#blanket apology for any offense taken by this post

[mkarchin713]

(Warning I am not fully versed on DC theology, please correct me if I am wrong. Also it is not my intention to insult anyone’s religious beliefs. I sincerely apologize if I do)

(Warning this gets a bit rambly)

Clockwork is not Chronos, but Time, the father of the Endless.

Danny is Constantine’s first born son whom he traded to Clockwork in exchange for decelerated aging.

Constantine was cursed by one of his enemies to believe he was not capable of having children so saw no issue with trading his “never going to exist” children for favors, not realizing he was fully capable of having children, but I digress.

Danny is the Ghost King. He rules the place between dimensions, the stuff that connects all the heavens, hells and godly abodes. Think of it like this, If each realm is an island the Zone is the ocean itself.

While Danny is not more powerful than Yahweh(?) It still isn’t wise to anger the Ghost King unnecessarily. Every being must pass through the Infinite realms to get from the living world to the immortal realms. This means if Danny declares war on heaven than no new souls will be able to enter heaven and no angels would be able to leave.

While Yahweh would probably win a one on one fight with Danny, the consequences of the fight would be catastrophic and it would be extremely difficult to win a war of attrition against an army of the once was, the could have been, and what never was.

The Infinity Realms are also home to conceptual beings and forgotten gods. Traditional gods are dependent on mortal belief to exist. If they are totally forgotten by the living they become citizens of the Infinite realms. With how many worlds that have lived and died with little to no contact with the rest of the universe the number of fallen gods is unknown.

Frankly fighting the Infinite Realms isn’t worth it in the end because all beings will eventually become citizens of the realms.

John Constantine was in prison.

No, not a normal, mortal prison. Those wouldn't be able to hold him like this one does.

No, he's imprisoned in the Infinity Realm.

The warden of the establishment is Walker, someone whose blood sings Witch Hunter.

If that wasn't bad enough, with every second, it gets worse. Angels decided to interfere in a realm not in possession of their God.

Who's idea was it to go against the Infintiy Realm? Are they nuts?

"John Constantine," One of the messangers steps forward. There is no weapon in sight, yet.

"Under the scrutiny of Heaven, we were sent to retrieve you for a trial." Their voice clipped, blond hair shimmering a soft green and John is sweating buckets.

"Your deals with various demon folk and such shall be judged unter gods court and—"

A loud bang echoes through the hall, Walker's men are surrounding the beings of heaven and particular brave soul steps forward.

The lad is young, can't be older than Bat's Robin. He walks with an air of authority, white hair floating against gravity's rules and towering before the flock of messangers.

"How dare—"

The boy, the godling– growls.

He blocks their view of Constantine, staring them down.

Some of the angels fall back, wings arched and ready for a fight, weapons still not in sight however.

"I am Phantom, King of God's of the Infinity Realm." The child with a title too much for such small shoulders bear, introduces himself.

It sends the flock into mild panic. Constantine is just a bit satisfied at the change.

"Returns to your god and tell him this, every Constantine bearing the title Laughing Magician is under my protection."

For such a small stature, his voice is booming, the command thinly veiled as a threat and icicles forming around him.

"Tell him that if he ever dares to breach my territory once more, I will not hesitate to call war upon heaven."

The main angel of the flock, the one that had read out Constantines sentence, hesitated only for a moment before urging the others to leave.

Posture stiff and movements jerky.

They didn't expect to be told off like this, John muses.

He only slightly dreads when phantoms attention drifts to him finally, a light knock on the metal bars and the whole wall was gone.

"Follow me, John Constantine."

And John does.

He'll sweet talk himself out of this on the way to his doom. Like always.

—

("Unpopular belief, but I actually quite like you." Danny had stated once in the garden, sitting on a table and drinking tea. John hadn't touched his cup nor desert at all, cannot trust those of the infinite after all.)

(A rip into the green before them had created a portal, a gateway.

"Leave, Laughing Magician. Hold onto that necklace, it will ward off anyone with the intent to harm and deals as a warning to those working for the immortal."

And as John steps forward, his eyes meet toxic green.

"We will see one another again, sooner or later. Farewell, Jester."

The portal spat him out in his apartment in New York, if it wasn't for the protection charm, Constantine would have believed it to be a mere dream. A warning.)

[koneko-pi]

Sharing on Tumblr a little cut from my Fanfic Silver Season. Its on AO3 right now and idk if I'll be putting it on here too, that seems like such long posts sometimes XD but if people want to see it I will try! But here, just a part of the 3000+ word first Chapter.

Emergency captains meetings had, at one point, been few and far between. And Nozel would not have to schedule himself so sparingly so he could be called upon at any moment's notice. But recently it seemed like every other day he was being summoned up to the Wizard kings castle to listen to everyone bicker amongst each other. Even now down the empty hall he could hear Yami's overly loud voice arguing with, most likely, Jack.

"Do you two ever shut up?" Nozel commented to them as he walked through the doors and over to his own space to sit down between Dorothy and Jack.

"You can shove it Braid-Face." Yami was immediately on the defensive over whatever topic had him so worked up.

The silver mage had already been in a foul mood that day but to be so atrociously insulted, by a foreigner no less, had his mana flaring up already.

"You need to calm down." Fuegoleon, newly appointed back into his position, pushed himself in before some kind of fight could take place. "We're all tired and tempers are short. There's no need to antagonize one another, especially not in front of Julius who is in the worst state of us all."

All heads turned to their now tiny wizard king, who looked incredibly apologetic at having to summon them here once again.

"Please forgive me…" he said as soothingly as he could. If it had come from anyone else the captains would not have calmed down as quickly as they did.

"What brings us all together this time?" Nozel asked after gaining his composure again.

"Yeah, no offense Julius, but some of us really got our plates full." Yami huffed, a cigarette was held tightly between two fingers but was unlit. It was pretty obvious how badly he wanted to light it though.

What Yami was referring to was the unfair task placed upon his squad after the Elven attack, repel, and then trial of his squad mate Asta. Not only did the bulls have their hands full looking into Devil nonsense but everyone else was still busy repairing not just the kingdom but their own reputations. Many of the citizens had lost a lot of faith in their Magic knights after it seemed they had turned against them as traitors. As a result everyone was running themselves ragged and tempers were short.

And that was no different for the captains, organizing the work forces on top of attending these regular meetings, they too were all looking incredibly tired.

"I really do apologize for summoning you all so suddenly." Julius sighed. "But I promise this time it's important."

Rather than explain himself what was happening he nodded to Jack.

"Keh…" the man seemed bitter as he turned and shouted to the doors. "You can bring it in!"

"Bring it in?" Charlotte looked confused, mirroring everyone else in the room as two Green Mantis knights came in carrying a large blanket-wrapped something.

"Good lord, what is that stench!?" Kaiser was first to recoil from the horrid odor that was permeating the room.

"Is it that?!" William was leaning away as the two magic knights tossed their load over onto the meeting table. Its bindings came undone to reveal what was inside…

"That's the biggest ant I've ever seen!" Rill gawked at it. It was a suspicion the boy had an odd interest in magical beasts with how often he used them in paintings. This reaction just further proved it.

Laying now on their table, undoubtedly dead, was a massive Ant. Its body was a shiny red color with a foul smelling green fluid leaking out of open gash wounds that must have taken its life. There was no shine to its lifeless eyes and over all the creature was easily the size of a large dog.

[idontblushsrry]

Itadori Yuuji Boyfriend Headcanons

A/N: Reader is from America and a black female. Idk why i decided to write this but I think that Yuuji would be a fun boyfriend lmao. I don’t entirely know what the reader’s cursed technique should be so lmk if you have any ideas. Until then enjoy Yuuji and reader being 2 idiots in love. Spoilers for all the eps of jujutsu kaisen up to about episode 11, nothing past that though as I want to finish the show first before reading the manga, so please be respectful of spoilers and label them (and tag if necessary) in the comments. Also srry if this cuts off abruptly bcus of the point the show is at. This is also like, all over the place but whatever.

(also sorry this was posted later than usual oops)

Word Count:  1943

This dork-

He is so sweet and kind and considerate 

But also a dumbass but also like he’s your dumbass

You and Yuuji are both equally stupid like bless yalls hearts

You and Yuuji met during his time at the Tokyo Academy when you transferred from America

The moment this man saw you walk up with Gojo-sensei he was smitten

Like your skin was glowing??? how???

And you had a slight accent but like he loved it too

And when you came up to greet him and shake hands you smelled so good and your skin was so soft

((He would later come to find out that the root of that was the shea cocoa butter lotion you used))

But yea mans was smitten and he is fully in love with you lmao

Will do literally anything you ask

You hungry? He’s prepared a 5 course, michelin star meal

Want new clothes? He’s been training for the day he could hold your bags for you

Ran out of hair products?? He’s already back with a special box of your products that he had imported from America

To this day you don’t know how he was able to get those products so quickly

He is loves when you tell him things about you from your day, to your times in america, to how your cursed energy works

Yall are the couple that does stupid shit together

Like one time you showed Yuuji one of those life hack videos and he was like 

“We should totally do that” 

And you were like “Bet”

Needless to say Fushiguro was very confused at the sight of bandaids on both of your fingers the next morning

“???What happened?”

“Well you see, I told Yuuji that I should use the glue gun because he didn’t even know where to put the glue stick. And he said nah, I got it and um yea so I fell and the glue gun was plugged in and then he tripped over me and so now we look like this.”

Gojo and Kugisaki thought that this was hilarious while Fushiguro decided that he’d store your guys’ glue gun in his shadows from now on

How yall manage to get through missions you go on together alive is a miracle

Speaking of missions, you eventually ask Yuuji what’s his deal because you feel a powerful aura coming from him but he never uses cursed energy, always cursed weapons

Cue Sukuna’s mouth popping up on the side of his face like “Hey mamas”

(You can’t tell me that Sukuna isn’t the type of guy to ask where his hug at)

“YUUJI WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t met Sukuna yet, huh?”

So he sits you down and explains how he ate Sukuna’s finger and you're sitting there like ‘mhm mhm mhm, sorry you what?’

For like 3 days after he told you that you couldn’t bring yourself to kiss him just because you were processing the fact that Yuuji ate someone’s nasty old ass finger and would have to eat 19 more

And the fact that he’s the vessel of like the worst curse known to man 

During those 3 days, Yuuji’s pouting because he’s like ‘I fucked up, now she doesn’t wanna kiss me let alone talk to me because of this monster inside of me :(’

Meanwhile you’re just like ‘why would anyone eat some random mummified finger?’

Eventually you get wind of Yuuji’s bad mood and immediately, you rush to smooth things over with him.

You knock on his door and hear blankets rustling before he goes, “I’m not in the mood to play fight right now Kugisaki’

“Can I come in baby?”

You immediately hear the most comical almost cartoonish amount of noise ranging from a cup falling over, sheets falling off the bed, and what sounds like Yuuji falling flat on his ass before he opens the door

When he does, you’re laughing and it’s like the sky is no longer grey and the world is filled with color

You smile at each other before your moment is interrupted with Sukuna going “Finally, full offense, his whining was getting annoying”

You step inside his room and apologize for ignoring him, explaining that you just needed time to process things, explaining that you should’ve told him that before dipping

He just grabbed you in a bear hug and lifted you of the ground and spinning you around laughing happily, after all he wasn’t even upset with you, he just missed you

And thus begins the honeymoon phase of your guys’ relationship

Fushiguro is actually really happy for you guys and is the most supportive of your relationship but if anyone asked him to admit that out loud he’d actually apparate to the nearest marooned ship

Nobura doesn’t hate you guys but she thinks all couples are disgusting, so while it’s nothing personal, she does gag when you and Yuuji do so much as make goo goo eyes at each other

Gojo is actually like the main cheerleader of your relationship. 

He is the teacher that changes the seating chart to put students he ships together

He was always pairing you and Yuuji up on missions and placing you as sparring partners like ur not slick

If Gojo is the cheerleader, Sukuna is an actual antagonist

Like the man goes out of his way to CHOOSE violence

Like on time you kissed Yuuji’s cheek on a date and when you pulled back, your lip was bleeding and Sukuna’s mouth was smirking at you

Another thing he likes to do is tell you all of Yuuji’s simp^tm thoughts

Like all of them

Now Yuuji isn’t ashamed of how much he loves you and is in fact very open with it, but he doesn’t need Sukuna telling you that the only reason he bought x mouthwash was because it made your breath smell like “sunshine” and he had to see if it would work on him

Speaking of dates, good luck

Now I stand by the fact that Yuuji would never half-ass a date and things with him are certainly never boring

But he’s also like a country boy in the city and his tourist tendencies tend to get the best of him

Like you’ll be trying to find a spot to eat and when you look back Yuuji’s gone

((Prolly to buy another I <3 Tokyo shirt so you can both match))

He always catches up with you ad you eventually learn that but like the first few times be havin you ready to put up a lost child signal on the loudspeaker

He’s very sweet and this is where his thoughtfulness shines through

You and Yuuji plan dates in the same way one plays bingo

Like because you never know where you’re going to be r when exactly you’ll both be free (especially with Gojo-sensei and his bare minimum ass information) you two tend to go ‘ok well if we’re here we’ll go here and if we’re here, we’ll go here’ and so on and so forth

But Yuuji always remembers such little one-off details about you that make your dates.

Like you mention wanting to try a sushi train and he’s already scrolled through multiple yelp reviews and watched every youtube restaurant review like 9 times

But every high has a low and Yuuji and your’s low comes suddenly and it brings you crashing to the ground with no warning and nothing to slow your descent

When your class of first years were sent to exorcise the special grade cursed womb

When Yuuji’s hand got blown off and he told you to run you froze, your mind racing faster than your legs could even start

“(Y/N) RUN!” Yuuji’s voice broke you out of your fear-based trance

“I- I...can’t...I can’t leave you!” you cried out all your rational senses screamed at you to go, run, he had Sukuna and you were barely a grade 2 sorcerer. But your intuition told you if you left him you wouldn’t see him alive again.

You were trapped in a paralysis of indecision but the choice was made for you when a sticky tongue wrapped around your midriff and you were gulped into the mouth of one of Fushiguro’s frogs

“Goddamn it Fushiguro! Let me go! I need to... save... him.” You were outside the building before you could even finish arguing.

You glared up at Fushiguro but your eyes softened some when you saw how beat up Kugisaki looked.

He gave you this look that said he did what he had to do and he didn’t care what you had to say about it 

You and him waited in the rain for Yuuji or Sukuna to exit the building

You tried to focus yourself and save your negative emotions for your cursed attack

When Sukuna inevitably appeared, one finger stronger, you were fully prepared to fight him

However, he didn’t seem interested in fighting you and more engaged in fighting with Megumi

You tried to urge Fushiguro to wait it out, eventually Sukuna would lose control, but when Sukuna took Yuuji’s heart hostage, you both knew you’d have to fight

You and Fushiguro gave it your all but when Yuuji came back he still died 

It took all your strength to not completely fall apart after his death and the support from the second years as well as Kugisaki and Fushiguro helped

You’d tried to visit him at the morgue but Shoko only told you that she didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

You still slept in his sweaters and the things that smelled like him from time to time, trying to make the idea of him last, but after a month, the smell of him had started to fade

Everything about Yuuji’s memory seemed to become leached away with time, from his smell, to the wear present on things he’d given to you

You couldn’t help but feel resentful towards yourself but also to Sukuna, he’d taken Yuuji from you with the same care that one would throw litter on the ground

The pain in your chest didn’t wane either, it only became ignorable to a degree as training for the exchange with the Kyoto students became more intense

Fushiguro is a comfort to you as well, aside from you, him and Yuuji were the closest to each other and so he gets a lot of what you’re going through and doesn’t push when you become more withdrawn

He also lets you pet his demon dog too but when you ask him why he’s letting you pet it he just says ‘because no one would believe you if you told them’ lies

The bastard really just does it because he knows you’re sad and he doesn’t want you to be sad

Speaking of the Kyoto students, Zenin Mai and Toudou Aoi are permanently on your shit list

You’re relieved that Panda, Maki, and Inumaki came to your guys’ aid but like if you had your way Mai wouldn’t even exist

Anyways Maki has Panda physically restrain you while she tries to calm you down 

“(Y/N), you can kick her ass at the exchange!”

When you calm down, Panda puts you down and even though Mai’s long gone with Todou to go get his handshake, you make a promise that carries through the wind

‘Zenin Mai, pray that the next time you run across me I’m feeling kind, because if not-’, the last word is lost as the wind picks up but Mai feels a shiver rack through her body that more than ensures your message.

[adenei]

Untitled (no really, that’s the title)

Hello Romione lovers! 

I’ve been waiting about a month to post this fic. It was written for the 2020 HPRomione Discord Secret Santa Exchange for @gurinpotte​ ! I really enjoyed writing this Shell Cottage fic that explores where Ron and Hermione’s relationship stands. I know it’s not Christmas related, but I hope you enjoy this fic filled with nightmares, pining, angst, and fluff (with a teensy bit of some side hinny as well). I promise the title will make sense once you get to the end!

Please like and reblog/leave kudos on Ao3

Also stay tuned for my Hinny Incognito Elf fic that will be posted soon, too!

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

Hermione assured him she was fine. That he could go take a break. Eat something, have a shower. Get some sleep of his own. Fleur had just given her a new dose of potions, and had changed her bandages, and Luna would be sleeping in the extra bed. So at her insistence, Ron gave her some space when he saw Luna come into the room to settle in for the night. 

He turned back to Hermione, who smiled and gave him a firm, “go,” and he turned to exit the room, swapping places with Luna. But Luna didn’t enter right away. Instead she shut the door and looked at him pensively. 

“You truly care for her, don’t you?” she asked.

“I- yeah,” responded Ron, a bit taken aback.

“She cares for you, too. And I don’t think she really wants you to go, but she’s worried about you just as much as you are for her.”

Ron looked at Luna in confusion. “She doesn’t need to be worried about me. I’m fine, I’m not the one who was tortured,” he said low in his voice.

“No, but you haven’t slept, you’ve barely eaten and no offense, Ron, you do have a smell to you. Hermione probably feels guilty that you’re so focused on taking care of her that you are forgetting about yourself. You will make her feel better if you take some time for you. I’ll keep an eye on her, and if she needs you, I’ll come find you,” Luna told him.

She really was brilliantly insightful, even if she came off as rather aloof much of the time. “Thank you, Luna,” Ron said sincerely. “I’ll be-”

“Downstairs. Now go on, so I can tell Hermione all about the plimpies in the pond near my house.” Luna smiled happily as she turned to enter the room.

Ron found himself wandering into the bathroom first to take a long, hot shower. He didn’t entirely believe Luna when she said he smelled, but just in case. He turned on the faucet, undressed and stepped into the hot water, which admittedly felt good against his skin. Ron began thinking about what Luna said. That Hermione was just as worried about him. She didn’t need to be! He could take care of himself just fine. It was her who needed the attention. 

He’d never admit it, but he was afraid that something would happen and she would relapse into unconsciousness again if he was gone for too long. Plus, he wanted to care for her, show her how much she meant to him. He needed to tell her how he felt. Time was proving much too short, what with his close call running into the snatchers after he’d left, and now their capture and her subsequent torture. The likelihood that they were going to make it out of this alive seemed to become slimmer with each passing day.

Ron turned the water off and stepped out with a new resolve. He’d figure it out. He’d find a way to tell her. Maybe tomorrow, when they both were fresh off of a steady sleep. He couldn’t say good, not when the nightmares of her screams taunted his mind. After he’d toweled off, he’d summoned a fresh outfit, and got dressed. He went downstairs and attempted to eat some more of the leftover supper Fleur had made earlier, and then tidied up so she didn’t have to worry about it.

 Dean and Harry were laying on their respective sleeping bags as Ron grabbed a blanket and flopped onto the sofa. “How’s Hermione doing?” Dean asked.

“She’s okay. Insisted I leave, so here I am,” Ron sulked slightly.

“Everyone likes their space now and then, I reckon,” Dean offered. 

Dean had a point, and maybe Hermione just needed some space. Maybe he was smothering her a bit. Not that he cared. He made a vow that he’d never leave her again, and he wanted to be there for her, especially right now. Ron still felt guilty about his abandonment, even though she told him she’d forgiven him. He figured he’d never make it up to himself for doing that to her, and wasn’t everyone their own worst critic?

Ron looked at Harry, who was laying there quietly, staring at the Marauder’s Map. “Harry…” Ron said slowly.

“I know. It’s just a habit,” he said as he tapped it and put it back in his mokeskin pouch silently. “Are you staying down here, then?” he asked.

Ron felt slightly guilty. He’d been spending so much time at Hermione’s side that he’d neglected his best friend. Sure, he’d gone out for Dobby’s burial, but his mind had been distracted. Hermione hadn’t woken up yet, and he kept looking up at her window, half expecting Fleur to come open it and summon him in. 

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly. “Listen, Harry, I’m sorry I’ve-”

“You don’t need to apologize, Ron. I get it. I’d have done the same thing,” Harry said, giving him a hard look. They didn’t talk much about Ginny, but he knew that’s what Harry meant. “Just, when Hermione is well enough, we should discuss next steps.”

Ron gave Harry a curt nod. “Yeah, alright.” 

Harry then waved his wand to extinguish the lights, which meant he didn’t want to talk anymore. Ron was perfectly fine with that as he rolled over and figured he should at least try and get some sleep. He chanted the same mantra in his head to help him relax. Hermione’s safe now. No one is going to hurt her here. She’s safe upstairs…

Ron wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was awoken to the sounds of blood curdling screams. He wasn’t sure if he was even conscious as he found himself running up the stairs. Luna was on her way down to get him and he almost bowled her over. “What happened,” he said in a panicked voice.

“She’s having a nightmare. I can’t get her to wake up,” Luna called after him since he didn’t bother to stop. 

Ron tore into the small bedroom to find Hermione thrashing wildly in the bed. As soon as he’d broken the barrier of the silencing charm Fleur must have cast seconds ago to keep the rest of the house quiet, Hermione’s shouts of terror and screams hit his ears.

“I don’t know anything! Please, no! I don’t know anything!” More screaming ensued as Ron went over to her. 

Ron let his instinct take over, and sat on the side of the bed. He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders to help steady her and stop the wild movement. He began speaking softly to her.

“Hermione, it’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. It’s not real. Not anymore. Please wake up.” Her screaming dulled to a whimper, and he watched her eyes scrunch tighter than before. “Hermione, wake up. It’s alright, you’re alright,” he reassured her until finally he saw her eyes open. 

Ron watched as it took her a moment for her vision to adjust. The look on her face said it all as he helped her sit up. “It was a nightmare, that’s all. She’s not here, she can’t hurt you.” 

Hermione nodded as understanding began to flood her system. She looked around the room and noticed Bill, Fleur and Luna looking on in concern. That’s when the tears started to flow down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I probably woke the entire house up.” She placed her head in her hands.

“Hermione, you don’t need to be sorry,” Bill said immediately. “You just went through a terrible trauma. It’s normal. I’ll admit I had nightmares for a spell after Greyback attacked me. I’d turn into a full on werewolf at the full moon and I didn’t know.” Bill shuddered at the reminiscent thought as Fleur rubbed his back consolingly.

“ ‘Ermione, are you sure I cannot give you dreamless sleep? It eez no trouble,” Fleur offered.

“You didn’t take any tonight?” Ron asked her.

“No. I’m trying to wean off the potions. I don’t want to become reliant on it,” Hermione told him.

“But-”

“No, Ron.” Hermione then looked at Fleur. “I’ll be okay.”’

Fleur nodded reluctantly. “Let us know if you need anyzing,” she said as let herself and Bill out of the room.

“I’m going to go downstairs for a bit,” Luna said, wanting to give Ron and Hermione some privacy. 

Ron was just realizing as Luna shut the door that his arm was still around her shoulders, and she was leaning into his side. “What do you want me to do, Hermione? I’ll stay if you want. I can sleep in the chair again. It’ll be fine. Please let me-”

“Ron, you’re not sleeping in the chair,” Hermione started.

“Fine! The floor then-”

“Will you let me finish?” Hermione interrupted him again. Ron stopped and looked at her. “I want you to stay. I was stupid to think I didn’t need you here.” She turned her head away from him.

“So the floor, then?” Ron asked.

“N-no. I was hoping that you’d...that you’d…” Hermione’s face turned pink at her cheeks.

“Where do you want me, Hermione?” 

“Next to me.” Ron didn’t need her to gesture to the bed to know what she meant.

“Yeah, of course,” he said without thinking. He gently released her as he stood up while Hermione moved over and held back the blankets for him. Ron climbed in, hardly believing that he was about to spend the night in a bed with her. It didn’t even matter that it was only because he wanted to provide some comfort for her if the nightmares started again.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as Ron lifted his arm up and she gladly settled into his side. She felt so right there, almost as if she fit like a perfect puzzle piece. He breathed in the scent of her hair as he committed this very moment to memory. 

You should tell her, he heard his brain murmur. Maybe it would help comfort her to think about something happy. Well, he hoped it would be a happy and welcome thought. He really needed to stop over analyzing things and just go for it.

“Hermione, I’ve been so stupid,” Ron heard his voice say. What the hell was that? That’s how you’re choosing to start your profession of love to her?

And yet, her response surprised him more than he surprised himself. “So have I.”

“I should have been more obvious-”

“Me too,” she agreed.

This was going to be harder than he thought, not that he was complaining about her interjections. But he kept going. “I promise I’m always going to be there from now on. You’ll have to hex me away. I shouldn’t have even left you tonight-”

“I’d never hex you away,” she said. Hermione adjusted her body as she turned on her side to face him. He rolled over to meet her.

“Er, Hermione, I hate to break it to you, but you have done before,” Ron smirked, flashing his famous lopsided grin.

“I won’t anymore, how’s that?” She smiled shyly back at him.

“I suppose that works. Hermione, I’ll- I’ll respect whatever you want, but I need to be honest with you and- I don’t want to waste any more time. I know we’re in the middle of the war, and helping Harry is our main focus, but I can’t let this go any longer without telling you-”

Hermione raised a finger to his lips to stop him. “I don’t either, but Ron….”

Ron kissed her finger as he lifted up his own hand to gently move hers away. “Don’t. Don’t think of all the reasons it’s not the right time. Feels like we’ve done enough of that already.”

“I know…”

Ron could tell Hermione was thinking intently about something. He was holding his breath, waiting for her to go on. Maybe he hadn’t outright said it, but he knew deep down that she understood him, so the quaffle was on her side of the pitch now.

“I want this. I really do,” her eyes were pleading with him. “But I’m scared. Scared of losing this before we’ve even had a chance…”

He knew what she meant. He feared the same thing.  “Me too,” he admitted. Then he had an idea. “So, what if we don’t give it a title. At least not until the war’s over. Y’know, so it doesn’t feel like we’d be losing anything if...if…” Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

Hermione nodded slightly. “O-okay,” she said.

Whether they decided to put a title to it or not, it was clear they were past the point of ‘just friends,’ what with the fact that they were about to fall asleep in the same bed. Without thinking, Ron leaned in and kissed her on her forehead. They lay there quietly for a while before Hermione reluctantly turned over to make herself more comfortable. Ron kept his arms around her as his fingers interlaced with hers. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady sound of Hermione’s breathing as he fell asleep. 

When he woke up again, the sun was shining brightly into the window. For a moment, he forgot where he was. It took a moment to realize he was lying in bed, his arms still wrapped around Hermione, who had shifted at some point in the middle night. Her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder and her arm was draped around his stomach, her legs tangled with his. He smiled at the sight of her there. He turned to check the watch on the bedside table. It was 8:00. He’d slept through the night. She’d slept through the night. As he adjusted himself to sit up a bit, he must have disturbed her. 

He felt her stretch out, and her eyes opened lazily. It took her a moment to realize he was there. “Morning,” he said, his voice deeper than usual from sleep.

“Morning,” she returned. “What time is it?”

“Eight,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Y-yeah, actually, I did,” she said surprised.

“So did I.”

Hermione sat up in bed. “So...it appears sleeping together keeps the nightmares away.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Or maybe it’s just a fluke?”

“Maybe.” Hermione pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. And then a smile crossed her lips. “But we should definitely try again tonight to see.”

“That sounds like a brilliant plan,” Ron grinned back at her as he heard Luna call for them on the other side of the door. For the first time in a long while, Ron had something to look forward to.

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

Looking for more great romione SS fics? Check these out and give them a like/reblog, too!

@avatarvader for be11atrixthtestrange

@be11atrixthestrange for smjl

@accio-broom for roy of the ballerina type

[chocosvt]

(below is a mix of rambling/more discussion/some updates on where my blog is heading, read if u wish)

to be frank, at this point, i don’t think an apology statement is in sight. pledis has proved time and time again how manipulative and apathetic they are as a company. even the bare minimum - making a small edit in the clip which would have removed the offensive segment - is ignored. no matter how vocal this fandom was, pledis chose to do absolutely nothing. they would rather preserve clips of their artists normalizing an abhorrent, discriminatory song than issue a simple statement, leaving south asian carats to ruminate in this nauseating uncertainty and exhaustion. and it seems to unearth the question: “is this a space i want to be in?”

it’s not anyone’s place to dictate one’s opinion on whether or not they feel comfortable in this fandom. this name doesn’t just encompass kcarats. it’s global. it’s everyone whose decided to support the group so dedicatedly. the way svt have adapted the term “global idol” is questionable when taking into account the ignorance that has been demonstrated. this is nothing new or nothing that hasn’t already been voiced, but seriously, idols shouldn’t expand to a global platform if they’re going to be selective with their respect. 

around 2018-ish, i couldn’t keep up with any group apart from svt, nor did i truly want to get involved with other groups. since their debut, svt has been such a lovely source of happiness and comfort. even when i had to endure some of my toughest moments, i could always turn to them in order to regain strength. so admittedly, observing the complete silence from their end was disheartening. i’m not part of the affected culture, so i cannot begin to imagine such sentiments of disappointment. i do feel a strain on the relationship i once had with svt. 

watching ww’s live, it was unsettling and there were many moments of stiffness. i want to believe that ww would have apologized (dk + vn too) if pledis were not the complete control freaks they establish being, but truthfully i don’t know what’s up in his head nor his heart. nonetheless, this idol coddling is so toxic (i could really write a whole essay on this). they’re not some fifth graders, they’re matured men in their twenties who are more than capable of understanding any cultural insensitivies and how their actions entailed hurt. i was relieved to see so many fans actually holding them accountable, to a point where the original artist himself released a statement and even the damn news got involved.

i wish that we could have got even an inkling of closure. just that tiny, tiny moment where ww briefly mentions the song being cut out. many people have suggested to remain persistent with emailing (not just the pledis accounts, but the bighit accounts as well) and i’ve seen others suggesting to opt from buying tickets to the online caratland event. i can’t see this ending in a manner where any action will be taken. unless someone manages to sneak this topic into another online fs or something along those lines where there’s direct contact, i have no idea what’s gonna happen.

this was a mentally and physically draining week. i hope all south asian carats who had to yet again watch their culture get shaved down to these harmful stereotypes take the time to look after themselves, nurture themselves, step away from this train wreck and prioritize things that are fun and healing!! it’s not your responsibility to educate ignorant people when so many resources are easily accessible. getting into kpop comes with an unhealthy cost. the industry is blanketed with casual racism and it moves slower than molasses when it comes to addressing the layers of disrespect and indifference. 

i also need to question if this is something worth my energy. i’ve been writing on this platform for five years now. i need to decide if this is something i want to keep putting effort into. i’m beyond tired of witnessing pledis brush any serious concern under the rug while scrambling to make amends for insignificant matters that no one legit cared about apart from a few disgruntled kcarats. right now, i’m not in a mood where i want to post svt content or write svt related stories. until there is an apology that suggests actual remorse, growth, and willingness to be evolve in the event there are other blemishes (which seems highly unlikely) i won’t be as present as i used to. 

overall, i’m not sure the direction of my blog. i think i need to step away from chocosvt for a few days so that i can really process. my plans are definitely not to abandon my main. and as time passes maybe i’ll feel less hesitant. 

of course, i’m going to continue my admin position on caratwritersclub because i truly do love writing! i love reading the different works and seeing how galaxy brained you all are! in terms of my own writing, it’s most likely going to come to a standstill. i might finish my massive kmg fic and post it (as well as the yjh and ljh fics in my drafts) but like i previously mentioned, i need to question if keeping up with svt as adamantly as before is worth my energy. i’m not saying i’ll NEVER write or post about them again. writing is one of my only mental escapes that legitimately works. rather, i might ease off and ponder what’s the best road to take, and how involved i should remain as their fan. 

whew.

to end off this gigantic scripture, i’m going to mention that i made a new personal blog. my old one is too cluttered. it’s not completely ready yet but i’m  thinking that i’ll make a smaller post which summarizes some of my ending points. i’ll link it there. i think some kartists will still make an appearance (and there will absolutely be mr. moon wen junhui), but mostly other things i’m interested in!! feel free to drop a follow and mutuals i’ll fb as soon as i can!!! if you read this entire thing then i hope it wasn’t too disorganized. if any part of this comes across as over speaking or invalidating pls let me know! i can really freakin ramble when i’m just sitting here w my thoughts. 

anyways, I’M DONE NOW.  

[lastsonlost]

Just when you thought this story could not get any more disgusting.

Now we have one slimy disgusting trash person being offended by a whole group of slimy disgusting trash people.

The Des Moines Register reporter fired in the wake of a scandal involving offensive tweets — posted by a viral star he interviewed and then his own — broke his silence Friday, telling BuzzFeed News he had been “abandoned” by the newspaper after following standard editorial practice by performing a social media search on the person he was profiling.

“This event basically set my entire life on fire,” reporter Aaron Calvin said.

Calvin, 27, was dismissed by the Iowa newspaper Thursday evening following criticism online in the wake of his article about 24-year-old casino security worker Carson King.

On Sept. 14 at the Iowa State University vs. University of Iowa football game in Ames, King had appeared in the background of ESPN’s College GameDay holding a sign that said “Busch Light Supply Needs Replenished,” along with his Venmo handle. After King received $600, he announced he would instead donate his growing beer fund to a local children’s hospital. The fundraiser soon went viral, and Venmo and Anheuser-Busch offered to match the donations. King wound up raising over $1 million, and he was quickly catapulted into being a local legend and viral internet hero.

Upon the fundraiser hitting the million-dollar mark, Calvin decided to profile King, whom he’d already covered in several stories. But soon Calvin, who worked as a BuzzFeed employee between 2013 and 2014, found two racist tweets King had posted when he was 16. Calvin wrote that the tweets, which have since been deleted, were jokes “comparing black mothers to gorillas and another making light of black people killed in the Holocaust.”

Calvin told BuzzFeed News it’s standard practice at the Des Moines Register to background check people they profile through court records and social media. “I was reminded by an editor to background Carson...and I found a few tweets that he published in high school that were racist jokes,” he said. “I knew if I found them, other people would find them as well.”

Des Moines Register executive editor Carol Hunter declined to comment for this story, but referred BuzzFeed News to an op-ed she published in which she called “backgrounding” an “essential” part of reporting. “The process helps us to understand the whole person,” she wrote.

Calvin said his editors told him to ask King about the tweets, so he did. "He was deeply regretful, and I recognized that these were not representative artifacts of Carson,” Calvin said.

In writing his profile, Calvin said he decided to include just a “brief mention of these tweets and his apology at the bottom of this profile, after the glowing synopsis of his charity.” The reporter said he felt an obligation to share the information he’d uncovered with the public, but thought he did so in a “thoughtful” way that showed the tweets no longer showed King’s worldview.

He also maintained he did this with the full blessing and awareness of senior editors. “Throughout this entire process of the discovery and inclusion of the tweets, the editor knew, the editorial board knew, and the executive editor knew how I’d included them and handled them for the article, and as far as I knew, approved of that,” he said.

On Tuesday night, before the profile was published, King held a press conference to apologize for the tweets, which he said had been found by a reporter. He said he wrote the posts when he was a high school sophomore and had been making reference to the show Tosh.0.

“In re-reading it today — eight years later — I see it was an attempt at humor that was offensive and hurtful,” he continued. “I am embarrassed and stunned to reflect on what I thought was funny when I was 16 years old. I want to sincerely apologize.”

Anheuser-Busch cut ties with King after the press conference. King said he did not blame Calvin, saying that he appreciated that he’d pointed out the tweets and had simply wanted to apologize. “The Des Moines Register has been nothing but kind in all of their coverage, and I appreciate the reporter pointing out the post to me,” he tweeted.

Upon publishing the story, Calvin said he was immediately met with criticism from people across Iowa who accused him of trying to denigrate a local hero.

But any media ethics debate about the newsworthiness of tweets written by someone when they were a teenager was soon swept aside by a tidal wave of harassment, doxing, and death threats Calvin received.

Soon, influential right-wing media figures also began circulating screenshots of Calvin’s own past offensive tweets that had been uncovered. In posts dating back to 2010, Calvin had used “gay” as a pejorative, written “fuck all cops,” and spelled out the word “niggas” twice when he was quoting others, including a Kanye West lyric. “Now that gay marriage is legal,” he wrote in one 2012 tweet, “I’m totally going to marry a horse.”

Calvin told BuzzFeed News these were “frankly embarrassing” tweets that he “would not have published today,” but said they had been “taken out of context” and were being used to “wield disingenuous arguments against me.”

Calvin said editors at the Des Moines Register directed him to apologize in a tweet, which he said he agreed to do because he was “afraid and just trying to comply with what I was being told so I could possibly hold onto my job.”

In the tweet, Calvin apologized for “not holding myself to the same high standards as The Register holds others.”

“I regret publishing that tweet now,” Calvin told BuzzFeed News. “Because I was never trying to hold Carson to any kind of ‘higher standard’ or any kind of standard at all. I was trying to do my job as a reporter, and I think I did so to the best of my ability.”

As soon as the story broke, Calvin said he began receiving a barrage of death threats. He said HR reps at Gannett, which owns the Des Moines Register, forbade him from speaking to the media and told him to leave his apartment for his own safety. They offered to put him up in a hotel, but he stayed with a friend instead.

“I recognize that I’m not the first person to be doxed like this — this whole campaign was taken up by right-wing ideologues and largely driven by that force,” he said. “It was just a taste of what I assume that women and journalists of color suffer all the time, but the kind of locality and regional virality of the story made it so intense.”

On Thursday, while he was speaking to police about the death threats, Calvin said he got a call from Gannett representatives. “They told me they were going to offer me an option — that I could resign or I could be fired — with no severance,” he said. “It was really a semantic difference, I guess, so I chose to be fired.”

A Gannett spokesperson told BuzzFeed News the company does not comment on personnel matters.

In her op-ed, Hunter, the executive editor, wrote they were now evaluating how reporters perform background checks on subjects and what information should be published from those checks. She said their focus was partly on “the shift in social media culture and how activities on those platforms reflect upon a person’s newsworthiness in general.”

With regard to Calvin’s firing, Hunter wrote that they “took appropriate action because there is nothing more important in journalism than having readers’ trust.”

King did not respond to a request for comment on Calvin’s dismissal.

Calvin said he hasn’t heard from Gannett or his newsroom leaders since his firing, but said some of his former coworkers have reached out in support.

Though Calvin said he regrets his tweets, he thinks they were taken out of context by bad actors to make him look like a racist and homophobe. “As I said when I was speaking with Carson, I don’t think people’s past social media statements should be made to make blanket characterizations about them,” he said.

He also expressed his frustration about the “false narrative about me ‘canceling’ Carson.”

“Carson was never in danger of being canceled — there was no attempt or intent to quote-unquote ‘cancel’ him,’” Calvin said. “He’s raised hundreds of thousands more dollars since this happened. The governor of Iowa declared a ‘Carson King Day.’”

(“You can make a mistake in your life, and still go on to do amazing things,” Gov. Kim Reynolds tweeted Wednesday. “@CarsonKing2, thank you for reminding us all of that! #IowaProud.”)

Calvin said he’s still afraid to go out in public and is still staying at his friend’s house. He isn’t sure what he will do next, but hopes he can keep reporting.

“I’m just taking it day by day,” he said. “I feel like I’m a good writer and a good reporter and I was doing my job to the best of my ability.”

Calvin said he also still deeply believes in the “necessity of local journalism.”

“Frankly, it’s really disappointing to me to be abandoned by my former employer,” he said. “I still in a lot of ways support the Register — I just wish they had believed in me.”

Have you ever read so much bullshit that it made you almost vomit in your mouth?

This motherfucker just try to roast a man's life and is now trying to play the victim after he got a dose of his own hypocritical medicine.

Also BuzzFeed is in rare form today. We have both the right-wing Boogeyman, online harassment and women and people of color being in votes for pity points.

Did you ever see obvious manipulation look so obvious?

[jimjimcherie]

My Illumi Zoldyck Headcanons

Once again, because I accidentally deleted my post, and now I have to rewrite it from memory alone.

If you don't sympathize with dear Illumi, then you probably shouldn't read this because this is about to be me being soft, sad, and protective as fuck over my babie Illu.

So... these are headcanons that have been building up since I started Hunter x Hunter 14 years ago, back when I was 9 and I had the biggest crush on Illumi and Hisoka (yes, they creeped me out, but I still had a big phat crush).

I've been watching HxH reactions the past two months and I don't understand how people feel so bad for Killua and Alluka for what they went through but don't realize the other children went through the same, and how Illumi probably went through worse to turn out like he is. I refuse to believe Illumi was born as a perfect, obedient, murder doll.

So what I believe in:

��� Illumi was heir for, at least, 10 years until Killua was born and Zeno and Silva saw more Zoldyck in a newborn baby than in sweet Illumi, who had too much Meteor City slums in his blood. I refuse to believe that Killua was chosen as heir solely on "potential" alone, what kind of potential does a baby have? Illumi was too dark for Zeno's taste.

• Dear Illumi was an only child for five years until Milluki was born. He had no one to comfort him, no brothers to rely on. He was basically a test child for Zeno and Silva, Kikyo probably didn't have much say on Illumi's upbringing. He was tortured, beaten, and punished until all was left was a perfect submissive and obedient murder doll.

• How many childish things were denied to him? Were his soft toys taken from him when he was dropped in Heaven's Arena and Milluki was born? Did he come back to a bedroom that was as alien as the new toddler in the house? Did he miss his plushies and his baby blanket? Did he come to a room that suddenly was bigger than him? Was all the softness taken from Illumi, and instead given heaviness in return? Was he smacked for crying? Did Silva break every bone in his little fingers when he tried to hold hands after he turned six?

• Did the butlers ever try to help Illumi like they did Killua? Did they turn a blind eye to the quiet child with the big black eyes? Was Tsubone's dislike for Kikyo-sama so great that it extended to lonely, sweet Ilumi who resembled his mother with his dark hair and dark eyes? Did she see so much Meteor Slums in him that she decided he wasn't worth more than trash? Did she ignore him when sweet Illumi's lip trembled and his eyes shone like onyx with unshed tears because it was better for him to "cry it out", or did she go to Silva to inform him, until all the tears were beaten out of Illumi again and again until he learnt to jam needles into the back of his head so he couldn't feel anything anymore?

• Ten years old Illumi who would play with five years old Milluki, who would look at him warmly and would make Illumi's lips twitch into what he no longer remembered was a smile. Illumi who snuck candies and snacks that weren't even poisoned to Millu after his training, who would get him soft toys, and games to play with, until Silva decided Illumi was too soft and spoiling Milluki too much and made him take over Milluki's torture training. Milluki who loved his "kind aniki" even after he stopped bringing him treats, even when he would whip him because Illumi came back bruised like a plum the first time he ever refused to do something. Illumi who later on gave Killua chocobos, and brought dolls and makeup for Kalluto who had a penchant for girls things, because no one had ever thought of bending the rules for Illumi even if they all did for his brothers.

• Did he go through training none of the other children went through? Was he forced through "seduction training" at the tender age of thirteen? Small, delicate Illumi with bite marks on his small neck and rope burn on his wrists, did Silva think it was too much after Illumi was so averse to touch and his eyes were so blank they seemed to swallow all the light? Did Kikyo say no more, not the other children, Illumi is the only one I will give to you to break? Did they ever notice the way Illumi's mind would wander, leaving behind a corpse? Illumi, so eager-to-please and wanting so bad to be loved by a father that didn't like him, that he would ask for seconds when he slapped him, that would press his forehead to the ground in forgiveness when he killed one of his special tutors before they even touched him?

• Illumi who is half out of his mind with fear all the time because which punishment will it be this time? What did his brothers do now, that Illumi has to take the blame for? What transgression did Illumi make this time? What will Kikyo take offense at now that the only thing that will calm her is raking her talons through her eldest's skin? Illumi takes job after job after job, because he loves his family so much but Kukuroo mountain is the setting to almost all his nightmares. Illumi who is so terrified because he takes punishment for mistakes he didn't even commit that he does not allow space for imperfection in his brothers because he doesn't want them to be punished too.

• Illumi, age fourteen, not even blinking as he was told he was no longer heir, Killua age four grabbing at his mother's skirt as his aniki bowed at his father's feet apologizing for not being good enough. Illumi understood the decision, he was not special, he could tell, no one had ever bothered with him as a child, the butlers never bent the rules for him like they did for Killua, his parents were not lenient with him like they were with Killua, and grandfather Zeno did not spoil. Illumi wasn't even jealous, he understood he was not special, he had been a weird, stupid, and ugly child, he wouldn't have looked at himself either. So he takes care and loves Killua over anything else because that's what he was told to do. That was his new purpose.

• He's fifteen and at a job when he meets Hisoka Morow. Illumi doesn't know it yet, but the man with golden eyes is the only one that will go back for him always, even when he doesn't ask, even when he doesn't want him to, Illumi can't have friends but he wishes for Hisoka, wishes he could have him.

• Sweet Illumi at age eighteen breaks under Hisoka in a way he has never done before, breaks in a way so vulnerable, so soft, he cries through it, and god, Illumi has never felt this loved before.

• Illumi is twenty two and coming back to the mansion on Kukuroo mountain after a job when he's informed Killua ran away. It's not fair, Illumi thinks. It's not fair because now it's Illumi who's being punished for his selfish little brother. Milluki is angry, Killua stabbed him, and didn't even think of the consequences of his actions, Killua never does. Killua never saw how bruised and bleeding Illumi came back every time any of them broke a rule.

• Illumi brings Killua back but Gon comes back for Killua, and Killua comes back for Alluka.

• Illumi is twenty three finishing a job with Kalluto when their youngest informs him he's not going back with him. Illumi feels rage and betrayal, another selfish little brother. Another one he doesn't fight because Illumi isn't skilled enough not to kill him. Kalluto leaves and Illumi is terrified, because he failed to bring back another of his mother's sons, and the punishment won't be pretty, slaps will not suffice this time.

• Illumi never thought leaving was an option, and it's not fair, because no one ever came back for him, or Milluki, or Kalluto, but at least their youngest was smart enough to leave and join the Ryodan, who would never let anyone come for their youngest spider. Illumi who came back time and time again to this awful house because he loved his family and wanted to keep everyone together. None of his brothers had loved Illumi enough to notice he was as afraid and lonely as all of them.

• Illumi is twenty four when he leaves the horrible mansion on Kukuroo Mountain to live with Hisoka Morow, who loves him. His mother cries, his father doesn't care, Zeno is happy as long as Kikyo is upset, and Milluki... Milluki is internally grateful the clown dared to take the eldest Zoldyck away.

And one of my favorite headcanons:

• Hisoka Morow, Glam Gas city born, a nobody magician with a taste for violence and blood, met Illumi Zoldyck at nineteen years old and knew he had to keep the fifteen year old murder doll. He knew at first glance there was no one more beautiful, and no one worth more than dear, sweet Illumi. Hisoka would keep his sweetheart even if he had to fight all the Zoldycks and their butlers, he would even kill them all, if Illumi didn't love them. It took Hisoka almost a decade to take him away from the dreadful house with eyes on the walls and torture chambers, but they both found a love so great it made all the suffering worth it.

So these were my headcanons that were only reinforced by okayantigone on AO3. Her fanfics are masterpieces, and I wish they got way more attention that they have. I recommend my absolute favorites HisoIllu stories: children running through, asbestos in the walls, the home that awaits you, and yesterday's cherry pits. Three of those are Illumi centric and one is Hisoka centrict.

Hope you like my post ♡

⭐のへの💧

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 8

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5 ; Chap 6 ; Chap 7

Masterlist : Here

AN : Hi guys! I can’t believe I made it this far ! Last chapter did so poorly I’m having a life crisis, I hope you’ll like this one better, it’s the calm before the storm. I’m wondering if I should update more than once a week so I asked the lovely @brightonfleet and I’ll try to post on Wednesdays and Saturdays now, since the chapters are so smol. Thank you for your love and support, feel free to comment and send me messages, see you on Wednesday ! (Also the title isn’t clickbait this is my gift to you).

Chapitre 8 : Is he naked ?

One thing I never knew was that one day I'll be pissed at « Friday I'm In Love » by The Cure. My head felt heavy as I sat on the bed, eyelids still shut tight, budding headache waiting in the corner of my head for the perfect time to screw me over. I could feel the burning sunlight trying to attack my eyes even behind their curtains, bathing the whole room in their warm rays like they owned the place. It smelled like food, and someone hummed along Robert Smith's singing, so Mandy was already awake. Painfully stretching and rubbing my face, I rolled out of bed, carefully taking in the light in the room as I finally opened my eyes, trying not to trip on the covers. Yawning, I dragged myself to the kitchen to greet my roomate.

- Hey.

Mandy turned around when she heard my grunt, spatula in hand. The table was already set, with orange juice, bread and cutlery, which I almost knocked over while putting my elbow on the table.

- Hi dude. No offense but you look like a truck ran you over.

- Fuck you, my head hurts so much already, how come I'm hungover and you're not ?

As a response, she shrugged, looking like she herself didn't know the answer to that. But like the good friend she was, aspirine was alredy on the table next to a glass of water. Oh I remembered now, she probably wanted to apologize for her screw up yesterday night. I couldn't blame her nor get mad at her though. It slipped, it happened. And besides, I think we saved this whole situation by lying terribly and then drink some more. I could vaguely remember Josh holding out shooters for everyone and cook burgers in the middle of the night but other than that... my mind was pitch black.

- Where's Josh by the way ?

Swallowing a whole glass of water woke me up further and despite my stomach's complaining and churning, my appetite awaken too.

- He's sleeping on the couch, came the simple reply.

- What couch ?

Did we owned a couch ? No we didn't.

Turning back once more, my friend pointed something behind me with her spatula, motioning for me to follow the direction. Oh, so we did have a couch after all. And a sleepy curly head snoring on it, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. Too many questions came to my mind.

- Okay, so since when do we own a couch ? And also Josh slept here ?

- We got out for a walk last night and found a couch so Josh could sleep on it when he wants to crash at ours.

- He plans to do that on a regular basis ?!

She shushed me hurriedly, standing still as Josh turned and moaned in his sleep. His clothes were scattered on the floor around him and on the worned out leather couch that creaked with his every movement. God I hoped no animals were living on it. Getting up, I stole a pancake from the plate next to Mandy, needing energy to register everything that just happened in less than five minutes. So what she's telling me is that we got so drunk we went who-knows-where and got back to the dorm with an abandonned sofa we found on the side of the road ? Just so Josh could sleep at our place. Couldn't he just bring an airmat or a sleeping bag, like a normal person ?

I had to admit my irritation was purely fake. This whole situation was so ridiculous it made me want to laugh more than anything, really. Going to great lenghts only so he could stay the night. Unbelievable, what a princess. It's with an amused grin that I studied his sleeping figure, peaceful and quiet. A rare sight.

- Is he naked ?, I half-murmured to Mandy.

She turned to me, then to Josh, putting her back to the kitchen counter next to me, intently watching him turn in his sleep before the blanket slipped and uncovered his bare ass in all its glory for the world to see.

- Yup, he is.

- Should've guessed.

Nodding to ourselves, we returned to our occupations, and I helped her with breakfast. Our sleepy guest sat with us only a few minutes later, with the covers hiding everything needed this time, devouring pancakes and chatting joyfully about last time and the day to come.

We didn't have school today, which was the main reason why the Christmas Festival was set to this day. And it also explained why students weren't that interested in coming. Even though it was a proven fact that we were all gonna party hard in the dorms after the concerts. Speaking of which, Josh had to perform today but wasn't stressed at all. In fact I never saw someone being this serene about singing onstage to a batch of people. He was talking about how it'll be amazing, and we'll be there, and they'll be rocking the school like it was no big deal at all. It truly amazed me, giving how nervous I was just presenting an assignment to the class. He ate a lot, babbled a lot, and then thanked us for everything and left. Time flew by fast after his departure.

I was too hungover to do anything more than lie in bed all day watching Netflix, let alone do homework. Mandy and I slept some more, and in what seemed like a minute later, had to shower and get dressed for the festival.

Much to my surprise, almost every department had their part to play to the Christmas school fest. The architecture dudes with the help of the carpenters students built cabins and decorated them with christmas lights and lanterns hooked on trees, the Music dept helped set the stage, Furniture Design peeps brought some tables and chairs they had left in the workshop (mostly projects refused by teachers), and Photography students as any other department invited a whole lot of people and bought alcohol for us all to enjoy. It wasn't crowded, but there was a nice amount of visitors nevertheless. A good amount of drugs too, judging by the familiar smell surrounding the school grounds. The stage was surrounded by wood cabins giving or selling beer, food, or cocktails, with stools or benches to sit, which were already taken by the time we got there.

We stood in the cold for hours, close to the heaters and the tiny hot dogs stalls, stuffing our bellies with junkfood in a vain attempt to warm ourselves up. We didn't know where the guys were, nor what their band was called. None of the twins were replying to their phones, so we were left with no clue as to when they were gonna play or if we could skip half of it and come back just for them.

- Can't believe the flyer said « free beer », grumbled Mandy while rubbing her arms.

- Yeah about that, I'm the one who asked for it to get removed, sorry.

Her hair whipped my face as she abruptly turned around to face me with a look of pure betrayal on her face.

- What ? Look at all the efforts they put on the festival, it's only fair they at least get some money out of it.

A lot of people brought their own booze to the party so they didn't have to spend a cent here anyway, we just didn't know enough folks to borrow from them.

- Screw that, she exclaimed before heading to one of the stalls.

Where was she going ? Should I follow ? What kind of crazy plan had she in mind ?

I saw her body leaning on the counter of a drinks stall where the barman looked overwhelmed by all those people calling him around, playing idly with a strand of hair while pretending to read the laminated menu just has her free hand got under the wood panel, fingertips caressing the handle of a huge beer keg. There was no way in Hell nobody would notice her stealing something so big, she couldn't get away with it. By the time I was facepalming while pretending I didn't witness anything at all, she came rushing to me with the keg in her hand and grabbed my arm, hurrying me to follow as we sank through the park.

- I can't believe you stole it, how the fuck are we supposed to drink a KEG ? Do you even know how to open it ?

She paused, letting the big barrel of beer clunk to the hard floor.

- I was kinda counting on you on this one, she said with a perplex tone. We'll find someone who can, don't worry.

I wasn't really worrying about that to be honest but oh well, now that we had it, might as well open it.

It turned out finding someone who could help us was more easier than I first thought, and since a lot of people had the idea of bringing their own keg along, nobody seemed to think it was weird we were carrying one. Now I wasn't a big fan of curing a hangover with more alcohol, but I got to admit it was a special night. And seeing everybody party without participating would've been a shame. That's what I told myself when I poured us another drink.

It was starting to get really chilly outside, so we stayed by the heater, taking turns to sit on the keg when our feet got too tired of standing still, listening to the bands playing, watching the christmas lights illuminate the trees and people sitting under them.

- Who's next ?, asked Mandy for the fourth time that evening.

Struggling once more to get the crumpled flyer out of my jacket pocket, I squinted my eyes, trying to read what band was next in the darkness of the night.

- Greta Van Fleet, I guess. Don't know her.

- Me neither.

Oh how wrong we were. I think my heart leaped in my chest when I saw Jake's figure enter the illuminated stage, followed by Josh, his tambourine, and their two bandmates. The lump in my throat came back, and as the first guitar notes were played it became impossible for me to either keep my mouth shut nor to take my eyes off of Jake. He looked so good. They all did, jamming and playing loud, smiling and having fun, but Jake. He was something else. He looked unreal. His unbutonned black patterned shirt revealed his chest and all the pendants that hung around his neck, bouncing to the rythmn of his body, while his hand recklessly attacked his guitar' strings. His face, so concentrated, like nothing in the world in that moment existed, a single drop of sweat running on his cheek, hair plastered to his forehead, some strands of it getting stuck at the corner of his gaping lips. That night he took my breath away.

- They're so good, muttered Mandy, taken aback too.

I could only nod, at a loss for words, barely having the capacity to register all the informations that were presented to me because it would mean I could miss a second of Jake playing. They all were simply incredible. You could tell they were putting their soul in their music, and it moved me in a strange way, changed me somehow, even a little. That drum solo was the most powerful I had ever witness, the skilled bassist made an amazing job of keeping everything together, and Josh's vocals would put to shame every damn diva on this earth. I think I died a bit when I saw Jake lift his guitar to put it behind his back and play his solo like that. Or if I didn't, I fell even harder for him. There was no turning back from the depths I was now. When Greta Van Fleet started performing at our school, I saw all the people surrounding us stop their activities to pay attention to them. That's how powerful they were.

Josh was in a bliss, we could tell by the spark in his eyes. He played the tambourine during solos, hopping on the stage like he was born on it, giving the crowd smiles and winks, and even blowing us a kiss. We waved at him, but my gaze kept finding its way to Jake like he was calling it back home. He was too busy to focus on anything else, drowning in his music, delighted by the sounds they were producing, barely realizing there were people cheering for them. He looked up from time to time glancing at his surroundings, and during one of them our eyes met. My heart skipped a beat, and he smiled, a pick stuck between his lips, eyes squinted with glee.

By the time they finished their set, my legs were shaking as if I was the one who just performed, but they didn't let us any time to catch our breath. A sweaty and barely dressed Josh jumped out of the stage to come rushing to us, holding us both in a tight embrace and giggling in our ears. He was talking excitedly about the show, how exhilirating it was, and bombarding us with questions about it and what we had thought of it. In the corner of my eye, standing on the stage, Jake was quietly picking up his stuff, putting his guitar back into its case with great care, chatting excitedly with the drummer. Oh fuck I wasn't mentally prepared.

- Are you kidding me ?, yelled Mandy who was holding Josh at arms' lenght. You guys killed it ! We absolutely loved it, you were the best !

- She's right, I chimed in, adrenaline kicking in. Why are you even in this school ?! Damn I wish I had recorded you, I kind of want to hear your songs again now.

Chuckling kindheartedly and hugging us some more, Josh thanked us a million times before settling down with us, helping himself to a beer he chugged before asking for another one. Still feeling starry eyed, I couldn't help focusing on the sweaty guitarist next to the stage, deeply lost in thought between his two bandmates having a conversation. Some people must've bought them drinks real fast because they were carrying red cups, still in their stage clothes with a coat put on top of it. Josh on the other hand... I couldn't look at his bare chest without scolding.

- You're going to catch a cold.

As much as his red velvet sleeveless jacket looked good, seeing his moist skin glimmering got me worried. We were in December, it was like -4 degrees outside, a few more minutes like that and he'll end up like the little match girl.

- Mama I'm too hot to catch a cold, came the reply with a smirk and a wink.

- Oh my Lord go put a coat on I swear to God Josh-

- Okay, I will ! But more importantly !, he said loud and clear while putting each arm around our shoulders. Tonight, my place, we're throwing an after party ! Ladies, please be my guests.

As backup to his words, Josh made grand gestures and a deep bow, taking our hands in his while I shook my head with a look of disbelief on my face.

- Only if you put on a coat.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

same anon from before. Thanks for the info! I know what prompt I want to leave now! 5. Bed sharing for darren and cyrus (like, just after cyrus gets to the farm and he's not well (so before they get 'together-together'. I could see darren being worried and staying with him)!

“As Simple As That”

First of all, adorable prompt. Second of all, I got carried away, so here’s a bucket-load of fluff (and a lil’ angst, because Cyrus). 

Approx 3000 words. Set post-Inquisition, pre-Darrus…

“You know I’m fine, Darren. You don’t need to stay.”

There was a kind of stillness to the small room; a space above the bustle of the lower floor of the Miller house that sat in quiet contemplation of its current inhabitants. Of all the things Cyrus was not used to, stillness and quiet wereamong the top two. The road was rarely both. There was always something to keep an eye on.

Maybe that was why he was secretly grateful for Darren’s presence beside him on the bed, the blond’s large hands working a mortar and pestle with surprising gentleness. It had been... Maker, four years? Five? Sometimes, it was hard for Cyrus to look at him. Really look at him. After all, he wasn’t the kid he remembered anymore. Darren had grown so much - so well - and Cyrus felt like he’d done nothing but stand still. 

“Hmm... I don’t think I know that, actually,” Darren remarked,glancing up, his expression slightly teasing as he ground the herbs into apaste. “In fact, I’d say I’d have to be pretty crazy to think you’re fine, with how youlook right now.”

Huffing, Cyrus’ gaze slid away. “Thanks. Good to see youtoo.”

“You know what Imean.” The pretence of humour slipped from Darren’s face, a full-blown maskof concern replacing it as he lowered the mortar to his lap. “Cyrus, I know you don’t want people fussing, but you’re not well, okay? Sojust… let me fuss.”

There wasn’t much Cyrus could say to that, and the conversationgave way to the gentle scraping sound of stone on stone. After a while, the Orlesiandecided that soft rhythm was as good a way to break the silence as any. “What’s that?” heasked, nodding to the mixture.

Pausing, Darren angled it towards him, revealing a darkgreen paste. “Ma’s special mix,” he explained, or rather didn’t explain at all,but the smile he flashed set almost all of Cyrus’ worries to rest. “It’ll helpwith…” He trailed off slightly, then nodded to Cyrus’ feet. He didn’t need toelaborate, and Cyrus winced simply at the memory of those last few miles to theMiller Farm. Maker, he didn’t even want to think about how torn up they were.His boots had practically fallen apart as he walked. They must look…

“You’re not putting that on my feet,” Cyrus said sharply,suddenly on the defensive. “Just leave it here and I’ll do it.”

Resuming mixing, Darren cocked his head. “Why? I’m alreadyhere. I might as well help.”

“Fuck, just… because,Darren. It’s… it…” Cyrus groped for the words but couldn’t seem to catch them,his frustration mingling with hot, irrational shame as he leaned back heavily againstthe headboard. “Look, you’re not my servant, okay? I can do shit for myself.”

Another stone-scraping pause. Darren’s voice was soft whenhe eventually spoke.

“I know you can, Cyrus. That’s not why I’m offering.”

“Then why?”

Darren breathed out gently. “Because you don’t have to. Not right now. You’re not alone, you’re with me, and I want to help.Maker, maybe I need to…” He trailedoff for a brief moment, tapping the excess mixture off the pestle and settingit aside. “Do you know what it was like? Seeing you after all this time lookinglike…”

It was obvious that Darren realised he was saying the wrongthing because he cut himself off mid-sentence, cheeks flushing red. He busiedhimself with the bedsheet, tugging it up and away from Cyrus’ feet. The actseemed to pull Cyrus away from the retort he had beenabout to unleash, a sudden spike of panic sending him grabbing for the sheet.

“Darren, knock it off!”

“Well I’m tryingto, but your legs are all tangled—”

—“That’s not what I fucking meant!”

Letting go of the sheet, Darren fixed him with a look that was equal parts baffled and exasperated. “It’ll be faster if I just do it. You don’t want to leave it sitting out for too long.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I can see better, and no offense, but you look about ready to pass out.”

“So what. I’ll take longer. Big deal.”

“Cyrus, what’s really wrong here? Did I do something or—”

—“Fuck!” Cyrus wasn’t sure where the outburst came from,but once it started there was nothing he could do to take it back. “I justdon’t want you touching me, okay!”

Silence crashed into the room, arriving like a slap to the face,only instead of looking stung or offended, Darren seemed horrified. Theexpression was fleeting, but Cyrus caught it for the short second it was there.It twisted something deep in his chest, leaving him almost nauseous.

“Oh. Okay. I… sorry, I didn’t... I just… here.” Slowly, Darren held thesmall mortar out to Cyrus, motioning gently for the Orlesian to take it. Notknowing what else to do; not knowing how to fix the mess he had just made;Cyrus accepted it with a shaky hand, drawing it close to his chest. “Make sureyou get each cut.” Darren continued instructing. “Anywhere you’ve broken theskin. You need to cover it and then let it dry. I’ll, ah… give you some space.”

The mix smelled… nice. Earthy and just like the garden out thefront of the Miller house. Cyrus had caught scent of it when he first walkedthrough the front door over four years ago. Smelling it again was like beingphysically hit by a memory of that day. The day they dropped Darren off athome. The day they said goodbye and had no idea if or when they’d see eachother again. It was sudden, but he remembered acutely how it had felt as he walked back down that path with Lyrene and Ralon, knowing that Darren and his family were smiling and waving until they vanished out of sight.

“Darren…?” Cyrus said after a moment, an apology on the tipof his tongue. When he received no reply, he glanced up uncertainly.

Darren had left.

—

Time passed in a nauseous blur of muffled voices and echoingfootsteps. After doing as instructed with the salve, Cyrus was just lying in the bed now, his mindboth sluggish and racing, as though unsure of whether it was chasing or fleeinghis tangled mess of thoughts. The sleep he got was fitful, broken by things like the lookof horror on Darren’s face; the sinkingfeeling in his gut when he realised the other man had left. How could he not have noticed? Was he that self-absorbed?Self-pitying? Self-loathing?

Why did he have to make such a big deal about everything?

Why did he have to say that?

What an ungrateful bastard he was. Darren had taken him into his home. Practicallycarried him up to the room. Helped him change. Helped him…

Eyes fluttering closed, Cyrus felt the thoughts slip throughhis fingers once more, replaced by distorted dreams. Sounds. Quiet humming. Creaking floorboards. Ashift in weight.

“… Cyrus? Hey, you doing alright?”

Gasping, Cyrus woke sharply, eyes flying open and dartingblindly around the room for a few heart-hammering moments. There was a cloth onhis forehead, slightly damp, being smoothed by gentle fingers. He could feeltheir soft press through the fabric; a careful barrier between their skin.“What? I…” It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Was it night already? “What time is it?”

A sudden shiver wracked Cyrus’ frame, the spasm hard andalmost painful. He pulled in an equally shaky breath, not sure how long he’dbeen asleep or why it was suddenly so cold.

“Late. You’re shaking.” Darren was up and moving before Cyruscould even protest, grabbing a thick blanket down from the nearby shelf. Ithadn’t been there before. He must have brought it in while Cyrus was sleeping.“Ma found this in a cupboard downstairs,” Darren explained unprompted,returning to the bed with the bundle of woollen cloth. “She, ah, stayed with you fora bit. Kept an eye.”

The humming. Cyrushad thought it had sounded like a woman. Some part of his mind had almostrationalised it as his own mother; tried to picture her at his bedside. Of course, he couldn’t. Shit, he barely even remembered what she looked like.

The blanket descended, draped carefully over Cyrus’ body. Itwas a comforting weight, smelling only slightly of dust and disuse. The shiversdidn’t stop, but at least it was something. For Cyrus, who was used to sleepingon the side of the road most nights with nothing but his cloak for warmth, itwas like a special kind of heaven.

Conversation used to come easy between the two men, but this time the minuteslimped by with nothing to speed their passage. In truth, Cyrus couldn’t workout why Darren even stayed after what he’d said to him before.

I don’t want youtouching me.

Shit, it wasn’t even true.

“… Are you still cold?” Darren’s question poked its head uncertainly into thesilence. Glancing to the side, Cyrus got abetter look at other man. He was sitting with his back against theheadboard, one leg on the bed, the other draped over the side. Keeping hisdistance. Ready to leave if needed. If demanded.

Stomach in a knot, Cyrus gave a feeble nod. He knew heshouldn’t be, but the shivering just wouldn’t seem to stop. Part of him expectedDarren to just say ‘too bad’. Really, it was more a testament to how fucked up Cyruswas, because he knew there was nothing hecould say or do that would make Darren treat him that way. But the fear wasthere, irrational and insidious, and as the blond shifted to get up, Cyrus did theonly thing he could think of.

He reached out and grabbed Darren’s arm, fingers curling into thefabric of his sleeve.

“Stay.” The word was strained. Thin. If the look ofconfusion on Darren’s face was anything to go by, the man might not have heardhim, so Cyrus said it again. “Just… stay.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Darren nodded, shifting back intoposition. “Cyrus… what’s going on? If…” His nerves overtook him for a moment and Darren wet his lips, recollecting himself. “Look, if something happened out there, you know you can tell me,right? Doesn’t matter what it was.”

Some part of Cyrus knew what Darren must have been thinking.It all made sense, after all. The signs pointed to it. His behaviour. Fuck, hewas such a mess. “Nothing happened,” Cyrus replied as truthfully as he knew how. He reached up shakily,rubbing his eyes with one hand. Pathetic. “I’m just… I’m just so tired, Darren. All the time. I-I can’t remember not being so fucking tired…”

The look of concern on Darren’s face was enough to convinceeven the least deserving man that he was worth something. Hell, worth everything. “Then rest, Cyrus. Please. You know you’re safehere, right? Get some sleep. Nothing will happen.” The mattress squeaked slightly as Darren turned to face him. “If mebeing here helps, I’ll stay. All night, if you want. I don’t mind.”

A familiar pang. A knee-jerk reaction. “No. I don’t need afucking nanny, I—”

—“You need a friend,Cyrus. Someone who’s got your back.” The weight behind Darren’s words left Cyrus’ stuck in his throat. “Andthere’s no shame in that. Ever. So just… let me be your friend, okay? I want to.”

Cyrus’ heart was hammering in his chest. Darren was wrong.Friends don’t do what he does. Friends don’t take you in no matter what. Put upwith your bullshit. Carry you up the stairs. Stay with you all night. Hold yourhand. Fuck, if that’s what friends were meant to do, clearly Cyrus hadn’t hadany before. But at the same time, he knew it wasn’t really true. Darren wasjust… Darren. His idea of friendshipwent above and beyond what was normally required. Clearly, Cyrus had forgottenthat.

Breathing out shakily, Cyrus just shook his head. “You’re… something else. You know that?”

There was a brief pause, then Darren gave a quiet, almostrelieved laugh as the tension in the room finally broke. “Ah, c’mon, you’d do the samething for me. And don’t go trying to argue. I know you would.” The bed creaked again,and this time Cyrus lowered his hand to glance across. Darren was on his backnow, one hand behind his head, the other restingabsently on his stomach as he gazed up at the ceiling. His leg was still dangling over the side of the bed.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Stirring, Darren gave Cyrus a confused look. “Do what?”

“Lie there half off the bed. Looks uncomfortable.”

Colour rose to Darren’s cheeks. “Oh, well… I just… y’know.”He gave an awkward half-shrug. “I wasn’t sure if…”

Sighing, Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Just get on the bed.”

A smile tinged Darren’s lips and he complied, settling morecomfortably over on his side of the mattress, socked feet crossed casually at the ankles. Even just hearing the man’sgentle breathing stole some of the irrational fear from Cyrus’ thoughts; luredthem away like a storybook piper. Some people were better at being alone. Aftersplitting with Ralon and Lyrene, Cyrus quickly came to realise that he justwasn’t one of them. Some part of him felt like he should have already knownthat. The time he spent travelling before joining the Inquisition had nearly killed him. Now, lying there in the Miller house, his friend by his side,he couldn’t deny that it felt… better. Right.

It had never felt right out there on his own, no matter howmuch he tried to convince himself he was better for it.

Sleep must have arrived shortly after, because before Cyrusknew it he was drifting again, the nightmares and fever-dreams rising toscar the back of his eyelids. There was nothing tangible about them; noparticular images or scenes. More… feelings.Dread. Despair. Loneliness. Cold. The cold was the worst part. It fed into theother emotions, amplifying them, his body exhausted but still forced to shiverthrough it all. A distraction. Energy he didn’t have to spare.

Then… it all started to fade. Slowly at first, but it faded until there was nothingbut a low, pleasant warmth settling across the centre of his body, radiating from inside his chest. His back? He couldn’t explain it, but he let himself fall into itgratefully, his body relaxing like a sigh into the new and rare comfort.

In the end, Cyrus wasn’t sure what exactly woke him. Maybeit was the sound of the birds outside the window, or the light slipping inthrough the cracks in the curtains. Either way, he stirred, eyelids flickeringopen before the rest of his body had a chance to fully shake off the hold ofsleep.

Maker, he was so warm...

Slowly, his brow flickered, gaze slipping down. At first, hewasn’t sure what he was looking at, but it only took him a few moments torealise it was Darren’s strong arm, draped comfortingly around his waist, his hand curledgently against Cyrus’ stomach. Heart lurching, Cyrus’ immediate instinct was to jerkaway, but for the first time since arriving, he stopped himself. Maybe he wastired of running on instinct. Maybe he just really didn’t want it to end. He didn’t know. Regardless, he pushed the sudden urge aside and instead lay perfectly still,breathing as steadily as he could, some part of him irrationally terrified ofwaking Darren. What if he hadn’t meant to do it? Shit, he probably hadn’t.Everything would be awkward. Uncomfortable. Embarrassing.The last thing he wanted was to make Darren feel like he’d done something wrongagain when it was so far from the truth.

A soft groan drifted from Darren’s lips; the subtle firstsounds of waking. Cyrus remained as still as possible, pretending to be asleepmostly because he had no idea what else to do.

Maybe it was the tension in his shoulders, but Darren seemed to have some clue.

“Hey… you awake?” His voice was rough from sleep; husky and warm against the back of Cyrus’ neck. “How're you feeling?”

Darren… hadn’t moved. Hadn’t pulled away. Maybe it was just becausehe was still half-asleep and just hadn’t thought of it yet. “I… better thanyesterday,” Cyrus replied, seeing no point in continuing the façade of sleeping. Heswallowed tightly. “Uh… not cold anymore, so...”

Those words seemed to spark life back into the sleepyDarren. The blond jerked suddenly then shifted, drawing his arm away from wherehe’d wrapped it around Cyrus. “R-Right! Yes. That’s good. I was starting to getreally worried.” He laughed almost nervously, the sound giddy and light. “Ijust… was that okay? I wasn’t sure how um… lucidyou were when you asked, but I figured it was better than letting you lie thereshivering all night.”

… Asked?

Oh Maker’s breath, had Cyrus asked Darren to spoon him?

“Fuck…” Cyrusgroaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “You didn’t have to do it, Darren. I…shit, I don’t even remember saying anything.”

There was a slight pause. “I… think you were having baddreams? Not quite nightmares, but you weren’t really resting, if that makes sense.”

Oh, Cyrus knew. In fact, he was acutely, painfully aware. “Ikept you up, didn’t I?” he asked bluntly, that familiar pit forming in his stomach. “Why didn’t you just go?” 

Shit, he would have.

Maybe.

“Well, I figured they were why you were always so tired.”Cyrus could practically feel Darren’s gaze on him. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Closing his eyes, Cyrus just tried to reply without being acomplete asshole for a change. “Yeah. I… don’t know when they started.” Or why.

It was just a small thing; a fragile confession; but Darren accepted it gracefully, nodding his understanding from his side of the bed. “Cyrus, remember how I said I want to help? I wasn’tkidding.” When Cyrus finally worked up the courage to look across at the blondman, he was rewarded by a warm, encouraging smile. “And hey, if that means spooning youall night, well... sign me up.”

Despite himself, Cyrus couldn’t help but snort in amusement.“Darren, the last thing you signed upfor was an actual fucking war.”

The blond broke into a laugh at that, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. “Right? This is so much better.” He grinned goofily. “Plus I have it on good authority that I am a muchbetter cuddler than I am a swordsman. Finally, a chance to play to my strengths...”

How Cyrus had gone from paralysed with uncertainty tolaughing in bed with his friend’s arm brushing against his, he’d never fully understand. It was like a release;a relief. So often, the worst casescenario played out in reality for Cyrus. He’d conditioned himself to justexpect it to happen. But lying there with Darren rambling on about how the weatherwould be nice because the sky was red the night before, that feeling ofimpending dread was just… gone. Snuffed out by a smile.

It was as simple as that.

Smiling faintly, eyes sliding across, Cyrus just lay there in silence for a time, watching as Darren spun his sentences to the ceiling.

Could it really be as simple as that?

[thewildwaffle]

Abduction - Chapter 3

This is going pretty well, I think. Thanks again for all the support! It’s really helping me stay motivated to keep writing!

This is a continuation from Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

Chapter 4

It was really bright. Like, stupid bright. Who has lights this bright? Ow.

Mike had to squint long before he could even think about opening his eyes. His nose really itched too, it felt like it was stuffed up. He reached up to scratch, but his hand was stopped by something that felt almost like a soft plastic dome. Maybe it was rubber? What the heck is this? He felt around, there were a lot of wires and tubes. Was he in the hospital?

“Ohhh…” his voice caught on his dry throat. “My… everything hurts. What the heck did I do this time?”

He moved his hand up to his eyes, shielding them from the light to try to get a look at the room he was in.

There were instruments attached to the walls, standing on wheeled carts, or hanging from the ceiling. Some were connected to hoses and nozzles. There were wires, screens, cupboards and drawers against several walls. The platform he was resting on had most of the wires and tube connected to or around it. There were diagrams posted on the walls, but not in a language Mike recognized. There was a beeping sound, like a heart-rate monitor, but the tone was higher and sounded like it was coming from some sort of musical instrument.

It certainly looked like a hospital. Just not like one he’d ever been in before. There was something… alien about it.

Oh.

Alien.

Mike gave a start as the events from the past few months rushed back. His scout ship, sent to do a quick orbit of Saturn to pick up an observation drone. The mysterious ship. Bright light. Then darkness. Cages. Food that could hardly be considered edible. Aliens that kind of looked like some ugly, hairy bug. Different needles, blades, vials, injections. He’d felt treated more like an animal than a human being. No, not even treated like an animal. More like a science experiment. Or a punching bag.

The machine in the background started beeping faster.

Oh no, he thought, Oh no, no, no, no. Where am I? What happened?

Clawed black hand reached to undo the lock. Exoskeleton clinked against the bars. They’d become relaxed around their prisoners. Thought they’d broken them. Complacent. Still dangerous. Just waiting for the right moment. That moment.

Them.

Two.

Where was Wenona?

The beeping was getting faster. A new sound started, a lower, longer sound.

They had snatched the guard’s weapon, knocked him unconscious. Locked him in one of the cells they’d been held in. They snuck their ways through the halls, taking out guards or officers when needed until the alarm sounded. They’d been found out. Even though they’d both been weakened by their time aboard the alien ship, there wasn’t a creature aboard that could stop them. Cuts. Burns. Scratches. Barricades. Blasters. They fought through them all to get to and take the control bridge. Wenona had been trying to figure out their position when another alien ship appeared on the screens.

Pain. Blood. The adrenaline was wearing off. It was getting harder to see, harder to stand up straight. Wenona helped him to hide. Tried to stop the bleeding.

Mike tried propping himself up to see if he could find Wenona. They’d both been captured around the same time. They’d been each other’s sole companionship during their time as prisoners. She’d saved his life. He needed to make sure she was still nearby, still okay.

The heart-monitor beeps got faster. The lower, longer sounding beeps got louder.

Mike pushed against the strange plastic-y cover. It moved easily enough, swinging away on hinges of some sort. He tried turning around to get a better look of the rest of the room. Owwww… ahhhh. It felt like every muscle in his body was made out of frozen rubber. He had been covered by a thin, soft blanket from the neck down. As he sat up, it slid down. He wasn’t wearing anything. The torn, bloody rags were gone. Probably a good sign, right? Whoever’s ship this is, at least cares enough to clean me up, and…  He felt his side with his hand, Those are new scars. Completely healed scars.

How long have I been out?

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was definitely alien.

If Mike had been standing, the alien would probably have been as tall as his chest. Looking at it quickly, one might mistake it for some strange, dry octopus, but the legs under the main part of the body was long and sturdy, ending in four stockier tentacle-feet. It’s skin was varying shades of brown ranging from the color of a dark chocolate candy bar to a lighter brown of a cardboard box with spots and streaks of purples and blues that must have formed some sort of camouflage pattern back on whatever planet it must have originated from.

“Krouschee fen glub you een denoo ing? You are abrehmf kroot. Dooka you understand kama I’mehs seraying?”

“What?”

“Dook. You. Underswand. Kat. I’mehs. Seraying?”

Mike looked puzzled at the alien. It didn’t seem dangerous. The features on its face looked… curious? Maybe even concerned?

“Umm… I understand you? Mostly.” Which was already saying a lot more than the previous aliens he had encountered. Good step. Good step.

“Kold on a momentehk. We’ve equipped you koob ap translator. It eereha take a momentehk to adjust, so I goos I will just keep talking until everyshringreh is sounding the way it should to you. Let’s see, I’m trying to thinkek of things to say, things to skray. My name is Demfar, I am the head medic. Todayshk I ate three kerber patties for my meal. Uh, I’ve been assigned to the ESS Gladius for nearly six of my world’s solar cycles. That’s about, oh.... I want to say about seven and a half deca-partecs?” He paused, he looked like he was running out of things to say. “Is this working yet, or not? Sometimes it takes only a few words to sync, but I’ve heard instances where it took half a day before it started getting everything translated properly. Can you understand me?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s working. I, uh, I understand you.”

A smile spread across Demfar’s face. Was it a smile? It at least it looked like it should be a smile. His large eyes creased slightly and the fins on the side of his face moved almost comically far upwards. Mike smiled back.

The fins on Demfar’s face dropped and his eyes widened. “Oh, my, I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you. I meant no offense.”

“What? No, I was... I was smiling, it means I’m happy. I thought you were smiling, so I smiled back.” Demfar tilted his head to the side slightly. He lifted one of his tentacled arms and a small holographic display appeared and seem to hover over a small watch-looking device on his… um, wrist? Or wherever his “wrist” would be in comparison to Mike’s own arm. He seemed to be reading something. “Ah, yes. A smile. Your species often display your happiness by baring your teeth like that, I see.” He smiled again, though the fins on the side of his head did not reach quite as high. It was still enough to make Mike smile a little bit, though he made sure he didn’t show his teeth this time.

Demfar looked at Mike and then to the display again. “I do apologize. We learned as much as we could about humans from our ship’s internal database, but seeing as we did not have any humans aboard, it was quite limited. We’ve managed to send for more information, but it’s been slow. We’re still a ways out from the nearest Federation outpost, and communication is often disrupted by cosmic interference during warp.” The display disappeared and Demfar stepped toward Mike and lifted the blanket that was still partially covering Mike’s torso.

“Incredible,” Demfar murmured quietly.

“What?” Mike’s muscles tensed and he felt himself leaning ever so slightly away from Demfar. Breathe, he thought, it’s okay, he seems nice. He’s a doctor. I’m his patient. It’s okay. I’ll be okay. He’s a doctor… an alien doctor.

Demfar paused and gave Mike the same concerned look he had when he first came in.

“I understand you’ve been through quite an ordeal, but I can assure you, I mean you no harm human… uh, human…” the fins on the side of his face tilted back closer to the side of his head. “Oh my, do excuse my lack of manners. I have told you my name, but have not asked for yours.”

“Captain Michael Rockwell,” he responded automatically. “Uh, but my friends just, most people just call me Mike.”

“Mike, yes. Very good. Well, human-Mike, as I was saying, I mean you no harm. No one on this ship does. We are on an exploratory and diplomatic mission for the Galactic Federation to the outer sectors. Those that abducted and harmed you and your companion have been taken into custody and will be punished for their crimes. Now, about your injuries, we’ve done our best to-”

“Hold on, hold on, my companion? You mean Wenona? Where is she? How is she? Is she okay?”

“Wen-no-na? Is that her name? Yes, she’s fine, or at least as fine as one can be in such circumstances. Most of her wounds, much like yours, have healed remarkably fast. She’s been awake off and on for about half the day-cycle, but she has so far refused to speak to anyone. She took a good swing at me earlier when I tried to check her wounds after she first woke up.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” So she was awake. Good. Maybe if he could convince Demfar he was well enough, he could go see her. He scooted over and dropped his legs over the side of the platform he’d been resting on.

“Whoa now, hold on! Where do you think you’re going? I still need to check you out and make sure you’re alright!” “I’m fine. I need to make sure Wenona is okay. She’s probably freaked out right now, she needs me. She needs to know I’m alright.” He stood up, the muscles in his legs and lower back protesting the movement. The blanket that had been on him slipped and fell. Mike tried quickly to grab it before it reached the ground, and in doing so nearly lost his balance.

Oh boy, dizzy.

He righted himself again and wrapped the blanket around his midsection. Demfar looked more than a little dubious. “I’m fine, just a bit sore. I need to see Wenona. And I need some clothes.”

[littlelovelymemes]

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[red-5]

Addict

*18+ NSFW

*Request

‘Hiya! I wanted to make a request, pretty please! Can you do a one shot with either Bucky or Steve? And do you think you could use the song ‘Quit’ by Cashmere Cat (Ft. Ariana Grande.) I love that song. Thanks love!💕 ‘

A/N: Bucky was the obvious choice for me given the choice of song. I hope you don’t mind terribly @snowprincess133, but given the ::ahem:: suggestive nature of the lyrics, this got pretty smutty pretty fast. This did spark inspiration for a potential future Steve story that is similar to this one if there is an interest. Anyway, I hope this is what you had in mind. Enjoy. :)

It wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t. He told himself that simple fact every step of the way, knowing it wouldn’t stop him but perhaps acting as penance for his forthcoming sins, of which he was certain there would be many.

And you say that I’m the devil you know, and I don’t disagree

The bite of the frozen, metal fire escape barely registered in the chilled fingers of his right hand, let alone his left. He moved automatically, careful to keep his eyes low and head ducked as he climbed and swung his way to a familiar window, illuminated from the inside by a soft glow. Uncertainty finally clawed its way into his chest as he caught sight of her face, more beautiful than he had remembered, stealing the breath from his lungs and nearly knocking him off balance.

They say, “You crazy, just leave him, he’ll suffocate you” But I wanna be in your arms

He didn’t have to imagine what her friends had to say about him, she had told him outright. It was the last time they had spoken, months ago but he remembered every detail as if it were yesterday. She had done everything he had asked, kept his identity a mystery, made excuses, lied, and he had come to her, tail tucked between his legs and told her he wanted to put an end to it.

It was bullshit, of course, and he had nearly caved to the part hurt, part fury that raged in her eyes. But it was with blind panic that he realized how dependent he had become on her scent, her taste, the feeling of her skin against his, and the longer he went without it, the more volatile he became.

He would not ruin her.

‘Cause when you call my heart starts to roll, I always want more It’s my heaven, my hell

His craving became too much, burning and itching under his skin, twisting painfully in his stomach as need gave way to obsession. He hadn’t realized where he was going until he was well away from the compound, the smog-filled air of the city replacing the crisp, clean air surrounding the Avengers property. His cheeks and nose were chapped red by the time he parked his motorcycle in the alley, slinking through the shadows until he found himself frozen in place.

We’re heading deep inside lives a voice, a voice so quiet But I can’t hear that voice when your heart beats next to mine

She hadn’t seen him yet, her head still ducked towards the screen of her computer, he could slip away as silently as he came. Her life would continue without him, and be all the better for it.

But he didn’t want to leave. He wanted her to see him, to give him a reason to stay, as devastating as the fallout would be. He needed to feel her eyes on him, though he told himself in vain that it would not make him crave her touch. That her gaze would be enough.

I can’t quit you, I can’t quit you

He started when her eyes snapped up to meet his, his presence finally scratching at that unknown place at the back of her mind and forcing her to seek out the source. The fluorescent light from her screen cast deep shadows across her face, but even in the scarce light he could see the conflict that played out. Doubt bubbled sourly in his stomach as the seconds dragged on at an agonizing pace, but scarcely faded when at long last she stood slowly and wrenched the window open.

Yeah, I’m gonna regret it

She didn’t stand to watch him clamor inside, turning her back to him and wrapping her arms tightly around her torso as she paced angrily. His fingers itched to touch her, his skin set on fire with her proximity, head swimming drunkenly with her intoxicating scent. He was an alcoholic on the road to sobriety, and had found himself at the bottom of a bottle.

She halted abruptly, nearly vibrating with rage as she fixed him with a hard stare.

“How dare you.”

He flinched, her words like a sharp slap to the face.

“You say the things you say, do the things you do, then show up here after everything?”

There was no defense he could give, no excuse for the hell he had dragged her through, and so he gave none. His silence only enraged her further.

“Why are you here, James? Did you think you could just appear out of the blue and everything would be fine? Don’t tell me you’re here to apologize, because you can keep your pity.”

I know I’m gonna regret it

He allowed his eyes to find hers, losing themselves in their familiarity though he felt the sting of their absent warmth.

“I… “

She raised an expectant eyebrow, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to her trembling lips.

“You what? You what, James? You can’t do this!”

Her rising voice rang harshly in his ears, hitting him dead center like a blow to the chest. He had wanted to destroy her faith in him, never having felt deserving of it in the first place, to crush any chance she would harbor lingering feelings for him in his overconfidence to control his own hunger for her. It wasn’t the fury in her words that tore at him, it was the pain that lie beneath. The pain that shone in the unshed tears that had collected in the corners of her eyes. He had broken her the way he had broken himself.

The self-hatred that rose in his throat like bile only fed his selfishness, his firm belief that there was truly nothing pure about him save for the light she provided. The light he had snuffed out.

The single tear that slipped down her cheek shattered the smoldering remains of his heart along with his control.

When you said, "Baby, I just want you to lay me down and we’ll fuck the pain away”

“Just tell me what- “

He swallowed the rest of her sentence with an open mouth, lunging across the room to grip her face and crush his lips forcefully to hers. They stumbled, tripped, grasped at clothing and limbs to right themselves, fused together despite the small, frantic fists that beat mercilessly against his chest. Metal fingers tangled in her hair, flesh hand gliding down the flimsy material of her nightshirt to clutch at her hip. By the time the mattress hit the back of her knees, her fingers had unwound from their tight clench to twist into the lapel of his leather riding jacket.

Teeth clashed as they collapsed in a heap on the blankets, writhing and gasping as hands reacquainted themselves with the curves and contours of each other’s bodies. A deep growl rumbled in his chest as she tore his outer layer away, arching her body shamelessly into his and scraping her nails up the expanse of his back through the thin cotton of his shirt.

'Cause skin on skin, I feel nothing but the burning of desire

His lips slid to her jaw, biting, and nipping at the heated flesh of her neck as his fingertips danced up her thigh, relishing in her gasps and moans, the sweet little sounds he had deprived himself of for too long. The last offensive barrier that blocked her from his touch was swiftly removed, slid torturously down her legs, and discarded carelessly.

The pad of his thumb felt its way to the swollen bud at the apex of her thighs, his own arousal growing painfully in his jeans at the feminine cry that tore from her throat. He began his descent, metal fingers unwinding from her hair to slide her last article of clothing up her torso, exposing a new expanse of delicious skin for his lips to wreak utter destruction on.

Days-worth of unshaven scruff left red, irritated bumps in its wake as his mouth sucked deep purple marks into the dips and divots of her hip bones, fingers teasing at the slick flesh between her legs. Her hips heaved and jerked off the bed and into his touch, hand fisting tightly in his hair to yank his mouth back to hers. He leaned his elbow by the side of her head as the impatient hand that dropped between them to claw at his belt confirmed she was as desperate for this as he was.

And that’s just foreplay

The bite if his zipper still dug into his thighs as she hooked a knee around his hips, his hand abandoning its post as he positioned himself to slide around to the back of her leg and squeeze a merciless bruise into place as he anchored himself to her.

Their sighs and moans rose and twisted in tandem crescendo as he slid into her in a single motion, his head dropping into the valley between her neck and shoulder, hot breath coming in short, shuddering pants. Her nails dragged an exquisite burn across his lower back, urging him to move, to begin that heavenly undulation that would bring them the sinful release they craved. He acquiesced to her demands, rolling, and crashing into her, desperately tamping down the release that had already begun to build deep inside him.

It had been much too long.

We’re heading deep inside lives a voice, a voice so quiet But I can’t hear that voice when your heart beats next to mine

Her eyes screwed shut, one arm winding around his torso, the other cradling his head against her, body quivering involuntarily as months of suppressed, unbridled passion mounted between them. There was no hesitation, no moments of clarity or realization that they slowly unraveled any progress they had made in abstinence, any forward momentum their lives had taken without the other in it. There would be no recovering from this, not this time. The fire would surge to life once more, or plunge his life into eternal winter.

He would take that bet a thousand times over.

I can’t quit you, I can’t quit you

All too soon her body twitched and spasmed beneath him, nails digging into his flesh as her climax sparked his own, dragging him deep into the undertow of overwhelming sensation and absolute pleasure that howled in his ears and unraveled the very fibers of his muscles as they clenched painfully before dissolving into putty. He fell limp against her, melting into her form, chest heaving, ear pressed against the sweat-soaked skin of her chest. The erratic rhythm of her heart sang sweetly to him as he recovered, fingers threading clumsily through his tangled mess of hair to brush the strands from his cheek before stilling at the base of his neck.

Her breathing evened, and as much as he hated himself for it, for all of it, he would allow himself to stay pressed against the soft warmth of her body, to bathe in her scent and her touch, to be the monstrous, selfish man that he was. To indulge in the first night of sleep unplagued by the ghosts that haunted his waking hours he had gotten in ages.

The morning would either bring his salvation, or his undoing. He would allow the night to bring his sanctuary.

Gonna regret it Yeah, I’m gonna regret it

@angelaiswriting

[geeks4squeaks-blog]

|The Verdant Prince|

Chapter 7: Useful Tools

People milled around casually as was expected on a warm sunny mid morning. No one bowed and treated me as different, a few people even threw a some ugly curse words and such as I pushed my way through the thickening crowd. And with all honesty I liked it. I liked the rough equal feeling it had and took very little offense to it.

I had wandered around gathering supplies slowly. New clothing, new bedding, nicer plates and utensils. I was honestly excited that my family didn't have to live like hungry rats anymore, scavenging and living off of single thread blankets and clothing. I was for once in my life truly proud I could do something to help. I wasn't pathetic and helpless. I was useful and strong.

In my mini adventures across the cold tiles and stones of the market place I had overheard several conversations. It was amusing to me in all of my years at training I had learned to kill in hundreds of ways, swim well, create light from my fingertips, ride a beast with nothing, speak languages and so much more. Never had I thought I would learn to hear and comprehend so many conversations around me. Most were in hushed tones of gossip, others loud and cheery. They all had their fair share of odd subjects.

"Red or yellow beats?"

"Green!" A snotty shrill voice said.

"Did you hear about the barbarians breaching a few of the nine realms? There's rumors going around saying they're headed towards Asgard." A croaky old man coughed out.

"No, that's absurd. If they were anywhere close to us the horn would sound and the problem would be taken care of." A woman answered back, doubt lacing her carefully picked words.

"I did not bed him, Mama! He is a pig!"

"Pies should be sold in the food vendor section not the herbs. Someone is going to think you poisoned it."

"Maybe I did."

So many people in such a little place talking all at once fascinated me. The way everyone could interact with a different face every way they turn.

"Would you like a sweet roll?" A man grabbed my arm, pulling me out of everyone else's conversations. His palms were sweaty and his head was badly shaved. It was as if a goat was his barber.

"No thank you, sir," I said, prying his hand of my arm. He grunted unhappily and rolled his eyes. Or eye I should say. Rather than being matching vibrant green, one was a cloudy grey void of color.

I walked slowly through the vendors. They all shouted what they had to offer, some shaking the goods they sold in their air as if people would swarm them if they saw it. I shifted my arms, adjusting the heavy filled basket in my arms. I now had a few odd looks in my direction. I figured not many woman carried giant baskets with a single arm in these poorer parts. I shifted my arms once again so I was carrying the basket in two arms. I didn't want any attention what so ever.

But why?

"Silver, bronze, and iron jewelry! Sapphire, emerald, ruby, and more gemstones!" A man shouted gruffly from across the street. I turned and made my way to his booth, curious in his craft.

"Do you hold silver and amethyst materials?" I asked him softly. He stopped his loud ramblings and looked to me. I dropped my eyes to the shining gemstones below me. Silver and gold bands lined the crooked wooden table. I looked up to the man again when he hadn't answered me. He rubbed is chin thoughtfully, his calloused fingers making a crude scratchy sound as it rubbed on his rough dark beard. His dark cocoa colored eyes scanned me over and he shook his head.

"You wouldn't be affordin' it, m'lady." He said, a thick foreign accent showing. He looked genuinely sad as he looked at my attire. I shot my eyes up to him and squared my shoulders. A small pompous part of me laughed inside as his shoulders slouched ever so slightly.

"I can afford it and I will afford it. Do you hold silver and amethyst bracelets?" I repeated my question in an even tone. He dropped his eyes and nodded his head, a small apology escaping his chapped lips.

"What size?" He asked without hesitation now.

"Smaller than your own wrist. It's for my younger sister." I explained. He nodded his head, the ghost of a smile resting on his face. I looked away slightly to the western city. The sun and clouds rose from that side but today it looked empty and the sun seemed to show less light than before. The sky seemed ashen and pale... as if it was dying.

"Here m'lady." He said as he slipped the silver and amethyst bracelet into a soft pelt pouch. I had lost interest in the western gate- pinning my bad thought to my slowly growing hunger.

"Thank you, how much?" I asked as I set the bracelet gently in the top of the supply basket.

"One hundred five golden coins," he said, leaning back on the wooden post beside him heavily. He scratched as his head once more as I handed him the small sack of my own savings. I wouldn't take it out of my family's spending's. It was my own purchase.

~*~

"Good Gods, woman what did you buy?" Father nearly choked as I walked into the small dusty home. Uthgard turned away from the sink and dried her blue stained hands with a rag. I set the heavy filled basket on the table gently and opened the lid. It creaked ever so slightly.

"What my family truly needs. You have been living with the same things for nearly twenty years now." I chided. I slipped the small pouch into my pocket before Uthgard could see it. She had made her way over to the table, the floor boards creaking under her tired feet.

We unpacked together, occasionally Father would make sighs and uneasy sounds as I brought out fresh food, new cups, and clothing. He set his head in his calloused hands.

"You still have enough for a month to live very comfortably, and at the end of the month they will send more." I assured him, and I rested my left hand gently on his forearm.

A sickening hollow sound echoed across the house. It rang heavily in my ears even after it bellowed. We had all frozen, a ghostly chill trickling down my spine. The wind seemed to stop, the birds no longer sung and everything was sickly silent.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Every thundering blow sent a horrid shudder through me. And then there was silence again.

"What was that?" Uthgard whispered as if breaking the silence was a crime. Immediately I rushed outside, my small family following suit. I knew exactly what it was- but I didn't want to believe it.

"That wretched bellow was that of the Barbarian Horn. It signals invaders are near. The three thundering sounds belong to King Odin's staff. He summons us." I said as I unlatched the sack on Bjorn's back. Bjorn snapped his head up and stiffened feeling my distress. Out of the sack I grabbed out silver lined gauntlets and the rest of my gear. I didn't have time to change all of the way, as long as I had enough armor to cover me.

I jumped onto Bjorn and I could feel the small pit of worry form in my stomach.

"Where are they coming from?" Father asked, his worry showing slightly in his tone. Bjorn shifted backwards impatiently and I pat his neck as I slipped on my shin guards quickly.

"The Western Gate most likely. I need you two to reach the safe point quickly. Don't grab anything, we don't know how far they are or if they have even breached the city. Just please get to the safe point I will meet you there." I pleaded and without further comment I dug my heels into Bjorn's sides and he was off. His hooves clicking rapidly across the cold stone roads.

I hooked my knees to his side and leaned back to fetch my dagger sheaths. The pack bounced more the emptier it got. I slipped the belt with the sheaths around my hips easily and sheathed the double daggers.

I leaned forward and took the reins once again into my clammy hands. The streets were empty, everyone in their homes or headed to the safe point in the hearth of Asgard.

~

Bjorn had gotten me to the Golden Palace in under ten minutes. Bjorn slowed and I jumped off and exhaled as I saw the slowly growing group of our comrades outside in the court yard. Everyone was wearing the basic three armor pieces. Some were even in full battle gear. Odin's large throne was empty but the two princes stood with their hands tucked in front of their chests. Their brows heavy with thought. Orgnar stood in between two pillars, the growing group of warriors forming a semi circle around him as he spoke. I stood beside Ur, a stern cold look etched on his face.

"Barbarians of Jotunhiem have made their position known to us. The sit on the South Western gate and have already breached the walls. This has never been done before so we don't truly know what to expect. Six of you will go down to the wall and prepare for possible battle. If the Western wall falls, use the fire signal and we will send in more troops. For now you six are the Vanguard-the front line of warriors." Orgnar spoke. The air seemed to become tight as he talked more. Silence sat uncomfortably between us. "The rest of you will help evacuate the people from the West and South district quickly. If they break through half of you assist the six below, the other half stay with the people at the safe point. Do we all understand stand?" He said sternly, the silver beads in his beard clinked softly as he talked.

We all nodded collectively.

"So we are up against giants?" Ceri asked and he rested his hand uneasily on his mace.

"Not exactly. They are hybrids of the giants of Jotunhiem and several other races in the nine realms. They will not be as massive as pure-blooded giants but they can be as dangerous. Truthfully we don't know what to expect. Just kill the damned things and be done with it." Orgnar said, his eyes softening ever so slightly in helplessness. "Go."

~*~

Asmund had been divided into one of the six in the front lines. He adjusted his shoulder plates nervously and began chewing the inside of his cheek. He pat his horse, Az, on her broad shoulder and began quickly tightening the straps on the heavy saddle. His lips twitched ever so slightly.

"They won't break through. And if somehow I am wrong- kick their bloody hybrid asses to Hel." I said firmly, though the flutter of worry in my stomach told me it would be everything but okay. I didn't show it however for it would make Asmund nervous as well. He nodded, a small, more relaxed smile on his lips. He turned away from me without responding. In retaliation I slapped his backside and he turned and stuck his tongue out at me.

"You're a kinky one." He teased and raised his eyebrows rolled my eyes. At least I was easing his worry.

"Just don't die." I said softly. His smile faded slightly.

"I won't." He answered back and slapped Az's backside and she bolted down the path. Other warriors followed behind him quickly, determination etched in their faces.

I turned and pat Bjorn's side.

"It's going to be a long day, Bjorn." I whispered as I climbed on him to meet the evacuation squad.

*

Together we rode down into the Western District in solemn silence. The only sound being the clicks beneath our beast's hooves and the whistle of the wind through the desolate homes. We finally arrived to see everybody was already mostly evacuated, save for the few people scattered about. A pang of guilt slid through me as I saw my comrades taking turns giving rides to the Asgardians. I simply rode around on Bjorn looking for stragglers but found none. The Prince's had been in our group as well but were ordered to not get involved in battle unless it was an emergency.

I turned down a street- clothes hung on their lines above us between the buildings. They hung from windows and other buildings and flapped quietly in the dry wind.

The sky was dull with no bright sun to warm our bare arms. Suddenly the hair on my neck and arms stood on their ends. My stomach turned as I yanked Bjorns reigns to the left sharply. Bjorn snorted as if to sass.

To the south smoke began to rise from the watch tower. The fire licked at the pillars, growing ever so slightly.

All of the sudden a thunder like sound rippled through Asgard.

"The wall has been breached!" I screamed, my voice cracking loudly as I dug my heal into Bjorns sides, the buildings around us slowly becoming a gray blur as we raced to the breached south wall. I could hear the faint sound of hooves on the tiles as the warriors followed me but that was soon drowned out by the sound of blades clashing and faint screams.

The west district was likely all evacuated in fear of barbarians invading the west. South had not yet been evacuated thoroughly- most likely the front sections of the walls.

My family was in the south right corner on the edge of the wall. Not close enough to be evacuated first.

I only prayed to whatever gods were listening that they had left as I had told them.

Tag list: @cutefuto​

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter Four

Just discovered that this chapter didn’t post over the weekend as I thought it had so trying again.  This chapter has Emma spending time trying to process what she’s learned so far while she waits for Killian to fill in the blanks.  For anyone wanting to read ahead, Chapter Five is already posted on FF.net and AO3 and here are the links to the earlier chapters here on Tumblr:

Prologue/Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three

Note:  AO3 lists the prologue as Chapter One so the numbering on that site is a little different than how I have them set up.  Sorry for any confusion.

Tuesday afternoon, Portland Medical Center

Deputy McCallen dropped Emma off in front of the hospital entrance approximately an hour and a half after they'd left – or roughly half an hour later than she'd promised her son, but neither of her boys seemed upset with her. Henry still had his earbuds in, fully engrossed with whatever he was viewing on his phone while Killian remained motionless on the bed, and now that she knew more of how Killian reached this moment, her curiosity was only heightened. He'd been stranded with a damaged sail and most likely had attempted to contact her once he'd purchased the rope necessary to repair it – thankful that she'd made him take a couple of 20 dollar bills with him as merchants here weren't as likely to have accepted his doubloons.

She had contemplated everything Jean Scott had told them about the robbery as she rode up in the elevator – about why Killian had come into her shop; about how he'd been interrupted before making his phone call home – assuming that's what he'd been heading outside to do. All of it left nearly two hours still unaccounted for and what happened next was still a mystery to them. She wanted to see the security video that McCallen had referred to hoping she might pick up on some nuance that the deputy wouldn't have noticed.

And she couldn't help but think about her interaction with Deputy Aaron McCallen. His mannerisms stuck her as odd, but earnest. How many modern investigators still used a notepad and pen for case notes? Emma used electronic devices whenever she could or simply committed the information to memory until she had a moment to record it. She may have been born into a fairytale kingdom but she'd been raised with technology and she fully embraced it. McCallen, on the other hand, for such a young investigator, was either very old school or very inexperienced. He certainly seemed diligent enough, although perhaps a bit reserved. He'd seemed almost embarrassed to ask about the significance of Killian's jewelry – not that she was able to give him the whole honest answer, but either way, he'd been hesitant to touch on any personal subjects. Of course, most investigators probably wouldn't take Emma's more cavalier approach. It just worked for her.

"Hey, Kid," she'd announced as she stepped through the doorway. "Sorry we got back a little late. Any changes while I was gone?"

"It's okay, Mom," he assured her as he yanked on the cord to his earbuds, removing them. "Nothing changed here. Hope you and the deputy were able to get some new info though."

"We did. We've got a better idea of how Killian ended up here in Portland and we know for certain that he did voluntarily allow himself to be taken hostage to protect a shop owner."

"So what happened?"

"According to the store owner's account, the bowline on the mainsail broke. Killian apparently didn't have enough rope onboard to fix it and had to take a ferry from an offshore island to a shop on the harbor. He was waiting for the ferry to head back when someone tried to rob the place. Killian offered up doubloons from the Jolly Roger if they'd leave the woman running the place alone, but right now, that's all we know," Emma sighed as she lowered herself onto the chair next to her husband, reaching over to grasp his hand as she sat down. "We know that two men were involved, but they wore masks the whole time so the store owner couldn't identify them. Maybe he saw their faces after they took him hostage or maybe he overheard something he wasn't supposed to so they tried to kill him? We just don't know what went on after he left the store with a gun to his back except that he didn't get shot, he got stabbed instead."

"I'm sorry, Mom. He'll wake up soon and then you'll be able to ask him."

"I hope so," was her crestfallen reply and her son decided to change the subject there before the room became any gloomier than it already was.

"Now that you're back, do you mind if I head downstairs to the cafeteria to get some lunch? I'm really getting hungry…"

"Sure," she replied having not even realized that it was nearly 1PM now, the thought of food not even crossing her mind.

"Want me to bring you something?" Henry offered.

"No, that's okay. I'm not really hungry right now. I'll get something later…"

"Okay, then. I'll be right back." She watched her son as he headed out into the hallway, disappearing behind the pulled curtains and almost instantly found herself struck with the same sensation of loneliness that Henry had felt earlier. After two days without her husband close to her, without hearing his voice or being able to gaze into his sparkling blue eyes, she longed to get lost in his smile once again and yet all she was able to do presently was simply stare at his unconscious form as he lay there so still and so silent. This wasn't where they were supposed to be. They were supposed to be at home in Storybrooke dealing with the latest dwarf crisis or sitting at Granny's having lunch with her parents – anywhere but here in a Portland hospital room where despite the nurse's earlier cautious optimism, Emma still found herself fighting off the lingering apprehension that she might be planning for a funeral.

That horrid thought was quickly chased from Emma's mind as a nurse appeared in the still open doorway carrying a tray covered in supplies, startling the sheriff for a moment as she hadn't heard anyone enter.

"I'm so sorry to startle you, Mrs. Jones," the young nurse who'd been at the desk earlier when Emma arrived apologized. "I just came in to change the dressing on his wounds. I'll only be a couple of minutes…"

"No need to apologize," Emma responded. "I guess I zoned out for a moment. I'll get out of your way here…" She stood up, placing Killian's hand gently back at his side as she rose. The nurse drew the privacy curtain around the bed in case someone else were to walk into the room and sat her tray atop the rolling table that had been pushed over to the foot of the bed. Emma retreated back toward the window as the nurse attended to her husband assuming the young woman wouldn't want an audience.

"It's okay for you to stay," the nurse insisted. "As long as you're not overly squeamish, I might even be able to use your assistance. This is sometimes faster with two sets of hands," she paused as she realized that her choice of wording might have been offensive, but Emma didn't react to the faux pas so the young woman completed her statement. "Or I could page an orderly if you'd prefer…?"

"Alright, I'm open for pretty much anything. Just let me know what I need to do," Emma replied as the nurse unwrapped the blanket from around Killian's shoulders which allowed her to at last see the patch of gauze taped across the lower portion of his chest and upper abdomen. As the dressing was peeled back, the dull red sutured surgical incision became visible, stretching several inches across the lower portion of his rib cage toward his sternum. Despite having been stabbed in the back, it appeared that surgeons had chosen to go in through his chest for easier access to repair the damage. After a brief inspection, the wound was rapidly and expertly re-bandaged and once that task was completed, the nurse quickly checked his IV and his breathing tube before turning to Emma.

"I need to check the wound on his back now. If you wouldn't mind helping for a moment, I can finish this easier with him still in this position. If you don't want to though, I understand and I can lay him down instead."

"I'll be happy to help. Just tell me what I need to do."

"I just need you to support his weight while I lean his upper body forward a little to access the other incision. If you could come over here…," the nurse motioned toward the opposite side of Killian's bed so Emma skirted around him as instructed. "Okay – now just place your hands on his shoulders as I sit him a little more upright and steady his weight…" The nurse brought her right hand alongside Killian's jaw as her left hand slid behind his back and gently pushed him forward just a couple of inches. She cradled his head in place while Emma supported his torso, gradually allowing his head to tilt forward as well. "Good," the nurse stated as she pulled her hand away from his neck, freeing it up to dress the other wound. "Just a minute and I'll be all finished." She had already removed the old dressing and tossed it onto the tray with the rest of the used gauze and just as swiftly as she'd bandaged the wound on his chest, she tended to the smaller but decidedly more ragged incision at the middle of his back. "There – all done." The nurse smiled as she repeated the gentle hold of his head while lowering her patient's body back against the mattress.

Emma kept her hands at his shoulders until he was returned to his original position on the bed, her head now filled with theories about the type of knife used to stab him. The wound had been delivered with an upward thrust with a blade long enough to pierce completely through his chest cavity so they clearly weren't looking for a pocket knife nor could this injury have been made with the dagger Killian often carried inside his boot. This blade had to have been longer than that, but certainly narrower than a sword. A kitchen knife maybe? Or maybe a fisherman's boning knife?

She finally pulled her hands away as the nurse brought the blanket back up around his shoulders finding herself wondering how much longer they would keep him wrapped up like that. She wasn't really certain what normal body temperature was for a roughly three hundred year old pirate, but clearly the hospital was looking for something closer to the standard 98.6 and he must not have been there yet.

"Everything looks good right now," the nurse spoke up while pushing the privacy curtain back into place at the head of the bed, bringing Emma back around to the present. "His wounds do appear to be healing properly which is a very good sign."

"Thank you," Emma replied with a gracious smile, not that it was really necessary. The nurse was doing her job, but Emma still felt a need to express her appreciation for all that had been done to keep Killian alive, even long before the hospital staff had even known his name. The nurse reciprocated the smile, silently acknowledging the sentiment as she gathered up all of the supplies and trash onto her tray, leaving Emma alone with her husband once again.

"I will find whoever did this to you," she whispered her promise to his ear as she returned to the chair by his side. "I just need you to wake up and give us the rest of the story." Her eyes damp and glistening with tears, she reached over to caress his cheek, her fingertips brushing lightly against his right ear while the pad of her thumb tenderly explored the barely yellowing bruises around his eye noting that his right eyelid honestly looked as though he'd simply smeared it with the smoky kohl he still used as liner. "Hope you left at least one of them with a matching black eye." Her thumb drifted lower across his cheek, then paused to trace the cloth surgical tape which secured the breathing tube in place. She wanted more than anything to help him, but out here - out in what Storybrooke residents still referred to as The Land Without Magic – she didn't have the ability to heal him and that fact was only augmenting her frustration.

Her burgeoning angst was tempered though when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Retrieving it, she discovered that the caller was her father whom she'd promised to contact when they had more information so she couldn't really ignore him.

"You won't mind if I talk to my dad for a moment, will you?" she asked Killian aloud, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to argue. "Hi, Dad," she answered the call. "Sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner, but it's been a pretty busy day so far… No, there hasn't been any change since Henry messaged you. He's still unconscious and definitely still critical, but the nurse we talked to earlier sounded fairly optimistic… Who knows?" She paused while David replied and then continued with the minute amount of new information that she had: "So Henry told you that I rode over to interview a witness with a Cumberland County deputy, right? …Yeah, it gave us a little more insight about what happened. Killian apparently let himself be taken hostage during a robbery at a convenience store down on the harbor… He had some problems with one of the sails, I guess – won't know for sure until he tells us himself… No – two robbers wearing ski masks were involved and at some point after they took him hostage, he got stabbed and ended up in the Atlantic. That's it so far… Yeah, most of it sounds like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

Emma was listening to her father's next response after she'd given him the highlights of Jean Scott's story when the sight of an ever-so-slight twitch in her peripheral vision garnered her attention. The nearly imperceptible motion of Killian's pinky finger almost went unnoticed as Emma practically dismissed it as an involuntary muscle spasm. It was only the sound that followed it that stopped her conversation entirely – a strangled, guttural cry that emanated from Killian's throat as though he were being choked.

"Dad – I'll call you back. I've got to go." She didn't even wait for him to say goodbye before disconnecting the call - returning her full, undivided attention to Killian who seemed to be desperately gasping for air, unaware that the tube blocking his throat was performing that task for him. Not yet entirely conscious, he raised his hand to his throat as though he were trying to remove whatever he imagined was choking him. "Killian – it's okay…," she spoke in a soft, gentle voice trying to reassure her husband as his eyes flickered open in semi-lucid panic, but not even the sight of his wife or the serene timbre of her voice put an end to his wheezing and clutching at his throat. "Killian – listen to me – you're okay. Just relax… You're safe…"

He'd come to slowly – his mind a disoriented, discombobulated mess as he struggled to find his bearings. The smell of disinfectant assaulted his nostrils first as his fingers shifted around to explore the surface beneath them – something made from smooth cloth. One eye opened scarcely a slit, immediately squeezing closed again as the bright overhead light attacked his retina. No - too bright… He tried to take in the sound instead, listening for clues even if he wasn't yet conscious enough to be aware of what he was doing. He couldn't identify most of the noises – strange, alien cacophony to his ears, but there was something familiar…? A voice…? Emma's voice…? Was she really here? Could he get her attention?

He wanted to shout to her but he found he had no voice. Why didn't he have a voice? He struggled for lucidity as his conscious mind returned, instantly fully aware of the extreme discomfort he was experiencing. His chest ached and burned, his eye throbbed and his throat felt strange – obstructed? Now he was getting agitated – he couldn't call out to Emma because he was being choked. His hand flew to his throat, desperate to claw away whatever hand was wrapped around his neck, but there was none there but his own. What black magic was this? He tried again to cry out to his wife, but the sound only came out as a strangled growl from the back of his throat while his eyes flew open, landing on the wondrous sight of her face framed by her golden locks, but even her calming words weren't enough to quell the feeling that he was drowning all over again. At least if he were to die this time, his final vision would be her face rather than a deserted island cove.

Emma found herself not knowing how to help him, grateful to see the face of the nurse who'd left only minutes earlier return to the room after being alerted by the monitors indicating a sudden spike in Killian's heart rate and blood pressure.

"I think he's choking," Emma tried to explain what she'd witnessed as the nurse brushed past her.

"He's trying to breathe on his own," the nurse replied. "Take his hand and hold on to it so he doesn't try to pull the tube out. It's not uncommon for patients just coming around to panic with a trachea tube in place, but he could do permanent damage to his throat if he keeps fighting it and tries to pull it out." Emma wrapped both of her hands around his and pulled it away from his neck, squeezing as tightly as she could to prevent him from escaping her grasp. "Mr. Jones?" the young woman called out to her patient in an attempt to draw his attention. "Mr. Jones, there's no need to panic. There's a tube in your throat helping you breathe. I know it's annoying right now, but I need you to relax and not fight it…" His gaze shifted slightly from Emma to the nurse, but there was no recognition or focus – just a wide panicked stare. "He's not coherent enough to understand and I'm worried he's going to hurt himself… Hang on…" The nurse had already retrieved a syringe from the pocket of her scrubs and after removing the cap, pushed the hollow needle into some sort of portal attached to the IV tubing. They must have been anticipating this very reaction, Emma thought as the contents of the syringe were emptied into his IV. After a few adjustments to increase the speed of the IV drip so the medication would reach his bloodstream faster, the nurse spoke up again. "This sedative will take effect pretty quickly, but it doesn't last very long. It will help relax him so he doesn't hurt himself while I page the doctor. This is a really good turn of events," the young woman insisted.

He couldn't get his vision to focus. He could still hear the voices – one that sounded like Emma and another he didn't recognize trying to say something to him. His eyes caught a glimpse of the speaker – a woman, but brunette, not blonde but her words weren't making sense. Everything was twisted and garbled in his head but his concern was that he still felt something blocking his windpipe. Why weren't they helping him? Why would Emma stand here watching him suffocate and do nothing? He struggled for clarity, yet he could feel the pull of the darkness lulling him back into sleep. He didn't want to relax but the drug now coursing through his veins was exerting its hold and he gradually surrendered to it.

It took less than a minute for the drug to make its way into his system and Emma could feel his fingers go limp between hers as his eyelids began to droop. Now both anxious and excited, she clung somewhat frantically to his hand as the nurse scurried back to her station to try to locate his doctor. She wasn't thrilled that he'd needed to be sedated so soon after waking but understood that the panicked semi-conscious pirate could have inflicted serious injury to his windpipe or vocal cords had he managed to yank the tube out. The positive note was that he was regaining consciousness and if all went well, it was hopefully only a matter of time until Killian could fill in the missing pieces and help them track down his assailants. It also meant that he was one step closer to getting well and returning home but she found her thoughts interrupted yet again as the nurse returned with a middle aged woman clad in a white lab coat over a floral print dress whom Emma assumed was the doctor.

"We'll just need you to step outside for a few minutes," the nurse politely instructed as another person wearing hospital scrubs – presumably another nurse – entered with a tray full of supplies, none of which were even slightly recognizable to Emma. "The doctor just needs to run a few tests. It shouldn't take long and don't worry – he'll be fine."

"Of course," Emma replied cordially, managing a half-hearted smile. She didn't really want to leave, but she certainly could comprehend that she'd be in their way so reluctantly, she lowered his hand back to his side and backed away slowly, not taking her eyes off her husband until she reached the doorway. She would have remained there had the second nurse not followed her, pulling the door closed as Emma was forced out into the hallway.

"What's going on?" came the voice of her son behind her. Before turning to face him, she tried to conceal the forlorn expression she'd been wearing. He took a sip from the beverage cup he was holding as he awaited her response, but he didn't miss the fact that something was upsetting her.

"Hopefully it's something good," she replied. "Killian started to wake up."

"That's great!" the boy exclaimed, but his excitement was dampened when his mother didn't seem to emote the same. "That is a good thing, isn't it?"

"I guess – well, yes – it is a good thing, but he started to choke on the breathing tube trying to breathe on his own so the nurse had to sedate him so he wouldn't try to pull the tube out himself. Maybe it wasn't actually choking, but that's sure what it sounded like…"

"But it's not serious?"

"The nurse didn't make it sound like it was, but when she got back with the doctor, I got shushed out of the room, so I really don't know…" her voice cracked with the reply.

"Well – what does your gut tell you?" he asked her point blank, trying to remind her that her instincts were rarely wrong.

"I guess my gut says he's going to be fine," she laughed, thankful for the kick in the pants to bring her head back from the doldrums. "I just hate that I can't wave my hand and magically make everything better…" With the deputy on guard duty seated within earshot, Emma halted herself before anything else on the subject of magic escaped her mouth, certain that Henry would know precisely what she'd meant.

"It's going to be okay," he reassured his mother once again.

"And that's what I keep telling myself, Kid," she wrapped her arm around his shoulders once again, actually thankful that he'd defied her orders and tagged along so she'd have his support. "But since we're stuck out here for a few minutes, how about you help me find the vending machines? I think I'm in need of some chocolate therapy…"

Returning approximately twenty minutes later, Emma broke the last section of her chocolate bar in half as she strolled up to the re-opened door to Killian's room popping a portion into her mouth and handing the remaining one to Henry who carried her cup of hot chocolate. While it simply wasn't the same without whipped cream and cinnamon on top, it was the best she could find in this floor's vending area. She took a tentative peek inside before entering, hesitant at what might have transpired in the past few moments. The room was once again quiet and one distinct change caught her attention – a clear plastic oxygen mask now covered his nose and mouth. He hadn't yet awakened from the hasty sedative but watching him breathing entirely on his own was a welcome development.

The redheaded nurse, Jackie, if Emma's memory served her correctly, was busy hanging a new bag of fluids and making some adjustments to his IV, unfazed by her audience. She completed her task and picked up Killian's chart from the nightstand where she'd left it, making a few notes before tucking it under her arm.

"I try to sneak away to get some lunch and I miss all the excitement," Jackie said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, although the smirk on her face was clearly intending to set a lighthearted tone. "I see Kelly took good care of your husband while I was gone. The sedative she gave him should be wearing off soon, but don't be surprised if when he comes around that he still isn't able to speak. His throat will probably still be a little irritated, both from the breathing tube and from whatever volume of sea water he tried to inhale."

"Knowing Killian, he won't stay quiet for long. He'll probably be quite determined to make himself heard," Emma said with a snicker.

"I'll bring in some ice chips which will help soothe some of the irritation and he can have small sips of water. We'll see how he does this afternoon but be prepared for a lot of coughing and even possibly vomiting. He still has some water in his lungs that his body will try to expel. It doesn't help that the supplemental oxygen can dry out his throat even more, but he needs it so make sure he keeps the mask on as much as possible so his levels don't start dropping. We don't want to have to put that tube back in."

"I'll try my best, but I'm fully prepared for a battle. He can be a stubborn ass when he wants to be," Emma laughed as the nurse headed toward the door with a grin on her face as well.

"I'm on until four today. If you need me, just press that call button down there by his right hand. I made sure to place it where he could reach it himself if necessary."

"Thank you," Emma said, noting the location of the controller that housed the call button as well as the adjustment levers for the bed as she settled back into the chair beside her husband, not even noticing until her backside hit the seat that the uncomfortable molded plastic chair had been replaced with a wooden one that featured a padded upholstered cushion. It was as if the hospital staff had prepared for her to be sitting there for some time. Henry made his way back to the room's other chair by the window, but that one was still the plastic variety which didn't really concern the teen. He would have been happy to park himself on the laminate tile floor if necessary and if he'd had his choice, he'd stay here with his mom as long as she needed him, but he'd promised to return home to Storybrooke tomorrow where he would likely find himself grounded by his other mom.

All of the day's activity had Emma worn down so she shifted around to find a comfortable position in this new chair, finally leaning in as close as she could to her husband, her shoulder resting against the sturdy plastic railing on the side of the bed. She wanted to get some rest, but instead she found herself staring at Killian and noting all of the changes that had occurred since he'd first begun to regain consciousness. The head of the bed had been lowered to a less severe angle and he was no longer shrouded with the heavy blankets. He was now dressed in a standard pastel green hospital gown and covered with a crisp white sheet and a pale blue lightweight blanket both of which were pulled up to the middle of his chest. She could tell that the gown hadn't been tied behind his neck so they could easily lower it to access the bandages as needed. His right arm lay atop the covers – again likely for ease of access to the IV but his blunted left arm had been modestly tucked under the covers as though they were attempting to spare him any embarrassment or indignity.

For the first time that day, she found herself wondering how her husband had managed the foresight to bring his artificial hand. While McCallen hadn't mentioned the prosthetic he'd been wearing, Emma now realized that he must have had the gloved wooden hand or perhaps he hadn't been wearing one at all – although Jean Scott likely would have commented on something having been amiss had he strolled into her shop missing a hand or if he'd been wearing a hook at the end of his left arm. Based on Jean's own commentary, she'd spent plenty of time gawking at Killian but she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary so his hook must be back on the Jolly Roger – wherever she was moored at the moment.

Emma sighed loudly, overwhelmed with unanswered questions and an absolute mess of conflicting emotions. She was so thrilled to have found him, but simultaneously festering with anger at the men who'd put him here – not to mention the frustration that was reaching a boiling point over those missing hours. How had he gotten from Jean Scott's store out to that island? If he'd been taken out into the bay with a destination of Peaks Island, his abductors must have had a boat. Were they not able to locate the Jolly Roger so they just disposed of him or had he gone on the offensive and ended up failing miserably? All she really knew was that he'd been stabbed in the back – and not likely by accident - and he'd nearly drowned. Had he jumped overboard and somehow swam to she shoreline or had his captors dumped his wounded body into the ocean and he merely washed in with the tide? Did he really ever plan to lead them to his stash of doubloons or was he deliberately leading them astray in an attempt to escape – feeling safest at sea? There was so much she needed him to tell her because conjecture wasn't getting her anywhere. All of the answers lay within Killian Jones.

[heckofabecca]

THE STEPPING-STONES OF THE RIVER ISEN

When a young Dunlending woman appears at the Fords of Isen, Erkenbrand, Marshal of the West-mark, is caught in a decades-old secret that shakes Éomer King to his core.

part two (3713 words) of five | part one | on AO3

A/N: Chapter two posted from Paris! Hope you enjoy!

Elswide knew right away the best room for Gwir: at the far end of the hallway carved into the mountain. The room was small and dark, and it was out of the way and generally unused. She hoped the young woman wouldn’t take offense, but it was hard to tell. Elswide paused by a storeroom to order things sent and to fetch an oil lamp, which she held herself as she led Gwir onwards. Gwir held her plate in one hand and ran the other against the wall.

It had been about seven months since any Dunlendings had been anywhere near the Hornburg. Elswide had been sent away to stay with her daughter’s family in Edoras, but her husband’s reports had chilled her. The Deeping Wall had not been fully repaired from the explosion; the gaping hole had been inexpertly fitted with rubble.

How much of the devastation had Gwir seen? Had she slept through it, or had she watched closely for any weaknesses in the fortress? Elswide shuddered. It wouldn’t do to think of it, she told herself. Gwir had seen what she’d seen, and that was that. Besides, the Dunlendings that had earned amnesty from Théoden King had seen the destruction firsthand.

She wondered how the late king had managed to be so magnanimous. However much the Dunlendings had been led astray by the wizard, they had killed and burned and pillaged across the Westfold like monsters. She glanced back at Gwir, whose eyes trailed across the ground. Had her stepfather taken part in the Battle of the Hornburg? Elswide didn’t dare ask, and thankfully they reached Gwir’s room after another moment.

“Here is your room,” she announced, swinging open the door.

Gwir stepped in and looked around, dropping her satchel on the floor. There was a straw pallet on the floor against the far wall, with a woolen blanket over it; a small chest was pushed into the corner next to the door. There were no rushes to cover up the cool dark stone or hangings to prevent the mountain’s chill from seeping in, and the light from Elswide’s lamp seemed dim indeed.

But Gwir did not seem to realize how unwelcoming this room was. She turned back to Elswide with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said.

Elswide blinked. Gwir’s smile was just like… She pushed the thought out of her head. That secret was not hers to think on, much less disclose. Luck and her good eyes had given her the truth. She was glad to know for herself, but if anyone else found out, there would be trouble.

“I have sent for some water for you,” Elswide told Gwir. “You may want to wash.” She came inside and pulled the door shut; she set the lamp on a high shelf carved into the wall. Gwir pulled pins from her braided hair and stuck them in her shirt; soon enough, her hair was in a thick, tangled mass that fell to her collarbone. “Did your mother braid your hair?”

“Not today.” Gwir yanked her fingers through her hair. “It would have stayed better if she had, but I left early. I braided it myself while I walked.”

“You didn’t do a bad job,” Elswide said. Gwir’s lips twitched at that, and Elswide turned her eyes to the girl’s satchel. “You didn’t bring much with you.”

“Enough for a few days.” Gwir plaited her hair into a short braid down the back of her neck. “You don’t need to stay, you know. I won’t bite any heads off.”

“I’m curious about you,” Elswide admitted. She sat on the chest. “What does your chief think he can get by sending you here?” Gwir shrugged and plopped onto the pallet bed to pull off her boots. “Did he hope we would kill you on sight?”

“I doubt it, for then my mother would kill him. But it would probably make people angry at you again, instead of afraid. I don’t think Chief Ketheric would mind a chance to get even. One of his sons died here,” she added dispassionately, setting her second boot aside.

“Here as in in the Riddermark, or here as in the Hornburg?” Elswide asked, eyes wide.

“Here-here. Woru of memory is in the mound of our dead outside these walls. He used to throw rocks at me. He stopped when he grew up, but he never apologized.” Gwir picked at the knot securing the lacing that ran down the left side of her tunic. “His brother’s no better, though. When Chief Ketheric dies, we’ll be stuck with Tollasi.”

Elswide nodded encouragingly. This was information they were unlikely to get from any other source. It might be useful in future dealings with the Dunlendings, if Éomer King’s plans for them went smoothly.

Gwir went on. “The man who I rode with—Godden or something—reminded me of Tollasi. They screw up their mouths in the same unpleasant way. At least Godden didn’t push me when I touched him, though. I was wondering if he would.” The knot came undone, and she pulled the spiral binding out. She fixed her dark eyes on Elswide. “You should find other chiefs to work with. There are chiefs south of the Great West Road that were less swayed by the wizard. Tollasi complained about them. They may be friendlier to your people than Ketheric and the other northern chiefs.”

“Your words are welcome,” Elswide said, eyes wide. “I will tell my husband what you’ve said.”

Perhaps Gwir was not here to measure the Mark’s weaknesses after all.

---

Erkenbrand was late coming to bed, and Elswide dozed of waiting for him. When he climbed into bed, she woke up with a start.

“Sorry,” he murmured. He pressed a lazy kiss to her temple and slung his heavy arm around her waist. His breathing was slow and calm, and Elswide sat up quickly.

“Erkenbrand,” she said, “I have to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” She pulled her knees up, wincing as they creaked. Aging was a curse on Men, she thought. It was harder and harder to remember what she had looked like at Gwir’s age. “The girl told me something. I wanted you to know it as soon as possible.”

Erkenbrand pushed himself up against the headboard and turned to face her. She could see the outline of his face.

“Her chief is called Ketheric. He’s from north of the Great West Road, and one of his sons died at the battle here. He’s not likely to be friendly should we try to deal with him. Him or his living son. Gwir says there are chiefs south of the road who might be better to deal with. The son complained of them.”

He whistled. “That is good to know. And she was not lying?”

Elswide whacked his arm. “I know when there is a lie!”

“Your pardon, lady.” Erkenbrand rubbed the spot she’d hit. “No offense meant. I’ve heard reports of this before, but none with enough detail to satisfy me that it’s a better course than just dealing with the head chiefs of the whole place as Éomer King is doing. But I trust you to know if Gwir was lying. This is news I can bring to the king.” He ran a hand through her loose hair and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you, Elswide. How did you get her to talk?”

“She talked on her own,” she admitted. “I only listened. I can’t imagine why she talked, but I’m glad she did. It makes her presence easier to stomach.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“Oh, she talked about her family. Her beautiful mother, her mother’s husband…” With her ear pressed against his chest, Elswide could hear her husband’s heartbeat. She sighed, content.

“What of him?”

“He’s a farmer named Reys. He keeps bees and sells the honey. He gave her a little jar of it before she set off. Gwir said her mother sealed it with a kiss.”

“Sounds like something you would do,” Erkenbrand said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you hear from Ealhwyn today? Any news?”

“No, no, I would have told you.”

He harrumphed and slid them back down the bed. “Well, I suppose I’ll see her myself soon enough. Maybe you’d better come with me when I bring Gwir to Edoras. The babe will be coming soon enough, and I’m sure Ealhwyn will want you there for the birth if she can get you.”

“I would like that.” Elswide traced a pattern through the wiry hair on her husband’s chest. “You’ll take her, then?”

“Mmm… I think I must. Éomer King has to know.”

---

The next morning, Elswide sent her maid Hild to check on Gwir. Hild was put off, but not afraid, and she took a small tray with water and bread with no complaints. Erkenbrand had decided to stay another day or two at the Hornburg to give his wife time to prepare.

Only a few hours later, while she was in talk with the alewife, did Elswide realize that she had not seen Hild since sending her to Gwir. The alewife was in the middle of going through some business. There was no interrupting her, so Elswide listened impatiently until the woman finished, cursing inwardly.

By the time she reached the corridor to Gwir’s room, Elswide’s knees ached from her quick pace. The man Erkenbrand had set at Gwir’s door grimly fingered the hilt of his sword at Elswide’s dark look. But she held up a hand for him to wait a few feet back from Gwir’s door.

Elswide knocked.

A few seconds passed (Elswide held her breath) before the door opened a crack. Gwir peered out from the crack, her short dark hair slick with water and plastered to her neck. Her fingers were curled around the edge of the door.

She blinked at Elswide, a little confused. “I was washing,” she said. She noticed the guard and pulled back a little, her face growing wary. “What is the matter?”

“I sent Hild to bring you breakfast. Is she still with you?”

“No, she was only here for a minute.” Gwir blinked, realization dawning, and her mouth drew down into a frown. “You thought I did something to her.”

“Or kept her here talking,” Elswide shot back. Her face flushed. Gwir was right, but mistrust was a hard impulse to kill. And Elswide knew well enough that Gwir was being truthful. “I will look elsewhere.”

“Do.” Gwir slammed the door shut.

The guard coughed; Elswide spun with narrowed eyes. He was clearly holding in a chuckle.

“Forgive me, lady,” he said. “I did not know your errand. Hild is in the kitchen, helping make apple butter.”

“Better that she should tell me so herself!” Elswide swept past him. She thought of how rarely she saw Hild in the mornings after breakfast and pursed her lips.

Behind her, she heard Gwir’s door creak open again. “They are making apple butter?” A pause, and then, “Oh, never mind, I am sure you do it all wrong.” Gwir shut her door again, and Elswide twitched.

---

After that, Elswide pushed all thoughts of Gwir out of her head. She went about the rest of her day with the same smoothness of any other. She kept the accounts, visited the kitchens, checked the pantry and larder, consulted with her underlings, and even had time for a languid lunch. The first batch of apple butter had come out delicious, and when Erkenbrand joined her for dinner in the hall, he agreed and raised a toast to the cook.

Once dinner was over, Elswide helped Hild pack for an extended stay in Edoras. The last two times Ealhwyn had been pregnant, Elswide had been with her daughter before seven months had passed. This time, however, Erkenbrand had persuaded her to stay with him at the Hornburg. It felt like years since they’d lived together so comfortably: no children to care for, no ailing parents, no war. The domesticity of their advanced age suited them, even if the creaky joints did not. And they were not infirm, thank Béma. She and her husband were hale.

Their children were in good health as well. By some miracle, neither of their sons had died in the war, and Ealhwyn was about to have a third child. Her pregnancies always went smoothly—she never even suffered from the morning sickness that had plagued Elswide. Ealhwyn disliked breastfeeding, which Elswide had enjoyed, but that was a minor thing next to the years of joy that followed. And assuming Éomer King’s projects and policies went according to plan, it was hard to imagine that the coming years would not be exponentially more joyful than the last.

Hild interrupted Elswide’s musing to ask which of her jewelry she wanted to bring. After the chosen jewels had been packed in folded velvet, Hild put her hands on her waist and nodded contentedly.

“Did you want me to bring your guest anything else before bed, milady?”

Her guest? Elswide paused, confused.

Oh, of course. Gwir.

“No, no,” Elswide said. The thought of her earlier encounter with the young woman made her sigh. She sat on her bed and rubbed her neck. “I will check on her myself. But you can put together a plate of bread and apple butter for me to bring her.”

“Yes, lady.” Hild left at once.

Elswide wasn’t sure what she thought of Gwir. The girl—well, young woman really—had been at turns distant and approachable. Gwir seemed to prefer her to Erkenbrand, although Elswide couldn’t blame her for that. Erkenbrand on an errand for the king was a totally different creature to the man she loved, and he’d been in the same grim mood for most of her first meeting with Gwir.

Gwir’s story, when Elswide thought about it, was not a pretty one. She had been born to a mother who had to be far more beautiful than herself. The man with the most power over her had effectively banished her from her home and family. And, worst of all, her heritage was stamped on her face. Gwir was clearly other no matter which side of the river Isen she was on.

Although there were the people of mixed blood who had once lived between the Isen and the Adorn. But Éomer King had ordered them back into Dunland, and who knew where they had gone if they’d only met chiefs like Gwir’s. Although they at least had generations of loyalty to Dunland. Gwir’s blood from the Mark was doubtlessly too recent for comfort, and if anyone from her home knew of her father’s identity…

No, not a pretty story.

Hild returned with a plate; on it were two slices of bread smeared with apple butter. Elswide took it and followed her out. Her maid went to the room she shared with the other female servants, and Elswide continued on to Gwir’s room. The guard had brought a stool and was dozing off in his seat, though he stood once he heard Elswide approach.

“Has anything happened since last I came?” Elswide asked.

“No, lady. It’s been quiet. She did have her door open for some time. I assume it was for the light.”

“Very good. You can relax.”

The guard sat back down, stifling a yawn. He smiled apologetically. Elswide stepped past him and knocked on Gwir’s door. “I have a plate for you,” she called in Westron.

Gwir opened her door tentatively. She blinked at the bread and apple butter and then looked up at Elswide. “Thank you,” she said. She bobbed her head awkwardly. Elswide passed her the tray. Gwir sniffed the apple butter and raised her eyebrows with a nod. “It smells good. Would you like to come in?”

“If I may.”

Gwir stepped aside to make room for Elswide, and she left her door open. The light from the hallway spilled in. Gwir’s belongings were strewn rather haphazardly across her pallet, though her spare clothes were neatly rolled. Her dark hair was in a short braid over her shoulder. She was still wearing her fitted trousers and boots under her tunic; did women not wear skirts in Dunland? She rummaged in her satchel and pulled out a small parcel tied in twine.

Elswide settled herself on the chest by the door. “Is that your stepfather’s honey?”

“Yes,” Gwir said, sitting cross-legged on her pallet. She unwrapped the jar reverently. Carefully, she dribbled a small amount of honey across her two slices of bread, then wiped away the honey that had collected along the rim. Gwir held out her plate to Elswide. “Would you like a slice?”

“I’m honored. Yes, please.” Elswide took a slice and tucked in. Gwir did not try hers yet; she only watched Elswide closely. Waiting for a judgment? “The apple butter is wonderful on its own, but the honey does improve it,” Elswide said. “Your stepfather keeps a good hive.”

“I know,” Gwir said, glowing. She sat up proudly. “I help too.” Still grinning, she took a bite from her slice. She chewed and swallowed, her head tilted in consideration. “You’re right, the honey helps. This is good, but my mother’s is better.”

Elswide shrugged. “I cannot compete with your mother, it seems.”

“No.” Gwir’s face softened, and she tugged at her short braid. “No one can.”

“Tell me about her,” Elswide urged.

“Well, she’s beautiful,” Gwir said. She took another bite. “You know that. And she makes very good apple butter.”

“Yes, yes, but what is she like? Is she kind? Patient? Lighthearted?”

“Not lighthearted, but kind yes. She is generous, too. When a stranger comes, she is kinder to them than to me or her husband. No one leaves us hungry so long as we are not starving, and even then she is too generous by half. But she also speaks of others when she shouldn’t, and she complains too often. Even her friends find her tiresome these days.”

“Do you find her tiresome?” Elswide had finished her bread, and she brushed the crumbs from her skirt.

“Yes, often. But I think most children find their parents difficult.”

Elswide supposed that was true. Ealhwyn had been thrilled to finally have her own home when she was first married, and their sons found Erkenbrand’s sternness overwhelming. But when Ealhwyn was pregnant, she was anxious until her mother was with her. “It’s hard enough to make your children love and obey you. If they can stand your company when they need you, that is what matters most.”

“You think so?” Gwir tugged on her braid. “Parents have a way of butting in whether their children want help or not. I would have said that it’s more important that children can stand their parents when their parents need them. Otherwise the old have no help.”

“Oh?” Such words seemed blasphemous—was there no filial piety in Dunland?

Gwir nodded. She did not respond otherwise except to slowly finish her bread. When she had finished, she sucked the honey and butter from her fingers. Only then did she speak. “Duty is hard when it is paired with constant aggravation. But some people are more aggravating than others. My stepfather is easier to talk to than my mother, and you are much easier to talk to than your husband.”

Elswide raised her eyebrows. “I am sure you did not mean to call my husband, Lord of Westfold and Marshal of the West-mark, aggravating.”

“Of course not,” Gwir said hastily. “I only meant—”

“Peace, I understand.” Elswide’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I have often found women better company than men.”

“I suppose it is easier when you are among equals,” Gwir mused. “I’m usually… not.” She looked at her hands twined together in her lap and flexed her toes to stretch her legs. It was a sad picture, all in all.

“I am sorry for you,” Elswide said bluntly. “You speak of your family with warmth, but you cannot have had an easy life.”

“I’m not dead, am I?” Gwir’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “I could be. No one’s life has been easy lately. Not mine, not yours, not your husband’s, not… your king’s.”

Gwir clearly did not want to talk about how hard her life must be, so Elswide dropped the subject. Her king was fair game, though.

“You are anxious about meeting Éomer King.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I have never met a king before,” Gwir said evasively. “I know your last king sent the survivors of the battle here home in peace, but it seems unwise to hope for such treatment again, not when I have used a trick to gain entry here.”

“A trick?”

“I threatened to tell my father’s name to all the men at the ford,” she said, not meeting Elswide’s eye. “And so your husband had no choice but to bring me with him as I asked.”

“And you wonder that he does not like you!”

Elswide was more surprised at Gwir’s blatant blackmail than at anything else—she seemed so shy of the truth. Not once had she alluded to her kin in in the Riddermark by name.

Perhaps it was for the best. Had it not been for Gwir’s impatience, Elswide might even now be ignorant of her parentage. Erkenbrand would doubtlessly have preferred it. No, the less Gwir spoke of it, the better.

Although…

“How did Erkenbrand know who you were?”

Gwir frowned. Elswide could practically see the wheels turning in Gwir’s head as the girl worried her lip.

“I don’t know,” Gwir said at last. “Perhaps he was with my father when he rescued my mother. He knew me at first sight. I can’t think of anything else.” She fingered the cord around her neck. “Maybe he was with my father when he gave me his seal. But then he wouldn’t have been surprised that I had it.” She scooted back to lean against the wall and tucked her knees up to her chin.

“Do you remember your father, Gwir?” Elswide asked. She couldn’t help herself.

Gwir shook her head. “I don’t need to,” she said. She ran her finger down her short straight nose. “I can see him whenever I see myself.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble - “Expectations vs. Reality” (Rated NC17)

For their fifth anniversary, Blaine has something special planned. But, unfortunately, expectations don’t always equal reality, especially when there’s physical exertion involved. (984 words)

Written for the Klaine Advent prompt “tacky”, I just forgot to post it xD

Read on AO3.

“I’m sorry!” Kurt apologizes before he’s even through the door of their loft. He actually starts yelling it from quite a ways down the hall, knowing Blaine’s waiting for him, knowing that he’ll hear. Kurt feels awful. He had no intention whatsoever of being late for dinner, especially not tonight. But it couldn’t be helped. Once Isabelle gets it into her head that she’s on the verge of a fashion revelation, few things can slow her down.

Though, in this instance, Kurt should have insisted. He should have done more than just drop hints. She would have understood … maybe.

“I completely … didn’t … mean …” Kurt continues, struggling with the sticky lock. Blaine doesn’t come to the door to help. Kurt prays that isn’t a bad sign “… to be … late on our … anniversary.” The key turns in the lock, the sliding door shoots open, and Kurt stumbles inside. He expects to see a perfectly laid out dinner on the kitchen table and a grumpy Blaine sitting on the sofa, arms crossed, not even looking at him. That’s how it might end up if their roles were reversed.

And Kurt’s half right. The dinner’s there, looking Pinterest perfect, with candles lit and a vase of fresh flowers in the center. But Blaine isn’t sitting on the sofa, arms crossed, ready to ignore Kurt for the rest of the evening. He’s sitting on the area rug in the living room, hair shower wet, barefoot, wearing soft blue sweat pants and a white t-shirt. He has a bowler hat in his hands, and a wicked smile on his face.

“Well, well, well.” Kurt locks the sliding door. He puts down his coat and his bag, and walks over to his husband. Blaine looks slyer with every step that Kurt takes in his direction. “What is this?”

“Well, after your sixth Leaving in fifteen minutes text, I had a feeling you were going to be late.” Blaine starts with that, and his smile doesn’t slip, but Kurt can hear the disappointment in his voice. “We haven’t really had much in the way of alone time together, so I thought we might have a little fun tonight.”

“What kind of fun?” Kurt toes off his shoes and sits across from Blaine, the guilt of the moment helping him overlook what sitting on the dusty floor must be doing to his slacks.

“Inside this hat,” Blaine says, lifting the upside-down bowler and swirling it around, “written on tiny slips of paper, are 28 things that you and I can do to one another. I got them off the Men’s Health website. Some of them are on the sweet and tame side …”

“And the others?”

Blaine doesn’t answer. He simply reaches behind his back and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. Kurt looks at them, eyes wide, his neglected body tingling. They make love almost every night, but it’s been a while since they’ve taken the time to properly worship one another.

“We’ve got all night,” Blaine adds, reminding Kurt that they’d both requested the next day off of work. They’d wanted to spend their first official day celebrating five years newlywed where the milestone could be properly appreciated – in bed, without any interruptions.

Apparently, that starts now.

“Well” – Kurt reaches for the hat, digging in to the nest of folded papers, hoping to choose whichever one goes with that set of handcuffs – “let the games begin.”

Two hours later …

“It’s … it’s your turn,” Blaine pants, passing the hat over to Kurt. Kurt reaches out for it, fingers stretching to touch the brim, but then he drops his arm, his hand coming to rest on Blaine’s stomach. Kurt rolls his head left and right.

“I love you, Blaine,” Kurt says. “I love every gorgeous inch of you. But if I have to do another sexual thing with you, I think I’m going to scream – no offense.”

Blaine snorts, too exhausted to actually laugh. “None taken. I feel the same way.”

“How many slips of paper did we go through?” Kurt asks. He tries to mentally count everything they’ve done so far. The first blowjob had been exciting. The rimming Blaine gave him in return exhilarating. The third slip of paper, commanding them to have sex reverse cowgirl, on par with where their usual sex-capades would lead. But as the suggestions on the papers became more kinky, they also became more energy consuming. The last three slips were met with fear and groaning as opposed to grins and moaning.

“Fourteen, I think,” Blaine answers, picking through the discarded remains. “We were halfway there.”

“God! Who knew sex could be so tiring?”

“Obviously not us. Maybe we’ve been doing it wrong?”

“Ridiculous,“ Kurt says. "We’re pros.” He tries to flash his husband a seductive smile, maybe a wink, but neither is happening. “So what do we do now? You know, that doesn’t require moving?”

“That rules out showering,” Blaine points out. He presses his thumb and index fingers together, then pulls them apart, the tacky skin in between, coated in layer upon layer of drying lube, taking a second to separate. “Sleep?”

“We’re not even in bed,” Kurt complains. “We don’t have a pillow, or blankets. And we’re covered in yuck.”

“Well, then, we’re going to have to get up. And seeing as you’re lying on top of me, that means you go first.”

Kurt lies quietly, thinking over the alternatives.

“Goodnight, Blaine.”

Blaine chuckles lightly, his stomach jostling Kurt’s head, which refuses to be removed. Blaine reaches a shaky arm to his right and manages to grab a throw off the couch. He tosses it over his and Kurt’s body without much skill since he doesn’t have much strength left. He doesn’t think it covers them entirely, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Kurt. He’s already asleep.

“Goodnight, Kurt,” Blaine whispers. “Happy anniversary.”