making is akin to someone walking through a pile of dead leaves. “How did you know that zombies can infect someone without biting someone? All Journal 3 talked about was how to cure a bite”

...Shit. That must’ve been the first journal that talked about home remedies for monster attacks.

“W-Well I’ve lived here for over thirty years, y’see? You have to learn these things pretty quickly.” Stan straightens out his posture to better sell his lie, and gestures vaguely towards Dipper. “Look at you, kiddo. You’ve had the journal for...what, two months? And I see you going around every day like you own the place” 

Dipper blushes. “I guess that makes sense”

Stan rolls his shoulders. “Of course it makes sense. I’m older and wiser, and all that” 

Dipper chuckles quietly, mumbling something under his breath about I don’t know about wiser, but Stan’s too distracted by the fact that Dipper keeps scratching at his infection to bite back. “And speaking about older and wiser, I of all people would know that all scratching at that thing is gonna do is make it worse” 

Dipper’s hand drops to his side immediately. “Right, right” he murmurs. Stan rolls his eyes, and places a hand on Dipper’s back to gently shove him towards the kitchen.

“Hup to. The last thing we need around here is a zombie with an irrational fear of himself” Stan slaps Dipper on the back and roars in laughter, who only responds with a roll of his eyes. When they step into the kitchen, Mabel and a dezombified Soos are sitting at the table chatting casually. Soos has an ice pack on his head.

“Oh, hey dood!” Soos grins. “Hey Mr. Pines! Sorry about the whole trying to eat your brains thing. I got like, way too into the character.” 

“Uh, water under the bridge” Stan waves him off before he turns his attention to Mabel. “Listen, sweetie, you got any more of the formula?” He exchanges a quick glance with Dipper, who’s hiding his arm from his sister behind his back. “I, uh, wanna toss some of it around the yard. See if it doubles as a free fertilizer for the...dead flowers” 

Mabel gasps, her eyes going wide. “Those poor zombified flower pixies!” She yelps, and gestures to a pot bubbling with oil on the stove. “Take as much as you need. I accidentally made, like, ten batches too many anyway, so if it works you could sell bottles of it in the gift shop and tell ‘em Mabel sent ya” 

Stan laughs, and takes a moment to muss up her hair. “Ah, I knew my swindling skills would rub off on one of ya! Atta girl” he grins, and she grins back in equal measure before returning to her conversation with Soos. As soon as she has her back turned to him, Stan grabs the entire pot and walks as fast as he can towards the back porch without spilling any of the oil.

“Follow me”, he whispers to Dipper once he’s sure he’s out of Mabel’s earshot, and Dipper doesn’t hesitate to trail closely behind. He places the pot of oil on the ground beside the porch couch, and pats at the armrest. Dipper wordlessly complies and takes a seat, and Stan takes one last peek through the window to make sure Mabel hadn’t followed them out to watch him “revive the pixies” or whatever it is she’d said. Once he’s sure that she’s too engrossed in her conversation with Soos to notice they were gone, he takes a knee beside Dipper.

“Alright, lemme see it again” Stan says, and Dipper spreads his arm across the armrest. The infection seems to have spread to the base of his elbow, and the skin surrounding the initial gash in his arm has withered to a faded gray color. Stan sighs, and dips both of his hands up to his wrists into the pot of oil. 

The smell of it makes Stan sick. It’s far from his first time dealing with formaldehyde, and a tiny little demon at the back of his head is screaming at him that Dipper could’ve been coming into contact with it for much, much worse reasons if he came up from the basement to help him just ten seconds later. 

No. He squashes that thought down before it can get any worse, and begins rubbing the oil into the worst of the infection on Dipper’s wrist. It makes him flinch, and Stan’s not sure if it’s because of the smell or the burning sensation.

“Y’see, this is exactly why I tried keeping you and your sister away from the supernatural.” He flicks the excess oil off of his hands, but it’s a redundant gesture because he’s right back to sticking his hands in the pot anyway. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you if I hadn’t heard you in time? Or if I’d looked anywhere else in the Shack for you first? I would’ve been forced to assume the worst”

He’s trying to sound strict, but damn these kids for tearing him down so much that it hurts his chest to even think about it. “I can’t have the people I care about aimlessly running around and throwing themselves into danger”

“I’m not being aimless!” Dipper whines, but hisses in pain when Stan accidentally rubs some of the oil directly into the gashes in his wrist. 

“Mhm,” Stan hums. “And I’ve never spent a year in a Colombian prison”

“I’m not!” he squeaks. “Look, Grunkle Stan, I’m not just running around trying to hunt and capture every monster in the journal for fun, or anything! I’m so close to discovering the identity of the author that I have to follow leads when they present themselves! Nobody can really just...disappear out of thin air, right? He has to be around here somewhere”

Every nerve in Stan’s body freezes up at once. 

I’ve been telling myself that for thirty years, kid.

“Look, kid…” he pauses. What can he say? You’re never gonna find him cause I accidentally pushed him through an interdimensional portal? Oh, and by the way, he’s my twin brother and your other Grunkle and he would probably love you and your sister to bits if he were still here? “...I get it. I do. But you have to understand that I’d never forgive myself if anything horrible happened to you or your sister.” He waves a defensive hand in the air. “I don’t mean to say that you can never go anywhere, ‘cause even I know that tryin’a strap you down and make you sit still would be like caging a rabid animal.” He wipes the rest of the excess oil on his pant leg, and places a gentle hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I just can’t have ya gettin’ hurt on my watch, ya hear?” 

Stan can’t help but drift his gaze towards his wrist,

More than you already have, anyway.

“It’s not like that. Mabel and I can take care of ourselves”

“Watch it.” Stan points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re twelve. The last thing you need is a hero complex”

“What?” Dipper shakes his head. “No, Grunkle Stan, I mean, Mabel and I’ve already fought half of the monsters in the journal and won. You don’t need to worry about anything happening to us”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Kid, didn’t I just rescue you two from a hoard of zombies?”

“That’s just the thing! We’ve been chasing after monsters all summer, and this is the first time you’ve ever had to get involved!” Dipper’s beaming, and okay, someone better tell this kid to stop being a picture perfect replica of his brother before he finds out it’s his biggest weakness. “You saw Gideon’s giant robot the other day, didn’t you?” 

Stan blinks. “You mean that giant pile of metal scraps everyone was crowding around?”

“Yeah!” Dipper backtracks. “Okay, well, before that, it was a giant robot.”

“You’re losing me” Stan huffs. “What could Gideon’s broken robot have anything to do with why I should trust you running off on your own?

Dipper blinks, like he’s in disbelief that Stan hadn’t already connected the pieces together himself. “We’re the ones who broke it”

If Stan had a drink in his mouth, he’d be spit-taking all over the place right now. “You two? Wasn’t that thing twice the size of the shack?” 

“Oh, it was. As soon as the bus you put us on to go home pulled away from the bus stop, he tried chasing after us in it because he insisted that we still had something that he wanted”

Stan snorts. “Was he goin’ off about Mabel’s hand in marriage again?” 

Dipper laughs, but then he shakes his head. “No, he just kept rambling on about Journal 1 and how bringing the journals together could, I dunno, end the world or something? And he wanted to bring them together so he could hold the world hostage, or something.” He shrugs. “It didn’t make any sense to me. I mean, I know the author’s missing, but I just assumed he’d been kidnapped by some...thing that didn’t like being recorded. I didn’t think it was some kind of superweapon”  

Stan swears he can feel his blood turn cold. He tugs awkwardly at the collar of his shirt, and hopes Dipper assumes it’s because of the mid-summer heat.

“...But we didn’t have it!” Dipper throws his arms up in the air. “We tried telling him we had no idea what he was talking about, but he just kept getting angrier and calling liars. He had both of us in his...giant robot hands at some point, but then he decided there was nothing else he wanted from me and literally tossed me away”

Dipper’s hands are balling up into tiny, shaking fists. “He tried taking Mabel hostage. I wouldn’t have cared how much he insulted me, but...we’ve never been separated like that before”. He glances down at his shaky hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been the braver one between us. But next thing I know, I’m flinging myself off the train tracks” 

“Train tracks?” Stan blinks. “Y’mean the ones up on the cliff?”

Dipper nods, blushing. “I just...went for it. I probably got a ton of cuts from the broken glass when I smashed through the eye of the robot,” he muses, pausing to give his own arm a look over. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much adrenaline in my life”

Stan snorts. “You’re trying to tell me you punched the robot so hard that you knocked it off the cliff?”

“What? No, Gideon was inside of it. He was wearing one of those weird...motion control suit...things. The robot only lost its balance because I punched him in the face.”

Stan roars in laughter. “You punched Gideon in the face?” 

“Yep!” Dipper beams. “Quite a few times, actually. I think with everyone treating him like he’s a god he tends to forget that Mabel and I are three years older than him.” He flexes an arm to show off his nonexistent muscle. “Remember that trick you taught me about punching someone in the face with their own fist?” 

“Hah!” Stan grins. “That worked?” 

“Knocked the robot’s head clean off!” Dipper grins back. “Or, well, it probably would’ve, if that wasn’t what pushed the robot over the edge” 

Stan’s keeling over in laughter. He can’t believe how casually Dipper’s talking about this. Just a month ago, if Dipper had told him the same story detail for detail, Stan would’ve been sure that Dipper was describing a movie he’d watched the previous night. 

“Not bad, kid!” he grabs Dipper into a gentle headlock, messing up his hair. “But what about your sister, huh? Don’t think I don’t see you trying to take all the credit” 

“Oh, not at all!” He’s beaming again. “That’s the best part. Mabel’s the one who saved us from falling to our deaths. Don’t ever tell her I said this, but I think the grappling hook is the best thing she’s ever owned”

Stan nudges him with his elbow. “Yeah, last thing we need around here is both of you having giant heads”. Dipper glares at him, which only makes him laugh harder. 

Stan wipes a tear from his eye with his wrist. “Alright, kid. You convinced me. If you two can come out of fighting a giant sci-fi monster without so much as a scratch, I trust that you and your sister know what you’re doing”.

Dipper’s eyes go wide. “Really?” 

Stan nods. “Really. But you have to promise me you’ll still be careful, okay? I can go back on my word and hide that book away from you faster than you can say journal. Got it?” 

Dipper nods. “Got it.” and then, after a short pause, “I promise”. 

[loftec]

Hi i don't know if anyone haven't ask you about it or i'm the only one who wants to read it but CAN YOU PLEASE SHARE YOUR NOTES (ch.44) i don't know if you were serious about that but i really would love to read them cause i'm obsessed with everything what is ntw related 🖤 hope ur well

Hi friend! It’s possibly just you (or one other person, in case of separate anons) but that is enough! I was absolutely serious. 

Note on the notes! This is not all of it, because my notes for this chapter were often repetitive and very messy, and some older notes were from four years ago when I didn’t bother writing things out properly, so they barely make sense even to me. But! I’ve done my best to sort everything in some kind of linear order, and removed most of the repetition. And, well, you asked for it... sorry! 🖤

Ian shows up in the morning, Mickey digs out the magazine Iggy stole from Amelia’s dentist’s office the other day and confronts Ian about the big-ass article in Rolling Stone about IAN’S BAND, says he’s listened to some of their songs, takes out a paper where he’s written down some lyrics that sound strangely familiar.

You’re famous!

I’m in a band, people know about us right now, tomorrow they might not. I’m not famous.

You’re kinda famous.

Ian talks about Mickey recognizing him because of Frank. Hints that there might be several songs inspired by Mickey. It’s awkward as fuck, didn’t want you to know.

Were you ever gonna tell me?

Oh yeah, I had a plan. 3 dates, dinner and a movie, day out with Yev, dinner at my place turned vigorous love-making. Second prong; cohabitation, engagement, marriage, then on our wedding night I tell you about crushing on Justin Timberlake when I was 12,

then I tell you I’m semi-famous, if it still applies.

Mickey thinks his face might be on fire.

What the?

I’m fucking with you, Mick. Figured you already knew.

This again?

You angry?

No, I’m not fucking angry. Just-

Freaked out.

Kinda, yeah.

You shouldn’t be. Please.

It’s weird that I didn’t know, I feel like a schmuck. (And I’m pretty sure by your count we’ve already been on those first two dates.)

I’m sorry. I thought you knew and by some fucking miracle didn’t treat me different. I’d been gearing up to maybe have to have this conversation on our date, ‘cause it’s shit sometimes, you know? I don’t do interviews and I never talk about myself when I gotta do them, but there’s still a limelight and a lot of bullshit that complicates

I’ve been crushing on you since we met basically, and I thought I’d just… let it run its course, keep my mouth shut about it and deal until it went away and we could remain friends without me fucking it up.

Didn’t work, by the way.

Good.

Mickey is talking about it with Etch, who suggests that Ian’s been writing at the diner for a reason.

Etch looks up some lyrics and Mickey caps locks them to Ian

You might have inspired a few lately…

Fuck off. How many?

Since we met? Pretty much all of them.

Maybe one or two made it on to the album, but I wrote those before we really got to know each other so they’re just like… about moments, and how I would feel around you.

Didn’t think of it as creepy but it kinda sounds that way now.

No it’s fine

I won’t do it again.

Said it’s fine. Kinda like it.

Yeah?

You gonna tell me which ones are about me, or is that a secret too?

What are you doing tonight?

Thought you said you were going on tour?

We are, it starts tonight. It’s a small fan club gig here in Chicago.

You have a fan club?

Kinda. I’ll put you on the guest list if you want to come.

(Mickey calls Svetlana to make sure Yevgeny can stay with her over the weekend.)

It’s fine if you don’t want to, we’ll do something else when I get back.

Calm your tits Gallagher, course I wanna go. Needed to make sure I’ve got Yev covered.

Oh okay, good. You’re on the list. Doors at 7, gig starts at 8, no support.

You’ve got no chill.

(Ian doesn’t answer for a while)

I like it.

Good, that was torture. Never doing that again.

(Etch teases him about having his nose in his phone, and makes him aware of new guests arriving)

Gotta get back to work

Yeah, me too. See you tonight?

No chill at all.

Ian invites him to the concert and gives Mickey his phone number. Mickey makes sure Yevgeny stays with his mom on saturday, and after work he goes home and gets ready. Showers and cleans himself thoroughly, puts on cologne and a band t-shirt he hasn’t worn in ages, it’s gotten kinda tight on him since he got it. (He puts on a dress shirt first, tucks it into his pants and glares at his reflection).

He’s on the guest list when he gets there, the girl in the box office can’t find him at first but then Anne shows up and points him out, he’s on the VIP list and gets a pass that he’s told he needs to carry so it’s visible. He makes a point of shoving it in the admission guy’s face, but then shoves the ostentatious thing down the pocket of his jeans. Anne shows him in and tells him about the gig, about how the fan club got started. Anne says he can go backstage but he says he’ll pass, thank you. He gets a beer and finds a good spot, there’s a balcony halfway through the venue where he’s got a perfect view of the stage without having to stand in the front.

They text a little, Mickey says he’s there and Ian says he’ll make a sign when they play a song inspired by him.

run-through of the concert, Ian touches the side of his nose when the song is about Mickey. He’s sexy as fuck, and has some ridiculous stripper moves.

He takes off his hoodie at some point, and sweating through his tank he and Anne put on gloves and start hitting the barrels with crowbars.

Anne is the maestro, maybe Ian crowd surfs at some point? Warren Ellis that violin, man. He has little routines with Anne, and some with Jon too. One song, Anne gets one of his guitars and he does noisy stuff with his violin and plays on the oil barrels with Stran, completely in sync.  

They got some good stage banter going, and at some point Ian does a Tom Waits impression, and Anne groans and says he’ll sing the whole thing if they’re not careful. There’s a reason why he’s

For the encore, Ian touches the side of his nose and they start playing a song, Anne saying that this is a first. It looks like Ian is about to sing, but then it looks like he changes his mind and they start playing a song that Mickey sure as fuck hope isn’t about him. The insufferable man on a date right next to Mickey tells the woman he’s with that they were about to play the mysterious title track from their last album that never ended up on the record

“it’s derivative, but cute”

how can it be a title track if it’s not on the album

the guy talks about how he’s got a friend working as an engineer in the studio and he’s sent him an early demo version. It’s not their best song by far, but it’s cool that pretty much no one else has heard it.

Mickey asks the girl if she’s ok with this joker, and she says she’s fine. He offers to get her a cab or something, if she wants to get out of there.

She says she’s not interested

Lady, if I wanted to get with either of you, it wouldn’t be you. Just sayin, I ain’t picky, but that guy would’ve gotten the boot ten minutes into the date if he were here with me, no offense.

WHAT IF.

The concert is over, and crowd starts to let up. Then a fight breaks out at the front and Mickey makes his way towards it. It’s over before he gets there, and sees a guy in his 40s with a bleeding nose, and Lip shaking out his fist, a security guard between them.

Mickey talks to the guard and defuses the situation, putting the bleeding man in the position of a sad overzealous fan. It somehow warms Lip to him, absurdly, and he finds himself apologized to, Lip shaking his hand and wincing when Mickey grips his bruised knuckles a little too hard. Lip vaguely explains that that was an old ex of Ian’s, a real piece of work, and then offers Mickey to come backstage with them to see Ian. Mickey declines.

It’s Lip, Carl and Debbie (Liam is too young, and Fiona too pregnant).

“I was drunk, and wrong, and when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. (IT’S FROM DIRTY DANCING YOU LITERALLY FORGET EVERY TIME AND HAVE TO GOOGLE IT WHENEVER READING THIS NOTE should I really be quoting Baby’s dad in this fic? Probably. If anyone can, it’s Lip.) And Ian tells me you’ve been there for him a lot lately

I wouldn’t say that

But he did, he doesn’t tell me a lot these days, but he told me that.

Mickey gets another beer at the bar as people mill towards the merch and exit, he sits on a stool with an eye on the backstage passage. He watches the band come out to talk to some of the lingering fans and sign shit. Ian comes out and is immediately surrounded by fans, he locks eyes with Mickey across the room and Mickey raises his beer in a silent cheers. Ian comes up to him after a few minutes, he looks damp and exhilarated and unexpectedly nervous,

How was it?

Not bad, Gallagher.

he asks Mickey over. He has to pack up his shit and do the rounds, but he’ll be done in half an hour, tops. Mickey says he’ll meet him outside.

Ian leaves and Mickey finishes his beer, watching Ian talk to some fans, signing shit and taking pictures. He goes for a piss and then goes out for a smoke.

Ian comes out after twenty minutes, carrying two guitar cases and a large wheelie-bag. Mickey takes one of the guitars off his hands and they walk together.

(maybe Ian has a banjo and he gives it to Mickey to carry and Mickey is all really? I wanna kick your ass so bad right now, country boy, but then carries it anyway.) (banjos are cool)

Walk from the club. Mickey mentions talking to Lip. They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it) (Note from 2020: I DID NOT REMEMBER IT.)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

Ian tells him a little about his different instruments, Mickey picks up the beat up guitar Gus first gave to Ian and strums it, Ian asks him to play him something but Mickey snorts and says he’s counting on getting laid tonight and him playing would be detrimental to that plan. Ian doesn’t think so, but accepts it when Mickey gives him the guitar.

”I’ve walked some thousand miles,” he starts softly, eyes on his left hand, moving over the strings, ”I have slept many hundred nights, and people’ve said hello and bye through the years since you were mine. But don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue. Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser I cry for you.”

”Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie,” ”My darling boy, sweet old times, as long as I keep you in mind I will remember what love is like. So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue.”

”Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser.”

”I cry for you.”

I’M THINKING OF WRITING MY OWN SONG BECAUSE I WAS THIS MOMENT TO BE MORE BEFORE SUNSET THAN ANYTHING, ALL SMILES AND DRAMA FREE. SO MAYBE A TEXT THAT IS A LITTLE MORE STRAIGHTFORWARD.

Ian plays the song and when he’s done, Mickey kisses him and they have really enthusiastic sex on the couch. Mickey is about to leave after when Ian invites him to stay,

How about some long-ass foreplay on the couch and then they move into the bedroom.

They start on the couch, they take it to the bedroom, they collapse on the bed after and Mickey is feeling too good to argue when Ian mumbles at him to “stay”.

(Sings the song, says it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a song, it’s one quick thought put under a spotlight. Feeling like he should have known Mickey his whole life already. It’s too much, isn’t it? In the kitchen.

”do you normally take guys home and serenade them?”

”nah, don’t think it’d be very effective with most.”

”But you figured I’d swoon?”

”Figured you’d want the truth.”

”which is?”)

??? Need to find a good mix of excitement and new and easy, balanced with ho shit wtf are we doing this isn’t going to end well i think i fucking love him shut the fuck up. needs to be sexy and a little rough, as well as painfully sincere against better knowledge. kissing will do that. they’re doing stuff the way they usually do stuff, but for some reason it feels completely different.

Important that Mickey kisses him.

They stand up and stand chest to chest, Ian says they don’t have to do anything, Mickey says shut up and get naked

he helps ian take his shirt off and kisses him the second his face comes back into view

They fucks on the couch.

OR ALT FADE CUT END and don’t go explicit. Just saying, it’s an option. A valid option.

They can go at it in one of the sequels? Like the roadtrip can be more explicit? If I want? But also not?

I mean, there is such a thing as a nice middle ground right.

I just don’t think I’m interested in going all out porn after 40+ chapters of whatever.

THEY KISS AND THEN THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING FADE TO BLACK MY FRIEND, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I HAVE DECIDED. Soz

WHAT IF!!

Iggy comes in, is all: guess what I found at the dentist this morning?

M: again? Did Amelia break another tooth?

I: It’ll grow back, take a look at this

E: Did you steal that from the dentist’s office?

M: Rolling Stone, wtf?

E: your dentist’s got rolling stone?

Mickey reads the headlines out loud as a customer comes in and asks Etch about something they’ve lost the other day, and Etch starts rifling through boxes behind the counter as Mickey moves over to sit down in Ian’s booth, rifling through the magazine.

M: what am I looking for?

I: I marked the page

E: what’s this note?

Mickey starts reading the article, realizing that the blurred picture is of Ian, and the interview is with Ian, and holy shit. Ian is legit famous.

Etch starts reading the list of coffees, eventually turning the page over and pointing out that there’s a phone number.

Iggy comes to the diner in the morning, Etch is rifling through stuff behind the counter and Mickey is doing the rounds with the few guests still there after the morning rush.

Iggy shows him the magazine he found at the dentist’s and Etch is in the background like wtf is this, reading from Ian’s note with the coffee orders, Mickey only half listens, trying to take in the fact that Ian is fucking famous.

Etch says there’s a phone number too and Mickey brushes him off.

Then he’s like, hold the fuck up! And gets the note from the trash and tries the number, and Ian fucking answers. And they have the you’re famous conversation on the phone and voila, Mickey has his number and vice versa.

So Mickey calls Ian in the morning, then there’s text talk during the day.

From Ian

So, you’ve had my number for x days and you only now decided to use it?

That’s cold.

From Mickey

You wrote it on a piece of paper you then balled up and threw on the floor, asshole, it’s a miracle it didn’t end up in the trash. didn’t know I had it until this morning.

You suck at this. (This is a nice revelation that he likes, but Maybe that doesn’t come across in text.

Not a complaint btw, just gleeful observation.

From Ian

Are we still on?

From Mickey

Of course.

Dumbass.

Ian

I probably deserved that.

At some point Mickey starts capslocking and sending lyrics to Ian, who has to explain through text why he’s written songs about Mickey, saying that he’ll point them out tonight.

HERE’S A QUESTION

SHOULD I SKIP THE WHOLE “WRITING SONGS ABOUT MICKEY” BUSINESS??

Isn’t it enough that Ian is famous and kept this fact from Mickey? Isn’t the writing songs business a little creepy? and if he did write songs about Mickey, would he really publish them without Mickey’s consent? No. Maybe I’m deliriously tired and about to fall ill right now, but I actually think I should skip that part. It’s a little sad because it’s been part of this idea for three years, but if I’m uncertain about it now imagine how I’m going to feel about it later?

When I started writing this story, it was supposed to be a quick and silly thing, and now it’s something else. It’s not important or anything, but also it is. To me. And making a decision on the rating was a big deal for me, and I think this is another one of those things. I’ve been holding on to this idea for so long but when I really think about it, is it even romantic? It’s romantic in that kind of teenage dream way, maybe? It’s more romantic to me if they fall in love for reasons other than Ian writing songs. But he’s written NTW, and he still thinks about performing it live, but we skip the whole thing about songs being about Mickey.

So they talk on the phone in the morning, and then there’s a text coming in after a little while asking if Mickey wants to come to the show.

HEYHO IT’S A REVOLUTION AND I FEEL FREE

Mickey and Ian text after the show (after Mickey declines going backstage) Ian asks him to meet him round back in twenty minutes. When Mickey goes out there, he sees Ian talking to a couple of fans by the bus and Mickey hangs back to smoke while he waits. The fans leave and Ian looks around, checks his watch, he has a bunch of guitars with him.

I AM LEANING HEAVILY TOWARDS MICKEY KISSING IAN HERE. He’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters against the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

They’re in the elevator, then they’re in Ian’s apartment. Ian plays him the song, Before sunset ending.

almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

(almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

yeah, it’s not a very good song. is why we cut it from the record

oh yeah? thought it was ‘cause of the like, intensely personal subject

that too)

They smile at each other like fools and Mickey feels like he is exactly where he’s supposed to be, and there’s no rush. Fade to black.

Etch finds the paper, says there’s a phone number on it. Mickey dials the number and goes out back as it rings out. When Ian answers, he reads a question from the interview and they talk.

He goes back into the diner and basically blows the whole thing off, it doesn’t make any difference to him and he has to go back to work. Yevgeny does his homework and Iggy leaves, and Ian invites Mickey to the gig via text. Etch invites Yevgeny to stay over at theirs for a movie night.

Does Mickey tell Yev about the gig?

Start with Mickey out back, smoking. The phone rings and he waits for Etch to take it, but it keeps ringing. He bangs the door and yells PHONE and then it stops ringing. He kills the cigarette and goes back inside. Etch is behind the counter talking on the phone and going through the lost and found, looking for whatever the caller has lost. Mickey clears a table. It’s afternoon. Etch hangs up but keeps going through stuff in the box, talking to Mickey, when Iggy comes in.

It’s maybe more like afternoon (?) when Iggy comes in and shows Mickey the magazine. He calls Ian and they have a quick conversation (he probably goes outside to have it, to escape his audience) and they establish that Ian is sorta famous. Then they text back and forth a little, until Ian invites him to the show.

Mickey calls Svet to arrange it so Yev can stay with her, and then accepts. He goes home after work to eat, have a shower and change out of his clothes. He wears the only band tee he owns, mostly because it’s funny and because it’s kinda tight and he doesn’t think he looks too bad in it (and a dress shirt is way too much for a concert not-date, not that he tried on a couple first. Then he does a little bit of cyberstalking only to find very little personal information and a lot of crazy fans. Maybe he watches a couple of music videos, but they’re all really weird cartoons so they give him nothing. They’re cool though, and guess the music’s alright, even though he doesn’t have a connection yet to it so it’s hard to tell if he likes it.

Yevgeny calls, because Mickey switched the days and he wants to know why. Mickey asks if he knows about the Broken Bells, and Yev’s like duh who doesn’t? And freaks out when Mickey tells him about Ian. He doesn’t tell him about the whole date situation though, just that he’s going to the concert. Maybe Yev asks for some merch.

Mickey takes an Uber to the venue, even though it’s not too far from the diner (but on the other side, so at least a 30 minute walk) and it seems like they’ve already started letting people in. He hangs back until the admissions office is clear and then tells the lady that he’s on some kinda guest list. She can’t find him, and he’s about to give up and go home when he sees a familiar figure in the background. He calls her Stay-puft first, but then also remembers that her name is Anne and calls her that too. She remembers him, and finds him on a different (VIP) list, the venue staff woman is embarrassed, but Anne is borderline flirting she’s so nice about the mistake. Mickey gets a pass that he’s supposed to keep around his neck, but he shows it to the guards and then tucks it down his back pocket. Anne shows him inside the venue and asks if he wants to come backstage and say hello, but he kindly declines.

He has a quick peruse of the merch table (he checks the CDs, and then sees a smaller table next to the merch with a guy handing out pins, Mickey talks to him and finds out that it’s “fan club” pins to commemorate the gig and Mickey asks if his VIP pass gets him one, it does, and then the guy asks if Mickey wants to sign up for the newsletter) and then gets a beer, before finding a good spot on the mezzanine floor. He’s got a balcony railing for support and beer holder, and he’s got an excellent view of the stage. The floor is filling up with people packing themselves against the front. He texts Ian saying he’s here and they text a little back and forth. He gets someone to watch his spot and goes to the restroom. There, he finds a kid getting cornered by a middle-aged man. The kid looks vaguely familiar and not older than sixteen. Mickey steps in and casually accuses the guy of creeping on a kid and the guy immediately backs off, the kid says thanks and that he’s eighteen (because it’s an 18+ gig) and Mickey says sure.

Getting back to his spot, There is a douchebag on a date behind him that he wants to move away from, but he doesn’t want to surrender his good spot. He decides to tune him out, he’ll hopefully shut up once the set starts. It’s just a couple of minutes after eight when the lights dim and a song comes on louder than before, and the band start coming out on the stage. Ian is wearing jeans and a hoodie, like he normally does, but he’s clean shaven and his normally smiling face is set in blank determination. Anne is the front person, and she commands the audience with the slightest gesture. It’s obvious that the venue is filled with old fans, they all know exactly what to do exactly when she asks them to do it. Ian’s got like four guitars and a whole lot of other shit around him, and he’s super focused on doing his stuff, but now and then he does little routines with Anne and Jon, and gets a big cheer for his occasional solos.

A few songs in, Ian gets up to stand on one of the oil barrels, and Anne starts banging on it with a crowbar. That’s when Mickey starts to really get into it. It’s cool, and it’s a lot harder than Ian made it out to be, but kind of theatrical at the same time. Ian is brilliant, even though he dances like an uncoordinated stripper.

There is banter between the songs, mainly between Anne and Stran (girl sure bangs those drums!) Anne starts banging one of the oil barrels again and Ian and Jon do a little step dance next to each other across the scene.

At some point Ian takes off his hoodie. He’s wearing a white tank and he’s already sweating through it. He gives his guitar to Anne and puts on gloves. Him and Stran do a little bant-y thing and then they start a new song by both banging the barrels in unison while Anne and Jon start playing (maybe Jon plays something else, like an electric piano or a marimba?). At the crescendo of the song, Ian takes out a baseball bat and goes to town on the barrel, sweat shining on his muscly arms and his wet hair flopping down his forehead.

They go off the stage, but come back when the crowd chants a song, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Anne says they’ve got one more song for them, and they start playing. She moves away from the microphone and it looks for a second like Ian is going to step up and sing. Douchebag behind Mickey tells his date about an unreleased b-side to the last album. But then Ian steps back and says something to Stran, who nods and moves into a slightly different beat. Without blinking Anne, steps back up to the mic and sings the last song.

Some of the crowd lingers by the stage after the lights have gone back on, but most move towards the bar or the merch table. Mickey hangs back to watch the crew take down the stage, and the two oil barrels being handed over to someone in the audience, along with set lists and left-over picks. Walking down from the mezzanine floor to go look for the restrooms, a fight breaks out on the floor. Mickey immediately recognizes one of them as Lip and the other one as the creep from the bathroom, and intervenes by clearly positioning himself on Lip’s side and reminding the creep that he could get him in trouble, the creep backs off and agrees when Mickey tells the security guards it was an accident (in a way that isn’t obviously helpful, but in the end still makes sure that Lip isn’t hurt or arrested for punching a guy) (because he did, he punched a guy, who is thrown out by the guards after Mickey’s intervention). Lip, Carl, Debbie, and Liam is there, but it’s only Lip who knows who Mickey is. He hangs back to talk to Mickey while his siblings go backstage (and PROBABLY DOESN’T tell him a little bit about the guy being Ian’s ex, making it clear that Lip really doesn’t like him). He also apologizes to Mickey for last time. He asks if Mickey wants to go backstage, but Mickey declines. He’s decided earlier with Ian through text that he’ll wait for him and thinks it’s better to do it somewhere that isn’t backstage where he might get asked questions and have to talk to people who aren’t Ian.

He gets another beer and stands in the bar next to the merch, watching as Ian and the rest of the band come out to sign some stuff and shake hands. Ian still looks slightly damp from sweat, even though he’s obviously changed clothes and run a towel through his hair. Mickey wonders if his skin tastes like salt. He drinks his beer.

Ian comes up to him after a little while, asking well? (or texts him, which probably makes more sense? But I also want Mickey to see Ian post-show)

Not bad Gallagher, not bad at all.

Ian looks pleased and asks if Mickey wants to come over, even though Ian has an early morning. Mickey says yes and Ian asks him to wait until they’re done packing up.

Mickey finishes his beer, goes to the restroom (where he sees douchebag by the urinal) and then he goes outside to wait for Ian. (He talks to douchebag’s date and offers to get her a taxi before the guy comes out.) He smokes a cigarette, and before he knows it, Ian is by his side, carrying a fuck ton of guitars. They decide to walk, for some reason, talking on the way.

HEY

Ian says he’s got a car coming and they walk a little bit to where they’re getting picked up. They talk about trumpet lips and stuff and Mickey kisses him. They get interrupted by the car arriving, and Ian picks up his guitars and says “you coming?”

Fuck yes

They sit in silence in the car, but it’s a good one. Ian says

Lip told me what you did back there.

He didn’t tell you shit.

He did, told me you stepped in and stopped him from getting arrested

He was getting his ass kicked, someone had to help the guy

And Liam told me you got him out of a tough situation in the restroom

That was Liam? Some pedo’s creeping on a kid by the urinal, I’m not gonna stand by doing nothing.

You know that’s not what happened

Yeah, well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

He isn’t a pedo, and Lip would’ve beat the shit outta him if you hadn’t stepped in.

You defending this guy?

No, trying to say thanks.

You’re shit at it.

Thank you, Mickey

Better.

So… friend of yours.

No. (Ian isn’t forthcoming with the info)

Alright, whatever.

And he’s definitely not someone I wanna talk about, tonight.

(Ian is smiling at him, all the promise in the world in his eyes)

Fucking fair enough.

They arrive.

OR Ian joins Mickey outside and they stand around and talk

They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

That’s when a taxi pulls up and Ian walks toward it

Could use some help with these.

They ride in silence

They carry Ian’s instruments from the car, and Ian says something cute

Mickey’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters on the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

There he asks Ian to play him something that other people don’t get to hear (mostly to be a cheeky monkey, but also because he wants it) and Ian plays him None the wiser.

I’ve walked a thousand miles to end up in your corner booth

Grinning idiot when you bitch, falling fool for your dirty mouth

Sitting on my busy hands when you swagger by and I say -

Hey waiter, pour some coffee in my cup and bring me my toast, before you fuck me up

I’ve been in some thousand fights and it’s clear that so have you, too

Faded threats and cigarettes, sharp glass polished by the sea

Wish you’d put your hands on me and make your feelings clear

Hey waiter

meet me ‘round the back door, tell me I’ve got it wrong and fuck me up some more

‘Cause I’ve fallen a thousand times but never felt this way before, like I should have met you long ago

Walked with you by my side and had your back through thick and thin

Sickness and health, come what may, and I say-

Hey waiter

pop the damn champagne

None the wiser

you fuck me up again

Hey waiter

tell me you’ll be mine

I’ll give you my life

and fuck you up in kind

I wish I was just a plain white shirt

then you could wear me off to work

and I’d be one of the things you keep close to your heart

soft white cotton wrapped around your heart

(Contrasts have faded now

but color still haunt my mind

And words ripped off from their lines

Make bitter tears flood my eyes

Don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you)

Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie

My darling boy, sweet old times

As long as I keep you in mind

I will remember what love is like

So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you

’Cause I always say ’I love you’

when I mean ’turn out the light’

And I say ’let’s run away’

when I just mean ’stay the night’

But the words you want to hear

you will never hear from me

I’ll never say ’happy anniversary’

Never stay to say ’happy anniversary’

Bom-chaka bom-chak 23 verses

And he climbed up a mountain

And he looked around

Some kind of forest

With all these dinosaurs

And he stripped his woman

He stripped her bare

But there was a pterodactyl

There!

[hanhan156]

The Pandora’s box chapter I

So this is it, I had to make my own Paulchard kiss fic as well even though there are several ones already. I had this idea for a long time and my head was almost like screaming for this to be written down, so here is the result.

Also, I had to break the promise with myself to make only fics with one chapter and I decided to separate this story in two - the two parts have quite different atmosphere and otherwise, it would have been super long.

Hopefully, you'll like my stupid jokes mixed with some fluff and even drama. The tension between Reesh and Paul is tightening!

The Stadium Tour is about to start and Till thinks they still need something to spice their show up a little – like a cherry on top. The perfect solution comes from an unexpected resource, leading into unexpected results.

One could even say that the Pandora's box will finally be opened.

Chapter I

Paul was awoken by distant chattering and panicking voices around. He opened his eyes slightly and saw blurry figures bustling around him.

What in the bloody hell is going on in here?

“Gott im Himmel, did he have an epilepsy attack or what happened? Shit, this is my fault, it was my idea in the first place…” Paul could hear Flake’s usually quiet voice, now loud and trembling.

“It’s nobody’s fault. We just have to make sure his okay,” Till interrupted the panicking keyboardist’s ramble. Of course, he was slightly alarmed as well, but he knew that in this kind of situation, it really didn’t help if everyone around you were being hysteric.

Even though Paul couldn’t see properly, he felt there was somebody holding his hand, stroking it softly at the same time. “I really don’t know what happened, we just have to wait…” the figure sobbed.

Paul got a bit annoyed about all of this. Why was everybody so upset about him suddenly? Without saying anything out loud, he decided he had to sit up. He wasn’t a cripple, for Christ’s sake.

But, his intentions were swiftly interrupted by strong arms.

“Let go of me!” he shouted and didn’t want to admit that moving had made him even dizzier.

“Shh, everything’s fine. You should rest now,” was the only answer he could hear from the same figure who had been holding his hand, now gently pushing him back to the floor.

Paul closed his eyes again and pressed his hand against his forehead. If he wouldn’t have had this terrible headache he would certainly have stood up and walked away from this - just like nothing had happened. “Okay, what’s going on in here?” He tried to pinch himself. Or am I dreaming?

Now, he finally saw that the person who had been next to him the whole time was Richard - his glossy eyes made Paul uneasy. “We…really don’t know, but thank God, you are awake again. We were so worried about you…everything happened so quickly, we didn’t know what we should do.”

Once again, a vague answer. “…okay? What’s going on in here and why are you looking like that?”

Paul tried to focus when his fellow guitarist looked at him straight in the eyes, his gorgeous face still fuzzy for him. “How much do you remember?” Richard’s voice sounded like it was coming from the distance even though they were so close to each other.

Paul tried his best to comprehend this all. “Well, something happened and suddenly, I’m on the floor and you all look like that. Please, can you just tell me, what this shit is all about. I’m sick of these unclear answers of yours.” He felt like the headache - which he’d had the whole day - was getting stronger when he tried to concentrate on thinking.

Till sat down next to them and sighed. “To make it short, you fainted while we were having a rehearsal.”

That sounded extraordinary. He had fainted before in school when he was an adolescent, but never as an adult. “But…why in the hell I’d faint in a rehearsal? Did something…unusual happen before?” Paul tried his best to recall but the incidents before were still so vague - and thinking still made his headache just worse.

All his fellow bandmates looked slightly awkward.

“Maybe Reesh could tell you it…more detailed,” Till managed to say finally.

It all originated from the day before when they’d had a meeting. Most of their upcoming spectacle was already planned - still, that infamous something was missing. Perhaps, some small details, or surprises.

“So, what do you think, should we…spice things up a bit?” Till asked while they were sitting around the round table which had become way too familiar for them during their rehearsals. Richard was yawning visibly - he thought that these meetings were the most boring parts of being a band. And in his opinion, the show was already great enough, so there was no point to add anything anymore.

“What do you mean?” Schneider asked.

“Something a bit unplanned, something which might shock the audience a bit - something political even, but not too much. I don’t know about you, but at least I don’t want to be in jail after our tour is finished.”

Everybody - expect for Richard, who was trying to annoy Paul by poking his toes under the table - tried to think something suitable.

“Hey, I have an idea!” Schneider yelled, and to Paul’s relief, his fellow guitarist stopped his aggravation finally.

“Okay, tell us,” Paul said and glanced his fellow grinning guitarist murderously.

“What if we dressed up as women? It was so much fun in earlier tours when I was Frau Schneider. This time, we all could come up with a female character for each other. I’m sure it would be a success!”

There was some amused snorting and slight giggling. Everybody knew that Schneider was fond of dressing up as a female, but he still didn’t have to suggest that every single time when they were thinking to add something new to their show.

Their singer was the only one who had the guts to say it out loud: “Schneider, even though you love it, dressing up as women is totally out of context. We already agreed that Bück dich is not included, and there are way too many costumes already, so I’m sorry to announce that Frau Schneider or any other female character is not gonna have her magical moment this time.”

Schneider pouted. “Yeah, every time when Till or Reesh has an idea, everybody agrees, but when I’m excited about something, you all think it’s Scheisse.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Till said with a sigh and tried to move the discussion to other subjects, before Richard would start his arguments against the drummer. “Okay, does somebody else have anything in mind?”

After another silent moment, unexpectedly, Flake raised his hand, his eyes fixed on the table. He was so shy and reserved that he always felt uneasy when everybody’s attention was at him. “I-I might have an idea, if it’s ok to tell it.”

“Of course,” rest of his bandmembers said all together. They still didn’t understand, why Flake always had to ask for permission when he wanted to express his ideas and opinions. He was part of the family as much as everyone else.

The keyboardist stood up and started his speech: “Well, in the era of gay rights, I was thinking that we could…well, this is perhaps a stupid idea, but--” He froze for a moment, and Till smiled at him and gestured. “Carry on, it sounds very promising.”

Flake cleared his throat and tried to force a smile on his face. “We could…umm…wave the rainbow flag at some point…you know, for example, when we are boating through the audience. And also…I don’t know from where this came from, but…some of us could kiss each other.”

He could sense the atmosphere getting a tiny bit awkward - or the truth was that everybody was just trying to comprehend what they had just heard, it had nothing to do with Flake. “I…it might be a bit shocking for some people, but not too much, or at least I think so. Besides, it might raise some interesting reactions from the media. Definitely not everybody’s gonna like it, but we could ask ourselves, when our band hasn’t been controversial.”

When Flake stopped, he dared to look at his bandmates, but couldn’t read anything from their expressions. He suddenly started to panic and stuttered: “E-es t-tut mir l-leicht, it was a bad and b-boring idea…maybe Reesh or Paul has something better. I-I’m not good at this…”

Till raised his hand. “Stop it, Flake.” Then he stood up and approached the embarrassed man who was still in front of everyone. Till put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and slowly, a smile was curving on his face. “That’s…a brilliant idea! I’ve always thought that you really are a genius!” Then, to Flake’s horror, Till hugged him. Everybody else was nodding and showing their agreement as well.

“Have to admit, it’s a good idea…”

“Not bad at all…”

Till and Flake came back to the table, the latter man resembling a ghost. Usually, when people were ashamed they started blushing, while Flake always turned completely pale.

“I have to admit that’s a brilliant idea indeed,” Richard said. “So, who do you want to kiss, Flake?”

“I-I didn’t mean it should be me! I…was thinking that maybe someone else…” with better looks and more confidence, he almost added.

“C’mon Flake, it’s not so bad,” Paul tried to convince the keyboardist. “Besides, you can choose whoever you want from the most perfect alternatives of this universe.”

“The man has suffered enough,” Till said because he didn’t want Flake to be any more upset. “I have forced him to do Bück dich and I’m already gonna cook him in the show, so maybe someone else should sacrifice himself.”

“Besides, I don’t want to be involved in the fanfictions which might appear after the…incident, if we decide to include it in our show,” Flake added.

Everybody looked puzzled and Flake thought that maybe he just should shut himself up finally.

“What’s a…fanfiction?” Schneider asked, innocently.

Paul gave a laugh. “Seriously, do you live under a rock or something?”

“Well, I’m sorry that I have a life and I’m not spending all my precious free time stalking the Internet!”

Oliver, who hadn’t said anything yet, clarified their drummer’s question: “Fanfiction means stories from basically anything - or anyone - you can imagine. The writers choose characters from the media they want - for example, us - and write whatever they want. Somebody could write a story about us being vampires in a haunted medieval village or superhero cats in space for example.” Flake was totally relieved that he didn’t have to answer.

Schneider snorted. “But I don’t get it, who wants to make stories…about us? Somebody who doesn’t have any other life?” It was impossible for him trying to figure out, what kind of person would want to write a story about them and even enjoy it.

Richard looked at the distance with a dreamy look. “I definitely like the idea and I’m not against it if people are writing about me.” Then he turned back to Flake and asked: “Can you tell me, from where can I find these fanfictions or what were they called?” A sly smile was forming on his face before he continued: “And why do you know so much about them in the first place, may I ask?”

Flake was an old Star Trek and Star Wars fan, so that was why he knew quite much about Internet and fandom culture. But he didn’t want to it say out loud, that he’d been stalking Rammstein fanfiction as well - just for curiosity, of course. “Well, there’s a site called AO3, if you really want to check it out. But I’ll warn you beforehand, some of the stories are a bit…questionable.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘questionable’?”

Just when Flake was about to answer, again, Oliver made it first: “They are, to be honest, usually pretty gay. Our fans are crazy, I can tell you. And if you want to be more entertained, just go to a site called Tumblr and put our band’s name in the search bar. You won’t be disappointed, I assure you.”

The newly learned facts just arose more interest in Richard. “That’s…fascinating,” he said and was about to start browsing his phone. This sounded way too juicy to skip. He could only wonder what kind of content there was about him on the Internet.

But before anything happened, Till took the phone from the guitarist’s hand and laughed out loud. “Guys, guys, seriously…just check your fanfictions, or whatever they are, later. Now we must concentrate on the show. Only a couple of weeks left, so we have to work hard to polish everything.”

“C’mon Till, you can’t say that you aren’t interested at all what our fans are writing about us!” Richard yelled while Till was busy hiding his phone.

“So, who wants to do the kissing? Any volunteers?” Till asked and didn’t mind about Richard’s piercing gaze. Their lead guitarist looked like a schoolkid whose dad had just taken his Gameboy away.

“So, you are not willing to do it?” Richard asked sarcastically.

“Well, if nobody else wants, I’m up for it, but I just wanted to be polite.”

Richard stood up and announced: “I’ll do it, if no one else wants.” The idea of being involved in fan stories was alluring indeed and besides, he liked to be the center of attention.

“Very well,” Till said.

“So, who am I gonna kiss?”

“You can choose yourself, of course.”

In his heart, Richard already knew the answer, but still, he tried to make the atmosphere tense and was acting like he had hard time choosing. “The one who will have the honor to be kissed by me, is…”

Richard looked one by one at all his familiar bandmembers gathered around the table. Flake was out of question. Oliver was like kissing a tablecloth, so not very tempting. Kissing Till was quite boring, and he was already busy enough on the stage. Schneider would have been a nice alternative, but he was behind the drums all the time, so it might be a bit difficult. That left him only one - and the best - alternative.

“…Paul,” he announced finally, smirking like an idiot to his fellow guitarist.

Till turned to Paul. How I am not surprised at all. “Is it okay for you? And of course, we can rehearse it and stuff, no worries about it.”

“Yeah, it’s…fine,” Paul answered, trying to sound cool even though he felt a bit unpleasant twitch in his stomach when he visualized the kissing with his fellow guitarist. Of course, they’d had that awkward semiromantic moment before when Richard had showed his outfits, but this time, it was going to be public, for thousands of people.

Richard winked to Paul. “So, when are we gonna rehearse this spectacular moment?”

The day was going to end soon, so to Paul’s relief, they didn’t have any time left. “Maybe tomorrow, I really have to get home soon.”

“So, tomorrow it is then. I cannot wait,” Richard whispered right in front of the other guitarist’s face.

Paul was now seriously thinking maybe he should stay at home tomorrow and lie that he has a stomach flu. Then, he wouldn’t have to come and they all could forget the idea.

[muesliforbreakfast]

Fanfiction

Ahhh I remember being sixteen. Vaguely. My favourite book series at the time was the Old Kingdom trilogy. I haven’t read it in a while, but I think it probably holds up. Good lord the pacing.

I wrote a fanfiction of it, and I’m going to share it with you here and now. Relax, it doesn’t feature scenes of a self insert banging all the characters in debaucherous and self aggrandizing ways. All the self-insertion is as like, an action hero or something.

A few disclaimers - This is not the original version. I edited it a fair bit. For grammar and continuity, mostly. However, I do have another sixteen years of experience now... Most importantly, a lot more experience in the arts of mars. When I came across it, I was like “Not only does this not work, it’s also too fkn clean.”

Don’t worry, if you do bother to read through it you won’t be coming across some Cormac McCarthy level violence.

I wrote this in like, 2004. At that point only the original trilogy had been released. I haven’t even read Clariel, or Goldenhand. I really should get on it, I’m sure it’s fucken dope.

Also I’m well aware that even in a fantasy setting some of this shit would never happen. Where I’ve made the biggest changes I’ve tried to keep to the spirit, if not the letter of the original.

Not all fanfiction is garbage. Don’t get me wrong, this totally is, but you should read The Last Ringbearer.

This will be a long post.

Enjoy

- - - - - - - - - - -

Deserter - 1 - Night Moves

The driving snow made visibility next to zero on the Ancelstierre side of the wall, and for once, the same could be said for the Old Kingdom side. This close to the wall and Barhedrin hill, a traveller was unlikely to die of exposure, if they were to seek shelter immediately, but the poor visibility and blanketing snow would erase any tracks made, making chances of survival poor. Law wanted to find shelter now, but that was not the mission.

<One. Meter. Spacing. Head North. Hurry Up.>

The visibility made his signals difficult to see; he hoped the squad got the message; if not, they'd get it when he sped up.

Lawrence reached the boulder at the position that the group had described for him as suitable shelter months ago; more of a windbreak really. He was well ahead of the group, but had to wait for the last of the dozen to enter the comparative calm of the lee side of the boulder before he could start erecting a shelter. Those that arrived first were skewering him with hateful glances as they set their tents up. The first one to finish, also the tallest approached him.

"Hey dick head," Law turned his head to look at him, "What the fuck is your problem?"

He obviously didn't like Law, and the rest seemed to share his sentiments. They'd probably crucify him if he knocked big stuff out.

"This is all fucked... But you do your job and I’ll do mine, chief." He replied.

“You’re on thin ice, fuckface.” Big stuff growled.

"Back off Smith." Their leader said, Law didn't even know his rank. All the men quietened down and the leader sat down next to a boulder. Having already erected a tent by himself, Law figured it was OK to sit with him.

"That was a tough slog, but they’ll be glad we’re a bit ahead of schedule." he said.

"Weather’s getting worse,” he said, taking out a cigar and a match, “They’re not stupid."

His match went out, and Law tossed him a lighter. Smoking in the field was... Not his problem.

"Use mine." The leader tried to light it.

"Gee whiz. It's not working." he tossed it back.

-

The storm had passed two hours before dawn, which meant that they had trudged through it for an hour or so. Law had discarded his NVG's which were faulty, and he had also discarded all his faith in the organisation of this operation. By the time they saw the sun, they were well past Barhedrin Hill, having passed under the cover of cloud and night. The weather seemed to be clearing, and soon he would be able to leave; the next ridge was where he got off this train. Unlike the night before, they all arrived together. They all gathered, got their bearings and left. They were dicks, and amateurish, but good luck to them. He held up a peace sign as they moved past him, slow and quiet.

Orders were to stay put for half an hour then leave, but along with the orders to carry no watches, he figured it was time to leave. He was in a pristine, snowy landscape, and immediately regretted not having brought skis along, this hill was the tallest one for miles. He could see a village on the other side of a valley from here, and a small wood well south of the village. Skiing from here would have been a blast. He began his quiet march back, alone. As he moved along, he spotted a funny looking rock at the foot of the hill. He bent down to inspect it and found that he had led the group in a circle. They were the night vision goggles that he had discarded well before dawn. He frowned; they had all ended up in the right place, so... what? The only conclusion he could come to was that the mission they were on was hopelessly organised. 

He continued along, and almost missed the ski tracks following their trail. When he noticed them, he drew his silenced .45 pistol. He inspected them, and saw that they were going in the same direction that they had been walking. He had a general idea where the tracks would lead; over the tall hill. He scaled it from a different angle, it took almost no time at all. He lay prone in the snow and crawled to a small snow drift; when he arrived he saw there was a log underneath. Propped up by the edge of the log, he watched the place where he and the group had separated, he doubted that the skier would have passed there already. He was rewarded when he saw a figure in white, with skis strapped to his back pick his way past the rocks before the insertion point. He watched the figure kneel in the snow; inspecting all the footprints, but was surprised to see the figure follow his tracks instead of the groups.

-

"Drop you're weapons." Law ordered, with his .45 pointed squarely at the man's back as he skulked by on the rocky ground. The man dropped his skis and ski poles. He turned, the wide, predatory smile across his face twisted Law’s guts into knots.

“Law.” He said, and drew his sword.

"Who are you?" Law asked, looking down the sight of his weapon.

"An assassin. Sent to kill you." he replied, and advanced slowly.

Law pulled the trigger. Dead man’s click.

Somehow the assassin smiled wider and quickened his pace.

-

Lawrence cleaned his bayonet on the snow and examined the sword. It was nice, high quality steel. Razor sharp, but not wielded by an expert.

-

As the assassin had charged him, Law had thrown his gun at his face, but the assassin had expected that, and had battered the flying gun aside. Law drew his bayonet, and stepped aside across a tree as the assassin had tried to run him through. The assassin faced him, sword at the guard position. His bayonet was of the type that the perimeter garrison used; extra long, 60cm. He was a good knife fighter, maybe he stood a chance. The assassin advanced, with more restraint. He swung his sword one handed, and Law parried it as best he could. The assassin punched him in the jaw, and Law slipped on the ice, landing hard on his shoulders. The assassin laughed maniacally as he brought the sword into a high guard and swung it down towards him. Law rolled to the side, and the sword sent a spray of snow across him. The sword was stuck in a root, and the assassin was grunting with exertion, trying to pull it out. Law rolled up on his back and sent both his legs at the attacker. One of his boots crashed into his face, and the other into the hilt of the sword, breaking his hands and knocking him to the ground.

He stood up and closed in on the assassin, as the assassin tried to stand.

“Why?” He growled, bringing his shin into the assassin’s ribs, breaking at least three.

“Fuck you!” The assassin yelled. Law pounced on his back, grabbed his head with both hands and started smashing it into the hard icy ground. Then he put his forearm across the assassin’s face and pulled his hands in a gable grip with his considerable strength. He felt the assassin’s nose and front teeth break under the pressure. The assassin gargled in pain and struggled for a weapon, some snow, anything. Law bore down on him and their combined weight landed on the assassin’s face. He put his forearm on the attackers face again, and pulled, with pressure on his eye socket this time.

"They're gonna kill the Abhorsen!" he cried out. Law released the pressure, only to punch him in the liver.

"Who?"

"The twelve guys you guided in here!" The assassin was a sorry sight, battered face, bleeding mouth.

"Why?"

"Corolini! The Corvere insurrection!”

Because of a revenge plot.

Law pulled the assassin’s head back and cut his throat, blood sprayed across the scene of their fight.

He had met the Abhorsen once. He was one of the few in Corvere that weren't loyal to or paid by Corolini during the Corvere insurrection. He had been ordered to join Corolini’s guard, drawn from the ranks of Ancelstierre's special forces. He despised Corolinis rhetoric, policy and person, and had put a bullet in his head at the first opportunity. When the fighting was over, it turned out that he had chosen the side of righteousness; some bad motherfucker Warlord, Orannis, in the North had been siding with Corolini, and had been routed. The Prime Minister of Ancelstierre had pinned a medal on his chest, and so had the Abhorsen. The assassin had said that the plan was to kill her’ someone was out to get even.

"They should have given you a crossbow, friend." He said, as he left the assassin in the snow. The objective was the Abhorsen, and he couldn't really see how it would be achieved. The plan until now however, had made perfect sense. They had equipped him well south of the wall, and taken him to the wall by horse and cart, to 'blend in with the locals.' They had shown him maps of the 'planned route', but never pictures, or first hand reconnaissance to ensure he didn't find out some of the stories he'd been told of this place were true. They had gone on the snowiest day possible so any tracks they made would be wiped clean, so they had needed him to get as far as they had. From there, Law figured that the plan was to lure the Abhorsen and her apprentice into some kind of trap, but they could well be after the entire royal family. He had to assume the worst. He picked up the trail again. He was in a very interesting position; he could stop this plot in it's tracks. Ancelstierre would think he was dead, and so would the twelve. As long as he remained hidden, he would have the power to intervene.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Deserter - 2 - Catching up

Night Vision Goggles. Zippo Lighter. .45 caliber silenced HK. Compass. 7.62mm SLR. Headlamp. With all that gone, Law would travel lighter. That was the bright side. The assassin had only carried a set of 6 throwing knives and the sword for Law, and he only had his clothes, his bayonet, a garrote and a little folding knife in addition to that. He hadn’t packed heavy; two days worth of water, food and a tent. He was meant to be home by now. He didn't know the terrain, but he was an expert in fieldcraft and field survival. With all this snow around, he wouldn't die of thirst, but finding food would still be work.

He soon found that he wouldn't have time to die of starvation; the group had left all the useless gear close to where they had split up. No food, but they were close. From there, they had set a casual pace. He caught up within a day, and observed them. They were in their army khakis now, but carried swords and shields instead of guns and grenades. They all wore assorted armour, which explained their glacial pace to him. They had to carry all that crap, their field gear and rifle, and several magazines. Armed as they were, Law thought he could rush in there and take five or six before they even knew he was there, and two or three more before they could do anything about it. Leaving up to five for later, if he survived. He would have done it, if they weren't in direct line of sight to a village or something; only nine... cottages... Apart from the lack of modern weaponry, they looked like they were on patrol in the normal world. Law figured out this next part of the plan; they were going to pretend to be deserters (which they really were), but blood all over their clothes would make their reasons for deserting seem kind of weak. He'd have to continue watching. They entered the village, and Law went around it; they didn't emerge, he'd have to camp here for the night.

They finally left three days later, but moved with the same non-military pace. They were here to spread a story, moving on to whatever else was next on their plan. Law decided to go into the town and find out exactly what that story was. He pulled off his balaclava, revealing his face. He had jet black hair, and hadn't shaved for days. He drew his bayonet to shave off his stubble. He had skin a few shades darker than olive, and having just taken off a balaclava he'd been wearing on and off for five days or so, his shaven head was a prickly stubble. It still looked neat, at least. In this snowy hell hole, he doubted that there was anyone else as dark as him, so he'd have to stick to their story of desertion. He went around the village again. He'd come in from the Ancelstierre side.

"Excuse me ma'am," A tall, dark and handsome Ancelsterrian Tamith had been watching for a minute or so approached her, " I'm looking for some friends of mine, they said they'd be coming through this way. Have you seen them?"

"I don't know. Why don't you describe them?" she replied.

"There were a dozen or so of them, Ancelsterrian clothes, and... uh...local weapons." the stranger replied, he didn't seem fazed.

"They're deserters, are you?" That reply seemed to get past his guard.

"Yes. I am." He replied after a moment. Tamith had promised them not to help anyone trying to bring them home; they had some pretty solid reasons for deserting, and this fellow started alarm bells ringing with his manner.

"Sorry they didn’t tell me anything. Why did you desert?" She couldn't be sure about this man, but she decided to give him a chance.

"Military life... Orders. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there, but I’ve had to do things I’m not proud of." In her opinion, that was the wrong answer, but that was exactly what one of the soldiers said.

"What were their names?" She finally asked.

Lawrence had picked twelve random famous people from Ancelstierre as their names. She had said "No they weren't", to which he'd replied “They might have lied to you; knowing them and knowing me is a risk to us. Please, forget this entire conversation.” Then she had told him everything they had told her. They had been looking for jobs, and she had suggested joining the guard at Roble's town. They were hiring pretty easily, there was some trouble in the North, and anyone with some experience in the armed forces would be recruited in a heartbeat. He thanked her and moved on. The way he figured, they would practice their act at every major and minor settlement between here and Roble's town. He could move ahead, she had told him the way. If he was lucky, he would arrive days, possibly even a week or two ahead of them.

Law sighted them the next day; they were moving with good security. Slow and quiet. They weren’t the amateurs they acted like on the first night. No opportunity to eliminate any of them presented itself that day, so he passed them. It took him six days to get to Roble's town at his pace, at least twice as fast as the others. There were two small towns and a village that was even smaller than the first one on the way. He ended up reaching Roble's town over two and a half weeks ahead of the others. Like the young woman had said, they had accepted him readily, and put him in the infantry under his new name Tony; his hand to hand combat skills were better than anything they had ever seen, he was told. With his equipment and skills however, they could only assume he was a deserter. He made no friends among his new colleagues, he seemed beneath their contempt, and he really couldn't blame them could he? His plan was to stay out of their sight and kill the other Ancelsterrians as they slept. Then he could slip out and go home; no one need know that he had foiled an assassination plot. Unfortunately, the recruiting centre in Roble's town was flooded with people wanting to do their part for their country, and he was transported to Qyrre. From there, he would be taken to Sindle via boat and horses.

Qyrre was next to the Ratterlin; the main river in the 'Old Kingdom'. He had never liked fishing back home, but with no friends and no reason to leave on his time off, Law decided it was a good opportunity to get out and do some recon. He hadn't caught anything all morning, and was preparing to leave the riverbank. Sword practice was in an hour,  and he was bored out of his mind anyway. He turned and found the others lined up behind him.

"Lawrence," one said, "Or is it Tony now?"

They were carrying the equipment he had been issued, but he was wearing his Ancelsterrian weapons. They threw his stuff on the grass in front of him.

"Put it all on." the one he figured was the leader said.

He put on all his armour and buckled on his sword.

"You don’t have to be traitors. We can all go home now." He said.

"It's over Lawrence." one said. Then he blacked out as someone clubbed him over the head.

Law was absolutely freezing when he fully came to his senses. He was tied up and lying on a gravelly riverbank, on the other side of the river, judging by the flow of water. The last five or so minutes had passed like a feverish nightmare as he had struggled to stay afloat with his hands were tied behind his back, and his feet tied together. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't drowned. He wriggled out of the water as best he could; his feet were going numb. The ropes weren't tied that well; he struggled against them until his wrists were bleeding. They were tied well enough. Next he looked around for a sharp rock or something; all his weapons were out of reach. He found a long cigar shaped rock, with a rough edge, like an old nail file. He used it to sandpaper at the ropes while looking around for something that he could use to escape faster. He finally spotted a rock that was partly buried; it had a long, sharp looking ridge running along the top. He managed to cut through his bonds in four minutes or so while sitting on it, and he made short work of the ropes around his legs with his folding knife once his hands were free. He then washed his wrists, but had nothing to bandage them with. He had no idea where he was, he could only be upstream.

Four hours later, he still hadn't sighted Qyrre, but he recognized the road on the other side of the river. He didn't doubt that his ferry to Sindle had already left, he was due to leave today, and had spent a good hour looking for a rock. The others must have taken the same ferry, and he was no longer ahead of them. His advantage had been lost; but they still thought he was dead.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Deserter - 3 - Horses

The ferry would have reached Sindle by now, and Law knew that on foot it would take him a very long time to catch up to his enemies. He decided that it was in the best interests of this heinous place that he steal a horse. He figured that as long as he walked along the river, he would find a farm or homestead that would have horses. He struck gold when he came across a low rock wall. He scouted around it and found it surrounded a homestead on a bit of a hill. He knew next to nothing about farming, but immediately recognized a stable between the barn and the homestead. There were two hours to go until dusk; Law decided to use that time to make this next development as bloodless and quiet as possible.

There were nine people living on this farm; an old couple, a willowy, redheaded woman and her younger sister, and a tall, muscly fellow. There were also four children, ranging in age from six to thirteen. He hoped none of them knew magic, like some of the soldiers he had met at Qyrre and Roble's town. The sky was dark, and the family appeared to be on the second floor of their two story home. He stalked up to the house, peeking into the dark windows until he found the kitchen. The windows weren't locked, or even latched. He managed to break in without breaking anything. He could hear the family was singing upstairs, then he realized that he was unlikely to find a tin of baked beans, or protein bars. With this in mind, he settled for a piece of cheese, a loaf of bread and a cured sausage. He also spotted a sharpening stone and a small satchel, which he filled with the food and sharpening stone. He left the way he came in, and left quietly. He could still hear the sounds of singing wafting down the stairs and into the kitchen. He moved quietly to the stables, and went around a large-ish vegetable patch. He unlatched the gate and closed it behind him, but he didn't latch it. He entered the stables and inspected all the horses. There were twelve in all, and lots of saddles; a lot more than twelve. He wasn't a horse guy, but part of his training for the previous three weeks involved learning to ride. He could mount, dismount and ride... sort of. He picked a horse he judged was robust enough and saddled it, then he strapped the satchel to it. He left to open the gate before going back in to take the horse.

"Don't move, or I will unleash a spell of great destruction." by the time the strong female voice who said that finished her sentence, Law had ducked behind a large sack of grain. Another door opened opposite him, and the muscly fellow was there, a bow in his hands and an arrow nocked. Law put his hands up and the woman (the younger of the two sisters) approached him; a belt in her hands. He put his hands behind his head. She stood behind him and gripped his wrist. As she brought it down he dragged her arm and put his arm around her neck. He drew his bayonet and pressed it's blade into the small of her back, while turning to face the muscly fellow.

"Drop it." He ordered. The man slowly lessened the tension in the string and put the arrow into a quiver on his back. He was about to drop his bow when a scream from the direction of the homestead saw him disappear almost before Law even noticed.

"Let me help!" The mage woman said. He released her and moved towards the horses. Then turned. Maybe they'd consider the horse a just reward if he helped them; he really needed to keep the locals onside.

The vegetable garden had a wooden fence around it; there was a tall figure trying to scale it, and two more behind him throttling each other. They were dead; he knew this because he could smell them, and because the one trying to climb the fence had five arrows through his head. It seemed under control; the arrows didn't seem to damage it much alone, but with each one, it slowed down, and became even more discoordinated. Law decided to handle the winner out of the two that were throttling each other. He drew his sword and watched. One's neck snapped; the winner snarled triumphantly as it's adversary's body went lifeless and head hung limp. Law vaulted the wooden fence.

Both dead things came right for him; lurching and stiff, but quick nevertheless. The one with arrows in it's head seemed stronger, so Law went for it first. He hacked at it, cutting it's left arm off at the elbow. He followed his hack through with a kick that snapped the thing's right shin. The thing didn't seem to care about either arm or leg; it still advanced and battered at him with the better arm. Law charged into it with his shoulder and punched it in the face with the guard of his sword, but a vice like grip on his shoulder prevented a second attack. He took the arm, dropped to his knees and smashed the second thing into one of the wooden posts supporting the fence. Hard. He heard several bones, possibly even it's spine snap. He rolled to his left and got to his feet, facing the first with his sword held underhand. He crouched, ready to spring, and a gout of flame tore through it's body. It burned with intense, orange flames that left him momentarily flashblind, then fell to the ground, finally lifeless. The second was weak, but still alive. It stood and lurched towards him. He scuttled back, giving the mage time and space to burn this one too.

"Help him!" one of the children squeaked from behind the fence. Some of the children echoed this brilliant idea.

"Fuck him," the mage woman he had taken hostage said, "We caught him stealing Carris. Fight, thief."

They wanted a show. He kicked it in the knee, which snapped. He grabbed the blade of his sword with the left, and smashed it in the face with his sword guard. It fell, it didn't die. It got up again, then he saw the one it had throttled get up too.

This seemed to silence the children. Law drew his sword again; the one he had thrown into the wooden post seemed weaker, so he threw his sword at the one it had throttled. It went right through it's chest, right to the hilt, and the sword emerged out the other side with a shower of sparks. He hadn't expected that, but he recovered well. He ran at it and charged it with his shoulder, then tore his sword out of it's body, ripping it in half. It didn't move anymore; it was dead, and so was he once he took care of the last one. There was no hellfire; the show must go on. He sheathed his sword and drew his bayonet and garrote. The last one lurched towards him, and he didn't move. It was finally in grabbing distance, and it growled as it reached for his throat with it's rotting hands. He took its wrist and dragged it down, looping the tough cable of his garrote around it's neck. He then got behind it and drove his bayonet into the small of it's back before pulling it back to its feet. A gout of cool blood splashed across his hand. They were strong, but slow, uncoordinated and dumb. Therefore, this one was now harmless. He wheeled with it, turning it towards the family, and started moving away from them. There was a low stone wall to his right, about seven metres behind him and twelve metres from the family. The mage woman started building up her hellfire thing again; it looked pretty ominous to him. This living corpse would burn with him.

He pulled his bayonet out of the zombie at the wall, and wiped it relatively clean on it's filthy rags. He sheathed it and let go of one of the garrote handles, then he vaulted over the wall, rolling on the other side. He then followed along it in the direction of the stables. The mage woman finally released her hellfire when he was well away from the zombie, he saw it illuminate a small part of the countryside, it cast sharp shadows all over the property. Not of him though, he was already in the stable, wishing for his SLR.

"Where the hell is he?" someone yelled. A little later, he heard a clatter; an arrow shaft bouncing through a tree.

"Not there fuckers." he said bitterly. He needed that horse, he could have left them to deal with the things. He wasn’t winning any hearts and minds in this country, and this country would never win his now. He found Carris and mounted.

-

Being a stranger to these parts, Law decided to stick to the main roads, and turned his cloak inside out to help alter his appearance. The goal now was to get to Navis; the others would be posted South West of there, and the fastest way now was by boat. He just hoped the local authorities weren't onto him yet, but he would probably need their help later on. Mounted, it only took him four days steady riding to reach Callibe, a small settlement by southern standards, but apparently a large port city in this country. Right. Law skirted around the city searched for a dock, but despite it's proximity to water (only a hundred metres or so), and it's reputation as a seaport, there was nothing, save for a small jetty and a half built sea wall shielding part of the beach from the waves rolling in from the open sea. Law turned and walked a well worn path to the city centre, he tied Carris to a post outside a tavern. Then he asked the first person he met for directions. He got nothing but strange looks from everyone he asked for directions to Callibe's shipyards.

Law was exceptionally confused as he walked down a dusty lane winding through the limestone houses that made up this part of the seaside town. He was now looking for a law enforcement officer of some description. He found a pair of men wearing knee high leather boots, blue clothes, black cloaks and red sashes that he decided fit the description pretty well.

"Excuse me officers," Law approached them with a large, friendly smile on his face, "could you direct me to the closest boat market, or dock?" They exchanged glances.

"Of course, friend," the older one replied, "That would be Callibe, this is Telephone, a Korrovian settlement."

"You're not from around here, are you?" The younger one enquired.

"Uh. No, I'm not. I need to get to Navis." Law rubbed his chin, in genuine worry.

"Why, friend?" the older one asked, his hand moving to his hilt. The law was already after him.

"I signed up with the royal guard, but my division left me behind at Qyrre. I need to catch up." Law's father had always told him, the less bullshit the better.

"Why didn't you wait for the next boat then, friend?" the younger one asked. Law noticed a mark on his forehead, also on the older one's forehead. Then, kind of slowly, he realized that all the people he had seen do the funky magic shit had that mark, except for the mage woman from the night before. But he probably hadn't noticed it in the dark.

"I kind of... don't remember the past few days... You know how it is after a few ales..." A lame excuse, he knew.

"Well, I'm sure we can help you remember." The older one said. Law put his hands behind his head and gave up without a fight.

The constables had thrown him in gaol, and for some reason, his 'accidental deserter' story hadn't held true; someone had found a body in Royal Guard uniform down river from Qyrre, so that case was closed. He was in here for theft. The constables had taken everything but his garrote in his left sleeve, and his folding knife, in his boot. They hadn't found either. They wouldn't do him much good in a fight though; he was shackled to a wall with his hands behind his back. The cell was made of soft limestone, which wouldn't hold anyone with a spoon or chair for very long, if it had been above ground. More of a dungeon with smokeless, burning lights. The cell held three other prisoners, shackled like he was. They had been in here for an hour or two more than he had. Civil negligence (an untidy, state run stable) and public drunkenness were their crimes. Those stables must have been pretty fucking untidy. Law had the distinct impression that he was the most hardened criminal in here. The other two prisoners weren't talking to him anymore; they were fiercely patriotic, and repentant for their crimes. The fact that he wasn't had procured intense glares from the both of them for the past hour. A guard entered the cell, followed by the woman from the night of the horse. Law skewered her with an intense, hateful, defiant look, but remained relaxed, shackled low to the wall as he was.

"The dark one, with the bright eyes." She said, the constable laughed heartily at that.

"You're free to go friend, she's not pressing charges." He unlocked the shackles.

"Thank you constable. Can I have my things back?" His wrists were bleeding again; he was hungry, uncomfortable and relatively pissed off.

"What things?" the constable laughed again, "They all belong to her now. She's not pressing charges, because you do too, for the next three months, for stealing her best horse."

-

"They're going to kill the Abhorsen." Law had been handcuffed and placed astride the horse he had stolen. The cuffs were surprisingly modern; essentially the same design used in Ancelstierre. Which was making unlocking them very easy.

"So you're not ignoring me anymore?" the woman, whose name was Tarryn, was on the horse he had judged was second best, and she was leading his.

"I'm not kidding." He replied.

"Sure, sure, I know," the dismissive sarcasm in her voice was so thick he could taste it, "So why did you really need a horse so badly?"

Law had known that he had little chance of escape from right outside the police station or whatever they were called in this country, so when no one had been looking he had loosened his garrote a little. He was now using the tough cable to pick the locks on the almost modern cuffs, so he didn't reply.

"You know, the only reason I'm not pressing charges is because the law says I can keep you on my farm for up to three months, so you can work you're debt off," she giggled, "And a big strong man like you, can work a lot I’m sure. You look like you have a lot of... Stamina." One more little twist...

“I’m flattered. Really, I’ve been in country for a long time,” he said, ”I can show you my stamina, anytime you want. But first I have a job to do."

"Oh, no no no, you're coming with me." She replied; she really was very pretty, but the rape slave undertones of their conversation had raised his hackles. She was a very scary woman, and he had a job to do. The lock turned easily; he kicked the horse's flanks. He closed the one meter gap in a second, then tackled her off the horse. They rolled along the ground, and when they finally came to a stop, Law had his knee on her chest and his garrote around her neck. Somehow, she had managed to keep a wrist between the cable and her throat.

"As far as I'm concerned," he stopped to catch his breath, "You can help me, or you can die."

She nodded, and he brought his fist crashing down onto her face.

- - - - - - -

Deserter - 4 - the Capital

Law hadn't been in the special forces for nothing; he had come to Ancelstierre at the age of twenty two, having already undergone training for compulsory national service in his home land, Diego. He hadn't found any kind of employment, so like any other young man with no direction in life he joined the army. He was fit, aggressive and intelligent, so he was soon a corporal. After a couple of combat deployments he had been accepted into the Ancelstierre Air Brigade, where he had been for the last six years. He had been behind enemy lines before, and he treated this the same, avoiding detection by anyone. It was considerably easier here. There was no war, and there were miles between civilization (as in households and villages) in some parts of the country. By the time he arrived in the capital, it was spring and some kind of festival was in full swing. He had spent two months or so making his way here, the long way. He had gone around, through, or over mountains, rivers or valleys, taking spectacular measures in order to totally avoid people. It hadn't been easy, but he had succeeded, in avoiding people and in arriving at the capital without being killed or enslaved. His stealth skills were as sharp as ever, having been honed through hunting and hiding. Despite having lived rough for the past couple of months, he was presentable, having shaven and trimmed his hair at a small stream which would eventually lead to the Ratterlin.

His plan was to find his way into the palace and talk to the Abhorsen. With a bit of luck, she would remember his face, or recognize something else about him. He had come into the city without even being searched, and had spent all day slowly making his way to the palace, through the celebrating citizens. For the people, this was a day of celebration, but naturally, this didn't quite extend to the city/royal guard. He had resolved to watch the shifts and their changes closely, but seized the opportunity to enter the palace when an altruistic guard rushed to help a young woman who dropped a basket of painted fruit. He took full advantage of the gap, but the novelty of painted fruit certainly wasn’t lost on him.

Law hadn't expected entering the palace grounds to be this easy; but he hadn't expected security around the palace proper to be so damned difficult either. He had skulked around the grounds for the past forty six hours. Everything was well guarded, or so open as to be public and useless, and he was getting desperate. He wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer at this rate. At the moment, he was stalking a pair of guards at a distance of five meters. It was now twilight, and the guards were possibly the most boring human beings on the planet. A half hour and not a word. Law heard a clatter, a small group of people running in armour coming from around the corner the pair were about to turn. Law quickly went off to the side of the path and ducked behind a small birdbath that would help break up his outline, if nothing else.

"Guard the park reservoir entrance!" one of the guards called to the pair he was stalking, they set off at a run. He waited until the dozen or so guards passed him, making good time, and then sprinted after his pair. The guards reached three caves in the side of a hill long before he did; he only arrived in time to see them sink into the shadow of the central one. There would be no sneaking past them, and he refused to kill a pair of honest men.

He circled around the hill, the problem outside seemed to have been resolved; Law could hear the sound of celebration again. He spotted a monument on the hill, being watched over by a pair of young oak trees. He made his way to the monument, quickly but quietly. No sense in moving slowly; a lone figure in Ancelsterrian camouflage and a worn ranger's cloak would stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of the palace park; it wasn't that dark yet.

"A monument to those who served and died in the Corvere insurrection." This one would read, he recognised the general shape of the bronze statue; a crossing point scout and a royal guardswoman supporting a wounded Korrovian refugee. A couple of his friend's names were on this one, and his name would be on a plaque on the side, along with about twenty others. He couldn't imagine himself saying 'I'm here to help, see? That's me!' He sighed and crawled as close as he could to the lip of the cave. He hoped the guards would show the same restraint he planned to in the following confrontation.

Law cancelled his plan. He couldn't see himself dropping in on the guards and subduing them without killing them or getting killed. It was ridiculous. It would be easier to garrote the poor guys, or bayonet them in the dark, which were both out of the question. Hearts and minds; he couldn’t imagine being listened to after killing loyal soldiers. He decided to wait for an opportunity to present itself. Or for the guards to fall asleep. In the cave, a door unlocked loudly.

"Still in here Maddock?" the guy who had entered the cave/exited something.

"Sir!" Maddock replied.

"Trouble's over. Just some damn fool who dropped some burning oil. You can leave now. You too Brie." He guessed that was Maddock laughing. It could have been the other guy. They all went through the door, talking about some travelling artists or something. The door closed behind them. No one was even breathing in that cave. Law hoped the door would be unlocked.

It wasn't. Law tried the knob, then lit a match because he couldn't even see the damn lock. He saw that like the cuffs, the lock was relatively modern. He picked it with a set of picks he had fashioned after selling Tarryn's horses, educating her on the evils of slavery and telling her to fuck off. He was surprised to see that this country had standardised the pin and tumbler locks used worldwide, which suited him just fine. On the other side of the door was a staircase, illuminated by torches every twenty steps or so. There were two torches, and a dark patch in the middle. He managed to avoid breaking his neck passing it. At the bottom of the steps there was a small dock, and a pair of iron rings, for tying up boats of some description. He couldn't see very far into the room, but he could see that the floor was actually water, and that the room stretched an indeterminate distance ahead of him, and to his left and right. Not the nation's drinking supply, so... What? He decided not to ponder the mystery and just grabbed a torch. The water was about waist deep; Law slid into it with barely a ripple, and walked so as to always be able to see the reservoir wall to his left. A minute or so later, he was in a corner. From here, he could see a fiery glow, off to his right. He doused his torch and crouched in the water, moving so as to press up against the wall. With his torch doused, Law saw another, further, fainter glow, across the reservoir.

The top of the passage he had chosen led to a grey stone wall. Obviously a secret passage. He pressed against the stone. Then he tapped around it, then he stared at it and blinked at it. Nothing. Possibly only open to people who could do the funky magic shit. He decided to try the other passage. He made his way down the one hundred and fifty odd steps and slipped into the water. He started making his way towards it when he heard steps echoing across the reservoir, down the passage he had chosen. He headed to the middle and found some columns, which he hid behind. Seven guards or so were riding a raft without even pushing or rowing, or something. Lucky bastards. They were headed towards the staircase he had just left, and had come from the passage he had been going to. As they passed, he moved into the wake of the raft. They reached the small dock and tied the raft to one of the iron rings. "Look, it's wet here," one of the guards said, "He's been here."

He had been detected somehow, which wasn't surprising. He climbed onto the dock after they all filed into the passage. He followed them up the stairs twenty steps or so behind, thinking of home all the way. Up ahead, he heard a door slide open. Stone on stone, the passage. He quickened his pace, but not enough for his combat boots to squelch. Then he realised that they didn't used to do that; these boots were relatively new and his previous pair had lasted him for years in the field... They were falling apart for some reason. He immediately put it down to the inexplicable shittiness of this fucking country. The guards were filing out of the staircase, he quickened his pace a bit more, wishing the squelch away. He was almost trapped again, and he was also almost detected as he squelched onto a fluffy red carpet. He had emerged in a very large room; a hall overlooking the entire city. The city was awash in firelight; presumably from the festival, hopefully not from that damned fool and his oil spill. The guards were still crossing the large hall, which didn't seem to be a banquet hall or anything. They weren't even halfway across. He decided to follow, feeling more than a little lost. He knew his new favourite trick wouldn't work for much longer; he was surprised it had worked a second time. He would at least follow them with more distance between them, now that he could see. A pair of guards broke off from the rest of the group and stationed themselves on either side of the entrance. Law gave up and crouched behind a sculpture of a man, a man with a funky bandolier and a big sword. The guards were out of the hall now, but more came in, protecting someone. Law shrank back behind the statue. He repositioned himself, and found that he could see and not be seen, past the statue under it's outstretched arm which was holding a scroll. The people that the guards were protecting were still too far to hear. It was a regal looking man of around fifty and a guardswoman, considerably younger than Law, and a lot younger than the old, regal guy. They looked agitated, at the moment, the old regal guy was rubbing his eyes with his palms, hard. He turned to the window.

"Which entrance." he asked, before clasping his hands behind his back and standing perfectly still.

"This one." replied the guardswoman. The old guy jumped as if stung.

"What?" he spluttered, "I want this person found... And killed if need be!"

"A full search was ordered when we first saw signs of an entrance, your majesty," the guardswoman said to the king, "This person is obviously a major threat, having some charter magic at least. I've called the best mages in the city and the whole barracks are searching." The king exhaled deeply.

"You've done well Tonin. Please, see to Sameth and Ellimere personally. And put your best at the Ambassador's door... And be careful." he added.

Law stood up and stepped out from behind the statue, hands held high.

"I'm alone," he said, "And I need to speak to the king."

- - - - - - -

Deserter - 7 - Help

"Why should we believe your story?" King Touchstone sat on a comfortable looking couch, while a guard or three stood behind him with pointy sticks and whatnot, ready to poke him really hard should he chew on his grapes too loudly. As such, he had decided to ignore the grapes.

"Apart from a body that would have been found or eaten by now," "Or raised as a hand," the king interjected and Law cleared his throat, "Your majesty, I have no evidence."

"We'll soon see if you're telling the truth." the king replied and clicked his fingers. A messenger boy entered the room and they whispered quietly for a moment. Law sat in an uncomfortable silence, feeling three separate glares boring three separate pairs of holes into his skull from three different directions. Five minutes or so passed, and the messenger boy returned with a wooden case. He handed it to the king and scuttled off. The king pulled a pair of rods from the wooden case, one black and one white. He motioned and chanted a bit, then looked right at Law.

"I'm going to ask you some questions you've already answered. Ok?" the king said, as if he had a choice.

"Yeah. Yeah, just fine." Law replied.

"Ok. What is your full name and your rank?" first question.

"My name is Lawrence James Thallim, Trooper, Ancelsterrian Air Brigade."

"Is the story you told true?" the King asked.

"Uh. More or less? I've been out there for months, but it’s correct to my recollection." Law replied, feeling slightly moronic. The guards weren't giggling or anything.

"Now I want you to lie to me." the king said.

"Uh... I fucking love this country. Everyone’s been so hospitable. Considering moving here even." His voice trailed off. The king seemed both pleased and pissed off.

"Sir, I don't feel any different..." Actually, he did. He felt dumb. And sleepy. He was crashing.

"Your face just turned green," The king pointed out, before waving the guards away, sending the case out with one of them. “This is a simple lie detection spell we often use in court. Simple but effective, and unfortunately, you are telling the truth.”

The king mused and leaned back on the couch. Law crossed his arms and looked him in the eye.

“This brings me to the question... What are we going to do with you?” Lawrence felt a surge of energy, of righteous indignation.

"These motherfuckers tried to kill me, sir. Twice. It's my fault they made it this far, and I want them dead. All of them. You can use me or you can let me go. But you'll know where to find me."

-

The King had approved of his sense of duty. More like revenge. He had sent runners out to find where the twelve were, he had also written a letter, which Law was to show to anyone who had anything he needed. Then he had sent him to the barracks with the guardswoman, Tonin. She seemed to loathe him well enough. They didn't talk all the way to the barracks; she had ignored him when he asked her name, and Law had picked the vibe up immediately. They finally reached the barracks, no celebrating folks here. All the guards glared at him, and a big guy walked up to him.

"How did you get in?" he asked, but he wasn't curious.

"I followed you all around 'till I got lucky. I haven't eaten in three days. Anyone have food?" he replied, and sat down on a bench near a large hearth. He was brought a bowl of hot beef stew, then directed to a wooden table off to his left. Tonin sat across him.

"Security has been slack, you know? With the festival and all." she finally spoke, and she didn't strike him as the confident, competent woman who had spoken to the king earlier. The guards were displeased with him, but they were probably angrier with themselves. Not his problem.

"You watch what you can and you put land-mines and traps everywhere else." he replied.

"We have no mines." The same big guy said, watching him closely with his hands clasped beneath his chin. Law shrugged. This guy wanted to eat him alive, he just wanted his damn meal.

-

The king had assigned four of his best guards to accompany Law, and he had also found the twelve deserters. Apparently, they had all recently been involved in a battle close to a settlement near the Nailway. Then their division had moved east. The guard who wouldn't leave him alone the night before turned out to be in the group; his name was Mathe. There was Tonin, and Dail, a younger, slimmer version of Tonin with dark brown hair. And there was Jardin, who claimed to be the best archer in the kingdom. Which was as far as the conversation went with them; they introduced themselves, and Jardin had been the only one who had offered anything further. None of them seemed to like him, none of them talked to him, about him or around him. Which suited him fine anyway; the only four people who had treated him like a human being with rights were the two constables in Phone and the king. And Tarryn, after he had broken her orbital bone and threatened to kill her. Like he expected Mathe to threaten him within the next twelve seconds or so.

"Where did you learn to move so quietly?" Dail or Tonin asked from behind him. Dail, she had a sweeter voice.

"I don't follow.” He responded.

"You got into the palace, within killing distance of the king, and no one heard or saw you." There was no admiration in her voice.

"Standard fieldcraft, I guess." He responded.

"That’s pretty fucking condescending." whoops, looks like he'd finally pissed Mathe off. Law shrugged.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Law got the feeling that Mathe wanted to snap him in two, so he turned and unslung his rucksack.

"Step up or shut up, you fucking lid." Law challenged Mathe; he didn't think that lid would be a common insult around here.

"All the guards on patrol are getting reduced pay for a month after what you did, Lawrence," Tonin said, "That's everyone, except for those on leave, or away, because you were in the grounds for three days."

"That sounds like your problem." he replied, and Mathe drew his sword. Law unbuckled his.

"Hand to hand combat. No weapons." Apart from his garrote and folding knife, Law was now totally unarmed. Mathe seemed to approve, he dropped his sword and got in a boxing stance. When Law didn't move at all, Mathe advanced slowly until they were toe to toe. Law didn't move, so Mathe swung. Law parried the fist down with his left and followed up with a short sharp hook with the same hand, and a driving elbow with his right arm. Then he gave a short sharp shove to Mathe’s face. He was bleeding from his broken nose; Law brought a round kick thudding down into Mathe’s thigh, before he closed the distance low, picking Mathe up by the hips and bringing him crashing down onto the ground, onto his neck and shoulders. While he was dazed, he dropped onto Mathe’s stomach with his knee, hard. Then grabbed Mathe’s lapels with his arms crossed. Mathe started to mumble, his skin and breath heating up with faint light.

“No!!” Tonin screamed; Law pulled his arms apart, pulling Mathe’s collar tight, then he drove his forehead into Mathe’s mouth and drove his knee harder into Mathe’s stomach. With a sigh, Mathe passed out.

Limping, face swollen, Mathe was now properly chastened, but now the others kept a larger distance from him. Before it got dark, Jardin shot some rabbits dinner. They camped under a rocky outcrop on a hill that was strangely out of place; it was in the middle of nowhere, a hill in the middle of a totally flat plain. Law ate with the group then moved away from the fire. He found himself on the exact opposite side of the hill. He heard Tonin and Dail coming.

"Don't you want to sleep near the fire?" Dail asked.

"It can be seen for miles, he replied, “That’s... Well it’s fucking dumb.”

She left right after that, but Tonin sat down.

"Why?" Tonin asked. Law opened his mouth to speak then paused.

"... I hadn’t stopped to think how you all might be different here. Where I’m from, back home, in the field if you can be seen..." he put his fingers in the shape of a pistol. He got the feeling that she didn't dislike him as much as she let on.

"Are you lonely back home?" she asked after an uncomfortable silence.

"No. I'm not." he replied. She leaned against him and put her hand between his legs.

"But you are lonely here." she whispered in his ear.

"Fuuuuuck.” he whispered. He turned to her and grabbed her head and lower back, firmly but gently, and kissed her passionately. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, it hadn’t taken much to seduce him.

He pulled her on top of him as they kissed passionately; he ran his hands along her, feeling her firm athletic body through her clothes and around her armour. She put her hands on his solid biceps and shoulders. He loosened her breeches, and began to pull them down, dying for a taste of her wetness.

She had a lot of bush, they hadn’t bathed in a couple of days but fuck, that was fine... He moved down to kiss her on the lips but she grabbed his wrist firmly, pushing against his face and yelled “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m going down... Don’t you guys...”

“Get the fuck off me!!” She yelled.

He got off her to sulk, and she was gone.

-

Tonin and Mathe were shunning the company of the rest of the group, probably because the rest of the group wasn't ignoring him for once. Dail and Jardin didn't seem to dislike him, which wasn't saying much.

"If I were to get lost, what would I do." he asked aloud, for the benefit of Jardin or Dail, who were talking about what passed for pop culture in these parts.

"Don't," they both replied almost simultaneously, "You got through the woods south of the capital, but the north is more dangerous. You'd need to know magic." Jardin continued. That was the answer Law had been hoping for. That, or directions to somewhere of significance.

"Can you teach me?" he asked.

"No, it would take years for you to know enough to survive." Dail replied, which signalled the end of the conversation. At nightfall, they came across a small village, Wais. As they walked by, the villagers peered out of their cottage windows, some occasionally saluting or waving. At his companions, not him. The looks he was getting made him feel like garroting someone. Dail rapped her knuckles against his arm.

"To them, you are unusual Ok? They've probably never seen someone from across the wall this far north."

"Thanks." he replied; he hadn't realised he had made his displeasure so evident. Tonin left the group for a minute; Law saw that she had spotted the village leader. She conversed with her, a grey old woman being supported by a lean young man of twenty or so. She returned with information, which she shared with the group, taking care to exclude Law.

"Apparently, a division of soldiers have passed through Wais, and among them were a dozen or so foreigners. They were dressed identically to the others, but were easily distinguished by their uncivilized, vulgar ways..." She told the group. Law thought about asking for some clarification on that, but decided it would be a pointless exercise. On the subject of pointless exercises, his mind drifted, speculating on their whole plan; he had already tracked them down and he still couldn't figure out their plan.

"... and finally, they should be camped in one of the two fields along the North of this road, at most, two miles North of this town here."

- - - - - - -

Deserter - 6 - the Battle

The rhythmic thumping of hooves ahead warned them of an approaching rider. Jardin nocked an arrow and took position behind a tree, Law unsheathed his bayonet. A rider emerged from around bend in the path, wearing kingdom colours. He saw Tonin, Dail and Mathe and started yelling.

"Not that way! The dead are attacking! I'm getting the Abhorsen!" he called to them as he passed. The dead; those three things on the dark farm. There would be hundreds of them, and the twelve would be pretty busy. Surely, he could take three or four of them in the confusion, but only if they got a move on. Jardin decided to lead, and they managed to reach the encampment five minutes later. By the time they did, the battle was well and truly over, a victory to the dead, apparently. The few guards who were still alive were fighting ferociously, in the centre of a clearing with hundreds of charred corpses strewn around.

"... Fuck." Jardin whispered, and signalled for the group to stop on the tree line. Law sheathed his bayonet, and drew his sword, which had been provided by his majesty. Jardin put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"What are we waiting for, we have to help dammit!" he whispered to Jardin.

"Look closer, Law." he replied. Law looked. The twelve were in the centre of the clearing, hacking at the dead, fighting alongside other guards... who were in pretty bad shape. He didn't get it. He said so.

"That one there has a broken neck. That one has his throat torn out." Jardin pointed at two guards, and as Law looked, he saw that the twelve deserters were the only guards who were actually alive, and fighting.

"The dead are fighting each other?" Law said.

"It doesn’t make a lot of sense, my explanation is that with the Royal Palace garrison only accepting the very best soldiers..." Jardin began, slowly backing up, "If twelve soldiers survive an... onslaught this huge, they would be, well, they could walk right in."

"I thought of that," Law continued, "Twelve guards in the right place at the right time can kill the entire royal family and escape. But that’s a lot of work and not great odds." Jardin nodded. They both retreated.

-

"I can't let you go by yourself." Tonin stated, while checking the edge on her sword for something like the twelfth time.

"What do you mean ‘let’ me." Law replied.

"How many necromancers do you think can control enough dead to defeat two hundred charter mage guards this easily?" she said.

"I don't know." He knew she had a point.

"After Sabriel and Lirael stared cleaning the kingdom up, none. There's more than one controlling that lot, and together,they are very dangerous." That answer didn't help Law very much.

"The Abhorsen is coming, with Thirty six guards!" Jardin interrupted them then. stalked off. He signaled for Law to follow. He stopped at a small hillock well back from the clearing. Thirty six guards were standing at attention, in the dark, and a caped figure that he almost recognized was standing amongst them.

"Tonin!" she recognised Tonin immediately. They embraced warmly, she then shook hands with Jardin.

"Which one of you is our Ancelsterrian?" she asked.

"I am," Law stepped forward, "Lawrence Thallim, Ancelsterrian Air Brigade ma'am."

"Right. I've heard quite a bit about you, and this plot you've uncovered. I need your help.”

-

The going was slow over the corpses of fallen soldiers, and other, dismembered corpses that could have been months old. He had crawled over fifty metres, and still had over three hundred to go before he was within striking distance of the deserters, who had built a fire in the centre of the clearing. They were sprawled around it, and one thing they weren't faking at the moment was exhaustion. He stopped moving when he heard paces over the trodden grass, ahead of him. One of them was moving away from the fire to take a leak or something. He hoped that he had the decency not to do it over a dead body; especially not his, very much alive, body. If he went out past the trees, the Abhorsen's guards would handle it, or Jardin would. He passed Law, and started speaking to a dead body.

"I always liked your ring, Fallon, thanks a lot." He recognised that voice; back in Ancelstierre, he would always carry a pack of cigarettes under his left sleeve, and blow smoke in Law's face, because Law didn't smoke. He was looting! Law stood up slowly, garrote loose and ready. Cigarette guy spat something out and searched another body. Law moved slowly so he wouldn't alert him, and finally reached him when he was still deep in a dead man's pockets. Law planted his boot against smoker’s bent knee, and wrapped his arms around his neck and head in a strangle. He squeezed, bringing his elbows together and did his best to tear smoker’s head off. The traitor wheezed and mewled desperately, but was unconscious before he could really begin to resist. Law lowered the body quietly, then bound his wrists and angles together tightly. If this wasn’t over in the next ten minutes or so, smoker would have permanent nerve damage. Law started crawling again. It took him almost half an hour to cover the three hundred metres to the ring of firelight; the deserters had been busy clearing a circle free of bodies, but they hadn't really done a very good job. He was safe here, and he could hear their conversation. None. Maybe they were too tired for talk. He could see his next target; he was sitting on a log on the other side of the ring of firelight. He began his crawl.

"Where's Trent?" one of them asked.

"Probably still looting." another replied. They all looked in the same general direction, and Law took the opportunity to put his bayonet into his target’s neck and pull him off the log. He pushed him against the log and moved back out of the ring of firelight. They turned.

"Phil's gone!" one cried, "Phil! Where the fuck are you?" They were in a panic, but decided to get ready to move. They lined up and filed out of the field, leaving the fire burning. Law got up and followed, on foot now. He stooped while walking to pick up a dead man's sword, and slowly caught up to them. When the last one was in arm's reach, he hacked wildly, at the neck region, then hurled the sword at the second last one's back. The first man died quickly, but the second was only battered by the hilt of a flying sword.

"Someone's here!" he shouted.

Seven globes of light appeared around the tree line of the clearing, and they slowly rose in the air, illuminating the area. Everyone dropped to the ground, save Law and three of the deserters, who started running. Each fell when they were feathered with arrows. Law decided to drop too, just in case. Thirty soldiers emerged from the tree line and they were not pleased. A lot of their friends had been killed on this night. One of the deserters decided to run, after all. Law grasped a sword and gave chase, he drove the sword into the thigh of one of the other deserters as he ran. The one who had decided to run was running in a random pattern, to avoid arrows. He was close to the tree line, but Law was the faster runner, and hadn't spent hours hacking and moving dead bodies that day. Law reached the trees soon after him, but lost him. He couldn't see any tracks or anything in the dark, but was saved when a massive ball of light hovered past the tree line. He could see the tracks now, but the light was low to the ground. It was so bright it was disorienting. It was white light, but was so intense everything seemed to be in black and white. Law sped up a little, soon he was running. He couldn't see any shadow, and missed the pike staff poking out of a tree to trip him. It almost had the desired effect. He dived instead, and slid for a moment, drawing his bayonet as he regained his feet. He turned to face his assailant. He could remember the face, but nothing about the man.

"Lawrence," the man acknowledged him, “You fucking cockroach, you are unkillable.”

Law didn’t respond, he evaluated the situation instead. Time was on his side, after all. But the range wasn’t. The traitor advanced slowly, Law retreated slowly. The traitor thrust with a lunge, and law retreated back and to the left, swatting the end of the pike away with his bayonet. He had lunged but not overcommited. Fuck. The traitor took a half step, then lunged. The head of his pike held low, he brought it up, trying to punch it through Law’s chest. Law scooped it aside with his empty hand, and desperately closed distance. He was too close for the pike to be useful now, so the traitor let it go and began to grapple instead. But Law had charged right into him with a lot of momentum, and they fell to the hard ground, Law landing across the traitor’s chest with his body. He bore his weight down on the traitor’s chest and neck, and the traitor desperately struggled to grip his arm, to shake him off, clawing at his face, pulling at his clothes. Law scrunched up his face and closed his eyes, he dropped the bayonet and reached for his clearing knife at his chest, he pulled it out and brought the blade to the traitor’s chest. He dropped his weight on the knife, and it sliced through his gambeson, stopping on a ring of chainmail. He dropped his weight on the knife again and again and again, until the ring split and his knife plunged into the traitor’s chest. The traitor gurgled, and sprayed blood on Law’s face.

Law stood up, wiped his knife on the traitor and spit on him, before retrieving his bayonet and leaving the woods.

Tonin and some guards had arrived, and had seen the end of the fight. And had seen the look of naked rage on his blood spattered face.

- - - - - - -

Deserter - 8 - Homesick

Law was sitting on a rock, facing south and longing for home. One of the female guards from the Abhorsen's force was sitting next to him. She was a tall, blonde, slim woman, around seven years his junior. Her name was Elina and she wouldn't leave him alone. Lucky for him though, she was the quiet type, like him.

"You are an excellent killer." she finally said, after a half hour of emulating Law's south facing silence.

"I beg your pardon?" He replied.

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked. She already was, so Law turned. It was the Abhorsen. He gestured towards the rock.

"You captured one of the assassins without being heard or seen or even hurting him. Then you killed another while he had a pike and you had a bayonet. That is impressive.” She said.

The silence stretched out between them.

“I’m a good soldier ma’am. A career soldier.” He finally said.

"We knew about you before you talked to the king you know; the Clayr saw you." she said.

“Tell you what, it sure was helpful of the Clayr to lend a hand whenever I needed one over the last couple of months.” Bitter sarcasm for royalty. He wasn’t in great form.

"I take it Elina hasn't explained the Clayr's primary occupation yet." Sabriel said.

"We see into the future." Elina finally said; a musical voice belonging to a person who wasn't where she wanted to be.

"Really? Neat. Have you talked to the guy I caught yet?" Law said. His temper was short; no longer had a reason to be here, and he hated it here.

"He's very difficult, milady." Elina said.

Law glared at her, then stood. Fists clenching and unclenching.

"We need your help," Sabriel said to Law, "You do things differently, you can get things done that a charter mage can't, and we need to finish with the conspirators once and for all." Law thought for a minute.

"I’ve done enough already. Take me home." He replied after a minute or so of mental deliberation.

"They were all right about you," Elina said, "You are boorish, and vulgar." Law didn't reply; didn't move. The Abhorsen was watching both of them like a hawk. Finally, Elina got up and strode away angrily. Law still didn't move. A moment later, he was in the dust, he had a mouthful of leaves and Elina was on his back, yelling in his ear.

"I saw you in the palace, I saw us together in the future and I begged to be allowed to meet you! I can't believe I wasted my time!" she yelled, hurting his right ear. Law was pissed off now. He brought his hands and legs underneath himself and rolled underneath her. She seemed a little surprised and leaned back. He scissored his legs around her arm and her neck, and began to apply pressure.

Then she immobilised him with the magical equivalent of a stun gun. Multiplied ten times. He came to his senses an undetermined amount of time later, being restrained by four guards. Elina was sitting on the rock, looking worried, and the Abhorsen was next to her, looking amused. He was covered in cold sweat, and felt dreadfully tired.

He threw up and passed out again.

-

He came to in a crappy little bed, made of straw. He was in a messy little room, which looked like it had been a shed a few hours ago. He assumed that he was in Wais, the town that he had passed through a few nights ago. Light was streaming in from a window above his head, and Elina was watching him from a chair in the corner. All his things were in front of her, including his clothes. He was naked under the sheets.

"Can I have my clothes?" he croaked; his stomach was cramped, and his side was numb, where Elina had applied her magical stun gun.

"So, you're awake." he had startled her. She stood up and unfolded a bathrobe that had been in her lap, and tossed it to him.

"We need to talk." She said, and sat back down. Law eyed his garrote on the table, next to his bayonet, folding knife and clearing knife. He looked back at her.

"You threw up all over yourself. You carry a lot of weapons.” She said.

“I want them back. Am I free to go?” He said.

"Go on then." Elina said, but didn't move from the chair. He stood up and started putting on his clothes.

"Before you go, we do need your help. We can give you a lot. We can be... Very persuasive." She said, in a rather bored monotone.

“Money is persuasive.” He responded.

"That has already been arranged. Your payment will be a very fine sword, fine boots, a fine cloak, clothes from the best tailors and one hundred and fifty silver deniers." She said. One hundred and fifty silver deniers. There was no Old Kingdom currency exchange, and the price of the silver melted down would barely pay for a street tough with a gun in an impoverished country.

He stopped and stood, clenching and unclenching his fists, seething with anger.

Finally he began to speak. Slow and controlled, but far from calm.

“That is not nearly enough money to pay for someone of my training and experience, let alone for a mission of this complexity,” his anger began to subside but he continued with this tone, “I have not been home in months, my chain of command does not know my whereabouts, and when I return I will be charged with desertion. You need to do better.”

He finished with his boots and walked to the table.

“Do you know what they do to Deserters?” He put his bayonet in it's sheath and put his garrote in his sleeve, as usual. Elina shook her head no.

"My sword." he said.

"It belongs to the kingdom." She replied. He scoffed and looked for the doorknob. He opened the door, and she made no move to stop him.

"What do they do?" She asked, disinterested.

He put his hand up in the shape of a pistol, and he left. He had been in a shed, on the outskirts of town. A guard moved from behind a tree, he looked like he had been taking a leak.

"Hey, you, wait!" he called. Law stopped, and the guard approached him.

"Have you come to an agreement?" he asked.

"Yeah, I go home now." he replied. The guard eyeballed him suspiciously.

"Give me your sword." Law said. The guard grasped the hilt of his sword, but didn't hand it over. Law started to turn, and gave him a vicious right hook to the jaw. The guard dropped, and Law took his sword.

“Sorry chief. Take it up the chain.” He said, as he buckled it on.

"Wait!" Elina called from somewhere behind him.

He walked off without a word; he heard running behind him, and prepared to get tackled again; last time he'd been surprised, but he'd always had a trick or two up his sleeve...

"Please, just hear me out!" Elina said, as she caught up with him. He stopped.

"We need you to assassinate someone for us," she said, "Please, no one else will be able to get into the place you need to go!" He looked at her skeptically.

"You have no idea how lucky I was that night. I've never been that lucky, ever." he replied.

"If you help us they won’t shoot you; we can secure diplomatic immunity for you."

- - - - - - -

Deserter - 9 - Keenan

The last news he heard on the matter before leaving on his mission was that Ancelstierre was already aware of his being alive, they had been for a long time, and they weren't very pleased. As for his mission, it involved finding a certain Keenan, a barbarian necromancer, and killing him. No one had listened when he had said that he wasn't the man for the job, that he had entered the palace out of sheer luck. Wherever Keenan was, he was well protected. He imagined how much easier this job would be with a scoped rifle. Hell, he would settle for his SLR and its iron sights. They had given him a sword, boots and a cloak instead. Serviceable, but not the best quality. They had given him a mail shirt, and he also had a little purse full of silver pieces. Then they had driven him to a hill and told him to make his own way to a fortress a mile to the east. There was a tall hill around halfway there; Law had been the section scout; from that hill, he would have been able to put a few rounds in Keenan’s direction quite precisely. He would have had a hard time getting away clear if what he had was a rifle, but up close with a sword, this mission was a suicide mission. He couldn't really think of a good reason to carry it out, but he started walking anyway. Law realized that for the first time in a long time, he was actually afraid; he wasn't sure if he should be happy or not. The truth was that this little trip into the Old Kingdom had changed his life; whether or not he lived, whether or not he returned home, he would have to kiss certain parts of his life goodbye. His career in the military, his pension... He sighed wistfully, and concentrated on his job. One problem at a time.

There were tracks in the dirt; deep imprints of hobnailed boots. An armed patrol. He stopped imagining what his first meal when he arrived home would be, and forced himself to focus again. He was around a kilometer from the fortress, assuming that Old Kingdom miles were the same as miles everywhere else, and assuming that his conversions were accurate. He followed the tracks quickly and quietly, being careful to stick to the frozen areas so as not to leave footprints. They led directly to a track, which curved gently from his left to his right when he arrived. Law crossed the track and crouched behind a shrub on the other side. He waited a few minutes to make a decision about which way to go; no guards came for him to follow, so he just went to his left. He kept his eyes opened, and moved parallel to the track; he didn't dare go through the woods, there were probably bear traps or something in there. He spotted a guard tower around the bend and went deeper into the woods. There were lots of twigs and pine cones and stuff on the ground, but the wind rustling through the trees masked his sound. He could actually move quite quickly under these conditions, but he was looking for information. At the guard tower, the track went off in two other directions; it continued, and also went into the centre of what Law imagined would be a big circle; the centre was his destination.

The towers and the traps had made him expect a high efficiency military structure, but the so called fortress was more of a casually guarded castle, which suited him fine. The castle struck him as the type that they had in the educational books he used to read as a kid; with cross sections that showed a secret entry/exit or five. That would be ideal as an entrance, but the assassination had to happen tonight; he would never find it in time. He had approached the castle from one of the sides, as he went around it, he saw that the moat was filled with hundreds of sharpened stakes instead of water. He searched for the front way in, and found it on the other side of the castle; it was protected by an old school drawbridge, and apart from the secret entrances that would have to exist, this was the only way in or out. He hadn't been spotted yet, so he found himself a nice bush with a direct line of sight to the drawbridge, a mere thirty metres from the drawbridge. The drawbridge was being lowered. Law peered around the thick foliage of the bush; a dozen guards or so were being allowed to enter. The drawbridge hit the dirt with a loud thud, and the guards passed over the hardwood with their hobnailed boots. The drawbridge was slowly raised again; Law made a run for it when it was at around one meter's height; it was being raised so slowly that by the time he reached it about four seconds after getting up, it was still below shoulder height. He grabbed the drawbridge as it passed, and shuffled over to the right chain, then he moved hand over hand on the chain. The opening that was slowly reeling the chain in was a square with meter sides; easily large enough for him to crawl through. The bridge was starting to move faster; Law stopped moving hand over hand and waited. He swung his legs into the opening and held onto the chain. He was dragged into the opening; once in safely, he let go of the chain and started crawling.

The opening stank of decaying flesh; Law could already guess that the drawbridge wasn't powered by mules. He shuffled through the tunnel like opening, and found he was right, it was powered by the dead. He could see them chained to a wheel, still walking, still reeling the drawbridge in. The drawbridge hit the stone wall with a dull thud; the dead went limp. Law would have described them as lifeless, but... A big guy with an axe walked by the opening that Law would obviously have to exit from. Red cloak, red leather boots. He walked by again and Law edged closer to escape. The plan was to leave the room noiselessly. He would be able to garrote or knife this guard silently, but it was probably in his best interests to let him live, he might be missed. Law watched closely; the guard spent fourteen seconds to the left of the opening and three to the right. He exited the opening, and the room when the guard had his back turned, without being seen. He emerged in a long hall; blue carpet, gold trimming. There were tapestries and paintings on the wall; fields, forests, mountains... He passed several doors, all of which were locked and silent. As he moved down the hall, the sound of celebrating got louder and louder. He tried door after door; they were all locked. He finally reached a door that seemed to have the celebrating behind it. It seemed to have quietened a bit though. The door was unlocked; he walked into a banquet hall and closed the door behind him, and no one saw him enter. A minstrel, or a bard or something was singing a ballad about someone-iel's triumph over the dead hordes. Not Sabriel or Lirael, he knew those names. Everyone in the room was entranced by her story and her sweet singing voice. Law scoped the room out; the guy at the head of the table seemed especially interested. He was a tall guy, a bandolier across his chest was making his meal kind of difficult. Keenan. They had described Keenan to him in general terms: tall, pale, red hair, bells across the chest. He spotted a dark corner that would provide a better view of Keenan. He made his way there and watched Keenan and those around him. Six others in the room wore bells, and all of them sat at the same table as Keenan.

The banquet ended a long time after Law entered the room, possibly two hours. Law managed to take some chicken and a mug of ale to wash it down with; he hoped it had a low alcohol content. He saw Keenan and the minstrel leave the hall and followed. A guard had followed ahead of them, but when he had heard Law, Law had hit him hard enough to put him in a coma and had dragged him into a dark corner, there was no shortage of those. The guard had been carrying four throwing knives. Law had commandeered them, and had hurried after Keenan and the minstrel. The hall was pretty long, and they were well ahead of him. Law decided to take a risk and started jogging. Someone screamed ahead, and he heard light footsteps around the corner. There was a suit of classical knight's armour in an alcove to his left, and to his right. He ducked behind the one to his left. The minstrel passed him, and he could hear that Keenan followed. Keenan passed before he realized it. He drew his bayonet.

"Everything all right sir?" someone asked, "We found this one running and caught her for you."

"Yes. Release her and carry on." His husky reply. Law peeked out of his alcove. No one in sight. He emerged from his hiding place and ran down the hall Keenan and the minstrel had just come from. He scanned left and right as he ran, until he found a door that was ajar. He entered, and when his eyes adjusted to the poor light, he saw why the minstrel had screamed.

Dead people, chained to the walls by their throats. They were in an advanced state of decomposition, and Law didn't doubt that they were of the walking variety. He heard a snarl behind him; one was attacking. It reached out for him with rotten, gnarled hands. He punched it in the jaw, and the metal collar around it's neck restrained it as it swung viciously into the wall and collapsed. He heard Keenan and the minstrel approaching; Keenan was sweet talking the bard. Law saw another door and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He entered the room and closed it behind him. This room was nothing like he had expected; there was a rack of wicked looking weapons above the hearth, but other than that, he guessed this room was as normal as they came... in this kingdom. There were bookshelves, a desk and a bed. He would fit under the bed. He crawled beneath it, and he could still hear Keenan outside the first door.

"Close your eyes if you like, my pretty," he said, "I promise, no harm will come to you." Right. What a creep. Law still clutched his bayonet. He was under the bed of the man he was meant to assassinate, and no one had any idea. Maybe the Abhorsen had picked the right man after all.

"So, you see, my pretty, They are there for our protection!" Keenan said as he entered the room.

"Oh, my, your room is beautiful! Look at the view!" the minstrel had a musical voice, very nice. Then he could hear sounds of kissing and foreplay in the room. It didn't take long for them to get started, or to finish. He put his own situation out of his mind and focused on ending Keenan’s situation. He could hear light snoring on the bed above him, and gently felt the mattress. The minstrel was a pretty little thing, barely twenty one by his guesstimate. Keenan struck him as slightly older than that, and he was a tall, solid guy. He didn't want to kill the minstrel, so he started quietly shuffling out of his hiding place. Evil laughter filled the room and Law froze. The snore turned into a gurgle, and an arterial spray covered part of the wall, and half of Law's face. He ducked back, just in time to miss being squashed by the minstrel's corpse. Keenan laughed again and Law felt his weight shift on the bed. Law felt a cold rage start within him, and he gently felt the bottom of the mattress, to locate Keenan. Shoulders here.

"Ha ha, motherfucker." he whispered, more to himself, and plunged his bayonet into the mattress. The sixty centimetre razor sharp blade cleared the mattress and bone in Keenan's back easily. Law thrust another three times and emerged, face covered in blood. He looked stunned but not dead. Law leapt onto Keenan and began stabbing into him like a sewing machine. When he was done a few seconds later, Keenan had scores of holes in him and was definitely dead. Law cleaned his face and bayonet on the sheets and left the room. As the blood pounding in his head subsided, he could the sound of chaos tearing through the castle.

- - - - - - -

Deserter - 9 - Escape

He left the way he came, hiding often, as guards passed to and fro in the halls. If he could find his way to the banquet hall, he would be able to leave the castle. He found the door to the banquet hall and entered. There were guards everywhere, in a protective circle around six frozen figures. Law skulked around the room, and found himself an out of the way pillar to hide behind. Four of the figures started moving again, ice cracking as they reanimated. Literally frozen, apparently.

"It's no use!" one wailed, "I saw both Abhorsen and her apprentice waiting for us in death! We can't bring them back!" They were scared shitless, and Law finally had a general idea what necromancer meant. They had sent him on a suicide mission, something worse than a suicide mission. He waited in his dark corner, waiting for something to change, letting him leave. The four remaining necromancers conferred for a little, gesticulating wildly and shuffling nervously.

"Search the grounds!" one called to the guards, "And escort me to my quarters." He picked up a pile of things he had on a table, then led the way out the door closest to Law's hiding spot.

"What do we do?" the remaining three were just as lost as him. Law waited for the pair of guards following the necromancer to leave before following. He crossed the threshold and went left, hoping to go around the hall and find some place he recognized. The guards were around the corner, the Necromancer had dropped his stuff and they were wrapping whatever the things were in one of the cloaks. Law ducked back around the corner.

"Over there!" one called. Too late. He drew his bayonet, and crouched.

"Come back, cowards!" the Necromancer yelled; he had a chance. Law rounded the corner, and there he was. He was taller than Law, and had a bigger sword, of black metal. He was wearing chain-mail, and a bandolier of bells. He raised his sword with his left hand.

"I will subjugate your spirit." he said, before his sword burst into dark, oily flames. He crouched and reached for his bandolier, Law threw his bayonet into his centre mass. It struck his wrist with a shower of sparks, and severed his hand from his arm.

The necromancer looked at the stump, then focused on Law again and started swinging his flaming sword left handed.

The Necromancer was clumsy, but he was fast. He advanced, flaming sword swinging, and Law drew his own sword, wielding it like a very big knife. He parried the sword into the stone wall, and followed through with a shoulder charge that knocked the necromancer back. The necromancer slapped Law's shoulder with the flat of his blade, and Law's cloak set on fire. Law kicked the off balance necromancer, who landed hard on the floor, dropping his sword and reaching for a bell. Law was still on fire, but he swung at the necromancer instead, cutting his left arm off at the elbow. The necromancer cried out in pain, and Law took off his cloak, before kicking the necromancer in the jaw. The necromancer spat teeth, and Law stood over him, and began hacking down at him with the sword, cleaving his skull in two.

They must have felt Keenan die, they would have felt this guy die. Law figured he had six seconds or so to do something brilliant. He decided on going back to the door to the hall and finding some place to hide. There was nowhere to hide near the door, so he extinguished a torch instead, and crouched in the darkness. The door opened, and guards poured out, about six of them. A necromancer followed, and left the door open. No one followed the necromancer. Law decided to risk it and skulked behind him, bayonet in hand.

"Erdel! Behind you!" someone shouted, the Necromancer turned just in time for Law to drive his bayonet into him. He put his hand on the necromancer's shoulder and stabbed him under the ribcage, through his stomach, left lung and heart. He pulled the knife out obliquely, creating an enormous wound. Even still, the necromancer stood unsteadily on his feet. He stabbed the necromancer again, in the side of the neck. The necromancer finally fell lifelessly to the floor. No guards came from around the corner, Law leaned against the wall, hoping no one would come near. No one did. After thirty seconds or so, he ducked into the hall, and dashed behind a pillar. No hellfire or anything. The hall was deathly silent, and empty. Law could hear the sounds of battle outside the castle; leaving the way he came in wouldn't be an option, he would have to follow the others.

He wandered the halls with his sword at the ready; they were at least thirty seconds ahead of him, and he had to assume they were running. Up ahead, a man ran out of a door, in one hell of a hurry; Law followed him, hoping he wasn't running into a fight. He wasn't. He was heading back to the banquet hall, deeper into the castle, where it was relatively quiet. He went into the banquet hall, and pulled on a tapestry. Law ducked behind a table, and heard a loud click, somewhere nearby. The man crawled under a table and pushed on the flagstones. A trapdoor opened up, and Law followed him down it. There were torches on the wall, and Law had smashed the man on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. He walked quickly down the tunnel, hoping he was the only one in it. He sheathed his sword and pulled a torch off the left wall. Then, the torches ran out. He moved faster, then slowed down after a minute or so when he saw firelight up ahead. The ground was rough, the footing uncertain; he still needed his torch, and he probably needed to hurry up as well.

When he caught up to the firelight, it turned out to be a passage with torches in it. He decided it wasn't the way to go and took the darker passage.

There was more firelight ahead.this light was moving forward; definitely at least one person. He advanced slowly. There were two necromancers trying to escape. The one without the torch paused, and Law stopped, slowly drawing a throwing knife. He turned and spotted Law, and opened his mouth to voice warning, Law threw the knife into his mouth, and the other Necromancer turned. Law threw his torch at the last one, but it missed, and skittered off the stones, remaining alight. He drew his sword with his left hand and drew another throwing knife. The necromancer dropped his torch and drew a sword, which started glowing white hot, without melting. He reached for his bandolier to draw a bell. Law threw his knife, but the necromancer dodged. It missed his hand and stuck to his vest of thick leather. Law charged the necromancer and kicked the bell out of his hand. The bell flew into the wall and cracked; the clapper making no noise as it swung inside the bell.

Whatever was meant to happen didn't, and the Necromancer swung his white hot sword at Law. Law hopped back a step and parried clumsily. He lost his balance and dropped his sword to balance. The necromancer stepped forward and thrust with his sword; he stepped to the side and stomped on the necromancer’s foot, scraping his boot along the necromancer’s shin. He drove his shoulder into the necromancer’s body, who dropped his sword as he bounced into the wall.

Law followed the body check through with an elbow that drove the necromancer's forehead into the wall forcefully. The other one had survived a knife in the mouth somehow; he was coughing and slowly getting up. Law would have to make sure. He drew his bayonet and sliced the throat of the necromancer that was against the wall. Then he stepped in, pushed the Necromancer who was recovering to the floor and knifed him twice, like he'd been taught; femoral artery, control the arm, subclavian artery with the entire length of the extra long sword bayonet. The necromancer hung slack. The last necromancer drew another sword as Law drew his bayonet out of the dead one. They faced each other squarely.

"I'm going to enjoy beating you on your terms, Hero, before subjugating your spirit." The necromancer said, in a husky voice.

Law stood silently, assessing the situation. The necromancer smiled at him, and unbuckled his bandolier, letting it fall to the ground. Then he lunged at Law, swinging his sword. Law stepped in while cutting an angle and blocking the blow. He followed through with a slash to the face of the necromancer, who dropped his sword and turned away.

"Mercy! Please!" The necromancer gurgled, as blood streamed from his face. Law kicked the necromancer's sword away.

"I can make you more powerful than you can imagine!" he pleaded, hands behind his head. Then he mule kicked Law in the stomach; a powerful kick that briefly brought him to his knees. He dropped his knife and bayonet as he pushed off the ground. A moment later, he had his garrote in his hands. The Necromancer was up, a four inch metal talon in his left hand, and a very long dagger in his right. He was armed to the fucking teeth, and all Law had left was a couple of throwing knives he couldn’t reach, a small folding knife on his belt and a garrote. Law twitched nervously, and the Necromancer launched a frenzied attack. His hands were almost a blur, but somehow, Law managed to catch the dagger with the garrote and direct it into the wall. The Necromancer's weight was in that blow, he broke a knuckle and winced in pain, also dropping the dagger. Law looped his garrote around the Necromancer's neck and planted his left knee in his back. He pulled, and the necromancer thrashed like a freshly caught fish. The kevlar composite of the garrote handles broke in two then crumbled into powder, and the Necromancer fell to the ground. For a moment, Law stared incredulously at the powder in his hands, then reached for his folding knife. It wasn’t there.

"Looks like you're done for, friend." the Necromancer said, pulling another claw and fitting it into his right hand. Law retreated down the hall, back to the castle, with the necromancer’s continuous slashing attacks mere inches from him, the entire trip back.

He had gone down the other passage, and tried to take a torch. They were all mortared into the walls, however, and eventually, he had burst out a door with a battle raging around it. He was behind enemy lines; he was in the kitchen, and the Necromancer's guards had overturned a table and were firing arrows at kingdom archers. Stalemate. Law quickly dragged an unsuspecting guard to the ground by his face, and savagely stomped on his face, but realised too late that he was an archer. He took an arrow anyway. The necromancer emerged a second later, as disoriented as he had been. He was still in the door, and now that he had a weapon, Law decided to attack. He tackled him back into the passage.

He felt pain in two places as he hit the ground; in his chest and in his back. He coughed and tasted blood. He was feeling cold, and tired, but he still had one job to do. It was done. His tackle had pushed the knife that had stuck in the Necromancer's armour earlier into his heart. He rolled off the necromancer and almost fainted as pain spread out through his entire body. He reached behind his back. He was bleeding badly. His immediate assessment was that he didn’t have a fist sized exit wound in his chest so it must be a .223. Then he remembered where he was. It was an arrow. The blood was dark; the arrow seemed to be in his liver; he didn’t have long. He gathered his strength and grabbed onto the necromancer’s lapels with crossed arms. He pulled his arms apart with all his strength, and the necromancer’s collar tightened around his neck. The necromancer struggled weakly, slick bloody hands struggling to find purchase anywhere on Law’s head or body. It felt like an age before his weak struggling faded to nothing, as Law’s vision faded to black.

- - - - - - -

Deserter - Epilogue - Exile

Law opened his eyes, Elina was sitting next to him. She smiled as he awoke, and he groaned.

"It's a healing spell, you'll be fine in a week or so." she said.

"Thanks." he croaked, and closed his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked a moment later.

"You're in the infirmary in the Palace barracks," she replied, "I'm here because offered to take care of you."

"Why?"

"Because I was wrong about you." She replied.

"When can I go home?" he needed to know.

"I'm afraid you can't," Someone else said. An older voice, the Abhorsen's, "The Ancelsterrian Army doesn't want to even hear about you, and one General Cardon tells me your assets have been seized by the state." Law opened his eyes to look at her.

"I suppose I could stay here," he conceded, "But I don't want to. You didn’t tell me what a necromancer was. Way I see it, you owe me.”

"We know, but they won't hear of it," she replied, "We can make your life here comfortable, there's a position open for you in the royal guard." Law sighed. There was so much he didn't understand, and he had accepted that he would never live to see his home again anyway, although he'd thought he wouldn't live, period.

"I don't belong here." he finally said.

"You killed five necromancers with no knowledge of magic," Elina said, "If you don’t belong we’ll make a place for you." Law sighed again. He was going to die on this side of the wall, he would have to accept that sooner or later.

"Why didn't you warn me about what could have happened to me?" Law asked, "Why didn't you tell me my spirit could have ended up subjugated, and why don't you tell me what that means?"

"The greater good, Law," Sabriel replied, "We needed a killer, and I don't know anyone quite like you." Law didn't feel complimented.

"I’m a soldier, not a killer. Do you know what a population support mission is?"

"They would have enslaved you for all eternity. All eternity.” Elina said. Law didn’t have a response to that.

"There's nothing for me here." he breathed, then closed his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, his chest was tight and painful. A minute or so passed.

"My apprentice and I were waiting in death for you to kill Keenan. He crossed over into death and we bound him before he could recover. A little while later, the other necromancers crossed over into death, and we sent a signal to the royal guard, who were waiting to attack around the castle. We managed to bind two, but the others escaped us. We never expected you to hunt them all down, but you did, and we were victorious. You were like.. Like a catalyst. Without you, many more lives could have been lost, including my own. We appreciate what you've done, and are ever grateful." Sabriel said, quietly, "We had known about them for a while, but we never expected them to take an initiative before we did. Because of you, we managed to turn their initiative against them."

"That much I more or less gathered, but what did I have to do with all this? Why did they bring me here in the first place?" he croaked; he was feeling weak and sore from being awake for so long.

"The Corvere insurrection; some people thought Corolini was the greatest leader Ancelstierre ever had. You killed him and I opposed him. The group of Necromancers and one of those factions joined up for what was basically a revenge plot and a coup rolled together." She replied. Great. He opened his eyes.

"So that’s I can't go home," Law said, “They might even be doing me a favour by exiling me, I can’t ever be safe at home.” Sabriel nodded. His return home really was out of her hands; he'd have to stay.

[sandyferal]

The Vacation part 4

This was starting to get to Megavolt a little bit.

Megavolt and Quackerjack were on a boat, one that was regularly used by tourists to get to and from Saint Canard without having to use the traffic-ridden bridge. They had snuck onboard by stealing tickets from two unsuspecting passengers who were luckily the same species as the two criminals. Now they were heading to one of the nearby cities, surrounded by happy passengers chatting about some mundane thing or the other.

But at the moment Megavolt was not exactly happy.

It was enough that anywhere he looked he could see miles of water, and the constant movement of the boat was beginning to make him a bit sick, and the sun was shining straight into his eyes, but Quackerjack’s incessant scratching was not helping.

“Will you stop that?” Megavolt asked

“Stop what?”

“Scratching your head, you’re making me itchy just looking at you.”

“I can’t help it,” Quackerjack pulled his hand away from his head and into a fist with visible effort. “Im not used to having my hat off, now my head’s all…” he made vague clawing motions around his scalp. “Itchy!”

“Yeah I know what you mean.” Megavolt tugged at his own clothes to hide the lightning shaped scars on his arm. “But there’s no way for us to be inconspicuous with you wearing that hat of yours.”

Quackerjack huffed. “You’d be surprised. A trench coat and a hat can do wonders.”

“On top of our normal clothes? In this weather?”

“Fair enough,” Quackerjack’s smile returned suddenly. “Oh, but I can’t wait to get back in my old clothes and wreak havoc in a new playground. Maybe the kids there will even have better taste in toys! Why didn’t I think of this before?”

“Well maybe for one,” Megavolt mumbled. “New city, unfamiliar streets, strangers everywhere. And crossing over all this water…” he looked down and shuddered slightly. “Not exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Aw c’mon, what’s wrong with new places?”

“I just don’t want to forget everything I left behind again,” Megavolt said quietly.

Quackerjack pulled the rodent closer to him. “Don’t be to down Sparky! You won’t forget anything while I’m here! And you know it, I can remind you of Saint Canard until you want to pull you hair out!”

“Ok, ok, don’t go overboard you loon.” Megavolt smiled. “I do have to admit it will be nice not to be cornered by Dipwing whenever I leave my hideout.”

“We can have nice long uninterrupted playdates without that nosy duck trying to but in!”

“No more ‘I am the terror that flaps in the night,’ or ‘I am the swimsuit that’s two sizes two small!’ Like geez, we get it, you’re all the most annoying parts of all our lives, do you have to announce it every time?”

“Ugh I know! Though it is nice of him to have an intro that’s long enough so we can have a decent warning.”

At that moment a large jet of water burst up from somewhere a few feet behind the boat only for the water to return to its normal mostly uninterrupted state only a few moments later.

“What are those two doing down there?” Megavolt asked.

“I don’t know,” Quackerjack said. “I don’t think I want to. Those two are so sappy.”

“Aren’t they though? Like geez do they have to be so-” Megavolt paused. “‘Sappy?’ Was that a pun?”

“You know it!”

Megavolt snickered. “You should say that to his face. I bet he’ll go beet red.”

“I will. Those two can’t leaf each other alone for one second.”

“I think you’ve gotten to the root of the problem.”

The two began to laugh harder as they continued making bad puns. Minutes later they were in hysterics on the floor and people were starting to stare. Megavolt was the first to recover.

“Y’know maybe this vacation is what I need,” he said. “I forgot how relaxing it can be to take a break from the whole crime-hiding-prison cycle.”

“But that’s part of the fun of being a villain! It’s all just part of the game!”

“It’s a game to you it’s just life to me. I never really got to have a normal life, with my own house, my own job my own money,” Megavolt said. Suddenly his eyes widened. “Oh shit!”

Quackerjack looked up. “What is it?”

“If we’re gonna hide that means we need to lay low for a while. We’re probably gonna need to actually get a place to sleep and food and stuff without committing any serious crimes.”

Quackerjack tilted his head. “But pickpocketing and stealing from purses isn’t a major crime is it? It’s not even really a crime if we can get away with it.”

The two looked around them at women decked out in fancy jewelry and men with nice wristwatches, and designer handbags and backpacks left practically unattended on nearby chairs.

Megavolt smiled. “I think you’re right Quacky. That wouldn’t draw too much attention.”

…

A couple dozen feet below the boat, in a large bubble of air within the water, Liquidator led Bushroot across the bay’s floor.

“Want to travel while remaining unseen?” Liquidator said. “Try going underwater! It may not be the most popular method of travel, but it certainly has a few perks!”

“It does,” Bushroot looked up at the shadow of the boat above them. “Though I can’t say I’d mind having a ride.”

“You want a ride? Say no more!” Liquidator dropped into a puddle. After sliding underneath Bushroot’s feet, he reformed, bringing Bushroot up with him in his arms. “The Liquidator is happy to allow you to ride me any time, free of charge!”

“Oh Buddy, such a gentleman,” Bushroot said with a small laugh. “Thanks.”

“Well it is exactly what you wanted isn’t it? You know you can just ask for things directly right? I don’t sell everything, favors for my partner in crime will never come with a price!”

“Oh of course I know that,” Bushroot said. “I wasn’t trying to ask for that exactly I was just…” he sighed. “Nevermind. I appreciate it Buddy.”

“No, no, no, if you have a complaint with my services I want to hear it!” Liquidator insisted.

“It’s not a complaint with anything about you! It’s just w-well, it bugs me a bit that those two get to be up there, and we have to hide away down here.”

“And what’s wrong with being down here?” Liquidator sound offended, but it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just for show. “Do you not enjoy spending some alone time with your favorite puddle puppy?”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Bushroot pulled himself closer to Liquidator. “It’s not that-that I don’t enjoy spending alone time with you. B-but sometimes I miss… being around o-other people.” He shot a quick glance at his own body. “Because I’m not… normal.”

Liquidator tilted his head. “Would you say that this method of travel is normal?”

“No.”

“But look around you,” Liquidator gestured to the water around them. Above them the light could seen shining on the water's surface, and around them fish and underwater plants were visible. “I don’t know about you but I think this is a pretty nice view.”

“Yeah…”

“Do you think I’m normal?”

“Well, y-you-”

“Of course I’m not!” Liquidator interrupted. “But you like me don’t you?”

“Y-Yes! I do! Of course I like you!”

“Well then, not to sound cliche, but being normal is very overrated! The people up there are missing out on wonderful and fascinating things like you and me, though they still get to deal with Megavolt and Quackerjack.” Liquidator smirked. “And if you ask me, those two, while I enjoy their company, can be trouble. Sanity-wise their normality is a bit questionable.”

Bushroot chuckled. “Well, you can say that again. They are a bit much to deal with.”

“Besides Reggie, the reason we need to hide isn’t entirely to do with being normal. It’s partly to do with the fact that we’re criminals.”

“Oh yeah. I kinda forgot.”

“You may forget, unfortunately, the law enforcement does not,” Liquidator said. “But all that aside, is it really that bad to be stuck down here with me?”

“No. I will admit, I’ve never been able to see underwater plants this close. So that kinda nice.”

“See! I told you this method of travel has its perks.”

“Uh, Buddy?”

“Yes?” Liquidator purred.

“Did you call yourself ‘puddle puppy’ earlier?”

“Uhh…” Liquidator gave a rare embarrassed smile. “I was looking for alliteration and that just… came out.”

“Can I call you that?” Bushroot asked with a grin.

Liquidator laughed. “Absolutely not! You know our toy-enthused friend or either of those pesky masked mallards would never let me hear the end of it if you said that in front of one of them.”

“What about when we’re alone?”

“The answer is still no!”

“Aw c’mon…”

Liquidator let out a sigh, though his smile had not disappeared. “Okay, maybe occasionally, when we’re completely alone. But be careful Reggie, if you want to get into the embarrassing pet names game. I’ve been playing it much longer than you have.”

Bushroot began to turn pink. “Ok! I understand! I’ll keep that in mind.”

[still-tired-after-coffee]

Adrift in the sky

- Coin flip -

     Dave and Karkat sit in their living room, curtains pulled closed to hide themselves from the day’s sunlight.  suddenly the dim lighting of the living room is broken by Jade swinging the front door wide open, spilling natural light into the room, Karkat flinching and hissing as the light hits him.

     JADE: yo! come check this out, there's something weird in the sky

     Dave and Karkat share a look before getting off the couch to follow Jade out the front door to see what she’s talking about, Karkat slightly more hesitant to go out into the daylight.  Jade stands in front of them pointing up into the sky, Dave and Karkat stare up to where she’s pointing, Karkat cupping his hands over his eyes to shade them from the sun.  They see a vaguely blue speck floating high in the sky amongst the clouds.

     JADE: i havent flown up to check it out yet

     DAVE: so what kinda guesses we got? more actual aliens swamp gas weather balloon

     KARKAT: I THINK IT’S... IS THAT JOHN?

     DAVE: shit really john?

     JADE: whats John doing just floating around all the way over here? he can be so silly sometimes

     DAVE: i dont know wait here im gonna go see what up with him

     Dave flies up away from his and Karkat’s front lawn and up to John.  John is floating in the sky in a laying down position zoned out facing up and his arms held behind his head.  Dave rises up on John’s left and stops to be level with John, John shifting to a sat up position after seeing Dave.

     DAVE: yo

     JOHN: oh hey Dave, where’d you come from?

     DAVE: dude youre like right above my house

     JOHN: oh really? didn’t realise i’ve been floating around long enough to make it all the way to the troll kingdom.

     DAVE: well yeah apparently you have so like whats up? whats got you fucked up this time?

     JOHN: what are you talking about?

     DAVE: oh come on i know whenever youre down you like to float up into the sky like a fucking piece of garbage  though its rare you make it all the way over here so whatever it is bothering you now has to be bad

     JOHN: ...

     DAVE: is it terezi?

     JOHN: WHAT!

     DAVE: dude its not hard to figure out its only been like a day and a half since she moved out with vriska since she finally returned and then i find you in one of your biggest depression floats in a while if not ever its either that or youve started to hate another of your favorite childhood movies so which is it? your ex girlfriend or a shity movie?

     JOHN: Terezi isn’t my ex, we weren’t dating.

     DAVE: could have fooled me

     JOHN: what?

     DAVE: oh come on everyone knows you two are into each other i bet even you know that but have been too afraid to face it

     JOHN: oh like you’re one to talk.

     DAVE: what me and karkat? no its not- *cogh* dont change the topic dude all im saying is youve got it bad for a troll girl and now that shes not your roommate youre broken up inside more broke than whatever they broke when recording shity stock soundeffects 

     JOHN: ... like... what could i even do about it now anyway?  i'm pretty sure her moving out was the when the window closed.  i’m sure i just blew it.

     DAVE: so you finally admit it?

     JOHN: *sigh* yeah, i mean the reason im up here is cause i couldn’t stand to be in my house without her.  like yeah she’s annoying and gets on my nerves, but i don’t think i ever really minded it, it was fun, in a weird way.  compared to the empty feeling the house now has with her gone, i’d rather be with her.

     DAVE: so go tell her

     JOHN: huh?

     DAVE: like i said everyone knows you two are into each other that does kinda imply everyone believes she has the hots for you too i don’t think that window is really closed like you say im sure shed be stoked to hear you like her calling you shity nicknames 

     JOHN: i don’t know, you really think?

     DAVE: yeah you know if you dont youll just end up wondering what if bull shit the rest of your life

     JOHN: ...

     Terezi sits on the floor slumped over a coffee table propping her head up on her crossed arms and zoned out on a TV that's not even on.  Vriska enters and lays out on the couch scrolling on her phone for a second before glancing over to Terezi.

     VRISKA: Ugh........ What’s your deal?  you’ve 8een all mopey since we got your stuff from Johns place, and you were so happy 8efore that.  If I didn’t know 8etter I’d think you miss him

     TEREZI: 3RR...

     VRISKA: N8!!!!!!!!  Really?  what the hell happened here in the sweep I’ve 8een gone that you of all people would get this 8roken up over moving out from a dwee8 like John?

     TEREZI: H3Y!  D1NT YOU H4V3 4 CRUSH ON H1M WH3N YOU W3R3 L1K3 S1X SW33PS OLD?

      VRISKA: Oh shut up. ........ So, it’s a crush?  Damn, it’s worse than I thought.

     TEREZI: ... Y34H... 1 W4NT3D TO S4Y SOM3TH1NG TO H1M, BUT I GU3SS 1 W4S SC4R3D 1F H3 D1DNT W4NT 4 BL4CK ROM R3L4T1ONSH1P

     VRISKA: It’s 8een like a whole sweep and that 8oy still hasn’t learned the quadrants?

     TEREZI: NO, H3 H4S.  BUT 1TS ST1LL K1ND4 N3W TO H1M, 1 DONT KNOW 1F H3S R34DY FOR SOM3TH1NG L1K3 TH4T

     VRISKA: 8ull shit!

     TEREZI: >:?

     VRISKA: He’s known a8out the quadrants long enough, sounds more like his weenie tendencies just ru88ed off on you after living with the dork for a sweep.

     TEREZI: 1 4SSUR3 YOU, TH3R3 W4S NO W33N13 RUBB1NG OFF 1N TH4T SW33P W41T, FUCK YOU KNOW WH4T 1 M34NT!

     VRISKA: Hahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!  Damn Terezi, never thought I’d ever see you like this over a dum8 8oy.  Just go message the dork.

     TEREZI: 1 DONT KNOW, WOULD TH4T B3 OK SO SOON 4FT3R MOV1NG OUT?

     VRISKA: How the hell would I know, I’m still new to this planet, I don’t know the customs for this stuff here.  Hell, I 8arely knew them for Alternia.

     Terezi tries to reply but before she can she’s interrupted by a knock at the front door.  Both her and Vriska turn to stare at the door, Vriska then gets up and goes to answer the door.  She opens the door to find an extremely nervous looking John.

     VRISKA: Oh!  Hi John.

     Terezi scrambles to her feet, then takes a second to collect herself before walking over and standing just behind Vriska.

     TEREZI: JOHN!

     JOHN: hi Terezi, and uh Vriska... how are you?

     TEREZI: UMM, GOOD, W3 W3R3 JUST UH, CH4TT1NG... 4BOUT UH, WH4T TO G3T FOR D1NN3R...

     VRISKA: (Oh my god, you’re such a weenie)

     TEREZI: (SHOOSH)

     JOHN: oh, well then if i'm interrupting then i guess i’ll and talk to you later, sorry.

     TEREZI: NO! 1 M34N, YOU DONT H4V3 TO GO, W3 C4N T4LK 4 B1T

     JOHN: oh, well um, it was kinda something big i wanted to ask you, are you sure its fine?

     VRISKA: God, John, just spit it out already before I choke on all this tension.

     JOHN: oh um yeah, it’s just that i wanted to ask if i could maybe... move in with you two? ugh, im sorry, that sounds dumb now that i’ve actually said it, i’ll just go.

     VRISKA: Hold up John.  Why is it you wanna move in?

     JOHN: umm... its, i hate how empty my house feels since Terezi moved out, and i realized, that i much rather live with Terezi and all her adorably annoying and weird tendencies than in a big empty house, that house just hasn’t felt like home since you left.

     Terezi gets a soft smile on her face and steps towards John, John returns her soft smile with one of his own though still visibly nervous.  Terezi then punches John in his shoulder and widening her grin.

     JOHN: OW!

     TEREZI: TH4TS FOR N34RLY L3TT1NG M3 G3T 4W4Y

     Terezi then hugs John and buries her face into his chest, John’s back popping a bit from how tight the hug is.  Johns nervousness melts away and returns the hug.

     TEREZI: YOU C4N D3F1N4TLY MOV3 1N

     VRISKA: Hey, I get a say too, it’s my place too you know. ........ Alright, fine, you can stay, far 8e it from me to deny this kismesis.

     JOHN: oh, i didn’t plan this far ahead, are we like officially kismesis now?

     TEREZI: DUMB 4SS! >:]

     Terezi grabs the sides of John’s head and pulls him into a kiss.

     VRISKA: Ugh, you guys are gonna make me 8arf.

     TEREZI: DO3S TH4T 4NSW3R YOUR QU3ST1ON, JOHN?

     John blushes and kisses her back, and starts using his god tier abilities to levitate the both of them as they kiss.

     VRISKA: Alright you two, get inside 8efore we start getting onlookers.  I’ll go order some food and give you two a little privacy.  :::;)

[artsy-alice]

Thoughts on Klance?

Okay. Y’all know what. I’ve been receiving a shit ton of asks about this ship since I started occasionally posting Voltron doodles and fic a year ago.

I’ve answered this question before.

So yes. I answered about three. I tend to ignore and delete the rest, because besides supporting art and writers I like, I really don’t get involved with the fandom. I get perhaps second or third-hand vagues and salt in my dash but that’s about all the drama I get, and I usually don’t care for them.

Unfortunately I let my asks pile up for like two weeks and I’m still seeing message about this??? So I’m just gonna up and go answer some of them here and then I will not be answering asks about this ship anymore. Frankly, my inbox is a mess of doodle requests, fic and OC questions, and I don’t need repetitive asks mixing in with things I actually give a shit about. So-

I don’t hate it. I just don’t ship it. I don’t even type the word, or browse the tags. All mentions of Klance in my blog had been brought up by other people and not by me. I know some people who ship Klance, some of them long-time friends of mine, and we’ve all easily acknowledged our different shipping preferences as decent people do. When we talk about Voltron we talk about the plot and not about the ships.

I don’t hate Klance. It’s a valid ship.

Not in my opinion. The only similarity I can see is that both pairs are teenagers who are close in age and they fall under the ‘opposites’ trope. That’s it. Stingue is a ship I am very fond of, and they’ve had an established, supportive and solid partnership since day one. That is not a dynamic Keith and Lance have in the current canon.

I’ve also gotten asks like this that compare Klance to Korrasami, Zutara, etc etc… Stop. Liking one will not automatically make me like the other.

God. Ok. I don’t ship Sheith instead of Klance. It’s not that I don’t ship one because I already ship the other. It doesn’t work that way. I ship Sheith. I don’t ship Klance. It’s not necessarily one causing the other.

Which leads me to this one ask–

In canon, no. I think it’s been stated by the creators that it wasn’t even a ship they expected or something? In fics, sure, I guess. I’ve read fics that made even the rarest pairs work. So why not?

And. Fine. Frankly speaking? I don’t want it to happen. Not because I ship another ship.

You want to know what I think, and how I see this? Fine, I’ll get personal. It makes me uncomfortable: watching Keith and Lance, with their relationship that’s been portrayed in canon so far, and thinking that it’s supposed to be interpreted as leading to romance later on? Nope, not here for that. 

I like Lance, I like his character and his growth - but he had been a bully to Keith even until S3, even while Keith was so visibly mourning and under pressure.

I’m speaking from experience here. Keith is my favorite character because I can relate to him so much - and I’ve been treated like how Lance treated him early on. I’ve experienced my share of being bullied. I cringed every time Lance shot Keith down rudely, interrupted him, or mocked what Keith said. I’ve experienced one-sided rivalry, people accusing me of showing off when really I was just trying to do my thing. I’ve been in Keith’s shoes, put in a position of leadership I didn’t want but couldn’t refuse, and it hurts when you’re just trying your best under pressure but someone constantly reminds you that you’re not qualified. I’ve been a top student who failed on something I worked hard for - and it’s a fucking blow to the face when someone constantly reminds you of that failure. So yeah, everytime Lance just pointed out that Keith ‘washed out’, that one time he savagely said, “Whatever, dropout.” - those times hit me hard. More so now that we know Keith dropped out because of what happened to Shiro. This is not just my Sheith shipper talking. It’s canon that Shiro is a very important person for Keith. Imagine failing on the one thing you’re really good at because of the grief that came with losing a loved one, now imagine someone you don’t even know judging you and rubbing that failure in your face with no remorse. I don’t even know how Keith managed to keep to himself after that.

I know people change and grow. I know Keith and Lance have become closer and have come into some sort of understanding as the series progressed. I love that, really. I like their growing friendship! But that’s not enough to warrant an eventual romance. For me, I’ve moved on from the people who have treated me badly. Some of them I can even call friends now because they’ve grown too, and I can smile and laugh with them when we’re together. I’m not angry nor resentful, not anymore - but there’s a distance that remains there. For me there’s already a distinction between the friends who had once treated me horribly but changed, and my other friends who had only ever been supportive and loving towards me. If I were Keith, Lance would fall under the former category, and I wouldn’t want to be in a romantic relationship with that kind of weight.

Some fans have chosen to notp Sheith or Shidge because they’re uncomfortable with the age gap. It’s not that they think it’s wrong, but it’s just not their thing. That’s how I feel about Klance, in general. It makes me uncomfortable because of my experiences with a relationship like theirs. Do I hate the ship for that? No. But I ain’t going anywhere near it. I reserve my right to distance myself from it.

There are more asks like these, but they’re almost all the same questions and I am going to delete them all after posting this. Look, I’ve done about more than a year’s worth of sighing everytime a question like this pops up in my inbox. It’s annoying, and it’s about a ship that, at best, I don’t care for. So this will be my final post about Klance. Messages about this ship will be ignored and deleted from now on. I hope you guys understand. I’m just plain tired of it.

Have a good one, pala-dudes.

[canoncannon]

29 or 37?

This prompt is a part two, hope you don’t mind anon! Part one is over here.

Gotta admit I don’t like this one all that much, but I couldn’t seem to fix it after tinkering with it awhile, and I wanted to get it out relatively soon after part one. Sorry anon, hope you like it anyway

29 “I’m here if you need to talk.” and 37 “You look like hell.”

Rick drives Daryl and his soulmate right up to one of Alexandria’s empty houses as soon as they’re through the gates. They manage to avoid making a spectacle of things. Rick had been able to radio ahead and ask Carol to gather up some food, and Aaron must have been nearby for the call because he furtively sneaks a small paper bag in among the casserole and canned ravioli before darting away after Carol towards the gate.

Rick decides not to think about the probable contents of that bag. This whole thing is awkward enough as it is. He can’t get much of a read on Daryl for once, so he’d felt the need, back in the truck, to inform Daryl in his best Dad voice that Jesus was right, the symptoms would go away with simple physical contact. Sex wasn’t a necessary part of becoming soulmates.

Rick had repeated that line at least three times, like some awful high school sex ed video caught in a loop. Jesus was unavoidably treated to the entire lecture, too. He’d mostly kept his inscrutable face towards the window, hand loose in Daryl’s. He couldn’t seem to sit still, obviously fighting the physical symptoms of the new bond.

Again: it was awkward.

But Rick remembers how it had felt back at the prison, being on the other side of this equation. He’d been out of control, chemicals flooding his senses, unable to think of anything but Michonne, and Daryl had taken care of everything else for him. He hadn’t given any impromptu, potentially ill-judged sex talks, but when Rick emerged from the guard tower he found Judith clean and well-fed and Carl surprisingly unresentful of his dad’s new partner. (“Daryl explained, about soulmates,” he’d said, so damn serious for his age. “He said it doesn’t mean that you loved Mom any less.”)

They’d been a little more trusting, back then. No one had stood guard to ensure Rick’s safety.

They’re less trusting now. This Jesus guy isn’t guaranteed to be a good person. He isn’t even guaranteed to treat Daryl right. They should be happy together, in an ideal world, but souls could get twisted around by life, by evil choices.

Hell, just look at Carol and Ed.

Jesus and Daryl get indoors ok–holding hands on the drive had restored some of their vision–and as he turns to leave Rick casually gives their “got your six” whistle. The one that means he’s on watch.

When he turns to close the door Daryl is grimacing at him, but he nods anyway. They’re none of them all that squeamish about privacy within the family, at least when danger is involved. And Rick reckons Daryl’s soulmate can be plenty dangerous when he wants to be.

–

After three days of alternating watch with Aaron (and no “help now” whistles or any other signs of distress, though there were some noises that had made Rick wonder), he spies Daryl smoking on the porch in the early evening.

Rick jumps at the chance to go check on him. He doesn’t even make a joke about rising from the tomb, either.

Daryl, typically, ignores him as he climbs the stairs and sits beside him on the little decorative bench.

“Uh. Hey. How’re things going?”

Daryl just side-eyes him, puffing deeply on his cigarette.

Rick side-eyes him right back. “Ok, sure, I get it. But I’m here if you need to talk.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. If he was really annoyed, though, he’d leave—Rick knows that well enough.

“You look like hell,” he tries next. It’s true, too. Daryl clearly hasn’t slept much. There are a couple of bruises on his arms and shoulders that look suspiciously like hickeys.

Daryl sees him looking, snorts, and takes yet another deep drag of his cigarette.

It seems safe enough to joke a little. “Well, I guess he approves of that, at least.” Rick gestures vaguely at the other man’s bicep.

There’s a tense moment, but it doesn’t last. Daryl slumps against the back of the bench as if resigning himself to the fact that they’re going to have this conversation. “Think he approved of most everything, to be honest. Couldn’t stop approving.”

Rick can’t help it, he laughs. Daryl smirks back at him a little.

“You, uh, approve of him, too?”

Glancing away, Daryl blushes. He’s still looking away when he says, “Shit’s fucking weird. Whole damn life, I’ve hated it if a stranger even touched me. Now all of a sudden…”

Rick looks at his hands, giving him some space, before asking, “Did you tell him it was your first time?” Greasy hair whips through the muggy evening air as Daryl snaps to face him.

Rick just shrugs.

Daryl answers the question with one of his own. “Man, what do you need to hear right now? That he was a gentleman?”

“Hm.” Rick thinks again about Ed and Carol.

“He was,” Daryl says, earnestly enough. He’s exasperated but it’s clearly all directed Rick’s way, not at his new soulmate.

That goes a long way towards making Rick feel better. “Think we should go see this community he’s got, then?”

“Yeah.” His eyes drift out to the street. “They got a doctor, a real one. The kind that delivers babies. Paul told me.”

“I’ll tell Maggie.”

They sit in silence for awhile before Daryl adds, “Told me he’s got a boyfriend, too. Back at his community.”

It’s Rick’s turn to whip his head around. Daryl shrugs moodily and stamps out his cigarette on the otherwise pristine porch.

“What’s he gonna do about that?”

“Didn’t ask him yet. S’why I needed the cig.” He lights up a new cigarette before continuing, “And it’s why he’s sneaking around eavesdropping, the little shit.”

A guilty-looking figure slinks around the corner of the porch. “I was coming to check on you. And Alex isn’t my boyfriend.”

They all ignore the fact that Jesus could have used the front door if he’d just wanted to check up on things.

Jesus doesn’t look any better than Daryl. His hair is in a messy knot on top of his head, revealing a very visible bite mark on his ear, to Rick’s complete dismay.

Daryl notices it, too. Rick expects to see anger or embarrassment in his face, but instead there’s a hungry look in his eyes that Rick’s never seen there before.

Oh, hell. This whole thing suddenly reeks of some kind of possessive foreplay.

“I’ll leave you two to, uh.” Rick stands and pounds his way down the porch stairs.

Rick hears Jesus behind him, doing that obnoxious ‘voice of reason’ thing again. “If you’d have waited a second and listened to me instead of flouncing out of bed…”

Rick hurries away and misses the rest of the sentence, thank God. By the time he glances back, Daryl has his new soulmate pinned against the wall of the porch, and if they don’t get inside quick they’re going to give the neighborhood quite a show.

Soulmate hormones. Rick remembers them fondly. Shaking his head, he turns towards home, thinking a little too intently about those early days with Michonne.

[chiseki]

Figured I’d make this an intro post, since I’m pretty much using this alternate url as an “out” url compared to my usual vagueness.

I’m Joshua. Yes, that matches the sidebar, so it’s not really surprising here.

And that would surprise an entire two people following my main blog that know me irl because the rest were previously informed. Maybe three people, I forget if the last one is on tumblr or not.

Which is, by the way, ““““““““fun”““““““““

Yup, having like three local friend circles that had relations to each other outside of myself, and only one of them being in the know is fun.

You can basically stop reading at this point, because from here on out is just gonna be a massive time rewind to.....jeez, fuck if I know when, my childhood? I promise there will be time skips, we don’t need that mess played at normal tempo. (Also some funny stories after the giant gap in the text, if you want to scroll for that).

Most of this story is actually located in college, but the only real indicator (aside from having a general dislike of dresses) was way back when I was in all of second grade--apparently I was so damn insulted I burned all these facts into my memory--and an older kid was brought into the classroom, gave us this cool sales pitch about do we want to learn to shoot a bow, go camping, build campfires, etc

and then was like “OH YEAH THIS IS THE BOY SCOUTS IT’S BOYS ONLY”

I was so hyped lol.

Wound up being in a mediocre girl scout troop later, and my brother obviously got directed into boy scouts. At which point I got to find out that their camping trips were mostly getting rained on and finding black windows and getting taught woodworking by a dude missing a chunk of finger.

So more suffering than child me would have expected, but they still got to build fires and go REAL camping and shoot bows and rifles and shit.

Meanwhile, in girl scouts, we went to this one set of cabins every year. We never stayed in the damn cabins, because someone would find A Bug in there, or a spider, and then someone ELSE would have the same issue, and no one wanted to be in a cabin alone let alone be the only one in the cabins at all, and we always wound up sleeping in the air conditioned lodge that was visible from the damn cabins.

Except the one year where we went to a different camp, stayed in the legendary caboose, and there was a bat sleeping on the outside of the window so no one wanted to sleep there except me.

My scout group was weak.

I miss the cookies, though.

Anyway, due to not being forced into gender-targeted toys and getting to play with whatever the fuck I wanted, I also have jack shit for anything resembling an early warning sign aside from the above.

Actually, scratch that, I was not really a fan of dresses. I mean, this was fair in general, since they were usually scratchy, didn’t fit my arms/shoulders right, were designs I had no say in, and everyone would get on my case if the dress might get even a LITTLE dirty. Had some skirts I liked in middle school, but even that was a mess of having to wear tights because my genes have never resulted in anything resembling a thigh gap.

And I was like, constantly trying to play with the guys in grade school. And they’d periodically get that “NYEHHHHHHH GUYS ONLYYYYYY” shit going on. That was never not infuriating tbh.

Flash forward to high school, still basically left to my own devices. Only indicator here was that I was just tickled fucking pink whenever I heard that I either passed at cons or was at least tossed in the “maybe.......?” zone.

Flash forward to college. I honestly don’t remember what set me off on thinking about it, but started eyeballing my gender with a microscope. Unfortunately I couldn’t apply a litmus test like sexuality, so there was a lot of “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhfuck” going on.

Actually, I think part of it was that on the forum I hung out on, a lot of the old regulars had assumed I was a dude until a childhood friend had dropped a pronoun several times in succession & asserted its correctness, which then led to a discussion along the lines of “whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat”.

But yeah, started testing the waters.

Also tried going to a LGBT+ club like, once. With the gal I was either dating at the time or was about to be dating, my memory is shit tbh. “HEY SO HOW ABOUT WE ALL JUST COME OUT TO EACH OTHER, A BUNCH OF STRANGERS <33333333″ still freaks me out, honestly. I get why it’s generally done, but like, no thanks. But I was horrendously obvious in ducking about the gender question and she totally called me out on it later in private lol. Also got me my first binder, but I digress.

Anyway, basically spilled on “I’m.....probably..............? a dude...........? jsyk??????” to my immediate friends, which was met with a lot of “.....YEAH ACTUALLY THAT MAKES SENSE” and a “hang on I need a dictionary........ok I get it”

I think I was the least smooth part of anything resembling a coming-out just due to like, me not wanting to have to tell people to do things for me? It’s something I find extremely awkward, like I know it’s that horribly stereotypical dating thing of “what’s wrong, bby, what do I have to do” “I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO TELL YOU WHAT TO DO” but.

And that’s an entire digression about how my relationship with my mother often included me saying a lot of shit I had to say convincingly, but didn’t mean at all, and probably led to me having fuckall faith in what people say, most especially when under a forced prompt. I could do an essay on that, but not here.

Which, admittedly, I’m gonna rewind here because I think it’s funny in hindsight, but it means the dictionary reaction went like “SO...........I’M.............TRANS?” “What?” [thinking this is pushback on the idea] [PANIC MODE] “UH” “Like, literally, what does that word mean, I've never heard it in my life.” “OH. WELL. Heh. Uh. That internal reaction I had was embarrassing then, oops.”

Anyway.

Then the collective action was, “well, have you picked a name what do you MEAN you haven’t picked a name, we can’t just run about calling you by your deadname after all that”

And I tossed some names out, that I’m not going to list, because they were just fucking awful. So I got interventioned and the method became throwing names at me until they stuck.

Adam? Nah I knew an Adam and I can’t unassociate with that

Noah? Violin teacher’s third kid was named Noah. Same issue with Gabriel and Caleb.

Benjamin? I fucking grew up with a Benjamin he would kill me.

you get the idea.

And those were like, actual reasonable rejections. At least half the time I was just like “I DON’T LIKE HOW IT SOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNDS.” Take, for example, Josh. I 1) knew one in high school and he was a piece of work and 2) I just, inexplicably, don’t like how the word sounds.

Which is part irony and part masochism that JoshUA stuck.

I mean, that name had pre-existing connotations for me. I had played..........a game.........in high school. And given that my options were pretty shafted to Stereotypical White Boy Names if I didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb, some positive(?) pre-existing connotations were going to be needed.

Incidentally, I had a v. sweet trans girl offer me her deadname, which was a cool name, but just, like, didn’t fit me in particular so. She also picked her name by RNG tournament, with the top 10 baby names for her year being the competitors. Which was neat and worked well for her, but I know I would have just re-run the fucking tourney if I didn’t like the winner lol.

But anyway, continuing on to a less flowery story. I’ll add some blank lines so it’s skippable. No need to set off every other person with gender issues here.

Decided to come out to my family. Apparently time fuzzed down my memories of being devoured by mosquitos outside while my parents were trying to decipher that their kid was holding hands with a girl in the back of the van and that girl had been planned to sleep over that night, and despite the fact that booth teens wouldn’t be jumping to sex that fast nor had the equipment to make a kid between them....it was Reason For Concern like a straight couple sharing a bed.

I mean, my mom was convinced that anything touching the nether regions was SEX and PREMARITAL SEX was EVIL. But I digress.....again.

So. I tell them. And the reaction ranged from “well ok I mean you’ve always been weird” (thanks, bro) to “uh I guess my last name’s odds of getting inherited just doubled........?” to “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME”

Yeah. That last one was word for word. Some stuff was thrown, lots of crying (”I CAN’T EVEN DO MY MAKEUP AND IT’S YOUR FAULT”)--both of which were not my doing, though I got shocked(?) into my own set of tears iirc.

I think I set a speed record for climbing back into the closet. Like, a week later, everyone was pretending it never happened. I sorta emotionally cut ties with my mom at that point--kept it civil, but Did Not Want to discuss my life or friends at all with her or in any way that would get back to her.

So obviously, no one in my family knows I go by Joshua. If they asked, I would tell them, but lo and behold, zero questions, they never brought it up again, etc. And I’ve been very careful about not letting that knowledge spread, not putting it on the internet in a way that connects back to my legal name, being primed at any point to pretend “Joshua” is a mutual friend and to not respond to that name if someone accidentally calls me by it.

Incidentally, during Yet Another Family Counseling that was at least performed at an individual level this time, my mom apparently told the counselor that she thought she handled that well. Last I checked, making the situation about yourself and doing the whole “woe is me, the mother, with a child like this” shpeal was not “well”.

And I mean the WHOLE shpeal. If you’ve ever had the misfortune to see the posts by parents of trans kids that wax soliloquy about losing their child and mourning their “death” (especially the ones that aren’t all “but I got a new kid!”) like, the ones especially cut from the same cloth that would be like “my child is autistic but ~I~ am the inspiration for waking up in the morning” like no, your kid is the inspiration for dealing with you.

And if anyone is wondering, this is basically the Midwest Stereotype for....LGBT, interracial dating, etc rejection imo. Seemingly ok with it, but NO WAIT HANG ON, NOT MY CHILD. Like, I legit had trans kids explained to me (albeit without terms for it) at a relatively young age by my mother and yet. “X exists but not in our good christian neighborhood” attitude. Ugh.

So where was I? Hmm, yes, funny Joshua stories. Ok I have like ONE story. One of my friends that was in the know finally got me to play Trails in the Sky. Now, this sucker has a chunk of text lead-in with a ~mysterious~ boy that young Estelle’s father has brought home, and the whole discussion skips his name, ending on “my name is....”. Then it time-skips to present day, finally casually dropping this dude’s name, which, obviously, is Joshua.

My friend did not tell me this.

No warning, nada. Only Estelle had really come up in conversation.

And then we collectively dragged another friend into the abyss with us, except he wasn’t in the know. We also had him streaming his playing sessions when our schedules coincided, which led to--because of a shitty accuracy stat--him yelling (as we did) “JOSHUA!” frequently in combat.

I debated on just responding “Yes?” randomly one day in the most casual closet-exit possible. Then procrastinated by deciding to just be out with it at the end of the first game since he’d also played twewy.

Some of you have probably started to eye my avatars with judgement in your hearts. That’s fair.

Anyway, we had forgotten about another character that practically had his name, so at least I had someone to share my weird feelings with.

And then, he started the second game, and I didn’t hold back on responding “yes?” every time “Joshua” was used as an interjection.

Also because of that one post about biblical names, I will respond to any use of “Jesus”.

[builder051]

Hey so like, if you’re willing (or you’ve got the time or whatever) could you write a lil fic with Steve as the sickie ? It’s my literal weakness. I just wanna see something where he gets home and doesn’t even get the chance to say hello to bucky before he’s fainting or throwing up or something. Also ? fever nightmares/deliciousness are my jam . Anyways I hope your week is going well & I hope you’re taking care of yourself ! 💛

I’ve already written a fic that (mostly) contains all these elements.  It’s a concussion fic, so the deliriousness (deliciousness??) comes from head injury instead of fever, but I think this will fit the bill.  It’s kind of long, so skim the mission fic part at the beginning if you’re only interested in the sick.  I’m pasting it below for ya.

Thanks for the well wishes!  I’m still not doing fantastic, but I’m getting right along.

_____

I get knocked down…but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down…

Steve’s flat on his back, and the words echo blankly in his head.

What the fuck?

It’s so dusty.

And he’s so…tired?

I get knocked down…

There’s…is that a hole in the ceiling?  Dilapidated rafters and corrugated metal sheets are busted out of the way to allow a view of the blue sky and a shaft of warm sunlight to hit the floor.

A little unorthodox for a skylight.

“Cap?”

Steve’s almost sure he heard the sound with his ears, but he can’t be positive.

Why is he lying on his back?

Steve pushes over to his side, then uses his arms to hoist himself up to seated.  Immediately the world shifts around him, and his hand slips against the dusty concrete.  The floor seems to have become the wall, but he’s still stuck to it…

I get knocked down…

Why is that damn song stuck in his head?

Isn’t he supposed to be doing something?

“Cap?  Steve?”

Yep, definitely supposed to be doing something.

“Hey, what happened?”  Footsteps echo toward him.  Nat’s face materializes upside down over him.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, sure.”  Steve raises himself up to a sitting position again, and the floor-wall miraculously returns to its original position, though it leaves Steve with a wave of dizziness reverberating through his skull.  Which hurts.

“Did you get hit?”

“Must have.”  Steve’s voice sounds oddly echoey.

“Must have, as in, you’re not sure?” Nat asks, her eyebrows going up.

“It was a pretty hard hit,” Steve admits.  Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing, as he still doesn’t remember it.  He picks himself up off the floor, automatically brushing dust from his deep blue suit and freshly polished shield.

“That’s what your helmet’s for, dumbass,” Nat teases him.  But her eyes flick from his face to his hairline, searching for a visible wound.

Steve doesn’t think there is one, but he runs his gloved hands over his head to be sure.

“Really, why’d you take off your helmet?” Nat asks.

Steve knows the answer to this.  He just can’t make it make any sense in his head because the context has evaporated.  “Better to talk to civilians without it.”

“Oh.  You found the hostages?”

Did he?  Steve glances around as quickly as he can, trying to get his bearings back without upsetting the precarious balance of his head on his shoulders.  The more he moves, the more it feels like a brass band it setting up shop in his skull.

The abandoned warehouse is starting to look more familiar now.  That busted-up sheet metal half-wall thing, that’s concealing the posts where the hostages are chained up.  Steve enunciates that to Nat as clearly as he can, then casually palpates the back of his head where it vaguely feels like he’s being smashed repeatedly with a hammer.

Now Nat’s saying something, and Steve’s missed the beginning of it.  “…when they’re coming back, but we need to move them now.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” Nat asks, looking concerned again.

“Yeah,” Steve assures her.  “Just…still shaking it off.”  Although Steve’s sure that if he shakes anything, especially his head, he’s going to fall over.

“Ok, well, finish shaking and cover me.”  Nat draws a gun from the collection on her belt and starts across the warehouse.

Steve keeps pace with her jog, but clenches his teeth together as the motion jostles his stomach.  It’s as if wire-fine neurons have re-woven themselves to as to directly connect his head and abdomen.  One step equals one throb equals one swallowed wave of disgustingness.

The scruffy-looking group of coal miners chained up in the corner of the warehouse start whooping and cheering when they see Nat and Steve coming toward them.

“Shh, stop,” Nat commands them.  “They might hear you and come back.”

Steve’s just grateful it’s quieter again.  The sound had been wreaking havoc like drumbeats in his head.

“We saw you get slammed earlier, Cap,” one of the miners says with an Appalachian drawl.  “Didn’t know if we’d be lucky enough to see you come rescue us.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Steve says, trying to convince himself that his words are true.  “You’re all ok?  They haven’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” the miner replies.  “Kept threatening that we’d be the fuel in their new clean energy rig, but, honestly, we’re used to hearing shit like that.”

“Well, they probably meant it,” Nat says, using a miniature pulsar beam on her wrist to start cutting through the chains around one man’s wrists.  “HYDRA’s no joke.  But what the hell they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere…It is more like a tease than a threat.”

“Hey, this isn’t nowhere,” the miner pipes back up.  “We live here.”

“Yeah, she didn’t…” Steve has to blink hard to ground himself and regain his train of thought.  “…didn’t mean it.”

“You gonna help or stand there?” Nat barks in response.

“Oh.  Help,” Steve replies.  He uses the edge of his shield to bash the chains holding one the nearest miner’s feet to the thick concrete post.  The resulting clang is enough to make Steve want to curl up with his hands over his ears.

“Yikes.  Maybe I don’t want you to help,” Nat says, cringing herself at the loud noise.  “Just stand watch and see if the creeps in the gas masks come back… oh shit.”

Steve follows Nat’s gaze and immediately lifts his shield in front of his chest.  Two black-clad figures with bulky masks over their faces are sprinting for the cluster of hostages.  They don’t immediately look harmful, but with the threat of alien tech and something akin to nuclear power, no chances can be taken.

Nat’s drawing another gun out of its holster, one that shoots paralyzing beams instead of bullets.  “I’m on ‘em,” she says.  “Keep working on the hostages.”

“Roger,” Steve replies.

The gun fires loudly, and as the sound reverberates through Steve’s head, his vision blurs.  He takes out a good chunk of the concrete floor before he’s able to adjust the edge of his shield and bust through more of the chains.

The second gunshot sends Steve’s hands to his knees.  He struggles to hold onto clarity as he swallows his stomach back down into its proper place.

I get knocked down…

Why is that stupid song still hanging around?  He’s got much more important things to think about…like trying his damndest not to barf, and cutting chains, and covering Nat’s six…

“They didn’t unleash some weird bio-weapon on you, did they?”  Nat’s at his shoulder, poking him back to standing upright.

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Nat says, going back to lighting up chains with her mini pulsar.  “But you’re acting weird, you know?”

Steve shrugs.  Through the fuzz in his head, he’s starting to suspect what might be wrong.  He doesn’t want to think about it, though.  He’d die of embarrassment if he had to go to a head injury safety lecture for forgetting to put on his goddamn helmet.

“Ok, that’s it, freeing up the last of them.  Two operatives incapacitated, doesn’t look like there are any more,” Nat’s saying.

Steve’s confused at first.  Then it dawns on him that she’s talking into her comm, probably with Fury on the other end.  But Steve should be on the call too.  He feels for it with clumsy fingers, but the little piece of metal and plastic that should be poised on the edge of his ear canal is gone.  It probably fell out when he hit the ground earlier.

“Alright.  We’re headed out,” Nat says.  She turns toward the group of rescued miners and informs them that there’s a cadre of police cars outside the warehouse and a little ways down the hill. They should be safe now, and the regular police corps will take over from here, helping the miners and arresting the injured HYDRA agents.

“And we’re done.  We’re leaving,” she adds to Steve.  “Did you lose your comm, too?  God, you’re a mess today.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently.  He tries to plug his brain back in against the throbbing backbeat.  “That was it?  Just those two guys?”

“Looks like it,” Nat says.  “But with the lack of tech and stuff in their hideout, I’m wondering if they were just some weirdo sympathizers instead of actual HYDRA operatives.”

“Hm.”  The glossy black Hummer that’d driven them out of DC and into Appalachia is waiting, burning fuel as it idles in a gravel driveway.  Steve opens the door and flops gratefully onto the richly cushioned backseat.  The air conditioning is blasting, and Steve positions his head so he’s in the direct path of the breeze.  It dries the sheen of sickly sweat on his forehead, making him feel better for all of one moment.

The drive from rural Virginia back to the DC Metro area is set to take a couple hours.  At first the prospect of lounging across the roomy backseat is appealing.  All Steve wants to do is rest.  But when the Hummer starts bumping down the hilly terrain toward the main road, Steve has to clamp his teeth together so his head doesn’t flop off and start rolling across the floor.

Nat’s tapping on an iPad, getting a head start on the mission report paperwork and playing Angry Birds.  At least, that’s what Steve thinks she’s playing.  The squawking sound effects seem somewhat familiar.  Waves of sleepiness compete with nausea washing over Steve’s head and chest.  He leans the side of his head against the cool glass of the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

“You alright?” Nat asks, jolting Steve back into painful awareness.

“Hm?  Yeah,” Steve says, trying to swallow the vertigo that’s loping from his forehead down to his lap.  “Just tired.”

“I didn’t think it was that strenuous.”  She’s talking about the mission.  “Did you not sleep last night or something?  Bucky keeping you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still trying to work out the shift in topic and decode what Nat just said.

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Huh?”

“Were you guys boning or dealing with nightmares?”

“What the— geez, Nat, I don’t talk about that stuff.”  How the hell did the conversation morph to include his sex life?  He’s not firing on all cylinders.  Something’s definitely wrong.

Steve’s had a concussion before.  All this, the severe headache, the mental fog, the tiredness, the strong urge to puke, is dreadfully familiar.  There’s nothing to be done except lie down and throw up and feel stupid while someone asks inane questions about the president and the date and things Steve still has trouble with even when he’s feeling fine.  He just wants to go home.

Steve does his best to stay awake for the duration of the drive.  The sound effects from Nat’s game and his own nausea do a good job of keeping him from drifting off, but the soft rumble of the Hummer’s engine is a difficult lullaby to resist.  By the time they’re rumbling past the shops and neighborhoods of Falls Church, Steve’s barely holding onto his consciousness and his stomach.

He wants more than anything to be home, and it would be just too much to drive by the townhouse and go on to SHIELD.  “Hey,” Steve says, swallowing down bile and raspiness.  “Can we…can you drop me off at my house?”

The agent driving the Hummer turns his head to look at Steve, obviously perplexed by the unconventional request.

“Why?  You have to debrief, see medical, finish up the mission paperwork,” Nat says.

“Yeah, I…I’ll come back in a little bit,” Steve forces out.  “It’s just…Buck’s got an appointment.  I forgot about it till now.  He wanted me to go with him…”  It’s a complete lie, but Steve’s desperate.

“You are so weird today,” Nat sighs, shaking her head.

The driver seems to take pity on him, though, and asks where to turn off.  Steve directs him to the complex of townhomes, then lets out an exhale of relief when the huge, thundering car pauses at the end of his driveway.

“Thanks,” Steve says.  “I’ll, uh, see you soon.”  He had told Nat he’d come back, right?  He doesn’t exactly remember…

“You better,” Nat replies.  Then, somewhat softer, “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Steve mumbles.  He grabs his shield and opens the car door, gripping it tightly as he steps onto the concrete of the driveway, which may or may not be moving under his boots.

Steve fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakily unlocks the front door.  The Hummer is speeding away down the road, and Steve’s relieved it’s going.  His stomach is wedged so far up his throat he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it down for the next minute as he gets into the house.

Sweat beads up on what feels like every inch of his face and body.  Steve feels the knob turn in his hand, and he nearly walks into the flat of the grey painted door because he can’t get it open fast enough.

“Hey,” he hears Bucky call from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

Steve’s on the point of replying, but when he opens his mouth, a gag and a rush of undigested stomach contents beat down the words.  He reaches for the wall and braces himself, doubled over, as he vomits all over the doormat.

“The fuck?”  Bucky’s footsteps pound around the corner and into the entryway, and he’s quickly at Steve’s shoulder, supporting his trembling form.  “What happened?”

“God, my head,” Steve exhales, trying to push his stomach back down to its normal location.  He fails miserably and his throat goes into contraction again.

“Ok,” Bucky soothes, sidestepping the puddle of sick and peeling Steve away from the wall.  “Do you wanna come into the bathroom, maybe?”

“No, I’m…I’m ok,” Steve breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’s finished retching for the moment.

“Alright, well, at least come lie down,” Bucky says.  “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Probably,” Steve says, trying to give off more confidence than he actually feels.

“Ok, come on.”  Bucky’s metal arm wraps securely around Steve’s waist, and they start slowly up the stairs.  Steve grips the railing tightly, and he feels the whole thing shaking with the tremor in his body.  Or maybe it’s just his unsteady brain playing tricks.

Once in the bedroom, Steve immediately flops onto the end of the bed, letting his body rest horizontally while his feet remain on the floor.

Bucky starts unlacing his boots, tugging gently and asking, “Alright.  What happened?  You were fine this morning.”

“I think I…got hit.  In the head,” Steve whispers, drawing his hands up over his face.

“What?  And medical released you, even though you’re barfing all over the place?”

Steve lets the words sink in.  “Sorry,” he rasps.  Then, “I…haven’t been yet.”

“Why?  You need medical attention.”  Bucky finishes removing Steve’s boots and starts looking for the zipper to release him from his suit.

“They’re not gonna do anything for a concussion…” Steve mutters, tossing his arm over his eyes to block out the light.  “Just need to…be sick for a couple hours.  I’ll be fine.”

“You’re concussed?” Bucky says, concern melding with surprise.

“I think so,” Steve replies.  He massages between his eyes, but it only succeeds in bringing the underlying current of nausea up to the surface.  “Buck, I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Hold on a sec,” Bucky says.  He sprints away into the ensuite and returns with the small trash can.  The world tips maddeningly as Steve heaves himself back to sitting and retches into the white plastic bin.

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes on a hitching breath.  He feels like a collection of parts strung together in the most illogical way.  The sweat dripping down his forehead makes his shoulder cramp, which brings an ache to his low back, and then forces another wave of stomach acid up his throat.

“It’s ok,” Bucky soothes, adjusting the trash can in Steve’s limp grip.  “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to medical?  I mean, I can take care of you and all, but…”  He trails off, patting Steve on the back.

“It’ll…heal itself up in a few hours.  I’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”  He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.”  Bucky softly swats Steve’s shoulder.  “Don’t do that.  I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

“Ok.”  Steve releases the trash can to the floor and watches it settle between his feet.

The washcloth is cool on his face and neck.  The breeze of the air conditioning bites into his clammy skin when Bucky helps him out of his suit.  The bed pillows are soft under his head, but there must be a rock or something right below them.  Perhaps it’s under the mattress, or pressing up through the foundation of the house…

“Hey, wake up for a second,” Bucky says.  He lightly massages Steve’s shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Do you want to throw up, or try to answer some questions?”

“God.  Neither.”  Steve tries to turn onto his side, but his stomach threatens mutiny, and he stays stationary on his back.

“Let’s try for a couple questions,” Bucky encourages.  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Do you know who’s the president of the United States?” Steve hoarsely mumbles back.

“Yeah, I do, but I’m asking you,” Bucky laughs quietly.

“Uh…Truman.  I mean, Obama.  But, no, um…Donald…?”  Steve shuts his eyes and scrubs his palm over them.

“What year is it?”  Bucky asks.

The bed is a raft, floating on an angrily choppy ocean.  “I think…” Steve swallows thickly.  “I’d rather throw up.”

The next thing Steve knows, the phone is ringing.

“Hey, it’s Nat, do you want to talk to her for a sec?” Bucky’s asking him.

“No.”  Steve wants to go back to sleep.  Maybe take some Excedrin.  Or go to town on a bowl of peppermint ice cream.  His mouth tastes terrible.

“Naw, he’s ok.  Kind of sick and a little confused, but he’s already pulling himself back together.”

Steve blinks.  Or, at least he thinks he does.  The bedroom is much darker than it was, and the cool glow of moonlight sifts in through the curtained window.

Bucky’s lying on his stomach, his arm tucked around Steve’s chest and his chin resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder.  The strong scent of pine-sol hangs in the air.  “Hey,” he whispers when he sees Steve’s eyelids flutter.  “You were talking in your sleep a little bit.”

“Huh?”  Steve grunts.  “What about?”

“I get knocked down or something like that.”

“Oh.”  Steve can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across his face.  He presses his palm over his forehead, cooling the lingering headache and attempting to force his thoughts into an intelligible order.  “That song.  It’s been stuck in my head.”

“That’s funny,” Bucky chuckles.  “Only you’d be enough of a punk to get a concussion and start singing about it.”

“Shut up.”  Steve weakly shoves Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.  “Not completely great, but I don’t think my head’s going to fall off now.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.”  Bucky laughs again.  “How’s your stomach?”

Steve considers for a moment.  The slightly seasick feeling that accompanies any bad headache remains pressing slightly into his temples.  But it’s such an upgrade from the gale force of sickly vertigo from earlier that it hardly rates.  “Pretty good, I think,” Steve says.  Then, “Sorry you had to clean up so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says.  “I’m just relieved you’re back in your right mind.  You had me a little worried there.”

“I’m ok.”

“Yeah.  Good thing, too,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up from Steve’s shoulder.  “Now, you wanna come downstairs and get something to eat, or are you gonna demand bedside service?”

“Well, you’re pretty good at the whole bedside service thing, but then you’d leave me up here…”  Steve ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I know you still don’t feel good,” Bucky says.  “You’re clingy.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though?”

“No,” Bucky smiles.  “Not at all.”

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Goofy kiss with haruto/kousuke/shunpei? If you’re alright with it

Anon, I am not only all right with this, I’m actually delighted, it’s extremely cute.

It’s nearly midnight, and they’re all a little drunk.

The champagne ran out ages ago. Granted, the champagne was opened in the middle of the afternoon--then it had just been Wajima and Haruto and Shunpei, celebrating the completion of Shunpei’s fifth ring by closing the shop ten minutes early and ordering takeout. Then, though, Rinko showed up with a “Look who I found in the park,” and that was Kousuke, swaggering through the door with a shit-eating grin and an acceptance letter to a graduate program. They’d had to order more takeout, but once that had been dealt with it was clear that there was more celebrating to do, so Wajima had broken out the Scotch.

Of course, he’s an old man, he disappeared off into his rooms upstairs hours ago to get some sleep. And Rinko has work in the morning, of course, so she’d left at around ten, slightly tipsy but still fully capable of calling a cab. So now it’s just Haruto, Shunpei, and Kousuke, sitting crowded together on the shop couch, and the mood is riding high.

“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Kousuke gestures vaguely, eyebrows furrowing. “The ring. The new ring. What’s it do, you never said.”

“Oh it’s great, lemme show you.” Haruto fumbles it onto his finger, the driver sing-songs, “Ventriloquism, please,” and a moment later his voice is coming from a Murano glass vase halfway across the room. “It’s useful, you know? I can use this. But it’s also fun.” He deactivates the ring and pulls it off, popping it back onto the chain.

“I’m very proud of it.” Shunpei hiccups. “I don’t think it’s as fun as, as the squeaky one, the balloon one. But it’s good. I did good.”

“You did good!” Kousuke slings an arm around his shoulders, grinning. “That’s cool stuff.”

“And you’re going to grad school! Gonna be a professor of old stuff! Like the guy in those movies. I can’t remember the name.”

“Yep! I mean I’m gonna be a TA first. And it’ll be great. And I’m gonna tell my students, if the locals say they don’t mess with something ‘cause it’s super haunted or full of demons or whatever, you should believe them!”

Haruto nods solemnly. “That’s good advice. That’s wisdom.”

“Hell yeah. I have wisdom.”

“Yeah you do.” Haruto blinks. “Is there more scotch? I could go for a little more scotch.”

They all peer around the room, hunting for the scotch bottle. Of course, it’s on the counter, nowhere within reach, so Shunpei stands up and goes to get it. He’s not wobbling, but he is being visibly careful about his steps.

“I have wisdom,” Kousuke says again, grinning. “And a hot boyfriend with a motorcycle. You’re gonna have to...you gotta visit me at school. So everyone knows I have wisdom and a hot boyfriend.”

“As long as you don’t introduce me as your hot boyfriend.” Haruto pauses. “Or, no, you can introduce me as your hot boyfriend, but you have to tell people my name first.”

“That’s fair. That’s fair. Can’t just lead with that. People would be overwhelmed. Can’t overwhelm people with how awesome my life is.”

Haruto nods. “You’re very overwhelming.”

“I try. I’m gonna, I’ve been spending too much time thinking about how hot you are, you should definitely kiss me.”

At this point, several things happen simultaneously:

Haruto says, “I definitely should, yes,” and starts leaning towards Kousuke

Kousuke starts leaning towards him

Shunpei gets back to the couch with the bottle of scotch and promptly trips over the corner of the coffee table

He doesn’t go completely head over heels, but he does windmill his arms and drop the scotch (harmlessly onto a chair, fortunately) before landing heavily on the couch in between the other two. Haruto’s mouth hits his ear; Kousuke, who’s a little more thrown off balance, ends up with his face in the side of Shunpei’s neck.

Shunpei feels himself flush hot and says, “Uh. I’m. I’m very sorry.”

“Actually, I’m surprisingly ok with this.” Haruto’s breath tickles his ear. “I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s unexpected, but this is ok.”

“Yeah, this is nice.” He can feel Kousuke’s mouth moving on the side of his neck, which is. Something. He can’t quite articulate it, because he’s a little drunk. “This is good, I can run with this.”

Shunpei can’t manage to summon more than a faint squeaking noise. They can probably both feel how warm he’s gotten. Hopefully they’ll think it’s the scotch and not the effect of a number of his more overheated dreams suddenly replaying in the back of his head. Some of it definitely is the scotch, actually, but the dream replays aren’t helping.

“I think,” Haruto says--very slowly, which doesn’t help anything, “I think maybe this is a conversation we should pick back up when we’re sober.”

“‘m not that drunk.” Kousuke raises a hand to gesture and then stops halfway, draping his arm over Shunpei’s chest instead. “Ok, I’m a little drunk. But also I agree. Later discussion. Tomorrow. But definitely a discussion that we discuss.”

Shunpei makes another squeaking noise and furiously tamps down any further dream replays before managing, “That sounds. That sounds reasonable.”

[daddymenrah]

Ice Cream and a Joint: Elliot x Reader

A/N: Hey guys I’m v sorry for my absence as of late. I’ve been going through a kind of shitty breakup and generally just a rough patch in my overall mental health. I’ve been trying so hard to write but I just can’t. But finally, tonight I managed to get something finished! I have a feeling you guys are gonna enjoy it.

 This is a response to multiple requests, which I can’t name bc it’ll ruin the fic lol.

Warnings: Explicit. Sexual. Content. Bitches.

 It’s eight o’clock on a quiet Wednesday, the just-visible sun still providing some warmth to your skin. You’re on the pier waiting, unsure what the evening would bring. Wednesday was a good day for you. It was halfway through the work week, your stress levels were relatively low, and your plans were almost certain to put you in a good mood.

 A warm breeze ruffles your hair and the thigh-length dress you’re wearing. You cross and uncross your legs somewhat uncomfortably. You’d made a risky choice in underwear, or lack thereof, and virtually everything was a reminder. But the reason you made such a decision was walking towards you with his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets.

 The slowly setting sun bathed the pier in a golden light that tinged Elliot’s washed out complexion a gorgeous olive tone that it probably would be if he spent more time outside. He’d donned his usual black hoodie and jeans, but to your surprise, it was unzipped. Underneath, he wore a grey t-shirt that as he got closer, you noted it had a few miniscule holes towards the bottom.

 His steps slowed as he reached your spot on the pier, and rifled in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He shook one out for himself and angled the pack towards you in a silent offer. You took one and smiled your thanks. He handed you a lighter, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get the flame to  stay for long enough thanks to the breeze.

 Elliot took the lighter back from you with a cautious, jerky hand movement. He put his own cigarette between his chapped lips and successfully lit it within seconds. He then hands it to you, smiling sheepishly.

“Thanks.” You grin, passing him the one you were unable to light.

“Yeah it’s a shitty lighter.”

 Smoke billowing between the two of you, you began to stroll up the wooden boardwalk. It had been a few days since you’d seen Elliot, or spoken to him for that matter. Eventually you’d swallowed your nerves and called him to check he was okay. He didn’t answer the first time and your confidence was almost knocked, but you’d tried again and on the fourth ring, he’d answered.

 His slow, sensual, drawl had flown from the receiver like a river over gravel.

“Y/N?” He’d croaked.

“Elliot?” Silence followed. “Are you okay?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Was his sarcastic reply. It was often difficult to discern his sarcasm due to his monotonous voice and typically expressionless neutral face. You chuckled and then made the jump.

 “Wanna go for a walk tomorrow evening?”

“Sure.” “At eight?”

“Ok. See you.”

 It was such a short exchange but it left your heart racing with excitement.

 And here you were, smoking a cigarette while enjoying the view with Elliot.

“Shall we walk?” You suggest and he nods.

“That is what you invited me to do, after all.” His joke warms your insides, it had taken so long for him to break the boundary of just necessary conversation.

 “So how’ve you been? Hadn’t seen you in a while so I thought I’d…” You gesture between the two of you. “Yeah.” Elliot exhales his drag before responding.

“I’ve been better… Work, stuff, you know.” He explains vaguely. You know this is as close to an admission that he’d been having a hard time, but it was all you needed to understand.

 “I get it. But hey, you know I have no life. We can always just go for a walk when shit gets rough.” You tell him, smiling genuinely. Elliot switches his gaze from the floor to you, and his lips quirk at the edges.

“Yeah. Thanks.” His shoulder brushes against you and he doesn’t flinch. You wonder if maybe it had been intentional?

 “So… What have you been doing?” Elliot asks, surprising you a little with his outward interest.

“Well, uh, same old really. Wake up, eat, work, eat, sleep, repeat.” Elliot smiles knowingly.

“Maybe we both needed this.” He murmurs, his voice almost lost in the breeze.

 “Needed what?” You press, not particularly sure what he’s referring to.

“A break from routine.” He gestures between the two of you.

“Yeah, this is nice.” You grin, allowing him to see just how glad you are that he’d agreed to meet. “Is there anything you actually wanna do or are we cool just walking?”

 Elliot shrugs.

“We could get ice cream.” He suggests, an impish smile on his tired features.

“Really Elliot? Ice cream?” You laugh. He continues to smile, eyes trained on the floor as he shakes his head. “Sounds good to me.” “Cool.” He replies, then rummages for something in his pocket.

 He procures the pack of cigarettes and pulls something out. From afar, you wouldn’t know it wasn’t just a cig, but from your vantage point, you could see it was hand rolled.

“Ice cream and a joint. You know me a little too well.” Elliot smiles again, breaking some kind of record.

 “Logically, it’s a great combination.”

 The two of you make your way down to the end of the pier where there was a small ice cream shop. It’s set up in the style of a kiosk with a few small tables littered around the front of it. Already seated are two other couples and a group of presumably teenagers. You approach the kiosk and peruse the flavours, which are changed weekly bar classic chocolate and vanilla.

 Elliot lingers behind you, not particularly favouring the harsh light of the freezers. You settle on two scoops of a flavour you’d tried at this same spot a while ago then wait for Elliot to place his order. He goes for double chocolate, then pays for the two of you before you can protest.

 “And now for the perfect spot.” You announce, and lead him a little further down where there are some benches. You’re surprised to find that there’s no one else seated on the few benches that line each side of the pier, so you and Elliot select one and take a seat. Elliot hands you his ice cream while he grabs the joint and the lighter.

 Just as he goes to take it back you lick it slowly, relishing in the shock that crosses his features. But you don’t get to enjoy it for long, as he shocks you back by leaning over and taking a lick of yours too.

“Well I wasn’t expecting that.” You burst out laughing.

“Legally speaking, I own that ice cream.” He counters, eyebrow cocked in jest.

 Your mouth drops at his comeback and he simply smirks, placing the joint between his lips. You’re relieved to see him joking around, after his silence you weren’t sure what this evening was going to be like. It seemed as though he might have needed some time with another human being that wasn’t going to judge him or press him for information.

 As it turns out, weed and ice cream is a great pairing. After a particularly deep drag, you could soothe the burn in the back of your throat with some cold sweetness. You glance over at Elliot, he’s staring out into the sunset which is almost over, and while entranced in his appearance, a gust of wind flies up the skirt of your dress.

 You let out a yelp and Elliot looks over at you before you can push the fabric down again. His eyes go wide and his head snaps in the other direction.

“Sorry.” He mutters. Your cheeks are burning in embarrassment, you have no idea why you thought this was a good idea.

“No, no, Elliot, it’s fine. It’s my fault, I don’t know why I did it-“

 “You did it on purpose?” He interrupts.

“What? I don’t control the wind El-“

“That’s not what I meant.” You sit staring back at him, gaping slightly.

“Yes.” You finally manage to respond. Elliot shifts, licking his lips unconsciously. You noticed he did that a lot, especially when he was thinking about something particularly perplexing.

 “I don’t mind.” He says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between the two of you. Your jaw drops but you shut it almost immediately. You’d had your fair share of moments with Elliot where he was more physically comfortable than usual, or with anyone else for that matter, but you weren’t really sure what it meant.

 Maybe this was it.

“Do you have to go to work early tomorrow?” He asks, he seems to be trying hard to keep himself composed but the breathlessness in his voice gives him away.

“No, not really.” You answer quicker than what could be considered anything but eager. He senses this.

 “You can come over if you want.” He offers.

“Is that what you want?”

“I’m asking you.” His assertiveness is uncharacteristic, but it flips a switch within you.

“Yes.”

 The two of you practically run hand in hand off the pier and hail a cab. Once seated inside, Elliot interlinks his fingers with yours. He stares straight ahead, his expression serious, like a child not wanting to be caught doing something bad. It’s fucking adorable. The time it takes to reach his apartment is laughable, you could have walked, but the tension between you was about to snap.

 Upon entering his building, you wait for him to take the lead up the stairs, but something dark glints in Elliot’s eyes. “You first. Fourth floor.” He instructs. You hesitate, knowing damned well that from his angle he’d be able to see everything, but wasn’t this exactly why you chose this outfit? You wanted to be seductive, you didn’t think you’d achieve it, but Elliot was handing you the opportunity on a silver platter.

 So you smile innocently back at him, then begin the ascent. There’s a sharp intake of breath from behind you, and the heat between your legs increases. You’re now certain that he can see, and you’re hyper aware of his gaze on your inner thighs and what lays between them.

 But you continue upwards, slowly becoming confident in yourself, knowing just how turned on Elliot is merely by view up your skirt. Quicker than you’d like, you reach the fourth floor and Elliot unlocks his apartment. He ignores his dog as he leads you to his bedroom, closing the door much to the animal’s confusion.

 Awkwardness returns as you’re faced with the reality of the situation. After much tiptoeing around each other you’re now face to face in his bedroom with both your intentions blindingly clear. There are only two options; run, or continue. You choose the latter, dropping the straps of your dress. It falls to the floor far too quickly and Elliot’s eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

 “You were like that the entire time we were together…” He whispers, then sits on the edge of his bed. You smile sheepishly and nod. He shrugs his hoodie off and places it on the other side of the bed. He reaches out, fingers visibly shaking. He pauses before he actually touches your skin, still unsure how you could want this with him.

 You take the plunge, throwing a leg either side of his thighs and sitting on his lap. Like a dehydrated man confronted with an oasis, Elliot grips your waist with bruising strength. He begins kissing your neck and chest hungrily, you’re shocked by his force, but you certainly don’t resent it. You lean into his touch, your breasts brushing his cheeks. Elliot licks a long stripe from your sternum up to your collarbone.

 “Fuck.” He mutters, unable to get enough of you.

“Are you gonna leave me the only one naked?” You ask him bashfully. He shakes his head and pulls his t-shirt off hurriedly. You stand up, walking over to where he’d put his hoodie. Elliot freezes, watching you pick it up with unwavering intensity.

 You gently fold it over the back of the door of his closet, and smile reassuringly.

“We’re gonna need this whole bed.” You tell him, and he lets out a sigh of what appears to be relief. You lay back onto his pillows and watch him undo his converse and step out of his jeans. You can’t take your eyes off the way the muscles in his shoulders flex.

 He finally in only his boxers, he crawls up and over you, and resumes sucking and biting on the skin of your neck and décolletage. You begin to let out low moans, running your hands up and down Elliot’s back. He comes up, his lips brushing your ear.

“Can I eat you out?”

 Your breath catches in your throat at his request, mouth slightly open.

“Y/N? Did I say something wrong?” You laugh breathily.

“Not at all, just unusual for a guy to do that… Let alone ask to do it.” You admit. Elliot frowns down at you.

“They should always ask…” He pauses, evidently wondering whether or not to say what else was on his mind.

 “Besides, who wouldn’t want to taste you?” He doesn’t wait to see your reaction to his words, he simply backs up on his haunches and gently parts your legs a little further.

“Jesus Christ Elliot, this is a big jump from tasting my ice cream.” You joke as he plants rough kisses on your inner thighs. The breath from Elliot’s silent laugh sends goose bumps all over your legs. He slowly begins to lick your swollen clit, gripping your thighs tightly when your hips buck up. He switches from dipping his tongue inside you to flicking your clit rapidly with the tip of it. The man isn’t just good with computers.

 “Tastes better than the ice cream.” He mutters, then slides two fingers inside you before you can respond.

“Fuuuuuuuuck Elliot.” You whine as he thrusts his fingers in and out, curved in a way that hit your spot every time. You look down at him and realise his grey green eyes are staring right into yours. From your vantage point, you can’t see much, but you can see glimpses of his tongue playing with your clit as he fingers you.

 He takes his time, you’re sure his jaw must ache, but he doesn’t seem to care as he watches you writhe against his sheets. One hand grips the pillow your head rests on while the other is tangled in his short hair. He flattens his tongue against your clit, moving it side to side rapidly, and ups the assault against your g spot.

 Your own orgasm takes you by surprise, convulsing against the mattress as Elliot helps you through your high, your eyes rolling back into your skull. When you’re finally able to think coherently, you realise you feel damper than usual. You sit up, Elliot is grinning. His face is practically shining with glee, and something else that’s dripping from his chin.

 “I didn’t know you were a squirter.”

[mrneighbourlove]

Beacon to Damnation: Ch 1. Contact

Leere Dragmire groaned as she traveled down the waves. Up until now the sea had been rather steady. All the rockiness on the boat was making her a tad motion sick. Apparently the active Volcano underwater made the water unsteady and boiling hot. Nothing could live underneath the waves, and those like her above had to deal with the bullshit of the sea. “I think I’m gonna throw up…”

And last but not least, the Volcano provided power to her destination. The Ancient Sheikah Fortress Colony, the Goddess’s Shield, or Divine Beast Rata Sal. Leere was careful to study up on it with her mother before heading out to investigate it. The gargantuan device was made to house those who wanted to flee from Hyrule during one of her Fathers much more destructive lives. Zelda gushed how she would love nothing more then to travel with her daughter to see such wonderful technology.

It was a month out of Hyrule to travel to and was miles long. Apparently it was also shaped as a turtle, in line with the other Divine Beasts. Only its head was above the water, the ‘shell’ acting as an underwater haven. Seemed the Ancient Sheikah really valued animals in their architecture. Now it was used by a colony of scientists using the isolation to perform a verity of experiments. The only reason Leere was investigating was because a friend of hers sent a startling and vague letter asking for help.

The Captain watched carefully. No one on board the Divine Beast had noticed them. “Princess Leere. We are nearing the mouth of the Divine Beast. We’ll be making our way inside shortly.

“Thank you Captain.”

“I still don’t like a lady going alone on a diplomatic mission.”

“I’m aware Captain. However, that’s why one, I’m agreeing to a protection detail, and two, you can rest easy knowing I can take care of myself just fine.”

The Captain sighed and shuffled his hat straight. “Alright Princess Leere. Just so we are clear again, you’ll have to wait ten hours for pickup. The Head of the Divine Beast has a diving cycle. It will be lowering in less then an hour, so you’ll have to move quickly. I’ll be back when it comes up again.”

“Understood Captain.”

Leere got prepared to board the Goddess’s Hand. A small group of Hylian Knights accompanied the Princess as the reached the mouth. The Divine Beast bottom jaw rested in the water, allowing the ship to pass through. On the inside dim lights allowed enough visibility to see. It must be a necessary requirement with the lack of sunlight underwater Leere thought to herself.

Climbing into a small row boat, Leere ignored the fact she was tightly packed in with a group of men all physically larger then her. Both being adopted, the only person that could feel her pain was Rinku, standing at the same height as her. The rest of her brothers and sisters took advantage of her small height. Covarog and Ralnor especially. One of them looked down at her. “You need more room Princess?”

“I’m fine. Thank you…” Leere gave a light scowl as she was squished between two men. As they rode out she thought back to the note.

“Leere, please, if you get this you need to come here. Things are getting unnerving around here. Every since Doctor Ichabod has completed work on the Beacon people haven’t been themselves. People have been acting erratic, aggressive and out of line. A college had a breakdown and tried to destroy the Beacon. He injured three of the staff before he was taken down by security. He just kept raving it was evil. I didn’t know what to think at the time, but lately I’ve been having nightmares. Horrible Nightmares. My mother telling me to…kill myself. And when I’m awake I swear I’m hearing voices. And apparently I’m not the only one. I think this all started with the activation of the Beacon. We tried to address this with Doctor Ichabod, but he refuses to listen to our requests. Please Leere, I have this dreadful feeling that something is going to happen. We need someone with authority to talk to him. Please hurry.

Your Friend, Carlos.”

The Beacon. That intrigued Leere. Beacons were used as signals. But what was this Beacon linked to? She looked back to see the Captain’s ship sail out of the mouth of the Divine Beast. Shortly enough they landed onto the metal plating of the Beast. All the crew were careful to not touch the water as they stepped off. Looking around Leere noticed the lack of any type of local personal. As they walked towards the door to the rest of the facility, lights and sirens flashed around in the neck. It was a low long sound. As it went on, a deep screeching of metal echoed as the mouth closed tight.

“Well no going back I suppose.”

After it closed, the ground shook beneath them as the head lowered. Leere quickly realized a problem, the water inside it’s mouth was starting to be thrown around as the head descended into the volcanic water. “Run to the door! Now!”

The men in their heavy armour tried to keep their balance as they ran forward. If all things went well, these Shiekah doors had sensors where touching the blue circle in the center would open them, and holding them would lock them. As they ran forward a bucket sized amount of water splashed on one of the guards backs. He screamed as it instantly heated up the metal on his back. Quickly he tore it off as they reached the door. Leere slammed her hand on the button, and the door opened. All five of them made it inside and the Captain locked the door.

“God damn it that was close.”

“I heard protocol is no one it allowed in the mouth in the final half an hour of submerging and emerging. Now we know why.” Leere quickly looked over the one guard that got unlucky. His back was scolded badly and he couldn’t stop screaming out of his clenched teeth. “Hey, stop moving and give me a moment.”

Her hands went over his back and she concentrated. Healing wasn’t her speciality. Necromancy was, however, Zelda refused to have her daughter be solely taught the Dark Arts. She said a little bit of light never hurt. At the very least she was able to stop the pain, and the man stopped screaming in turn. “You ok?”

He quivered and nodded his head. “Y-yeah. I think so.”

The Captain thought it over. “Alright. Torak, you stay here and guard our exit. You’re in no condition to wander forward.”

“Yes sir…”

After they stood the soldier up, Leere and the rest of her guards walked down the throat of the Divine Beast. It was just long metallic hallway. Everyone could hear the gears turning as the head continued to lower. As they got deeper though, Leere smelt something off. Reaching the end of the neck the group stopped. Some kind of purple fluid leaked through the door.

“What the hell is that Captain.”

“I-I don’t know. Princess Leere? Can you make anything out?”

Leere looked at the biomass closely. It smelt awful. Touching it, it suddenly shot back inside the door. Every guard drew their weapon. Leere moved back herself. It was alive. “Captain. I’m going to open the door now.”

“Princess, I’d advice against that.”

“Captain, consider my words law and advising you to put a sock in it.”

Leere inched forward, and when it felt right, she pressed the door open. As the doors slid open she was greeted to an absolutely normal floor. It was rather large, with a few glass dividers on the side. Seemed like a welcoming room. But after the red goop a normal room was extremely unsettling. As all the men walked in Leere took a look around. Going around she suddenly heard a small crash. Was it the purple goo?

Opening a door she went around the glass divider to the rest of the men. Peering around she saw a broken open vent and a small bit of blood trailing into it. Dread filled her as she followed where the vent lead. Looking up around she saw it go right into the room with the rest of the men. The low dimmed lights and glass made it hard to see, but a violent burst of metal shot out as a figure fell from a top vent.

It was a man, but all the flesh on his face had been peeled back, and his jaw sunk low. His eyes however were blood shot with blood streaming down from his eye sockets. His movements were erratic as he grabbed the closest guard and, filled with rage, ripped into his neck with his mouth over and over. Leere pounded on the window. “RUN! GET OUT OF THERE!”

More of these rage filled monsters burst from vents. The Captain and other surviving soldier cut into them, but they kept coming, even as their limbs were chopped off. As they kept fighting the northern door opened. A large monster with four slender arms walked out. It had bird like feet and a beak, but also dozens of eyes on it’s head. It grabbed the Captain by each limb with every one of its own, receiving a scream from him. With the Captain locked it looked over him curiously, before slowly ripping every limb off the Captain. The awful tearing of flesh echoed in the room, mixed with the high pitched screams of the man.

The last remaining soldier opened the West Door and ran for his life. The Captain gave his last screams as all the normal monsters savagely ate alive what as left of him, tearing open his stomach to claw away and devour his insides. The larger monster pointed at Leere, slowly extending a slender arm and finger, and let out a screeching, but defiant scream. The rest of the monsters roared in rage and ran towards her, slamming and cracking the glass window. Leere went to the East Door and frantically opened it. As she ran through she heard the glass break behind her.

Leere ran. It was all she could do. She focused her magic on them, hoping to manipulate them, but it was no use. Whatever they were, they weren’t fully undead, which meant she couldn’t fully control them. Shit. In front of her one of the rage filled monsters jumped from the vents to attack her. “Shit! Fuck you!”

As it went to grab her, Leere took out her scythe and, pressing a button, the blade slide out, and at the last moment, cut the head off her attacker. It thrashed around and tried to grab her, a chicken with it’s head cut off. Leere quickly moved to run as she heard the scampering of more of these things behind her, yelling for blood.

The young necromancer made it to the door down the curved hall and, getting through, turned around to lock the door behind her. There was a moment of worry until the door finally turned red and locked. The door was pounded against by those who wanted to tear her apart. It sounded like a choir of demons. Turning around Leere saw blood sprayed everywhere and a few body parts scattered about. “What the hell is going on here?...”

https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/165789216811/beacon-to-damnation-ch-2-close-encounters Next Ch.