#I feel like they’re matched pretty tit for tat

[writtenbyevie]

who do you think would win a roast off? seijoh four or miya four?

[artificialqueens]

Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me, Chapter 3: Skin (Gottrosenali) - Writworm42

A/N:  Next up is skin!! A skin orgasm is one that is brought on by stimulation to skin somewhere other than the genitals. Thank you x100000 to Holtz for beta-ing <3 As always, this fic is NOT sex ed. Check out Scarleteen if you're looking for resources, they're fantastic!

Mik truly, truly regrets telling Denali that his new year’s resolution is to get penis lines. Besides the fact that her and Rosé will probably never let him live down his nickname for v-lines, he had forgotten that Denali is an absolute fitness nut, one who had been overjoyed at the prospect of finally having a workout partner.

Unfortunately, her idea of even just a warm-up is beyond what Mik had ever thought an entire workout would be. And even though he’s only three days into her regime, he’s pretty sure that even one more session with her will actually kill him.

“Ew, don’t come over here!” Rosé swats at Mik with the book she had been reading as he collapses onto the bed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You’re gonna stink up the bed sheets.”

“Everything hurts and I’m dying,” Mik groans, not moving despite another swat.

“Well, die in the shower, then. Some of us don’t like hanging around sweaty stinkballs,” Rosé sniffs.

“Hey!” he protests, looking up to turn a pout towards his girlfriend, who just crosses her arms over her chest.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she huffs. “There’s a reason I don’t work out with her, you’re the fool who said yes.”

“Because she seemed so excited about it--”

“Who seemed excited about what?” Denali ambles into the room, taking a swig from her newly-refilled water bottle before tossing Mik one, too.

“Mikky-mouse here was complaining about your generous offer to be his personal trainer,” Rosé grins, and if Mik’s water didn’t taste as good as gold right now, he probably would have spit some at her to retaliate. He looks over at Denali cautiously, hoping with all his might that she’s not hurt by the comment, doesn’t feel betrayed or taken by granted by the idea that he’s anything but grateful, that he hadn’t had the time of his life.

Luckily, if there is any hurt, Denali isn’t showing it; instead, she looks almost… amused?

“Well, well, was it that terrible?” she teases. “Too hard for our noodly boy?”

“Hey, I’m not noodly!” he protests, but Denali just laughs.

“Relax, I’m just kidding,” she grins. “I know my workouts are a lot. But they really will get you ripped, I promise.”

“Yeah, ripped in half,” Mik snorts, but Denali just rolls her eyes before extending an arm out to him, pulling him up off the bed.

“Hush and come with me,” she winks as she begins to lead him out of the bedroom. “It’s time for your post-workout reward.”

Mik frowns, trying to rack his brain as to what the reward could be--he knows Denali’s been getting into baking lately, so maybe it’s something of that nature, or maybe a gift, something to commemorate him getting through his first workout?

When she starts to drag him towards the bathroom, though, everything clicks. And apparently it does for Rosé, too, because he hears her get off the bed and try to follow them without missing a beat.

“Nope,” Denali sticks out her tongue back at their girlfriend as she opens the bathroom door. “Sweaty stinkballs only, babe. No pain, no gain.”

She pulls Mik inside and closes and locks the door before he gets a chance to see Rosé pout.

They make quick work of their clothes before hopping into the shower, shivering when the still-cold water hits their skin. Mik has to admit, it’s kind of refreshing--they wind up losing themselves in the business of actually getting clean as the temperature reinvigorates them, scrubbing each other until all the sweat and fatigue of their workout is washed away.

Or at least, that’s how it goes for a little while. The conditioner is barely rinsed out of Mik’s hair when he notices Denali’s hand creeping towards the faucet again, a sly grin spreading on her face. Warm water hits Mik’s skin a moment later, the sudden change in temperature making him jump as Denali giggles at his shock.

“What?” He rolls his eyes after he regains composure, but comes closer to Denali nonetheless, stepping straight into her outstretched arms.

“Nothing,” she boops his nose, winking as she adds, “Just thinking about how cute you are, that’s all.”

“I look like a drowned rat,” he snorts, but Denali doesn’t seem perturbed.

“A cute drowned rat,” she winks.

He’s about to protest again when she makes her move, connecting their lips at the same time that her hands come to rest on his waist. Denali pulls Mik flush up against herself without any resistance as he deepens the kiss, and he can’t help but smirk as she lets out a barely-audible whimper when he does. This is the dance that they always do, when they’re alone--matching each other’s steps, tit for tat, ante raising with every move they make until they’re both too worked up to keep toying with each other. They can’t help it; without Rosé’s voice of reason, foreplay becomes a competition, and neither of them are in the habit of losing.

Besides that, it works . Denali only has to bite down on Mik’s lip for him to respond with a hand traveling to her ass, squeezing lightly.

“ Behave ,” he hisses, but they both know it’s not actually a warning.

Instead, it’s a challenge, one that Mik is sure Denali will pursue relentlessly until they’re both satisfied. He’s proven right less than a moment later when one of Denali’s hands shift towards the small of his back.

“I could tell you the same thing,” she purrs, and he’s suddenly jolted by the realization that he’d been so tied up in the way Denali had been touching him—is still touching him—he hadn’t noticed what his own hands were doing.

“You didn’t waste any time, did you, baby?” she winks, a shit-eating grin spreading on her face. “My ass really that nice?”

“You know it is,” he punctuates his sentence with a spank and eye-roll. “Don’t blame me for wanting to touch it, gorge.”

“Who said I was?” Denali raises her brow cockily, and God, Mik is going to wipe that smirk off her face, she’ll see—

Denali has him turned around in an instant, again pulling him up against herself so that his ass is directly against her front. He can feel her breath on his neck and her hands on his skin, nails scratching his waist.

“Rosé’s gonna lose it when she sees you all beautiful and scratched up, baby,” Denali presses down a little harder as her hands travel up to his ribs, and he doesn’t even need to look down to know what she means.

It happens every time Denali manages to get any sort of control—Denali can never resist taking advantage of Mik’s paleness, knowing that all she has to do is grab him a little harder than usual or scratch him lightly to make her possession apparent. And the worst part?

He can’t get enough of it. So just like every time, he keens into her movements, wordlessly begging for more. But she doesn’t give it to him; no, of course not. It’s too early for that. Instead, her touch lightens as her fingers travel up over his ribs, gently ghosting along the grooves and ridges of his scars.

“What does that feel like?” Denali’s voice tickles at Mik’s ear, an air of curiosity in her voice as she continues to explore the faded lines along his chest.

“Weird, to be honest,” he shrugs, but doesn’t pull away. “Just… weird, I guess. Don’t really know how to describe it.”

“Is it a good weird, at least?”

Mik pauses, letting the muted, yet still sharp prickles that come with Denali’s teasing continue while he considers the question. It’s not bad—as a matter of fact, he finds himself tracing his scars sometimes, too. But it’s more the fascination, the pride and satisfaction of even having them, that feels good. The comforting pattern of the pale pink marks, every dip and bump he traces over somehow soothing to notice.

“It’s not bad,” he finally shrugs. “You can keep doing it, if you want.“

But Denali doesn’t; her hands drop from his chest, her touch searingly light as she resumes tracing over his stomach.

“I don’t want ‘not bad,’ angel,’” she plants a slow, firm kiss to his neck. “I want you to feel fucking amazing.”

“ Fuck ,” he answers with a breathy sigh as Denali continues kissing him, nipping and sucking along the curve of his neck.

He can feel the smug curl of her lips against his skin as she moves her way up to his jawline, hear her barely-audible laugh as she grazes her teeth against his ear. It’s exactly what he’d expect from Denali; one touch, one look, and he’s under her spell, falling deeper and deeper every second.

“Feels good, baby?” Denali begins to scratch again, down over his hips and his lower abdomen.  He has to hand it to her; the bitch definitely knows what she’s doing. It’s no secret that the area right under Mik’s navel is his most sensitive spot, and he can’t help but squirm as she strokes over it.

“Silly me, did I hit your sweet spot?” Denali’s voice drips with mock innocence as her hands move from his belly to his hips in a flash, holding him firmly in place. “ Aww , how precious. You’re cute, baby,” she strokes her thumb along the top of his hip, “But don’t move too much, now--I can’t play with you properly if you’re wriggling around, can I?”

Mik says nothing, only grits his teeth and tenses, forcing himself to stay rooted to the spot.

“Good boy.”

Mik lets his eyes fall closed as Denali resumes her teasing, exploring all the parts of Mik’s body that she knows excite him the most. She takes her time, dipping down and ghosting over his pubic mound before tracing up to run her fingers over his happy trail. Scratching over his hip bones, traveling down his thighs. And then, as if to top it all off, her touch becomes almost non-existent, searing in its lightness as she inches towards the inside of his thighs.

“Please, Nali,” he pleas in a hoarse, desperate whisper, “ Please .”

“Not yet, baby boy,” Denali’s answer comes with a touch that’s a little firmer, a little more present. “Be patient.”

A flash of irritation runs through Mik’s chest at the words--at the whole situation, really. Because it’s not fair; this is supposed to be his reward, and hasn’t he been through enough at this point? He’s worked up, and wet in a way that isn’t from the shower--how much more sensitive can he get? How much more of a mess does Denali want him to be?

“Stop playing around,” he growls. But apparently it’s not enough to put Denali in line; instead, he feels her slot her fingers into the curls of his hair before she jerks back his head with a low, quiet chuckle.

“I said, be patient .”

The warning comes with a harsh slap to Mik’s ass, making him cry out in a mix of pain, pleasure, and surprise. Arousal curls in his belly as the sting of the hit lingers on his skin, and he can’t help but push his ass back into Denali’s body, wordlessly inviting her to do it again.

“How many more?” she murmurs as her hand migrates up to his flesh again, rubbing and soothing the reddened spot where she’d just smacked.

“As many as you think I need.”

He doesn’t have to look back to know that Denali has started to smile.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Mik likes to get right down to business when he’s horny, but Denali likes to take her time. She likes it when Mik is pent up and desperate, and when he is, she knows exactly how to put him over the edge even without touching him. It can be with a crop or a cane, or just the well-angled hit of her hand; as long as he’s already as worked up as possible, the right amount of impact can be all he needs to come.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Denali’s hold tightens around Mik’s waist, rooting him in place as she continues to rub over the curve of his ass.

“I’m yours,” he swallows hard, shivering as anticipation crawls through him, practically giving him goosebumps.

“Louder.” The first hit comes gentle, a mere warm-up to test just how ready Mik is to take what they both know Denali is truly capable of. And Mik knows that if he wants to see that side of Denali, then he has to deliver, so he does.

“I’m yours!”

“Good boy,” Denali gives him another smack, this time hard enough to send a jolt of electricity through Mik’s body. “Now stay still, take it, and count.”

When they had first discovered Mik’s love for impact play, Mik used to brace himself, flinching and tensing at the possibility that things might go too far. Back then, anticipation had always seemed to mix with just a tinge of anxiety; after all, he had still been figuring out how much he could take, much less how much his girlfriends could give. Now, though? Nothing courses through his body except pure adrenaline, pleasure creeping in with every hit that stings at his flesh. And before he knows it, Denali is going full force, the angle and weight of her hand hitting exactly how Mik likes it, how he needs it.

“Fuck, Nali, I’m--fuck, fuck, shit, I’m gonna--”

“Let go, baby,” Denali punctuates the command with her hardest hit yet, one that Mik knows will leave beautiful bruises. “I want you to.”

He does, crying out loud enough that he knows Rosé will be able to hear what’s going on above the still-rushing water. Denali holds him firmly as his orgasm hits him fast and hard, coursing through his body like a bolt of lightning and leaving him reeling just as quickly. Before he knows it, he’s struggling to catch his breath while Denali starts to touch him again, slowly caressing and soothing the flesh of his ass. Faint stinging lingers on his skin, making the feeling of Denali’s hand rubbing over his bruises a strange mix of comforting and painful, numb but prickly, that he’s a little too used to feeling.

“Does that feel good?” she asks hesitantly.

“It feels weird,” he acquiesces. “But… a good weird. Y’know?”

“Mhm,” Denali gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek, rocking him back and forth in place a little to settle his senses. “I’m glad.”

There’s a knock at the door that makes them both jump, jerked out of their world by the sound of Rosé dramatically clearing her throat from the other room.

“Are you lovebirds done? You’re going to use up all the hot water again!”

“Jealous much?” Denali flashes a bemused smirk to Mik as they separate, but they’ve gotten the message. In less than a minute, they’re emerging from the bathroom, still drying themselves off even as they walk right into an unimpressed Rosé.

“You two better not have made a mess in there,” she pouts, but Mik just rolls his eyes.

“In the shower?” he snorts, taking off the towel he was using to dry his hair and smacking her with it.

“ Hey! ” she jumps back, glowering. “If anyone would be able to, it’s you two clowns, so don’t even.”

“If you wanted to join us that bad, then you should’ve braved the workout, babe,” Denali grins, breezing past the both of them to walk towards the bedroom, but not before dropping her towel.

“If you want to come in for round two, though, you’re welcome to join us.”

[bangtansbun]

Tit for Tat || Jimin

*photo is not my own

[based on a request from a moot on twitter]

Jimin x Reader

Genre: smut (s)

Word count: 1,712

Synopsis: you and your fuck buddy aren’t strangers to experimenting in the bedroom, but one day Jimin suggests something that you’ve never done before and you couldn’t miss this opportunity

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up peeps), bondage, fuck buddies, orgasm denial, teasing, slightly rough sex, suggested dom/sub elements, blowjob, handjob, grinding

You and Jimin met in college during your 3rd year. You had recently left a relationship on mutual terms. It wasn’t that the guy wasn’t a good person or he did anything wrong, he just wasn’t the one for you. However, this left you sexually deprived and you were starting to become grumpy from your lack of sex. Until you met Jimin.

You first saw him in your music history class, but the moment that really counted was when you bumped into him at a party. You both quickly hit it off and danced together the whole night. The night ended with both of you in bed together. From that point on the two of you decided to be fuck buddies considering neither of you were looking for something serious.

Things have changed a lot since then, now you two live together and you’re in grad school while he’s pursuing a professional dance school. You two are basically best friends at this point, you just also happen to have sex with each other very often.

You’re reminiscing over all of this while Jimin is watching tv in the living room and you’re making lunch for yourself. You’re broken out of your trance when you feel a pair of hands snake around your waist. Jimin’s head coming to rest on your shoulder as you cook. He starts placing kisses along your neck and you let out a soft moan. “So, I was thinking...” he says in a low voice as you continue working on your lunch. You hum to show you’re listening and to get him to continue. “I know I usually take the lead and you love when I’m in control, but I was thinking maybe we could switch it up tonight.”

In this friends with benefits relationship you had always been the sub, in fact, you‘ve always been a sub in every sexual relationship you’ve had. However, the thought of taking control for a night had you reeling. In everyday life you’re a pretty dominant and take-charge person, so you were excited at the prospect of bringing that part of your personality into the bedroom. It also helped that Jimin was always down to try new things

“Really??” you asked excitedly, turning around now to face him. He still had his hands on your waist, “yeah, I’d like to see you in action like that and to be honest, I like the idea of you just having your way with me.” You liked that idea too. “Okay, let’s do it then.” With that he gave you another kiss on your shoulder and you went back to finishing your lunch, running ideas through your head of all the things you’d love to do to him later on.

Because you two aren’t in a relationship and want to keep it that way, you don’t do too much to prep. No sexy lingerie, and although there might be some cuddling after, you both always sleep in your own beds. Although, that’s not to say Jimin doesn’t make sure to give the best aftercare, because he does. Tonight would be different all around though.

Jimin came into your room later in the evening when you were sitting on your bed reading, and waiting for him. “Whatcha reading?” he asked coming to the side of your bed. “Oh nothing too important,” you say as you put it down and lean up to kiss him. Your hands rest on his abs as he leans into the kiss and you can feel the ripple of his abs under his t-shirt. You get up onto your knees to reach him better and deepen the kiss. He has a hand on the small of your back and you bring yours up to his hair. You tug on it and pull his head back while keeping his bottom lip in between your teeth. “Oh it’s beginning already?” he inquires jokingly and with a cocked eyebrow.

Instead of answering him, you pull him by his shirt onto the bed and push him up against the headboard. He has a smirk on his face and his baby pink hair is in a mess. He looks so perfect and you can’t wait to play with him. “Take your shirt off,” you say to him as you begin to take clothes off as well. Once he’s half naked and sitting back against the headboard again, you head over to your bedside table to grab two things out of the drawer. “Hand cuffs??” his eyes wide with surprise as he looks up at you. “I’m in charge remember?” your voice as sultry as ever as you take one of his hands to handcuff it to a spoke of the headboard on one side.

Once the other one is secure to the other side, you move to straddle his lap. Looking over him like this, he looks so perfect and vulnerable. You can already feel him hardening underneath you. You lean in to kiss his soft, plump lips. It starts out slow and sensual, but quickly turns fiery. Your tongues are both fighting for room in the other’s mouth and soft moans are filling the air. You begin to grind down on him as you continue to kiss. He’s fully hard at this point and you want him so bad but it’s your night to take control and you wanna savor it.

You break from the kiss with a loud smack, leaving him breathless and with swollen, red lips. “Don’t move,” you say sternly to him as you begin to kiss along his jaw. You have one hand in his hair, pulling it tightly to the side so you can have access to his neck. You suck and bite at it until you’re satisfied with your work. “Please- please touch me,” looking at you with pleading eyes. “I will, don’t worry, sweet boy,” you say as you place kisses from his chest down to just below his navel.

You remove his sweat shorts to reveal his Calvin Klein black boxer briefs, and his thick cock constricted by the fabric. You smooth your hand over the print until he’s whimpering and squirming underneath of you. “I said don’t move,” you warn him again, squeezing the base of his cock, and he nods to show he understands. You pull his boxers down and slowly take him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing out and creating a tight suction. Loud moans are beginning to leave him now and you take that as a sign to go a little harder. You’re taking him as deep as possible into your mouth now and using your hand to take care of whatever you can’t fit. The rhythm is starting to drive him crazy and you can tell he wants to move or touch you, anything to gain even more pleasure and reach his growing orgasm. However, this isn’t how you want to get him off. You continue blowing him like this until you feel him about to burst and then you break away. His groans and curses becoming louder each time you do this.

After you think he’s had enough teasing to last him a lifetime, you decide to finally fuck him. “Still no moving, baby boy. I’m going to use you to please myself and you’re not allowed to finish until I’ve done just that. Understand?” His eyes are looking teary now as you begin to slowly sink onto his length, “yesss- ah fuck!” Not wanting to waste any time, you quickly move into a pace that is fast and hard as you bounce up and down, in a squatting position, on his rock hard length. “fuck fuck fuckkkk, babe,” a single tear rolling down his cheek. His hands are pulling against the handcuffs, no doubt creating an indentation on his wrists, and his bottom lip puffy from his teeth biting into it. “You like when I take control baby? Love when I get to fuck you and use you like my little toy until I come all over your thick cock, huh?” your words clearly affecting him, he tries to buck up into you, to match your rhythm. “Fuck yes. I’m- i’m about to come, please,” you stop abruptly. “No, I get to come first, I told you that already. If you can’t wait then maybe you should stop and stay still,” and with the last word you come down on his cock hard and force his hips into the bed. A loud hiss escaping his lips.

You pick up the pace again, him staying perfectly still just like you asked, such a good boy for you. Seeing him like this is pushing you so close to the edge. You’re moving back and forth now to stimulate your clit while he’s deep inside of you. “Shit, Jimin, I’m gonna come. I want you to come with me, come inside of me baby,” and with that, loud moans fill the room as you both get closer to your highs. “Ohhhhh fuckkk, Ji-“ not even able to finish his name as you come around him and guttural moans leave your writhing body. Not a second later you feel his cum filling you to the brim and your name coming out of his mouth. You lay on him for a minute after you’ve both finished, trying to catch your breaths.

Finally, you get off of him, feeling his cum dripping out of you and down the inside of your thigh, as satisfied as ever. You let both of his arms down and tell him to hold on a second, and leave to him to regain some of his strength while you go the bathroom to clean up real quick. You come back to him looking tired and limp against the headboard. Poor baby, you think to yourself. “Here lemme massage your arms for you,” taking one of them into your hands as you begin to knead the muscle. “Thanks, I think I lost a bit of feeling, they’re all tingly now,” he says with a slight chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, just like you always take care of me after.” He smiles softly at you. This would definitely need to become a more regular thing for the two of you.

[bouncyirwin]

Could you write a shikasaku drabble maybe, where Shikamaru takes Sakura to the Nara forest to meet the deers and/or the Nara patron deity if you have something like this in mind?🤗

This is so short and simple, but I hope you like it anyway! ❤️

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

“Are we there yet?” Sakura asks, possibly for the forth time in the last thirty minutes.

Shikamaru glances at her, totally judging her with a single masterfully executed glare. “Does it look like we’re there yet?”

“Don’t condescend me,” Sakura huffs, cheeks pinking in the late afternoon light. “We’ve been walking for agesss.”

“It’s been exactly thirty-two minutes,” Shikamaru counters, and neatly ducks her backhand. “Killing me won’t get us there faster, by the way.”

“Counting your blessings I see,” Sakura replies, primly, as her deadly fist settles back down.

“I have to be grateful for some things,” he agrees with a smirk.

He dodges another smack with ease, “First point still stands.”

“Stop tempting me then!”

They glare at each other for a long moment.

Shikamaru’s shoulder minutely shake. Sakura’s stomach spasms.

They both burst into a laugh in synchrony.

“Dammit,” Sakura gasps, “I hate it when you do that!”

“Do what?” Shikamaru says innocently.

“That! The thing where you’re a logical asshole but also cute about it!” Sakura’s voice rises accusingly, setting off a lone bird nesting on a tree.

It flutters away out of their line of sight and into the depths of the forest ahead.

“Backhanded compliments. I love those,” Shikamaru attempts a deadpans, but a smirk remains firmly pinned at the corners of his lips.

“Stop it,” Sakura hisses, her elbow finding purchase in his side.

Shikamaru yelps, “Stop that!”

Sakura snorts brashly, “tit for tat.”

“Is this how you treat all your dates?” Shikamaru groans, rubbing at his abused side.

“Do you really want to find out?”

“...they probably get kisses and flowers, don’t they?” Shikamaru sighs miserably.

“Hey, you don’t get to complain, you got a kiss on the first date,” Sakura says just as they cross into the forest and under the shade of pine trees. “Something that can’t be said about anyone else.”

“Shhh before my ego inflates,” Shikamaru cautions her but a grin blooms on his face.

His hand boldly snags hers, fingers slipping firmly between her own and takes pleasure in watching her cheeks brighten to match her hair.

“Where are we anyway?” Sakura tries to deflect from her awkwardness, and attempts to sound casual. “Can you at least tell me that?”

“Hmm,” Shikamaru’s eyes scan their surroundings, “we’re officially in the Nara forest.”

Sakura nearly trips over her own feet.

She stares at him wide-eyed. “I thought only Ino-shika-chou are permitted inside.”

“And healers,” Shikamaru adds with an impish smile.

“But I’m not here to heal,” Sakura states, taking a darting look at the expense of peaceful yellow-green forest, filled with small animals, twittering birds and precious herbs.

“Well, they don’t need to know that,” Shikamaru squeezes her hand reassuringly. “Either way, calm down, I wouldn’t bring you here if I believed it’d get you in trouble.”

“Would it get you in trouble?” Sakura arches a pointed brow.

Shikamaru seems to contemplate that for a moment. “Probably not but then again, maybe? Point is, we’re not getting caught so quit fretting.”

He leads her along a river, clear and bright with the occasional fish that passes below the surface. They cross a small bridge to the other side of the stream and eventually come to a stop by a little clearing.

Sakura spots the deer and immediately covers her mouth, eyes sparkling in delight, “They’re so pretty!”

“Come on, let’s introduce you,” Shikamaru chuckles and leads her towards them at a sedated pace.

The deer perk up, the biggest of them turning dark glassy eyes on her.

There is a quiet sort of tension for a single beat, but it dissipates as soon as they realise Shikamaru is with her.

A small deer trots curiously towards her, so small he barely reached her chest. Sakura looks up at Shikamaru with silent request.

“Go ahead,” he laughs warmly, “they won’t bite.”

Sakura rests her palm on the deer’s soft head and marvels. “... oh my god,” she utters when the little thing borrows into her touch. “I think I’m going to cry.”

Shikamaru squeezes her hand and lets out another soft laugh. “I won’t judge I promise.”

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” Sakura says a little thickly, and doesn’t look at him as she continues petting the deer.

“I can’t quite believe it either,” he admits, somewhat quieter in the wake of his confession. “But it feels right, you know? Like perhaps you’re meant to be here too.”

Sakura glances back in surprise to find that Shikamaru seems shocked with his own words too, a bright blush dusting his cheeks. “A-ah,” he lets out a jittery laugh, “that came out really serious. What I meant was to say that I really wanted to bring you here.”

Sakura recovers admirably, and grins at him through the blush permeating her cheeks. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know?”

He groans, and covers his face with his free hand, but allows Sakura to tug him closer to her. She turns from the deer, and presses closer to him as she rises on her toes.

Her arm winds around his shoulders and he removes his hand just in time to receive her kiss. Sakura’s lips linger on his long enough for him to taste her strawberry chapstick, but not long enough to fully enjoy.

She pulls back with a shy smile, settling on the ground again. “It’s kinda charming,” she tells him conspiratorially. “But don’t let it get to your head.”

Shikamaru ducks down to recapture her mouth, his palm brushing across her cheek before sinking in her pink hair, and takes a long moment to enjoy the feeling of their mouths meshing together.

When he pulls back, Sakura is out of breath, and her blush has spread up to her ears. “If you say things like that, I can’t not kiss you.”

“Who said I had any issues with you kissing me?” She looks at him from beneath dark lashes, biting her lip.

“Good. Because I’m going to do it again,” Shikamaru warns and leans down once more.

This time Sakura meets him half way, and it’s sweet and heated at once, but they both break apart before it could devolve to a make-out session.

“Do you want to feed the deer now?” He asks, still smiling.

“I can feed the deer??” Sakura gasps delightedly.

“You can thank me later. Preferably with more kisses.” Shikamaru suggests, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before he begins leading her to the ring of deer waiting patiently at the edge of the clearing.

“Deal!” Sakura enthuses.

Just beyond the tree-line, and unbeknownst to either of them, one Shikaku Nara shakes his head and grins to himself, muttering about troublesome sons and their penchant for trouble.

Later, Shikamaru tells him through a burning blush, that he thinks the woman he will one day marry is going to be as far away from ordinary as it could possibly get. And that he’ll be all the happier for it.

[breaniebree]

Does Draco ever use the IOU from Harry for not fessing up about Hagrid and Norbert back in first year? I am re reading from the start now and noticed that, but I don’t remember if he used it? Can you link the chapter where he had if he did use it? Thanks 😊

Hi, Anon!

Yes, and no.

Draco throws it in his face on more than one occasion. First is in second year...

His stomach jolted when he turned a corner and saw Draco Malfoy strutting his way, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott with him.

Harry merely raised an eyebrow. “No cronies today?”

Blaise snickered. “They do seem rather minion-like, don’t they? Of course, can’t string two intelligent words between them.”

“Not true,” Theo said. “That’s mostly Crabbe.”

Draco ignored his friends. “Another Muggleborn down… getting scared?”

“Why should I be scared? I’m not Muggleborn. I see you’ve learned some manners though, about time.”

“Why because I didn’t say Mudbloods?” Draco sneered.

Harry simply shrugged. “We all bleed red.” He looked at Blaise and Theodore with interest. “Don’t you agree?”

“Theo doesn’t like that kind of language, do you, Theo?” Blaise asked his friend and watched as Theo nodded.

“No, I don’t. That’s a smart sentiment, Potter, we do all bleed red.”

“My godfather told me those words. And besides, it’s not just Muggleborns being attacked, is it? Nearly Headless Nick was petrified! Whatever this thing is, it attacked a ghost.”

Blaise paled a bit at that. “That is strange. What can attack a ghost? They’re already dead.”

Draco crossed his arms in front of him. “You still owe me a favour, Potter.”

“Yes, I do, and if you ever decide to collect on it, let me know. I don’t have time for your meaningless taunts. I’m late for Transfiguration.”

He turned and hurried off, ignoring the three Slytherins, but he couldn’t help but think about what they had told him. Muggleborns not Mudbloods, ghosts being attacked, and Blaise and Theo actually seemed, well -- nice.

But they were still Slytherins and he was pretty sure that meant that they were up to something, he just didn’t know what. ~ Chapter 88

Then again later in second year...

The last thing he had expected to find at the top of the staircase were three familiar Slytherin boys.

“Sneaking out after hours? How scandalous!” Theo said with a smirk, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Could say the same, Theo, except we still have ten minutes until curfew so not after hours at all. What do you guys want?” Harry asked, eyeing the three of them suspiciously. The three of them waiting for him could hardly be considered a good sign in his book.

Blaise grinned. “We were hungry and made a trip to the kitchens.”

“Then Draco heard you talking and wanted to chat,” Theo added with a smirk.

Neville crossed his arms in front of him and glared openly at the three Slytherin boys. “The kitchens are downstairs. What do you want?”

Draco merely raised an eyebrow. “Really, Fatbottom? We can’t want to stop and say hello.”

“Stop calling him that, Draco,” Harry interjected.

Draco sighed. “Right, fine, sorry Longbottom, don’t mean to hurt your sensitive sensibilities.”

Neville simply stared at him. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

Draco stared at them for a moment, his eyes meeting Harry’s. “Potter owes me a favour.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Which you have been taunting me about for over a year look — when you finally figure out what the hell you want, talk to me! Until then, we have more important things to do.”

“I’m here to collect.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Actually?”

Draco nodded and gestured for them to follow him. He led them into an empty classroom, closing the door behind him. “I’m here to see if you’re interested in a little tit for tat?”

Neville sighed. “We’re not here to make a trade with you, Malfoy. If Harry owes you a favour then he’ll provide it, but you need to actually ask for something.”

“No one was speaking to you, Longbottom!” Draco said angrily. “And trust me, what I’ve got to say is worth listening too. You know I’m right or you wouldn’t have made Polyjuice Potion to sneak into the Slytherin common room just to talk to me before Christmas.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “How did you —?”

Draco smirked at him and turned his attention back to Harry. “Pipes.”

“What?”

“It’s travelling through the pipes, Potter.”

“What’s travelling through the pipes?”

Draco rolled his eyes, his gaze moving to the backs of Blaise and Theo who were watching out for teachers. “The monster.”

Harry eyed him for a moment. “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you? How do you even know this?”

Draco looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Look, maybe I overstepped back at Halloween. I was… wrong to wish something harmful upon Granger even though she’s an annoying brown-nosing bint, but, she didn’t deserve to be attacked anymore than the others, well, maybe Filch’s mangy beast, but… you’re a Parselmouth.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Merlin, Potter, I thought that you were smart,” Draco drawled in annoyance. “The monster is a Basilisk, you know — a giant fucking snake?”

Harry paled. It was the second time today someone had mentioned the mythical King of Serpents to him. “How do you know that? What do you get out of telling me this?” Harry demanded.

Draco merely shrugged. “Just remember who helped you.”

Harry’s brow only furrowed as he watched the Slytherins leave, turning back to his friends. “A Basilisk? Zee said that they’re extinct and have been for centuries.”

Neville only shrugged. “Let’s get back to the common room and look at Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, I’m sure it must be in there and then we can confirm Malfoy’s story. I think I remember Hermione telling me they were one of the creatures that could live for centuries so, maybe it’s an old one, if that’s even what it is. Why would Malfoy tell you that?”

Harry only nodded in response, but he was starting to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was a strange thing for Malfoy to suddenly decide to share with him. And he hadn’t provided Draco with anything back so what did he want? How did he know it was a snake? But then, a snake was the symbol of Slytherin House so having the snake as the monster would make the most sense and it would explain why Harry could hear the snake speaking through the walls. It was in the pipes and if it was in the pipes it had to come out somewhere to attack the students, but how was it getting out? ~ Chapter 103

Then in third year...

“You would really keep me in the dark on this? After I’m the one who told you what my grandfather did! After I’m the one who told you it was a bloody Basilisk last year! You fucking owe me, Potter!” he hissed quietly, his eyes narrowing.

Harry glared at him, lowering his own voice to match Draco’s. “Don’t beg, it’s beneath you.”

Draco glowered in response. “Theo insisted that I talk to you. Said that you were a decent bloke and that you knew what was going on. Obviously, he was wrong.”

Harry snorted. “First of all, me telling you anything is not entirely my decision and second of all — I don’t owe you anything. We already decided that last year when you willingly gave me the information about the Basilisk so, don’t try to turn that around on me.”

Draco started cutting up his potion ingredients at random, the back of his neck was red in anger. “Fine, if you don’t want to hear what I’ve learned, then be that way!”

He only stared at him. “Like you even know anything, you’re just fishing for information.”

Draco glared at him. “Now you’ll never know, will you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re such a git, Malfoy. Meet me in the courtyard by the greenhouses before dinner and I’ll tell you what I can.”

Draco smirked in response and Harry wasn’t sure whether or not it was actually a good idea to tell him anything. ~ Chapter 125

Hope that helps!

[investmart007]

MOSCOW | Russia's World Cup headache: Keeping it safe, keeping it fun

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/iHnHc9

MOSCOW | Russia's World Cup headache: Keeping it safe, keeping it fun

MOSCOW (AP) — When a taxi driver suddenly rammed into pedestrians near Red Square, despite intense security measures around Russian cities for the World Cup, fans and other visitors asked themselves: Are we safe?

Moscow authorities insist Saturday’s taxi crash was an accident, after the driver apparently fell asleep . And car accidents can happen just about anywhere.

Vehicles can also be used as weapons, though. Cities from New York to Barcelona can attest to that.

Overall, Russia has rolled out exceptionally high security measures for its first-ever World Cup, coordinating with law enforcement from around the world. The measures can seem heavy-handed — fans forced to walk nearly a kilometer (half a mile) to enter a stadium, Cossacks roaming on horseback, riot police watching over night club parties. Officials say they’re just trying to ensure that fans can safely have fun.

WHAT FANS FACE

The last thing Russian President Vladimir Putin wants is for an attack to spoil this party. He wants the world to walk away from this tournament in awe, not in fear.

So Russia has closed sea ports to dangerous cargo, halted factory production that might pose chemical risks, and positioned fighter jets, just in case.

In the city center of Kazan, police and military patrols are posted about every 500 meters (yards). To enter the stadium territory, an Associated Press journalist was made to open all his cigarette packs and test out his lighters, among other security measures.

A similar scene greets fans in Nizhny Novgorod. Fans must walk several hundred meters through double security checkpoints, with X-ray machines and body frisks, plastic police barriers and metal fences — just to reach the “Fan Fest” site where matches are shown on giant screens.

In the Ural Mountains city of Yekaterinburg, uniformed police stand guard near bars downtown, and sealed off all roads around the arena several hours ahead of the first match Friday. The traffic lights continued functioning, ignored.

In Sochi on the Black Sea, which hosted the 2014 Olympics, the stadium is surrounded on three sides by the well-secured Olympic Park. That creates a natural buffer and leaves only one well-protected road that fans can funnel through to enter the stadium.

WATCH OUT FOR CARS

Saturday’s taxi crash in Moscow revived a long-standing concern: that attackers could use cars to attack soft targets like shopping areas or crowded sidewalks.

Moscow police said Sunday this risk was already built into World Cup security measures, and the crash was purely accidental. FIFA and Russia’s World Cup organizing committee wouldn’t comment on whether any extra measures were put in place after the crash.

But AP reporters discovered the security perimeter for cars was expanded around Moscow’s Luzhniki Stadium for Sunday’s Germany-Mexico match — even beyond the broad limit drawn for Thursday’s opening game.

In Saransk, a six-lane bridge over the Insar River is shut to all traffic to keep cars away from the stadium crowds on match days. Traffic is blocked not only on the territory of the Mordovia Arena but also from a perimeter stretching another 250 meters (yards) from the property’s edge.

WHY THE WORRY

The threats to Russia, and the danger inherent in the world’s most-watched sporting event, are real.

First and worst is terrorism. Moscow, St. Petersburg and Volgograd have suffered suicide bombings by Islamic extremists in recent years — and count among the 11 cities hosting World Cup matches over the next month.

While security measures are similar at other major sporting events, this one is especially challenging because it lasts so long and is so spread out.

The U.S. State Department even sent a travel warning Friday titled “Russia, Level 3: Reconsider Travel.” In addition to terrorism, the warning said Americans “are often victims of harassment, mistreatment and extortion by law enforcement and other officials.” The dramatically worded message may be in part politically driven.

Security cooperation has shrunk as Russia-West ties have suffered in recent years over the wars in Syria and Ukraine, alleged Russian election meddling, and the poisoning of an ex-spy in Britain. U.S. government staff in Russia has shrunk after tit-for-tat diplomatic expulsions.

Hooliganism is the other big problem. Russia is working with FIFA and authorities in Britain and other countries to identify threats , and threatens to deport anyone unruly.

KILLING THE FUN?

At times, the security threatens to extinguish the tournament’s festive spirit.

As crowds streamed into Moscow’s Spartak stadium Saturday, a police van rumbled through slowly, keeping watch and separating the throngs. Cheerful chants fell silent.

At Bar 11 in Kazan, a newly-opened small club with a DJ playing records, heavily armed OMON police officers came in twice overnight Saturday for routine checks.

For fans, the security presence is both a reminder of the risk and a relief, said Jan Petersen of Denmark, heading into Moscow’s Luzhniki Stadium. “I feel pretty secure,” he said, but at the same time, “I feel the excitement.”

By ANGELA CHARLTON ,  By Associated Press

[redactedalias]

wayward.

I.

Cherry Bomb is what I call her, and she's just thrown twin cartons of Luckies onto me desk.

Must be me birthday.

I lean back to consider her gift. Thoroughly, like.

She crosses her arms, arches one dark eyebrow at yours truly. Her nails are painted black – except the middles, which she's coated in neon red.  Tall and wiry is our Cherry, covered in cheap prison runes and backroom  ink. Hair gathered back with metal spikes that look about as lethal as  any bullet.

I put me hands behind me head and meet her gaze. She flashes me a smile that'd reverse ice ages and drops into a crouch.  Comes back up with a bloody huge cooler that she slams on me desk, then  sweeps the top off like she's presenting me with me own soul. Why, it'd be rude as the royal navy not to look. So I have meself a peek.  Bottles of stouts black as me heart bobbing in a sea of glittering ice.  Lesser men, they'd weep at such beauty. Me? I reach in for a bottle,  crack it open, and have meself a nice long pull. Now we're talking. “So,” says I, putting down to bottle to tear open one of the cartons, “what  right bastard do you need turned into a crime scene?” That smile pulls her mouth right back up. She snatches the bottle off me desk and starts in on it herself. “Well,” she says with that throaty and smooth voice of hers, “I want you to  find this asshole, Angel. And I want you to tell me where he is, right  down to the piece of sidewalk he's polluting.” “And then?” ”And then I put a nail into that goddamned wooden head of his.” Woman after me heart, is our Cherry. I got the first pack from the carton  undone, so I light up with a beat to shite silver Zippo and hold out me  other hand. She's wearing a blue work shirt with the sleeves up, and reaches into her breast  pocket to produce a picture that she hands off. Digital and printed off, a bit grainy for the cause, but behold it I do all the same. Dapper young shite he is. Good clothes and good looks that'd land him on the  back of some seedy magazine. Hands in his pockets, hat cocked to one  side. Might as well have 'FUCKER' tattooed on his forehead and do  everyone involved a favor. “Hell is he?” “Word from my students is he's a changeling, and there's a whole Lord of the  Flies tribe. All of them hate iron and move faster than you did for that beer.” Cue me impressed  whistle around that smoldering Lucky. I'm staring hard at the smooth,  cocky face, imprinting it's every tiny perfection. Can feel me eyes  getting wider, the corners of me mouth plucking up, showing more teeth  than they should. Can almost smell the stink of him. Cherry slides to sit on me desk, looking at the picture with me. “Difference between him and the others, Angel? He's the only one brassy enough to fuck with my Waywards.” Can't have that. I flick me lighter back to life and hold it beneath the  paper until gobshite incarnate is going up in a flame that singes me  fingers. “He's already ashes.” II. Now, despite what Cherry insists on calling me, I'm no angel and it's not me name. Me name is Alexander McCarr and it's right there on the door. No  description of what I do, because if you've found me, you already know  what that is. Onto  another cigarette when I slip on me suit jacket and head outside. Quiet  in this part of a dying block, just the distant rumble of a train and  the buzzing of a broken light to keep me company. I take a drag and  close me eyes. Nothing can hide from me – I hear everything from the  whisper of tires to gentle crying to the pitter patter of a rat that's  found supper. Feel the lines beating, connected to the great old heart  of creation, and I pick apart at the most interesting threads. Mull it over for a bit before I open me eyes and start along this great  shoddy sidewalk, bound for the merciless guts of me fair home. Can have  all the tricks in the world, but nothing quite matches a pure scent on a hunt like this, and like any good hound, I know the choicest bits to  dig one up. Five  cigarettes later when I get there, standing in the shadow of a great  fuck-off skyscraper. Sharing this particular piece of urban hell happens to be a building with flashing neon lights and music that sets the  pavement pounding, nestled right up against the 'scraper like a right  nasty tumor. Sinclair's Electric Burlesque, flash the letters above. In we go, then. The doorman – a burly sod with a mean grimace and taller  than I – almost puts an arm out to snag me beautiful self when I shove  past him. Almost. Sees the wide set of me eyes and the smile that has  too many teeth and wisely has his reservations. Good boyo. Inside, it's dark and loud. Wailing piano chords and growling drums. The crowd  is thin at this time of day, and one the blue lit stage is a girl in  lingerie and top hat, steadily sharpening a knife while she trades  witticisms with the crowd. Pang of homesickness that gives me, but I shrug it off and keep right on for the stairs at the dingy back that wind upwards. Whiff of blood when I  pass the dark VIP floor and it makes me pause. Close me eyes again, get  carried away on the music from below and I can see just what happened in there, all the threads smashing together to form a memory like I was  peeping at it through a hole in the wall. Newborn, he was, freshly burst into the night and wanting to impress his  gormless friends. Not the one I'm looking for, but a cousin close enough to kiss. Gets too enthusiastic with the girl he charmed into giving  herself over. Plays with her, bites off a bit more of that sweet nougat  than he meant and well, well, well. I open me eyes. That smile of mine, it grows until I'm either a shark or the sodding Chesire Cat. Knew I picked the right fucking place. Stink of angels all over that room. The club's resident EMTs, as it were, and none of them were happy with the events that transpired behind yonder  door, not even a tiny wee bit. Right on up to the top level with me. The deco wooden doors give me pause  when I push against them. Enough hexes and jinxes that keep out the  nastier sorts, sending those delicious wee ripples of impending doom and destruction right through me arm and into me chest. Luckily, I'm the nastiest. I grab this fearsome spiked trail of yarn and yank it apart so hard the  door shudders like a virgin being exposed. They swing open with naught  but a polite twist after that, and I'd be rude to postpone the entry I'd so rightly earned. Sunlight beaming into a glorious office sat atop the ugly building. All wood and modern angles and so dreadfully dull I want to torch it before I have a gray beard from the sheer effort of standing there. Behind a massive  desk that might well moonlight as a fortress is a smooth, genderless  face. No hair atop, and from one angle it might be a supermodel, and  from the other, another sodding supermodel. It smiles at me, sterile as  the room around it. Oh, so that's how we're doing things, eh? The thing behind the desk is a Golem, pure as snow. Some supernatural doll  sculpted from the finest clay and slapped with enough juice to power an  entire war. Masterwork of craftsmanship, this one, and it tilts its head while I puzzle it together. I stare it right in the eye while I feel out around me. Nothing. The room has been scrubbed clean – no scents, no traces of the blocks that pound through the veins of every living thing. Even me presence will be a  whisper by the time I'm one step out the door. “Please, Destroyer. Have a seat. You're making us nervous.” The voice is as smooth and neutral as its face. Rattling around in me head rather than coming from between its lips. So I sit, and kick me boots up on that posh desk. “Give me a reason I don't burn this wretch down around your cast iron balls.”

“Ah,” comes the voice in me head again, “because you'll never meet us in the  flesh, and you're the curious sort, Destroyer. Are you afraid to use  your real voice?” I shan't respond to such outrage. The Golem gives me a once over and then steeples its fingers. A sly smile plays at that perfect mouth. “I must admit, we're surprised as anyone you've turned up. You've hidden  yourself so thoroughly that even the All Mother thinks you lost. Tit for tat, what do you hide from?”

“Stupid fucking questions, mostly.” The perfectly shaped eyes regard me. I keep the shark grin aimed right at it. “A favor to us then, Destroyer. We will call, and you will answer. No  matter the hour and no matter the date, run you shall to us and uphold  your end of the bargain.” I feel meself bristling. Being hired muscle isn't an alien thing, but the thee and thou's grate on me nerves something fierce. Makes them feel  like they're being jabbed by wee, vicious hay forks. Usually when I feel like that, I shoot something until it stops moving. Today, though, I just kick that fancy desk to splinters and stand to loom over this perfect pecker as it laments the greatest loss it'll ever know. “Aye, I'll let you tug on me strings once. But if the next words out of your  mouth aren't sending me away from this dive, I'll turn you back into clay. I know a lovely woman that wouldn't mind a pretty vase.” “What you seek is no longer here. It has been whisked away, hidden by kin in a place it will do no harm. Their balance is delicate in this sad, modern world, and trouble it was unto them until that moment.”

III. Now, even though it raised me hackles in such a horrorshow fashion, you may be wondering why I put meself into such a debt.

Curiosity killed the bloody mick would be me reply.

Whoever Sinclair might be, they run a cozy joint. And creating that Golem,  wiping their slate clean, wrangling angels for personal medicine men,  and keeping off me drunken radar all the while does make a fucker I'd  dearly love to meet.

And then maybe yank their fingernails out. It's dark by the time I'm back in me section of chaos and beneath the lights are me people. The lost, the broken, the cast away. I love them in a  way that's too soppy for words, and woe upon any bastard that means them danger. I slip through them like the shadow of a ghost until I reach the front of an old school. Cherry's Wayward school, to be exact. See – they aren't actually her students. Just what she calls them. Ones  like her that don't feel comfortable with that mean old body they've  been born into, ones that've been cast out from home and hearth because  they happen to find love in those what share their bits, and anything  between the two. She takes them in off the streets, sits them down, and  gives them a way out of the mess they've found themselves in. Protective bunch they are. Heard about what's been trying to prey on them and the  oldest have come outside to stand guard with nail guns. Bless 'em. They give me the eye when I go around back, but don't do much to stop me.  Know Cherry and I are tight, like, and some of them might even trust me.   I take the fire escape up to Cherry's level and knock against the window while I perch on the railing like a gargoyle. Cherry's always a vision. Just a massively baggy red shirt and her wet, dark  hair. Fresh from a shower and she takes a seat on the sill after she  throws up the window. “You're a mean old hound..” “Don't be celebrating just yet, love.” I fill her in. Her face takes on a certain hard look as me tale winds on  and she lights a cigarette to fight the sudden shaking in her shoulders. Exhales long and low, squinting off into the street lights and the  distant silhouettes of her patrolling Waywards. “How do we find him?” “That's the fucker, innit? Fret not, for your hound has the scent of those dreary kin of his.” She gives a weak smile around her cigarette. We fall into silence then and I follow her gaze. Those wee Waywards down there are as much me people as they are hers, and I feel a certain burning in me heart at the thought  someone has been preying here. Somewhere even fools fear the tread of  the earth. It's her what breaks the silence, her voice quiet and a little distant. “I ever tell you about my first time, Angel?” “Confession is good for the soul. Especially to one of me holy order.” She laughs at that, lets her head drop back against the window.

“Only ten years old, you know? I had a crush on this boy – he was beautiful. Could swing a bat harder than a major leaguer and got his kicks studying card tricks. But I was just a kid. I'd never tell  him. I knew I was really a girl but him and me have the same thing  between our legs and what am I gonna say? No one talks about that shit,  and who was I gonna ask for advice? And how is he gonna react? No one  told me it was normal to feel that, that love doesn't care about that  petty shit, that it's OK to feel it. So I just hid the feeling away and  stayed his friend. But the boy was a born victim. Trouble had his number and it was always drunk dialing.” Another beat of silence while she thinks and I let it pass. Her story, her words, and her thoughts. I'm just scenery.

“These kids, older than us, we thought they were so cool and so dangerous.  They treated us like garbage. Then the leader, he gets a bright idea.  Have this baseball star rob a store for them. He's a minor, an athlete.  It'll never stick on him, and they'll have the money before he's in  cuffs. They start pressuring him. Waving a gun around. And I knew my boy was gonna cave – all it was gonna take was time.” Sometime during her story, she'd crawled out of the window to stand on the  escape. Leaning on it near me, her smoke dangling between her lips. “I stopped it. Followed this motherfucker after school. He never saw me.  With my stupid neon backpack and too big Doc Martens and he never even  looked around. He was standing outside a stoop, talking to these greasy  assholes he called friends. I ducked into an alley and took this old  plastic pipe someone threw out. I started writing all these nonsense  words on it with a marker that smelled like grapes. Then I took all the  anger at him, all the protection I wanted to spread over my boy, and I  just felt it. Pointed my magic pipe at the sky and felt every tiny bit  of it. Wanted it all to come down right on his puny head.” She closes her eyes and tenses her shoulders. Has another drag before she relaxes them. “The pipe got so hot it burned me. Melted right in my hands. Then there was  screaming. Not me, I didn't weep a single damn tear. It was a circus  across the street, though. Turns out asshole just evaporated into guts  and gore and that's all that was left of him. Know what I did, Angel?” “Nary a clue.” “I smiled. I smiled and I thought, 'no, asshole. Not my boy. Not ever my boy. No, you don't.'” She passes me her cigarette when she opens her eyes. I have a drag, still  perched as I am. Tastes like her namesake – sweet lip gloss and the  faint smolder of gunpowder. I drag again and I say to her, “Get your boots. We've a date.” IV. And here we are, Cherry and I, cruising silently in the beat to shite  Torino I've had since the first pope. It was black once, now it's just  fade and rust. Cherry's  all in black. Jeans and boots and a nifty little jacket that she  produces a spike from to clean her nails with. Nasty piece of work, her  spike. Sharpened ice pick, gaffer's tape wrapped around the handle so  she's got a nice and solid grip for the ultra violence. Don't envy our runner. It's best Cherry not see me eyes, so I've wisely put on the sunglasses I  keep for just such an occasion. I've got the scent in me head and it  does... shall we say, funny things to the mask I work so hard to  maintain. Drawing us closer, while I can feel every beat of his heart  and thrum of desire like he was me very own body. Trendy clubs that pound music that makes you feel like machines have taken  over, convenience stores for that nasty hangover, and all within walking distance of public transport that smells like a thousand urinals. He's in a group standing outside of a club, laughing and pushing at his  bloody phone. The group is as flawless as a set diamond; perfect smiles, skirts that hang just right and pants so sharp you could cut paper,  eyes shrewd and clear. Only way you'd ever notice something was off if  you got close enough. Their fingers are all the exact same length. Long  and delicate, but stronger than a crocodile's jaws.

Coast to a stop on the opposite side of the street and I'm out and moving.  Cherry makes a startled sound behind me, then scrambles after me. They can sense me coming. They've all tensed up, looking like rabbits who've realized there's a rabid dog just behind the next tree.

They're wise to be fucking scared. I wade into them. Grab me particular rabbit by the back of his neck  before he can scream and slam a fist into his perfect face. Bones  crunch, he goes limp and must be surprised to find himself over me  shoulder.

I'm already turning back when there's a scream so loud it cracks like a  shot and everyone not in that posh little group suddenly has blood  running from their ears. Including Cherry, and it stains the white silk mask she's pulled over her face.  But her eyes are shining, bright as comets. Her spike is buried to the  hilt in the shoulder of this wee scamp that was about to jinx me through a bloody wall. See, these changelings can touch iron all they want. But, you break the skin, get into them? It's a right thriller to see. He's screaming sodding murder and mayhem when I shove past, and Cherry gives her spike a neat twist before yanking it out and showing it to the rest of the gaggle. They stand motionless as statues, riveted to their  phones. Trembling. Cherry and I are back across the street, quick and silent as we came. Runner  goes in the trunk and then we're well off before a siren can even get  the idea of blaring V. Boyo finds himself laid out on a cold slab of concrete dock when he comes  swimming back up. Most of the bones in his face have healed in this  short time, and I watch him give his jaw a little move and take a  vicious pride in the grimace that follows. His troubles are only just beginning, because Cherry comes to loom over  him. She's a frightful, vengeful ghost beneath her white mask, looming  over him with the spike. He can sense me back in the shadows, and the  woe he was preparing at the tip of his tongue suddenly goes straight  back down his throat. His panicked eyes go between me and Cherry. She drops into a crouch over  his chest and plasters her hand right over his mouth, her spike tight  against his temple. “You're gonna sing me a song, pretty bird. Wanna know what about?” He nods. All he can do, really. “You're gonna sing about your cousin. Sing his life story, right up to what spider hole he scuttled into.” She releases his mouth and he has a steep drink of the air before he starts in. Something has changed in his eyes; a burning hatred for me dear  Cherry that threatens to make him do something oh so careless. “Go fuck yourself, witch. Family matters stay indoors.” Cherry is a terror with that spike. Knows just where to drive it. Another one  of those screams pierces the air, echoing out over the silent river. No  one around for miles to notice the fresh blood running from Cherry's  ears. “You got a tune, song bird. All I have to do is wind it up.” It takes a good long while before he finally relents. Cherry got wise  after that first bleat and gave us a little spell that filters the  warbling. And so it goes. Until he finally just lets out the cry of a child not getting his way and looks up at her. “He's in the fucking castle, all right? The fucking castle! Same place we buried those fucking things he -” And as quick as that, there's his last defiant mistake. A calm sweeps over him and his jaw doesn't snap closed, but just hangs  open when the full weight of Cherry's gaze smashes into his eyes. “scuse me?” Then she lays into him with the spike. Between his ribs, so he'll feel every burning inch. “Things? They were people! Same as me, you pathetic worm!” She punctuates every stroke with a new an inventive swear that'd make even  me old salt of a mother blush to the roots of her hair. “They had names. A family that loved them. And you fucks – you haughty, good  for nothing fucks think you can just swindle and feed. They should have  fucking kept you! Got no fucking business walking around where you can  get at anyone! Especially. Not. My. Fucking. Waywards!” He's well and gone at the end of that outburst, leaking his too pale blood  all over Cherry and the concrete. I go to get her off him. She doesn't  fight, just goes limp when I reel her back by the arms. Light as a  feather to me either way, and I guide her back to the car. She's vibrating so hard she might shake apart, but come along she does. We don't linger. VI. What are modern day castles if not bloody jails? Glorified dungeons where  they lord over the slaves. Takes a long bit of driving to bend me mind  the right direction to figure it, but I do well enough. Cherry has  lapsed into a fitful sleep when I finally do, curled up in the seat with her arms around that bloody spike. There's more than a few abandoned prisons in this sprawl, places cleared out  when the obscene super max opened. Modern day castles, right under me  nose. And lucky sod I am, I've got the tribe's scent firm in me head. So that's where we've come to, out in the middle of nowhere. The ruthless  and posh bastards patrolling the walls have yet to notice us. From the  looks of them, you'd assume they couldn't use the guns they sling  around, but you'd make a mighty fatal mistake in doing so. I don't say anything when Cherry starts herself awake, blinking behind  her mask. I point. She follows me finger and her eyes go steely. She  sits up, alert and beautiful. Her dark hair falls against the sides of  the mask and the blood has dried into fine streaks of warpaint. It's been well enough that the hornets are so very violently shaken up. They know a stranger shall come knocking, and they've brought the hardware  for a firm greeting. Cherry is a lot of things, but human is tribal  leader among them, and those nasty bits would chew her up before she  even raised a proper cuss. Granted, she doesn't know about me and me ways, so it's with a certain sense of  alarm that she receives me plan when we put our heads together. There's a lot of promising I'll come out with everything where it ought be and  oaths on dead mothers I never had that I'll see another rooster bringing up mean father Sol. All  said and done, I end up alone in the car while Cherry sneaks off out of  the cold sunshine. I light meself a cigarette, listen to the birds chirp for a bit. Put me hands on the wheel and read the runes and sigils I've tattooed across them and all up me arms. Then I start her and slam down on the gas. Ramming speed. Sparks fly and the Torino smashes through the electrified chain link gates.  I'm grinning the entire way. The pretties up yonder don't waste any  time. There's a thousand bullets slamming into the car and me the whole  way through. Christ, that fucking smarts fierce. See, you can shoot me. You can stab me. You can bloody well burn me alive.  I'll feel every second of it, but things like me, you just can't keep us in the dirt. So, in this great deal of pain that I'm currently in,  you'd expect blood everywhere. But there's only shards of ice, holding  me skin closed and knitting me innards back together. The pain gives me something to focus on. And the hex that I sling through  gritted teeth sends heads all along the watchtower popping. Then I'm out of the car, moving across the dusty yard and hauling me beaten carcass  up the wall by sheer force. Grab one of the bastards and drag him down  through the barbed wire, then rip his throat with me teeth while he  thrashes and fizzes. Take his gun on the way over – some shite pistol, all plastic and curves –  and pump a round into two foolish enough to think they could help the  first. Closing in from both sides now, so I wing it towards the cover of the watchtower they'll have to cross through. Bullets ring against the concrete once I'm inside and I feel the changes. Know  by instinct that me eyes have gone all inky and black, perilous depths  and all that sod. The grin won't go and I feel the ice trying to stitch  one side of me mouth back together.   Me mind goes sleepwalking while I'm putting the world to rights. There's a lot of ripping and tearing. I come through the darkness in me head  and some poor whelp’s heart would be in me hand. I sink, then come up  again through all the static and end up kicking another bastard through  the nasty wire. When the  smoke clears and I can steer meself through the carnage I've wrought, I  focus on the doors. More inside. I can smell them. The jinxes and curses that've been slung at me set the tattoos throbbing and burning and  glowing as they soak up all that energy. Know Cherry's inside. Can smell her, too. And sense the iron strong, focused needle of the magic she  weaves rocking back and forth through the fabric. That's me girl. But, inside, word has spread about what they're facing down. And they've  summoned something right awful to put me down to earth. I toss the useless meat that was me last victim at those locked doors, then follow it down. Land crouched and put me head down. Waiting. VII. Don't have to wait long. The doors slide open and out comes what looks like a man put together all wrong. His limbs strike and slide at odd,  misshapen angles. Horrible grinding noises. The stink of otherness about him, from the howling darkness from beyond creation. Now they bloody well have me attention. Right now, I'm slow and everything moving is blaring a throbbing soundtrack  of pain. I'll have to play this one. So I stand and get a good look as  he starts circling me in that smooth, janky gait. Almost reminds me of the way a spider moves, this bastard. He has naught for  protection but a piece of rebar, branded with things I'll never take the time to figure. First  thing is to learn your enemy. So, I get in close and let him have a  whack with that wee bit of  rebar he's so deadly fond of. I could say it hurts. I could say that, but I shan't, because it comes  nowhere near what shoots through me head when he lays in. So bad that me vision narrows and I can't feel anything. Not the pulsing beat of  creation, not the mayhem and despair I'd just rained down, nothing. All  there was was a black bleak wave of absolute shit. I feel meself lifting, and find to me surprise that I'm well into the  thick yard wall hard enough to crack it. It takes a real effort to stand after such abuse, but stand I do, we face each other across the dirt. I spit on that dirt and then he's rushing, all jangly limbs and a calm,  almost content smile on his face. First off, I have to get him to drop that sodding pain stick. So it's a storm I call forth, a fury of swirling, icy blades. But his arm, it bends in  way no arm should and the razors sail off into the great distance.  Probably flipping me the bird as they go. Then, I get another whack  across the noggin. Shite. Moments like this, I forget me mask. In that darkness, what I truly am stirs,  and I don't care if it leaves a print the size of a megaton across every bleeding radar on God's green fucking Earth, nobody hurts me like that  and I'll be proper fucked if let this asshole put even a single odd  finger on Cherry.

So I let that pain come. I crumple to the ground and then I let out me  wings, and with them, the true things that turn me cranks. Me mind has gone again.

I retreat and have a bit of peace before I surface for another blow with  that sodding stick. Go away, come back, and me teeth are locked onto  this thing's wrist, chewing through. Intent to tear until I have his  hand in me mouth like a sodding dog. Know I've gone feral and I can feel me features changing. Becoming a smooth  mask. No holes, no bumps, just smooth ice and me staring eyes. Gone again. Come back and I've somehow gotten his arm off without me teeth.  It's on the ground between us. But he slugs with something from that  wicked tongue of that sends feathers flying in a frenzy and then I'm  beaten into another senseless pit. I consider staying this time. To me chagrin, I never do just stay, and when I open me eyes I have me  fingers buried to the knuckles in his skull. His good hand is wailing me with that stick and I'm just holding on like I'm drowning, me fingers  sinking deeper. Searching for his eyes.

I go down into blackness again and all I hear is a distant pop, then  another solid thump of that stick slamming against me delicate sort.

VIII.

I'm content to stay here until I feel a presence over me, lording like the  duke of all the land.  I've a grudge when I open me eyes. Cherry.  Covered in too pale blood, with small scratches in the fabric of her  mask. Can tell by her expression that I'm mostly normal again, but she's never seen the ice. She tilts her head, eyeballing me, then moves out  off sight. Feel her hands at me wrists, dragging me towards the ruins of me once great car.

As we go, I spy the sack of bones I've left, and I manage to work up a proper spit at them while I'm dragged past.

Tosser.

Cherry helps me up, props me against the bumper. I look away when she slides a cigarette between me lips, inhale when she lights it. Don't want to  watch her studying me.

“Know what I think, Angel?”

I don't respond.

“I think as much as you hem and haw, you really are an angel. Never pegged exactly what you were, boy. Now? I think you're a mean guardian that's  wandered into this world, and you've picked yourself some folk not a  single other soul is watching over.”

That distant hill is mighty fucking interesting, innit?

She traces her finger across me ruined cheek and the ice that holds it closed, then walks to the driver's door. She pauses.

“I saw your wings, Angel. They were beautiful.”

Then she's in, and amazingly the old Torino starts. Rattles like a snake,  but start she does, and idles for a few seconds until I wave me hand.

Stand up straight when the car lurches back. Another few seconds pass before it pulls out and roars away.

Just me, a cigarette, and father Sol.