#observations of the roads in and out of my town that ive made since i started driving (yes i DO hyperfixate on driving and the mechanics of

[societysonlooker]

Listen I get hating tailgaters cause I hate them too, but just pull over and let them pass you ffs. I live in the middle of bumfuck nowwhere. There is 1 road in and out of town. It is a 50-55 mph road Except for the three one-mile stretches of Actual Towns (as in, a post office, a deli, maybe two or three other businesses). The road is curvy, and there are no passing lanes. It is a 25 miles stretch of road. We get a Lot of city-hailing eco tourists that dont actually know how to drive these kinds of roads especially at night. So, If I'm trying to get home at 11 at night and the road is Empty, and you are doing 35 mile's per fucking hour, TWENTY BELOW THE LIMIT, because you dont know what an End 30 sign means, I am GOING to line up behind you so fucking perfectly that my lights are in all of your mirrors. I won't even be that close to you! I am at least thirty feet behind. Youre just gonna fucking hate me and i hope you do. Get off the road. I want to go home and you shouldn't have a fucking license. This drive is NOT going to take an hour rather than 30 minutes because YOU don't know that both common courtesy and BEST PRACTICE DRIVING (as taught to me by BOTH state-licensed driving teachers ive had, one of whom was Hard Line "drive by the rules") is to pull tf over. If the tractors can do it, you can too motherfucker.

Do not get me started on people who don't pass tractors.

And here's the thing! You know WHY I don't get closer than 30 feet? Cause it's DANGEROUS. You know WHY you should pull over? Cause not everyone is a cranky researcher just trying to get home. There are street racers from the city who come out here for the "empty" roads. There is an alcoholic population in the double digits of our percentile. Every single person I went to highschool with had either seen a drink driving accident, been INVOLVED in one (hit my someone) or Personally Knew Someone involved in one. A lot of people aren't just pissed at you and trying to get you to pull over.

So if someone is tailgating you? pull over. Let them pass. Slowing down and agitating them is NOT worth the risk to your health if they keep driving so close behind you. Because even of you do it Slowly, they might not Notice the distance has gone from "yeah that'll show them" to "oh fuck I'm about to hit them" until it's Too Late. Especially if they're inebriated. If they are going to risk their neck speeding that's on them. Do not make the problem worse. They might be aggressive but you are instigating right back; and don't come after me for that logic because that's the EXACT logic behind "no fault" states like mine.

And here's the thing: if you don't want to pull over because there is a Line of cars behind you that you don't want to be stuck behind, ask yourself why that line is there. Are you just one car in a Much bigger line and this traffic is out if your control? My condolences. That sucks. Maybe gauge the situation and pull over anyway if you feel the driver behind you is a genuine risk to your safety.

But if there is no one in front of you, but a line of cars behind you? You are causing traffic and need to pull over. I literally could not care less if you're "just doing the speed limit" because you Probably Aren't. Either you misremembered/misread/misinterpreted a sign, or you missed a well-hidden sign indicating a speed limit change (even locals miss these! Especially new drivers and the elderly and double especially if it's spring/summer/fall and road signs are blocked by folliage! Or if you learned to drive these roads when the signs were blocked, and now in the winter when they're clear you stopped looking for them. I cannot begin to express to you just you how often that happens here. Personally, my experience with this means that when I'm driving somewhere new, if someone is tailgating me, I almost always let them pass me, and then i check the speed limit either with my gps or by looking for road signs. And usually? Guess what. Im doing the wrong speed).

But, ok, even if you are doing the limit, most people drive between the limit and about 5 mph over it, and when everyone is doing that, traffic flows normally and with an even dustribution, so its fine, and actually less dangerous than a High Traffic situation just 5mph slower. But You are going slower right now, and so You are causing the kind of traffic and conjestion that makes people act irrationally. And listen. I get it. "But the speed limit is there to keep people safe!" Youre right. It is. Velocity is far more important in collision equations than mass, and slowing speeds limits injuries on an exponential scale when accidents do happen. But right now, I don't think you know enough bad drivers, because speed is in no way shape or form everything about accidents. There are a LOT of other factors.

I have been in cars with people who terrified me so thoroughly that I made them pull over, sometimes by threatening to call the cops on them if they didnt pull over and let me or another friend drive. This has happened three times. And the thing was? Only one of them was actually speeding excessively. Amd, for reference, my father, a man with many qualities that should not be praised but whose driving I remain firmly neutral on (grab bag of really good learned skill and unnecessarily agressive behaviours), used to drive little me around doing 60 on 45 cutthroughs and 90 on 55mph highways. To top that, we're a motorcycle family and ive been riding passenger can it ik that not the term but these are my folks since i was twelve. For better or for worse, speed does not scare me. The people who DID scare me didn't scare me because of speed, they scared because of inattention, lack of control, and carelessness. Drifting side to side in their lane. Crossing lane lines. Crossing double yellows with oncoming traffic ahead. Merging without checking their mirrors while Being Passed By Other Cars, texting while driving and not realizing their speed is changing. Breaking almost too late. Hitting turns too fast and not having control. Hitting turns too fast on ice because they failrd to account for how it changes the road. THESE are the behaviors that get people into accidents. And while speeding can exponentially increase the Consequences of those accidents, preventing speeding doesn't actually prevent certain types of accidents, and personally, I'd rather that accident happen to a single speeding driver on a primarily empty stretch of road, where other drivers have time to react, slow down, and avoid becoming involved, than to have that driver hit three other cars from a line of traffic cause by a "Good Samaritan" who took it into their own hands to prevent speeding by Slowing Down In Front Of A Tailgater. Because either way, the accident happened, and maybe it was going to happen no matter what, or maybe it happened because no one was there to slow them down and make them realize their speed, or maybe it happened because the traffic irritated them and they got pissed off. Is that a defense for them? No, fuck that guy. But that's what happens, what happened, and no matter what, the traffic makes the outcome Worse. More people involved. More potential for secondary accidents. More harm to innocent casualties who were following or at least Mostly following best practices. And again, personally, I don't want three kids implicated in a massive accident when it could have been One adult making really bad decisions and facing the consequences themself.

This is also, mind you, not a hypothetical. We See this exact situation on our little town roads multiple times every year, and every year, we complain about too-slow city drivers causing traffic. And yes, of course we grieve when alcoholism and alcoholism culture leads yet another driver into hitting a tree or a deer or a guardrail at 80. Small town. Your sorrows are mine, and all that. We all probably knew the person, or knew someone who knew them. But when they hit a family's SUV we curse the driver without a seconds hesitation, because we know damn well they shouldnt have been doing what they were doing, and victim of cercumstance and addiction or not, someone who needed help or not, they caused a tragedy, and we pray for the family hurt because more often then not they dont make it out all alive and all healthy (for persoective, we've got multiple fundraisers every year for local kids who have been severely and even permanently dissabled by these kinds of accidents. There are four that my family goes to, and at least another three we can't ever make. And mind you, these are just the kids who's condition is severe enough to put the otherwise middle splash family into Crippling debt. The kind that means they can't care for their child).

And, more akin to my point, when these kinds of accidents happen because the family was doing 30 in a 50, or stuck in a line of traffic doing 30 in a 50, and the aggressive driver was doing 80 and didn't see them and thus couldnt respond until it was way too late, we rage at the fact that our road signs aren't fucking visible, because if that family had been doing the limit the accident probably wouldn't have literally crushed their car like a fucking soda can.

And mind you! This is not the family's fault. They were just doing their best and trying to be safe. But had they been doing the limit, had the road signs actuallu done their job, telling them that not only is the gently curving road ahead MORE than safe to do at 50 mph (because our roads are so wide, soeed limits are Below an actual "max safe speed" and more related to the population density, which, is cool. But os something ive found that only holds uo in rural communities), but to expect that other drivers will be doing 50, and that agressive bad drivers will probably be doing more than that, amd so to drive the limit to minimize harm, then the devastation might not have been as complete. Changing the difference in speed during a collision exponentially changes the difference in applied force, and in this case, changing that speed difference from 50 mph to 30 mph means a 400xpsi per pound difference in applied force. That kind of difference takes that car from a tin can full of broken necks to those smashed up "they survived" Subaru comercial SUVs.

(And before you say it, yes the community hates that these signs aren't visible (at least, those of us that know theyre there). We ask for then to be moved or cleaned up Every Year, and every year it's ignored in favor of literally anything else. They replace roads with no pot holes before they move signs, and the "reasons" are always shitty beaurocratic ones about private property and property rights)

Can you tell I've got a lot of feelings about driving?

The reality of driving is a lot more complicated than dmv approved "good driving vs bad driving" because actual good driving is about keeping yourself and others safe on the roads. And, as much as it might suck, that's gonna mean acknowledging that bad drivers exist, and doing what you cab to minimize the Damage of their behaviour, rather than trying to minimize the behavior.

The sollution to tailgaters and extreme (20mph+ over limit) speeders and innatentive and Dangerous drivers isn't to take law enforcement into your own hands and drive slower. It's not going to change the behaviour. It's going to piss them off. The sollution is increasing the requirements and drivers education level necessary to drive a car. It's for there to be government funding for these programs and tax bracket scholarships for this education so that this system doesn't disproproportionately affect people in poverty, who are already going to have enough difficulties with our car-centric system as is. The sollution involves legislation and income- based sliding scale speeding tickets. It's finding better ways to prevent inebriated driving, and no, I don't have the answers to that, cause all the answers I can think of are actually kinda ableist, which means I probably shouldn't be the person designing this.

I know this was a long read, but if nothing else:

TL;DR: Pull over. Let people pass you. Preserve your own health, the health of others, brush up on what road signs in your state actually mean, and for the love of the people, contact your local reps and maybe your highway dpt if you have concerns about your local roadways.

(And, on the off chance you have a street sign on your property, I dont care how lovely your bushes and trees are, prune them back so the sign is visible 100-200 feet down the road).

favorite hobby when I'm driving is to catch someone trying to climb up my back bumper while I'm going a completely reasonable speed and just slowly take my foot off the gas. you seem upset, brother. why don't we slow down and enjoy the view awhile

[satan-chillin]

Here, in this moment

Grand gestures of endearment, touches, and honeyed words in public are Wen Kexing's forte, though it doesn't mean Zhou Zishu doesn't have his moments.

(Or, coincidentally, the times Zhou Zishu discovers a couple of ways to shut Wen Kexing up.)

Also available in Ao3

i

Despite the growing population within the Four Seasons Manor, it was a known tradition of a sort for the Manor Lord to leave from time to time with his Second Disciple in tow. As far as the disciples knew, Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing had been on the road for too long before rebuilding the sect and had met under fated circumstances that brought them together—the younger students were wont to sigh in the inherent romanticism of it all—and might not have fully adjusted yet to the life with a stable abode.

If Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing were asked, they’d simply say that it was a continuation of their earlier promise of tasting all the wine while they lived, and, really, they had to escape the manor from time to time to get a breather. They couldn’t afford to leave the sect for a long span of time, not while it was still young and the Head Disciple a child still. It was the closest they would get to having several children, they supposed, and the experience could wear anyone down.

A stroll around the town was the best way to stretch their legs, so to speak, and for a moment, Zhou Zishu was taken to earlier days where Wen Kexing would follow him and appear wherever he went with what little time he initially had. Zhou Zishu was prone to deliberation these days, he realized, and often it was to match Wen Kexing’s pace in all the aspects of their lives. He was a little better in indulging him too, he thought, mildly giving his input here and there which tassel Wen Kexing should pick as gifts for two of their disciples who would have been with them for a year in a couple of days. He had been told that there was someone else about to have their birthday next week as well, and Zhou Zishu couldn’t help the slight smile at the thoughtfulness as he listened.

“Ah, how about this, A-Xu?” Wen Kexing picked up a fan from the stall next to the one Zhou Zishu dragged him from. “Do you think the color will suit—”

“They’ll like whatever you choose,” Zhou Zishu interrupted. It was true anyway. If Zhou Zishu was the strict and formidable master, Wen Kexing, while no less capable, was known more as the fond and doting one. Zhou Zishu wasn’t completely unaware of how Wen Kexing was called the mother—would that make him the father then? “Let me,” he said, taking half of the packages from Wen Kexing to free one of his hands.

“Eh. I can carry them all,” Wen Kexing protested half-heartedly but relented. He grinned, nudging Zhou Zishu’s side mischievously. “You just want my hand free so you can hold it, A-Xu.”

Zhou Zishu leveled him with a flat stare. “Yes, actually.” Reaching for Wen Kexing’s hand with his left, he laced their fingers that fit together seamlessly. He ignored the look of surprise he received in return. “Chengling said the newest recruit doesn’t have shoes that fit him.”

“Ah,” Wen Kexing murmured distractedly without looking away from their joined hands. “He might have mentioned that.”

Zhou Zishu squeezed his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Thinking about it, there shouldn’t be anything complicated in holding Wen Kexing’s hand in the first place, though perhaps he should have done it a long time ago. He was determined not to let chances slide in his second time, however.

Fondly, Zhou Zishu led him away. “Let’s go then.”

ii

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Zhou Zishu had been drinking less than his usual. It wasn’t the alcohol itself, fine quality as it was and not the watered-down kind. Mainly, he attributed it to wanting to soak in the pleasant mood and the overall levity of the atmosphere; it had been years since the halls of Four Seasons Manor were filled with joyous chatter and laughs after all.

To his side was Wen Kexing regaling the enraptured junior disciples with tales of his escapades, and the lack of stumble and slur in his words made Zhou Zishu mistakenly thought he was unaffected by the alcohol even if he was drinking for just as long as him, if not in quicker successions.

As if feeling eyes on him, Zhou Zishu was met with a slight tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow. He noted the all too bright eyes—not entirely unaffected then. Absently, Zhou Zishu inched closer to him. “Don’t drink anymore if you can’t handle it,” he reminded, reaching for a pitcher of water instead and filling Wen Kexing’s cup. “You don’t want to be embarrassed in front of your disciples.”

“Lord Zhou should be heeding his own advice,” Wen Kexing tutted and drank. He frowned. “This isn’t wine.”

“It’s water. See, you didn’t even notice.”

Wen Kexing blankly stared at the empty cup in his hand. “Huh.”

Amusedly, Zhou Zishu pried the cup away. “You’ve had enough, I think.”

“A-Xu, why are you being stingy now? You never said no to overindulging, and what better time than in the New Year?”

“You forget that we better learn moderation from now on to set a good example.” Zhou Zishu remained unimpressed at the pout directed his way. “Think of the headache tomorrow,” he said. “Besides, aren’t you exhausted already after preparing all these mostly by yourself?”

That earned him a sigh and a weary smile. “Worth it.” He gestured at the lively company.

“It is,” Zhou Zishu agreed easily.

He wasn’t sure if Wen Kexing was aware of himself leaning towards him. He must be, though his heavy eyes and the sleepy grunt said otherwise.

“Want to sleep,” Wen Kexing mumbled. “Will A-Xu carry me?”

Zhou Zishu snorted but, inured to embarrassment at this point, allowed Wen Kexing to fall on his shoulder and was practically against his chest. Gingerly, Zhou Zishu encircled his arm around his waist, and, after some adjusting, pulled him by the underside of his knees. Wen Kexing barely registered the fact that he was being carried.

It wasn’t until the evening breeze met them outdoors did Wen Kexing shifted with a mild jolt and stared at Zhou Zishu blearily. “Did A-Xu just carry me from the hall?” he slurred. “In front of your disciples?”

Zhou Zishu valiantly ignored the dopey grin forming on Wen Kexing’s face. Truly, his drunken state was merely his less eloquent default. “Did you already forget that you asked me to?”

Wen Kexing blinked slowly, gaze dropping down by Zhou Zishu’s throat. In a lower voice, he spoke, “I remember.” Slumping further against Zhou Zishu, his chin hooked by his shoulder as he tightened his arms around his neck.

Wen Kexing was light in his arms and, oddly enough, quiet without completely falling asleep. Zhou Zishu was certain he could make this into a habit if only to silence him when needed.

“Lao Wen,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Carrying Wen Kexing this way seemed like an inadequate form of recompense when all was said and done, especially not when Zhou Zishu was treated in return to the exquisite sight of a tender, affectionate smile.

iii

With the kitchen up and running with extra hands, it was common for a pleasant smell to waft over the courtyard from the start of the morning through the evening. Coming from his early meditation, Zhou Zishu followed a unique fragrance and wasn’t a bit surprised to find Wen Kexing at the source.

The first eleven additions of disciples were capable helpers, a fact which Wen Kexing was grateful for since their number grew. And while he still handled food preparation, it had been much easier with the assistance of three to five people. Zhou Zishu observed him putter around the kitchen, intermittently giving instructions to one of the disciples taking inventory of their supplies.

Though careful to move about, Zhou Zishu made enough noise that had Wen Kexing’s sudden attention on him with his arms crossed. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Lord Zhou should wait in the dining hall for breakfast.”

It was a wonder how his demeanor would turn strict when it came to cooking but was otherwise lax in far serious affairs. Huffing, Zhou Zishu ambled towards the cook, glancing at the cauldron with rice. He reached for a spoon. “That smells good.”

Wen Kexing batted his hand away. “It’s not ready,” he chided. “It smells good because of the saffron, but the flavor won’t be settling in for another quarter of an hour.”

Zhou Zishu watched his long fingers sprinkle a pinch of salt and pepper, almost enraptured at the way Wen Kexing was in his own element. Catching his gaze, Wen Kexing’s eyes softened imperceptibly. “A-Xu gets the first serving, of course.”

Zhou Zishu hummed. In a stroke of inspiration, he flitted behind Wen Kexing and hovered by his shoulder before reaching a hand around his waist, palm splaying over his abdomen. With Wen Kexing startled at the gesture, Zhou Zishu took advantage and swooped in with his spoon.

Some bits of the sticky rice were clumped but the hints of spice were already present. Without extricating himself from his position, Zhou Zishu added half a spoon of chili and tasted. He let out a small noise of approval, and if it happened to be right next to Wen Kexing’s ear and caused a vague shiver, well. “Delicious,” he muttered lowly.

From the far side of the room, someone stifled a cough and the moment was broken as quickly as it began. Zhou Zishu was already at an arm’s length when Wen Kexing rounded on him. Laughing, he dodged a smack to his side. “A-Xu! You—”

Zhou Zishu escaped before he could be properly thrown out of the kitchen, though not without reveling at Wen Kexing’s red ears.

iv

Zhou Zishu was not completely unaware of the appreciative stare that followed him upon entering the establishment. He could pinpoint the exact direction it was coming from: two tables to his right situated at the corner where a woman—highborn, based from her posture and rich robes—was dining with an elderly gentleman in equally luxurious attire who vaguely resembled her.

Pretending not to notice, he went on to hail the server for wine and food. Wen Kexing was taking his sweet time fetching a bag of his precious walnuts that Zhou Zishu couldn’t understand why he liked so much. Once he was served, Zhou Zishu started on the alcohol while he waited.

What he wasn’t expecting, though, was the abrupt presence of the same woman now at the empty seat across him. Zhou Zishu politely inclined his head in confusion and belatedly took note of the absence of her companion. “Guniang.”

“Gongzi.” She smiled handsomely in greeting, smelling faintly of lavender and jasmine. Judging from her features, she looked a year or so younger than him. Pretty, with practiced manners and grace, undeniably someone who could turn heads. “Pardon this one’s forwardness, but I noticed that gongzi is missing a company… and so am I after my father left me for the meantime. Might this one invite you to share mine perhaps?”

Zhou Zishu doubted that she had not heard him asking for a serving for two people and was obviously waiting for someone. Forward, that was for sure. Definitely a woman who had never been refused once she knew what she wanted. Zhou Zishu smiled amiably when he answered, “Thank you for the invitation, guniang, but I’m waiting for my companion.”

A flash of a frown crossed her delicate features before they smoothed over when she opened her pink lips to speak further of her insistence. Then, as if summoned, Zhou Zishu spotted Wen Kexing approaching from behind. Hearing what basically amounted to thundering steps, Zhou Zishu hid a grin behind his cup.

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing called, tone deceptively beatific with an underlying sharpness that only Zhou Zishu was cognizant of. “I didn’t know we’ll be having a guest.”

“Guniang thought I’m eating alone, and she’s generous to offer her company,” Zhou Zishu supplied happily. Staring up at Wen Kexing, he added, innocuous, “What do you say, niang zi?”

Wen Kexing’s head snapped towards him incredulously, coincidental with the woman repeating the endearment under her breath in disbelief.

“What?” Zhou Zishu said in mock indignation. “Am I not allowed to call you that anymore after I protested with you calling me xiang gong? That was one time. Doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”

Wen Kexing hardly shifted on his feet even as the woman excused herself with all her ounce of dignity once the two ignored everything else but each other. Feeling satisfied, Zhou Zishu stood, grasped Wen Kexing’s shoulders, and pulled him down to the now free seat.

“Food’s getting cold,” was all Zhou Zishu said before digging in.

Halfway, Zhou Zishu discovered that red complementing Wen Kexing nicely wasn’t exclusive to his choice of garb alone.

v

Senior Ye had more white on his hair than the last time Zhou Zishu saw him.

“Old demon, you have more white hair,” Wen Kexing boldly said because, unlike Zhou Zishu, he did not possess a brain-to-mouth filter; that, and he wouldn’t pass up any chance to antagonize Senior Ye.

“And you have more wrinkles,” Senior Ye snarked back, giving as good as he got without putting down his meal. He smirked. “Having trouble handling the sect, I see.”

“We get by,” Zhou Zishu replied, interrupting Wen Kexing’s stewing annoyance. “We have yet to complete the numbers, but managing the household with more than three people can be difficult for one person. He’s been alright so far.”

“‘Alright’?” Wen Kexing scoffed. “I’m doing great.”

“Humble, are you?” Senior Ye snorted, popping a slice of cubed pork. “You’re not built for that kind of task, of course you fare barely.”

“Are you sure you want to tell that to the face of the person who made your food?” Wen Kexing sneered. “Freeloader!”

“I’m an honored guest. I deserve to be honored,” Senior Ye declared, and, fine, Zhou Zishu might have told him that. Shaking his head, Senior Ye turned to Zhou Zishu. “You’re a manor lord and unmarried. Why don’t you find a proper wife to manage your household affairs and serve as a positive influence to your disciples? Don’t let this brat run your sect to the ground.”

If Wen Kexing wasn’t angry before, he was positively fuming now. Zhou Zishu placed himself as a stopgap to a boiling pot and addressed the immortal, “Senior Ye is right. Fortunately, I can forgo the arduous process of searching for one, seeing as someone made a promise of marriage to me some time ago.”

Calmly, Zhou Zishu poured tea and drank before mentally counting down in that brief period of silence.

“Master is promised to someone?” Chengling asked with uncertainty. He looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to be happy at the news or be concerned, given the way he was subtly glancing at Wen Kexing who happened to be staring at his master woodenly. Zhou Zishu honestly felt rather bad that he almost forgot that the boy was also sharing their table and was witnessing this exchange firsthand.

Senior Ye, meanwhile, slowed his chewing and was eyeing Zhou Zishu curiously.

In a snap, Wen Kexing demanded, “A-Xu, who? Who has the gall to—”

It was a battle for Zhou Zishu to keep a straight face as he frowned at Wen Kexing bemusedly. “Didn’t you?” He pointed at the hairpin atop his head. At Wen Kexing’s dumbfounded look, Zhou Zishu made a doleful sigh. “Ah. I must have misunderstood your intention.”

“... A-Xu?”

Zhou Zishu straightened his back, twisting to get a proper look on Wen Kexing. It took all of his strength to not snicker in relish at Chengling’s bated breath and Senior Ye’s show of interest, try as he might hide it.

He was about to rectify a blatant mistake here.

Zhou Zishu tsked affectionately, and in a much softer approach, said, “Lao Wen.” He heard Wen Kexing’s breath hitching before he went in for the attack. “Let’s get married then.”

Someone could have dropped a pin at the hush that ensued; or, someone could have made the loudest of sound and Zhou Zishu wouldn’t have paid it any attention at all, not when he was wholly captivated by Wen Kexing whose stare was akin to memorizing Zhou Zishu’s face and committing it to memory, damn everything else.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice almost inaudible and yet to Zhou Zishu it was loud and clear as the day, as bright as the blinding smile that bloomed on his face. To think that Zhou Zishu used to believe the beginning of spring around the Four Seasons Manor was the most breath-taking display he had ever seen. “A-Xu, let’s get married.”

If Zhou Zishu was completely lost in his own little world with Wen Kexing in the middle of lunch, amidst Chenling’s triumphant cheer and Senior Ye’s rude grumbling of the manor now having two shameless people living under it, no one could have blamed him.

+i

By fortnight, Zhou Zishu was a wedded man.

And just to be certain that the overwhelming feeling of warmth and happiness that threatened to burst out of his chest wasn’t from a fever-induced dream where he would wake with his heavily-crippled body, drunk and alone, he dipped Wen Kexing, his husband, by his waist and kissed him deeply for good measure.

There was no dream to be woken out of.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

those who are left behind (share the grief between them)

Summary: Cody goes to find Rex. Ahsoka finds him first. AO3. Part 2 of “scraps” series. Part 1. Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Warnings: Grief/mourning, canon-typical violence.

Cody tries to find Rex.

It’s the only thing he can think of after he manages to get off the Death Star--a feat in and of itself, as he knew it would be. He’d had a couple close calls; he knows he was on the list to be transferred to a teaching job for new initiates, and clones as a whole were kept under close watch. Too many of the vode had killed themselves or disappeared or went berserk and killed their commanding officers. (Cody thinks about those brothers now and wonders how crazy they really were.) He’s not sure if he was under closer observation than most post-Order 66, due to his place at Kenobi's side for years; those memories are hazy, and upsetting besides. Obviously Vader didn’t think he’d be more of a problem than anyone else now, because even with the close watch Cody’d been able to slip security and hitch a ride on a stolen emergency shuttle with little fanfare. The fiasco with the droids weeks earlier taught everyone exactly how much the Empire let slip between the cracks.

The lightsaber was tempting. It still is. But Vader keeps it in his secure chamber, hoarding it like a Krayt dragon. Cody didn’t even try.

So he gets away and goes to find Rex. Rex, who had told him about the chips. Rex, who Cody had dismissed. Rex, who was made commander and promptly had everything else taken from him with Order 66. Rex, who Cody had seen hide nor hair of during his tenure as CC-2224. Cody tries to find Rex.

Ahsoka finds him first.

He's on some backwater planet, somewhere bleak and angry looking; drab grey roads and trees with no foliage against a blood-red sky. The people here live in hovels and call themselves lucky. Cody closes his eyes as he leaves the tiny fishing market on the edge of the docks. The smell clogs his nose and makes him want to retch, but for a moment he can almost feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. He can picture the exact curl of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the twitch of an eyebrow as he tells Cody to find the beauty in the small things. The people here are born with silver scales lining their cheekbones, their fingers webbed with thin, iridescent skin that catches the light just right and turns to millions of colors. There are children who actually play in the street here. There are no stormtroopers raiding the stalls. Happiness comes in small packages, Obi-Wan would say. Cody exhales the smell of dead fish and wraps the robe tighter around himself.

It was probably too big on Obi-Wan by the end; it fits comfortably around his shoulders, and although Obi-Wan was a little taller, he certainly wasn't wider than Cody even on the best day. He’d slimmed down during the war too; they’d had few rations going around in the hard times--it was always a task getting the general to eat when his men were going hungry. Cody nearly put him on an IV a couple times.

The robe covers what’s left of his stark white stormtrooper armor well enough. He’d stripped the leg armor off immediately, stole some fatigues from a clothesline when he’d landed on the first planet he could find and slipped those over his blacks. He’s been planet hopping for a while, chasing rumors of rebels and crossing imperial battlegrounds. They’re burial sites now. Cody doesn’t know enough about the Force to do more than read the fallen their last rights and ask them to be well as they pass on. Every place is the same; empty, except for bones. The Mando’a prayers spill from his lips easily but his voice is rusty and Cody usually settles for a silent vigil instead. There are so many dead.

After the first graveyard, Cody stripped off as much of the white paint from his vambraces as he could. It’s a shoddy job, but it’s the best he can do. Paint is a luxury he can’t afford. Cody doesn’t have a credit to his name.

He bows his head to the small woman who pushes a package filled with row after row of tiny fish into his hands and chatters at him in an unknown language. Places like this, even as untouched by the Empire as they seem, know hardship. The people here are kind. Obi-Wan would be proud to have met them. Cody tries to be proud too, but his chest is so hollow now. The robe flutters and whips against his knees as he walks away.

He’s outside town limits, thinking about a campfire and shelter, when he hears it. There’s the scrape of a boot on rock somewhere above him in the hills that line the dirt road. He should have gotten off the path into the treeline when he’d had the chance. The hood is good cover from the light rain but it gives too much of the movement of his head away; by the time Cody whirls around, there is no one behind him. He scans the trees anyway and counts how many bolts he has in his blaster. He’d taken out those troopers on Florrum weeks ago. A couple of hunting trips when he couldn’t beg or work for any food in townships. He’ll have to make the shots count.

But before he can do more than pull the blaster from his sleeve, they're upon him. There’s a sound of ignition, one that has Cody thrown years into the past, and then a flash of white. A figure in dark clothes bears down on him with a white lightsaber, and Cody doesn’t mean to react how he does, he really doesn’t, it’s not red but—

But he’s spent years as a slave to a lightsaber wielder dressed all in black and he can’t do that again, not after watching Obi-Wan fall. He can't go back to the Death Star. Cody pulls his blaster and fires a shot, dodging to the left and then feigning a stumble, hoping to get around to the attacker's other side. The other fighter, also cloaked and hooded against the rain, is spry and wiry--perhaps female--and obviously trained. One of those Knights of the Empire they were talking about training? They dodge another bolt as Cody curses and then a second ‘saber lights up and--the handles are the wrong way around.

They’re holding their lightsabers wrong. Cody nearly does trip this time, only just scrambling back from a slice that surely would have taken his head off. As he does, the figure speaks.

“Where did you get that robe?” They hiss, and prepare to strike again.

“ Ahsoka?”

“Wh-- Cody? ”

“Oh, Force,” Cody says, feeling like he did when Longshot knocked all the air out of him during a sparring session. He pushes his hood down hurriedly. Rain splashes down his forehead, rolls off the end of his nose, fills his mouth. “It is you. You’re alive!”

He’d been so afraid of being alone.

Ahsoka, older and leaner and sadder than he’s ever seen her, lowers her own hood. One ‘saber stays in her hand. Good. “Cody. You’re...you.”

“I remembered,” Cody chokes out. It’s hard not to vomit when he thinks about it for too long. “Who I was, before the Order. I remembered.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are sharp. Her mouth is a thin line. “Good men lost their lives that day. Dead men walked among us for years afterward. I--I’m sorry for your loss, Cody. It has been a long time.”

“I’m sorry too,” Cody says. It tastes like ash in his mouth, like the pyre he should’ve given Obi-Wan and never got the chance to. “The vode weren’t the only people lost that day.”

She softens, if only just. The lightsaber is hooked onto her belt under her own robe. “It really is you. Come then, I have a fire.”

They settle around her campsite, small and remote, on a perfect vantage point, before she speaks again. Cody is waiting for her when she does. He unwraps the fish, ignoring the mud splashed onto the scales from their impromptu fight, and lays them out on a flat rock in the fire. They are too small to debone individually; they’ll have better luck eating around the skeletons and hoping for the best. (“If you kill my grandpadawan via choking on a fish bone I will never forgive you,” jokes the Obi-Wan in his head and Cody suppresses a snort.)

“The robe.” Ahsoka murmurs. Her lekku twitch, in apprehension or agitation Cody isn’t sure. The pit in his gut, always there, yawns wider. She’s Obi-Wan’s family. Next of kin. He by all rights should give it to her, but… “It has Obi-Wan’s Force signature infused in it, but I recognized that yours was different. I thought…”

“I’d taken it off his body.” Cody finishes for her. Ahsoka nods, grim. He nods too and flips the fish. “You’re almost right. He didn’t leave behind a body, just his lightsaber and the robe. Vader killed him; it’s what woke me up. Chip’s stopped working, I guess. Too old.”

“I felt him when he went.” Ahsoka’s eyes are far away when Cody snatches a glance at her. She sits, back ramrod straight, unyielding, steely. He thinks Obi-Wan would have been like this in the end; untouchable, almost. He was statuesque, carved from marble, right up until the moment he died. “His light went out; that day the Force got much darker.”

“Wasn’t sure it could get darker.”

“Obi-Wan spoke once to me,” Ahsoka tells him after a long silence. She takes the food offered and nods her thanks. Cody’s heart is dead, has been since he left the Death Star, but he curls his fingers into the robe’s edges and listens anyway. He never stops hurting these days. “Through the Force, I mean. It was right after--right after. Just a fleeting thing, a feeling. He wanted to make sure I was safe, that I knew he--”

Cody doesn’t move when her words cut off. He knows. She knows.

It is like stripping off his own skin with a dull blade when Cody shrugs out of the robe and offers it up. “Here.” His voice is hoarse, tortured, not his own. “I just--you’re his family, but I can’t... please.”

Ahsoka is beautiful even when she cries. The robe looks worn, dingy in her hands, but she holds it close, like a child. She has to work hard to get the next sentence out. “You loved him.”

Cody nods. His face is wet too. “Still,” he whispers, almost inaudibly over the fire. “Still.”

“It’s yours,” Ahsoka promises. “Let me meditate with it, just once, and then--it’s yours. It’s yours.”

Ahsoka goes still; her shoulders stop hitching after a while, her cheeks dry, her breathing evens. Cody does not sleep, but he does drift. He knows she will not mind the salt water on his own face when she wakes. Obi-Wan would tell him to release his grief, perhaps that Obi-Wan is not worth it; Cody holds on almost greedily, bottles up the pain and sorrow and regret and keeps it with him, cold as ice in his chest.

He knows she comes back by the small cry that slips past her lips; she jerks in place, nearly toppling from her meditation pose. Ahsoka straightens again and clenches her hands in the robe, head bowed. “Alright?” Softly, softly. He knew her when she was just a child.

“Meditation is rougher than it used to be,” Ahsoka admits, and, reluctant, passes the fabric over in a bundle. “Thank you.”

“I miss him too.”

“What are you doing out here?”

Cody smiles without real feeling. “Following you. Or the Rebellion in general, I guess. Thought maybe I could find Rex that way.”

Ahsoka raises her eyebrows. “The Rebellion hasn’t been here for months; I’m just here checking up to make sure refugees we helped are still doing alright.”

“You guys got a head start on me.”

Her laughter is quiet, like Obi-Wan’s used to be. Cody looks away, twists his hands in the robe.

Wait.

He knows Obi-Wan won’t mind. He lost so many during the war anyway, went through them like tissue paper. It was a game among the 212th, who could find them on the battlefield first.

Cody looks up, eyes Ahsoka shrewdly. She’s taller, more muscular than she used to be. He’s no seamstress. “Scarf or sash?”

Ahsoka blinks at him. He presses his lips together and nods. “Sash. Won’t get in the way.”

The sleeve comes apart at the seams easily enough. Cody ignores her protest, and tears the other sleeve away too before pocketing one--someone else will want it, someone else who can hold vigil with Cody and Ahsoka both. Then he tears open the remaining sleeve and flattens it, before holding it out to her. “Through the belt loops,” he advises, blandly, like the tears on both their faces don’t exist. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates in her head. “Won’t get in the way when you pull your weapon.”

Ahsoka’s lips tremble when she takes the scrap of fabric. Cody doesn’t watch her loop it through her belt, taking the time to wrap the rest of the robe around his shoulders in a makeshift poncho; the hood hangs down his back still, and the ends of the robe are still long enough to cover most of his breastplate, some of the only trooper armor he has kept. There is a scratch on the shoulder from when an overconfident Jawa took a shot at him on Florrum.

Ahsoka gasps when he looks up. She gestures at his chest. “You…”

Cody splays his hand where she indicates, over the insignia he painstakingly etched into the armor covering his heart. The lightsaber was tricky to overlay on the 212th logo. It took him hours. He has a lot more time on his hands now that he’s not being controlled by the chip, though; it was worth it.

“Yes,” Cody answers. “I--I don’t want to forget again. Never again.”

Ahsoka reaches out and takes his hand over the fire that gutters low in their makeshift hearth. A thousand lives lie between them, and a thousand deaths. Her hand holds his so carefully. Cody squeezes back and feels Obi-Wan smile. “Never again,” Ahsoka vows.

[scandeniall]

Dear Diary

song 1: dear diary |  good & bad masterlist | prev | next

Pairing: sakusa x reader

Summary/warnings: life has been kicking your ass yet you don’t want to tell sakusa/profanity

WC: 1.5K

“How’ve you been,” you paused debating on answering honestly or not. Switching your phone to speaker, you fiddled with the covers resting beneath your fingers before sighing out. “I miss you Yoomi.” A silence comes settled through the phone line. “How are you doing?” The insistence of your well being causes another sigh to escape your lips. Of course he could tell that something was off even through the phone and a part of you curses his observational skills. “Im just--really fucking stressed,” you mutter out reluctantly. 

“Have you been taking care of yourself? Eating real meals and getting proper sleep?” The questions being rattled off on the other side of the phone causes you to crack a small smile at his concern. You could only imagine the furrow in his brows at the thought of a lack of concern for your own health. You almost miss the ending of the questions as he tells you not to lie to him. Your silence causes Sakusa to sigh on the line. 

“Sometimes I hate how much you really know me.” You voice the thoughts that had previously been in your head. Sakusa could hear the slightest of background noise as you maneuver yourself under the warm comforter and shifted to get comfortable. “Do you need me to come home.” The words aren’t phrased as a question, and that causes you to quickly shake your head despite the fact that he couldn't see that.

“No-no. Yoomi, it's fine. I just- I just need to get my mind right and relax. I just needed to hear your voice tonight, that's all.” You tell him, despite wanting nothing more than for him to be back with you.He’d been on the road for the last month, a series of away games and such. And right before he left, you’d been out of town on a major business trip. It seemed as if time nor luck were your friend. It’d been at least a month and a half since the two of you were anywhere near one another. He’d still be gone another month and all either of you could do was wait it out. 

The silence that followed your response was telling. You could already imagine the way Sakusa has his eyes narrowed in thought. Thinking about whether he should push for your well being or let it go for now. The quietest sigh escaped his mouth from the other side of the phone. He’d made his decision. “I miss you too. I’ll be home soon.” 

Life after that phone call seemed to grow progressively worse. Not only had you and Sakusa not been able to squeeze in another talk in the following week, but life sucked. Your job has been giving you more and more responsibility, and allowing you more freedom. On one hand that was great, a celebratory text sent to your boyfriend at the talks of you in for a promotion, however it was tiring. You were coming home later and later, exhausted and starting to neglect your own health.

It’s not you were intentional in the neglect. It just felt too damn hard to come home after a long day and cook a healthy and fulfilling meal. When you were home you were suddenly reminded of just how empty the apartment was without Sakusa. Dust that was normally absent due to his cleanliness began to appear. Dishes piled up more than he would have liked. Whenever you did bother to straighten up at least for his sake, it drained you. 

Adulthood was really kicking your ass and it came to a head one night when you woke up sweating. As if life couldn’t drag you down even more, your AC had gone out right during the hottest part of the summer. Come morning you found out that your landlord had gone on vacation and could not and would not be able to fix the unit for at least a week. 

So you’d done what you usually did. Sucked it up and forced yourself to push through. Not a word of your woes to Sakusa who had more important matters to attend to other than your slump. You went to work, exhausted yourself there and dragged your feet into the dreaded heat of your apartment. 

Upon entering you were automatically hit with a wave of heat, making your already sluggish steps heavier. Kicking your shoes off you offhandedly waved hello to the person seated on the couch before dragging yourself towards the kitchen like it was completely normal. A moment later you stopped in your tracks. “Yoomi?”

The slightest nod from your boyfriend caused you to blink in surprise before launching yourself into his arms. “What are you doing here,” you muttered as his hands ran up and down your back. Pulling away slightly you eyed him. He looked tired. Eyes unusually sunken and you noticed the tiniest sheen of sweat across his forehead. You went to pull away knowing the touch paired with the heat would likely make him uncomfortable. To your surprise, the hands wrapped around your middle didn’t make any moves to release you. “You needed me so I came home.”

You felt a squeeze in your heart as your arms tightened wrapped around his shoulders. “But I didn't say anything—“

“Your voice. On the other week. And then your texts were different.” Of course he noticed. The conversation had already signaled to him that you weren’t the best. Your shaky exhales as you insisted that you were fine and that he didn’t need to come home. Then he noticed the jokes within your texts began to slowly subside. You’d also found yourself saying that you missed him more than usual. “So you came back?”

“I have a 3 day weekend this week. Then I’m back to practicing.” You nodded in understanding the two of you releasing one another and you noticed Sakusa frown. “Why’s it hot?” You explained about the broken AC and about the suffering you’ve endured for the past 2 days. “Did you get any more fans?” He looked annoyed once you denied purchasing any additional appliances knowing he’d had to get that done for you. “You know you’re more susceptible to nosebleeds in the heat right?”

“Thank you Dr. Omi,” you teased, laughing at his scowl from the nickname. The two of you settled onto the couch, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. “It’s common knowledge.” His replies allow a lightness to settle in your heart. One you hadn’t felt in weeks. The two of you settle into a silence for a little while his hand rubbing soft circles on your knee. “You need to take better care of yourself. And tell me when you need me.”

“I didn't want to take you away from your busy schedule,” you hum out. You feel the movement against your knee stop, a former grip replacing it. “I don't care how busy I am, I’m here. Now stop being annoying and tell me things.” You feel yourself jokingly roll your eyes before agreeing. However that wasn’t enough as you heard the scoff from next to you. 

“I’m serious. You remember what you told me back in college”

“Pretty sure I told you a lot of things back then,” you tease, taking his closest hand and interlocking your fingers. “You believed in me,” he started catching your eyes. “Told me you always knew there was no limit to me. That means I can handle it. Don’t feel like you’re annoying me.” Your eyes widened at how he remembered that very specific moment. 

It was around 4 years ago. He’d just told you that he signed to MSBY, something everyone around him was dying to know. Yet you were the first person he told. He remembered how your eyes beamed as you sat on his lap, your phone camera in his face recording the moment for memories sake. He didn’t even bother swatting it away like he usually did. He’d allowed you to place messy kisses all across his face despite the feel of your tacky chapstick. “Why do you remember that,” you questioned a soft smile gracing your own features. 

You notice the shrug of his shoulders as he helped to to sit you sideways into his lap. “Doesn’t matter. Now tell me what’s wrong. And then we’re going to get some fans.” You nodded leaning so that your lips met his for a soft kiss. “I really missed you,” you murmured into the kiss. And while he was only there for the weekend it was enough. He came home for you. The one who has loved and supported him with open arms for the past 5 years. He’d be damned if he didn’t try to make up for it. 

So you told him everything on your mind. Laughing every time he scolded you for the little things. “Don’t let the dust build up by the time I get back next month.” To “You need to sleep more.” And in return you got the same. You got the story from the exhaustion laced in his eyes. The hours it took to get to you, and the germs he forced himself to sit through to make it happen. And despite the annoying heat in the apartment, neither of you have felt that good in a while.

a/n: wow i FINALLY got at least 2 consective songs in a row done so now my prev/next is relevant for at least 2 parts. This took a different route than I initially planned for, nor is it exact in its storytelling. It was also started 2 months ago and finished now bc it was kinda hard for me. Anyways hi um did you catch the no limit to you ref? bc yeah i love that and to date still my fav piece ive ever written. you dont have to read that to understand this but its 5.4k words if you have some spare time.

anyways: im about to be on an 8hr car ride so feel free to request stuff. rules 

[hellouniversegoodbyeworld]

Martial, Epigrams. Book 1. Bohn's Classical Library (1897)

BOOK I.

TO THE READER

I trust that, in these little books of mine, I have observed such self-control, that whoever forms a fair judgment from his own' mind can make no complaint of them, since they indulge their sportive fancies without violating the respect due even to persons of the humblest station; a respect which was so far disregarded by the authors of antiquity, that they made free use, not only of real, but of great names. For me; let fame be held in less estimation, and let such talent be the last thing commended in me.

Let the ill-natured interpreter, too, keep himself from meddling with the simple meaning of my jests, and not write my epigrams for me.1 He acted honourably who exercises perverse ingenuity on another man's book: For the free plainness of expression, that is, for the language of epigram, I would apologize, if I were introducing the practice; but it is thus that Catullus writes, and Marsus, and Pedo, and Getulicus, and every one whose writings are read through. If any assumes to be so scrupulously nice, however, that it is not allowable to address him, in a single page, in plain language, he may confine himself to this address, or rather to the title of the book. Epigrams are written for those who are accustomed to be spectators at the games of Flora. Let not Cato enter my theatre; or, if he do enter, let him look on. It appears to me that I shall do only what I have a right to do, if I close my address with the following verses:----

1 Let him not make them his own, by the false interpretation which he puts upon them.

TO CATO.

Since you knew the lascivious nature of the rites of sportive Flora, as well as the dissoluteness of the games, and the license of the populace, why, stern Cato, did you enter the theatre? Did you come in only that you might go out again?

I. TO THE READER.

The man whom you are reading is the very man that you want,----Martial, known over the whole world for his humorous books of epigrams; to whom, studious reader, you have afforded such honours, while he is alive and has a sense of them, as few poets receive after their death.

II. TO THE READER; SHOWING WHERE THE AUTHOR'S BOOKS MAY BE PURCHASED.

You who are anxious that my books should be with you everywhere, and desire to have them as companions on a long journey, buy a copy of which the parchment leaves are compressed into a small compass.1 Bestow book-cases upon large volumes; one hand will hold me. But that you may not be ignorant where I am to be bought, and wander in uncertainty over the whole town, you shall, under my guidance, be sure of obtaining me. Seek Secundus, the freedman of the learned Lucensis, behind the Temple of Peace and the Forum of Pallas.

1 That is, a copy with small pages; a small copy.

III. THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK.

You prefer, little book, to dwell in the shops in the Argiletum,1 though my book-case has plenty of room for you. You are ignorant, alas! you are ignorant of the fastidiousness of Rome, the mistress of the world; the sons of Man, believe me, are much too critical. Nowhere are there louder sneers; young men and old, and even boys, have the nose of the rhinoceros.2 After you have heard a loud "Bravo!" and are expecting kisses, you will go, tossed to the skies, from the jerked toga.3 Yet, that you may not so often suffer the corrections of your master, and that his relentless pen may not so often mark your vagaries, you desire, frolicsome little book, to fly through the air of heaven. Go, fly; but you would have been safer at home.

1 An open place, or square, in Rome, where tradesmen had shops. 2  Have great powers of ridicule, which the Romans often expressed by turning up or wrinkling the nose. 3  People will take you into their lap, and then jerk you out of it, as if you were tossed in a blanket

IV. TO CAESAR.

If you should chance, Caesar, to light upon my books, lay aside that look which awes the world. Even your triumphs have been accustomed to endure jests,1 nor is it any shame to a general to be a subject for witticisms. Read my verses, I pray you, with that brow with which you behold Thymele 2 and Latinus 3 the buffoon. The censorship 4 may tolerate innocent jokes: my page indulges in freedoms, but my life is pure.

1 In allusion to the jests which the soldiers threw out on their generals while they were riding in the triumphal procession. 2  A female dancer. 3 A dancer in pantomime; a sort of harlequin. 4  Alluding to Domitian having made himself perpetual censor.

V. THE EMPEROR'S REPLY.

I give you a sea-fight, and you give me epigrams: you wish, I suppose, Marcus, to be set afloat with your book.

VI. ON A LION OF CAESAR'S THAT SPARED A HARE.

While through the air of heaven the eagle was carrying the youth,1 the burden unhurt clung to its anxious talons. From Caesar's lions their own prey now succeeds in obtaining mercy, and the hare plays safe in their huge jaws. Which miracle do you think the greater? The author of each is a supreme being: the one is the work of Caesar; the other,2 of Jove.

1 Ganymede. 2 Comp. Eps. 14, 22.

VII. TO MAXIMUS

The dove, the delight of my friend Stella,3----even with Verona4 listening will I say it, ---- has surpassed, Maximus, the sparrow of Catullus. By so much is my Stella greater than your Catullus, as a dove is greater than a sparrow.

3 A poet of Patavium, who wrote an elegy on the dove of his mistress Ianthis. See B. vi. Ep. 21; B. vii. Ep. 13. 4 The birth-place of Catullus.

VIII. TO DECIANUS

In that you so far only follow the opinions of the great Thrasea and Cato of consummate virtue, that you still wish to preserve your life, and do not with bared breast rush upon drawn swords, you do, Decianus, what I should wish you to do. I do not approve of a man who purchases fame with life-blood, easy to be shed: I like him who can be praised without dying to obtain it.

IX. TO COTTA.

You wish to appear, Cotta, a pretty man and a great man at one and the same time: but he who is a pretty man, Cotta, is a very small man.

X. ON GEMELLUS AND MARONILLA.

Gemellus is seeking the hand of Maronilla, and is earnest, and lays siege to her, and beseeches her, and makes presents to her. Is she then so pretty? Nay; nothing can be more ugly. What then is the great object and attraction in her? ----Her cough.

XI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Seeing that there are given to a knight twice five pieces,1 wherefore is twice ten the amount which you spend by yourself, Sextilianus, in drink? Long since would the warm water have failed the attendants who carried it, had you not, Sextilianus, been drinking your wine unmixed.2

1 Ten sesterces, the usual sportula, or donation from the emperor. 2 The Romans used to drink their wine mixed with warm water.

XII. ON REGULUS.

Where the road runs to the towers of the cool Tivoli, sacred to Hercules, and the hoary Albula 3 smokes with sulphureous waters, a milestone, the fourth from the neighbouring city, points out a country retreat, and a hallowed grove, and a domain well beloved of the Muses. Here a rude portico used to afford cool shade in summer; a portico, ah! how nearly the desperate cause of an unheard-of calamity: for suddenly it fell in ruins, after Regulus had just been conveyed in a carriage and pair from under its high fabric. Truly Dame Fortune feared our complaints, as she would have been unable to withstand so great odium. Now even our loss delights us; so beneficial is the impression which the very danger produces; since, while standing, the edifice could not have proved to us the existence of the gods.

3 A plain near Tivoli.

XIII. ON ARRIA AND PAETUS.

When the chaste Arria handed to her Paetus the sword which she had with her own hand drawn forth from her heart, "If you believe me," said she, "the wound which I have made gives me no pain; but it is that which you will make, Paetus, that pains me."

XIV. TO DOMITIAN.

The pastimes, Caesar, the sports and the play of the lions, we have seen: your arena affords you the additional sight of the captured hare returning often in safety from the kindly tooth, and running at large through the open jaws. Whence is it that the greedy lion can spare his captured prey? He is said to be yours: thence it is that he can show mercy.

XV. TO JULIUS.

Oh! you who are regarded by me, Julius, as second to none of my companions, if well-tried friendship and longstanding ties are worth anything, already nearly a sixtieth consul is pressing upon you, and your life numbers but a few more uncertain days. Not wisely would you defer the enjoyment which you see maybe denied you, or consider the past alone as your own. Cares and linked chains of disaster are in store; joys abide not, but take flight with winced speed. Seize them with either hand, and with your full grasp; even thus they will oft-times pass away and glide from your closest embrace. 'Tis not, believe me, a wise man's part to say, "I will live." To-morrow's life is too late: live to-day.

XVI. TO AVITUS.

Of the epigrams which you read here, some are good, some middling, many bad; a book, Avitus, cannot be made in any other way.

XVII. TO TITUS.

Titus urges me to go to the Bar, and often tells me, "The gains are large." The gains of the husbandman, Titus, are likewise large.

XVIII. TO TUCCA, ON HIS PARSIMONY.

What pleasure can it give you, Tucca, to mix with old Falernian wine new wine stored up in Vatican casks? What vast amount of good has the most worthless of wine done you? or what amount of evil has the best wine done you? As for us, it is a small matter; but to murder Falernian, and to put poisonous wine in a Campanian cask, is an atrocity. Your guests may possibly have deserved to perish: a wine-jar of such value has not deserved to die.

XIX. TO AELIA.

If I remember right, Aelia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.

XX. TO CAECILIANUS.

Tell me, what madness is this? While a whole crowd of invited guests is looking on, you alone, Caecilianus, devour the truffles. What shall I imprecate on you worthy of so large a stomach and throat? That you may eat a truffle such as Claudius ate.

XXI. ON PORSENA AND MUCIUS SCAEVOLA.

When the hand that aimed at the king mistook for him his secretary, it thrust itself to perish into the sacred fire but the generous foe could not endure so cruel a sight, and bade the hero, snatched from the flame, to be set free. The hand which, despising the fire, Mucius dared to burn, Porsena could not bear to look on Greater was the fame and glory of that right hand from being deceived; had it not missed its aim, it had accomplished less.

XXII. TO A HARE.

Why, silly hare, are you fleeing from the fierce jaws of the lion now grown tame? They have not learned to crush such tiny animals. Those talons, which you fear, are reserved for mighty necks, nor does a thirst so great delight in so small a draught of blood. The hare is the prey of hounds; it does not fill large mouths: the Dacian boy should not fear Caesar.

XXIII. TO COTTA.

You invite no one, Cotta, except those whom you meet at the bath; and the bath alone supplies you with guests. I used to wonder why you had never asked me, Cotta; I know now that my appearance in a state of nature was unpleasing in your eyes.

XXIV. TO DECIANUS.

You see yonder individual, Decianus, with locks uncombed, whose grave brow even you fear; who talks incessantly of the Curii and Camilli, defenders of their country's liberties: do not trust his looks; he was taken to wife but yesterday.

XXV. TO FAUSTINUS.

Issue at length your books to the public, Faustinus, and give to the light the work elaborated by your accomplished mind,----a work such as neither the Cecropian city of Pandion would condemn, nor our old men pass by in silence. Do you hesitate to admit Fame, who is standing before your door; and does it displease you to receive the reward of your labour? Let the writings, destined to live after you, begin to live through your means. Glory comes too late, when paid only to our ashes.

XXVI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Sextilianus, you drink as much as five rows of knights  1 alone: you might intoxicate yourself with water, if you so often drank as much. Nor is it the coin of those who sit near you alone that you consume in drink, but the money of those far removed from you, on the distant benches. This vintage has not been concerned with Pelignian presses, nor was this juice of the grape produced upon Tuscan heights; but it is the glorious jar of the long-departed Opimius 2 that is drained, and it is the Massic cellar that sends forth its blackened casks. Get dregs of Laletane wine from a tavern-keeper, Sextilianus, if you drink more than ten cups.3

1 Seated on the benches allotted them in the theatre. See Ep. 12. 2  The vintage of B. C. 121, in which year L. Opimius was one of the consuls, was extremely celebrated, and is frequently mentioned by the Roman writers. 3  The number to which persons at feasts usually restricted themselves.

XXVII. TO PROCILLUS.

Last night I had invited you----after some fifty glasses, I suppose, had been despatched----to sup with me to-day. You immediately thought your fortune was made, and took note of my unsober words, with a precedent but too dangerous. I hate a boon companion whose memory is good, Procillus.

XXVIII. ON ACCERRA.

Whoever believes it is of yesterday's wine that Acerra smells, is mistaken: Acerra always drinks till morning.

XXIX. TO FIDENTINUS.

Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer.

XXX. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus had been a surgeon, and is now an undertaker. He has begun to be useful to the sick in the only way that he could.

XXXI. TO APOLLO, OF ENCOLPUS.

Encolpus, the favourite of the centurion his master, consecrates these, the whole of the locks from his head, to you, O Phoebus.1 When Pudens shall have rained the pleasing honour of the chief-centurionship, which he has so well merited, cut these long tresses close, O Phoebus, as soon as possible, while the tender face is yet undisfigured with down, and while the flowing hair adorns the milk-white neck; and, that both master and favourite may long enjoy your gifts, make him carry shorn, but late a man.2

1 Encolpus, a favourite of Aulus Pudens the centurion, had vowed his hair to Phoebus, is order that his master might soon be made chief centurion. Martial prays that they may both obtain what they desire. 2 Extend his youth as long as possible.

XXXII. TO SABIDIUS.

I do not love you, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, I do not love you.

The following lines, in imitation of this epigram, were made by some Oxford wit, on Dr John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686:

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell; The reason why I cannot tell. But this I'm sure I know full well, I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.

XXXIII. ON GELLIA.

Gellia does not mourn for her deceased father, when she is alone; but if any one is present, obedient tears spring forth. He mourns not, Gellia, who seeks to be praised; he is the true mourner, who mourns without a witness.

XXXIV. TO LESBIA.

You always take your pleasure, Lesbia, with doors unguarded and open, nor are you at any pains to conceal your amusements. It is more the spectator, than the accomplice in your doings, that pleases you, nor are any pleasures grateful to your taste if they be secret. Yet the common courtesan excludes every witness by curtain and by bolt, and few are the chinks in a suburban brothel. Learn something at least of modesty from Chione, or from Alis: even the monumental edifices of the dead afford hiding-places for abandoned harlots. Does my censure seem too harsh? I do not exhort you to be chaste, Lesbia, but not to be caught.

XXXV. TO CORNELIUS.

You complain, Cornelius, that the verses which I compose are little remarkable for their reserve, and not such as a master can read out in his school; but such effusions, as in the case of man and wife, cannot please without some spice of pleasantry in them. What if you were to bid me write a hymeneal song in words not suited to hymeneal occasions? Who enjoins the use of attire at the Floral games, and imposes on the courtesan the reserve of the matron? This law has been allowed to frolicsome verses, that without tickling the fancy they cannot please. Lay aside, therefore, your severe look, I beseech you, and spare my jokes and gaiety, and do not desire to mutilate my compositions. Nothing is more disgusting than Priapus become a priest of Cybele.

XXXVI. TO THE BROTHERS LUCANUS AND TULLUS.

If, Lucanus, to you, or if to you, Tullus, had been offered such fates as the Laconian children of Leda enjoy, there would have been this noble struggle of affection in both of you, that each would have wished to die first in place of his brother; and he who should have first descended to the nether realms of shade would have said, "Live, brother, thine own term of days; live also mine."

XXXVII. TO BASSUS.

Yon deposit your excretions, without any sense of shame, into an unfortunate vessel of gold, while you drink out of glass. The former operation, consequently, is the more expensive.

XXXVIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus but, while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours.

With fruity accents, and so vile a tone, You quote my lines, I took them for your own.  Anon.

XXXIX. TO DECIANUS.

If there be any man fit to be numbered among one's few choice friends, a man such as the honesty of past times and ancient renown would readily acknowledge; if any man thoroughly imbued with the accomplishments of the Athenian and Latin Minervas, and exemplary for true integrity; if there be any man who cherishes what is right, and admires what is honourable, and asks nothing of the gods but what all may hear; if there be any man sustained by the strength of a great mind, may I die, if that man is not Decianus.

XL. TO AN ENVIOUS MAN.

You who make grimaces, and read these verses of mine with an ill grace, you, victim of jealousy, may, if you please, envy everybody; nobody will envy you.

XLI. TO CAECILIUS.

You imagine yourself Caecilius, a man of wit. You are no such thing, believe me. What then? A low buffoon; such a thing as wanders about in the quarters beyond the Tiber, and barters pale-coloured sulphur matches for broken glass; such a one as sells boiled peas and beans to the idle crowd; such as a lord and keeper of snakes; or as a common servant of the salt-meat-sellers; or a hoarse-voiced cook who carries round smoking sausages in steaming shops; or the worst of street poets; or a blackguard slave-dealer from Gades;1 or a chattering old debauchee. Cease at length, therefore, to imagine yourself that which is imagined by you alone, Caecilius, you who could have silenced Gabba, and even Testius Caballus, with your jokes. It is not given to every one to have taste; he who jests with a stupid effrontery is not a Testius, but a Caballus.3

1 See Juvenal xi. 163, and Mayor's note. 3 A play on the word Caballus, which, as an appellative noun, meant a hack-horse.

XLII. ON PORCIA.

When Porcia had heard the fate of her consort Brutus, and her grief was seeking the weapon, which had been carefully removed from her," You know not yet," she cried, "that death cannot be denied: I had supposed that my father had taught you this lesson by his fate. She spoke, and with eager mouth swallowed the blazing coals. "Go now, officious attendants, and refuse me a sword, if you will."

XLIII. ON MANCINUS.

Twice thirty were invited to your table, Mancinus, and nothing was placed before us yesterday but a wild-boar. Nowhere were to be seen grapes preserved from the late vines, or apples vying in flavour with sweet honey-combs; nowhere the pears which hang suspended by flexible twigs, or pomegranates the colour of summer roses: nor did the rustic basket supply its milky cheeses, or the olive emerge from its Picenian jar. Your wild-boar was by itself: and it was even of the smallest size, and such a one as might have been slaughtered by an unarmed dwarf. Besides, none of it was given us; we simply looked on it as spectators. This is the way in which even the arena places a wild-boar before us. May no wild-boar be placed before you after such doings, but may you be placed before the boar in front of which Charidemus was placed.1

1 By Domitian, to be torn in pieces. See Sueton. Life of Domit.

XLIV. TO STELLA.

If it seems to you too much, Stella, that my longer and shorter compositions are occupied with the frisky gambols of the hares and the play of the lions, and that I go over the same subject twice, do you also place a hare twice before me.

XLV. ON HIS BOOK.

That the care which I have bestowed upon what I have published may not come to nothing through the smallness of my volumes, let me rather fill up my verses with Τὸν δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.1

1 Let me rather use frequent repetitions, just as Homer frequently repeats these words.

XLVI. TO HEDYLUS.

[From the Loeb translation]

When you say "I haste; now is the time," then, Hedylus, my ardour at once flags and weakens. Bid me wait: more quickly, stayed, shall I speed on. Hedylus, if you do haste, tell me not to haste!

XLVII. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus, lately a doctor, is now an undertaker: what he does as an undertaker, he used to do also as a doctor.

XLVIII. ON THE LION AND HARE.

The keepers could not snatch the bulls from those wide jaws, through which the fleeting prey, the hare, goes and returns in safety; and, what is still more strange, he starts from his foe with increased swiftness, and contracts something of the great nobleness of the lion's nature. He is not safer when he courses along the empty arena, nor with equal feeling of security does he hide him in his hutch. If, venturous hare, you seek; to avoid the teeth of the hounds, you have the jaws of the lion to which you may flee for refuge.

XLIX. TO LICINIANUS.

O you, whose name must not be left untold by Celtiberian nations, you the honour of our common country, Spain, you, Licinianus, will behold the lofty Bilbilis, renowned for horses and arms, and Catus1 venerable with his locks of snow, and eased Vadavero with ita broken cliffs, and the sweet grove of delicious Botrodus, which the happy Pomona loves. You will breast the gently-flowing water of the warm Congedus and the calm lakes of the Nymphs, and your body, relaxed by these, you may brace up in the little Salo, which hardens iron. There Voberca 2 herself will supply for your meals animals which may be brought down close at hand. The serene summer heat you will disarm by bathing in the golden Tagus, hidden beneath the shades of trees; your greedy thirst the fresh Dercenna will appease, and Nutha, which in coldness surpasses snow. But when hoar December and the furious solstice shall resound with the hoarse blasts of the north-wind, you will again seek the sunny shores of Tarraco and thine own Laletania. There you will despatch hinds caught in your supple toils, and native boars; and you will tire out the cunning hare with your hardy steed; the stags you will leave to your bailiff. The neighboring wood will come down into your very hearth, surrounded as it will be with a troop of uncombed children. The huntsman will be invited to your table, and many a guest called in from the neighbourhood will come to you. The crescent-adorned boot 3 will be nowhere to be seen, nowhere the toga and garments smelling of purple dye. Far away will be the ill-favoured Liburnian porter 4 and the grumbling client; far away the imperious demands of widows. The pale criminal will not break your deep sleep, but all the morning long you will enjoy your slumber. Let another earn the grand and wild "Bravo!" Do you pity such happy ones, and enjoy without pride true delight, while your friend Sura is crowned with applause. Not unduly does life demand of us our few remaining days, when fame has as much as is sufficient.

1 Catus and Vadavero are names of mountains near Bilbilis. Botrodus is a small town; Congedus and Salo, riven.   2 The name of a town. Dercenna and Nutha are fountains.   3 Worn by senators. 4 See Juvenal, iv. 75.

L. TO AEMILIANUS.

If your cook, Aemilianus, is called Mistyllus, why should not mine be called Taratalla?1

1 A meaningless jest taken from Homer's words (Il. i.465).

LI. TO A HARE.

No neck, save the proudest, serves for the fierce lion. Why do you, vain-glorious hare, flee from these teeth? No doubt you would wish them to stoop from the huge bull to you, and to crush a neck which they cannot see. The glory of an illustrious death must be an object of despair to you. You, a tiny prey, canst not fall before such an enemy!

LII. TO QUINCTIANUS.

To you, Quinctianus, do I commend my books, if indeed I can call books mine, which your poet recites.1 If they complain of a grievous yoke, do you come forward as their advocate, and defend them efficiently; and when he calls himself their master, say that they were mine, but have been given 2 by me to the public. If you will proclaim this three or four times, you will bring shame on the plagiary.

1 A poet that recited verses to Quinctianus; the same, probably, that is mentioned in the next epigram. 2 Manumitted; released from my portfolio.

LIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

One page only in my books belongs to you, Fidentinus, but it bears the sure stamp of its master, and accuses your verses of glaring theft. Just so does a Gallic frock coming in contact with purple city cloaks stain them with grease and filth; just so do Arretine1 pots disgrace vases of crystal; so is a buck crow, straying perchance on the banks of the Cayster, laughed to scorn amid the swans of Leda: and so, when the sacred grove resounds with the music of the tuneful nightingale, the miscreant magpie disturbs her Attic plaints. My books need no one to accuse or judge you: the page which is yours stands up against you and says, "You are a thief"

1 Earthen pots from Arretium, a town of Etruria.

LIV. TO FUSCUS.

If, Fuscus, you have room to receive still more affection, (for you have friends around you on all sides), I ask you one place in your heart, if one still remains vacant, and that you will not refuse because I am a stranger to you: all your old friends were so once. Simply consider whether he who is presented to you a stranger is likely to become an old friend.

LV. TO FRONTO.

If you, Fronto, so distinguished an ornament of military and civil life, desire to learn the wishes of your friend Marcus, he prays for this, to be the tiller of his own farm, nor that a large one, and he loves inglorious repose in as unpretending sphere. Does any one haunt the porticoes of cold variegated Spartan marble, and run to offer, like a fool, his morning greetings, when he might, rich with the spoils of grave and field, unfold before his fire his well-filled nets, and lift the leaping fish with the quivering line, and draw forth the yellow honey from the red1 cask, while a plump housekeeper loads his unevenly-propped table, and his own eggs are cooked by an unbought fire? That the man who loves not me may not love this life, is my wish; and let him drag out life pallid with the cares of the city.

1 Stained with vermilion.

LVI. TO A VINTNER.

Harassed with continual rains, the vineyard drips with wet. You cannot sell us, vintner, even though you wish, neat wine.

LVII. TO FLACCUS.

Do you ask what sort of maid I desire or dislike, Flaccus? I dislike one too easy, and one too coy. The just mean, which lies between the two extremes, is what I approve; I like neither that which tortures, nor that which cloys.

LVIII. DE PUERI PRETIO.

[Untranslated]

LIX. TO FLACCUS.

The sportula1 at Baiae brings me in a hundred farthings; of what use is such a miserable sum in the midst of such sumptuous baths? Give me back the darksome baths of Lupus and Gryllus. When I sup so scantily, Flaccus, why should I bathe so luxuriously?

1 Sportula. A present from the richer class to the poorer; nominally the price of a supper. See Dict. Antiqq. s. v.

LX. ON THE LION AND HARE.

Hare, although you enter the wide jaws of the fierce lion, still he imagines his mouth to be empty. Where is the back on which he shall rush? where the shoulders on which he shall flail? where shall he fix those deep bites which he inflicts on young bulls? why do you in vain weary the lord and monarch of the groves? 'Tis only on the wild prey of his choice that he feeds.

LXI. TO LICINIANUS, ON THE COUNTRIES OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS.

Verona loves the verses of her learned Poet; Mantua is blest in her Maro; the territory of Apona is renowned for its Livy, its Stella, and not less for its Flaccus. The Nile, whose waters are instead of rain, applauds its Apollodorus; the Pelignians vaunt their Ovid. Eloquent Cordova speaks of its two Senecas and its single and preeminent Lucan. Voluptuous Gades delights in her Canius,1 Emerita in my friend Decianus. Our Bilbilis will be proud of you, Licinianus, nor will be altogether silent concerning me.

1 See b. iii. Ep. 20.

LXII. ON LAEVINA.

Laevina, so chaste as to rival even the Sabine women of old, and more austere than even her stern husband, chanced, while entrusting herself sometimes to the waters of the Lucrine lake, sometimes to those of Avernus, and while frequently refreshing herself in the baths of Baiae, to fall into flames of love, and, leaving her husband, fled with a young gallant. She arrived a Penelope, she departed a Helen.

LXIII. TO CELER.

You ask me to recite to you my Epigrams. I cannot oblige you; for you wish not to hear them, Celer, but to recite them.1

1 To plagiarise them from me, and then to recite them as your own.

LXIV. TO FABULLA.

You are pretty,----we know it; and young,----it is true; and rich,----who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly, Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, nor young.

LXV. TO CAECILIANUS.

When I said ficus, you laughed at it as a barbarous word, Caecilianus, and bade me say ficos. I shall call the produce of the fig-tree ficus; yours I shall call ficos.1

1 An untranslatable jest on the double meaning of the word ficus, which, when declined ficus, -i, means piles or someone afflicted with it; and when ficus -lis, a fig-tree.

LXVI. TO A PLAGIARIST.

You are mistaken, insatiable thief of my writings, who think a poet can be made for the mere expense which copying, and a cheap volume cost. The applause of the world is not acquired for six or even ten sesterces. Seek out for this purpose verses treasured up, and unpublished efforts, known only to one person, and which the father himself of the virgin sheet, that has not been worn and scrubbed by bushy chins, keeps sealed up in his desk. A well-known book cannot change its master. But if there is one to be found vet unpolished by the pumice-stone, yet unadorned with bosses and cover, buy it: I have such by me, and no one shall know it. Whoever recites another's compositions, and seeks for fame, must buy, not a book, but the author's silence.

LXVII. TO CHOERILUS.

"You are too free-spoken," is your constant remark to me, Choerilus. He who speaks against you, Choerilus, is indeed a free speaker.1

1 Free from all restraint, for he may say all sorts of things against you without fear of contradiction.

LXVIII. ON RUFUS.

Whatever Rufus does, Naevia is all in all to him. Whether he rejoices, or mourns, or is silent, it is ever Naevia. He eats, he drinks, he asks, he refuses, he gesticulates, Naevia alone is in his thoughts: if there were no Naevia, he would be mute. When he had written a dutiful letter yesterday to his father, he ended it with, "Naevia, light of my eyes, Naevia, my idol, farewell" Naevia read these words, and laughed with downcast looks. Naevia is not yours only: what madness is this, foolish man?

LXIX. TO MAXIMUS.

Tarentos,3 which was wont to exhibit the statue of Pan, begins now, Maximus, to exhibit that of Canius.

3 Tarentos, a place in the Campus Martius, in which was a temple consecrated to Plato, and filled with statues of Pan, the Satyrs, and other deities or remarkable personages. On Canius, a humorous poet of Gades, whose statue, it appears, was put there with Pan's, see above, Ep. 61; B. iii. Ep. 29.

LXX. TO HIS BOOK.

Go, my book, and pay my respects for me: you are ordered to go, dutiful volume, to the splendid halls of Proculus. Do you ask the way? I will tell you. You will go along by the temple of Castor, near that of ancient Vesta, and that goddess's virgin home. Thence you will pass to the majestic Palatine edifice on the sacred hill, where glitters many a statue of the supreme ruler of the empire. And let not the ray-adorned mass of the Colossus detain you, a work which is proud of surpassing that of Rhodes. But turn aside by the way where the temple of the wine-bibbing Bacchus rises, and where the couch of Cybele stands adorned with. pictures of the Corybantes. Immediately on the left is the dwelling with its splendid facade, and the halls of the lofty mansion which you are to approach. Enter it; and fear not its haughty looks or proud gate; no entrance affords more ready access; nor is there any house more inviting for Phoebus and the learned sisters to love. If Proculus shall say, "But why does he not come himself?" you may excuse me thus, "Because he could not have written what is to be read here, whatever be its merit, if he had come to pay his respects in person."

LXXI. TO SLEEP.

Let Laevia be toasted with six cups,. Justine with seven, Lycas with five, Lyde with four, Ida with three. Let the number of letters in the name of each of our mistresses be equalled by the number of cups of Falernian. But, since none of them comes, come you, Sleep, to me.

LXXII. TO FIDENTINUS, A PLAGIARIST.

Do you imagine, Fidentinus, that you are a poet by the aid of my verses, and do you wish to be thought so? Just so does Aegle think she has teeth from having purchased bone or ivory. Just so does Lycoris, who is blacker than the falling mulberry, seem fair in her own eyes, because she is painted. You too, in the same way that you are a poet, will have flowing locks when you are grown bald.

LXXIII. TO CAECILIANUS.

These was no one in the whole city, Caecilianus, who desired to meddle with your wife, even gratis, while permission was given; but now, since you have set a watch upon her, the crowd of gallants is innumerable. You are a clever fellow!

LXXIV. TO PAULA.

He was your gallant, Paula; you could however deny it He is become your husband; can you deny it now, Paula? 1

1 He was said to be your gallant when your first husband was alive. You then denied it. You married him as soon as your husband died. Will you deny it now?

LXXV. ON LINUS.

He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.

LXXVI. TO VALERIUS FLACCUS.1

Flaccus, valued object of my solicitude, hope and nursling of the city of Antenor,2 put aside Pierian strains and the lyre of the Sisters; none of those damsels will give you money. What do you expect from Phoebus? The cheat of Minerva contains the cash; she alone is wise, she alone lends to all the gods. What can the ivy of Bacchus give? The dark tree of Pallas bends down its variegated boughs under the load of fruit. Helicon, besides its waters and the garlands and lyres of the goddesses, and the great but empty applause of the multitude, has nothing. What have you to do with Cirrha? What with bare Permessis? The Roman forum is nearer and more lucrative. There is heard the chink of money; but around our desks and barren chairs kisses 3 alone resound.

Though midst the noblest poets you have place, Flaccus, the offering of Antenor's race; Renounce the Muses' songs and charming quire, For none of them enrich, though they inspire. Court not Apollo, Pallas has the gold; She 's wise, and does the gods in mortgage hold. What profit is there in an ivy wreath? Its fruits the loaden olive sinks beneath. In Helicon there's nought but springs and bays, The Muses' harps loud sounding empty praise.

1 The author of the Argonautica. 2 The city of Patavium, founded by Antenor 3 As tokens of applause.

LXXVII. ON CHARINUS.

Charinus is perfectly well, and yet he is pale; Charinus drinks sparingly, and yet he is pale; Charinus digests well, and yet he is pale; Charinus suns himself and yet he is pale; Charinus dyes his skin, and yet he is pale; Charinus indulges in [infamous debauchery], and yet he is pale.1

1 That is, he does not blush at his infamy.

LXXVIII. ON FESTUS, WHO STABBED HIMSELF.

When a devouring malady attacked his unoffending throat, and its black poison extended its ravages over his face, Festus, consoling his weeping friends, while his own eyes were dry, determined to seek the Stygian lake. He did not however pollute his pious mouth with secret poison, or aggravate his sad fate by lingering famine, but ended his pure life by a death befitting a Roman, and freed his spirit in a nobler way. This death fame may place above that of the great Cato; for Domitian was Festus' friend.2

2 Cato said that he died to avoid looking on the face of the tyrant Caesar.

LXXIX. TO ATTALUS, A BUSY-BODY.

Attalus, you are ever acting the barrister, or acting the man of business: whether there is or is not a part for you to act, Attalus, you are always acting a part. If lawsuits and business are not to be found, Attalus, you act the mule-driver. Attalus, lest a part should be wanting for you to act, act the part of executioner on yourself..

You act the pleader, and you act the man Of business; acting is your constant plan: So prone to act, the coachman's part is tried; Lest all parts fail you, act the suicide.       L. H. S.

LXXX. TO CANUS.

On the last night of your lift, Canus, a sportula was the object of your wishes. I suppose the cause of your death was, Canus, that there was only one.1

1 He had hoped for several largesses; he died of mortification at receiving only one.

LXXXI. TO SOSIBIANUS.

You know that you are the son of a slave, and you ingenuously confess it, when you call your father, Sosibianus, "master".2

2 The mother of Sosibianus had been guilty of adultery with a slave. When Sosibianus calls his reputed father Dominus, as a title of respect, but which was also a term for a master of slaves, he confessed himself a verna, or born-slave.

LXXXII. ON REGULUS.

See from what mischief this portico, which, overthrown amid clouds of dust, stretches its long ruins over the ground, lies absolved. For Regulus had but just been carried in his litter under its arch, and had got out of the way, when forthwith, borne down by its own weight, it fell; and, being no longer in fear for its master, it came down free from blood-guiltiness, a harmless ruin, without any attendant anxiety. After the fear of so great a cause for complaint is passed, who would deny, Regulus, that you, for whose sake the fall was harmless, are an object of care to the gods?

LXXXIII. ON MANNEIA.

Your lap-dog, Manneia, licks your mouth and lips: I do not wonder at a dog liking to eat ordure.1

1 A sarcasm on the foulness of Manneia's breath.

LXXXIV. ON QUIRINALIS.

Quirinalis, though he wishes to have children, has no intention of taking a wife, and has found out in what way he can accomplish his object. He takes to him his maid-servants, and fills his house and his lands with slave-knights.2 Quirinalis is a true pater-familias.

2 Equitibus vernis. (See Heinrich on Juv. ix. 10.)  Eques verna, the offspring of a knight and a slave.

LXXXV. ON AN AUCTIONEER.

A wag of an auctioneer, offering for sale some cultivated heights, and some beautiful acres of land near the city, says, "If any one imagines that Marius is compelled to sell, he is mistaken; Marius owes nothing: on the contrary, he rather has money to put out at interest." "What is his reason, then, for selling?" "In this place he lost all his slaves, and his cattle, and his profits; hence he does not like the locality." Who would have made any offer, unless he had wished to lose all his property? So the ill-fated land remains with Marius.

LXXXVI. ON NOVIUS.

Novius is my neighbour, and may be reached by the hand from my windows. Who would not envy me, and think me a happy man every hour of the day when I may enjoy the society of one so near to me? But, he is as far removed from me as Terentianus, who is now governor of Syene on the Nile. I am not privileged either to live with him, or even see him, or hear him; nor in the whole city is there any one at once so near and so far from me. I must remove farther off, or he must. If any one wishes not to see Novius, let him become his neighbour or his fellow-lodger.

My neighbour Hunks's house and mine Are built so near they almost join; The windows too project so much, That through the casements we may touch. Nay, I'm so happy, most men think, To live so near a man of chink, That they are apt to envy me, For keeping such good company: But he's far from me, I vow, As London is from good Lord Howe; For when old Hunks I chance to meet, Or one or both must quit the street. Thus he who would not see old Roger, Must be his neighbour----or his lodger.    Swift

LXXXVII. TO FESCENNIA.

That you may not be disagreeably fragrant with your yesterday's wine, you devour, luxurious Fescennia, certain of Cosmus's1 perfumes. Breakfasts of such a nature leave their mark on the teeth, but form no barrier against the emanations which escape from the depths of the stomach. Nay, the fetid smell is but the worse when mixed with perfume, and the double odour of the breath is carried but the farther. Cease then to use frauds but too well known, and disguises well understood; and simply intoxicate yourself!

1 Cosmus: a celebrated perfumer of the day, and frequently mentioned.

LXXXVIII. ON ALCIMUS.

Alcimus, whom, snatched from your lord in your opening years, the Labican earth covers with light turf, receive, not a nodding mass of Parian marble,----an unenduring monument which misapplied toil gives to the dead,----but shapely box-trees and the dark shades of the palm leaf, and dewy flowers of the mead which bloom from being watered with my tears. Receive, dear youth, the memorials of my grief: this tribute will live for you in all time. When Lachesis shall have spun to the end of my last hour, I shall ask no other honours for my ashes.

LXXXIX. TO CINNA.

You always whisper into every one's ear, Cinna; you whisper even what might be said in the hearing of the whole world. You laugh, you complain, you dispute, you weep, you sing, you criticise, you are silent, you are noisy; and all in one's ear. Has this disease so thoroughly taken possession of you, that you often praise Caesar, Cinna, in the ear? 1

1 When his praise ought to be proclaimed aloud everywhere.

XC. ON BASSA.

Inasmuch as I never saw you, Bassa, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and report in no case assigned to you a favoured lover; but every duty about your person was constantly performed by a crowd of your own sex, without the presence of even one man; you seemed to me, I confess it, to be a Lucretia.

XCI. TO LAELIUS.

You do not publish your own verses, Laelius; you criticise mine. Pray cease to criticise mine, or else publish your own.

You blame my verses and conceal your own: Either publish yours, or else let mine alone!                                                   Anon. 1695.

XCII. TO MAMURIANUS.

Cestus with tears in his eyes often complains to me, Hamurianus, of being touched with your finger. You need not use your finger merely; take Cestos all to yourself if nothing else is wanting in your establishment, Mamurianus.2 But if you have neither fire, nor legs for your bare bedstead, nor broken basin of Chione or Antiope;3 if a cloak greasy and worn hangs down your back, and a Gallic jacket covers only half of your loins; and if you feed on the smell alone of the dark kitchen, and drink on your knees dirty water with the dog;

Non culum, neque enim est cuius, qui non cacat olim, Sed fodiam digito qui super est oculum.4 Nec me zelotypum nec dixeris esse malignum: Denique paedica, Mamuriane, satur.

2 Mamurianus is ridiculed for his sordid and licentious life. He had but one eye, as appears from what is said below. Cestus was Martial's servant. 3 Names of courtesans, from whom Martial intimates that Mamurianus would accept broken vessels. 4 A play on the words culus and oculus. A common threat was, "Oculos tibieffodiam," often used in Plautus.

XCIII. ON AQUINUS AND FABRICIUS.

Here reposes Aquinas, reunited to his faithful Fabricius, who rejoices in having preceded him to the Elysian retreats. This double altar bears record that each was honoured with the rank of chief centurion; but that praise is of still greater worth which you read in this shorter inscription: Both were united in the sacred bond of a well-spent life, and, what is rarely known to fame, were friends.

XCIV. TO AEGLE THE FELLATRIX.

[Not translated in the Bohn - adapted from the Loeb]

Badly you sang while you fornicated, Aegle.  Now you sing well; but I won't kiss you.

XCV. TO AELIUS.

In constantly making a clamour, and obstructing the pleaders with your noise, Aelius, you act not without an object; you look for pay to hold your tongue.

That bawlers you out-bawl, the busy crush, No idler you, who bring to sale your hush.                                        Elphinston.

XCVI. TO HIS VERSE, ON A LICENTIOUS CHARACTER.

If it is not disagreeable, and does not annoy you, my verse, say, I pray, a word or two in the ear of our friend Maternus, so that he alone may hear. That admirer of sad-coloured coats, clad in the costume of the banks of the river Baetis, and in grey garments, who deems the wearers of scarlet not men, and calls amethyst-coloured robes the dress of women, however much he may praise natural hues, and be always seen in dark colours, has at the same time morals of an extremely flagrant hue. You will ask whence I suspect him of effeminacy. We go to the same baths; Do you ask me who this is? His name has escaped me.

XCVII. TO NAEVOLUS.

When every one is talking, then and then only, Naevolus, do you open your month; and you think yourself an advocate and a pleader. In such a way every one may be eloquent. But see, everybody is silent; say something now, Naevolus.

XCVIII. TO FLACCUS, ON DIODORUS.

Diodorus goes to law, Flaccus, and has the gout in his feet But he pays his counsel nothing; surely he has the gout also in his hands.

XCIX. TO CALENUS.

But a short time since, Calenus, you had not quite two millions of sesterces; but you were so prodigal and open-handed, and hospitable, that all your friends wished you ten millions. Heaven heard the wish and our prayers; and within, I think, six months, four deaths gave you the desired fortune. But you, as if ten millions had not been left to you, but taken from you, condemned yourself to such abstinence, wretched man, that you prepare even your most sumptuous feasts, which you provide only once in the whole year, at the cost of but a few dirty pieces of black coin; and we, seven of your old companions, stand you in just half a pound of leaden money. What blessing are we to invoke upon you worthy of such merits? We wish you, Calenus, a fortune of a hundred millions. If this falls to your lot, you will die of hunger.

C. ON AFRA.

Afra talks of her papas and her mammas; but she herself may be called the grandmamma of her papas and mammas.

CI. ON THE DEATH OF HIS AMANUENSIS DEMETRIUS.

Demetrius, whose hand was once the faithful confidant of my verses, so useful to his master, and so well known to the Caesars, has yielded up his brief life in its early prime. A fourth harvest had been added to his years, which previously numbered fifteen. That he might not, however, descend to the Stygian shades as a slave, I, when the accursed disease had seized and was withering him, took precaution, and remitted to the sick youth all my right over him as his master; he was worthy of restoration to health through my gift.1 He appreciated, with failing faculties, the kindness which he had received; and on the point of departing, a free man, to the Tartarean waters, saluted me as his patron.

1 I.e. I wish my gift could have restored him to health.

CII. TO LYCORIS.

The painter who drew your Venus, Lycoris, paid court, I suppose, to Minerva.2

2 Represented Venus less beautiful than she is, in order to please Minerva, her rival for the golden apple.

CIII. TO SCAEVOLA.

"If the gods were to give me a fortune of a million sesterces," you used to say, Scaevola, before you were a full knight,1 "oh how would I live! how magnificently, how happily!" The complaisant deities smiled and granted your wish. Since that time your toga has become much more dirty, your cloak worse; your shoe has been sewn up three and four times; of ten olives the greater portion is always put by, and one spread of the table serves for two meals; the thick dregs of pink Vejentan wine are your drink; a plate of lukewarm peas costs you a penny; your mistress a penny likewise. Cheat and liar, let us go before the tribunal of the gods; and either live, Scaevola, as befits you, or restore to the gods your million sesterces.

1 That is, before you had four hundred thousand sesterces; which was the fortune that a man must have before he could be a knight

CIV. ON A SPECTACLE IN THE ARENA.

When we see the leopard bear upon his spotted neck a light and easy yoke, and the furious tigers endure with patience the blows of the whip; the stags champ the golden curbs; the Libyan bears tamed by the bit; a boar, huge as that which Calydon is said to have produced, obey the purple muzzle; the ugly buffaloes drag chariots, and the elephant, when ordered to dance nimbly, pay prompt obedience to his swarthy leader; who would not imagine such things a spectacle given by the gods? These, however, any one disregards as of inferior attraction who sees the condescension of the lions, which the swift-footed timorous hares fatigue in the chase. They let go the little animals, catch them again, and caress them when caught, and the latter are safer in their captors' mouths than elsewhere; since the lions delight in granting them free passage through their open jaws, and in holding their teeth as with fear, for they are ashamed to crush the tender prey, after having just come from slaying bulls; This clemency does not proceed from art; the lions know whom they serve.

CV. TO QUINTUS OVIDIUS.

The wine, Ovidius, which is grown in the Nomentan fields, in proportion as it receives the addition of years, puts off, through age, its character and name; and the jar thus ancient receives whatever name you please.1

1 Being mellowed by age, it maybe called Falernian, Cecuban, or any other name given to the best wines.

CVI. TO RUFUS.

Rufus, you often pour water into your wine, and, if hard pressed by your companion, you drink just a cup now and then of diluted Falernian. Pray, is it that Naevia has promised you a night of bliss; and you prefer by sobriety to enhance your enjoyment? You sigh, you are silent, you groan: she has refused you. You may drink, then, and often, cups of four-fold size, and drown in wine your concern at her cruelty. Why do you spare yourself, Rufus? You have nothing before you but to sleep.

CVII. TO LUCIUS JULIUS.

You often say to me, dearest Lucius Julius, "Write something great: you take your ease too much." Give me then leisure,----but leisure such as that which of old Maecenas gave to his Horace and his Virgil -- and I would endeavour to write something which should live through time, and to snatch my name from the flames of the funeral pyre. Steers are unwilling to carry their yoke into barren fields. A fat soil fatigues, but the very labour bestowed on it is delightful.

CVIII. TO GALLUS.

You possess----and may it be yours and grow larger through a long series of years----a house, beautiful I admit, but on the other side of the Tiber. But my garret looks upon the laurels of Agrippa; and in this quarter I am already grown old. I must move, in order to pay you a morning call, Gallus, and you deserve this consideration, even if your house were still farther off. But it is a small matter to you, Gallus, if I add one to the number of your toga-clad visitors; while it is a great matter to me, if I withhold that one. I myself will frequently pay my respects to you at the tenth hour.1 This morning my book shall wish you "good day" in my stead.

1 The tenth hour from sunrise, corresponding to our four o'clock is the afternoon. SeeB. iv. Ep. 8.

CIX. ON A PET DOG AND THE PAINTER.

Issa is more playful than the sparrow of Catullus. Issa is more pure than the kiss of a dove. Issa is more loving than any maiden. Issa is dearer than Indian gems. The little dog Issa is the pet of Publius. If she complains, you will think she speaks. She feels both the sorrow and the gladness of her master. She lies reclined upon his neck, and sleeps, so that not a respiration is heard from her. And, however pressed, she has never sullied the coverlet with a single spot; but rouses her master with a gentle touch of her foot, and begs to be set down from the bed and relieved. Such modesty resides in this chaste little animal; she knows not the pleasures of love; nor do we find a mate worthy of so tender a damsel. That her last hour may not carry her off wholly, Publius has her limned in a picture, in which you will see an Issa so like, that not even herself is so like herself. In a word, place Issa and the picture side by side, and you will imagine either both real, or both painted.

CX. TO VELOX.

You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.1

1 Imperfect; abortive; ending in nothing.

CXI. TO REGULUS, ON SENDING HIM A BOOK AND A PRESENT OF FRANKINCENSE.

Since your reputation for wisdom, and the care which you bestow on your labours, are equal, and since your piety is not inferior to your genius, he who is surprised that a book and incense are presented to you, Regulus, is ignorant how to adapt presents to deserts.

CXII. ON PRISCUS, A USURER.

When I did not know you, I used to address you as my lord and king. Now, since I know you well, you shall be plain Priscus with me.

CXIII. TO THE READER.

If, reader, you wish to employ some good hours badly, and are an enemy to your own leisure, you will obtain whatever sportive verses I produced in my youth and boyhood, and all my trifles, which even I myself have forgotten, from Quintus Pollius Valerianus, who has resolved not to let my light effusions perish.

CXIV. TO FAUSTINUS.

These gardens adjoining your domain, Faustinus, and these small fields and moist meadows, Telesphorus Faenius owns. Here he has deposited the ashes of his daughter, and has consecrated the name, which you read, of Antulla;----though his own name should rather have been read there. It had been more just that the father should have gone to the Stygian shades; but, since this was not permitted, may he live to honour his daughter's remains.

CXV. TO PROCILLUS.

A certain damsel, envious Procillus, is desperately in love with me,----a nymph more white than the spotless swan, than silver, than snow, than lily, than privet: already you will be thinking of hanging yourself, But I long for one darker than night, than the ant, than pitch, than the jack-daw, than the cricket. If I know you well, Procillus, you will spare your life.

CXVI. ON THE TOMB OF ANTULLA.

This grove, and these fair acres of cultivated land, Faenius has consecrated to the eternal honour of the dead. In this tomb is deposited Antulla, too soon snatched from her family: in this tomb each of her parents will be united to her. If any one desires this piece of ground, I warn him not to hope for it; it is for ever devoted to its owners.

CXVII. TO LUPERCUS.

Whenever you meet me, Lupercus, you constantly say, "Shall I send my servant, for you to give him your little book of Epigrams, which I will read and return to you directly?" There is no reason, Lupercus, to trouble your servant. It is a lone journey, if he wishes to come to the Pirus;1 and I live up three pairs of stairs, and those high ones. What you want you may procure nearer at hand. You frequently go down to the Argiletum: opposite Caesar's forum is a shop, with pillars on each side covered over with titles of books, so that you may quickly run over the names of all the poets. Procure me there; you will no sooner ask Atrectus,----such is the name of the owner of the shop,----than he will give you, from the first or second shelf a Martial, well smoothed with pumice-stone, and adorned with purple, for five denarii "You are not worth so much," do you say? You are right, Lupercus.

1 The pear-tree. The name of some spot near which Martial lived.

CXVIII. TO CAEDICIANUS.

For him who is not satisfied with reading a hundred epigrams, no amount of trouble is sufficient, Caedicianus.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, Ipswich, UK, 2008. This file and all material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using unicode.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts

[sshakespeare]

Cursed Child: Joey!Albus (feat. Lauren!Delphi)

I treated myself to CC this Wednesday to see Joey (and got Lauren!Delphi out of the deal too!) and I wanted to share some of my thoughts/observations below!

PART I

Joey sounds exactly like Daniel Radcliffe. It’s actually a little disconcerting.

Joey’s Albus has HUGE Harry Potter energy circa Books 5 & 6. His single minded determination to save Cedric reminded me a lot of Harry’s obsession with Draco in 6. He also just channels that same dry and edging-on-sassy delivery that Daniel had with Harry’s funnier lines

He carries himself with more confidence than Nick!Albus at the top of the show. He’s definitely nervous about being sorted into Slytherin and going to Hogwarts, but he asserts himself more when Rose is hitting him and he’s more defiant with the other students - Nick’s “I didn’t choose to be his son” is always like a plea. Joey’s reading has a lot more resentment for both the students and Harry

Speaking of - the bedroom scene made me really see the direct connection between Albus’s eavesdropping and the fight. A lot of what Albus throws at Harry about the wizarding world being grateful clearly comes right from Amos. I love Joey’s barely concealed fury in this scene. You can tell it’s been building up for so long and he feels he finally has a reason to let it out

Lauren!Delphi - such a different interpretation from Sara! Lauren’s Delphini Diggory persona kept reminding me of a Derry girl if that makes sense? She had small-town-working-class-up-for-mischief energy and you could see Joey!Albus’s attraction to her right away. She did a lot of voices (she did an American cowboy accent when she was pretending to rob Albus and a little old lady voice when talking about St. Oswald’s). She also pretended to disembowel herself when Amos kept calling for her. It was really dark and fit her Delphi perfectly. Not all her jokes landed with my audience but I appreciate how much she makes Delphi her own and I’m so excited more people get to see her now!

Scorpius suggestively growled at Rose after saying “Good bread! BREAD” and immediately clapped his hand over his mouth all the while Joey!Albus snickered in the background. Joey!Albus in general laughs more than Nick!Albus. He definitely has Harry’s sense of humor

Joey!Albus is tactile for sure. He swatted Scorpius when he said “Do we?!” And he kept putting his hands on Scorpius’s shoulders to steady him on top of the train and while they were watching Delphi transform into Hermione

Also during the train scene Albus kept saying “it’s just like the stairs at school” when trying to get Scorpius to climb up. Super noncomforting but super funny!

When Scorpius and Albus arrive at St Oswald’s, Delphi almost hugs Albus but stops when she sees Scorpius. That tiny moment made it click with me just how much Scorpius’s involvement ruins everything Delphi has so carefully planned over years and years. It really is friendship that saves Albus and the whole world in the end.

Matt!Ron kept rubbing his mouth after kissing Hermione during the polyjuice scene which I honestly don’t remember him doing before. He probably has and I haven’t noticed but I still love it

Scorpius’s “good to know” after Delphi tells him polyjuice is painful was very aggressive tonight.

When Scorpius makes his engorg-impressed joke, Albus made a “so-so” hand gesture, implying he’s rated Scorpius Jokes before and that’s adorable

I’m always intrigued by how Bubba delivers “pale and red at the same time” because sometimes he’s in on his own joke and knows why Albus is blushing and sometimes he’s just baffled by it. Tonight he was very much baffled

Ugh and Joey’s Albus bounces on his toes and holds his cheek and looks so damn happy Delphi kissed him. All I want is his Albus happy but not because of this

Bubba = flirtiest Scorpius. He blew Polly Chapman the most exaggerated kiss while hiding Delphi.

The fight is INTENSE because Joey is one angry Albus. At the start of the Scorpius monologue, Albus looks offended that Scorpius suggests he doesn’t care but you can see him coming to realize how selfish he’s been. When he’s telling Scorpius how kind he is, it is So Soft.

Sarita!Myrtle looks at Albus on the “and boys” line but Joey just made a little “hmm didn’t know that” face. Nick will sometimes look a little flustered so the implications are there

PART II

Not Joey!Albus related, but the Dark World Department of Magic Law Enforcement scene is the best scene in the play. This is a hill I will die on.

Scorpius falters forward right after Draco says “murky” almost like he wants his dad to give him a hug and it never comes. My heart ached for him because Scorpius is truly feeling the loneliness his father felt all throughout his childhood - love and loyalty that has to be kept obscured lest it be viewed as “sloppy” or a weakness

Joey’s Albus is spoiling for a fight when Harry meets him in the Slytherin dorms. His “green is a soothing color” and “not meaning to cast aspersions” delivery is brutal - it’s clearly meant to bait Harry. Nick plays his Albus as very defeated in this scene, as if he’s realized he can never win in the fight against his father’s shadow. Joey plays it like he’s still got one last fight in him and both he and James are near angry tears by the end.

When Bubba does his “Malfoy the Unanxious” he always puts his hands on his hips like some kind of brave knight in a bad musical and Joey!Albus mimics him when he says “I don’t think being fearless is going to be good for your health”

Back on my tactile Albus bullshit: Joey!Albus swats Scorpius again when he says “I had something to prove” (though I do miss how Bubba and Nick practically hold hands during that moment where they’re both on Albus’s bed)

Albus gives a thumbs up to Scorpius’s “it’s time time turning was a thing of the past” joke. Albus joke ranking system confirmed

Lauren!Delphi doesn’t have as clear of a delineation between her Delphini Diggory persona and her Delphi persona (Sara’s voice is always much higher when she’s pretending to be a Diggory), but she’s still terrifying. After she killed Craig and said “these are not childish games we are playing” I got chills. She clearly has no regard for human life

Joey’s Albus can’t watch Craig die. He completely shields his face from it when he realizes what’s about to happen. Bubba’s Scorpius watches the entire thing.

Albus screams when Scorpius is being tortured just like Harry does in Order of the Phoenix when Sirius dies. It’s agonizing

His Albus also screams Scorpius’s name and then whispers it a second time when Delphi uses Crucio for the final time on him.

I love when any Albus screams “HELP” just like Scorpius does. Nick doesn’t do it as much, but Joey went for it

James’s Harry was going through it tonight. He was crying so hard after his conversation with Dumbledore in Act IV that Draco had to ask “You okay?”

He was crying even harder during his scene with Ginny in Albus’s room. The progression of how James plays that scene since his early shows and now is amazing. We’re so lucky he’s sticking around for another year

I don’t even know how to describe the way Joey’s whole face lit up when he sees Ginny for the first time in Godric’s Hollow. It’s like he’s eleven years old again and he gives her the most crushing hug.

Joey’s Albus is the real rock for Harry as they all watch his parents die. Usually James’s Harry leans more on Ginny for support, but this time it was Albus.

Bubba and Joey’s last hug was...weird? When Scorpius hugged him, Joey was more playful with “Scorpius? What is this?” It almost had this undercurrent of “have I finally cracked you? Are you going to start hugging me now?” Nick usually plays it with more happy confusion. Then Joey said the “You better ask Rose...” line while Bubba was still hugging him. Bubba pulled away and lingered for a beat before snapping back to life (like he does with Nick). But while Nick will often look off wistfully as Scorpius leaves, Joey’s Albus has a more happy go lucky look, like he’s looking forward to a good day with his dad. I think Joey’s version is more in line with what the playwrights want, but I do miss all the intense subtext Bubba and Nick have managed to infuse into that hug

That being said, weirdly no Scorbus pair have looked closer to kissing than Bubba and Joey right before Bubba runs down the stairs. They were standing so damn close to each other.

Right before the lights went out, James and Joey hugged!! It’s all I ever needed and more.

I went into the Part I thinking Joey!Albus would be an interesting mix between Sam’s Albus and Nick’s Albus, but I really found he’s entirely an Albus of his own. This is the one Albus where I didn’t quite believe Harry’s “You’re actually more like your mum.” He certainly still had Ginny’s boldness and humor, but I felt like Joey’s Albus was the beginnings of the version of Harry who had been sorted into Slytherin, who hadn’t initially found adapting to Hogwarts so easy, and who had trouble not letting his loneliness overwhelm him. It hit home one of my favorite Draco lines: “People saying parenting is the hardest job in the world. They’re wrong. Growing up is. We all just forget how hard it was.” Harry’s forgotten and it prevents him from seeing how he could have taken the exact same road Albus started down.

To try and summarize all this: gigantic, enormous shout out to Joey and to all understudies who make such massive roles their own and shed completely new light on certain moments and scenes and characters!

[drmedicsgamesurgery]

Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 9 (Summary)

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage​ @jinjojess​ @hopeymchope​ 

CHAPTER 14- I Don't Want To Be Like Cinderella

1.

The city of a hundred spires. The city with fingers of rain. The hometown of medieval rock. The spells carved on the forehead of golems. The story of the headless templar. The legend of the sword hidden at the pier. The sound of the military boots that once stepped on the cobblestone. Kafka’s lifetime. The aftertaste of the Baroque dream. "Pravda vitezi". My eye of the typhoon. All now at the center of the world. [1-9]

Prague.

I am back.

2.

Shinobu goes back to Prague. There, many UN soldiers are patrolling every corner of the city. Compared to them, the number of citizens who walk outside is very small. Shinobu wants to break through the soldiers to save Byakuya, but without Borges it would be impossible.

There are only a few cars, so she thinks she would draw too much attention with the old Skoda. She decides to leave the car and hide somewhere. It shouldn’t be hard since the city is basically a big maze. She walks on the stone road while paying attention to not being spotted by the soldiers. Shinobu wishes she could go back to the time when she wasn't worrying about her existence collapsing in on itself, when the concept of “I” hadn’t died. Immersed in the sweet memories of the never-ending, a poster flying with the wind lands at her feet reading:

 “Emergency Declaration:

 1. Byakuya Togami and his accomplices have breached containment at our convoy.

 2. Assisting in the arrest of Byakuya Togami and his accomplices will grant bonus awards; if you hide or assist Byakuya Togami, or if you don’t report spotting Byakuya Togami, you will be severely punished.

 3. It is forbidden to harm or kill Byakuya Togami and his accomplices.

 4. Now that Prague has declared a strict martial law State of Emergency, the specific details are as follows:

a. It is forbidden to go out at night before the situation subsides, no exceptions.

b. Restaurants, bars, cinemas, theaters and other recreational facilities are closed without exception.

c. Those who violate the ban at night and do not immediately identify themselves will be arrested on the spot.

d. Other regulations will be published through posters, broadcasts and other channels.”

 -Orvin Elevator, Captain of the World Health Organization Infectious Disease Control and Prevention Unit

 Looking around, Shinobu sees that several posters have been hung all over the city.

She wonders why the WHO wants to keep Prague under lock and key. Was it because it was the origin of everything that has happened so far? Or...was it because they know Byakuya is somewhere within the city? She couldn’t say at this point, so she decided to move forward. She arrives at the Strahov Monastery [10], known for containing pieces like the Dodo specimen, located near the Hunger Wall [11]. Shinobu theorizes if she can pass through the courtyard of the Monastery she’ll be able to reach her destination and Byakuya. However, the problem was that it would probably be heavily guarded. Since she lacks an invisibility cloak...or any sneakiness for that matter she feels as though she’s gonna have to win by using her wisdom alone. She starts thinking but realizes her ideas aren’t going to necessarily pan out in her favor. Call the police? Working with WHO. Get a disguise? Shops are closed and the few people out here would make dressing up a waste of time.

Not to mention all potential allies she could have used are gone now. Hiroyuki Ketouin? Dead. Pennyworth and the Needle Force? Not equipped to handle this. The 78th class which came to Prague (Sakura, Celeste and Hifumi)? No word on them after they escaped arrest. It was up to her and her alone.

In the gradual expansion of despair, the observations that tend to be hopeful will bring death.

“It’s so pointless. How utterly despairing.”

However, with the knowledge of war movies and video games at her disposal, Shinobu continues onwards crawling and hiding behind things like flower beds, even thinking of watching out for security cameras even though there didn’t seem to be any around. She notes at that point that losing Borges she also may have lost the grasp of her character at that point. As a consequence of her ‘everything is a battlefield’ mentality, this results in getting herself stuck hiding behind a flower bed and unwilling to pop out unless she finds a good opportunity to do so.

At this time, in the silent city of Prague, the sound of an engine suddenly roared. I decided to believe my instincts and rushed out of the flower bed and quickly passed through the courtyard. I hid in the bush next to me and observed the road outside the courtyard. A jeep turned over the road along the Vltava River and drove towards me. The United Nations soldiers saw the jeep and saluted. judging by that, whoever is in that car should be someone in a high position. The moment the jeep passed by the bush, I saw someone I was very familiar with in the car.

Kazuya.

And…

Suzuhiko.

My mind was in chaos as I was watching the jeep disappear out of my vision. Under the protection of UN soldiers, my brothers are sitting side by side in the city of Prague...? The two of them always had their own differing opinions on me. It was hard to imagine that these two people would shake hands and talk, and it was impossible for Suzuhiko to lose to Kazuya. He must have come to an agreement with Kazuya. That is to say, an agreement for Kazuya to recruit Suzuhiko, he held off his own self-esteem in order to find me and Byakuya Togami. For the object that he once was so hostile and did not hide his desire for challenge, he now shook his tail. While feeling guilty about this and Kazuya, I also learned a truth from it: in order to achieve the goal, I can’t take it now. The means of choice.

The jeep disappeared, and the United Nations soldiers stopped saluting and resumed patrolling. I turned back into the garden, went the other way out, and rushed into the alley. I once again chose to believe in my own consciousness, ran for a while, and finally found the jeep parked in the corner of the alley. Since I returned to Prague, I have only seen the one jeep just now, so I think this is the same one as they were sitting in. There was no one in the car. I was going to hide in the car before they both came back, but the jeep was too narrow and there was no place for me to hide. At this time, my ears caught unsuspecting footsteps. I thanked that Prague’s roads were made from cobblestone, followed the footsteps and found the back of the person I was looking for. I did not hesitate to say "Wait!".

When he turned around, his expression was a little surprised, and it seemed that he was not surprised by me, but that I actually appeared on my own. Suzuhiko concealed that rare expression with a smile, and still made unsuspecting footsteps approaching me.

"No use, Shinobu. Is anyone else gonna come out from playing hide-and-seek, halfway through the hiding like that?" snarks Suzuhiko. 

"I don't want to hide any more."

"Well, it looks like it. Then, what's the matter?"

"Let me say something first."

"What?"

"Be my companion."

Translation Notes:

[1] Prague is also called the "City of a Hundred Spires", based on a count by 19th century mathematician Bernard Bolzano; today's count is estimated by the Prague Information Service at 500.

[2] The city with fingers of rain: Prague with Fingers of Rain is a book written by  Vítězslav Nezval in 1936, showing off the many sides of life in Prague. Mixing real and surreal, Nezval evokes life's contradictoriness in a series of psalm-like poems of puzzled love and generous humanity.

[3] The hometown of medieval rock refers to the buskers of the city playing a unique genre of music to collect money.

[4] The spells carved on the forehead of golems. The most famous golem narrative involves Judah Loew ben Bezalel, the late 16th century rabbi of Prague, also known as the Maharal, who reportedly "created a golem out of clay from the banks of the Vltava River and brought it to life through rituals and Hebrew incantations to defend the Prague ghetto from anti-Semitic attacks" and pogroms. Depending on the version of the legend, the Jews in Prague were to be either expelled or killed under the rule of Rudolf II, the Holy Roman Emperor. 

[5] The story of the headless templar. According to legend, a headless Knight Templar rides a magnificent white horse carrying his own head. He appears on the cobbles of Liliova Street between midnight and 1:00 o’clock. His ghost is doomed to roam the city until someone is brave enough to stab the Knight through the heart with his own sword. Some claim to have seen the ghost – and some have even claimed the horse kicked them.

[6] The legend of the sword hidden at the pier is referring to the legend of Bruncvik’s sword. Bruncvik was an adventurer who came across a magic sword who would kill at just the command of the user. It is a story of tragedy with the sword ending up hidden near Charles Bridge in Prague.

[7] The sound of the military boots that once stepped on the cobblestone is referencing the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia. 

[8] The aftertaste of the Baroque dream is referring to the type of architecture used commonly throughout Prague's beautifully designed cities. 

[9] "Pravda vitezi" meaning “Truth Prevails” is the national motto of the Czech Republic.

[10] Strahov Monastery is a Premonstratensian abbey founded in 1143 by Jindřich Zdík, Bishop John of Prague, and Vladislaus II, Duke of Bohemia. It is located in Strahov, Prague, Czech Republic.

[11] The Hunger Wall is a medieval defensive wall of the Lesser Town of Prague, today's Czech Republic. It was built on Petřín Hill between 1360 and 1362 by order of Charles IV. Marl from quarries on Petřín Hill was used as construction material. The purpose of the construction was to strengthen the fortifications of Prague Castle and Malá Strana against any attack from the west or south. Originally the wall was 4 to 4.5 metres high and 1.8 metres wide and was equipped with battlements and (probably) eight bastions.

To Be Continued

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Wolf Day Afternoon

---

"Well now," She joked as the final rope holding his hands were cut away from where they had been digging into his wrists. "How's it feel to be the damsel for once?"

"Pretty damn good, actually," Garth replied with a lopsided grin, or at least he hoped it was one, as he slowly lowered and rubbed his sore skin. From the look on the blonde's face, he figured that smile wasn't even close to what he hoped it would be. "How'd you go as the knight in shining armor?"

That at least got a laugh out of her as Jo moved towards one of the other people in the room, carefully removing the IV bag of djinn venom from their arm with a sour look when the girl's - and Garth flinched to recognize her as the second of the missing people, a young fifteen-year-old who went missing from the local library and whose face was plastered across every phone pole in town - blue eyes remained misted over even as she sagged in the bindings from her captor.

"You know me, s'long as I get to swing a sword-" "Or a silver knife with lamb's blood." "Yeah, that too!"

Garth moved towards the man strapped up closest to him - the last of the djinn's catch before himself - and worked the dripper of venom from the younger man's arm before jerking back as brown eyes flashed open and the man screamed.

"Hi there, friend," He spoke as softly as possible, carefully checking the man for other marks of distress or injuries as he reached to slowly undo the ropes from the man's hands. Garth could tell from the whites showing around his eyes that this man was almost as alert as he himself was, and musn't have been as lost in the wish world as he could have been. "You've just had a-"

"Very potent drug affect." Jo's voice came up from over his shoulder before her own thing fingers worked the knot undone better than his own shaky ones could. The way the man seemed to focus straight onto her face was something Garth had gotten used to hunting on occasion with the blonde - she just had a way with people, to draw attention when she wanted, and a soothing something to her whenever they had to calm someone down after an attack that Garth was almost jealous of. At least he was still better talking to children than her though. "I'm so sorry to say, mister, but you got yourself kidnapped by a very dangerous gang that've been operatin' in the area. I'm Officer Harvelle, and we've managed to apprehend the criminals."

"I was-" "Kidnapped and drugged." "But I was just-" "Walkin' home from the bar, remember? You went down the alley towards your car and then you were jumped."

The man's head slowly started nodding along with the story that the blonde was weaving, the faint glint of a badge on her belt and the gun holster that wouldn't stand up to scrutiny as official helping smooth the scared, confused man as they worked to release him. There was a full amount of truth in what she said - Garth had had the exact same thing happen to him while Jo had been going along the opposite path - that the man would remember his true memories that led to his abduction by the djinn that he should buy what she was saying. The taller hunter took a step back as the man's hand were freed and he slumped a little under his own weight, and moved towards the two other victims that were still in their binding as he could hear Jo spinning the story that would see the man stumbling home, believing this was all a drugged fuelled dream and forgetting about asking for her badge number until the hunters were long gone.

Both others were as dull-eyed as the first girl, but Garth felt the prickle of tears in his eyes as he pressed his fingers against their pulse points to the deadly missing thump of blood through their veins. Carefully lifting both bodies down from their entrapment, he quietly moved them one at a time towards what looked to be a tarp behind a few shelves out of the sight of the still mumbling man. As the hunter picked up the second, he brushed at his cheek at the tell-tale wetness of a tear.

"Fuck. They... We weren't ever goin' ta be early enough for them, I don't think."

If Garth hadn't heard the crack in her voice as the blonde had snuck up behind him from his quiet reflection, the hunter might have wondered if the woman was as heartless as some of them that were in their community - but as he stood up with a sore crack of his back from being immobile for the last day, he was so touched to notice the same wet-look in her eyes as his own. Sometimes hunting with others left him aching for the slow beat away of humanity in some of those who were on the road every day of the year; those raised in the life like Sam and Dean left him sorrowful for their detachment at times, but that Jo - another hunter raised in the life unlike him - had similar reactions to himself helped fill that gulf between him and the others.

"Not likely, no." "Well... three out of five isn't bad." "Are you counting that girl as the third?"

Both hunter's eyes turned towards the first girl, where she still sat, slumped over to the side and unwilling to move away from where she had sunk. The grey pallor of her skin was still present, even as her cheeks were slowly gaining a little pink back in them. The redhead's aunt had cried constantly when they'd interviewed her - and Garth figured he could guess what the recently made orphan's wish world had held for her and just how hard it may be for her to return to life as it was. To accept reality. His own thankfully was not that hard.

Jo's sigh caught his attention, and as the short blonde moved over to help lift the girl up with a struggle - he rushed forward to pick the girl up himself despite the faint wooziness from his own energy-zapping.

"Her aunt, no matter what will be glad to have her home," Garth mumbled quietly as he held the girl and slowly made his way out of the space with the man they'd rescued beside himself.

There was a faint query of where their squad car was from the man as they emerged from the old dockside building, which was quickly shut down by and distracted from as Jo peppered him with questions instead and long-winded answers about the man's situation. It was almost like circles around and around before Garth realized just how convoluted a story she had weaved that the man would never get to the end of the ball of knots.

Both saved victims were dropped off at their homes as quickly as possible and with as distractingly dizzy conversation for the more focused man than the young girl, before Jo turned the car back towards their motel only to come to a screeching halt at a payphone.

"Gimme a sec, yeah?" The blonde didn't wait for a response from him at all as she leaped out and went to make the call about the two bodies of the women they hadn't been able to save, a stronger constitution in her that Garth envied. 

He could barely get himself to sit upright rather than slumped in his passenger seat with his forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window in a way that he wished felt more reassuring than it did. It used to calm him to feel the slight vibrations of a car and the cold numbing sharpness from the glass, but all he felt then was the same hollow feeling at his world being reconfirmed to reality and the sticky dark blood he'd seen from the djinn's body as Jo had rescued him.

Shuddering to himself, Garth was unsurprised that Jo was back in the car and the pair set straight off back out of town towards his own home base than back to the motel. She was just that organised, he'd thought to himself for ages, and that she had known that she would finish the hunt and had the foresight to get their equipment already as well as wipe their motel rooms clear rather than delay after she'd dispatched the villain of their hunt was something Garth still struggled with. The confidence and trust in himself that he would finish the task, that he would be able to save the day and do what needed doing for such things.

"How do you do it?" He was surprised to hear his own voice in the quiet space of the car, the dull rumble of the engine and the whistle of an air system that needed a tune-up the only sound that had been in their with them, but wasn't surprised to hear himself voicing a query he'd never quite finished for the other.

"Whatcha mean?" "The killing that's involved. The confidence that you're doing the right thing. That you'll actually do it." "Huh?" "I just... I go into a hunt never actually sure that I'd be able to take out the monster at the end of it, especially with what I am now. I guess I just... How do you do it, Jo? And so comfortably? So well? Even without considering your relationship with non-humans being as complex as my own situation."

He found himself turning his head, his cheek pressing against the cool glass, to look across the darkened centre of the car to look towards Jo and the tiny frown on her face as she continued their passage back towards the place he called home. Garth wished at moments like this he knew how to be a better friend, or word his thoughts better, or maybe even just read minds, as he could see a range of shadows play across her face that had nothing to do with the glow from the speedometer or the passingly illuminated road signs.

"Well, if you think I'm comfortable with it," Her words cut through his silent observation, a self-deprecating warmth in the tone as she raised a hand from the wheel to scratch at her neck. "Then I'm doin' a good job pretendin' then."

"You're not-?" "Of fuckin' course not!" "Since when?" "Since forever? You know 'bout my uncle, I told you when you wanted to quit huntin' and asked me to... help."

Garth felt his own shadows playing at that and ducked his head from watching her. That had been a dark day for him.

He was pulled out of that reflection by the other's voice though and shook that memory from his mind as he turned back to look across at the pained expression on Jo's face as she drove patiently and calmly in a way belied from the stress in her tone. "I've never thought that being a monster was somethin' worthy of hatred or loathin' or death. You know this, Garth, or at least a bit of it. And I just... I've never been okay that some hunts end bloody and just how hard it is to come up with or work out another solution."

"You know, that was my wish." Garth said sharply over the whispered end of Jo's own rant, and smiled softly when Jo looked across at him with a raised brow. "That there were other options, actually - it boiled down to a wish I had when I got into hunting-"

"The tooth fairy again?" "Yeah, that's the one." "So, what was the wish?"

Letting out a bit of a quiet laugh, Garth found himself feeling slightly lighter than he had since he'd stumbled back into reality - the weight of his wish world finally lifting as he saw the curious and warm, gentle smile he was getting as he shared. "That I didn't have to kill it. That I didn't have to kill any monsters. That no one did." He found himself twisting his hands a bit as he remembered it - they'd been on this same hunt, an irony that wasn't lost on him that they managed to stop the djinn within his dream world but hadn't needed to kill it the same as Jo had in the real world, and the djinn had simply needed to be discussed about some methodology that involved drawing only small dreams and energy from those willing and wanting to escape reality for a while - and just how easy it seemed that the world could tilt enough on its axis to allow monsters to be not so monstrous. It felt like if he just remembered enough, dug deep enough, found enough examples, he could make a real difference in a way that the thick blood that had pooled from the djinn's neck couldn't be stopped. "It... it felt good in that world, to help not only humans but-"

"Those non-humans too?" "Yeah. It felt like I could really do good for everyone with this job. Not just... People that other hunters think are what matters."

There was a noticeable slowing in the vertigo of the world speeding past the windows outside, and Garth looked confused between the darkened tree line flashing past slower than before and then the cool look on the blonde's face. 

"Jo?"

"You're right," Her voice was a tad robotic, but Garth knew better than to interrupt someone speaking in that tone. If she'd been a little girl and not a grown woman controlling the car they were driving in, he'd be trying to work out how to grab Mr Fizzle's to help with whatever train of thought was about to come out; but instead found himself sinking quietly into his seat and diverting his eyes back out through the front window at the panicked look in the white's of her eyes. "The human lives are the only ones that matter to most of us. And it's depressin'. Especially I'm sure for you, now, Garth. That if you were talkin' to some other hunter, they'd possibly change how they talked the minute they remember you ain't human any more." There was the drumming of untrimmed nails on the steering wheel and Garth shifted uncomfortably in acknowledgement. "And that if... If you were on a hunt with someone else? And trapped how you were? That they-" There was a gasped breath there, and he knew if they were anywhere but a speeding car he'd be dragging the other hunter into a hug no matter what disapproval or attempts to stop him she might make. Something was caught in her mind, tugging at the loose thread of an idea in a way Garth thought must be painful and in the same was she was drawing the same, horrible, thread of thought out in his own. "They might've left you like that. As one less... One less monster to deal with."

The rumble of the car and the heavy sound of gravel as Jo slowed to a crawl along the side of the empty highway felt like thunder, or perhaps that was just the thumping of his heart in his ears. It was pounding. Like he was on a hunt again, fighting for his and other's lives.

Glancing out the corner of his eye at Jo as the car came to a stop and put it into park without a word, there was a moment when he thought just maybe he still was. Right until two arms went around him despite the awkward pull of seatbelts, and Garth felt himself giving a shaky breath all his own as he wrapped his own around her frame in response. He couldn't say how long he stayed like that, eyes pressed tightly closed and some smell he never quite managed to determine with his new senses under that warmth he knew to be her shampoo as Jo pressed her hug back just as tightly.

Perhaps they weren't be most normal hunters, but Garth knew in his heart - no matter the momentary fears - that he'd found someone he could trust to save him as much as any human. And maybe just be able to help make his wish become a reality.

---

AFK - just checking on Garth

Jo pinged off the message on the team chat as she could hear a rustling noise over the bickering between Charlie and Spruce about the effectiveness of Harley Quinn's glitter gun. There was an immediate sound of a response as the group sat in the start menu while she got up, but she'd respond after checking on her host.

Padding along the hallway and then down the stairs into the belly of the converted boat, the blonde ducked her head under the last beam before the bottom of the stairs and paused cautiously at that point, tilting her head towards the front locked room to try to determine if the noise was coming from where it should or where it shouldn't be. The rattle of another chain came about from that direction and breathing a sigh of relief, Jo wandered towards the locked door with a more relaxed smile.

"Doin' 'kay in there, Garthy?" She called out quietly as she reached the door, sliding the small viewing panel in the door as her eyes adjusted to the dark in that part of the boat. The gentle lap of the water and sway of the boat in the currents was equally relaxing as she blinked and squinted into the darker room.

It wouldn't be a safe room if there were windows, and they'd worked together on what was the most comfortable and best for the other during these times of the month, and darkness was, unfortunately, an almost necessity when it came to keeping the beast tamed. Frowning a little as she heard the noise of movement again, Jo gave a small laugh when she noticed where the hunched over form of her friend was, curled up in the middle of the large mattress on the floor - they'd had to remove the frame the second month after Jo lost sight of the werewolf and he'd launched at her from under the bed itself on the first night - in a gangly arrangement of limbs. His foot, bare despite the cooler air of the night and those darkened sharp nails of his kind, was kicking out in his sleep, rattling the silver chain his ankle was locked into. Jo had been reluctant and found the need to chain her friend up distasteful - a sharp reminder for her each night that he wasn't the only man she adored that she'd shackled before, but a penance in a way even if the other wouldn't know it  - but they'd determined it was necessary that first month of testing. Though now, Garth's nocturnal form wasn't at all surprised when he would transform and the beast would find itself bolted down to an extent of the room and Jo had actually found his transformations less violent and feral than they used to be. A promising sign, and watching as Garth rolled to the other side, finger claws raking along his arms to draw only the faintest amount of blood this month, Jo let out a sigh as she shut the panel again. She'd need to play nurse in the morning, but that was nothing compared to some of the other injuries they'd both been shocked to see that side of him inflict upon him.

Heading back upstairs and shutting the hall door behind her, Jo let out a gentle sign as she slid the small lock into place - a back up to a back up to a back up, a precaution on top of so many precautions - and fished a diet soda from the fridge on her way back to Garth's rather impressive gaming system. Falling back into the exceptionally comfortable lounger chair, she slid the headset back over her hair, pulling a few strands of hair out of the way as she heard the voices of Spruce and Charlie still arguing.

"-it's not like she couldn't kill with that kind of impact-" "Oh that's bull shit and you know it!" "Those glitter explosions had force!" "The bean bags could kill, sure, but not fucking glitter."

Back - they still at it? - Jo quickly sent the message off in the chat itself rather than interrupt the ongoing fight. The pair were always arguing over one thing or another, and as she slid her character selector over towards Soldier 76 as she took a swig of her soda.

"Yeah, they're still trying to decide if it was deadly force or not." Ed chirped through the headsets, and Jo let out a laugh at that. "Hey, you wouldn't know would you?"

"Not sure if glitter would have the impact force-" "HA!" "But I have shot salt rounds at that proximity and velocity, and if the glitter was packed that tightly could have an impact, but not sure if it'd be deadly force for a regular human. Maybe it if was to the face?"

"Ha you're fucking self, Spruce!" Charlie's snap came readily as Ed, Harry and Grey all groaned in unison. "Anyways, is Shada around for today's game? We've got seven if she is, so could just play some death matches with a random?"

There was a quiet second before Grey's voice came through rough and tinny, "I've just sent her a message. Actually, I might have an eighth though please be nice to her guys, she's never played before."

"Who?" Jo found herself asking quickly, frowning slightly as she picked up her own phone to shoot a question off to Shada privately that they didn't have to interrupt anything if Shada was busy with whoever the other was.

"Sister." "You've got another sister? She hot too?" "None of you are flirting with her, Ed, she's a kid." "Ah, fair enough."

Jo frowned a moment at that, taking another moment to send Shada another message full of question marks and exclamation marks, as Grey said he'd be back in a second and Charlie and Spruce started bickering about some new topic of contention over the top of Ed and Harry making plans to catch up the next month if they could for some weird anniversary or something. Sinking into the comfortable chair more, Jo started picking at the plastic covering on the controller - a very colorful Mr Rogers-themed sticker that made her heart feel all the softer about her friend sleeping away the night downstairs - as she waited. Ombre - she's a total baby. She learned how to do body jumping around Christmas last year and is SUPER excited to get to talk to you - the message came through with a loud beep on her phone from the dark haired shadow she'd been waiting to hear back from. Shada's emphasis seemed genuine, and Jo found herself biting her nail as she considered that perhaps she'd need to have a chat with Grey about introducing her to the family as much as she did him to hers sometime soon. Another three beeps in quick succession as new messages came through, all in caps lock, and with some extra exclamation marks - SHES SO EXCITED TO PLAY!!  OMBRE WANTED TO KNOW IF THE DOG LIKED HER GIFTS??!! GREY IS SO FUNNY SETTING UP THE SYSTEM!! - that made Jo laugh to envision before she frowned at the question in the middle before a thought to the baby pink items for their furbaby at Christmas made more sense now.

"-isn't that right, Jo?"

"Huh?" She barely caught the sound of her name as she lifted her fingers from tapping mindlessly at her phone trying to decide the response to the brunette shadow, before blinking stupidly to herself for a moment. "What's what now?"

"I was just trying to explain to Spruce and Ed what a djinn was and how it's not at all like a three-wishes-genie," Harry said, tone laced with humor, "That was what you and Garth were on right?"

"Oh, I didn't know djinn were really real!" Charlie's voice picked up, perkily high, and intrigued, and Jo found herself frowning as she wondered if it would be best to change the topic before Grey got back with his sisters out of politeness or not, before frowning further as the redhead woman's voice continued. "Of course, I knew there was as basis to the idea of magical genies, and Dean had said-"

"Dean's just pissed his wish world was so corrupted and distracted him from helpin' Sammy." Jo found herself snapping back, pissily, and cringing at herself for just how stupid she sounded doing that whenever Charlie would bring up the other hunter. She needed to work on that, but biting her lip she couldn't help the snarky feeling that he had been her friend and brother first, and shaking her head she added quickly. "But yeah, djinn's don't really grant wishes the way that like Aladdin and stuff would make you think. They take your deepest dream or wish and make it come true. None of the trickery of it goin' bad, and none of the pain. But they keep you in that trance and drain your energy until you're dead."

"Oh like-" "You better not be sayin' what I think you were 'bout to say, Harry." "No, no of course not. I just meant the, uh, energy thing."

"Completely different vibe, but... I guess." Jo sighed sharply, and furrowed her brow as she let out a silent thanks that none of the shadows had signed in or were active yet, before continuing business like. "But yeah, basically you can live a whole life time in a djinn's dream, wish world, when it's really only a few days or weeks in reality before hand."

"Like the red waterfall and green anchor in Doctor Who!" Charlie's input was actually so welcome right then, especially as all three Ghostfacers suddenly jumped on the topic and the group began talking about the mechanics of multi-verses and time travel of a solo individual rather than continue to ask about Jo's recent hunt or the much more complicated comparison that she did not want to be discussing whenever Grey got his sisters' set up to play. Distracting the talk to be about the time travelling alien and his companions was far better a topic of conversation for whenever the other got back.

Charlie and Ed were bickering this time - about if Amy Pond or Clara were the better of Eleven's companions - when the beep of new connections added to their voice chat and then a perky, extremely young and excited voice cut through the conversation - "Oh! They're talking about ponds? I like ponds, they're so pretty!"

"Uh... Sorry guys, that's... This is my sister, Ombre," Grey's voice cut over and Jo found the slight tension that had been building simply waiting to hear his voice again started to relax. "Ombre, we don't just cut in on people's conversations, it's rude."

"Oh. Oh! Sorry! I'm just... I've barely gotten to talk to people before, and especially not when I can't see them like this!" There was a girlish giggle, followed by a slightly deeper one of the other shadow woman's laugh in turn as the younger one added quickly, "I mean, not since I got eyes, I mean. This is so interesting! Ce Magnifique!"

There was a pause in the conversation, before Jo found herself laughing at the deep, worn sigh that came through her headset as everyone else joined in letting out a few laughs in turn. She could just picture Grey leaning over his knees and rubbing at his eyes or scratching at the back of his neck as he tried to corral his sister who it sounded like it'd be like herding kittens. It was like that was all that was needed to lighten the mood again, and quickly everyone introduced their voice to their name and welcomed the younger girl as well as giving general greetings to Shada and teasing that the shadow girl just wanted to balance the number of girls and guys playing for once.

It took another five minutes before they all settled in to actually playing - the competitive nature starting up between Charlie and Ed as always as the death matches began and they started striving for who out of them would get higher on the board.

Jo found herself more distracted as they played than usual though, topping the chart typically but with the verbal agreement after the third round that she wouldn't actually play to attack until the second half of each match to even the playing field as was the usual plan, and spent most of the games more just talking to Grey and asking about how his week had been and focused on conversation over gameplay. She was fairly certain he felt the same way, as his place on the leader board was usually towards the bottom and she spotted his Moira on several occasions just standing still rather than moving as he talked to her about something that Nana had done the day before or some recipe he was testing out, and asking about how bad diner meals she had this time around.

"Okay, seriously, are you two actually playing or just chinwagging?" Spruce's brash tone cut over the jab about Charlie being a camper from Shada as the redhead had killed the brunette for the third time right after respawning again, the sound of a beer can cracking quietly over the call before he added with a laugh, "I mean, if you're going to end up flirting the whole time, you might as well move it to phonese-"

"Hell no!" "Oh god, Spruce, why!" "What's-" "Ombre, you don't need to know. Look Nana's stuck her head around the door, lookat that." "I'm with Spruce, if they're going to-"

Jo felt her cheeks going bright red and let out an awkward laugh as all five of the others fed in, blushing deeper at Charlie's cheeky agreement and as she heard Shada and Ombre's voices muffled as they'd dropped off their headsets to try to tempt her baby into befriending them. There was usually teasing of a sort, but usually she hadn't been away from the other for over a week already, and twisting her legs as she moved her position in her seat for another moment, she tried to ignore the ache at not being able to look across at what she was sure to be a very pissy look on Grey's face at the teasing. Or at least, she hoped it would be. That despite his sisters' being around for company he was missing her just the same.

There was a quiet moment until suddenly she noticed onscreen a sudden flurry of attacks and colors coming from the area of the map she thought was where Grey's character had been last. And then shouts of outrage from both Charlie and Spruce broke up the silence as their characters kept dying before they got the chance to add anything else. Jo found herself directing her own character that way and assisting in tag-teaming the pair with her own headshots added to the deadly attacks from the other. It was the way of the remaining count down of the round, and the blonde actually let out a laugh to see Grey's account name at the told of the tally board, just above her own.

"Is that actually playing enough for you, Spruce?" Grey's clipped tone through the headset felt sharp and jagged in a way only Jo would recognise, and rubbing at her chest, she felt a little bad that she'd ever questioned if he felt the same aching. "Now, I was asking what you're up to around Garth's..."

"Time of month?" She supplied cheekily which managed to get a laugh out of Charlie and Ed alike, as the tension from the group as a whole seemed to bleed away and the few conversations started up as the next round started up and Harry declared his intention to top everyone that game which got a round of giggles and snickers from the fellow men, and Shada's quip that he could try to beat her for once. Jo waited a few seconds as she heard the rest starting up before answering softly. "I visited another friend I knew in the area today while Garth slept off the sleeping off. And Garth suggested we go fishin' sometime once he's had a day or two to adjust to the aches."

"Sounds fun." "Yeah, should be calm enough to do a few hours at least." "Not going swimming?" "Not this time. Garth said that there'd been some weird algae outbreak in the river and recommended not." Jo found herself saying, even though it was only a partial truth. There was an algae outbreak at the moment in the river system, and Garth had said it would be unlikely to be a good time to go swimming for that reason alone; but it wasn't the main reason she was avoiding the water. Running a finger gently over her bare thigh as she shifted in her seat again, she found herself unconsciously sighing as she traced over the dark lines that now covered her skin and the soft covering of antibacterial gel over it that she would need to reapply after their gaming session was over. "It's a shame, given how hot it's been."

"Nana had a fun time in the lake yesterday-" "Yeah?" "She didn't want to get out. I guess the heats getting to her."

"She's resting out in the kitchen tile," Shada's voice cut in, and Jo could picture the smile behind it easily enough as she watched the dark-haired woman's character go running past to take out Ed's from behind before jumping away again. There was an outraged noise, before the giggle came up again and the girl added, "I'm sure you'd be happy, the dog didn't even bark at our arrival today."

"Wow! Really?" "Not even a sad little yip. Though she has stayed in the kitchen for the most part." "But she didn't bark. That's good."

"Yes, brother here got you a very interesting dog." The affection behind the words was so gentle, and running her finger across the dark twists of a petal, Jo couldn't help but feel the same level of affection just then herself. She was very lucky with just how interesting her life was now. "She's been very well behaved, and Ombre is enamoured with her." "She's so cute!" The squeal made Jo wince at just how high pitched and excited it was and found herself wondering if the girl's look matched just how upbeat and perky her voice and excitement level had been. "Your petit fille is such a cutie!"

Jo found herself chuckling a little, and couldn't help the smile at the compliments to her baby girl. Whenever she got to meet this sister, she figured she'd approve right away of her compared to how stifled the first meeting she'd had with the woman she now considered a close friend. "Thanks, Ombre. That's really sweet, we've worked really hard trainin' her to be able to handle all of our friends and family."

Suddenly the chat burst into a collection of voices and Jo found herself frowning until she noticed her screen was frozen. The server down and next moment she was booted from the game itself. The angry reactions and Ed and Harry both shouting that they weren't able to log back in, and shortly after everyone began to log off when the system was still down after five minutes. Charlie called a farewell and promise to answer Jo and Harry's questions about an issue with the hunter portal; Ed, Spruce and Harry all agreed within a few words to jump onto some other shooter together, and Jo found herself talking to Shada and Ombre about possibly catching up sometime when Jo got back into town; until only Grey's voice remained connected to the group Discord call.

"So... you'll be home soon?" His voice came through softly, and Jo could somewhat hear the muffled voices of the two shadow-girls who had just logged off talking in the background before fading away as if they'd left the loungeroom and gone towards the kitchen or elsewhere in the house for a time. Jo did remember that Grey'd gotten her some wildflowers with bergamots, prairie clovers, and bellflowers that she had put up away from her curious baby's nose on the hall table, so perhaps they were taking photos or doing something like that while giving their brother the privacy to talk to her, which made Jo's cheeks flame and heart feel all the warmer. "You sure everything was okay on your hunt? And with Garth?"

"Should be home by the weekend, yeah." She replied just as softly, smiling to herself as she closed her eyes and leaned into the couch. If she kept her eyes closed she could imagine they were curled up together just talking. "Poor... Did I message you what happened?"

"What? No?" "Garth, uh, got caught." "Is he okay?!"

Jo nodded to herself, smiling gentler at the sheer concern bleeding through the other's voice. "Yeah, he's alright. I finished the hunt off the mornin' after he got nabbed, so he's alright. But otherwise, everything went fine."

"Jo... Your partner on this hunt got attacked and caught by the thing you were after-" "Djinn." "Huh?" "The djinn, not thing."

There was an exasperated sound like Grey'd dragged a heavy breath in through his nose or had swallowed down some kind of answer to her correction and almost choked on it, before a rush of air. She knew that noise and snuggling into the couch, she ran her fingers across the still slightly raised skin of her thigh as she waited for Grey's inevitable thought process to continue.

"Anyway - he got attacked, and you say everything was fine?" The clipped tone and the boneachingly stong worry in it brought a sigh from her own lips in response, before there was an echo from the other end and then a pained sounding chuckle. "Is he alright?"

"He's okay. We...talked 'bout it, and I think he's goin' to adjust back fine." Jo replied gently, her thoughts flickering to that moment of fear that had flooded the other hunter's soft eyes before she'd wrapped her arms around him, and curling her hands up around her own waist she wished all over again that she could be wrapped up instead in the warmth of home instead. "He wasn't under for long, I don't think."

"Well, if either of you need something-" "You will always be the first person I run to." Jo found herself cutting him off quickly, eyes slowly blinking open as she heard a call through his mic of Shada's voice calling out about some idea the sisters had come up with, and let out a noiseless sigh. "Sounds like your own business calls-" "Not if you need me." Grey's firm response came through, and smiling again to herself, Jo shifted to sit upright again as she looked around the small living space of the badly refurbished Fizzles Folly before she let out a small laugh. There was a pause, and then found herself smiling wider still to hear the gentle tease. "But you'll be home in a few days-"

Running her finger over the delicate and deliberate lines marked into her thigh, the lines that were as much her own as they were his under her skin, Jo found herself biting back the desire to ask him to come to her then. To come to be with her in a way that having these marks would always show through no matter where she was that connection back - back to the warm feeling that was flooding her chest to look at a bit of him so secretly knowing it was there as much as that feeling was deep in her chest. Giving a small, quiet sigh of longing, Jo smiled to herself as she replied.

"And then I'll be home."

---

Day three was always the best day. Or at least, day three was the day that Garth started to feel like a real human in the morning after he'd unlocked his chains and knocked the secret beat to get Jo to unlock the door. It was the day that his bones felt like they were in the right places, and his nailbeds didn't ache, and his teeth felt like they actually belonged in his mouth. The scent of vanilla wasn't overpowering when Jo'd open the door, and the smell of the river outside that would gush in with the smells of fish and rats and the ginger tabby cat that used to hang around near his boat line weren't overwhelming. Day three was when Garth was a person and not just a weird person-shaped lie.

Stretching his back as he made his circles around the boat, Garth wasn't surprised to hear his phone buzzing and the name of his current companion's partner flashing on the screen. Jo had mentioned she'd used his account for the usual gaming session the night before, and that she'd explained briefly that something had gone wrong on the hunt; and he was unsurprised to find the call coming in, inevitably to check up on him.

"Ahoy hoy," he said cheerfully as he answered, holding the phone to his ear as he moved around the starboard side of the boat up towards the bow. "How was game night?"

There was a pause, and tugging at a rope pile that needed looping again later, Garth could almost predict there was some kind of thought struggling on the other's end to formulate. He felt kind of bad for the other guy. Garth had heard enough from Jo, and from the Winchesters, and from Bobby, to know that the other man had had struggles enough to match most other hunters that he'd ever met - and there had been something to the tone he'd heard the last few times Jo came for a slightly more extended time (a hunt followed by a moon, usually, or vice versa) that there was clearly some kind of separation anxiety. Jo showed it too, usually, and by the next afternoon Garth expected Jo's usually perky smile would be clearly straining to remain normal - and hearing the soft groan of thought through the phone from the other, Garth figured that the other was already at that point or near enough.

"It was alright. I'm sorry you missed it - both of my sisters joined in this time." There was a levity in that at least, and Garth found himself nodding and making an agreeing noise - Jo had mentioned something about that - before the other continued. "But Jo said something went wrong on your hunt?"

Garth let out a lighter sounding laugh at that phrasing. It sounded like how the blonde would explain it.

"Yeah, I, unfortunately, was looking left when I should have been looking right." He let out a self-depricating chuckle at that as he moved further around the front of the boat to lean against the window ledge looking between the river and into the living room. "Jo was two buildings over searching, and unfortunately the djinn we were looking for nabbed me before we could, well... before I could do anything."

"That sounds bad. I- I am not a fan of them." "Yeah, it's... very disconcerting what they get up to." "Mind powers and games are not-" "They're not great. Especially... that type of thing."

Leaning heavily against the outer wall, Garth let out a quiet sigh as he plucked and toyed at a bit of rusting metal under the window that would need to be sanded down and repainted eventually if he didn't want to deal with a leak. The whole place was a constant work site, but it was nice when friends like Jo or Bobby or even that one wonderful time Rufus was caught up in a case and needed somewhere to lie low for a while. Usually, it meant extra hands to help out, and this time he knew, looking in through the window, that Jo'd been working on fixing some of the rotted floorboards inside.

"Jo said you... were doing okay?" Grey's voice caught him off guard, and Garth found himself nodding before remembering that the other couldn't see it. Mumbling a 'yep', he wasn't surprised to hear the other continue questioning him. "Are you sure though? Cause it must have been strange returning to normal."

"More strange having someone having my back as much as Jo does." Garth replied with a warm laugh, turning to look over towards the river again before a thought occurred to him. "Hey man, I'm going to hang up a second and then video call you, okay? I figure you're not likely getting on this rust bucket with the amount of iron any time soon-"

"You are absolutely right!" "- so instead I'll give you a tour. Oh hey, I can show you what Jo's been helping out with the last few moons too."

"Oh? Sure." Grey's voice sounded curious, and not giving him a chance to finish which Garth cringed about as he realized he'd cut the other off - he quickly disconnected the call and pressed the video call button instead. Not even one ring completed before the other picked up and Garth waved a large hand awkwardly and mostly out of camera at the other. "You were saying Jo's been helping...with the boat?" The confusion on Grey's face matched the voice, and the hunter nodded as he grinned warmly at the other. It was good to see him again, even if he looked somehow less like he was going to puke like the first time they met but simultaneously somehow worse and more tired.

"You've got yourself a regular Rosie the Riveter with her," Garth chuckled, smiling as he looked about the boat to try to locate the first place to start. "Oh, here!"

The pair talked back and forth as Garth kept switching the camera mode from his face to looking and showing some odd job Jo had helped with the last few months - the fixed electrical box to the generator, the welding work to fix that leak for his transformation hold, the paint job to the whole exterior of the boat that Garth enjoyed telling Grey of the hilarious way Jo had fallen in the river and decided it was easier to make the paint float beside her than paint upside down - as well as some of the weirder parts of the boat Garth had built for himself. Grey laughed at the right times, and seemed to be interested and asked all the kinds of questions that Garth would expect, but when asked about what he'd been up to while Jo was away - the other demurred and changed the topic after saying he'd been doing household chores or trying some dish or other. Something seemed off, but Garth found himself shrugging as he moved quietly into the main lounge room of the boat before letting out a laugh.

"Seems I've worked Jo to the breaking point," He joked quietly, flipping the camera around to show the sight that had met him walking into the space with a huff of laughter. "This happen often at yours?"

There was a matching chuckle from the other end of the phone, and Garth didn't bother to bite down the smile he felt growing seeing the way the other man's face seemed to light up at the view Garth was sending back. Sprawled out in the sun beam shining through the main window, Jo had an arm tossed over her eyes and her hair was splayed about her head, while her overalls were covered in tiny flecks of wood varnish and there was still a hammer resting in her other hand against her stomach. The flannel that he was sure she had been wearing earlier was tucked under her head too like a pillow, and he didn't try to hide at all how wonderful it was to see the amount of affection and love pouring through from Grey's eyes as Garth kept the camera focused that way.

"Actually, seems it's like mother like daughter," The other replied, mirth and love evident throughout his tone as the camera on that end switched. Garth didn't bother to hide the loud laugh that the new camera angle brought up showing the extremely fluffy stomach of the Bernese mountain dog the pair shared likewise proudly on display, soaking up an equally warm seeming sunbeam as the dog's feet twitched in the air in her sleep. "Man, I'm sorta jealous looking at the both of them, aren't you?"

"You're not wrong. Sleeps hard to come by this time of month." Garth replied gently, smiling as he kept his screen forward but noticed Grey turned his camera back around, eyes fixated on where Jo's image was probably on his screen rather than on the camera itself. "How are you doing on that end?"

"It's fine." "You sure? I mean... Jo hasn't been sleeping much here-" "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's napping during the day. It's not good for her to sleep at night when I could... When it's... When I'm not in control." Garth found himself quickly saying and then correcting and correcting himself again. The slight shift in the other's look, from loving to worry, flashed so quickly he was almost certain there was something else at play; pausing for a moment, Garth frowned to himself before asking again, firmer, "Are you doing okay, Grey?" "I'm fine." "Grey-" "I'm absolutely fine, everything is alright. Just worried about you and Jo." "If your sure-"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Oh, Nana's woken up." Grey quickly added the last, and if Garth didn't know better of the other he'd think that might just be a lie. "Looks like she wants to go out. I'm going to have to deal with that-" There was a gesture and shift of the camera, and from what he could see it looked like the other man was rubbing at his neck awkwardly for a moment, eyes fixed on something behind the camera, before they focused back on the screen with a sad-looking and sounding sigh. "Thanks for touching base Garth, and for taking care of Jo. We'll see you up here sometime soon?"

"Sure thing-" "Okay cool. Yeah, I have to let Nana out. Have a good one."

"See you-" Garth barely managed to get the words out before the call disconnected with the ghost of a smile coming up on the other's face before he pressed the power button to close his own phone off in response. Frowning as he looked from the black screen to the restless shuffling of Jo's nap, the hunter found himself wondering if perhaps he really should go drop by sometime soon. Just to make sure that both his friends were alright. ---

"So-" He found himself having tried to work out the way he wanted to ask this for the last five days, but had struggled to work out exactly how to make it come outright. "Why exactly did you get that done down here? Now?"

That wasn't quite right, but leaning forward to thread a worm onto his hook as they sat side by side on the riverbank just down from the mooring point, he couldn't think of any better way to ask it. It wasn't unusual at all for Jo to stay with him, especially during the full moon of the month, but that she'd said she'd be getting some work done the day before the moon started to show it's full face seemed strange. When Jo had him drop her off at the artist's office, it seemed even stranger but Garth had visited the man himself too for the dark ink on his calf when Sam had suggested he should upgrade from charm to protective tattoo. Perhaps she had needed something done or touched up, or maybe it was to do with that weird obsessive searching she'd had about the fae a while back, so it wasn't as strange then once he'd thought about it. Right until he'd picked her up right before sundown and found out it had been a large, artistic choice, rather than anything protective or related to their line of work.

"Time finally seemed right. And Chris did my ass tattoo-" Garth found himself laughing there alongside the blonde's own snicker, before she continued, "So I figured I felt comfortable with him doin' the piece."

The hunter was nodding, understanding from that side of things. Jo's own anti-possession tattoo placement had made him laugh hysterically the first time it had been brought up, and the color on Dean's cheeks when Garth had suggested he'd get his own in the same spot a few weeks later had been hilarious. Sam had teased for hours over a fair few beers until Dean had stormed off in a huff, and that memory was almost as precious as some of the other. Seeing the brothers laughing and teasing one another was far between, unlike getting laughter from the blonde beside him, so it was exceptionally special to have been privy to their antics. What he didn't understand, however, was the choice of design or why she didn't get the work done closer to her home where Grey could have helped rub the ointment on her rather than herself - not that Garth really wanted to think about that mental image.

"Yeah, but why him? Why down this way?" Garth finally asked, frowning slightly as he flicked his rod and cast out his line with a loud 'plop' from the bouy as it bobbled on the surface and he turned to look at Jo.

The blonde shrugged a shoulder, looking out across the murky river with her own tiny frown. "Mostly? It's a surprise for Grey."

"Huh?" "I wanted to surprise him with it." "Does he not like your tattoos?"

"Uh... hmm, not actually sure, but this one?" Jo rubbed a hand over the skirt fabric covering her thigh and protecting her newest inking from the harsh sun that they were both basking in. It had looked very red when Garth had noticed it the day after it was done, and Jo had limped about the boat for the first two days, but otherwise seemed fine now. "This one I really want him to be surprised by."

"I didn't take you for a flower type girl," He found the words bubbling up quickly, and if it was some other woman he'd said it to - Garth would have been outraged on their behalf for his words, but smiling despite the scowl he got in response. Holding on hand up in surrender, the other holding the rod gently, he added, "It's just a very different style than I thought you'd like is all."

“I dunno. I just wanted somethin’?” Jo shrugged again as she slowly stopped scowling, a soft smile growing as she rubbed her thigh still for a second before paying attention back to the rod clamped between her knees. "But, yeah, that's true. I’m not a big... flower design fan."

"So?" “So what?" "So why that design?"

"That's a very personal question to ask." Jo teased back, sticking her tongue out at him as she reeled her line back in only to cast out again, another few feet further. There was a pause before she said, that same loving tone Garth knew was her and her lovers special tone, "But this is Grey's work. So I wanted to surprise him with it."

Garth almost dropped his rod at that, scrambling to grab it with two hands again before looking back at Jo carefully. "That's one of his sketches?"

"Eyup! I found it in one of his older scrapbooks, and he says... I'm like his own personal sun to his sunflower sometimes." Jo slowly brought the words out, as if she was trying to put them together in her mouth for the first time. As if it was the first time she was verbalizing the intent and point behind her choice. As if she wasn't absolutely certain why, other than that she did.  “Something in it spoke to me and was just like ‘Jo Harvelle, put me on your body’?

Garth nodded, glancing out the corner of his eye and thinking to himself that he didn't think the shadow was wrong at all. "Makes sense... Is that what-?"

"It's, yeah, some sunflowers. And some peonies 'cause... Well, I like to get him peonies from the lady down the road." Jo found herself stumbling over her words still, and Garth had to bite down on the desire to laugh watching her. There was something ridiculous about how the blonde reacted to things, and Garth found it all too funny to see the self-assured hunter be so off her game, though he supposed it was the same for the likes of the other hunters born into the life - confident at the job but not normality. She let out a little laugh herself, shaking her head. "I just wanted to have a piece of him with me, if that makes sense?"

"I mean, it's not as ridiculous a reason as the girls who get a dolphin because they're 'free spirits'," He replied with a goofy grin, reaching out to press an affectionate pat to Jo's shoulder as he looked across at her. “That why you got it?”

Jo shrugged a shoulder again, reeling back in her rod and laying it on the ground before her with a far off look on her face. Garth hadn’t seen that often, the dark shadow in her eyes crossing and swirling darkly for a moment in a way that seemed so opposite to the description before that was second hand as it was, and fighting a frown from forming on his own face, he raised a brow across at her as the blonde let out a shaky breath.

She slowly lifted a hand to her shoulder, fingers stretching onto the back of her shoulder blade as she looked away, and Garth felt his stomach twisting painfully as Jo whispered quietly. “I... I’ve always collected bits of other people. Or memorials to them, I guess. My dad, my uncle, some... others.” Garth could see her scratching at the other area he knew she’d added a few extra birds to on this expedition, frowning how she was rubbing at the area as if they irritated her. Before he could ask, Jo continued, a tone bleeding into her words that made his heart hurt. “But I’m... I’m not goin’ to be... I’m not goin’ to be the one doing the memorialising. So, I don’t know? I guess I just... It’s nonsensical, but I want this time and feelin’ and I guess some kind of part immortalised.”

Garth found himself frowning sharply at that word, eyes turning away quickly to the river and the bobbing bouy of his line as he tried to think over the best answer.

“I guess my reasoning doesn’t really matter anyway,” Jo said sharply after a few moments silence, her hands twisting together in her lap. “All that really matters is that I like it, and that hopefully Grey does too.”

That got a little bit of a laugh from him though, the focus on whether or not the man that Garth had watched stare so lovingly at her when she wasn’t aware would like or not such a beautiful show of affection and love from her. “You’re right Jo, it doesn’t really matter why other than you’re happy.”

Jo’s smile then was almost back to it’s normal brightness, and tilting his head at her, Garth found himself smiling back.

"Besides, I can guarantee that Grey's going to love it when you show him." "Ya think?"

Garth found himself blinking in surprise as he noticed the tiniest shift in Jo's posture as she asked it, her shoulders shrinking in slightly and her hands twitching nervously on her rod, and the bright red blush growing on her cheeks as she chewed on her bottom lip unsurely. It was so different to her usual stance, and as Garth ran an eye over her trying to work it out he let out a quiet chuckle all his own.

Dropping his rod, he didn't even think about it as he leaned over to wrap his own arms around her shoulders and tug her into a warm hug. An echo of uncertainty and concern bleeding out of her that Garth remembered himself, and pulling her into a hug with a laugh he felt good to know that he could give even a fraction of the support back that he got from the blonde over the years and even very recently. "Yes, you idjit!" He cried out with another laugh, hand reaching up to rub his knuckles against the crown of the struggling and giggling blonde's head for a second before releasing her. "I'm absolutely certain."

"As certain you are that you can get that back?" Jo's teasing quip confused him, and Garth frowned.

"Get what back?" "Your rod."

Following her gaze over his shoulder to see the end of his rod disappearing over the riverbed, Garth leaped up after it with a splash and a loud cry of "Balls!" amidst Jo's own laughter.

---

The fanfare that greeted her was pretty much normal by now. And by normal, Jo meant it made her heart ache so fiercely with the amount of love she'd be greeted with upon getting home from such a prolonged time apart.

It was rare she was away as long as she had this time, the hunt followed by staying with Garth had just doubled her usual times away at a stretch, but she could hopefully stay home for a little while now. And brushing her hair back from her face as she'd slid the key into the front lock, Jo had found herself smiling widely at the loud barking she could hear already.

"Hey babygirl, princess, gorgeous baby!" Jo cried out warmly as soon as she had the door open and found herself with a mass of fur and barking and licking and wriggling excitedness bumping into her legs immediately. Dropping her pack by the door as she slid in against Nana's squirming enjoyment, Jo shut the door before sinking to the floor and wrapping her arms around the excitable dog. "Oh baby girl, I missed you. Yes, mommy missed you so much, my little princess. How well behaved were you? You're such a good girl! And I heard you behaved for Auntie Shada and Auntie Ombre too! What a good good good girl!"

Her congratulations and praise were lapped up like the dog had been starving for attention, in the overly dramatic fashion their darling girl always seemed to have, while Jo glanced over the mound of fur against her face as Nana slobbered on her shoulder to see the person who really would have been giving the pup the most attention and love possible stepping out from the kitchen. She drank in his appearance like she'd been starving herself, and finally detangling herself from Nana with a lot of head pats, Jo practically threw herself down the hallway in a thunder of feet to wrap herself up in the warm embrace that was also waiting for her.

"Hey," Grey's voice was as soft and warm as his arms were firm and hot around her, and tilting her head up, Jo drank in the kisses she got back before he could say anything else. 

She couldn’t say how long it was before finally his lips drew back from hers with a happy sounding sigh from the both of them.  This was home. This is what she wanted more than anything.

“Missed me?” “More than anything, pretty one.” “Anythin’? What’a ‘bout more than, um, paintin’?” “More than that.” “What ‘bout my baking?” “Why, without you, Jo, I’d never have your baking again.” “Hozier?” “All these colors fade for you only.” “Hmmm, what ‘bout Nana?”

“Pretty one,” Grey sighed out softly, shaking his head at her for a moment before cupping her cheeks with both hands that made her knees buckle, smiling in the face of her happiness. “Stop comparing yourself to anything else. I’ll always miss you most of all.”

“Well, good. Cause I missed you too.” The kissing she got in response to that made her laugh all over again, hands fisting in the other’s apron front and cuddling in closer to him. “I’m so glad to be home.”

And as Jo let him lift her up and to sit atop the kitchen table as he kissed her thoroughly and soundly, making up for every single kiss they'd missed while apart, the way he always would - she could feel the warmth of their love, and underneath the bubbling anticipation for tonight.

The anticipation for after the kisses were through, and Grey had drawn back to hugging her and asking her how her week had been. For after she'd gone and unpacked and Grey'd called her down to help with making whatever they were having for dinner together. For after they'd washed the dishes and cuddled up in a pile on the couch made of them and their fluffy baby girl despite the heat wanting that closeness.

That anticipation for when they'd go up to bed, and after brushing her teeth, and maybe even feeling the soft tug of his brushing her hair, and they'd made sure their girl was happily sleeping on the spare bed - when Grey would spin her about again and they'd kiss all over again before he finally drew her jeans down her legs and would see the dark ink etched into her.

His artwork brought into life and buried into her skin the way he was buried deep inside her all the same.

A small piece of his art, a piece of him marking her forever, in a way that his name was already tattooed across her very heart. 

---

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess of the Grunewald (21): Secret Whitsun Holidays on Rügen (10): Sharing Joy and Suffering (6c) - Jamie’s story (I)

Hunting Lodge Granitz / Island of Rügen / North Germany by Klugschnacker  [CC BY SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)] ______________________________________________________________

Previously                                                Note: This is a very detailed chapter.

Monday, Pentecost Weekend 2020, three days after Claire's release from prison

         When they left Berlin two days ago, neither Jamie nor Claire had imagined that this weekend would have had the potential to change their lives.          That morning Jamie had awakened her again in his rude but friendly way. While Claire showered and prepared for the day, he had already set the table and prepared the breakfast. When she came into the kitchen, he was standing at the sink with his back to her. Out of nowhere, she felt the urge to feel his closeness and his warmth. Moments later, she embraced his body and leaned her head against his back. To her delight, he did not turn around immediately but stood there for some quiet moments.          "Good morning, mo ghraid," he said softly and in his voice, she could hear the smile. that must have been visible over all his face. After a moment, he cautiously turned to her and hugged her as she rested her head against his chest.

         "Well?" He asked softly. "Are you ready to face the adventures of this day?"          She looked at him, then yawned at length. He smiled with his nose curling in that unique way Claire had never seen it with anyone else.

         "If the first adventure is a strong coffee and a good breakfast, then Dr. Fraser, my answer is: Aye, sir!"          Jamie grinned again and his nose rippled again. He kissed her on her forehead and said:          "Then let us have breakfast!"                  Ninety minutes later, Claire packed the sandwiches she'd prepared after breakfast into a cooler. She also added two apples and a bag of nuts. The little black-haired dachshund, who always speculated that something was falling from the table for him, looked up at her expectantly. But this time his hopes were not fulfilled.          "Bismarck," Claire said, looking at him, "you just got a whole bowl of food. That's enough for now."          Just as she spoke the last words, she realized how nonsensical this had to sound in the ears of the dog. When was one portion of food ever sufficient for a dachshund? The little guy's stomach seemed to have the ability to expand to unimaginable sizes. She had to think of a verse from the well-known poem “Die Zufriedenheit” ("Contentedness") by the German poet Johann Martin Miller:          "The more he has, the more he wants, his complaints never remain silent."

        But before she could turn back to Bismarck, Jamie approached her:          "Are you ready, Claire? The animals are fed, the kitchen and dining room cleaned up ... "

         "Yes, our food is packed too. Do you have water bottles ... "           "Already in the car."           "Good, I'm ready too!"           Jamie had bent down and leashed Bismarck. Claire took it and handed him the cooler. She looked again into the living area, where Adso, as usual, had made himself comfortable on a sunny window sill. Then she went with Bismarck to the car and waited for Jamie, who locked the front door. Only a few moments later Bismarck was stowed in his transport box. Slowly Jamie steered the car from the parking lot in front of the house in the direction of the road.           During breakfast, they had roughly discussed the plans for the day. A tour to the hunting lodge of Granitz was the first destination on their list. But before they could visit the castle, they had to park Bismarck in a dog boardinghouse for a few hours. Dogs were not allowed to enter the castle and they did not want to leave the animal alone in the car for several hours. To Claire's delight, Jamie had chosen the route along the national park and the coast for their tour to Granitz. As the day before, they first went to Lohme and then in the direction of the Jasmund national park, then turned off in the direction of Sassnitz. After they went through Lancken and Dübnitz, they came closer to the coast every minute. They drove along Prora and turned off towards Bergen halfway along the building complex. Via Thesenvitz and Patzig they reached the town of Kartzitz and shortly thereafter the dog boardinghouse, which was very close to a small forest.           Jamie parked the car and got out. He felt a little queasy when he took the transport box with Bismarck. It was the first time he had to give away the animal for a few hours to a dog boarding house and thus to the care of people who were complete strangers. Bismarck was used to Tessa Lüttgenjohann, Ned Gowan or the Schaller couple as his ‘babysitters’. But how would he react, if he had to remain not only in a completely foreign environment but also with people who were not known to him? In Jamie, the thought rose that this experience probably resembled those of parents who left their children in kindergarten or at school for the first time. Suddenly, Jamie felt Claire's hand gently stroking his back. He had not noticed that he was still standing at the car.           "He'll be fine, Jamie. Bismarck is strong and it's only for a few hours," she said in a calm voice as she put an arm around him and gently squeezed him.           "Yes, he will."           He breathed deeply again, then he walked with the transport box in the direction of the entrance. Claire followed him.           Bismarck's accommodation turned out to be a lot simpler than Jamie had thought. At the reception, they were greeted by a staff member and completed the formalities. Then they went to a large fenced grass pitch, where already several small dogs romped around. Jamie noticed how excited Bismarck was when he heard all the other dogs yapping. After the front door of the grass field closed behind them, he put the box on the ground and took the dog out. At first, he stroked Bismarck extensively, then introduced him to the staff person, a young man named Frederick. Jamie was relieved to see that Bismarck obviously had no fear of contact. Together with Fred, he then brought Bismarck to the other little dogs and watched his dachshund begin to observe them carefully. After a light-brown dachshund came running to Bismarck and sniffed around him, the ice was broken. Now, the other dogs approached the newcomer and shortly thereafter, the animals spread all over the lawn again. Bismarck had followed them, encouraged by Jamie with a few pats. He seemed to enjoy having a little race with a black and white spiked mongrel dog, slightly taller than him. Jamie, Claire, and Frederick took the opportunity to leave the grass field.

“Dackel” by Pipsimv            After handing over Bismarck's food and discussing when they would pick up the dog, Jamie and Claire headed for Bergen and from there via Zirkow to the "Granitz Parking Lot". There they parked the car in the shade of a tree and then took the so-called "Jagdschlossexpress". For a quarter of an hour, the small shuttle drove them through the Granitzer beech grove and stopped in front of the castle. Together they entered the impressive entrance hall, which was completely clad in marble. Then they went to the reception, where they bought the tickets, stowed Jamie's backpack and Claire's bag in a locker, and then waited for the tour to begin.          With time, more and more people gathered in the entrance hall, and then a young woman in a blue suit came to greet the visitors and introduced herself as Christina, their guide. Christina told her listeners that                  "the Granitz, a hilly landscape with gentle hills, sparse forests and the huge cliffs belonged to the Lords von Putbus since 1472. The House von Putbus had been raised to the title of Reichsgrafen (Imperial Counts) in 1727. 'Reichsgraf' was a title awarded directly by the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, because the territories of these counts were subordinate directly to the Emperor. Already a year earlier, in 1726, Moritz Ulrich I von Putbus had built a two-story hunting lodge with two free-standing pavilions in a forest clearing, which he called "Solitüde". In 1730, a two-story Belvedere in half-timbered construction was built nearby, on the highest point of the Granitz, so-called Temple Mount, which is 107 m above sea level. This house was demolished in 1810 and in its place, a new observation tower in the form of a medieval castellany was planned to be built. But this project was not carried out. In 1814, at first, the hunting lodge was modernized in neo-Gothic style. Only later, in the years between 1838 and 1846, after the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation had been disbanded and the Imperial Count of Putbus had been elevated by the Swedish king to the princely state, Prince Wilhelm Malte I zu und von Putbus gave the order to build the present castle. He commissioned architect Johann Gottfried Steinmeyer of Berlin with the plans and their execution. As a model for the new building, the style of those castles, which were created during the Renaissance in northern Italy, was chosen. After its completion and for a long time beyond that, the castle became a popular holiday destination for the European aristocracy and other prominent personalities. Among the visitors of the house were the Prussian King Friedrich Wilhelm IV, the Danish King Christian VIII, the German Chancellor Otto Prince von Bismarck, and the historian Johann Jacob Grümbke."

“Hunting Lodge Granitz - Entrance Hall” * Foto: Lapplaender via Wiki Media [CC BY-SA 3.0 de (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/de/deed.en)]              Christina asked the little group to follow her. While guiding the visitors through the individual rooms, she explained that                    "the hunting lodge belonged to the family von Putbus until 1944. After Malte Ludolph Franz Eugen von und zu Putbus was imprisoned by the Nazis, the estate was taken over by them too. When the Soviet Army occupied East Germany and the land reform was carried out by the new political leadership of the GDR the family had been expropriated. The descendants of the Putbus family filed a suit after the German reunification and demanded their ancestral possessions to be returned to them. But their lawsuit was dismissed and until today the castle is owned by the state. After World War II, many home furnishings were lost or stolen. A number of works of art were brought to Berlin, where they were kept in the 'Storehouse for paintings of the Department for the Administration of Soviet Property in Germany'. In 1953, the objects were then handed over to the GDR State Museums in Berlin. In the years between 1983 an1990, the castle was extensively restored and the inventory was supplemented in the old style. Between 2011 and 2014, the castle was then renovated again for 7.9 million euros. In this context, the castle also received a new permanent exhibition, which was opened in 2014."          After this introduction, Christina pointed out that visitors could now go to the exhibition or the observation tower. As the majority of visitors flocked to the "Stags of the World" exhibit on the first floor, Jamie and Claire opted to ascent the tower. Leading her to the 38-meter high central tower, Jamie whispered:          "This tower was built according to the plans of the famous Prussian architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel. Originally, this was the castle hall. The tower was retrofitted."

“Hunting Lodge Granitz - staircase” * Foto: Hajotthu via Wiki Media Commons [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)]

            When they arrived at the foot of the cast-iron spiral staircase, whose posts were shaped in the form of an eagle standing on one leg, Jamie whispered:          "The self-supporting spiral staircase has 154 cast-iron steps. You can imagine how much it weighs. But their static forces are completely absorbed by the sidewalls. It has been 'clamped' into the tower, so to speak."          Slowly, they began the ascent. Once at the top of the platform, they had a wonderful panoramic view over the island. While they stood by the parapet, Jamie explained to Claire what direction they were facing. For almost fifteen minutes, they enjoyed the view in peace and made some pictures with their phones.          "The view is wonderful! And the air!"          Claire took a deep breath.          "Do you like it?" he asked.                    "Oh yes, very much," she whispered.

Panoramic view from the tower of the Granitz Hunting Lodge to the city of Binz - Foto: Gerhard Giebener / pixelio.de

         They walked on for two more stops, and when they finished the walk, he put his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her passionately.           "Dr. Fraser! "She said with mock indignation, "we are in public!”           "Does it worry you? Nobody knows us here!" he whispered to her with a mischievous smile.           "I thought you brought me here for the wonderful view. And now I have to say that you just wanted to seduce me!"           Jamie met her eyes. Then he whispered:                     "Do you really know me so little, Claire?"           She held his gaze and was silent for a moment. Then she said:           "I love you, Jamie."           He knew she was telling the truth.           Slowly she let her long, fine fingers slide over his cheeks. Then she kissed him gently.           "I love you too, Claire," he said as they parted.           "I know, Jamie," she replied, adding, "I just hope that ... that I do not ..."           She lowered her eyes.           "Claire, look at me," he said, gently pressing her chin up with one hand.           "Do not doubt. It will be alright. We'll make it, together."           She only nodded. Then they heard footsteps on the iron staircase and a few more visitors stepped onto the viewing platform. Slowly they went to the exit and descended to the other floors after some more visitors had arrived.

Wendeltreppe im Schloss Granitz by susanne906  

          There they visited the Marble Hall, the Knight's Hall, and various other exhibition rooms. After they had both made a detour to the toilet, they left the castle and strolled to the nearby inn, the "Old Distillery". They decided to keep their sandwiches for the afternoon. After examining the menu, they choose a wild garlic soup as an appetizer, a venison burger with goat cheese, mushrooms, and cranberries for the main course and some wine. Ninety minutes later they went to visit the Granitzhaus, which also belongs to the castle. In the former forestry, and guest house, which now houses the information center for the Biosphere Reserve Southeast Rügen, they visited an exhibition that acquaints the guests of the island with the various landscape and coastal forms of the coastal area of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania. Standing before some pictures, Jamie pointed out how much land and sea were interlinked in this region. When they stood in front of a map, he whispered:           "Do you see how the peninsulas and coasts are connected by a narrow strip of land, but separated from each other by the salt-marsh? There are fine sandy, wide sandy beaches, and there are rugged cliffs. At the foot of the cliffs, so-called block beaches have emerged."

“The Granitzhaus” - Foto: Derzno via Wiki Media Commons [CC BY 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)]  

          Claire nodded but remained silent for most of the time. Jamie knew that her silence had nothing to do with disinterest. On the contrary. In all the time he had known her, he had observed again and again that she was especially attentive in such moments. It seemed as if she was concentrating on what was in front of her to gather as much information as possible.

          At 3:00 pm they found themselves at the shuttle bus stop and less than twenty minutes later they stopped at the parking lot where they boarded their car. After a little over an hour's drive, they reached the dog boardinghouse. Bismarck's joy knew no bounds when he saw his humans again. According to Fred, the little guy had behaved well and was always welcome again as a guest. However, when Jamie wanted to put the dachshund in the transport box, Bismarck refused to enter it. He pushed his little dachshund feet powerfully against both sides of the entrance and Jamie was unable to get him into it. Neither by persuasion nor by light nudges, treats, or gentle threats. He looked at Claire for help. She just opened her arms.

          "Come on, I'll take him on my lap during the ride and hold him."

          "You would do that?" Jamie asked, astonished.

          "Sure, why not?" Claire asked just as astonished.

          "I thought ... oh ... does not matter. Thank you!"

          He gave her the dog and Bismarck seemed to be comfortable in Claire's arms. Jamie opened the car door and let her in. As he drove the car back onto the road, he stole several glances at Claire and Bismarck. She had put a blanket on her lap so that the dog would not be troubled by the hard plastic reinforcements of the seat belt. Bismarck had pulled the blanket with his teeth and so shaped it into a round nest, as he always did when given a blanket or cloth to sleep on. After a few minutes, he had calmed down and seemed to sleep, surrounded by Claire's arms. But Jamie knew only too well that it only seemed that way. As long as they were driving, Bismarck would close his eyes and rest at the very most. Only when they would be back in their holiday home would he really start to sleep.

          They passed around the great "Jasmunder Bodden", which separates the Jasmund peninsula from the motherland of the island, and arrived half an hour later near the village of Glowe. There they parked the car and shortly thereafter they entered the dog beach, on which already a number of other dog owners were walking and playing with their protégés. After a while, Jamie and Claire found a less crowded place to sit down. They ate their sandwiches and emptied their water bottles. Bismarck was also given food and water. Then Jamie took the animal on his lap and fed him dog drops he took from his jacket pocket. While doing so, he stroked Bismarck extensively.

“Hund am Strand” by manfredrichter

          "Well, are you trying to bribe him? Do you think he will voluntarily return to the transport box after a handful of dog drops?"           "No, Claire. I'm a realist, and I've known Bismarck long enough now to know that he'll behave like a defiant kid for quite a while. He definitely enjoyed being together with the other dogs. But he wants to punish me for leaving him alone. This is his way of saying that I have to make amends. He wants to catch up with the time without me. He always did that, even if I left him with Tessa or Ned. You'll probably have to keep him on your lap for the remainder of our return journey."           And so Claire went through the same procedure again: spreading the blanket over her lap, putting the dog on it, allowing the dog to build a 'nest' out of the blanket, putting her arms around the hidden little fur monster and holding him until their destination was reached. But to Jamie's joy, she did not seem to care.           When they returned to their holiday home, they were greeted by Adso, who came to Claire, loudly meowing. Bismarck hardly paid any attention to the cat, but immediately ran to his beige dog cushion and laid down. It did not bother him that his humans scurried around him and he did not react to the cat's advances of playing with him. So Adso followed Claire, who went upstairs. When Jamie turned on the fireplace shortly afterward, he looked again at Bismarck. The animal lay on its back with all four little legs stretched out, snoring loudly.           An hour after they returned, Claire came out of the bathroom - freshly showered, in her pajamas and dressing gown. On the coffee table, she found a fresh pot of tea and a bowl of biscuits. Jamie had fed the animals and, after giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, dressed in pajamas and his dressing gown, he held a cake plate with a chocolate-colored cake on it. When he saw Claire's questioning, but enthusiastic expression, he said:           "I thought, since we already had our dinner on the beach, we could enjoy a little dessert."           "Dr. Fraser, your mind is full of good ideas!"           Apparently, not only Claire but also Adso and Bismarck were of that opinion. Both of them had smelled the cake and now moved cautiously, but determinedly, towards the coffee table. But it only took a wave of his hand and a stern look from Jamie and the dog retreated to his pillow. Claire, however, had to use a little more effort to scare Adso away. The cat grumbled to himself, then ran in the direction of the dog and began to attack it to get rid of his frustration. But Bismarck bristled Adsos attacks brusquely and finally, the cat retired to one of the chairs in the dining area.

”Tee” by Imoflow           "What's that cake?" Claire asked as Jamie put a piece of it on her plate.           "Italian almond cake. A dream."           They began to eat - silently enjoying their dessert. When Claire had finished her piece of cake, she sighed.

          "All gone  ..." she said, with heavy grief in her voice.           "Oh, you can have all the rest of the cake, if you want ..."           "Well, the whole cake would be a bit too much, but I like to take another piece."           She held out the cake plate and watched as Jamie put another piece on her plate. Although the mood was resolved, he seemed tense. She had felt that throughout the day again and again. Jamie was relaxed, humorous ... and yet there was a subliminal inner tension. She sensed that the tension was related to the conversation they wanted to have. It did not help to postpone the topic further. It would not help him. It was better to speak straight to the topic. She put her on the table and took his hand.            "Jamie, this day was beautiful. I have seen and heard so many new things. Thank you so much for making that possible."            He smiled, looking down at the floor, his head turning slightly red. He wanted to say something, but she grabbed his hand and kissed it.            "But now I want to hear more from you."            "Och, Claire, I do not know. These are not all nice things ... "            She released his hand and covered his head with both hands.                      "Says the man who had to listen to the story of my whole messed up life ..."            She kissed him gently.            "Go on, you're always brave."            She kissed her again, then released him and turned her back to her cake. Jamie took a deep breath.

“Herrenhaus” by Funki50            "You asked about my family," he began softly.                      Claire nodded.            "I already told you about the deaths of my mother and father, the deaths of my brothers, when we talked in prison. To the rest of my family, well, I ... I have no contact with them at the moment. Except for my brother-in-law, Ian. We communicate via email regularly and he comes to visit me every now and then when he has some business in Berlin. But ... I have not seen ... my sister and the children for almost four years."            Claire did not miss the grief in Jamie's eyes. She put down her plate again and put her right hand on his left.            "I think," he said, pausing for a moment, "I should tell you about that first."            She just nodded silently and squeezed his hand gently.            "After my mother’s death, my sister Janet, called Jenny by all, took on more and more tasks in our household. All of us, my father, her husband Ian and I have always been very grateful to her. It was a logical solution. Ian ran our estate, Jenny took care of the family and the big household. My dad and I worked in our law firm and lived in our townhouse. On the weekends we drove to Potsdam to spend time with the family on our estate. In this way, our family life maintained a good rhythm and stability even after the death of our mother. Ian got very involved in his work with animals and agriculture. For him, this was and is not just a job, but a kind of calling. And Jenny has been and still is a loving mother to their four children and over the years managed the big household in a truly exemplary way. Sure, she has some hired helpers. An elderly woman helps her in the kitchen and takes care of the children whenever needed. There are also two younger women who take care of the cleaning of the big house and the laundry. Otherwise, that would be impossible. Every now and then, they also have temporary help for additional work. But despite these helpers, she is the one who has to coordinate, guide and, in the end, overseeing everything. As I said, we have always been very grateful ... "            Jamie reached for his cup and took a sip of tea.                    "However, we - Ian, my father and I - eventually realized how Jenny’s behavior changed. At first, it went very slow. You could say it happened creepingly. She became ... more and more decisive. At first, we thought she just wanted to keep control of all the work .... maybe because she was afraid that she might do something wrong or not good enough. Most of the time we just took it that way ... every now and then we also joked about it. But we endured it ... We did not want to burden her with our criticism in addition to our Mother's death and the many tasks she had taken on."            Jamie reached for his cup again and took a sip of tea. Taking a deep breath, he went on:             "Perhaps …"            His eyes moved to the fireplace.            "Perhaps what?"            Claire gently stroked his hand with her thumb.            "Maybe we should not have been so considerate, maybe it was a false consideration ..."            He turned his face back to Claire, who looked at him in astonishment.            "How ... what do you mean?" she asked carefully.            "Well, her behavior became more and more determinative, more dominant, and in a way more destructive. Maybe we could have stopped that if we had mentioned it earlier. After the death of my father, that behavior even increased. It became unbearable. And above all, her behavior was not just about running the household. She also began to give Ian more and more 'good advice' for working with the animals and the staff. One could get the impression that she was convinced that without her on this estate nothing would go the right way. Well, I did not interfere because I thought that it was a problem that they had to solve as a married couple. At some point, there was a big confrontation between them. Ian later told me that he clearly put the choice before her: Either she focuses on her tasks and lets him do his job in peace or he goes back to Scotland, leaving her and the children. That has probably awakened her. Since then, she leaves him alone and spared him with her uninvited advice.            But her dominant drive then sought another way out. She also made me ‘happy’ with her unsolicited advice whenever she and Ian visited me with the children. That was mostly on my birthdays or when they went on trips to Berlin. My father had left a very clear testament: She and Ian inherited the estate with everything that went with it and a certain sum of money. I inherited the law firm and the townhouse and also a sum of money. In addition, my father's interests in a number of companies were very carefully shared between us. As for the value of the heritage, it was shared really fairly. She never complained about that either. But whenever she was in Berlin, in the house that now belonged to me alone ... she could never spare me her criticism or her advice. Once the lawn was not well enough maintained, then again she found that the winter garden was 'overburdened' with plants and urgently had to be 'emptied'. My study was too dark, but the kitchen I had renovated was too bright. And so on and so forth. I dismissed all this as one of her quirks, but I was wrong. It was not enough for her to interfere with my domestic affairs. Her addiction, wanting to manage everything and everyone, went so far that she repeatedly tried to 'make me happy with some women'. 'Coupling' would probably be the more appropriate word for this nonsense. When I forbade her to interfere with my private affairs, she said, that I ‘needed her help, because I clearly would not be able to find a wife and start a family on my own.'

           Jamie, who had become angrier with every word, shook his head. Then he buried his face in both hands. Claire, who had listened to his words with ever-increasing astonishment, wrapped his head in both hands and pulled him close.            "Jamie, you don’t have to keep talking if it is too much for you," she said softly as she gently stroked his silky locks with one hand.            He paused for a moment with his head against her chest. Then he raised his head and looked at her.            "No, Claire, I want to tell you. It is important that you know that. Since the death of our mother, Jenny teased me with the idea that I did not bring a girl home. My goodness! I was young, I did not know what I wanted to do with my life! And why should I start a relationship? Just because ‘everyone does it'? My father kept saying I should not take her words seriously, and as long as my father lived, it was only verbal taunts. But after I returned from France ... "            "You were in France?" Claire asked in surprise.            "Yes, I was able to study two semesters in Paris with the Erasmus program. I lived at my uncle Jarred’s house, who has a wine business there.            "And why did Jenny increase her taunts after your stay in Paris?"            "Well, there was this story with ... Marie-Catherine ..."

[day-en-las-nubes]

My mom’s stern words echoed in my brain like a broken record. Maybe I should’ve listened to her and stayed until the end of our Family Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe I could’ve managed to smile one more time at my aunt’s observations about my weight or the envious resting bitch face of my cousin. Perhaps I could have endured another one of my stepdad’s inappropriate jokes. I had been so sure I had had enough when I had walked through my family’s door into the wintry night. But now, in the middle of nowhere, with the thick snow falling steadily against my windshield, I wasn’t so sure.

I took a deep breath as my car fishtailed left and right. The light of another vehicle flashing behind me in the distance started to close in.

Oh great! A psycho tailing me in this super narrow road is exactly what I need!

I turned my caution lights on, I was not going to speed up and end up crashing against one of the dark trees next to the road. I glued my eyes on the snow covered road ahead of me, pushing the strangers presence out of my mind if only for a second.

“Call out my name” by the Weeknd came on the radio, stirring with it forbidden thoughts of my painful breakup with my ex only about a month prior. I reached to change the radio station, my eyes drifting to the dashboard for a split second. Upon looking up a deer had come out of nowhere and before I could as much as make a move I had hit it with the front of my car. I instinctively slammed the breaks and my car started spinning uncontrollably, derailing from the country road and hitting several trees in the process.

I kept my hands frozen on the wheel, watching terrified everything around me spin. The thought that I was about to die racing inside my head, random regrets popping simultaneously as I sat inside the spinning old Jeep, hopeless in the dark of that November night.

I realized I was holding my breath when my car had come to a stop.

“Are you okay?”- A man knocked on my window, making me jump. I pressed my foot against the gas but my car didn’t move an inch. “You are pretty deep in the snow, I doubt you’ll be able to pull out.” He said, but by now I was too scared, too regretful and feeling too pathetic to acknowledge him. I put my car in reverse and heard the strained sound of the engine, still no movement. I searched inside my purse and retrieved my cellphone. No signal. I glanced at the tall figure standing next to me, a shiver ran down my spine. “Suit yourself!” He said and started to walk away. I kept my eye on him though the review mirror, he was the same person that had been several feet away behind me on the road.

He started his car and began to back away, suddenly the panic of being left all there by myself outweighed my reservations towards that stranger. I opened the door and ran outside, I noticed a dull ache in my back as I stood up. I yelled for him to come back but he kept backing up.

I ran closer, waving my arms around and he finally stopped. I went over to his window and leaned in.

“Are you hurt?” He asked while lowering his window. My heart skipped a beat when I saw his huge green eyes. I was definitely not expecting this person to be quite this attractive.

“I think I’m ok” I shifted slightly uncomfortable.” I’m very sorry for having been so rude.”

“It’s understandable” He smiled and I felt disarmed. ”Would you like a ride?” He asked lifting an eyebrow.

“Y-Yes please.” I said and walked over to the passenger seat. He leaned over and opened it for me from where he was. I thanked him as I slid next to him.

“Don’t mention it” He said flatly. “I was heading into town, back to my motel.” He trailed off without taking his eyes off the road. “Can I drop you off anywhere”? He asked as I took in his exquisite cologne. It had like a lavender and oaky scent, surely expensive.

“I was actually going to drive through the night to make it home. I live about four hours from here” I explained as I stared at his long fingers resting on the steering wheel. ”You can drop me off at any gas station though.”

“You are not really asking me to leave you stranded it at 1 in the morning in some random place, right?” He looked at my possessively.

“I don’t want to impose” I replied fidgeting with my fingers.

“Why don’t I take you to my motel, you can spend the night there and get some rest. Tomorrow morning you can call to have your car towed.” He suggested combing his dark hair with his fingers. He had something so distinguished about him, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was his gorgeous cheekbones or those very full lips. I found myself wondering what tricks he had up his sleeve.  It had been so long since I had felt completely full filled and considering that I had such a scare only moments before I felt different, daring somehow.  I could’ve died a boring, cheated and unsatisfied twenty five year old.

How sad is that?!

“Sounds perfect” I told him and he half smiled at me. He wet his lips and I found myself entirely too enthralled by this.

“Do you mind if I grab a smoke?” He asked and I shook my head. He reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. He brushed my breasts with his arm as he pulled the greenish box out of it. He placed a cigarette in his lips and lit it. ”Would you like one” He offered making smoke rings playfully and I declined. My skin still tingling where his arm had been.

“What brings you to these parts?” I asked him forcing myself to look away.

“My family own a business here. My father insisted upon my assistance to the firm’s thanksgiving dinner” He winced.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when he stopped on the side on the road.

“I believe I’ve gotten us lost… “ he pulled his cell out of his black pants pocket. ”We should’ve been at my motel by now.”

“Can you GPS it?”

“It’s stuck at loading….” He added shrugging and I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“Have you been drinking?” I attempted to conceal my nerves.

“Of course I have little miss or how else do you suppose I get through those awful business meetings?” He laughed and gave me one of those looks that would make anyone blush. “Im getting so sleepy!” He said tilting his head back.

“I could drive…” I offered even though I knew with my sense of direction I would end up getting us even more lost or worse.

“After what you’ve been through I don’t think it’s a great idea.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“And driving under the influence is?!-I snapped at him. He let out a laugh.

“You look hot when you are not pretending to be this innocent little thing” He retorted.

“Thanks?” I crossed my arms strangely aroused and annoyed by this bluntness.

“When was the last time someone showed you a good time?” He asked mockingly.

“I am not talking about my personal life with you!”

“Who said anything about talking?” He chuckled mischievously.  He ran his sexual green eyes over my face attentively, like studying me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s just that..I’ve been wondering…” He kept looking at me, his lips parted.

“What’s that?” I started to have trouble breathing with his intensity.

“What your lips taste like” He whispered and I felt a twinge of desire within me. The way he was just staring made me feel so wanted, so beautiful even. “Ive had too much to drink…” He started to turn away but I grabbed his chin and planted a peck on his warm lips. He looked at me surprised.

Life was too short and that total stranger was impossibly handsome. We were alone, on the side of some country road and I wanted his hands on me.

I caressed his smooth chin with the tips of my fingers while his breath fanned my mouth ever so slightly. His eye lids were half opened, his pupils like lasers pointed at mine.

“So”? I asked gaspingly.

“Definitely too good for just one taste” He uttered and I bit his lower lip. He tasted sweet and delicious.

The man suctioned my lips masterfully, his tongue gliding in and out of my mouth firmly but also tenderly.

My lips made their way to his soft neck, as I left small bites alongside it.

He moaned when my hand slid inside his shirt. His skin was muscular but soft. My fingers glided over the bulges of his abdomen.

“What’s your name?” He asked breathlessly.

“Sofia” I said and a smile spread across his face.

“My name is Bill” He pushed my coat off my shoulders and licked my collar bone as he lowered my sleeves.  The hair on my skin stood up as the anticipation continued building up when his mouth got closer and closer to my breasts.

I clenched my fist in his silky hair when his teeth bit playfully my nipples. His tongue circling them subtly first, then introducing them in his mouth and sucking on them mercilessly.

The vibrations between my legs becoming almost unbearable with the activities his lips were carrying in my chest.

I placed my hands in his belt and untied it as fast as I could. I lowered the zipper of his pants and reached inside.  He froze as my fingers curled around the massiveness of him.

He looked at me wild now, his hair disheveled and his rosy lips swollen. He grabbed me by the hip and lifted me as if I were a feather. He placed me on his lap and lifted my dress. With a finger he moved my panties to one side. The contact of his finger tip while he did this sending powerful waves of electricity to my whole body.

I propped myself up on my knees, and as I was ready to descend on him  the flash light outside the window sent me crawling back to my seat and Bill fixing himself up.

“Need any assistance folks” The cop said as Bill lowered the window. “Let me escort you back to the city, yes?”

Bill threw a frustrated and perverse look my way before answering him.

“Sure officer”

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Come Back Down, Part 21

Title: Come Back Down, Part 21

Warning/Rating: NC-17; For graphic smut, hand job (male receiving), cussing, description of mental illness.

Word Count: 4,879

Summary: Recovery is not easy for Jensen. It involves sitting still and ‘resting’ which pretty much adds up to anxiety and feelings of failure. Depression weighs heavily on him as he contemplates the past month.

A/N: Thank you, @tas898, for reading through this and reassuring me that it wasn’t complete crap! Also for pushing me to post the damn thing. I super appreciate your support, Twinsie!

Hollygopossum’s Master List ~ If you’d like to read more of my work, click this link 

Come Back Down Master List ~ Just incase you’d like to catch up, click this link here!

Cbd21

I’d been home for about 2 weeks now and had barely even left this room. Despite being drugged up to the gills for most of it, I was starting to lose patience with everyone. Mom had, of course, been insufferable and over attentive which was both annoying and guilt inducing. I knew there were preparations for her favorite holiday to be done but she was too busy checking on me every thirty minutes. Which, was an improvement because up until a couple of days ago, it had been every five.

It was a crazy concept to me, when I thought about it, but Christmas was only less than a week away. The two weeks I’d spent in hospital had seemed to drag on and on, but it turned out that hospital time goes a lot slower than real time.

The time I spent hospitalized was anxiety inducing, especially with my parents and their superpower of smothering the fuck out of me. My family had come to an agreement of a different schedule when I finally lost it enough to need more iv Ativan.

They were only allowed to come in one person at a time. My parents traded of the morning and afternoon shift. Josh, Mackenzie and Jared had each come to visit and take a ‘shift’ that I found unnecessary since I had a very attentive nurse. She came quickly when I had to break down and push the button but she hadn’t tried to make small talk. She was there to get down to business.

Then there was Y/N. She mainly took the night shift, after my parents and I had put our foot down that she needed a shower and at least 5 hours of sleep that she wouldn’t get if she stayed glued to my side 24/7. Selfishly I wanted her to stay with me and scare off my parents with her haunted eyes. But, she truthfully hadn’t recovered from me scaring the ever loving fuck out of her and she needed sleep and food.

So now, even though I was feeling pouty and ready to hunchback my healing ass out of this room and to the nearest bar, I stifled it. Earlier in the week, I’d half heartedly tried to convince her to go home to Wyoming. I told her she didn’t have to stay to take care of me when she had so many things to do at home. The argument was pointless, like arguing with an especially grumpy mule. I tried to let the guilt bog me down. I tried to convince myself that I was not just uselessly just putting her life on hold, and many of the cast and crew were ‘home on break’ until we had a full cast to work with.

So much guilt. Forever with the guilt.  

Unfortunately for me, she was also extremely perceptive. She always had been, and she knew with just one look that I wasn’t handling the bed surfing part of my recovery well. If I were honest with myself, I would admit that the appendectomy had scared the fuck out of me too. But, it seemed wrong to voice that when everyone else had been terrified too. I was damn relieved that she hadn’t listened when I told her that she should go home.

She knew from experience how much of a pain in the ass I could be when I wasn’t feeling well. And, like I’d said before, we’d been there for each other through a large variety of situations. Like, the time I’d gotten mono from making out with Anna McDowell the summer before senior year.

Y/N had been the only person home because she was visiting over her break. Dad was off filming a part in some sitcom that filmed in Vancouver. After I had assured Mom that Y/N and I could behave and would be fine alone, she had reluctantly gone with him.

My throat had been brutally sore and I’d felt weighed down like I could sleep for days at a time. I’ll just say that mono had made the bad cold I’d had back in Cheyenne look like the sniffles. She made sure I drank plenty of fluids and took my medication. She would even bring me popsicles if I didn’t bitch too much. I know I definitely tested Y/N’s patience that first week of summer. It was one of the many times that solidified the position she held in my life as my favorite person.

Now, things were a little different. We weren’t just two teenagers trying to get by anymore. She never gave me any inclination that she ever planned to run like hell. I’d tried to get used to the very real possibility that dealing with all of this was just too much for me to ask. How could such a friend stay in my life for so long? Especially when they were picking up pictures of her and putting them in the gossip magazines?

My life was already spilling over into hers and I hadn’t made anything official. I’d gotten comfortable with what we had, but now I had to consider the possibility that she wouldn’t want the kind of life that was constantly being observed underneath a microscope. Not that I could completely begrudge Danneel for going off the deep end, but I knew I was going to get some backlash for that. That meant that Y/N might get backlash, too. Some of my fans had tagged her as the ‘other woman’ years ago before I’d wizened up.

My sad effort to keep these worries and some others under wraps and my problem alone had failed. She’d tried to cheer me up by offering me my favorite foods or letting me watch whatever I wanted, but the truth was that I was going fucking stir crazy. I didn’t want to sit still so that my abdominal internal sutures could heal properly like the outside sutures were headed to a lot quicker than I had thought. To be honest, it was getting a little itchy which just added to my discontent.

To be fair, I recognized that it was my own damn fault that I’d landed in this situation. If I hadn’t been such a hard headed dipshit, I’d be back on set by now.

On top of that, I couldn’t help but think about Danneel and the fake pregnancy. I still hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted. It still stung more than I was prepared for, even though we weren’t together anymore. Our divorce had caused her to suffer a psychological break, or so her brother had informed me in a very angry, violent conversation over the phone right after I’d been released to go home.

I’d spoken to Danneel’s mother yesterday and she’d informed me that Danneel was receiving treatment closer to her home town in Louisiana in a much nicer, if a little bit professional tone. The doctors there thought the break was due to the imbalance of hormones in her system caused by the fertility treatments she had been having. Oh, and stress. For some reason, Danneel’s mother took pity on me. She mentioned that even though stress didn’t help the situation, it had played a very small part in comparison to the fertility treatments and her unsuccessful attempts at conceiving a baby.

I still couldn’t quite let myself off of the hook, even having been pardoned by her mother. As soon as I was healed enough to drive, I planned on making time to visit with Mrs. Graul and maybe even Danneel if she was ready to have visitors. I knew all too well that the divorce was solid this time, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being responsible for pushing Danneel closer to the deep end. She might have meant to harm me, but I would’ve never wished her any real pain.

Y/N was still furious with Danneel who had confessed to running her off the road and into the ravine. A dark, unpopulated ravine that she’d been at the bottom of for nearly a week. Add on top of that the vandalism of her barn, and Y/N had every reason to press every charge possible, but she’d dropped them when she found out that Danneel wasn’t mentally well. She’d told me right before bed the night before that she didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. Plus, it was kind of hard to point fingers at someone who’d had such a hard time adjusting that they had a meltdown.

Once the media got a hold of the story, some negative Tweets and articles had already been released. Some of the Supernatural fandom were not very happy with me. They blamed me for Danneel’s mental break, and I couldn’t say I blamed them. The suits at the CW said not to worry, that the negative press would settle soon. They’d even tacked on that my drama had actually benefited the show being renewed. Bad attention, is still attention. Ugh! I felt used, but at least the crew would still have a job the longer they stayed on tv.

I sighed, feeling the tension building back up in my chest. It had only been momentarily alleviated by Y/N’s earlier animated conversation about how beautiful our hometown was. As she’d leaned into my shoulder, and nowhere else because I was a fucking china doll, she’d reminisced in a way that didn’t completely depress her. It was new, this lighter side of her talking about childhood hang outs and memories of us as high schoolers.

No matter how many times she returned to Dallas, and even though my parents had moved to a new house a few years before, the first couple of days always hit her like a sledgehammer. Especially if she tries to talk about her family. Now though, she seemed relaxed and happy to be here. She’d come back upstairs a couple of times ready to discuss a conversation that she’d had with my parents. There were little tidbits of information that she’d never known about her mom until my Mom had shared with her.

Maybe I’d be able to summon the inner strength to ask her what had changed.

She had disappeared about an hour ago and the book I was trying to read wasn’t holding my attention for longer than 5 minute increments.

Ever since I’d arrived home I’d been battling the nervous, possibly manic energy that was buzzing beneath my skin the longer I was forced to sit still. There were so many things that needed to be done for the show and I’d had to fight with both my Mom and Y/N so that I could leave to do voice work next week. They’d eventually given in when I told them that it was going to be done locally and for short amounts at a time. Even being able to do voice work in the very near future didn’t really quell it.

The crew had made changes as soon as they knew my recovery would be extended. They had left me out of several scenes and used my stunt guy to fill in where they couldn’t. I hated the strain this put on my friends.

Singer had tried to comfort me with the fact that it was only a couple of episodes and then they would break for Christmas. I wasn’t comforted. I hated anything that would possibly take away from the shows full potential and the family that was there.

You’d think the nervous energy would be completely cancelled out by the depressive episode of gargantuan proportions. It was obvious with my unwillingness to get out of bed or eat or to bathe myself with anything more complicated than a baby wipe down. I could actually feel myself sinking deeper and deeper, even with taking my antidepressant regularly. I could recognize it but I couldn’t do anything about it without feeling overwhelmed and defeated.

I had been at the end of my rope a few nights ago and finally caved. I told Y/N a shortened version of what was going on with me, omitting my worries about her because I didn’t want to give her more things to worry about. She had listened patiently but she hadn’t tried to soothe me with putting her hands on my face or giving me a look of pity.

She chose a scientific explanation that put me at ease faster than a generic, ‘I’m sorry, baby.’ She’d simply explained that sometimes anesthesia and the sedatives would mix up the normal balance of brain chemicals. That I should just try to take it easy until they balanced themselves out, but I didn’t know just how much more I could take.

Bored by the book I was trying to read and filled to the brim with hopelessness, I fell asleep. Sleeping was my only escape. It was the only way I could stop the voices in my head telling me how much I’d fucked up. That I was letting everyone that I’d ever cared about down.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep the next time I woke up, but it was a pleasant wake up. Y/N face was leaning down so that she was eye level, a private smile on her face and a little blush on her cheeks. It looked like maybe she had been able to be outside for a little while and gotten some sun on her face.

“Hey.” She whispered like speaking too loud would disturb the room. As I slowly became more conscious, I noted that she’d opened the blinds to let some sun it. It glowed brightly against the beige carpet in the room, reflecting an ethereal glow on her face.

“Hey.” I croaked, lifting a hand to push the hair hanging in her face behind her ear. She leaned down a little further to kiss my nose and then my lips, bringing a small smile out.

“I’ve run a bath for you.”

And… the moment was gone. “A bath?” A bath required energy. A bath meant I’d need help getting in and out. A bath sounded terrible.

“Yeah.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, probably seeing my face fall. “I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is stay awake.”

“I don’t want you to do all the work.” I grumped, groaning quite dramatically as I sat up. “I don’t want you to have to do anything.”

“Would you rather your Mom helped?” Dirty. She played dirty. She deduced the answer by the appalled twist to my expression. “Maybe we could have a little fun.”

I lifted an eye brow in question, wondering if Y/N had lost her mind while I’d been sleeping. It was a tiny bit enticing but absolutely not while my parents were still in the house. That would just be weird. Plus, I wasn’t exactly in shape to be doing acrobatics in the garden tub.

“Your parents are gone shopping for some last minute Christmas things. They’ll probably be gone…” She checked the phone she’d been carrying in her right hand. “For the next two hours.”

And, there went most of my excuses.

I didn’t cave one bit, my face a study in extreme grumpiness, as she walked close beside me while I hobbled into the upstairs bathroom. Even as I saw the bath tub full of bubbles and surrounded by a couple of candles that had to be left over from Mackenzie, I remained against this whole thing. It was one thing for me to help her shower all last summer. It was completely another for her to do the same.

I loved her and I wanted to be her safety and her security. I couldn’t very well do that while she was washing my ass for me.

To Y/N’s credit, she never lost the smile on her face or the genuine care she put into getting me into the tub. Which, if I were in the mood to be honest, it wasn’t as complicated as I’d thought it would be. It didn’t even hurt as much as I thought it would, but I still would’ve preferred some damn baby wipes or a sink bath to this. I could already be napping again by now. I was already a little breathless from the ten feet I’d just crossed to get to the bathroom.

A thought occurred to me as I got lost watching her take her clothes off, neatly folding them up on the counter next to what I assumed were my clean clothes. (Because I hadn’t even thought about grabbing any) But, maybe she was pushing this bath because she was tired of sleeping next to someone that (maybe, possibly) didn’t smell too fresh. The reasons didn’t even really matter that much. I was in the tub now. Might as well be fucking clean.

“Sit up a little.” She helped by pushing my shoulders forward and then slipped in behind me, her legs spread wide to frame mine. “Okay, now lean back.” I carefully leaned back and despite my issue with being the little spoon, I had to admit that it felt good. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, the water gently lapping around us and her arms encircled around my chest so I wouldn’t slide down.

This was nice and quiet, the firm hold around my chest chased a bit of the crazy anxious feeling away. Y/N knew exactly what I was doing and the possibility of her not knowing hadn’t crossed my mind besides being a grumpy asshole.

I didn’t even have to move when she began soaping my hair with shampoo, using a cup to wet my hair and then rinse it. I begrudgingly had to admit, if only to myself, that having my hair washed felt fucking fantastic. I relaxed further, humming as I let my full weight lean against her, as she massaged my scalp with firm fingers.

Her chuckle vibrated against my back, making a relaxed smile slowly spread on my lips. “You and your hair.”

I cocked an eyebrow even though she couldn’t see it, “What do you mean, ‘you and your hair?’” My voice grumbled an octave or two deeper because I was on the cusp of falling asleep.

“All anyone has to do to wipe that grumpy look on your face is put their fingers in your hair. I’m not sure you can have your hair cut in public with the noises that you make. You might get arrested for being indecent.”

“What?” I tensed up a little, only because what she was describing wasn’t very manly at all. I couldn’t help the character traits that I held to so rigidly. “I do fine in public thank you very much.” I had evolved since I’d grown up in Texas and made sure to never extend anything but support, especially to those that chose to challenge the world’s expectations and dared to be exactly who they were. I admired their strength, but I was still stuck living by my Dad’s southern expectations and it was a lot easier to be understanding of someone else than it was to be understanding of myself.

“Shhh…” Her fingers slid down to dig deeply into my intensely tight neck muscles after she’d rinsed my hair thoroughly. I instantly forgot what I was ruffled about. “I didn’t mean to get your hackles up, Ackles. You’re still a big tough guy if that’s what you want to be.”

She got a grunt in response, mostly because I didn’t want to get into another discussion about how I hold myself to too many rigid self-expectations. Oh yes, she had made her point several times, but I just couldn’t stop. The anxiety that I’d been trying to fight since childhood always managed to make me fixate on my flaws. All through Days of Our Lives and Dark Angel, I would spend hours rehearsing and trying to have my line delivery perfect. When I would lay down at night, all the times I’d failed would keep me from sleeping well, including the time I’d failed to get a big part in the kindergarten play. I took a big breath and let it go, relaxing back into her warm, soft body.

I let myself drift in and out of consciousness, letting her hands wash away all the eck that had built up while I was laid up. Y/N had clipped her nails short so that she could massage my skin as she washed everywhere thoroughly, pushing the painful toxins and leaving me basically a pile of jelly. Damn it felt good. She cleared her throat, a tell that she had something important to say, and I braced myself for what would come next.

“You can’t do this to me again, okay?” She began to whisper, her warm breath and lips tickling the back of my neck and setting off goosebumps as she swiped the wash cloth over my healing incision. I hummed in answer, trying to maintain this relaxed state for as long as possible, but let her know I was listening. “You get a free pass for this one, but anything after this, there will be consequences.” I grunted, unable to conjure up enough energy to form words. “I won’t be able to handle it again, Jay. I never wanted to be close to anyone after my parents. But then, there you were. I will never be able to survive a day without you alive on this Earth somewhere, and that terrifies me.”

The sound of her sniffling brought me back to Earth, her words processing clearly. I laid my head back, held up by her shoulder as I searched blindly for her lips. My eyes were still closed as I instinctively found them. I was afraid if I opened my eyes that she would see the fear in mine as well. Not because of her threat of retribution and consequences, but the horrifying thought that if something happened to me she wouldn’t survive.

They were salty from tears when she pressed her lips against mine. I turned the kiss into something needy, something that expressed the vulnerable thing inside me with her name on it, without words. I wanted to pull her into my lap and hold her close but the internal sutures kept me from moving very much at all.

“M’not goin’ anywhere.” I pressed the words into her willing lips, my tongue easing in to glide over her teeth and then battle for dominance with her tongue.

“Okay,” she whispered on an inhale, her fingers teasing my happy trail below the surface. I was already responding to her kisses, my dick already filling with blood and half hard. I couldn’t help the grunt that was muffled by our lips when her fingers lightly grazed me. My eyes squeezed closed even tighter against the emotion that was stirring turmoil in my chest. The bath and the tease of something more made sense now. She wanted to put her hands on me to feel me alive and well. How could I ever have thought I’d be strong enough to begrudge her that.

From then on her touches were done with more intent, her fingers teasing my shaft only to go lower and gently roll my balls and hold them in her palm. I was gonna be a quick trigger and I couldn’t even bring myself to feel self-conscious about it. I hadn’t even put my own hand on me since a few days before my surgery. I hadn’t even thought of this since I’d been home, too distracted by the pain.

But, fuck if it didn’t feel good now. I was already panting hard, my head feeling dizzy from my short breaths and limited oxygen intake. I tried to turn around so that I could touch and taste more of her, but she stopped me with her hands pressing firmly against my pecks to keep me still. “Stay like this. This is just for you.”

I didn’t like being the only one on the receiving end. I got a lot of my pleasure from watching her feel good. I loved how responsive she was. I loved the noises that she made and how she would finally just let go and feel it. However, I had to admit that what she was doing, the being in control? Fuck, that was hot, too.

I finally had to stop trying to kiss her, leaning my head back and tucking my nose into the crook in her neck just so that I could breathe her scent into my lungs. I felt her other hand leave my side a moment and the sound of a thick liquid being squeezed from a bottle. It didn’t really register until her hand was slicking up my cock with a lubricant. It was oil based so that it didn’t wash off right away, removing the friction that water made uncomfortable. The warm, wet sensation was overwhelming and I couldn’t help the groan as I pushed my face further into her skin.

This time she didn’t tease, sensing my urgency in the twitch of my hips, her hand firm as she began pumping with purpose. I was already desperate, my breath started to get caught in my throat and hitch in my chest.

“Relax, let me do all the work.” She whispered like a dirty, dirty porn star and put pressure on my hip to try to keep me still. The action resulting in a moan from deep in my throat, a thrill of pleasure crawling up my spine. Fuck it was hot that she was bossing me around a little.

She would bring me right to the edge, my toes curling in the water, before she’d ease off. I could hardly stay still or hold in the vulnerable moans that echoed in the acoustics of the bathroom. I couldn’t help but to thrust into her hand as much as she would allow, planting my feet and trying to get the most out of every single one. To keep from sliding down, my hands were leaving finger print bruises as I gripped her thighs for dear life. Fuck!

“Oh, fuck. Oh, god-. …gonna… Sweetheart, I’m gonna-. Oh, fuck!” When she finally let me come it felt like months’ worth of come was dragged out of me in long, hard pulses. My balls clamped down so hard that they were actually sore when I could bring myself to give a fuck. To be honest, I didn’t know what I said, my mind blown and focused on just one thing, babbling the words that just rolled out of my mouth without a filter. There may have been curse words or multiple praises for unknown deities and moans that might’ve sounded like I was dying. All I really knew was that my throat was a little dry when I could finally focus on the room.

The orgasm had turned my entire body into jelly, my legs and arms were like limp noodles. I hissed through my teeth, my dick still very sensitive, when she washed the lubricant off with a warm, soapy wash cloth. God, as much as I’d complained and tried to convince Y/N that this wasn’t a good idea, I had to admit to myself that I had been wrong.

Even though I had been a grumpy ass, she had still been able to take care of me so completely that mixed in with the orgasmic haze was a hell of a lot of gratitude.

Getting me out of the bath tub and dried off would probably be a funny story later, but I was too relaxed to care. I could feel the dopey smile on my face as Y/N laughed at me while I leaned almost my entire weight into her side. “Whoo…” We listed to the left and to the right a little because my brain was mostly out of the building.

“Alright, chuckles, hang on for me for just a minute longer.” She kind of sounded like I was probably killing her back, but my center of gravity depended on her.

When we finally made it safely to the bedroom and into bed, she took great care as she tucked me in. She pulled the comforter up to beneath my chin and dipped to kiss my lips one more time.

It was pure luck that I was able to work my hand and to grab onto her shirt before she could get up to leave. She returned the big, dumb smile I could feel on my face. “Stay.”

The amused smile on her kiss swollen lips turned soft as she answered me with a kiss to my forehead. “Okay.” I watched blearily as she ditched her blue jeans and bra, climbing and snuggling up close next to me in just a t shirt and her blue lace panties. She laid up against me, but put her arm over my chest to avoid my incision, tucking her face beside mine, sharing my pillow. “Love you.”

I pressed my lips into her forehead, staying there as I fell into a few deep, quality hours of sleep. “Love you, too.”

Tagging (Forever’s): @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @callmesatansprincess, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @uniquewerewolfsuit, @ria132love, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @pretty-fortune, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @justanotherdeangrl, @weasleywinchester,@easelweasel, @akshi8278, @tas898, @mandymoiselle1970, @pansexualmeteorite,

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[guitypleasure052016]

Take Me Home Part 2

This is part 2 to “Take Me Home”. Part 1 can be found here. There will be a flashback scene in this section. I will italicize the flashback scene to differentiate it.

Similar to earlier in the day, your other senses were awakened before you even opened your eyes. Your entire body still ached all over, it has lessened some, you assumed because they had put a painkiller through one of the tubes attached to the IV pole. You didn’t have to wonder if Chibs was still in the room as you could smell the all familiar scent combination and you could hear that perfect Scottish drawl. You also heard multiple other voices, most likely the other members of Filip’s club had come to find out what was going on. As exhausted and disoriented as you were, you knew you had work to do and lying in this damn hospital bed wasn’t going to get anything done. You slowly opened your eyes, trying not to draw any attention, and then began sliding one leg off the side of the bed to prepare for your quick escape but it was halted by a sudden noise. That damn bed alarm, you’d completely forgotten about it, and it had thwarted your escape plan. Before you could move another muscle, Filip was quickly making his way to your bed as his friends stood back and observed.

 “Please (Y/N), you need to stop trying to get up love, it’s not safe, you’re too hurt”, he pleaded with you while lifting your leg and sliding it back into the bed, gently covering it with a blanket.

 “You don’t get it, I have to leave. It doesn’t matter how I feel, I have to get to them.”, you responded.

 “You can’t get up darling, we’ll call whoever you need us to call, but I’m not going to let you leave this room, not in this condition”, Chibs stated firmly.

 “You can’t call anyone. You can’t do anything. You need to move. Coming here was a mistake”, you cried while again trying to get up out of the bed. You had barely moved before Filip stopped you once again. He placed his strong hands on your arms pushing you down firmly into the bed as he sat down on the edge of your bed. 

“You will not move from this bed (Y/N), not until your cleared by a doctor, I don’t want to hear another thing about it”, he ordered.You nodded, taken aback by how firm he was being. He noticed how nervous you became and his expression quickly changed from firm to concerned, as he removed one arm from your side in order to brush a piece of hair out of your face, and caress your cheek.

 “Don’t be upset lass. I’m not cross with you, I just don’t want you hurting yourself…even more, than you already are”, he reassured you. You turned your face in his hand, kissing his palm, and then turned back to offer him a sad smile. 

“My sweet love, why are you so scared, don’t you know I’ll always protect you”, he questioned. You sighed and shook your head, not even beginning to know how to explain what was going on. You didn’t have much time to think about what to say as one of his friends from the club chimed in. 

A tall man with curly black hair slowly walked up, clapping a hand on Filip’s shoulder and announced, “Besides, we’re all family and if you’re important to Chibs here, you’re important to us too. We won’t let anything bad happen to ya doll”. The other men in the room nodded and grunted in agreement. You smiled first at the curly haired man, then at Filip, then at the rest of the men in the room. 

“I appreciate your offer guys but I couldn’t ask that of any of you, not with the drama I’ve brought with me. Coming here to Charming was a last-ditch effort for a hopeless situation and I won’t have anyone else hurt on my account”, you told the chivalrous group of men. 

One of the youngest of the group, a man with little to no hair but a rather large head tattoo, spoke up, “Don’t worry (Y/N). We won’t let that Jason guy anywhere near you”. Your smile quickly turned to a scowl and you whipped your head back towards Filip. 

“What did you tell them”, you accused. 

“Nothing, I didn’t tell them anything yet love but I did show them the card from the flowers…..it didn’t say much….it just said that he would see you soon and he signed his name…we didn’t get much farther than that before you woke up. It took them a while to get here, plus the nurse only gave you a mild sedative to calm down so you weren’t knocked out too long”, he explained. Before he could say much else, that same nurse entered the room, interrupting the conversation. 

“What the hell is going on here, this woman is supposed to be resting and recovering, not hosting all of SAMCRO. You all can see her in the morning, but for now you’re going to have to leave”, she ordered. All of the guys groaned and grumbled but seemed to heed the nurse’s request.

 “We’ll leave, but my two guys here Juice and Rat are going to be outside the door to make sure she’s safe but they won’t disturb her”, a tall man with shoulder length blonde hair responded while nodding to the two men. When you looked closer, you saw that blondie had the president’s patch on his kutte. The nurse rolled her eyes but agreed to the man’s conditions. She seemed to be familiar with the biker crew as you were sure they had people in and out of this hospital all of the time. 

“I’m not leaving her here. I’m staying right here by her side til we figure out what the hell is going on”, Chibs suddenly spoke up. The nurse sighed deeply and turned around.

 “Listen I know y’all care about this girl but the only people that get to stay here overnight are family or significant others. Anything else is against hospital regulations”, she informed the guys.

 “Well, that’s fine then cause I’m her man, her significant other or whatever shite the hospital says. I’m with her”, Chibs responded as he stood up from the edge of your bed, standing in front of you protectively, placing himself between you and the nurse. 

“No he’s not”, you called out from behind “I’m married and he’s not the husband”. Almost every head in the room quickly turned to look at you in confusion. 

“Don’t do this (Y/N)”, Chibs pleaded as he quickly walked back over to your bed, that familiar painful look plastered across his face.

 He tried to grab your hands but you quickly pulled them out of his grasp and looked away, whispering “It’s easier this way Filip. I won’t let you or your brothers get hurt for me”. Before he had a chance to respond, the nurse quickly stepped around him and ushered all of the men out of the room.

It was several hours later and you were exhausted. The hospital was much quieter at this time of night. All you could hear was the shuffle of feet in the hallway, whispers of hospital staff, and the beeping of monitors in your room. The night shift staff tried to keep everything quiet so patients could sleep but you would not be sleeping tonight.You had spent the past hours sobbing ever since you watched Filip walk out the door. You thought you’d be used to this feeling. Every time the two of you met, it always ended this way, in heartbreak because no matter how much you loved each other, you both knew that you could never be together. Almost as if on cue, the door to your room creaked open and there he was. He offered an apologetic smile and entered the room, softly closing the door behind him. You know you should send him away but you had no resolve at this point and smiled back at him, reaching your arms out to him. You could see him breathe a sigh of relief that you didn’t send him away again, and he quickly came over to you, engulfing you in as tight of a hug as your bruised and battered body could handle

. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t leave, you stubborn ass hole”, you teased as you smiled up at the man you loved. 

He smiled and then sighed and asked, “Do you remember the day we met lass. That and the first night we….well ya know”? 

You offered him a confused smile at the sudden reminiscing and his nervousness and responded, “Of course I do Filip. I remember it like it was yesterday”.

It was a blistering hot summer day, typical early June weather and you were pissed. You had decided to take a break at a rest stop in some random town in Pennsylvania. You had gone inside to hit the head and grab a bite to eat. You gorged yourself on Chick-fil-A and made sure to order some waffle fries for the road. You walked out to your car, ready to get going and hit the road. You put your key in the ignition and to your dismay, it didn’t start. You cursed your shit luck and banged your head against the steering wheel. You got out of your car and popped the hood, bending over and looking everything over as if you knew what the hell you were doing. You cursed again and pulled out your phone to call local mechanics in the area and dreading the mounting costs that this little hiccup would cost you. You had a long road ahead of you. You had just graduated from graduate school in Upstate New York. You wanted to stay there, you loved your life there with your friends and you loved studying chemistry. You tried to convince your family that you should stay there and continue going to school but your father insisted you return home so here you were with a station wagon filled to the brim and hundreds of miles to drive across the country to drive to your small town in Oregon. You were lost in thought trying to calculate how much the tow and the fix would potentially cost you when you were brought back to reality by a voice from behind you. You jumped and turned around quickly, reaching for the pocket knife in your back pocket. You came face to face with a man whose arms were now up in the “surrender” position. 

“Sorry lass, didn’t mean to startle ya but it seems like you’re having car trouble. I know a thing or two about cars so I thought I might be able to help” he explained. You noticed his accent right away and smiled. You had already thought he was good looking but that was just the icing on the cake. 

“You’re not from around here are you”, you questioned.

 The man chuckled and responded, “You’ve got me there lass but since we’re currently at a truck stop in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere, I’m gonna guess you’re not from here either”. You laughed, feeling oddly at ease with this stranger.

 “You’re right, I’m not from here. I live all the way at the other end of the country. I’m Y/N”, you introduced yourself, sticking out your hand to shake his. He took your hand in his own and brought it to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. 

“My name’s Filip, but everyone calls me Chibs. Now let me take a look at that car and see if I can help you out”, he replied. You stepped back and let him get to work. You stood back and admired the view while he looked over your car. He was a tall man, dark colored hair mixing between brown and black with a speckle of grey throughout. He had two scars on his face that added to his allure. You could tell he was a man who lived a full and eventful life. He wore a pair of dark colored jeans, along with an even darker shirt. What really caught your attention was the kutte he was wearing, worn leather with a large reaper plastered across the back. Above the reaper were the words “Sons Of Anarchy” in large bold writing. You had just met but this man intrigued you. You knew you wanted to know more about him. It also helped that he was an attractive guy with an accent and who knew how to fix a car. You were suddenly brought back to reality by Chip, no that’s not it, Chibs is his name. 

“Earth to (Y/N), you enjoying the view?”, he teased. You blushed, embarrassed that you were caught staring and shook your head.

 “I think I’ve figured it out. It’s your battery. It’s dead. It looks ancient as hell, to be honest”, he informed you while shrugging his shoulders and running a hand through his hair

 “That makes sense”, you mused, “I’m pretty sure the last time the battery was changed was when my granddad gave it to me years back”. 

“Well you could pay to have it towed, which will cost you an arm and a leg or if you want to there’s a Walmart about a mile up the road. We could walk up there and pick you up a battery. I only need a couple tools to do it and I’ve got those in my bag. Before you say you don’t want to impose, you’re not imposing. It’s my honor and duty to come to the aid of a beautiful damsel in distress”, Chibs offered. You blushed at the compliment and agreed to Filip’s plan.

The two of you started off down the road. You were worried it’d be awkward but the conversation flowed as easily as if you were two friends. You told him about your life in New York and about your recent graduation. He was impressed with your degree and inquired as to why you were heading back to Oregon if you loved your life in New York. He could tell that question triggered something as your entire body language changed. You shrugged and told him that as much as you wish you could’ve stayed in New York, that you had a position in the family business waiting for you back home and your father insisted that you return to play your part, that it was very complicated. Chibs noticed you seemed upset and quickly changed the subject. He told you about his childhood, being born in Scotland, but spending most of his life in Ireland. He made you laugh when he told you the story of how he got himself kicked out of the British Army. When you asked him why he found himself in the US if so much of his life is across the sea, you noticed he suddenly became uncomfortable.

 He seemed at a loss for words but then finally responded, “I had to leave. It’s…it’s…it’s complicated”.

 “I get that Filip”, you reassured him, “Don’t worry, we don’t have to talk about it. Can I ask though where you’re headed”? At this point, the two of you had reached the store and went on the hunt for the car battery. While he shopped he told you about his group of old friends he’d be meeting out in California. He explained that they were a group of motorcycle enthusiasts, who were like family, pointing out the patches sewn on to the back of his kutte. He also told you about the motorcycle he wanted to buy once he got out there. A couple hours later, the car battery was installed. Chibs shut the hood and instructed you to get in the car and try to turn it on again. You held your breath and put your key in the ignition. The car roared to life and you squealed with excitement. You hopped out of the car and ran over to Chibs, jumping into his arms and enveloping him in a hug, thanking him repeatedly. He laughed, a little taken aback by your outburst but he hugged you back. You spent the next half hour talking and laughing outside your car, neither of you wanting this conversation or moment to end. That’s when you had an idea. 

“Listen Chibs, I remember you said you were hopping trains and buses to make your way out to California. I have a better idea. Why don’t you ride out with me? We can split when we get closer but I’d love to have some company other than that radio that plays the same song over and over. Now before you say don’t want to impose, you’re not imposing. It’s my honor and duty to come to the aid of a damsel in distress”, you proposed, winking when you quoted his line from earlier. 

“You’re cheeky ya know that”, he laughed. You smirked back at him, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Ahhh alright, I guess I should tag along in case this beast of yours gives you any more issues”, he mused “one condition though, I’ll drive”. You agreed, excited not to have to drive for once and tossed him the keys and hopped in the passenger seat.

You were so happy Chibs had agreed to come with you. It was amazing having company but there was something more. The two of you just clicked. You talked about anything and everything, and when you weren’t talking, you just sat in silence enjoying one another’s company. There was lots of flirting and a definite sexual tension but Chibs insisted on being a gentleman, well the biker version of a gentleman. When it was time to sleep at night he always insisted on him sleeping over the blankets or taking the couch if there was one. That all changed one night during your trip. The two of you had dinner at this little pub that was having $1 drink specials. You were waiting at the front while Chibs went and paid your tab. He always insisted on paying and you had to sneak the bill if you wanted to treat. You were standing up at the front searching through the music when you heard a low whistle from behind you. You rolled your eyes and turned around coming face to face with a drunken scumbag. He had greasy black hair and looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks. He smelled like it too. He looked you up and down, lingering a little too long for your liking.

 “Hey creep”, you called out, “What the hell do you want”. 

“The only thing I want is you baby”, he responded while he sauntered even closer to you, attempting to pin you between himself and the jukebox. You were having none of it though and pushed past him, trying to walk out the door to find your car. He turned around and grabbed your arm, attempting to stop you. Before he had a chance to drop another stupid pick up line, you turned around and landed a punch on his smug face, right in the jaw. You shook out your hand and readied yourself for the fight that was about to happen. 

The drunken asshole was bending over holding his jaw but after the shock wore off, he stood up and screamed “You stupid bitch, I’m gonna”….but he was interrupted. Chibs had arrived on the scene and quickly grabbed the drunken idiot by the collar and dragged him out to the parking lot. The rest of the crowd seemed unfazed by the incident so you quickly ran outside to find Chibs. You heard him before you saw him and quickly followed the noise. You found them behind a parked car. Chibs’ fist was covered in blood and that same fist was repeatedly bashing the face of the drunken scumbag. 

Chibs was screaming at him, accent thick with anger, “What the fuck did ya think you were doing you inbred piece of shite, puttin yer hands on a woman like that. You’re lucky I don’t kill ya”! You were wary to try to break it up but you didn’t want Chibs to actually kill the man so you quickly stepped in and tried to pull him off but you weren’t successful. 

You screamed Chibs’ name over and over and finally got his attention when you shouted, “Filip please stop. You’re going to kill him”! Hearing the twinge of pain in your voice, he quickly stopped and spun around. He had a deadly look on his face and seemed to be panting. 

He took several deep breaths to calm himself and replied to you, “Alrighty Darlin’. I’m about finished up here, then we can go back to the motel and I’ll clean up your hand”. You rolled your eyes at the thought of you being the more injured of the pair as Chibs turned around and kicked the bastard as hard as he could. As the man called out in pain, Filip turned around and threw an arm around your shoulder. 

“Let’s get going lovey”, he declared and off you went to the motel.

You were back at the motel. Chibs had cleaned up your hand rather quickly as you’d only thrown one punch. He protested but you insisted he sit down on the bed as you gently wiped the blood from his now bruised hand. You hadn’t talked much since you got back from the pub but there was this feeling in the air, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it but you felt it deep down inside of you. After you had helped him clean up his hand, he smiled and pecked you on the forehead. He told you that he was going to take a shower to wash off the smell of the drunk. 

“Give me your shirt first”, you called out, “I have stain remover in my bag and that t-shirt is going to need it”. 

“You’re just trying to get me naked lass”, he teased but he complied, taking off his shirt and throwing it your way. You barely caught it as you were distracted by the sight in front of you. He was covered in tattoos and scars. You wanted to explore all of them even closer but you didn’t get to check him out too long as he strolled into the bathroom to take a shower. You got out the stain remover, poured it into a bowl, and soaked the bloody t-shirt inside. As you kneaded the dirty t-shirt in the liquid, you couldn’t get the thought of Filip’s half-naked body out of your head. You suddenly had an idea. You opened the door of the bathroom, announcing that you had to wash the liquid off your hands as he grunted in response. After you washed your hands, you quietly and carefully slipped your shirt off, up and over your head, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You slid your jeans down your body and stripped off your panties, throwing them on the floor. You took a deep breath and stepped into the back of the shower, struggling not to audibly gasp at the sight in front of you. 

Chibs turned around shocked and asked you, “Lass what the hell are you doing”. 

“What you don’t like what you see”, you asked shrugging your shoulders and pouting. 

You saw him gulp as he looked you up and down and he growled, “Of course I like what I see (Y/N). I mean I’d be crazy not to. You’re sexy as hell”. 

He suddenly tried to look away, hiding his gaze, “But we shouldn’t do this”, he sputtered, “You’re just excited cause I fought that prick for ya and we’re both drunk. I don’t want ta take advantage”. 

“Filip”, you purred, “Yes I’m drunk which is probably why I’m feeling a little more confident but not drunk enough that I’ll do anything I’ll regret. I’ve wanted to jump your bones since the moment we met in that parking lot. Seeing you beat up that creep for me only made me want you more”. Feeling bold, you took a step forward, pressing your body against his wrapping your arms around his neck. Chibs tried to look away but you could feel his excitement which gave him away. 

He groaned, “Lass we shouldn’t do th..”. “Oh shut up and fuck me Filip”, you interrupted. That did it. He growled and wrapped his arms around you, shoving you against the wall of the shower as his lips crashed into yours. As your kiss deepened, the two of you explored one another’s bodies with your hands. You lost track of time, lost in one another, and the water eventually turned ice cold. You whined and Chibs took the opportunity to grab your ass and lift you up in his arms, carrying you out to the bed, still soaking wet. He tossed you on to the bed and took a moment to hungrily take in the sight of your naked body writhing on the bed in anticipation. He groaned in appreciation and was soon on top of you. The two of you fought for dominance for a while but soon found a steady rhythm. He was obviously experienced as he made your body feel things that you’d never felt before. You could tell he appreciated your skills as well each time he let go. Quite some time and many many orgasms later, the two of your laid across each other on the bed, trying to catch your breath. He was laying on his back in the middle of the bed as you laid on top of him. You ran your hands through his hair, as his hands rested possessively on your ass. You started to laugh and Chibs raised his eyebrows, spanking you sharply. 

“What’s so funny lass. Way to make a man feel good”, he teased. You continued to laugh and placed your head down on his chest, lifting it up to offer him a mischievous smile. 

“It’s not that Filip…we left the shower on”, you laughed. 

“Well then”, he growled, “let’s get going love”. He slapped your ass with his right hand while his left arm wrapped around your waist, he stood,  lifting you up and carrying you to the bathroom. You wrapped your legs around his waist and squealed in excitement.

You came back to reality and blushed at the shared memory. You and Filip were only supposed to stay at that motel for one night and get going in the morning but you stayed there for 3 days, only leaving to get food and then immediately returning.

 “So why the walk down memory lane,” you asked as you scooted over, patting the bed next to you so he would climb in. He sighed and hopped up next to you, adjusting your blanket so you were covered and wrapping an arm around you. You welcomed the sudden closeness and snuggled into his side. He sighed, you could tell he was thinking and waited patiently for his response. 

“Well lass, after everything we went through on that trip and since then, it just kills me that you’re this scared and don’t trust me to protect you. You know I’d do anything for you Y/N”. You looked up at him with a confused look on your face. 

“Is that what you really think Filip, that I don’t trust you”, you asked. “It’s not that at all, it’s just all…it’s…it’s complicated”, you explained. 

“Isn’t it always”, he groaned in response. “Now get some sleep love. You need to rest”, he ordered as he pulled you closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“Tell me a bedtime story Filip”, you pleaded. 

“Alrighty love”, he mused. “Do you want to hear about how I got kicked out of the army again”, he asked.

 “Ohhh yes, that’s my favorite”, you replied while snuggling into his chest. You knew you had things to do but for now, for tonight, you were going to fall asleep in the arms of the man you love.

Part 3 

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[awhilesince]

Tuesday, 28 August 1827 (travel journals)

5

11 1/2

Breakfast at 6 – off from Geneva at 7 20/60 –

at 7 50/60 Chesne, very good village Geneva to Bonneville 6 lieues)

at 8 20/60 little village of Annemasse, 1st village in Savoy, Bonneville to Sallenche 6) and shew our passports –

at 8 50/60 (having passed the village of Vetra at unawares – it must be very inconsiderable) handsome 2 arched stone bridge (1 arch very large the other very small, over the nearly dry torrent Ménoge –

at 9 1/4 picturesque, scattered village of Nangy – the rocks (southwest) over Geneva, remind me of the Elwsig (Lusig) rocks over Langollen – fine open valley all along – roomy for the air to circulate – Mrs and Miss B– [Barlow] complained of the cold – I merely felt the air delightfully bracing – the hills about Geneva to as far as Nangy, remind me of H–x [Halifax] – Everywhere the valley and hills sufficiently wooded –

at 10 picturesque little village of Contamine – the Arve (not much water now – the very broad bed almost all dry) winding beautifully all the well wooded fertile valley – good deal of corn in the valley, and on the hills – good deal of flax drying – young buck wheat – clover – mowing it 2nd time – orchards – good land – hedges generally on each side the road – oaks and willows – a little Indian corn – very few vines since Geneva, near Bonneville –

stopt at the ‘les Balances’ Bonneville (a tolerable little town) at 11 5/60 – came upstairs to write – 1/2 hour before I could begin – had near spoilt all my things – the Table had been just oiled, and not 1/2 wiped – They say the Swiss are on all sides (the protestants who are much cleaner and richer than the Roman catholics) are much cleaner than their neighbours – but, according to the woman who shewed us the cathedral at Geneva on Sunday, the catholic population increases much faster than the protestant – the former has 6 or 7 or even more children per family; –the latter (particularly those in more easy circles) has seldom more than 2 per family – I fancied this kind of management had been principally confined to the higher orders in France –

off from Bonneville (should not like to sleep at the Inn – not very clean, but the people very civil

at 1 25/60 – town, a ville, surrounded by fine picturesque rocky hill partly green, partly bare and hoary – immediately cross the Arve over good stone bridge (at the end left, a new handsome Tuscan column surmounted by a statue of the King in his robes, in honour of Charles Felix King of Sardinia) who visited the town some time ago) and, according to Galignani, enter the valley of Cluse – snow mountains in the distance (left) in front of us – 2 little hop grounds just out of town – cutting line – fertile valley – clover, young buckwheat, Indian corn, potatoes Kidney beans – orchard trees – like a garden – poplars and willows along the road side, and the chief wood hereabouts –

at 1 55/60 stone bridge over little stream –

at 3 10/60 the Arve winding beautifully – Green, wooded hills (right) bare, and savage (left), – snow mountains to the left in front, and pretty little village of Oogu (Vaugi? Vougy) at 3 1/4 – Jane thinks this valley ‘beautiful, lovely – the next to the Rhinthal and the Splugen’ (road from Splugen to Chiavénna) – so far, Jane rather disappointed – tho’ tis a pine valley –

at 2 3/4 little stone bridge over little torrent – at 2 55/60 another such stone bridge over ditto, and fine gorge right, and orchards, and picturesque scattered village of Siongy Scionzier and midway the village

(at 3) good stone bridge over good stream – neat, picturesque church – very fine walnut trees – and 2 or 3 little green hedged paddocks at the end of the village – valley wider, and finer – very pretty – fine just here, tho’ do not see the Arve –

At 3 10/60 narrow one arched, boulder-stone-paved steepish stone bridge over the Arve (ver[y] fine gorge right) and enter the beautifully situated, but rather narrow streeted little town of Cluse – all the women busy dressing hemp – tremendous mountains just above the Town – wind thro’ the town to the right, and Turn along the fine gorge which we just peeped down (right) from the bridge – (between Cluse and the village next before very large apple and pear trees and (2 or 3 of the largest cherry Trees (like fine large forest trees) I ever saw in my life) the gorge (the valley of Maglan) now, at 3 1/4, very fine – the Arve close, right – its waters light-green-white-muddy-blue – its broad bed and the road take up all the breadth of the valley –

at 3 3/4 an auberge? 3 little cannon, and a man wishing to know if we would have them fired to hear the echo among the mountains – another man apparently an aubergiste wanted us to stop to see the Grotte de Balme (vide Ebel. Cluse. page 96.) 1200 feet up the mountain (seemed about 1/2 way up) and 620 ‘pas’ long – said we had quite time enough – could not get to Chamouni tonight – asked what time it would require – ‘vingt minutes pour monter à cheval – la route très bonne’ – observed a zigzag path cut from the bottom of the mountain to the cavern – the mouth 1/2 closed up so that one could not enter without paying – Everything herabouts is done to catch the eye and Empty the pocket of strangers – to have had the cannon fired would have cost us 2/. – valley wider beyond, and beautifully wooded (right), and the mountains by and by wearing into a gradual slope –

at 4 5/60 the picturesque village of Maglan picturesque little good church – good deal of beech wood – the wood of the mountains hereabouts chiefly beech? –

at 4 1/4, little stone bridge over dry little bed of torrent – at 4 1/2 little stone bridge over ditto ditto, and fine ripple cascade (Nant d’ Orli) (i.e. as it were, one long thin line of cascade) left –

at 4 35/60 a board put up on which in large letters ‘Place de’ Echo de Nant d’ Arpenas’ and a man and one little cannon – he wanted much to fire it for us assuring us it was very curious –

at 4 40/60 small stone bridge over dry torrent –

at 4 3/4 stone bridge over the stream from Nant d’ Arpenas, really curious – stopt a few minutes to see it – the water lost in spray Till collected lower down into 8 or 9 ripples forming a little cascade near and down to the bottom – Descends from a little cleft at the Top of the mountain – the jet (not large) projected so far, the rock quite dry underneath it for the first 50 or 60 feet – falls 800 feet – (vide Ebel. article, Cluse) the sun of which we had had but little during the day just made his appearance to shew us a beautiful little Iris round the cascade at the bottom – just beyond the cascade the strata of the rock curious

then

then apparently a jumble – reminds one strongly of the action of water – I have seen instances of this kind before among these Swiss mountains – along the Simplon road, and along the Valais – Low hemp uncut –

at 5 stone bridge over torrent – fine view of Sallanche (right) on the other side the river – bed of river very broad – looking almost dry, tho’ there is in fact a strong broad stream – rosemary hedges full of yellow berries –

at 5 20/60 neat little hamlet or village and neat little church of St. Martin – and Mont Blanc a nice looking little Inn – immediately cross handsome 1 arched narrowing, stupish bridge over the Arve, and at 5 35/60 alight à la Belle Vue, at Sallenche, a picturesque little Town, (very handsome church) at the foot of high finely wooded and grass clothed mountains – not one peep of Mont Blanc –

began to write at 6 – but soon gave up to see the clouds gradually clear off from the mountain – 1st sight of it at 6 ¼ – stupendous – astonishing – worth while to come all the way to see it – capital house for a view of it – had been Twice before today quite clear – stood gazing 20 minutes at the 3 huge summits –

Dinner from 6 35/60 to 8 20/60 – for the 1st ¼ hour gazing at the mountain till clouds hid him again at about 6 50/60 – the setting sun upon him magnificent – 2 hills catching the reflection of the rays from the mountain, seemed as if on fire – Ive stood gazing in mute wonder –

at 8 50/60 music 2 or 3 clarionets – very fairly played – very fine day – not much sun – but warm enough for me –

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/2/0015 - 16

[vintagebeverly]

autumn leaves (reddie) chapter two

Eddie hasn’t seen the trees change colors since he was a kid, so Richie deems that the two of them should take a road trip to Derry and see the trees change colors. Cue lots of bad car karaoke, too much coffee, and Eddie absolutely losing his mind over the gorgeous reds, oranges, and yellows of the fall leaves.

Or the one in which Eddie hates Richie, of course, until he falls in love with him.

Words: 1609

Warnings: lots of swearing, underage smoking (sorta)

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff with angst mixed in

read chapter one here

“Our first stop is the lovely sight-seeing deck on the outskirts of this shitty town.” Richie shouted over the wind hollering in their ears. He refused to have the windows of the car up while the weather was so beautiful.

“Oh no, no useless stops, Richie!” Eddie sighed. He knew Richie would stop at nothing to bother him, even if it meant altering his travel plans. Richie turned to face Eddie for a brief moment before focusing on the road again.

“It’s not useless, Eds,” he explained, “It really is a lovely little place. Just this once, and we won’t make anymore extra stops.”

“Fine.” was all Eddie said as he stared at the trees flashing by. Richie smiled. He continued to drive down the long load, looking to the boy at his side every now and then. Eddie seemed somewhat unhappy, but Richie hardly noticed. The cool autumn air and the wind flowing through his long, curly hair while he was sat next to the boy of his dreams made everything okay. While the leaves on the trees in this small town were merely gone, he still believed the town to be beautiful because of the boy who lived in it.

When they reached their destination, it was almost sundown. Once Eddie was out of the car, Richie grabbed his hand and lead him up some wooden steps to the promised observation deck. Eddie felt miserable as he was forced to be there, but he found solace in the sunset. Orange, purple, and pink hues splashed together to create a breathtaking scenery, and that wasn’t even the best part. Not to him, at least. He looked down and saw nothing but homes. People walked around, rode on bikes, even greeted each other. It reminded him of how his life used to be, back in Derry. Sure, he kept in touch with his close friends such as Bill and Beverly, but he missed the way things were. A voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Why are you looking down there? Isn’t the sunset beautiful?” Richie sighed dreamily. Eddie looked at him, and back at the sky. He watched as the clouds slowly moved and drew in a breath slowly. He felt the sun rays on his face and closed his eyes, then turning to look at Richie again. He didn’t even think twice about the other boy staring back at him. Richie leaned in, slowly.

“Let’s get out of here, it’s getting dark.” Eddie turned on his heel and started walking down the wooden steps. Richie followed him quickly, almost tripping a handful of times. As they were back in the car, day turned to night and light to dark. They drove in silence with the windows up. Richie dug around in his pocket, found a cigarette, and went to light it. “What the fuck are you doing?” Richie’s head whipped around to see Eddie staring at him in horror.

“Just going for a smoke, Eds, it’s fine.” Richie had been smoking since he was fifteen, so he didn’t see the big deal. Of course, he had never done it in front of Eddie before, but that had only been by chance. He realized Eddie was uncomfortable with the smoke filling his lungs, but they were his lungs, and if he wanted to fuck them up, he could.

“It’s not fine, I don’t want that anywhere near me. Do you know the dangers of secondhand smoke?” asked Eddie. Richie sighed and put the cigarette back in his pocket. He didn’t want to ruin his good mood, and arguing with Eddie would do just that. “Thank you.” Eddie’s tone was highly irritated, but Richie knew he would calm down within a matter of minutes. As the clock hit three am, Eddie drifted off to sleep while Richie hummed a soothing tune to himself. Richie had had problems with sleep, staying awake until ungodly hours of the morning just because he couldn’t control the thoughts running through his mind where the norm. Of course, when the clock hit four am, all Richie could think about was the boy in the passenger seat. Eddie had been acting strange as of late, but Richie, with his filtered hearing, hadn’t really picked up on it until that very moment. He seemed to snap at Richie often, too often for comfort. Perhaps he was just adjusting to the move. Of course this explanation couldn’t have been right, he had moved two years earlier, but Richie stuck with that theory, as it made the most sense to him at the moment. Yes, Eddie just missed his home and was taking it out on those near to him. That was all.

“Morning sleepy head!” Richie greeted as Eddie sat up in--wait, a bed?

“Where are we?” he questioned, starting to get sort of pissed off.

“Found this cute little motel at the state border. I was just gonna take a piss, but the staff were so friendly I decided we had to stay the night!” Richie clasped his hands together, “Actually, I was just fucking tired and wanted to sleep. You snore a lot, you know that?” He took a sip of the water bottle he was holding.

“Shut up,” Eddie threw the covers off of himself and got up, still fully clothed, and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Wait… did you carry me in here?”

Richie spat out the water he was drinking.

“You were heavy, too.” he played it off. Eddie held back a smile. Being with Richie had Eddie feeling some type of way. He felt as if he needed to hate him, he even wanted to, but he couldn’t. He could hardly breathe when he was around the taller, curly haired boy, and he wondered why. How come it stressed him out to no end to sit next to Richie? To even be near him? His heart stopped whenever the boy spoke for fuck’s sake. Eddie shook his head and turned to Richie.

“Where’s my stuff? I’m gonna shower and then we’re out of here.” he questioned. Richie smirked and strode over to him. He seemed more smug than usual.

“In the car,” he answered, and before Eddie could even get another word out, Richie pulled a sweater from his suitcase. “Wear this.” he said as he held the sweater up the Eddie. It almost went down to the boy’s knees. Eddie felt his face heat up.

“You’re an asshole.” He snatched the sweater out of Richie’s hands and turned around, closing the bathroom door behind him. He heard Richie snicker behind the door as he started the shower.

Richie bit his lip as Eddie stepped out of the bathroom in his sweater. His hair was damp and curly, his freckles popping out at Richie like they never had before. Eddie looked at him, with a gorgeous yet confused look on his face. Richie cleared his throat, but continued to look Eddie up and down before speaking up.

“Let’s get outta here.” And within the blink of an eye, they were checked out and back in the car, windows down and music loud. Eddie stared at Richie in awe, watching him sing loudly to the lyrics of whatever Guns N Roses or Beatles song was playing at the moment. He analyzed his face, watching as his chapped lips moved in time with the music, his head bobbing up and down, his curls loosely framing his face. He watched as his fingers tapped the steering wheel while his eyes were fixated on the road. Richie glanced at Eddie and smiled, Eddie whipping his head around, pretending to look at something else. Richie looked at the clock, seeing it was 11 am, and sped up a bit.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie softly asked. Richie smirked and sped up more.

“There’s no traffic on this old road, is there?” he asked. Eddie supposed there wasn’t, and Richie started to go faster and faster. They zoomed down the country road and Eddie watched as dead trees turned to bushes, and soon bushes turned to nothing but dirt. He knew they were going to get lost, but at the moment he didn’t care. Usually, he would be anxious about such things, but he found comfort in driving down this particular road with the music loud. He smiled and turned to look at Richie again, who was basically screaming the lyrics of the songs at this point. Eddie thought of a million reasons why this should’ve been dangerous, but he felt safe with Richie there. He didn’t dare look at the speed monitor, after all, it didn’t even matter to him how fast they were going. It didn’t even feel like driving on a road anymore, more like floating above it. Everything seemed to disappear around him as he looked at Richie. His scream-singing, the music itself, and the loudness of the wind passing by the windows was tuned out. Everything was silent and everything was Richie. The sun shined down on Richie’s face, illuminating his freckles, creating a glare in his glasses, and lighting up every inch of his soft, brown hair. Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off him. He finally found the strength to speak.

“Are we lost?” his anxiety seemed to get the best of him. The sudden speech gave Richie a fright and he slowed down almost immediately. He turned to Eddie and smiled.

“Do you feel lost?” he asked, “‘Cause I don’t.” Now it was Eddie’s turn to smile. He supposed the feeling of being lost hadn’t even materialized itself within him.

“No,” he paused, “It’s more like… I feel found.”

a/n: this is the gAYEST SHIT ive ever written in my life and i;m sorry,,,,, but it’s gonna get more fluffy from here,, also angst is coming so just u wait;;;;,,

[sending-the-message]

My Work Is Haunted by amcma10

For as long as I can remember I've always wanted to be a nurse. When I was a little girl I would transform my room into a make shift infirmary. All my dolls would be bandaged up and I would even construct IV poles complete with ziplock baggies full of water and straws connecting to my "patients".

Fast forward to present day. I now work in a long term care facility and contrary to popular belief they aren't all depressing places where families drop off once loved relatives and then forget about them. We have a terrific Activities Director who makes sure there is something special planned for our residents every day. I know this not because I actually get to witness it, but because the calendar of events is prominently displayed at the entrance and throughout the halls.

By the time I get to work, which is roughly 5 minutes before my 7p-7a shift most of the residents are finishing up with supper and after their meds are dispensed they retire to their rooms for the night.

What I have neglected to mention about my place of employment is that it actually consists of two buildings. The main building or A building is a large brick structure that sits right up against the main road and the back building aka B building is much smaller and is connected to the larger building by a long covered breezeway.

I work in the B building which is the newest part of our facility that was constructed during the late 80's. The main building is much older, originally constructed in 1952 and was once the only hospital in the small rural town where I live. It was run by Catholic nuns and saw it's fair share of tragedy and unimaginable heartache. Some of the "lifers", a term of endearment we give our long time employees who transitioned over to the LTC facility after the hospital shut down used to regale us with stories that were both hysterical and soul numbing. While those tales were often embellished I could reference some of the facts from our "death book".

I remember the first time I had to access this book, I had only been on the job for a week when one of our geriatric residents passed away. All deaths must be recorded with the following: name, date, age of deceased, time of death, next of kin, address, followed by our signature.

When the hospital was in operation the "manner of death" was also listed. So many young lives taken too soon by accidental drownings, gun shot wounds, stabbings, MVA. I hate that damn book and have been vocal about our need for a new one. Unfortunately this is the way things are done in my county and for now the death book stays.

If any of you have ever worked in LTC then you are well aware that if anything can go wrong it does go wrong after midnight. Confused residents fall out of the bed, scream out due to hallucinations, attempt to leave AMA etc. Anyone who thinks "night shift nurses" have it easy need to be throat punched.

In any case, when we have someone in need of a safety alarm such as a bed alarm or chair alarm there is only one place at my work that houses the spare equipment.

The old ER, or dungeon as we call it. It is in the basement portion of the main building that also houses the kitchen, custodial offices, employee break room, an old chapel and several conference rooms. I hate going down there and usually I enlist the help of one of the CNA's to accompany me. This was mainly just for safety reasons. Once, a drunk man was able to gain access to the back door where the time clock was located and was found passed out against a drink machine near the employee break room. He was completely oblivious to where he was when the cops showed up and took him off in handcuffs.

In order to get to where the spare equipment room is located you must go through the swinging metal doors leading to the old ER. Past the doors there are several round metal speaker systems that hang out from the top of the walls and an assortment of old signage directing patients to the front desk, bathrooms, exam rooms and the radiology department. It truly looks like you stepped into an old episode of the Twilight Zone. Trust me when I say that walking down these halls by yourself is extremely unsettling.

Any way, about the dungeon. One night last November I needed a bed alarm for one of our newer residents who had fallen out of bed twice within 3 hours. Its our policy after the 2nd documented fall then we institute soft restraint measures to prevent injury. Being short a CNA that particular night I was forced to retrieve the alarm myself since there had to always be one employee on the floor at all times and Grace, one of my "lifer's" was elbow deep in shit at that moment.

It was a little past midnight when I grabbed my coat exited out into the frigid night walking the breezeway leading into the main building. The door to the main building from the breezeway opened up to a dimly lit hallway where directly in front of the doors stood a single elevator. I observed that the elevator door leading upstairs to the main floors was open. Odd. Unless someone is entering the elevator or exiting it the door remain closed. As if reading my thoughts the elevator door slowly closed and I watched as the "up arrow" glowed brightly.

I'm one of those people who can generally get freaked out by the slightest thing so already I was dreading my trek down the hall to the equipment room. As I walked along the corridor leading to the swinging metal doors it felt like the heating system was on the brinks. I could almost see my breath that's how drastically the temperature change was. In that moment I remembered every horror/scary movie I had ever seen where a sudden drop in ambient temperature meant that ghosts were present. I tried humming the Pharrell Williams song "Happy" to keep my mind from going to those terrifying thoughts.

After pushing through the metal doors I thought I saw a glimpse of movement off to my right. Perhaps one of the other nurses or CNA's from the two upper floors were down here getting equipment as well and I chastised myself for being such a scaredy-cat.

I quickened my steps and made it to the door marked "Radiology" which was where all our extra equipment was stored. During the time the hospital was in operation this was where all the x-rays were performed and it still held some of the ancient machines. I could hear movement as if someone were pushing a wheelchair or stretcher out of the way and again relief washed over me.

I opened the door and was immediately struck with fear. There was no one else in the room! Despite its size I would have been able to see someone even if they were crouched down looking through one of the storage bins. The air again was even more frigid in the room, so cold in fact that I actually could see my breath in front of me.

It felt downright silly but I uttered a shrill "Hello?" as I took a few steps inside. The door slammed shut behind me. Panic was now reaching every cell of my body and I could hear and feel my heart as it bounded in my chest. My mind raced as I turned behind me and tried the door knob. It was locked! I was way past terrified at this point and started banging on the door shouting at the top of my lungs. My voice bounced off the sickening green cement blocks that made up the walls. "Help!" I continued to scream to no avail. Then it happened.

A voice, so soft and faint came from the other side of the door. "Is it time?"

I moved back from the door and detected movement from the other side however even with the dim fluorescent light fixtures in the hall there should have been a shadow.

I swallowed hard even though my mouth was dry and my throat burned from my screaming. I listened again, waiting and the voice a little louder asked "I'm ready to go, is it time?" After those words were again uttered the soft sniffles of a child crying echoed through the room I was in. I remained motionless, frozen by fear when I heard another voice, much older say "Come on Lily, this way." I could hear the sound of footsteps leading away from the door.

Not even a minute later the door opened behind me and I screamed when I heard my name. "Janie?" He looked bewildered. It was Steve, one of the new CNA's from the 2nd floor coming to get a wheelchair. I must have looked like a ghost myself as I'm sure all the color had drained from my face. "Jesus they need to get the heat fixed down here" he said as he moved past me to grab the chair.

"Could you wait, just a minute while I grab a chair alarm?" I asked. Steve looked at me funny before breaking into a grin. "Why? You scared?" he snickered. Asshole.

Nevertheless he waited while I grabbed the alarm and I hauled ass down the hall and then broke into a jog after exiting the building before punching the code to get into my own building.

I made it back to my nurse's station and handed the alarm to Grace, the older CNA who had been keeping a watch on the halls and told her to take it to room 301. When she rounded the hall I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the death book. I don't know why I was compelled to do so but after flipping through and skimming several names I saw what made my heart drop to my stomach. NAME: Lily Robertson DATE: October 5th 1958, AGE: 5 CAUSE OF DEATH: Blunt force trauma to the head. I now know without a doubt that my work is haunted and sadly it was not an isolated incident.

[almighty-letu]

My little test subject: Chapter 9

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, and chapter 8

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

WARNING! This fic contains: Foul language, torture scenes, blood, use of medical tools, drug use, suicidal tendencies, self-neglect, violence, self-harm, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

A storm raged on a dark, cold night.

Lightning flashed the clouds, and thunder soon followed with a booming roar. Heavy rain poured down upon the town, and the wind howled so strongly it swept everything away in its path. The streets were empty, with a few occasional cars running up and down the road, and the light poles dimly illuminating the way. With the ravaging storm, no one dared leave the safety and comfort of their homes, especially in such late hour.

All, but one.

A solitary figure trekked along the sidewalk, soaking wet and freezing cold. Hunched over and arms crossed over his chest, shivering as the strong, cold wind blew against his soaking wet form. Most would've hurried back home in this condition. But not him. He pressed on, looking around the streets wearily.

He waited hours on end back home for his companion to cease knocking, and calling out to him through his door, just so he could leave. Now his companion was fast asleep back in their apartment, blissfully unaware of his nightly outings. At least he thinks so. They haven't seen each other since they got the news-

Another shiver racked his body and the man sneezed, nose running. Using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the snot away, he kept on going.

He peeked into dark alleyways, and looked all around the streets; as if searching for something. Weary narrowed eyes squinting against the shadows, trying to make out any shapes within. When his eyes found nothing, he decided to move on. A loud clatter of a garbage can that fell over made the man jump, startled. He peeked back into the dark alley. A shape moved around. Hope filled the man's heart.

"Tom?!"

Lightning struck again and lit up the place, revealing the mysterious shape hidden in the alleyway as a black cat with a bristling pelt. It jumped and hissed, startled by the storm. It quickly scampered away back into the shadows.

The man looked down in disappointment. Sadness and guilt consuming him.

"Oh Tom… where did you go?"

With a tired sigh, he carried on with his hopeless search.

(Meanwhile…)

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and walked in the stoic figure of the Red leader himself. His face expressionless as he entered the small, simple quarters, of his present test subject. The door slid shut behind him as he took over the scene.

Tom lied in slumber on his bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he snored softly indicated the deep sleep stage the Brit is under. A bit of drool seeped down from the side of his mouth, staining the pillow. Tom's usual spiky, and messy brown locks are a bigger mess than usual; containing a serious case of bedhead.

All in all, nothing too out of ordinary as of late.

It has been a couple of days since Tom passed out unexpectedly. When Patrick alerted him of what took place, Tord had felt his heart come to an abrupt stop. Despite their fight and still being angry at the Brit for openly defying him, Tord still couldn't afford to lose Tom. He is too valuable for his research; his army. His plans. And so, the Norsk had found himself racing through his base's long corridors, all the way from his office to the labs belowground, as fast as his legs could carry him, to evaluate the situation as quickly as possible.

Poor Paul. The devoted soldier tried to keep up with his pace at the time, only to come close to passing out as well.

Tord, cooled down from his earlier struggle with his test subject, but now worried and anxious for his wellbeing; quickly got to work. He checked Tom's vitals through the connection of the implanted chip and his robotic arm, but it showed nothing out of ordinary. After doing a thoroughly check-up, they came up with no definitive answers. They proposed a theory for this sudden occurrence.

Tom, from what they have observed so far, hasn't been in the greatest of conditions. Malnourished, bruised, addicted, and even more prone to violence; clearly something is up with him. They theorized that the recent events; with the whole drugging, kidnapping, testing, and… "discipline", put Tom under a lot of stress which caused his body to shut down. Makes sense, considering that since Tom arrived in the facility the only sleep he got was forcefully induced upon him. But they will just have to wait and see when he wakes up to get any proper answers.

Tord continued to stare down at Tom's sleeping form. His one-eyed gaze wavered down to his heavily, bandaged arms.

When he came in to analyse Tom's condition at the time, he was rather shocked to see the full state that he was in. Various bruises and cuts decorating the Brit's pale skin, extending from the arms to the torso. He was somewhat baffled for missing such a detail when he first removed the man's hoodie; and looking back at it now, Tom's defensive behaviour made sense at the time.

He was trying to keep them from seeing the wounds.

Tord let out a low chuckle. Tom is far too proud for his own good. Even at his lowest, the eyeless man refused to give up or show any form of weakness in front of him. His stubborn attitude surely made things interesting. Too bad it also makes his progress go at a lower rate than he would've wanted.

In his mind, things seemed a lot easier:

Kidnap Tom?

Check!

Bargain with him to become his "willing" test subject?

Check!

Experiment on him?

Unfortunately, this is the stage where their entire progress halted.

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, until they realized the malnourished state the eyeless man is in. This called for a special process, and a slow development. And now they find out he is decorated entirely out of bruises and cuts. This was the last straw. Tord wasted almost nine years working on this experiment, to fail time, and time again; at this point he can no longer afford to waste any more time.

They need results.

Tord's gaze narrowed down at Tom, still blissfully asleep in his bed.

They need the serum to be ready, now.

The door behind him hissed open once more.

The Red leader did not turn around, already knowing who it is. Patrick walked into the room, carrying a small tray which contained a special ointment, fresh bandages, and an IV bag. He barely acknowledged Tord's presence in the room as he set to work straight away. Carefully, Pat began to unwrap the bandages around Tom's arms. Tord watched the procedure in silence, deep in his thoughts.

Dam. Tom is way too out of it and unfit for the experiments. He realized, observing the process. Considering his state, we'll have to wait for a complete recovery before the serum tests can begin. Speaking of which; the thought reminded him that he needs to speak with his supplier about a new shipment of chemicals for his experiment. Good thing he already scheduled a meeting with them for this afternoon.

He snapped out of it when Tom uttered a low sigh as Patrick gently applied the ointment to his sensitive, bruised skin. But he still did not stir, flinch, or gave any indication that he might wake up. The Polish soldier carefully resumed with the treatment.

The sight reminded Tord of a small detail he forgot to ask before.

"How did the appointment go?" The Norsk spoke up. His metal hand pressed against his cheek, as his other arm supported beneath it.

Patrick just gave him a quick side-glance. "It was fine."

"Did he behave accordingly?" Tord prompted with clear interest. "I can just imagine the hard time you must've had to get this brute lunatic to ta-"

"Oh no! Quite the opposite, actually!" Patrick exclaimed, interrupting his leader's rant. "I mean, I admit that at first he refused to cooperate. But considering what he's been through, I can't really blame him." You could just make out the invisible outline of a smirk in his voice, as he shot another glance at the Norsk. "But after I complied with his demands he was much more open."

"Demands?!"

Tord stared at his soldier, utterly flabbergasted at what he has just heard. His straight posture deflated at his words. A sharp and quick pain pierced the side of his gut; it came and went by so fast he would've missed the feeling completely if it weren't for the sudden emptiness surging inside him. What is this that I am feeling? He wondered silently. The emptiness was being quickly replaced with a more familiar sensation. Anger. But why? Tord couldn't quite figure out the meaning or reason for this. Even stranger was the fact that this anger was being targeted directly at Patrick.

Tord pushed down the unneeded anger, though not without some amount of effort on his part.

"Well, I suppose the only proper way to get anything out of Thomas is by bargaining." Tord coolly commented with a shrug, trying to ignore the tingling sensation within him. "Did he reveal anything of interest to you? Any information that we might benefit from?" He waited expectantly, the uncomfortable sensation still pricking him. But his confusion grew as his excitement dwindle when Patrick had not uttered a single word in response.

Tord frowned.

"Are you purposefully ignoring me?" He prompted, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Absolutely not, sir." Pat replied, lacing new bandages over Tom's arms with careful precision. "I am just not allowed to disclose any personal information my patient entrusts me with to anyone else."

A long silence echoed in the room. The only thing remotely audible was Tom's soft snoring.

"What?"

Patrick paid him no mind. As soon as he was done changing Tom's bandages, he moved to replace the nearly empty IV bag with a new one. He is well aware of the imminent danger that loomed over him, but remained calm in the face of the situation.

Tord, on the other hand, was fuming and trying very hard to keep his proper posture and anger at bay.

"That was the terms of our agreement, sir." Patrick continued. "He shares anything he wants with me, and in return I cannot disclose anything said to you or anyone else for that matter."

Tord lost his cool now.

"Excuse me? Since when does Thomas have any sort of power in this base? I don't remember ever granting him any." He argued indignantly, casting a narrowed eyed glare in Tom's direction. "Second, I am your leader, not him. This is my facility. My base. My army! And you are supposed to obey every order I give out." He turned his glare back to Patrick, who finished placing the new IV bag in place, and calmly turned around to face him. "In fact, you have been acting out quite a lot recently. Continue with this behaviour, Patrick, and I just might demote you. Or worse."

The Polish soldier kept his face expressionless, seemingly unfazed by his leader's threat. He simply folded his arms behind his back, and kept their gazes locked. He chose his next set of words carefully. He's stepping in thin ice right now, and one wrong move could result in a lot of trouble. Trusted soldier or not, Patrick isn't foolish enough to put it past Tord when it came to his threats.

"Sir, I assure you that all my actions thus far have been for the better benefit of the red army. It may not have been what you ordered, or the way you wanted, but I'm still very much loyal." Patrick stated coolly. "As my leader, I trust your judgment. However, with all due respect, when your anger gets the better of you, your mind tends to get a little clouded and loses all reasoning." Though not directly mentioning, he was clearly referring to the most recent incident between his leader and their test subject. "What's the use in warning him not to mess with you, when you keep aggravating him?"

Tord's mouth hanged open in disbelief. "I aggravated him?" He echoed, still not grasping the concept. "He attacked me!"

"Only because you wouldn't back off him." Patrick countered. His expression softened as he let out a tired sigh. "Sir, I know you two share a history of animosity. From what you told Paul and I about your experiences prior to creating the red army, it's clear you two despise each other. We get it." He stated solemnly. "But for this to work out, we're going to need the two of you to cooperate with each other's standards. Thomas will obey as long as you give him some space and freedom; otherwise he will just continue to retaliate against you. Yes, your threat over his friends lives still poses, but when it comes down to rivalry and pure anger, reason doesn't have much space to work with." He stared at Tord with an enigmatic expression. "You know that better than anyone else, don't you sir?"

Tord clenched his teeth and straightened his jaw. God, he hated when Patrick was being a smart-ass. Especially because he was always right. No matter how angry Tord could get at him, he values his wisdom way too much to foolishly ignore it for the sake of his pride. He cast another quick side-glance at Tom, still peacefully asleep and unawares of their conversation.

"As always Pat, you're right." Tord admitted, immediately feeling his heart feeling the crushing defeat. Ouch, my pride. "I suppose i was being rather brash." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I will try to control myself around him in the future."

Patrick nodded, glad he managed to get through his leader without too much of a hassle. "By the way, sir. I thought best to remind you cause it's most likely you have forgotten it by now; that you are to leave, first thing in the morning."

"Huh? Why?"

Patrick clicked his tongue, having his assumption proved right. "Because sir, you are required to go to all of our existing bases and inspect their development. This may be your main base, but don't forget you have other ones to look after." He explained, finishing patching Tom up. He placed the palm of his hand over the Brit's forehead, feeling for fever.

Tord huffed in discontent, placing both his arms on his hips. "Well then what's the use in appointing Lieutenants to lead your multiple bases if I still have to look after them? Seems rather pointless if I say so myself."

Patrick sighed, still very much patient. "Like you said, it's your army and they are just your Lieutenants. Do you really trust them enough to lead things all on their own without your consent or knowledge?" He pointed out. "What if they're leadership skills are lacking and something goes amiss?"

"They should know better than to displease me by now, Pat." He flexed his robotic arm, bringing his organic one up to crack his own knuckles against the metal. "Otherwise I wouldn't have named them so in the first place; much less leave them in charge of my bases."

Patrick placed a wet cloth over Tom's forehead, to try and bring the fever down. Tom moaned at the contact but did nothing more than that. "Besides, with Thomas's current condition he will be out of commission for a while. So the serum experiments will definitely be put into a halt until he improves." He states, looking up at Tord. "Until then, you can be quite busy with your other army related activities while Paul and I work to set him straight."

Tord glanced at Tom, taking note of his patched bruises, bone thin figure, and pale skin. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

Patrick: 2. Tord: 0.

The polish soldier took note of his posture, and although he did not let it show openly, he did have a little smirk of victory. "Honestly sir, where would you be without Paul or I?"

Most likely dead. His mind replied dryly. Preferably in the wreckage remains of my failure.

Tord yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be heading up now." He informed, turning away to leave the room. "Notify me right away if there's a change to his condition."

"Yes, sir."

The door hisses open and he walks out of the quarters. In quick strides, Tord walks through the immense corridors of his laboratory. The shiny marble tiled floor and walls gleaming his reflection back at him wherever he goes. The cobalt blue coat of his uniform is only half-done, letting free the vision of his red hoodie underneath.

With only the heavy footsteps of his boots against the marble floor, he marched towards the elevator and went up, pressing the -4 button.

The elevator ride was quiet, despite the constant humming of the lift as it went upwards. Tord leaned back into the mirror wall surface, his hands grabbing the handles behind him with a sigh of content. His shoulders slump as the tension left him. He idly ran one of his hands through his hair, looking at the ground before his gaze fell on his prosthetic arm. A small frown made into his facial features as he continued to stare at it.

He flexed his robotic fingers.

It's been a year since the incident and the amputation, and yet, he still isn't used to the new arm. Sure, he has made a lot of improvements to it, and he certainly likes the feeling of power it brings him. He loves especially when he sees the fear in the eyes of his newer soldiers the first time they see his arm. However, it seems no matter how long it passes, the arm was still a stranger to him.

He turned his hand over.

It was… Funny. The new arm is a part of him now. But it will never be him. At least, not in the way that it was meant to be.

Tord slowly rose his hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He could feel the cold, metallic surface against his permanently damaged face. But his hand could not feel the scars and burns along his flesh. He closed his eyes; painful memories from that terrible day began to resurge.

Being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher. Blood gushing down his arm. Paul and Patrick's panicked and horrified faces.

His doctors, practically all of them, analysed his case but it was hopeless. He had to cut it off. He already knew this was going to be the outcome. That's why he took the robotic arm from the wreckage. It doesn't take an expert to know that his arm was beyond salvageable. He went on with the procedure. Paul and Patrick assisting him with hesitance for what he was about to submit himself to.

Tord took a shaky deep breath at his next memory.

He had failed his mission. He had only one objective; to infiltrate the home, take the robot, and fly back to the base for his plans to commence. But he failed. If any of his soldiers were to fail their mission, he would punish them. He is their leader. He should be setting up an example for them. That failure isn't an option. If he can't do that, what kind of leader would he be? No. He failed his mission, and he deserves a punishment.

That's what he told himself; when he ordered his doctors to cut his arm off without giving him an anaesthetic.

Everyone was horrified by his orders. Paul and Patrick tried to plead for him to reconsider, and not put himself through the pain that he was about to subject himself to. Tord figured he already suffered the worst. He went on with it anyway.

All he remembers next was putting a cloth in his mouth to bite down, and Paul and Pat holding him down as the doctor got closer. Then there was an agonizing pain. His bloodcurdling screams muffled by the rag. Tears welled up in his eyes. Trashing around the surgical table. The horrible snap and crunch from his bone. He nearly passed out after that, as his vision blurred with the shock and blood loss. He closed his eyes for one second, and when he opened them again; his arm had already been replaced.

Sure, it wasn't the same arm back then. It was only a prototype for him to use until he could fix the one he is currently using now. But still, the memory haunts him just as much as the confrontation with his former friends.

Tord dropped his arm back to his side, releasing another sigh. The elevator ride was short, just going up one level; and yet it was feeling like an eternity.

Alas, the elevator ringed and the doors opened as he finally reached his desired level. Tord recomposed himself, pushing all his dark thoughts away, and plastered a confident smirk on his face as he strolled out.

The sight of his soldiers greeted him. They were walking through the hallways, chatting with one another; most likely heading for training. They cheerfully greeted and saluted him as he passed by, and he returned the gesture.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Hello, sir!"

"How's the morning, sir?"

Tord raised his head with pride, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod and a small smile. The soldiers who have been in the army the longest have grown used to their leader's presence enough to feel at ease, and still hold respect for him. The recruits always tend to cower away in their first time meeting him face to face. But overtime they grow to trust and respect his authority rather than fear it. But of course, he still occasionally makes sure to let it be known for all members in the army; his power is not to be tested. He is a just and merciful leader, but he won't hesitate to teach a lesson to those who defy him.

"Excuse me-! Red leader, sir!"

A young woman hurried over to his side, falling in step with his quick strides. The soldier wore their trademark red and blue army uniform, with her name 'Scarlett' written on the tag, huge round glasses, and she carried a couple of folders with her. Her red mahogany hair was tied in a messy bun, with two strands of hair flowing elegantly alongside her face.

Tord glanced at her with a tilt of his head, prompting her to speak. "I thought I would let you know of your schedule for today." She stated, pulling out her notebook and pen from her pockets. "Not that I am complaining about you sir, but you did leave me in a wild goose chase earlier. Looking all over the base for you!"

Tord chuckled. "My apologies, I was quite busy this morning down at the labs. You know how it is."

She pushed up her glasses, looking at him with a slight frown; clearing her throat before speaking. "Well, Commander Paul requested your presence in the training hall. He would like you to evaluate the progress of our newest batch of recruits. Then I suggest you head over to the conference room for the meeting you scheduled with the army's supplier immediately after. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting." She advised, throwing him a narrowed glance.

Tord shrugged but nodded regardless. "Affirmative." He smiled.

"Then you have weapons inspection, scheduling the cafeteria's menu for next month…"

"Nah, clear the rest of my afternoon for me." Tord cut her off, waving his hand in a careless manner. "I'm going down to the labs again after the meeting. Have one of the lieutenants go in my place instead."

The girl groaned in exasperation. "Sir, this is the 5th time this week you ask me to clear your schedule from all your other activities." She stated. "At this rate, I'm gonna run out of things to say to the soldiers!"

"I am confident you can handle this task; otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you so." Usually it was Patrick who dealt with Tord's daily agenda. But since he was too busy looking after Tom, as well with his other duties, Tord needed another secretary and thus he appointed Scarlett for the job. She's not a soldier, although she is battle trained. She's in charge of keeping track over the army's archives, records, and files down at the library; and is infamously known for being very well organized. So clearly, she was the ideal choice for the job. Though he was quick to figure out she doesn't deal well under pressure.

Scarlett sighed, scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "Very well, sir." She bowed her head and left his side, presumably heading back to her office in the base's library.

After she left him, Tord continued down the path of the long, fancy hallways. Taking turns; left, right, going up a few flights of stairs. It would've have been easy to just take the elevator up to the level he was heading to. But Tord likes to stroll around his base whenever he could, make sure everything is in order, and admire the secret empire he so expertly constructed beneath the very foundations of his home land.

Pride swelled in his heart at the thought. His army has grown exponentially since he first founded it. The number of new recruits have diminished as time went by, but that did not bother him. His army is large enough as it is. It's only a matter of time now for the red army to rise above ground and begin their reign over the entire world. Once he finally gets his desired result with the serum experiments, only then he will put Tom to some good use. And to think, that his "former friend" is going to aid him in his quest. The notion itself made Tord immensely happy.

Before he knew it, Tord arrived in the training hall. The glass doors sliding open with a 'swush' and he strolled in. The polished floor gleamed with the reflection of the lights. Various equipments displayed on both sides. And in the centre of the room, where a large area is cushioned with blue mats, a line of soldiers is standing in a straight posture and staring straight ahead of them at the wall.

They hadn't notice their leader's presence in the room yet, due to them facing away from where he is. Not to mention the fact that they were too busy focusing on their Commander walking along the line, facing each one as he addressed them all.

"Three months ago, you came to us and joined our ranks. You have all trained very hard since then." Paul spoke, looking at each soldier as he stepped by them. "However, by no means does this give you the right to slack off. You still have a long way to go before you move up the rank from private to soldier."

He halted his movements, fully turning to face them. "We're gonna have a little test today. Remember, this may not be your final assessment yet, but I will still judge your improvement and skill just as seriously." He stated, shifting his calculating gaze over the privates.

Tord had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles. Paul sure knows how to put up a good show. He watched the performance with keen interest.

"Your goal in this test is to pin me down, before I do the same to you." Paul announced, observing the trainees for a reaction out of them. They gave nothing away. He gave a curt nod of approval. "If you succeed; then congratulations! You get the highest mark. If I pin you down though, you'll fail, and I will give a score to your performance." Paul walked ahead of them, turning his back to the privates as he faced the wall with hands clasped behind his back. His steps even. "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Without the hesitation of a moment's heartbeat, one of the privates broke away from the line and rushed at Paul while he had his back turned. The dark-haired man threw a punch his way, but Paul, already experienced with training privates over the years in the army, had expected the move coming from a mile away. He side stepped at the very last second, catching the private off-guard instead of the other way around. Paul then grabbed the man's other arm, kicked out his legs to make him stumble, but before he could fall over on himself; Paul hurled him backwards clean over his head and threw him down onto the mat.

The private groaned in pain as his back slammed down hard on the cushioned floor. Paul held him down with one foot. "I like your initiative. However, that ain't gonna be enough to save your ass on a real battle." Paul commented, looking down at the man. "You have a lot to improve on. I'll give you a 2 out of 10." He pulled his foot away, letting the private up. The man quickly nodded and stepped away. "Who's next?"

A girl hurled herself at him, so fast she was barely just a blur. Paul swiped downwards, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second, and jabbed him in the ribs and shoulder. Paul staggered back, letting out a low groan of pain before he grabbed one of the girl's arms as she went in for another jab, this time aimed for his face. He twisted her arm behind her back. In retaliation, the private kicked out with her legs against his knee, making him buckle under his own weight. He did not let go of her. Instead, he used the opportunity to switch their positions around as they fell, so that she was the one who lands on the mat instead of him.

"That's more like it!" Paul admired, brushing himself off the ground. "7 out of 10."

He was barely done with his sentence when he was jumped on by three different privates all at once. Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue. These privates were about to learn a lesson they weren't soon going to forget.

Paul made a grab for the nearest private, who had taken a hold of his arm, and was trying desperately to use his own weight to bring Paul down. The Red Army commander grabbed the private by the collar of his uniform and easily threw him off, hurling him against the other private; who had lunged at him only to get hit head-on by her own comrade. The remaining private had snuck up behind Paul and tried to take him by surprise by putting him in a headlock.

"Not bad." Paul commented with a grunt, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly he hurled backwards, slamming the back of his head against the private's face. A crunch was heard, and the private let go of Paul as he moaned in pain, and gripped his bleeding, and broken nose. However, Paul did not let up. He swiped one foot from beneath the private's feet, knocking him over; only to grab the man's arm and hurl him down against the other two knocked-out privates.

Paul spat on the ground, looking down at the pile of winded trainees with disdain. "Usually I would give a good scolding to those who try to team up to take me down." He commented, fixing his sleeves. "But you guys are barely worth the effort. 3 out of 10."

Before another private could step out of line for their turn, the sound of clapping got everyone's attention. Tord stepped out of the shadows, from where he was watching the whole thing, and made himself known. He applauded rather condescendingly. His robotic hand slowly coming down against his organic, gloved one.

"Well, well, well… That was quite the show." Red leader chuckled, approaching the group. He took in the privates looks of awe, shock, and apprehension at the sight of him. "However, I must say I am quite disappointed in the lacklustre performance of these recruits." He eyed the defeated bunch, letting his gaze waver over each one of them. They all bowed their heads and adverted their gaze away from him.

"In their defence, they had only three months of training so far and they were only shown mostly defensive moves." Paul shrugged, facing his leader. "Clearly they still have an awful lot to learn before they can become proper soldiers."

Tord grunted in agreement. "Indeed." He crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture as he strolled alongside the line; addressing the recruits with his authoritative figure. "I will admit. For recruits, you lot are brave to attack with no hesitation and with so little combat experience." He stated, his voice loud and clear. "But there's a fine line between bravery and recklessness. And bravery alone won't be enough to keep you alive in the battlefield." He stopped walking, and turned to face them. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder here on out. I expect nothing less than the very best of my soldiers. It's the least you can do for us, after taking you in and giving you lot a second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The privates saluted in unison.

Tord nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

The trainees didn't need to be told twice. They immediately scampered out the room, shooting weary glances at their leader along the way; whispering quietly to one another as they did so. Tord shot them a wicked smirk and a glare their way, and they were quick to flinch and leave the room.

Tord chuckled slightly at their reaction, shaking his head. "Hmph! Amateurs…" He scoffed, turning away and facing the commander. "Well, that was a waste of my time. Why bother bringing me here to witness this unexperienced display?" He questioned, earning a half-hearted shrug in response.

"Thought you needed to lighten up a bit. You have been spending way too much time down in the labs worrying over To- I mean, test subject #1826!" Paul answered, quickly recovering from his mistake. "You used to enjoy evaluating the privates' performance and training; especially if it gave you a chance to intimidate them out of their boots. What changed?"

Tord sighed, heading out the Training hall with Paul trailing behind him. "That was in the beginning! You know? When the army was small, we barely had anything, and any shred of development had my most immediate attention." He stated genuinely, glancing back at his Commander over his shoulder as he spoke. "But 9 years is a long time to get used to it, my friend. I have seen privates training time, and time again. Unless they have any special abilities I should know about, I don't see the point of looking into their development for myself anymore; with the exception being their final assessment." He explained, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. They may have had their struggles keeping their base a secret and afloat at the start. But it sure made all the more joyous when things were improving. Although of course he is very proud of his army, he is a busy man with a tight schedule; Tord doesn't have time to keep observing his newest members training. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like looking after Tom?"

Tord halted abruptly in his steps, nearly making Paul bump into him. He turned his head around stiffly, and shot Paul a dry glare. The red army commander looked skittish, and laughed nervously. "Ha ha. Very funny." Red leader scoffed sarcastically.

Tord said nothing more, before resuming his travel along the base. Paul followed, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Uh, where we going?" He asks hesitantly.

"To the conference room." Tord replied. "I'm having a meeting with the army's supplier."

Paul groaned audibly at this. "I don't like those guys! They are way too shady for my books." He complained.

Tord rolled his one visible eye. "Like them or not, we need them. They have helped us plenty in the past, and they never disappointed with my demands." He explained calmly, as if reasoning with a child. "Sure, they may be rather annoying to deal with at times. But never anything too harmful!"

"I guess."

As the two of them walked along the army base's corridors together, other soldiers spotted them along the way. They greeted them with respect, and murmured quietly to each other while shooting glances their way.

"Ey boss!"

All soldiers, including Tord himself, froze at the sound of the heavy accented voice that came from somewhere far behind them. Simultaneously, the exact same thought flickered on their minds in response to it.

Oh f#ck no.

"Sh#t."

"It's Reagan!"

Immediately, the soldiers, that were around him mere seconds ago with excitement; scattered into different directions as quickly as possible. Some of them were even pushing each other out of the way to leave faster. Tord inwardly winced and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He wished he could go with the others. But he has places to be, and a leader doesn't run away from anything. Even if it bothers him to no end.

He let out a long, resonant groan of aggravation; pinching the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the migraine that was about to be bestowed upon him. One quick glance told him that Paul was not faring any better. His huge eyebrows are pointing down, and his face was a mixture of a permanent frown and a scowl. Whatever good mood he had with him after the assessment has completely vanished without a trace from his features.

Much like he anticipated, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "Heyo! So nice to run into yah, boss!" The soldier laughed. "I've been trying to contact you for the longest time now, but you never picked up my calls!"

"Yes, well, I have been quite busy with my work Reagan." Tord muttered in disdain, finally turning around to face the obnoxious soldier.

The man in question was not much taller than Tord himself. Messy blonde hair, starkly bright green eyes, a stubble, and a seemingly permanent sh#t-eating grin always present on the Irish man's face. Reagan laughed at his comment, and placed an arm over Tord's shoulder to lean on. Tord mustered all his self-control not to push the man off.

Reagan glanced sideways and took notice of Paul's presence next to them. "Oh! Hey Paulie!~ " He greeted with a sickly-sweet voice. "How's Patty?"

Paul's fists clenched, and he glared at the Irish soldier. "Just fine!" He huffed, crossing his arms. Reagan giggled at his expression.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Tord questioned, taking Reagan's attention away from Paul, and back to himself. He had a feeling if Reagan kept pestering Paul, the red army commander might actually sock the officer right on the jaw. As pleasing as the notion would be, Tord doesn't want to lose the trust of his soldiers. Even ones as annoyingly irritating as Reagan.

The blonde soldier turned his gaze back Tord, with a large smile plastered on his face. "I was just looking to report the case of my latest mission, boss." He spoke, bringing himself with an air of smug confidence.

"Your partner, Officer Bennet, has already reported to me all the details of the mission." Tord answered with a lack of emotion in his voice, proceeding to shrug off the arm clinging around his shoulders and continue along his way.

Reagan did not seem bothered. "Speaking of witch, have you seen Benny-boy anywhere?" He asks, still following them. "Went off for a drink, he left without waiting, and now I can't find that son of a b#tch anywhere!"

Tord felt genuinely bad for Bennet. He is a good officer. Had given plenty of years of loyal service under the Red army. A reliable spy. He most definitely did not deserve to be paired up with Reagan. But someone had to. Reagan is wild, and out of control. Bennet is calm and reasonable; he can put Reagan in check. But Bennet can be kind of a push over with his kind nature, and he does not possess any trace of ambition or that much confidence in himself. Reagan is clever, sly, and cunning. He will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Teaming up the two of them together was the obvious choice; they complement each other. However, the same thing was said about the other six soldiers Reagan had teamed up with in the past. And none of them turned out alright.

The Red leader sighed. "He gave me the mission report digitally, before personally meeting me in my office." He stated coolly. "He is currently away from any army related activities, in a 7-month licence."

Reagan blinked. "What's that mean?"

"It means, that he will be gone for seven months to care for his family and new-born child." Tord sighed patiently. Usually he wouldn't give such a long time for his soldiers, but again, Bennet was a good officer. Besides, god knows he needed a holiday break from Reagan.

Tord winced when the Irish soldier let out a loud gasp of shock. "What?! Benny-boy is married this whole time, and I never knew?" He echoed in disbelief, clinging onto Paul; who glared at him in return. "Blimme me! That sly dog! How come he never told me?!"

"Probably because he doesn't want you anywhere near his family." Paul grumbled under his breath. "Honestly, I don't blame him." If Reagan heard his comment, he paid no heed.

"Also, boss, is there any chance I can change my fake identity?" He requested, completely changing the subject. "I mean, Lenny? Seriously? That's just a plain dumb name! Doesn't exactly fit with me, you know?"

"I find it quite suitable, if I say so myself." Paul muttered.

Tord narrowed his eye. "You are in no position to make demands out of me, Reagan." He states, glancing back over his shoulder with a cold gleam in his eye. "If anything, you are lucky that I haven't thrown you out due to your delinquent behaviour."

Reagan chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by his leader's serious tone of voice. "By the way, boss, who was that creepy looking fella you ordered us to eliminate?" He asks, changing the subject yet again. "The poor bastard didn't even see what was coming to him, nor did he stand much of a chance against us. Must've been his freakish lack of eyes!"

Immediately, Tord knew who he was talking about. "That's classified information." He answered, feeling somewhat defensive on the subject. "But let's just say that he owed me one." He left it at that.

"Oohh! Cryptic!" Reagan echoed, clear interest showed in his mischievous green orbs as he fiddled with his hands. He then proceeded to laugh, clutching his sides. "Oh man, I just remembered the best part from the mission!" He wiped away a tear from his eye. "As if disposing that freak wasn't good enough by itself, delivering the news to his friends was a riot!"

Red leader's confident strides slowed down, until he was merely just walking. All noise was muted, focusing only in Reagan's voice.

"I wish I had a camera to film their reaction though. It's a real shame I didn't!" The Irish soldier went on with his retelling. Being as casual about it, as if he was merely speaking of his eventful day. "The look on their faces was priceless! We brought their hopes up, only to bring it down. Then we brought them up again, only to shatter them in a million pieces." He continued to laugh. Paul, who walked next to him, was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between him and his leader. Dreading, but anticipating, the outburst to happen. "The guy in the green hoodie was specially devastated. He dropped his soda, and ran back inside his apartment; crying like a little baby! To be fair, the ginger guy wasn't faring any better. He was nearly bursting into tears himself when he sent us away."

"Is there anything important you might be leading up to with this information, Reagan?" Tord whipped around, and snapped through gritted teeth. His one eye blazed with fury, and Paul could see that he was barely holding his rage inside.

Reagan shrugged. "Not really. I just like to chat."

"Well, keep the details to yourself." Tord snarled, turning away with a scowl. "Unless I order it, I am not interest in them."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

Paul thought this was going to be the end of it. Reagan would take the hint, and scamper away to annoy somebody else. But this is Reagan. He never takes the hint that he might be taking it too far. And thus, he stuck around them for a little longer.

"Hey boss, I heard from some guys that the labs are off-limits." And by that, he literally means he eavesdrop on some people talking. Because no one in their right mind will ever associate themselves with him. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tord was drastically losing his patience. He just wanted to get to the meeting, end it, and go back to his work. Was that too much to ask?

Remembering his anger-management exercises with Pat, he took a deep breath to control himself. "Because I ordered it so."

"Does it have something to do with the secret project you have been working on for so god dam long?" He pressed on, imminent interest in his voice.

Tord gave him a long-side glare. "That's classified information."

Reagan beamed. "But if I were to be promoted a rank up, would I get access to said information?"

The Red leader stopped abruptly in his path. So that's what he is after! "Perhaps. But I don't see a reason why you should get promoted at all." He snaps, whipping around to face the man. Tord brought his robotic arm up, and began to tap into some buttons; bringing up a screen which showed a file. "In your four years of service to the Red army, you managed to break 18 out of the 26 rules. Push away all your previous designated partners. Constantly disobeys orders. Provokes fights between other soldiers. And you keep smuggling cigarettes from our canteen, time and time again; and never paid any of it." He read the file.

"Pfft! I would never!" Reagan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away rather dramatically. "You got no proof!"

Tord smirked, tapping a few more buttons before inverting the screen. "This is footage from one of our CCTV cameras. That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a soldier, clearly Reagan, walking by the canteen with both hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked around, checking to see if anybody was looking. He then grinned and proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cigarette packets from the stand before running off.

Reagan looked dumbfounded, while Paul snickered quietly next to them.

"That footage was tempered with." Reagan tried to argue. Tord raised one hand to silence him.

"Enough! That's proof enough to show me, that you aren't ready to become a sergeant." He turned around and walked away. Thinking he had the final word. But Reagan was not one to give up so easily.

"C'mon boss! Please! Give me a chance at least!" He practically begged, running up ahead of Tord and walking backwards as he just continued along his way. The Red leader paid no heed to him. "I am a changed man, I promise! Let me prove it to you!"

As the Officer continued to pester him, Tord felt his patience about to burst. From the corner of his vision, he spotted Paul looking upwards at the ceiling with a pleading look. He didn't need to read minds to tell that the Commander was silently praying for Reagan to go away. Tord couldn't blame him.

Reagan is… effective in the battlefield. But he can be reckless, and sometimes goes a little too far. If it weren't for other soldiers accompanying him on missions, there would never be any prisoners to interrogate. He is most definitely not to be trusted with tanks, planes, or any heavy machinery. One good trait that was evident about the man though, and really; the only reason the Irish man is still around in the first place, is his charisma and way with words.

He could manipulate people with extreme ease. In the beginning, when he first joined the army, Reagan would always charm-talk his way out of trouble. Maybe that was a bad thing to let happen. Now the man is too cocky for his own good, and is not afraid of authority. A thing Reagan is known to do as well; whenever there are new recruits in the army, he would manipulate and trick them into doing certain chores for him. That's why other soldiers are quick to advise the newbies to stay as far away from Reagan as possible, because the man is just trouble.

If only there was a way to use Reagan's abilities, benefit the army in some way, and get rid of him enough to stop bothering them-

A lightbulb lit up atop his head.

Tord halted, and a wide grin stretched along his face, as he slowly turned to face the Irish man. Paul raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. He was keen to know what his leader has in mind.

"Reagan.~" Tord practically purred, as he placed his arm around the officer's shoulder. "I may have judged you too harshly, and for that, I am sorry. I think you are absolutely right in deserving a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Both the man in question and Paul gasped simultaneously.

Tord nodded. "I am going to give you a very especial task." He went on, words dripping with honey as he grinned through half-lidded eyes. "It shouldn't be much of a hassle for you anyways. After all, with that silver tongue of yours, this should be a walk in the park for you."

"Well, what is it?" Reagan prompted eagerly.

Tord clasped his hands over the man's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "Reagan, I want you to take part in this year's recruitment program."

"The recruitment program?"

"Yes."

Reagan was rather amazed at this sudden turn of events, though he was not complaining. Another quick look in Paul's direction, told Tord that his commander did not agree with his decision. He was shaking his head, and raised his hands; shaking them as well to signal that this may not be the greatest idea.

"Why the recruitment program though?" Reagan questioned.

"Because, I think this task will put your talents to better use for the good-will of the army." Tord explained smoothly. "Tell you what; if you can successfully find, and convince five new members into joining the army as new recruits, then I might consider promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan tapped his chin, and hummed deep in thought. "Will I get my very own private quarters?"

"Anywhere you want!" Tord nodded, still grinning widely.

"Access to the premium selection on the cafeteria menu?"

"Of course!"

"A different name for my fake ID?"

"I don't see why not?!"

"Granted access to the super-secret project down in the labs?"

Tord's whole facade nearly shattered at this; it took all his self-control to keep it up. His smile faltered for a millisecond, and his eye twitched. He resisted the urge to choke the Irish man where he stood, and continued to hold his charade. Just barely though.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chuckled forcefully. "But who knows? Anything can happen!"

Reagan smirked triumphantly. Paul, at this point, was just staring at the ground in dismay; still shaking his head.

"Alright boss, I'll take on the task." The blonde officer agreed, brushing the invisible dust off his shoulders in a stuck-up manner. "Just you wait and see. When I come back with the army's five newest members, you'll finally see the competent soldier that I truly am."

"I expect no less from you." Tord stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.

"See yah around, boss!" Reagan raised two fingers to his forehead, giving a little salute of farewell before walking away in the opposite direction.

Tord waved his robotic fingers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. When the blonde soldier turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight, both the red army commander and the leader breathed out a sigh of relief. Their shoulders slumped; both feeling absolutely drained from the experience.

"He's gone at last." Tord breathed, his anger slowly dissipating. He pressed a button on his robotic arm, and opened a compartment containing aspirin. He gave one pill to Paul, and one for himself.

Paul side-glanced at him in concern. "Sir, please tell me you didn't mean anything of what you said to him." He asked pleadingly.

Tord shrugged. "To be fair, most of what I said was just to get rid of him. He was getting on my nerves." He replied truthfully. "But with that said, at this point I am just giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"By putting him in the recruitment program?" Paul crossed his arms, raising one of his bushy eyebrows questioningly. "Was that really such a bright idea?"

Tord sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Kind of risky, I admit." He raised one finger. "But, at least we'll be rid of him for a while until he completes his mission. And get new members for the army as a bonus!"

"I don't know sir, Reagan is very impulsive. Not to mention that the recruitment program is a very delicate operation. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything we build over the years!" Paul pointed out worriedly.

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Tord demanded, narrowing his eye. "Yes, I am well aware of the risk. But I don't think we'll have to concern ourselves with it." He stretched his arms, re-focusing his mind to his goal and continuing along the path he was originally going. "Reagan may be plenty of things, but he is far from stupid. He knows better than to speak about the army so openly in public." He reasoned, glancing over his shoulder to see his Commander trailing behind him. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea sooner. It's perfect for a person with Reagan's capabilities!"

"I don't think I quite follow…" Paul murmured in confusion, tilting his head.

"Isn't it obvious? Reagan's biggest trait, aside from his constant nagging and rather annoying personality, is his manipulation skills." Tord explained. "The recruitment program is all about sending our best socially skilled soldiers out into the world, and convince potential recruits into joining us. This is our chance to finally put Reagan to good use!"

Paul was silent, making sense of his leader's idea. "I guess that could work…" He trailed off hesitantly. "But, doesn't it take months, possibly more than a year, just to target and prey one person and convince them to join us?"

"Precisely.~" Tord smirked mischievously, chuckling under his breath.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Paul and he reared back in realization. "Oh. Oh! Sir, that was ingenious!"

"Why, thank you!" Tord laughed, giving a mock bow in return with a smug grin.

"To be honest, you should've done it sooner." Paul added, laughing slightly before his expression turned to worry once more. "But you're not seriously going to promote him if he does succeed, right?"

"A leader always keeps his word. But thankfully I only said that i might, MIGHT, consider in granting him the promotion. Never said I would indubitably! So there's that." He reasoned with a confident smirk. "But like hell am I ever going to grant him access to my project, or clearance to the lab! Last thing I need is him meddling in places that he shouldn't."

The mere idea of Reagan being involved made Tord feel noxious. As if he doesn't have enough trouble as it is with Tom alone. A drifting thought made itself known in his mind; a possibility that made his spine tingle in all the wrong ways. Tom and Reagan in the exact same room. A shudder ran down his spine at the scenario. That's a recipe for disaster, if he'd ever seen one. One pisses him off to no end, to the point of wanting to rip the hair out of his scalp. The other is Reagan.

No. Just… no.

Before he realized, they finally arrived in front of the huge double doors to the conference room. The doors so huge, it reached the ceiling.

Pushing one of the heavy doors, Tord and Paul slid inside, making sure to shut it behind them. The room was huge, yet, filled with an empty space. There were no lights, but only the flickering static of the huge screen that covered the opposite wall illuminated the room. In the centre, there is a small platform raised a few steps above the ground, and on top of it there is a throne with two control panels on either side of it's arms.

Tord walked up the steps and sat down on the tall, comfortable seat; immediately set to work, and typing the commands into the control panels. Meanwhile, Paul stepped ahead of the platform. He began to fiddle with the camera that was positioned directly in front of the throne.

"Is everything ready?" Tord questions.

Paul gave a thumbs up, flicking the camera on. "Yes, sir!

Tord nodded. Paul quickly made his way to stand by the Red leader's throne; crossing his arms and with a straight posture.

"Starting the call… Now!"

He pressed the switch, and the large screen ahead of them flickered to call sign. Tord sat back in his throne, placing both hands beneath his chin intently, as he patiently waited for his ally to pick up the call.

At last, the screen changed, as the call was finally answered.

"Ah! Red leader! It's been a while since our last negotiation."

The screen switched, and showed two men. One of them, the one who spoke; is a man with dishevelled brown hair, white shirt, and brown eyes. Standing just behind him, is his assistant. A man with dirty blonde hair, wearing a tuxedo, and one of his eyes is covered up by an eyepatch.

"Indeed it has, Mr. Bing." Tord replied smoothly.

"To what may I owe you this pleasure?" The mad director questioned, leaning back on his reclining chair. "Is it the usual order, I assume?"

Tord clasped his hands together. "It is. But that is not the only reason for this call." He announced, deciding to be direct and not beat around the bush any longer. "Along with the next shipment, I would like to request a barrel of the "purple stuff" as well."

"Oh? You're still on that silly project, boy?" Bing prompted, leaning his head against his hand rather tiredly. "Let me guess; the last barrel I sent you went down the drain along with your failed attempts?"

Tord's eye twitched in annoyance at being called a boy. Paul uttered a low growl next to him, glaring directly at the screen. But Tord made a subtle sign for him to step down, and not do anything rash.

Tord masked his irritation with an amused laugh. "I am not one to give up so easily, my friend." He stated, tapping his fingers along the arms of the throne. "And this time, I had a breakthrough in my research. I am close to my goals, and I won't stop now for anything."

"Whatever you say, Red." Bing shrugged, seemingly disinterested. "However, I don't have to remind you the cost for getting you one of those things. This chemical stuff is really hard to obtain. Especially after the incident with the plane crash, the chemical spill, and the short zombie apocalypse you managed to cause."

"I am well aware." As he spoke, Tord sent a glare towards his commander through the corner of his eye. Paul smiled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "What is it you want in return this time, Bing?"

At that, the evil director hummed, deep in thought. "You wouldn't happen to have an anti-gravity device or a shrinking gun, would you?"

Paul and Tord exchanged an uneasy glance. "We have a prototype of a shrinking laser… But nothing like an anti-gravity device..."

(Time skip)

Darkness seemed to have consumed his vision. He's been in the dark for so long. But how long? There wasn't a sense of time in this place. Not that he could tell. It was a familiar feeling though, but not one that he was glad to welcome. Hisses and whispering voices echoed in the distance, but he couldn't make them out.

I want to get out of here!

He felt like he was eternally falling.

No. Worse.

He felt like he was drowning. It was suffocating. It's dark. His movements were sluggish and slow. The sensation was very much like he was cast into the ocean with a cinderblock chained to his ankles; dragging him down to the bottom. And no matter how much he flailed and struggled, he couldn't get free. He was stuck in the darkness, just staring upwards at absolutely nothing as if he anticipated something to come out, grab him, and pull him out of the eternal dark abyss that he has fallen into.

But he has seen this before. No one ever comes. Why should they?

After a while of struggle, he would just lean back in defeat and let himself drift further down; staring ahead of him numbly.

It's for the best, anyway.

He would simply close his eyes and drift aimlessly until this was over. Sometimes he would get flashes of events happening somewhere else. But this time, there was none of that. It was rather strange, but he was not complaining. It's a welcomed change. Now he wasn't disturbed with the guilt anymore. Despite the choking feeling, he wouldn't mind keep floating in the dark for the rest of his miserable existence.

It's what he deserves.

Unexpectedly though, the fuzzy pressure on his head began to uncurl, and the choking sensation he felt previously lifted away. He knew what it meant. He was gaining back consciousness! Dread filled the pit of his stomach. What would he find outside?

A bright bean of light flash down from above him. He refused to look. He did not want to know what awaited him on the other side. But the light began to brighten, more and more, until even with his eyes closed he felt blinded.

Tom finally opened his eyes. Slowly, and he squinted them against the bright light shining above him. He raised one hand to block out the brightness from his dark sockets. Although his vision was blurry at the start, it progressively got used to its surroundings; enough for him to realize he was in his room.

No. Not his room. His quarters in the red army base, deep underground, somewhere in Norway. That's right.

He heard a soft snore next to him. Blinking sluggishly, he turned to look and noticed the other presence in the room. The Red leader is seated in a chair next to his bed, though he wasn't conscious. His scarred cheek was pressed against his robotic palm that rested on one of the chair's arms, leaning sideways, as he slept.

Tom's breath hitched at the unexpected sight, but he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth to cease making any noise that might arouse the Norsk from his slumber. His gaze wondered his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of Tord's chest. It was a rather unusual sight to see, but he had to admit that the man looked peaceful. You know, without the smug look on his face towering above his, or the one of unrelenting rage that threatened to seep the life off him; it was a good change of pace.

Too bad it only lasted a couple of seconds.

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Tom jumped, looking around panickedly. He searched for the source of the noise, when his gaze landed on the Norsk's prosthetic arm.

His eyes widened. Mother f-

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the beeping grew louder and Tord jolted awake. Tom grimaced, quickly shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow down enough for his breathing to reach a steady pace.

Tord panted, caught off-guard by the notification alarm coming from his arm. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Last he remembers, he came in to check on Tom, and then-

The train of thought disbanded when Tord stiffened in realization. He checked the screen on his arm, and sure enough, it displayed a heart monitor; showing the sudden change to the usual rhythm it has kept over the past few days. It could only mean one thing.

Alert, and fully awake at this point, Tord shifted in his seat and glanced at his "supposed sleeping" test subject. "Tom?" He called out, hoping to receive an answer this time. "Tom, I know that you're awake. The chip I've implanted on you gives me direct access to your nervous system, and it's currently telling me that you are awake."

Despite already knowing his cover has been blown, Tom did not open his eyes. He doesn't want to face Tord. Not now, nor ever.

On the other hand, Tord was starting to grow impatient. He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly while tapping one foot repeatedly as he waited for Tom to realize he wasn't fooling him.

He grinned. "Hm, must've been another glitch from my arm. This stupid thing!" He banged his prosthetic against the wall with frustration. "Oh well, I guess I was mistaken." He shrugged with a sigh, still grinning maniacally. Not that Tom could see it, anyway.

Next thing he knows, Tom hears footsteps distancing themselves away from his bed; and the familiar hiss of the door as it slides open and closes again. Tom strains to hear anything else but he is met with absolute silence.

Is he gone?

Tom takes the risk. Squinting one eye open, barely just a slit; he sees the room Tord-less. No signs of the Norsk.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, running one hand through his messy locks. "That was close." He murmured. "What a weirdo! Talking to himself like that-!"

"You are not much better yourself."

Tom practically jumped on his bed, and yelped in surprise when Tord peeked out from beneath the bed. The Norsk laughed; mighty pleased with himself for causing such an effect on the eyeless man. He clutched his sides as he rose from the floor.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Tord continued to laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Tom stared at him indignantly. How dare he do this to him? He huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the Norsk as he waited for him to finish his fit of laughter. "Are you done yet?"

Tord nodded, nearly out of breath. He sighed contently before recomposing himself. "That was worth it." He kept grinning that stupid, trademark smile of his.

An awkward silence hung in the air between them as the laughter died down, and they simply stared at each other. Neither of them knowing what to say in their current position. Tom wasn't too uncomfortable though. He was still rather tired, and he just merely blinked at the man before him with a deadpanned expression; waiting for him to leave so he could be in peace at last.

Ultimately, it was Tord who broke the silence. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… how are you feeling?"

Tom shrugged. "Fine. But tired." He stretched out his arms above his head as he lets out a huge yawn. "Mostly tired." It was then that he was startled to realize he has wrappings on both arms. Curious, albeit rather wearily, he turned his arms to inspect the bandages so expertly wrapped around his limbs. From the tip of his finger, all the way to his shoulder. And judging by the slightly pressure applied to his abdomen, chances are, he has even more bandages.

"You were in quite a sorry state, my dear friend." Tord's voice broke him out of his personal inspection. Tom turned to glare at him. "I can't help but worry, what could've possibly been bestowed upon you to leave you such a sorry mess?" He questioned, mildly interested.

Tom did not even bother to rebuke with the usual reply for being referred to as a friend, by the Norwegian man. His shoulders slumped, not feeling particularly aggressive right now. He simply glanced away. "Just a usual night at the bar taken too far, I guess." He answered tiredly. "I got drunk around other drunk people, and it escalated from there."

The reply took Tord by surprise. He wasn't expecting such a genuine answer from him. Now, whether or not he is actually being honest is debatable. But Tord is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, until he has some compelling evidence disproving otherwise. Or Tom admits it himself.

Tord nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thomas, what was the last thing that you remember?" He questioned.

Tom tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You passed out unexpectedly, and we got no clues as to why. Only mere hypothesis." He explained the situation calmly, trying to refresh the Brit's memory. "You have been asleep for nearly a week."

"A week?!" Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. Was he gone for that long? More importantly, what did he do while he was gone?

"Can you tell us any reason as to why that happened?" Tord went on, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed; anticipating Tom's answer. He seemed to be cooperative. Maybe the other times he was merely cranky due to lack of decent sleep. Tord laughed at the notion. Whatever the case may be, he will take advantage of Tom's unexpected willingness to comply. "What was the last thing you remember, Thomas?"

"I… I remember our fight in the gym." Tord visibly winced at that. He was secretly hoping he had forgotten about that little ordeal. "Then I went to talk to Patrick… Tasty juice…" Tom subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. He wished he could take a sip of that right about now. His head stung, as he struggled to remember the rest.

"And? What else?" Tord pressed on, anxious to get any sort of information that might prove useful out of him.

Tom shook his head slightly. "I just felt really dizzy all of the sudden." He continuously rubbed his head. "A bad headache, and then… nothing." He hissed in pain, still feeling the sharp lingering remains of said headache.

Tord stood up, walking to the bedside table Tom failed to notice, that contained a cup and a jug of water. He poured water onto the cup, then settled the jug back down before he opened the compartment in his arm containing aspirin. "Here, take this." He offered to him.

Surprisingly, Tom did not question about the contents. He was just glad to have something to relieve him of the pain, and drench his sore throat. He popped the pill in his mouth and drank the entire glass in one swig.

"Better?" Tord watched him curiously.

Rather than answering, Tom just leaned forward in his bed and grabbed the jug from the bedside table before taking a chugigng it down. Tord stared at him in silent awe. The Brit nearly managed to drain the entire thing of its contents before he placed the jug back down; wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now I am."

The Norsk chuckled at his antics, shaking his head slightly as he moved to sit down again. He began to fiddle with his hands, his expression softening. "Has this happened before?" He asks.

"Sometimes." Tom rubbed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stay awake a little longer. "But I don't know what triggers it." He paused, his face grim.

Holding his own shin, Tord hummed deep in thought. "Thomas, do you by any chance have been getting trouble sleeping?"

The Brit's empty gaze lifted, and met his. "For a while now." His voice, barely a murmur.

"Why is that?" Tord asks.

He shrugged in response. "I don't know."

Tord frowned, somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting any clear answers. Another mystery to add to the jumble. He pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Then this sudden blackout and short coma could be as we had anticipated." He deduced. "Perhaps your lack of sleep has simply been trying to keep up with you. And when your body couldn't handle it anymore; your system running on fumes just to keep working, your body shut down until you got enough energy back."

"You mean like, a computer restart system, or something?"

"Precisely like that." The Norsk nodded. "And the only way to stop it from happening, is to get plenty of rest until you are back to proper health."

"If you say so." Tom muttered, not the least bit fazed by this information. It's easier said than done.

Tord stared at him in dismay, not sure how to fix the problem. "Is it insomnia, or nightmares?"

"Nightmares." Tom answered begrudgingly, eyes closed shut.

The Red leader blinked in surprise. Maybe Tom is finally warming up to him after all! An idea suddenly hit him, and he started to rummage through his uniform's pockets. "I have just the thing that can help you friend! Here-!" He pulled a tiny black disc out from his chest pocket.

Tom blinked as Tord placed the tiny thing on his hand. He brought up to his eye-level for a closer inspection, turning it in his fingers. He has no idea what it is. But it looks rather tasty. Tom numbly tried to take a bite of it.

"Wha-? Tom no! You're not supposed to eat it!" Quick as lightning, Tord took away the disc from Tom's hold before he could actually damage it.

The brit whined in disappointment. "It isn't? But it looks like a tiny burned cookie!" He stared at Tord's hand; the one which currently held the disc. "What is it then?"

"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares. I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do." Tord explained, turning the disc around in his hand; inspecting it for any substantial damage inflicted by Tom's baby-bite. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, thankfully. He leaned closer to Tom. "All you have to do is place the device in your ear, and then press this switch right here to activate it. Then you just go to sleep, and the device shall do its magic." He instructed, showing him exactly what he needed to do. He carefully placed the device into his ear, like so, and backed away. Tom scratched behind his ear, a little bothered by the thing; though the sensation wasn't that much different from wearing an earphone.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Red leader took a deep breath, running one hand through his own hair. Somewhat hesitant now, he cleared his throat. "Tom, I am going to be away for a while." He announced.

Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Away?" Echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. "How long?"

"Hopefully, this shouldn't take more than a couple of months. But still… it will be a while." Tord murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Paul and Pat will be looking after you while I'm gone. I merely request that you behave accordingly, and be nice to them." He paused, shifting his weary gaze back to Tom. "One thing is for you to aim your anger and frustration at me, for all the sh#t I put you through; and rightfully so. But they are good people. They are only following orders, and don't deserve to be mistreated. So please don't be difficult with them." He requested, before a sad smile graced his features. "Though, something tells me you won't be nearly as stubborn with them as you are with me. You seem to get along with them far better than we ever have."

If he detected the wistful tone in his voice, Tom showed no signs. "Where you going?"

The Red leader straightened himself, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I need to check my other bases. As leader, duty always calls." He answered. "Oh. It's also best that I should warn you now before I go. Since you haven't consumed any alcohol these last few days, you will probably start feeling the effects of the withdrawal soon enough. It ain't gonna be pretty." He advised. "These next couple of weeks are going to be… hm, how do you so eloquently put it? Oh, that's right! Lame."

"Nice." Tom says sarcastically.

Tord chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. After all, you're gonna have both of my best soldiers looking after you." He reassured, though Tom wasn't entirely convinced. Tord's expression softened. He leaned forward and ruffled Tom's hair slightly. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, old friend."

A low grumble was uttered by the Brit, but he did not voice a complaint or displayed any signs of aggression at the contact. Once more, all he did was blink with a blank expression.

"See you in a few months!" Tord smiled, waving his test subject farewell as he stepped away and made his way out the room.

"Wait."

At his call, Tord halted in front of the door. He glanced back at him. "Yes?" He blinked expectantly.

Tom shifted in his bed, feeling conscious all the sudden. "I… Shucks I'm going to regret saying this, ain't i? Uhm..." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before. And ripping off your eyepatch. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't really mean to do it. You just… get on my nerves."

At this point, Tord is sure this is just a dream. He is still sound sleep on his chair, he will wake up, and see that Tom hasn't awaken; proving that this is all just a figment of his imagination. Tom is apologizing? Surely this can't be real? The only thing Tord could think to explain the weirdness of this situation, is that Tom might be suffering the effects of the withdraw, and that's why he's been so unresponsive than usual.

Subconsciously, he touched his eyepatch. "It's fine, Thomas." He reassured. He took a deep breath, remembering Patrick's words from earlier. "I am… sorry as well. I shouldn't have provoked you, and I acted immaturely for a leader." And for the second time that day, the Red leader felt his pride get wounded. He could practically see Patrick's triumphant smirk if he were to see this development.

When there was nothing more to be said between them, Tord gave him a nod of acknowledgement. The door slid open with a hiss, and the Red leader left the room with a final wave of goodbye.

Breathing a tired sigh, Tom fell back on his bed; gazing at the ceiling. Things are finally going his way it seems. Life decided to take pity on him at last, and grant him a few months free of Tord. Yeah, the withdrawal sucks. And he's still at the red army's mercy. But at least he won't see Tord's smug face anytime soon.

But he had more pressing matters to worry about. More notably, his blackout. He wasn't lying when he said that it happened before. But the thing is, it wasn't triggered by lack of sleep. The real reason is worse. Much worse. Thankfully enough, nothing seemed to have happened this time. But it's only a matter of time until the thing gains its strength back, and manages to break free one more. Tom dreads that day. All his hard work to keep it under control, and it was for absolutely nothing in the end.

He picked the tiny device from his ear and held it up to his face, twirling it in his fingers as he dived deeper into his own thoughts. Whatever happens here on out, Tom will just have to toughen up and take it. But one thing is for sure. By the end of the year, either one of two outcomes will come into fruition.

The worst-case scenario; Tord ultimately wins. He finds out all his secrets, and finally gets what he wants from him. Using him in his schemes as he sees fit. Or the best possibility; Tom becomes just another one of Tord's failed attempts, and he joins all the other fallen test subjects. He will die during the experiments. It would definitely be the better outcome out of the two. He wouldn't let Tord win. The monster will be gone forever. And he won't hurt anyone ever again. His miserable existence will finally be put to a rest. He knows it's for the best.

Dark thoughts continued to drift around in his mind. He hadn't realized it, but tears were pricking the corners of his empty sockets.