#shes in an odd pose in these because of her stroke but she truly did have a good time. It was like she didn't know she was ill

[elvenmoans]

When I was in middle school we adopted an adult cat. She was already 6 years old, had been in the shelter for a little while, and had only been given up because the old lady who had her last died.

We had that little girl for 13 years. She was my best friend. She followed me from room to room for years on end. When she was 17 she got so rickety that I would have to close her in my room when I did chores so she wouldn't waste her energy. Even when she was in pain and grumpy towards others, Novi always wanted to be with me. She'd even seek me out when she was upset so I would hold her as she calmed down. When she got bowel cancer and we put her on hospice, she only got clinger.

A couple months ago at the age of 19 Novi had a stroke. It wasn't a large one, but it was what told us was time to say goodbye. We had always planned to have her euthanized just before she had more bad days than good.

Her last time was a really good day for her. She had lots of visitors with treats, and I took her outside for hours. She purred and purred in the sun, and when the vet arrived to our house Novi willingly stayed right there the entire time as I was there. She passed while I held her.

I would never have experienced just a deep profound love if we hadn't been open to adult cats. Adopting an adult cat gave me my best friend for 13 years. And while it hurt to lose her it would have been worse if I never knew her at all.

----

This was in my drafts for almost 5 months. It was too raw still. Reading this hit me with so much love and grief. I have some of her ashes in a little star jewelry urn that I wear very often. Her name, Novi, was a reference to nova. It was the early 2010s and we wanted to be a little more original. So a star urn was the only kind I considered.

I've lost people before her. I've lost cats before her. Novi feels a lot more like losing a person than a cat.

She saved my life so many times. My sister was her original favorite person, and when she moved out Novi was so distraught that she tore out her fur on her lower back and bit through her skin. She had oversensitive scars there for the rest of her life. And Novi bonded more to me than she had my sister, so I had to live for her. If I died it would kill her too.

And when she was gone, everything fell apart. From my relationship to my housing to the government. It was like she was holding back the world with how much she loved me.

here she was having a wonderful time in the grass on her last day.

This was meant to be a quick warm up, but it turned into a comic that I’ve wanted to draw for a while. This is something that is extremely important to me, and I appreciate it if you read it.

A while ago, I heard a story that broke my heart. A family went a cat shelter to adopt. The daughter fell in love with a 3-legged cat. The father straight up said “absolutely not”. Because he was missing a leg. That cat was that close to having a family that loved him, but the missing leg held him back. Why?!

Many people have the initial instinct of “nope” when they see an imperfect animal. I get it, but less-adoptable does NOT mean less loveable. 9 out of 10 people will choose a kitten over an adult cat. And those 10% that would get an adult cat often overlook “different” animals.

All I want people to do is be open to the idea of having a “different” pet in their lives. Choose the pet that you fall in love with, but at least give all of them a fair shot at winning your heart.

Don’t dismiss them, they deserve a loving home just as much as any other cat. They still purr, they still love a warm lap, they still play, they still love you. Trust me, next time you are in the market for a new kitty, just go over to that one cat that’s missing an eye and see what he’s all about!

[writtenbynick]

The Very Pretty Girl From The Studio

A few years ago I was teaching yoga classes out of a local studio, open to anyone that would like to attend. I had stopped working at the local gym recently, and did more private sessions for fitness, but mostly did yoga out of the studio (I have certifications in both fields). Mostly the clients were women in their 40′s or older, generally really nice people, but it was pretty rare that any of them were more than moderately attractive. That made it all the more noticeable when a really, really cute girl came in to try class one day.

She said that a family member of hers had come in and liked one of the classes, so she wanted to come try a class as well. I definitely lucked out that she happened to try mine. The best way to describe her appearance was to imagine a very “All-American cheerleader” type. She had the biggest brown eyes you could possibly imagine, amazing lips that were naturally very “pouty” for lack of a better term… long blonde hair, often done up in some sort of ponytail (the fancier-than-normal kind), or pulled back with little clips. She was maybe 5′3 at most, very petite, seemed to always be wearing pink or baby blue, and since it was yoga class she’d usually be wearing yoga pants. Almost always black yoga pants. They hugged her ass and legs so snugly, and she had a hell of an hourglass figure for them to work with. The “eyeball test” told me that her breasts were a medium C cup or so. She was pretty much the epitome of a girly-girl, and I mean that in the best of ways.

Over the next several months she returned to class very regularly. I learned that she was 23, in college to become a kindergarten teacher, and that she had a 2 year old daughter. We talked about plenty of things, but it was always pretty innocuous subject matter. Since I was at work, I wasn’t going to say anything that could be interpreted as inappropriate, or just lacking in tact.

I often made facebook posts about classes and the studio schedule, but she wasn’t on any social media, and asked if she could text me about classes. I was happy to share my number with her (but, to be fair, this was pretty normal for a fair amount of clients). She also attended classes with a few other teachers, but told me that she loved the details that I provided during class, and that it really helped her feel things in the poses that she never got from other teachers. I definitely have a “devil-in-the-details” mentality when I’m trying to instruct, so I really appreciated that it helped her get the most out of each class, and each pose.

Eventually, her college schedule changed, so she wasn’t able to attend my morning classes any longer (unless her classes weren’t in session for the day, for whatever reason). I still got the odd text from her, here and there, but not terribly regularly. And then one day she messaged me asking about my schedule, for fitness, for yoga, group sessions, private sessions… you name it, she was asking about it. I gave her the info she asked for, and she picked a group session, asking if she could attend, and ask me some questions after. I said that would be fine, and that I’d be happy to answer whatever she’d like afterward.

The session she decided to come along to was actually an outdoor class that took place after a hike. It was a really nice summer day, and she was in her standard girly-girl fitness attire. My group hiked up to our designated yoga spot, a little less than a half hour path up the side of a mountain if you pushed the pace (like going up the stairs the whole time). We got up to the top, did our yoga class, and she made it a point to stick with me when we walked back down.

We chatted about all sorts of things, and then at the bottom of the mountain, she said “can I ask you something? did you ever think about asking me out when I was coming to all those classes?”. I grinned, and told her “think about it - yes… but I was always at work, and didn’t want to be out of line”. I’m also about a decade older than her, and didn’t know if that was going to be appealing to her or not. She smiled, and told me that she liked that I was older, and that it made sense that I didn’t want to be out of line at work. She assured me that I’m a really good yoga teacher, but she also liked to come see me at the studio because she was attracted to me. She moved in close to me, put her arms around me, and leaned in for a very sweet kiss.

We had a few dates after that, usually going out to eat, and having very enjoyable discussions. Very early on I noticed that she took every chance to make physical contact… she’d playfully bump into me with her hips, lean onto my shoulder… put her hands on my hands, forearms, or even my chest. I really liked that she was the touchy-feely type, but without being overly clingy. She had very soft skin, and we often sat together and just talked… and I would run my fingertips over the skin on the back of her hands and wrists, her neck, her cheek… and we kissed quite a bit, deeply and passionately… her lips… oh man… those beautifully pouty lips…

And then, one evening after a date we found ourselves with some alone time. We’d only had a few dates so far, and she was pretty quick to say “we can’t have sex unless you brought condoms, I’m not on the pill”. I told her that since we hadn’t had that kind of discussion yet, I didn’t bring any, but that was ok, I didn’t have that kind of expectation.

Fast-forward about 20 minutes… we had been kissing, and groping, she was straddling my lap… my hands were entangled in her hair, my lips on her neck, her head tossing backward with gasps and moans of pleasure, her arms wrapped around me, and she started to grind up and down, up and down, up and down… she pulled away and looked me right in the eyes and said “I NEED YOU TO FUCK ME”.

I reminded her that we couldn’t do that, and I could see that she was almost oblivious to the world around us at that moment.. “Don’t worry” I said, and started to unbutton her jeans. She started feverishly tearing them off, revealing a pink thong that just barely covered her… I dove in, pressing my mouth into her inner thigh, licking and nibbling, and dragging my tongue over her thong to the other side so I could repeat all of these motions again… I felt the muscles in her legs tighten up, and then I pressed my lips down on top of the pink material… the pressure made her let out an “oooooohhhhh” that was music to my ears…

I gazed up in the direction of her face, and her eyes were closed… her hands were laying on her chest, motionless, other than the heaving caused by her deep breathing. I pulled the pink material to one side and began to lick her, long slow strokes upward, again and again… I could feel her getting wetter by the instant. God, I love knowing how much pleasure a woman is feeling as I take my time and explore just what buttons to push… while one hand held the thong to the side and pressed my fingers into her thigh, the other hand started to manipulate her lips… the wetness and the build up had already been enough that her lips were more than ready to reveal more of her… I moved my fingers upward slightly, drawing her skin away from me slightly, revealing her clit.

My tongue pressed down flatly, and firmly, and slowly I dragged my tongue toward her clit… as soon as I made contact, I increased the pressure, and she let out an even louder “OOOOOHHHHHHHH”.  I firmed up my grip, and started to move my tongue forward and backward, and then used just the very tip of my tongue to move over her clit, over and over, changing directions with every movement. She bucked so hard I thought she was going to come out of her skin. “OOOHHHH, OOHHHHHH… MMMM….. OOOOOHHHHHHH”. She was cumming, her hands gripped onto the muscles at the base of my neck, and I felt her hips press into my mouth. She held on for a moment or so while I kept applying pressure, and little by little, I felt her start to relax…

She let her body lay back again slowly, and I slowed what I was doing as well… but I didn’t stop…She kept moaning, and breathing, and her body had these little spasms that told me she had more in her, and I’m not one to back away unless a job is truly finished. I kept swirling my tongue slowly, and then moved my hand to take the place of my mouth… I lifted my head, and saw that she was again laying back with her eyes closed, one hand moved up to her face, her skin was flushed, and there was a slight layer of sweat on her skin… I moved my hands away, pulled the thong off of her and tossed it aside, and slid my finger over her lips once more, just the tiniest amount between her lips rather than on the outside… she again let out an “mmmmmmm” as I began to press my finger inside of her… “ohhhh, fuckkkk”… and then started to motion my finger upward and downward on her lips, almost like the movements of a painter’s brush… she let out a bit of a shiver every time my arm motioned upward… I brought my mouth back to her clit, and again licked, and pressed, and pinched with my lips…

For a second time, I could feel her body reacting… I knew what to pay attention to this time, and using my mouth I started to repeat the movements that got her there the first time, but this time it was in addition to my finger, which had started to press further into her, and then move its way forward and backward, forward and backward… The moans… fuck, I’m a sucker for a vocal woman… She started to react more strongly, I could tell she liked the inward-outward movement of my finger, and coupled with my lips and tongue pressing into her, she was starting to build up again… I continued, and began to quicken the pace and could feel her hips pressing into my face… momentarily, I slowed down and added a second finger, and again she let out an “ooohhhhh, oooohhhhh, yessssss, mmmmmmm”… I sped up again, my two fingers moving inward and outward, inward and outward, and my tongue swirling over clit again and again… her muscles tightened again and her body curled upward, her hands on the back of my neck this time… “OOOOOHHHHHHHH GODDDDD”, her nails clutched into me, and she started letting out short, sharp gasps and her body started to move in rapid shivers.

Once more, her body started to soften and she relaxed her muscles back to a laying position. Her moans became softer as well, but more continuous this time… I kept moving my fingers and tongue, slowly and softly… I was very much enjoying the “afterglow” of her second orgasm, I’m sure I had a wry, satisfied smile on my face which was still between her thighs… my fingers were still inside her, and I realized they hadn’t done all they could do… with my palm facing upward I began to curl those two fingers (my middle and ring fingers) with the pads of my fingertips pressing into the inside wall, I could feel the raised surface of her G-spot… the instant I touched it she let out another long moan, and her hands twitched. She looked down at me with her mouth and her big brown eyes opened wide, seemingly in disbelief.

I moved my face away from her pussy, I could feel the devilish smirk on my face, a reaction to how expressive she was, how evident the intensity of her pleasure had become. She grabbed my face and kissed me passionately. I always get turned on when a woman tastes herself on my lips, and she was ALL IN. Not just kissing me, but licking my lips, and my face, her hands moving and guiding my face, her fingernails gently pressing into my beard. Fuck, this was turning me on… but I wasn’t done with her… I moved my thumb to her clit, and pulled my fingers more firmly into her G-spot. Her body heaved powerfully, for a moment I was afraid her head would crash into mine, but she turned her face, her cheek pressed against mine and her fingers grasped me tightly once more. “mmmmmmMMMMMMMMM”…. “OHHHHH….. OHHH OHHH OHHH”, she was getting louder and louder, her body became frantic, the more I pressed into her G-spot and clit the more she lost control, her legs shook, her hands held on for dear life, she leaned into me, and I felt her body shiver even more strongly than before. “OOOOOHHHHH GOODDDDDDDD….. FUCKKKKKKK”.

She orgasmed again, and it was a thing of beauty. I could tell her mind was completely free from any thoughts that didn’t have to do with the sensations she was feeling. She writhed and moaned and just when I thought her body would soften, she continued to escalate, almost to the point that even I was surprised. And then she pulled her face away, looked me in the eye, and kissed me again. The kind of kiss that means to engulf a person. There was a different energy about her now, and her movements were different… she adjusted her body to move away from mine slightly, as soon as my fingers were no longer inside her, she dropped onto her knees in front of me, and took my fingers into her mouth, her eyes locked with mine. She sucked them strongly, then took them out of her mouth and licked them up and down, and it seemed like she hardly blinked as she did so.

This got me INCREDIBLY worked up. And she was as worked up as I could possibly fathom. She clawed at my jeans and hurriedly undid my belt. She couldn’t get rid of my jeans fast enough to meet the pace she wanted to move at. Very quickly drawing my boxer briefs down to my knees, she took my cock into her mouth and started to move forward and backward as fast as she could. Those perfect lips of her looked so fucking good wrapped around my cock. I was incredibly hard, and this felt amazingly satisfying. Those big brown eyes looked up at me, and she opened her mouth a little wider. I could see her teeth as she tried to take me a little deeper. She paused and then backed off a bit, and then repeated this, probably four or five times, and then gagged strongly, taking me out of her mouth and stroking instead while she took in a highly needed deep breath.

I can’t quite put into words the expression on her face. She knew exactly what she was doing, and was singularly focused, but also seemed almost vacant. Again she took my cock into her mouth, as deep as she could go, I could feel her tongue trying to move forward underneath my shaft, and then relax a tiny bit, drawing me slightly deeper. I was inside her throat as far as it seemed I could go, and she gagged once again. She was going to continually try to take more and more, gagging every time, and pulling away with a smile on her face.

She pulled away for air periodically, sliding her very petite hands up and down the length of my cock. “You’ve got a REALLY BIG DICK”. She grabbed it tightly, just gazing at it, visually taking it in for a moment. She licked at the veins on one side, and commented that my dick was roughly the same thickness as her wrist, and then took it into her mouth once more, pulling away with a loud popping sound, and repeating this several times, and then taking another deep breath and going down as deep as she could once again.

This time she backed up a little bit, and did something I didn’t expect at all… she stayed in place, took my hands in hers, and placed my hands on the back of her head. She stayed there motionless for a second or two, and then her eyes looked up at mine, her eyebrows raised and lowered quickly, just once. I held her head in place, and started to raise my hips, and lower them again, somewhat gently. I could feel that I was colliding with the back of her throat, and took my time going slowly. She put her hands on my thighs and backed away, looked at me and said “do you want me to suck it, or do you want to fuck my mouth? I love being facefucked… and choked, and you can call me whatever you want… I get off on that…”

I could feel that same grin on my face… I enjoy many aspects of the back and forth that sexuality has to offer… I’ve described it at times the same way that vampire in the movies isn’t allowed to enter your home unless invited… I  won’t be overly rough or dominant until I know it’s welcomed and desired… but once I’m given permission, I won’t hold back…

I stood up, grabbing a handful of her hair and started to walk toward the wall… she crawled on her hands and knees, and kneeled in front of me with her back toward the wall. I positioned my cock right in front of her face, and moved forward until it made contact with her lips. “Open your mouth”. She did so, with a smile. “Good girl”. I ran one hand over her cheek, and then slid my cock forward into her mouth. Slowly at first, I moved my hips forward and backward, checking to see how far I could go each time. And then a little faster. And then a little deeper. And then she gagged, gasping for air, leaving a strand of saliva dangling from the head of my cock all the way to her lips.

Right back at it, I pushed her onto my cock once more… she grabbed the back of my thighs with both hands, and pulled herself as far as she could go. Her mouth was so wet, she was drooling all over as I held her head and fucked her mouth. Realizing how much drool there was, she lifted her shirt up over her tits, her spit landing on her cleavage and bra. She put her hands on my thighs again, and took me into her throat. I pressed my hips forward rapidly and repeatedly, and she gagged again. The wet sounds from her mouth were unreal, this was so nasty, so sloppy… “am I being a good little slut? tell me…’ she asked me. “You’re such a dirty slut, on you knees for my cock, aren’t you?”. “I’m a whore, and I want you to RUIN my little throat with your cock” she replied, smiling immensely… Goddamn, she had always looked so sweet and innocent to me, and now to know how dirty she could be… the best of both worlds, I was loving it.

I let go of any thoughts of holding back, and started to not just move my hips, but to really fuck her mouth and throat. She gagged again and again as I thrust my cock into her mouth. I held her head in place, and bucked my hips, her spit spilled from her mouth onto her tits, she let out a slight vocalization that could be heard intermittently as my cock moved in and out of her face. “Fuck, your little slutty mouth feels so good”, she moaned again in delight. Her right hand came up to my left, which I took to her throat, grabbing on with just a little bit of pressure. She moaned even more. I started to push even deeper into her throat. There was roughly an inch and a half left that she couldn’t take… Her eyes opened up widely, and I felt her hold on for as long as she could before she pulled back a bit with a loud gasp. Her eyes were starting to water, which I might not have noticed if it didn’t leave a little teardrop line from her eyeliner.

She immediately got right back to it. “I’m going to cum down your throat”, I let her know… I kept going at a feverish pace, and could feel my cock begin to throb. Thrust after thrust, I was getting closer and closer. Her moaning and gagging, the strings of spit, those big brown eyes, and her perfect lips… and how incredibly slutty she secretly was… I felt myself coming to climax, and continuing to buck my hips, I unloaded shot after shot of cum right into her throat. Unsurprisingly, she gagged again, but this time she looked like she had totally glazed over, entranced in what was happening, incredibly present in the moment, but completely removed from reality at the same time.

She stayed on her knees, staring at my cock, her hands on my legs, her breathing frantic… she was still recuperating from everything that had just taken place, and she coughed for a brief second… and then again… I realized that she had the hiccups, and each hiccup was ending with something of a cough… I wasn’t sure if it from the erratic breathing or the pounding her throat had taken, but either way she was soooo very satisfied with herself… “you have a really, really big dick, and FUCK, you came a LOT” she repeated… It sounded so good coming from those perfect little  blowjob lips of hers…

[birthdaytoast]

c o f f e e s h o p

@ang3lba3 and I combined this ask with @rockpapertheodore ‘s request for “cumbending.” It takes place in the republic city housewives AU, which you don’t need to know to understand (it’s literally just a republic city au)> Also, it’s NSFW but like, barely. 

The thing about Sokka, is that it’s easy to forget how smart he is. Between his terrible sense of humor, his dedication to slapstick, and his general disdain for academia, he’s pretty easily underestimated. 

“It’s a simple question, Zuko, yes or no?” Sokka asks, obstinately. His arms are crossed, and he’s pouting.

“I— it is not a simple question, and I’m not qualified to answer it,” Zuko says. “And this isn’t the place for this.”

They’re in public. Somehow, through sheer cleverness, Sokka’s managed to engage Zuko in another outrageous argument where people can hear it.  

“Sounds like someone’s not as good a bender as he says he is,” Sokka sighs, slouching in apparent defeat.

It’s not even a particularly clever manipulation on Sokka’s part, is the thing. Sokka’s smart enough to play him better, to be more subtle. But he doesn’t need to be, because he plays Zuko like a harp. 

“NO!” Zuko snaps. “No, okay?!” The entire shop twists to look at him, but it’s just for a moment. They’re used to him.

He lowers his voice anyways, leaning forward to hiss at Sokka. “No, I don’t think there are cumbenders. The fifth element, if it exists, would be— spirit, or life. Not semen.”

Sokka’s eyes glint in victory, and he matches Zuko’s pose, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm thoughtfully. “I never said a thing about any fifth element. Jizz is made of liquid, right?” 

“Why—” Zuko asks, desperately. He was going to ask why Sokka hasn’t asked a waterbender about this, but then he realized he didn’t want to hear about it if he had. “I’m a firebender. That doesn’t mean I can bend— hot air. Mercury is a liquid, but it’s not water.”

“Hm,” Sokka says, eyebrow arching. “But-- you can bend heat. You do it all the time, when you make your hands cold and put them down my--” 

“My heat,” Zuko emphasizes, and then puts his face in his hands. “Shut up. Shut up. Don’t fucking say it.”

Sokka doesn’t need to, grinning huge as Jin strolls over with a wooden tray in her hands. 

“Hey guys!” Jin says, cheerfully. “Whatchya talking about?”

“Zuko just raised a very interesting point about how waterbenders can bend their own cum,” Sokka answers cheerfully. 

Jin, bless her and damn her both, is completely unfazed. “Wouldn’t they be able to bend all cum?” she asks, leaning the tray at an angle against her hip. “I mean, it’s liquid, right?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Sokka says, snapping his fingers decisively. 

“This is a nightmare,” Zuko mutters. “I’m going to wake up.”

“Aww, you dream about me?” Jin asks, twirling her hair on her finger.  

Sokka opens his mouth and Zuko knows, he knows that he’s about to say something humiliating. So he jumps to his feet and shouts, eyes drawn to him again, “I WOULD LOVE TO TRY YOUR NEW DRINK PLEASE.” 

“There’s a new drink?” Jin asks Sokka, intrigued. Sokka mouths special sauce at her. She mouths nonsense back, to indicate she hadn’t caught it.

“How perceptive,” Uncle says from the drape that hangs over the door to the kitchens. “I wasn’t sure if I would try it. Here, we can try it together.” 

“I will get you for this,” Zuko tells Sokka in an undertone, finger jabbing at him furiously. Then he turns to his Uncle, grimace fixed firmly on his face. “Sounds great.”

“Uncle!” Sokka says happily, eyes on Zuko’s. “We’re having a debate. What have you got for us?” He pulls out a seat for Uncle, taking the tray from his hands and setting it on the table in front of them. 

The tea set is a deep brown, the cups larger but more shallow than the ones he typically uses in the teashop. There’s a strange, indecipherable scent trailing from the spout of the teapot in a misty swirl. 

“Hmm,” Uncle says, settling in with a huff. Zuko, resigned, sits down. The shop returns to their own, probably blissfully cum free, conversations. “I would be willing to trade one honest opinion for another. What is the topic?”

“Wheth--” “Whether or not benders can bend things outside of their elements,” Zuko interrupts, stomping on Sokka’s foot. 

“It’s not outside of their element, it’s a liquid,” Jin insists. 

“Don’t you have customers?” Zuko asks meanly. 

“I don’t work here,” Jin says dismissively. 

“What?” 

“It’s true, she doesn’t,” Uncle says casually, patting the chair next to him. Jin sits down, settling her serving tray on her lap. She’s wearing one of the Jasmine Dragon’s aprons, identical to the one that Uncle has on. 

“Well, if you want the good coupons, raw sexual appeal will only get you so far,” Jin says, reasonably. 

“So if I were to sneeze,” Sokka says, and Uncle scowls at him and puts a protective arm over the tea-set. “Hypothetically! Hypothetically sneeze, would a waterbender be able to--” “I don’t think that’s better,” Zuko moans, making a face. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

“Ah,” Uncle says, wisely. “Piss. Yes, they can.”

Zuko grabs the pot of tea, and pours it directly into his mouth, managing to mostly empty it. It’s disgusting, bitter and burnt.

“Alright, there’s Uncle’s opinion,” Zuko says. “Uncle, my honest opinion is this tastes horrible.”

“Yes, I thought that might be the case. Some enterprising individuals assure me that this drink is gaining popularity in Ba Sing Se, specifically for its medicinal purposes. Alas, ground beans did sound too good to be true.” Uncle sighs, stroking his beard. 

“It’s not even leaf water?” Zuko asks. His skin is starting to feel strange, buzzing slightly. His face flushes. 

Sokka and Jin are staring at him. They stare at him a lot, but this is different, like they’re judging him. He scowls, and blushes more, and crosses his arms. “WHAT,” he asks, too loud. He twitches. His fire feels— odd. It’s sliding through his veins so easily. “What. Medicinal properties?”

Uncle is also staring at him now. So is everyone else in the shop, and Zuko’s heart pounds in his chest as he slides further down the seat and pulls the collar of his robe up and over his mouth. 

He can feel every hair on his head. He thinks he can feel hairs he hasn’t grown yet. 

“Hm. Perhaps I should have investigated that aspect more thoroughly,” Uncle says. Sokka’s expression has gone from gleeful to worried, and he leans forward, reaching for Zuko. 

“I’m fine,” Zuko says, high pitched. He moves to his feet, dodging Sokka’s hands. “Stop— don’t look at me. Stop looking at me. Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here, isn’t it.”

He bounces on the balls of his feet, flapping his hands at his face to try and get some circulation.

Sokka frowns and looks to the other cups of brown, stinking liquid. Then, in slow motion, horror dragging through Zuko’s veins, he shrugs. And. Downs one. “BLECH,” Sokka says, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Why is it so thick?” 

“Bottoms up!” Jin says, holding her nose as she gulps hers. She gags a little, but pushes through it like a real champ.

The bean-tea in the pot had been less thick. Probably. Zuko rolls his tongue over his teeth, briefly absorbed by the sensation. 

“Gritty,” he says.

“Sandy,” Sokka agrees. 

“That would be the ground beans,” Uncle says. “Hm. Do you think that earthbenders can bend ground items?”

“There would have to be earth in them,” Sokka says, blinking rapidly. Jin is sitting completely still for the first time Zuko’s ever seen. 

Zuko forces himself to sit back down. 

“Beans come from the earth,” he says. 

“And cum comes from the soul,” Sokka says sagely. “So, the Avatar--” Uncle stands abruptly, takes the tray, and heads back to the kitchens while Zuko’s still trying to process the words cum and Sokka’s mouth and Uncle, sitting right there. 

“Hey!” Jin says, and follows him. “Wait, I think whatever it does is working on me!”

(Safely ensconced in the kitchen, with only Jin to see, Iroh lets himself break into giggles. Zuko’s face.)

“Wow,” Zuko says, wonderingly. “I guess I’m going to kill you and then myself.” 

“Aww,” Sokka says, and puts a hand over Zuko’s. Zuko’s fingers twitch feebly. Murderously. “You’re a real romantic, Zuko. Did you know that? Have I told you that today?”

“I believe all cumbending should be saved for committed relationships,” Zuko says, trying to convince himself not to dig his nails into Sokka’s hand. He digs them into the table instead.

“I kinda wanna cumbend right now,” Sokka grins. His legs are shaking under the table. Zuko knows, because it’s shaking the table, their actual leaf-water teacups tinkling as they shudder against the little clay plates. 

“I’m gonna cumbend you into a dumpster,” Zuko says, and threads their fingers together. He stands, because he can’t stand to sit any longer. “My room’s an acceptable substitute. Unfortunately.”

“Your room is a dumpster,” Sokka agrees, skip-hopping over to the stairs, dragging Zuko along behind him. “This stuff was gross. We should let Katara look at it. Does your Uncle have more? See if your Uncle has more, I want some for myself. I bet I could make it taste good.” 

“Uh huh. Keep talking. See if I bend anything for you,” Zuko says, unlocking the apartment. “I need to move out. I can’t ever speak to him again.”

“I know I say that I can make anything taste good, but I truly mean it. This won't be like that spicy bread bowl thing, I’m pretty sure that if I add--”

“Sokka,” Zuko sighs, opening the door. “Stop calling it spicy.”

“Do you think that you can bend my cum if it’s spicy?” Sokka asks, and Zuko gives into the temptation and shoves him back against the couch. 

“You’re pretty hot,” he says, toppling him. “Why don’t I just bend you?”

Sokka doesn’t answer. Instead he just-- giggles. A lot. It’s adorable. “I thought you’d never ask,” he finally says, and Zuko realizes-- he’s been played. Spirits, but it’s easy to forget how smart Sokka is, sometimes. 

“That is not acceptable foreplay,” he says, climbing on top of him. It’s a ‘do what I say, not what I do’ kind of situation. He rests his ass on Sokka’s stomach, so that if he wants any kind of friction he’ll have to grab his hips, move him. He points threateningly down into Sokka’s face. “This isn’t going to work again.”

“I’m thinking, more water, less heat,” Sokka says conversationally. His hands settle on Zuko’s hips, fingers twitching, tapping an erratic pattern against his skin. “Maybe something sweet? Or, something creamy? Lots of people don’t like sealcow milk, I wonder--” 

“Shut up,” Zuko groans. He kisses him, entirely out of self defense. Not because this is working on him.

“Mff, Zuko, I think I’m onto something,” Sokka says against his mouth. He’s laughing, though, and his hands clutch more forcefully at Zuko’s hips, obviously having him on. 

“No, I’m on some thing,” Zuko says, twitching his hips teasingly, bumping at the head of Sokka’s erection.

Sokka’s eyes shine, all squinty and cute with the force of his amusement. “Not yet you’re not, if you don’t stop wasting time talking.” 

Zuko slides further up Sokka’s stomach. “Actually, no, why don’t you tell me about how you’re going to fix the horrible bean juice? I don’t know what I was saying earlier, it’s a real stimulating top—”

“I’m a stimulating top,” Sokka says, and there’s a gasp and a giggle and lots of movement and then, not very much talking at all. 

At one point, lost in ecstasy, Zuko thinks he hears Sokka murmur, “cumbending, go.” 

He pretends he doesn’t. 

That’s what love is, sometimes.

[lilytriestoexist]

R0wan? More like Row(neck)beard

This is all @bleeding-star-heart ‘s fault (tumblr refuses to let me tag this one blog for some reason, sigh), they challenged me to do this and I can’t turn down a challenge. Alas, I have no art skills, but I am marginally better at writing, so here is my contribution to the great Uglification of YA Book Boyfriends/Bad Boys movement.

Warning, it gets a bit NSFW at one point because R0wan is ~horny~. It’s not explicit or anything, and since we’ve all read Sarah Janet’s atrocious sex scenes, I assume it won’t be a big deal, but in case it is, here’s a warning.

Rowan had a problem. 

He bit his lip and glanced behind him, through the ajar door of their bedroom, where Aelin’s slim form was outlined by the rise and fall of glossy silk, the sheets brought up to her chin as she tipped her head back against the pillow, hair a golden halo around her. In sleep, the sharpness in her face seemed to ease, accentuating her youth. Gods, she was so young. And already she was set to change the world. It was the greatest honour in the world to be by her side as she did so.

Only...would he be by her side? Would he be there, watching as the gilded crown was set onto her hair, watching as she turned to face the adoring masses, watching as she fulfilled her destiny and ruled as queen? He eyed the mirror, running hasty hands through his white hair, tracing the smooth, hairless jut of his jaw. Eternity was a long time, far longer than any one person could truly comprehend. And people had a tendency to grow, to change. He couldn’t guarantee that he and Aelin would change together. He couldn’t rule out the possibility of one day waking up and realising he no longer recognised the female laying beside him. 

Ideas crowded his mind, ways to keep Aelin alert, to keep her wanting him and to keep him wanting her. He considered shifting his body parts, perhaps acquiring Fenrys’s hair or Dorian’s eyes or Lorcan’s physique, but dismissed that thought almost immediately, a shudder running up his spine. Tapping his foot against the cool bathroom floor, he stared into the eyes of his mirrored self. His hand drifted up to trace the words and symbols inked across one half of his face, a habit he had embraced as the years had flown by. It was calming, to let the quick instinct in his fingers take over, letting his brain rest. They slowly traveled downwards, framing the outline of his throat, the protruding lump, the cords of his neck.

And suddenly, he had a thought. 

He examined the smooth, tan expanse of his neck, pressing his palms against the warm curve, pinching and pulling his skin. He’d cut his hair short before, shedding long white locks in favour of a shorter, more low maintenance haircut, but he had no idea of knowing if that would hold Aelin’s favour for any longer. What if she didn’t even like short hair? Rowan worried at his full bottom lip and, before he could overthink and hesitate any longer, ran a single index finger up his neck, from the tip of his sharp collarbones to the centre of his chin, and willed his magic to follow his unspoken command.

It was instantaneous, the growth of hair, following the path his finger had laid out for it. White strands began blooming from beneath his skin, shooting upwards to about an inch long before halting. He swept his finger from side to side, expanding the single line of hair, until it was a thick, healthy bush of white, encompassing the entirety of his neck. When he pressed his hand into the beard, it was a strange, fluffy sensation, but it filled him with inexplicable warmth. The corners of his lips stretched upwards as he surveyed the finished look, admiring the beard that now swallowed his neck and was beginning to creep up over his jaw. 

Aelin can’t possibly say no to this, he thought, striking a few poses and positively grinning with pride at his new feature. His whole body was tingling with anticipation as he walked back to their bedroom, a bounce in his step as he bent over and gently shook Aelin awake. With any luck, they’d be entwined beneath the sheets within minutes, and he swallowed as images filled his head of the wonders his neckbeard could do when his mouth devoured her, what kind of pleasure it could bring his mate when he buried himself inside her.

“Aelin,” he whispered as her lips began to part. “Aelin, wake up.” His fingers trembled with excitement as he used his free hand to stroke the neat bush of his beard.

“Rowan?” she asked, arms coming up to stretch out the fatigue as a yawn escaped her lips. Her eyes opened, and he smiled as she took in the change.

The smile dropped from his lips when she let out an ear-splitting scream.

“Aelin!” he yelped as she practically flung herself out of bed and to the other side of the room. “What are you doing? What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me?!” she screeched, pointing a single shaking finger at his exquisite, beautiful neckbeard. “Rowan, what in the name of the Gods has gotten into you?” 

“This is my neckbeard!” he snapped, affronted. “Are you implying something, oh great Queen of Terrasen?”

“I’m not implying something, I’m stating it outright,” she shot back. “That neckbeard is the most gruesome and atrocious thing I’ve ever had the misfortune of seeing. I wish Maeve were here to gouge out my eyes so that I would at least not have to continue seeing that monstrosity on your neck. I would not mind if Erawan came and obliterated you into smithereens, because at least your Gods-awful neckbeard would be removed from this forsaken world.”

Rowan flinched with every harsh insult Aelin hurled at him. “It’s not that bad,” he protested, hugging his arms around his chest and dipping his chin, nestling it in the comforting cushion of his neckbeard. “You don’t have to be so mean about it, anyway. A simple ‘I don’t like it’ would have sufficed.”

“I don’t like it doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings about that...thing,” Aelin deadpanned. Her hand came up, fingers curling, and a flame bloomed from the pale skin of her palm. “Rowan, this is for your own good.”

And then she threw it. 

On instinct, his hands flew up and the air in the room jumped to his aid, swirling into currents of manipulated wind in front of him and extinguishing the fire his mate had just thrown at him. The brief flash of overpowering heat in his face told him just how close it had been, and he stroked his neckbeard, reassuring himself of its survival.

“I...you just threw fire at me.” Fear, anger, hurt, and a myriad of other emotions warred in his voice. 

“It’s like I said,” Aelin replied, shoulders rising in a shrug. “It’s for your own good.”

He shook his head and took her in, the long hair tumbling down her back and front in loose golden waves, the smug upwards tilt of her chin, the eyes he had loved so much staring back at him without a hint of remorse. She had tried to burn his neckbeard, his most valued asset and prized possession, had tried to incinerate it, and did not care in the slightest.

Rowan had always feared a gradual deterioration of their relationship. Hadn’t he said not so long ago that one day he might wake up and not recognise the female next to him? It just hadn’t occurred to him that the day he had been dreading might come quicker than he’d expected. He looked at Aelin, his mate, his wife, and saw nothing he could love.

“No,” he said, and Aelin’s eyes narrowed.

“No, what?” There was a sharp, low note of warning in her voice.

“It’s not for my own good,” Rowan said, burying his fingers in his neckbeard. “You’re not for my own good, Aelin.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re just tired, Rowan,” she said, easy smile gracing her lips. “Come back to bed. We’ll sort it all out later in the day. And we can do other things as well, after that.” Aelin smoothed down the skirt of her short nightgown and winked.

Usually, that would’ve sent him diving straight into bed. But now, he looked at her slim waist, long legs, and suggestive smirk, and felt only the faintest stirrings of what used to be a wildfire.

“You’re not good for me, Aelin,” he repeated.

Her eyes darkened. “Come back to bed, Rowan,” she said, kindness draining from her voice and replaced with pure steel. He shook his head, and she sighed. “Remember, I love you. I’m doing this for you.” Her hands began to rise, flames beginning to pour from her palms.

“I’m doing this for me, too.” A single, massive gust of wind shattered the yellow-stained glass of their window and he dove for the opening, avoiding the fireball blazing in his direction and shifting into his hawk form. In a piece of glass, he could see thick white fluff underneath his beak, and found solace in the fact that his beloved neckbeard was with him wherever he chose to go. 

“Rowan Whitethorn, get back here this instant!” Aelin shouted, and he could feel the approaching warmth behind him. Rowan served to the side, wings outstretched. He could feel the coolness of the air caressing his feathers.

Aelin continued yelling, but her voice grew fainter and fainter as he soared into the distance. He had no idea where he was going, where he could even go, but all he cared about was putting distance between himself and the woman who he’d risked his life for, given his heart to, wanted to swear his existence to. What a fool he had been, to love such a person.

He flew, and then he ran, and he did not look back. And when he faltered, when he stared at his shaking hands and dared to consider returning, he only needed to find a mirror and stare at the thriving forest of hair beneath his chin. His faithful neckbeard, who gave him strength, who showed him nothing but love and loyalty. 

And against all odds, Rowan Whitethorn and his neckbeard lived happily ever after.

[imaginepirates]

Mini Series

Something Informative

For @chiminie-pabo. You, dear reader, have an interesting run-in with Captain Sparrow, and you gain some much needed insight on James. 

Other Chapters:  1  2

You left James to read his book the next morning, choosing to go out and get some groceries. Mostly, you needed to buy breakfast foods for the two of you. James had insisted on coming along, but you had told him that it wouldn’t take you long, and that he should enjoy his downtime. In reality, you wanted some alone time to think. James seemed nice enough, but you weren’t sure if he was entirely trustworthy. 

You reminded yourself that he had every right to keep secrets. The two of you weren’t old friends or some such thing, so he had no reason to answer any of your questions at all. Still, he was an educated man with mysterious motives. You couldn’t help but be interested. You’d never had someone like him stumble upon your little bar, and you wanted to know why someone like him would end up in Tortuga. 

You absentmindedly looked at the wares people had spread out on tables. The prices of food were going up; you’d make sure to thank the next East India officer you met. The East India Trading Company made it hard to get things cheaply. They controlled too much of trade and had too big an impact on the poor. At the rate things were going, you’d starve to death within the year. 

The fruit you bought wasn’t horribly priced. If the Caribbean was good at anything, it was growing fruit, and local products were always cheaper than those from far off places. The lady selling you your things had a kind face with deep smile lines. She was an old but cheerful woman, and you couldn’t help but think that she would’ve been better off in a nice little coastal town in Cuba. 

Dropping the items in your cloth bag, you turned to find a familiar face, though it didn’t find you. Telltale dreadlocks swayed back and forth as the pirate walked among the stalls, picking things up and setting them back down, squinting and making odd faces. You eyed him with distaste.

Why had he been so afraid of James? You guessed the two of them had a bad past, but how awful could James have been? He seemed like such a nice gentleman; he couldn’t have done something utterly terrible. Why, then, did the pirate have such a bad reaction?

You watched the man stumble into the owner of a market stall. When they pulled away, the pirate apologizing profusely, a bag left its place at its owner’s hip to be in the pirate’s hand. It was a small pouch of money, but no doubt it was all the shop-owner had. You furrowed your eyebrows. You saw nasty men all day, every day, but it didn’t mean you condoned of their behavior. 

“Hey!” You hollered. “Thief!” 

The word was enough to get others into action. People sprang about, looking for the alleged man. You pointed at the pirate with a finger, and he began separating himself from the crowd to run away. You didn’t want to be part of a great chase, but you hoped that he’d be caught. He’d probably done many things that deserved public justice. 

You watched the scene unfold with no little amusement. Pirating was all good and fine until someone actually got robbed from. Then, things could get hot. Piracy was tolerated in Tortuga- even encouraged- but only if it didn’t affect anybody within city limits. How ironic. 

You started heading back, stepping into an alley to get to the bar faster. Entering the street, things were just fine. How you ended up shoved through a doorway and pressed against a wall with a hand over your mouth, you didn’t know. Thankfully, your bag still seemed full, but you couldn’t look down to make sure. 

“Rat,” someone hissed. 

You looked up into dark, kohl rimmed eyes, eyebrows slanted down in distrustful annoyance. 

“I could’ve gotten away with that much more easily. But you took it upon your pious soul to say something.” He shook his head. “Women.”

You were tempted to bite his fingers, but you didn’t know what kind of dirt covered them. If you had, you might’ve given the pirate a nip to show him a piece of your mind. Even without prompting, he lifted his hand from your mouth and stopped pinning you to the wall. You tried to speak, but he shushed you, listening intently to the goings on outside whatever room you were in. After a stretch of silence, he allowed you to talk, though he encouraged that you do so quietly. 

“It’s what anyone else would’ve done,” you hissed. 

“No, it’s not, because everyone else would’ve minded their own damn business. I don’t know what little angel you think you are—”

You slapped him, hard, right across the face. “You have no right. You’re the one who comes into my bar and talks to me. You pry into my life and my business. Don’t say that I mess with the way you do things. As far as I’m concerned, thievery is still a crime here.”

He mumbled something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch, but you squinted at him anyway. “What’s your name?” He finally asked. 

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he said flatly. 

The response surprised you, and you smiled a bit. “Y/N,” you responded. 

“Alright, Y/N. What do you say to never pulling a stunt like you just did ever again?”

“I would have no reason to agree to those terms.”

“Let me make this a little clearer.” He stepped closer to you, your chests practically touching. “I have some information on that boy of yours what’s staying in your tavern. I think you might like to know it.”

You considered, eyeing the pirate. “First, I’d like your name. It’s only fair.”

He looked slightly offended. “I’m Cap’n Jack Sparrow.”

You involuntarily stepped back against the wall. The Captain Jack Sparrow? Truly? Impossible! But he was very handsome, and he did have tattoos on his arms and hands rather similar to those in the book, and the beads hanging from his headscarf matched the description. But really? Him?

“I don’t believe you,” you said. 

“Believe me or not, I still know about that man, and I think you’re interested. He’s different, isn’t he?”

“Very,” you agreed. 

Jack- or maybe he wasn’t- slid away from you into the shadows of the room. It was a cellar of some sort. He poked his head out the door, and upon deeming it safe, strolled out into the street. You quickly followed, trying to keep up. 

He lead you down a number of side streets you’d never set foot in before arriving at the wharf. There, a number of ships stood proud, though there were many littler ones dotted about. Jack didn’t go to any of them, instead heading towards a tipsy man with a kind face. He had been the one Jack had pulled out of your bar earlier. Jack waved a hand in front of the man’s face, pulling him to awareness. 

“Gibbs. This is the fine young woman who owns the bar in which Captain Norrington is staying.”

Gibbs hummed. Then, “Captain Norrington? Captain Norrington! It’s no good to have him around, Jack.”

“I’m well aware.” Jack scratched a spot on his temple. “Now,” he turned to you, “you must know that the man staying in your place works for the Navy.”

You raised your eyebrows. 

“Untrustworthy already.” Jack paced. “It would be much appreciated if you could keep an eye on him. It would be rather unfortunate if he happened to head my way, you see.” The pirate flashed you an uncomfortable smile. “If you could keep track of when he leaves, have somebody posted at your backdoor to tell me… I would be in your debt.”

“You’re in a lot of debt,” mused Gibbs, who’s head lolled back on his neck in a drunken manner. 

Jack grumbled, but you thought about what he was saying. “You mean for me to believe that James is part of the British Navy?”

“He is. And he’s letting you call him by his first name, eh?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up suggestively. 

“To be more undercover, I suspect.”

“To be sure.”

“What would I get from this? How would it benefit me?”

Jack pondered the question, fingers stroking his chin. It occurred to you that he liked to strike a pose, and you found it quite amusing. 

“What if I told you that no man would ever pester you again? That you could be assured of your safety?”

“And just how would you do that?”

“A name can go a long way, love.”

You felt heat rising to your cheeks. Love? You tried to stifle your embarrassment as much as you could. You hated to help the pirate, but at the same time, he made a tempting offer.  

“Deal,” you said. 

When you returned to the tavern, James looked up with what you thought might be a worried glance. “I thought you said things wouldn’t take long. I should’ve accompanied you.”

You looked at him in a new light. Yes, only a man raised to be properly British would offer to help a barmaid with her shopping. “Don’t worry,” you said. “I just ran into someone.”

[emulateharry]

Five Weddings

Written as a gift for goseaward as a part of Grylesfest 2019 on ao3.

ONE

The sun was just past the zenith and starting its descent, splashing golden light on the gathering at the edge of the black sand.  Nick stood at the end of the aisle with Pig and Aimee, who, by virtue of her online ordination by the Universal Life Church, was officiating.   When the string quartet began playing Pachelbel, he looked up to see Meshach standing under a bower of tropical flowers at the other end of the long white walkway, Stinky on a leash at his feet.  With a wide smile, Mesh began his slow walk past family and friends to his groom, Stinky padding proudly beside him.  Nick looked around trying to fix all the details in his memory.  He tried to look serious but could not contain his smile.  He was getting married.  On the beach.  In Paradise. 

Images flitted through his mind of all the years he thought this day would never come for him.  First because it wasn’t legal (such bollocks) and then because he never thought he would find someone (not so much bollocks).  Well, not someone that he truly fancied who fancied him back. He slid his eyes to his left, pausing on Harry, who was half-turned away from him.  Harry’s expression was serious, almost stoic, as he watched Mesh walk down the beribboned and flowered runner.  With a tiny shake of his head, Nick brought his attention back to the man he was about to pledge his life to.  Just as Mesh reached Nick and Aimee, Pig let out one of her grunting barks, an inelegant sound that inspired her name, and the guests laughed. 

“Meshach, I promise to love you as much as I do our dogs.  From this day forward, I will lint roll the chairs whenever your parents visit.  I will love you in sickness and in health, as long as you help with the vet visits.  I promise to cuddle you as much as I do Pig and Stinky and to pick up treats for you whenever I get some for them.  When you’re having a bad day, I promise to sit close by and nuzzle you until you feel better.  I promise to be your biggest fan, to encourage you to pursue your dreams.  I promise to love you enthusiastically and fiercely and forever.”

Nick’s voice cracked slightly on ‘forever’ but his smile grew wider, if that were possible, as he turned back to Aimee.  She took both their hands.

“Today is all about love.  It has been my honour to officiate your ceremony and now I get to say something you’ve been looking forward to.  I now pronounce you married.  You may kiss your husband.”

The kiss was sweet and hot and gentle and filled with promise.  As they parted, Nick whispered an “I love you” that only Mesh could hear over the applause of the guests.  Mesh pulled him into a hug and Nick tucked his face into his husband’s neck.  When he opened his eyes he saw Harry standing and clapping but Harry wasn’t smiling like everyone else, in fact, tears were streaming down his cheeks.  Alexa handed Harry a tissue and he dabbed at his eyes.  Meshach released Nick and they both bent down to love on the dogs, who had been miraculously well-behaved during the short ceremony.  Handing their leashes to Aimee, Nick took Mesh’s hand and they walked back down the aisle together, the sun still smiling on them. 

The dinner reception was a blur.  The toasting and the roasting and the champagne and lack of food, combined with the energy and anticipation of the day, had pushed Nick just over the line of intoxication.  Mesh was dancing with Aimee and with Nick’s sister Jane when Nick finally got a chance to sit with Harry and Alexa, his suit jacket long since discarded somewhere in the room.  Alexa was teasing him about the vows he had written while Harry watched quietly, a smile on  his perfect pink lips.  Nick recognised it as his public smile, not a real heartfelt expression of happiness.   Nick knew that face better than its owner sometimes.  His gaze slid up to Harry’s eyes and locked there.  He almost gasped, those green eyes undid him every time.  Even today, his wedding day, those eyes captivated him and drew him in.  And he saw… sadness?  What was that about?  Harry quickly looked away, and Nick winced at the loss of connection, so he did what had always worked in the past to cheer Harry up. 

“Okay, Styles.  What’s with the teary eyes?  I saw you blubbering away there.”

The flush that crept into Harry’s cheeks only made him more attractive, damn him. 

“I always cry at weddings,” he murmured defensively.

“Your mum’s, Jay’s, Ben’s—no tears.”

“Not that you saw, Grimmers.”

“Mmhm.  Well.  Not today, Henry, not today!”  Nick stood up and grabbed Harry’s hand, pulling him up too.  “Alexa, be a darling and commemorate this auspicious moment of my wedding day...the moment that Henry Stars smiled.”

Harry’s lips began to curl up in the corner of his mouth, whether from the silly tone or the physical contact, Nick wasn’t sure.  He reached up and squeezed Harry’s cheeks between his fingers and cooed at him.  “Come on now, give us a grin.”

“Stop, Nick!”  Harry barely managed to contain the giggle that threatened. 

“Who’s got a pretty smile?  Who’s got a pretty smile?”

Harry laughed at the silliness of the situation and posed for Alexa.  At her “Got it”, he turned and hugged Nick fiercely. 

“Wish you all the happiness, Nicholas.  You deserve it.”

Nick felt his throat constrict and his own eyes prickled.  He looked at Harry’s expression and could not help himself.  He reached up to stroke his cheek.  Later, he would put it all down to the high content of alcohol mixed with his blood and bathing his brain, but in that moment, the life that would never, could never, be flashed before his eyes.  He felt a momentary stab of pain, a pain so great that he gasped out loud.

“Are you okay?”

“Cramp.  Big toe.  Fuck’s sake that hurts,” he said, bending down to massage the supposedly offending digit through the shoe leather.  He hoped that the distraction had worked on his friends … and himself. 

With the perfect timing of his profession, Mesh glided over and drew his husband onto the empty floor for a romantic ‘first dance’.  Nick’s attention was thankfully fully captured, and he didn’t notice when Harry excused himself for the evening.  Only later in the weekend did he realise that Harry must have left Hawaii early without saying goodbye, because he didn’t see him again.

TWO

 Nick sat at his assigned table on the left side of the room.  He was attempting to entertain Ellie or Emmy (or whatever her name was, Nick couldn’t be arsed to remember) while Harry was toasting his sister and her newly minted husband.  It wasn’t easy because Elspeth seemed immune to irony and inflection and thus his humour was falling flat.  He was about to try a knock-knock joke on the model when Harry returned at last. 

Nick averted his gaze as she pulled Harry close and tried to choke him with her tongue, at least that’s what it looked like to Nick, and he swallowed down a retch.  He reached for his glass of water and distracted himself from the show the waifish mannequin was putting on.  What the fuck was Harry thinking?  He saw the woman’s hand slide to Harry’s crotch and give a squeeze.  Harry giggled.  Ugh.  Of course.  He was thinking with his cock. 

God, Nick felt bitchy today.  Understandable, really.  It had been less than a year since his marriage had dissolved like a fizzy pink bath bomb in a giant tub of water, and weddings still rubbed the wound painfully.  Mesh seemed to be recovered and happy, he had moved on before the ink on the dissolution was dry.  It was taking Nick a lot longer.  It’s because you’re getting old.  It was a constant refrain in his head, these days, a reminder that life was slipping away and everyone around him was settling down.  Well, except for Harry.  He was still happy sampling the smorgasbord of women the world had to offer him.  And Nick?  Nick couldn’t even get a decent date to a friend’s wedding.  So unfair.  Gah.

“Oi!  Nicholas!  Over here!”  Harry was snapping his fingers at Nick after having extricated himself from the octopus. 

“What are you on about?”

“D’ja like my speech?  Michal almost choked on his champagne,” he said proudly and with only a slight slur.

“Yeah, Harold, it was really good.”

“I told Mum Gems would like it.  Doesn’t she look great, Grim?”  Harry’s face shone with happiness as he watched his mother and sister on the dais.  He turned to Nick, seeking his 

confirmation.

It took Nick’s breath away.  That face, those eyes, the light of a thousand suns.  The first time Nick had seen that expression was years ago, after the Brits.  Nick was still on the Breakfast Show and him and Harry had stayed out until the wee hours partying.  They went back to his flat so that he could shower and change clothes before work.  Harry was a cuddler, especially when he was drunk, and he’d snuggled up to Nick in the car and it was like freeing himself from a koala to get them both into the flat.  They were giggly and breathless and once the door was closed behind them, Harry had turned to Nick and kissed him.  A soft, happy kiss.  A taste of the nectar that ancient bards sang about.  As first kisses go, it was perfection.  Nick had been instantly sobered yet impossibly drunk on Harry.  When they pulled apart, Nick saw Harry’s expression, his innocent look of adoration, and knew that nothing else in life would ever compare to witnessing it.

“Yes.  Beautiful.”

Harry grinned at him before his attention was snatched away from Nick by... Dora?  Nora?  Nick watched them together and was puzzled.  What did Harry see in her, besides the obvious?  Yes, she was pretty in that cookie-cutter model way, but forget being able to have a conversation.  Her IQ was south of 90 and her repertoire seemed to be limited to 5 or 6 topics on a good day, basically a troll with a pretty face.  Meanwhile, Harry was innately intelligent and constantly challenged himself to keep his mind sharp.  He was well-read and well-travelled and could conduct himself respectably whilst conversing on almost any subject.  Nick found himself assessing the odds that this ‘relationship’ would last longer than a month.  Not that Nick had any room to throw stones on that account. 

Harry leaned over to kiss her, (what was her name? Philistia? Phlegm?) but was stopped by her finger on his lips.  She had just applied lipstick and didn’t want him to muss it.  Harry smiled and moved to kiss her cheek instead.  Nick nearly goggled at her stupidity and swallowed a snarky comment with a sip of water.  When one is given the opportunity to touch that beautiful mouth with one’s own, one never, ever turned that down.  Yet she did.  Several more times before the evening was over, in fact.  Idiot.

Nick stayed through the first dance, through the karaoke, through Mr. And Mrs. Mlynowski’s well-choreographed departure.  He had a lovely conversation with Anne, ate more than he should have and then pleaded a headache so that he could escape, escape the presence of so much happiness and hope.  It was far too painful to contemplate, and watching Harry with, er, Consomme’ only added to the hurt and loneliness that he felt. 

Nick was waiting for the valet to return with his car when he heard his name.

“Nick!”  Harry was hurrying out to the queue line. 

“‘M so glad you could make it, Nick.”  Harry reached out to hug him.  Nick hesitated for only a fraction before allowing himself to be drawn in.  He let himself relax into Harry’s arms, let the scent of alcohol and spicy cologne envelope him.  The brush of Harry’s lips against his cheek made him smile, his first genuine smile of the day. 

“Call me next week, k?” Harry said, and then he was gone.  

Nick was left stood alone on the kerb and the valet was holding the car door open for him, so Nick went home and watched ‘The Notebook’ and indulged in ice cream and maudlin thoughts of romance and impossibilities.

THREE

The breeze smelt of brine and freshness as it blew over the castle walls and into the courtyard.  Nick lifted his face to the sun and enjoyed its warmth in the cool air.  November 1. Samhain.  A legendary good day to begin a marriage, the end of the harvest and the beginning of the quiet time of year.  

It was early yet and he had come out to the garden to take in the beauty of the day and sip his tea.  At the clink of china, he looked up to find Harry walking towards him carrying a cup and saucer of his own.

“Morning Nick.  Beautiful day for a wedding.”

“Harold!  When did you get in?”

“About 2 this morning.  Had to drive up from Manchester.  There was a mix-up in the travel plans and Glenapp Castle is not the easiest place to get to.  On a side note, I’m looking for a new assistant.”

Nick laughed at his obviously false grumpy tone and stood to hug him.  “Well, whatever.  I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”  

There was a certain gruffness to his tone that he tried to cover with a cough.  Nick smiled indulgently and offered him a scone.  They caught up for a few minutes, Nick laughing at one of Harry’s jokes and then falling silent.  He closed his eyes and smiled, trying to catalogue all the emotions running through his veins.  Happiness, joy, hope, and a bit of nerves if he was honest.  He was grateful to have his best friend there with him. 

“Where is Adam?” Harry asked, bringing Nick out of his reverie.

“Not sure.  Sleeping in maybe.  And it’s Calvin—you know that.”

‘Yeah, like my name is Harold or Henry Stars.”

Nick snickered.  “Yes, Henry, my MUM asked about you last night.”

Harry shook his head, smile growing.  “Will she ever learn my name?”

“Dunno.  Got her so confused with Adam Richard Wiles and Calvin Harris—she calls him Dickie and that’s that.”

Harry laughed out loud.  “Dickie and Nickie.  I’ll have to get you some personalised pillows or some such.”

“Don’t you dare!  By the way, I had the weirdest dream last night.  You and I were running through my old neighbourhood in Oldham wearing kilts and trying to find all the sweets.  An old crone was laughing at us and grabbed us both by the ears.  She gave us each a coin, filled our sporrans with candy, and sent us out the door, whacking our bums with a broom made out of rosemary.”

“How much did you have to drink last night?” Harry asked with a laugh.

“Not enough for that kind of dream.  Anyway, when I woke up this morning there was a sprig of rosemary and a sixpence under my pillow.”

“That’s really weird.”

“Oh, shut up Henry.”

They finished their tea and, realising the time, headed to their rooms in the castle to get ready for the ceremony which was scheduled for 1 pm.  Harry got dressed in his room then headed upstairs to help Nick with any last minute details.  Nick looked up when Harry entered and gave a low whistle.  Harry was wearing a traditional Highland tartan kilt complete with jacket, waistcoat, a sporran and hose.  He had a white lace jabot at his throat.  His only departure from tradition were custom Gucci brogues.  Damn but the man was beautiful. 

“Are you…” Nick began but Harry interrupted him.

“Of course.”  Harry turned his back to Nick and flicked up the edge of his kilt, mooning his best friend.

Harry greeted Aimee and made conversation while Nick recovered himself.  Unlike his first wedding, Aimee was not officiating this one.  Instead she was Nick’s best man, a role Harry would have been honoured to fill but he hadn’t been asked.

“So what are your duties Aimee?  Hold the rings?  Calm down the groom?  Or at least one of them?”

“Yeah, Harry.  Oh, I get to help with the hand-fasting too,” she answered.

“The what?”   

“It’s a Scottish tradition.  Cal always wanted to include it when he got married,” Nick explained. 

“I still have no idea what you are talking about,” Harry said.

“Here, it’s like this Harry.  Do you have a cord or a ribbon?”

Harry reached into his sporran and removed a banana, his mobile, and a Gucci tartan scarf.

“The scarf, give it to me.  Okay.  So you and Nick hold hands.  No, both of them.  Yeah, like that.  Then the ribbon, or in this case the scarf, is wound around your hands and then tied loosely.  A blessing is offered and voila’.  You’ve tied the knot.” 

She was grinning at them.  Nick rolled his eyes and shook the scarf loose.  

“It’s all bollocks if you ask me.  But my fiancé wanted it, and I want to make him happy.”

“Well then, Nicholas, that is what you should do.” 

***

 Tuesday morning, headlines in The Sun and Daily Mail screamed about the secret wedding of legendary DJ Calvin Harris, nee’ Adam Richard Wiles, and television and radio presenter Nick Grimshaw.  The happy couple was said to be honeymooning at an undisclosed location.  The paps had been out of luck and only the official photos released by the happy couple were used.  Harry meanwhile had been caught at Heathrow and dozens of shots were circulating the internet.  Fans were disappointed that he was not smiling in any of them.

FOUR

“And Chris told me that Gwyneth sent them a gift,” Nick muttered conspiratorially to Harry before taking another drink of champagne.

“No! What was it?  Poisoned fruit or summat?”

“It was a set of holistic linen sheets, handmade while the crafter thinks happy thoughts about the recipient.  Oh!  And it came with an aphrodisiac candle and some aromatherapy good mojo spray.”

“Did Alexa toss them into the rubbish bin?”

“No, she said she’d use them in the guest room.  One of them at least.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the return of Harry’s date, Clarissa.  She plopped onto the seat next to him and affected a pout.  Nick used every ounce of his self-control not to roll his eyes.  Harry had dated some vacuous women in the past but this one was the worst.  He could not understand what Harry saw in her. 

Avaricious, spoiled, and damn near anorexic; she wasn’t even pretty. Nick worried about Harry sometimes.  Okay often, he worried about him often.  As Harry got closer to his 30th birthday, and he’d just turned 29 in February, he seemed to be more and more restless and determined to find the perfect mate.  It was like his biological clock was ticking or something. 

Nick hadn’t been to his friend’s last birthday party.  He had been in the throes of his second disintegrating marriage.  It was all his fault, really.  At least that’s what Cal had said just before he slammed the front door and then whooshed out of the garage never to be spoken to again.  Why couldn’t he remain friends with his exes? Other people seemed to have no trouble.  The only one he had managed to keep was Harry, and they had only dated briefly a decade ago.

Had it been that long?  

They had both been so young.  Harry had still been in One Direction and the Nazi-like management had nearly ruptured an artery when they found out he and Nick were an ‘item’.  Harry had quietly listened to their ranting and threats and then turned and walked out of the meeting.  He had gone straight to Nick’s and holed up there for almost a week, refusing to speak to anyone except Nick until his mother called him, worried. 

Harry had agreed to attend a meeting whereupon the management dicks hammered at him again about ruining the brand until he threatened to walk away from it all.  They had quieted down when they realiszed that this charming, soft-spoken kid was absolutely prepared to make good on his warning.  Harry ended up giving them an ultimatum before heading back to Nick’s.  Nick, who had been scared shitless for his boyfriend, was truly terrified when Harry recounted the relevant points of the meeting he’d just attended.  All he could see was the glorious career Harry was prepared to throw away for him… and he couldn’t let him make that sacrifice.  He told himself that Harry didn’t realisze what he was about to give up, that he worried that Harry would regret it and blame him.  

Their friendship had survived the break-up, barely.  Harry felt that his grand gesture hadn’t been appreciated for what it was: a declaration of love for Nick.  Nick felt that Harry was too young to realisze what he was doing.  They repaired the relationship one night when Harry was off tour with 1D and showed up at Nick’s with an armful of romantic comedies and a couple of bottles of tequila.  They drank and watched movies and hashed out the hurts until the wee hours of the morning.  Then they curled up in Nick’s bed and cuddled until they fell asleep. 

The tens of millions of One Direction fans had no idea how close they had come to losing their beloved boys two and a half years before the ‘hiatus.’

When Nick had first heard Made in the A.M. he had been shocked.  Though he hid it well at the station, he had taken the CD home and listened to one song over and over again.  Though they had never talked about it, Nick knew that “If I Could Fly” had been written about him.  He had spent the weekend drinking and crying over opportunities lost.

His rumination was ended abruptly by Clarissa’s long fingers snapping at him.  “Wake up Sleepyhead!  Do you want another drink or not?  I’m going to the bar.”

“I’m good.  Thanks,” he said. 

Harry had been summoned by yet another friend of the happy couple to pose for selfies with them.  Nick was watching him so intently that he didn’t hear Alexa swish up to the table.  He pulled his features into a mask, but it was too late.  She had seen.

“Why don’t you talk to him Nick?  I mean, really talk to him.  Tell him the truth.”

“Tell him what?  That a forty year old man with two failed marriages fancies him?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Oh whatever.  Close enough.”

“You are selling yourself short.  And you’re not giving him enough credit.  You will never be happy if you keep trying to find a substitute for the real thing.”

What is this?  Relationship advice from the woman who has been married for exactly…” he looked at his watch, “90 minutes?”

“Fine.  Ignore my advice.  But I know I’m right.  Oh god, gotta run.  Carlotta is steaming her way over here.”

“Clarissa.”

“Oh whatever, Grimshaw.   She wants me to make her the spokesmodel for my brand. I don’t know what Harry sees in her,” she said softly over her shoulder as she hurried away to a group of friends and family to hide from Clarissa.

“No one does,” Nick answered, but she didn’t hear.

FIVE

“Calm down, Nicholas!  You said it yourself.  ‘Third time’s the charm’.”

Harry smiled at the groom fumbling with his bow tie.  Nick stood in front of the full length mirror, shirt untucked and trousers unbuttoned, grappling with the piece of silk.  Pausing again, he met Harry’s eyes in the mirror as he found another thing to panic about.

“Sam was subdued at the dinner last night.  He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.  What if he’s got cold feet?  Everyone’s out there—Harry I don’t think I can take the humiliation of another failed marriage.  I’m a punchline now—even to myself.”

“Nick, it’s okay to have jitters before your wedding.  Sam’s probably just excited and nervous just like you.”

“I need another glass of wine,” Nick said and moved to the table across the room. 

“You might want to take it eas--”  Harry was interrupted by Nick’s yelp of pain as he stubbed his toe on a chair leg.

“Shit, that hurt!” he yelped, reaching down to rub the offended appendage.   “If I broke it, the shoes will never fit.  Wait!  My shoes!  Where are my shoes?”

“They’re right here,” Harry replied with a smirk.  Opening the box containing the shiny black oxfords he offered “Come here and tie your tie.  I’ll tie your shoes.”

Nick walked back to the mirror and Harry knelt down, slipping the patent leather on the proffered left foot and tying securely.  Maneuvering the right shoe on Harry grazed the stubbed toe and Nick howled out a protest.

“Hold still, it’s almost in there.   Come on now, push a little.”

The door burst open and Nick’s fiancé barged in.  He took in the sight before him, his brain jumping to a conclusion. 

“Sam! It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony,” Nick’s voice sounded strained.

“H-how could you?  On our wedding day?”  Sam’s face was suffusing with red.

“What?  What are you on about?”

“You know, you’ve called me his name at least a dozen times.”  Sam’s eyes were looking dangerously moist.

“What? Who?”

Harry rose slowly and moved to stand behind Nick’s right shoulder.

“Last night even.  You called me ‘Harry’.”

Nick stood frozen as the colour drained from his face.

“I came in to reassure myself that we were going to be okay and find him on his knees and your trousers undone!”

“Sam!  I was tying his--” Harry began but Sam cut him off.

“You shut up!  It’s always you!  He moans your name in his sleep.  He even called me ‘Harry’ when I was sucking him off.  You’ve ruined my life!”

Sam made a move towards Harry but Nick stepped between them.

“Harry’s done nothing wrong.  He’s just--”

“Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!  Ramon told me you were cheating with him but I didn’t believe him.  Now I see it with my own eyes.  It’s over!  How could you ever say ‘I do’ to me when you never stopped saying I did to him?”

“Sam--”  Nick reached for him.

“No!  I’m going back to Ramon!”

“But our guests!”

“You mean your guests Nick,” he said, then stifled a sob with his fist as he stumbled from the room.

Nick stood stiffly staring at the door while Sam’s wails echoed down the hall.  It was a while before he felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Nick.  I didn’t mean to--”

“No.  It’s alright.  I knew it wasn’t going to work out.  I think that’s why I was so nervous.  I’m not in love with him.”

He hung his head as Harry squeezed his shoulder.  Nick reached up to pat his hand after a moment and took a deep breath.

“I guess I’d better go tell my guests that the wedding is off.  At least they’ll have the reception to look forward to.”

“Wait, Nick.  Don’t tell them.”

“What?  I can’t leave everyone just sitting there when they’ve surely heard him carrying on.  I’ll just tell them I’m a three time loser and we’ll move on to the dinner and the party.”

Nick headed for the door but Harry grabbed his arm.

“Was it true?  What he said?  About me?”

“C’mon Harold, let go.  I’ve got to—“

“Was it true, Nick?”

Nick steeled himself to look into Harry’s eyes, those green eyes that he loved so much.

“Yes,” he managed at last.

Harry searched his face, questioning then made a small nod.

“Good. Then marry me.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.  Marry me instead.  Today.  Right now.”

“Have you gone mad?”

“Do you know why I’ve never got married?  Because I didn’t love any of them.  Not one.  And I tried.”

Nick just stared at him.

“Do you know why I’ve never dated another man?” 

Harry paused for a reply but Nick was dumbstruck.

“Because you’re the only man for me.  Nicholas Peter Andrew Grimshaw, I love you.  I have loved you my whole life.  Will you marry me?”

Tears filled his eyes and his voice cracked when he answered.  “Yes, Harold, I will.”

“You know my name isn’t Harold, right?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And he did.

At the first strains of the music, the small crowd turned to see Harry and Nick standing at the back of the room together.  As Shania sang ‘Still the One’, they walked hand in hand down the aisle, both men beaming.  They stopped to hug Anne and Gemma, both of whom were crying.  Just before he released her, Anne whispered to Nick “It’s about time.”  That was when his tears started. 

Next stop was Eileen and Jane and Andy, who hugged them both fiercely.  Eileen reached up to whisper to Harry “He’s always loved you Henry.  As have we all.”   

“Mum, his name’s---”

“Harry.  Yes dear, I know.  But he’ll always be Henry Stars to me.”

Harry bent down to kiss her on the cheek. 

They arrived at the end of the aisle and stood looking at each other as the song faded away.  The minister gave a speech and had them repeat traditional wedding vows. He pronounced them married, and then Nick turned to Harry.  He looked into those eyes, so green he could get lost in their depths.  Harry took Nick’s face gently in his hands and stared into his eyes. 

“I love you.  I am so proud to have married you at last.”  

And then he kissed him.  And then kissed him again.  And then again.  Nick was giddy when they finally pulled apart to applause from their guests.

[yossarian359]

2001: A Gay Oddity

Red flooded Lena’s face, “Oh, h-hey Cap,” her plans to wave hello to her superior were foiled as she remembered that her right hand was stuck far down Widowmaker’s pants. “Oh, bugger me.”

An odyssey of oddities as our two favourite lesbians discover all that's crazy in the universe as they jump between infinite realities.

All things considering, it was a pretty average day in the life of Lena Oxton. Got up, had a shower, had a wank, made breakfast, joined the team for a boring old payload mission. And—ah yes—soaked through and through, on top of a construction site in a lightning storm; having a life and death fight with her frenemy with benefits.

Perfectly normal. At least for now.

The sky lit up in a brilliant dash of lightning, followed moments later by the crashing of thunder all arounder her. Tracer landed flat on her back on the edge of a steel beam, winded. She stared up to where she was just thrown off. A figure; purple, blue, and slender dropped down, heeled metal boots landing firm on the beam jutting out into oblivion. Finally, a grin flashed on her face as she spoke.

“Looks like it’s over, isn’t it?” Her sultry voice downing out the rain falling around them.

“Oh, save it, love,” said Tracer, “Can we please just skip to the snogging today?”

Widowmaker groaned, “Let me enjoy my victory, chérie.”

Tracer rolled her eyes, smiling, “Fine, fine. When you’re ready.” She motioned for her to continue.

Snapping back into character, Widowmaker chuckled, smirking evilly. “Oh, mon petit chou, I’ve won, you’ve lost, and now,” she stepped forward, slinging her sniper rifle to her back, “I get to claim my reward.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you come and take me?” Tracer said through gritted her teeth.

“I would like nothing more,” Widowmaker hummed, “But first, I want to truly savour this moment having beaten you.” She swayed her hips as she leant forward, crossing her legs in what was most certainly a ballet pose. Lena had to consciously stop herself from rolling her eyes. I just had to go and fall in love with the queen of extra.

She continued, “You are the perfect fly wandering in my web. You know, ever since I was a little girl, I had a fear of spi—”

In the space of two blinks Tracer had reversed their positions and was straddling Widowmaker’s torso.

Widowmaker landed on her back with audible discomfort, “That’s hardly fair, chérie.” She grunted.

“First, that monologue was going somewhere cringy, love, and second,” Tracer leaned in, dangerously close to Widowmaker’s lips, “there are much better things you could be doing with your pretty mouth.”

“So impatient, mon coeur, ” her smile turned coy, “Is that all I am, just a pretty mouth?”

Tracer responded by crashing their lips together in a kiss that very quickly grew heated. “You’re too bloody sexy. It shouldn’t be legal,” she said when she pulled back.

Widowmaker laughed enjoying how easily flushed Tracer became. She also enjoyed the way that her hands wasted little time unzipping her catsuit and sliding down to trace the curve of her stomach. Falling, lower, lower.

Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Merde, Lena!” she said with abrupt desperation.

“Bit early for you to be screaming my name, love,” said Lena, confused.

“Lena, what are you doing?!”

She froze at the new voice entering the scene. Seeing Widowmaker’s horrified expression, she turned to where her girlfriend was looking and saw Ana Amari standing with her mouth open, stunned.

Red flooded Lena’s face, “Oh, h-hey Cap,” her plans to wave hello to her superior were foiled as she remembered that her right hand was stuck far down Widowmaker’s pants. “Oh, bugger me.”

Thankfully, the universe decided to save them from embarrassment as they were promptly struck by lightning and the world went white.

---

Widowmaker was the first to realise something was wrong.

“Something is wrong,” she said.

“Yeah,” Lena said slowly, “You’re upside down love.”

She looked up to see Widowmaker, upside down standing on a ceiling even though there wasn’t a ceiling. “Lena… What am I standing on?” she said, then gravity kicked in and she fell on Lena who was sitting on the floor even though there wasn’t a floor.

The sky decided to materialise in the form of dark grey rain clouds. A series of depressed grey buildings leaped up from the ground, did an appalling dance in the air, and landed lamely to from a sprawling suburb of mediocrity. In the distance someone was shouting expletives at a dog while several big plumes of smoke spilled into the unhappy sky.

“Bugger!” Lena shouted, eyes wide in horror . “We’re in Scunthorpe !” She spat the word as if it were the most vile place on earth (it was). “Also, I think we were just struck by lightning which means my chronal accelerator has been temporarily overcharged.” She looked down to see that the light in the centre of her accelerator was changing colours at an almost seizure inducing speed.  

It started raining very heavily. Lena wiped a smidge off and stuck her finger in her mouth. Mmm, jam. “What does that mean?” asked Widowmaker.

“What, the jam?”

“No, petit idiote! ” Widowmaker exclaimed, wiping the jam from her face, “What happened to your accelerator; what does that mean for us?”

“Oh, right. That. Yes, well…” Lena grimaced, because one of the factories in the distance had come alive and decided to sing the entirety of the H.M.S. Pinafore in the voice of Dame Judi Dench. “Means were sorta stuck in the slipstream, and cause it’s overcharged it means that we’re ping ponging between infinite realities.”

“Okay.” Widowmaker’s eyes went distant.

“Hey, cheer up love, Winston will get us back in a jiffy! He did it last time this happened. All we gotta do is wait for a bit.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes at her. “You’ve been struck by lightning before? That’s impossible, even for you.”

“Not impossible,” Lena protested, “Just very, very improbable. Actually, it happened three times, the first time I fell into a power line.”

A smacking could be heard as Widowmaker brought her palm hard on her forehead. “Why am I not surprised.” Widowmaker then noticed something very odd about her girlfriend. “Lena…” She trailed off, swallowing thickly, “Why have you turned into a dog?”

“Wha-” she barked, and looked down to see four paws and a furry body. “Oh, for fuck sake!” she pouted. “Why does it always happen?”

Widowmaker resting-bitch-face finally broke as she laughed. “You’re so incredibly cute, ma chien.”

“Stop staring at me!” Lena whined, “It’s embarrassing.” A series of sad noises came from her snout. Widowmaker couldn’t resist taking her petite amie in her arms and stroking the back of her head between the ears till her hind leg started pounding in excitement.

“When I said I wanted to see you on a leash, chérie, this is not quite what I had in mind.” Widowmaker hummed.

“Shut up,” she panted, “Don’t you dare fucking stop that. Oh yes!”

Sadly, Lena’s fun was interrupted as the ground underneath them turned into a pit of multi-coloured balls.

Widowmaker was first to panic, shooting her grappling hook up into nothingness as she lost her footing in the endless ditch of balls. “Help!”

Lena on the other hand pranced quite easily out of the humiliating danger, enjoying the sight of the world's deadliest assassin struggle to find her footing in a four-foot ball-pit. “Lena, I’m drowning!”

“No, you’re not.” Lena woofed.

“Lena, could you help us resolve something?” a rather irritated voice croaked. It was Lucio, who was, quite unimaginatively, a frog in this universe.

“Sure thing Lucio, love the shirt by the way.” Lena barked and then followed the frog to the cafe in the middle of a shopping mall from 2022’s Estonia. They passed a purple iguana drinking a margarita (most likely Sombra) and stopped at a table where a rabbit the size of a minivan was waiting for them.

Lucio hopped up on the table and gestured to his much larger partner. “Watch this,” he clears his frog throat, “D.va, tell me again why you don’t love me.”

The bunny, who unimaginatively represents D.va in this universe, replied with a mouth full of Cheetos. “Because you’re crazy.”

“Why am I crazy?” he asked.

“Because you love me.”

“And why am I crazy for loving you.”

“Because I’m crazy.”

“So: you won’t love me because I’m crazy, I’m crazy because I love you, this makes me crazy because you’re crazy, therefore, you are crazy and think this.”

“Yup.”

Lucio turned to Lena who was now a fox. “You see the problem?”

The solitary gear turned slowly in her little fox head. “So, you won’t love him because you think he’s crazy.”

“Correct,” the rabbit replied between bites.

“And you think he’s crazy because he loves you,” Lena asked, pausing while waiting for the bunny to nod, “and that makes him crazy because you think you’re crazy, which means he’s loving someone crazy. But if he didn’t love you, that’d mean you’d love him because he would no longer be crazy and you would love him?”

“Yes,” D.Va replied, taking an excruciatingly long sip from a chocolate raspberry milkshake.

“But if he doesn’t love you,” Lena shouted, “Then that defeats the whole fucking point dunnit?, ‘Cause then you’d love him but he doesn’t love you!” Lena became so angry at this that she turned back into a human. “The fuck you on about, mate? You’re hurting my head.”

Widowmaker had finally caught up with the love of her life and greeted her by smacking the back of the head with her gauntlet.

“Ow!” Tracer yelped, “What the fuck was that for, gorgeous?”

“I will hurt your head so much more, you beautiful little shit!” Screamed Widowmaker who slammed Lena into a suffocatingly tight hug, “Do not leave me alone with balls ever again.”

When she withdrew, Lena saw coloured plastic balls stuck in Widowmaker’s hair, makeup smeared on her face, and her expression explaining how she just survived the apocalypse.

“Hey,” said Lena softly, “Don’t worry, love. Let’s get back home and I can ride your face, yeah? I know that always makes you feel better.”

Widowmaker hugged her again and made muffled happy content noises. The multiverse was kind this time and deposited them back in Lena’s London apartment, even going through the trouble to position them so that the smaller woman was straddling Widowmaker’s face.

“Ah,” Lena sighed, “Much better.”

“So, ma chérie,” Widowmaker brought her hands up to caress Lena’s hips, “You promised a little face-sitting adventure?”

Lena cursed herself for finding that statement far more seductive than it ever should have been. “You bet your pretty blue arse.”

The front door very suddenly came crashing down. “Oi!” came Lena’s voice from the otherside of the room, “The fuck you doin’ in my house?”

“Wha-?”

“You. Gay cunt. Off my bed.” Lena turned her head around to see Lena in the doorway. Only that she was dressed in wine red and black. The accelerator in her chest glowed an ominous dark orange which complimented the angry scowl on her face.

“Aren’t you me?” Lena asked offended, whilst removing her thighs from Widowmaker’s face. “That means you’re gay too, you edgelord wanker!”

As if on cue, the other Widowmaker, or Amélie in this case, walked in behind the angry small Lena and sat comfortably on a chair while crossing her legs. “She has you there, ma chérie.”

“Who are you?” asked Widowmaker to the woman who looked like her sitting on the chair like she owned the place.

“I’m you, but better,” she replied in a nonchalant manor. She wore a uniform reminiscent of the old overwatch, a blue hat that complimented her fair skin and dark hair.

“What are you doing here, lesser me? ” The edgelord Lena demanded.

“No idea,” said Lena indignantly, “Got struck by lightning and—”

“You got struck by lightning? Clumsy bitch.”

“Oi, you stupid lesbian hypocrite! Why are you here?”

“Hush, chéries,” Amélie soothed, “Let's not be antagonistic,” a playful smirk appeared on her face, “I have a feeling we can get up to all kinds of exciting fun, the four of us…”

“What are you saying?” said both Lenas in unison.

“I think,” started Widowmaker, still lying on the bed with a suggestive grin, “I’m beginning to like me.”

Another large crack in the sky interrupted their pleasantries as the clouds parted to reveal a large hand stretching out from the abyss. The laws of physics stretched and turned, paused, did a triple somersault and soliloquised a section from Othello before propelling the original Lena and Widowmaker upwards into the heavens.

They passed the thermosphere stupendously quickly before soaring out into a sea of stars.

Far above the moon, they saw Planet Earth was blue and there was nothing they could do.

Though I’m past one hundred thousand miles, I’m feeling very still. I thinks my spaceship knows which way to go.Tell my wife I love her very much, she kn—

“Lena, will you stop singing?” Widowmaker snatched the acoustic guitar from her hands, “We’re not even in a spaceship, and I’m not your wife!”

“Well, not yet.” she wiggled her eyebrows, earning her a glare from the Widowmaker. Lena rubbed the back of her head with a free hand as they passed Ceres in the asteroid belt, hurtling towards the orbit of Jupiter.

In the shadow of the gas giant they were abruptly stopped by an unknown entity.

The Galilean moons all halted in their orbit. Jupiter’s magnetic field fluctuated wildly, flinging away it’s smaller moons and rings clinging to the planet’s gravity well. The gas giant grew larger and larger before the eyes of the two women suspended in space.

Suddenly—with a dramatic crash of the orchestra playing Also Sprach Zarathustra somewhere offscreen—the mass amounts of hydrogen in its atmosphere lit up, ignited, and Jupiter became a star.

Light from the star refracted, bent, curved, and tried out on so many different shapes and sizes before settling on 600 trillion hertz, lluminating the hidden solar system inside Jupiter’s gravitational field, revealing the Galilean moons in all it’s breathtaking beauty. Widowmaker’s hand found Lena’s in the void of space as they silently watched the dance of celestial bodies, moving in time with the heavens. An aurora of light and colour bathed them as they floated in the sublime darkness of space.

The awe inspiring tranquility transcended reality when a massive shimmering veil of silver glass materialised and fell away like dust, to reveal a glittering entity walking on a sunbeam (Jupiter beam?)

Cosmic wind whisked around it, the centre of the universe seemed to shift and a sense of awe and humbleness flooded the two women witnessing the divine being revealing themselves before them.

The deity was a man with dark hair slightly slicked back, a rather kind welcoming face which was complemented by the presence of thick smart glasses.

“Hi,” he said, in a rather soothing voice with a hint of femininity, “I’m God, but, you may call me Jeff from the Overwatch Team.”

Lena and Widowmaker were warmed to his presence and offered their own greetings:

“Hiya.”

“Salut.”

“As you may know,” he continued, “I have a very important announcement to make regarding the future of Overwatch. There will be significant changes in the next patch that will be affecting you two in particular.”

“Wait,” Lena began, “If you’re God, then why did you reveal yourself to us?”

Jeff looked confused, “Sorry?”

“You’ve just proved you exist by turning that planet into a sun and by sayin’ hi, giving us irrefutable evidence of your existence. But, irrefutable evidence means you don’t need faith, but people need faith to believe in you. So by showing up, you’ve just proved you don’t exist! Also, if you’re all powerful and can do anything, can you create a stone too heavy for you to lift? Another thing: does the tree make a noise? Which ship is Theseus’? Is there a teapot goin’ round the sun?”

The look of confusion increased further. Thankfully though, a sharp elbow stopped Lena in her line of theological ramble. “Ouch! that hurt, love.” She whined.

“Thank you, Widowmaker,” Jeff said warmly.

“My apologies,” she chimed, “Please, you were saying?”

“Ah yes, my announcement...”

Widowmaker couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement, though she suppressed it in the face of her creator. What was the announcement regarding her and Lena? More plot, maybe a couple character interactions and flirtatious lines?

Or maybe even canonization! She dared to hope. The thought sent excited tingles through her body though she remained as tsundere as possible. Jeff could sense her excitement (he was God after all) and smiled.

“One thing is first though,” he warned. His eyes suddenly turned a gleaming red that was far too bright as his voice dropped into a thundurus bellow.

“ALL THESE WORLDS ARE YOURS - EXCEPT EUROPA

ATTEMPT NO LANDINGS THERE”

And as quickly as that happened, he returned to normal.

Widowmaker shared a quick look with her girlfriend, Lena looked just as confused as she was.

“Now, back to the update. I have a feeling you guys will be pretty excited about the next comic as—”

---

The anticipation that had been building up vanished into excruciating disappointment as just before Jeff was about to reveal the truth, they were both chucked out of the slipstream, materialising back into reality on the dank construction sight they started on.

It was probably another cop out event comic anyway.

“Ah Lena, there you—” Winston was stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Lena’s hand was still stuffed down the enemy's pants. “You’re in public,” he said, plainly putting his large paw to his face, “Just so you know.”

“Hmm,” Widowmaker murmured, “I have a feeling ma chérie enjoys it that way.”

Quite an ecstatic laugh that sounded more like a mating call indicated that Sombra was nearby. “You are a disaster, araña!” said Sombra as she appeared behind them. “A walking gay disaster.”

Widowmaker took that in stride, no point in denying it. “I preferred you as an iguana, ‘ombre,” she counted, to which Sombra’s only response was the slight furrowing of the brow in a silent ‘Que?’

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Soldier 76 yelled as he ascended the long stairs, out of breath.

Sombra touched up her nails with the nail filer she managed to conjure up. “I’m chillin’ out, el viejo, ” she said, sitting down on a beam and crossing her legs in a nonchalant manner. “You should too, before you give yourself a hernia.”

They weren’t spared from Soldier 76’s booming voice just yet as he caught sight of Lena and Widowmaker. “AND WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”

“Calm down, Jack.” Ana soothed as she was getting out her thermal flask to pour everyone a post-battle cup of tea.

Winston decided it would be a good time to relax and took a seat with a thud that shook the platform slightly. “I mean, everyone knew anyways.”

“Oh, you did?” Lena asked, finally removed her hand from her girlfriend’s trousers. “Coulda bloody told us! Instead of making us sneak around and all that.”

“Oh?” chimed Widowmaker, lowering her gaze in an attempt to be seductive. “I thought you said that being clandestined was exciting, mon coeur.”

A positively evil grin formed on Lena’s face, she leant to her lover’s ear and whispered something that caused the periwinkle lady to turn a dark purple blush. She withdrew after nibbling and earlobe; offering a small tease for later. Unfortunately, Lena’s cool was ruined as Widowmaker crashed their lips together, makes a flushed lewd mess of Lena in the process.

“Woah, love.” she breathed, “That’ll do.”

Soldier 76 shook his head. “You knew?” he turned his gravelly attention to Ana who shrugged her shoulders.

“I suspected.” A cheeky smirk grew on Ana’s face, “What, you don’t ship it? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical of you, Jack? Whatever would Gabriel say?”

Jack turned away, conceding this round and muttering a bunch of old man insults under his breath.

“Oh, man,” piqued Lucio as he arrived at the scene. “It happen again? Wait, were frog me and bunny D.Va stillhaving that argument?”

“Yup.” Answered Tracer.

“For the record,” D.Va added, “You are crazy.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” he replied, and D.Va stuck her tongue out as there was little use denying him.

Suddenly, Lena remembered something. “Winston, just out of interest: what’s on Europa?”

Her best friend’s eyes went wide at the mention of that moon’s name. “Lena, trust me, you don’t want to know…”

“Okay, guess I don’t.” she trailed off, and a nice gay tranquility—only disturbed by Jack’s old man noises—fell onto the group as they watched the sun rise.

---

Fin.

[agentelmo]

The X-Files MSR Analysis Series: Season 1 Episode 10

“Fallen Angel”

Previous episode analysis - 1x09 Space.

From an MSR angle, Fallen Angel tells the story of Mulder’s personal angel, and how different his life might have been if he had never met her.  We see here (and many times in the future) that when Mulder tries to go it alone, he doesn’t get very far.  There are parts of this episode which feel like a glimpse into the life Mulder might have led if Scully had never came into his world.  A crazy man running around the forest with a gun and a camera, getting nowhere fast and most likely winding up in prison, and/or fired from the FBI.  Or living the life of a nomadic hermit, holed up in a tin can clipping away at newspapers and squinting at blurry photographs.

Then perhaps he might have turned to squatching much earlier in life, and you know that 90′s Mulder squatching would have only led to bad things.  Very bad.

So the episode starts with Mulder in Wisconsin about to 007 his way into a quarantined area.  The news is reporting it as an ecological disaster, but thanks to Grandpa Deep Throat, Mulder knows it is actually a UFO crash site.  Papa Throat tells Mulder he has 24 hours tops to get in there and check out this downed UFO before the cleaners break out the military strength Mr. Muscle.

Fuck me, can I please jump into this screencap and suck on that bottom lip? HNNNNNGGGGGG...  I feel like I am channelling someone.  Is that you @defnotmeyo?

Clearly Mulder has failed to inform Scully of his escapade.  At this point in time, Scully is still completely unaware of Deep Throat and the fact Mulder gets a lot of his information from him.

This failure points to the fact that Mulder is still holding off from completely trusting Scully.  He can see she has integrity; despite her assignment to the X-Files being a means to an ends - a surreptitious attempt to spy on Mulder - she takes this assignment seriously and applies her scientific rigour to his work honestly and faithfully, and he sees that. 

She has supported him steadfastly throughout their short partnership, but he still cannot shake that she was sent to spy on him.  He cannot trust her with this greatest of secrets - the knowledge of Deep Throat’s existence.

It’s fair enough really, because as much as he really wants to trust Scully (and he really does want to trust her) he is still uncertain.  The way he behaves around her says to me that he has a deep affinity for her.  

Superficially he’s definitely low key attracted to her from the word go - she’s a beautiful woman - but deeper than that, they fall into sync with one another almost effortlessly at times, even when they’re at odds yelling at one another, they’re both learning that they can push each other and it will be okay.  They will have each others back.  The events of Ice taught them that.

But Ice also asked a question that Fallen Angel continues to pose.  Can Mulder trust Scully?  He desperately wants to trust her, but old habits die hard.  Mulder’s motto is trust no one, after all.  What if Scully’s entire purpose is to gain his trust and smoke out the insider leaking information to Mulder?  While it’s no fun from an MSR angle, it does make sense that Mulder still doesn’t entirely trust Scully - he’s still weighing her up.  

So he goes it alone.  First mistake.  And Mulder decides to go on this jolly jaunt through the forest cosplaying as the Milk Tray Man.

“All because the lady loves...” 

Sorry non-Brits, you’ll have to look that one up.

He poodles through the forest trying to look bad ass, but fails spectacularly owing to the fact he has probably the dorkiest run ever.  Sorry Mulder, you just can’t look cool running over hill and dale.  

We know Mulder can look sexy running - he has a lovely bit of sexy running in season 6′s Milagro, for example.

Phwoooaaaaar, keep running G-Man.

But here, in this episode?  

Yeeeeeah, not so much.  

Look at him... boing, boing, boing!

What’s actually most surprising about this whole sequence is that he gets away with it!  He dangles underneath a military vehicle and very obviously plonks on the floor with a soldier so close by he must have been asleep not to hear it let alone see it.

I think it’s safe to say that Mulder’s knowledge on stealthiness was probably lifted exclusively from Tom Clancy novels.  

Either that, or he has stealth cheat codes enabled.

Now I can’t decide if this is Mulder’s “I can’t believe I just got away with that” face, or his “I think I just rolled in badger shit” face.  Hmmm... 

So Mulder bounds through the forest until he approaches a light in a clearing...

Creepy X-Files forest aesthetic on fleek.

He then reveals his true passion in life, as a photographer for Alien Vogue.

Work it, baby.

Going solo out here turns out to be pretty dangerous, so with no one to watch his back, Mulder finds himself getting butt-stroked.  

Wait, what?

Honestly, that’s what getting pummelled in the face with a rifle butt is called!  To be honest, I’d butt-stroke Mulder any day of the week.  Know what I’m sayin’?

After a serious talk about breaking federal law with the designated bad guy of the piece, Colonel Henderson.... 

...Mulder is imprisoned.  

Divine intervention is unlikely, Mulder.

So quick run down.  Mulder gets a hot tip, tells no one about it, runs off without Scully and ends up in military prison.  What a thoroughly unsurprising turn of events.  When Mulder goes it alone and tries to do anything without Scully, he gets his arse handed to him.  

Sorry Mulder, them’s the rules.

But it’s here we are introduced to Mulder’s mirror image.  The man Mulder might have become himself had it not been for a lucky sequence of events in his life that led him to having the right people around him at the right times, whereas Max Fenig clearly did not.

Say hi Max.

Nawww... Max is instantly endearing in his overt politeness and kooky appearance.  What we come to understand later is that Max recognises Mulder and he’s being such a try hard, wanting to be buddies with Mulder, because from observing his life from afar he feels he knows him.  I mean, we can all relate, right?

But Mulder is actually surprisingly dismissive of Max, and I think even somewhat judgemental.  He gets one look at Max and thinks he has the measure of him.  He ignores his polite invitation to talk and rolls his eyes as he turns away. 

I think Mulder might at times think himself above these kinds of people, the crazies who sit in fields on garden furniture holding up colourful “take me to your leader!” signs.  I think that’s what Mulder sees when he first looks at Max - the archetypal UFO wackjob.  The living embodiment of why his work isn’t taken seriously.

For a moment here, Mulder treats Max with the same dismissive disdain that other people have treated Mulder in the past.

Just to drive home the comparison between Max and Mulder, he utters Mulder’s favourite catchphrase of all time - trust no one.  Mulder might not want to admit it now, but despite their personalities being very different, these two men clearly think alike in many ways.

Side note, Max is quite possibly one of the best supporting characters the show ever had.  In all 10 seasons.

Mulder continues to roll his eyes ignoring Max, until Max asks if Mulder saw anything.  Mulder plays his usual trick, to get information out of others rather than giving up any of his own, by playing the contrarian.

But Max isn’t so easily fooled, it seems.

Notice how Max is rubbing his ear in this moment?  What makes him so sure?  Well maybe it’s the fact he’s been abducted by these “alieums!” several times already - hint, hint, rub scar.  FORESHADOWINGGGGGG!

Now finally, finally.  Scully arrives... I mean, it’s only been a good quarter of the flipping episode without her.  Geez... so her big dramatic entrance is entirely appropriate.

And glorious.

Imagine a church chorus as she enters, because the symbolism is so heavy handed here.  Scully arrives, bathed in bright white light - blinding Mulder with her brilliance - liiiiiike.... an angel perhaps?!

While the crashed UFOs are referred to as fallen angels, Scully is the true angel of the piece.  Mulder’s guardian angel.  A supposed proxy of his enemies, sent to spy on him to do the bidding of the Syndicate, essentially.  But in actuality is the only one truly looking out for him - and him alone.

But of course, Mulder knows he’s about to get a royal roasting.  So makes a ill-considered attempt at being charming.

I love that comment though, “I didn’t order room service.”  Because when Mulder does order room service, he orders a hot red head in a trench coat?  I’m not sure we’re thinking of the same kind of room service here, Mulder.  Rawr.

But Scully isn’t interested in banter, she’s here to tell Mulder he’s really done fucked up this time.  That the higher ups are using his latest tomfoolery as an excuse to cashier Mulder out of the FBI.

Poor Scully.  How frustrating this man must be to her in this moment.  She’s trying to save the X-Files here, Mulder, did you miss that?  She’s trying to save you too.  Without Scully, Mulder is heading for a personal disaster, because he frequently cannot see the forest through the trees.  So focused on his present goal he fails to see the larger consequences - or rather sees them, but doesn’t care - the sacrifice is worth it to him.  The Truth™ is all that matters.

Only Scully is fighting to pull him back from the edge, and when he seems utterly blasé about the fact the X-Files might be shut down, she loses her cool.

In fact, I think this is the first time we see Scully genuinely pissed off at him – like really furious.  She’s been varying levels of irritated, but this time she’s actually livid with his behaviour, and not just because he’s disregarding the rules.  

In past episodes Mulder’s lack of respect for protocol saw Scully concerned about her career and what the consequences of being associated with this man and the X-Files would mean for her, but now she’s trying her damnedest to save both.  

She’s angry because she cares and not just about their work, it’s established as far back as Conduit that she has more than just a professional interest in Mulder.  She cares about him.  She sees something in him worth caring about.

Steady on, we’re not quite at that point yet.

She cares about him as a friend and knows the X-Files are important to him - he would later refer to the X-Files as his life’s work - so of course she’s frustrated because she is trying to understand him, but can’t grasp why he would put the X-Files in jeopardy like this.  To her, it makes no sense.  To a new audience it makes no sense either.

Except that it does.  What we will eventually establish with hindsight, is that this kind of behaviour is Fox Mulder all over.  For merely a glimpse at the elusive truth, Mulder would risk everything.  He is a master of self-sabotage - he is determined to barrel headfirst into self destruction - and the fact Scully is there to save him time and again is such an incredible stroke of fortuitousness on his part that, sometimes, I’d swear the Cigarette Smoking Man chose Scully for this purpose all along.

So moving on, and Mulder is being pretty flippant about Scully’s explanation of what was out in the woods; he mocks her, even.  His attitude towards her similar to his dismissal of Max earlier.  A slight “you-have-no-idea-what-you’re-dealing-with” smugness.

But is this really fair of Mulder?  I mean, this disarming as fuck smile is definitely not fair of Mulder because hot dayum... But yeah - not what I meant.

What I meant is Mulder has information she doesn’t and that puts her at a disadvantage that she cannot overcome as a scientist who works off of evidence - proof.

She only sees Mulder seemingly pull this information out of his arse, so of course she isn’t going to believe him.  Like in Ghost in the Machine, he’s not giving her enough to go on.  It’s his own fault that she is so resistant to his version of events.  His lack of trust in her is what is bringing this all down.

This is when we see why trust is so key to their relationship, as Scully will say much later in season 6′s The Beginning - it has always come down to a matter of trust between them.  When they don’t trust each other, they both spin their wheels in frustration.  

This is another episode where we see the outline of their working dynamic being drawn.  As Scully will poetically put it one day, they are perfect opposites of each other, and as such their relationship only soars when they both trust in each other’s judgement, abilities and dedication to the truth - whatever that might be.

When mistrust, doubt and even resentment seep in, the differences that when perfectly aligned make them so strong, can instead work full force against each other, tearing them apart.  Funnily enough, a good example of that is in The Beginning too.  

But in this moment, Mulder doesn’t believe Scully puts the truth above protocol and he still isn’t sure if he can trust her not to report everything he tells her to the people he believes work against him.  So he continues to hold out about Deep Throat... and, for now at least, they continue to grate against each other.

But hey, don’t worry about it.  Any time you start to feel down about how Mulder and Scully are at odds with each other, just remember that one day these two Spooky babies will be having kinky handcuff sex.  Canon kinky handcuff sex.

The next little scene with them has it’s MSR charm in a way.  Because Scully is effectively Mulder’s jailer (a fact he amusingly references later with a bit of 70′s pop culture).  She’s escorting him back to D.C. to face an Office of Professional Responsibility hearing - OPR!  

We hear about OPR quite a bit over the coming years with these two, don’t we.  Which is why these early brushes with pissing off the higher ups are so interesting to go back and look at, because it’s such a stark reminder of how their love and dedication to one another eventually takes over all reason - for both of them.  

We know there will come a time when there will be no lengths to which Scully will not go for Mulder.  From being thrown into prison, to sacrificing her job, to going on the run and harbouring him as a criminal fugitive for 6 years.  This episode serves to highlight the beginnings of this behaviour in Scully.  Her going against the rules for Mulder.

So, knowing she’s been sent there to take him back to D.C., Mulder changes tack, he wants her on board, he values her insight and abilities so he wants her to help him on this now that she’s here.  When she’s there, undeniable and in his presence, it’s almost like he can’t help himself but to put his faith in her.

Scully, bless her, does her best to hold on to being angry at him.  But Mulder’s incessant charm always screws her over in the end.  She can’t resist him - and I don’t mean sexually, I mean just his boyish enthusiasm and unshakeable determination seems to always chip away at her resolve.  

It is, after all, as she says much later in I Want To Believe, why she fell in love with him.  So it makes sense that in hindsight she often gave in to him like this because she secretly found his stubbornness equally as endearing as she found it exasperating. 

The Last Detail, starring Dana Scully!  Ha, back in the 90’s you could quote 70’s movie classics and you’d have half a hope in hell anyone knew what you were talking about, Mulder.  

So The Last Detail is a movie about a young naval officer being escorted across country to prison.  But before his two jailers take him there they decide that, since he will be going away for a long time, he should first get to enjoy what life has to offer.  The film stars Jack Nicholson so I think that voice Mulder puts on is his Nicholson impression.  Yikes.

So is Scully going to show Mulder what life has to offer before hauling him off to OPR?  WINK WINK.

Maybe that’s what Mulder was hoping for ey?  Although, for Mulder, the height of what life most has to offer is bumming around Wisconsin looking for downed UFOs.  Pfft.  Spoil sport.

What I also like about this exchange before they enter Mulder’s motel room, is the fact that not so long ago Mulder was completely at odds with Scully, but Mulder so easily lets their disagreements go and slips straight back into their comfortable bantering.

It’s like whenever he is with her, he is unconsciously trying to charm her - he seems to turn it on whenever they’re alone together - it’s that little bubble they have that we’ve talked about in the past; once they’re in there together they are in a world of their own.  While she is still clearly annoyed with him, he’s trying to entice her in to that bubble with a bit of casual flirting and she fights to hold on to her annoyance.

Course, the banter bus is forced to a sudden halt when Mulder and Scully realise someone has broken into and trashed his motel room.

Check out Mulder’s Ken doll pose.

I like how Mulder gets his quip in about how house keeping hasn’t been yet, but when Scully goes to say something in response, Mulder shushes her.  

Piss taker.

The way Mulder goes for his gun, forgetting he doesn’t have it anymore - because of course he doesn’t, Mulder losing his gun is like, his favourite thing to do after secretly staring at Scully.  His little head shake and her face fully communicating her thoughts on the matter.  You don’t need me to translate, just look at that face.

“Soooo um... do you think she’s still mad at me?”

Yes, Mulder.  Yes I do.

So the intruder turns out to be Max, and they drag him out of the bathroom so he can explain himself.

The best part of this conversation is when protective!Mulder body checks Max when he attempts to shake Scully’s hand.

Sit the fuck down, son.

It’s the only time Mulder becomes defensive in this whole scene, even though he’s just heard people have been spying on him for years, it’s only when Max makes a move towards Scully that Mulder gets visibly agitated.

Nobody touches bae, Max.  No touchie.

There’s an entertaining beat later in this conversation, when Max explains that he read Mulder’s Omni article on the Gulf Breeze UFO sightings.  Omni, interestingly enough, was a real magazine that was published in the 70′s through to the mid 90′s.  It contained articles on both science, science fiction and the paranormal.  Sounds right up Mulder’s passage.  What?

Mulder seems to be slightly embarrassed to have this revealed in front of Scully, as his eyes dart to her immediately and he stutters before responding.

That’s his ‘please don’t judge me’ face.

He already knows from The Jersey Devil that Scully thinks he has no life, and so to have his personal pursuits just openly revealed - that in his free time he writes articles for a paranormal magazine under an assumed name, no less.  Yeah, he doesn’t want Scully to pity his spartan existence any more than he thinks she already does.

Now I want to take a moment to dissect this phrase Max uses.  

“The enigmatic Agent Scully.”

Because where does Max get the notion that Scully is enigmatic?  Enigmatic, of course, meaning mysterious, indecipherable, puzzling etc.   Max says that he’s been following Mulder’s career – meaning following his cases – through viewing his travel expenses.  He would have been able to see where he was going, but not necessarily what he did when he was there.  So I wonder if these NICAP groups are actually spying on Mulder and Scully?  Do they go and hunt them down, look into what they’re investigating – observe them?  

It might then explain why Scully is described as enigmatic – these people, who are clearly believers like Mulder - would find Scully completely inscrutable.  A huge sceptic investigating the paranormal? Questioning her partner at every turn?  From their perspective Scully would seem a rather enigmatic figure.  An oddity. As Max himself says....

Perhaps these people were paying far more attention than Mulder realises.

While Mulder is clearly flattered by the attention, Scully finds it all rather tiresome.

Bless Max, he does not pick up on Scully’s unimpressed tone of voice whatsoever.

Mulder does though, and attempts to appeal to her own vanity.

 Although to be entirely precise, Max did say enigmatic agent Scully, so despite apparently having a photographic memory, Mulder couldn’t accurately remember what was said only 2 minutes ago.

Look at the smile on his face though, keep trying to reel her in, Mulder.  She’ll crack eventually!  Mulder seems quite tickled at the idea of Scully being described as enigmatic.  I think Mulder likes to think Scully is actually quite predictable, but she proves him wrong on that count several times as the series progresses.  She can certainly keep him guessing.

So Max then invites Mulder and Scully into his trailer home, and Mulder can barely contain himself.

I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see Mulder so tickled by something, and the first thing he does is look down at Scully to share the moment with her.

She’s fighting not to smile, look at her face.  She still wants to be annoyed at him.  But he’s still chipping away at her resolve... chip, chip, chip.

This scene is quite heavily contrasted with Mulder’s first meeting with Max, where he was so dismissive of him.  It kind of shows how Mulder’s single-minded focus on seeking the truth can actually dehumanise him.  Because now he’s like a kid in the UFO candy store.  He’s charmed by the hokeyness of Max’s trailer; in fact, the manner of decor - the haphazardly placed belongings mixed with newspapers clippings, photographs and stacks of books - bears some resemblance to the ordered chaos of Mulder’s basement office at the FBI.

Later, in season 4′s Tempus Fugit, Scully will remark that Max and Mulder are kindred spirits in “a deep, strange way”.  That only the two of them could appreciate living like this - the nomadic, frugal life of a UFO hunter.  Singularly obsessed, pinning newspaper articles and blurry photographs to every blank surface available.

She didn’t know how right she was, did she.

And that’s the MSR angle here, because I genuinely believe that Mulder could have easily ended up like Max if he hadn’t met Scully.  In fact, we see in I Want To Believe how close Mulder is to the Max Fenig lifestyle.  Without Scully working by his side, and the FBI to channel his energy, he effectively turns into Max - a recluse who sifts through paranormal paraphernalia by the ton, looking for some kernel of truth to prove the existence of extraterrestrials to the world, all the while slowly disappearing into himself in the process.

We see in season 10 that his home office that once kept his obsession contained - away from the rest of the house - away from the rest of his life, has now expanded out into pretty much everywhere -  consuming everything, including his relationship with Scully.  

What that says to me is that he really needs Scully to keep him balanced, and that’s what we see the first glimmers of here, in Fallen Angel - a need for someone to balance his obsessive nature, his single-mindedness, his propensity for self-destruction.  

Oy... this got depressing.

So Max plays Mulder and Scully a recording he lifted from a police dispatcher radio transmission to a deputy who was the first to respond to the UFO crash - of course not knowing what it was he was dealing with.  It sounds like this deputy and a fire crew were attacked.  This spurs Mulder on, the look in his eyes as he turns to Scully tells her everything she needs to know - he’s not gonna let this one go.  

DUN! DUN! DUUUUUUN!

She’s equally surprised to hear what happened out there, and now Mulder has finally cracked her - she’s on board.  Even if she doesn’t believe the truth is “alieums!” she sees there is more going on here than meets the eye, and this is how these two work together so well.

Because even if they don’t agree on what is happening, they can still work together so long as they always share the core goal of finding the truth.

Now we are going to take a side step into Mulder’s Kitchen.  Pull up a seat, we’re gonna delve into some mythology stuff for a moment.

So, this episode is a mythology episode before the mythology even existed.  So some elements of this episode tally up with what we come to know later of the aliens, but then other things certainly do not.  For example, the alien here is clearly incredibly powerful, much more powerful than the aliens we will encounter later - it’s main abilities being that it can turn invisible and PASS THROUGH SOLID OBJECTS.  We don’t ever see that again - thank God!

The alien bounty hunters we see later are significantly nerfed - their greatest abilities are shape-shifting and super human strength.  So is this alien here something different?  

Something infinitely more interesting that this alien does do, is exhibit an ability which reappears in season 10.  It’s this high pitched squealing noise that causes damage through the auditory cortex in the brain.  

In season 10′s Founder’s Mutation, Dr. Augustus Goldman’s children that were experimented on with alien DNA are also able to exhibit this high pitched frequency which causes a very similar painful reaction.  It’s literally the same sound, but a different pitch.  Go compare them!

Towards the end of Fallen Angel, Max also hears this sound and he repeats over and over that he’s in pain, clutching at his ear that pours with blood.

Similarly, this ability the children have in Founder’s Mutation causes blood to pour from the ears, nose, mouth and eyes of Dr. Goldman.  

I have no idea if this is intentional or not, but it’s shockingly similar.  If it is intentional, then will we find that William has this strange ability too?  

But that’s getting away from Fallen Angel, and into season 11 speculation territory.. so moving on!

Mulder and Scully visit the hospital to find out what happened to the deputy and the fire crew, and as Scully chats with the Doctor in charge about radiation burns, we discover a fascinating factoid about Scully.

Forensic medicine, ay?  I mean, that’s not surprising at all, really, but still... GOOD TO KNOW!

Next we get a Mulder-Scully walk and talk.  Hospital corridor too, classic!

Mulder, stop looking at your hot partners lips and concentrate, man!

Mulder is actually positively buzzing; hearing that the deputy and fire crew had severe radiation burns.

Look at how closely they walk together too, they’re bumping shoulders the whole time.  Mulder really has no concept of personal space. 

I like this scene because it’s Mulder being as excited as a kid at Christmas, and Scully is throwing out an alternative explanation, but he just keeps coming back at her.  It’s a very familiar song and dance.

But this is what they do - Scully makes Mulder work for it, and completely opposite to what was intended, she ends up not debunking his work, but makes it stronger - actually gives it more weight, rather than less.

So what happens is that surprisingly, Scully doesn’t outright dismiss what Mulder is saying, but she is still relentlessly focused on keeping Mulder out of trouble, by getting him to the OPR hearing.

Mulder, however, remains pretty indifferent about it.  He listens to her, but he’s not really all that concerned.  He feels he is so close to catching a glimpse of something here, that he is willing to sacrifice even the X-Files to stick around and follow it through.  

But ultimately what he’s doing here is incredibly reckless because he hasn’t actually seen anything.  I mean, let’s go back and review.  All he’s seen is a mangled crash site which could have been anything - let’s be honest - and some emergency services personnel with reported radiation burns.  What it comes down to, is that he’s risking this mainly on the word of Deep Throat.

He needs Scully to remind him of what he needs to do – to think of the bigger picture.  But poor Scully is just ignored – again.  She’s trying really hard to save his ass, but seems intent on going down in flames.  

Ah I do love a good walk and talk though.  This is how I like my baby agents. Walking and talking and arguing and Mulder being a little bitch, and Scully exasperatedly trying and failing to get Mulder to see sense.  Ah good times!

It’s at this moment, Colonel Henderson arrives with several of his men suffering from more radiation burns.  GASP!  Mulder tries to reason with Henderson about hunting the alien down, but is thrown out of the hospital, while Scully - she’s a medical doctor don’tcha know - is asked to stick around and help treat the soldiers.

Mulder decides to return to his motel to look for Max - what an irony, the only one with the means to help him continue his search is the UFO wacko.

But Mulder arrives to find Max having an epileptic seizure.

And Mulder is a pretty sweet guy really, right?  Taking care of Max.  He’s pretty caring when he wants to be.

Holding him through his seizure...

...getting him a glass of water... even if Max looks terrified of glasses of water...

...and tucking him into bed.  

Naww… Mulder’s paternal instincts on display here.  

Oh...

Oh God.

I need a minute.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

So after playing daddy to Max, Mulder notices that Max has a scar behind his ear.  A rather grim looking scar, too.  Eugh.

Mulder has seen this before... in an X-File of course, because everything is in an X-File.

I have bad thoughts looking at those pianist fingers.  Seriously.  No more fanfic for me.

Mulder has clearly had these documents faxed over to him, but who exactly did that?  Who would he trust at the FBI to go through his files, not to mention the fact he’s currently up for disciplinary action right now, so who would OK these documents being sent?

Meh.

Who cares, we have got some hot glasses!Mulder action for you.  KAPOW!

SHAZAM!

Mmm, yes.  Ring Ring... It’s OPR here!  We’ve decided to drop all disciplinary action, Mulder.  Just be sure to wear those glasses from time to time and all is forgiven.  HNNNNGGG....  Ahem.

Scully arrives back from her voluntary stint at the hospital - I hope she got paid for that.  And she’s exhausted and dejected.  Mulder has his theories, but wants to know what Scully’s thoughts are.

Nice one.  Excellent theory there, Scully.  Well thought out; good reasoning.

I kid.  I kid.

I like this conversation, because for Mulder’s part, he’s showing that he values and respects her opinion, even when she hasn’t got one ha.  Even though Mulder is used to her going against him, he’s willing to hear it - he’s willing to be challenged, and that’s why their dynamic works for him, because he doesn’t take her stance personally.  He understands and values where she’s coming from, even when he doesn’t agree.

And the same goes for her, it’s why their dynamic works between them and them alone - because Scully listens to Mulder when most sane people wouldn’t, lets be honest.

But ever the guardian angel, Scully continues to remind Mulder to keep his eye on the ball. 

His trust in her is building, because even though he’s aware her primary goal is to get him back to D.C., he trusts her to tell him the truth when he asks her to do him a favour and examine Max’s scar.

In a demonstration of her integrity, and her loyalty to Mulder, when Scully asks...

and Mulder responds by being a fucking tease...

Scully agrees to examine Max, not based on any claim Max is making - Mulder points out that it’s not Max who thinks he’s an abductee.

She agrees to examine Max against her better judgement and only because Mulder asks her to. 

Nothing more than that.  Which is a pretty big deal.  “I do it all for you, Mulder.”

Unfortunately when they go to find Max, he’s missing and they overhear on his radio scanner that someone from Colonel Henderson’s patrol has spotted someone trespassing where they shouldn’t be.

Mulder and Scully both realise this must be Max.  

Scully realises first what this means though, that Mulder isn’t going to be catching that flight to D.C.   

The frustrated look on her face is the look of someone who knows exactly what’s about to happen... she knows this man well enough by now.  He’s not going to do anything he doesn’t want to do - but she will still try to fight him on it.  She isn’t going to give up that easily.

Mulder, on the other hand, looks at her with a face that says “I wholeheartedly concur Scully, lets go save Max!”

Wait, what?!

There’s a hint of desperation in Scully’s voice, she really is trying so hard to keep him out of trouble and protect their work - protect him.

He literally ignores every word she says though, and continues to obsessively pursue this lead.  I honestly think the only reason he stops and engages Scully, is because he can’t find the damn car keys.  I think if he had the keys and she didn’t get in the car, he would have just took off without her, because we all know he’s very capable of that.

But because he knows she has the keys, he takes a moment to explain his thinking.  

Mulder’s theory is basically that Max wasn’t chasing the UFO, that it was in fact the other way around.  The UFO was there for Max. 

I don’t think Scully believes Max is being abducted by aliens - we know she doesn’t believe in that; but what she does know is that she cannot stop Mulder when he’s like this; he’s going with or without her.  She knows trying to get through to him will only push him away, so she gives up trying to fight back.  

She really should have just clobbered him with one of their FBI issue torches and shipped the stupid fucker back to D.C. in a suitcase.

As it stands, her only course of action is to go with him - to try and stop him doing something he might later regret.  So reluctantly, she hands over the keys.

This is a dynamic that plays out again and again from this point onward.  Mulder bullheadedly wanting to plough on ahead regardless of the consequences to himself (and frankly to Scully too sometimes) and she trying desperately to pull him back, only to end up being swept along for the ride in the end.

This dynamic is usually balanced out by then Scully serving some pivotal role in being there – usually saving Mulder’s life.

But oddly, not this time.

They find Max who is babbling about the alieums coming to get him, but then Mulder bizarrely sends Scully outside.

His confidence in her ability to hold off a shadowy military clean up crew is sweet, but she had no chance.  

She’s grabbed immediately and Colonel Henderson completely ignores all of her protests.  

In the end, Scully being there this time served no purpose at all.

But then again, Mulder being there served no purpose either.  He wasn’t able to stop Max being abducted and he gets flung across the warehouse by the invisible alien for his trouble.

Mulder is lucky that this alien knows he’s one of the the main characters of this show and didn’t decide to irradiate him to death like every other human being it had encountered thus far.

When Mulder gets up, Max is being abducted, and Mulder cannot do anything to stop it.

The next thing we know, Max is gone and Mulder is left with nothing but his NICAP cap.

I got abducted by alieums and all I got was this lousy cap.

The next scene is of Mulder and Scully finally at the OPR hearing.  Somehow Scully managed to get him there on time, it seems.  This scene ultimately foreshadows what occurs at the end of season 1 which is the closure of the X-Files.

By rights, it should have happened here – it’s almost like Mulder knew someone would swoop in to save his ass, because he really didn’t give two shits about getting back in time.

We see at the very end of the episode that Section Chief McGrath is on the Syndicate books, and has been working to get rid of of Mulder.  

But is saved by Deep Throat. 

However, his motives are suddenly cast in shadow.  Is Deep Throat on Mulder’s side or not?  

What it does reveal is that, without Deep Throat, Mulder and Scully were doomed before they even stepped foot in the OPR hearing.

Scully, again, being the bastion of loyalty and integrity that she is, tries to defend Mulder until the very last.  Even when she’s denied permission to make a statement on Mulder’s behalf she does it anyway.  Or at least tries to.

She really doesn’t want their work together to end.  That’s my greatest take away from this episode.  That Scully wants to be out there with Mulder - and she’s willing to fight for it.  If she didn’t, then she could have just let this play out, but she fights and fights - until someone shuts her down - to stay by Mulder’s side and continue with him on the X-Files. 

You know what I said about Mulder’s charm earlier?  He turns it on for Scully, and he’s trying to be charming here - but it’s not working.

When Scully wishes Mulder luck, he banters about how he’s surprised he lasted this long.

This is probably the most touching scene between the two of them in the whole episode, because for the first time, Mulder acknowledges Scully’s feelings when he tells her not to worry.  He can see she’s feeling defeated and is concerned for him.

What I think he fails to realise is that she’s not just worried about him for his sake.  She doesn’t want to stop working with him too.

The look of utter defeat on her face when she thinks it’s over - it’s almost like she can’t look him in the eye because she thinks she’s failed him in there.

He keeps putting on the brave face though.  Trying not to worry her.  He looks so sickeningly vulnerable hobbling away on those crutches.  And this quip..

Ugh it just hits you in the heart, doesn’t it?!

Maybe he should have been fired here, then he could have asked her on a date because they’re not partners anymore and he’s out of the FBI.  Then they might have got married and had babies and AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

No, brain.  Stop.

Being serious now... because as disarmingly charming as Mulder is being, isn’t this all a little bit too casual for a man who is about to lose everything?

It’s actually in moments like these that we see how easily Mulder becomes his most reckless and self-destructive.  He wants to believe so badly, that all else falls to the wayside when someone dangles a tantalising piece of the whole in front of him.  His singular obsessive nature is so easily turned against him in this way.

Which is why he needs Scully to look out for him.

Mulder thinks he’s grasped something huge here, but we know that it’s merely a fragment of the whole, and those greater truths he will discover in the next 9 years would have been utterly lost to him if he didn’t have Scully there to keep him on the right path - keep him grounded. 

He seems to have all but given up hope of continuing on the X-Files in this scene.  Perhaps that was the reason for his casual attitude all along - he knew they would use this to get rid of him no matter what he did.

Perhaps he’s about ready to jump full blown into Max’s lifestyle – forget procedure and the FBI – that’s all just getting in the way. 

Mulder gives an incredible speech here which seems to point to that conclusion, in a way.   That the truth will out, regardless of the machinations of the FBI, whomever they serve and whether or not they fire him.  He will keep pursuing the truth.

Man, what a mic drop moment.

But if he had been sacked here, Scully would have been reassigned and he would have gone right down the rabbit hole without her.  See season 2.

Again, it’s incredibly fortuitous for Mulder that he met Scully.  She really did save him from a life of ridicule and obscurity, a life in his season 1 youth he might have embraced in some petulant act of defiance against the world.  But that ultimately only he would have suffered from... and Scully.

Mulder was, and always has been, walking a very fine line between obscurity and legitimacy… and while Mulder is indeed a brilliant man with an incredible mind – a beautiful mind as Scully would later describe it in The Sixth Extinction – he is constantly under attack, whether that be from his traumatic past, or the forces within and without the FBI that seek to turn him on himself or on those around him. 

In short, he could have very easily fallen off the edge if he had no one to hold him back. 

Scully truly is his guardian angel.

Next up... 1x11 - Eve.

[gaysparklepires]

12. Complications

Read on AO3

Beau and I walked silently to Biology. I was trying to focus myself on the moment, on the boy beside me, on what was real and solid, on anything that would keep Alice’s deceitful, meaningless visions out of my head.

We passed Angela Weber, lingering on the sidewalk, discussing an assignment with a boy from her Trigonometry class. I scanned her thoughts perfunctorily, expecting more disappointment, only to be surprised by their wistful tenor.

Ah, so there was something Angela wanted. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something that could be easily gift-wrapped.

I felt strangely comforted for a moment, hearing Angela’s hopeless yearning. A sense of kinship that Angela would never know about passed through me, and I was, in that second, at one with the kind human girl.

It was oddly consoling to know that I wasn’t the only one living out a tragic love story. Heartbreak was everywhere.

In the next second, I was abruptly and thoroughly irritated. Because Angela’s story didn’t have to be tragic. She was human and he was human and the difference that seemed so insurmountable in her head was ridiculous, truly ridiculous compared to my own situation. There was no point in her broken heart. What a wasteful sadness, when there was no valid reason for her not to be with the one she wanted. Why shouldn’t she have what she wanted? Why shouldn’t this one story have a happy ending?

I wanted to give her a gift… Well, I could give her what she wanted. Knowing what I did of human nature, it probably wouldn’t be very difficult. I sifted through the consciousness of the boy beside her, the object of her affections, and he did not seem unwilling, he was just stymied by the same difficulty she was. Hopeless and resigned, the way she was.

All I would have to do was plant the suggestion…

The plan formed easily, the script wrote itself without effort on my part. I would need Emmett’s help—getting him to go along with this was the only real difficulty. Human nature was so much easier to manipulate than vampire nature.

I was pleased with my solution, with my gift for Angela. It was a nice diversion from my own problems. Would that mine were as easily fixed.

My mood was slightly improved as Beau and I took our seats. Maybe I should be more positive. Maybe there was some solution out there for us that was escaping me, the way Angela’s obvious solution was so invisible to her. Not likely… But why waste time with hopelessness? I didn’t have time to waste when it came to Beau. Each second mattered.

Mrs. Banner entered pulling an ancient TV and VCR. She was skipping through a section she wasn’t particularly interested in—genetic disorders—by showing a movie for the next three days. Lorenzo’s Oil was not a very cheerful piece, but that didn’t stop the excitement in the room. No notes, no test-able material. Three free days. The humans exulted.

It didn’t matter to me, either way. I hadn’t been planning on paying any attention to anything but Beau.

I did not pull my chair away from his today, to give myself space to breathe. Instead, I sat close beside him like any normal human would. Closer than we sat inside my car, close enough that the left side of my body felt submerged in the heat from his skin.

It was a strange experience, both enjoyable and nerve-racking, but I preferred this to sitting across the table from him. It was more than I was used to, and yet I quickly realized that it was not enough. I was not satisfied. Being this close to him only made me want to be closer still. The pull was stronger the closer I got.

I had accused him of being a magnet for danger. Right now, it felt like that was the literal truth. I was danger, and, with every inch I allowed myself nearer to him, his attraction grew in force.

And then Mrs. Banner turned the lights out.

It was odd how much of a difference this made, considering that the lack of light meant little to my eyes. I could still see just as perfectly as before. Every detail of the room was clear.

So why the sudden shock of electricity in the air, in this dark that was not dark to me? Was it because I knew that I was the only one who could see clearly? That both Beau and I were invisible to the others? Like we were alone, just the two of us, hidden in the dark room, sitting so close beside one another…

My hand moved toward him without my permission. Just to touch his hand, to hold it in the darkness. Would that be such a horrific mistake? If my skin bothered him, he only had to pull away…

I yanked my hand back, folded my arms tightly across my chest and clenched my hands closed. No mistakes. I’d promised myself that I would make no mistakes, no matter how minimal they seemed. If I held his hand, I would only want more—another insignificant touch, another move closer to him. I could feel that. A new kind of desire was growing in me, working to override my self-control.

No mistakes.

Beau folded his arms securely across his own chest, and his hands balled up into fists, just like mine.

What are you thinking? I was dying to whisper the words to him, but the room was too quiet to get away with even a whispered conversation.

The movie began, lightening the darkness just a bit. Beau glanced up at me. He noted the rigid way I held my body—just like his—and smiled. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes seemed full of warm invitations.

Or perhaps I was seeing what I wanted to see.

I smiled back; his breathing caught slightly and he looked quickly away.

That made it worse. I didn’t know his thoughts, but I was suddenly positive that I had been right before, and that he wanted me to touch him. He felt this dangerous desire just as I did.

Between his body and mine, the electricity hummed.

He didn’t move at all through the hour, holding his stiff, controlled pose as I held mine. Occasionally he would peek at me again, and the humming current would jolt through me with a sudden shock.

The hour passed—slowly, and yet not slowly not enough. This was so new, I could have sat like this with him for days, just to experience the feeling fully.

I had a dozen different arguments with myself while the minutes passed, rationally struggling with desire as I tried to justify touching him.

Finally, Mrs. Banner turned the lights on again.

In the bright fluorescent light, the atmosphere of the room returned to normal. Beau sighed and stretched, flexing his fingers in front of him. It must have been uncomfortable for him to hold that position for so long. It was easier for me—stillness came naturally.

I chuckled at the relieved expression on his face. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Umm, yeah,” he murmured, clearly understanding what I referred to, but making no comment. What I wouldn’t give to hear what he was thinking right now.

I sighed. No amount of wishing was going to help with that.

“Shall we?” I asked, standing.

He made a face and got unsteadily to his feet, his hands splayed out as if he were afraid he was going to fall.

I could offer him my hand. Or I could place that hand underneath his elbow—just lightly—and steady him. Surely that wouldn’t be such a horrible infraction.

No mistakes.

He was very quiet as we walked toward the gym. The crease was evident between his eyes, a sign that he was deep in thought. I, too, was thinking deeply.

One touch of his skin wouldn’t hurt him, my selfish side contended.

I could easily moderate the pressure of my hand. It wasn’t exactly difficult, as long as I was firmly in control of myself. My tactile sense was better developed than a human’s; I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking any of them; I could stroke a soap bubble without popping it. As long as I was firmly in control.

Beau was like a soap bubble—fragile and ephemeral. Temporary.

How long would I be able to justify my presence in his life? How much time did I have? Would I have another chance like this chance, like this moment, like this second? He would not always be within my arm’s reach…

Beau turned to face me at the gym’s door, and his eyes widened at the expression on my face. He didn’t speak. I looked at myself in the reflection of his eyes and saw the conflict raging in my own. I watched my face change as my better side lost the argument.

My hand lifted without a conscious command for it to do so. As gently as if he were made of the thinnest glass, as if he were as fragile as a bubble, my fingers stroked the warm skin that covered his cheekbone. It heated under my touch, and I could feel the pulse of blood speed beneath his transparent skin.

Enough, I ordered, though my hand was aching to shape itself to the side of his face. Enough.

It was difficult to pull my hand back, to stop myself from moving closer to him than I already was. A thousand different possibilities ran through my mind in an instant—a thousand different ways to touch him. The tip of my finger tracing the shape of his lips. My palms cupping under his chin. Running my hand through his thick brown hair. My arms winding around his waist, holding him against the length of my body.

Enough.

I forced myself to turn, to move away from him. My body moved stiffly—unwilling.

I let my mind linger behind to watch him as I walked swiftly away, almost running from the temptation. I caught Mike Newton’s thoughts—they were the loudest—while he watched Beau walk past him in oblivion, his eyes unfocused and his cheeks red. Mike glowered and suddenly my name was mingled with curses in his head; I couldn’t help grinning slightly in response.

My hand was tingling. I flexed it and then curled it into a fist, but it continued to sting painlessly.

No, I hadn’t hurt Beau—but touching him had still been a mistake.

It felt like fire—like the thirsting burn of my throat had spread throughout my entire body.

The next time I was close to him, would I be able to stop myself from touching him again? And if I touched him once, would I be able to stop at that?

No more mistakes. That was it. Savor the memory, Edward, I told myself grimly, and keep your hands to yourself. That, or I would have to force myself to leave… somehow. Because I wouldn’t allow myself near him if I insisted on making errors.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my thoughts.

Emmett caught up with me outside the English building.

“Hey, Edward.” He’s looking better. Weird, but better. Happy.

“Hey, Em.” Did I look happy? I supposed, despite the chaos in my head, I felt that way.

Way to keep your mouth shut, kid. Royal wants to rip your tongue out.

I sighed. “Sorry I left you to deal with that. Are you angry with me?”

“Naw. Roy’ll get over it. It was bound to happen anyway.” With what Alice sees coming…

Alice’s visions were not what I wanted to think about right now. I stared forward, my teeth locking together.

As I searched for a distraction, I caught sight of Ben Cheney entering the Spanish room ahead of us. Ah—here was my chance to give Angela Weber her gift.

I stopped walking and caught Emmett’s arm. “Hold on a second.”

What’s up?

“I know I don’t deserve it, but would you do me a favor anyway?”

“What is it?” he asked, curious.

Under my breath—and at a speed that would have made the words incomprehensible to a human no matter how loud they’d been spoken—I explained to him what I wanted.

He stared at me blankly when I was done, his thoughts as blank as his face.

“So?” I prompted. “Will you help me do it?”

It took him a minute to respond. “But, why?”

“C’mon, Emmett. Why not?”

Who are you and what have you done with my brother?

“Aren’t you the one who complains that school is always the same? This is something a little different, isn’t it? Consider it an experiment—an experiment in human nature.”

He stared at me for another moment before he caved. “Well, it is different, I’ll give you that… Okay, fine.” Emmett snorted and then shrugged. “I’ll help you.”

I grinned at him, feeling more enthusiastic about my plan now that he was on board. Royal was a pain, but I would always owe him one for choosing Emmett; no one had a better brother than mine.

Emmett didn’t need practice. I whispered his lines to him once under my breath as we walked into the classroom.

Ben was already in his seat behind mine, assembling his homework to hand in. Emmett and I both sat and did the same thing. The classroom was not quiet yet; the murmur of subdued conversation would continue until Mrs. Goff called for attention. She was in no hurry, appraising the quizzes from the last class.

“So,” Emmett said, his voice louder than necessary—if he were really speaking only to me. “Did you ask Angela Weber out yet?”

The sound of papers rustling behind me came to an abrupt stop as Ben froze, his attention suddenly riveted on our conversation.

Angela? They’re talking about Angela?

Good. I had his interest.

“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly to appear regretful.

“Why not?” Emmett improvised. “Are you chicken?”

I grimaced at him. “No. I heard that she was interested in someone else.”

Edward Cullen was going to ask Angela out? But… No. I don’t like that. I don’t want him near her. He’s… not right for her. Not… safe.

I hadn’t anticipated the chivalry, the protective instinct. I’d been working for jealousy. But whatever worked.

“You’re going to let that stop you?” Emmett asked scornfully, improvising again. “Not up for the competition?”

I glared at him, but made use of what he gave me. “Look, I guess she really likes this Ben person. I’m not going to try to convince her otherwise. There are others I could pursue.”

The reaction in the chair behind me was electric.

“Who?” Emmett asked, back to the script.

“My lab partner said it was some kid named Cheney. I’m not sure I know who he is.”

I bit back my smile. Only the haughty Cullens could get away with pretending not to know every student at this tiny school.

Ben’s head was whirling with shock. Me? Over Edward Cullen? But why would she like me?

“Edward,” Emmett muttered in a lower tone, rolling his eyes toward the boy. “He’s right behind you,” he mouthed, so obviously that the human could easily read the words.

“Oh,” I muttered back.

I turned in my seat and glanced once at the boy behind me. For a second, the black eyes behind the glasses were frightened, but then he stiffened and squared his narrow shoulders, affronted by my clearly disparaging evaluation. His chin shot out and an angry flush darkened his golden-brown skin.

“Huh,” I said arrogantly as I turned back to Emmett.

He thinks he’s better than me. But Angela doesn’t. I’ll show him…

Perfect.

“Didn’t you say she was taking some other guy to the dance, though?” Emmett asked.

“That was apparently a group decision.” I wanted to be sure that Ben was clear on this. “Angela’s shy. If B—well, if a guy doesn’t have the nerve to ask her out, she’d never ask him.”

“You like ‘em shy,” Emmett said, back to improvisation. And quiet. And boys. Boys like… hmm, I don’t know. Maybe Beau Swan?

I grinned at him. “Exactly.” Then I returned to the performance. “Maybe Angela will get tired of waiting. Maybe I’ll ask her to the prom.”

No, you won’t, Ben thought, straightening up in his chair. So what if she’s so much taller than me? If she doesn’t care, then neither do I. She’s the nicest, smartest, prettiest girl in this school… and she wants me.

I liked this Ben. He seemed bright and well-meaning. Maybe even worthy of a girl like Angela.

I gave Emmett a thumbs up under the desk as Mrs. Goff stood and greeted the class.

Okay, I’ll admit it—that was sort of fun, Emmett thought.

I smiled to myself, pleased that I’d been able to shape one love story’s happy ending. I was positive that Ben would follow through, and Angela would receive my anonymous gift. My debt was repaid.

How silly humans were, to let a six-inch height differential confound their happiness.

My success put me in a good mood. I smiled again as I settled into my chair and prepared to be entertained. Beau had mentioned that he was uncoordinated. And since he was in Gym, I decided it would be the perfect opportunity to see for myself.

Mike’s thoughts were easy to pinpoint in the babble of the voices that swarmed through the gym. His mind had gotten far too familiar over the last few weeks. With a sigh, I resigned myself to listening through him. At least I could be sure that he would be paying attention to Beau.

I was just in time to hear him offer to be Beau’s badminton partner; as he made the suggestion, other partnerings ran through his mind. My smile faded, my teeth clenched together, and I had to remind myself that murdering Mike Newton was not a permissible option.

“Thanks, Mike—you don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of your way.”

They grinned at each other, and flashes of numerous accidents—always in some way connected to Beau—flashed through Mike’s head.

Mike played alone at first, while Beau hesitated on the back half of the court, holding his racket gingerly, as if it were some kind of weapon. Then Coach Clapp amble by and ordered Mike to let Beau play.

Uh oh, Mike thought as Beau moved forward with a sigh, holding his racquet at an awkward angle.

Jennifer Ford served the birdie directly toward Beau with a smug twist to her thoughts. Mike saw Beau lurch toward it, swinging the racket yards wide of his target, and Mike rushed in to try to save the volley.

I watched the trajectory of Beau’s racquet with alarm. Sure enough, it hit the taut net and sprung back at him, clipping his forehead before it spun out to strike Mike’s shoulder with a resounding thwack.

Ow. Ow. Ungh. That’s going to leave a bruise.

Beau was kneading his forehead. It was hard to stay in my seat where I belonged, knowing he was hurt. But what could I do, if I were there? And it didn’t seem to be serious… I hesitated, watching. If he intended to continue to try to play, I was going to have to manufacture an excuse to pull him out of class.

The coach laughed. “Sorry, Newton.” That Swan boy’s the worst jinx I’ve ever seen. Shouldn’t inflict him on the others…

He turned his back deliberately and moved to watch another game so that Beau could return to his former spectator’s role.

Ow, Mike thought again, massaging his shoulder. He turned to Beau. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, are you?” he asked sheepishly, blushing.

“I think I’ll make it.” Don’t want to sound like a crybaby. But, damn, that hurts!

Mike swung his arm in a circle, wincing.

“I’ll just stay back here,” Beau said, embarrassment and chagrin on his face rather than pain. Maybe Mike had got the worst of it. I certainly hoped that was the case. At least he wasn’t playing anymore. He held his racquet so carefully behind his back, his eyes wide with remorse… I had to disguise my laugh as coughing.

What’s funny? Emmett wanted to know.

“Tell you later,” I muttered.

Beau didn’t venture into the game again. The coach ignored him and let Mike play alone.

I breezed through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mrs. Goff let me go early. I was listening intently to Mike as I walked across the campus. He’d decided to confront Beau about me.

Jessica swears they’re dating. Why? Why did Cullen have to pick Beau?

He didn’t recognize the real phenomenon—that Beau had picked me.

“So.”

“So what?” he wondered.

“You and Cullen, huh?” You and the freak. I guess, if a rich guy is that important to you…

I gritted my teeth at his degrading assumption.

“Yeah, I guess.” Beau responded shortly.

Defensive. So it’s true. Crap. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” Beau shrugged.

Why can’t he see what a circus sideshow Cullen is? Like they all are? The way he stares at Beau. It gives me chills to watch. “He looks at you like… like you’re something to eat.”

I cringed, waiting for Beau’s response.

Beau’s face turned bright red, and his lips pressed together like he was holding his breath. Then, suddenly, a giggle burst through his lips.

Now he’s laughing at me. Great.

Beau turned, suddenly, and hurried into the locker room to clean up.

I leaned against the gym wall and tried to compose myself.

How could Beau have laughed at Mike’s accusation—so entirely on target that I began to worry that Forks was becoming too aware… Why would he laugh at the suggestion that I would kill him, when he knew that it was entirely true? Where was the humor in that?

What was wrong with him?

Did he have a morbid sense of humor? That didn’t fit with my idea of his character, but how could I be sure? Or maybe my daydream of the giddy angel was true in the one respect, in that he had no sense of fear at all. Brave—that was one word for it. Others might stay stupid, but I knew how bright he was. No matter what the reason, though, this lack of fear or twisted sense of humor wasn’t good for him. Was it this strange lack that put him in danger so constantly? Maybe he would always need me here…

Just like that, my mood was soaring.

If I could just discipline myself, make myself safe, then perhaps it would be right for me to stay with him.

When he walked through the gym doors, his shoulders were stiff and his lower lip was between his teeth again—a sign of anxiety. But as soon as his eyes met mine, his rigid shoulders relaxed and a wide smile spread across his face. It was an oddly peaceful expression. He walked right to my side without hesitation, only stopping when he was so close that his body heat crashed over me like a tidal wave.

“Hi,” he whispered.

The happiness I felt in this moment was, again, without precedent.

“Hello,” I said, and then—because with my mood suddenly so light I couldn’t resist teasing him—I added, “How was gym?”

His smile wavered. “Fine.”

He was a poor liar.

“Really?” I asked, about to press the issue---I was still concerned about his head; was he in pain?—but then Mike Newton’s thoughts were so loud they broke my concentration.

I hate him. I wish he would die. I hope he drives that shiny car right off a cliff. Why couldn’t he just leave Beau alone? Stick to his own kind—to the freaks.

“What?” Beau demanded.

My eyes refocused on his face. He looked at Mike’s retreating back, and then at me again.

“Newton’s getting on my nerves.”

His mouth fell open, and his smile disappeared. He must have forgotten that I’d had the power to watch through his calamitous last hour, or hoped that I hadn’t utilized it. “Edward, were you listening again?”

“How’s your head?”

“You’re unbelievable.” He rolled his eyes, and then he turned away from me and walked in the direction of the parking lot. His skin flushed dark red—he was embarrassed.

I kept pace with him, hoping that his anger would pass soon. He was usually quick to forgive me.

“You were the one who mentioned how uncoordinated you were,” I explained. “It made me curious.”

He didn’t answer; his eyebrows pulled together.

He came to a sudden halt in the parking lot when he realized that the way to my car was blocked by a crowd of students.

I wonder how fast they’ve got this thing…

Look at the SMG shift paddles. I’ve never seen those outside of a magazine…

Nice side grills…

Sure wish I had sixty thousand dollars laying around…

This was exactly why it was better for Royal to only use his car out of town.

I wound through the throng of lustful students to my car; after a second hesitation, Beau followed suit.

“Ostentatious,” I muttered as he climbed in.

“What kind of car is that?” he wondered.

“An M3.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, that doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“It’s a BMW.” I rolled my eyes and then focused on backing out without running anyone down. I had to lock eyes with a few idiots that didn’t seem willing to move out of my way. A half-second meeting my gaze seemed to be enough to convince them.

He nodded, understanding lighting his face.

“Are you still angry?” I asked him. His frown had relaxed.

“I’m not happy,” He said shortly.

I sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Oh well. I could try to make amends, I supposed. “Will you forgive me if I apologize?”

He thought about that for a moment. “Maybe… if you mean it,” he decided. “And if you promise not to do it again.”

I wasn’t going to lie to him, and there was no way I was agreeing to that. Perhaps if I offered him a different exchange.

“How about if I mean it, and I agree to let you drive Saturday?”

The furrow popped into existence between his eyes and he considered the new bargain. “Deal,” he said after a moment of thought.

Now for my apology… I’d never tried to dazzle Beau on purpose before, but now seemed like a good time. I stared deep into his eyes as I drove away from the school, wondering if I was doing it right.

“Then I’m very sorry I upset you.”

I did mean it, sincerely. His heartbeat thudded louder than before, and the rhythm was abruptly staccato. His eyes widened, and he smiled a little.

I half-smiled. It seemed like I’d gotten it right. Of course, I was having a bit of difficultly looking away from his eyes, too. Equally dazzled. It was a good thing I had this road memorized.

“I’ll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning,” I added, finishing the agreement.

He blinked swiftly, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Um,” he said. “it doesn’t help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway.”

Ah, how little he still knew me. “I wasn’t intending to bring the car.”

“How—“ he started to ask.

I interrupted him. The answer would be hard to explain without a demonstration, and now was hardly the time. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there, no car.”

He put his head on one side, and looked for a second like he was going to press for more, but then he seemed to change his mind.

“Is it later yet?” he asked, reminding me of our unfinished conversation in the cafeteria today; he’d let go of one difficult question just to return to another that was more unappealing.

“I suppose it is later,” I agreed unwillingly.

I parked in front of his house, tensing as I tried to think of how to explain… without making my monstrous nature too evident, without frightening him again. Or was that wrong? To minimize my darkness?

He waited with the same politely interested mask he’d worn at lunch. If I’d been less anxious, his preposterous calm would have made me laugh.

“And you still want to know why you can’t see me hunt?” I asked.

“Well, mostly I was wondering about your reaction,” he said.

“Did I frighten you?” I asked, positive that he would deny it.

“A bit.”

I hadn’t expected that. Once again, he surprised me. “I apologize for scaring you.” I said solemnly. “It was just the very thought of you being there… while we hunted.”

“That would be bad?”

The mental picture was too much—Beau, so vulnerable in the empty darkness; myself, out of control… I tried to banish it from my head. “Extremely.”

“Because…?”

I took a deep breath, concentrating for one moment on the burning thirst. Feeling it, managing it, proving my dominion over it. It would never control me again—I willed that to be true. I would be safe for Beau. I stared at the welcome clouds without seeing them, wishing I could believe that my determination would make any difference if I were hunting when I crossed his scent.

“When we hunt… we give ourselves over to our senses,” I told him, thinking through each word before I spoke it. “Govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…”

I shook my head in agony at the thought of what would—not what could, but what would—surely happen then.

I listened to the spike in his heartbeat, and then turned, restless, to read his eyes.

Beau’s face was composed, his eyes grave. His mouth was pursed just slightly in what I guessed was concern. But concern for what? His own safety? Or my anguish? I continued to stare at him, trying to translate his ambiguous expression into sure fact.

He gazed back. His eyes grew wider after a moment, and his pupils dilated, though the light had not changed.

My breathing accelerated, and suddenly the quiet in the car seemed to be humming just like in the darkened biology room this afternoon. The pulsing current raced between us again, and my desire to touch him was, briefly, stronger even than the demands of my thirst.

The throbbing electricity made it feel like I had a pulse again. My body sang with it. Like I was human. More than anything in the world, I wanted to feel the heat of his lips against mine. For one second, I struggled desperately to find the strength, the control, to be able to put my mouth so close to his skin…

He sucked in a ragged breath, and only then did I realize that when I had started breathing faster, he had stopped breathing altogether.

I closed my eyes, trying to break the connection between us.

No more mistakes.

Beau’s existence was tied to a thousand delicately balanced chemical processes, all so easily disrupted. The rhythmic expansion of his lungs, the flow of oxygen, was life or death to him. The fluttering cadence of his fragile heart could be stopped by so many stupid accidents or illnesses or… by me.

I did not believe that any member of my family would hesitate if he or she were offered a chance back—if he or she could trade immortality for mortality again. Any one of us would stand in fire for it. Burn for as many days or centuries as were necessary.

Most of our kind prized immortality above anything else. There were even humans who craved this, who searched in dark places for those who could give them the blackest of gifts.

Not us. Not my family. We would trade anything to be human.

But none of us had ever been as desperate for a way back as I was now.

I stared at the microscopic pits and flaws in the windshield, and I had to concentrate to keep my hands on the wheel.

My right hand began to sting without pain again, from when I’d touched him before. I closed my eyes, trying to keep control.

“Beau, I think you should go inside now.”

“Yeah, me too.” He breathed.

Without another comment, he got out of the car and shut the door behind himself. Did he feel the potential for disaster as clearly as I did?

Did it hurt him to leave, as it hurt me to let him go? The only solace was that I would see him soon. Sooner than he would see me. I smiled at that, then rolled the window down and leaned across to speak to him one more time—it was safer now, with the heat of his body outside the car.

He turned to see what I wanted, curious.

Still curious, though he’d asked me so many questions today. My own curiosity was entirely unsatisfied; answering his questions today had only revealed my secrets—I’d gotten little from him but my own conjectures. That wasn’t fair.

“Oh, Beau?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow it’s my turn.”

His forehead puckered. “Your turn to what?”

“Ask the questions.” Tomorrow, when we were in a safer place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my own answers. I grinned at the thought, and then I turned away because he made no move to leave. Even with him outside of the car, the echo of the electricity zinged in the air. I wanted to get out, too, to walk him to his door as an excuse to stay beside him…

No more mistakes. I hit the gas, and then sighed as he disappeared behind me. It seemed like I was always running toward Beau or running away from him, never staying in place. I would have to find some way to hold my ground if we were ever going to have peace.

Of course, if I had any hope for peace I would need to face my family first. When I arrived home, I braced myself for the confrontation. I knew Alice and Emmett wouldn’t give me much trouble. Emmett seemed almost amused by it all, and Alice had made her feelings abundantly clear. Jasper was unhappy, that much was obvious, but his feelings paled in comparison to Royal’s absolute fury.

I was relieved—if not surprised—to see that my Aston Martin sat unscathed in the garage. Royal may have been angry, but at least he wasn’t that angry.

When I stepped into the house, it was Carlisle’s voice that greeted me first.

“Edward, we’re in the dining room.”

I took a calming breath, and headed to where my family waited for me.

Idiot! Selfish! Jackass! Royal’s stream of mental insults continued, seemingly unbroken, from the cafeteria.

When I reached the dining room, everyone was already sitting at the table. Carlisle at the head, Esme at his side. Alice sat next to her and I was somewhat pleased to see Jasper sitting next to her instead of standing like the last time. Emmett sat next to Royal opposite of Carlisle. Royal tapped his fingers impatiently against the wood of the table. If he wasn’t careful he’d leave a dent.

Honesty is the best policy! Alice thought. It should be fine… probably.

I took another deep breath, I tried to get a read on everyone’s mental state but it was hard to hear anyone else over Royal. I’d just have to jump in.

“First of all,” I began, “I want to apologize. I’ve been acting very erratic lately. There’s no excuse for that. I should also apologize for not talking to everyone about Beau—“

“Yes, you should!” Royal interrupted me. “You should apologizing for being completely irresponsible.”

“C’mon, babe,” Emmett put his hand on Royal’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Emmett.” Royal snapped.

“I am sorry, Royal,” I sighed. “Please believe me, I didn’t mean to—“

“Do you have any idea what sort of a situation you’ve put us in, Edward?” Royal snarled. “Do you even comprehend how your selfishness has affected this entire family?”

“Royal, please,” Carlisle’s voice was soothing. “Let’s not overreact.”

“I’m not overreacting, Carlisle,” Royal retorted. “If anything happens there’s no quietly moving away. There’s no way to sweep this under the rug. He’s already been seen publicly with the boy. The entire school is talking about it.”

“Is that true, Edward? Are you two…?” Esme asked, I could hear the hopefulness in her voice. The happiness. I felt guilty that it pleased me so much.

“Yes, we’re…” I couldn’t find the right words. ‘Dating’ didn’t seem like enough, it didn’t hold the weight of my feelings for Beau. “Yes, we are.”

Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! Esme’s joy radiated from her thoughts and her smile.

Carlisle smiled as well, thought he didn’t speak. I’m happy for you, Edward. You deserve to be happy.

Alice was practically vibrating with excitement.

“We’re pleased that Edward has taken up with some human?” Royal rolled his eyes at the various reactions around the table. “That’s he’s gone public with it all?”

“He seems like a fine enough kid,” Emmett said, surprising me by jumping to my defense against Royal.

“I couldn’t care less what kind of a person he is, Emmett.” Royal glowered. “I care that he’s human and he knows everything.”

“But he’s not going to tell anyone, Roy,” Emmett replied. “He saw Edward hold up a van and he didn’t say anything. Edward spilled everything to him and he didn’t say anything. I’m pretty sure the kid is going to keep our secret.”

Like this afternoon, I was grateful to Emmett for always being the best I could ask for in a brother. Even in the face of Royal’s fury he was willing to help me.

“And what happens if Edward kills him? What happens if Edward changes him?” Royal snarled.

The growls erupted from my throat before I could stop them.

“I won’t. I will keep him alive no matter what.” I hissed. “I’d sooner die than harm him.”

“Alice has already seen it, Edward.” Royal countered. “You’re fighting a losing battle.”

“I’ve seen a lot of things,” Alice chimed in. “Beau’s future is always changing, but dying isn’t his only future.”

And it was true. I could see the visions as they danced through her mind. The ones I hated, and new, unclear, shimmering futures that weren’t quite formed—still undecided. Beau had many futures and I would make sure he stayed happy and alive to see them.

“Royal, I think we can all agree that Edward is entitled to some happiness.” Carlisle said, his voice calm. “Would you deny him that?”

Royal fumed, his thoughts a cacophony of anger.

“Babe,” Emmett sighed. “If it were the other way around, would you want Edward doing this to you? If you found me alive and not dying in the mountains?”

“I’d have had the common sense to stay away.” Royal snapped, before pushing himself away from the table and stalking out of the room.

Emmett sighed, looked at me and shrugged. “I tried, kid.”

“He didn’t mean that.” I said in a low voice. I felt wretched that Emmett should take the brunt of any of Royal’s anger, given that he was only trying to help me. “He wouldn’t have stayed away.”

“I know,” Emmett grinned. “and I don’t need to read his mind to know it.”

“I’m sorry, Em.”

He stood and crossed the room to me and put his arm around my shoulder, clapping me on the chest. “I got your back, Edward. If this Swan kid makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Emmett.”

I know how hard this is for you, to be around him. Trust me. If you haven’t killed him yet—if you’re trying this hard… You’ve got to be crazy about him. I don’t get it, but it’s your life, I guess.

He grinned, and followed after Royal to try and calm him down.

I looked back to Carlisle. “I am sorry I put us at risk, and I’m sorry I told Beau everything without talking to any of you.”

Carlisle shook his head, smiling. “You know how I feel, Edward. I’m pleased that you’ve found happiness.” He rose from his chair, taking Esme’s hand as she rose from hers.

As they walked past, Carlisle squeezed my shoulder and Esme gave me a tight hug.

“It will all work out, Edward.” Esme smiled. “It just has to.”

Alice stood and crossed the room, she stopped at the doorway and looked back at me. “Esme’s right,” she said with confidence. “It’ll be fine. Let me know when I can talk to him!” And she was gone.

Jasper didn’t move. He seemed pensive, uncertain.

“You haven’t said much.” I broke the silence. “You haven’t been thinking of much, either.”

Jasper pursed his lips for a moment, then he sighed. “I’m just worried, Edward.”

“I know you are.”

“Royal has a point, that’s all I’m going to say.”

“I’m not ignorant of that,” I sighed. “Thank you, by the way, for helping with the mood of the room there.” I said dryly.

The corners of Jaspers mouth twitched as he fought a smile.

It’s better to let Royal get all that anger out, unimpeded. It’s worse if I temper it—just makes it fester and last longer.

“A fair point.”

“Are you really serious about this human?” He asked, his eyes serious.

Was I serious? Could I have done everything I had up to this point if I wasn’t serious? If I didn’t love Beau so much, if he didn’t mean so much to me, would I even be standing here having this conversation?

“Jasper,” I met his gaze. “He means everything to me. I can’t imagine my world without him in it. I’ll never deserve him but… I love him.”

Jasper finally smiled. Then good luck. I can’t even begin to understand your obsession with the boy, but I’ll do what I can to keep the peace. He stood and crossed the room, pausing at the door. But I’m also keeping my distance.

I could appreciate that. It saved me the trouble of asking him to. I knew Jasper wouldn’t willingly hurt Beau, but being the magnet for trouble he was, I imagined Beau might be the one human to finally break Jasper’s tenuous self-control. I shuddered at the thought and banished it from my mind.

“Jasper?”

“Hm?” He paused again, turning slightly to look back at me.

“Have you ever… Has there every been anyone who smelled better to you? Than any of the others?”

He thought about this for a moment, considering it. “Honestly, they all smell about the same to me.” He shrugged. Every one of them is a challenge for me, you know that maybe better than anyone.

He was right, I knew what a challenge being around humans was for Jasper. But I didn’t want to think about that now. I pushed everything out, I only wanted to think of Beau. I still had some time before he would be asleep. I sat down at the piano and played, waiting for the moment I could see him again.

Beau was restless that night as he slept. I had thought that some distance would help to calm the electric feeling between us, but the moment I crept in through the window the echo intensified into a full spark. Tonight, more than any other, I ached to be near him. But I had to be careful—I had to keep control. I said I would make no more mistakes.

Beau tossed about his bed frequently. Fitful and unable to relax. His brow would furrow and unfurrow. I longed to comfort him, but I didn’t even know what was wrong.

He murmured my name several times. Nothing else, simply my name. Eventually he kicked off all his blankets. A few times, his breathing would speed up and his mumbling would turn into wordless groans. I was sure he woke up more than once, but he wouldn’t be able to see me from my place on the rocking chair in the corner. The shadows hid me well enough.

As I watched him, so fragile, so beautiful, and so full of secrets, I felt that new hunger ache inside of me. I needed to know every facet of him, Not simply because he was a walking mystery, but because I loved him. Because he meant everything to me. I could not ask for his love if I didn’t know him better than anyone else… and I would. Today, I would find out everything I so desperately wanted to know.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that he finally seemed to fall into a true sleep. He didn’t speak anymore, most likely too exhausted. I reluctantly crept out of his window and hurried home to change for school.

As I drove to Beau’s house, I was forming a comprehensive list of all the questions I had for him. No detail was too small or insignificant. I was slightly surprised when I passed Chief Swan’s cruiser on my way. He had left later than usual today, and I wondered why. Charlie Swan was usually a very timely man. As we passed on the road, I could hear the muffled thoughts radiating from his mind—joy and pride, mixed with a deep love and a fierce protectiveness. All centered around his son. I wondered what had inspired these thoughts, or rather, what made them so loud today; louder than usual.

I parked my car in the driveway, listening for sounds of Beau inside the house. After a moment, I saw his face peek out of his window, a smile spreading across his face.

Would I ever not feel that swell of utter elation that filled me whenever he seemed excited to see me? I hoped I would not. It was bliss.

He bounded out the door, and I formulated my first question while simultaneously trying to calm myself down and appear relaxed.

“Good morning,” I smiled at him as he climbed into the car. “How are you today?” I searched his face, trying to see if I could deduce the answer from his expression. His expression was especially radiant this morning. “You seem to be very happy?” I wondered if it had anything to do with Charlie’s thoughts.

“I am.” His smile was wide, effortless. “It was a good morning.”

Perhaps it was, but the signs of his restless night were evident on his face. “But not a good night.” It wasn’t a question, I knew it hadn’t been.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, like it didn’t matter in the slightest.

I smiled, feeling slightly mischievous. “Neither could I,” I said as I started the engine.

He laughed at my joke, “I guess that’s right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.”

“I’d wager you did.”

“So what did you do last night?” He smiled at me.

I watched you sleep and wished I could hold you in my arms and kiss you. Yes, that was a good, light topic of conversation. Best to avoid that. “Not a chance. It’s my day to ask questions.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He smiled, seeming unbothered by my deflection. Usually he didn’t like it when I avoided his questions. “You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood. Ask away.”

He was in a very good mood. I knew he didn’t like answering questions all about him—he didn’t like being the center of conversation. I would have to be sure I took advantage of this situation and ask as many questions as I could.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked. I was eager to hear all his answers and my face betrayed my desperate need to know every answer in his private mind.

Beau simply stared at me for a moment, before laughing. “I don’t know,” he said, sounding amused, “it changes from day to day.”

“What’s your favorite color today?”

“Uh, probably brown.” He said thoughtfully.

I snorted, caught off guard by his response. What an odd answer. Of course, he was dressed in mostly brown tones today, perhaps that had something to do with his answer?

“Brown?” I pushed.

“Sure. Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that’s supposed to be brown—the trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up in green stuff here.”

I stared into his eyes, engrossed in his answer. It wasn’t the answer I would have expected from anyone and yet, it made perfect sense the way he explained it. In Arizona, brown would be the color most prevalent in his day to day life and he missed living in Arizona, the heat, the sun…

It also told me something new about him. He found the beauty in the unconventional. He looked beyond superficial ideas of beauty.

“You’re right,” I agreed, my voice serious. “Brown is warm.” I could see the beauty in brown as well, like the beautiful deep brown of his hair. I noticed his hair was slightly disheveled this morning, like he hadn’t paid much attention to it this morning. I could reach over and smooth his hair back. That was a normal, human gesture, right? An acceptable thing to do? I concentrated on being as gentle as I could, even then, I was hesitant to touch him. I could so easily hurt him. I smoothed out his hair, feeling proud of myself for doing it so gently.

He smiled in response, like he was amused. Had I done it wrong? Surely I had done it correctly. Why did he look so amused by it?

As I pulled into a parking space at the school, I turned to him, ready to ask my next question.

“What music is in your CD player right now?” It was a question that had been gnawing away at me the past several nights I had spent watching him sleep. I wanted to go look in his CD player myself, but that seemed like an invasion—well, more of an invasion than climbing into his room at night.

He thought about it for a moment, trying to remember. “Linkin Park.” He said after a moment.

I hadn’t expected that answer, but I knew the band well. My only frame of reference for his music taste was some classical music. I flipped open the compartment under my car’s CD player, and pulled out the one I was looking for, handing it to him.

“Debussy to this?” I asked, amused by the stark difference.

He examined the cover art of the CD for a moment, his eyes bright with a sense of familiarity.

Always a surprise.

The rest of the day progressed much the same. I had my list of questions for him and asked them one after the other. Every detail was important to me. By the end of lunch I knew his favorite and least favorite films, where he had traveled—not very many places, I asked for a list of places he wanted to travel to and made a mental note of them for future reference—and an exhaustive list of every book he read and what he thought of each of them.

He seemed to feel self-conscious most of the time. I was sure he wasn’t used to talking about himself so much, but I was absolutely fascinated by each of his answers. I would scrutinize his physical response to each question just as thoroughly as his answer. Each little blush or change in posture only compelled me to ask more questions to ascertain what had caused the response in the first place.

Like when I asked him his favorite gemstone, something I thought to be a simple enough question; mostly inconsequential, but still utterly fascinating to me.

“Topaz,” he said immediately, and then his faced turned scarlet and his breathing caught for a moment. His eyes widened as they looked into mine, like he had said something he hadn’t meant to.

“Why Topaz?” I asked, curious.

He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter… just because.”

That wasn’t an acceptable answer; too vague. I focused my eyes on his, and used my most persuasive tone.

“You have to have a reason why it’s your favorite.”

He blushed deeper, and bit his lips.

How infuriating! Why wouldn’t he tell me? It only made the truth more interesting.

“Tell me,” I begged.

He reached his hand up and started twisting a curl around his finger. “It’s the color of your eyes today,” he sighed, staring at the ground. “I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I’d say onyx.” He blushed even deeper, embarrassed for some strange reason.

I was thrilled. Something about me had inspired one of his favorite things. My joy was marred slightly by the fact that, again, the fact that my eyes changed their hue depending on how long it had been since I last fed didn’t seemed to phase him in the slightest.

But I didn’t want to waste time thinking about that. I had more questions.

“What kinds of flowers do you prefer?”

He sighed, with relief. “I think ruffled tulips are pretty.”

And we continued with my questions as we walked to Biology, as we sat in our usual chairs, and even right up until Mrs. Banner wheeled in the audiovisual frame.

Ah, I had been so absorbed in my questions and his answers that I hadn’t thought about this. We still had some of the film to finish. I braced myself for the oncoming hour, easing my chair as far away as I could from him. He leaned forward on the table, resting his chin on his folded arms. His hands hidden from my view.

The electric charge between us was not the same as the day before; it was even more intense. He didn’t look at me today, his eyes stayed focused on the screen. I, despite feeling that it would only make the hour more difficult, was free to watch him. I wanted to test my own resolve—my own self-control—today.

How badly I wished I could touch him. It was more than a wish, it was a need. A need to stroke his cheek, to feel the warmth of his hands in my own… but I could not make mistakes. I could not give in to those desires. Beau needed me to be stronger than that for him.

When the hour was finally up, he looked up at me with wide eyes, I managed to keep my own expression even despite the strong desire to touch him still burning deep within me. It took every ounce of my effort and self-control to not reach out.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask any questions as I walked him to the gym building. I was fiercely debating with myself. Why shouldn’t I reach out and touch him? If I was careful, if I was as gentle as I could be, why shouldn’t I permit myself a few, gentle touches?

When we reached the doors of the gym, he turned to face me. I finally permitted myself that touch, almost eager for that electric burning sensation I was sure it would cause. This time, though, I foolishly pushed myself. Instead of a finger, I ran the back of my hand along the side of his face, from his temple to his jaw. Sure enough, the touch burned. The heat of his skin burned into my own stony flesh, but there was no pain. Even as I pulled my hand away, like yesterday, it continued to burn.

His face was flushed as he watched me, his heartbeat irregular. His lips were slightly parted, and my resolve wavered. I wanted to touch his lips, I wanted to feel the velvety softness of them…

No mistakes.

I turned and hurried away to my own class, struggling to keep my pace human.

Emmett met me outside the building, whatever his thoughts were, he did his best to keep them to himself today, I was too preoccupied to truly pay attention anyway. I was cataloguing all the answers I had gotten today, filing them away for future reference, analyzing the unexpected ones, and deciding what to ask next. I had kept the topics fairly light so far. After school, I would push for the more complicated questions.

I occasionally would let myself check in with Mike Newton’s thoughts to check on Beau. Mike’s thoughts were unpleasant today; he was mad at Beau about their previous argument, and Beau’s unfocused expression only enforced Mike’s resolve to not speak to him. I tried not to watch for too long, after all, Beau would be upset if he knew I was watching him in Gym again and I wouldn’t lie if he asked me if I had.

How’s it going today? Emmett’s thoughts finally reached out to me, as we walked out of class. He still okay with everything?

I nodded slightly.

Alice was telling me how great he is, he mused. Is he as great as she says?

I rolled my eyes. Alice hadn’t even properly met Beau yet, and still she was talking about him like they were already great friends.

Emmett chuckled. It’s how she is, Edward, don’t get too mad.

Emmett hurried off to meet up with Royal, and I glared after him for a moment before crossing the campus to the gym building.

I was surprised that Alice met me there.

“Hello, Alice.” I greeted her warily.

“Hello,” she said, seeming distracted. “Don’t be out too late today dropping off Beau. Best be home before it gets dark.”

Cryptic, as usual. I scanned her thoughts for what she was seeing. Flashes of visitors to the Swan residence. It wasn’t decided yet, but someone was thinking of visiting Beau today, vacillating between decisions.

I don’t know who it is, I’m only looking at Beau’s future, and he’s probably going to have an unexpected visitor, but I don’t know whose decisions to watch to tell you who it is. Another complication. So, be careful.

“Thanks, Alice.” I nodded and she hurried off to meet the rest of my family.

Just a visitor, nothing overly complicated. Yet, it had been enough to make Alice warn me that I didn’t want to be around for it. The tone of her vision, uncertain as it was, imparted a sense that I should not be there.

Beau walked out of the gym at that moment, his eyes searching for me. A wide smile spread across his face when he found me, and I couldn’t help but smile in response. I wanted to ask how his hour was, but now I only had a few short hours with him so I needed to ask my questions while I could.

He still seemed game to answer me as we walked to the car and headed back to his house. We reached his home, but I was in no hurry to leave him. His answers had become more detailed, perhaps in response to the complexity of my questions. I was enthralled with every response. We sat in my car outside his house for hours, even as the sky darkened and the rain poured down.

He described to me, in stunning and descriptive detail—gesticulating widely—his memories of Phoenix. The smell of creosote, the sound of the cicadas, the delicately barren trees, and the sky. He spent most of his time describing the skies of Phoenix. I could hear his fascination with the beauty of it all.

Forks was beautiful; the tall green trees, the mossy ground, the gray watercolor skies, but as he described the vast expanse of Phoenix to me, the openness, the freedom of it all, the bright, sunlit iridescence, I almost felt like I was there myself… But it was a sight I would probably never see with my own eyes.

He was describing his mother’s home, and his old room. I listened to every detail, but even then my mind still seemed preoccupied with his descriptions of sunny Phoenix. That was his world; warm, bright, and sunny. It was not my world, could not be my world. I lived in the shadows, the darkness, and the cold. Further reminders of the difference between us. I was so engrossed in my thoughts, that I failed to respond when he finished talking.

“Are you finished?” he asked, sounding relieved.

“Not even close,” I replied, glancing at the time, “but your father will be home soon.” And I had stayed later than I should have, given Alice’s warning.

“Charlie!” He gasped, like he had forgotten where we were or what time it was. He sighed as he looked out at the dark skies. “How late is it?” He wondered aloud, glancing at the clock.

“It’s twilight,” I murmured, glancing to the west. It was a further reminder. This was where I belonged. Here in this place between day and night, living and dead. I turned to face him, and he was staring at me, his eyes full of curiosity.

“It’s the safest time of day for us, the easiest time.” My voice was somber. “But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don’t you think?”

So cold, so unwelcoming. The darkness was where monsters like myself belonged. We didn’t deserve to walk in the light where creatures like him flourished. My world and his, in direct opposition with one another.

Yes, he belonged to the light and I belonged to the dark, and yet, there was the twilight. The place where those two worlds met, where it was light enough for him and dark enough for me. Where we could meet in the middle…

“I like the night.” He said suddenly. “Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.” Then he frowned. “Not that you see them here much.”

A laugh broke through my lips. Of course this strange, beautiful boy would enjoy the night. He was some strange, divine being that dared to dance upon the cruel earth. Why should it surprise me that this creature of the light would find beauty in the dark? After all, he was here, with me.

But my time with him was up, for now.

“Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you’ll be with me Saturday…” I trailed off, hopeful.

“I don’t think he’s ready for that.” He said, gathering his books and stretching. “So, is it my turn tomorrow, then?”

“Certainly not!” I said, teasing him with an outraged expression. “I told you I wasn’t done, didn’t I?”

“What more is there?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow.” I promised, reaching across him to open his door for him. It was a foolish, impulsive thing to do. I heard his heartbeat spasm, the heat radiating off of him. I froze, anxious. I was so close to him. I wanted to close the small distance between us. I stared into his wide eyes, my emotions and desires in chaos.

Beau already has a visitor… Damn, that’s a nice car… A thought intruded into the moment, I tried to pay it no mind.

It can’t be!

The second mind I could not ignore. I hadn’t heard it before, but I recognized something in it. The ancient authority of it and the thoughts that raced through it.

I stiffened and my jaw clenched. My eyes were wild with sudden panic.

“Not good,” I mumbled.

“What is it?” Beau breathed, examining my expression.

I glanced him up and down, desperate to stay with him, but, of course, I needed to be anywhere but here with him right now. “Another complication,” I replied. Just as Alice had said.

The flash of the headlights reflected off of the rain as the dark car carrying Beau’s unexpected visitors pulled up to the curb just a few feet from us.

As if to add to my troubles, I then caught the muffled thoughts of Chief Swan around the corner as well. “Charlie’s around the corner,” I told Beau, my eyes locked on the dark car.

Beau immediately jumped out of the car, the rain glancing off his jacket. He tried to make out the occupants of the car, but his eyes couldn’t see through the rain. But mine could.

I paid no attention to the boy in the driver’s seat, but the older man sitting in the passenger seat of the car, with his russet skin, long hair, and his deep black eyes, was unknown to me and yet perfectly familiar. I could see his resemblance to Ephraim Black.

All these years later, the memory of Ephraim Black’s face was still perfectly preserved in my mind. The Quileutes had made quite the impression on us, after all. I recalled the name of the man now; Billy Black, grandson of Ephraim. His eyes were locked on my face, illuminated by the glow of the headlights. Worry and a sense of anger pulsing through his mind.

It was unfair that I should have to leave now. I had done nothing wrong. We had been meticulous about honoring the treaty. It had not been broken. A part of me wanted to stay, an act of defiance against this man. But that would be foolish of me.

It would be best if I made my exit. I revved the engine of the Volvo and pealed out of the driveway. Hurrying away. Retreating like the monster I was.

The Quileutes had a long memory, and now the grandson of Ephraim Black knew that I, a Cullen, was involved in some way with Beau Swan.

Another complication.

[lilacsolanum]

For your headcanons meme: Darwin and/or Madra (Sorry if this is a repeat)

THIS MADE ME SCREAM WITH DELIGHT even though I didn’t really have headcanons about Darwin and Madra so I had to THINK OF THEM, sorry this took me so long, also sorry this is kind of more of a fic(?) about Eva but Darwin and Madra are there, it’s just what happened when I started brainstorming. And also sorry to everyone who is particularly sensitive to horror of getting infested because CONTENT WARNING: THIS IS A LOT OF THAT!!!

Send me a character and I’ll write 10 headcanons!

As soon as Eva heard Marco’s voice, both she and Edriss went quiet. There was a certain calmness shared between the two of them, a revelation and a premonition. They both knew how resilient the “Andalite” bandits were, and they both knew how carefully Marco had played Eva’s rescue. Her son never played impulsively unless the odds were somewhat in his favor. They knew that Edriss would die, and Eva would be saved.

Edriss did something in that moment, something she had never really done before. She opened up the connection between them, and let Eva see through Edriss’s brain in the way Edriss always could Eva.

In the height of her starvation induced insanity, Edriss’s memories were scratched and imperfect. Human faces had crooked Gedd teeth or blood red Taxxon eyes or had no faces at all. Sound was distorted, mixing with memories of Eva’s own Edriss induced screams. Languages were were a harsh, unnatural, jumbled mess, but because Edriss understood them, Eva understood.

Eva saw Edriss seeing a blue sky and feeling sand whip across her face. She felt the unspeakable pleasure of writhing beneath Hildy Gervais and knowing he was Essam. She felt the hardly suppressed joy of those increasingly rare moments when ten-year-old Marco would put his head in his almost-mother’s lap. Through it all, she saw two ever shifting images, two faces that Edriss was desperately trying to build with her tortured, fragmented mind.

She saw Darwin, and she saw another young girl, and it did not take someone of Eva’s abilities and wit to figure out that she was Madra.

Edriss couldn’t quite give her exact addresses, but Eva managed to pick out street names through the flickering images. She picked out street numbers, and she saw the city maps Edriss showed her, and she figured it out.

Edriss managed.

Eva replied.

–

Edriss had send her twins to two separate places, both far from Santa Barbara, but not too far. She still liked to visit them. Through Edriss’s jagged memories, Eva learned she would take temporary hosts, then pose as some sort of teacher or doctor or friend and talk to Darwin or Madra. This explained away Edriss’s odd day trips. At least once a year, Edriss would tell Peter and Marco that Eva was going to some kind of retreat with her friends. Then, she would find some guileless junkie in the seedier areas of the city, and convince them to get in Eva’s car. She would then go to a Yeerk controlled gas station, drug the addict, and blindfold herself. One of Edriss’s trusted lackeys would drive them to some cabin. There, Edriss would set up a television with a feed to the outside of Eva’s house. She would explain that the house was set up with explosives, and if Eva tried to run and attempt to find her way back to Santa Barbara, her lackey would wait until both Peter and Marco were home and hit a button. Eva would always, always promise to behave. Edriss would wash her new host’s body, make it presentable with make-up and expensive outfits, and leave.

This would continue even after Eva’s “death,” though the temporary host was often presented to Edriss by the lackey rather than Edriss risking getting caught out in the city herself. Eva watched what happened to her bright, beautiful boys in the aftermath of her false death. Edriss found joy in her pain, and once bugged the inside of Peter and Marco’s apartment, just to torture Eva more. They ended up moving, and Edriss never found the time to bug the new place. Then, Peter got his shit together, and Eva started delighting in Marco and Peter’s progress. Eva never bugged their new places. If she had, the Animorphs would have been found out within weeks. To this day, Eva freezes with the nearness of it all.

When Edriss returned to the cabin and reinfested Eva, she would kill the temporary host. Eva knew the blood on her hands didn’t really belong to Eva, but her nightmares didn’t.

—

Edriss was obviously going to infest Darwin and Madra one day, that much was clear. But Edriss wanted to control the infestation, make sure that her children were given to high ranking Yeerks that Edriss trusted. That was why she found parents that lived so far away. When Eva thought back to it, she had a feeling Edriss was priming two of her subordinates to take Darwin and Madra, a Sub-Visser Forty-Nine and a Umlash 979. Edriss had always a strange and sickening parental attachment to those two. She forced both of them into human hosts, even if Umlash had a strong attachment to Hork-Bajir. Edriss would occasionally call one of them into her quarters simply to talk, or to give them a gift, or to offer them sweets. Once, she forced Sub-Visser Forty-Nine to lay xir head in Edriss’s lap, and Edriss stroked xir hair while singing in Korean. 

Gom semariga hanjibe isseo. Appa-gom, eomma-gom, aegi-gom. 

Eva could still hear her voice singing tunelessly, her tongue perfectly enunciating words in a language Eva did not recognize.

Eva had never understood it, but neither had her chosen surrogate children. Eva could feel their hesitance, sense their bafflement, but somehow Edriss could not. Eva suspected Edriss turned off the connection she had to Eva in those moments. She was living out some fantasy, and Eva did not belong in it.The first and only time Eva had mocked Edriss for these meetings, Edriss silenced Eva with drugs, pumping their body full of hallucinogens and then disconnecting herself from the effects. Eva never said anything about it again.

–

At first, Eva did not want to find Darwin and Madra. They were not her responsibility, because she was not Edriss. Edriss was her captor, her slaver, and she had said goodbye to her when she crushed Edriss in her hand. However, after a few months of perfect strangers seeing her and breaking down in grocery stores, Eva accepted that Edriss was part of her. It was not a happy acceptance, but it was an acceptance that would allow Eva to move forward with her life.

Eva couldn’t shake the idea that if Edriss was part of her, then so was Alison Kim, and so were her children. While Eva doubted her ability to help Darwin or Madra in any meaningful way, she knew Eva herself would never feel truly at peace until she tied that loose end. They were not her responsibility, but without Alison or Edriss, no one would ever take responsibility for them. They were not her children, but they would grow and they might wonder about their birth mother, and Eva was the closest thing they would ever have.

She wouldn’t speak to the kids. She would, however, set up some arrangement with the parents.

-

It was happenstance that the Yeerks had found Darwin at all. As it turned out, Darwin’s mother wanted to pursue television writing, so Darwin’s father got a job at the University of California Santa Barbara. They moved to a suburb somewhere between LA and SB. The commute was killer, but there weren’t a lot of colleges that needed a professor of medieval literature, so Darwin’s father took the Santa Barbara job with grace. Darwin’s father was the sort of young, hip college professor that drew trust from his students, something an unfortunate controller managed to zero in on. It was child’s play to use The Sharing to draw Darwin’s father into The Pool. Darwin’s father became Avis 2771, and Avis was fond of taking Darwin on walks. One day, a man stinking of unwashed clothes, urine, and liquor approached them. It would have been annoying but otherwise unremarkable if the man had not directly asked Avis if he was a Yeerk.

Avis took the man home and got as much of a coherent story from this “Spacey” as he could. Between Spacey’s half sentences and the fact that his mouth was the same shape as Darwin’s, Avis managed to piece together some of the story. 

Avis went to Visser Three immediately, hungry for a promotion. They infested Darwin, and formulated a plan to use Darwin against Visser One. Avis became Sub-Visser Eighty-Seven.

By the time Eva found the family, they were all in post-Host recovery. They had all gone through it, and were very supportive of one another. They had moved closer to Santa Barbara to allow Darwin access to other post-Host children. 

They were doing everything right, and that warmed Eva’s heart. It was more than she could say for her own family.

—

She set up a meeting with them through the school, making sure she saw the parents without Darwin. She knew the sight of her would be a bit much for a ten-year-old child. 

“I know you know who I am,” she said calmly. “And I know you know the origin of your son. You may also know by turning on the television at any given moment of the day that my son is currently making me more money than I can spend. Would you like a college fund for the boy? Perhaps a new house?”

Darwin’s parents agreed to the college fund, but said they were happy with their current home. They didn’t want to disrupt Darwin’s life too much. They told her Darwin didn’t really understand his parentage, and that his memories of being a host were spotty at best. Eva was more than happy to hear it.

—

Madra was harder. Madra had been sent to a sweet but dangerously naive family, the sort of family that defined themselves by white fence standards and didn’t seem to have soul. Eva hated the mother especially. She was the sort of woman Eva would meet at her old churches, before she found a community that truly understood and delighted in the pure joy of Jesus. These women were more into the idea of absolution than they were in living the radical Word, and Eva had never liked them. She could see hypocrisy in the woman’s exact shade of Stepford red lips, could read lies in the shape of her eyebrows. This woman had probably stood in front of her church and proclaimed God told her to adopt, and most likely found more joy in the attention for her “sacrifice” than she found joy in the actual child. Eva had a feeling that if she tried to tell this woman her adopted daughter was the product of a sick Yeerk marriage, the woman would simply call the police. The father wasn’t much better. He made ball-and-chain jokes about his wife, and spent as much time away from his spouse and their children as he possibly could.

She would need a different tactic. She would also need a different face.

—

She thought about asking Marco. She knew her son had a few alternate human morphs, and she didn’t blame him. Her son couldn’t walk outside without getting mobbed these days, and if he had the ability to disguise himself beyond a wig and sunglasses, Eva was all for it. Only she knew he wouldn’t like that she was finding and supporting Edriss’s lost children. Marco was far, far more sensitive about Edriss than Eva. Eva had lived through being infested, and she found power and healing in being frank about it, because she had been in her mid thirties and had decades of experience to hold her up. Marco had lived through a hell of his own, with all of thirteen scant years to help him. He tried to bury his nightmares by acting like it had been a fun adventure. When Eva spoke about Edriss, Marco bristled. Eva understood why, and knew that forcing him to think like her wasn’t going to help him heal. She just made it clear she would support him, and when Marco did open up, it was always to her. If she wanted him to continue to open, she had to never, ever tell him about Darwin and Madra.

So she called Jake.

—

Marco never shut up about how Jake never returned his calls (and his tears over the situation were one of those rare moments he only showed his mother) but Jake got back to Eva almost immediately. Perhaps because it was very, very odd for Eva to reach out to Jake at all. They had been close before the infestation, but after Eva’s “death” and their shared time in the Hork-Bajir Valley, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms. It wasn’t malicious, it was just that Eva tried to reach out to Jake multiple times, but between her lack of stability and his, every outreach ended up awkward and went nowhere.

Still, she had been Auntie Eva, and sometimes she had even beenmom, so Jake returned her call. When she explained the situation, Jake immediately agreed to help. There was a sort of desperation it, a need to give what he could to those affected by a war he didn’t start, but accepted blame for. Eva would have contacted Jean about it, but Jean was afraid of her these days, and all Eva could do was wait it out.

Eva fed him a story, and Jake fed it to Madra’s mother. Jake appeared as himself, which was much easier for Stepford Mom to swallow than Eva would have been. Jake was a good guy in the invasion story, and his face was only associated with stories of triumph. Eva’s face did not have the same association.

Jake (through Eva) spun a tale of a sacrificial woman who aided the Animorphs when they needed her most, who had made Jake promise to help out her daughter and her son. Madra was delighted at news of a long lost twin, the secret fantasy of nearly everyone. Jake agreed to set up trust funds not only for Madra, but for her two siblings (biological children of her adopted parents.) It was a happy story, full of closure. The family took pictures with Jake.

—

Darwin and Madra met for the first time in a McDonald’s. Madra taught Darwin how to dip fries into a milkshake. They played in a ballpit, giggling and free

Eva was there, in her wig and sunglasses. She whispered to Darwin’s parents, and they agreed not to tell Darwin and Madra the truth until they were eighteen.Eva didn’t plan on finding out how that went down.

I did what you wanted me to, bitch, she thought to a blissfully empty place inside her. Your children are happy and safe. Now rot.

[theartofbeinganerd]

Tonight’s fic is one that I wrote post 3x20, before we knew how bad the fallout from Daisy being swayed was going to be - really, I was just more focused on how she was going to react to finding out that her ship had become canon ;D (I still say we were robbed, because that would’ve been a fantastic scene but I digress)

(Ao3)

-

When Daisy woke to the sound of beeping machines and a familiar ceiling, for a moment she was disoriented – her thoughts were all a mish-mash, and she wasn’t completely sure if she was at the Playground and the Hive nightmare had been just that, or if she was still in Hive’s newest lair and had just dreamed up everything about Andrew coming to her rescue.

But, then the fog cleared a bit, and she was reminded of the horrifying fact that it was all true – everything that felt like a sickening nightmare had actually happened. Her only consolation was the reminder that it was over now, that she was no longer under that monster’s control and was back home, where she truly belonged.

With a groan, Daisy weakly tried to sit up, but her body was still refusing to do much moving after she’d so willingly handed over almost her entire blood supply to make those abominations. Releasing a frustrated huff, she collapsed back onto the mattress and resolved herself to the idea that she wasn’t going anywhere for awhile.

Just then, voices filtered into the little hospital room off the lab that she’d become intimately familiar with after their stint in Puerto Rico last year. Frowning, Daisy turned her head and caught a glimpse of Fitz and Jemma entering the lab through the glass, deep in conversation with worried expressions painting their faces. As their voices became closer and clearer, Daisy realized that they were discussing Hive’s horrifying plan for the population – which certainly explained the grim expressions.

“It never ends, does it?” Jemma sighed, collapsing into the chair at her desk and closing her eyes as her head bowed.

“It’s not like we didn’t know what we were getting into when we signed up for SHIELD, Jem,” Fitz reminded her, leaning up against the desk beside her and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course we did!” Jemma burst out, lifting her head and throwing up her hands in exasperation. “But, it never slows down; it only seems to be happening more and more quickly as time goes on! The Chitauri invasion, Centipede, HYDRA, the obelisk, Jiaying, the monolith, Malick and Ward, and now Hive! When have we had a single moment to breathe and not worry that we’re about to die?”

Fitz’s lips twisted into a frown, and Daisy felt her own deepening, her heart going out to her distressed friend; it was true, it seemed that for the past few years, life had been trying its hardest to get them. But, then Fitz gave the briefest of smiles and uncrossed his arms in order to gently nudge Jemma’s shoulder. “I can think of a few.” Much to Daisy’s confusion, a little blush spread across Jemma’s cheeks then and she rewarded Fitz with a small smile of her own. “You’re just stressed, Jemma. Everything’s gonna be fine.”  Daisy doubted that Fitz much believed that himself, and knew that Jemma didn’t either, but cleverly, he didn’t allow her a moment to argue before he had shifted behind her chair. His hands rose to her shoulders, setting to massaging the stress out himself.

The move seemed a bit odd to Daisy, because while Fitzsimmons had always had zero personal space and were pretty touchy-feely, things had been kind of strained between them since the whole Maveth debacle, and she’d thought they were just getting back to normal, not quite on this level yet.

Jemma didn’t seem to find anything wrong with Fitz’s actions, though. She let out a pleased sigh, dropping her head to the side to give him more room to work with as she murmured, “Oh, that feels heavenly.”

“You need to stop worrying yourself to death,” Fitz admonished with a shake of his head, but Daisy knew him well enough to hear the concern in his tone that he was attempting to hide. “There’s only so much that I can offer in stress relief before you become just a big ball of tension.”

Much to Daisy’s confusion, an almost…flirty smile crossed Jemma’s lips then as she replied lowly, “You sure about that?”

Fitz’s hands suddenly paused, resting on Jemma’s shoulders, and he seemed to take a moment to swallow before he responded, his accent heavier than usual, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Daisy’s brow furrowed as she watched what would be blatant foreplay between anyone but her oblivious nerdy friends. She had to be misunderstanding something, reading further into it than she should’ve been, because there was no way that they’d figured their shit out finally and it wasn’t already all over the base. Fitzsimmons were hardly known for their subtlety, after all.

Jemma spun around in her chair to face Fitz, standing before him and stepping way into his personal space bubble. Her arms rose to loop around his neck, and she almost seemed to be leaning in closer. But, she paused when he told her seriously, “I mean it, Jem. This isn’t all on you – you don’t need to single-handedly solve all of the world’s problems.”

Jemma’s playful smile faded in an instant, her gaze dropping as she took a deep breath, and Daisy didn’t understand why Fitz had said anything that would cause the first smile that she’d seen her friend wear in so long to disappear. But, at least Jemma hadn’t stepped away and put any distance between herself and Fitz, so that was something. “Fitz…”

“I’m right here with you,” he reminded her softly, his hands lifting to rest on her hips. In all her years of being friends with Fitzsimmons, Daisy had never seen them take on a pose this intimate before; she was beginning to doubt her claim that a relationship between them at this point was completely preposterous. “Always. Talk to me, or don’t, but I’m here for as long as you’ll have me, Jemma.”

At his words, Jemma’s smile returned, seeming to brighten up the whole room. But, this smile was softer, warmer, more…intimate, and Daisy had the odd feeling that she shouldn’t be witnessing what was clearly meant for Fitz’s eyes only. “I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of my chronic worrying and my love of disgusting biology and my constant nagging to eat less sugar and drink more water, then. Oh, which speaking of, did you –”

“Yes,” Fitz interrupted, rolling his eyes fondly. “Jemma, I signed up for a lifetime of your quirks over a decade ago. I hardly think anything has changed since then. In fact, I’ve only become more resolved to spend my life by your side.”

Jemma beamed up at him, pressing herself nearer to his body even as she tugged him closer as well. “Good. I mean, not that I would’ve let you leave anyway, but –”

Much to Daisy’s utter shock, Fitz cut Jemma off this time by swooping in to capture her lips with his, and in a single moment she was proven completely wrong – somehow, at some point, her two best friends in the whole world had finally realized what everyone had known for so long and gotten together. And it was more beautiful and nauseating than she’d ever imagined.

When the two nerds came up for air, Fitz stayed close, resting his forehead on Jemma’s, and they were just smiling at each other almost dopily at each other, looking perfectly in love – as it should be, Daisy couldn’t help but think with a wide and satisfied smile. Softly, he asked, “Are you going to cut back on the stress, or at least talk some of it out with me?”

Jemma gave an exaggerated little sigh, but her smile was still firmly in place. “I suppose. After all, what good is a boyfriend if you can’t burden him with your problems?”

Daisy lifted a hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle her squeal as Jemma unintentionally confirmed their relationship for her. Beneath her hand, there was now a huge grin taking over her face, and she was happier than she had been in what felt like forever.

“You’re not burdening me,” Fitz disagreed fiercely, pulling back a bit to frown down at Jemma once more. “I may be your boyfriend now, but I’m still and always will be your best friend first. You can tell me anything.”

Jemma’s hands shifted from behind Fitz’s head to cupping his cheeks, her thumbs fondly stroking his skin, and she let out a little sigh as she smiled tenderly up at him. “I know that, Fitz.”

Fitz didn’t seem too happy when she just left it at that, but he nodded in understanding regardless, lifting his hands to gently pull hers away from his face, bringing their joined hands to his lips to press kisses to Jemma’s fingers. After a long, silent moment, he suggested quietly, “I think it’s about time we got some sleep. Now that Daisy’s home safe, maybe we’ll actually get a full night’s rest.”

The words as effective as a bucket of ice water, Daisy was abruptly reminded of everything that had happened in the past few weeks, everything that she’d all but forgotten as she reveled in the happiness her two closest friends had found together. At Fitz’s revelation of the toll that she’d taken on them, guilt grew and laid thick and heavy in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

For a brief moment, she almost opened her mouth to spout an apology, the need to tell them how sorry she was a burning ache in her chest. But, when she noticed a moment later that both Fitz and Jemma were turning in her direction, she instantly and automatically closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Yes, she was desperate to apologize for the things she’d done while under Hive’s control, but she also knew that the conversation they’d just shared was incredibly personal; Daisy didn’t want to add eavesdropping to any kind of list of her transgressions they might have.

“The poor thing,” Jemma sighed sadly. “I hope she’s resting up. God knows if that monster even allowed her a chance to sleep.”

“At least it’s over now,” Fitz commented with a heavy sigh of his own.

“We can only hope,” she replied quietly. For a long moment, there was no sound. Then, Daisy heard their retreating footsteps, and dared to crack her eyes open a bit to watch as they left the lab hand-in-hand, likely taking the late hour of the night to mean that there was no one around to witness their casual displays of affection.

Once they’d disappeared in the direction of the bunks, Daisy opened her eyes fully, sagging back into her pillow. Slowly, a tiny little smile curved her lips, and she was glad that at least one good thing seemed to have come out of the shitstorm that had been the past few weeks.

[writtenonthesubwaywalls]

The Glistening of Fangs- chapter six

Alfred tilted his neck to the side, quivering in excitement and a trace of fear. Ivan pulled back, running a tongue over his sharp teeth. "Fedya, if you don't stop moving I won't be able to do this with you conscious." Alfred shivered again, before finally managing to hold himself still. "Would you rather just hold me still?" he purred suggestively, winking. Ivan rolled his eyes. "If you wish, little one." Ivan brought the other's wrists over his head, holding them with one hand and setting the other on Alfred's jaw, tilting it upwards. "Are you sure you're ready?" The American hummed an affirmative, closing his eyes and taking a breath. Slowly, Ivan leaned down and touched the light gold skin, feeling where the blood ran the fastest, and puncturing its surface, drawing the red liquid out. Alfred sighed, and his whole body seemed to relax. Ivan sucked gently on the spot for a minute before pulling and licking the wound, the subtle magics in his saliva closing it immediately. "There," Ivan whispered, sitting back on his heels and releasing his grip on the man beneath him. He paused uncertainly, as Alfred had not yet opened his eyes again. "Are-are you alright?" His voice almost had a squeak to it when he asked. "Yeah, I'm fine," Alfred sighed, finally opening his blue eyes lazily. "I'd just forgotten that feeding doesn't have to hurt." Was his last Master truly that careless with something so precious? the Russian thought to himself. "I suppose that must be one of the reasons you left." He worded it as a statement, but posed it as a question. Alfred sat up and laughed nervously, subconsciously moving his arms to hug himself loosely around his middle."Yeah, one of the reasons..." he trailed off. The two sat in silence for a moment, before Ivan chose to break it again. "So it didn't hurt, right?" Alfred drew confidence from the other's lack thereof. "No," he said, "it didn't hurt." He brought a hand up to where Ivan's bite had been. "But it does feel all tingly." He giggled, and it was such a light and sweet sound. A perfect match for his bright personality. "Then I guess this was a successful first true feeding, no?" --------- --------- Alfred had been with the odd Slavic trio for almost two months now and in that time he and they had grown much closer. He had a job at a small streetcorner bakery, putting to use what his mother had taught him when he was just a boy, and volunteered at a local animal shelter, walking the dogs and playing with the cats. As he was walking home from the bakery one late afternoon, he saw a small crow with a pale gray stripe on it's wing and a small note tied to it's leg. "Eli?" he called out to it. The bird looked in his direction and, upon spotting him, hopped over and flew up onto Alfred's outstretched arm. He looked around before bolting into an alleyway, setting the bird on top of a nearby garbage can lid and pulling the small paper off of it. Quickly, he unfolded it and his eyes skipped over the contents. It was a letter from Matthew back at Kirkland manor. The note stated as follows: A, I've sent Eli with a letter in the hopes that it reaches you soon. Ever since you've left, Arthur has cracked down hard on the rest of us. He checks all of the mail every time it comes and goes (which is why I had to do it this way). He's become stricter, more violent. And, the main reason I'm contacting you is because he is obsessing over you. He's got people looking everywhere for you. I just hope you've changed phones so he can't track it anymore. Please, stay safe. Write back when you can. Send Eli. -M He looked at the note, horror displayed on his features. "I guess I'm glad my phone got destroyed in Belgium," he muttered to himself dryly. Quietly, he shoved the paper in his pocket and picked up the crow, practically sprinting home. He burst through the front door to the house, not acknowledging the greeting that was given to him and instead opting for running up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and running into his room. Alfred grabbd a notebook and a pencil, scribbling somethng quickly onto the page and setting it to the side. He set the bird and the note down on the desk, walking out and calling behind him, "I'll be back with something to eat, so stay there." He stepped lightly down the stairs, where he was immediately met with three pairs of eyes, reflecting various levels of concern and confusion. "Who were you talking to up there, Fedya?" Ivan piped up first, before either of the sisters could get a word in. Alfred tugged at the bottom of his jacket nervously. "No one..." "Alfred, do not lie to me. Who is up there?" Ivan's voice was darker, and Alfred flinched, folding into himself and letting out a small whine. "A pet of mine." "A...pet?" Katyusha cocked her head to the side. "How long have you had a pet? I haven't smelled it on you before." The American started wringing his wrists while he spoke. "It's not really a pet. I mean he is, but also not and I raised him with my brother and crows are very smart so he remembers us when he sees us so we use him to send messages that we don't want other's to see and-" "Isn't a crow a bit strange?" Natalia muttered under her breath. "Fedya, slow down. Why did you think that you'd need to keep something like that a secret from me?" Alfred shook his head, not answering, and looked at the floor. A screechy sound echoed from up the stairs, and all three Slavic's heads snapped to it. "It's still up there," Natalia muttered, brushing past him and climbing the stairs faster than she humanly should have been able to. She was followed closely by her siblings, leaving Alfred to stand at the bottom of the stairs, internally panicking. What if they hurt him and I can't get another letter back to Matthew? In his panic, he did the only thing he could think to do. He whistled and called the crow's name, then watched as it turned the corner and dove down the stairs a second later. Alfred caught him and cradled him in his arms, falling to the floor and just resting there, stroking the patch of gray feathers. "They found the note, didn't they?" he asked it. Eli cooed in response. Sure enough, when Ivan descended the stairs once more, he held a small piece of paper in his hand. "Alfred, explain this to me." ~*~*~ these two parts were originally going to be two different chapters, but again neither of them were long enough to stand alone.

[d-clarence]

The next entry in my fan-made novelization of events from the Fifth and concluding Season of Samurai Jack continues!

Here, we dive into some uncharted territory in the series, namely the origins of the Daughters of Aku, and a little backstory I created of the High Priestess (of whom I named “Azula” as a nod to Grey DeLisle’s work for both characters).

Enough about me rambling, here’s a little excerpt from the story. Read, review and like, it really helps!

- - -...- - -

Words are truly peculiar.

They can sink deep into a person's mind, altering belief, thought, and action. They burrowed and bred deep inside Lilith's mind until she grew to be even more devout in her faith and her trust into Aku, even to the point of insane ramblings. This often put her as odds with both family and friends alike.

As one would expect, this ideology was not favored by the many. Her own parents distanced themselves from her because of her perverse and unshakable beliefs, and those she grew up with and once trusted mocked and bullied her for putting faith in such foolishness. She oft times returned home beaned and bruised by those posing as the Samurai. The slings of those around her grew too much to bear, and it was at this moment, she finally snapped.

She took it upon herself to run away from everything and everyone she ever knew. When she ran from home under the cover of night, she was barely into her mid-teens by then.

Little did she know that her inclination did not go unnoticed…

"There is no home for me out there… my own friends and family are worthless!" She muttered, fully believing no one would ever come to understand her.

As she ran through the dark and silent forest aimlessly, it no longer mattered where she went. She only knew to keep moving forward at all costs. For the first time in her young life, Lilith was more alone than ever. All she had left on her was her black leather jacket, worn blue jeans, and mid-calf length hiking boots.

When she vaulted over a rock, she did not pay mind as to what lay on the other side, for her surroundings took a sudden, sharp dive. As she fell down a sheer slide of dirt, he screamed as she fell and tumbled down the hillside, kicking up dirt and earning herself several scratches and bruises from the sharp brush and rocks. Eventually, she came to a sudden halt when her body impacted the side of a tree.

"Ughh..." she groaned as she struggled to sit up.

The night made it difficult to see. Standing once more, she reached above her for what she perceived to be a tree branch.

It was not.

A hand pulled Lilith out from the dirt much to her surprise. She looked up in shock as to who could have possibly followed her all the way here. While it was dark, she saw the figure clearly. Tall, enshrouded with a dark, hooded cloak that hid this individual's features from view. The skin on her hand felt oddly smooth and cool. It was covered in some kind of black, tar-like substance, melded onto the wearer's flesh.

And this hooded figure was not alone.

Six more emerged from their hiding places in the woods. From the way their robes or cloaks enveloped and hugged their lithe bodies, she can clearly see they were all women.

"Who… who are you?!" Lilith demanded, raising her fists up at them. Her past life of facing bully after bully taught her to be an effective street fighter, albeit an amateur.

"We know who you are, Lilith Rosewyn," the lead figure announced. "You are quite unlike the ones we recruited in the past… a desire for our Master… your alignment to his ideals…" she stroked the adolescent's chin whilst she spoke, smiling in admiration. "Most impressive…"

Swatting the hand away from her face, she spat, "What the hell is it to you?!"

"Now, now, young one," the figure rose her hands, pleading for peace. "Let us not fight…"

"No!" she shouted. "Let's!"

She screamed, throwing her fist out at the strange woman in front of her. She dodged at the speed of light, disappearing from view. The other six kept their distance, but had Lilith surrounded. The figure reappeared behind her, arms crossed and shaking her head back and forth in disapproval.

"Perhaps… an introduction… would allay your concerns," the strange woman proposed. "My name is…"

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Lilith counterattacked, throwing her fists and kicking in an impressive show of force. The unknown woman merely and effortlessly dodged each move with grace and skill. The feral teen had no reason to take the woman's word for it whatsoever. If there was one thing her mother taught her that still has any relevance, it was to never trust strangers.

Before long, her opponent's patience wore thin and caught Lilith's fist midair before twisting it, causing the young woman to fall on her knees in pain.

"She is strong," another admired.

"But needs discipline," her partner pointed out.

"And direction..." they all nodded in agreement.

"… As I was saying," the leader calmly continued, maintaining her strong grip on the rebellious teenager. "I am High Priestess Azumi, and we… are the Daughters of Aku."

Lilith wiped her tears from her eyes and relented. Seeing that this individual is no longer a threat, Azumi let her go, as Lilith throbbed at her aching wrist.

"What… ahh… what do you want from me?!"

"This exchange is not about what we want from you, but rather how we can help you."

She removed her hood, revealing herself to Lilith. Long, jet black hair tied into a tight bun on the back of her head, her light complexion fair and flawless, small lips painted with blood-red lipstick, and narrow eyes spelled out to the adolescent this so-called "High Priestess" was of Asian descent.

"And how do you plan on 'helping' me?" Lilith asked as she caught her breath, still remaining on her knees.

"By giving your faith the development it deserves. Think about it," as Azumi made her pitch, she casually walked around Lilith in a circle, letting her words sink into the young woman's thoughts. "We dedicate our lives away from the outside world, seeking to serve our Lord and Master, Aku. He imparts of his blessings to us, and we in turn follow his instruction. Sometimes that means partaking in sacred rites of passage that strengthen our resolve, other times it means… removing… dissidents who stand in the way of the Order of Aku."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha!" Lilith mocked. "You're just fanatics! A cult of assassins! What makes you think I'll join you willingly?!"

Bending down on bended knee on front of the teen, Azumi reasoned, "Because we both know you have nowhere to go…"

Rebuked, the smugness in Lilith's expression and voice disappeared. Instead of shooting back, she listened to the High Priestess more intently.

"What if I told you, there are more like you in the world? What if I told you, that you will see Aku for yourself? More importantly, what if I told you we are offering you a chance… to kill… the Samurai?"

Every fiber of the young teen's being told her not to go for this. This was obviously too sketchy, and is certainly a trap. But Azumi was right. Where else could Lilith go? Who could she turn to? The temptation and opportunity of a lifetime was before her. When the High Priestess of the Daughters of Aku arose, she offered her hand.

Lilith accepted.

The both of them standing tall once more, Azumi smiled at her latest candidate's decision and welcomed her in, proclaiming, "No longer, from this day forward, shall you ever go by that wretched name, Lilith Rosewyn, any longer."

The newly recruited Initiate nodded once.

"Henceforth, you shall be known… as… Azula… for your spirit of fire shall burn away those who oppose Aku, and you shall one day rule in my stead, and find favor in Aku's glory!"

[icsek]

This just keeps getting longer. I’m sorry guys! I’ve just had a bad week of writer’s block in addition to a crazy long week of work. Hoping this week will let me get a few of these smaller things knocked out.

A month later saw them back to the front lines with the combined might of the 501st and 212th. During that time, Obi-Wan catalogued all the minor differences he noticed in Anakin’s behavior. The most noticeable was his sleep quality, gone was the tossing and turning through the night with recurring nightmares. Instead, he slept quietly and peacefully, his Force presence a steady lull of calm.

Other little things stood out to him, Anakin joining Obi-Wan in meditation and actually sitting still through it, the increased frequency in his real smiles, and his increased patience with the Council. Anakin was more detached from his feelings, he deferred to other’s judgement, he didn’t spar with his teeth bared and the dogged determination to win every time, he no longer argued endlessly about the outdatedness of the Code.

It was everything Obi-Wan had ever wanted for him. Everything he knew Anakin could be as a Jedi. And yet, it wasn’t Anakin.

If any of the clones noticed a difference, he couldn’t tell. Admiral Yularen had only given a few odd stares when Anakin had asked for his advice in several battle plans, but never said a work about it to Obi-Wan. Not even Captain Rex had made a comment when Anakin didn’t insist on leading Gold Squadron himself during a skirmish with the Separatists.

Maybe it was only in Obi-Wan’s mind, these differences. Maybe it was Obi-Wan’s attachment to Anakin that made him miss the deep burning flame of passion that had drove Anakin before. Or, most likely, it was Obi-Wan still grieving for forfeited second chance.

Their first engagement in the field was difficult. Anakin had known that his bond with Obi-Wan was what had made them work so seamlessly together, but he didn’t realize just how much he’d relied on it. Instead of their normal perfect synchronization, they were one beat behind each other or one beat ahead. Even dropping their mental shields and broadcasting their thoughts to one another wasn’t enough.

The entire time, Anakin felt restless and unnerved. Each slash of his lightsaber had him wishing for Obi-Wan’s presence in his mind to reassure him like he had as a padawan. It distracted him, nagged him, until he was no longer able to focus on the battle and had to rely on unconscious movement directed by the Force. Every time he tried to focus on the present once more, the ache in his head started again and blurred his vision. He knew he should be withdrawing and retreating back behind their lines, but they needed the press forward that, currently, only he could provide. The battle started to pass in a blur, no longer truly aware of his surroundings or that he was slowly drifting further and further behind enemy lines.

He felt the flash of warning a moment too late to react. One minute he had been slicing through another super battle droid, the next, his lightsaber was knocked from his hand and he was flying through the air. The impact into wall knocked the breath from his chest and left him stunned as Count Dooku advanced. Anakin was unable to do anything other than brace for the inevitable downswing of the red lightsaber.

It never came.

He was confused for a moment before the stun bolt caught him in the chest. Anakin fought the darkness, but another quickly followed and could fight it no more.

Groaning, he woke up strung by his arms in a position that had become far too familiar. “Obi-Wan is gonna kill me.”

“Come now, Skywalker, no need to be so melodramatic.” Dooku’s smooth voice came somewhere from behind him.

“Says the master of dramatic flair.” He just can’t keep his mouth.

“It is a common theme in our lineage.” Dooku sounded vaguely amused, much to Anakin’s relief.

“While we’re on the subject of  lineage, you think you can let your great-grandpadawan go before your grandpadawan decides to murder him?” He gave a cheeky grin, probably pushing Dooku’s amusement too far, but it was what he did best.

“I could protect you from him if you decided to become my apprentice.” Dooku shifted to finally stand in Anakin’s field of vision.

“Your record with apprentices and padawans doesn’t fill me with hope, Dooku.”

Dooku chuckled, stroking his beard as he stared at Anakin, “Yes, well, yours isn’t all that impressive either. All those years just for her to leave you and the Order entirely. At least she had sense to get out before it was too late.”

The mention of Ahsoka leaving had both his head and heart hurting as his thoughts turned toward her. He couldn’t recall their farewell, couldn’t remember what she had said to him or what he had told her. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind and not let Dooku get to him.

“Did I hit a nerve, young Skywalker?” He shifted back out of Anakin’s field of vision, “You always were too attached for your own good. Always struggling with attachment and letting go, to keep your emotions in check, to be a proper Jedi. As my apprentice, you wouldn’t have to worry about such things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dooku.” The pain in his head was only intensifying, whites spots starting to appear in his vision. He had never been attached, he didn’t struggle to let go, he had let go of friends time and time again. His emotions were washed from him by the force time and time again, as he’d been taught during his first year of training. “I am a good Jedi!” Wasn’t he? He followed everything the Council-

Pain completely blinded him, Anakin knew from experience there was nothing he could do except let this episode pass. Distantly, he could hear Dooku saying something but the words weren’t coherent in his head. A copper taste flooded his mouth and he briefly realized he’d bitten through his lip again before taste and thought fled him again. He tried to shunt the pain directly through him and into the Force, but it was hard to do without someone guiding him on the outside.

Time passed, he wasn’t sure how long, minutes, hours, days? It was impossible for him to tell. He’d passed out at some point he was sure. The cramping and aching of his joints meant he’d had another seizure during this episode. The smell and taste of vomit lingered in his mouth and nose making his desperately wish for the fresher. Pain persisted in his temples, but it no longer overwhelmed all his senses.

“Good, you’re awake now.” Dooku was sitting directly in front of him in a meditation pose, much like the one Obi-Wan preferred.

Anakin didn’t respond, his throat too dry and sharp from vomiting. Instead, he surveyed the room to see if there was anything that would give him a clue to the time that had passed. The lights were lowered, but whether or not that was from the night cycle or Dooku’s preference he wasn’t sure. They could’ve been this low before and he just didn’t remember.

“Well, considering your lack of panic or blame, this type of thing must happen to you with some regularity. Interesting.” The irritating beard stroking was back, the motion too much like Obi-Wan’s to be a coincidence. “I decided to do some delving around your head while you were incapacitated and found the strangest thing.”

Alarm flooded through him, if Dooku had been successful then the entire Republic could be at risk with the information he held. Battle plans, strategies, fleet locations, technical information on their entire fleet, and so much more that he knew could damn them. He kept the panic off his face and strengthened his mental shields, ignoring the pain it caused.

“I’m surprised you were able to find anything. Obi-Wan always tells me how disorganized I am.” His voice was hoarse and rasped in his throat, making his desperately wish for a swig of fluid to wet his throat.

“Sadly, I was unable to gather any real information useful to my cause. Master Kenobi is right in that regard, there’s a disgusting lack organization in that head of yours. But I did discover you have a very strong mind block in place.” Dooku waved a hand and a serving droid he hadn’t noticed in the corner brought a container of water to his lips.

Good sense told him not to drink anything offered by Dooku, but the pain in his throat and the sharp aftertaste of vomit overwhelmed any sense he did have. He drank greedily, the water soothing the worst of his thirst and wetting his throat.

Dooku continued as he drank, “There are very few Jedi who are powerful enough to perform a mind block on another Jedi. Even fewer who are able to create one of that magnitude. I’d suspect the entire Council was involved in the process.”

Anakin couldn’t deny his own interest was piqued even if he refused to show it. He’d heard of a mind block, seen a few, but it was mostly done as something small or singular, much like a mind trick. Obi-Wan was rather gifted with mind tricks and had performed a few simple mind blocks on civilians when necessary. What Dooku was describing sounded much larger than what he had seen.

“Of course, I have assisted over the years in implementing some stronger mind blocks as part of a group effort when necessary. Usually in conjunction with a Mind Healer.”

“Whatever you think you saw, Dooku, is wrong. There’s no mind block, I’d be able to sense it.” Anakin was getting tired of the superior attitude, wishing he still had the bond with Obi-Wan so he would know if there was a rescue party coming for him. The more Dooku talked, the worse his migraine was getting and he couldn’t afford another episode.

Dooku chuckled, “As powerful as you are, Skywalker, you are far too naive. The reason you can’t sense the mind block is because an aversion has been built into your mind. When you start to think about the blocked memories, your head hurts. The harder you fight it, the worse the pain gets until you have one of those spells you exhibited earlier.”

He almost told Dooku about the psychic backlash he’d suffered that was the cause of all his episodes just to prove him wrong, but he knew he didn’t need to provide him with more ammo against him. Still, the temptation was there. Instead, he kept silent, not wanting to give Dooku the gratification.

“Still, there are ways to override even as strong of a mind block as the one in your head. It’s not… pleasant… but my Master wants to know what the Council doesn’t want you to know.” At another one of Dooku’s gestures, he heard the sound of multiple electrostaffs igniting. “I’ll be back to check on your progress later.” He left the room.

This wasn’t his first experience being tortured with an electrostaff by magna guards, he could endure it until Obi-Wan arrived. Obi-Wan would save him, he always did. The first staff touched his skin and he could no longer think beyond the pain.

The only reprieve from the torture was Dooku’s limited visits, usually with a med droid in attendance to administer the bare minimum to keep him conscious and alive. Occasionally he was allowed a reprieve as another seizure wracked his body. The remainder of the time was spent in unrelenting agony, the electricity doing its damage to his nervous system the med droid did nothing to correct.

Sounds of shouting, blaster fire, and the hum of a lightsaber echoed through the halls, filling Anakin with a dull sense of hope. The magna guards had stopped some time ago, but he was only just now aware of anything going on outside his room. He couldn’t find the energy to shout in answer to his name being called, slipping in and out of a stupor with his awareness.

At least the pain had stopped, or had it? He was confused because he could no longer feel his body yet he felt it all at once. His body hurt or tingled, the feelings were hard to decipher as his nerves were far too overstimulated. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or if it was simply dark in the room. Maybe he wasn’t even awake. Maybe they’d overloaded his heart for the last time and couldn’t revive him.

A hand brushed over his forehead and everything lit up. The contact was too much, the sheets he could now feel were too much. The noises, the smells, it was all too much. Panic set in when he realized he couldn’t move his limbs. Distantly, he heard someone saying his name, but he couldn’t answer, couldn’t twitch a finger, couldn’t do anything but suffer.

Blackness fell again and he blissfully drifted within his mind and the Force, free of the confines of his body. Memories that were his, but not his, drifted with him. Feelings, emotions, knowledge, it all flowed with him in the nothingness.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Drabble #32, Rumbelle. ;)

Never AloneSummary: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”Rating: GA/N: Dark castle fluff for @bookwormchocaholic. I can’t seem to keep these to a “drabble” to save my life. Hope you enjoy my long-winded version.

ON AO3

“Tongue of lizard, heart of bluebird, foot of Belle…”Rumplestiltskin stopped short, his tongue tripping over the incantation and ruiningthe potion in the process.

“Hellfire and damnation!” Dismayed, he watched a boilingmass of greenish-grey goo spill over the edge of the cauldron and ooze throughhis fingers.

A simple chant cleaned up the mess, but the Hatter waswaiting for this potion and he still had to begin again. It was all her fault.

Rumplestiltskin flexed his stiff fingers. Belle’s disquiet overthe past several hours had paralyzed his body and brain. The sound of herpacing outside the barricaded door was an ominous drumbeat in his heart, herlow, square heels echoing on the stones. Even his old limp from the first ogre’swar, long since repaired by magic, throbbed in time to her labored sighs.

Aye, she had finally made up her mind to leave him. A dealwas a deal, and she had sworn forever, but he could no longer bear to keep herhere against her will. It was long past time to grant her freedom, send her offto see the world. As for him, he’d lived nigh two hundred years in abjectmisery, so what was a few millennia more?

“Belle!” he bellowed, releasing the wards on the laboratory.“Get it in here!”

“Yes, Rumplestiltskin?” Frowning, she slipped through theopen door. “I would have come in sooner, but the door has been locked all day.”

He treated her to a black scowl. It was the third time he’d botchedthe spell due to his carelessness, and he was down to his last bit of smokedeel roe. Dark circles wreathed Belle’s eyes and he almost dropped what remained.“What are you moping about?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks were wan and slightly sunken.

He snorted at the obvious lie, but his heart hiccupped,sharp and painful . Was she unwell?He steeled himself against a flood of concern. If she was, it was no longer hisaffair. Still, she was the lone ray of sunshine in his empty world. He wouldmiss her more than he could possibly say.

“If you truly want to know…” she began.

He shook a finger in her direction. “Hurry up then!”

“Because you did ask….”

“Aye, I did,” he snapped when she trailed off again, “and I’velived another two centuries waiting for you to answer.”

“Rumplestiltskin, would you please stop interrupting?” Annoise of exasperation slipped through her lips, and she stomped her small foot.

Ordinarily, her sass amused him, but this evening he wassnappish and wary. He scanned the skyline, wondering if she would leave tonightor at least wait until morning. Perhaps she had already packed her belongings.

“As you wish.” He winced, waiting for the killing blow.

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” She blewout a noisy breath at the hurried confession, sending wisps of hair flyingabout her face.

What?

Baffled, he stared at her flushed cheeks. Of all the wordshe had expected her to say, these were the very last. “Are you speaking fae,maid?”

Her brow furrowed, considering. “I don’t think so.”

He leaned forward to sniff her sweet breath, fighting theneed to close his eyes. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Only water and sweetened tea.” Her smile was tentative, andgrowing wider by the moment.

“You’ve ingested something foul,” he insisted. “A bite ofbad beef; a moldy pastry.”

“No.” She twisted her fingers together, still hovering inthe doorway. “I’ve been too nervous to eat.”

“Ah. Well.” He cast about for an explanation. “This, uh, feelingyou say you have…for how long have you been imagining it?”

“It’s not my imagination.” She stepped closer, laying softfingers on his hand. “And a while.”

“Hmmmph.” He shook his sleeve out of her grasp. “You don’tlook terrified.”

“Of you? Never.” She shook her head hard enough to make herauburn curls bounce.

“Then why did you say you were?”

He followed her sightline to a small family of mice dartingin and out of a hole in the tower wall. In the fading sunlight, their tinybodies cast ominous shapes across the stones. Finally she spoke. “I amfrightened, in a manner of speaking.”

“Ha!” He affected a triumphant pose. “I knew it.”

“Yes.” She leaned against his worktable and tugged on her workapron. “I’m afraid that you’ll laugh at me.”

Her lustrous blue eyes tugged at his heart, creating a dullache beneath his breastbone. “I should laugh,” he said hoarsely. “These womanlyfeelings you have for a monster are foolish indeed.”

“You certainly know how to ease the torment of an admissionof love, don’t you?” she asked, a slight smile tugging at the corners of hermouth.

He carefully searched her face and tone for irony, butdarkness shadowed her skin now that the sun had disappeared beneath thehorizon. With a wave of his hand, he lit a dozen candelabras, bathing the room insoft light.

“Fine,” he huffed, deciding to humor her innocence.“Assuming you’re not concussed, what makes you think you love the Dark One?”

“I don’t love the Dark One. I love you, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Same difference, dearie.”

“No, it’s not.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Andplease don’t talk to me that way.”

“What way?” He mimicked her voice in a high trill.

“As though I am a stranger you must posture for,” she scolded,a thread of humor in her tone. “Names have power and you know mine, so use it.”

A bittersweet craving washed through him. Belle. Darling, cheeky, wonderful Belle. “What can you know of love?”

“Well, I know I’m happy when you’re here, and sad whenyou’re away. I know I feel more at ease and at home here than I ever did at myfather’s estate. And,” she stammered, drawing her appreciative gaze down thelength of his body, “I know-I like to look at you in those tight leathersyou’re so fond of.”

“Ahem.” His cheeks grew hot, a mingling of embarrassment anda craving for something so long buried he barely recognized it. Sensible peoplerecoiled from his appearance, but not Belle. She had to be the only sentientbeing in the Enchanted Forest who admired him for anything more than what shecould gain from his power.

She shrugged. “It’s true. Besides, you wouldn’t wear suchform-hugging trousers if you didn’t want anyone to admire the view.”

“And if I laugh at your declaration, what then?” He lifted apotion, examining the sapphire liquid in the flickering candlelight. “Would youreconsider your foolishness?”

“My heart would be carved into slivers,” she whispered.

He nearly dropped the vial, undone by the nakedvulnerability in her gaze. As if such a shining and lovely innocent wouldsuffer any loss by being removed from his presence!

“People will say I bewitched you,” he warned. In this land,for a young woman to ignore her reputation was to her greatest peril. He baredhis teeth in a feral snarl. “Doesn’t that terrifyyou?” he asked, tossing her words back.

Her sniff was disdainful. “I care nothing about rumors andidle gossip.”

“Indeed?” His protests were weakening, the citadel aroundhis heart crumbling. He shelved the potion, then shuffled backwards until hiscalves bumped the chaise lounge. At a loss for words, he sank down on thecushion.

Belle sidled closer, stepping between his spread thighs. “Doyou know what does terrify me?”

Breathless, he shook his head as her gaze bored into his. Shebent down to caress his cheek, palming his jaw. “That you won’t love me inreturn.”

His eyes drifted closed and before he knew what washappening, her slight weight was resting in his lap. She settled her bottom on hislegs and twined her arms about his neck. She was soft and sweet, her light honeysucklefragrance enveloping him in safety and warmth.

“Belle, I—”

“Why did you lock the door on me?” she murmured. “Your teahas gone cold three times.”

Embarrassed by his childishness, he looked toward thewindows. “I’d convinced myself I didn’t want to hear anything you had to say.”

“And now?” She scooted up his thighs to nuzzle his neck,making his skin prickle.

He snorted, clinging to the dregs of his stubbornness. “Ifyou wanted to come inside so badly, why didn’t you knock?”

Her eyes danced with amusement. “You were hollering soloudly, you didn’t hear me call. My fists hurt from pounding on the door.” Shepresented her knuckles, which were mottled by black and blue marks.

“Oh.” Unthinking, he pressed her fingers to his mouth. Apurple sheen coated her skin as he healed the bruises and scrapes with hislips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, then lay her head against hischest. His arms hung stiffly at his sides and she clasped first one wrist, thenthe other to draw his arms around her, arranging his limbs like a mannequin.“What did you think I was going to say?” she asked.

He splayed his fingers over her back, and closed his eyes.The relief of being hidden from her shrewd gaze made him bold. “I believed youwould request your freedom. It’s what you deserve, and despite our deal, Iwould never prevent you from forging your own destiny.”

The slender arms around his neck tightened. “If I went away,we would both be lonely.”

He laughed, low and mirthless. “You? No. Belle, you haveyour family, your friends, and your fiancé. And what of your plans to see theworld?”

“Can’t I see the world with you?”

“Why would you want that?” he asked dully, his palms stillstroking her back. “What can I possibly offer you?”

“Belonging.” She eased back on his thighs, her expressionthoughtful. “Have you never been in a place filled with people yet felt utterlyalone? All my life I’ve been surrounded by others—parents, servants, peers. Butthey didn’t know the real me…this odd, bookish girl…and so the ache ofloneliness remained. Here with you, for the first time someone understands andloves me for me, not because I fulfill some expectation by learning to run anestate or marrying a certain man.”

With a small groan, he pressed her close once more, anembrace of solidarity. For as long as he could remember, he’d believed he wasthe only person who felt alone in a crowd.

She lifted her face to his, a hint of fear flecking heririses. “You do love me, don’t you?”

“Aye.” He buried his nose in her tumble of curls, inhalingher essence. He loved her mind, her body, the way she thought, the things shesaid. He loved her so much it was a physical ache, a rawness in his spirit thatwould be satisfied with nothing but her.

“Rumple, I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Oh Belle,” he choked. Before his disbelieving eyes, she wasgathering up the pieces of a dream he’d thought was shattered. “Is this reallywhat you want?”

“Yes.”

Yes. There was aneternity of promise in that one small word. She needed him, just as he did her,and his heart exploded with a joy he hadn’t known since the birth of his son. Hecupped her cheeks with his hands, massaging her pulse point with his thumbs ashe lowered his mouth to hers, so close that only their mingled breaths laybetween them.

“Then I will never leave you alone again.”

###

Send me a pairing and I’ll write you a drabble

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 10

Notes: As always, big thanks to my editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

MICKEY SHE LOVES YOU, SOMEONE SMACK THIS BOY WITH A CLUE BY FOUR.

Also, Neraja and Garma are disney characters from the comic book series Wizards of Mickey!

Summary: As Mickey seeks advice for the questions in his heart, Donald faces a mysterious burden from the Sisters of Fate.

Mickey truly and deeply loved his odd family of mermaids and nereids, despite the headaches and annoyances they could give him on a daily basis. They weren't the smartest fish in the sea, but they had good hearts and treated him well. Yet when Mickey headed out that day to see them, it was with great reluctance and hesitation. He needed help with a problem and he had no one else to turn to. The Axelias only knew what Mickey told them, and as for Minnie...well, the problem was about her. That was everyone here in his social circle, so he had no choice but to turn to his girls for aid. Whether they'd actually be of use was anyone's guess, but he had to try.

Their usual morning started out as it always did. He gave them whatever trinkets they had previously requested, they gave him fresh fish to eat, and then they dissolved into babbling about whatever sparkly thing had caught their attention an hour or two ago. Once everything appeared to have settled, Mickey loudly cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. The majority of the women turned their heads, but one or two still kept their conversation going. Mickey didn't mind.

“I need to ask you girls some questions,” Mickey said, his cheeks already starting to burn despite the whole embarrassing ordeal having only just begun. “But you can't tell anyone else about this, okay? Not even Minnie.”

“Why not?”

“Is this a new rule, like the No-Aphrodite rule?”

“You broke the rule!”

“I did not!”

“Minnie is very pretty, I like Minnie.”

Clearly things were off to a fantastic start. “Because I said so, that's why,” Mickey cut in before they could distract themselves even further from the topic at hand. Thankfully the girls appeared to accept his curt reasoning. “All right, first question. I know some of you got boyfriends and girlfriends and folks you...you...” Oh boy, the word itself was already giving him trouble. “You know, you... you really...” He desperately hoped they'd catch on so he wouldn't have to say it, but instead he merely had an audience of slow blinkers. “You...you...” He cleared his throat again and turned his head away, mumbling, his tongue feeling like taffy. “Okay, just...how do you know when you...luh...luuuhhh...love someone?”

Growing up, Mickey had heard the mermaids and nereids happily talk about men they had caught for themselves. To Mickey, that whole concept had seemed as distant as any other island. When he listened to them talk, it often sounded more like they'd caught another shiny bauble than had any genuine feelings for someone. But every so often a mermaid would fall for another mermaid, or a nereid with a nereid, or one for the other. Young Mickey had difficulty understanding the difference between this and friendship. At first it didn't seem any different than how they treated the other girls. All of the women in the water hung off each other, complimented each other freely, gave away kisses, it was all standard. But little by little Mickey had taken note of the subtle nuances of each relationship – like Delphina and Cyrena, who sometimes went whole minutes without saying anything, instead more than content to lean on each other and stroke each other's hair. Or Eleni and Feodora, who instead of asking for jewelry for themselves instead asked Mickey to make something for their other, wanting to match perfectly.

If these strange, bubbling, happy feelings toward Minnie were love, then Mickey had to do something about it. But first he had to know if these strange, bubbling, happy feelings were love. Mickey needed things in his life to be precise and accurate.

The girls had never been asked such a serious question before, and they gave it serious thought – as serious as they could make it, anyway. “Kissing!” one nereid volunteered, her hair so thick that clown fish often hid in it to hide from predators. “When you love someone, you want to kiss them a lot!”

Mickey thought he was in trouble before an elder mermaid spoke up, wearing a self-made “scarf” of seaweed. “That's not true! You can love someone and never ever kiss them. My third husband and I never kissed but I loved him very much. Love isn't about touching. Love is about feeling.”

“Yes, feelings, feelings! It feels good!”

“Love feels very good!”

“I want to feel love!”

“I love you very much!”

“Aw, I love you very much too!”

Mickey snapped his fingers three times in a row to keep things back on track. “Look, I know love is a feeling. Sheesh.” He rolled his eyes. “I need to know if that's what I'm feeling! Or is it just friendship? How do I know which is which?”

Either Mickey wasn't being as sneaky as he thought he was, or his family was a whole lot smarter than he gave them credit for, because it was Aquata who looked him right in the eye and said while pointing her finger, “It's Minnie.”

“What - no! No it's not!” It was perhaps the most pathetic attempt at lying he'd ever made.

“Who else would it be?”

“You're not in love with any of us, are you?”

“And not with Axelia. Wouldn't say Axelia.”

“Mickey loves Minnie! Mickey loves Minnie!”

“You spend a lot of time with her, more her than us.”

“And she makes you happy happy happy.”

“You smiiile when you talk about her.” “And you talk about her a looot.”

Of all the times for them to actually pay attention to something! Mickey rubbed his face over and over, trying to find something to deny but they were right on the mark. The warm sensation in his chest never happened with any of the mermaids and nereids, nor with Axelia. As much as he enjoyed his time with all of them, spending time with Minnie was different. She engaged him, she wanted to learn, she was fascinated with everything he came up with. She valued his happiness and wanted to bring it to life day after day. Whenever she did speak about her life, it was only about the friends she made or who she adored and wished to help. She was sweet, and kind, and caring, and clever, and adorable, and oh no, he did love her, didn't he?

“Well,” Mickey said, but no argument came forth, the word running out of his mouth like a stalled motor puttering and broken, in a silly attempt to get his brain working. “Well. Well. Well. Well!” Eventually the word stopped sounding like a word and just sounded like babbling, which his girls copied in amusement. “Well, okay, so, maybe, maybe, just maybe, I luhhh. I luuuhhhh. I love her. A little bit. DON'T START CELEBRATING!” He knew that was coming and with his hand out, he put an end to it before it even began, several girls frozen in cheering poses. “The second question is much more important.”

“You want to know how to make her love you,” Calista guessed, and many nodded with her in agreement.

“Of course not.” Mickey's temper cooled – if he was in her shoes – well, scales – he'd have made the same assumption too. “A girl like that deserves better. And I don't wanna ruin the nice thing we have going. She's a great gal, a great friend. The sooner I stop luh-luuuh-having those feelings, the less awkward things gotta be.” The idea of Minnie loving him never crossed his mind. That'd be madness. A girl that fantastic and a reject weakling like him?

Even if she said there was nothing wrong with him. Even if she accepted all of him. Even if she cried over his past and had apparently devoted her life to his happiness. None of that meant she could love him. She was just being a very, very, VERY good friend. Of course. Obviously. Maybe she acted like that towards all her friends – although that idea made his stomach churn.

Andria raised her hand. “Think about all the stuff you don't love about her! Like how...” She trailed off, trying to find a negative point about Mickey's friend and unable to come up with one. Rare silence fell over the group as they all tried to come up with her faults and came up with nothing, save for wordless gestures and scratching of heads.

Yet Mickey thought it was a good idea. “No, that's good! That's good, Andria, good girl.” Andria beamed, even if she didn't understand. “See, you guys aren't with her as much as I am, she's got some bad stuff about her too. Like, sometimes when I'm working, she'll sit on the floor and lay her head on my lap and just watch me.”

Rydia squinted. “That doesn't sound bad at all.”

“Of course it's bad! When she does that, I can't concentrate at all! And then there's times, like, with the boat! She'll make me want to do something I don't like to do.”

Damara clicked her tongue. “Didn't you wind up liking that a whole lot? You told us you wanted to make an even better boat after seeing it.”

“Yeah, well, um, that's just more work for me!” Oh boy, he really did love Minnie, didn't he? Did he ever stand a chance? “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.”

“I've got an idea, but it'll break a rule,” Lydia offered, swimming up to be closer to Mickey. “Is that okay?”

“Fine, but just this once.” He patted her head to reassure her she wouldn't be doing anything wrong.

With permission granted, Lydia gained more confidence, and began to clap her hands in her water, making big splashes. “Just pretend she's Aphrodite! You hate Aphrodite, so if you pretend Minnie is Aphrodite, you won't love her at all!”

“Hmmmm.” Mickey shifted around on the sandy shore, uncomfortable with the suggestion. “I don't know...Minnie's nothing like Aphrodite. She doesn't use her looks to get what she wants. She works hard, and she's smart! Not some air-headed beauty who just sits on Olympus and lets everyone tell her how nice she looks. Minnie's not like that. That's like comparing apples and oranges!”

“I like apples and oranges!”

��They're both very yummy.”

“Are we allowed to talk about Aphrodite now?”

“Poseidon told me she's getting married!”

Mickey sighed, shaking his head. He thought of reinforcing the rule, but the girls had clearly done their best to give him their honest opinion and help him out, so he let them rattle on with silly gossip for a little bit more. What was the harm?

“Is she? Who is she marrying?” “She's marrying Hephaestus.”

“Isn't Hephaestus Mickey's name?”

“Mickey's name is Mickey!”

The harm was being so stunned Mickey almost slid into the water. “Wait a minute, back up, back up!” he yelped, flailing his arms about. “Did you say Aphrodite is going to marry Hephaestus?!” He then jabbed a thumb at his chest to remind them that, yes, he was Hephaestus.

Tallia had been the one to hear the rumor, and as she leaned her head back in thought, she remembered that, oh yeah, he was Hephaestus, wasn't he? “Poseidon said that's what she said. She said she was in love with Hephaestus and she'd marry him. It made Queen Hera very, very mad. Are you going to marry Aphrodite? I thought you hated her.”

“Of – of course I'm not marrying her!” Mickey sputtered, a hand to his head as he tried to find some logic to this revelation. What in the world had happened up on the Mountain? Why would a goddess, the goddess of love and beauty, want to marry him? It made no sense – and then his anger returned, hard and hot, as he found the only reason she would do such a thing. “Why, she's just making fun of me! To her, I bet it's some big funny joke!”

Tallia tilted her head. “I don't get it.”

“She's mocking me! She must've learned about me, and thought it'd be a gag to say that the goddess of love is marrying the ugliest god! The goddess who everyone accepted right from the get-go, and the god who got thrown off when he was born! I bet she thinks that's rich!” Each word became hotter, a rabid snarl as he imagined some vapid beauty laughing cruelly at his life, eating it up with the other snobby gods and goddesses on Mount Olympus. Why not? His whole life was a joke. Well fine, what did he care? I don't need nobody and nobody needs me -

Ah. But. That wasn't true anymore, was it?

Mickey's growling stopped, replaced with somber silence. His tense muscles relaxed, his anger evaporating, and he glanced at his reflection in the water. But instead of seeing his face, he saw Minnie, sweet Minnie, who had held him and kissed his leg and would never leave him. She'd never do anything to hurt him.

“Minnie would never do that,” Mickey said quietly, watching Minnie's image vanish in a few ripples. “She's not like Aphrodite at all.”

Normally when Mickey's anger, or more specifically his sorrow in reaction to any form of pity, was at its highest it was impossible to calm him back down. He would rant and rave and return to his cave to vent out his aggression on his projects. Yet here and now, the girls saw that he managed to calm himself down all by himself just by thinking of Minnie. They'd already liked her because she was so pretty and because she was Mickey's friend, but this solidly sold her on them forever. If Minnie made Mickey happy, why, she was the best woman in the whole wide world.

“I like Minnie a whole lot,” Rydia said, and in short time was joined by the others.

“I do too. I want her to stay with Mickey forever.”

“I love Minnie lots.”

“Mickey and Minnie should get married!”

“I wanna go to Mickey's wedding!”

Mickey smiled, and moved to stroke the hair of whoever was closest, allowing them to speak of weddings and pretty dresses and all the other tangents that grew from it without interruption. He doubted he was going to get any better advice, and decided to leave it at that. In time, he'd get over his feelings for Minnie. Since they were both immortal, they had eternity to change, and Mickey was confident that one day he wouldn't feel any love for Minnie. How, he couldn't say. It wasn't as if he was going to get sick of her curious questions or the feel of her hand atop his own, definitely not anytime soon.

Minnie was good and sweet, and deserved any man she wanted. He mused that such a soul would be the luckiest man in existence. For now he was content to be with his family, engaging them in whatever drivel they were yammering on about – he topic of weddings had led to rings and now the mermaids wanted rings on their tails – and his heart didn't ache. Instead of dreading or planning for the future, he ultimately decided to just be happy with what he had.

Minnie's tiara would be ready soon.

~*~

Deep in the furthest depths of the Underworld lived three people Donald didn't enjoy visiting. He avoided them whenever possible, as they gave him the creeps whenever they had a conversation – and he was well aware of the irony of the Lord Of The Dead getting creeped out. The Sisters of Fate were the keepers of mortal life, spinning the threads of life and snipping them when it was time to die. On several occasions Donald had come to them, reluctantly pleading for a mortal's life to be extended due to sad circumstances. He hated being seen as a softie, even if Daisy found it charming. The Sisters tended to mock his sympathies, and regularly abused it to make him beg on his knees for what he wanted or demand luxurious gifts. They knew that no matter how harsh they were, Donald couldn't punish them. Who else knew how to thread mortal life?

They absolutely never reached out to him, which meant that today the Underworld must have frozen over, since that's what they did. Donald was working on his schedule, trying to figure out the best time for him to see the nephew he'd never visited. He wasn't confident he could do it alone, and Daisy assured him that she and Minnie would be there. Then there was the matter of what exactly to say to the boy – other than an extremely overdue apology – and how he should present himself. Should he be natural as he was, Donald? Or try to impress him as the Master of the Underworld, Hades? He was pacing about, writing on an endless scroll, his mind bouncing about.

Should he get on his hands and knees? Or just hug Mickey when he saw him? Should he get his nephew a gift? Maybe invite him to the Underworld to see what it was like? He was so lost in these thoughts he didn't see the thin yellow thread sliding its way towards his foot – but he certainly felt it wrap around his ankle, and in the second he looked down to see what was going on, it yanked him off his feet and speedily began to drag him away across the cave floor.

On the River Styx laid islands inhabited by spirits, and each spirit stopped what they were doing when they heard a deafening “WAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHH!” echo across the Underworld, followed by several expletives so harsh that elder ghosts covered their descendants' ears. To save whatever is left of Donald's dignity, there's no need to go into all the bumps, corners, jagged rocks and near drownings he endured as a result of his dragging. It ended in roughly five minutes as he entered the lair of the Sisters of Fate, his belly scratched and aching, and having poofed into his smoky form about six different times. The thread untied itself from his ankle and laid down, now as normal and lifeless as thread should be.

Donald took one look where he was. “YOU CAN'T JUST WALK OUT AND ASK FOR ME LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?!” Whereas most mortals would tremble and cry at his thunderous voice, the Sisters just scoffed in unison.

“Why should we ever have to leave our home?” asked Neraja, the Sister of the Past, and the youngest by seconds. All three were ducks with soft white feathers, but Neraja was not only the tallest, towering over her sisters and her own spinning wheel, she was also the most beautiful. She had raven night hair spilling down to her feet, and eyes equally dark and alluring. Her flowing silk dress so deeply red that it would have been easy to mistake it for blood, and her arms were coated in trinkets symbolizing the moon and planets. It was her duty to pull along the threads of life so mortals could be born, and even now her hands were effortlessly pulling forth threads in all of her fingers, birthing several mortals at once across the world.

“You should be honored we've called upon you,” declared Magica, the Sister of the Present, the middle child. She was a head shorter than Neraja, and the shortness also applied to hair that stopped at her shoulders, and a dress that cut off at her knees. Her outfit contained fading red and darkening purple, depending on how the candles in the cave were flickering. Her legs had ringlets of solid gold in perfectly shaped circles. It was her duty to keep the threads smooth during one's life, and cross and tie them over if certain lives were destined to meet and entwine. At the moment she was untangling a pair of lovers that had argued they should split up for good, and Magica was taking great enjoyment from it.

“It's deplorable that you show us such disrespect,” came with a snort from Garma, the Sister of the Future, the eldest of the siblings, and with all the wrinkles on her face, one might have thought she was older by centuries. She was the smallest of the three, with a hunched back and blue veins throbbing underneath her dry feathers, her fraying gray hair dyed yellow in a pathetic attempt to hide this. Her dress had become so dark and faded it was impossible to tell what it once was, especially given how tattered and ripped it was, though she wore each tear like a badge of honor. Sharp teeth jutted from her beak, even showing when her mouth was closed. It was her duty to cut the thread when a mortal's life was up, and out of all the sisters, she enjoyed her job the most. Her scissors cut the air even now, eager to sever a living person from their body of flesh.

By this time Donald had managed to poof back into his normal form, and once the make-up was off he stood to attention and crossed his arms. “There's no way you hags invited me here for a pleasant chit-chat, so what did you need me so badly for?”

The Sisters grumbled together, reluctant to come forward and admit there was a problem. Impatient Neraja straightened her back, sticking out her chest – ever since Donald had married, she had tried to tease and flirt with him, but he'd never taken the bait, which was a great wound to her pride. Even now he looked at her eyes and nowhere else. “There's something amiss with one of the threads.”

Donald blinked, looking at the millions of threads that laid on the floor, hung on the walls, roped the ceiling – it was impossible to know what the room really looked like, since everything was covered in different colored threads. He wasn't even sure if the Sisters had seats to sit on, or if the threads were so intricately wound and numerous that they could solidify and be sat upon. He never cared to ask. “How can you tell?”

Magica crossed her arms, glaring at Donald who glared back. “We've been at this since the first mortal was given life, we've never had this happen before!” She got out of her stone chair – oh, so they did have seats, Donald mused to himself – and strutted up to Donald, holding up a single white thread in his face. “Look at this!”

Donald looked at what he saw as a perfectly normal thread. If the Sisters said there was something wrong with it, then it had to be wrong, since they took pride in their work and hated being around Donald. He didn't want to come across as a fool by saying he couldn't see what the problem was, so he sucked on the inside of his cheek and squinted. With every passing second, the Sisters' eyes became harder, and he could feel himself shrinking. If only Daisy was here today, she'd give these women what for! Any insult they lobbed at her she could give back twice as hard. She wouldn't allow them to cut Donald down -

Cut? Donald blinked, and then reached over to touch the beginning of the thread – which indeed looked too perfect, too even, as if it'd been cut with a precise sharp object. “Say,” he finally spoke out loud, rubbing the end with his fingers. “Garma's only supposed to cut the end of it, right?”

“I didn't cut it at all!” Garma hissed, her old bones loudly clicking underneath her flesh, her elbows sticking out in angry flutters. “How dare you imply that I would! I have half a mind to come down there and cut off your beak!” Garma sat atop the highest seated platform, so she could look down upon her sisters. Magica's and Neraja's were evenly spaced and evenly sized, as they often teamed up to insult their elder, when they weren't insulting each other.

“The old biddy is right,” Neraja said while sliding a sleeve of her dress down her shoulder. Still no reaction, as Donald was studying the thread intensely. Peeved, she rolled it back up, deciding to stick to business, or at least what she saw as her business. “She knows her place. She'd never cut a thread before it's time.”

“Who are you calling an old biddy, you impetuous brat!”

“Don't tell me you're going deaf, you stupid shrew!”

If Magica had joined in, Donald would have been more than happy to put the whole weird matter behind and leave as fast as his feet could carry him. But Magica was even-minded, sometimes, and she managed to stay focused. “Neraja has no memory of spinning this thread! It happened many days ago, I was pulling along as usual, and that's when I found this abrupt beginning of life!”

“And only felt like telling me now, I see,” Donald muttered under his breath. No doubt the catty ducks had thought they could solve this issue on their own, and only “asked” for Donald's assistance when they realized they couldn't. He drew himself up, trying to figure it out, scratching his head with one finger. “So if I've got this right, instead of being born, this person just...suddenly...appeared out of nowhere and lived? Is that even possible?” It was a silly question because it couldn't be answered, but he had no clue how they thought he'd be of any use. “I guess I could try and look into it, but if it's just the once and it's done no harm, is it really that important?”

Neraja answered that first by throwing one of her sandals at his face. “Of course it's important! Creating life is MY job!”

“And if you don't figure this out,” Garma snarled, pointing her sharp scissors in Donald's direction, “We'll never do another favor for you for the rest of eternity! No matter how hard you beg!”

“Noted,” Donald sighed, rubbing the sore spot where the sandal had smacked. “Okay, fine, I'll look into it, but I can't make any promises. Can you tell me anything about this mystery person?”

Magica rubbed her fingers along the thread, her eyes momentarily reflecting the color of the thread, a marble white. “A young woman who lives with a sculptor...She knows nothing and must learn everything. She has been called a heroine in this humble village. At first she only wanted to please her man, but now she seeks to understand how the heart works.”

“Yeah, that's not a needle in a haystack at all,” Donald replied dryly, unimpressed by Magica's mystic mutterings. He managed to back up before she could kick him in the shin. “I said I'll do it already! But you have to keep your word too! As long as I'm making the effort, you still have to listen to my requests.”

Neraja cackled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Of course we'll still listen to your pathetic wails over mortal life! It's one of the highlights of our lives! Seeing the great and mighty Hades grovel like a dog...”

“...All for the life of an insignificant peon!” Garma finished, laughing and knocking her head back as she found it funnier and funnier. “The lord of the dead who doesn't want any dead!”

This time Magica did join in, curling the thread around her fingers as she sneered. “Never forget, we hold the real power here! You will always be beneath us!”

“Sure, whatever,” Donald smoothed down his robes, the insults having gotten pretty dull since he'd been hearing them for years. What were once daggers to his soul were now more like yippy Chihuahuas nibbling at his ankles. At times he wondered if they acted this way because they were lonely and wanted attention, even if it was poisonous, and so he was often the one feeling pity for them. Not that he'd ever tell them – they couldn't kill him, but they'd make him wish for it. If these miserable crones enjoyed being miserable, let them go at it. “I'll keep you updated.” Relieved that it was done, he headed for the circular exit of the cave.

“One more thing, Lord Hades,” Garma voice was low and dangerous as she glowered at him, and the others followed suit, lowering their heads and rubbing their hands together.

“Of course,” Donald groaned, and turned right back around. “What now?”

“We have seen a prophecy,” Garma announced, standing up tall, as did her siblings. “And it must be heard!” It wasn't often, but sometimes in the course of their duties, a spark would fly from the various threads, giving all three Sisters a vision of a possible future. It wasn't guaranteed, but whenever they had one, it had been ordered that Zeus was to be told immediately. They would tell Donald, who would tell Fethry, who would tell Zeus, who would then announce it to everyone else. It had been a rule established since the first prophecy prediction, which had said Zeus would overthrow his father, although later prophecies had never been so momentous.

Donald raised an eyebrow. “The last time you guys chucked out a big one, you said Zeus would be dethroned by a son. I don't see that happening anytime soon.” If what Daisy had told him was correct, Mickey was in no shape to overthrow anyone, nor had a desire to. Zeus probably had hundreds of sons and daughters out in the mortal and godly planes, but so far none of them wanted his seat either. Not all of their prophecies came true, but for a big one to fail like that – it didn't bode well for the rest.

“It could still happen,” Neraja defended, though her shoulders were slumping in defeat.

Magica ignored her and continued on from Garma. “In the near future, a great and bloody war will overtake the mortals! Thousands will perish, and the war will be endless! The Underworld will be flooded with the souls of the innocent! The will of Ares will bring about an end to mankind as we know it!” She drew up her hands, fingers twitching as if she was raining down souls from her fingernails.

Donald stared at all three of them, his temper threatening to rise, but he managed to stave it off. For a second. “You know, if I actually believed you, I would have suggested that you should have SAID THAT WHOLE THING FIRST BEFORE GOING ON ABOUT SOME STUPID THREAD!” Now it was he who towered over them in his form of deadly smog and glistening red eyes. “HAVE YOU BEEN HOLDING BACK ON ANYTHING ELSE?! OR DO YOU WITCHES JUST LIKE TORMENTING ME?!”

“Yep.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, duh.”

Honestly, what kind of answer was he expecting? He scowled at them a moment longer before poofing back to normal, not bothering with his make-up or ponytail or any other additions his anger tended to give him. “Doggone stubborn little...” He stormed out of the cave, cursing his rotten luck that his job was saddled with those wretches. He would tell Fethry about the prophecy, but he sincerely didn't believe a word of it. The will of Ares? Puh-leeze! Pete was a lazy slob who preferred to watch people fight, and threw temper tantrums when people got along. Besides, Zeus, as lazy as he was, would surely prevent the “end of mankind”. He enjoyed the physical pleasures of it so much he'd never let it die out. Prophecies were merely one path out of millions. It was not a guarantee of anything.

With that in mind, Donald decided he wouldn't bring Mickey down and risk any chance of running into the Sisters. They didn't deserve a chance to meet his nephew, and he wouldn't subject Mickey to their sadistic whims. As his anger cooled, Donald reasoned that he should also find a way to thank Minnie for finding Mickey in the first place. He'd only met her once, but he found her charming and sweet. He wouldn't mind seeing her again, and much like Daisy, he found an urge to protect her from the things she was only just discovering.

He slowed his walk as he remembered that she too was an unusual discovery. It seemed like ages ago when all of the gods, goddesses and lower creatures were struck with that odd sensation, that “something was coming.” That “something” had been Minnie, and then everyone went on as normal without ever questioning where she'd come from. Much like the odd mortal thread, he supposed, which indicated a mortal merely popped into life. Maybe the two were connected somehow, though he was sure Minnie would have brought it up to Daisy if she'd known anything. The two were as close as actual loving sisters, as opposed to the hateful brew back in the cave. Seeing Daisy speak so happily of her friend was quite entertaining, and while Daisy would try to deny she felt that strongly, it was clear that Daisy adored Minnie and would do almost anything for her.

Still, that made two mysteries in one short leap of time. Instead of concerning themselves over one mortal, shouldn't everyone be more worried about one goddess? Mortals couldn't come from nothing, and neither could gods. Gods had to be born too. That was the only way.

…Well. There was one other way to create a god.

But the idea of Minnie being created in such a way was so ludicrous that Donald slapped his own head for even imagining the concept. What had he been thinking? He should be concentrating on Mickey first, then the thread, before thinking about the impossible. When nearby spirits asked what had happened, he told them it was nothing important and they accepted it at face value. Donald resumed his planning, and chose not to give Mickey a gift, since he didn't know Mickey well enough to know what he liked, and chose to merely be himself when they met. It took up all of his day.

Yet far, far back in the reaches of his mind, the idea of the other way lingered, and one day it would be visited again. Only a handful of gods knew about this method, and they had no reason to speak of it because it hadn't happened since the dawn of creation. There was no way it could have happened again.

But. But! But! The almighty word that lingered and created frightening yet fascinating possibilities.

But if she had been born that way, then Minnie had the potential to be more powerful than Zeus and Hera combined. She would have enough power to topple Mount Olympus and burn the world itself to ash and dust.

What Donald didn't know was this was also one of the possibilities and prophecies that the Sisters of Fate had seen. They'd deemed it so ridiculous that they didn't bother to speak of it. Yet it was still out there, along with infinite others on the horizon.

The day ended with no questions answered.