#it seems to be an older theory & i did find some papers that cast doubt on it

[honeycomb-butch]

learned something fucked up about bees recently.

so in honey bees, the entire purpose of drones to a hive is to mate with a queen from another hive and immediately die afterwards. however, sometimes a queen bee will lay a sterile drone (called a diploid drone), which rarely survive to adulthood as they are usually eaten by worker bees as larva.

(image source)

now the fucked up part that i just learned is that one of the hypotheses for how workers detect that a larva is a diploid drone is that the larva would produce a cannibalism pheromone, literally telling its sisters that they should kill and eat it.

(image source)

[absintheum]

double combo meal - kookii + rhyzaa

The smell of vanilla has been lingering in the kitchen of you hive for as long as you can remember. You had built a routine centered around keeping it that way, replenishing the grubwax in the melting pot three times every night, supplying the oil as necessary to keep it strong enough to mask the odour of the city without making you sick. It reminded you of rot, of stale saltwater, of all the things that ended with the spillage of blood. In one word, it reeked of what you should have been biologically wired to not pay any attention to, or seek out, with the exception that whatever genes had combined in your DNA, may have decided to do so with the sole scope to wire you like this on purpose, out of petty spite.

You had almost forgotten how it felt, but the back of your mind had turned it into the troll babadook, knocking from the basement door of your thinkpan, and just like troll Babadook, you had to learn to live with it, with specially made paint and various perfumes that wouldn’t let go of the fabrics of your wardrobe and the occasional elixirberry jelly lip moisturizer.

The city wasn’t the worst thing to plague your nose, however. As you grew older and closer to your ninth sweep of age, you had almost mastered the art of not letting yourself get sick from it anymore. You knew where to avoid setting foot in and where to pass, until you could map safe path after safe path.

The hardest part of the week was church day. The day in which you had to willingly walk to a place that you’d begged your lusus to let you skip attendance in your wrigglerhood. It never worked, but you knew better than to let other churchgoers see your displeased expression.

It wasn’t the incense nor the wicked elixir that did it for you. It was what they covered that felt like being punched in the gut, like covering spoiled meat in fake sugar and setting it on fire, before covering it with more fake sugar. It was the acrid smell of idolatry. The metallic one of the splatters that wouldn’t stop reeking, no matter how dry or old they were. The sour one of the bloodthirst that plagued those who had stopped sleeping in their cocoons’ slime, whose minds were beginning to wear under the nightmares. The sickly sweetness of the pixie stix that mixed in, to literally sugarcoat the reality of each and every terrible act that took place there.

Then there was a pungently acidic one, of disbelief and skepticism. It came from you. The worst one that you’d learnt to memorise. You were aware. You could see beyond what was fed to you in clowntechism, you could feel there was more to the reason your caste was always so heavily influenced by the cult built around the Mirthful Messiahs. You knew,stubborn in your conviction, but couldn’t say a word.

Church had become your still tragedy in three acts, the first one opened with the entrance, It was the click of your heels as you walked to the altar that ticked like seconds on a clock, timing the moment in which you knew you had to breathe with your mouth that signaled the beginning of the second. The handfuls of fairy dust thrown signaled the intermissions, in which you could breathe normally. The communion was the climax of the third act, before the closing of the third.

A violent, bloody climax, in which the frenzy of “whoop whoop” and discordant honks would rise as the offering met its fate. Sometimes, you had made the mistake of standing too close and the blood had sprayed on you, drenching you in the very thing you despise. It was akin to walking out of the hive with a new outfit, only to have it ruined by a shower of mud from the side of the road from  a scuttlebuggy driven by someone who handled the thing like they had stolen it.

It was infuriating, but best to swallow the croackbeast, lest you end up there in the next ceremony. You have too much to do to die so soon. There was comfort in knowing the script, however. You could count the second backwards, making the right movements, honks and expressions when needed before leaving for another week. Improv, however, you handled badly.

It was rare, but the occasional overzealousness of the moment would lead the slime-starved churchgoers into a frenzy that would end with a few smashed skulls and disembodied limbs. Such a scenario could be avoided if you were either a speedy runner, or strong enough to fight back before running to safety and letting the rest handle it, or strong enough to actually take down the opponent.

While usually you’d run, today you had been too slow.

You weren’t sure if you had been hit before or after you’d tripped on a torn limb and fell on the body that was missing it. It was still oozing blood in a shade that was a little too close to your own, it had stuck to the white of your hair and you were already dreading the following seconds. In the second it took you to regain consciousness of your surroundings, you were already being shadowed by a figure whom seemed to have been the firestarter of the chaos. In that moment, as your already cold blood froze in your veins, an old survival instinct awoke and sprung into action. May the Messiahs you doubted in so much forgive you, but you can’t blame a clown for wanting to live.

The minds of fellow clowns were already resistant to their fellows’ psychic control, but clowns who wouldn’t rest in sopor had thinning mind walls. Using one’s chucklevoodoos would be easy on them, but there was a small chance that the intruder would carry on a trace of their crazed fellow’s zealousness into their own mind. It was rare, but something to take into account, unless you were moments away from confirming or debunking completely your theories on the clown faith.

Your eyes flash and you break into the wet paper of your assalitor’s skull with little effort. The smell you dread so much grows stronger, the psychic link makes pinching your nose useless. At the limit of your patience and frustration, you hit a mental button to release psychic energy and spare yourself another hit, paying it back to your attacker. You hear their cheekbone cracking under their fist, over and over, in a gruesomely comical scene of “stop hitting yourself”. It feels like it lasts hours until you feel the link getting weaker and weaker, until it breaks. Whether the guy has just lost consciousness or embarked on a one way ticket to the Carnival, you don’t know for sure, nor want to know. Right now, all you know is nausea.

You struggle back to your feet, the blood that stained your face, hair and clothes makes it hard for you to breathe without inhaling what plagues you. A look confirms the emptiness of the church, save for a few others who, like you, hadn’t been lucky or fast enough.

The sugary and metallic scents made your stomach turn in queasiness. You dreaded coming home and staining the floor, but you were in absolute need for a shower, clean clothes and a fresh layer of paint.

The way home felt almost eternal.

You sat in the ablution trap, setting the water on as hot as it would get and scrubbing away at every patch of encrusted blood from yourself, hoping that if you could completely erase them from your skin, it would be as if it had never happened.  You came to find that you’d be disappointed from looking at what seemed like the early stage of bruises where you had fallen and were hit. The light purple under your skin ached to the touch. It took you three cycles of washing to deem yourself clean enough and free of the scent of frenzy, and by the end of it, the tip of your digits were starting to wrinkle from the moisture.

Ignoring your lusus’ knocks at the door of your respiteblock, you set alight the melting pot and watched the fruit-scented grubwax melt dissolve. You decided to ignore everything and slip in the comfort of plush and soft blankets of your makeshift cocoon, leaving outside only your head and your hands to hold your palmhusk, deciding to reply to the unanswered and unread text messages in a second moment and opting instead to watch mindlessly whatever the algorithm of grubtube had deemed worthy of your entertainment.

You couldn’t be bothered to check how long you have stayed there. You can hardly be bothered to answer a high-priority text from your matesprit. You’d informed here that today was a church day and you’d never want her worried. It wasn’t as if you’d risked getting a free skull crashing just this morning. Still, you knew that not answering was going to just result in more pressing texts, so you decided to take the male moobeast by the horns.

saccharinePierrot [SP] is juggling hearts to forensicCasefiler [FC]

SP: -x-0hello -x-0there my -x-0reddest red heart SP: -x-0what is the -x-0subject -x-0of today’s lovingly -x-0crafted -x-0conversation of which i -x-0am already -x-0aware of FC: are y0-0u alright? FC: y0-0u haven’t said a w0-0rd since service was supp0-0sed t0-0 start, and i deduce it is 0-0ver and has been f0-0r s0-0me time n0-0w FC: i d0-0 n0-0t kn0-0w h0-0w t0-0 be m0-0re e><plicit than this FC: i was w0-0rried ab0-0ut y0-0 SP: -x-0why -x-0yes, -x-0i am fully -x-0operational and -x-0functional and -x-0in great -x-0spirit, very -x-0very glad -x-0to be -x-0so FC: d0-0 y0-0u need t0-0 talk? SP: -x-0yes

The thought of lying through your teeth did cross your mind, but it was an unwise choice. Your matesprit, Rhyzaa, had been trained in the legislacerative arts of forensic examination and minored in detecting lies of people who were way better at lying than you. You were like a transparent piece of polymeric product in her specs. You supposed it wouldn’t hurt, it would almost be like a real feels jam, in person and all.

FC: i’ll get in a pile, 0-0ne sec

Damn, she was good. You snapped a quick picture while doing a sideways peace sign. You wouldn’t miss a chance to do some comedy and captioned it with a “ -x-0you -x-0know a clown -x-0too -x-0well “

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

You stare at the screen, unsure of what to respond to the newly received snapshot. If they were already cocooning, it sure wasn’t because they were taking their sleep schedule into account. You kept a plush cocoon just for these occasions, all you had to do was just to kick back, take off your specs and postpone a nail appointment. Maybe it would be a good idea to book a double one, as a self-care date. In the giant wall of post-its that lived in your mind, the nail appointment reminder appeared.

FC: all piled up, whenever y0-0u are ready

Your matesprit doesn’t waste a second and starts typing away, for quite a few minutes. In fact, you’ve considered getting up to grab some water, but decided against it. You don’t have the heart to be late to a bad day talk. You did spend the better of a few minutes reading through the messy texts, trying to piece together the happenings of your partner’s morning. An especially rough day, indeed.

FC: w0-0w, y0-0u managed t0-0 take d0-0wn that dude all by y0-0urself?? FC: that’s quite a feat! SP:-x-0your -x-0awe is -x-0understandable, -x-0my -x-0dearest. -x-0but -x-0yours truly -x-0feels that they -x-0have -x-0reached the -x-0bottom of the -x-0waterwell SP: -x-0what a turn of -x-0events, a -x-0clown who -x-0despised -x-0their -x-0predispositional mirthful -x-0destiny is the -x-0same clown -x-0to grow -x-0weary at the -x-0thought of -x-0clowning SP: -x-0hark, -x-0the writers -x-0are -x-0already banging -x-0at the -x-0door! -x-0offering -x-0life and -x-0limb for -x-0the -x-0rights to the -x-0story FC: you are the last h0-0rned walking creature t0-0 turn 0-0ut t0-0 be a sell0-0ut FC: but FC: y0-0u are als0-0 the 0-0nly h0-0rned walking creature t0-0 be able t0-0 rec0-0gnise the reality of y0-0ur acti0-0ns and see them as y0-0urs truly, rather than s0-0me0-0ne’s divine wish 0-0r will FC: n0-0thing can compare t0-0 that FC: and y0-0u know that you w0-0uld never let yourself be turned int0-0 wh0-0 let their screws get l0-00-0se FC: have y0-0urself a slime mask, y0-0u deserve it

You really hope you are saying the right words. You have read several papers about similar situations: it used to be, apparently, a common practice for some sub-sectors of the clown church, to advise practitioners to deprive themselves of the sopor slime’s soothing effects. The property damage fees are something that a past heiress decided was something she didn’t want to have anything to hear about and outright attempted to ban the practice.

You were actually writing your thesis on a similar topic, but as your thesis’ title would take longer to type than it has to have a proper conversation with someone, you would rather not mention it by specific name.

A purple text bubble flashes briefly before displaying a kissy clown emoji, followed by a simple text.

SP: -x-0you always know -x-0what say to -x-0validate me, and -x-0that is -x-0deeply -x-0appreciated SP: -x-0but, -x-0moving onto more -x-0pleasant -x-0views SP: -x-0how is the -x-0most -x-0successful -x-0soon-to-be -x-0exam committee -x-0member on -x-0this lovely day?

You pause for a moment. Do you want to subject your red quadrant to an in-detail explanation of your classes and homework, or should you make an introductory powerknifepoint? You decide to spare the juridic details, but nonetheless, leave them with a reasonable explanation of your scholarly activities. It’s a great thing that they love your ramblings, you could go on as long as you have breath, but your schedule doesn’t allow for that.

SP: -x-0wonderful, while i may not -x-0be -x-0well -x-0versed in your -x-0field SP: -x-0i do -x-0love to -x-0see it-x-0grow and -x-0flourish SP: -x-0you’ll -x-0do -x-0great, -x-0i’m -x-0sure

You and Kookii were lucky to have each other, especially coming from relationships that enjoyed crumbling like a stale.. heh.. cookie.. in a glass of moobeast juice. They had that pitch affair with that jade they wouldn’t talk about, and you didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. Your moirail disappeared into thin air. You knew she didn’t die, asyou received the occasional letter, hidden below the hive’s entrance mat and knew that calligraphy far too well and cast doubts aside. You even went so far to violate protocol and ask one of your colleagues to supervise and determine whether this was a forcefully pretty handwriting or less. You were relieved to know that it didn’t show signs of the writer being stressed, but it kept gnawing at you from the inside.

No matter how hard and where any lead brought you, eventually you were back at square one. Nobody around you could tell you anything useful or relevant and your options had ran dry. Then came Kookii. They seemed to be able to take away that gnawing feeling, that knot in your stomach that wouldn’t otherwise untie itself. You missed her so much, but eventually, you figured that you couldn’t let it consume your entire being. So you stopped looking. You could only hope she was ok. There was so much you wanted to tell her, but all you could do was wait and see if fate, the universe or whoever was pulling at the strings, decided to take pity on you and allow you to see her again, one last time, before departing to outer space. As it ws a matter of fact, you were glad you had this clown in your life. They were an oddity that you’d have never guessed could be real, but you were also delighted to find that their oddity was almost exceptional. You two just started clicking and chirping and never stopped for the better half of the sweep, and didn’t have any plans to stop. Your plans were mostly composed of your busy schedule that always had room for your perigreal nails appointment and weekly date night. You had always done your field work right, that allowed you to pick a career path that would lead you to a high rank among the other legislacerators, if you played your cards right.

This was a game of troll poker played with different uno cards editions for everyone, but you knew the rules very well. And nobody played troll uno-poker like you could while still being troll osha compliant, dashing and with perfect nails.

You wanted to do great things, even if your self-awareness manifested itself in the knowledge that the path ahead wasn’t going to be either a cakewalk, nor a choice that depended on you entirely, despite what the propaganda taught you. You wouldn’t buy it, but you, too, knew better than to run your mouth without thinking. The legal business is cutthroat and it wasn’t uncommon to hear of the passing of others who shared your ideas, but not your common sense. That meant that the common goal among a good part of the less imperialistic of your colleagues was going to be harder to achieve. It was dreadful, to think that you’d be left completely alone by the time of your ordeals.

It was dreadful, but it was still not time to fixate on those. You’d have time to dread later, all you wanted to do now was to make a good memory of your time with your favourite clown.

FC: y0-0u’re the best <3 FC: are y0-0u feeling better?

You replied simply and smiled at Kookii’s positive answer. It made you feel fuzzy inside, in an almost childish fashion. You absolutely loved it and wouldn’t give up these moments for all the success on the planet and off planet. Your flush partner’s texts kept coming, this time lightening the mood with a string of gifs picturing juvenile purrbeasts and hopbeasts being the cutest little things to ever exist. Just your favourite way to destress and feel good about the current state of things, accompanied by their cheerful sprechgesang. It was a little slice of paradise that made the rest worth.

You were thinking about putting the cherry on top and getting yourself a slime mask as well, when you heard your doorbug chirp. You put your sweetheart on hold for the moment it took you to get out of the pile and dash to the door, opening it with hope in your eyes. You died a little bit when you couldn’t catch a glimpse of anyone nearby, but picked up the letter deposited on your greeting mat nonetheless.

There was something in your heart that screamed at you to open it.

[indomitablemegnolia]

He growled, his eyes rolled, I had finally pushed him onto his uncomfortable place; "My imagination, my wants, my needs are simple; I just hunger to be near you. I would love to just sip coffee and kisses for days; make out like mad teenagers; I want nothing from you; all I require from you, all I ask of you, all I want is for this sliver of a moment, a simple time away from time."

He stopped, a look crossed his face as if something inside was daring him to tell the unvarnished truth; I simply waited for that idea that struck so suddenly his jaw dropped as though he had a revelation, he looked away letting out half a chuckle, finally he came to a resolve; "I realize to rip your attention away, to cast these doubts away is to lay it all out; I finally understand it's my turn to lay it all out bare; I have to be as unashamedly honest, to let you know what my imagination screams: I hunger for you," he raised to his knees crawling over my legs, "I need to touch you; I am lost to it," he crawled slowly up my body, "I want you, all of you;" he locked me in place as his arms braced his frame planted on either side of my head; "your eyes, your lips, your mind," he sighed, kissing me soft, "your heart, your body," he nestled himself between my legs, "sensually," he kissed me harder doing things with his tongue that made my breath leave in a moan; "sexually," he ground suggestively against me "I want bury myself so deeply in you;" he stopped looking a little ashamed, he kissed me, holding me close, "I want you, simply as a man wants a woman; simple, no rules, no expectations, no explanations just simple, basically, I am willing to take as much as you are willing to give." He kissed me softly, slowly, undressing my soul; "I ask you in return, why not you? Why me?" I must have given him that look again, he set his jaw, "Seriously darling, why me? How did you find me acceptable?"

"Simple," I rolled to where he had left my journal, he tried to reclaim it from my fingers, I slapped lightly at his hands, pulling it farther away from him when he reached for it I carded through until I found the dress piece; "Read, I knew you, I loved you well before we met." I pushed the look under his nose, he read, his eyes flairing; he looked up. I nodded, "Yup, I wrote of you long before the possibility of you seemed real. Look at the date." I pointed over the cover at the left corner. "Ages ago, fifteen years; back when I had friends and they spoke to me of their wedding plans; a friend was belabouring the cut of the dress, the flavour of the cake, how the brides maids would behave; but always ignoring the fact that her intended was a jerk, who ended up beating her; I wrote that to satisfy my soul; solidly believing that no such human existed; that I was safe; then there was you."

"How, how, I doubt anyone knew me; I didn't even know me, then." I watched him read it again, "I gather you thought these were impossibilities," he rolled to his side as close to me as possible, that long leg laying over mine like a downed tree; he began reading in that dramatic voice; "I was listening a friends diatribe about trying to find the perfect wedding dress… It has to have a bit of this, or an overlay of that. She was fussing and fawning over the bow details when the Person about to stand opposite of her was of inadequate material. So I started mulling over who, if ever anyone, I would stand opposite. I thought I would fuss over the important things.

Accepting NO less than the sum of all of these traits.

I imagine it like walking up to the service counter a lot like a cosmetic counter, kind of playing paper dolls. I would like him have eyes of green and blue; he must be tall like Clint Walker;" he was holding caressing my journal in one hand in the other he began counting the qualities he possessed; "he would speak with a strong Baritone like Marshall Dillon; he would have the sensibilities of Sargent Tyree, 'no ma'am I don't chaw and I don't play cards'; in essence no conformity and no lying;" his leg began caressing and rubbing where our bare skin touched; he looked to me, "I am sure our current understanding does not count in that" he looked into my eyes as I confirmed with a nod, he counted three; "the ideals of Steve Rogers. Boots and Hat would be nice, Cowboy, Mountie, fireman or other.' Hiking boots, I hope, count," he held up five fingers; "He must love dogs, cats, goats and well most animals except killer whales.' I have a dog, don't mind cats, never met a goat and we will come back to the whale thing; 'I’d like a man who can speak at least one computer language and two audible languages.' Check and check." He held up another completed hand of qualities.

"Someone who gets String theory, science jokes, bad puns and delicious entandre." His eyebrow raised deliciously on the last word, understanding what I was inferring. "Who loves all kinds of music, or at least who can stomach my musical schizophrenia, entailing all of, but not limited to: rock, punk, classical, country, especially older country, psychobilly, regae.' Oh, darlin you know I do;" he kissed my cheek; "The ability to laugh at himself is a MUST, laughing at my jokes…. still a maybe, I know they are bad.' You will have to believe me, but yes, I can. 'He has to enjoy singing and dancing, even if done badly.' I am charmed by your sing along and dances actually when it comes to the dances I am more than charmed, it's more of a turn on, and you know I dont hold back that much either; 'I would like a soul who loves whimsy, doing the funny walk up Market Street, singing and walking in the rain and willing to do the insane and comical, including moving every item in the house to center around a new precious gift.' I never thought about it, but I am game to try, 'I would hope he would like to cook; observe good etiquette, open the doors for me;' at all times, 'he should know the ignition timing for a ‘64 Chevy 283.' Not that exact information, but I like to tinker and grease monkey around in cars; 'I hope he would understand me when I tell him that simple things like a french toast breakfast for dinner using almond extract instead of vanilla, washing my hair or checking my engine fluids, means 'I love you' as well as hand written notes, cards made of glitter and cardboard are as romantic as diamonds in the right setting.' Anyone else I would doubt, but you, you are that anomaly."

"'He has to know how to say things that cut through to the heart of the matter, either romantic, apologetic, inspiring,or just truth and mean every word.' I have left the days of part measures behind. 'He has to like pancakes and breakfast for dinner' more of a waffle guy but I do understand, 'and ice cream in the morning. He has to value my thoughts BUT not weigh them too heavily,' you just watched my transition, 'debate especially HEATED debate is fun (and more than a little sexy),' Sounds fun. 'I would love someone who adored words as much as me, I always wondered if it was hoping too largely to hope for someone who could pick up my favorite books and know the passages that strike my very innermost being, maybe read them aloud to me with the longing and emotion I myself read them with,' Oh what a fun game that will be. 'Money wouldn’t hurt but neither is it a must, it is not important to me, neither are looks, according to most I do have an odd taste in beauty anyways.' Odd taste? I must probe that later, 'Most of all He has to take me as I am because I can’t change myself for anyone else. I was 12 the one time I tried to be someone else, I have never wanted to be anyone other than what life has shaped me into. He has to appreciate my laughing snort, my funny ugly toes, and the fact that I will laugh when he trips or falls, stubs a toe, or any other slapstick comedy-esque routine injury that doesn’t involve blood…He has to find my oddities, eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, the fact i wear oversized thermals as my sexy night clothes, t-shirt and ripped sweats, flirty dresses and sparkle jeans as sexy as fishnets and a bustier…. But most of all He has to laugh with me, love me even when he’s mad at me and not mind a lot of residual radiation…. Until then I don’t care to even think about bows, bustles, frocks or hoops, I want a hero, anything less would be completely inacceptable and uncivilized' god I love how you laid it all out exactly like playing paper dolls."

He kissed me long and deep, "So, you think I stack up pretty nicely do you? The ideals of Steve Rogers and the voice of Clint Walker. So, you like cowboy shows?" I nodded, "eyes of green and blue, so, then k mmm I assume for you this has been oddly easy for you?"

"Not in the least, I have to trust in hope, and we are not on speaking terms, I had to trust that you were not some figment, some dream, I had to trust in the universe; just this once. Too often, especially of late, hope has dangled dreams just beyond my fingertips simply to pull them away, just as I almost touched..." I sighed, still mourning the loss of my last dream; "so, when you appeared I assumed this was another hard lesson to be learned. You made that easier by being you." I pulled him down to me kissing him sweetly.

He sighed, finishing reading, "Damn darling. I am stunned. How did I make it easier by being myself?" His eyes got glossy and he drifted away.

"The cupcake, I didn't even think you were truly real until you did the most thoughtful thing I had ever seen personally." I kissed him sensually with a subtle roll of my hips; I pressed hard to him, it was his turn to let loose such an erotic sound, half moan, half growl. He pressed me hard down feasting on my soul. He almost let himself run with the moment; he slowed fingers soft, lips cajoling; slowly he edged to a stop, pulling away.

"Where did you go?"

His music changed again, Billie Holiday singing kiss me once, god, his smile, "I imagine recapturing that first kiss, no stumbled step just a surrender; you naturally, fiendishly moving against me; god, that first kiss we shared, the laugh, it wrecked me." He tucked my hair back behind my ears, I cuddled my cheek into his palm. "I want to see in your eyes, when that simple truth, that in this give and take, that you give yourself to me freely, that you take equally greedily; not because you have to, or because I asked you, but because you want it too. I want that mad passionate love. Mostly, I want you, any way you will give, the only way I get you."

He pressed me back into the bank of pillows, "Now, of course, for such a gem, I offer all that I am," I moaned as I felt his weight settle into my body. "I offer you freedom; a pure and total freedom; freedom from the drudgery of that other everyday life." He laced his fingers through mine, kissing each fingertip. "I offer freedom as an abstract ideal. I can't offer a freedom from pain." He ran his hands delicatly over my body, lingering in places "I offer you a freedom from responsibility, from guilt, from regret; momentarily a freedom from sadness. I offer you moments of pleasure, moments to be happy. Oh, I can offer you pleasure likes of which you have never known."

I rolled my eyes closed, pleasure already making my soul free. "No, please, don't close your eyes;" my eyes snapped open, "I need you to look at me." I let a slow breath out, "I want to see the realization in your eyes that I am offering you my love." Slipping along the deep V in the robes neck, his skilled hands teased my flesh, his deft tongue pulled my eyes. I felt so very alive, his fingers moving at a slow, a tantalizing pace, pressing the edges of the robe out, exposing more of my flesh; I was already drowning in lust and need; his eyes holding me captive. "Ah there it is, all of me is what I offer you, all of you is all I ask of you."

I had been so lost in this feeling I had forgotten to be self conscious, I notice finally, his fingers caressing some of my scars, angry red welts I have never let anyone see. I stopped breathing but then I saw his motion, his revrence, "Gods, you see them and you are not revolted?"

He shook his head, then I watched his lips caress the welt that transacted my sternum. "Nope, not even a little. All of you, it's all I ask of you."

"Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life." God, did he, the man's kisses were amazing I felt his hands his tongue, both working in unison; I gravitate toward him, longing for, wanting to use my hands in such a delicious spell; thirsty for more contact. My awe apparent in my voice, as he pulled away, almost a whisper, "wow," I smiled. He was magnificent.

"Well, my sweet you never really defined, 'really, very good,' for me..." he kissed me almost in passing, "maybe we can work that out together." He kissed me, soft, asking, "or you tell me your favourite food."

"Chinese." I giggled,

He laughed, oh, that gorgeous marvel of deliciousness, pulling me to my feet, starting a sweet waltz, "I do love a good chinese dinner," he danced me in a soft circle, he buried his nose in my neck kissing at first; his tongue lightly licking, "I want you, I need you in the purest ways, the longing in my bones howls to be near you, to be with you;" he pulled me closer his hands, his lips, his tongue becoming more insistant; my arms slid along his wide shoulders caressing his neck my fingers playing with the soft curls there, he started with soft bites. I gripped the robes lapels, "I want bring all of your senses alive;" his hands began to move over the thick terry cloth, soft, looping circles he traced in the opposite direction of his tongue; pulling him closer, I let out a breathy sigh. My breath hitched, I slid my hands under his robe, sliding along his silky skin; "tell me sweetheart, total honesty, tell me how you feel about what I said."

"Hmmm, nerves, I never knew I had, are all on fire; I am lost on this ocean adrift on sensuality and revrence; I want more, to be honest no one has ever told anything like the intoxicating words the dreams you have been laying at my feet; like Yeats; I feel as if this is not one of those times hope isn't playing me for a fool. I am no longer unsure, afraid; we are alive in a way that I have never experienced; alive, I am having trouble making up my mind which I want the most; I crave your words, but that sweet haunting revrence of your touch," his hands moved with more intent, beginning to grip pulling the robe, holding me close, his lips with intention, I moaned unashamedly, living in the friction of his fingers using the terry cloth to excite, "mmm, the trailing fluidity of your hands creating punctuation for your crafted sentences, natural aphrodisiacs. Oh, those words followed by the delicious brush of your hands; oh, feeling, that feeling." Duet of the flowers started as if by Devine intention; "Apt moment for this particular aria, the quiet end of one flower, my fears, and the resurgence of beauty in this; these moments."

Kissing me breathless he bent me back taking advantage of the parting robe, his lips feasting along the edges of the terry cloth; I sighed, I bucked, I strained backwards, shuddering gasps escaped. "I love how you react instantly, honestly, you senses on edge, your shiver at my voice, your bend to my touch."

His revrent hand glided up my neck, dipping his thumb between my lips; words were pulled from me; "The way your touch softly glides, fingertips delicately trace the furrows, the hollows for those words to sweetly flow." I licked his digets, caressing the pads with my tongue; "the texture of those large, luscious, calloused hands, each of your fingers touched with just the perfect roughness; each finger pressed softly, trailing against my aching, hungry skin. The gentle veracity, the keening desire, your lingering breath weaves our tale." As I spoke I have been licking and kissing his glorious chest running my hands fore the skin of his shoulders.

His hands traced soft but insistently along my body over the robe; his lips sweetly asking for more. "Oh, sweet darling, please believe me your words flow so deliciously, just keep talking and I promise I will only follow your lead."

His sweet asking pushed me to a bold move; I traced my hands from his chest to his abdomin, his delicious breath hitched then shuddered his hands stilled; "Your kisses craft slowly flowing paragraphs; long languorous passages; savory, sensuous stanzas of will and want;" I found his sash and pulled it slowly, determined, it came loose, his robe falling open; he half moaned, half sighed in relief; my hands grew bolder at his reaction, my eyes skimming along, what can only qualify as the most beautiful specimen of human male I had ever seen, complete with perfectly bleached white jockey shorts, "the hushed whispers of the soul allows the movement of our bodies to create the chapters of our own perfectly written novel. Your eyes spoke to me of the extent of your will, I am shaken;" his hands now bold, reciprocated, pulling my sash, my robe fell open, I shivered, my soul had been standing here naked for a while, finally phisically I matched, dropping my arms letting it slide from my body; the steps to our dance had turned to soft swaying; he pressed our bodies close. His breath sucked in through his teeth, mine left in a gust of a sigh; "though, I confess not disappointed." He hooked his foot behind my knee and pushed; with a squeal I landed on the soft duvet, his weight delightfully covering me. I giggled.

"For long moments there, I could not speak," his lips soft on mine, his words an echo of my soul, "the fate of the world could have hung in the balance of my one uttered syllable and I would have been unable to even whisper acknowledgment." His hands revrently sliding mine gripping along his warm delicious frame; "I wish I could say sorry for falling over you, but you are just so delicious, this communication, so honest like blatant souls." I giggled as his fingers tickled, turning quickly to a hiss of air between my teeth, his lips caressing the scars lacing my abdomen, shocking myself I didn't try to push him away, instead I continued letting my lips kiss every piece of skin it found. "The more I get, I just want even more; tell me more, please, just keep talking."

I licked my hungry lips, surreptitiously making sure they had not fallen off completely. His glorious mouth drifting revrently over my scars, resting and reveling in my hungry skin; the things he was doing his hands, lips and tongue were deliciously driving me wild, he wasn't kidding about waking every one of my senses, "Oh, I watched as your eyes spoke, I was drowning in those green seas of desire; now, hearts, souls slowly burn. Gods, now I admit freely, it is you that I want; it has always ever been you, believe it always will be you." I gathered his robe pushing down his shoulders, running my fingers light over his soft skin, letting my nails lightly trail, his growl played across my skin. "In fact, I will fan the flames, I want to let them burn, right through my skin, right through the heart of me. I want to burn in this sunspot moment."

Our eyes locked, the look in those fathom deep depths stilled my breath; will and want and something more simmered deeply; he pulled me close, our bodies pressing sliding conforming to eachother; his mouth moved along my sholder, his tongue tracing lightly the length, gripping softly pushing my face to the left; his lips taking full advantage of the opened space. Legs winding, my hands growing even bolder, gripping his bum, his fingers danced across my skin, they flitted, butterfly soft over my breasts; I arched off of the bed, my breath shuddering; I clutched at his shoulders; we melt together, like two links remembered and fused again together; "we thirst, hunger, want, need, crave … lust. How wonderful to be alive." I kept the words from flowing, but how will hurt when we are through?"

He slowed, pulling lightly away, as if reading my mind, "No one knows the if's, when's, or how's, we should just bask in the is;" his breath coming in deep billowing pants; keeping in complete contact; "I need to know how far I should go."

Panting, I try to quip, "I dont know, how far do you think you can make it in this storm?"

He laughed, delicious feeling rushing over my senses, my bare skin. "You know exactly what I mean, do we, you and I, go all the way, no regrets; we will just fall asleep together when the night is burnt and tired, and I want, I want, I want... you, I have wanted you, I want to finish this day feeling your pulse pressed against mine just so we know we are both alive, in this beautiful second. I want… I” he took a breath; "but to hell with what I want, if you wish we can just sip coffee and kisses, until the storm is past."

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer with every ounce of sexuality I had, in a very Lauren Bacall style; I angled my head seductively, stretching an arm over my head saying rather with a bored tone, "Here I thought my laying naked and panting in your arms would have been a clear indication." I yawned, "Take me to bed or lose me forever." God his laugh, "I want it all, if we were at a restaurant I would be ordering the lobster with out checking the price, or even looking at the chicken." I ebbed away losing steam, I wound up to let loose one of my nervous, inane topic traversing tirade.

He pressed his finger to my lips, "Shhh, yes, I know you are nervous, but seriously listen. You hold the power, be that hurricane you showed me, that amazon queen."

He nuzzled and kissed my neck sending delicious butterflies dancing through me. I hummed a solitary note of praise, "Gods, the way you see me, I. .." I trailed off as he worked deliciously on the sensitive nerves where shoulder meets neck, I went slack, I clung to him.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose this is the continuation to the last part.

@keeper0fthestars. @pedeka @writernotwaiting

@sweetfairy1 @fromthedeskoftheraven

[blairette-on]

Bonds to Our Destiny, Chapter 4, “It’s okay, right?”

Oh, I’m so sorry that I hadn’t update since almost a month on this story !!! ><

As I try to have a few chapters ahead already written when I post a new one (at least two), well, I hadn’t update because I was lacking one ! x) That not mean I haven’t written at all, in fact, I post a little story in three chapters about the Pokemon fandom, a HoennChampionShipping for those who wondered, called ‘Looking for you in the midnight sky’, a re-telling of the Cinderella tale ! ^^

Also, why I took my time? Well, for a few weeks, I thought that I had to write a long story for this fanfiction, that I need more fillers and all but… Well, it’s my story, and if the way it’s planed in my head means it’s going to be a short one, well, let it be a short one!

I don’t think that I’ll write more than twenty chapters, but then again, it will depend if how things will go from when the movie arc will begin!

Still, you’ll have a couple of chapters fillers ahead of you that will settle down a few things more.

Enjoy! o/

(One more thing, just to be sure. About the dream sequence, I put « ~*~ » between some paragraph because I switch between Varian and Rapunzel POV, this way it should not confuse you (I hope !))

oOoOoOoOo

After what had happened this day in the kitchen, Varian knew that argument ( if he could call this incident like that ?) was just the beginning of something big… Very big, and that, no matter how hard he’ll try, something had just torn something in his relation with his father.

And deep inside, the young alchemist dread the coming-day where everything will just blow up into his face.

Still… There were the dreams…

Varian knew that his father forbade him from trying to understand them but… He couldn’t help himself, he had to know what they really are.

But why?

It was like a sort of gut feeling, his mind working, always looking for some kind of answers because he was a man of science, didn’t he? He had to do some experiences with them to understand how they worked. But what frustrated him the most was that he couldn’t use alchemy to study them.

To be honest, Varian had been surprised when the Girl told him the following night that she had awakened with the lantern in her arms. And despite his father warnings, he knew that was only the tip of the iceberg and that he had to investigate further.

Some months have passed since their birthday and the Girl and he had tried some experiences about this « Water-curtain event », as he liked to call it (and because it was the best way to define it), like how make it appeared by command and not by chance: for that, both of them seem able to do so, even if it appeared that the task was easier to accomplish for Varian, his side clearer, mostly when the moon was full, even if he couldn’t understand why. The Girl side, on the other hand, was always blurry, she struggled more to make it appear and she couldn’t take any object from the other side of the curtain. Same for sleeping with an object: Varian could take them in but, on the other hand, was unable to take something from the dream to the reality, where the Girl could, might it had been brought by Varian himself or was created inside the realm.

Oh yeah, because they had recently discovered that they could create things from nothing in the noplace and that, from night to night, the objects left in the dream were still there when the came back.

Thus, the noplace transformed itself from a void nowhere to a full organized chaos where paint material, alchemy stuff, invented objects, various plants, furniture, carriages ( ?!) and other improbable things were side by side in a strange harmony.

Sometime, Varian wished he could bring back with him some stuff from the dream realm to his room, like the prototype inventions that would take months to create in reality but were easier to do here as the time worked in strange ways in the noplace, but also because the Girl gave him a lot of things, mostly painting and Gosh this girl is really gifted with a paintbrush !

But one of the other things that Varian couldn’t truly understand about those dreams was the fact that he truly felt complete in the Girl presence. It was a sort of a warm, familiar feeling he felt bloomed in his chest each time he saw the Girl smile, even if he couldn’t see her face, or at least remembered how she looked like.

Once, he asked his father about this feeling.

« Why, are you in love, Varian? »

The young alchemist had really thought hard about it for the rest of the day.

Yes, he did love the girl but… In a way, it was something more similar to what he felt toward Quirin than the love between two lovers like he saw sometimes in the street of Old Corona. But it was different from the love a son had for his father too, it was as if there was something… more about his relationship with the Girl, deeper by many aspects, but he couldn’t point out what.

So one night he asked her

« How… How do you feel toward me…? »

The question had popped out during one of their comfy silence where the Girl hummed slightly a very enjoyable tune while drawing random stuff on a sheet of paper upon her knees. She just stopped and looked at him straight in the eyes.

« Why do you ask me that?

« It’s just… I can’t define what our relation is… » he chuckled nervously, « it’s just that you are very important to me a-and it’s just like I feel complete only when I’m in your presence and… » Varian cast his eyes down, « Well… I do love you, but not in a romantic way… But also different from what I feel toward my father, and it’s not quite friendship so… » he voice trailed off as the Girl stayed silent.

~*~

Rapunzel blinked at the boy, trying to process his words. Yes, she had too thought about her relationship with the younger one and she knew exactly what he was feeling because… She felt the same way too.

So slowly, she headed toward the younger one and put a hand on his shoulder. The Boy looked up at her and gave Rapunzel a very shy smile and she felt her heart melt.

On a whim, she put her arms around the younger and drew him into a sweet embrace. He hugged her back.

« I know exactly what you are feeling… » she said in his ear, « … I tried to understand too but I can’t find a good way to definite it but… » she pushed him smoothly out of her arms to lock her eyes with his, « …But I think the best way to define it is that you are just like the little brother I never thought I would ever have, and maybe even more… » she chuckled, « Still, the words failed me because they aren’t strong enough… »

The Boy smiled back at Rapunzel, beaming at the older’s answer. Then, he tilted a little his head and a playful glint alight his blue eyes « In that case, you are the Big Sister I always dream  to have.»

Rapunzel paused for a moment and then giggled at the (bad) pun the Boy had made before giving him a last squeeze on the shoulder.

Even if he had said this as a joke, she saw that he really meant what he had said, and just knowing this fact warmed her lonely heart a little more.

But, Rapunzel still had the feeling she owed him something… He had given her so many things and… She couldn’t repay him, she couldn’t even give him a birthday present, and it frustrated her so much!

Surely, there should be something that can she can do to repay him, right?

The fourteen-years-old girl thought hard, thinking about what she can do to thanks the young alchemist… And then an idea popped in the front of her mind.

She hadn’t tried to invoke them during the night for a long time, and never in a dream before. Rapunzel knew that the exercise was easier to do during the daytime but she wouldn’t be able to show him them if she was awake… But, it worth the try, right?

And, to be honest, she thought that the way she could see the world sometimes was truly a gorgeous sight, and she wanted to share it with him.

So she put a hand on the younger boy arm, « Tell me… I want to show you something, but I’m not sure that it’ll work but… Still… Do you want me to try it? »

The boy tilted a little his head and looked at her with intrigued eyes, « Well… I’m a bit curious now… What is it? »

« It’s something that I can see when I’m awake but I never try when I’m asleep… » The boy gave her an encouraging smile « Don’t doubt of yourself, I’m sure you can do it! »

Rapunzel beamed a little at this words and then close her eyes, reaching for the familiar tug inside of her chest, pulling on it.

A few seconds passed before she heard a gasp coming from the boy in front of her, and she allowed herself a smile. She opened her eyes to look at the familiar sight before her.

When she was younger, Rapunzel could only see a few strings, five to be exact, but as she grew older, she began to see more and more bonds crossing the sky, the air, the walls, everything in a gleaming web of billions of colors. And now, she was able to share the view with the younger boy.

His eyes were glowing with wonder as he turned on himself, the head tilted backward and the mouth slightly agape.

Strings were crossing in front of them too, and he reached a hand toward the strings to touch them, and his fingers simply passed through the tin cords. Finally, the Boy looked down at the Girl.

« What are they…?

« I’m not sure, but I have my own theory…

« Which is…?

« I suppose them to be the bonds that tied people to each other all around the world… Each time one meet someone else, a bond is created…

« So, we do share one of them?

« Maybe, but we never met in real before so… » she frowned a little, «Let me try if I can find it… » And slowly, she put one hand to her heart and let her own bonds coming out of it. First, it was the red string from her mother, then Pascal’s, the two purple one and finally…

She let a small smile appeared on her lips. In a way, Rapunzel wasn't surprised at all to see which one was her bond with the little boy.

~*~

Varian gasped once more when he saw the string poured out of the Girl’s chest straight to his own.

And even if he was still marveled by all the strings that stripped the sky above their head, he was far more fascinated by the bond that linked him to the Girl. He never could have thought that it would be like that!

It seemed to be made of silver and gold knitted together in a very complex-yet-artistic way, some crystal enameling the bound and making it shining under the colorful light of the other strings surrounding them. But what intrigued him the most was the fact that the string shined with a faint gleaming light different from the others.

Unlike all the other strings that surrounded them, he could feel the bound between his fingers, pounded with energy, and for a split of seconds, Varian and the Girl mind were connected as if they were one.

It was as if he was himself, her, but also somebody else, as if he was a newborn and a thousand years old man at the same time as if he had everything to learn from the world, but also had all the knowledge of it in the palm of his hand.

During this split of a second, his eyes connected with the Girl emerald ones and he knew that she felt the same way. And as he looked into their deep, a wave of nostalgia hit him with force, leaving in the back of his mind the taste of forgotten memories from a life he hadn’t live.

Flamming hair…

Singing voices…

Warm days…

Life and death…

Renewal…

Light…

Darkness…

Sorrow…

Regrets…

Danger…

Protect, Protect, PROTECT!

A voice crying

« No, please! »

A plea…

« Stop it before it’s too late… »

… Please, don’t repeat my mistakes…

And as soon as the sensations took over him, they disappeared in a blink, leaving behind only a strange taste in his mouth.

Still looking into the Girl green eyes, he could see that she felt something but… It appeared that she didn’t experience what he had just seen.

But he didn’t remove his hand from the bound, soaking in the sweet warmth emanating from it.

And more than before, he had never felt as complete as at this moment. Varian stayed silent for a few seconds, still trying to process what he had just seen. It was at this moment that he noticed that he was shaking a little.

The Girl seemed to see this too and she crossed the short distance between them and pulled him into one of her trademark hugs.

« Are you okay… ? » she murmured into his hair.

Varian only shook his head, not trusting his voice yet, one hand still clinging to the bond, the other around the Girl in front of him.

A storm of confused emotions had settled itself inside his chest, as well as thousands of questions. And deep down, he knew that it was only the beginning.

« I… Don’t know » Varian managed to say after a few moments

« It’s okay, I… I’m not sure to truly understand what’s happening but… I suppose it’s okay, right? »

« Sure »

Through the bond, Varian could feel the Girl concern. Once again, this strange, familiar feeling bloomed into his chest.

Finally, they stopped hugging each other but didn’t let the other go yet. They simply sat in the middle of the nowhere, surrounded by all their creations, the strings still stripping the sky above them, and their own link gleaming between their two hearts.

And even if he still had a slightly bad foreboding after seeing what he saw when he first touched the gleaming cord, he knew that everything gonna be okay, right?

Right…?

Once again, sorry for all my mistakes, thank you for reading, don’t forget to put a review! :D

Hoping next time I’ll be on time ! ^.^

[esamastation]

Flame, 9

Idly Newt sketches designs into his new notebook.

It had started out as a diary of his memories but eventually it had evolved – or rather, de-evolved – into a messy catch-all-net for all of his thoughts. It was fascinating, in a scientific way, how different his mind was now. He had his old notebooks, and comparing his new note taking methods to the older ones was rather enlightening.

Somehow, he was both more orderly and more frivolous before. He used to write long, in-depth notes on the smallest thing, most of them utterly uninteresting except to select specialists – his notes on dragon teeth are really something. Now, he's more likely to try and capture the essential, rather than the detail – though order tends to get sacrificed to get there.

Currently his notebook was the recipient of theories about how to stretch the limits of Undetectable Expansion Charms. With suitably sturdy, yet flexible container, you could do some incredible things, he thinks. Seems like there is a reason why trunk makes prefer leather draping over fabric one.

"Newt Scamander?" a voice asks and he looks up. There's a witch standing over him, with jewelled turban-like hair scarf and very imposing sort of posture. She's wearing a familiar dark uniform. "Are you Newt Scamander, the one who tracked down Grindelwald's blimp?"

American accent.

"Zeppelin," Newt answers, looking past the woman and at the crowd of people in the room – lieutenants and captains and commanders from all of ICW's own and allied military forces, milling about. "And tracked down is something of a misconception… but yes, I did."

"Captain Seraphina Picquery," the woman says and holds out her hand.

Newt looks at it, and then quickly sets his notebook and inkwell pen down before getting up to shake it. "Captain," he says, giving her a quick shake before withdrawing his hand. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Nothing you haven't already done. I just wanted to thank you," she says. "Percival is a friend of mine. I'll be glad to see him home."

"Who?" Newt asks curiously.

"Percival," she answers and frowns. "Percival Graves."

"Oh – sorry. Of course," Newt says and gives her an awkward, feeling smile before looking away. "You'll be joining the ambush then?"

"Yes – me and my company, the Eighty-one-Twos. I'm taking over what's left of Percival's company too," the woman nods and looks him up and down. "I'm sorry – I was told you were Percival's friend and that's why you were doing this."

Newt frowns a little. "I think I am his friend," he offers and turns his attention to his notebook. "Whether he considers me his, that's a different thing. It has been… a while."

Picquery frowns at him a little deeper and then shakes her head. "Well regardless, it's a good thing you did, finding that zeppelin. How did you do it?"

Newt fiddles with his notebook and then opens it, leafing through the papers. "Since it was obvious Grindelwald was flying around somehow, and moving his troops with him – and that he'd hardly use a regular mount to do it – I attempted to calculate flight patters between his attacks. Assuming that he is present in every one – and the Inferi indicate he is – then his method of transport is unusually slow."

"We thought the same," Picquery comments. "We just assumed that he calculated his attacks well."

"Maybe," Newt allows and shows her the sketches he made of Grindelwald's movements. "But there are incidents of two, even three waves of attacks, taking place in close to each other, but apart time wise. Now it might just be that he calculates his attacks well, true, but there is always similar delay. Also, lack of beasts meant that it might be a vehicle instead, and I rather doubt he'd use an aeroplane, so…"

Picquery nods slowly. "But why a zeppelin?" she asks. "Why a nomaj vehicle at all? What we know about Grindelwald is that he has issues with nomajes – that he's using one of their airships…"

"Have you ever seen one?" Newt asks curiously.

"Once, from afar," she admits and frowns. "They're rather extravagant."

"Very extravagant – and rather impressive when you're standing directly below one," Newt says, and smiles faintly. "And none of that compares to being on board one."

"You've been on one?" Picquery asks somewhat incredulously.

"After I thought it might be what Grindelwald is using, I found out a muggle company that offered dirigible rides for paying customers in Paris," Newt admits and smiles. "It's really quite something."

She stares at him and then shakes her head. "Right. And how did you actually find the thing? It has to be invisible at least or we would've seen it by now?"

"It most likely is, yes. It was really by accident – it was because of this, actually," he motions his notebook and the flight patterns he'd drawn there. "It started to become a map, you see."

"I don't follow," Picquery frowns.

"You can't make maps of unplottable things," Newt explains with a smile and looks down at his notes. Bit of a mess – all his notes are now – but the essential is all there, and understandable enough. "And once you know something is unplottable, the matter of finding it is not about looking for where it might be but rather where it isn't."

The witch gives him an strange look and then they both look up as the door to the office opens and the generals step in, making everyone stand in attention. "May I have everyone's attention please?" Theseus calls out, wand on his throat amplifying his voice. "We have his location now and time is of the essence. Chances are we'll only get one shot at this, so listen closely – we have to make this one count."

And so, the most important briefing of the war begins.

-

Graves is working with laundry, sorting through a small mountain uniforms and socks and underclothes with the pathetic inmate wand, when the first explosion rocks the room around him. At first he's not even sure what it is – it's so utterly unexpected. He almost rationalises it as a storm maybe, a strong gust of wind, or a clap of lightning but of course, none of those things can actually effect the airship's interior, the charms on the place are too good for that.

Then his mind catches up with him and he's lucky he's split of a second faster on the uptake than the German wizard standing by guarding him. While his guard blinks at the ceiling in bewildered surprise, Graves drops the useless wand throws out both hands. Wandless and still shackled at ankles, magic is illusive little thing on his fingertips but he has just enough feel of it now to actually make an impact.

And the impact is strong enough to throw his guard's head back and crash it against the metal wall behind him. As alarm bells start sounding through out the airship and people start shouting outside the door, Graves watches his guard slump to the floor, unconscious.

He doesn't stay merely unconscious for long.

After getting the man's wand, Graves attempts to open the shackles still around his ankles, using every spell he's heard them use on him – but none of them work. Charmed so that the wearer can't do anything to them. Damnit. Well, at least now he has a fighting chance, though he won't be doing much running.

And then there is another explosion, or rather a barrage of them. It's vaguely reminiscent of muggle shelling, and it batters the airship heavily. Graves can feel the ship shift under it, the force of the continuous impacts actually forcing it to move.

Whoever is attacking the airship is not alone – there's multiple attackers. ICW?

Well, it doesn't matter – he doubts they care about him, when they have Grindelwald to catch. So, Gripping the stolen wand in hand, Graves whips it at the cellblock door and watches with some measure of satisfaction how it's blown off the hinges.

Time to get out of this fucking place.

-

Newt hangs back, gripping the hippogriff's feathers and staring, wide eyed, at the terrible display of force. He's never seen such number of wizards in one battle, even in the days of the Twenty-Thirds they hadn't amassed such forces. There's easily a thousand soldiers here, witches and wizards ICW and just about all of her allies – and there are number of individual ministry uniforms too. French, American, Belgian….

And they're all battering the zeppelin with spellfire so strongly that it's disillusionment charms didn't last two seconds under it. It's some new spell they're using, one Newt has never seen before – and yet is a war spell if he's ever seen one. It's hard to tell what the incantation on, everyone's shouting themselves breathless in casting it, but it definitely has the word bomb in it.

The zeppelin creaks under the force of it. They are actually doing it, they're doing it well too, and -

Then hatches start opening along the zeppelin gondola. Newt can't see what's happening but someone must have looking glass on them because moment later Theseus' voice goes out. "SHIELDS!"

The shift is instant and smooth – the soldiers tasked with shielding their fellows go to the front, on bird or horse or broom, and start casting shields. Moment later, the all too recognisable tear of gunfire breaches the air and Newt can see the bullets making the shields flash.

There are Inferi at the windows, holding muggle machine guns.

The ICW lines shift, the attackers moving into different formation, and then the spellfire continues. In the mean while, Newt can see shadows of people above, nearly hidden in the clouds – and moment later, the top of the zeppelin is hit with the first potion phials. There are couple of flashes of light, but while those do damage enough, it's the acid phials that do the most.

Squeezing the hippogriff's feathers a little tighter, Newt watches as the front of the zeppelin starts dipping downward. At this rate, Graves…

Hatches are drown open in the gondola, and then enemy forces begin streaming out – witches and wizards on horseback, two to a beast. The battle turns into a complete disarray a moment later, wings and feathers and spellfire everywhere, and Newt thinks – he remembers something like this from the time of the Twenty-Thirds…

But that doesn't matter.

Making use of the ensuing chaos, Newt encourages the hippogriff down. "There, darling, take me to the hatch," he urges and while the battle in the air truly begins, he dives inside.

-

Graves whips out his stolen wand and sends another soldier tumbling back. There is something happening outside – a battle, probably, seeing that the bombardment had ended – but the zeppelin is in bad shape, tipping to the side. It adds to the chaos and is working to his advantage but damn – he'd really like to have his legs free now.

"Now, where might you be going?"

Graves freezes and then turns. Grindelwald is striding towards him, a heavily medalled military coat thrown somewhat dramatically over his shoulders and grim smile on his face.

"I thought I'd take a walk," Graves says, tightening his grip on the wand. It's not his own, doesn't work as his own would, but if he's quick, if he acts just fast enough –

"Oh, Percival," Grindelwald says and suddenly Graves is frozen, unable to lift his hand, the wand still clenched in his fingers but unmoving. "I am going to miss our little talks," the German says, coming closer. "You've been a delight and I do enjoy the way your mind works."

"If you're going to kill me, please, just do it," Graves grinds out. "Spare me another fucking sermon."

"You enjoyed my sermons, don't try lie now. You've learned so much from me," Grindelwald says and stands in front of him, watching him struggle. "And I'm not going to kill you, my dear Percival – it would be such a shame to lose you."

Graves inhales sharply when the man goes for his pocket, but it's not a wand he draws, but something silver and shiny. "But I am going to miss our talks," Grindelwald says almost wistfully and he runs his hand over Graves' hair as he winds the thing around his neck. "Now, do take care of this for me. I would trust very few with it…" he runs his hands over Graves' cheeks and smiles before pressing his hand on the thing, now resting against Graves' chest. "But you're a special man, Percival. I think you'll know what to do with it."

Graves stares at him, not sure if he's terrified or something else, something oh so much worse, and Grindelwald smiles like he knows. "Give my best to the ICW," the man says and then he's walking away, leaving Graves struggling against the invisible binds.

The airship groans around him, metal grinding shrilly, and then he's free, almost falling to his knees as the floor tips under him. Gasping for breath Graves looks down at his chest. The silver glints at him like edge of a knife and he shudders.

Around him, the air shrieks as they start sounding the evacuation – and then he all but goes deaf as incredible, overwhelming roar rocks the floor from under him.

Shaking, Graves shoves the medallion under his shirt and then gets back to his feet. The airship will be on fire now – time to get out.

-

"Graves!" Newt shouts, flashing his wand at the smoke suddenly covering the expanded corridors, throwing it back. "Graves, can you hear me!"

No answer. The few soldiers he's seen so far have been people either running away or apparating out – the Zeppelin is sinking now, held aloft only by whatever floatation charms had been placed on it, and they're probably not enough to keep it in air for long. Everyone is evacuating – except him.

"Graves!" Newt shouts, half coughing the word out, and pushes the smoke back. The thought that maybe Graves is dead, or just not here rear's it's head just for a moment and then he ignores it – worrying doesn't help. "Graves, are you in here! Answer me!"

There is another explosion above – more gas going up, probably, and the floor suddenly angles down. Newt scrambles to hold onto something, but the floor is bare and the walls are smooth – he slides down onto his side and then into a near free fall.

The impact of hitting the end of the corridor knocks all the breath out of him, and gasping for breath Newt quickly casts cushion charms, even if they will make him feel bouncy – better that than being knocked out.

"What in the blazes –"

The voice is familiar, if rougher than he remembers, and Newt looks up hopefully. There is Graves, also fallen over, dressed into a pair of slacks and, with several months worth of beard on his cheeks. "Graves!" Newt breathes and quickly scrambles to his feet, as much as he can anyway with no vertical surface in sight.

"Newt?" Graves asks with disbelief.

"Hi," Newt answers and scrambles over to him. "Oh, Merlin, you're alright – we need to get out of here."

Graves stares at him, his eyes a little wide, as he supports his elbow against the floor. "You – you left – "

"I came back," Newt says and offers awkward, sheepish smile. "I'm sorry – this really isn't the time to – we need to get out of here. Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine – I can't apparate, though," Graves says, still staring at him even as he motions down to his legs, the heavy shackles around his ankles, the chain attached between. "Or run for that matter. Can you get these open?"

"I'll try," Newt says, but before he can the zeppelin just drops under them. "No time – can I sidealong you?!" Newt shouts as the noise climbs from loud to utterly unbearable.

"Do it!" Graves shouts back and Newt throws himself at him, clasping the man around the shoulders. Graves' hands grip the back of his coat and then Newt twists, thinking of the base they'd set, a small city of tents in the outskirts of their planned battle front.

They fall and turn and then they crash onto the ground. Newt feels the twinge of splinching – lost a toe, maybe two, he thinks wildly and then looks at Graves who's knocked onto the ground below him, gasping for breath, obviously in pain. "Are you alright – did I splinch you?" Newt asks quickly, backing away and checking the man over in alarm.

"I'm just – give me a moment," Graves says and draws a steadying breath. "Nothing feels splinched but I think I might've broke my ankle," he says then and draws another deeper breath. "Newt –" he says and then looks up and stops, his eyes widening.

Newt follows his gaze. The magnificent zeppelin from before is now even more impressive fireball, almost too big to be comprehensible, that lights the whole sky above them, casting shadows and highlights on the clouds above and the trees and fields below. As they watch it sinks and then, in crash that echoes through the air, it collides with the ground and somewhere inside there must still be some gas left because, even after all the explosions, it still manages another.

The pillar of smoke that rises from the destruction, it… Newt frowns, trying to remember, but it's gone. Something from Camp Iron Gut probably.

"Shit," Graves murmurs faintly.

"Are you alright?" Newt asks, turning to him and looking him over again. Aside from the beard and slight look of tight exhaustion, he doesn't look like he's been maltreated, there are no visible bruises or cuts, he doesn't seem to be bleeding.

Graves shakes his head and looks at him. "Fine," he says and shifts, looking around them. Newt does the same. Everyone in the camp is staring at the destruction, not particularly caring about them at all. "How did you find the thing? Grindelwald had that thing warded to hell and back."

"Flight speed and patterns… and luck," Newt admits and looks down. "Your ankle…"

"It can wait," Graves grunts and shifts to sit up. "Who's the man in charge here?"

"Theseus – General Scamander, that is, but he's up there," Newt says, pointing at the air above the massive pillar of smoke. "Why?"

"Grindelwald has spend the last several months doing nothing but fucking serenading me with all of his plans and ideals," Graves scoffs. "I have one hell of a report to make."

"Right, of course," Newt agrees and moves to get up. "Serenading," he then repeats, making a face.

Graves arches his eyebrows at him and then looks him over. "Civilian clothing," he comments.

"Civilian consultant," Newt shrugs. "According to Theseus I make a terrible soldier. And I don't think he wanted to chance me walking off again."

"You don't say," Graves says, his voice somewhat flat, and Newt ducks his head. "You came back though. I honestly didn't think you even could."

"Yeah, well, me neither," Newt murmurs, and glances up at him, smiling. "There were incentives."

Graves stares at him for a moment and then reaches out to touch his cheek, his fingers shockingly cold against Newt's suddenly hot face. "You're smiling," the man says and frowns, running his thumb over Newt's lower lip.

Newt smiles a little wider, helpless and embarrassed. "I'm happy to see you?" he offers, and his voice is a little breathy.

"You never smile," Graves says and scowls, his fingers shifting, turning his face slightly to the side. "Never at me."

"It's… it's been a while," Newt says, swallowing, watching him with slightly wider eyes – suddenly realising that Graves' face is still tense and alert and uneasy. "Things have…. changed, I suppose," he says and clears his throat, suddenly awkward. "We, ah… we should get you to the healers while wait on the general – also I think I splinched couple toes off, so…"

Graves stares at him, still scowling at him. "Yeah, okay," he says and shakes his head. "Help me up, will you?"

Newt does, rising to his feet and then helping Graves up to his one good foot, wrapping the man's arm over his shoulders while he winds his own around his back. "Do you think they caught him?" Newt asks, nodding at the distant pillar of smoke.

Graves looks up and his eyes are dark. "No," he says and nothing else.

- - - 

Ugh this story’s quality’s taken an unfortunate dip as I’ve gotten sick. Fuck flu season. One more chapter and maybe epilogue and I’m throuuugh...