#his light blue vest matching one of the many shades of the sky to further evoke a sense of the former in the viewer's mind

[fullscoreshenanigans]

pov: you and your partner are about to drag your other partner home and strangle him for going through with the demon genocide plan because you can’t seem to get it through his thick skull that he doesn’t have to shoulder these burdens alone and he gives you this look

[thegoldielocks28]

“SO… you think I’m hot?” - Mathilda and Sergei~

Title: “you think I'm hot” Pairing: Mathilda Alster and Sergei Petrov/Spencer Petrov AN: Written for a writing challenge, for Syfien. Nothing more than a soft moment for the cute couple ~ Hopefully it makes sense ;D

The sun is bright against the almost cloudless sky on this hot summer's day. The humidity makes the heat feel hotter than it actually is, and most people out and about carry either electrical hand-fans or more traditional paddle-fans while crowding the soft drink vending machines that conveniently seem to be just about everywhere.

Japan´s summers are something else.

Mathilda has always been a spring and summer person, enjoying how good weather allows her to dress in some of her favorite clothes more comfortably. Shorts, skirts, blouses and cute tops. Even dresses at times. Today, she's even wearing a big hat, shielding her face from the direct sun. Her pale cheeks are decorated with light freckles, dots that in her case only appear in summer. The summer back home in the UK is a lot milder than those here in Asia, but she can't say she misses the wind or common and heavy rain that much.

Mathilda`s plans are a bit different today. Hence her being slightly dressed up. After several nights of little sleep, and several days when she lost her words upon just seeing him, she managed to ask her crush if he wanted to spend some time together. Just her and him.

They already have, several times, met up by coincidence in the hotel-like apartment building rented for them during a long season of blading. For example while making tea in the shared kitchen. Making small meals. Sitting on the sofa, reading. Watching the matches on TV after they happened. Together with their fellow bladers, teams and friends.

Lately, … ending up staying in the joined area late until they were almost alone, or the only ones left.

Mathilda´s freckled cheeks turn a shade pink upon thinking of her date. Looking at her wristwatch she realizes she´s early, like she always is when nervous. Being late would leave a bad impression now, wouldn't it? The pink haired woman spends about 10 minutes gazing at people, meeting the eyes of polite fans a few times. Apparently, she's quite popular in Japan.

There he is.

Sergei.

Mathilda shifts so she´s facing him. Pale, tall and handsome. Dirty blond short hair. Strong nose and jaw. The heat seems to have made the Russian have to drop the vest he is always wearing, and today he has just a pair of cargo pants, a nicely fit black t-shirt and boots. Revealing his strong chest, and arms. The man is still fully clothed but the sight of him has her skin turn hot. Many seem to assume the tallest member of the Russian team looks least good, but… Mathilda´s eyes has never strayed, even if her attraction to him also didn't start with the way he looked in the first place.

“Hello.” Mathilda can't help but smile widely, then tries to calm herself down. “Hey.” Sergei answers, his voice deep and calm. Those steel grey eyes of his move over Mathilda. Just like she is used to seeing him with his vest, and hat, he is used to her own “battle gear”. Not a soft colored summer outfit, and just a little bit more effort with her hair and make up. All thanks to Julia. It's not like Mathilda doesn't care about those things, it's that she has always been someone who enjoys being without products as well. Mathilda likes being pretty, and Julia has helped her find a style that suits her well. Not as strong as Julia´s often so red and full lips.

“Let´s…” Mathilda starts, she needs to step up since she was the one to ask him out to hang out. “Start walking, the place I mentioned, is a bit further ahead.”

It's a nice summer's day. Birds chirp. Breeze is lovely. Mathilda is so happy she gets to spend today with her crush. Happy to realize they have actually gotten that far from being strangers, to having plans together like this. For a long while she had thought she wouldn't be able to pull it off but as always she didn't let her shyness stop her from at least trying. And there by her side is Sergei. The gentle giant.

The ones who are less happy about their growing friendship are people she could worry about later.

However, things change drastically just over a few minutes. Mathilda notices mid-sentence that something is wrong. Eyes darting up at the much taller man by her side only to get that gut feeling affirmed. Sergei has a queasy look on his face, and his forehead seems damp of sweat. He's squinting against the strong rays of the sun.

“Are you ok?” She tilts her head, looking up at him.

Sergei avoids looking at her. “Hm.” He makes a sound through lips pressed together. “You look… paler than normal.” Mathilda continues. “My body feels… heavy.” Sergei grumbles. “My head… “

“Did you get something to drink before this..?” Sergei looks at her. “No.”

Mathilda´s expression turns more concerned. Especially when guilt washes over her. She had asked Sergei to hang out with her outside in this hot weather that's so unlike what he's used to. Not considerate at all. All she had done was walk ahead chatting because of her nerves, while Sergei had been feeling ill.

If Sergei fainted here, or fainted anywhere, Mathilda would not be able to catch and support him properly because of his size. The man would hit the concrete ground and get hurt no matter if she just stood there, or had him fall over her as she tried to hold him. The mental image of the Russian falling backwards and hitting his head makes Mathilda´s throat go dry. Skull cracked open. Blood. Mathilda forces herself to stop thinking about that.

She extends her hand, and even if holding hands with him would normally make her a nervous mess, she takes his bigger one in hers and tugs at it.

“There's a bench over there..”

Sergei looks at her in silence for a long moment, as if it takes longer for him to register what she is saying in this heat, before he shifts his body and allows her to pull him along. Slow steps. A low, drawn out sound leaves Sergei´s lips as he lowers himself down on the bench. In the shade, it's still hot, but a clear difference from before. Mathilda´s eyes rest on his face for one long moment before she turns away.

“I´ll be back soon, promise.”

Mathilda jogs over to the vending machine closest to them, across the street, and digs in her pockets for some Japanese yen coins. Luckily, she has enough for drinks and after a bit of struggle to understand which drinks are cold and which are hot she manages to buy cans of cold bubble water. Both for Sergei. The moment she returns to Sergei´s side she hands him one of the bottles.

Sergei accepts the bottle, unscrews it and drinks almost greedily. Water running down the side of his mouth, down his jaw and onto that black t-shirt. Mathilda sits down by his side while trying to not seem too worried, even if her emotions are easy to read on her face. Sitting is better than her walking about.

After a moment of slow silence Sergei speaks up. “I am sorry, Mathilda.” His voice is tired. “I think I won't make it to the shop in this heat.”

Mathilda can hear in his voice that he had thought about what to say for a while. Nodding her head, she agrees, she understands. “Let's rest a bit then I will walk you back.” She says, wanting to know Sergei will be alright. After a moment of silence the girl nudges Sergei at his side before she gestures to her lap.

“What..?”

Mathilda´s cheeks turn pink. “One time offer… you know?”

Sergei´s eyes soften ever so slightly as he understands just what she is offering him. The gesture seems to make him feel a bit self-conscious, but not out of dislike. Perhaps because this is a first.

“...I am sweaty.” He says, voice low, as if it is the last negative point he can find.

“I don't mind.” Mathilda says patiently with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

Even if her heart is beating really loudly in her chest she knows this isn't something to get excited for. Sergei feels sick, and needs to rest. If she can offer him some calm and comfort she´d be happy to.

Awkwardly, Sergei lowers his body onto the bench. His head soon rests in Mathilda´s lap. It's obvious this makes the man self-conscious, but after a few moments pass, he exhales deeply and his body grows heavier against her as he relaxes.

Could he have been worried about putting his weight on her?

Up this close, Mathilda notices just how grey his blue eyes really are. Almost silver, steel. His hair is on the border of being brown, dark dirty blonde. A strong jaw, big defined nose and thin pale lips. Those eyes close, as if the moment got too intimate, and Mathilda lets out a soft huff of a giggle.

He even has long eyelashes.

Mathilda is unaware of the slight wetness moving down the side of her face as they sit together so closely. She's getting a bit sweaty as well.

“You're hot.” His words are low, deep.

The way Sergei´s voice breaks the silence has her flinch, just a little bit. Mathilda feels a hot wave of emotion wash over her as she realizes what he just told her. Sergei´s cold, steel gray eyes, looks a bit confused at Mathilda´s reaction. Meeting his eyes, she realizes he wasn't trying to hit on her.

Maybe he had meant to say “warm.”

Mathilda blinks, luckily not feeling too bad about the mistake, and decides to lighten the mood. “So… I am hot..?” She chuckles quietly, reaching for the second bottle of water to help herself to some. Being a native speaker of English, she can understand how some would mistake words like that, having a second meaning appear out of mistake. The way Sergei looks at her was out of concern, not out of something else. “Hot” and “warm” can mean similar things, yet have different meanings in different situations.

“I mean…” Sergei must have realized his mistake. “You look… very warm too.”

At that, Mathilda can't help but let her smile grow wider and warmer as she looks down at the man resting in her lap. Her painted nails softly move into his short hair as she strokes him. Trying her best to make him relax, and feel better. How lovely it´d be if… they could do this in different circumstances. Resting together. Mathilda´s smile fades a little, and her lips turn playful.

“...I'd be ok with you thinking I'm hot.”

[captainsonofabitch]

Steter or Steo- Harry Potter AU

im sorrrrrrrry, this isnt really what I was imagining but my brain didnt really want to cooperate :)

Stiles was in the Room of Requirement again. It was nothing new; he spent most of his time in there now, in one form or another. Since Scott had been adopted into the ‘Cool, Popular, Interhouse Squad’ as Stiles liked to call it, the boy had left his former best friend in the dust. Apparently intelligent, hyperactive Slytherins were Not Allowed. And so, as Scott began to spend more and more time with the group, Stiles had to find something to fill the void left by the Gryffindor.

That something ended up being the Room of Requirement. You see, no matter what mood Stiles was in – whether he wanted to read or dance or cry or simply find something to occupy his ever-active mind – the room had a variety to suit. Of course, Stiles had his favourites; the dim, cosy, purple lounge that often appeared to match his melancholy; the light, bright, yellow study that he could spend hours upon hours researching in; the gentle, cavernous, sky blue bedroom that he had spent many a night hiding away from his dormmates within. It had a colour for every emotion, a setup for every passion. Stiles had tried ballet in a studio it had conjured one day, ice skating another. The room had created a swimming pool, a muggle-esque gym, a painting studio, hell there had even been that one time where the magic had conjured an entire muggle kitchen and Stiles had spent a long afternoon and evening baking to his hearts content. Long story short, Stiles loved the room, the room loved Stiles, and nobody had ever bothered him within its comforting confines.

Until one day, because for unfortunately for Snakes like Stiles, their Head of House took student wellbeing and safety very seriously. Sometimes. When he had a vested ‘interest’ in the student.

It had been an afternoon like any other. Scott was sitting down for lunch with the usual group; Lydia, Jackson, Derek, Cora, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Allison, and Stiles was across the Great Hall tucking into a veritable feast of fresh fruit alone. The guy sitting beside him – What was his name again? Theo? – leaned uncomfortably close to Stiles’ ear and chuckled, “You know Professor Hale is staring at you again, right?” To which the boy promptly choked on his mouthful and spat semi-chewed raspberries across the table in front of him. Theo laughed again.

“What the fuck, man! Why would you say that?” Stiles turned to glare at the boy beside him, narrowing his eyes. The smirk Theo sent back was infuriating.

“You know as well as I do that he’s obsessed with you. What, with the way you two flirt in Arithmancy I’m surprised he hasn’t… I dunno… Snapped and fucked you over the desk or something.”

Heat filled Stiles’ face and he spluttered indignantly.

“We do not flirt! If anything, he antagonises me and I retaliate! There is no flirting going on at all! None!”

Theo hummed.

“Whatever you say, dude. Doesn’t change the fact that he looks at you like he wants to eat you. Pretty hot if you ask me.”

“Well I didn’t,” Stiles snapped, and the conversation was finished. He stood up with a screech of the bench and hastily gathered his things, stalking from the Great Hall with his face still an embarrassing shade of red.

Stiles didn’t see Professor Hale getting up to follow, but Theo did. His cackles followed them both from the room.

Mood sufficiently soured and with no classes for the remainder of the day, the Slytherin decided to forgo the common room and his dorm and instead head towards his little sanctuary, wondering at what room would await him today. It took little time to reach the seventh floor, the seventhsixhs-year ducking in and out of shortcuts he had discovered throughout his many escapades through the Castle.

Blissfully aware of the figure shadowing him, Stiles emerged from behind a suit of armour and practically jogged over to the wall that housed his favourite room(s), hastily walking back and forth his required three times before a small, dark oak doorway appeared. With a murmured ‘Fuck yeah!’ he pushed it open and ducked inside, grinning dopily at the pale blues that made up what he had dubbed his ‘Comfort Room.’

The room was pretty small, cosy and well-lit with magically created sunlight streaming in from a skylight in the very centre. Sitting elevated in the shafted sunlight was a four-poster bed decked out in royal blue, silken sheets with an abundance of blankets and pillows strewn haphazardly across the top. There wasn’t much more to the room, plush carpets in a baby blue making up the floorspace and a decadent chaise-lounge settled in the far corner, but it was what Stiles needed when his head was too loud or he was feeling particularly homesick or vulnerable and that’s all that mattered. It provided comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else in the Castle, and in that room the Castle took care of him.

Stiles made a beeline for the bed, kicking his sneakers off and ditching his robe as he dug his toes into the thick material of the carpet. His bag was put down with little finesse and, with a silly little noise of content from the back of his throat, he flopped face-first down onto the smooth sheets.  Manoeuvring himself further onto the large mattress, the boy rocked onto his side, tucked his knees up to his chin and simply exhaled, allowing his eyes to flutter shut with every intention of simply taking a much-needed nap.

Apparently, someone had other plans.

There was a pointed cough and then a voice echoed across the room.

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing to. I had wondered why no one has seen you in the common room in a while…”

Stiles could only groan. Why, out of everyone who could have confronted him, did it have to be Professor Hale?

“What, your spies tell you I’ve been skipping out on our weekly Slytherin board games night? Were you worried about me, Sir?” Stiles snarked in response, rolling over so that he was laying on his side but now facing the doorway where his Head of House was standing.

“I only spy because I care. You know this. Well, because I care and because it entertains me endlessly to so blatantly abuse my authority over my Prefects,” he replied.

Stiles stifled a laugh with the hand trapped between his body and the bed. He met the man’s eyes and flushed at the fond look the elder was sending him. Sometimes Professor Hale did that; looked at him with such sincerity and care that soothed some part of Stiles that he hadn’t even realised was in unrest. Peter started towards him.

“Tormenting Jackson does sound like an enjoyable pastime, I suppose. In that case, I guess I can forgive the blatant abuse of power, Peter.”

“Much appreciated, Mieczysław.”

Peter stopped just beside the bed where Stiles lay, grinning down at his pupil. The boy in question smiled in return, falling onto his back and snorting out a quiet laugh.

“So what happens now that you’ve discovered my secret hideout? Are you going to give me detention for the rest  of the year? Kick me out of the house? Tell me how much I’m letting Slytherin down? Because, don’t worry, I already kno-“

Stiles was cut off by a firm hand over his mouth, furrowing his brow and glaring up at his professor indignantly. Peter looked… anxious? Stiles couldn’t quite decipher the look, but as the man leaned down closer, face hovering inches above his students, realisation dawned.

“Please,” Peter murmured. “Tell me to stop.”

Stiles, eyes wide, shook his head slightly as the elder’s hand left his lips.

“And if I don’t?”

Lifting from the bed mere inches, the boy squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his mouth carefully to the others. Peter gasped quietly against him. When Stiles dropped his head back down onto the pillow, his professor followed, lips chasing the sad attempt at a kiss. Letting his eyes blink open, he witnessed the look in Peter’s eyes go from shocked to amazed in mere moments.

Their lips connected once again, this time more firmly, and a large hand came up to cup the nape of Stiles’ neck, keeping them pressed close. Humming contentedly, the boy dared to flick his tongue out, running it cheekily across Peter’s lower lip and grinning at the sweet tang of Pumpkin Juice that must have lingered from lunch. It was Peter’s turn to make a low noise, climbing so he was astride Stiles on the bed and pretty much securing the younger to the bed with his weight. Reluctantly, the professor pulled back.

“We… We shouldn’t do this. Talia will have my head…”

Stiles scoffed. “What can the Headmistress do about it? In a few months I’ll be out of here forever, off to Romania with Charlie. Soon enough it’ll be out of her jurisdiction all together, so what does it matter?”

Stiles gazed upwards at the man as he pondered what the boy had said, fear giving way to consideration and finally settling on confidence. His signature smug smirk returned and he pressed a chaste kiss to Stiles’ brow.

“You’re right. As usual, I suppose. I do so adore your smart-ass nature.”

Stiles barked out a laugh and grinned stupidly up at his chuckling head-of-house.

“Well, you’re stuck with it now.”

[padfootagain]

Guardians Of Middle-Earth (V)

Chapter 5 : The Spy

 What what what?!?! I'm back with this story?! Yes, I am! Here we go! Am I inventing places here? Yep, I am.

Warnings for angst, death, and triggering themes of the kind, be careful.

I hope you all like this new chapter!

Also, as two different timelines are followed here, I’ve used these —- to separate paragraphs for two different timelines, and these **** to separate two paragraphs of the same timeline, so it would be clearer and easier for you all to read.

The beautiful aesthetic was made by @marvelcapsicle !!!

Word count : 7342

Dawn was barely here. The sun reached up but could not grab the sky just yet. Dark shades mingled with the orange and the gold the burning star sent. Eldarion could never grow tired of this sight: the sunrise on the Pelenor Fields.

A green sea of grass, bathed in the burning lights of morning and the lingering shadows of night. In the distance, he could guess the shimmers of the Anduin, the rebuilding of Osgiliath…

Standing on the edge, the tip of his boots above the void, he was motionless in the blowing wind. He had been granted a walk outside the palace, but could not reach one of the lower levels. Instead, he could only pace across the patch of grass and stone that stretched at its feet, to the tip of the rock the White City had been carved into.

The wind bit his cheeks and ears, reddening the skin it touched. It felt vivifying. It felt like he was alive again. He took a deep breath that slowed down his heartbeat, closing his eyes for a second. The warmth of the sun wasn’t there just yet, but he didn’t mind the cold. He had lived for so long in the wild that he had lost his taste for staying indoor. He had even lost the habit of a comfortable bed, and he always needed several days or even weeks to get used to it again. He had barely slept since he had come back to Minas Tirith. The softness of the matress was only a part of his sleepless nights though.

The conversation he had shared with his father the prior night kept on coming back to his mind. A twirling of thoughts similar to the rough wind that hit his still frame.

He had seen hope in this exchange. If his father doubted him, he also doubted the poisonous rumours that had been travelling to and fro accross the realm. His trust in his son was shaken but had not vanished. Eldarion merely needed to prove himself and the bond between father and son would be rekindled.

There was something in his grey eyes… a flash, a little glint shimmering there for just a second, that Eldarion had not seen during the trial. The king had looked at him like he used to, as if he were looking at his son again. And the thought warmed the prince’s heart.

There was still hope. But after all, there was always hope. And Eldarion would need this little spark to vividly burn if he wanted to accomplish the mission he had been sent here for.

"Time for the trial, your Majesty."

Eldarion took one last breath of air, before following the guards behind him.

The tales he would tell today… the face of this little girl he had left so long ago flashed before his eyes, every detail still engraved in his mind, every curve of her hair, every part of her features. The blue of her big eyes blurred by her tears, the dirt on her right cheekbone, the tangled mess of her hair… Time had passed but her face had followed him wherever he went. He knew he would never forget her. He still felt like he had failed her.

Many times along the years, Urin and Goin had repeated that they had no choice but to leave her in this orphanage. But the same thought had always crossed Eldarion’s mind in answer.

There is always a choice.

 -----------------------------------

 Five years earlier

Rohan

 Soft. Cold. Almost delicate.

The rain kept on falling and falling and falling in large droplets. If it wasn't raining extremely hard, the continuous water dropping from the sky for hours now had wetted every inch of the travellers.

Eldarion was shivering. In his arms, Clea was asleep, despite being soaked wet. It was already late during the night, but it was too cold to sleep in the plain without any shelter. They had to reach the city first.

Angarad was only a little town in the southern borders of Rohan. Right where the hills and rocks mingled with the plains of grass behind them. Crossing the north of Ithilien and travelling upwards along the line of the Dead Marshes, they had avoided the marshes of Nindalf and then turned west before reaching the sharp rocks of the Emyn Muil. Crossing the Anduin, they were now in the eastern part of the East Emnet. A little bit more of walking back to the south, and they would have reached their destination.

The mud was by now more water than earth, and after a whole day spent walking on this terrain, the cold liquid had infiltrated through the leather of his boots. As a result, Eldarion by now could barely feel his toes. Not a sound passed his lips though. The miles had to be crossed, and they would be. Against his chest, Clea’s soft breath warmed the drenched fabric of his shirt. He had wrapped both his leather vest and long woollen cloak around her to keep her warm, but time and rain had won in the end. The rhythm of her breathing was shushed by the loud sound of their steps in the mud and the falling rain, but he could still feel the waves of warmth and cold against him. It was a soothing rhythm that he had chosen to set his pace on. At every breath taken and let out, he took a step further, one foot after the other. His long strides devoured miles after miles without a complain. Around him, his companions were starting to show signs of fatigue, at the exception of Adhalan and Ana, who seemed to be relentless. But then, they were Elf and Witch, he reckoned that it explained their extreme endurance.

On his right, Eoden was now drawing shallower breathes. He wasn’t complaining either, but it was visible through both his breathing and his features that he was exhausted. After all, they had been walking for six hours without a break by now.

Behind them, the two dwarves were closing the path of the company, and Eldarion could hear them pester now and then under their breath about both the weather and the road, or rather the lack of it.

Above them, the night had painted the blue sky in darkened hues, matching the dark brown of his eyes. The clouds gave a strange shade of mahogany to the heavens, blocking all light that could be coming from the moon or the stars.

The road they had once been following was since long gone, the earth slowly covered by grass again as time went by. There were barely any inhabitants taking this road after all, and so nature had covered the tracks once left by men. Eldarion was not worried of being lost though. Ana had naturally taken the lead, guiding her comrades across the countryside. He wondered for a while how she could find her way through the shadows, without the moon or the stars as maps, but not once did he see traces of hesitation on her features. So, like the fighters that accompanied him, he didn’t speak a single word and merely followed her through the inky night.

Through the darkness, Ana had summoned tiny lights that floated around them to lighten their way. Eldarion couldn’t help but comparing them to little stars. Like them, they looked like shimmering dots lost in the shadows. Eight of these fairy lights she summoned, and their pale, almost cold light was just enough for them to see where they stepped.

Finally, Ana slowed down, pointing at the horizon, and as he focused harder, Eldarion was able to distinguish shy torchlights in the distance.

"There it is," she spoke in a low voice, as if she feared to disrupt the peace of the night. "Angarad. There is an orphanage next to the South Gate, we can leave Clea there."

"Is there really no better place where we could leave her?" Eldarion asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Nothing near," Ana shook her head.

"I know the people who are in charge in the orphanage. They are good people. They will take good care of her," Eoden reassured his friend, his voice made a little hoarse by his heavy breaths.

Once more, Eldarion merely nodded in response, just like he had done every time they had discussed the matter.

"I do hope there is an inn," Urin muttered. "I’m starving…"

"I swear, you are even worse than a hobbit," Eldarion joked, and for the first time since they had started their long walk that morning, they all allowed themselves to laugh.

"Wait until he asks for his second breakfast," Ana added, and laughter broke through the night again.

"Come on, we are near now," Adhalan encouraged the dwarf. "You will have earned a pint of hale tonight, my friend."

"That and a good bed," Eoden nodded.

"And warmth. Warmth and somewhere dry to sit down and smoke," Eldarion let out in a dreamy sigh.

"Well, instead of talking about it, what about we just go there," Ana chuckled, resuming her hurried pace.

And the two dwarves let out a groan.

"I think she wants to kill us," Goin sighed, making both men laugh.

In Eldarion’s arms, Clea stirred a little, but didn’t wake up. He suddenly realized how painful his upper limbs felt, how numb his fingers had turned along the flying hours. He couldn’t feel anything beyond his knuckles by now, because of both the weight of the girl on his arms and the cold rain.

They went further on for one more hour before reaching the town. Around the city, high wooden walls shielded the streets from the outside world. Through the darkness of the night, Eldarion could barely distinguish anything besides the tall walls lightened by lanterns. A great gate was visible, the top a little higher than the rest of the wall, and a watchtower built on its right, where a soldier was set on sentry.

There was no hesitation in her movements as Ana strode towards the closed gate and knocked on it with her open palm.

There were no answers at first, so she hit the gate once more, but without success here again.

Eldarion looked up at the soldier on sentry. There was no doubt that he could see them, Ana had kept the little floating lights alit to brighten their path. None of the guards seemed keen to help them though.

"I think we could do with a little persuasion from a Rohirrim," Eldarion proposed, turning to the tall blond man by his side.

He didn’t have to say it twice. Eoden was soon shouting at the soldiers, looking up at the watchtower.

"Open the door. It is an order, soldier. I am Eoden, son of Dordalen, Captain of the Rohirrim. I would advise you to not make me wait."

As to prove his argument, he pushed aside his green cloak to reveal the white horse of his uniform painted on his armour, across the whole length of his abdomen.

There were some words exchanged behind the door, a couple of unintelligible shouts, and the gate finally opened in a slow and creaking movement.

At the sight of Eoden, the soldier bowed his head, and made room for the travellers to pass, a flustered expression painted all over his face.

"Captain…" he tried to speak, but Eoden cut him off before he could make another sound.

"Why did you refuse to open the gate? We are clearly on a journey, it is late at night and have you seen this weather?"

"We apologize, Captain. But there have been strange folks walking ‘bout the town these past few months. We’ growing more suspicious, ’s all."

"It is your duty to help those on the road just as much as you must protect the people living behind these walls. You cannot shut all travellers away because of a few skirmishes!"

"Of course, Captain. It will not happen again."

By then, the Guardians had entered within the boundaries of the village. Ana made the lights she had summoned slowly fade away, the torchlights and lanterns burning through the streets being enough to lighten their path.

In the street, the mud felt even wetter and colder than in the fields. A strange scent emanated from all around them, suspiciously from the mud itself perhaps. It was a sour and bitter smell, and Eldarion couldn’t refrain a wince.

They passed before the stables set at the entrance of the city, the smell of horses mingling with the strange atmosphere.

They walked across the village, following this time Eoden’s guidance, as he knew the way across the little town.

At this late hour, the streets were empty, they only came across a few dark figures, barely detached of the shadows of the night, leaning against the walls of houses. They seemed to be staying out of the light of the torches on purpose, and in the dark they were so barely noticeable that several times, Eldarion wondered if they were ghosts, or simply creations of his own mind. The uneasiness upon Ana’s face revealed that the silhouettes were real though.

They finally reached the inn, a rather unwelcoming establishment, Eldarion reckoned, but there was no other choice of shelter. He guessed that the name of the inn, the Green Grass, came from the long plains surrounding the town, where only a few trees grew. Instead, grass had covered the ground in all directions.

Now that he was inside, he reckoned the inn didn’t deserve such a peaceful name though.

The same figures than the ones outside were gathered at one corner of the large room. A few soldiers were sitting at two separate tables, closer to the door, their chain mails shining in the dim light. Judging by the way their hair glimmered, they had not been here for long and were still wet from the rain. A couple of drunk men were leaning against the counter of the bar.

Altogether, the room, lightened up only by the cracking fire in the hearth set on the left wall, was dark and gloomy. Dust had not so subtly gathered along the walls and on every edge of the furniture it could find. The floor was so covered by the mud from the street that it was barely an improvement from outside. And the state of the tables was such that Eldarion would have not touched any of them with his bare hands. He could see even from afar that his fingers would stay glued to the dirt.

And finally, there was the smell. A mixture of ashes and burning wood, sweat, salt and rotten meat. Despite his hunger, Eldarion found himself unable to think about eating anything all of a sudden.

He reckoned that the only improvement from outside was the lack of rain.

Anyway, Ana walked to the owner who was leaning against his bar, loudly laughing with one of his customers. He had a long, lean silhouette wrapped in a long coat that seemed way too big for him. A sharp nose cut his bearded face in two, brown eyes with a clever glint in them standing above sharp cheekbones.

At first, Eldarion wound have probably not trusted this man, but to his surprise, the man turned to the Witch with a large, welcoming grin on his face.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked with his voice drowned in a heavy accent Eldarion failed to identify.

She smiled back at him.

" We would need a place for the night and some food."

"Ha… the inn’s quite full. But I think I still got a pair of rooms. Not my highest standing, but I can’t make no miracle. Come on, I’ll show ya."

He guided them through a dark corridor next to the bar that Eldarion had not noticed before. The same gloomy atmosphere and dirty floor continued down the passage, and they didn’t stop before reaching the last two rooms. He opened the doors and checked around him, but there was no one in the corridor besides the travellers.

"Here ya go. Key’s here. That’s all I got, but it’s dry and warm. Want your usual meal, Ana?"

Eldarion noticed that the witch had never given him her name…

"Yes, please. That would be perfect, Aleberry."

He nodded before turning towards the rest of the group.

"’S a pleasure to have Ana’s friends in my inn. I guess you all will want to eat together."

"They will. Thank you," Ana answered before anyone could reply.

Aleberry disappeared back in the main room, letting the six companions and Clea settle down.

There were only two beds in each room, along with a mere mattress thrown in a corner in each of them. Eldarion put the sleeping child in one of the beds, before turning back to his companions.

"You should stay in the room with Clea," Ana commanded. "I’ll stay there as well. The rest of you can take the other room."

She was not surprised to see the surprise on Eldarion’s face. Sharing the same bedroom as a woman, even if they did not share a bed, seemed outrageous for a man like him. Eoden seemed uneasy as well. But Adhalan and Ana merely laughed their reaction away.

"You are mortals, you need protection," Adhalan answered. "I reckon you should not be left unsupervised. After all, you are both so young!"

"Compared to us, you are children. A little bit of wisdom will do you good," Ana nodded, a teasing tone in her voice.

The two men rolled their eyes in unison, while the dwarves were already entering the other bedroom.

"As long as we can eat and sleep, you could put us in a stable with the horses for all I care," Urin sighed, letting himself fall on the mattress on the ground.

"I hope they at least have some good ale," Goin went on, sitting next to his brother.

He took out his pipe and lit it up, blowing a large cloud of blue smoke that was so thick, for a brief moment, it was hiding him from sight.

"Aleberry will bring us everything we need, let’s have dinner together, and then we will rest," Ana stated, walking in the same room as the dwarves after locking the door to the room Clea was peacefully sleeping in.

Eldarion noticed a door connected the two rooms. He opened it to keep an eye on Clea, while the rest of the group all sat down on the different beds. Adhalan walked in last, closing the door behind her.

"If we take Clea to the orphanage tomorrow, then I suppose that we should take a moment to investigate this letter you and Eldarion found beyond Minas Morgul," Adhalan proposed. "Wasn't the letter mentioning this town?"

"Indeed, but we won't have to wait until tomorrow to learn more about that," Ana answered with a casual smile.

"What do you mean? We can't leave Clea alone in here. I… I have a bad feeling about this place," Eldarion replied with a worried tone.

"Now, no need to be so dramatic," Goin mocked. "Soon you'll pretend to be able to read about the future in tea leaves!"

"You should not underestimate these kinds of feelings, my dear friend," Ana replied in a serious tone. "Especially coming from someone who has elven blood running through his veins."

Goin snorted, but didn't add anything, merely smoking his pipe again and blowing more puffs of smoke through the room.

"I wasn’t offering to leave the child here on her own, though," Ana reassured the prince. "But Aleberry will talk us through what has happened around here lately."

"Can we trust him?" Urin asked with a perplexed expression. "You seem to know him…"

"He works for me."

"Works for you?"

"He’s a friend. I asked him a few years ago to settle here and keep an eye on the comings and goings in the town. We can trust him. I have to share Eldarion’s worry about his clientele though."

A knock on the door prevented her friends to ask any further questions, and Aleberry was soon walking in the room, closing the door behind him and putting down on the little, trembling table a basket filled with food.

"You can talk in front of all of us," Ana indicated him, picking up a slice of bread. "So… what is happening here?"

"Are ya sure?" He asked anyway, glancing at her companions.

"I am."

He heaved a tired sigh, and when he spoke again, his rough accent had disappeared.

"It feels good to speak as myself again," he smiled. "You really have to come and visit me more often!"

Eldarion could only raise an eyebrow in surprise, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed from Aleberry.

"I see Ana didn’t warn you. But I guess that you could say that I am her spy."

"A witch needs her eyes and ears everywhere," Ana nodded. "And I cannot wait to hear what my favourite spy has to teach me."

A grim look appeared on the man's face, and when he looked again at Ana, he seemed worried.

"Dark things have been going on here around here lately. I was awaiting your return to warn you… these days, I don't trust written messages to travel safely from on end of Middle-earth to the other. There are some groups of men… evil men… gathering here and there through the whole country side, right under the soldiers' and kings' noses. You could take a glimpse at one of them as you entered the inn."

"The group at the back?" Urin asked, and Ana's spy nodded as an answer.

"I heard some of them talk about gathering weapons and… something else, I do not know yet what it is. They refer to it as 'merchandise'."

"Slaves," Eoden spoke out loud the thought that had crossed all guardians' minds.

"Slaves? Are you sure?"

"We came across a group of orcs and men on our way here. They had captured children, and clearly intended to use them as slaves, probably further east," Ana agreed. "There might be more to it, but I am convinced that slavery is involved."

"So… the child you brought here…"

"We freed her from them. But her family was killed, she needs a new home."

Aleberry passed a hand over his tired face, a saddened expression colouring his features. When he spoke once more, his voice sounded far away, his mind travelling away from the room and to darker places he created through his thoughts.

"Goodness, I had no idea… This is horrible…"

"What else do you know?"

"Only rumours," he shook himself and focused again on the witch. "Apparently, they all answer to the same man, but I don't know his true name. For now, all I could catch was an initial."

"G?"

"Exactly. I don't know much about him. He seems to be moving back and forth through the land. It was said he was in Nurn for a while, then in the Misty Mountains, then in the ruins of Mordor… Sometimes, I hear two different stories that don't make sense, like he would be simultaneously in two different places. I don't know which to believe then. I could never get more than these whispers caught while these rascals ate and drank a little too much. But I could never prove anything."

"Do you know what his intentions can be?"

But Aleberry shook his head.

"Maybe it is mere profits obtained in the worst of ways. But I can feel there is something more. Something… something worse. Here again, there is no track to follow, but the way these men talk sometimes makes me think that the threat is real."

"Any link with the orcs at our boundaries?"

But Aleberry shrugged.

"I know they work with others… but they never use the word 'orcs'. It may be other men, it may be goblins, it may be orcs, it could even be dwarves or elves, I don't know. Some refer to them as 'the others'. I know no more than this. But I know that they are not only out of our lands but inside as well."

"We heard about the raids on some villages closer to the eastern lands," Eldarion nodded, but Aleberry quickly interrupted him.

"That is not what I meant. I meant that they have people inside the lands. I heard about some of them lingering near the Fangorn forest, others south of Mirkwood and in the Misty Mountains."

"Fangorn and Mirkwood also…" Ana mumbled under her breath, her eyes unfocused as she was lost in thoughts.

"You knew about the Mountains?"

"Goblins and orcs have been spotted there. I fought some myself as they attempted to destroy some eagle nests. But I didn't know they had spread so far…"

"Again, I don't know if they were referring to these despicable creatures or to any other."

"We shall figure it out ourselves. Thank you for your work here. Anything else you would like to tell me."

"I know that this… 'G' has spies of his own."

"Spies?"

Aleberry nodded, his worried expression turning into a frightened one.

"I do not know to which extent, I do not know what level they have reached and where, but it would seem that they know too much to not have men inside. I heard a group talking about future movements of Rohirrim troops… How can they know about orders that were not yet given?"

Eoden and Eldarion exchanged a dark glance.

"They either have someone who can listen to this kind of conversations," Eoden breathed, "or worst…"

As the captain kept his thoughts suspended in mid-air, Eldarion spoke out loud the words his friend didn't dare to.

"The men giving these orders work for G."

"I should go to Edoras to warn…"

"No."

Ana's voice was firm as she interrupted Eoden, and all looked at her, waiting for her to speak again. But she remained silent for too long, and it was the Rohirrim who broke the heavy silence that had settled in the room.

"Ana, my people is in danger. The King must be warned."

"No one can know about this," Ana shook her head.

"Why not? We must warn everyone…" Eldarion tried to argue, but Ana would not change her mind.

"If we warn the Kings, they will be suspicious, and sooner or later, whoever is behind all this will learn about us, about our involvement… and we cannot take the risk."

"Ana… we cannot gamble with people's lives either."

"We need to work in the shadows. It is the only way we can learn the truth and discover who this 'G' really is. Besides, we don't even know who is involved. We should discover who has infiltrated the realms before revealing who we are and what we know."

"I do not like this plan of yours," Eoden shook his head.

"If we make a move now, and it is suddenly known that we are looking for G, we will be in danger. And we will also be unable to fulfil our mission. If G knows about our interest in him, we will never find him."

"How can you know that?"

"I do not know who is behind all this, but to gather men, orcs and goblins, and to put pawns at the most critical positions of Middle-earth require influence and skills…"

She paused for a moment, but the meaning of her thoughts was plain already.

"You are afraid of him."

Aleberry's voice was a mere whisper, a breath let out through the dimly lit room. It sounded like he could barely believe it.

"Only fools are afraid of nothing. The brave ones are only fighting despite their fear," she replied, nodding. "I would be a fool not to be afraid of such a power held by only one being."

"I agree with you, Ana," Adhalan spoke at last. "We should stay in the shadows for a while longer. We do not even know to what extent the flames have spread. If we act now, we will not eliminate the whole disease, merely the most obvious symptoms."

"What should we do then?" Eoden turned to the witch.

"If Master Aleberry here is right, I suppose we will have to make a little trip to the forest," Urin answered, coughing in his beard.

"Indeed, that will be our next destination."

Eldarion slowly turned towards the door leading to the second bedroom that he had left ajar. He felt a weight falling on his chest at the thought of the little girl sleeping there.

"We have to take care of Clea first."

 ********************************

 The sun was coming up already. Aleberry had stayed a little longer with them, talking about what he had learned and what should be done next, and the six guardians had earned little sleep after their long journey. But Ana could find no rest. In the darkness of the room, she could only keep her eyes opened and stare at the shadows around her. On one side of the room, Eldarion was sleeping on the mattress set on the ground. Clea was sleeping in the other bed.

Ana was exhausted, it was not the lack of tiredness that kept her eyes wide open. Perhaps it was the thought of G, perhaps it was the addition of all these new information that Aleberry had brought her, perhaps it was the threat that seemed to grow bigger and bigger everytime she gathered new clues… Perhaps it was her doubts about herself and the decisions she took.

But right now, her worry had taken the shape of this little girl sleeping next to her.

She stared at the girl's peaceful expression for a long while. She wondered if there was another path to take, another solution…

But Clea had no family left, and they couldn't take care of her. What else could they do?

In her sleep, the child stirred, pushing the blanket aside, but shivering as soon as the cold air hit the skin of her arm. Ana stood up and crossed the meter that separated her bed from the child's.

This child seemed peaceful and so fragile…

She put the blanket back on the girl's arm, protecting her from the cold again, her fingers on the fabric as it traced the shape of Clea's shoulder through the covers. She brushed a strand of hair away from the child's face, taking a long look at her. She looked at the untamed locks framing her young features. The eyelids trembling with sleep. The cheekbones a little dirty. Her chest tightened, and she let herself fall back on the edge of her bed. She clenched her jaw before letting out a long sigh. But there was nothing more that she could do. She had to leave the child to someone else's care.

She remained sitting there, her bare feet on the cold wooden floor, her head bent down and chin resting against her chest, her eyes tightly closed as to stop tears from escaping, her jaw clenched as to refrain a shout… The witch’s heart tightened, a heavy burden thrown onto her shoulders making her bend a little under the imaginary weight.

And lying on the mattress set on the ground, Eldarion stared at her in silent. He remained motionless, unwilling to let her know that he was awake as well and could see her. Despite the dark, he had no trouble examining her face. And as he stared at her sitting on the edge of her bed, her gaze lost somewhere between the child’s features and her own thoughts, her hands tightly holding the thin mattress under her, a smile formed on his lips.

He should have been saddened by the scene, but actually, he was smiling.

She had a much softer heart than most would claim, and he could see it all now.

 *************************

 A little less than two weeks. That’s all it took for Eldarion to get so accustomed to Clea.

The tickle of her hair against his chin, the soft rhythm of her breath against his shoulder, her eyelashes brushing against his jaw every time her eyelids were closed and lifted back…

She was a soft and fragile form he was used to carry by now. He barely felt her weight at all anymore.

He opened his arms one last time for her and she didn’t hesitate to hurry in his embrace. He lifted her up in his arms and they left the inn. Outside, the rain had left the streets but mud lingered still. It would probably remain for the rest of the day. His boots sank still in the ground, sticky as he rose his foot again to take another step.

By his side, Adhalan and Eoden seemed sad as well. He could see it there, in the curves of their lips and the corner of their eyes that they felt the same pain as he did. He was simply feeling it a little more vividly, he reckoned. Before him, Urin and Goin were silent, which was most strange for them. He couldn't see their faces, but Eldarion knew that the reason behind their silence was Clea. Finally, behind him, Ana wore a stoic expression. There was something a little sad in her eyes, but nothing more. He knew the truth behind her stern looks though. He had seen it all the previous night after all.

Clea's tiny hands tightened their grip on his cloak as the wind blew with more strength.

But as the orphanage came in sight, he knew he had to let go.

It was just a tall and crooked building like most of the town. A sign set above the front door indicated the orphanage. Larger than the other houses, its wooden walls had since long been darkened by moss and moist.

He carried her for a few more steps. Only too soon was it over though. Right before the door, he had no excuse to keep her in his arms.

Slowly, with reluctant movements, he put her down on the ground again. But Clea refused to let go of him.

She turned to him and stared right into his dark eyes with so much fear in her glance that Eldarion stopped breathing.

He forced a reassuring smile to form on his lips nonetheless.

"We’ve talked about it, Clea. They’ll take good care of you here."

"Don’t leave me here," she shook her head, the tears starting to run down her cheeks.

"We cannot take you with us…"

"I’ll be good. You won’t even notice I’m here. I’ll walk all the way. I’ll make no noise."

Eldarion struggled to withhold his tears, his eyes stinging with growing pain.

"I would never want you to not be noticed," he gave her a kind smile.

"I can help with… things."

"We are heading towards very dangerous places. And they are no place for a child."

"Don’t leave me alone here…"

She was sobbing by now, and she rushed in Eldarion’s arms once more, holding on him so tightly, desperation oozing from her touch.

A tear rolled down Eldarion’s face as he held her against his chest one last time. If his heart had been broken before, it was nothing compared to the pain that came with the guilt that pierced his chest now.

This child needed him, and he was abandoning her to strangers. There was no other word to describe how he felt about his action. He was abandoning her. He could hear the arguments that he knew were right, the danger, how impossible it was to keep her with them, how wrong it would be. But couldn’t they at least take her to someone they trusted, rather than to these strangers? He could have taken her back to Minas Tirith and she would have been so much safer then. But Ana was right here again. They couldn’t go back to the White City. Not before their mission was over. The less his people knew about his travels, the better. Aleberry’s news only proved her right on her longing for secrecy. He could not endanger them all. Clea had to be left here. It was the best he could do for her.

But then, why did he feel so bad? Why was he so worried? Why was his instinct shouting against it all?

He shook his head, pulling away again. His new smile was reassuring but the look in his eyes was firm as well.

"You cannot come with us. You will be safe here, and it is the best we can do for you. I promised that I would keep you safe, and that is exactly what I am doing now. You have to stay here. Then everything will be alright."

A middle-aged woman walked out of the orphanage and towards them. She had a comforting smile on her face, and she seemed to be kind.

"I heard that you were coming here," she smiled. "I’m Jona. Is she the girl?"

Eldarion stood up again, nodding.

"Clea, right? Well then, come on girl, we’ll take care of you now."

But Clea wrapped her arms around Eldarion’s legs, sobbing more than ever.

"Clea, come on."

"You’re abandoning me here! You promised you wouldn’t leave me!"

"I promised to keep you safe…"

He and Adhalan tried to make her let go, but she was fighting out their grasp.

"NO!"

Her tiny voice was turned in a loud, desperate shout that pierced all of their hearts. Eldarion brushed a tear out of his eyes.

"Clea, you need to go."

Somehow, Ana was suddenly by his side. How did she manage it, Eldarion never learned, but she did tore the girl away from him, and gave her to Jona.

"I’m sorry, but there is no other way," she breathed in a hoarse voice into the shouting and wringing girl, before turning around and striding away from the orphanage.

The rest of the Guard followed her steps, except for Eldarion, who didn’t move before Clea had disappeared. He couldn’t move a muscle, he was like frozen. He blamed her shouts and her hands extended towards him and the tears on her face and in her voice. And on her lips, the same word again and again.

"Eldarion! Eldarion!"

And then she was gone. Instead of staring at her desperate eyes, Eldarion was fixing the wooden door. Her shouts were shushed as well and yet still his name kept on echoing in his ears and heart.

He was motionless. Somehow, he could not move a muscle. The guilt was as a poison throbbing through his heart and coursing through his very veins across his whole frame. It impended his movements, thoughts, even his breathing. The only vivid feeling was the pain piercing his chest.

He could have taken her to Minas Tirith where she would have been safe. Perhaps Ana was wrong, and perhaps if he strode right to the orphanage, he could take her back and make sure to give her care to someone he trusted even more than himself…

The slightest shakiness coursed through his foot and his heel was an inch above the muddy ground when Adhalan rested her hand upon his shoulder. He could barely feel her fingers though, everything was numb but for the pain and guilt.

"Come on, Eldarion."

After the child’s shouts, it was so strange to hear his name spoken in such a soft tone. He noticed that her voice was a little lower than usual.

Somehow, he turned around and followed the Guard back to the inn. Where did the order to move come from? How was the strength to walk summoned? He didn’t know. He couldn’t have sent the command. All he could see, all he could hear was Clea. And again and again, the same thought that they were making a mistake came back to his mind.

On the way to the inn, Urin and Goin kept on sniffing.

 ********************

 Eldarion's gaze was lost into the void. He couldn’t focus on anything. He had been motionless for a long while now, staring blankly at the dancing flames that illuminated the bedroom. On the table next to him, his plate filled with cheese, apples and ham had been left untouched. He could never eat when he was worried. It had been the same since he was a little child. His mother kept on repeating that he had taken the habit from his father.

He could not shake this weight off his shoulders. His heart still felt heavy. He had a feeling growing more and more inside of him… a mix of guilt and doubts that refused to fade away.

He hadn't noticed Eoden sitting in the chair next to him. Only when the Rohirrim cleared his throat did Eldarion turn towards him.

"The question of where to go next is upon us," Eoden smiled at his friend. "What do you think?"

But Eldarion shrugged.

"I… I don't know."

Adhalan appeared by his side as well, and then Urin and Goin, and finally Ana. They all exchanged a sad but reassuring smile.

"We need to set our course from here," Adhalan nodded, giving Eldarion her map. "What do you think? The road is ahead, after all."

Ana rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. And in her eyes he could see the same doubts and the same guilt and the same pain that burnt inside him.

"We cannot save everyone, El. Sometimes… we can only give them a hand, they have to find the rest of the way. We did help her, but we cannot do more. It is hard to let go, but life is rarely fair."

"I know," were the only words he could say.

But this time, he had a more honest smile on his lips. He unfolded the map on his laps, and when he spoke again, his voice steady.

"So… what have you planned next?"

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Minas Tirith

 "You left the girl there, and after that?"

Eldarion barely heard Faramir’s question. His mind was not so easily driven back to reality after several hours of wandering through the past. Memories still drifted back and forth, keeping his gaze unfocused. Around the room, many lords full of power, accompanied by their personal guard. A couple of captains for the most part. Only a few women were present, princesses and high-born. His mother and sisters were not here though. He didn’t know who was responsible for this choice: his mother, his father, or the other lords gathered in the hall of stone? He had not dared to ask his father about it the previous night.

"After that, we lingered for a few days in Rohan, before heading for Fangorn."

"You had been gone for… almost two months by then, if I am not mistaken."

"Yes, that must have been around that time."

He answered to Faramir’s questions with little thought. Earnest words nonetheless passed his lips, but they were not thought through. He had settled his attention on the crowd again, his dark brown eyes travelling from right to left and left to right again, studying the lords', ladies' and captains' reactions. Trying to catch a sign. A nervous movement. A strange glimmer in their eyes. A shiver. A wince.

He had little to work on. But his trial was turning into an advantage. He could study them all at once, compare them, read through their hearts and minds slowly, learning to transcribe every movement. He would need every trimmer and every shakiness and every emotion coming through the masks they wore if he wanted to finish his mission. But he wasn't afraid of having to analyse such tiny details to understand such greater schemes. By now, he was used to the exercise.

After all… who could find a spy better than another spy?

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

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @marvelcapsicle 

[seductresses-temple]

Nine Months Brings Forth New Life

Okay! So, @rose-grangerweasleyisbae just recently had a birthday and she is honestly one of the sweetest followers ever. She always says the most beautiful, heart warming, smile inducing things so I wrote something really random for her birthday 🎂 🎁 🍰 by random I mean, I honestly opened a google doc and started writing lol. I wanted to write something...full of possibilities, I guess?

Trigger warning: Mental Health mentions and mentions of self mutilation

________________________________________

Draco sighed, plopping down ungracefully, un-Malfoy-like, into the all too familiar leather chaise. He shifted around for a moment until he deemed himself comfortable enough before lolling his head over to the side to look at Clara who was gazing at him with her typical, bemused expression. He smiled at her tiredly, even he could feel that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but at least he was trying.

“Hello, Draco,” Clara said after a moment “nice to see that you’re punctual as always. You look a bit tired, still having trouble sleeping?”

Draco nodded, locks of hair falling over his eyes. “Another nightmare, some days I feel like they’re getting out of control since I stopped taking the Dreamless Sleep.”

Clara nodded, jotting the information down in a small leather bound pad she kept practically glued to her lap. “Would you like to talk about the nightmare? Was it about the war again, or your father?”

Lucius. Draco could appreciate that Clara never said his name anymore. It brought Draco too many emotions to keep under control. Ever since the war had ended, Draco’s relationship with his father had been non-existent. It was his father’s fault that he and his mother had gotten dragged into the whole ‘serving the Dark Lord’ nonsense. It had been his father’s fault that they’d had to house a blood-thirsty lunatic in their home. Draco’s stomach began to churn just thinking of all the things he’d born witness to while the Dark Lord haunted the halls of Malfoy Manor. To make matters worse, Draco and his mother had nearly been carted off to Azkaban thanks to trying to keep their heads above water in the situation his father had put them in. If it hadn’t been for Potter...Draco was afraid to think what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Potter…

“Draco?” Clara’s voice pulled Draco out of his thoughts. He did that a lot now. Spaced out. Got inside of his head and drifted away from the outside world. It was something he and Clara were trying to work on. Seeing a Mind Healer was part of the terms and conditions involved that kept him and his mother out of Azkaban. One of many conditions.

“It was about my father,” Draco sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. He’d cut it when his father -ragged and screaming like a raving lunatic- denounced both he and his mother as he was carted off to Azakan with a life-long sentence. It had started with the left side, then the right. Now he’d taken to keeping the sides shaved, the middle long -down to his jaw- and streaked with various shades of light blue. His father had a conniption the first time he saw it. It was so feminine, so queer, so very un-Malfoy. Draco loved it and he loved how much his father hated it.

“What about your father?” Clara had such a soothing voice. Draco loved it. He confessed after a few months of seeing her that her voice reminded him of his mother. Clara was gentle and patient and seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare. The wizarding world spit upon the name Malfoy, it was nice to feel cared for.

“I came out to him. It was such an odd dream. We were in a muggle coffee shop, of all places, my father hates both coffee and muggles so it all seemed surreal and out of place. I sat down in front of my father and watched him sneer at my hair and my clothes and my coffee and I just sort of blurted it out…” Draco fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, frowning.

“You can say it Draco. This is a safe space. I think it would be healthy for you to be able to say the words aloud. They aren’t bad words, you just have a negative association to them because that’s what you were raised to think. Your father raised you to believe they’re something to be ashamed of, Draco, but we’ve talked about this. You don’t have to live your life by his definitions anymore, you’re free to live life on your own terms.” Clara stared at him, her yellow eyes watching him carefully like a hawk. Draco was vaguely reminded of Madam Hooch, her eyes trained to the sky, protective and alert, making sure to catch any of the first years should they fall off their broom. There was a safety in that, something rooted so deeply in Draco that he barely understood it. It made him feel safe, brought him back to a point in his life before his world got blown apart.

“I told my father I’m gay,” he whispered. If he weren’t so bloody tired he most likely would have cringed at how small and insignificant he sounded. He sounded like a child sharing a secret that, well..wasn’t a secret. Pretty much everyone knew. His father certainly knew long before Draco did. His father had always done his best to snuff out that side of him.

A black wardrobe. No color. No life. No expression. End of story.

A lack of affection from his father. No love. No smiles. No hugs. No warmth between men because that would be wrong. End of story.

His father drove him to quidditch. A manly sport. Something physical because he’d kill them both before he had a dancer for a son. If Narcissa took Draco to one more ballet, he was shipping Draco off to Durmstrang. End of story.

His father had taken control of his narrative, at least that’s how Clara put it. Draco quite liked that analogy. He liked reading, liked thinking about his life as a book that wasn’t quite finished yet. His father had written the first half but Draco, well, he could write the second half however he wanted. He liked that.

“What happened after that? How did your father react?”

“He mutated.”

“E-Excuse me?” Clara leaned forward a little, making sure she heard Draco correctly.

“He mutated, the dreamscape changed and suddenly I wasn’t in a muggle cafe with my father anymore, I was in the Hogwarts Great Hall surrounded by the rest of my ‘peers’ and they were...being very vocal about my new appearance,” Draco gestured down to his outfit; black wingtips, tailored, royal purple pants with a matching button down, a grey marled sweater vest, and plum, purple, grey, and black, paisley bow tie.

“So they resorted to name-calling?” Clara raised an eyebrow at him, an expectant, maternal look on her face. She was a stickler for not allowing Draco to get away with vague answers.

“No.”

“Draco,” Clara sighed ever so quietly, glancing at the clock “it’s your hour, Draco, and I understand these things are hard to talk about. Examining our emotions and coming to terms with things that go against what we’ve known and been taught our entire lives is no easy feat. However, you’ve been making such tremendous progress lately, you honestly have, if you’d rather table this discussion for the moment and move on to something else, I support that decision but with you leaving for Hogwarts in a few days, I think this is something we should try to tackle. I’m going to go put the kettle on, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” Draco murmured, nodded absently. He was already lost in thought by the time Clara left the room. He knew she was right, not that he particularly wanted to admit it. She was so like his mother in that way, speaking logic and reasoning into him even when it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Draco was afraid to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t want to admit that either. They all hated him and rightfully so. What was the point of going back? It wasn’t like anyone in the wizarding world would higher him all because he sat for his N.E.W.T.S. He was still a Malfoy, for now anyhow, until his father found out he wouldn’t be carrying on the Malfoy name. Not with a woman at least. He sighed, sinking further into the chaise. He didn’t hear Clara come back into the room until the familiar chink of china on wood snapped him back into reality.

“Thank you,” he sat up just enough to take his cup, running a finger over the rim “I’m…” he refused to say scared. “I’m worried about returning to Hogwarts, worried that they’ll all see how much I’ve changed, worried they’ll be able to tell that I’m...gay.” He took a careful, steady sip from his tea, staring down into the cup to avoid Clara. He didn’t want anyone at Hogwarts to know he was gay. They knew too much about him already. Draco sodding Malfoy, ex-death eater, co-conspirator to the death of Dumbledore, prime suspect of the near-deaths of Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley, pompous git, Slytherin Ice King, and the cold-hearted carbon copy of ruthless murder Lucius Malfoy. Parents were already complaining as it. Death Eater children back roaming the halls of Hogwarts? Preposterous! It was bad enough the Ministry was forcing them back to Hogwarts as part of their ‘rehabilitation’ into society, Draco could only imagine what the parents would do if they found out a queer ex-death eater was in their mists.

“I don’t think it would be so bad if they saw you’ve changed, Draco,” Clara took a sip of her tea, giving him that maternal, expectant stare as if he were a small child struggling to discern that two plus two does indeed equal four.

“Wasn’t it you who said, and I quote ‘changing into the man I’ve always felt I should be without my father lurking over every decision I make is one of the best things to ever happen to me?’ or do you no longer feel that way?” Clara continued to stare over the rim of her cup.

Draco remembered that session. Vividly. It was shortly after he had dyed his hair, not too long after his breakdown that had landed him in Mungos for two weeks. Draco learned the hard way that slicing your Dark Mark off landed you in a very cozy room in St.Mungos that just so happened to have white padded walls. “I did say that,” Draco murmured, glancing down at his arm.

“You have changed so much, Draco, made so much progress and have blossomed into a completely different person than the young man I met nine months ago. I think there can be some symbolism in that, nine months, women carry their children to term for nine months and then they birth a new life into the world. You, Draco, carried your trauma for the past nine months and you birthed a new version of yourself into the world. Going back to Hogwarts is your opportunity to foster that new life. It doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”

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

“You look dashing, sweetheart,” Narcissa smiled sweetly, coming over to Draco and running her fingers through his hair, mussing it up a tiny bit.

“Thank you, mother,” Draco tried to smile but only managed a twitch of the lips. He bent down to grab his school trunk. He’d have to carry it as he wasn’t allowed a wand again until he was on school property. His mother had been kind enough to cast a wandless lightening charming on it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you, Draco? Between the reporters, the students, the other students, I-” Draco held up a hand to stop her.

“I know you’re worried, mother, but I’ll be fine. They don’t need to put us both in the paper. I’ll write the moment I’m able and at least once a week after. Clara has spoken to Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey and its been arranged for me to have my sessions at Hogwarts each week. I’ll…”he kissed her forehead tenderly “I’ll be alright, mother.”

Narcissa nodded, blonde curls bobbing softly. She stared at him, long and imploringly, her blue eyes searching for something. What, Draco wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt small and incredibly young under her gaze. “I love you so,” she whispered, clasping onto his arm, over the spot where his Dark Mark once stood “if you need anything, anything at all, just write home and I’ll come running.” She pulled him into a nearly bone crushing hug, kissing his cheek before letting him leave out the door.

“I love you too, Mother. Everything will be fine,” Draco wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. All he knew was the night he sliced the Dark Mark off his arm had left them both changed people. It was scary, leaving the comfort of their little bubble, but they would both be better for it. That’s what their Mind Healers kept telling them. By the time Draco came back at Christmas the Manor would be renovated, cleansed, completely different. He hoped he’d return in much the same condition; renovated, cleansed, different.

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

Kings Cross Station brought about everything Draco had been expecting. He’d been hexed...twice, booed at, spat at, and the vultures from the Daily Prophet had a field day with the drama his mere presence had caused. The only sanctuary he had within it all was that no one wanted to sit with him so he’d managed to find an empty compartment and settle into it. People glared and sneered as they passed by but once the train began moving he felt as though he was finally able to exhale. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were all headed to Hogwarts by other means which meant he’d be alone the entire trip. Draco wasn’t sure whether to panic or find solace in that but he had to deal with it all the same. He set his robes on the seat next to him and pulled out a muggle book he’d begun reading and curled up in his seat, praying beyond hope that at least the train ride could be uneventful before he spent the next year surrounded by people who’d much prefer if he were dead.

“Malfoy,” Draco wanted to curse, recognizing the voice instantly. He slid his bookmark in to hold his place and looked up into shockingly bright emerald eyes.

“Potter,” he greeted, taking a concentrated effort to keep his voice low and level.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Potter gestured toward the empty seat across from him.

Draco eyed Potter, taking in his appearance. He’d changed in the past nine months. His hair had gotten longer, long enough to completely cover his scar and long enough for him to have a long, thick plait that sat over his shoulder. Apparently Potter had a sense of fashion now. Draco took note of the dragon hide boots and fitted black trousers, the leather jacket that seemed far too big for him but in a devil-may-care sort of way. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore either. “Suit yourself,” Draco couldn’t help but feel his curiosity being piqued by this Potter. There was something about him that Draco couldn’t place. An energy that seemed to crackle around him, pulling Draco in, and he felt helpless to stop it.

“I’ve a question for you, Malfoy, this thing that’s just burning in my mind for far too long.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. Since when did Potter speak so openly with him? They had never been friendly. Draco had gone out of his way to make the other boy miserable for far too long. “So you get...clarity of some sort and I?” Draco trailed off, making a flippant gesture with his hand. Old habits died hard with Potter, apparently. However, much to Draco’s surprise, the git had the nerve to smile. Not just smile, but to throw his head back and laugh.

“I thought you might say that,” Potter grinned at him, eyes twinkling in a way that was insufferable reminiscent of Dumbledore. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an incredibly thin, long box. It could only be one thing and Draco felt his heart clutch painfully in his chest. Potter still had his wand after all this time...He’d managed to convince himself that Potter must have thrown it out, broke it, set it on fire, the scenario was different in his head every time.

“What is it you want to know?” Draco’s voice came out in barely a whisper.

Potter held the box with both hands, leaning forward, whispering conspiratorially “You knew it was me. Why?”

Draco’s breath hitched in his throat. He never thought he’d be confronted with this. He never anticipated Potter wanting to know why. It was something he had only ever spoken to Clara about and even that hadn’t come easily. He swallowed thickly, staring at his wand in Potter’s hands. He was cradling it gently as if it were something precious. It was precious to Draco but he didn’t know if it was worth spilling one of his biggest secrets. He stared at Potter, into those same green eyes that had stopped him in his track that night. “Because I’m in love with you,” he whispered breathlessly, the words rushing out his mouth before he could think about how incredibly stupid it was to say so.

“Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” Potter laughed, a big bark of a laugh that seemed to make the entire compartment brighter. He shook his head, his braid swinging on his shoulder. “Fine, don’t tell me, but I’m not letting this go.” Potter stood up, using the box containing Draco’s wand to give him a little salute before marching out the door.

Draco sat there in stunned silence. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then snapped it shut. He’d just told Potter he loved him. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with him? As if his life wasn’t difficult enough. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic, hyperactive thump of his heart.

“Oh buggering fuck, kill me now,” Draco whispered to the empty compartment. He’d just confessed feelings he’d kept buried for four years and he hadn’t even gotten to Hogwarts yet. It was going to be an incredibly long year. A long year full of Potter and his nonsense and his...green eyes…”buggering fuck,” Draco groaned. It was going to be a long, long year.

[demytasse]

[FanFic: Shizaya] Avoidance of Consequence

Summary: When everything remains the same, what is there to gain? If everything changes, what will I feel? If we part ways, will I miss you...will I miss us? A.k.a. You can't make me your god, Shizu-chan, and expect me not to teach you a lesson! Pairing: Shizaya Word Count: 3,703 AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11606613 A/N: Sllllliiiight divergence from canon: as if their final brawl didn't happen. Set ten-ish years after their first meeting. The idea came to me when I started monologuing in my head, as I do, and it slowly developed into Izaya speaking to Shizuo, so I went with it.  

The late afternoon sun had drawn into a setting that matched the neon lights and LED screens that made up the streets of the city. Izaya had perched himself atop a building ledge on the outskirts of town, admiring a particularly picturesque view after finishing up his business. His chin rested on his arm which lay across a propped leg while the other dangled below him. As he gazed upon the bustle of people below, he was reminded of how much Ikebukuro had become a hollowed out shell of what it used to be for him. The people no longer sparkled with wonder, the colour gangs no longer held his interest: it all had remained the same, but it now was viewed through a melancholic lens. His thoughts were diverted when his attention was drawn away by blond hair that stood out in contrast to purples and reds. But of course, yet another thing he was conflicted with: the Fortissimo himself.

He let out a sigh waiting for the inevitable howl of his name into the twilit cityscape summoning him to do battle yet again. Why did he continue to bother lingering in this particular prefect longer than his business called for; was he really just a sucker for engaging in acts that would make a masochist beg for mercy? Maybe he would eventually bore of this repetitive game, or perhaps he would find himself forced to quit by beastly hands wringing him free of life. He laughed darkly to himself as blue shaded eyes snapped up onto his skulking frame; a clenching fist ruining the end of an unsuspecting beverage. Well, it’s not as though he didn’t predict this.

A guttural voice bellowed from down below. “Izaya…” it warned, unusually lacking in drawn out syllables.

The aforementioned stretched before he rose from his seated position. He took a moment to obviously dust himself off as he was not really rushed to meet with his rival. It was an exhausted ritual that had become more of a chore to act out over time as the novelty had worn off, but here they were, stumbling through it like tired actors upon a stage. He forced an appropriate smirk on his lips before reciting a line from his practiced script.

“Thank you for sniffing me out on this perfectly pleasant night, Shizu-chan. I was really hoping my evening would be spoiled by the likes of you.”

Shizuo clicked his teeth in passive aggression, eyes attached to Izaya as he made his way down the side of the three storied building by hopping between levels of the fire escape. They now met on level ground, tens of feet between them while the inky black of night bled into what was left of the sunset which coloured their surroundings. The setting was painted with serene mysticism, rife with underlying tones of muted passion. The hues splashed across their faces and were absorbed by their shadow dominated wardrobes. Light reflected off sharp teeth and sleek glasses.

“Your night wouldn’t have to be ruined if you just stayed the hell out of ‘Bukuro like I have countlessly asked—” “Demanded,” Izaya interrupted; “‘Asked’ would suggest I had a choice, but you demand as if it’s an absolute.” his normal coy expression was strained.

“If I’m demanding, Izaayyaaa, then why do you keep coming back?” he said through ground teeth.

“Sigh~, because how could I stay away from such a charming face as yours~? I’m drawn to it like a flea to a dog,” he chuckled at his own clever idiom involving the other’s demeaning nickname for him.

Shizuo was obviously being overtaken by emotion, but was doing his best to keep it under control. That seemed to happen more often as of late. His hands would flex in and out of fists at his sides as a way of distracting him from his rage. Izaya wasn’t sure if he could describe the difference between Shizuo’s new form of placating himself as opposed to the past. If he had to describe it, he would say it was something akin to learning to keep it together for a prospective love interest which was amusing in and of itself.

He tipped his head forward to peer over his silver frames as the brunette shifted his weight idly. “Have you ever thought passed your own ego to realize that you constantly ruin my nights, f—flea!”

It was curious the way that Shizuo stumbled upon his nickname. It was as though he had caught himself calling Izaya by the thing he just made a joke about and perhaps a connection had sparked in his miniscule brain. It’d be humorous to find out that he believed Izaya’s reasons for sticking around Ikebukuro were because he desired to see him.

“Are you suggesting that I’m the decider of whether or not you have a good night? Because the way you seek me out instead of leaving me to my own devices proves the contrary,” Izaya raised an accusatory brow.

“Yes, Izaya, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You constantly ruin any chance of me being able to control my violence! You are actively keeping me from my chance to live a life free of all…this,” he motioned between the two of them with a heavy and accentuated gesture.

Despite the volume his voice suggested was his temperament, his expression seemed to tell a story of him fighting an internal battle completely separate of what was going on. His eyes were harsh and unblinking while his eyebrows were quirked with confusion; his stance read like he was ready to react to swift attacks, but he himself seemed less willing to do so than in times prior, as if weary from too many repetitions of their pre-determined chess match.

The two seemed wordlessly in sync with one another as Izaya had been previously introspective similar to Shizuo. Being rudely drawn away from his meditative state had soured his mood and it especially made him ornery over a potential physical squabble. Tonight seemed more appropriate to enlighten the bartender with a lesson he deemed necessary in the moment. Frankly, he was tired of the same infuriating accusation from the other and it had him question his relation to the blond and what he had to offer in his life: was it actually a beneficial addition, or was he simply just something the brute can force his blame onto?

“Free?” he blurted, “You want to talk about freedom, Shizu-chan, because I can inform you of the intricacies of the human concept for you,” he sounded mildly hysterical.

Crimson tones had dominated over fuchsia in the sky and brought out the manic expression of the brunette as his eyes glowed. Directly opposite him the blond let out an agitated huff as he tried to yet again bring himself down from diving into his aggression.

“This ideal you speak of: freedom. It’s really funny that you would call it out. The idea that one can live their life without any restrictions is a plague to mankind's mental fortitude. To believe that they can be entirely free is ignorant and will lead to a life unfulfilled and stricken with unhappiness as they'll spend their entire lifetime seeking a state of being that never existed to begin with. And yet, the world is populated with so many individuals who are enamored by the idea that they aren’t free while longing to be,” he paused to shoot a glance at Shizuo to make sure he was listening, finding the blond staring back at him shaking his head with his teeth barred in response to his insufferable tendencies.

“Let's say that they were able to obtain what is perceived as ultimate freedom: riches that allow one to buy and do whatever they want with limitless possibilities. But it’s only seemingly limitless. Society will still have control of how they act, the government will still keep them paying into it, and the law will prevent them from committing certain acts lest they be imprisoned. As you can see, freedom isn’t without its own chains, not to mention the strain of making true connections with others that aren’t forced or conditioned. Not as if that’s feasible for you, short of your brother taking pity and throwing you half his wealth. Haha.”

Shizuo’s frown deepened. The mention of Kasuka had struck a chord in him. His brother had done nothing but help him throughout his adult life, not excluding acting as a personal coach for managing his anger, but more specifically controlling anger related to the broker in front of him. He had explained the exhaustion their fights brought, but when asked of why he sought the other out continuously he was met with no answer. He decided to rely on his junior yet again by channeling him now as he struggled to control his mostly even temper.

He sent a warning to the other, “Izaya, I’m not up for this right now…”

Izaya tilted his head back and threw Shizuo a smirk in response before continuing onward, loosening up his speech after the other’s plea fueled him further. Tufts of fur on his coat started ruffling as he picked up a casual pace back and forth, using his hands to gesticulate points.

“I know what you’re thinking now. How is freedom actually obtainable? It’s intrinsically connected to one’s fate and their ability to control it. But that would require somehow controlling a supernatural force that determines their entire life. It just doesn’t seem possible, so instead people bend to its will,” he shook his head in dismay.

Shizuo sighed. His waning patience called upon the help of his addiction. Without having to look, he reached into his vest pocket to snag a solo cigarette; he lit the end before taking a drawn out drag that seemed to equal the length of the flea’s monologue. “You know if you get to your point quicker, maybe I’ll actually let you finish.”

“Oh? I’m touched that you’re actually willing to listen to the sweet dulcet tones of my voice for once.” He used a mocking tone, but it was still laced with annoyance as he kept getting derailed.

“Now where was I again? ...Fate takes form in the actions of others and people are quick to blame that for their shortcomings. Some person has wronged them thus forth made it impossible to move forward. Another is always more talented or skilled than them so they'll never be good enough. A bully is cutting them down and is actively keeping them from their ability to excel past it. Basically it boils down to their past experiences haunting them and ruining their chance to move onward; they have allowed their fate to be set with that perspective. They romanticize the idea of being locked away from their potential and disregard trying to gain control over it. But therein lies the problem,” he extended his index finger as a precursor to his proceeding point. His dark brows jolted up and his smirk turned to a brief mirror of an amused youth, proud of his intelligence.

“No one locked them in a prison cell of predetermined fate, and certainly no one kept the key from them. It was indeed them in control the whole time with the mere illusion that they were a prisoner of someone else. It wasn’t a rival or bully that locked them away; they just didn’t want the responsibility of their own demise and unhappiness so they thrust the key to their freedom upon another unbeknownst to them, in an act of freeing themselves of the mental burden of living with their own circumstances.” He sauntered closer to Shizuo and started to direct his speech more towards him.

“And people will continue to be under that impression until they come to realize that in their life they are completely responsible for everything that happens. The only way that others have control over them specifically is through sway over how they want them to perceive things or ways they wish for them react.”

With a fluid motion he reached over and plucked the cigarette that hung loosely in the bartender’s mouth. Izaya delicately placed it between his lips and took a deep inhale of smoke into his mouth. He held an extended breath before he slowly exhaled a cloud to engulf Shizuo. Slender fingers wrapped around a silken lapel in order to pull him downward to speak directly in his ear in a hushed tone, “I digress; this is about you in fact.”

A shudder coursed up his spine in reaction to the tickled breath that sent a conflicting signal of pleasure while his annoyance was still on high. In a second the moment was over as Izaya pulled back extending his hand to offer the stick back.

Shizuo reluctantly grabbed it back snapping himself out of the mood with another drag, “Oh? It’s about me. I couldn’t make the connection.” The blond snorted and smoke puffed out of his nostrils like a humoured dragon.

“Hmm, but of course it is, Shizu-chan,” his voice took on a darker tone as he continued. “You have formed this preposterous reality for yourself, a ridiculous creed that violence controls you and it’s the sole reason that you cannot live free and peacefully. Violence is just a made up concept that was created by humans to define a particular action. Another way for us to pit us against one another: what's an acceptable amount, what is unlawful, what is unjust?"

Izaya picked up pace around Shizuo like a lion on the prowl while the prey in question locked his gaze on him only turning his head when necessary.

“If it's a human concept that you are forcing the blame onto then you are claiming that all of human kind is at fault for your life not being how you desire. You truly believe your desired peaceful life is unobtainable, because humans have imprisoned you for your own lack of control over your monstrous strength. That is laughable; not only is that selfish, but it’s also cowardly!

“You can't accept the truth that you are the only one to blame so you give the control away readily. Every day you run amok through this city displaying your lack of control, and others harness you and your negligence in order to benefit from it, but rename it as employment to make you feel better.” Anger started to peel away into partial desperation when he spoke, “Any time I step within a foot of that insane radius that is your radar, excuses are made in order for you to show off your abandon of normal restriction of everyday human strength. And then you proceed to rant on and on and on about how I’m to blame for feeding into your violence’s control of you. Does that make me your god since I’m in control of the thing that rules you!?"

Izaya took a moment to laugh and it spilled into his speech. “You know it’s the fact that you play by human rules like selfishness that blinds your perspective that even remotely connects you to being human."

The clicking of his heeled boots stalled when Izaya came to face Shizuo straight on with a slight lean forward and hands shoved in his coat pockets. Shizuo stood with his back straightened accentuating their difference in height. The shortened stub of a cigarette rested between his fingers. His arms crossed over one another and pressed firmly against his chest. The standoff between them seemed in mock of countless times before as they examined one another for the obvious weakness.

“So let us make a temporary truce: I’ll let you live with the falsehood that you are human, and you humour me with an answer to my query. Knowing what I have kindly described free of charge to you: who is it that really holds the key to your freedom, Shizu-chan?"

An unspoken ‘check mate’ was communicated in Izaya’s posture and wide grin. His rant was long winded and perhaps the message would go over his decade-long sparring partner’s head with the subtleties, but he felt the need to really drive the point home that Shizuo was at fault for everything wrong in his life. Call him petty, but he could really use a cheap victory over his rival for once. It was necessary for him to end this sick relationship between them and move onto...?

The end of his cigarette was snubbed out while Shizuo reflected on the message that was unleashed at him like he was an uneducated grade schooler. Izaya’s exaggerated presentation would have driven an older self to the brink of rage and sent him after the scumbag. But being able to listen to the brunette’s message with patience made the fog start to dissipate into a clearer understanding. Standing so close to him didn’t have him keyed up and it was difficult to grasp why it was that he found no reason to be, especially after having his enemy throw a back-handed insult at him. Maybe he appreciated someone who was truthful with him.

“My life would definitely be more peaceful without you opening your goddamn mouth. It would be more peaceful if I didn't have you riling me up constantly…” Shizuo’s words were devoid of malice as it was more an externalized thought than an accusation.

Contrary, Izaya was hit with annoyance that his speech didn’t seem to dig into the other as he pouted in a brattish way, "Were you not listening to a single word I said? The whole point was to prove that I’m not what rules your fate you dim-witted protozoan! Or do you actually see me as your god?" he spat back.

He rolled his eyes. There goes his patience, "Fuck, Izaya, were you not listening? Maybe subtlety is something you can only spew at others, but aren’t able to pick up on yourself,” his tone had heightened to be a bit more aggressive. “And of course you would draw a conclusion back to you being a god.”

“Oh that’s fresh. Am I going to get a lesson from the neanderthal now? Oh Shizuo-senpai, please enlighten me of how to be subtle, I know nothing of this concept and need to be shown.” Izaya mocked in a sing-songy tone fading back to agitation. “Perhaps try your normally effective method of being unbelievably blunt! That always worked for you.” Shizuo threw his head back. “HA! You want me to be blunt, do you? As always, let me play into your strategically planned hand of your ridiculous game. How are you still expecting the same of me a decade later? Aren’t you tired of this, Izaya?”

The two foes had been inching closer to each other as they built their conversation into a heated argument. Shizuo may have pulled the reigns on his animalistic rage, but it didn’t keep a snarl off his face. Izaya, feeling the rise in tension, instinctually flicked his blade out from his pocket and let it hang at his side. He was unsure of why he did this: it could have been second nature from repeat brawls or he was actually afraid of where their conversation was taking them.

“What I am tired of, brute, is you not answering my simple question!”

“Fine! You want me to be blunt then?”

“I thought I made that clear earlier, you dim-wit!”

Shizuo jabbed his thumb at his chest exaggeratedly as he took a breath in preparation, “I'm saying that I am in control, you self-important flea! You create hell and chaos for me. You’re a fuckin’ walking catalyst. But in the end I found I don't want my life to be peaceful anymore. Not if it means you not being in it,” he drew within inches of the other. Izaya’s face fell neutral, but he was lacking the ability to comprehend the message fully. Shizuo lowered into a deeper register, “I hold the key and I'm taking control of what I want."

He took advantage of their convenient shallow distance and pulled the other up by hooking fingers full of black material into fists. Shizuo removed any chance of Izaya being able to make a snarky rebuttal by sealing his lips with his own. Izaya let out a shocked breath of air while his knife fell from his grip with a ceremonious clatter. He quickly tried to process what had happened and how to respond, but he found the surprise swiftly left him in abandon for raw emotion that was shared between the two. His fingers snaked their way up Shizuo’s chest, tracing the outlines of his form-fitted vest in order to wrap his arms across muscled shoulders in order to support himself, freeing up the other’s hands to tangle in his hair.

It wasn’t well synchronized, but the two were used to things being messy and chaotic between them. Their lips were slick from fervent kisses, but it was lost as to from what while both were battling between thirst-driven sucks and hungry bites. Their bodies being pressed up against each other felt more natural than previous violence inspired connections. Eager hands examined the details of one another in intimate fashion; an action that begged to override old readings of who they were in each other’s eyes. A trace against a crooked bowtie and a tickle of tousled fur brought awareness of whose company they were sharing; they parted their lips while sharing hitched breath. With their foreheads connected they gazed at one another in a foreign way, as the moonlight rested on their shoulders illuminating their figures and drowning everything else in darkness.

A single ‘oh’ was emitted from Izaya in a whispered response to what had initiated their kiss, but it also seemed in response to the unspoken quandary of why their incessant squabbles had become less exciting and more taxing. The reason the two sought one another out was in order to stay in each other’s lives, both begging the other to not forget them. That maybe sometimes the most complicated of questions, like the multi-faceted relationship between the two rivals, had the most succinct answers.

[toastnekohime]

Part seven of a 2018 Camp NaNoWriMo Yu-Gi-Oh! GX Elementshipping novel. Based on rp’s between myself ( @getyouraoion ) and my amazing, precious Twin’s Jaden ( @kiibx ), By The Pulse Of A Heartbeat tells the story of how Aoi and Jaden met at Duel Academy and formed their incredibly tight friendship, eventually falling into a relationship, and how they handle the various threats thrown at them over their three years of schooling.

There are currently no triggers, but should any arise, they will be tagged.

STILL IN PROGRESS. Please forgive any typos you may find~

Tagging @starisia, as this wouldn’t exist without my wonderful Twin <3

Summary:

Duel Academy is the place to be, the dream school for many kids. Be it through intense studying, duel prep schools, scholarships, or being rich enough to buy their way in, most kids have had their sights set on it for a long time, knowing it to be the perfect place to start towards a career as a professional duelist. Someone has to Dethrone Yugi and take the title of King of Games, and everyone wants a shot!

Except that is, for Aoi Sakazaki.

Falling in love with Duel Monsters when her father bought her several cards in her childhood, she makes the choice to try her hand at the entrance exams, despite having no idea what she wants to do with her life… And just barely squeaks her way in. Her poor exams scores, combined with even poorer grades, land her a solid spot in the Academy’s Slifer Red dorm - The lowest of the low, where students are almost expected to drop out if they don’t advance to Ra Yellow or Obelisk Blue, first.

The rank comes with the rest of the school looking down on them, as well as the worst lodging the furthest distance from the main campus and fewest privileges  compared to the other dorms. But it also brings a surprise friend in fellow Slifer student Jaden Yuki, who seems to have absolutely no problem with the hand they’ve been dealt.

It’s not long before Aoi and Jaden find themselves caught up in a whirlwind of an adventure, dealing with exams, classes, ‘evil’ teachers, and somehow still finding enough time to explore the island they now call home. But living on Academy Island isn’t all fun and games; shortly after their schooling begins, things around their home begin to change, and rarely for the better.

Neither friend has any idea what lies in wait for them in the next three years… But is it an adventure they’ll be able to tackle together, or will it end their time at the school - and them - before it’s even begun?

It’s time to put their skills where their mouths are and find out!

By the time Aoi returned to her dorm room, curfew had long since come and gone. Honestly, she hadn't even known they had a curfew until Banner had stuck his head into Jaden's room to point it out, kind enough to not get angry at them for breaking a dorm rule, though still stern enough to remind them they were breaking it regardless. How were they supposed to know being in each others' room between 10:30 at night and 6 in the morning was off limits? She'd never cared about it before, let alone had a male friend!

Though she'd not expected her roommates to still be up, an attempt to quietly slip into her room bringing a stare of blue and grey from the top bunk. A stare that made her jump once she'd turned around, the two boy-crazy duelists reminding her more of lions stalking their prey than actual teenage girls with the way the peered at her from the edge of Kassidy's bunk. “You're back late. Did you find something interesting to do?”

“...Kindda.” She wasn't about to tell them of her new friendship with Jaden or the fact she'd spent the day with him, tucking her binder under her arm as she reached down to undo the straps on her boots and kick them off. The last thing he needed was the two of them all over him like white on rice! “Had a duel, went f' a walk. It's nice out here – Quiet an' got some good scenery.”

“With your cards?”

She glanced down to the binder in question. Not a bit of it was a lie; she had dueled Jaden, and they had gone for a walk after dinner, mostly just circling around the dorm while chatting  They'd just gone back to his room to talk and play a game afterwards while his roommates were still out, enjoying the afternoon and evening to themselves. Of course, between Syrus and their other roommate, Chumley, returning and Banner's reminder of curfew, she'd been uneasy enough to leave.. But at least it'd been fun, right?

Stepping around the corner, Aoi tugged open the door to their closet, drawer following so she could slide the thick and stuffed book into it. With her bunk in the middle, she didn't exactly have an 'under the bed' to keep her collection, and under her pillow just made it lumpy. “S' what? I dueled a friend. We traded.” That was a lie.

And it was a lie her roommates picked up on rather quickly, sharing a glance before Mia sat up, giving her a better look at the curlers in her auburn hair. “A male friend? Because I'm not seeing new cards. I'm seeing a glow- you're happy. Something more happened.”

The matter-of-fact tone had Aoi fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “I told y', I dueled a friend an' traded some cards.”

“Male friend.”

“Mia. Includin' us, there's six girls in this dorm. Dunno how many in Ra, an' dozens in Obelisk. Kindda goes without sayin' it's a boy.” Sighing she shrugged out of her vest and grabbed a hanger to slide it onto. “An' n', I'm n' introducin' y'.”

That was the breaking point, it seemed, a huff following her refusal. Honestly, what was it with these two and wanting dates? “Hey... What kindda decks y' two play, anyway? Y' never talk 'bout classes.” It was always boys and makeup, and while she could stand the makeup talk, they were in a school for duelists. They hadn't needed to enroll if all they wanted was a date with a student.

“Prince charming,” came Kassidy's reply a second later, the blonde rolling onto her back and lifting a hand to examine her nails. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that Kassidy was practically obsessed with her nails, changing their polish and design every few days and constantly admiring it while checking for chips and scuffs. This had to be the thousandth time since they'd arrived days earlier, though Aoi bit the tip of her tongue and tugged her shirt up and over her head, instead, swapping it out for the pale pink tanktop draped over the edge of her bunk.

By the time she'd switched from capris to shorts, Kassidy had examined all of two nails, rubbing out an invisible smudge from the third. She loved a good manicure as much as the next girl, but this was ridiculous! “Prince... Charmin'? Really?”

“Frogs.”

Her forehead connected with the edge of her bunk before she could stop herself, the light thud cocking Mia's eyebrow as she made her way down the ladder. “Frogs. Lemme guess- Y' kiss 'em, they're princes? C'mon, we're here t' duel!”

“And what, exactly, do you play that's so much better?” A petite hand reached out in passing, flicking the ends of one pigtail. The action won a small smile at least, her eyes following her roommate until she'd crawled into her own bed.

“Charmers.” She hadn't meant to let the pride she had in her new deck slip out, though to her relief, it wasn't much. Despite her loss to Jaden, she already loved the setup, tugging the belt free of her pants before tossing them aside. Sliding the attached deck case off, she slipped it under her pillow and tossed the belt aside next, briefly watching it sail through the air. “I run charmers. S' much better than frogs.”

One more, Mia huffed, though this time she couldn't see the other girl. Instead, she focused on untying the ribbons in her hair, the silky pink fabric easily slipping free of its bows. Setting each on her deck, she undid the clasp on the back of her matching choker,  draping it over the light colored wood. As much as she loved her hairstyle, it felt surprisingly nice to have her hair down, a quick pass of her hairbrush through the raven locks further easing a light headache she'd barely noticed. Maybe the duel after spending yesterday adventuring was a little too much...

“Hand me that stick on my desk.”

“Orange stick, yeah?” Grabbing the small stick in question, Aoi pulled herself up to the top bunk, carefully balancing herself on the edge of Mia's to pass it to Kassidy. “What shade's that polish? Kindda looks like th' night sky.” A rich, deep amethyst shade, it caught the light and sparkled  with embedded iridescent glitter, though not obnoxiously so. Every twist and turn of her hand made her nails sparkle more, obscured only by her other hand and the pointed stick she'd started using to clean out the space underneath them.

Without even looking at her, Kassidy rose both brows. “You know what this is called?”

“Mhm. I like getting' m' nails done. Usually did 'em with m' mom, an' nothin' really fancy, b' I d' like getting' spoiled, t'.”

“....Dark Magic. From the LeFaye line. If you want, I could do your nails for you. I'm sure you'd look good with small hearts on them-”

“E-Er... I'm good on that front, thanks.” Dark Magic... She'd have to see if she couldn't find a bottle next time she was in Domino, or at least write about it in her next letter home. For the time being, she was just happy to crawl into her bed, sliding underneath the already mussed blankets to curl up. When had the old mattress gotten so comfortable?

“You can borrow it, then.”

“Thanks. I've got a pretty blue y' might like in return.”

“You know who likes blue? Aki.”

Mia's chirp from bellow normally would've startled her, coming out of completely nowhere, though she was thankful for the wave of tiredness crashing into her. Jaden made everything more fun and exciting, but also exhausting; she'd sleep well for the first time since they'd started classes! “Mhm...”

“Aki's in yellow. Why would he like blue?”

“It's his favorite. He's so dreamy, Kas! That voice, those eyes-!”

“Dreamy is that upperclassman out on the pier- Right Aoi? Which one's dreamier?”

Groaning heavily, the raven shoved her head inside her pillow case. She didn't care who was 'dreamier',  all she wanted was to sleep before her morning classes! Why did this have to be going on now?!

“See? The third year obelisk boy!”

“Aki!”

“Pillow, why aren't y' soundproof...” Why couldn't she just sleep on the roof-?!