#except I misjudged the location of the arm

[isfjmel-phleg]

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[forasecondtherewedwon]

ship 3 location 19 👀💖🫶🏻

Thanks very much for the prompt, Anon!! Hoping you find this one 👀 worthy...

3) SHIP: Cressida x Eloise

19) LOCATION: a carriage interior

more Bridgerton-themed fic prompts

Two to Give Chase

Pairing: Eloise x Cressida Rating: E Word Count: 3201

Summary: Colin had chased Penelope, and Eloise had chased Colin, and Cressida, rather miraculously, had chased her. Or; Eloise and Cressida get their own carriage scene.

All was in motion tonight, and Eloise, who had only wanted to sit and unfurl her ideas to Cressida, was caught out. Colin had gone to Penelope, and Cressida had gone to Debling, and who to Eloise? No one.

It was not the evening she had thought she was having, ensconced with her friend. She had briefly imagined their tête-à-tête a stimulating salon… until Cressida had abandoned her the moment Debling stood alone on the dance floor. Eloise had scoffed to be left so in the lurch. She had stared, in puzzled awe, at the dancing pairs. Penelope and her brother had appeared to be arguing, while Cressida had looked rather smug in whatever she was imparting to Debling. Both pairs had annoyed Eloise, and it was more complicated than because she had not been a part of them, a part of the easy swish and turn of society she had always felt so out of step with.

Eloise had not solved the mystery of her feelings by the time the music stopped and the set broke up, and so it was impulsively that, when she saw Penelope disappear from the room after speaking to Debling and saw Colin follow after, she shoved her chair back and gave chase.

She was in time to catch up with neither the retreating roll of Penelope’s carriage nor her brother’s feet as he ran—absurd!—after it. She was left, in fact, panting and clutching her side, squinting after them with consternation. She was left alone in the night.

…Until she felt a gloved hand on her arm and turned to see Cressida skidding to a stop at her side. Eloise did not know how much she had seen, what she knew or even guessed, and she had no chance to ask. Cressida was flagging down assistance, was ordering the Cowper carriage be brought. Eloise, repossessed of her breath yet befuddled, only understood that the cause of this rush was her. Colin had chased Penelope, and Eloise had chased Colin, and Cressida, rather miraculously, had chased her.

After Cressida had all but bodily yanked Eloise into the carriage and ordered “Bridgerton House!”, they sat face to face. Eloise did not know quite what to say, except: “What are you doing?”

“I am assisting you! I admit, the destination was a guess—”

“But…” Words failed Eloise for a moment. “Surely this is your opportunity.”

Cressida blinked.

“To do what?”

“To speak with Debling. To dance with him.” Eloise made a gesture that attempted to communicate all the rituals of courtship, all the things it was so much more difficult to do when the man whose attention you sought was so often divided between young ladies—namely, between Cressida and Penelope, who had just fled.

“Oh.” Cressida appeared thoughtful, as though she had truly not considered this. Then, her countenance cleared. “I suppose I did not want to stay with him. I suppose I wanted to… go with you.”

“I do not even know why I am here!” Eloise’s voice rose in exasperation—at herself? At Cressida for throwing away this long looked-for chance to have Debling to herself? Whatever was any of them doing this evening?

“Well, I…” Cressida began tentatively, sitting very straight with her hands folded on her lap. “I rather hope you are trying to waylay Mr. Bridgerton, though I cannot imagine why. Should your break from Penelope Featherington keep your brother from her as well?”

Eloise stared at the woman across from her. She had misjudged her more than once, and was now especially touched by Cressida’s unexpected generosity; it was clear she felt an empathy with Penelope after all. However much she did not want Penelope competing with her for Debling, she apparently did not mean for Penelope to have no husband. For that was the reason behind all of this, Eloise knew—if she stopped to contemplate it beyond rash decisions and gravel in her shoes: Colin must love Penelope. He would not have run behind her carriage if circumstances were otherwise.

“If you side with Penelope, why are you hoping I am trying to prevent my brother from seeing her?” Eloise asked.

Cressida directed her gaze down to her lap, smoothing her dress.

“Because… if you are not…” Her smile, when she raised her chin once more, was fragile. “If you are instead chasing after Penelope, I have made... a very silly blunder. And I ought to have remained with Lord Debling.”

Eloise had never felt it: this. She held Cressida in her gaze—all her terror, all her practicality, all her pink—and she saw what so many of her mother’s stories had not been enough to say. It seemed so simple, so suddenly simple, that she could have laughed. She did not; she did not ever want Cressida to think she was being laughed at, and Eloise felt too overwhelmed to make sense of her laughter to another person. She doubted she could have made sense of it to herself. She felt like a doll that had fallen from a height, wooden limbs all disjointed, so low to the moving sky. It was disorienting, and it filled her with a mad feeling of immortal joy.

“Debling is a most sensible choice,” Eloise murmured. Her lips felt numb, but that was alright, because she was more interested in Cressida’s, which were flinching into a sad smile as she glanced away.

“That he is,” Cressida agreed with forced confidence.

“He would be a good husband to a woman who wanted her freedom, who wanted to be out from under her parents. A woman who had not had a warm home growing up could undertake the making of one, all to her own taste, if she had such a husband as Debling, who was not uncaring but left her much on her own.”

“She could.”

“Does not the woman I describe remind you of yourself?” Eloise wondered gently, making Cressida look at her. “Unless I am mistaken.”

“She does.”

Again, Cressida went along with what Eloise had said, still wearing that unhappy smile. She did not see—Eloise did not know how to make her—that Eloise attempted the same empathy Cressida had lately shown Penelope; she felt for the other woman, and knew what might make her happy. Or if not happy, easy, which might even be better, if love was out of the question. But whether or not love was out of the question was what Eloise really hoped to determine.

“The two of you together,” Eloise ventured, longing to be contradicted, “would be quite a practical match.”

“Practical,” Cressida repeated.

The ensuing silence stretched long enough for Eloise to begin to think of Penelope and Colin, and wonder what had transpired, what might have been transpiring even then, whether they had proceeded to Bridgerton House as Cressida had supposed or aimed for a different destination. Eloise felt she would need to meddle there; if they intended to marry, she could not keep Penelope’s secret quiet. She would not have it on her conscience, no matter if Penelope had reconciled herself to having it on her own. Colin was Eloise’s brother and deserved the truth. What could be love that was not begun honestly?

Eloise’s thoughts were scattering into abstraction when Cressida spoke again, concentrating her focus.

“Of course,” she said, “the practicality of the thing is what makes it all the more inconvenient…” She swallowed and the eyes she locked on Eloise’s were full of nervousness. “…as I fear your influence has made me an idealist.”

Heart beating with a hopefulness that was almost painful, Eloise pled from her eyes.

“You’re brave,” she said.

“More likely a very great fool,” Cressida admitted.

Eloise pulled Cressida’s trembling hands into her own, stroking the satiny fingers of her gloves.

“You will not marry him?” Eloise fairly breathed the question, afraid to hear herself ask it, afraid of what she wanted the answer to be.

Cressida leaned in and swore, “I will not marry him. How could I go away from you?”

With a strangled sound which might have been ecstasy or agony but was certainly a relief to expel from her chest, Eloise took advantage of the jostling of the carriage to fling herself forward, lips pressing Cressida’s. Cressida gave a little cry against her mouth, and then her head was tilting to kiss her more assuredly, her hands squeezing Eloise’s.

Eloise could hardly believe it. Fortunately, there was no more time for doubt than there was for belief, and as Cressida was kissing her back, Eloise seized the opportunity wholeheartedly. The carriage ride would only be so long. At the end of it would be Bridgerton House, and Colin, and Penelope, and perhaps a proposal. If Eloise had to stand witness to a happiness constructed partially over the uneven ground of deception, then she would witness it with her own honest happiness, even if it must be concealed. One of them was crying desperate, grateful, ecstatic tears; as Eloise cupped Cressida’s cheeks in her palms, the tears soaked her gloves.

As though Cressida too had remembered they did not have long, she kissed Eloise more roughly, eliciting a groan even Eloise had not expected.

“I—” she muttered, eyes still half shut but with some vague sense that she must apologize for the impropriety of the sound. “I did not—”

Cressida would not hear the apology. Her arm slipped around Eloise’s waist as she said insistently, “Come here.”

Eloise all but threw herself onto the opposite seat, and in seconds, Cressida had her crowded into the corner, apparently doing all she could to cause Eloise to repeat the noise. With a sloppy swirl of her tongue into Eloise’s mouth, it was accomplished.

The more they kissed, the more they touched—Cressida’s hand gripping Eloise’s side now, higher than her waist—the more Eloise wanted Cressida’s kisses and touches. She was experiencing an urgent sensation. For all her mother’s stories of love and marriage and children, this was something Eloise knew she had never described. Eloise had believed in passion, of course, but she had assumed it was all of the mind—that desire sprung of a connection between two people on the field of intellect and emotions. That understanding was the pinnacle of what one could hope to discover in another person.

Well.

Eloise had been unutterably wrong.

She had also read books, but any book in their home that made any allusion to physicality did so in a glossing, indistinct way. What she felt at the juncture of her thighs, at that very moment, was nothing if not distinct!

Eloise quickly became as desperate to touch Cressida as she was to be touched herself. And not through these blasted gloves! Pulling out of the kiss, Eloise bit the finger of one offending article between her teeth, but the damned things were so snug! She would scream if she were not able to feel all the textures of Cressida beneath her bare fingertips!

“Let me,” Cressida muttered.

With a frustrated gasp, Eloise extended her arm. To her tremendous surprise, Cressida bowed over her arm and used her own teeth to take hold of the fabric and draw it down Eloise’s skin. Oh, it rubbed deliciously as it went, making all the fine hairs on her arm stand on end. Cressida whisked away one glove and then the other. Eloise watched and saw the barest hint of an impulsively made decision in Cressida’s expression before she licked between Eloise’s fingers. Eloise moaned.

And then they were upon one another, Cressida wrenching the dress from Eloise’s shoulders. The straps of Eloise’s stays digging into her upper arms, and she did not care! Her movements were slightly restricted, and what of it! There had been days—many days, most days—when a restrictive garment would have provoked her into endless complaints. Groaning! Whining! Refusals to be dragged from the house! Now, it hardly mattered, because her mouth could still kiss Cressida’s, her thudding chest could still press Cressida’s, her legs could twine with Cressida’s still as they reclined across the seat.

Cressida’s leg rubbed between Eloise’s quite by accident, and Eloise heard another sound of her own creation that was totally unfamiliar to her own ears. Cressida became as a statue. They panted against one another. And then, slowly, Cressida rubbed her leg against Eloise once more. Eloise’s head fell back as she cried out.

They carried on in a flurry, and likely would have carried on longer—longer than the journey would take, longer than the whole of human history had yet spanned, surely—had Eloise not been gripped by the need to show Cressida the same sort of pleasure. She had to. The thought possessed her as she grasped Cressida’s hips and handled her roughly, moving her aside so she, Eloise, could sink to the carriage floor. Cressida sat up, looking much dishevelled.

“What are you doing?”

“I have no idea,” Eloise confessed, the words seeming to crackle as they left her mouth, which was no longer for speaking, only for kissing, for kissing only Cressida.

Kneeling, she took the hem of Cressida’s dress in her hands and began gathering it up towards her knees. She could not explain. All Eloise understood was that the feeling was there for her, and so it must be there for Cressida, and perhaps, if she could see, she could comprehend: how to coax the sensation from her body, how to prolong it, how to prove Cressida had chosen rightly by picking her over Lord Debling.

Her head dropped onto Cressida’s bare knee and she sighed her thanks to God.

“I do.”

Dazed, Eloise looked up at Cressida with a frown.

“Hmm?”

“I know what you must do,” Cressida clarified. Her cheeks were the soft-edged pink of the inside of a cherry, though as she continued to stare at Eloise, they darkened towards a shade more like the ripe skin of that fruit.

“How on earth do you know?” Eloise demanded. She could not fault Cressida for smiling as though she would laugh at her; Eloise’s voice had come out rather indignant. But this meant some young ladies were actually learning about—

“Just because I do not read books on the subject of the great auk does not mean I do not read.”

Cressida’s smile was now very sly, and she held her chin up haughtily as she slid her dress higher than Eloise had yet dared. Eloise’s face grew hot at the sight of Cressida’s naked thighs. Was this the sight men traveled halfway across Europe to enjoy? Was this what men snickered about in their clubs, away from delicate, feminine ears? If it was, Eloise was immediately certain they were unworthy of it. They could not possibly have been appreciating such a view as much as she was, crouched before Cressida Cowper in the moving carriage.

“Could you possibly lend me some of your books?” Eloise murmured.

“Of course. For now, I shall tell you all you need to know.”

This exchange seemed more than generous, an abundantly fair trade for swiftly imparted information on a flightless bird. The knowledge would serve both parties; they would both be the better for it—Eloise was convinced of this, even after Cressida’s hurried account of the mechanics of the maneuver gave way to an explanation without words. With dizzying suddenness, Eloise’s face was nestled between Cressida’s warm thighs and Cressida was tugging her gloves off—left on in their haste—to plunge her fingers into Eloise’s styled hair, likely rendering it irreparable.

Knowing they drew ever nearer to Bridgerton House, Eloise did not hesitate. Lick, Cressida had said, so Eloise did. She did it without being sure, which was a little terrifying, but eventually, she found she had done something correctly; she knew by the way one of Cressida’s hands gripped her head and by the slam she pulled back enough to see had been Cressida’s other hand striking the ceiling of the carriage. Eloise made a noise of satisfaction and continued, only to have her audible satisfaction overtaken by Cressida’s.

She said all sorts of things Eloise had never heard her say, filling Eloise with delight as well as absolute, unadorned lust. Eloise clutched Cressida’s thighs and licked harder, blending saliva with the fascinating wetness that accompanied Cressida’s passion. She lapped at the flushed, budlike apex until Cressida began a mindless roll of her hips, a steady moan. Eloise was a curious woman, and had been a curious child before that; she knew what her own body looked like, but she had not known, had never guessed at, all its miraculous capabilities. She felt the good fortune of Cressida and her books—she felt it from the scalp against which Cressida’s fingernails scratched to the feet she sat on in this position on the floor of the carriage.

Cressida rocked against Eloise’s eager mouth until she panted, “El, El, Eloise,” went silent, and came to a shuddering stop. When she pulled her fingers from Eloise’s hair, Eloise’s head tingled all over like departing fairy magic. She sat back. Cressida’s other hand plummeted from the ceiling. They rearranged her skirt so that it fell down her legs. Eloise tugged her stays and gown back into place around her shoulders. Their gazes pulled at each other, heavy as the sway of the sea. That was what Eloise felt, rolling along, anchored to Cressida. She wondered whether this was what marriage was like; she could not imagine a more profound feeling of connection.

Cressida extended both hands to her and Eloise took them gladly, letting herself be pulled up. She sat next to Cressida, who carefully rested her head on Eloise’s shoulder, mindful of her extravagantly-style hair. Eloise reached up and stroked her soft cheek. She longed for more caresses, more time. She wanted to know what else Cressida knew—wanted to know it with her body.

“I do not know what to say,” Eloise confessed at a whisper.

“Say nothing.” Cressida tucked an arm around Eloise’s waist. “It has all been said.”

Perhaps she was right, Eloise considered. For two people who talked almost ceaselessly when they were together, there was nothing it seemed pressing to say. The obvious thing, Eloise supposed, was to propose. That would save Cressida from ruin. But Eloise was not a man, and could not propose, and had not ruined Cressida by any definition she knew. The weight and warmth of Cressida against her did not communicate ruin. Nothing they had done felt dishonourable to Eloise, and so no dire need for a solution succeeded it. When they arrived at the house, they would have travelled there to here without incident, as far as anyone knew. Someone might observe their stripped gloves, their mussed hair, and see nothing but a pair of tired girls come back from a ball. It was sad, but it was not all sad. It would not be seen, but that did not mean it was not real.

Cressida turned her head and kissed Eloise’s shoulder. Eloise’s heart swelled and shrank and swelled again. They held each other until the carriage slowed.

[simpingandprocrastinating]

𝙀𝙌𝙐𝘼𝙉𝙄𝙈𝙄𝙏𝙔 - 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕

𝟭𝟯| 𝗔𝗚𝗢𝗡𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗡

· · ───────────── ·𐂃· ───────────── · ·

Maria hadn't woken up on the way back and Hanji was worried she wouldn't for a while longer. The mood was tense and soldiers were mourning over the dead. While Levi had his injured leg looked at, Maria was taken in by an infirmary located in Calaneth.

"But Levi, she needs the medical attention." Hanji argued with the man when they made their way to the room Maria was temporarily placed in. Merely hours after their return, Erwin was being summoned to the Capital as they demanded for Eren to be handed over. Everything seemed to have unfolded into a mess.

"When Erwin comes back, I want to take her with us to the Capital, where there can be eyes on her twenty-four-seven. Not in some half-assed infirmary here in Calaneth." Levi scoffed.

"Hey, she's my friend too... And I don't like to say this, but this is what she signed up for. Besides, she's not out of the danger zone yet." Hanji looked over to the male next to her. "Moving her body can still be risky, in view of the fact that she still hasn't woken up..." The small man couldn't help but feel annoyed as Hanji tried to reason with him.

"However, it would be better for her to wake up before Erwin comes back. You'll be here with Eren for the time being anyway." Hanji and Levi stood in front of the room Maria was in. Nurses rushed in and out of the space with red-colored water and bloodied rags.

"Come on." She pushed open the door to let Levi in, given he was now walking with a crutch.

The bespectacled woman let out a sigh when her eyes fell upon her honey-blonde friend. "At least she's cleaned up a bit, right?" The nurses had washed the remaining blood and dirt off her skin and changed her out of her uniform. Levi did not speak. Instead, he made his way to her bed and sat down on the stool next to her.

"We've managed to close up the wound as far as it would go, but she began to get feverish as soon as we were done. If she gets an infection, it might slow down the healing process..." A sudden voice came from behind Hanji. "How are her ribs?" "They're heavily bruised, but not broken." The physician spoke.

Silence filled the room. "I'm glad..." Levi shot Hanji a weird look. She might have misjudged one of her injuries - hell, even Maria did when he tended to her in the forest - but Levi couldn't help but feel uneasy about the situation. Maria was sweating profusely, her fist clenching the white bedsheets that covered her. The wet cloth on her forehead was already in need of change.

"Oi, Hanji pass me that bowl." Levi glanced over to the water bowl on her right. The brunette obliged and handed him the bowl so he could rinse the fabric and place it back on her forehead. Levi wouldn't openly admit it, but he hated this. He hated himself for the fact that he had left her there. As a consequence, Levi knew very well this would haunt him until she would wake up.

Hanji also noticed this but doubted he would concede to anyone about his concern for her. Maria was the Lieutenant of his squad but above all, their friend.

· · ─── · ·

Levi and Eren stayed behind while the recruits of the Scout Regiment had been moved to an outpost in the southern region of Wall Rose. They were put on standby, under the supervision of Mike. This except for Jean, Mikasa, and Armin, who hadn't reconciled with them yet.

The Captain had been going back and forth to check up on Maria's situation, to Eren's surprise. Although her fever had gone down pretty fast, she still hadn't woken up. That was; until the third day.

The black-haired male had been staring out of the open window, his crutch clutched under his arm. The faint sensation of a soft breeze tickled Maria's skin. It took her a moment to open her eyes just a little; getting used to the light in the room.

After her brown eyes could fully focus on the ceiling, she moved her head to take in the unfamiliar room, only to be met by a certain male's back. Maria couldn't bring herself to speak just yet, for her throat felt dry and her chest hurt. However, that wasn't the only part of her body that hurt. She could vaguely remember Levi and Hanji tending to her leg, but the rest was still a bit hazy.

As Levi turned around to leave, his eyes were met with Maria's doe-like ones. She had popped up her head a little to look at the man, just to lay down and stare up at the ceiling again.

"You look like shit, Bambi." He coolly stated. Maria did not answer him as she normally would. "You want me to get someone?" It was the first genuine question he asked, which made her look at him anew. "No." She groggily spoke as she clenched the sheets between her fists.

Maria was suddenly hit with the images of her squad dying before her eyes. She took her lower lip between her teeth as it started to quiver. She didn't care for the pain she felt in her body.

"Maria." Levi had sat down next to her, analyzing her face. She looked wrecked, ready to cry, but she didn't. Not just yet...

"You're hurt..." She wouldn't look into his eyes as she spoke, afraid she'd break down in front of him.

"I'm fine." Maria took in a shaky breath. "Come on." Levi nudged her arm gently. He bit through the pain of his own injury, trying to help her sit up. Maria could only hiss in pain as the small man supported her body.

Just at that moment, a nurse had come into the room to check up on the honey-blonde. She was about to speak before Levi stopped her. "Can you get her a glass of water?" The woman looked at him, baffled, before throwing back a soft 'of course' and leaving the room again. After a few minutes, the woman returned with the requested water.

"Should I call for the doctor?" Maria stared into the glass that she now held above her lap. "No, we'll be fine from here, thank you." The nurse blinked at Levi's words. She gave him a curt nod before leaving the two alone.

"You should drink, you're going to get dehydrated." Maria looked up at him surprised. "How long was I out?" She croaked. "Three days." Her head suddenly felt heavy. 'Three days, huh...'

"Now, drink." He urged her again. Maria lifted the glass to her lips while her hand started to tremble. She winced as she gulped down the water in record time. That's when the tears came. They rolled down, leaving a wet trail on the skin of her cheeks. Levi's eyes widened just a fraction at the sight, not sure what to do.

Maria took the glass from her lips, an ugly sob leaving her mouth in the process.

"I-I'm so sorry..." She finally made eye contact again, as she continued to speak. "I couldn't save them... I should've died there... I-" "Oi! Cut it out!" Levi snapped. "Why the hell would you even say that. You survived, you damn idiot!"

The room filled with painful cries while Maria continued to break down. Levi sighed and shifted his weight onto the bed next to her. "It's over, they're gone. Get that in this dumb little head of yours..." Levi lifted up his hand to pat her on the head. "For what it matters to you... We're glad you're alive..." 'I'm glad.'

Maria let her head fall onto his shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The man froze but did not push her off this time, reminding himself she was still injured.

He knew exactly how she felt. After Petra's father came up to him, talking about how worried he was about her decision to devote herself to him, he felt like fucking shit. He couldn't blame Maria for letting her feelings out. He just didn't know how to comfort the woman, so he just let her sob it all out. Levi patiently waited for her to calm down before he started to speak again.

"We're leaving for the Capital in a few days." "W-what?" Maria muttered while she pulled back from his shoulder. "Erwin's being called back. They want us to hand over the brat."

"Wait, wha-" "I've talked to Hanji about taking you with us, but we're still waiting for him to return." Levi lowered his gaze to her left leg. "They might be able to help you there..." That's when she saw it for the first time. She uncovered her leg and stared at the cut off limb for what felt like hours.

Maria threw her head back and closed her eyes. Levi followed her movements, awaiting her reaction. What he didn't expect was to hear her laugh. It was an eerie sound to hear from a woman who had been a sobbing mess a mere moment ago.

"So that's what happened when I got stuck, huh?" She whispered as Levi scrunched his eyebrows together. "God, I just thought I'd broken my leg and the nerves got cut through or something... Now this explains why I couldn't feel a damn thing below that part..." The tone of her voice became bitter. Again, with the swearing... Maria let out a small sigh, feeling drowsy all of a sudden.

"It still hurts like hell..." She breathed, absently grabbing Levi's hand on the bed. The male stiffened once more, but let her hold his hand as this was the only comfort he had to offer her.

"Levi, can you do me a favor?"

"Could you please wait with telling Jean I'm awake..." Maria did not feel like seeing anyone in particular after taking in the state of her leg. She opened her eyes, looking down at the now empty glass in her other hand. The man let out a small sigh and squeezed her hand before pulling back.

"Alright, but don't expect me not to tell Erwin and Hanji." Levi got up and took his crutch under his arm. "Get some rest. I'll call for the physician now." The young woman gave him an empty stare before nodding. As Levi went to leave, he was stopped by her voice. "Levi."

"Thank you," There was a slight pause. "for saving me."

< 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 | 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗫 | 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 >

· · ────────────── · ────────────── · ·

[rylanpratt]

Baby Announcement || Melina & Kennedy & Rylan

Location: Kennedy’s apartment Involving: @kennedypratt @melinaxabrams @rylanpratt1

[[ Key: Bold: Kennedy, Italic: Rylan, Plain text: Melina ]]

Kennedy knew there was very little he could do to soften the incoming blow, but he was doing his best. He had cleaned his new apartment, made it as comfortable as possible, and had invited Rylan to see it. Seemed simple enough, except Melina was also coming. And he was ready to inform Rylan of that fact as soon as she arrived. Which was…right then apparently. Kennedy tried to smile as naturally as possibly even as his heart pounded when he opened the door, “Hey, honey,” he said warmly, letting her in. “I did just want to let you know, Melina will be here. I hope, um…” he flattened his lips into a flat line. “It’s important you stay. I’m sorry for the sudden news.” Rylan stood in the middle of her dad’s apartment looking around at the surreal setting. That they were spending time anywhere that wasn’t the family penthouse was still a hard pill to swallow, because when Olivia had been away that was where they’d watched movies and spent time together, not in this…clinical setting. Arms crossed over her chest she tried not to make it too apparent how much she was hating every second of this on her expression, but it was not going well. The bell ringing was a surprise, the ‘hi honey’ was even more unwelcome one, as a scowl settled across the girl’s brow. “You did just want to let me know she would be here as she walked in through the door, nice forward thinking.” Her tone dripped with anger as she eyed Melina, starting to feel an uncomfortable sensation at the back of her neck. Something was going on. “More news? Great. That’s what this situation was missing.” Rylan muttered. This was the last place she wanted to be right now. If she had it her way, she would just vanish in a hole in the ground and never come back. But that’s not how life worked, and unfortunately this was something they couldn’t hide any more. The way Rylan was glaring at her wasn’t new to the woman, but it still made her uneasy. “Rylan I’m really sorry about the ambush. But we both knew that you wouldn’t have agreed to this if we flat out told you what we wanted.” She tried to keep her tone neutral but it was hard. “There’s something your father and i need to tell you.” Mel looked over at Kennedy before she continued. “Im pregnant.” Kennedy couldn’t help it; he wanted to reach over and hold Melina’s hand. He wanted the warmth of her palm in his, to ground him and clue him in that this was real. That this was happening. But still he nodded, bracing himself for the words. He cleared his throat, heart pounding, before he jumped in. “We didn’t want to tell you until everyone’s health was stable. But it feels very real now and we needed to tell you.” Kennedy swallowed, trying to keep his voice stable but knew he was close to breaking—if not during this conversation then after. It all felt so heavy. “This is obviously unplanned but I am—“ he glanced at Melina before returning his eyes to Rylan. “I am really committed to being in this child’s life.” Struck silent as soon as the words had left Melina’s lips the model’s entire body went cold like someone had poured ice water down her back, the ground starting to move. Her vision blurred as her eyes almost entirely unfocused. Mouth dry, feeling nauseous, hearing her heartbeat in her ears. This…this had to be some kind of disgustingly misjudged joke the two of them were playing on her…right? Because if it was real she just…she would be…no this couldn’t be real. They would never. Laughing a little she looked between the two of them - hands starting to shake. “You’re fucking with me. Please tell me you’re fucking with me.” The note of desperation in her voice was easy to detect, like she was begging one of them to laugh it off and tell her they’d just been messing around. Except then her dad was saying he wanted to be in the baby’s life and Rylan felt like she couldn’t breath. Face draining of what little colour it had in it to begin with she started to internally panic, not sure how to express the tangle of distorted emotions she was feeling ride in her throat. She knew this was how it was gonna go. Telling her was going to go about as easy as a brain surgery. And judging by the look on rylans face, melina knew they were in for it. Shaking her head slowly when she glanced at Kennedy again before looking at the other girl. “No. No we aren’t joking. I honestly didn’t know until everything had blown up with the texts and our phones being hacked.” Wringing her fingers together, she looked down. “Rylan I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of this to happen the way it did.” Kennedy shook his head at Rylan’s disbelief. “I’m sorry,” he said, for what seemed like the millionth time. “Melina’s right. We never wanted this to happen. Not how it did.” He absently scratched the back of his wrist. “I’m sorry, Ry. I hope—“ he bit his own cheek. “If it’s possible, still, I—“ he looked between Melina and Rylan before shaking his head. “I don’t even know what to say. I don’t want to lose you, Ry. I’ve always meant that. And I’m still here to keep showing up for you, as much as I can.” Rylan's hand lifted into the air, ending up in her hair as she raked her fingers through it, no idea how she was meant to process this information. "You didn't...you never wanted...jesus fucking christ do neither of you know how to be fucking adults?" She exploded, like a coke bottle that had been shook and opened, the girl erupted. "Oh you don't know what to say, no fucking shit you don't know what to say, you make me come here and...and...fucking....this..." Gesturing to the two of them with a shaking hand with sweating palms. No wonder Melina had been in a loose dress at the SNL party. She should have known, she should have known this shitshow would be never ending. "As much as you can? Yes, i can imagine a whole new fucking child will keep you pretty god damn busy!" Rylan screamed, left hand swiping out towards the nearby table as she sent a set of keys flying with a loud crash. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, entirely out of her own control, seeing nothing but red in front of her. This had to be a nightmare. He was replacing her, with her, as if the cheating wasn't bad enough. He was going to have a whole other family while she was cast to the side like she'd always feared she would be, she deserved to be, it was finally coming true. Mel didn’t do well with the yelling. She never did. She usually has a cool exterior and when one of her clients flew off the handle, she was calm and collected. But this? Well needless to say melina was not okay right now. Rylan flinging the keys across the room made her jump as she tensed on the couch next to Kennedy. “Rylan, please. We didn’t plan for this to happen. It was one weekend where i didn’t pay attention.” And that was the truth. “You’re not being a replaced. That’s never the intention at all “ Kennedy tried to keep calm, but it was fucking hard, when he was watching his daughter’s trust in him crumble yet again. But he focused on what Melina was saying and nodded. “That’s right,” he said seriously. “That’s absolutely right. Ry, please know that I will never stop thinking of you as soon as I wake up and right before I go to sleep. That’s been the case since before you were born.” His voice nearly broke, thinking of how much time had passed since that moment of learning of Olivia’s pregnancy and yet—his mistakes continued to cascade. “I love you, kid. That’s never gonna change.”

“Stop, no, stop fucking telling me you love me, stop saying the generic shit you think you should be saying. And you…” She pointed at Melina, shaking her head with a sneer on her face. “You have done enough fucking damage to my family. You were meant to be my friend. You were meant to be my fucking friend.” Her voice cracked as she carried on talking, tears or outraged upset threatening at the back of her throat, everything feeling like it was closing in. Shaking her head as she took a shuddering breath in that didn’t seem to do any kind of good while her left hand clenched and unclenched in and out of a fist down at her side. “You have both ruined…I'm going to be sick...” Rylan muttered. Head swivelling left and right, her eyes zeroing in on the bathroom as she made a bolt for it, slamming the door behind her before she crumpled to the floor with a strangled whimper. Melina sighed as she looked over at Kennedy. Rylan was right in her feelings and honestly the fact that she didn’t try to fight her was the best case scenario. “Go talk to her.”she whispered as she patted his hand. “She shouldn’t be alone right now.” Mel kept her eyes on the door, not knowing what she should do right now that wouldn’t make everything so much worse than it already was. Kennedy knew Melina was right. He didn’t know how much longer Rylan would have her breakdown under his roof but he figured he was a better person to go. He took a moment to grasp Melina’s hand in his own and brought it softly to his lips, a selfish moment of affection, before he rose to go to the closed door. “Ry,” he said, knocking a couple times. “I’m here, okay?” Rylan felt tears start to trickle down her cheeks as she sat on the floor of the bathroom, attempting to get her breathing under control and failing. A shakey hand going into her pocket to pull out a blister pack of pills, shoving a couple in her mouth just moments before hearing her dad outside the door. Sniffing she wiped her eyes roughly so he would see her crying, looking weak in this moment the last thing she wanted. “I didn’t lock it.” She snapped, hands shaking as she returned the medication to her pocket before he got into the room, still fizzing with anger. “Shouldn’t you be checking on your baby mama, don’t want the precious fucking cargo to get fucked up like the last kind you made, right?” The words she heard hurt. They used to be friends and now she was once again on the receiving end of rylans irritation and anger, and she knew it was her fault. If she had just said no and walked away, none of them would be in this situation. Rylan would have her dad and none of this would be happening Kennedy took a deep breath and slowly entered, crouching down to her level. He winced at her words but shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “You’re not fucked up. You’re my baby. And you matter to me. This is about me and my own—“ he ran a hand down his face. “I don’t even know. But the proudest moments of my life are watching you in the world and that’s not changing.” He took a deep breath. “Even if you have to hate me for this, I will never stop loving you and wanting to talk to you and wanting to watch you blow the world away. That’s the truth.” “I am, I am fucked up, but I’m starting to realise that maybe it’s not my fault because look where I came from. Look who my parents are, a control freak and a fucking cheater.” As he called her his baby the girl scoffed loudly, shaking her head. Interesting choice of words that was for sure. “No, I’m not your baby anymore, you’ll have someone else to watch with pride now, congrats.” Using the edge of the sink to help her stand up on shaking legs she knew she needed to get out of there. Away from this because she could already feel herself losing it, she needed to be at a bar or just…anywhere that wasn’t here. No, she needed a bar. “I’m done.” Walking into the living room she looked at Melina with loathing in her wide charged eyes. “You’ve fucked up my family you fucking bitch. God help other ’friends’ when you fuck them all over for your selfish gain.” Was all the girl spat at the woman, swiping a glass off the edge of the kitchen counter as she passed it, sending it flying with a loud crash as it splintered into a million shards. Melina stood up as Rylan came into the room. The venom in her voice was apparent but she would take that over silence. “Rylan enough. I’m sorry okay. I never wanted any of this to happen.” She said loudly catching the girls attention. “But it’s done, and it’s happened. What we need to do now is figured out how we are going to get past this and move forward.” The last thing she wanted was Kennedy feeling like he had to choose but it seemed like that was where it was heading. “Please just sit down and talk to us.” Kennedy wished it was that easy. His heart shattered at the hopefulness of Melina’s words—exhausted-sounding, yes, but hope nonetheless. He knew Rylan. He knew when she was ready to run…there was little stopping her. Still. He appreciated the hope. “I won’t stop you from going, Ry, but seriously…if you wanna stay. We’ll be here.” He swallowed. “I always want you to stay.” “No, fucking no, back off.” Rylan snapped at Melina, hand coming up as she pointed at the woman furiously. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or when it’s enough. You are not my mother. You are some bitch who is fucking my dad because she doesn’t know what the word enough means. I don’t care if you didn’t want it to happen, I don’t care if you think we need to talk about it. You think just a casual ‘I’m sorry okay’ is going to fix all of this? Oh, Melina is sorry everyone so now everything is fine - it only took her fucking months to say it.” Putting her arms out wide as if addressing a crowed. She was already shaking but it seemed more pronounced now her hands were held out, visibly moving in the air. “Move forward? You think I’m going to get past this? I genuinely done know if you’re the most optimistic person in the world or just a total fucking idiot. This little self indulged circus you’ve both got going on though…” Now Rylan gestured between her dad and Mel, eyes darting from one to the other. “I want nothing to do with this, or with either of you. Not when you have been repeatedly lying to me - when you were meant to be my friend, and you were meant to be my dad, nah. You don’t do this shit to someone you love and especially not with the expectation that it can be sorted out with a conversation like you accidentally ate the last muffin.” The more she talked the more worked up the brunette was getting, voice scratchy as her eyes filled up with tears despite her efforts to stop it. Her mouth opened and closed suddenly like the was found to try and say something but there was nothing else to say. Not without her making things worse. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. Kennedy endured the storm from Rylan’s mouth, patient for its end, holding its hurt as much as he could. He deserved this; he knew it. He wished Melina could be shielded from it, but he knew that was a hopeless wish. He slowly nodded. “We’re both sorry,” he confirmed. “You’re right. We fucked up.” He took a deep breath. “You can still stay here. Or I can call you a car. Wherever you need to go. No questions asked.” Kennedy knew what he was offering, knew he was relinquishing control to her. But he was desperate to do one thing right. To care for her in some concrete way. “I want nothing from either of you. I don’t even know who either of you are anymore.” Rylan grabbed her bag from where it sat by the door, jaw tight with her teeth clenched. “Congrats on your new family you fucking home-wreckers.” Was the last thing she threw in their direction with a sneer before slamming out of the apartment with no idea where she was planning on going.

[naferty]

It’s been a while for incubus and demons au, but I’ve been chatting with @athletiger and they inspired me to write this! The MCU version of the au. 

~~~

Steve wakes up groggy and disoriented. Two words that are not associated with his name. Except for the one time he briefly felt it after narrowly escaping a reaper back when he and Bucky were only a hundred years old. Considered barely children to their people. They had been very stubborn and unwisely curious. 

The reaper they had run into scared years out of their lives. Hundreds of years. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he only lived to be a thousand, instead of a demon’s usual two thousand. The reaper did its job and cut his life already. 

Bottom line. Steve has not felt this in a long time. It instantly put him on edge. The room is bare with brown walls and a radio on the nightstand reporting a game. He scans the space, suspicious of every nook and cranny. He half expects a Hydra goon to burst through the window or for Carter to come through the door and berate him for the stunt he pulled with the plane. 

Someone does eventually come through the door. It’s not Carter and it’s not Hydra. It’s a woman. A human woman. Wearing the uniform he has grown accustomed to seeing each time he and the others had been at camp, but something is wrong. The uniform is wrong. The woman is wrong. 

Steve studies the outfit and notes… the top is off. Her chest, it’s smooth. The cloth humans created for their human women, her bra, it’s not pointed. The bra has changed drastically. In a manner that is not possible overnight. A new style. Progressive fashion. 

Steve is familiar with the fashion changing among humans and mythos. A large change such as this usually occurs in ten to twenty years. Meaning, ten to twenty years have passed while he was knocked unconscious. 

His theory is only proven right when the radio mentions two teams that have played each other long before Steve even followed Tony and joined in the war. 

This is all a lie. Created to make Steve believe no time had passed. Steve is no moron and he’s not about to let simple humans trick him like this. Not the American humans and not Hydra. No matter who has him captured, he’s not about to play along. 

He looks out the window. The buildings outside. He can barely see them, but already he knows they’re vastly different. He’s in a city. He doesn’t know which one, but a city means people and people means figuring it out sooner. 

He looks at the human woman. Gives her a cold stare. She fidgets. Steve will give her credit for hiding it well, but nothing hides from his sharp eyes. Then he feels it. In his chest. The bind. His Tony. He’s alive and he’s out there. Close. Behind these fake walls. 

He moves fast. He uses his demon speed, breaking through the wall and ignoring the human woman screaming for him to stand down. Steve does catch her calling for backup, so he knows he won’t be alone for long. He runs down the street as fast as his numb legs can, but his speed is a mockery of his usual capability. He moves as slow as a human does. No, that’s far too generous. He moves as slow as an elf. It’s ridiculous, but he pushes on, running next to what are now the cars of this time. 

They’re fast and they’re glossy and exactly what years of progress would give. The more he looks around the area the more he notes it can’t possibly have been twenty years gone. It’s more. Much more. 

He doesn’t recognize where he is, but the human faces, body structures and the languages scattered around are familiar. He’s in America. He’s sure of it, and his Tony is around here somewhere. 

Using the bind, he seeks his little incubus. The bind guides him further down the street, around corners, taking him exactly where Tony is. At one point he’s stopped by an eye-patched wearing person, who Steve suspects is a mythos, but he doesn’t bother guessing. The person tells him it’s been seventy years. Steve has missed seventy-years. The world moved on and advanced without him. He hadn’t been there to watch Tony grow its technology. Steve missed it. 

He nods at the eye-patch man and then continues running, evading the man attempting to strike him with what he presumes is a device meant to sedate. It only encourages him to move faster. His body is finally catching up. His speed increases. From one second to the next he disappears within the crowd and is not seen by human eyes. 

Within moments he comes upon a building. Not as grand or tall as the ones next to it, but it’s large and it’s ugly. It’s not where Steve expected to find Tony, but his bind is pulling him here. Quick as a flash, he enters and runs around, searching for the floor, for the room, where his little incubus is located. 

He eventually does find where the bind is pulling him. It’s up to the highest floor. Almost the very top. There are large windows that give a great view of the city. Blue skies and white clouds everywhere. Tony is standing by one, looking at the civilians walking and driving the streets. He’s wearing a suit with polished, expensive-looking shoes and has a glass in his hand. 

Steve stalks over, not really wanting to scare him but desperately wanting to hold him. Seventy-years is an awfully long time. Even if Steve doesn’t remember it, his body certainly does. He wants to hold his little incubus and never let go. 

Only when he’s inches behind his Tony, does he finally speak. “Tony.” 

Tony jumps. Literally jumps. His glass goes flying. His glamour fails and his wings, tail and horns come out. He whips around, arm coming closer to Steve to strike, but Steve has always been faster and he easily catches the offending appendage. The shock of it makes Tony freeze. Then his little incubus finally notices who is standing before him. 

“Steve?” 

“Hey,” Steve says, moving his hand to hold Tony’s fingers between his own. “Am I late for our dance?” 

Tony’s face is fuller and his facial hair has grown. No longer is it a simple stubble. Now, it covers his chin and jaw. A new style for the new time, Steve assumes. It looks good on him. 

“Y-you -” Tony stutters and it does make Steve feel guilty. He didn’t mean to disappear for seventy-years. It wasn’t part of his plan. 

He’s about to apologize for it, when Tony snaps. It’s seventy-years in the making and well-deserved, Steve admits. 

“You fucking asshole!” Tony smacks his chest with his free hand. Over and over again. “You fucking demon asshole! How could you leave me like that?! You didn’t need to go down with that fucking plane. You have fucking wings! Why didn’t you fly?! You left me alone for seventy-years you selfish fucker!” 

Steve lets him strike. They’re weak little smacks on him. He hardly feels it, but he knows Tony needs this. He was being selfish when he decided to stay with the plane at the last possible second. His arrogance playing a part in it. He had assumed he’d be able to escape with little trouble, but he misjudged the timing and the freezing temperature. His body gave out before he could even see the sight of land. Before he knew it, years passed without him, but it didn’t stop for Tony. 

Tony went for seventy-years without him. Without his touch. Without his love. More importantly, without his main source of food. 

Tony fed on someone other than Steve, and if not for Steve feeling guilty, he’d be royally pissed at the people who fed his incubus. 

Tony kept striking until he eventually tired out. Steve panics a little when Tony starts shedding tears. Real, genuine tears. It’s not something he ever expected from his incubus, and yet here they were. Rolling down his cheeks and all meant for him. 

Steve pulls him close, tucking him against his chest Tony just abused seconds ago. “I know. I’m sorry. I got cocky and we paid for it. I didn’t mean to leave you alone for seventy-years.”

Tony’s hiccups are muffled against his shirt. He doesn’t pull away. Not that Steve would let him. He holds him for minutes, rocking him until he settles and waits and waits. It’s Tony’s move. Steve currently has no right. 

Tony eventually pulls back and looks up at Steve. His eyes are red and puffy, but he’s no longer shedding tears. It’s all out and smeared on Steve’s shirt. 

Steve tilts his head in question. It prompts Tony to move closer and kiss him. Steve kisses back. Eager to give this to his little incubus. The kiss is soft, gentle. It’s seventy-years in the making. He expresses his remorse through it. All his remorse and guilt and regret, asking his Tony for forgiveness for his arrogance. 

Tony’s hands move to hold Steve’s head and the little incubus drags Steve down. The kiss goes fierce very quickly after that. Tony jumps into Steve’s arms and wraps his legs around Steve’s hips. Steve lets go of everything. The glamour he managed to hold onto disappears and out comes his wings and tail and horns. His claws hold Tony up. Placed just below Tony’s glorious ass. One claw strokes the base of Tony’s tail, making Tony shudder. He knows the little incubus absolutely loves it, just as Tony knows Steve loves him stroking his horns. 

This is a meal Tony has been waiting for seventy-years and Steve is very happy to provide. Luckily there’s a couch in the room they are in. Steve takes the few steps to reach it and drops them on it. Tony’s back hits the cushions as Steve pins him down. His claws make quick work of Tony’s suit. The incubus probably needs it for a meeting, but right then all that mattered is getting them naked and provide for his little incubus. 

Tony makes a wounded nose when his suit is left tattered, pieces on the couch and ground. He’s left showing miles of glorious skin. Steve notes Tony has grown. Has gotten bigger. No longer is Tony the tiny, youthful and inexperienced incubus of before. No, now Tony has muscle and weight. He’s plump and shapely. It makes Steve nearly drool. He loved Tony’s appearance seventy-years ago, but now - now he’s completely smitten. The incubus is mature and muscular and everything Steve wants all in one, and he’s still completely Steve’s. 

Steve doesn’t take Tony slow. No, he’s kept his little incubus waiting too long for slow and gentle on their reunion. He bites and nibbles every inch of skin given. He re-marks everything he can. He makes sure Tony’s body remembers all his touches and caresses and bruises. He goes rough. Harsh. Makes Tony cry those glorious cries Steve takes pride in hearing. 

Tony moans at every touch and groans at every thrust. He never begs Steve to go slow or to stop. He feeds and he feeds and he asks for more. Steve gives it all to him. He doesn’t remember the seventy-years that passed, but his body does and it’s ready to make up for the time. 

The pent up energy he carried upon waking up is released all at once. All inside his little incubus. He gives it all and makes sure not to waste a single drop. His Tony deserved him. Deserved to be fed a proper course. Deserved to taste the delicious meal Steve could only offer and time prevented. 

Steve kept going and going until Tony got full and begged for him to stop. Steve did, but he never took his hands off his incubus. Steve held him tightly as he rubbed the bloated belly of his groaning Tony. He took pride in the way Tony relaxed in his hold and purred at his touches. He kissed every little sigh of discomfort. 

Steve finally reunited with his little incubus and he’s not planning on disappearing ever again. 

[secret-engima]

*raises hand and waves it madly* I WANNA HEAR BOUT THE OG NOCTIS TIME TRAVEL VERSE!!! You've got /seven chapters/ completed already?! Can we get snips of them, pretty pretty pretty please?

SNIPS!!!! Gladly. :D Have a sneak peak at some of the time-travelers waking up in the past rather- abruptly. >:DD

...

     He pulled instinctively on air even though he knew nothing would happen —the Crystal was gone and magic no longer existed— and was astonished when he felt a familiar dagger hilt materialize in his left palm. What in the name of the Astrals? That … should not have worked. It hadn’t worked for the past two weeks, so why was he able to call one of his lost daggers now when all of the weapons he had sheathed on his body —and his original clothes too— were missing?

     He was beginning to think that he was missing a very large and very important chunk of time in his memories. Though why an enemy would change him into silk pajamas —he was surprised silk even existed anymore, it was so fragile and easily degraded— was beyond his understanding at the moment.

     Ignis managed to find his way to the door, nearly stumbling several times as he misjudged his legs’ capabilities and overbalanced, which almost caused him to knock into the other obstructions in the room —a chair with a fully functional cushion, a low coffee table, and the edge of a carpet—. Silently cursing his loss of soundless movement —or competent, well-balanced movement at all— he managed to locate the doorknob and test it. 

     It was locked, but only by a simple doorknob latch, which he promptly turned. Testing the knob again to confirm it was now unlocked, Ignis listened hard for sounds of anyone nearby and —after determining that his section of whatever-this-building-was was otherwise unoccupied— he yanked open the door.

     He promptly screamed in shock and fell back, hyperventilating in renewed panic as he scrambled to make sense of the sudden, agonizing assault to his senses. His eyelids screwed shut and his right arm flew up to cover the lids, granting merciful darkness that was only interrupted by dancing, flickering spots of color that he knew weren’t real. It was only after he had realized what he had just thought that he stopped breathing entirely and went deathly still.

     There had been something other than darkness. Something noticeably different from the darkness that had been his companion and enemy and ally all at once for ten years.

     He lowered his arm and cautiously slitted his eyelids. He swallowed back another cry and slammed them shut again when he was assaulted a second time by the brilliant light spilling in from the doorway. His breathing had restarted, but he had to struggle to keep it even marginally steady as realization and disbelief warred in his mind.

     Light. The pain had come from his eyes —eyes that shouldn’t feel anything anymore, hadn’t for years because the nerves were too damaged— because of too bright a light. Even pointing his face directly at the sunrise with his glasses off did not garner that kind of reaction. Nothing did. Except now.

     Ignis attempted to open his eyes for a third time and managed to keep them open again despite the stabbing pain it caused in the back of his head. He stumbled out into the light, eyes flicking back and forth as he tried and failed to process the fact that there were now colors to the shapes he sensed in front and around him. There were shadows and contrast and detailed shapes and pinpoint locations despite the fact that he hadn’t touched anything other than the wall —the only thing keeping him upright now— and- and-

     By the Astrals he could see.

...

     Pain in his entire body, but mostly in his left shoulder and arm. It throbbed and pulsed and in general felt like a voretooth pack had just used him as a chew toy. It was bad, but not as bad as before, when the fire of those ancient smug sons of- —no, better not finish that thought, they might be listening in somehow and decide to finish cooking him for his impudence— had burned up his arm and body and-

     Wait a second.

     Someone was grabbing him, shaking his shoulder —not the broken one thankfully, but it still hurt like blazes— and shouting at him from far away. Concussed then. Really concussed. I should probably stay awake then. Except he couldn’t stay awake because he was dead, wasn’t he?

     He had to be. He remembered dying. So why-?

     He cracked open his eyes and stared dazedly at the figures crowding around him, shouting and shaking and gesturing at each other in clear confusion and concern. He recognized most of the faces as people who were dead too. Which meant he was dead, but for some reason arriving in the afterlife felt like being run over by a behemoth or falling from several stories up after a failed warp.

     Not fair. He groused mentally. He’d had enough concussions and broken bones and throbbing body-sized bruises in life thank-you-very-much, he really didn’t think he deserved them in death. Especially after how he’d died. Someone slapped his cheek and he hazily opened his eyes again —when had he closed them?— and tried to focus on the face of his best friend directly above him. He felt a swoop of dread upon seeing that face, because that particular friend wasn’t supposed to be dead, he had an important mission to complete and couldn’t afford to be dead.

     He was fairly certain he must have whined something along those lines through clenched teeth, because the face above his turned incredulous, then absolutely terrified. He wanted to protest that the expression on his friend’s face really wasn’t helping his case, but then blackness encroached his vision and he realized that passing out from pain was apparently a thing in the afterlife as much as normal life.

     His final thought was that if this was the afterlife, he would like a refund to go be a disembodied ghost instead please. You couldn’t hurt if you didn’t have a body, right?

     Though, knowing his luck, ghosts probably had perpetual motion sickness from floating all the time. Which would explain the moaning…

     Then blackness finally won out over the frantic yelling and painful shaking of his shoulders and cut off his thoughts before they could get any more nonsensical.

... (and another snip of Nyx and the holy puppy for good measure XD)

     “Who is Pryna anyway?”

     “She should still be at your location, she is the one who gave you the letter.”

     “Sorry, Princess, but I found the letter wrapped up in a silk bracelet tied to a puppy’s leg.”

     “I know, the puppy of which you speak is Pryna.”

     Nyx looked incredulously at the white pup he had been absently petting, “You’re joking.”

     “I am not. Pryna may look and act like a dog, but she is actually a Messenger, one of the first with which I ever formed a covenant. She is far more intelligent than she looks, and she is able to discern between those who hold future memories and those who do not.”

     Nyx stared down for a long time at the dog he’d just been scratching the ears of. The dog —Messenger? Pryna?— looked back up at him and barked softly, “A Messenger.”

     “Yes.”

     “A magical being sent specifically to bear messages from the Astrals themselves to humans.”

     “That is one of a Messenger’s primary duties, yes. Though Pryna and her brother Umbra are of a … lower rank, I suppose you could say, of Messenger. That is why her form is animal rather than human. As such, her duties are not so much to bear messages from the Astrals as is it is to aid me in my duties as I require. That includes delivering important messages to other humans when I cannot contact them via conventional means. Her magic is how she found you.”

     Nyx very carefully closed his eyes, counted to ten, opened them and took a quick swallow from his shot glass, “You had a magical being break into my apartment to give me a letter. In the form of a puppy.”

     “Did she? My apologies. Messengers sometimes have trouble recalling the rules of human privacy when they are given a task, and Pryna is very young by their standards.”

     Nyx debated asking what the age standards of Messengers were, then decided that he was better off not knowing, “I pet her.”

     The princess sounded amused, “That is alright. She has the form of a dog, that includes several of their instincts and the things they find pleasurable. You may continue to pet her if you wish, she will not mind.”

     Nyx held a staring contest with the magical dog that had broken into his apartment before he sighed and resumed scratching her ears.

[love-carries-on]

Love Carries On: Chapter I

TW: Mentions of Blood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patton woke up to the smell of something good cooking, in his grogginess it took him a moment to connect the dots, but once he did; he pulled a face. His boyfriend, Roman, was cooking breakfast. It smelled like bacon, and even though the smell was pretty nice, he didn’t like the texture, so he wrinkled his nose, shifting into a sitting position. The

movement awoke Diego, one of Patton’s other boyfriends, who sat up and pouted at him. “Where going Pat?” “Just seeing what Ro is making for breakfast Dorry.” Based on the way he was talking, Diego had woken up as one of his alters, and probably one of the littles, since he didn’t call Patton padre, he assumed it was probably Dorry.

“I go with.” He wiggled out from under the blankets, grabbing his favorite blanket from the end of the bed.

Patton smiled at him, reaching out and taking Dorian’s hand with a smile. “C’mon ma cherie, let’s go see what RoRo is making and then we’ll get you dressed for the day.”

He laughed, a small sound coming from such a big man. “I wanna wear my duckie.”

Patton’s brow furrowed suddenly. “Cherie, I don’t know if it’s clean or not, I’ll ask Logie when I see him okay.”

As if on cue, Logan came stumbling in, the door being pushed open slowly as he tried to navigate the house with the basket in hand. His head swung back and forth, his light blue eyes slightly unfocused as he tried to situate himself so that he could see. Patton pulled Dorry out of the way so that he could set the basket down.

“Is Dorian’s onesie in there?”

Logan turned to him as he struggled to put the basket down. “Yes, washed, dried and folded.” He frowned slightly. “I advise you to be more careful next time you go out to play.” But there was no real disapproval in his tone.

Patton made sure the basket was secured. “Thanks Lo,” he leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. He pulled out the onesie. “Let’s go to breakfast now, okay cherie.”

Dorian linked pinkies with Patton, even as Patton placed a guiding hand on Logan’s wrist. He didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to help him, because Logan doesn’t like to be helped, but he hated to see Logan littered with bruises from tumbling into various furniture and walls.

They made their way towards the breakfast nook, and as they entered the kitchen, they found Virgil and Roman arguing in the kitchen. No words were exchanged, but hand gestures flew and body language changed. The little bit of sign Patton could understand led him to believe that they weren't really fighting, and the smiles on their faces furthered that theory.

Patton got Dorian settled into his seat, and made sure that Logan was seated too so he couldn’t get hurt before he turned to talk to his other two boyfriends.

“Breakfast almost done?” He eyed the stack of pancakes hopefully, that was one texture that he actually liked, that Roman was exceptionally good at making.

“Yes, except Virgil here thinks I should make french toast.” He spoke slowly and loudly, partially because he couldn’t hear himself but also so that Virgil, who was reading his lips, could understand what was being said.

Virgil signed something back, much too quick for Patton to be able to understand, but Roman seemed to catch it. “Don’t you take that tone with me.”

“What’s he saying?” Patton asked hesitantly.

“He told me I had to make french toast. He didn’t ask me, he told me to do it.”

Patton laughed as Virgil stuck his tongue out and Roman signed something very quickly. “I told him to make it himself.” He translated for Patton as soon as he was done.

Virgil signed back, mostly some playful swear words, but grabbed the platter of sausage and bacon to carry out to the table. Roman smiled softly as he watched him walk away, Patton was happy to see one of the few emotions he could understand in his eyes.

Roman shut off the stove and griddle, grabbing the plate of pancakes as he made his way out of the kitchen to the little nook over towards the back. “Breakfast is served.” He practically bellowed, but Logan was the only one who flinched. His sensitive hearing made it difficult for him to listen to Roman for too long.

Dorian furrowed his brow at the presentation of the pancakes, his eyes closing for a moment, he didn’t say anything for a long while, and Patton was just about to nudge him to see if he was okay, when he opened his eyes again and smiled at them all, it was clear it wasn’t Dorrian anymore. Diego looked around at them all with a frown. He let go of the blanket he was holding, a severe blush taking over his face.

“Would you like some pancakes love?” Logan asked, he couldn’t see the embarrassment, but the drop of the blanket and the sudden silence at the table told him that Diego had returned.

“Yes please.” He tried to push past the embarrassment. Logan swung his head towards where he had heard Roman set it down. His long fingers skittered across the plate and he found the spatula with little trouble. He held out his hand and Diego handed him his plate gently. He took the plate, and settled a pancake on it. He set the plate down long enough to reach up and readjust his glasses. His glasses didn’t really do much, but it was habit for him to put them on and they helped what little bit that he could see.

Diego took the plate as soon as Logan set it down, handing it off to Patton to settle some sausage on it. Patton put the bacon and sausage on Diego’s plate putting it on his own plate as well. He didn’t like sausage, the texture upset him a lot but Roman had cooked it and his mother had taught him to appreciate nice things that were done for him.

He ate his breakfast with a downturned face, he didn’t want to pull a face or cry or anything and caused everyone at the table to be concerned, and heaven forbid he upset Roman because Roman had worked so hard on breakfast and he shouldn’t feel like he did something wrong.

Maybe Roman was just good at reading people because he reached across the table and placed a gentle hand on his wrist. “You don’t have to eat it.” He was being as quiet as Roman could be.

Patton smiled a relieved smile, digging into his pancakes. It was just a few simple words, but hearing Roman confirm to him that he didn’t have to eat it was like a breath of fresh air. It’s only just this time though. His mind warned him, using the nasty little tone it did to make sure Patton knew exactly what he was or wasn’t allowed to do. He still felt bad, knowing that he’d only get to be out of it one day but at least he got out of it for now.

He finished eating, and was standing up to go put his plate away when disaster struck. Hearing someone stand up, Logan had attempted to get up as well and take his plate. Except he must’ve misjudged the location of the table because he didn't scoot out quite far enough. He ended up stumbling over the table leg, plate in hand and tumbling to the floor. There was a crunch as he landed on his plate, and Patton and Diego immediately rushed to his help.

Diego lifted him up and pulled him out of the way, but at the sight of blood, he stumbled back, his gaze going unfocused. Patton knew he was experiencing a switch so turning to Virgil, who was watching the scene confusedly, he quickly did the sign for help, hoping that Virgil would understand his poor signing abilities well enough to help.

Thankfully, Virgil quickly moved to his assistance, helping him to pull Logan out of the way, and then as soon as he had made sure there wasn’t anything serious going on, squatted next to Diego to make sure he was okay. Logan had a cut across his palm and a few on his arm from hitting the ground and the plate breaking, but nothing too serious. And Roman was quickly next to them with a small wrap of bandages and the broom in his other hand.

Patton took the broom from him, and Roman helped to wrap Logan’s bandages. “Are you okay?”

Logan once again flinched at his volume but responded as best he could. “A little shaken, but otherwise I am fine.” He frowned. “Is Diego okay?” He turned his head towards his other partners in hopes one of them could give him an answer. “It seems he’s trying to switch but I’m not sure who he’s trying to switch to.” Roman replied, reading Virgil’s signs.

“Roman, can you go get a washcloth?” He waited for a response, and when none came, repeated himself louder, realizing he must’ve spoken too softly for him to hear.

“Of course, let me get this cleaned up. Take Logan and D into the living room will you?” Patton nodded, helping Logan to his feet and offering Virgil the sign for Living room. He didn’t know enough to translate exactly what Roman had said but he was trying.

Virgil helped to half carry Logan into the living room, going back into the nook to help Diego. Diego was kneeling on the ground half swaying as he muttered to himself, an argument seeming to break out between two alters. Virgil wasn’t sure what he could do, all he could see was Diego’s face contorting and his lips moving slowly. He wasn’t sure what he could do, so he slung his arm around Diego’s waist and pulled him up, Diego rested all of his weight on Virgil, who basically carried him into the living room. By the time he had him situated in the living room, he had blinked open his eyes and looked around. Patton was preoccupied with Logan so Virgil did what he could.

Baby? He signed carefully, giving whoever was in charge right now time to read. Diego and Virgil were the first two that had started dating, and as such, they had developed a system for Virgil to understand who was who.

No. He signed back, blinking his honey colored eyes softly.

So it wasn’t Dorian then. Lovely? He tried.

No. He pouted at him, he didn’t understand what any of these signs meant, but he was looking for the familiar one.

Sweetheart? If it wasn’t lovely then it wasn’t Damien.

His face split into a smile, and he signed yes several times over.

DD? He fingerspelled as a question, wanting to make sure he had it right.

He signed yes again, imitating the motion of knocking. Virgil smiled at him, and got up, moving to flip on the TV for DD.

DD seemed overjoyed at the prospect of having the TV on and settled in front of it in excitement. Roman entered the room not long after, signed at Virgil to see what he’d missed. Roman could hear, and he could speak too but it was much more comforting to sign to someone because then he knew he wasn’t going to miss anything.

It’s DD who’s in charge right now, just so you know. Virgil signed as a warning, DD didn’t always like Roman, he was a little too loud for his taste.

Thank you he signed back, before going to settle himself on the couch next to Patton and Logan. “Everything okay?” He asked, wincing as he saw Logan jump.

“Yes. I’m okay anyway.” Logan squeezed Patton’s hand.

“I just need a moment.” He said squeezing Logan’s hand in response. “I was scared for you.”

“I know you were love, but I’m okay.” He frowned. “I should’ve been more careful and known where the table was, that was foolish of me.” Patton opened his mouth to argue, but Logan wouldn’t hear it. “No, no, no, love, I should’ve paid better attention, what if I had harmed one of you guys when I fell? It’s bad enough that I triggered D.” He seemed to be berating himself more than he was arguing with any of them.

Roman threw his arms around him, and tried to not be so loud as he said, “No Logie, its not your fault, we should really move stuff around- -”

“Absolutely not.” His tone was clipped. “I am not going to make you all struggle to move things around just because I’m not smart enough to remember where everything is.”

“It’s not about whether you’re smart enough.” Patton urged, worrying the material of Logan’s sweater vest between his fingers. All this back and forth was stressing him out. “It’s okay to need help.”

Logan got up suddenly, seeming distressed. “I do not need help.” He readjusted his glasses and started to walk away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are a few chores that need done, and Roman, don’t forget you have work today. You too Virgil.”

Patton sighed, he hated when Roman and Virgil went to work, because it got really quiet. He didn’t mind some quiet now and again, but several hours of silence as D watched his cartoons and Logan stumbled around the house in pain, it was torture. Instead of thinking about it, Patton decided to start planning what he was going to make for lunch today. The boys would be home on their lunch hour and he wanted them to have something to eat.

His mind ran through a few things his mother would make for lunch, but most of them had some type of meat in them, and even though the texture didn’t bother him much when it was cooked right, Virgil was a vegetarian. His mind ran through a few more dishes, before he fixated on one specific one. Ratatouille. It was the perfect season for it, and his garden should yield all of the vegetables they’d need.

His face broke into a smile, it would be great. And he’d probably even be able to get DD (though he didn’t get much sign, the alphabet was something that made sense to him) to eat it. He got up, trusting Virgil to be able to keep an eye on him while he checked the fridge.

They had olive oil, and a lot of herbs hanging up in the cupboard (Dorian and Virgil had started an herb garden together), all that was missing was the produce from Patton’s garden. He checked the pantry, to make sure they had flour and yeast so that he could make bread to go with it. He was so excited to be able to make something he loved for the people he loved, and started genuinely giggling in excitement.

He went back into the living room to grab his jacket and put on his boots. “I’m going out to the garden, bring DD out with you if you have to leave so that I can watch out for him.” He directed his words at Roman, who threw a pillow at Virgil to get his attention, before relaying the message in sign. Virgil responded with a thumbs up before returning to facing the TV that he and DD were watching.

Patton went out to his little garden by the house, opening the creaky gate with more excitement than anyone had probably ever opened a gate. He stayed to the paths that Roman had carefully helped him maintain. Squatting down next to his zucchini plants. He picked a few, shuffling on to his squash and pulling a few of them as well. There were plenty of tomatoes, so he grabbed a small basket from beside the gate and filled it with ripe tomatoes, placing the other two vegetables on top of it. He set the basket down right outside the onion patch he had.

The onions were always a little tricky for him, but using his hands, and trying to twist carefully he eventually got a few of them out. He set them in the basket, running through the mental checklist of everything he needed to make the meal. Peppers, I need bell peppers. He had to walk to the other end of his garden, but there were plenty of yellow peppers for him to choose from. He grabbed a few, before hefting the basket up into his arms and carrying it into the house.

When he opened the door, he found Virgil and Roman shrugging on their jackets to head to work. Virgil was a psychologist for deaf and hard of hearing people and Roman worked in retail. Coats on, and prepared to go, they stopped to kiss Patton on the cheek before heading out. Patton smiled and waved them goodbye, before heading into the kitchen.

He set the vegetables down, before heading back into the living room. He settled into his place on the couch, letting DD settle into his usual place on the floor. As soon as he sat down, Patton had a brilliant idea to go get DD’s favorite blanket so that he could watch his favorite cartoons in comfort.

He snuck off, slipping into the bedroom. He looked around on the bed and in the closet and when he couldn't find the blanket he was looking for, he moved on to the other bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and as he pushed it the rest of the way open; he found Logan sitting on the bed, with his face in his hands. He looked immediately at the sound of the door, wiping what looked suspiciously like tears off of his face.

"Can I help you Patton?"

He didn't want to push Logan, so he just left it where it was. "Do you know where DD's blanket is?"

"I believe it's in the dryer." He frowned for a moment, like he was trying to think. "Though I am not sure."

"I'll go check." Then, tentatively; he said, "Are you okay Logie?"

He smiled "Of course, I'm fine love. Thank you for your concern."

Patton nodded, offering him a soft smile, so soft, that for a moment, he was almost tempted to tell him. But of course he couldn't, couldn't hurt him like that.

Patton left him to his, okayness and went in search of DD's dog blanket.

Logan was right, the blanket was in the dryer. And by the time he found it; DD had already got up in search of him. He found him standing in the hallway with tears in his eyes.

"You left me." He sniffled out, his lips quivering.

"I went to get your blanket danard." He ruffled his hair, handing it to him, and immediately drying his tears.

"Oh." He held the blanket tightly. "What does that mean?"

"What mean?" He tried to think of what he might have said that would confuse DD.

"The D word you called me." He furrowed his brow, like he was trying to think or something.

"Denard? It means duck, lovely." Patton had been raised to speak both English and French but he only used french nowadays to give people pet names.

"Oh, I like that."

"I'm glad you do." Patton reached out to take his hand. "Let's go watch cartoons okay denard?"

They settled down on the couch to watch TV, flipping channels at DD’s request. After running through half the channels they had and deciding that it there wasn’t anything good on, Patton flipped to Roman’s Netflix and put on Paw Patrol for him instead.

The german shepherd (DD informed him his name was Chase) was just wrapping up another adventure when Patton’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Virgil reminding him that if he wanted to make lunch that it was almost noon. Patton was thankful for this message because he wasn’t very good at remembering things and time could be a little tricky for him. He sat up, pausing the TV.

“Want to come with and help me cook DD?”

“Okie.” He smiled and stood up, following him into the kitchen.

Patton set the basket on the counter, and turned on the water. “Can you wash the vegetables for me love?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” he giggled, grabbing the zucchini and squash.

“I don’t need you to wash all of the tomatoes canard; just a few of them.” He turned on the oven, coating a few pans with olive oil as he plugged in the blender.

As soon as DD had finished cutting vegetables, he let him go sit at the table and play with the trucks he’d just retrieved from his toy chest. Patton cut up the zucchini and squash and put them on the pans to go in the oven, before cutting up the rest of the vegetables and throwing them in the blender. Now came his least favorite part, he didn’t like the sound the blender made; so furrowing his brow, and shaking slightly in the hands, he pressed the button to start the blender.

The noise was just as bad as usual, and trying not to panic was causing him to shake and his vision to seem fuzzy; but soon the vegetables were pureed enough and he could turn it off and pour the sauce into a bowl. Then, he turned back to the oven and opened the door. The vegetables were nice and caramelized so he pulled them out of the oven and dumped them into the bowl with the sauce. Somehow managing to avoid incident despite his shaking body.

He finished mixing it up just as Roman and Virgil came in the door, they stopped to put their coats on the tree and then followed the sound of people and the smell of cooking to see Patton and DD in the kitchen.

“Do you want to go get Logie, or have V get him?” He called over his shoulder to Roman as he set down the bowl and started to grab bowls out of the cupboard. “I’ll get DD settled down.”

He grabbed a sponge from beside the sink, and went into the dining room. “DD go put your toys away okay Denard, I need to wipe down the table and then it’s lunch time.”

He clapped his hands at the mention of food, before going into the living room to put away his toys, coming back a few moments later to settle himself at his favorite place at the table. Virgil came back, leading Logan. Roman was carrying the stack of dishes Patton had gotten out of the cupboard. He set them down and everyone settled into their places so that Patton could serve up lunch. After lunch, They all sat and watched some TV together, something that they could all agree on with the captions on. Then Roman and Virgil had to return to work, thankfully though, Logan didn’t go back to the bedroom and instead stayed out there with DD and Patton to watch TV.

Halfway through their watching, DD switched back to Diego and joined them on the couch with a sigh, sitting on the opposite end of the couch (which upset Patton a little but he wouldn’t say anything). Eventually Roman came home from work, and went into the kitchen, recruiting Logan to help him decide on ingredients and meal plans. Virgil came home not long after and joined Diego and Patton on the couch, getting them to draw in close and relax with him.

They had meatless lasagna for dinner, and after eating they watched a little bit more TV, before eventually splitting up to head to their own rooms and get some sleep.

[jamesmarlowe]

By now, he’d had a lot of practice with planning apologies— like a seasoned gambler who held tightly to the belief that a deck could always be stacked, Marlowe knew there were certain ways to improve the odds on forgiveness. Time and place both mattered, more than you’d think. Possibly more than the apology itself. Misjudge either and rush in with some slapdash excuses, or hold back too long, ignoring the wound till it festered, and it wouldn’t matter how well-worded your mea culpa was. So, he’d left the mess with Levi alone after their return from Provincetown and waited a week before sending the first text, asking to meet. This felt like the right amount of time— long enough for the sting to fade, but not so long that it seemed like he’d forgotten— and as far as location went, where else but the McDonald’s? The setting of so many previous late-night conversations, back when they’d simply been two people who couldn’t sleep, occupying a shared space, finding a strange comfort in the smell of grease traps and bright, humming fluorescence. Returning here had the feeling of going back to that, the way things had been. It seemed like the only place where they could untangle the hopelessly-snarled knot of what things had become.

Well past midnight, Marlowe sat in one of the red booths, arm stretched over the backrest, his beach tan glowing under the artificial lighting. There was already a small pyramid of apple pies stacked in front of him, warm and waiting. Next to them, some fries spilled out onto the tabletop; he was slowly emptying the carton while gazing out the window, admiring the puddles of yellow reflected on the wet asphalt, the huge Golden Arches providing the only splash of color in the black night. The late-shift cashier was a heavy-lidded girl with a lopsided ponytail, her nametag identifying her as Annette. For once, she wasn’t sleeping on the clock; Marlowe had made one-sided game of trying to engage her in conversation. “Hey, how about a quiz? My Mickey D’s knowledge versus your’s.” Annette looked up from her phone, her expression clearly reading as I’m-not-paid-enough-for-this; Marlowe angled an easy smile at her, then motioned through the air with one limp fry. “Only one location in the world doesn’t use the Golden Arches. Where— and, bonus point, what color are they?” Kohl-lined eyes rolled. Her expression remained staunchly unamused as she dropped her gaze back to her phone, muttering, “No fucking idea.” Unfazed by this divided attention, Marlowe continued. His voice had the cheerful intonation of a game show host. “Sedona! They’re turquoise. Or teal, I guess, somewhere in that family. Wanna know why?” The lack of an affirmative answer, or any kind of answer at all, didn’t stop him. “Some zoning committee decided that the yellow would clash too much with the natural landscape. Bad color combo. All that red sandstone, the blue mountains in the distance, and then you’ve got this ugly, honkin’ yellow McDonald’s sign smack in the middle. But, can’t say no to the potential money-grab of a fast food chain when you’re a tourist economy. So they compromised on teal. Corporate will, bending to the law of complementary colors.” Annette was obviously tuning him out, with no response or movement except the sweep and play of her thumbs as she tapped her phone screen. It didn’t matter; he could go on like this for hours, talking so vividly, so amusingly, to no one at all. Hence why the gig at the school radio had proven to be a perfect match for him. Minutes trickled by. Drops collecting in a bucket, plink, plink. Filling it up more than expected. His eyes slid back out the window to where his own face was visible in the black glass, then beyond that, to the darkened parking lot occupied by only a few remaining cars. Levi was much more reliable than he was— by the world’s standards, most people were— so there was no question of whether he’d show up. Just a matter of waiting. And Marlowe had time to spare, time to waste. Time like a kid at an arcade had pockets full of change.

“Your friend’s here,” Annette announced in a voice devoid of any inflection, a brief blip of attention before she resumed her game of Candy Crush. Marlowe twisted around to see the door as it chimed open. “Hey!” The greeting came paired with a smile, one of his best: spreading on both sides, lacking all symmetry. Then he turned back with his arm still draped over the vinyl seat and waited for Levi to slide in across from him. “As you can see, I’m on the straight and narrow now. Payin’ for my fries and apple pies like a good upstanding citizen. Annette can vouch.” His eyes flicked up to her, ready to wink mischievously if this almost-confession earned any reaction. She didn’t even lift her yellow-visored head. Clearing his throat, Marlowe’s brows drew together as if pulled by an invisible drawstring. “So.” He chose one of the last fries in the container and eyed Levi carefully across the table. “Thanks for showin’ up. Already more than I deserve. How’ve you been?” A nonchalant question, asked with what seemed like genuine, friendly concern— but one they both knew was really just an opening for something else.

@leviprk

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under a Vanilla Sky prt 22? full draft

With Lance on his back, Keith tried to find his way out of the labyrinth of tunnels, buildings and caves. His heart and head hurt from thinking way too much, and from his aching face. Lance had one hell of a thick skull, he was lucky that his unofficial boyfriend hadn't collided with his nose. His face still felt swollen as it was, which would probably lead to Lance feeling even worse all about what had happened. When he'd seen Lance striding towards the exit of the ballroom, it was clear that something was wrong, though he wasn't sure what. Lance had been dancing with Lucteal, then he was running. Lucteal hadn't done anything actually wrong as far as he hadn't kissed or groped at Lance, but still... something had happened and Keith had to know Lance was alright. The moment he'd wrapped his arm around Lance's waist, Keith had known he'd fucked up. His love interest oozing the smell of bad citrus, and as he'd gone to release him, he'd been too slow. Temporarily knocked back by the blow to the face, he'd seen the glaring guilt in Lance's eyes as he'd pulled and aimed his blade for Keith's gut. The move fluid, almost beautiful to watch if not for the pain behind it. It was definitely not a move Lance had mastered as a Paladin. Which wasn't to say Lance couldn't fight hand to hand, he's simply always excelled with a fire arm and seemed much more confident when aiming his blaster. What he must have been through to go straight for his blade even on a safe world... It taxed Keith's mind to keep up. Hiking Lance up higher in his hold, Lance's cold nose rubbed at his neck as he mumbled softly in Spanish. Keith wished he knew more Spanish than the few words of insult Lance threw his way, especially when most of them had a long string of unknown words between them. It was a reminder of a world Keith wasn't part of. Pausing in his trekking for the second time in as many ticks, his ears picking up the sound of footsteps coming closer. Ducking back into the shadows falling across the street he was on, Keith's heart was starting to pound. Normally he wouldn't be so shaken by the sound of steps, but Lance wasn't in a good mental space, and his instincts were screaming at him to keep the sleeping Cuban safe from absolutely everyone. Appearing with a lantern, Keith nearly laughed at his own fear as Daehra came closer. Stepping out the shadows, Daehra jumped as she finally realised he was right there. Feeling as sheepish as Daehra looked, Keith pushed down his flaring instincts further "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you" "As am I. You've both been gone for so long" "Lance fell asleep while we were talking, and all these caves begin to look the same" "You were lost" "Directionally misplaced" Laughing softly at his words, Daehra raised the lantern enough for Lance to groan in annoyance at the light. Lowering it, she nodded "Yes, he would be asleep. Is he alright?" "He will be. We talked. His anxieties went into over drive and he kind of freaked out" "I felt fear from him. Lucteal was in tears, Annla was demanding we go right after both of you. She did not understand what was wrong" "Lance is going to love that. He was ashamed of what happened" "He does not need to be. Now that I have located you, would you like for me to show you back from the city?" "That would be great" Falling into step with Daehra, she walked on Keith's right side to limit the amount of light Lance was exposed to with his face buried on the left side of Keith's neck "You pushed quite far into the city. Do you know where you ended up?" "Not really. It was some kind of... church or something" Daehra let out a small gasp "You pushed further than I thought. The church lays in the Royal Quarter. Commoners are not allowed there" Well oops. It wasn't exactly planned that they'd end up lost "We didn't touch anything. I mean, we sat on a bench so Lance could relax" "Do not worry yourself, I will not tell. I know he is not the kind to trespass on people's ways" "Thanks. I think he was too out of it to realise anyway, so I won't tell him" "If you would like, I can give you a proper tour. Though I feel you most probably only become lost again" Keith huffed with a frown "Is it that obvious?" "A little. Take no offence. We designed this place so outsiders would be lost in an attack" "That makes sense. I think after tonight, I might try taking Lance and Kosmo for a walk above ground tomorrow. He's always loved the feel of the sun" "He has mentioned Earth. The rain and the animals. It sounds very pretty" "I was never attached to Earth like him. But it's green and blue. It doesn't rain fire. Things have changed since the Galra invaded, but it's... I feel differently about it now. Earth is where my dad was born, where I was born, and where Lance's whole family comes from. My adopted brother is from Earth, so his his fiancé, and our other friends. Sometimes Daibazaal gets repetitive with al the purple and grey there" "Is like Erathus?" "Yes and no. Erathus isn't as green and open. It's like the ancient movies from old" "Movies?" "Moving pictures" "Oh! I know of those. I would love to see your Earth" "I'm sure once things calm down, Lance would love to show you. I'm trying to talk him into letting me take him to Altea at the moment" "Altea? Wow... we never spoke of Altea. Leandro spoke with Annla about his time there" "Lance is really good with kids. Much better than anyone I know, except for maybe Shiro. He took me in when I was angry snot nosed shit" "I cannot imagine that" "We used to fight all the time, then slowly we became friends through it all" "And now, more?" "Yeah. More" Lance was tentative but Keith couldn't blame him. He'd said he was falling for him. Keith could understand why Lance was so hesitant, he wasn't born under a rock. Relationships tended to progress into more than hand holding and light kisses, but now Lance was officially his in an unofficial capacity. Even if it was all Lance could do to right now, he was sure they'd slowly begin to move towards... that... when the time was right for both of them "I am happy for you both" "Thank you. We're keeping things slow while we work things out, so he's probably hit me if he knew I told you" "'m going to hit you if you keep talking while I'm trying to sleep" Mumbling against Keith's neck, Keith's cheeks warmed over being caught talking to Daehra "How long have you been awake?" "Long enough to know my head feels like crap" Hiking Lance up again, Lance huffed at him "Don't give me that. I could always drop you" "I wouldn't put it past you... where are we?" "Daehra came and got us" "Oh... Hi, Dae. I hope he hasn't been an arse" Giving Daehra a tiny one handed wave, Lance nuzzled into Keith's neck as he did. It seemed more like his unofficial boyfriend wanted to avoid her than to talk to her "I thought I was a dick" "Dick. Arse. It's all below the belt" Groaning at Lance, Keith momentarily contemplated making good on his threat to drop him "Go back to sleep. We'll be out of the tunnels soon" "Ok... Good night, Dae. Sorry I ruined your party" Daehra shot Lance an affectionate look "Good night, Leandro. Please do not worry about the party. It is still continuing" Nodding at Daehra's words, Lance fell back to sleep without replying. His warmth breath tickling Keith's skin as it evened back out "He's fallen back to sleep" "That is good. I have never seen him sleep so much as he does when with you" "I've never slept as well as I have been while sleeping next to him. For all he's been through, he still manages to amaze me" Led out the tunnels by Daehra, it really seemed like too much effort to walk back to the Telula. Daehra had to return to the party, leaving Keith alone with the sleeping Lance, who despite being far too light, seemed to be growing heavier by the tick. Casting a rueful glance towards the house that was sooo much closer than the ship and didn't have a ramp to struggle up, Keith forced himself to walk past it's soft inviting glow from the lights inside. Lance had wanted to go back to the Telula, which meant they were going back to the Telula. The sleeping Cuban had no idea how many free passes Keith had been throwing his way, but tonight Lance had earned his right to choose the ship. He'd both finally said the name of the vile piece of shit who'd raped him out loud, without screaming or losing control as he did, and admitted he did in fact have feelings for Keith and was scared for the same reasons Keith was. Plus, he'd scared the hell out of himself when he realised he'd accidentally hurt Keith before pulling his blade on him. The ramp was the beginning of the end for Keith's energy. They should have just slept in the church over night and pled ignorance over it all come morning. Making it down to Lance's quarters, he cringed as dropped Lance on his bed, unable to quite judge the height of the mattress and the distance to Lance's arse. Holding the cringe as he lowered Lance's legs, he turned to find Lance half starfishing on the bed with a glare on his face. Quiznak, Lance wasn't impressed at all "You dropped me" "I misjudged the height" "You dropped me!" "I didn't mean to" "Keith, you still dropped me" "Sleeping princesses don't get to complain. Do you know how heavy your arse is?!" Worried he'd taken it a step to far by snapping out of exhaustion, Lance grinned at him and threw him for a loop "I'm sorry. Thank you for carrying me" With warm cheeks, Keith mumbled self consciously "You're welcome. If you lift your feet, I'll do your boots for you" "Leave them, come to bed instead I'm too tired to move" "That's why I said I'd do them for you" "Come to bed..." "Lance let me get your boots off, then I'll come to bed" Whining at him, Lance reached for him with both arms. Keith finding himself immediately climbing into Lance's hold. He couldn't deny Lance when he was reaching for him openly. Pulling Lance over so they ended up laying face to face, Lance's blue eyes stared into his with his arm trapped under Keith's neck "I'm sorry about your cheek. It looks painful" "It's not too bad. I'm sorry for dropping you. I really didn't mean to" "It's alright... it was a little jarring, but it's ok... I'm too tried to really care" "You should go to sleep then" "Already ahead of you, I'm secretly still sleeping" "I wouldn't be surprised. You're a man of many talents" Snorting loudly, Lance ruined the soft mood built by the two of them whispering at each other "God. You're such a sap. I wonder what the others would say if they heard you" "They wouldn't believe it. I'm the broody one, remember" "I haven't forgotten. Can you stay tonight?" "Idiot. Who else's bed am I going to be sleeping in?" "Yours? With Kosmo?" "We both sleep better together. Let me do your boots. We really should changed" "Tomorrow's the time for regrets... I want to go back to sleep now" "At least take your belt off" "I can't be bothered" "You're like a giant man-child aren't you" Bringing up his left hand, Lance flicked him in the middle of his forehead. Keith catching Lance's hand before he could flick him again "I represent that implication, Mullet" "It's not a mullet" "Mmm. You'll always be Mullet to me. Grumpy-Mr-Mullet" "Alright. You're not making sense anymore. I'm taking my boots of, so I'm taking yours off to. Get under the covers" "Fiiine. You're lucky you're cute" Blushing too hard to stay so close to Lance, Keith slowly climbed out of Lance's hold and off the bed. Taking Lance's left boot in his hand, Lance whined at him but a few ticks later, he was out all over again before Keith even had his laces undone. * Waking before Keith, Lance stayed laying against his not-boyfriend boyfriend. With his chin resting on Keith's chest, Lance stared up at Keith's face half in shock that he was really right there. Sharing a bed had become a silently agreed upon thing that should have been over once they'd landed, yet, Keith kept coming back to his bed. Lance growing used to Keith claiming his bed like it was on. Sure, it scattered his nerves in the few moments of waking and finding the warmth of solid body by his, but Keith had never overstepped. His arm remained looped around Lance's waist, never dipping lower, and if either of them were having nightmares, the other was right there for comfort. Watching Keith's long eyelashes flutter, Lance was jealous of their length, as was he jealousy of Keith's soft curved lips and the smile that played on them. Like he was smirking in his sleep over something Lance couldn't understand. He couldn't understand how Keith could possibly be happy with dating him how he was. How he could keep picking Lance up and keep supporting him like this? Being the baby of the family, he was always the one in the background. His siblings jealous of the moments his parent's spoiled him, while oblivious to the times he went without because he'd been forgotten. When they were on the castle he'd made it his personal mission to be there for them all so no one felt as crappy as he had. It was like Keith could see right through him, like he could reach in and pull those emotions out that he didn't want to acknowledge. He knew he wasn't coping, but he'd gotten up, out of bed, and gone to work. He'd put one foot in front of the other until he was walking again, kept going until he was running, but instead of running towards a new life he was running from the ghosts of his past. He'd been running so hard that he didn't think Keith could catch him, let alone ground him. He'd fallen hard for Allura, yet had fallen just as hard for Keith... and now... he'd loved and lost Allura. He couldn't survive loving and losing Keith. Not that he knew if he could survive a relationship with him. He didn't know if his friendship with Keith could survive the fall out of what was to come, especially with Keith wanting him to stop taking the pills. The way he'd softly begged him... He didn't want to keep showing Keith such a childish side of him. Such a weak and pathetic sight... Every time he reached out his hand, Keith had been there to take it, to catch him as he fell. So for Keith, he'd do better. Carefully detangling himself from Keith's hold, Keith rolled to the spot Lance had vacated, a hand feeling for him. Not ready for Keith to wake, Lance stuffed his pillow against Keith's chest. Keith immediately wrapping his arm around it and burying his face into the fabric. Waiting a few extra moments to make sure the half-Galra wasn't about to catch him in the act, once he knew it was safe Lance made his move. Raiding his room, the armoury, behind the panel in both other spare rooms close to his, the space beneath the bathroom sink, and the bathroom drawers, Lance collected every single pill and injection he could find. Including the ones they kept on hand for trading or for set-ups when undercover. There was far more than he thought on board. 4 full boxes of injections, plus a few others with different amounts ranging from only a couple of vials left to being half full. Bottle after bottle of pills... Seeing it all laid out, Lance gripped the counter of the bathroom vanity, drawing in a deep breath as he took a moment. How had he let it get this bad?... Right... He wanted his stupid heats to stop and his marks to go away. When he'd finally hit on a combination that did both, he didn't care about the risk or cost. Sure, his family might miss him, but he wasn't sure anyone else would... He knew Keith had cared, yet didn't know he still did. He'd thought that their phoebs apart would have snuffed out whatever "feelings" Keith had for him. He hadn't realised Keith had liked, or loved, for as long as he had. Looking up the pills staring at him, Lance shook his head. He needed to do this for Keith... He wasn't ready to forgive himself, or love himself, so he had to do this for Keith. Separating out the blue pills from the rest which he'd placed safely into the bathroom cabinet out of sight, Lance's hands shook as he stood with the pile pooled in his hands over the toilet. All he had to do was drop them. So why was it so hard? He still had time to hide it all away. To pretend this hadn't happened... Keith wouldn't mind. Keith wouldn't blame him... only... For some unknown reason, tears welled in his eyes. Keith would mind. Keith would want to know and help him through this. He'd care. He always fucking cared. Parting the sides of his hands, the tablets poured from his hold, sending water splashing and clinging as they hit the metal bottom. Watching them, he shook his head in anger, lashing out and hitting flush. The moment the water swirled and swept away the tablets, Lance found himself plunging his hand into the toilet basin, trying to get them back as he let out a sob. His hand was only in the water for ticks, unable to find any traces of the tablets. The Cuban wrenching his hand out with a sob. He needed his pills. He couldn't be Leandro without his pills... With a light knock on the door, Keith interrupted his pity party "Lance? You in there?" "Just a dobosh!" Scrambling up, Lance moved to the sink to scrub at his hands. He couldn't hide that he'd been crying. His eyes were too red and teary for that. Scrubbing hard, he scrubbed up both his arms, sniffling back his tears as he did "Lance, are you ok?" "Yeah! Had to pee and kicked my toe!" It was a weak lie. One he was sure Keith would see through once he walked out the bathroom "Hurry up then, I need to pee too" "Ok!" He wasn't finished washing his hands, but was holding Keith up. Shutting the water off, Lance shook his hands off before opening the door for Keith. With impressive bed hair and his tunic shirt hitched up as he scratched at a spot at his side, Keith looked like sex on legs. Lance was barely able to keep from gawking "You've been crying" It wasn't a question but a statement, Lance nodding as he let the same lie slip off his tongue again "I kicked my toe" "You're crying from kicking your toe?" "When you're messed up in the head, even the smallest things can trigger tears. I thought I left you sleeping" "I was, until I woke up needing to pee" "Right! Sorry, sorry, I'll get out of your way" Sliding past Keith, Keith grabbed Lance's arm as he cleared the doorway "Are you sure you're ok?" Pushing a smile to his lips, Lance nodded "Yeah. I'm fine, heading back to bed" "Back to bed? It's nearly lunch time" Quiznak. When had it got so late? "Then I'm going back to my room to check my comms. Hurry up and go pee already" "I'm going already" "Good!" Scurrying away from Keith and the bathroom, Lance mentally berated himself as he did. That had been awkward as hell. Keith knew he was lying, prodding carefully as he tried to get the truth out of him, while Lance was still feel revolted at himself for trying to fish the pills out of the toilet. He couldn't even remember what the blue pills from Erathus did... He hadn't really known, only that popping pills made him feel better which was the main thing and they were relatively cheap which was another big factor in the beginning. Reaching his room he made straight for his bed, climbing in and burying himself beneath the blankets. He'd check his comms and check in with his team members after he got a little more sleep. * Deciding to shower given he was already in the bathroom, Keith forgot about the fact that he needed clothes to change into after the shower. Returning to his room rather than Lance's, Kosmo was laying rather proudly on the clothes of Keith's he'd pulled down from the tiny wardrobe and fashioned into a nest on the bed. It looked as if every bit of fabric had gone into Kosmo's hoard, leaving Keith both angry and apologetic. He'd neglected Kosmo the previous day, and slept with Lance the previous night. His poor wolf was probably feeling put out by the lack of attention. Walking over to his bed, Keith sat on the edge "Come here, Kosmo" Patting his lap, Kosmo dragged himself out the pile though that action was betrayed by his wagging tail "I know boy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to neglect you. You don't deserve it. How about I get dressed, then we can get you some breakfast? I was going to take you and Lance both for a walk today. Maybe find a stick and play fetch?" Jumping at "fetch", Keith copped a smack to the chin from Kosmo's head in the wolf's enthusiasm. He'd healed up mostly over night from Lance's blow, leaving a small about of bruising in the corner of his eye. Kosmo's head was just as hard, Keith biting the inside of his cheek as he tried to wrangle Kosmo down and prevent taking a paw to the dick "Ooof. Off you doofus. Go annoy Lance. I'm going to have to annoy him for clothes as it, thanks to you. All this needs to be washed!" Trying to scold Kosmo didn't work. Not when he felt bad for leaving his wolf alone for so long "Right. Come on, let's go. Lance's room first, then f-..." Teleporting him mid-sentence, Keith wasn't sure who was more surprised. Keith because he was in his towel, or Lance because they'd teleported right on top of him. Letting out a startled squeak, Lance peaked his head up from under the blanket "What the Quiznak?!" "Sorry! I told Kosmo we were coming and he took it on himself to teleport us" "Kosmo!" Sliding off the bed, the towel caught on Kosmo's paw stripping Keith naked right in front of Lance. Blushing right to the tips of his ears, Lance pulled the blankets over his face while Keith snatched back the towel to restore some dignity "I'm so sorry! He's being a little shit..." "It's ok!" "Lance..." "It's ok! Just get dressed" "I actually need to borrow some clothes. Kosmo destroyed my room" Groaning under the blanket, Lance shoved at the bulk that was Kosmo "You're a menace!" Yipping happily, Kosmo grabbed Lance's blanket in his mouth and teleported over behind Keith. Scrambling up, Lance's eyes landed on Keith again. Covering his eyes with both hands, Lance shook his head "Gargh! Guys! What are you doing to me?! It's too early for this" "I swear, none of this was planned" "I don't care. Please get dressed. You're too hot to look at" "So you think I'm hot?" "Yes! Now put some clothes on" "I don't know. You're a blushing mess right now, and you're adorable" Slumping back down, Lance rolled away from him "I'm not adorable. You're a dick. You're both dicks" Walking around to the side of the bed Lance was facing, Keith sat down next to his not-boyfriend. Pulling Lance's hands from his face, Lance kept his eyes scrunched closed. With how cute he was being, Keith couldn't help tease him a little "Are you embarrassed to look at me?" "Yes!" "Because I'm a guy?" Opening his eyes, Lance frowned up at him "What? No... Why would that be a problem?" Keith could think of fair few reasons why that would be a problem, but wasn't able to keep the slight laughing wobble from his tone "Then why won't you look at me?" Trying to hide his face in his pillow, Lance blushed even harder as he mumbled. The tips of his ears were literally red "Because you're too fucking hot. Look at you. All chiselled with those broad shoulders... it's like... not fair how hot you are" "I'm not that hot. Besides, I'd say you are the better looking one" "Am not. That hair of yours... how is it so silky? You don't even use products" "You're the blushing mess. It's not like you haven't seen me naked before" "And did you think maybe I'm not up to seeing you so hot and naked like right now? There's clothes in the closet..." "Hey, no. I didn't think about that. I was thinking about how cute you looked trying not to look. I'll get dressed in a tick, but there's one thing I want to do first" "I don't think my heart could handle anything else" Leaning in, Keith kissed Lance on the cheek. Lance groaning as he rolled, burying his face completely in his pillow, arse in the air as he curled into a ball. Smiling to himself, Keith climbed off the bed "You handled that fine" "Nope. I'm dead. Please remember me how I used to be. Tell my family I loved them. Here lies Lance, killed by Keith's abs" "You can tell them yourself. Now get up and take a shower. I thought we could head out and spend some time in the sun. Kosmo needs a run" "I have to check my comms" "Which you can do outside, in the sun" "You don't even like the sun" "I don't mind it. We might as well make the most of it until the Telula is up again" "I miss my ship" "You're in your ship" "I miss her. She doesn't randomly land on people then strip naked for no reason" Laughing, Keith walked over to Lance's closet. Opening the door, he started flicking through Lance's clothes "That was Kosmo's fault!" "Yeah, yeah. Blame the wolf. If you want me to get up, you need to get dressed" "It's so hard to choose" "Because I don't have enough black?" "Something like that.." Choosing jeans and white shirt, Keith grabbed the same thing out for Lance. Lance was going to relax and take a break, even if it killed him. * Lance was puffed as he and Keith made it to the top of a sand dune that had seemed a hell of a lot smaller when they were at the bottom of it. Wiping his sweat drenched forehead, he grinned at his best friend. Keith looked just as wrecked, the smile on his face just as wide as his hand took Lance's. Despite the lack of life above ground, the view was amazing. Purple-grey trees laid beyond them, dotted around what looked like a possible lake. With a wild look in his eyes, Lance tugged on Keith's hand "Lance... no" "Come on. You're the one who said we were spending the day outside" "And you're the one who insisted we race up the dune" Rolling his eyes, Lance tugged harder "Technically all I did was look at you. Kosmo can teleport us right over there" "You really want to head down there, don't you?" Lance nodded. He felt like he was hiding the fact he was melting in the sun rather well, especially when he was carrying the supplies in his backpack. Keith had offered to carry everything, but Lance wanted the distraction from both thinking of the tablets he'd flushed away, and the distraction of his mind reminding he'd seen Keith naked before him. He could still feel how hard he'd blushed, his arse growing wet at the sight... as his stomach rolled. Keith wasn't hard, there was nothing truly sexual about the encounter, yet... if they kept on the tangent they were on, sex was inevitable. His body seemingly willing to openly accept Keith despite what they'd been through. Joking and playing it off the best he could, he hoped Keith had chalked it all down to simple embarrassment instead of a pushed down mental panic "Alright. Kosmo, you're up" Taking a series of mini-teleports over to the pocket oasis, Lance was happy to throw himself down in the soft grey grass beneath an equally grey tree. Slinging off his backpack, he dug out three water pouches, splitting the first one open for Kosmo "There's water right there, isn't that why you wanted to come all the way over here?" Rolling his eyes at Keith, Lance held the pouch in his hand while Kosmo lapped deeply "We don't know if that water is safe to touch, let alone drink. And I am sooo not going to be responsible if anything happens to Kosmo" "Want me to check? I can scan it with my comms" "No, it's ok. This is... nice" Now that he'd sat, Lance didn't feel like moving. It was nice, like a little forgotten piece of the world where only the three of them existed. Sitting down beside him, Keith grabbed a water pouch "This is kind of nice. It beats the endless sand" "Right?! Who would have thought their was our own little oasis out here?" "Is it still an oasis if the water's bad?" Finishing the water pouch, Lance put it down then reached to scratch Kosmo's head. The wolf stretching out on the grass with a yawn "Of course it is. We should take photos" "You want to take photos?" Anxiety flared, Lance feeling stupid for asking as he looked past Kosmo to avoid Keith catching his eye "Not if you don't want to. It was stupid to ask" Nudging him with his elbow, Keith went on to rest his head on Lance's shoulder "It wasn't stupid. I was jut surprised. Other than the oasis it's all sand and rocks" "There's you. There's Kosmo. Maybe I want to take photos of the two of you?" Lance knew it wasn't a date, it was Keith taking him away from everyone to distract him from his own thoughts. It was... there first time slipping away from everyone completely since they'd become a not-thing thing. He wanted to make memories of it before things went to quiznak "You want to take photos of me?" "And Kosmo. You make it sound like I'm some kind of a stalker" "Seeing I practically stalked my way back into your life, I give you permission to stalk away" Having been stalked as part of his job, Lance wasn't keen on stalking "I thought it might be nice to... maybe have some photos. Of us..." Keith sat up far too fast, Lance felt even more like an idiot "Oh! Like... us us" Really? How could Keith be so incredibly nice and caring, but be so quiznakking dense "No. You and this tree, you idiot. Why are you picking me on me?" "I'm not picking on you. I'm not great at talking" "We both know that's not true... if anything, I've been the one who's been lousy at talking" "You're doing better. Let's take those photos before you get distracted by your comms again" "You're... actually alright with it?" "Only because it's you" It was now that Lance finally became certain that Keith was going to have him blushing to death before the day was through. Pulling funny faces as Lance took photos with the holopad, Keith had him in stitches as he impersonated all their friends. With their faces only centimetres away from each other, Lance grew more and more aware of how close Keith's lips were. The soft lips that kissed his cheeks, hair and forehead... yet respected that Lance didn't like things against his lips. Fumbling the holopad, Lance wanted to climb into a hole. The lined-up photo had been perfect. Keith looked like the emotionally constipated emo he'd used to be, and Lance had had a genuine smile on his lips. He hadn't realised his breathing had hitched until Keith's hand was taking his "Hey, you're alright. The holopad wasn't damaged" "It's... not that" "Then what is it? Did I do something? "No... no. It was me. I messed up" "You messed up what?" "I dropped the holopad" "You're upset because you dropped the holopad?" "It sounds stupid when you say it like that" "It's not stupid... maybe a little stupid. But it doesn't mean we can't take more photos" "I don't feel like it anymore. I'm sorry. It was a good photo too" "They'll be more opportunities to take more photos in the future" "That's not the point" Leaning back into him, Keith wrapped his arm around him and pressed a kiss to Lance's neck "Then tell me. I don't care if you think it's stupid. I want to know. I can't read your mind" "Are you sure about that? You seem to know more about what's going on with me than I do" "I'm sure. Those secrets are safe in your head until you're ready to tell me" God. Keith was perfect. Lance couldn't deal with it all. He had the full attention of the sweetest guy in the universe "Can you stop being so blindly perfect this morning? I'm going to be dead by lunch if you keep this up" Huffing at him, Keith wasn't making it easier "I'm not doing anything" "You are. You're being all Keith like" "I thought you liked me being "Keith like"" "Ugh. You're frustrating me! You kiss and cuddle me like this and it makes me wish I could kiss you back!" "I didn't mean to make you feel forced" "I know you didn't. I know you wouldn't... I mean... I'm trying to know you wouldn't. But when you're being like this, I want to be able to reach out and kiss you" "Then do you want to tell me about what happened?" "No. Not really..." "You know I'm not going to judge you. I know they gagged you, does the pressure remind you of that? Of the fabric?" Lance shook his head "No. I'm... not ready. It sounds like a cop out, but... I hate making you wait for a time I might even reach" "Lance, those bastards took so much from you. And none of this is fair. It's also not you're fault. Ok? If my kissing you and holding you is too much, I'll back off. Whatever you're comfortable with is more than enough for me" "No... I mean... it throws me off, but you... it's not bad. I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you're actually here. And that you're real" "Is it that unbelievable that I could love you?" "It is, after what happened" "You're overthinking things. Before you say it, I know you can't help it. Now, if we're not going to take photos what do you want to do?" Lance was up for anything that might mean dropping the subject of kissing Keith... even if he maybe wanted to try but was too scared of the possible outcome "Check my comms. I've got people out on missions and I want to make sure they're all ok" "Then I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up for lunch" "You mean afternoon tea. We had breakfast at lunch time" "It's space, it doesn't count" "It does too count" "Then we're agreeing to disagree..." Interrupted by a ringing comms, Lance grabbed his backpack and began pawing through everything until he found it was his black communicator ringing, peering over, Keith couldn't see in "Is it mine or yours?" "Mine. My personal one. Do you want your while I'm here?" "You aren't going to answer?" "It's a message, which I'm going to answer once you tell me if I'm getting your comms out or not?" "Leave it. I'm not expecting a call" "Alright, but if your mum calls, you're explaining why you didn't answer" "It's fine. She's not that bad" "Riiiight. Her and Kolivan... that's the ultimate power couple right there" "Don't I know it" "Exactly why I wouldn't be missing their call. Kolivan's blank stare is a thing of nightmares" "His smile is even worse... it's like he doesn't quite know how" "Your mother's hot. He better be treating her right" "You think my mother's hot?" Crap... it'd slipped out... "Not as hot as her half-Galra son?" "That's better. Are you ever coming out of that backpack?" "I was thinking of staying in here. I can't accidentally call your mum hot if I'm lost in here" Pulling the backpack away, Keith threw it down near their feet "I'd rather you not be lost in there. Who's the message from?" Right. Message. His communicator. That thing. Clumsily turning his communicator up the right way, Keith didn't comment so Lance told himself it didn't matter. Opening up the message, he drew his brow in confusion. The last thing he wanted to do was drag Keith off into something when Keith really needed a break from dealing with him "It's from Hunk..." "Hunk? What does he want?" "I don't know, it's a video message" So much for settling his nerves by distracting himself with his communicator. He should have just ignored it "Do you want me to open it?" "I can work my own communicator!" Snapping at Keith, Lance took a deep breath "Sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting a message from him. We barely talk anymore, and I honestly don't even know how to reconnect anymore. I feel like... I'm the stupid one for missing our time on the castle" "I miss it too. I don't miss you being worried and taking care of everyone, but I do miss Black... After flying our lions, no other ship compares. Are you sure you don't want me to open it?" Keith was right about the ship thing. Lance missed Red's touch in the back of his mind so much he'd wondered if it'd ever been as soothing in real life as the memories of it seemed to be. When Red had left, he'd left Lance to take the full brunt of his emotions... which he really hadn't been equipped to handle. In a way, Keith was like having Red back... "No, but you can stay like that and watch it with me" Nuzzling into him, Keith nodded "That I can do" Shaking slightly, Lance opened the message "Hey, Bud! It's been forever! Well, I suppose you're wondering why I'm calling. See, I'm planning on proposing to Shay, and wanted your advice but my last message about wanting to talk must of gotten lost. Ha ha ha. Shiro said you and Keith were out on a mission! He's good... Shiro I mean. He missed you. We all do. You're probably sneaking around with Keith right now, so don't... uh, worry about calling back... unless you want to. No pressure man. Say "Hi" to Keith if he's there. I'm sure I can figure out how to propose to Shay. I mean... is a ring in a cupcake too much? You know what, I'll ask Shiro, or Curtis. Curtis is good too... so... yeah... I'll see ya round, buddy" Lance felt himself tearing up. He was so quiznakking happy for Hunk, but felt so incredibly shit that Hunk thought he wouldn't call back over something so important. He'd wanted to be Hunk's friend. He knew everyone thought him flaky, but he thought Hunk knew him better than that. He wasn't great, but he could be together enough to be there for Hunk "Lance?" "I'm a... terrible friend" "What? No" "You heard him. He thinks I don't care" "He knows you care" "Does he? He didn't even think I'd call back" "Call back now" Lance shook his head firmly "I can't do that" "You can. I'm here with you" "I'm crying" "Because you're happy for him" Lance was beginning to wonder if Keith had ever experienced anxiety, or if his anxieties decided to fuck him over in different ways. He felt sick. Like he'd missed the bottom step and been jolted out of place "I... don't know what to say. My marks aren't showing... what..." "Shhh. Hey. Breathe for me. You just need to breathe. I'll do the talking" "But my marks? I can't..." "Make-up. We're on a mission remember?" "A mission?" "That's right. This is a mission for Hunk's happiness. We're going to call him back" Lance didn't want to be that friend. Or that person. He didn't want to be petty over the fact Hunk had been busy with Shay and work. He truly wanted to be happy, purely happy, so why did he have to feel so sick? Before things had gone to hell on the castle, Hunk had been his best friend. His friend he really thought he could tell anything too. Until he started teasing him over his feelings for Allura. Now that he thought about it, he wondered if Hunk had thought Allura agreed to go on a date with him as a practical joke... or as a rebound because she'd discovered how nice it was to have someone by your side. The thought of Hunk laughing fed his anxieties. If Hunk had laughed at him wanting to date Allura, didn't that mean he thought Lance was nothing more than a joke? Way out of her league? "Lance, it's going to be ok. The sooner we call back, the sooner that ball of anxiety will lessen" Snorting, Lance tried to deflect "How do you know I'm anxious?" "Because you're as in my lap as you can get without actually climbing into my lap?" "Sorry" Shuffling forward, he didn't get far. Keith wouldn't let him go "It's nice to know you trust me. So trust me with this, ok? If it gets too much, or you feel like you can't breathe, squeeze my hand and I'll find a way to end the call" God. He shouldn't be like this. It was just Hunk. Hunk never got mad at anyone. He was like a teddy bear personified "Alright... thank you... This feels like when you called out of nowhere" "You were this anxious?" "You have no idea. I can barely keep up with Veronica without letting her know I'm... like this... It's gotta be bad when you're scared of Hunk" Kissing his hair, Keith repositioned them slightly "You'll be fine. I've got you" "I really hope so..."

[forasecondtherewedwon]

In the Arms of the Anus

Fandom: Spider-Man, Thor Pairing: Roger Harrington/Grandmaster Rating: T Word Count: 8883

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @spiderman-homecomeme!!!

Summary: While people all over the world are finding their soulmates, Roger Harrington can barely find time to grab a sandwich. Clumsy, anxious, and stagnating in a mediocre marriage, it's a miracle that he still believes in love.

Today's the day the universe rewards that belief.

Three things about Roger Harrington: he’d just tripped on the sidewalk, he worried daily that he was developing a bald spot, and, at the age of 36, he felt he still believed in love as strongly as did the little girl in his building who’d made all the residents Valentine’s Day cards the year before.

The cards—which Roger had found endearing while his wife had been baffled to the point of annoyance—had been wedged into everyone’s mailbox sometime on the afternoon of last May 19th, and maybe that was why he thought of them today, exactly a year later.

It was helpful, he found, to consider love in markers of time passing, or just numbers. The anniversary of those Valentine’s cards would always be 271 days early, leap year or not. Roger had been married twice, longer the second time. He had zero children, and that was alright with him because he wasn’t totally sure that he did want kids and, anyway, he was too profoundly stressed about the welfare of the teenagers he taught at Midtown to comfortably imagine himself as a fulltime parent.

His wife was cool. Significantly cooler than he was. She drove out of the city to hike every other weekend (he had never joined her and hoped to never be called upon for woodsy companionship), had once performed an emergency tracheotomy on a friend at a dinner party, and had a tattoo on her hip that predated their relationship, which made it consequently, eternally, enigmatic, no matter how many times she told the objectively trite story of its acquisition. Also, she was a casual shoplifter, which made him very, very nervous in a way that he found difficult to differentiate from how he felt when he was turned on.

He was the kind of person who consistently forgot to take his glasses off before stepping into the shower. She was the kind of person who would run into and recognize a famous race car driver at Whole Foods (that had happened) or fake her own death (that had not happened—knock on wood!). Essentially, what and who his second wife was was the natural successor to his first wife (the reckless young bride to his insomniac young groom), who had in turn been the natural successor to the only other romantic encounter of his life worth mentioning: a kiss on the cheek at a birthday party on the day the Berlin Wall fell. Roger had been seven.

So his romantic history was speckled and, in two out of three cases, spoke a little too loudly of a need for legally-recognized codependence. So he didn’t feel like a man anyone would ever get a tattoo in honour of. So his wife had been a little unkind in the long pause before her negative when he’d asked her if she thought he was getting a bald spot. Roger still felt that love was going to happen for him. Hopefully sustained in his current marriage, but if not, there was always what Julius Dell had taken to (highly unscientifically) calling the Love Wave.

If Roger decided to be really delusional, he could pretend that the Love Wave was to blame for his stumble over uneven concrete on his way to grab lunch. That he was finally feeling its cosmic tug. Not that he would be the last to sense it—the inexplicable force that had lately begun guiding people the world over to their new partners—but every day that he didn’t, he feared his wife would feel it first and go careening out of their life together in a Thelma and Louise-style launch that somehow left her intact and him feeling like he’d plummeted to his death at the bottom of a canyon. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined feeling that impulse to go to this destined soulmate and pictured it leading him home. Not in some metaphorical way, but literally home, to the apartment he shared with his wife, to find her arriving at the same time, the two of them matched up, the universe endorsing their marriage.

The reality was that he was a man with clumsy feet (and knees and elbows) who’d forgotten to pack himself a lunch and had just enough self-awareness (though probably not dignity) not to believe that eating in the cafeteria with his students was something he would be able to socially recover from.

He thought about a poorly-cut-out pink heart glued to a fold of red craft paper. He went to buy a sandwich.

At the deli, Roger waited in line and didn’t so much allow his mind to wander—like a dog off-leash in a dog park—as feel his mind jerk insistently away—like a dog on-leash, trying to snap a dropped slice of pizza off the sidewalk. He was violently not present as his thoughts migrated from Valentine’s Day cards to lesson plans to the anxiety he always felt over the fact of never seeming to have enough power to go with the tremendous sense of responsibility he felt for all situations in which he was even remotely involved. He would have, should have, continued to shuffle vacantly forward in line, except that the man ahead of him grumbled something that drew his focus.

What he grumbled was: “Even the Sorcerer Supreme should be able to spare a minute to decide what kind of sandwich he wants.”

Now, Roger Harrington was a man of science, but he was also a man who had previously enjoyed a close friendship with the Hulk (and if anyone challenged him on specific parameters within that assertion, Roger knew that he would cry). Aliens swarmed the sky like clouds of bees. There were compilation videos of Spider-Man nearly getting hit by city buses that could’ve been designed expressly to see how hard Roger could flinch. For a clumsy man with the unathletic, knock-kneed gait of Pippi Longstocking, Roger did his best to roll with the supernatural punches. Hey, this was how science worked too: just because there wasn’t a precedent yet didn’t mean there never would be. Just because he couldn’t explain something didn’t mean no one could. Sorcerers? Alright. There could be sorcerers.

“Sorcerers?” Roger blurted to the man, overeager to expel the word.

All other words had fled to the back of his mind, twitching in an agitated cluster, leaving just the one to be snatched frantically from the surface. Like fishing. (Roger had never been fishing. One of his greatest fears was having a live fish somehow jump into his shoe and stepping on it by accident.)

“Uhhh,” the man droned. He looked uneasy. If Roger knew how to make his eyes a little less wide in situations like these, he would’ve done it.

“No, yeah, sorcerers, sure,” Roger swiftly backpedaled. “I’m a teacher.”

As if being a teacher equaled knowledge of sorcerers. As if that were a normal unit of the high school curriculum. Roger’s understanding of sorcerers began and ended with Mickey Mouse in a blue wizard’s hat. He wondered if that was sort of the standard look.

The man did not appear reassured. Roger thrust his hand forward.

“Roger Harrington, Midtown Tech.”

Face still wary, his deli companion shook hands.

“Wong.”

“So, this sorcerer of yours didn’t pick a sandwich?” The line shuffled forward and, now in reach of the long glass case of food, Roger attempted to lean his elbow casually against it, misjudged the distance, and jerked back upright again before he could fall over.

“No… You heard that part too?”

“If I could hear the part about the sorcerer, why wouldn’t I be able to hear the rest?”

“I think most people would’ve been so fixated on the sorcerer thing that they wouldn’t really absorb the part about the sandwich.”

“Just got sandwiches on the brain, I guess,” Roger said.

God, if Wong knew a sorcerer, odds were that he was a sorcerer too. (Roger based this on being a teacher with almost exclusively teacher friends and acquaintances.) He was making it sound like he cared more about sandwiches, he knew he was. He stared silently at Wong for a few painful seconds and wondered if the man could tell that he had worked for a sandwich shop as a teenager—the role of wearing a full-body sandwich costume and standing on the sidewalk, trying to attract people into the shop.

But Wong surprised him by nodding.

“You could get one of everything,” Roger heard himself suggest.

He was not typically one to make suggestions, but rather one to panic when other people did and he was in the position of having to choose between them. He could never decide on a restaurant for he and his wife’s now few-and-far-between date nights, or provide straightforward feedback when she asked for his opinion on her clothing choices… which movie they should see… what they should buy for her friend’s sister’s housewarming gift...

Oh god, she was probably going to fake her own death and his biggest anxiety was knowing that someone would ask him to choose the casket!

“I have like…” Wong jingled his pockets and extracted a fistful of coins that, when he opened his hand, Roger saw belonged to several different currencies. “…six bucks.”

Like a mirror with a delay, Roger patted his own pockets to locate his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal something promising and terrifying: he’d forgotten to return the school credit card after the last field trip he’d chaperoned. He shouldn’t, but… sorcerer.

“I think this’ll cover it,” Roger said. “It’s for emergency expenses.”

“Like lunch?” Wong asked doubtfully.

“I could be very hungry.”

“They sell seventeen different types of sandwiches here.”

“I could be very, very hungry.”

Wong shrugged in evident acquiescence and Roger marvelled that it was so simple for him to accept this act of generosity. Roger couldn’t recall the last time someone had been as generous towards him. Wait, yes he could. The Valentine’s Day card. Well, handing over a credit card that wasn’t technically his didn’t exactly equate to presenting his ticket at the Love Wave gates (not that there were such things—not that he’d know), but he was hoping to trade this generosity up for a different magical experience in the near future.

When they reached the front of the line for service, Roger ordered a total of eighteen sandwiches. (And received an undisguised groan of complaint from the people still in line behind himself and Wong.) While they waited, Roger buzzed like the posterchild for over-caffeination, doing his best not to let his excitement translate into erratic movements.

Of course, once the sandwiches were presented and paid for, it only made sense for Roger to help Wong carry them all. His own ham-and-Swiss was stuffed into one of the three bags and they were all bulging, threatening to spill. If one of them ripped on Wong’s journey back to wherever he had to take them, who would be there to gather the sandwiches into their arms so that Wong wouldn’t have to leave them on the ground? Roger was clearly the best (only) person for the job.

And if they talked on the way? That would be natural. If Wong stared at him with abrupt, unyielding suspicion the instant Roger attempted to negotiate a visit with this ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ in exchange for buying his lunch? Yeah. Yeah that suspicion would be fair.

“Not for my sake!” Roger defended as Wong blinked back at him. “For the kids!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t a birthday party magician.”

“No, I would never imply that! These are bright kids. They’d be there to learn, respectfully. They’ve had their own traumatic encounter with Spider-Man already so there wouldn’t be any clambering to meet another person with superhuman powers!”

“What did Spider-Man do to traumatize them?”

Wong looked interested now, in an entertained sort of way. Meanwhile, Roger was having a flashback of his life flashing before his eyes inside the Washington Monument.

“Actually, he saved us,” Roger explained. “That’s not the point. It would be purely educational. You and the Sorcerer Supreme would call the shots. As long as it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous? We would never put children at risk!”

Roger was about to clarify that he hadn’t meant to imply that they would when he realized Wong seemed to be taking this as a reason to prove himself, or to make the other sorcerer prove what he’d just said.

“I would hope not,” Roger said carefully, “because not all of the children I’ve taken on field trips have come back alive and that haunts me.”

“Well, what haunts me is everything I’ve seen and learned from in order to become someone who could now guarantee a safe field trip environment.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“Well, good,” Wong concluded.

Roger looked down at the bag he was holding as he dug out his sandwich. His wrist twisted and he caught the time on his watch. Oh wow, oh no, his lunch break was almost over.

“Ok, deal,” he said quickly. “We’ll come by next Tuesday!”

“I’ll be out here to let you in!” Wong agreed with a parting wave.

Roger took off running in the direction of Midtown and when that got too awful, he wheezed like an asthmatic and waited at the closest bus stop.

—

Roger had expected Principal Morita to say there was no room in their budget for this trip. That they were nearing the end of the school year, that parents and guardians would be reluctant to sign another form for an excursion that Roger could only give a vague, stammering explanation of. At the very least, he’d anticipated the journey via school bus in lurching, stop-and-start traffic to take so long that the kids would revolt; Flash Thompson would lead the complaints that they could’ve walked to their destination faster than the ride took and Roger would feel the primal horror of a confrontation with a self-possessed teenager who wielded the kind of peer influence Roger could only have dreamed of when he’d been Flash’s age.

But no.

Highly improbably (Roger didn’t like to consider it miraculous), things went smoothly. The trip cleared the budget assessment on zero notice because, besides renting the single bus to transport the students, their outing didn’t actually have any costs. Permission slips came back signed. Traffic was light. And dear, dear Flash—who usually gave Roger so much anxiety—slapped the hand Roger raised to shield his eyes from the sun as his students disembarked from the bus, rewarding him with a surprise high-five for getting them out of the classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It almost knocked Roger’s glasses off.

They were ushered inside by Wong, who was now laying the mystical solemnity on pretty thick. He certainly wasn’t talking about sandwiches or complaining about the Supreme Sorcerer under his breath.

Before Roger could feel too good about himself though, he realized he’d had time to run through his headcount of the students three times without interruption. Normally, something would happen partway through his first count and he’d be uneasy for the rest of the day, sure that one of the kids had fallen down a manhole or been stampeded by a dog-walker’s unruly canine swarm. The universe shoved teenagers into the path of bike couriers with one hand and paired up soulmates with the other. That was just how things went! However, inside this house (or, no, Sanctum, Wong had called it), the air was still and quiet.

“Do you think he’s gonna make himself appear out of thin air?” Roger heard Ned ask at a whisper. “Or out of a wardrobe, or a trapdoor, or one of those boxes people get in to get sawed in half?”

“Those are cheap tricks,” Wong said loudly. He stared unsympathetically at Roger’s motley group, hand closed around his opposite wrist to maintain a serious pose. “The man you’ll be meeting shortly has capabilities that far outstrip those of the kind of magician-for-hire you’d find in a phonebook.”

From behind him, Roger heard Peter ask Ned what a phonebook was.

“What kind of capabilities then?” Flash demanded.

Roger sighed and was turning to reprimand his student when Wong said, “Like this!”

The man faked a sneeze of horrific volume and range, doubling over and cupping his hand around his mouth and nose. When he straightened up and presented his open palm, there was a raspberry sitting in it.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and his teaching career played on a fast-forwarded film reel behind his lids. The Sorcerer Supreme was a no-show; all Roger had accomplished was taking the kids to a weird building to witness a man pretend to sneeze out a raspberry. Midtown Tech was going to fire him. His wife would recognize his unemployment as a reason to leave him. Depressingly, Roger was thinking about how that would almost be a relief—an end to his incessant worrying that they were really kind of a mismatch—and he was thinking it while he blankly watched Wong eat the raspberry he’d just feigned dislodging from his nasal cavity.

He was really unprepared for a different man to come sweeping down the stairs, motion with his hand, and have a red sheet come whizzing down after him to settle itself on his shoulders. Roger blinked. He heard the mixed noises of fright and appreciation from his students.

Then Flash piped up with, “That’s just a trick. It’s wires or something.”

Roger backed into the cluster of his charges and, without taking his eyes off the obvious Magical Guy in front of him, reached over and placed his hand across Flash’s mouth.

Unfortunately, his censorship seemed to be too late. The Sorcerer’s narrowed eyes zoned in on Flash.

“Oh yeah? How ’bout this? Is this just a trick?”

Fingers splayed, the man moved his hands in a precise, practiced way and a window opened up in the middle of the room. No, not a window, but Roger was having a tough time wrapping his head around it. What this non-window showed was something that wasn’t the room, that wasn’t a view of the street, that wasn’t anyplace in New York, if he had to guess.

“You can’t just do it like that,” Wong said wearily. Roger felt himself and his students look from one of the men to the other as though watching a tennis match. “There should be a little more finesse.”

“Look,” the Sorcerer told him. “You don’t get to spring this on me and then expect me to ham it up for the kids. This isn’t a David Blaine show.”

“Maybe you should watch one. You might learn something about showmanship.”

“So, it’s fake, right?” Flash checked.

Dammit, Roger had dropped his hand, distracted as he tried to make out what he was seeing through what he was becoming increasingly comfortable with calling a ‘magic portal’ in his thoughts. He scrambled to take hold of Flash’s shoulder—yanking him back would be bad, but dealing with the fallout of him pissing off somebody who could make magic portals would be much worse—but Flash dodged him, swaggering forward to inspect the Sorcerer’s work.

“What is it? Mirrors? Greenscreen? You buy your tech from Stark?”

“Stark?” the Sorcerer spat out derisively.

Overcome with the terrible feeling that he was about to find out what it looked like when a wizard put a curse on a child, Roger sprang forward. As he did, three things happened: the Sorcerer rotated his wrist slightly, the scene on the other side of the portal changed, and Flash turned to the side.

Without a student to grab onto and pull to safety, Roger’s momentum sent him hurtling through the gateway currently connecting Midtown to parts unknown.

Of all the times to trip, he thought.

—

The world was bright and fast and bad. Actually, Roger was almost positive that what he was seeing wasn’t the world at all, but he couldn’t put a name to where he was any more than he could think of better adjectives to describe it. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme owned a magical slip ’n’ slide that operated at speeds designed to train prospective astronauts for space travel, Roger was no longer in his building.

The colour of the tunnel of light surrounding him turned from something like the intestinal track of a unicorn who ate lightning and nebulas to a dangerous, broiling red. Roger kept waiting for his skin to bubble, his face to melt off. Maybe he was the fabled frog in the pot of boiling water and had failed to notice the heat steadily increasing. Because he didn’t feel hot. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt cold either and before he could work it out, he finally landed.

It was rough.

He curled his arms up around his head, protecting his face. He hit and tumbled, hit and tumbled, banging his shins and elbows, setting off a series of metallic clangs and thwumps like his body was playing drums made of the contents of somebody’s recycling bin. Roger could see—once, shaking, he was able to lower his arms and open his eyes—that his imagination hadn’t been far from the mark: he was lying in a heap of trash.

Trembling like a baby deer, he got to his feet and assessed his surroundings. There were piles everywhere. Piles of stuff. Roger could identify some of the battered objects, but most were utterly alien to him. This was like the time he’d found his wife’s sex toys all over again.

“Hello?” he called out, because he seemed to be alone. “Hel—”

His throat closed off abruptly when he swiveled in place and noticed the sky. His mouth fell open. Was that what he had just come through? That furious-looking, billowing, volcanic, enormous… disturbance? Weather pattern? Entrance to hell, if hell were a mountain of trash?

Oh man. Where was Spider-Man this time? Roger didn’t know which would come first, but if something distinctly reassuring didn’t happen in the next 30 seconds, he was going to either burst into tears or pee his pants. His cool wife was going to be so bummed to have to declare him dead instead of faking her own death. And his students would be traumatized, having just witnessed their teacher disappear before their eyes. He spent a frantic 17 of his 30 seconds wondering if this were Jumanji and he’d started a game without realizing it; being sucked into a board game was another of his greatest fears, ever since he’d watched the chilling horror film Jumanji in his teens.

“Hello?” Roger croaked a final time.

Some other scientist—a Tony Stark type—would thrive in this scenario, Roger knew. They would scavenge the surrounding mounds of metal, collecting and assembling pieces into some sort of technology that would either get them home or enable communication with a rescue team. Would there be a rescue team for Roger Harrington? Would anyone even try to get him back?

The cry/pee conundrum was looking more like cry with each passing second until suddenly, amongst the broken things Roger was aggrieved to consider the lone sentinels of his demise, some kind of spacecraft touched down. Based on his recent luck, whoever was at the helm was likely here to kill him, but he immediately elected to throw himself on their mercy, whether that meant rescue or just a swifter snuffing out of his life than he would otherwise experience on this sad island of garbage as he died from dehydration, starvation, and exposure to that infernal gateway in the sky.

He mouthed the word “help” more than said it as he staggered forward on legs he could hardly feel. A door in the side of the spacecraft slid smoothly open and party music blared out. Roger flinched back as though he had not heard the sounds of civilization in years.

A woman exited the craft. She wore an expression about as kind as the murderous upside-down mushroom cloud in the sky and when their eyes met, she barked, “Back!”

Roger executed an awkward reverse lunge, pleading hands raised. Ok, now that his time had come, he didn’t want a quick death. Put out of his misery? No, he would learn to live with his misery, the way he’d learned to live with his college roommates, or his wife’s collection of handmade bowls! With food and water to sustain him, he was suddenly confident that he could be successfully miserable for years if this intimidating woman would just leave him to his own pathetic devices.

But then, like a visitation from a tan, eye-liner-wearing angel of indeterminate age, a man in gold robes emerged from the vessel. He beamed like he had always been beaming, and always would be.

Just like that, Roger Harrington got it. He got what Hot Chocolate meant when they sang that they believed in miracles. He got the meaning of Kylie Jenner’s year of realizing stuff. He got why a child would send out Valentine’s Day cards in May and why his wife was so dedicated to her hiking group and why he was here.

“Now, what did I say about that before we left?” the angel seemed to be asking his companion, though he’d locked his eyes on Roger. “Did I say to harass our visitor or did I say to be nice?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Roger, which he felt more than saw; it was possible that he was crying after all. Tears of joy.

“Harass,” she answered flatly.

The angel chuckled.

“You know, I do like having you around. Before you, I said to myself, ‘Next time, get an enforcer with a sense of humour.’” He sighed as his laughter dwindled. “But you can, uh, skedaddle back onto the ship now. That’ll be all.”

“What if you want to melt him?” she queried.

That was enough to tear Roger’s gaze away from the man and send it zipping nervously to the threatening almost-smile the woman was now directing his way. He’d preferred the murder face.

“Melt him!” the angel said, in a tone that implied her suggestion had been ridiculous. (Roger relaxed. A little.) “Topaz, don’t you realize who this is? Don’t you know?”

She shrugged.

“Trash.”

“No, he’s not trash! Do you think I would’ve left the Grand Arena to retrieve a new gladiator by hand? All those Scrappers don’t do my bidding just so I can dig through the garbage looking for fresh challengers for my champion! I wouldn’t even assign Scrapper 142 this task, and you know she’s my favourite!”

When the woman only grumbled, the man pressed, “You have an unbelievable poker face. Do you really not know why I flew all the way out here for this guy?”

“I’m his soulmate,” Roger blurted, because that was the one thing he did know.

He had no idea what a Scrapper was, or whether the man in front of him was more or less important than the ‘champion’ he’d mentioned, or how his homicidal sidekick planned to melt Roger, but he understood what was happening here. Forget the Love Wave—what had come for him had yanked him violently across solar systems, maybe galaxies. He’d been sucked under by the Love Riptide.

The angel pointed at him and proudly proclaimed, “Correctamundo!”

Then he strode forward and folded Roger into a hug. Roger thought this must be what it was like to be a piece of antique furniture, tenderly wrapped in gold leaf.

“I’m the Grandmaster,” he said.

“Roger Harrington,” Roger offered, feeling that his life was entirely surreal as he cautiously returned the hug.

“As soon as I felt you land on my humble little planet here, I came looking. My orgy guests were disappointed, naturally, but I had to put my interests first. What was I, elected? If they wanted a leader who would pretend to care about everyone equally, they should have organized themselves into a viable political party capable of rivalling my dictatorship, am I right?” He drew back slightly and laughed. “You should see your face! I’m kidding. I would’ve had anyone involved in such a thing put to death. Don’t you worry, Hairball.”

Roger cleared his throat. He’d learned so much in the last few sentences alone. Death. Dictator. Orgy. Any one of those things was a lot to confront and yet… he was calmed by the Grandmaster’s presence. He was alive and unmelted. He’d managed to find his soulmate—a man he’d been almost certain to never meet as things stood with Earth’s individually-impressive but cosmically-insignificant progress with space travel. At long last, the universe had smiled on Roger Harrington.

“Just Roger is good,” he said. If last names ever came up again, he would tactfully correct his soulmate, but with a name like ‘the Grandmaster,’ he doubted they ever would.

“Roger. Anything you say.” Gripping Roger’s shoulders, the Grandmaster leaned in and planted a sound kiss on his forehead with a loud, “Mmmwah!”

He asked Roger if he would like to go aboard his ship, apologizing that it wasn’t the one where he’d just been having the orgy and appearing to check Roger’s face for disappointment. Roger didn’t know what the Grandmaster saw in his expression, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Inside the spaceship, Roger looked around with huge eyes. He hadn’t felt this kind of wonder in a room jammed with so much beyond his understanding since the first time his mom had taken him to the New York Hall of Science as a kid. Everything was bright and white and immaculately clean, and Roger could concentrate on all of it because the Grandmaster had Topaz drop the volume of his party playlist until it was just a low pulse of background noise. Seemingly amused by his awe, the Grandmaster allowed him a peek at the controls before gently herding him into a chamber with seating arranged for socializing. A pneumatic hiss sealed them safely inside and away from the woman’s scowl.

“I really just wanna sit here and, uh, just look atcha, but that look on your face tells me you’ve got about a million questions.”

The Grandmaster settled back into the bench seating, resting his long arms along the top of the seat. Across from him, Roger fidgeted, experiencing sensory overload. Soulmate. Spaceship. Alien planet. He found it hard to decide what to ask first. Was that even polite? Was the Grandmaster just saying that Roger could ask questions when he really wanted Roger to say or do something else? There was an awfully flirtatious look in his eye, the likes of which Roger hadn’t seen directed towards himself in several years.

“What is this place?” Roger asked before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“Oh! This is Sakaar! Are you saying you didn’t come here on purpose? I figured you weren’t aiming for a pile of trash, but you really didn’t know where you were going at all?”

Roger shook his head so hard that he had to nudge his slipping glasses back up his nose.

“It was an accident. I fell through a wizard’s—uh, I mean, a sorcerer’s—magic portal. That kind of clumsiness must sound pretty farfetched to someone who’s so obviously…” Roger motioned spastically towards his soulmate, the dictator, with both hands. “…in control of their life.”

The Grandmaster laughed, transparently pleased and preening.

“Oh, Roger, you flatter me.”

He stretched out his leg to playfully tap his shoe (gold) against Roger’s (plain, brown, frayed shoelace). Roger jumped, giddy from an alteration in sea level, possibly, plus life-changing events.

“But it really isn’t so uncommon for people, beings, things… to end up here without meaning to,” the Grandmaster went on. “A lot of junk passes through the Anus. Not that you’re junk, obviously.”

With a winning smile, Roger’s soulmate leaned forward and patted him on the knee. He was a touchy-feely guy, it seemed, and it made Roger cognizant of how very lonely he’d been in his marriage, in the last year especially. How skittish around strangers, how unaffectionate with his friends. This was what he needed, and the universe had understood that.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his soulmate had said, distracted by the comfort he was taking in his easy warmth.

“The Anus?” Roger asked in a choked voice.

“The Devil’s Anus, to be exact. That enormous, horrifying wormhole out there in the sky!” the Grandmaster explained, gleeful. “Best I can guess, it acts as a funnel for accidental travelers, like yourself. And boy, are we ever grateful for that thing. I’ve never had to post any ‘Help Wanted’ flyers, I’ll tell ya that. We need more people serving drinks? Boom. More entertainers? Boom. More lubricators for the orgies? Boom, the Anus provides, baby.”

Roger didn’t inquire what the duties of a person with the job title ‘orgy lubricator’ entailed; it seemed sleazily self-explanatory. He just nodded.

“And now,” his perfect, golden match continued, “the portal brings me my soulmate. I love that thing. It’s really somethin’, huh?”

“It’s really something,” Roger agreed. “Really, really something.”

“You’re looking just a little stunned there, Rodge. Can I offer you something to eat? A drink? I promise, I’m usually a much better host. I feel like I’m positively, uh, bumbling right now.” He beamed.

This man was so many things at once—possibly too many—but bumbling was so far from being one of them that Roger actually laughed weaky in his state of happy, semi-delirium. He accepted the cold glass that was pressed into his hand, the brush of the Grandmaster’s warm palm across his forehead. He had moved to sit right next to Roger.

“You can get used to this place at your own pace, within reason.” His soulmate chuckled. “Heck, we can stay right here a day or two. My plans are cancelled, and when I stop, the world stops. That’s how it is, being the Grandmaster, and that’s how it’s gonna be for you too. You can give all your worries a big, wet kiss goodbye, my love. You’re living a life of luxury now. A court of sycophants, fights to the death in the evening, orgies on a lazy afternoon. I’m talkin’ a life of pure class—”

“Class!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I said.” The Grandmaster was wearing a languid smile as he traced the back of his fingers along Roger’s jaw.

But Roger was suddenly too alert to be lulled by welcome caresses and delicious, exotic beverages.

“I was teaching a class before I fell through the portal,” he said. “I’m a teacher. My students are probably terrified. Some of them might be messed up for life after watching me disappear right in front of them. What have I done…”

“So you gave them a cool story to tell their friends! You don’t need to think about that anymore. Now that you’re living here—”

“I can’t live here!” Roger said, seizing the Grandmaster’s hands in his as he tried desperately to explain. “I have responsibilities as an educator! Jesus Christ, I’m married!”

“Roger. Rodge. Rodge. Hey,” his soulmate said, finally disrupting Roger’s spiral of panic. “That’s all in the past. Do you know how many creatures from just, uh, every darn corner of the universe I’ve made slaughter each other for my entertainment? Thousands, Roger, ok? Thousands. And it’s taught me oodles about life. What I’ve learned is that love is the only thing that matters. What all of those poor bastards scream for in the end is their mom, their partner, their best friend. Now, that doesn’t help them, but it helps us. It helps us understand that we’ve done it—we’ve achieved the one thing in our lives that was worth a damn to achieve. I’m not gonna, gonna now be parted from you, sweetheart. You are the point of me.”

Roger felt himself growing teary at the speech. Yes, this had been a whirlwind—they’d met no more than 15 minutes ago—but he was feeling something just as deep as the love the Grandmaster described. It was a fantasy in the best way, the life his soulmate pictured for them (most of it… maybe not the part about slaughter). But it was a fantasy in the worst way too, something so impossible that Roger felt sick for getting as attached to this man as he already had.

“I can’t,” he said softly. He let his head hang down, solaced when the Grandmaster guided it onto his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Can’t you? For me? Roger, if I put you on a ship and send you back through the Anus, we may never meet again.”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be selfish, but there were people he couldn’t leave in the lurch. People who maybe didn’t care about him in a way that was equal to how he cared about them, but that was how any kind of relationship was, apart from soulmates. There were imbalances. He knew he might not be the most brilliant scientist, the most inspirational teacher, the husband a woman would prefer over the outdoorsy hunk in her hiking group, but he knew who he was: he was someone who couldn’t just walk away.

“We’ll be together again,” Roger said, clutching the Grandmaster’s robes. “After.”

Though he didn’t yet know what ‘after’ would mean.

—

It wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been—Roger had always had a feeling he’d die on a school bus.

The difference between his fears and reality was that he wasn’t departing this world in a fiery crash or zooming out of control between the steel trusses and into the East River. There was confusion, there was chaos, there were screams and the violent honking of horns, but there were elements he couldn’t have predicted. Primarily, the giant alien spacecraft hovering over the city. The ship immediately moved into first place of the most ominous rings in his life (he and his wife were not in a good place). Since its sighting, things had quickly spiraled out of control. Julius had radioed Roger from the other bus of students they were chaperoning to MoMA to report that Ned Leeds had ‘flipped his shit’ and Peter Parker was currently missing. Roger had nearly passed out. The only thing that had kept him conscious was his jittery concern for the rest of his students.

At Midtown Tech, they had drills for almost every eventuality. As of 2012, hostile outer space invasion was actually part of their repertoire, but it had always been assumed they would be at school when it happened, not out on a field trip. The most Roger had been able to think to do was get the kids to a secure location. Which meant getting the buses to a secure location. But the buses were on the bridge, and all over the bridge drivers were panicking, mindlessly stomping on the gas and attempting to swerve around the rest of the vehicles. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he’d heard crash after crash, until their bus was hemmed in and, through the smoking, crumpled hoods of their fellow commuters, the alien ship hung stationary in the sky. Disturbingly tranquil as New York City went to pieces to the tune of apocalyptic dissonance just below.

In the end, the spaceship hadn’t stayed put, but Roger had. The lanes around them were crowded with smashed cars. Glass from shattered windshields glittered on the pavement. Still, more vehicles surged forward as drivers attempted to use the bridge to flee the city; this wasn’t NYC’s first alien rodeo. He hadn’t attempted to force any of his students to remain on the bus—they were some of the smartest and the best of their generation, and he trusted their survival instincts far more than his own—but he did direct the ones who fled to first climb up onto the roof of the bus instead of dropping directly down onto the street and risking injury. Yes, he worried about minor cuts and bruises. Even now.

He thought that Flash was staying with him, and was touched. But then he realized Flash was just gripping his shoulder for leverage as he jumped and grabbed for the emergency roof hatch with his free hand. Roger knew the boy was somewhat neglected by his parents, and so, for the first time, he was happy go hear ‘Hotline Bling.’ It was Flash’s ringtone and it played incessantly as his phone rang and rang until the song, and the sound of Flash running, faded into the distance. Somebody wanted to see that he was safe. Somebody cared about him.

Alone, Roger hunkered down between the seats, knees bent in front of him. He scraped one hand anxiously through his hair and gripped his phone in the other.

He should call his wife. He knew he should. Only, he was afraid that she either wouldn’t pick up or she’d answer and be with the guy from her hiking group. Roger wasn’t even upset; he was glad she had someone, if this was it.

Ever since he’d returned from Sakaar, he’d been different, he was aware that he had. In the past, his wife had been largely responsible for the sundering of their marriage, but Roger knew that he was now pulling away too. It had begun inside him—the tear. He wanted to be with two people for two different reasons. In two places, on two worlds. Commitment clashed with longing. Logical rightness fought emotional rightness. He’d been weak, persuading himself daily to tough it out with his wife (even as he slept on the couch every night because lying beside her made him unhappy), when, for once in his damn life, he wanted to be fulfilled. Somewhere out in the stars, there was a man with blue eyeliner and an entire planet at his capricious command and he was the person for Roger.

If only, he thought, picturing the face he shouldn’t have been able to recall so clearly for the brevity of their encounter months ago. Roger shut his eyes to better remember the Grandmaster, and so he wouldn’t have to see his phone clatter to the bus’s dirty floor when the hand that held it turned to dust.

—

As with his life on regular, non-apocalypse days, not much happened to Roger. Despite his paralyzing breakdown on a school bus, he wasn’t among the billions scattered to the wind like sentient dandruff. He picked himself up and went home. Sure, he was shivering almost out of his skin from the shock, but he didn’t collapse into wracking, snotty sobs until he was safely in his living room, listening to his neighbours’ wails through the condo’s walls.

Roger’s wife wasn’t there, didn’t answer when he called her, and, three weeks later, still hadn’t made contact. It took another two months to hold her wake; the funeral business was booming. Never had so many words been spoken over so many vacant graves. Some members of his wife’s hiking group attended, some had even helped him select the right music and flowers beforehand. They knew her preferences. It felt surreal to be burying a person he couldn’t prove—in any meaningful way—that he’d really known.

With a queasy sense of being very lucky, he accepted that, apart from his marital status, his life hadn’t been upended. His windows weren’t broken, his car wasn’t stolen, the few family members he was out of touch with anyway had also survived. He went back to work before anybody called him in. There weren’t any students at first, just the echo of Roger’s clumsy footsteps tripping over the rug in the staffroom, half-solved equations on the whiteboards in the math classrooms, and the unholy stench of unwashed pinnies when he poked his head into the gym storage room to see if Coach Wilson was around. One day, Roger tipped back in the chair at the front of his own empty classroom and spotted a gigantic cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. It made him think of Spider-Man. He guessed that guy was gone too.

The most important thing for keeping sane was establishing a regimen. Work was a big part of that, but Roger also traveled daily into Manhattan to visit the Sorcerer’s place. It became a kind of pilgrimage. Early on, Wong would come out to say hello, but it was eventually less about commiseration and more of a perfunctory thing. Roger knew (assumed, hoped) that if the Sorcerer ever did return, Wong would let him know and welcome him inside. And then… a portal? And then the Grandmaster? He tried not to think about it too hard. Yearning took up a lot of energy and, when his students began to come back to school in distressingly low numbers, Roger needed to reserve that energy for teaching.

Everything was the same, every day, until it wasn’t.

For a reason he couldn’t rationally explain, Roger knocked on the Sorcerer’s door. While he was waiting—just a few seconds, he planned—a man materialized on the sidewalk right next to him. He tottered and Roger reflexively said, “Whoa!” and grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Before Roger could hypothesize or ask the man any questions, a teenage girl returned to existence a few feet away. Then a woman holding a toddler tightly in her arms. A little boy. A man with a dog. A bicycle-less bike cop, still wearing his helmet. Releasing the man, Roger spun and pounded against the door with his fist.

Still, no one answered.

Fighting the urge to show up at Midtown Tech, Roger made himself stay put, right there on the Sorcerer’s doorstep.

He waited a long time. As the sun set, New York City rose around him. He watched people hugging, running home down the middle of the street. He fielded unfinished questions as the newly returned began to ask him what had happened, what time it was, what year, before jogging away, more purposeful with every step they took. Roger’s foot began to bounce on the sidewalk and his clammy hands twisted fretfully. It was still another 12 hours before the door opened.

Roger fell backwards into Wong’s shins, delirious from the sickening seesaw between urgency and exhaustion. Everywhere, people were reconnecting. He scrambled to his feet because he wanted to be one of them.

“Is he here?” Roger demanded.

Wong narrowed his eyes slightly, holding the door so it couldn’t be pushed open further.

“Might I remind you that it’s me you’ve been seeing here the last five years.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, trying to see past.

“I thought we had developed a rapport.”

Finally, Roger met Wong’s eyes, his own pleading.

“No, yes, you’re right, we have,” he babbled.

“We’re friends.”

“Yes, of course, we are friends. Definitely.”

“So when is my birthday?”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he searched his brain for a piece of information he knew wasn’t in there. A few seconds later, Wong turned mirthful.

“Did you spend the Blip hiding under a rock where there are no jokes? Come inside. We just got back.”

None of the thousands of times he’d come to the door mattered—Roger hadn’t been inside the Sanctum since that first time. He hoped the Sorcerer remembered him.

When he saw the man, Roger’s steps stuttered. The Sorcerer appeared grim and wiped out. He was dirty and he looked older, though Wong whispered to Roger that the Sorcerer had been among the Snapped. Roger understood that, for something to go right and bring everyone back to life, something else had gone wrong. He could dwell on that and awkwardly bow his way back out of there, or he could convince himself that things had gone wrong for him too, and that he’d like them to be righted. He remembered that his soulmate was a dictator and tried to channel that sense of entitlement.

“What do you know about the Anus?”

The Sorcerer blinked.

“What.” The word came out perfectly flat.

“The Anus.”

“I wasn’t that kind of doctor.”

Roger strode eagerly towards him, hands gesturing before his words caught up.

“When I was here about, um, five and a half years ago, I fell through your magic portal—”

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers in recognition and turned to Wong.

“Oh, that’s who this is. I always wondered what happened to that guy.” He looked at Roger again. “How did you get back to Earth?”

Roger hadn’t been prepared to answer this question, just make his demands, and he began to explain what had happened to him, all out of order. The words ‘orgy ship’ had barely left his mouth when the Sorcerer was waving him into silence. His expression told Roger he was sorry he’d asked.

“So you went through the portal…” he prompted instead.

“That’s right! And for a while, I was just falling. I don’t know where I was.”

The Sorcerer stroked his chin.

“The connection must’ve been unstable. I know—one of your students distracted me.”

“That’d be Flash,” Roger said.

“Jesus. This is why I prefer not to be a field trip destination. Normally, the portal would allow you to pass cleanly through one place and into another.”

“And instead he passed cleanly through the Anus,” Wong summarized.

“…Yeah.”

Roger glanced from one man to the other.

“So,” he said, “could you do it again?”

The Sorcerer stared at him.

“The short answer is no. The long answer is also no, but it contains a great deal of vernacular to do with the Mystic Arts, so I’ll save us both some time.”

The last time Roger had defended his intellect and qualifications had been years ago, and he was out of practice. Anyway, he didn’t want a lengthy debate.

“Can’t you just open a portal and shove me through?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot going on today. I’ve only entertained you this long because you and Wong seem to be friends. I’m not just going to mess around to humour you.”

“What if you had to do it?” Roger asked quickly, beginning to feel desperate and preparing to metaphorically jam one of his clumsy feet into the closing window of opportunity.

“Uh, let me think about that,” the Sorcerer droned disinterestedly. “No.”

“What if I attacked you and you opened a portal in self-defence?”

The Sorcerer squinted at him in disbelief and befuddlement.

“What?”

But Roger was already gracelessly throwing his weight into a wild, uncoordinated punch.

For once, he didn’t think critically of himself; he told himself that the Sorcerer’s portal sparked up between them because he was intimidated by Roger’s tenacity. And that it didn’t show a clear destination because the Sorcerer’s reaction speed was no match for Roger using the element of surprise. And that he dove purposely through the portal—on a mission for love and science and the unknown—instead of tumbling into it sideways because the momentum of his unpracticed punch had gotten the better of his balance. It didn’t matter. His feet went out from under him and he was on his way.

Roger had forgotten how intense the trip was, but he completely recalled the rough landing, bouncing down through a stack of the universe’s lost garbage. He shut his eyes to the whooshing and the brightness and braced himself (probably too early, but he didn’t think he could be too careful on this reckless endeavor).

He felt his body hit open air and gasped as he fell, trying to keep his limbs tucked in. The hat he’d been wearing was torn from his head. Didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have offered much protection anyway. At any moment, his poor elbows and knees would be battered by space junk. Between his velocity and his fear of the coming impact, Roger could hardly breathe.

Music. A familiar voice singing, It’s my soulmate! made his eyes fly open. Right in time to land on his back. Whatever was beneath Roger was soft, but he’d still had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to fill his lungs. His eyes clamped shut as he began to cough.

“I have no idea how you survived that thing twice, but I sure am glad I caught ya.”

Finally sucking in a stronger breath, Roger opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were askew. Above him was the opening in the ceiling of a hovering spacecraft, but closer than that, leaning over him, was the face of the Grandmaster. He was beaming.

“Any trouble with the Anus?” he asked.

Roger grabbed for the hand his soulmate had rested on his shoulder and moved it to his chest, right over his heart.

“The asshole who got me here will probably be thrilled to never see me again, but the Anus treated me just fine.”

“Ha!” the Grandmaster barked. His free hand lovingly patted Roger’s windblown hair back into place. “Welcome home.”

[vulpinmusings]

Ski’tar and Friends part 1: The Lost Voyager

I got into a Starfinder campaign recently, and the first session went so well that I figured it would be worth the effort to write up what has and is going to happen, in-character as the Ysoki mechanic that I’m playing.

Archive

The Pact Worlds system is a large place, with so many stories happening that it would be impossible for one being to learn them all in a single lifetime.  Most of those stories don’t matter, though, because they don’t involve me, Ski’tar of Akiton, master of explosives and brave explorer of the unknown space beyond the Pact Worlds.

My story begins modestly enough.  I found myself on Absalom Station, scrounging through the under-levels for anything that could lead me toward the next step to finding the Ultimate Boom.  If you had asked me then what the Ultiamte Boom was, I couldn’t have answered you; I simply didn’t know quite enough yet.  I onlu knew that when I found the key, I would know it.  One local morning, as I scurried along the passageways looking for promising piles of refuse, I caught wind of an announcement from the Starfinder Society, requesting applicants for a spacefaring job.  There weren’t many details in the announcement, but I gleaned there was the possibility of the job leading outside the system.  New worlds to explore, new substances to study and attempt to forge into bombs?  It seemed perfect.

Now, I knew that Starfinders tend to get into dangerous situations on the regular, so before I headed to the Society’s headquarters, Lorespire Complex, I scurried home to make one last check of my recently built combat drone and stick my laspistol onto it so it could handle the dirty work of fighting.  I kept my grenades on my own person, however; I didn’t trust the drone’s manipulator arms to throw ‘nades properly yet.

Upon arriving at the designated meeting room, I found that only two others had answered the request: a Kasantha who looked like he’d seen more than his share of battles and possibly hadn’t had all the fun squeezed out of him by tradition yet, and a purple-skinned android with the most unoriginal designation ever: 6.  Just 6.  The Kasantha had a run-on sentence of a name, as is the race’s tendency, but he usually just went by Vemir.  Our contact was a Lashunta named Arvin, and he was quite… excitable.  He rambled and babbled such that I almost suspected him to be an Ysoki in a costume. On stilts.

Captain Arvin told us of a Starfinder vessel that had gone missing in the Vast some time ago.  The trail had gone cold, and the craft had been given up for lost, until the insignias of the crew members showed up on the black market the other day.  The Society had shelled out the credits to buy the insignias from the Vesk who was hoarding them in his pawn shop, but apparently couldn’t be bothered to send any actual Starfinders to pick the things up and sniff out where they’d come from.  That’s where me and my two new buddies were to come in.  Vemir and 6 spent time haggling over payment, something in the high hundred thousands. I don’t recall exactly because all I cared for was confirming that the job might lead out of system. Creds and UPBs will come and go as needed; so long as I can look for new boomy things to tinker with, I’m happy.

We wasted no time heading to the pawn shop where the insignias were being held.  Place was dirtier than an Akiton slum and crammed full of the strangest odds and ends.  It would’ve been like paradise to dig through it all, and I did unearth some weapons and a shock grenade that were in usuable repair, but having spent my last credits on my drone and neglecting to ask the Captain for an advance on my pay, I couldn’t take any of it with me.

The Vesk was oddly jittery for belonging to a race of hardened warrior lizard conquerors, and it only took a few direct questions from Vemir and 6 to get him to hand over the insignias and sell out his supplier.  Some Eoxian ghoul lady had pawned the insignias off on him and then high-tailed it to hire some muscle and head over to the Vat Farm.

Lovely place, the Vat Farm.  They’ll take any unwanted biological material found around Absalom Station, few to no questions asked, and convert it into fertilizer for some of the most… exotic hydroponic products you’re likely to find in the lower sections. Naturally, it’s run by Ysoki.  Who else would be clever enough to turn a waste sump into a flowering business?  The owner’s an agreeable rodent and hardly ever closes the place off to the general public.

You can imagine our surprise, then, when we found a brutish human barring our entry to the Vats.  He couldn’t give us an actual reason why the place was “closed;” apparently he figured his size and unfriendly manner would be enough to scare us off.  He misjudged us badly, and we in turn badly failed at our attempts to talk sense into him.  

A fight was unavoidable, so I naturally put some distance between me and the brute and told my drone to start shooting.  Drone’s aiming system evidently still needed some calibrations, because its first few shots went wide. Fortunately, Vemir and 6 were more than capable of holding their own in a fight.  It should have been over quickly, except the brute had a couple of friends who came running in from one of the side entrances. They had too much ground to cover to be any help to their buddy, though.  He got a knife in his throat courtesy of Vemir, and between my drone and 6’s laser guns one of the two reinforcements was quickly converted into a human torch.  Fire-man must have had some pain reductive augments, or else he was just that nuts, because he managed to run up and take a swing at 6 before the fire consumed him.  The third brute wisely decided to cut his losses and run after witnessing the quick and brutal way we killed his buddies.

Partway through immolating the second brute, a shot rang out from the hydroponic forest below the walkways we were on, narrowly missing my ear.  Judging by the shrieks that accompanied the gunshot, I figured it was our ghoul target, so I made my way down into the trees opposite of where the shot had come from and, once I was sure the brutes were handled, brought my drone down to help ferret out the ghoul.  Vemir was the one to ultimately spot her, however; the show-off decided to leap into the top of the tree nearest his spot on the walkway and quickly located the ghoul. 6, my drone, and I quickly moved in to surround her.  Since we needed information from her, I attempted to talk her down, and chucked a grenade to demonstrate how screwed she was if she didn’t comply.

Driven by desperation or something, the ghoul fought on until the combined firepower of 6 and my drone’s lasers – set to nonlethal ( and helped along by that ‘nade of mine, of course) – knocked her unconscious.  She had a grand total of 100 credits on her person, as well as a bag of bones looted from the area and a datapad that I had no trouble unlocking.

The Vat Farm’s owner was grateful for our “contribution” of two human corpses (well, one corpse and one carbonized skeleton) and for stopping the unauthorized removal of biomass, and gifted us some bulbs with antitoxin properties.  They aren’t explosive, but they’d be useful in a pinch and maybe could fetch a nice price in the right market.

We took the ghoul and datapad back to Captain Arvin for interrogation.  I can’t recall exactly what her story was, but the gist was the ghoul’s crew had stumbled upon the lost Starfinder ship stuck in the Drift, looted it, and recorded its location.  So, our next move was obvious.  We just needed a ship.

[thebritishblabbermouth]

Jungkook Fanfiction- BTS Mafia AU- Part 2 (M)

Enjoy :))

@atricksterwithwings 

‘’What an idiot. Sent his secretary... His beloved for a damned bag drop. And they say the man makes no mistakes.’’ Vermeer took a long drag from his pipe, letting the tobacco fill every cell in his body. The girl was half his size, why had he even bothered with the artillery? The task was simple; intercept the drop, kidnap the lovely prize and bring her to the den. The boss would use her effortlessly.

After all, she was the textbook tool for power play against the most feared man in all of Asia- the love of his goddamned life.  

Jeon Jungkook would regret the day he denied the Russians their right into Korea.

He noticed you snuggle into the coat as you left the building, saw how you held onto the black duffel bag – as if your life depended on it. Vermeer smiled at the sight, the gold tooth embedded into his stained gums, glistening under the light of the falling sun.

It was show time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Bile rose through the pit of his stomach and made his mouth rancorous with its taste. It was repulsive, what he had done, pathetic that he had slacked off to such great an extent. He had chosen to ignore the signs that lurked before him and now he suffered from the consequences.

The Russians had stayed silent for months, licking at their wounds like bruised kittens, unable to believe he had set fire to three of their Ammunition factories- in simple retaliation for the fact that they had demanded 41% shares in his East Asian Empire. And what for? Because they assumed he was too inept to lead his syndicate, and by far too immature to tie hands with the Americans without permission from the Soviets themselves.

Permission could go to hell.

Jeon Jungkook stood in solitude and guarded his territory with every breath he took, all the while making sure every decision lead to monetary advantage for Euphoria. Tying his hands with the Americans had led to a rise in opportunities, the west coast being the prime location for his business. California offered low cost marketing with prodigious returns in gambles, drugs and not to mention their seemingly non-existent immigration loop holes. Entering America had been the most prosperous movement of his career and the soviets couldn’t handle his flourishing gains.

But he knew they would strike back- had even loosened business in a few of his areas so that they could take the fall for him.

However nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

He saw your pale face on the monitor, the gag surrounding your mouth as you hung on the bar in the blackened room. Your hair fanned over your sweaty face and he could watch your lips tremble with fear.

Fuck

‘’What is it you want Anatoly…Neither of us have time for this shit.’’ He gritted the sentences through the phone and bit his tongue.

Vermeer had his eyes trained on your pale neck.

‘’Give me 30% and I’ll let this butterfly go.’’ Anatoly grinned as he watched Vermeer grip the skin on your nape, your head dipped backwards as the lack of air sent your brain into a frenzy. Jungkook watched your struggles against the cuffs on your wrists, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face, his own body tense with your muffled screams.

‘’You’re kidding me? There’s no way. Kill her. She means less to me than the trash on the road. Goodbye Anatoly. Go Screw yourself.’’ Jungkook muted the call in seconds, his hands racing as he saw Vermeer grip your throat once again. The camera placed inside the duffel bag was genius and Min Yoongi was immaculate in every task assigned. Like usual, no back drop had ever occurred without a video recording as proof. Jungkook had an approximate of 15 minutes before Anatoly took his words seriously, 15 minutes to find a solution to the problem and have you back in his arms- or at least inside his office.

‘’Yixing…I need a favour.’’ He said, clenching his phone so hard it might formed indents into his palm, heart rate accelerating by the minute.

‘’Jeon? All good? What is it you need?’’ The leader of White Jade spoke with great restraint. Jungkook had saved his triad from annihilation more than 3 years ago and he was yet to call in for his repayment.

‘’The Chinese- Russian branch in Guangzhou, Finish it.’’ Regardless of his hyperawareness and racing thoughts, Euphoria’s CEO stood calm and composed, the world blissfully unaware of the situation on the 77th floor.

‘’What? Why? It adds to 25% of my profit annually…do you have a particular reason?’’ Yixing chewed on his lip, unable to grasp the leader’s eccentric exigencies.

‘’I don’t necessarily think I need to give you an explanation Zhang…get it done, in the next 10 minutes. And expect to be the owner of Beijing by Friday.’’

The line dropped dead and Zhang Yixing had never gone to work faster.

Jungkook broke a sweat, the coolness of the high rise office did nothing to calm his fears. He knew Vermeer was sharpening his knife and he saw your eyes close with a kind of acceptance he had witnessed multiple times in his criminal career.

It happened almost instantaneously, Anatoly’s face paled and he swore belligerently. Yixing was a man of his words, the deed completed in no more than 5 minutes.

The site of the kidnapping had cleared in seconds, Vermeer left to handle the hostage on his own. Jungkook watched his men tear down the behemoth Russian with ease. He had boarded his own vehicle just moments after he witnessed Anatoly rush out of the room. It was imperative he see you for himself, to hold you in his arms and make sure you were alive.

He knew his heart wouldn’t stand another minute away from your own.

The shackles had just been removed from your fists, the ache in your arms dulling as you fell to the floor in a heap. But you didn’t feel the pain from the fall, for strong arms encased your lithe body into their own.

Jungkook.

You stared into his tenebrous eyes and witnessed an emotion you assumed he couldn’t feel.

Fear.

It was as clear as day, his ruthless stare turning soft as he stroked your gashed cheek with his thumb. His arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his frame as his team swarmed around you, picking up the remnants of Anatoly’s organization. His palms entwined with your own and he walked you to into his Mercedes.

It was hard not to stare at him, hard to overlook the sensation of his supple skin against your own and impossible to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, even though your life had been threatened no more than 30 minutes ago.

His hand clasped yours until you stepped into his apartment, turning you to face his looming frame once again.

‘’They touched you.’’ He whispered, tucking your sweaty, dirty hair behind your ears- as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Your heart couldn’t help itself and it swelled at the slightest touch. ‘’How is it that everyone gets to touch you except me?’’ the comment was offensive, rude and completely inappropriate. But with the way Jeon Jungkook wrenched his eyes from your face only to rake them over your body, the anger and fear at its reddened state consuming him as he did, you knew he meant no harm.

You cupped his face in your hands and brought your chapped lips to rest over his. You didn’t need permission or apologies or intimidation.

You needed him.

He let you nip at his lower lip, let you cradle his cheeks with your soft hands, allowed you to express your aching need in the most natural of ways. The kiss was sloppy and unexperienced, his hands resting by his side- terrified to touch you, in fear that you’d walk away. Tears clouded his vision and his restrain loosened as you placed your hands onto his chest, clawing at his shirt with desperation- you had to touch him, to feel his heart beat against your palm.

The action sent him into a state of frenzy and he tightened his hold on your waist, pushing you onto the door. The force of his movements made you gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your hot mouth. Your hands found themselves in his hair, tugging at his roots as he explored you raw.

It wasn’t gentle or kind, it was bruising, desperate and pure.

‘’Please Jungkook.’’ You whispered, trying your best to steady yourself against the lips that blazed a trail down your battered neck. It was as if he were trying to cover Vermeer’s dirty marks with his own.

The sound of his name made him halt his movements. Haands leaving your waist, eyes full of lust at the sight of your swollen lips.

‘’You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’’ He snarled, pushing himself away from you.

It didn’t make any sense. There was no way you could’ve misjudged him, he wanted this just as much as you. You inched closer towards him, timid and nervous.

‘’If you think you can find a way into my pants and leave that fiancé of yours hanging, you’re dead wrong. Get out. I don’t deal with used property.’’ Jungkook turned on his heel and left you standing at the door, if only he had turned around- he would’ve seen the pain and hurt slice through your bleeding heart. 

Part 1

Part 3

[sidespromptblog]

Who’s She? Never heard of her...: Part 4

Part One, Two, Three, and Five 

It took a lot of coaxing to get Deceit to leave his room for the rest of the day, and it took even more coaxing to get him to stay downstairs where he could be with everyone. Or rather, where Logan could stop him from picking at the gauze around his knuckles, where Patton could curl a massive blanket around Deceit, and where Roman could sit next to the deceitful side letting the other flip through the different channels on the tv before finally settling for an episode of some cartoon that they had already seen.

But that hardly mattered, as Deceit sank back into the cushioned and weighted blanket that Patton had curled around him like he must have been freezing or something. Even the weight of Roman leaning against wasn’t something that he was totally against right now, he continued to watch the cartoon as Patton eventually vanished back into the kitchen the sounds of something clattering against the counter going with him.

He returned soon enough, holding a dish of something that most certainly smelled pleasant, a proud grin could be seen on the moral side’s face as he thrust the plate into Deceit’s arms making him unconsciously grasp onto it much tighter so that it wouldn’t g tumbling out of his hands.

Looking down he saw seven crumbly slices, with seven neat thin squares of butter cut on top of each one of them, the warmth of food making it slowly melt. Glancing back up at Patton, Deceit did nothing for a second. Were they...for him? Or was Patton just showing him the food that he had just cooked because he was proud of it? Nevertheless, Deceit didn’t make a move to eat one bite until he was absolutely certain of it.

“It’s banana bread! I’ve never made it before, so I want you to try it!” Well, that answered his question.

Balancing the plate on one hand he broke one of the slices in half watching the better slice slowly drip off onto the other half before he shoved a massive bite into his mouth. It was...really really good. Deceit decided, so warm crumbly and it just had a perfect taste that he couldn’t pinpoint, it was better than good. It was absolutely amazing! Before he even knew it he had shoved the rest of the half into his mouth, heartily chewing it and swallowing it down before he grabbed the other half on the plate.

“It’s so good.” He managed to mumble through the sea of crumbles on his face, all while he tried to chew enough to make his words legible, the smile that lit up Patton’s face was better than any banana bread that the moral side could offer him, and any that he would ever get in his lifetime. It made him feel warm inside, so warm that his insides must have been melting.

Of course, he was completely distracted from that train of thought the moment that Roman slung his arm over Deceit’s shoulder picking up one of the slices before shoving it into his mouth like a heathen, the crumbles cascaded down the creative side’s chin and onto Deceit’s shoulder like it was storming crumbs instead of normal rain. Thankfully the crumbs were hastily swept off as Deceit brushed them off with the side of his hand.

“You’re right, these really are the best! The best thing you’ve ever made Padre!” After swallowing down the food Roman attempted to swipe at another slice, just for Deceit to intentionally hold them out of his reach. A tiny sly smile, but a smile nonetheless curled onto the deceitful side’s lips as he listened to Roman whine, for just a second before relenting and passing the plate over to the creative side letting him scarf down the food.

It took nearly an hour for him to be left alone again, as Roman had fallen asleep on the couch curled up with his own blanket by the armrest as the tv continued to play another show. Patton had gone off sitting at the dining room table coloring as Logan sat next to him a book in front of him as he slowly turned the pages.

Just about all of them were off in their own little world, all except for one.

Ever since they had cornered Deceit in his room Virgil hadn’t said a word to anyone, he had lingered around in the other’s messed up room and once it had become obvious that he was finally alone Virgil began to sweep. There was a lot of glass on the floor, and it took a lot of time to make sure that he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself on it when he finally got rid of it all. Once he was done though, Virgil took a good long look at what remained of the mirror that had seemingly caused Deceit so much paint. So much of the mirror remained as cracked and destroyed as it was, and looking at his reflection as the spider webbing cracks could be seen running over his face.

Virgil’s jaw clenched his hands that were still holding the dustpan and broom started to shake, the longer that he looked at the mirror and at himself the more he felt it. This wouldn’t stand any longer, and without a second thought, he dropped the broom and dustpan the two items vanishing as he summoned something else.

“This will not stand for a second longer…” Virgil growled to himself, his dark eyes glaring balefully at the mirror before attacking it with vigor.

Downstairs, however, Deceit felt his body shoot up from where he had been sitting, he had almost been asleep comfortably laying against Roman as the creative side snored so deeply that it almost felt like a purr to him. But that was before he felt it, it being the fact that someone was tampering and changing up his room.

Within seconds he was up, his eyes darted around the living room before he was peering into the dining room as well. Roman, Patton, and Logan. They were all here, all three of them, except...except for one person in particular…

Deceit took the steps two at a time in his rush to get upstairs, and grabbing ahold of his doorknob he slammed it open making it bang and bounce against the wall as he rushed inside.

It was lighter in his room, so much lighter than he’d ever had it in the past. He could actually see his dark red oak floor that was now littered with scratches thanks to all of the glass, all of the glass that was now gone. His room didn’t appear to have changed all that much, until he shot an accusatory look over to Virgil, just to feel himself stiffening up at the sight of the other side standing by where the mirror had once stood.

Once, as in the entire mirror was just up and gone, and in its place was Virgil standing there with paint brushes poking out of his pockets while he had been mixing paints on a palette. He’d already done a small corner of where the mirror had been, and Deceit couldn’t exactly tell what on earth he was painting, but what he did know was that it was impossible for him to feel this touched all in one day.

“You...what you doing?!” He blurted out, watching Virgil reflectively wince at the unintentional harshness of those words and even Deceit felt himself internally flinch at just how rude he had sounded.

But he didn’t have time to worry about that, “I…” Virgil tapped the paintbrush against the palate before dipping it into a mason jar that was full of water and setting the paint palate down as well, the water turned a dark murky green as soon as the paintbrush became submerged.

“I know that this sounds crazy but…” Virgil brushed his bangs back with his paint-stained fingers, accidentally getting a smear of red along his forehead. “But, I know what you’re going through, I know how you feel. Because..because I’ve been through it before. And I know that the best way to help...is change.” He tried to explain giving a half-hearted shrug towards the mural he had been painting when Deceit had barged in, letting out a deep pent-up sigh the anxious side took a step closer to Deceit.

“I misjudged you before, I never even stopped to consider that you might have been going through what I have already been through. In the end, I..I made you shy away from all of us and do things. So...So…”

Virgil thickly swallowed as he held his hand out to Deceit, “So with your permission, I’d like to help you with that.”

The air felt thick and charged between them, as Deceit just openly stared at Virgil’s hand like it was some foreign object that could turn into a beast and attack him. He held his own hand close to his chest, his breath felt bated for some reason as time felt like it had slowed down for them. When he finally reached forward, he felt his fingers brush the palm of Virgil’s hand before he finally clasped it.

The smile that he was rewarded with, made him feel all too similar to when Patton had smiled at him. Only this time, it felt more deserved as Virgil took him in the opposite direction, leading him out of his room and towards...his own room?

Pushing open the door, Virgil barely offered the contents of his room a glance as he pushed open another door located to the far right of his bed. Peering inside Deceit’s nose was instantly assaulted by the smell of roses, peaches, and cream. The air felt..calmer almost and even cleaner somehow.

The room itself was massive and spacious, with a couch that looked more like something you’d see if you were in a therapist's office. Even so, Virgil still didn’t look at that as he finally let go of Deceit’s hand venturing over to a neat line of cabinets that had a line up of pictures on it. New pictures judging by the clarity of them, of Virgil hanging out with the other sides. Some of them had Virgil a Christmas looking sweater while most were in his usual garb, pulling open the cabinet Virgil rifled through a few things before glancing back over to Deceit.

“Take off your cloak and sit down on one of the mats.” He easily told the other, and glancing around quickly Deceit saw the mats that he was referring to.

So unclasping his cloak and tossing it onto the couch he dragged a deep purple mat out from where it had been rolled up and stowed away, before Virgil finally came back over to him carrying an entire armload of things.

“Starting today Deceit, is a day where you can relax and let go of your old self,” Virgil explained as he set everything down onto the floor.

A face mask, scented body lotion, a couple bath bombs that were sparkly and scented, some shirts and pants, and...some hair dye of various colors.

His confusion must have been obvious as he picked up one of bottle tilting it as his eyebrows scrunched together, just to stop as Virgil’s hand rested over his own. Looking up he saw the anxious side’s sympathetic gaze that only made him more uncomfortable.

“Deceit…” Virgil murmured, “If you aren’t comfortable in your body..or with how you see yourself...you are allowed to change that. If you hate...anything about yourself, you don’t have to stay the same. You can be someone else, and you can…”

Virgil blinked a few times obviously tearing up, he’d had to learn this by himself. He’d had no one else to guide him, but Deceit...he could help Deceit.

“I can...change?” The uncertainty of Deceit’s voice shook Virgil to his core. “I don’t have to feel disgusting?” That, however, was the kicker for him, as Deceit grasped one of the bottles a little tighter. A lone tear dripped down Deceit’s cheek, but before Virgil could freak out or wipe it away, a smile took to Deceit’s face as he looked back up at the anxious side.

“I think that I’d like that…” He murmured, a bright smile lighting up his face, and with that, he began to shed his old self.

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. (Chapter 31) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

The dull throbbing in your head was what woke you up. You had to fight to part your eyelids and when you finally managed to open them, the harsh white light cascading down from above forced you to close them again.

A low moan just about succeeded in crawling up and out of your dry, scratchy throat; when you tried to lift your hand to rub the area, you realised that you were in restraints.

Opening your eyes, your forehead creased as you took in the sight of your arms bound and secured in place by metal straps on the armrests of the chair you were occupying. The chair was made from metal too, and the architecture of it told you that it had been created to subdue something a lot stronger than you.

A glance around the room offered the view of a camera perched in the right corner, a table to your left with a random arrangement of objects on top of it, and a large – most probably two-way – mirror ahead of you. You willed your brain to ignore the rhythmic thumping in your cranium and attempt to recall how and why you ended up where you were now.

Your memory was understandably hazy, and all you were able to remember was the sound of glass shattering, a gas cylinder, and your name spilling from your bodyguard’s lips in a desperate cry. Still, even without the aid of your memory, you were able to decipher where you were, and who had brought you there.

Directing your gaze at the mirror, you hardened your face as much as you could.

“Come on, you bastards,” you howled, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You have me! So why are you hiding?”

There was nothing but silence for five minutes, after which the door opened up, and a man in a suit swaggered in. The manner in which he carried himself made it clear that he was someone of importance, and the cocky smirk on his face showed that he knew it too.

He looked to be round about late fifties, with dark hair that was decorated with grey streaks, and creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His voice was deep and gruff when he spoke, with a hint of a British accent hidden in it, and you shuddered involuntarily.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), what a pleasure. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m-“

“Doctor Jacob Ross,” you groaned, shaking your head and chuckling a little at the absurdity of the moment, “Fucking hell; you’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”

A dash of laughter filled the air as he took a few steps closer to you. “There are no such thing as good guys, (Y/N). I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“What do you want from me?” you snapped, ignoring his previous comment and the pain it sent surging through your chest.

“I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“Look, whatever you think I am, I’m not,” you huffed, feeling heat rise to the top of your skin, “I’m just a normal girl whose dad happened to be a spy. But that’s it. That’s all. There’s nothing special about me.”

“You were never normal, (Y/N). You couldn’t be. And I think you understand that, too,” the older man began pacing circles around your chair; it put you extremely on edge, comparable to how prey felt when they were cornered with no where to run, and the only thing left to do was to wait for the predator to strike. That analogy, you realised, was not at all far off.

“Everything about you is extraordinary, and you are painfully unaware of the magnificent potential for greatness which you possess. But,” he came to a halt in front of you, placing his hands on either side of the chair and leaning down to you. You resisted the urge to spit in his face, “if you let me help you, together we can turn that potential into something tangible. Something real. Hydra wants to help you, (Y/N) – to find yourself. The you that you were destined to become. Everything you’ve learnt over the last little while – the titles, the abilities, the power – we can help you turn that into reality. All we need from you is your cooperation. Two little words. Say it, and we will give you the world.”

Your reply didn’t come immediately. You sat silent and unmoving for a few moments, gazing into the eyes of the traitorous doctor. There was a mischievous gleam swirling in his pale eyes as he eagerly awaited your answer; he was certain you would say yes – you could tell by his slacked body language. He had tried to play to your emotions, subtly tossing jabs at S.H.I.E.L.D in hopes that your anger towards the institution would sway you to join the opposition’s side. Smart guy.

Slowly, you parted your cracked lips and carefully started to form those two wonderful words.

“Get fucked.”

~

The cold metal bars pressed into Brendon’s forehead as he leaned forward, both hands gripping the bars on either side of him. He estimated that approximately three hours had passed since he’d been tossed into the unpleasant cell, meaning that he hadn’t seen you in one hundred and eighty minutes. He didn’t want to think about the possibilities that fact alluded to.

His concern and dreadfulness was worsened by the presence of Spencer Smith standing crossed-armed against the wall across from him. It pained Brendon to see his best friend standing so close to him, yet have him be worlds away at the same time.

Except, Brendon knew that it wasn’t his friend in front of him, not technically. The man looked like Spencer, and he spoke like him, too, but this specimen was something different entirely. An artificial humanoid crafted by Hydra and injected into one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s finest.

Hence, very little words were exchanged between the two men. That is, until Brendon figured what the hell, and decided to try and get through to the supressed mind of Spencer.

“Spence, buddy, I know you’re in there somewhere,” he started, raising his head from his slouched body to look at the agent, “C’mon man.”

Spencer gave a snort. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that, Urie.”

“I know you can fight it, so please just try. We can’t let them win.”

“Why should I fight it? So I can help you get out of that cell and rescue your precious little girlfriend?” he scoffed, light hitting his black eyes, “No, I don’t think so. Hell, they’re probably halfway into cutting her up right now.”

Brendon’s entire body tensed up at his words, and the muscles in his jaw flexed as he tried to restrain himself from lashing out; seeing the weapon attached to Spencer’s hip – and remembering that he was totally unarmed – he recognised that doing so wouldn’t end well for him.

“Face it, Brendon,” Spencer sighed, pushing himself off of the wall and walking forward until he was within Brendon’s reach, “You lost. We won.”

“We?” Brendon spoke softly, holding intense eye contact, “The only ‘we’ that you’re a part of is S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Not anymore. This is where I belong now.”

Brendon dared a laugh at that statement. “Tell me you don’t actually believe that they care about what happens to you. Spence, you’re just a temporary resource to them. You’re expendable. The moment they get what they want, they’ll kick you to the gutter. Probably kill you.”

A splinter of trepidation flashed across Spencer’s dark eyes, clear enough for Brendon to notice. He hit a nerve – he was getting through to him. He just had to keep on pressing.

Brendon pushed his head as far forward as the bars would allow him to and furrowed his brows. “Spencer, you know that none of what they’re doing is right. You know. They’re planning on taking over the world, and killing millions in the process. The very same world that we swore to protect. Now I don’t care how severe the brain-washing they used on you is; I know that no amount of it would ever be enough to take the good outta you.”

It might’ve just been wishful thinking, but Brendon was certain he saw Spencer’s eyes soften and his jaw slacken as he slowly started to give in.

But of course, nothing in life is that easy, and the moment his new colleagues’ voices sounded through the comm in his ear, Spencer snapped back into Hydra-mode instantaneously.

The agent listened intently for a moment, before retracting his weapon with a snarl, tossing Brendon a filthy look and rushing off out of the holding area to help aid in the newfound problem.

The voice had been barely audible to Brendon’s ears, but he was fortunate enough to be able to make out certain phrases – specifically, the most important ones – and he knew that if he wanted you to make it out of here in one piece, he would have to get out of that cell fast.  

~

“Let this be a lesson, gentlemen,” you sassed, kicking one of the grounded Hydra agents in the head, “never underestimate a woman.”

They had misjudged you greatly, writing you off as barely a threat because you weren’t physically up to their male agents’ standard. Sadly for them, that chauvinistic way of thinking proved to be their downfall.

You tore through the males with ease, using your smaller frame as an advantage as you swiftly manoeuvred around them, landing copious amounts of punches and kicks in the process. It was a stupid move on their part, really, having only three agents escort you between locations; they were practically handing your escape to you on a silver platter.

You hastily looted one of the males for a weapon and a key-card; hurrying off down the desolate corridor once you found just that. You made it two corridors down before you ran into trouble; right as you rounded the corner, you felt a harsh sting against your cheek as you were struck across the face. The clash of momentum propelled you backwards, causing your head to meet the concrete wall with a sickening thump; your hand flew to cradle your head as you sunk to the floor with a groan.

There wasn’t time to properly register the severity of your injury, since the huge frame of Spencer Smith was marching toward you, and judging from the look on his face, he wasn’t about to help you up and call you a medic.

You scrambled away from him as your hands frantically searched for the gun, only for your eyes to land on it a good ten feet away, where it landed after you hit the wall.

Trying your hardest to get up onto your shaky legs, you started for the weapon, only to have it kicked even further away by the hulking agent standing above you.

A choked cry came from you as he shamelessly gripped your hair and flipped you around so that your back was against the tiled floor. Spencer used his weight as leverage to pin you down while he reached into the breast pocket of his protective vest. When his hand re-emerged, it was grappling a needle filled with black liquid; you fought with all the strength you could to squirm away, but the blinding discomfort spreading through your head inhibited your movements.

Then, just as Spencer was about to pierce the side of your neck, the cavalry arrived.

“Spencer,” Brendon’s cold voice commanded, “back off.”

Spencer slowly turned his head to look at your bodyguard, who had a gun aimed at his head.

“I’m not gonna ask you again,” Brendon spoke, taking a tentative step forward.

A small smile formed on Spencer’s face. “You gonna shoot me, Bren? Really? Me?”

For the first time since you’ve known him, you saw Brendon’s impermeable demeanour falter as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Was he really going to shoot Spencer? His best friend? His brother?

Then his gaze flickered to you, eyes droopy with discomfort, and he knew the answer.

“Spencer,” he warned again, “Back. Off.”

Evidently, Spencer believed that your bodyguard was bluffing, and so proceeded to bring the needle down to your neck.

It never got to make contact with your skin, however, since a single gunshot echoed throughout the corridor, and Spencer’s limp body fell on top of you.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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[vandalsandvagrants]

Courtney saw the look on her father's face when he returned home. His eyes were wide in fear and anger.   "Daddy, please, what is it?"   "Courtney, get your things. You must leave here tonight!"   The girl gasped...what could be the problem. She knew that her father was the leader of the resistance movement against the government but why did she have to flee.   "Please no Daddy, I won't leave you alone."   "Courtney, sweetie, if you do not leave now, you will certainly be leaving soon for the worse. Trust me, you do not want to become a prisoner of those animals. Pack one small bag and then I will lead you to where you will begin your journey."   Courtney started sobbing but her father took her by the hand and led her up the steps into her small bedroom. She had lived alone with her father for 11 years, from when she was 5. Her mother had been killed while walking home from work late one night. She had been brutally raped and murdered, her body left on their front porch where her father found her. He was active in the rebellion then but had become one of the leaders since then.   Courtney had pretty much been kept in the house since then, let out only for school and church. She had few friends and trusted no one but her father. Now, the only person she loved was telling her to leave immediately without much of a discussion.   "Please Daddy, tell me what's going on," she sobbed as her father stuffed some clothes into a small bag.   Her father stopped, his eyes red from the stress and emotion.   "Courtney, sweetheart, I am going to be killed very soon, there's nothing left to stop that. I have been an enemy of this state for too long and now some extremists are taking over the government and word is they are going to kill all enemies. If I were to run with you, they would hunt us down and kill us both. You alone might have a chance to survive."   Her father's words cut through the young girl. He was all she had, this couldn't happen twice in one short life.   "Please Daddy, don't say that. We can make it. Run away with me...I'll help you."   Her father looked at her with sad eyes. "My dear, I wish there was a way. But you have to survive...for me."   The girl completely broke down, her body shaking with sobs. The man walked to her and wrapped his arms around his beautiful daughter. "Shh, it's alright, it's alright. I will always be inside of you. You are strong...you can make it. But there's no time. We have to hurry."   He closed the bag, grabbed a coat and took his daughter's hand leading out of their small house in a secluded development, far from the eyes of the military police. All of this was happening so fast for the young girl but soon they were in the middle of heavy woods right near a path.   "Courtney, follow this path until it stops. There will be a house. Knock on it and you will find a woman named Emma. Tell her who you are and she will help you escape. I love you so much sweetheart!"   With that, he hugged her and turned and left. "Daddy, please no, I love you too. Daddy, don't leave me." But the man was gone through the woods, gone from his daughter's life forever.   Courtney fell to her knees sobbing, curled up in a ball, her face buried in her hands.   "Daddy, I love you." Somehow, she fell asleep in that place, the emotional night had taken its toll on her.   She awoke as the sun appeared in the sky, brightening her path. She looked around and saw nothing but trees all round, except for this patch of dirt leading to her intended location. She stood, up, wiped the dirt off of her long, bare legs and began walking in the direction her father had pointed.   After more than an hour of walking, she came upon a small cottage. She went up the steps and rapped on the door, which opened just slightly, a chain still connected.   "Yes," asked an older woman.   "Emma?"   "Yes?"   "I am Courtney Smith, Bill's daughter. He sent me to you."   As soon as she said that, the door burst open and she saw five men in the kitchen of this house, their guns pointed at her.   "Well, well, Bill Smith's daughter. This should be helpful. Guards, seize her. Thanks Emma, this is going to work very well. Here's your reward." With that, the guard, a huge white man threw a $100 bill on the table. Emma hung her head in shame.   "No, please let go of me. Emma, my father said you would help me."   "Your father misjudged slutty little Emma here. He thinks she is a noble revolutionary...turns out she's just a whore looking for the best fuck. We were here fucking her brains out when he called...we expected you hours ago. It was worth the wait."   Courtney saw the men's eyes devouring her and tried to break away, but she was too weak for their grip.   "Boys, let's take her to headquarters and have some fun."   They roughly pulled her out of Emma's house. She struggled, grabbing at the doorframe, but the man kicked her fingers and she lost her grip. She heard the sounds of Emma being fucked as she was led away to the sinister looking van.

Courtney gasped as they opened up the door of the van.   All along the walls of the van were straps hanging down from the ceiling.  In the center was a table about 3 feet high attached to the floor.  Straps were placed on all four-corners.  She could see whips tossed in the corner.   "Please, don't hurt me," she sobbed as the guards pushed her inside.   "This is going to be a long ride, so I think we should get acquainted with you," his eyes lusting at this young beauty.  "If you want to survive, you better cooperate, many people have got into this van alive, but arrived dead at headquarters."   "Strap her up high, so we can see what we have here.  Her clothes cover too much of her body, I think underneath all of that is a great body."   Courtney was pushed against the wall.  She felt her arms pulled toward the ceiling and straps placed tightly around her wrists.  "AAAAHHHH," she groaned as she was forced on her toes.   "Spread her legs wide, I don't want her kicking anyone."   Two guards each grabbed a leg and forced them out to the side.  Her wrists now supported her weight, with the straps cutting into them.  "OOOOWWW," Courtney groaned as her legs were pulled unnaturally apart.  They were now spread over 4 feet wide and the guards began to attach straps to her ankles and tie them to a clamp on the wall.  They were raised at least a foot off the floor of the van.   Courtney feared what the guards intended to do to her.  She was helpless and spread and no one knew where she was.  Her Father had tried to save her, and instead doomed her to be abused by these five cruel guards.   Michael, the leader approached Courtney and stood in front of her staring at her pained expression.  Courtney's eyes widen in fear as he took a rope and tied it around her neck and knotted it.  Courtney could feel it tighten. "This is what will happen if you do not cooperate," and he pulled the rope tighter, cutting off Courtney's air supply.   "GGGGASSSSPPP, AAAAHHHH," Courtney's body began to jerk, attempting to escape the asphyxiation.  She shuddered as she began to lose consciousness.   Courtney sucked in a large breath of air, as the noose was loosened.  "No, more," she cried in pain, her lungs sucking in air.   "Just to make sure you remember this lesson," and the rope was again tightened, cutting off the air supply to Courtney.  She could feel his hand move over her breast as he tightened the rope, but the most important thing for Courtney was a breath of air.  Her body began to spasm from lack of air.  Courtney could feel the van begin to darken.   Again, the noose was loosened and Courtney gasped as her lungs tried to fill with air. Michael kept the noose around her neck and tied it to one of the clamps on the wall.  This forced Courtney to keep her head up high, stretching toward the ceiling.  She again realized that his hand was on her breast and becoming more insistent.   "You have a great set of tits, you don't mind if I have a feel, do you?"  His hand continued to fondle her breast.  Even though she was only sixteen, she had large breasts.  Her Father had told her that she resembled her Mother.   "I asked you a question, Bitch" and he tightened the rope again.   Courtney managed to get out "No" before her air was caught off again.   She gasped as he continued to block her air supply.   Courtney was again allowed to breathe.  "You better get good at cooperating or else I am not going to release the rope again.  We will fuck you dead or alive, it doesn't make much difference to us."   Both of Michael's hands returned to her breasts, grasping them in his large hands.  He was able to completely encircle them in his grip.  He tightened his grip, forcing her to moan as her breasts were cruelly groped.  Courtney turned red in humiliation as he began to jiggle her breasts up and down, the other guards laughing.   "Ask me to take off your blouse?"   "Please, don't hurt me, take off my blouse, but don't choke me again," tears forming in her eyes at the pain and humiliation they were subjecting her to.   "That's a good cunt," his fingers starting at the top bottom and moving slowly, watching the humiliation on Courtney's face as she was stripped in front of the five guards.  He reached the bottom button and pulled it out of her skirt.  Her lacy bra was now revealed to all of the guards.  She could feel her blouse torn from her body as the guard became impatient.  His hands returned to her bra-encased breasts, again squeezing tightly.  He could feel her nipples become hard from the rough treatment of her breasts.   "It looks like your nipples like the abuse," and he grasped her nipples through her bra, forcing a groan from Courtney as he pinched them cruelly.   "Take off her bra, I want to see them tits," one of the guards yelled.   "Beg me, Courtney" as Michael touched the rope.   "Please, show him my breasts, just don't tighten the rope again."   He pulled her bra from the center, pulling it from her body.  Courtney could feel it begin to tear as it was cruelly pulled from her breasts.  Snap, the band broke and her bra was pulled from her body, her breasts naked for all of the guards to see.   Courtney's nipples were large, and the aureole was a dark brown, capping her firm breasts. Hands reached out and again, her nipples, this time naked, were grasped firmly.   "OOOOWWW, that's too hard," pleaded Courtney, but she knew that they would continue.  Her nipples were pulled from her body, twisted and pinched as Courtney was forced to accept the punishment.  Another guard came over to her other side and began to abuse her other breast. "SSLLLLAAAAPPP', he had suddenly slapped her naked breasts, forcing it to bounce on her chest.   "Ask me to spank your tits, Cunt."   "Spank my breast please," begged Courtney.   Michael and the other guard began to forcefully slap her breasts, alternating so that first one breast would bounce up, than the other.  Her breasts began to turn red from the force of the blows and her nipples began to ache from the pain.  Their hands covered every inch of her breasts, forcing Courtney to moan in pain.  Her breasts were pulled up by her nipples so that they could slap under them.  Fingers began to flick out at her erect nipples, abusing the tender buds.   "OOOOWWW," yelled Courtney as Michael dug his fingernails deep into her nipple, blood running from the wound.  Seeing Courtney's reaction, the other guard did the same.  Soon, her nipples were red with blood from the cruel tearing of her flesh.   Michael's hand began to run up Courtney's legs, sliding higher under her skirt.  Her spread legs allowed him access to her unprotected cunt.  "You have very beautiful legs, Courtney" as his hand pushed higher, raising her skirt.  The other guard began to run his hand up her other leg.  Courtney turned red in humiliation as she was being gradually stripped naked in front of five strange men, while bound spread to the wall of the van.  Michael reached the bottom of her panty-covered pussy and began to tease his fingers into the edge of her panties.   "Strip off her skirt and don't worry about ripping it...this girl will never need clothes again," Michael ordered the other guard and with a tear, Courtney's skirt lay in shreds at her feet.  Her panties were the only clothing she had left, and Michael placed his hands at the waist of them and began to pull them down her spread legs until they would slide no further.  Michael yanked hard on the panties and they tore and crumpled to the floor.   "Please, don't hurt me," begged Courtney, but she knew that they would continue to do what they wanted with her.  She could feel Michael and the other guards staring at her naked, bound body.  It seemed so long ago that she was home safe in her home with her Father.  Now she was about to be sexually and physically abused.   Michael's large hands moved toward her open pussy and Courtney cringed in fear as he touched her naked pussy.  Courtney's pussy was barely covered with a faint trace of very fine hair. It almost looked bald, displaying her pussy lips to the utmost.  Michael grabbed her pussy lips with two fingers of each hand and began to spread her open.   "What a great cunt she has" one of the guards remarked, Courtney ashamed at the way they have stripped her naked started praying to herself.  Courtney groaned in pain as Michael forced them wider and wider, opening her pink pussy for all to see.   "Come over here and hold her open," Michael ordered two of the guards. "OUR FATHER WHO ART IN...AHHHHH!!!!!" Michael released her pussy lips but they were instantly grabbed brutally by the two guards, each spreading her the opposite direction. "OOOOWWW" yelled Courtney, her virgin pussy suffering under the abuse of the guards. Courtney led a very sheltered life since her Mothers death and was untouched until now.   "Wider, make her open wider," Michael ordered as Courtney watched as Michael moved toward the corner of the room.  Courtney's eyes widened in fear as Michael picked up a short, braided whip.   The whip had four separate leather strands, each ending in a tight knot.  "Stick a finger up her ass, I want her pussy pushed out, begging me to whip it."   Courtney felt a hand slide behind her.  She tried to push back against the wall but she was not quick enough, the hand ran over her naked ass cheeks before pushing into the crack in her ass.  Courtney clenched her cheeks, trying to prevent them access to her tiny anus.   "SSSLLLAAAPPP", the whip went, striking her unprotected breast, the knots tearing at her erect nipple.   "OOOOWWW, that hurts so bad, don't," screamed Courtney, the pain knocking the breath from her lungs.   "Relax your ass, and let him have his way, or it will be the whip again."  Courtney relented, and the fingers began to search for her unprotected anus.  Courtney shivered in fear as the large finger began to circle her anus.  He began to put pressure on her anus, pushing it into her body.  Courtney instinctively pushed her body out to escape the rape of her ass by the finger, but the bondage she was in only allowed limited movement.  Soon, she was stretched as far as she could go and the fat finger began to enter her anus, stretching the tiny, virgin anus to open wide.   "AAAAHHHHH, its too big, take it out, OOOOWWWW," tears forming in Courtney's eyes the fat finger popped into her anus.  Courtney bucked from the cruel ravishment of her virgin anus, but the finger continued to push relentlessly further into her anus, pushing deeper into her rectum.  Courtney's asshole and the finger were dry, rasping her anal tract as it continued to burrow deep into her body.  She felt the knuckles of the guard on her cheeks and she knew that he had his finger as deep as he could go into her ass.   "How does it feel to have a finger up your ass, Courtney?  "Move your finger around in her ass," Michael told the guard.  "OOOOWWW, AAAAHHH," cried Courtney as the guard brutally twisted his finger, scratching her anal walls, eliciting groans of pain from Courtney.  "Keep doing that, I want her to feel it in her ass as I begin to whip her."   "Don't whip me, I will do anything you want, that whip hurts so much" begged Courtney.   "Keep her pussy spread open, I will be careful I don't hit your hands, but I am going to whip that pink pussy.  By time I am finished, her pussy will be blood red.   When we begin to rape her, she will fuck like a whore, trying to get away from our punishing cocks."   Courtney closed her eyes, attempting to shut out the anguish she felt as she could almost feel the pain of the whip.  The finger in her ass, cruelly pushed and scratched her ass, forcing her to push her pussy out and at that second, Michael pushed the whip between Courtney's spread legs and raised it suddenly up, forcing the knotted strands to beat into her spread pussy.   "OOOOOOWWWWWWWW, AAAAAHHHHH" the pain was incredible as Courtney screamed.  Her pussy felt like it was on fire. "Please nooooo!!! OH GODDD!!! I can't stand it."   "Again in her ass" and the finger pushed ruthlessly up her unprotected anal track, forcing her out again, the whip again finding her spread pussy.  "OOWWWW," the blood beginning to run from the small cuts the knots beat into her tender pussy.  "Again" the whip finding her pussy as Courtney pussy was pushed out again to greet her punishment.   Courtney head was swimming in pain as she was continually forced to push her virgin pussy to meet the whip, tearing at her tender tissue, blood running down her leg as her pink pussy began to turn bright red from the abuse of the knots of the whip.  The guard's cocks hardened from hearing Courtney's cries of pain.  Finally, Courtney fainted from the extreme pain she was being subjected to, her body slumping in her bondage as Michael drew the whip up between her legs one last time, striking her spread pussy, hitting her unprotected clitoris.  Luckily for Courtney, she was not conscious as one of the knots tore at her clitoris, drawing blood.   "Cut her down, we are almost to Headquarters, we will have a lot of time to abuse this cunt," said Michael, the guard unstrapping Courtney from the wall and lowering her to the floor. She was rolled over onto her stomach, her arms pulled behind her.  Straps were tied around her elbows, forcing her arms back.  Handcuffs were placed on her wrists.   Courtney began to regain consciousness and at that moment they turned her over, pushing her down on her bound arms, forcing a groan of pain from Courtney.  Her body was a sea of pain, between her legs felt like it was ripped up.  She felt the truck stop and they pushed her to her feet.   "Welcome to your new home, Courtney, I am going to make life very painful for you.  Your Father was a nuisance to our government and you will be forced to pay for his mistakes.  I am going to take great pleasure in torturing your body, especially your very sensitive parts. Bring her along, my cock is straining to fuck into her virgin holes, but first I am going to beat them tender." As they entered the building, Courtney got her last view of the outside world.  She knew that she was not going to be released.  They would humiliate, abuse and rape her and when they got tired of her, they will kill her.  Just like her Father had said.  Her Father, her mind went back to when she left him only a short while ago.  It seemed like years, so much had already happened to her.   As she was led down a long hallway, she could see Michael talking to someone on his cell phone.  He was nodding his head and looking at her, an evil grin on his face.  She knew that whatever he was talking to, they were discussing her fate.   "Bring her in here, we have a change in plans" and the guards pushed Courtney in a small room.  Courtney gasped in fear, the room seemed to be a supply room.  But what it held was chains, handcuffs, whips, clothes and other instruments of bondage.   "Well, Courtney, you are going to a special party that has been hastily arranged for you. You are to be the co-host.  Your Father has been captured and he is also going to attend as your co-host."   Courtney's eyes brightened when she heard her Fathers name.  "Is he alright?"   "He is for now, but his fate is in your hands.  I will personally kill him if you hesitate in any manner for what we order you to do. Do you understand?" the evil smirk again appearing on Michael's face.   "Yes, Yes, just do not kill him, I will do anything you want," a hint of hope in her voice. As long as her Father was still alive, there was a chance she would get out of here and they could be together again.   The guard removed the straps and handcuffs holding Courtney's arms.  While she was bound, she could not cover herself, but now that her hands were free, her nakedness further embarrassed her.   "There will be a lot of people to see your Father and you perform for them.  Over sixty people showed up including the President, Governor and most of the top politicians.  Your Father pissed off a lot of people and they are going to enjoy your performance.  First, we must find you some suitable clothing."   Courtney knew she was not going to like whatever they had planned for her and her father. She could see Michael pull out a silk, button down blouse and also a very short silk skirt. A pair of very high, 4-inch heels were next, along with a garter belt and black stockings.   "Put these on while I explain to you what is going to happen," as he handed Courtney the clothes.  Even when she was fully dressed, she realized that she would still be half- naked. Michael did not even give her any panties or bra to wear.  "Remember the consequences if you do not fully cooperate."   Courtney quickly grabbed the clothes and began to put them on.  Even some scrimpy outfit was better than naked, she thought, little realizing that it is much more humiliating to be partially naked, and than forced to strip naked in front of a group.   "I know you are a virgin, Courtney, so we have arranged this party so that everyone can see you get fucked for the first time.   Courtney's heart sunk when she heard those words.  She would have to let someone fuck her, in front of sixty people.  At least her Father would survive.   "We have a special stage arranged.  When we enter, you will be brought up on the stage.  You will than strip your clothes off, keeping your eyes open and starting at the audience at all times.  You are to do it slowly and sensuously or your Father will suffer.  Do you understand so far?"   Tears of shame formed in Courtney's eyes as she realized the humiliation she would be forced to endure.  "Yes', she sobbed.   "Very good.  Once you are stripped, we have a very special swing set-up that we will place your body in.  It is basically a set of straps that will support your body, but will allow us access to all portions of your body.  You will be bound in, but it will allow limited movement on your part.  We want to give you the ability to fuck back."   Courtney's mind began to think of what this would look like and her body began to flush in shame at the obscene position they would be placing her in.   "Now for the person fucking you.  Since you are a virgin, we thought it should be special. I'm sure that you planned it to be a loving, special moment when you gave your virginity to your lover.  We felt that it should also be a special person, someone that you love and respect.  With that in mind, we are going to have your Father fuck you."   Courtney's head shot over to look at Michael, the evil grin on his face again.  She shook her head wildly back and forth. "No, please no. I can't do that, its wrong. Please anything but that...anything, please not Daddy!!!!."   "We can get someone else to do it, I would love to be your first. Than I would not need your Father, so I would have to kill him, and you would still get fucked.  Is that what you want?"   Her head hanging in shame and her body racked with sobs, "No, please don't kill him. I will do anything to save my father," she said between sobs. "Let him fuck me, you animal, at least he will be gentle and you won't be my first."   The evil smirk appeared on Michael's face again. He ignored the rude comments knowing that he had already made arrangements so that when Courtney was raped by her father, it would be as painful as possible and they would be forced to brutally fuck each other.   As she finished dressing sixteen-year old Courtney looked extremely sexy and mature.  The silk blouse clung to her naked breasts underneath.  Her large nipples were stimulated by the movement of the silk and were erect.  Michael had unbuttoned the top three buttons and slipped the blouse lower on her shoulders.  This opened up the front for anyone to see her naked breasts.  Her breasts stood up pert and proud, never needing a bra to hold them up.   The four-inch heels accented her legs, which because of the short skirt, seem to go on forever. The black stocking clung to her legs until they reached the garter belt, just barely covered by the skirt.   The short skirt clung to her ass and would sensuously slide as she walked.  She was a gorgeous creature, sexy with a whore look to her.   Michael put a strap around her neck and wrists.  With the clips on the wrists, he attached them to the neck strap, binding her hands to her neck, allowing them unlimited access to her body.  Not only sexy, but now helpless.   "Do a good job, your Fathers life depends on it."   Courtney was pushed out into the hallway again and they moved down toward a large room at the end.  Courtney's breathing became shallow, fear and humiliation growing as they approached the door.   Courtney gasped in horror as the door was opened.  They had entered what was a huge room right near the stage.  Not a sound could be heard and all eyes were on her. Her embarrassment increased when she realized that half of the audience was women.  There were over 100 people there.  All eyes were fixed on her half naked body, her nipples erect, pushing out the silk blouse.   "Move forward, up on the stage."   As Courtney approached the stage she saw her father.  He was tied standing up, and he was naked.   She quickly averted her eyes from his cock, but could not lose the image of what she saw.  She had never seen her father naked, in fact she had never seen any man naked before. While his cock was not even hard, it was big. The next image was in terror.  The strange swing was truly terrifying.  It contained many layers of straps and buckles and she could see many other strange and unknown objects around and under it.  She feared what she did not understand.   "Ladies and Gentlemen, You all know and hate our guests, Bill Smith and his lovely daughter, Courtney.  They have consented to provide us with a unique entertainment experience today. Courtney is sixteen and is a virgin.  Bill has consented to take her virginity tonight and Courtney has consented to allow him to in front of us.  It took a little persuasion on our part, you see if either one does not cooperate, Michael here will kill the other.  That will be just as entertaining, so we will win either way."   "Courtney, come on over here."  Courtney was pushed toward the center of the stage, with her father tied next to her, giving him a complete view of her body.  "Courtney is going to get the show going by first stripping for our viewing.  As you can see, she has a beautiful body," his hand reaching inside her blouse and grasping one of her naked breasts.   "She has very large nipples, and they seem to be excited."   "OOOWWWW', Courtney cried as her nipple was squeezed.   "And look at these legs, aren't they beautiful, and you should feel this cunt," his hand sliding along her leg, raising her skirt up until he could reach her naked pussy.  "But I will let Courtney show you her body, why don't you start stripping for us now, and don't forget what happens if you don't cooperate, so some slow music now."   The music started and Courtney began to slowly unbutton her blouse.  Only two buttons were left, so it was very quick.  She pulled it out of the skirt and pushed it off her shoulders, falling to the floor behind her.  Her breasts stood tall, jutting out with no sag.  Her nipples were large and erect.  The movement of the silk blouse on her breasts had caused them to harden.  She could see all eyes on her and her body turned red in shame at having to strip naked before them.  Her hands, trembling, moved toward her waist, unbuttoning the skirt, it falling to the floor at her feet.  She wore only the garter belt and stocking, accenting her legs, in contrast to her naked pussy.  The high heels kept her legs stretched taunt.   "Very good, doesn't Courtney have a beautiful body.  Courtney, I would like you to show our audience a more intimate look at your body.  Turn around, spread your legs and bend over and remove your heels and stockings.  Do not bend your knees as you do this."   Courtney groaned in shame.  The position he wanted her to be in would show everyone her spread pussy and also her anus.  She knew she had to obey and turned her back to the audience.  She spread her legs and began to bend over.   "Spread your legs more, Courtney, everyone wants to see your virgin pussy before your father rapes it with his cock.  Soon it will be covered with your blood and his cum.  Further, that's good, your pussy is spreading out now."   Her legs were now spread over four feet wide, her thighs aching from the spread.  It was hard to pull her stockings down in this position.  She could imagine how it looked from the other side, as her ass moved slowly from side to side as her stockings were pulled down.   "I can't push them down any further, my legs are spread too far."   Someone moved toward her and she could feel the stockings tearing and they fell lifeless to the floor.   "Stay in that position," she was ordered.  "Grab your ankles."   Courtney could feel the blood rushing to her head.  In was difficult to retain the position and painful.  It was also very humiliating to be bent over and spread naked for all to see. She cringed when she felt a large hand on her back.   "Stay still."  The hand moved lower to her ass, moving sensuously over her naked cheeks. "Look at this smooth skin."  The hand moved between her cheeks, already spread because of her position.  A finger moved down the crack in her ass, moving toward her anus.  Courtney trembled in fear as it brushed over her tiny, naked anus.  "Courtney also has a virgin asshole.  Some of you will be allowed access to her later and others will be allowed to see her training."   Fear spread over her as they mentioned her training.  What were they going to train her to do?  The hand moved lower, between her legs, to her pussy.  It began to move between her pussy lips, spreading her open.  The audience could now see her pink pussy.  The fingers moved up and down her slit.  Even with the fear she felt, her pussy began to get wet.  She was ashamed that they were forcing her to do this and how she was reacting to it.  If she could only get this over with.  Courtney glanced shamefully at her father.  What she saw, shocked her.  His cock was now hard and erect.  It was huge.  How was she going to get anything that big into her vagina?  It would tear her up.   Bill saw Courtney's gaze at his cock.  He felt that he had betrayed her.  She was forced to strip in front of everyone and his cock had gotten hard looking at her.  He should not be feeling these things about her.  She was his little girl.  He was supposed to protect her and now he had gotten her into this mess.   Hands pulled her up and Courtney's relief was short-lived.  She was pushed toward the swing. They turned her facing the audience and she was slowly lowered onto the straps.  Her arms were tied behind her head.  There were four large straps running vertical to her body, supporting her weight.  One was right below her neck.  This supported the top of her back but her head fell backwards.  Another was at her waist, again supporting her weight.  Straps were placed around her legs, first at the top of her thighs, her knees and her ankles.  They were tied securely and they began to pull them out away from her body.  Her legs began to spread out, her ass unsupported, her pussy opening again for the audience to see, this time even more obscenely.  Hands pushed her head forward, a strap to the back forcing it up and securing it in place.  She now looked directly at the audience, all eyes focused on her.  She looked down and could see her naked pussy gaping wide, directly at the audience.   Sixteen-year old Courtney was now naked, spread and tied open in front of over 100 people. All of them waiting for the rape of her pussy by her own father.  Her father, stranding only inches away, his cock hard and big.  Courtney began to feel an excitement.  Her loving father would soon take her virginity.  If she had to lose it this way, at least it was with someone she loved.   Bill was untied and moved toward Courtney.  Another swing was lowered over her, this one was built to support Bill.  He was pushed down on the straps, his body lowered until it began to move against Courtney.  He could feel her hard, erect nipples push into his chest.  His arms were stretched out over his hand and bound right along side Courtney's. He felt female hands move on his legs, tying straps on them, just like Courtney's.  They were pulled out, but still within Courtney's spread legs.  His cock was resting on her naked pussy. "What are you doing, leave me alone, take it out of my ass," Bill yelled.  The same female hands parted the cheeks of his ass and he felt something large and cold pushed into his unprotected anus.  It continued to push deep into his rectum.  He could feel something sticking out of his ass, like a string.   "Just something to keep you motivated, Bill.  We stuck an electrical butt plug in your asshole.  The wire coming out is hooked up to the panel in front of Michael.  He will be able to control the duration and voltage of electrical shock in you.  I think you will find it very stimulating.  And at the same time, the electrical current will flow through your cock, giving poor little Courtney a jolt of the same."   Hands fumbled between Bill's cock and Courtney's pussy.  At first Bill thought they were going to put his cock into Courtney, but they had other ideas.   "OOOOWWWW," screamed Courtney, Bill jumping at the shock of her yell.  "Take it off, it hurts, don't do that," Courtney moaning as she experience the worse pain she ever felt.  If was worse than when they whipped her spread pussy.  They had attached a Clit Snapper on Courtney.  It was a small cylinder object that covered the clitoris.  It attached from the inside, by a small clamp that completely encircled her erect clitoris.  Once attached, if pulled off, it would tear the clitoris.  The initial clamping was bad enough, as was the constant pinching, but the worse was yet to come.   "We have attached a Clit Snapper on Courtney.  It will constantly pinch the clitoris.  When something or someone bumps against it, it has a powerful snapper in the inside that will snap the trapped clitoris. This will create a tremendous amount of pain.  With Bill fucking Courtney, we expect her to experience this many times."   "I'm going to kill you all for this", yelled Bill.  Tears began to run down Courtney's face as she realized that what she had hoped for, a tender moment with her father, would now become a very painful experience for both of them.  Her clitoris already was in terrible pain, yet she knew that it would only get worse.   Hands again went between their bodies, this time grasping Bill's cock and placing it inside of Courtney's pussy.   "They both seem to be enjoying this, Bill is very hard and Courtney's pussy is very wet.  Why don't you begin, Bill, rape your daughters pussy for our enjoyment."   Courtney could feel her fathers hard cock at the entrance of her pussy.  It pushed in, beginning to spread her virgin pussy open.  "Please, Daddy, go slow, it's starting to hurt already."   The audience could see Bill's ass raise from Courtney as he withdrew his cock back. He began to push back in again,  "AHHHH," moaned Courtney, her father's thick cock forcing her pussy to expand to allow its entrance.  "Slowly, Daddy, be gentle, it's so big."   Bill withdrew again, then pushed back into her pussy.  Her tight pussy was gripping the head of his cock, forcing groans from his lips.  It had been a long time since he had fucked a women and never one this tight.  Even though it was his daughter, his lust was beginning to take over.   "Relax and let me in you, you feel so good."   "Yes, Daddy, do what you have to do, I love you and I will do whatever you want," Courtney begin to arch her back, forcing more of her fathers cock into her pussy.  "Oh, Daddy, soooo big, it feels like its splitting me open," her hips rotating, moving her wet pussy around his cock.   His cock pulled almost all of the way out and than again began its journey back into her virgin pussy, pushing the walls of her vagina open to his big cock.  "Your pussy is so sweet, Courtney, move your ass, push up against me."   'Yes, Daddy," her hips forcing more of her pussy onto his erect cock.  She could feel his cock hit her hymen.  She knew that he would soon break her hymen and she would no longer be a virgin.   "I going to push into your deeper soon, keeping moving on my cock as I push it in and out. It will only hurt for a minute, just remember your Daddy loves you."   Bill was now moving his cock in and out, gaining about two inches before it hit her hymen.   Bill's cock got harder, stroking Courtney's pussy.  Pre-cum was leaking from his cock.  It had been too many years without a woman.  "Your pussy is just like your mothers, it's squeezing my cock so tight."   "AAAAAhhhh," moaned Courtney, the pain from his cock making her gasp.  She did not care about her pain, she just wanted to please her father.   "I think it's time Courtney," she could hear Michael say.   "OOOOOOOOWWWW,   AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, its burning my ass up, Oh, God, noooo," screamed Courtney her ass pushing up to escape the terrible pain.  Michael had placed a gas jet directly beneath Courtney's spread asshole. With a flick of a button, the gas lit and sent a flame straight up until it reached Courtney's tender anus.  The pain must have been excruciating as her tender flesh was heated and burned.   At the same time, Michael sent a jolt of electricity through the butt plug in Bill's asshole, forcing Michael to push forward to escape the terrible pain.  "AAAAHHHH, GGGOOOD, that hurts." Bill and Courtney were both driven toward each other at the same instant, both trying to escape the terrible pain.  But by doing so, Bill's cock brutally ripped through Courtney's hymen, forever taking her virginity away.   "SSSSSOOOO BBBBADDD, it hurts soooo bad, Daddy, you're tearing me up NOOOOOOO," blood running down her thighs as she tried to gain a breath of air, the force of his cock, driving the breath from her lungs.   Bill pulled his cock back from Courtney's pussy, hoping to ease the pain he caused.  Her pussy gripped his cock as it was withdrawn, now covered in blood.   At the same time, Courtney pulled back, trying to stop the terrible pain.  Michael again hit the buttons, the flame lit, shot up again, burning Courtney's asshole.  The electricity surged in Bill's asshole, this time more voltage, his hips jerking to escape, driving his cock deep into Courtney again at the same time she drove her pussy up to escape the flame.  This time they again met only harder.  The force of the thrust pushed Bill's pelvic bone into Courtney's clitoris, hitting the Clit Snapper hard.   OOOOGGGGGGOOOOOODD, DDDDDAAADDDDDYYYY, that hurts so bad, why are you doing this too me," her head swimming in pain as her father brutally raped her pussy.   It was only a few minutes ago when he was gentle, now her pussy burned and ached from his big cock forcing her pussy walls to expand more than they ever where.  She could feel the electricity flow through her father's cock, running along her pussy, creating even more pain.   Michael was continually turning on the gas, burning Courtney's delicate asshole, sending electricity through her father's cock, shooting into her pussy, forcing him to bump against the Clit Snapper, tearing at her delicate clitoris.  The audience watched as Courtney and her father fucked each other brutally, screaming in pain, as they were tortured and tortured each other.  Bill's hips thrust back and forth, his cock punishing his daughter's pussy, forcing it open, pushing deeper and deeper into her pussy until he reached bottom.  Even when he reached bottom, his strokes became more brutal, knocking against the end of her pussy, bruising her.   Courtney could not even think, the pain consuming her being.  Her father's cock was beating her pussy into submission, her asshole throbbing from the burning, her clit battered by her father bumping the clit snapper.  If it would only end.  Again, the flame, forcing Courtney to drive her pussy onto her fathers hard cock, tearing her pussy open, the clit snapper eliciting sharp pain on her delicate clitoris.  It felt like it was going to be torn from her body.   Their thrusts into each other became faster, as Michael increased the frequency of pushing the buttons.  You could hear the sharp slap of their pubic bones slamming into each other, Courtney's screams of pain as the Clit Snapper did its job.  Faster and faster until Bill suddenly shot his head back and yelled as his cock began to shoot into Courtney.  Michael held the button down, shooting a continuous jolt of electricity through Bill's rectum, following along his cock to jolt Courtney's pussy.   Courtney felt the unfamiliar wetness as feel his hot cum begin to enter her pussy.   Instinctively, Courtney tightening her pussy on his cock hating it for what it had done to her but fearing this might be her last moment of tenderness.  His cock got bigger and bigger as he shot his cum into her once virgin pussy.  "Yes, Daddy, cum in me, I want to make you happy."  Another load of hot cum entered her pussy, than another, her pussy milking his cock. Her pussy was filling up with her Daddy's cum.  She felt one last spurt of cum and than he cock began to shrink. "OOOWWW," she yelled, her father pushing against the clit snapper as he slumped down.  The clit snapper prevented Courtney from cumming.  She lay slumped in the swing, her father's weight pushing down on her.  Her father had cum in her, but she was left unfulfilled.   They untied Bill and pulled him off Courtney.  Courtney looked at his cock.  It was covered in her blood and his cum.  They pulled him back toward her head.  She could feel hands behind her head, lowering it until it was parallel to her body.  They raised Bill's hands over his head and tied them up high.  They grabbed one of his legs and swung it over Courtney's head. Bill was now standing directly over Courtney's head, a leg on each side.   "Leave us alone, you got what you wanted," yelled Bill.   "We can't leave you dirty like that Bill, your little whore daughter got her blood all over your cock. Open your mouth Courtney."  Hands moved to her face and pushed her mouth open.  Arms pushed Bill down by the shoulders until his cock was on Courtney's lips.  "Suck his cock and clean it with your tongue."  Bill was again pushed and his cock entered Courtney's mouth. "Do it, or we will kill your father." Courtney's tongue began to run over his cock, the taste of the blood and cum making her gag. "Keep sucking it until he gets hard again, than you are to make him cum again, this time in your mouth.  Swallow all of it."   Michael began to shoot the electricity again through Bill's rectum, forcing him to push his cock deeper into her mouth.  He began to get hard again, watching his daughter, only inches from him, sucking and tonguing his cock.  His cock began to push to the back of her throat, forcing Courtney to gag and choke as he pushed into her throat.  He got harder, his cock now milked by her throat, her eyes pleading.  He only cared with his own lust.  His daughter now only a mouth pussy to pleasure him.  He drove deeper and deeper, driven by the Electricity shooting through his cock.   He suddenly pushed deep and his cock again began to shoot his cum, choking her, cum shooting out of her nose and mouth as her mouth filled with his hot cum.  A second load of cum filled her mouth, a third forcing her to swallow or choke to death.  His cock finished shooting, resting limp in her mouth.   "That ends our evening of entertainment.  Courtney will be with us for a while.  If anyone would like to enjoy her charms, contact me and we will see what we can arrange.  She will be made available for sex or if you wish to punish and torture her this can also be arranged." "Bring the Bitch in the other room, the President and his wife want a piece of her before she if ruined by too many cocks," Michael ordered the other guards.   Courtney was released from the sling, but she had to be held up by the guards to keep her from falling.  Blood and cum were pasted to her pussy and thighs, a reminder of the taking of her virginity.  Her asshole still ached from the flame scorching her tender anus and she could still taste her fathers thick, salty cum in her mouth.  Courtney watched as her father was taken from the room in cuffs, wondering where they were taking him, hoping that he would be all right.   "Don't worry cunt, if you cooperate, your father will stay alive.  The minute you resist or fail to do what I ask, I will have him killed before your eyes.  You still have a virgin asshole left.  It might be a little burned, but it is still tight.  The President and his wife are going to take that from you."   Courtney was shoved into the room.  In the room stood a low, padded table.  Even Courtney easily imagined its purpose.  It was big enough to fit a female body on her hands and knees and high enough to elevate a female's pussy and asshole to be cock high.  Courtney cringed at the prospects of what they intended to do to her, but she could not even imagine the cruelty that had planned.  Around the room were about 20 chairs, again, Courtney would have an audience watching her debasement.  All of the walls were covered with mirrors forcing Courtney to witness her own rape.   "Into the bathroom first, I want to clean her up before anyone arrives."   Courtney was pushed into the bathroom and forced to sit on the toilet seat cover.  She could hear Michael taking things out of the drawer but could not see what they were.  When he turned around he was carrying a can of shaving cream and a straight razor.  "No please," begged Courtney.   "You don't need any pussy hair, I like my bitches with a bald cunt."  He kneeled down in front of her and grabbed her ankles and put them over his shoulders.  This spread her legs, up and wide apart, her pussy opening in front of his face.   Courtney began to turn red in embarrassment.  Even though she was raped in front of a crowd, this seemed more personal.  Here was a stranger spreading her open, her pussy just inches from his eyes.  She closed her eyes in embarrassment.   "Open your eyes and look directly at me, do not turn away," he commanded Courtney.   Courtney obeyed, staring at him as she felt his hands slide up her thighs, a washcloth removing any traces of her rape from her body.  When he finished, his hands returned to her pussy, a palm full of shaving cream ready to cover her.  He spread it liberally over her pussy.  Courtney had very fine and light pussy hair and it covered easily.   Courtney cringed as she saw the straight razor move toward her spread pussy.  "Stay very still, I would hate to cut that nice pussy."  She could feel the razor begin at the top of her pussy lips and begin to pull down, shaving the hair as he moved.  He grabbed first the right pussy lip and pulled it out, shaving the side.  The left pussy lip was next and the hair was removed quickly.  "Relax your ass cheeks, I need to shave all the way back to your asshole," Michael rising slightly, forcing Courtney's legs higher, exposing her asshole to his gaze and the razor.   "Ouch," yelled Courtney, Michael cutting her asshole on purpose.   "Shut up, Bitch, I will cut you from your pussy to your asshole if I feel like it."  Michael returned to slicing the hair from Courtney.  The washcloth returned, wiping the excess from Courtney's pussy.   Courtney grimaced in pain as Michael wiped her spread and naked pussy with rubbing alcohol, but did not cry out.  She could feel his finger on her naked and spread asshole, searching, pushing.  Her anus begins to open under his plundering finger, stretching wide to receive it, remembering the fingering her asshole received on the truck to jail.     "I see that the crowd has arrived and the President and his wife will be here soon.  Let's get you ready bitch," as Courtney was pulled from the toilet seat and pushed into the room.  All of the chairs were full, close friends of the President and his wife.  They were known to be sexually free and many of their friends had shared and had been shared with them. The group watched as Courtney was brought in, her naked body and her newly shorn pussy shining in the bright lights.   Courtney looked around the room and she could already see some of the men with their cocks out and their wives already stroking them.  She knew that soon she would be their source of enjoyment, cocks hard watching as she was raped for their pleasure.   "On the bench, doggy style.  We are going to treat you like the dog bitch you are," as she was pushed onto the bench.  "On your hands and knees, soon this will be your usual position."  SLLLLAAAAPPP, Michael's hand hit Courtney's ass hard.  Courtney moaned, but did not cry out.  She remembered Michael's warning and feared the consequences.   SSSSSLLLLAAAPPP, this time her other cheek.  Michael rained down his palm upon her naked cheeks, forcing Courtney to bite her lip in pain, her cheeks turning red from the abuse.   His hands pushed between her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs further open.  "Spread them wide, I want to see your asshole peeking out, and don't your dare close your legs.  Watch in the mirror and don't close your eyes."   Tears began to form in Courtney's eyes as she saw the President and his wife enter.  She knew that what they were going to do to her was worse than she expected.  They were both naked, the President with a huge cock, already erect.  Even worse was his wife.  Attached to her loins stood a giant dildo, even larger than her husbands cock.  She did not know which one or both were going to rape her asshole, but she did know that it was going to hurt badly.  Either cock would tear and make her asshole bleed as it fucked her.  She knew that neither cared, and in fact they would attempt to inflict the maximum amount of pain on her tender body.   Courtney watched as the President walked in front of Courtney, his huge cock directly in front of her lips.  She knew that she would be expected to suck his cock and he would cum in her mouth, just like her father had done.  She could feel female hands stroking her ass, spreading her cheeks, opening her asshole to the President's wives dildo.   "Don't worry Honey, once I get my dildo in your asshole, it wouldn't be so bad.  You might even stop screaming by them.  Not that anyone will hear you, with my husband's cock in your throat.  You better give us both a good ride or it's the end for your father."   The President ran his fingers over Courtney's face, wiping the tears from her eyes.  His fingers pushed into her mouth, forcing her to open wide.  "Suck my cock you little bitch, you must pay for what your father has done to me over the last couple of years.  I am going to make you suffer for as long as he made me.  You're going to be sucking and fucking for many years, the day you stop, your father is dead."   The large cock entered Courtney's mouth, his precum spreading over her lips, bringing back the awful taste and the memory of the mouthful of cum she was forced to accept.   "Lick it real nice," Courtney's mouth forced to open wider than it ever had to accommodate the President's large cock.  It pushed in, Courtney's tongue beginning to run over the large helmeted cock.  She could feel more cum leaking from the tip, her tongue pushing it around in her mouth.  It was heavy and very salty.  The President grabbed her ears and his cock was forced deeper into her mouth, heading for her throat.  Courtney knew that soon she would be gagging and choking on the thick cock in her mouth.  But that was the least of her problems.  She could now feel the President's wife on her ass.   "SSSPPPPIIIITTTT," Courtney could feel the hot spit hit her asshole as the Presidents wife dildo began to push the spit around Courtney's asshole, lubricating the way for the rape by the dildo.   "Your asshole is so tiny, cunt, wait until it opens for my dildo.  I am going to enjoy hearing your muffled screams."   Courtney could feel the female hands on her hips, bracing her for the push into her asshole by the giant dildo.  The dildo began to force her tiny asshole to open wider and wider.  As it pushed in, Courtney's body was pushed forward, the Presidents hard cock pushing to the back of her throat.   "AAAAAAHHHHHHH, GGGGGHHHHHHH, GGGGAAASSSPP", screamed Courtney, her asshole tearing from the brutal rape of the dildo, the big cock in her mouth pushing past her tonsils, forcing her to gasp and choke as she was continually choked on the cock.  Tears ran down her face and she grimaced in pain as her asshole tore open, blood flowing over the dildo, lubricating it for the continuing rape of her asshole.   "Yes, bitch, swallow my cock, choke on that big fucker."   The Presidents wife pushed the dildo in, forcing Courtney's asshole to open to accept the giant head, her anus fitting tightly over it, tearing to accept it girth.  She pulled back Courtney's hips, forcing more dildo into her asshole.  At the same time, the cock in her mouth pulled out, allowing Courtney to suck in some air, but pushed back in quickly, again blocking her air passage, gagging her.   The dildo pulled out a little bit temporarily, but only so it could force itself further into Courtney's asshole.  Her screams were muffled as her head was held tightly, her hips embraced in strong hands as the dildo was pushed in, forcing her anal track to rip and tear to allow passage by the giant dildo.  Sweat poured from her body as the two raped her mouth and asshole.  Courtney would have collapsed in pain had her body not been held up by her rapists, forcing Courtney to accept the cruel rape.   The dildo withdrew than forced itself back in, further than the last time.  Courtney's anus was stretched like a rubber band, three inches of giant dildo now forced in.  Hot flashes of intense pain tore through Courtney's asshole as four inches pushed in, the cock in her mouth now coordinating its attack with the dildo in her asshole.  Each pushing in further, pulling out for a very brief reprieve, only to begin their painful rape again.  Five inches of giant dildo was forced in her asshole, now reaching into her colon, stretching it wider than it was meant to stretch, tearing as it plunged in deeper.  Cramps began to grip Courtney's stomach.   Courtney's wished she would pass out from the pain but there was no easy out for her, she continued to stay awake, forced to accept the pain.   "How do you like my dildo, cunt, is it as good as your father's cock fucking your pussy?"  The Presidents wife gave Courtney a particularly brutal push and now six inches of dildo plowed into Courtney's once virgin asshole.  The dildo pulled out, covered in shit and blood, ready to once again push in, reaching new depths in Courtney's asshole.  Seven inches pushed in, bottoming out in Courtney's colon.  Her stomach continually cramped from the dildo, her anal track rubbed raw from the brutal rape, torn and bleeding.   The President forced his cock deep into Courtney's throat.  He ran his fingers over her throat, feeling his cock buried deep.  Courtney's lips were spread wide around his cock, her mouth against his stomach.  Courtney had sucked all of his cock into her mouth and throat.  He could feel the exquisite massaging of his cock by her throat muscles trying to force it out.   His wife now began in earnest to fuck Courtney's asshole.  The dildo pulled out until only the head was stretched over Courtney's anus and than was rammed in, forcing Courtney to accept the brutal rape of seven-inches of giant dildo.  Courtney's head swam in pain and she gasped for air as she was continually buffeted between her two rapists.   Blood ran down her thighs and drool ran from her mouth as her rape continued.  They cared nothing of Courtney, only their pleasure and those seated watching the spectacle.  All cocks were hard as Courtney's rape continued.  Some wives had kneeled before their husbands, the cocks pushed into their mouths as they enjoyed Courtney's rape.   Courtney body became limp, held up only by her rapist as she mercifully passed out in pain, just as the Presidents cock began to cum in her mouth, shooting deep into her throat and directly into her stomach, filling her with his hot cum.   His wife forced Courtney to accept the giant dildo one last time before pulling out, covered in shit and blood.  The two rapists allowed Courtney to slump to the padded table.  The audience began to applause, pleased in the rape of Courtney, the men's hard cocks shooting cum in climax. Michael stood up as the President and his wife left the room.  Her father gasped in surprise and anguish as he was brought back in again, naked as he saw his daughter lying on the table, blood running from her asshole.  "Anyone wishing to fuck Courtney can do so now, but leave one hole for her father."   Courtney began to regain consciousness.  Her asshole ached in pain and her mouth tasted cum.  She saw her father standing over her but her relief was short-lived as she saw naked cocks walking toward her and she saw her fathers cock again, still hard.  How could she suffer so, yet his cock enjoying her anguish?   "Listen, bitch.  Your job is to make sure your fathers cock is always hard.  If it becomes flaccid, it will be cut off and you will be forced to eat it," said Michael.   Courtney was turned on her side and one member of the audience laid down next to her.  "Open up, cunt," his cock pushing into her pussy.  At the same time, Courtney yelled in pain as another pushed in behind her, forcing her already battered asshole to accept another cock in it.  Her father was pushed down near her head and she opened her mouth to accept his cock.  She had to keep him alive as she was again brutally rape, this time in her pussy and asshole at the same time.  It felt like they were trying to tear into her body and come out the other side as she was ruthlessly raped.   Courtney's rape continued during the early evening.  Two individuals continually raped her three holes, sometimes by women with dildos, as Courtney was forced to keep her fathers cock hard in her mouth, pussy and twice in her asshole.  That was the worst because next time it would be forced back into her mouth, making Courtney suck his cock clean of her own shit and blood.  Her body was continually covered in cum as she was raped and abused.   Courtney was still in agony after the worst night of pain in her young life. She had spent the entire time in a squat, her belly and bowels filled with a vile liquid, unable to expel any of it. She also had her father's cock stuffed into her mouth and she was given the unpleasant duty of keeping it erect all night.   The consequences of not doing so was horrible for her to even imagine so she did her job as best she could and somehow succeeded in keeping him hard throughout the awful night.   After the brutal rape she was brought to her feet for the first time in nearly 24 hours. Her legs ached terribly from being in an awkward position for so long and she was barely able to stand up. Despite her pain, the captors tied her in this awful squat, putting terrible strain on her thighs and calves.   One of the largest men approached her while holding a large jug. One of the men behind her pushed an awful ring gag into her mouth, forcing her mouth open, and pulled her hair hard, making her unable to pull her own head forward. The large man then started pouring liquid from the jug into her mouth. It tasted vile and she started drowning in it."   "Swallow it little cunt or you will die."   Part of her wished she could die but her survival instinct took over and she began swallowing the copious amount of liquid as quickly as she could. It was awful and as soon as it hit her body it began to burn...all the way down her throat and into her stomach.   Within a few seconds, her belly was full of this terrible concoction. It burned her insides and she felt like she was going to vomit. She desperately wanted to expel this vile stuff.   "Courtney, if any of this comes out as piss or vomit, your daddy's dick will be your last meal."   Her body started shaking from the pain but she worked vigorously to avoid any of it coming out of her belly.   She then felt something pushing at her asshole as a nozzle opened up her torn asshole.  She gasped as the hot, burning liquid was inserted into her bowels. She felt it fill her yet again and she screamed out, louder now than during her whipping or rapes.   "Good girl, I've turned that nozzle so that your little ass stays full too...bring over her father."   They brought the exhausted man over and placed him so that his cock was mouth level with her and stuffed it in...somehow he was hard again but Courtney noticed a ring around the base that was helping him stay hard by not allowing the blood to flow. "Sweet dreams you two," the men said as a bright spotlight was put on them and the rest of the lights were extinguished. "Remember cunt, not one drop all night or your father's cock is your breakfast tomorrow."   That began an awful night of torture for the girl, as the liquid continued to burn her insides and the desire to pee and shit was intense. Her entire body was racked with pain and she shook from the strain of it all, in addition to being in such an uncomfortable squatting position. That and the fact that she had to keep sucking on her father's cock to keep him hard made for the worst night ever for the young girl.   Finally morning came and the spotlight was turned off...the sleepless duo were still tied as they had been left, sweat pouring off both. It had been nearly 12 hours of pain and torture for them both, though poor Courtney had of course suffered the most.   Courtney heard gasps as hundreds of people filled the auditorium where her humiliation had taken place. She was beyond caring at this point, just desperate to relieve her pain.   First her father's cock was removed from her mouth and she saw a girl about her age take him by the cock and continue to masturbate him so that he remained hard.   She saw a bowl being placed by pussy and ass and she was told she could relieve herself. She cried out in misery as the liquid came out in huge chunks, chunks bigger than her holes. She screamed, she moaned, she begged for help and mercy. The onlookers were loving her pain and cheered every drop that hit the bowl. Finally, she was done and she slumped in her bondage, desperate for some relief.   "Now, now cunt, no sleep yet," one of the men said. They undid her hand and brought her father to her. "Make him cum into your bowl and we can end this madness."   Without thinking, she grabbed her father's aching cock and she began to jerk him off...despite being fucked dozens of times in the last two days, she had never touched a cock before and was surprised at its softness. She jerked him up and down no more than 10 times and she heard him moan and start to spurt his cum into the mixture already in the bowl. He shuddered and groaned at the relief of finally being able to cum after hours of torment in his daughter's holes.   "Good cunt, this will be both of your meals for the next few days.   "Take her to her cell, let her rest before the next phase.  Take her father to the guardroom.  They can rape his asshole.  Let him feel what his daughter had to suffer for him.

For two days, Courtney was locked in a cell.  She did not know what had happened to her father, but she expected the worse.  She had heard what they planned to do to him, ass raped and knew that is what probably happened.   Every four hours, she was woken up, made to stand, arms behind her neck, thrusting her breasts out, her legs spread as she was inspected.  This was really just another chance to humiliate her and also to abuse her body.  One guard would play with her breasts, squeezing them harshly, making her nipples hard and than pinching them so tight they began to bleed.  If she made any movement to stop them, her ass would be whipped.  That had happened twice in the last two days.  Another would abuse her pussy, spreading her lips open, forcing fingers deep into her, scratching her vagina as they plunged ruthlessly in her, spreading open when deep inside her.   The last would abuse her asshole. It was already sore for the dildo rape and he took great pleasure in opening up fresh wounds.  He would force her to bend over and spread her cheeks, giving him access to her anus.  His fingers would tear at her asshole, hooking fingers in each side and pulling her open before plunging into her rectum.  Each time she was visited, he would force more fingers into her asshole, stretching her open. She was forced to stand very still as they abused her, accepting their abuse, being whipped if she made any attempt to stop them.   Than she would be bound on the bed, a dental clamp holding her mouth open and force-fed her food.  This was the bowl she had shit up and mixed with her fathers cum.  A guard would also jerk off into her mouth a fresh batch of cum for her to eat.  The first three times, Courtney vomited up the batch, but the guards would catch it in the bowl and shove it back down her throat.  After that she managed to swallow and hold in the disgusting mess, her stomach groaning for hours afterwards, until it was time for another feeding.  After the second day, the "food" was gone and Courtney was allowed to shower and she was given panties and bra to wear.  She was allowed to sleep, uninterrupted for over eight hours.   Her father, Bill Smith had not done any better than Courtney.  He was taken over to cell block A.  This cellblock was run by a group of homosexual guards.  These guards were more dominants than homosexuals.  They enjoyed the power of forcing the prisoners to submit to their perverted demands.  He was taken and tied face down on the "fucking block".  This was a padded table.  An insert was cut out allowing access to his cock and balls.  He was tied face down, his legs spread and tied wide open. His arms were bound to the side, his head pushed up and forced forward.  His bondage was very stringent, not allowing any movement.   One guard than grabbed his cock and pulled it through the insert.  It was tied, pulling and stretching it downward and bound tightly with a leather sleeve.  The sleeve was lined with tacks and held his cock tightly.  If his cock got hard, the tacks would force themselves into the skin.  If squeezed tightly, the tacks would pierce the skin.  His balls were also bound tightly into a leather ball bag.  It was also lined with tacks, these longer and sharper than the cock sleeve.  Draw strings lining the bag and sleeve could be pulled, forcing them to shrink in size, squeezing the enclosed balls or cock.  Both of these devices were also hooked up to an electrical generator.  Power could be sent to electrodes that would flow through into the tacks.  Power settings were available from light to extreme.  All of these devices main purpose were to make the subject a willing participate in his own rape.  He would be mouth fucked and ass raped.  He would be forced to willingly suck any cock forced into his mouth and throat and swallow the cum.  If a cock were forced into his asshole, he would be expected to squeeze down on it as it was pulled out until he would make them cum deep in his colon.   When Bill was securely tied and hooked up, the guards began.  Bruno was over six feet two inches tall, 250 pounds and solid muscle.  That included his cock.  It stood over 11 inches long and five inches around.  It was a massive instrument of torture. The other two guards also had impressive cocks.  They enjoyed using them on helpless victims, including males.  Courtney's father was their next victim.  They were promised if they punished him, they would also have a chance with Courtney. Bruno stood in front of Bill, fisting his cock, placing it within inches of Bill's mouth.  Bill's eyes widen in fear.   "OOOWWWW, AAAGGGHHHH, Oh, God, that hurts so bad, stop it, your crushing me" cried Bill.  One of the other guards was behind Bill, out of his sight.  He had grabbed Bill's cock with one hand and his balls with the other and squeezed his massive hands around the leather sleeves.  The tacks in the cock sleeves were pushed into his cock, piercing the skin.  His balls ached, crushed by the guard's hands, shooting pains in his stomach, the longer tacks pushing deep into his balls.  The guard released his grip and than again squeezed tightly, crushing Bill's balls and his cock.  Bill screamed again in pain, his balls aching, the sharp tacks digging deep into his cock and balls.  The guard moved his hand around, forcing the tacks to move, opening up new wounds.   Bill began to plead and beg to stop the pain.  "Stop, I will do anything, AAAAAHHH."  His stomach ached, afraid that he would vomit soon from the extreme pain.   "Now that I have your attention, I am going to turn you into a cock slut before the night is over.  If you do not cooperate, pain will become a big part of your life.  What you felt so far is very little pain.  The bags can be tightened permanently.  Once tightened, a brief brush by my hand on them will bring fresh pain as the tacks move, opening up new wounds.  Then there is the electricity," said Bruno, motioning to Joe, the other guard.   "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH," Bill screamed, in body trembling in pain as Joe shot a light load of electricity into his balls and cock.  Another burst of electricity shot through Bill's groin, this time a higher intensity.   "As I said, you are to become our cock slave.  We are going to fuck your mouth and ass all night long.  As you can see, we both have very big cocks so I am sure we are going to tear up your asshole, but that may prove the lesser of two evils.  If you do not submit and fuck us back, your balls and cock will receive the most severe pain and punishment, far beyond what you can imagine. Are you ready to cooperate?"   Another shot of electricity in his balls convinced Bill that he would not survive the night without cooperating.  He did not know what would be required, but anything would be better than the pain.  "Yes," he choked out.   "Tighten up the bags, Joe, I want Bill to remember his word," ordered Bruno.   "AAAGGG," cried Bill, his balls crunched tighter in the bag, the tacks puncturing the skin.  The pressure of the tacks on his cock drove them into the side and especially the head of his cock.  One tack just missed his piss slit.  Joe ran his hand over Bill's balls, his finger flicking on the bag, shooting pains reaching deep in Bill's balls.   Bruno reached for Bill's mouth, sticking his fingers in it, "Open up, real wide, you are going to start by sucking my cock.  I want you to run your tongue over it while I fuck it in.  When I get to your throat, I want you to relax as much as possible.  You will gag as I push down, but that will be quite enjoyable to me, but my cock will go down your throat, you can rest assured of that.  Now stick your tongue out and begin being our cock slut," with Bruno fisting his cock and bringing it to Bill's lips.   Another shot of electricity shot through Bill's cock as Bruno's cock was placed on his lips.  "Just a reminder, now suck it, cock slut," Bruno ordered.   The cock entered his mouth, spreading his mouth wide as the massive cock pushed in.  His tongue ran over his cock, the precum on his cock disgusting him.  He would soon be forced to swallow his cum and he could not stop him.  The cock pushed further into his mouth, than retreated.  Next time it pushed further than before almost reaching the back of his mouth.   Bruno began to fuck Bill's mouth, pushing his big cock deeper and deeper into his mouth.  "AAGGG, GGGGAAAAGGHHH," the cock pushing into his throat, his stomach wrenching as he gagged and choked.  Bill's head was held tightly as Bruno fucked his mouth like it was a cunt.   "Is he sucking you good?" asked Joe.   "He could do better, why don't you see if you can help to motivate him," answered Bruno.  He pushed his cock and forced it down Bill's throat, keeping it plugging Bill's throat, waiting for Joe's response.   "MMMMMGGGG, AGGGHHHHFFFF," Bill screamed, his voice muffled by Bruno's cock buried in his throat as his balls were grasped tightly by Joe.  The pain in his stomach from his balls punishment, mixed with the gagging and wrenching of the throat fuck made him scream in pain.   Bruno pulled his cock from Bill's throat and Bill instantly began to bathe his cock with his tongue, sucking on the head of his cock.  He did not want to feel the pain again.  He sucked as hard as he could as Bruno pushed it down his throat again, Bill gagging but trying hard to swallow the massive cock. Bruno began to plunge the cock in and out of his mouth again, Bill sucking his cock, hoping to get this mouth rape over with.  He knew that this would mean Bruno would cum in his mouth and he would be forced to swallow it, but he could not bear the pain any longer.   Bill's plight became worse.  Joe was stroking his big cock, making it harder.   It was time to rape Bill's ass.  Joe grabbed Bill's balls and cock, Bill's body jumping from the unexpected pain.  Another shot of electricity shot through his body.     "I'm going to fuck you in the ass now, I want you to squeeze my cock when I pull it from your asshole.  If you don't cooperate, the pain will begin again.   Joe put the helmet of his big cock against Bill's asshole.  A gob of spit on his cock and he began to push.  The big cock tore into Bill's asshole, ripping his anus and plunging into his rectum.  Bill's body shuddered as the pain of the rape tore into him.  The cock in his mouth was plugged deep into his throat and now a cock was tearing into his anal tract.  The cock pushed deeper into him, tearing and raping, the cramps adding to his already pained body.  Joe's cock was bloodied with the rape of Bill's asshole.   Joe plunged his cock into Bill, forcing all ten-inches of his cock into Bill's anal tract.  His colon was forced to stretch and tear open from the plundering cock.  "Squeeze it, you cock slut or the ball pain will begin again," Joe commanded.   Bill was swimming in pain, Bruno's cock forced in and out of his throat, cutting off his air supply.  His asshole was torn and bleeding, but he forced himself to squeeze the cock in his asshole, the pain worsening.  He sucked hard on the cock in his mouth, squeezing the cock in his ass, hoping that the pain would end soon.   The two raping cocks began to swell, there cum filled balls ready to shoot into Bill.  Joe squeezed Bill's balls and cock, new pain rushing over his body.  The cock in his mouth pulled from his throat and began to shoot the hot, salty, heavy cum on his tongue, rapidly filling his mouth.  Bill began to swallow the cum, hoping not to choke as more cum shot out.  The cock in his asshole pushed deep, feeling like it was coming out of his mouth and began to swell, tearing his anal tract more as it began to fill his colon with the hot cum.   "Now you're becoming a good cock slut, you sucked my cock good.  I will rape your asshole next while Joe will get your mouth.  Another two or three times tonight and you will a pro," laughed Bruno.   Joe pulled his cock out, Bill's asshole farting as it was relieved of the pressure of the huge cock.  He pulled in front of Bill, holding his bloodied, shit covered cock to Bill's lips.  "Start sucking, slut."   Bruno was behind Bill, his cock already hard, pushed against Bill's bleeding asshole and began to push in, Bill's asshole already wet from the cum and blood from his anal rape.   "AAAGGHH," Bill screamed into the cock forced into his mouth, the rape beginning again.  Before the night would be over, he would be raped four times by each of the brutal guards, his balls and cock severely tortured, electricity shooting through his body to force him to participate in his own rape.  They repeatedly forced him to swallow their cum and then he had to suck the other guards cock that had raped his asshole, cleaning it until it became hard again, ready to fuck his mouth again.   The cell door opened and the guards grabbed Courtney from the bed, cuffing her arms behind her back, a hobble placed between her legs. One of the guards ran his hands over her breasts, and than down to her panty-covered pussy, grabbing it tightly in his big hand.  "Michael has a special treat for your pussy.  Move, you cunt," pushing her toward the door, the hobble making it difficult to walk.   Courtney cringed as she was again led into the auditorium, filled with people again.  She remembered the last time and expected the worse.  She was moved to the stage and the bright lights shined on her half-naked body.  The hobble was released as was the handcuffs. Leather cuffs were attached to her wrists and her ankles, cutting tightly into her skin.  She heard a motor start over her head as a winch pulled down a long bar.   "Raise the cunt up," Michael ordered the other guards.  Courtney's arms were slowly raised up, higher and higher, her body drawing taunt.  Courtney groaned in pain, as her legs moved off the ground, her weight not supported by her leather strapped wrists.  "Higher, I want her feet at least a foot off the ground."  The motors pulled her higher until finally grounding to a stop.   "Spread her open, I want her so wide that her cunt begins to tear open." One of the guards grabbed her right ankle and attached a chain to it, while the other guard grabbed her left and did the same.  Courtney cringed when she heard the motors start again and her legs were pulled to the side, opening her wider and wider.  Her legs were now pulled three feet wide and still moving.  "Please don't," she begged the pain ache in her thighs beginning.  Four feet and they were still moving.  Michael walked between her legs and ran his hand up her thighs, toward her pussy.  "Your skin is so smooth and taunt, soon I will strip you naked so everyone can see your spread, naked pussy.  I can feel the muscles in your thighs stretching, does it hurt?"   "Yes, it hurts bad, no further," she cried, but the motors continued to pull her apart, threatening to tear her apart.  Her legs were spread over five feet apart, her panties just barely covering her spread pussy.  The motors stopped.  Courtney was stretched high off the ground, her arms pulled tight over her head, her legs spread into an "X", stretched wide.  Sweat began to glisten from her body from the lights and the tight bondage she was placed in.  "What are you going to do to me?" she asked.   "Do you have to ask, Courtney, why of course, I am going to torture you.  That is why everyone in the audience has a hard cock.  They are expecting me to sexually torture you and I do not want to disappoint them."  Michael ran his hands up her thighs again, until he got to her spread pussy. He grasped her pussy in his hand, squeezing it tightly.  "I am going to pay special attention to your pussy.  When I am finished, your pussy will be very tender to the touch, so you can imagine what it will be like when they start to rape you."   His hands reached for her bra and pulled it from her body, her tits bouncing on her chest.  He grabbed her nipples and pulled them, twisting them, forcing them to become erect.  Now his hands pulled hard on her panties, the crotch digging deep into her spread pussy as they stretched out.   "OOOOWWW, AAAGGGG," the panties feeling like they were cutting her spread pussy.  They finally tore, leaving Courtney naked again.  The hands ran over her spread pussy, pulling on her hair, pulling her lips apart, a finger running between her slit.  His hand slapped her spread pussy.  "OOOOW" she cried.   "Put her in a horizontal position, I want everyone to see her pussy as I torture it."  The motors began again, this time the whole mechanism shifting Courtney from a vertical position to a horizontal position.  Her body was now horizontal, her arms pulled back over her head.  Her legs were spread out wide, her pussy and anus opened for all to see, the lights shining directly on her open body.   Michael walked between her spread legs, his fingers returning to her pussy, pulling her open even more, her pink insides open to his touch.  One hand reached towards her anus, pushing suddenly into her spread asshole, a gasp coming from Courtney's lips as her anus was impaled on his finger.  He began to corkscrew it into her anus, a dry rasping finger pushing along her anal tract.   "The rope, pull it down," Michael ordered.   Courtney watched as a large, one-inch hemp rope was lowered from the ceiling.  It unraveled from a mechanism in the ceiling.  About every six inches, a large knot was in the rope.  It was very rough.  When it reached down to Michael's height, he pulled it down further until it reached the floor.  Michael pushed it into some mechanism in the floor.  A motor started and the rope tightened.  Courtney watched in horror as she saw it between her spread legs.  She knew what they intended to do.  They were going to saw the rope between her spread legs, the rope burning her pussy and anus.   "Ah, I see you realized what the rope is for, I can see the terror in your eyes.  Yes, it will be soon tearing through your spread pussy.  The knots will really tear up your pussy.  Don't forget your anus.  It will also be pulled through the cheeks of your ass.  The audience is going to love your screams.  When you think it can't hurt any more, I will speed up the rope."   The mechanism that Courtney was spread on began to push her whole body toward the rope, between her spread legs.  She felt the rope hit her spread legs and bump against her pussy and than stop.   Michael moved again between her legs.  She felt him spread her pussy lips back and push the knotted rope between them.  "Move her legs up higher, so the rope rubs along her asshole," Michael ordered.  The mechanism holding her legs moved higher, the rope beginning to pull along her pussy and now because of the movement of her legs, now moved along her anus.  His hands moved to her ass, spreading her cheeks, the rope moving between them, pushing against her anus.   "Tighten up the rope now," the motors starting again, pushing Courtney out, the rope pushing deep into her pussy and ass cheeks.   "OOOOOOWWWW, AAAAAAGGGGGG, that hurts you bastard," cried Courtney, tears running from her eyes as the rope pushed deep into her pussy.   Courtney watched above as the rope mechanism began to move.  She could feel the rope sliding through her pussy and along her anus.  "Oh, God, that hurts, don't do that to me, OOOOOOWWWW," the first knot now beginning to push though her pussy, rubbing over her clit and than spreading her pussy lips open wider, abrading her pussy lips as the horse hair rope pulled through her legs.  The knot moved back between her legs, moving between her cheeks, running over her anus, pushing inward.   "That was only the first knot.  You still have many more to go.  You will soon start screaming for our enjoyment."   The rope again pulled through her pussy, her pussy beginning to pain from the burning.  The next knot pushed through her legs.  Michael reached and pulled her clit hood back, exposing her clit to the knot.   "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," screamed Courtney as the next knot moved over her exposed clit, pushing into her pussy, rubbing along her slit, sliding along her asshole and popping out.  The rope again moving along, sawing along her pussy slit.   "Turn the speed up.  I want to see this bitches cunt fry," Michael ordered.   The rope began to pull through Courtney's legs faster, the knots now tearing into her pussy and anus.  Courtney's screams were now almost continuous as her delicate clit and inner pussy lips were rubbed raw. Her pussy looked like raw meat and the rope began to show signs of blood as the knots tore her flesh open.  Her tiny anus also began to bleed, the knots pushing in as they slid over her flesh, tearing and abrading her flesh.   The motors overhead turned on again as Courtney's body was shifted slightly so the rope now moved and rubbed raw a new area of her exposed slit.  Her screams were enjoyment to the ears of the audience as wives and girlfriends masturbated cocks hard from the torment she was receiving.  Courtney was crying and sobbing between screams as her body was tortured, the pain beyond reason, her pussy and anus turned into raw meat.  Michael smiled as he watched her face, his cock hard. If she thought this was bad, he had more in store for her.   Courtney's body was again shifted, this time the other side of her pussy was now exposed to the rough rope and knots.  Fresh screams burst from her mouth as new area's received the brutal abrasion of the hemp rope as it moved over her body.  Michael ran his hand over her thighs, feeling the tension in them as the rope continually battered her body.   "High speed, let's hear the bitch really scream," the motors speeding up, the rope and the knots moving at high speed, blood forming on the rope and knots, her pussy and anus turning red as the rope burned her delicate skin.   Courtney burst into a new chorus of screams, her body jerking around, trying to escape the rope tearing into her body, the rope burying itself into the tender folds of her pussy.  Courtney bounced around in her bondage, her body in intense pain.  Courtney finally fainted in pain, her body slumped in bondage.  Michael turned off the power on the motor, the rope slowly stopping.  The audience could see the blood running down her thighs, the rope, now red, buried deep into her spread pussy lips and ass cheeks.   "Bring her vertical again and revive her.  I am not finished with this cunt yet," the motors turning Courtney's battered body into the vertical position.  The rope was pulled for the last time through her pussy, no reaction from the unconscious Courtney.  Smelling salts were put under her nose, her body jerking awake, the pain returning to her body.   Michael stood in front of her, smiling, watching her pain racked eyes trying to focus.  "Not so much a bitch anymore, are we Courtney."  His hands reached for her pussy, moving along her bloodied thighs.  Courtney tensed up, knowing that Michael meant to inflict more pain on her body.  "Yes, I intend to hurt you more, the audience is waiting for that."  His hand moved between her pussy lips, the skin ripped raw and bleeding.  Courtney screamed as Michael reopened the wounds.  His fingers moved into her spread pussy, lubricated by the blood of her wounds.  He pushed in deep, groans and screams coming from Courtney's lips as his battered flesh was brutalized.  "Your outside pussy is battered, but your insides are not.  I wonder what I can do to take care of that."  Courtney cringed as she realized that Michael intended to torture her more, now her insides would be brutalized.   "Bring out the toys."  One of the guards came out and put on the table near where Courtney was bound an array of various items.  One she recognized the others she feared.  Among the collection was the clit snapper.  She knew the pain of that.  Michael began to address the audience.  "Let me explain some of these delightful toys that were developed especially for Courtney.  They were designed to maximum the pain she would receive and to inflict the necessary damage to her body.  When I am finished with torturing our beautiful little slut, you will have a chance to fuck her, either in her cunt or if you wish, in her asshole.  I will guarantee that she will fuck back like she is a virgin when you begin to pound into her battered flesh.  She will scream as each of you rape her which I am sure you will all enjoy."   "The first toy is the pussy smasher."  Michael held up a very large dildo shaped in the form of a cock, except the part that would protrude from her body when it was forced deep into her cunt was flat and about three inches square.  "Once inserted into her cunt, I will hit the end of it with this flogger," showing the audience a large leather covered paddle.  When it hits the end, an extension will shoot out the other end, forced out by a powerful spring.  The extension will extend out an additional six inches into her body.  Once it hits the end of the extension, six metal barbs will shoot out into the sides of her pussy like an umbrella.  After about five seconds, the extension will begin to withdraw back into the dildo, with the barbs still extended.  The barbs are pointed and will tear into the flesh as they are drawn back.  Once folded back in, they will again be ready to spring forward again."  Michael watched Courtney's face, watching the anguish showing, knowing the pain she will soon feel.   "The next one is the asshole smasher.  Similar to the pussy smasher, except the extension is longer, eight inches.  It will shoot deep into the colon.  Seven barbs are on the extension, a set of four and further down, a set of three.  They too will tear the flesh as they are pulled back.   "Another is the mouth smasher. The only difference is that there are no barbs on this one.  While I like to tear at the flesh, I still want Courtney to have the ability to eat.  I want to make sure our little slut lasts a long time.  The extension will shoot out and this one will force itself into the little slut's throat.  She will choke and gag."   "You have all seen the clit snapper.  I also have the nipple snapper.  Attached to her nipples and once slapped with the flogger, the will bring excruciating pain to her nipples as they crush them between the serrated teeth. After ten seconds they will release, bringing about another burst of pain, ready again."   Courtney began to scream again as first the clit snapper was attached her already battered clit.  The nipple snappers were next, her nipples pulled and twisted until they became erect, the snappers biting deep into them.  The pain really began when first the asshole smasher was pushed into her anus, than shoved deep into her rectum.  The pussy smasher was next, tearing into her raw flesh, stretching her pussy wide until it seated deep inside her. Finally the mouth smasher was pushed into her mouth as she was screaming in pain.  Her screams became muffled as her lips were stretched about the dildo.   "Now that the slut is ready, shall we begin."  Michael stood beside Courtney, the flogger running over her body, her body twitching as she shrunk back in fear.  Her eyes widen in fear, tears running down her face.   Michael drew back his hand, Courtney's eyes on the flogger as he swung it back and forward again, hitting Courtney in the stomach, knocking the air out of her.  "Just teasing, where will the next one hit, Courtney," Michael laughing, the flogger swinging back.  It shot forward, hitting squarely on Courtney's left nipple snapper.  Her head shot up, a muffled scream from her gagged mouth as her nipple was crushed.  Michael ran the flogger over the nipple snapper, watching the shock on Courtney's face.  Michael rubbed the flogger over Courtney's flesh, getting ready to hit her again.  This time the flogger struck her mouth, the mouth smasher sending out the extension deep into her mouth.  You could see Courtney's throat expanding to accept the cruel extension, gagging and choking.   Michael moved the flogger back to her belly rubbing it over her abdomen and than suddenly slapping it hard against the clit snapper, pain shooting into her already battered and torn clit.  The mouth smasher retreated, when Michael slapped her ass cheeks with the flogger and than hit the asshole smasher.  Courtney's body shook as the extension shot deep into her colon, the barbs drawing back, tearing her anal tract as they pulled back.  Michael moved back to her nipples and this time struck her right nipple.  Courtney's eyes were wide open as the pain overcame her body.  Michael slapped her thigh, Courtney knowing that her pussy was next.  The flogger pulled back and slapped hard against the pussy smasher.  The extension shot out, the barbs tearing into her flesh as they pulled back in.  Michael moved the flogger over her body, slapping her mouth again, than her nipple, her asshole and back to her pussy.  Courtney body shook in pain, Michael continually beating her body.  Her body was torn by the cruel instruments of torture, Michael smiling as he watched her shake.  His hand reached out again, the flogger beating into her body, forcing the extensions to shoot deep into her body, tearing her flesh.   Courtney again slumped in her bondage, fainting from the extreme pain.  Michael stopped beating her body, no longer interested in the torture if he could not see her anguish.   "Bring her down and tie her arms to the head of the bed.  We will let everyone have a chance at raping her again."  A small bed was brought onto the stage, Courtney was lowered down and tied to the headboard.  One of the guards stuck smelling salts under her nose and she began to regain consciousness.  She was groggy but soon realized what was to happen to her.   "No more, I hurt so much," she cried.  Her body was a mass of abrasions, her insides now torn and bleeding.   The President walked over to her and began to undress.  When he was naked, he hefted his cock up, grabbed her ankles and spread her legs wide, opening her pussy.  He knelt down, rubbed his cock over her pussy, Courtney cringing from the fresh pain.  He pushed the large head of his cock against her pussy and shoved deep into her.  His cock slid into her, lubricated by her bloody pussy.  Courtney screamed and her body jerked to get away from the brutal rape of her pussy.  He followed her body, shoving deep into her before pulling out, forcing screams from her mouth as he raped deep into her body again.  Courtney's body was battered as the President raped her until he pumped her bloodied cunt with his hot cum.   The next person turned Courtney over, raising her ass high by hooking his hands under her stomach.  His hands reached for her pussy, grabbing her flesh with his hand, forcing Courtney to move to escape, pushing her ass back, only to find his cock pushed against her asshole.  She screamed and tried to move away, only to meet the punishing hand, forcing her back again, his cock forcing its way into her asshole, opening her up, forcing her rectum to accept the big cock stretching her.  He began to rape her asshole, tearing into her, her asshole clamping down on his cock from the pain, pleasuring her rapist.  The rape of her asshole continued, blood on the cock of her rapist.  Courtney suffered the rape of her asshole, continually screaming as her flesh was torn again.  Her rapist pushed deep into her colon, filling her with his hot cum.   For the next two hours, Courtney was raped non-stop.  They either took her in her pussy or in her asshole.  Some took her both at the same time, her body buffeted by the two cocks raping her.  A third joined in, forcing Courtney to accept a large cock enter her mouth, holding her head by her ears, forcing his cock down her throat, gagging and choking her.  After three hours, everyone had fucked Courtney, some of them twice and she was taken to her cell.  A Doctor was called in to administer medical care.  They wanted to make sure she lived.  Michael had many more plans for her.

  Courtney lay bound over the stool.  Her wrists where tied to the front legs and her spread legs were bound tightly to the back.  Her thighs were also bound to the back legs, making her legs completely immobile.  Her head was pulled up, a rope tied from her hair back to the other end of the stool, forcing her to look forward and also allowing complete access to her mouth.  Her ass was forced up into the air, her anus and pussy spread open, waiting for a hard cock to enter either passage.   Courtney whimpered as a hard cock was forced into her mouth, stretching her lips wide.  She could taste the precum on the cock as her tongue bathed the head of the cock.  She knew that she would be punished if she did not do a good job of sucking the cock thrust into her mouth.  She ran her tongue over the head, bathing it with her saliva.  She wanted it to be wet because she knew it would soon enter her throat and she would begin to gag and choke.  He always did that to her.  He liked to see her struggle for oxygen when it filled her throat.  He would hold it deep in her throat as she struggled, his stomach pressed tightly against her face, the large cock pulsating in her oral passage.   The cock began to push in and out of her mouth, fucking her face like it was a cunt.  When it pushed in deep, Courtney would choke and gag, her throat massaging the thick cock.  She could feel it moving inside her, a hand reaching down to her throat, feeling the cock bulging out her neck.  The hands moved to the side of her head and moved her head, masturbating the hard cock with her lips and tongue.  The movements became faster, the cock moving deeper into her throat with each new thrust.  She knew that the cock was ready to cum and she would have to swallow the hot, salty, thick cum.  She was punished for not swallowing it.  She did not want that to happen again.  She sucked the cock, her tongue bathing the head as she felt it swell and begin to shoot the cum in her mouth.  The first shot hit on her tongue, her tongue moving over the head, coaxing out the next shot of cum.  The cock pushed deeper into her mouth, her throat forced to take it in as she gagged and coughed.  She did not taste the next load of cum as it shot directly into her stomach as it pulsated in her throat.  The cock, still hard, pulled from her throat and the last load of cum shot out onto her tongue.  She bathed the cock with her tongue as she felt it begin to get soft.  She continued to suck the cock, knowing she was to get it hard again.  He would fuck her ass or pussy next.  He always did. She did not like when he fucked her asshole.   His cock was big and her asshole still small, but he did not care.  He fucked her for his pleasure, not hers.  Sometimes he would let her cum, but only after he already did.   She felt the cock begin to harden again.  He always fucked her twice each night, sometimes three times.  She had learned well.  She was expected to make the cock hard or she would be punished.  She had been whipped many times.  He especially liked to pussy whip her.  She would be bound, face up, her legs spread wide and pulled back, her pussy lips opened wide, her pink pussy exposed.  Sometimes he would force his cock in her mouth and feel her screams of pain on his cock as the whip beat her defenseless pussy, tearing into her young flesh.  The whip would turn the flesh red and tender with the whip often hitting her exposed clit.  Once her pussy was tender, he would fuck her brutally, forcing her to feel it bump and lump on his cock as it raped.  She would bounce around, his body extracting the maximum amount of pain from the rape.  His latest trick was to gag her and pinch her nostrils closed, stopping all sources of oxygen as he fucked her.  She would panic and her body would bounce around wildly, giving him a good ride as he fucked her.  He always let her catch her breath just before she passed out.  She was not that lucky to escape the rape.  He would begin again, fucking her brutally, stopping her oxygen and the whole cycle would begin again until he finally came inside her.   He pulled his cock from her mouth, her saliva glistening on the hard cock.  She knew that since this was his second cum, he would fuck her for over 1/2 hour.  She hoped he wouldn't fuck her asshole, it always hurt so much, but he loved to hear her screams.  She felt him move behind her and felt his hands grab her hips as he moved between her legs.  He could see that her pussy was already wet.  No matter how much he hurt her, she was always wet.  His cock moved up and down her pussy, the pussy juice coating his hard cock.  She could feel it quiver as it rubbed along her slit.  She felt it push against her pussy, forcing her open as the hard cock began to enter her body.  She jumped in pain as she felt the cock enter her.  He had put a French tickler on his cock before he entered her.  The hard plastic ridge on the rubber rubbed along her tender pussy as it tore into her flesh.  Her pussy grabbed at it as she was forced to spread wide to accept the hard cock.  Her pussy was getting too sloppy for his cock so he had begun to use the French tickler to force her to feel the pain of the rape.  The cock pushed hard into her, not giving her body a chance to get used to the size of the cock fucking her.  It pulled out and than pushed back in again, this time the force of the thrust pushing his cock deep into her pussy and battering against her cervix, bruising her tender flesh.  Her body jolted in pain.  His cock jumped inside of her, he enjoyed feeling her pain.   The cock pulled out from her pussy, her pussy feeling empty.  He fisted his cock and pushed it against her defenseless anus.  She groaned in pain as the cock stretched her anus wide, forcing itself inside her.  Her sphincter grabbed at the cock inside her, trying to force it out.  He pushed again, this time the head pushing deeper inside of her, the French tickler now tearing at her anal tract, bringing fresh screams of pain from her lips.  Her body tried to expel the terrible instrument of pain but only succeeded in massaging it.  The cock began to fuck her hard, each time forcing itself deeper inside her.  Over four inches of hard cock was now forced into her rectum.  The next thrust sent six inches into her, her stomach starting to cramp as it entered her colon.  Finally all eight inches of hard cock was inside of her body, pulsating.  She could feel the bump and ridges as it tore into her anal tract, tearing at the tender flesh, bringing new tears and screams of pain.  Now the fucking began, his hips moving faster and faster, the cock moving in and out, tearing her flesh as it raped her asshole.  Hands held her hips tightly as the cock forced her anal tract to spread each time as it pushed deep into her colon.  His hand slapped her ass, his signal for her to tighten her asshole on his cock.  He was ready to cum and expected her to massage his cock with her asshole as he fucked her.  It hurt her more, but he did not care.  His only concern was for him to cum.  She tightened on the cock as it pulled from her asshole, waiting for the next tearing thrust inside her body again.  He gave her an especially hard and brutal thrust that forced a scream from her lips as the cock pushed deep inside her colon and stopped.  She felt the cock get bigger, her anal tract forced to expand more as he began to fill her colon with his hot cum.  First one, than two shot of hot cum pushed deep inside of her.  She could feel herself filling with the vile cum as the cock pulsated inside her.  It filled her up and as the softening cock pulled from her asshole with a pop, some cum leaked out and ran down her thighs onto the stool.   Courtney felt hands remove the ropes from her arms and legs and helped her stand up, her body cramped from the tight bondage.  She could just barely stand, her asshole stinging from the brutal rape.   "Good night, Courtney," Bill Smith said to his daughter.  "You have college tomorrow, so get a good night sleep.  You must be fresh for your first day at school.  And don't forget to be on time.  I have the new President coming over tomorrow night and he has never whipped a pussy on someone as young as you.  He is going to enjoy hearing you scream."   Bill Smith watched as Courtney left the room, his cum dripping down her thighs, her tight ass moving so sensuously as she went upstairs to her bedroom.  They had been home for over a month.  The former President had been overthrown in a bloody coup that killed both him and Michael.  Courtney and him had both been freed from the jail.  The new President had given him a cabinet position for all of his work in helping overthrow the old regime and the sacrifices that they had suffered.   When they first got home, Courtney did not adapt very well.  She did not sleep and was always highly agitated and argumentative.  After a week, Bill finally had enough and spanked Courtney.  He noticed a change in her, always trying to provoke him, seemingly forcing him to punish her.  The punishments increased in time and severity.  Soon, Courtney was stripped by her Father and forced to accept her punishments naked.  He soon noticed that her pussy was always wet as he spanked her.  It wasn't long before the punishments became more severe and included tying Courtney down.  Before long, Bill began to fuck his daughter.  His cock had always become hard as he punished her and he soon needed relief.  His naked, bound daughter became his sexual outlet.  He was soon raping her every night, forcing his cock in her mouth, pussy and asshole.  Her attitude changed.  After her punishments, she slept like a baby and had just enrolled in college.  She enjoyed the punishment and abuse.   Bill Smith went to bed to dream of the next time he would fuck his daughter.  As he prepared for bed, his cock began to harden.  Instead of his bed, he headed for Courtney's room.  He entered the darkened room and slipped into her bed, pushing up against her ass.  He heard her murmur as he slipped her pajama bottoms down and his erect cock rubbed against her naked skin.   "Please, Daddy, I have school," she begged, but his cock had already slipped into her wet pussy from behind.  She began to fuck back.

[phoenixtakaramono]

G&G ch15 (Sneak Peek)

Here’s an exclusive sneak peek, courtesy of @suis0u! You may thank her for this occasion. :) See you all again on AO3/ fanfiction(dot)net when the whole chapter is ready to be posted!

Eyes still shut, Harry brought his forehead down to his hands. His fingers were clasped, and his thumbs were hard-pressed against the bridge of his nose. He took a long intake of breath—holding it in his lungs—and then he exhaled through his mouth. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm.

For the next few minutes, he repeated the cathartic exercise, collecting his thoughts. His mouth still tasted of bitter herbs, from his morning ritual. Trying to mask the taste with toothpaste and food hadn’t any effect.

Aside from bits and pieces, while Harry couldn’t exactly recall all the specifics from his reoccurring dream, he supposed that his Animagus transformation was progressing as intended. It seemed to follow what Hermione had informed him about what Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had given a lecture about—regarding the symbolisms behind significant dreams and nightmares.

It was what McGonagall herself had gone through, as well as Harry’s mum, his dad and his dad’s friends—including Harry’s godfather and Remus.

Harry would not know his animal form prior to the transformation—and it was a tedious process of necessitating the leaf of a mandrake in his mouth for an entire month for the purposes of a required potion recipe, with him reciting an incantation over it regularly—but the answer was supposed to be hinted at in a dream state while one underwent the process. Harry had the expectation that he was a stag—maybe a buck—following in the footsteps of his parents.

He worried his lower lip.

Currently Harry was seated inside his office—silent, save for the own noises he emitted. The tip of his foot was tapping restlessly against the laminated floorboards.

The weight in his pocket rested heavy against his thigh. The temptation was there to check his pocket watch again for the hundredth time.

His eyes opened to tall stacks—a rainbow spectrum—laid out on his desk. The folders and parchments been organized according to a color-coded system. Manila files concerned cases belonging to the Law Enforcement department, green were psychological assessments, blue always contained reports from Forensics, so on and so forth.

There was one exception to the organization. Placed atop a folder was a golden snitch, serving as paperweight. Disguised as another case file, the contents of a manila folder underneath contained updates from the Department of Mysteries and any information pertaining to the time traveler. Copies of specific passages from historic works were also included. To anyone else not privy to the secret, the majority of the content appeared redacted—ink concealing classified and confidential information.

Adjacent to his view was a green file notably thicker than the rest. Scrawled on its tab was a personnel’s name. In it contained the newest documents from their recent evaluation. Staring at the name, Harry’s foot tapping becoming louder. Finally, he averted his gaze sideways.

His sight skittered past the toxicology and autopsy reports, a rotary dial telephone that gleamed bronze, today’s Daily Prophet tabloid, an ink pot and quill, opened letters from Kohaku Takeda-Mushin and from the President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and down the length of his arm. Official-looking documents passed his vision, spilling over his desk and down out of sight. Instead of parchment for stationery and bills, upholding tradition the Wizengamot used sheets from a roll of handcrafted cotton fibers. Embossed into the laid pattern was the enormous Ministry of Magic seal. And all the way down the lengthy text were the angular strokes and slashes that made up Harry’s handwriting.

Silver candy wrappers were by an elbow he’d propped on his desk. By his other elbow was red cup on a red saucer, filled halfway with milk tea. Preserved by a heating charm, tendrils of steam could still be seen wafting from the cup. Across the table was a silver serving tray. Balanced on it were a tea pot, napkins, a cup of sugar cubes, a small milk saucer, extra cups, saucers, and tea bags.

Framed on the alcove behind him hung ornamental framed portraits—the subjects depicting men and one woman wearing uniforms which reflected the time period of their tenure. All of the Head Aurors from English history were either sleeping or, having grown bored of watching Harry do nothing but peruse the paperwork, their painting was left vacant while the subject traveled across enchanted paintings in the Ministry to socialize.

In the center of the framed artworks was a large black-and-white map of the United Kingdom—including England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. White dots pulsated on the map wherever illegal magical activities were detected. The map spanned the length of the rosewood desk that Harry had inherited from the Head Auror who’d preceded him.

The activity had long since calmed down when it notified the proper divisions—reaching the Auror Office in extreme cases or alerting the Ministry of Magic Witch Watchers division to send out their Witch Watcher Special Forces—while the Ministry representatives stationed in the Improper Use of Magic Office conducted further investigations. It fell on Harry to disperse the proper assignments whenever Hermione was overwhelmed with responsibilities.  

Or whenever she was suffering from her pregnancy symptoms.

Harry exhaled through his mouth, his brows furrowing. Reaching for an unwrapped treat, he broke the foil apart.

The sound of chattering and tinny squeaks broke the silence. Immediately he pinched the wiggling, enchanted mouse firmly by the body, popping it into his mouth. His teeth sliced the sweet into pieces, breaking the enchantment.

The intense medicinal taste of mint coated his tongue, instantly waking his brain up and clearing his sinuses. All he could smell now was the peppermint oil, purifying the memory of the odor which’d emerged from his recollection.

Both he and Hermione had been in the forensics science laboratory of their chief medical examiner in the morning, listening to the summarization of the coroner’s report of the post-mortem examinations that had been ordered by the Committee. The corpses brought out onto the wooden tables for autopsy had appeared in the same condition that they’d been magically preserved at the site of the investigation.

Although the interior was a controlled environment, the odor had stung the nose. Like being in a meat locker, the stench of death had hung in the mortuary. It had intermingled with the scent of beeswax.

Floating above the bleached skin of each cadaver had been lit candlesticks. Several candles had already melted down into pale stumps. Clean sheets had been placed over the trolls to respectfully concealing them below the clavicle. Their appearance was arguably as repulsive as when they’d been alive, although it was easier to imagine gargoyle in their place now with the muscles having fallen lax in their gigantic faces.  

Both he and Hermione had similar miserable expressions. His was having had little to no sleep, whereas Hermione had been acting off ever since Ron had been stationed overseas. (Harry had assumed Ron would’ve taken the opportunity to return occasionally, having been given one of the International Portkeys that the rest of the Aurors had been assigned. Yet with the way she’d been acting, Harry couldn’t help but worry.)

It’d only been a few weeks; by the end of the month, they were expected to give the Head Auror a report.

He remembered observing the features of his deputy’s face beside him, reevaluating this dependency that existed between him and Hermione. Rather predictably, when Harry had recounted the events of that night to quite possibly one of the only two confidantes he had for this sensitive issue, he’d received a lecture. He remembered Hermione’s palms had been pressed together, fingertips tapping together erratically.

Throughout his debriefing, it was in her body language that he could read that the witch was, many times, on the verge of blurting whatever was on her mind. In moments like these, he could still see the same eleven year old schoolgirl interspersed over the adult she’d grown into.

He’d always relied on her researching skills; out of habit, he came to her this time for counsel on the nenja and wakashū matter. It’d made him feel conflicted—and no small amounts of guilt—when Hermione gave him a look of concern. After hearing him out, she’d declared, “I don’t suppose you’ll like hearing this, but he is a demon. Eastern origins or not. I’ll see what I can gather but…,” here she hesitated, before finishing, “…isn’t he taking advantage of your kindness?”

That hadn’t made him feel any better.

Harry exhaled once more. It wasn’t as easy to pretend optimism for the tension that bled into his workplace and into his excursions with the time traveler. With each day that passed, he could feel the inevitability that he’d soon be dragged into the marital conflict between Ron and Hermione. The memory was still fresh in his mind, the night Hermione confessed to him her doubts.  

It also made Harry realize, that just like her, what he’d been seeking was reassurance—to hear from another human being that he was overanalyzing and worrying over nothing.

He’d found his thoughts orbiting around Sesshomaru these days. Try as he might otherwise, there was always a gravitational pull bringing him back. The time traveler was all Harry could think of. After all, in his effort to be as broadminded as possible, Harry had misjudged.

These days he looked forward to the scheduled arrangements with Sesshomaru, with each trip traveling further and further into the Forbidden Forest. In a way, he couldn’t help but feel optimistic that they were making some progress toward pinpointing the location of the Resurrection Stone.

As long as they covered ground with each excursion, Harry counted it as a success.

Harry had underestimated the nature of the person he was minding. Because of that emerged a complication; Sesshomaru’s attraction to him was an anomaly. And Harry was in a moral situation where he couldn’t reciprocate, interested or not. It was not a situation where they could have a one-night stand to get it out of their system. Harry didn’t have to be a magizoologist or a practitioner of demonology to understand that this development between him and Sesshomaru didn’t bode well.

Although Harry liked to think he was above bigotry, demons had been a topic covered in his Defense against the Dark Arts curriculum. Even Gilderoy Lockhart, the con-artist that taught in Harry’s second year at Hogwarts, had been aware of their infamy, fabricating a demonic encounter in his books. Much as Harry lobbied to push the betterment of magical creature rights agenda in the ICW, even he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the reality that demons carried a fearsome reputation for a reason.

An Englishman with his education, Harry was more familiar with mythos on the Western hemisphere than on the Eastern front. The suffering that ensued after falling under dark influence or demonic possession were cautionary tales. Although different mythologies existed, and however overtly exaggerated eyewitness accounts may scatter around the globe, they all generally pointed to demons as malevolent entities that tempted and corrupted all those that made a deal with them.

Harry had simply never thought that he’d himself land in this predicament.

Gloved hands slamming down against the armrests, Harry shoved himself from his seat. The wheels of the chair skittered behind him as he went to pace his office. The carpet muffled his footsteps as his hands went to rake through his hair. His fingertips were digging against the scalp.

Sesshomaru did not belong in their twenty-first century.

Sesshomaru was from ancient Japan—from a brutal war period.

Sesshomaru was an archaic, historical figure of some sort of high upbringing.

Sesshomaru was a Dark magical creature—a demon, no less.

Sesshomaru was a warlord, with not only culturally different but outdated values and traditions.

Sesshomaru, by demon society’s standards, could be considered younger than Harry.

Sesshomaru wanted Harry to pledge vassalage to him.

Sesshomaru liked Harry—all the signs were there, strange was some of them were.

Sesshomaru only had Harry to rely on; he had been purposely isolated to depend on Harry.

While Harry would like to think it was because Sesshomaru grew to be attached to him naturally, it would be naïve to think that it was because they were both nobility—presumably; Harry still wasn’t certain about the demon’s confusing titles—or that he was charmed by him. Sesshomaru was somehow attracted to him.

He was attracted to a contemporary warlock that could stand to lose everything should Harry reciprocate that bit of attraction.

On one hand, Harry could be being played. Sesshomaru had over five hundred years of wisdom; there is little that he wouldn’t have seen by now.

On the other hand, a five-hundred year old demon might authentically be intrigued by Harry—apparently the first overseas wizard he’d met. If it were the latter, Harry could see how Sesshomaru had determined Harry to have value. There were many wild theories he could think of regarding how he’d captured the demon’s attention in the first place.

Japan did have a period of isolation. If Sesshomaru was a clever opportunist, then he was sowing the seeds for a secure future, whether if it was for himself or for his country’s subjects. Were Harry to think of Sesshomaru as a Slytherin, the demon most likely discerned the benefits of allying with a foreign bureaucrat who so happened to not only command the entirety of a country’s law enforcement force but also have certain diplomatic influence overseas. Although Sesshomaru’s method was unorthodox—wanting to establish himself as Harry’s mentor—that excuse could serve a dual purpose of deepening their camaraderie. If Harry thought well of him, then he would be more willing to accommodate him. In a way, Harry could understand how, in the feudal warlord’s eyes, it was parsed that the wizard minding him held significant influence that could be exploitable.

Sesshomaru could have ascertained that it could only be an advantageous asset to him.

Harry’s hands lowered, until one was rubbing the back of his neck while the other hand braced his forearm. He could feel the solid length of his wand holster as his imagination ran rampant.

Harry was only grateful that he seemed to be the target of Sesshomaru’s focus, and not his deputy or—worse—the Acting Minister. While Harry did not think a sole magical creature could bring instability to Shacklebolt’s tenure, at the same time, Harry didn’t ask to be in this dilemma.

Approaching the coffee desk, Harry whirled around in another circle.

But what’s done is done. Running away from reality would change nothing. He had to minimize the damage. He had to confront the issue. The quickest solution would be rejecting Sesshomaru directly.

Yet there were somethings particular about Sesshomaru that made Harry hesitate.

Harry was actually fond of the dog demon, quirks and all. Sesshomaru did not seem like a duplicitous individual, demonic nature or no demonic nature. It did not seem like he was acting. If anything, Sesshomaru was not hiding his condescending attitude or downplaying the cruelty of his past exploits when those deeds came to be questioned. If the five-hundred year old magical creature did not like someone, the difference in regard was palpable.

Sesshomaru certainly did not act like his Japanese contemporaries who hid their disagreements behind smiles and a seemingly agreeable nature. He was astonishingly genuine. Sometimes instances of forward behavior broke through aloof formalities.

Sesshomaru reminded Harry of Severus Snape and—to an extent—Lucius Malfoy, if they were Gryffindorish and attractive. That behavior of Sesshomaru’s did not fit the objective of someone covering their tracks in order to make a good impression. And Harry did not think someone of that peculiar military background was that careless of an individual—nobility or royalty or not. Sesshomaru even had his thoughtful moments—being kind to Teddy and Astoria, and having the mercy to give Harry space to consider his offer of mentorship.

Besides, if it were an act, then Sesshomaru would make for a frighteningly convincing liar. At that thought, Harry’s mouth moved into a self-deprecating smirk. However, as cautious as Harry wanted to be, there was little evidence to suggest he was being played as a fool.

Speculation was all Harry had.

The only noteworthy amendment to Harry’s initial profiling, besides the development of a romantic and possibly sexual attraction, was that Lord Sesshomaru was a remarkably impulsive man.

Should Sesshomaru prove to be too reckless, Harry might one day find himself in the position being forced to choose. The wizarding world was as unkind as the nonmagical one. If this was a ruse, not only would Harry have to follow up with countermeasures, but it could potentially complicate things. He would have to decide between pardoning those infractions with the highest authority and taking responsibility as the Head Auror.

Harry released a sigh so loud that he felt it down to his toes. If this was as simple as a ploy to get on Harry’s good side, Harry could only hope he had the mental fortitude to see through any ulterior motives. If it was as simple as a crush, he could ignore it or gently let the other party down. Those alone were manageable.

At the level their flirting was, it was chaste.

Harmless.

Tolerable.

Within acceptable parameters.

If this operation had a short duration, Harry could imagine distancing himself, emphasizing on a platonic relationship—a friendship or alliance, ideally—hinting that he was not seeking a relationship. The other party had to have common sense and be emotionally sensitive enough to sense a lost cause.

He was not as confident if the time traveler’s fancy surged into intense feeling for him. The development of feelings was often irrational and uncontrollable. A flickering ember could turn into a blazing fire. If it came down to that….

Harry faltered, frowning at the surrealism of such a scenario.

Regardless, a Dark magical creature that this Japanese figurehead may be, a person was not defined by their race. Sesshomaru will get the benefit of the doubt. The hand that supported his elbow in a thinking position squeezed.

No matter which suspicions cycled through his head, Harry would not be bigoted. Unless proven otherwise, Sesshomaru was deserving of the same measure of courtesy and kindness. Harry was not going to repeat the close-minded or disgraceful behavior that’d personally made Harry suffer, and others he’d cared about, from their ignorance.

At this point, Sesshomaru was docile and would continue to make life easier for Harry in order to impress him. It was better than were Harry to reject him, thereby facing the consequences of an unpredictable, spurned demon.

It was not so much denial as it was an accepting tolerance for his situation. Or a stroke of insanity.

He groaned to himself, “This is getting yourself nowhere, Chosen One. Why does this have to be so complicated?” He flung his arms up. “Just tell him. Save yourself the hassle.”

It was easier said than done. Despite saying it aloud, common sense wasn’t enough to spur him into action.

It only made the incentive to stay quiet—stronger.

An expletive rushed out of his mouth. Scowling, Harry marched back to his desk. Angling a hip over his desk, he hoisted himself up until he was sitting on a corner of his desk. He stared once more at the green folder, before he picked up the rolled newsprint.

Two letters fell out when he unraveled the twine. Dread pooled in his gut when he saw Doge’s letterhead to him.

Harry knew this was all in his mind, but he could swear, upon seeing Umbridge’s name, that the back of his hand burned. Involuntarily, his fingers curled. Already opened, it was an official claim form to a court hearing, with the trial date declared to be soon. The subpoena attached behind the first document specified the exact location, scheduled date and time of Harry’s appearance for his testimony.

Hermione’s words were clanging in his head like a bell the longer he stared at Doge’s letter.

The remaining letter was unopened. His mood instantly lightened upon reading the immaculate cursive. The letter had been dropped off at the Ministry earlier this morning by owl. Written by a female hand, it was addressed to him from Andromeda and Teddy.

He could feel his fist unclenching. Under the gentlest of smiles, he folded that letter into his trouser pocket—to be read later. The claim form was deposited uncaringly into his pocket. To set his mind on other subjects, he unrolled the newspaper. Scanning the adverts and columns on the front page, the main article caught his eye.

ORGAN-GRO – THE FUTURE OF RUBENS WINIKUS AND COMPANY INC?

Grinning up at Harry was a wizard around his age, but with impressive facial hair. He was waving about his tobacco pipe as he was being photographed by the small crowd gathered in his potions lab. Arranged on the table were Petri dishes, containing what appeared, to Harry, to be tissue samples.

Son of the exclusive manufacturer and developer of the Skele-Gro potion, young Potions prodigy Rubens Winikus III unveils the progress of the miraculous Organ-Gro healing potion in a special public appearance, wrote A. Fenetre, Special Correspondent. Having graduated Hogwarts of Witchcraft and Wizardry with high marks in N.E.W.T level subjects, Winikus III had the brilliant idea of combining the Oculus potion and Skele-Gro one day when his girlfriend punctured her eyes after an unfortunate fall on her knitting needles.

The article detailed the son’s education and accomplishments, before generously divulging a portion of the ingredients needed for Organ-Gro: a Chinese chomping cabbage, three puffer fish, a small sprinkling of chopped Dittany, and stewed Mandrake—

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Scchk.

Harry stopped reading when he heard the harsh, telltale sound of the cherrywood wall panels and wainscots collapsing in on itself like origami. Someone had to be approaching his office. The walls folding into nonexistence, light flooded past the tall two-way mirrors.

Harry winced.

Once the rattling faded, human and mechanical clamoring immediately followed. Through the ten walls he could hear the risings and fallings of discussions, heated exchanges, the ding of the lift doors, and braying laughter. (He didn’t have to look to know the adjoined office outside was empty; his deputy had been sent to the Department of Mysteries earlier to check in on Sesshomaru.)

Bringing a hand over his eyes, Harry squinted against the sudden brightness.

With each side of the decagon, Harry had a line of sight to all the different divisions that made up his department. This transparency was a privilege afforded to every Head Auror. With this, Harry could monitor everyone, but no one could see into his office. Doors lined each side, granting him passage to whichever sector he pleased.

Being the largest department in the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were fragmented into the main branch—where he, as Head Auror, held the largest sway—and the administrative branch.

It could be said that every division had its unique interior.

The Auror Office had their iconic cubicles that Aurors were passing in and out of. The division of Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad nearby had various wizards studying the Wanted posters lining the walls and bulletins. Next to that, the Department of Intoxicating Substances, the Investigation Department, and the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol division were similar only in their vaulted barrel ceilings—arched trusses made of bricks.

The Wizengamot and Wizengamot Administration Services division had a corridor that led to a circular chamber within, with fifty individuals gathered around a bench seemingly in danger of collapsing under the weight of the piles of parchments. Large tomes submerged the desks and shelves of the Administrative Registration Department. The Improper Use of Magic Office—a room with a pair of file cabinets flanking the massive desk in the center—and the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office—another cramped room filled to the brink with knickknacks and curiosities—were situated nearby. The Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects had a tiny but drab office space filled with files and charmed Muggle objects.

It was from this last division that Harry saw a gangly wizard marching toward him, fists clenched and with a determined look. His face was red, his freckles were invisible. He was wearing a trench coat, as if he’d recently returned from his trip overseas.

A stream of profanities flew from Harry’s mouth. He sprinted back around his desk. He’d thrown himself into his chair when Ron pounded on the door, rattling the glass.

“Harry!” Ron barked, his breath fogging up the mirror’s surface briefly. He hammered the surface twice more. “I know you’re in there! We need to talk!”

“Sod this,” Harry growled. He could already see various wizards and witches poking their heads out, curious about the commotion. Flicking his gaze over his desk, he shoved all opened wrappers into the waste bin under his desk.  Opening his drawer, he threw Sesshomaru’s file into it, too preoccupied to notice the tiny metal ball that’d careened off. He slammed the drawer closed.

Harry scanned the perimeter of his office once more. Nothing would seem unusual to the untrained eye. He squared his shoulders.

Past his racing heart, Harry finally bade, “You—” He cleared his throat. “You can come in, Ron.”

The door opened with a click, and the glass shuddered when it was closed again. Harry had risen to his feet when Ron maneuvered around the furniture. His footsteps thundered as he charted his way to Harry’s desk.

Harry took a deep breath. “Isn’t it a bit early to see me—?”

A fist collided against Harry’s cheek.

Harry had to throw an arm out to catch himself. Clinging to the edge of the desk, he dragged himself back onto his feet. His wand was already in his hand. Cupping the side of his face, he demanded, “What the hell, Ron?”

“You’re a complete wanker, Harry!”

“It doesn’t mean you can assault me!”

A tense silence enveloped them. Both men were glaring at each other. Tension was palpable in the air. Yet, Ron was still unarmed; only Harry had drawn his wand.

After a while, Ron drew back. He’d crossed his arms around his chest. He grunted. “Did it hurt?”

Harry said, “Shite, Ron.” He gingerly prodded his cheek, and then his jaw. The entire left side of his face was burning. Past the blood rushing in his ears, he heard himself growling, “What do you think?”

“You deserve it, you plonker.” Ron inhaled deeply, his voice growing softer as if he had been satisfied with Harry’s answer. He seemed to sag into himself now. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I’m pissed off, that’s what I am.”

“Good.”

To Harry’s surprise, Ron collapsed into one of the two armchairs across Harry’s desk.

Ron was sprawled in an undignified slouch. Limbs spread like a ragdoll, he was glowering at the engraved nameplate on Harry’s desk. Under Harry’s watchful gaze, in the most unapologetic tone Ron muttered, “Sorry.”

Harry was about to unleash more obscenities, with the freeness that their American counterparts utilized, when he realized the racket they must have made.

His eyes lurched to the windows.

The tension in his shoulders dissipated as relief engulfed him. No one seemed to have noticed. The visual reminder, that no one could see or hear them outside of the office’s enchantment, was reassuring. He glanced again in Ron’s direction.

The tip of his wand lowered.

In the moment it took Harry to scan his surroundings, Ron had begun helping himself to the tea set on the tray. All of his movements—pouring tea, scooping sugar cubes with a spoon, and so forth—no matter how small, were abrupt and jittery. His gaze had remained trained on Harry’s title and name etched a shiny gold in the black brass.

“You don’t have anything to report?”

“No. I’m not here for that.”

Pointing the Holly wand at his own unfinished cup, Harry watched as a jet of blue wisps formed at the end. Condensation soon formed on the ceramic surface, its liquid contents now having frozen over. His eyes pinned to Ron’s form, Harry slowly sank back down. He’d brought the chilled cup to his cheek, dulling the ache as he waited for Ron to explain himself.

Harry already had an idea of what this could be.

“Hermione…,” he heard Ron begin. Ron had brought his cup to his mouth. He mumbled to the rim, “My wife listens to my best mate. And my best mate listens to her, instead of me. I don’t even feel like her husband. Isn’t this just brilliant?”

So you have gone back to see her, Harry wanted to say aloud. Instead he stayed silent, frowning pensively.

Harry had conversed with enough people to gather that social convention dictated marital problems were generally settled privately between a husband and wife. Harry had wanted the pair to work things out themselves. But as much as he wished to respect their privacy, he found himself slowly losing patience with how juvenile his friends were behaving, avoiding each other and not communicating with each other.

If their job performance was affected by personal issues, Harry had no choice. If they had to rely on a neutral third party, then Harry was willing to offer his opinion to his best mates.

He did, however, realize he’d lent his ear to Hermione more often than Ron. He wasn’t certain whether it was the result of a bias. There would be numerous factors that could contribute to his partiality. Hermione was, after all, one of his closest friends. Unlike Ron, there hadn’t been any moments that Harry could remember in their childhood where Hermione had thrown a jealous fit.

Nonetheless, because of that meeting, Harry realized he’d erred his other best mate in some way. It also didn’t help that Counselor Thicknesse was keeping a close eye on the Head Auror, ready to chastise Harry for showing obvious favoritism again. The friendship between Harry and Ron reminded Harry of how it’d been during the Triwizard Tournament.

Knowing both their personalities, it had only been a matter of time before they had their confrontation.

There was also a part of Harry, the lonely little man who craved companionship that wanted to repair the friendship and make things to how it was before. Harry grimaced, shifting his attention back from his thoughts.

Studying Ron’s slouched form, Harry felt the guilt ebb as he took in the sight of his Auror in his office. This was his command center. This was Harry’s domain that Ron had forced his way into. Straightening his back, Harry asked coolly, “What do you want me to say?” He kept his tone inquisitive, but not intruding. Despite that, his knuckles were pale underneath his gloves.

“Don’t.” Ron grimaced. Scrutinizing his tea, he said, “Please don’t do that. I want my best mate; not my boss.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth tugged down further, but he didn’t say anything. Another silence descended upon them.

Sensing that this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation, Harry traced three sides of a rectangle in the air. Then, he slashed the wand down.

The door sealed itself with an audible click. With another wave of his wand, the wooden walls unfolded with sharp rattling noises until the office was once again submerged in the illusion of privacy. Ron might be able to relax now without the psychological pressure of feeling a hundred eyes on him.

Only the green banker’s lamp on his desk and the wall sconces provided the office a cozy glow.

“I am your boss,” Harry scolded. As emphasis, he gestured down at his nameplate.

Both Counselor Thicknesse and Acting Minister Shacklebolt had counseled Harry that he had to make the distinction between work and his personal life. While it frightened Harry sometimes when he reflected back on the degree of apathy affecting his judgement, it became a source of comfort to default to that. As a Head Auror, it made the decision-making less emotionally draining. He got outcomes based on productivity. He also appeared more qualified. Less people were willing to take advantage of him.

As Harry had learned, acting professionally was often a failsafe method, versatile for many situations.

Harry lowered his own cup, the side of his face feeling cold and numb to the air. He steeled himself. Echoing what he’d been told, he recited verbatim: “Policies and procedures exist so that complacency isn’t an issue.”

“I know.” Ron also set his teacup down, clinking on the saucer. “But I want Harry. Not Harry Potter.”

“…Alright, we’ll do it your way. You have my full attention.” Spreading his arms out wide invitingly, Harry declared, “Don’t hold back. Talk. No worries about hurting my feelings.”

Ron averted his gaze. His sight remained trained on the folders, a dark cloud brewing on his face. With the illumination of the table lamp, the shadows underneath Ron’s eyes became more pronounced. The scruff along his jaw was fuller than the grey five o’clock shadow along Harry’s, as if Ron hadn’t shaved for days. Harry also didn’t know if it was his imagination, but the infamous fiery red hair seemed to be thinning. And to Harry’s wonderment, while it had been subtle before, it was evident that Ron had gained a bit of weight.

Ron squirmed, feeling the weight of the gaze leveled on him. At last, he mumbled gruffly, “How do you do it?”

Despite himself, Harry’s heart sunk. He cleared his throat. “Elaborate. How do I do what?”

“Alright, full disclosure?” He breathed out. “Why does she trust you, and not me?” His head rose. His eyes were a piercing blue. In a louder volume, he demanded, “What am I doing wrong?”

Harry stifled a sigh. “I cannot imagine,” he replied dryly.

“And calling me out in front of everyone? Have I done something to you?” Ron’s volume climbed with every accusation. His fists clenched and unclenched down by his thighs. “Why are you always taking each other’s side? I thought I was your best mate!”

“The things you say.” This was not good. He had to diffuse the tension. “This is getting ridiculous. Ron, look at me.”

Harry waited for him to heed the command. When Ron’s eyes reluctantly beheld his, Harry tapped at his own cheekbone, ignoring the twinge of pain. He said, “Firstly, I won’t say I don’t deserve this, maybe. But I can’t have this becoming a regular occurrence. I’m going to do things you happen to disagree with.”

“You got what was coming.”

“Ron, people are already accusing me of showing you favoritism.” Seeing the defensive retort about to leap up, Harry gave him a stern look. “You’d just assaulted me in my office. You hit your superintendent in the face. It is well within my rights to have you written up. Fill in the blanks.”

Ron’s lips thinned into a long white line.

Channeling Dumbledore’s unnerving calmness from his memories, Harry said, “Any other Head Auror would’ve pressed charges. Or sacked you. Yet we’re still here. Why do you think that is?”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed, incapable of finding the words. Unable to revive his fighting spirit, his body sagged. His eyes had fallen again from Harry’s gaze. To keep himself busy, he fiddled with his thumbs, crossing and recrossing his legs.

His patience was diminishing. Under a placating tone, he coaxed, “Work with me here, Ron. I’m not the enemy.” As visual emphasis, Harry rested his wand down on the desk, making certain Ron heard the thunk. Clasping gloved fingers together tightly, Harry said, “What do you think’s happening between me and Hermione? If it’s what I reckon you’re going to say, I call bollocks. Hermione is my Deputy Head Auror. And she is your wife. That’s it.”

“Funny how you leapt to that conclusion, before I said anything—”

His palm slammed down on the desk. “Ron, shut up!” Harry snapped, hearing the inception of that surly pigheadedness in Ron’s petulant tone. He could recall the knife edge of Ron’s jealous accusations from their school years. Incensed, he shouted, “We all know what you’re thinking. I promise you. Nothing’s happened! Nothing has been crossed! I swear on my parents’ graves….”

The defiance on Ron’s face dimmed exponentially. He reared back, looking uncomfortable.  

“…there is no affair! Hermione has been a faithful wife. I did not die for you to accuse me of—!”

“—Harry, I didn’t mean it,” Ron interrupted.

It was like a splash of cold water. Harry’s rant died on his lips as he stared at his mate’s bowed head, befuddled, doubting what he’d just heard. It couldn’t be this easy, was the thought running through his mind. He’d been expecting a fight. He’d been expecting for it to come to blows and explosions.

Although Ron’s head was downcast, he could see blue butcher eyes—partially hidden behind that fringe—zipping to the wand on the desk, as if its presence could console his apprehension.

“I…fuck, I’m—” Ron exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m just paranoid, alright?”

The room wasn’t shaking. Nothing had fallen. Only the sounds of their breathing rushed to fill in the silence.

The tension in Ron’s shoulder seemed to have ebbed a bit, once he realized he hadn’t landed himself at the end of Harry’s infamous temper.

Ron shifted in his seat. The hush seemed to be getting to him. He was collecting his thoughts, his leg jittery, bouncing on his other knee to the speed his mind ran. “I didn’t imagine you’d be this—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, not upon spotting the sharp twist of Harry’s mouth. Hoarsely, he asked, “Nothing’s going on really?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Harry retorted crossly. He folded his arms, his fists digging into the crook of his elbows. “If I were a lesser man, I’d be offended. Walk a bit in my shoes. Do I look like the homewrecking sort?”

“You don’t…you’re not a homewrecker,” Ron admitted. He worried his lower lip, darting his tongue over chapped lips. “Has she said anything to you? I don’t want to be a jealous prat but sometimes a man…wonders, y’know? You’re her superintendent. She’s not been…making eyes at anyone else, has she? Or have you seen any bloke showing inappropriate interest in my wife?”

A throbbing sensation made itself known between Harry’s eyebrows. Pinching the patch of skin, he asked, “Sorry, have you talked with Hermione?” His hand shot up, halting whatever Ron had been about to say. His tone was grim. “No, have you two actually talked to each other like a civil couple?”

“I’m not certain what you—”

“For example,” Harry interjected, “did you know she started crying? In front of me? Guess the subject. It involves you.”

It was as physical of a blow as getting punched in the gut.

“…No. I can’t believe—really, Hermione was upset?” Ron’s voice was brittle, barely above a rasp.

“She certainly wasn’t happy.”

Ron’s expression was heartrending. “Mate… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. She never said anything about…why do you…why did she come to you? Blimey, when was this? She never told me.”

“She was helping me with the ambassador’s situation. It was the same day Dumbledore’s Tomb was ransacked.” Exhaling a gust of breath, Harry leaned back in his seat. He explained, “She was distraught you would accuse her of cheating. She’s pregnant with your child, you wanker.”

“Blimey.”

Harry inclined his head, not agreeing vocally. The implication was nonetheless in his silence.

“And you’re telling me this? Now?” Ron’s tone was incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Would you have listened to me?” he asked. Then his expression became inscrutable. “Never mind that. It’s only…I didn’t want to meddle, y’know? This is your marriage. But this…marital spat of yours, it’s been going on for far too long. Even Goldstein’s picked up on it.”

Hearing their shrink’s name, Ron flinched.

Anthony Goldstein had been assigned to their department as the head psychiatrist, after having undergone intensive training at St Mungo’s. After the previous one retired, there had been an opening. Harry, Hermione, and Thicknesse had been impressed by the credentials the former Ravenclaw graduate presented them during their interview. Goldstein had been just as approachable as Harry remembered him in Dumbledore’s Army, his personality just as sunny as the color of his hair. He was still shorter than Harry—and he was still adamant in his resolve as a practicing Jew—but the boy Harry remembered him as was now a man applied to his duties.

Making up his mind, Harry tugged the green folder from underneath the papers. Then he asked, “Are you two getting a divorce?”

“What the—?” Ron’s eyes bulged. “No, I’m not getting a bloody divorce!”

Harry’s brows skyrocketed beneath his fringe. With much deliberateness, he slid the folder over so that the neat handwriting was illuminated by the table lamp. Ron’s eyes widened even further, spotting his name on the tab.

“I- I thought this was supposed to be confidential? Patient-therapist confidentiality?” Ron swallowed, his complexion paling. His freckles were brown constellations on his face. He reached for the file, demanding, “Why is it this big?”

“Goldstein’s notes are extraordinarily thorough,” Harry answered dryly, watching Ron flip through the documents at a feverish pace. “Which is why I’m inclined to ask what you’re doing to do about this. With what Goldstein wrote down, I’m worried for both of you. Especially you, Ron. You always look like you’ve slept over at George’s shop. For days.”

“Is that why you asked if we were getting divorced?” Ron demanded, his brows crumpling into a troubled frown as he skimmed Goldstein’s observations.

He read the scribbles—Disciplinary Charges. Problem-maker. Intelligent, aggressive, temperamental, and defensive. Loose cannon. PTSD symptoms: exhibits signs of paranoia and struggles reintegrating back into civilized society. Might need to arrange for reassignment from fieldwork to administrative duties.

Ron declared, “This is a load of hogwash.”

He didn’t look up even as Harry leaned across the desk, casting a long shadow over the wood.

“I’ll save you the legwork. You’re not even supposed to see this.” Covering the parchments with his palm, Harry leafed through the pages until he reached the more recent entries. As if by rote, Harry said, “You have been turning to food for comfort, overeating; he’s noted significant weight gain in an abnormal amount of time. There is an escalation of aggressive behavior in your remarks and actions on the field. He suggests PTSD—that’s post-traumatic stress disorder—and depression. You have repeatedly mentioned your dissatisfaction at work and at home. Tell me, what am I supposed to think when Goldstein reports to me about such? What’s going on, Ron?”

“You’ve read my file,” Ron retorted, his ears burning crimson. His knuckles were white against the green folder. “You already have your answer. So stop pretending that you care.”

Harry’s stare could bore holes. There was the small part of him that was rankled by the obstinacy. It was the same small beast that snarled and wanted to break free whenever others had spread falsehoods about him or pushed him beyond his capability for kindness. Miniscule as it was, it was an insidious monster with an explosive temper lying in wait. He took a deep, shaky breath.  

Hermione’s shiny, pink face, wet with tears when she confessed her mixed feelings. Teddy’s despairing face, when he nearly broke Harry’s pocket watch. Malfoy bleeding, limbs eagle-spread in the water. Sirius being blasted with the Killing Curse, falling through the Veil.

He exhaled slowly. In and out. Meditative. He had to rein it in. He reminded himself of what was necessary for Occlumency. He was a functioning adult. He was better than this. Only individuals like Voldemort and Vernon let their anger cloud their judgement. Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed himself to be furious.

“Ron,” he said through gritted teeth. He was displeased by how tight his voice sounded. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Ron…you’re not wrong.”

Ron’s head snapped up.

“It’s difficult for me to care,” Harry confessed, “because this has been something I’ve known about for a while, and I haven’t had a proper upbringing. But you’re my best mate. And I’m selfish. I don’t want to let you go. Not without reason. So let me ask this: are you unsatisfied at work? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Mate….” Ron sat up. His expression was perturbed. “Are you—are you firing me?”

“No!” Harry blurted, nearly gawking at him. “Merlin, no. I was—I-I’m not great at comforting others.” His breath whooshed out. “I’m asking…do you and Hermione need time? I can pull you off assignment—”

“Harry—”

“—I want you with your wife and child, not out risking your life in the field. I can rescind my orders. Assign you a different case—”

“HARRY!” Ron shouted, snatching his attention and startling him into muteness. His eyes were a piercing blue as he stared him down. In a slow drawl, as if explaining to a child, he said gruffly, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you realize how that’ll look? To others? After you’d publically approved stationing me overseas? On a special assignment.”

Harry winced. His mind was whirling. He honestly hadn’t thought about that. He’d been more concerned about how to make this right again, to Ron. Once again, Ron was demonstrating social insight. Sometimes Harry forgot….

His gaze fell on the coroner’s reports on his desk. A frown tugged on Harry’s face. Written down was exactly the same toxicology details he’d shared with Harry and Hermione, after having demonstrated the entomology spell results detected no evidence of blowfly larvae anywhere on the bodies. However, unlike the medical examiner, Hermione held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose.

He remembered the resentment dying on his lips once he realized why she could be feeling inadequate. He could tell she was pushing herself for some invisible goal, like she had something to prove.

Many times Harry appreciated how his and Hermione’s work principles conveniently seemed to match. Young that they may be compared—to the workforce they oversaw—the pair presented a united front. Wherever the Head Auror went, his Deputy Head was sure to follow. She backed him up, so the favor had to be returned. But the side of him that was psychologically attuned now recognized it to be because of the emotional dependency after having permanently Obliviated all her parents’ memories of her existence herself.

Ron was in a different category since he was her husband. At least Ron had parents and siblings to turn to. Hermione only had Harry. So loathe as Harry was to concede to the psychoanalysis, Goldstein had been correct. Their Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder only worsened the reliance.

Yet, habit or not it was for them to turn to each other for advice, Harry should’ve known better than to consult with Hermione on matters outside of work. While she’d matured since their school days and have filled in remarkable gaps missing in her knowledge of the wizarding world customs, his Deputy Head was sometimes as socially awkward as Harry was. She could jump to conclusions as Ron could, in lieu of context and research material. Clever as she was, she was not infallible.

He relied on her superior intellect and intelligence-gathering skills. They were the witch’s strengths, just as tactical thinking and voice impersonations were Ron’s. However, out of the three of them, only Ron had the semblance of a normal childhood and therefore could make a more astute assessment of magical social conventions….

He peeked down at a certain drawer. There was an idea brewing in his head. He knew this was something Ron and Hermione would not do unless they had someone to push them.

Harry gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He could change the subject to make Ron feel better, before Harry delivered his ultimatum. He had to establish solidarity. There was only one subject he could think of that’d distract him. He also knew the trigger words, framing the request like letting Ron in on a secret that Harry couldn’t even trust Hermione with. Even if it meant putting himself in a position of embarrassment….

“Ron,” Harry said, steel interlaced in his voice. He had to ask before his nerves got the better of him. He made himself lean several inches forward in his seat. “Before that, may I ask for advice? It’s for something unrelated. Hermione is useless on this.”

At that, Ron’s brows rose to his hairline.

He considered Harry for a bit.

When he found nothing suggesting a prank, then leaning in until his chest was pressed against the edge of the desk, Ron whispered, “What’s on your mind?”

He’d taken the bait.

Harry drew in a deep breath. He held it in his lungs. Then he exhaled. He began simply, “The ambassador. The Asian one.”

Ron blinked rapidly, his mind no doubt working to put a face to all the dignitaries he knew of. Finally he suggested, “That stuck-up—” he paused, then corrected, “that Lucius Malfoy lookalike of yours? The diplomat?”

He was awaiting Harry’s acknowledgement. When he saw Harry nod, he reclined back. His expression was thoughtful, like he was contemplating his next chess move.

Ron remarked, “What about him? Actually, you’ve never mentioned anything about volunteering your services to anyone in Witness Protection…before you left. He looks like he’s got magical creature blood in him. Where’d you meet him?”

Harry grimaced. “Japan.”

Ron’s brows furrowed. “But how did you—?” Breaking off, his mouth formed into a small ‘o.’ The shine of curiosity made his expression livelier. “Hermione’s keeping a tight lid on this too. I get you; you were given the assignment. But how is my wife involved? I mean, I understand she’s your deputy—”

“I reckon he fancies me!” Harry exclaimed hastily, his ears turning hot. Unable to meet Ron’s gaze, he explained, “I don’t believe I’m imagining it. I know the signs. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“Oh.” When Harry snuck a peek, Ron didn’t appear stunned or sickened. Matching his tone, there was wonder in his face. Most of all, it was his ready acceptance of the revelation that made it surreal. Ron demanded, “And he fancies you? He’s been giving you the eyes?”

“Gee, Ron, way to make a bloke feel confident,” Harry said sarcastically, bristling automatically. “I’ll have you know I’m quite the catch.”

“But do you fancy him back?” he insisted. His face was fixed into a serious expression. “Do I need to hex the git for you? If he’s been bothering you, you should tell him—”

“Trust me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months,” Harry interjected, although hearing Ron offer such a thing made his heart swell. He forced himself to confess, “I’m not bothered by it. I—it’s actually…nice, for a change. Is that deplorable of me to think so?” His shirt collar was choking him. He’d never thought he’d be flattered to be on the receiving end. He’d thought it would impossible, but his ears burned hotter.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Ron had held his hands up in surrender. “But…I mean…no offense, mate, but I thought you were attracted to women.” He began ticking off his fingers. “There was Cho Chang, Parvati Patil…then there was my sister….”

He caught Harry’s instinctive cringe. He gave Harry an inscrutable look, before mercifully continuing, “And I’ve never seen you batting for the other team. You’d certainly never made googly eyes at Gilderoy Lockhart, Cedric Diggory, or Bulgarian heartthrob Viktor Krum —”

Now Ron’s complexion became ghastly. “Harry, in the Quidditch changing rooms, have you ever—?”

“No!” Harry answered, glowering, his tone curt. Clasping his hands tightly in his lap, Harry forced himself to say, “I never had inappropriate thoughts about you or any of the blokes on the team.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.” Ron’s shoulders sagged, his face upturned dramatically to the ceiling in relief. “That would’ve been—since when did you start fancying wizards? You’ve never been…,” here he paused, ashamed, before finishing, “particularly lacy.”

“There was no ‘starting,’” Harry retorted. “I considered it one day, and the thought of it didn’t turn me off. I’ve accepted both ladies and blokes. That’s it. My sexuality doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“So…you bat for bot… teams. I can’t believe you’ve never told me—” Ron’s mouth moved into an upside-down ‘V.’

To his credit, Ron hadn’t stormed out of the room like Harry had imagined countless of times. It also wasn’t as natural as Harry had wished it was, but it was better than he’d been expecting. He should be thankful Ron was accepting of it as he was.

As if it physically pained him to admit it, Ron spoke slowly to the ceiling, “I suppose he is handsome…”

Harry’s mouth involuntarily moved into a frown.

“…I personally don’t see it, but if you think he’s attractive—”

“I know he’s attractive. But I cannot return his feelings.”

Ron’s head slammed back down to gawk at him.

“Hear me out first. I know it sounds awful—!” Mid-sentence, he watched as Ron brought a hand to his face.

“You’re throwing him a wand.”

“There’s no ‘wand’ being thrown,” Harry objected. He breathed in harshly, reminding himself to be patient. “I’m telling you this because I want your opinion. I mean, blast it, I don’t see why not. It’s only a crush. It’s…tolerable. I reckon you understand why I can’t return his feelings though.”

“Does Hermione know about this? You tell her everything. Since she’s your deputy and all.”

Harry hesitated. Then, dropping his gaze, he said, “In hindsight…I realize, it may’ve been a big oversight.”

Ron laughed hollowly, ringing in Harry’s ears like a demented chortle. It was gone as fast as it came. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” He’d folded his arms across his chest. “She chewed you out, didn’t she? She’d be the sort to have a wobbly about this.”

“Hermione…didn’t give me the answer I wanted,” Harry forced himself to admit, although dragging the words out was difficult. The effort was akin to swallowing apple pips. Taking a deep breath, he said to his desk, “I should’ve went to you instead.”

Ron was mumbling a few choice words beneath his breath that Harry couldn’t catch. Then he said, “I honestly don’t know what you see in…oh, right. I forgot. Your first crush was Chang. Of course.” Rolling his eyes at Harry’s bowed head, he said, “Look, Harry, I hate to admit it but whatever Hermione’s said to you, she’s likely correct. Blokes don’t work that way. Women don’t work that way. It’s the same whatever gender it is. If you don’t refuse him upfront, he’s going to fall in love with you. You should tell him now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous….” Harry paused. Then his scowl turned severe. “I’m hoping it won’t happen. If it does, well….”

Ron groaned again. “Another understatement,” he mumbled. Louder, he asked, “He’s an ambassador, isn’t he? A top-secret confidential, high-risk magical creature from a secret society that neither you nor Hermione are authorized to reveal?”

“‘Secret society?’” Harry parroted blandly.

“Blimey, Harry. Have you not read the subscriptions? It’s been all the Daily Prophet’s been talking about since you’d brought him here. He looks and talks odd. And he’s always with you. Obviously people are going to speculate.”

“Remember, I told Kreacher to comb through my letters. I only read what he’s approved.” Dread pooled in his stomach like acid. There was one topic that the press loved to publish about him, and it all revolved around his bachelor status. Dismay melted into Harry’s expression. “No, you’re saying—?”

It was as if Ron read his mind. “No, no! Most of them’s all harmless speculation. The most Skeeter’s done is hint that you two have been attached to the hip a lot more than…actually, you might not want to look into it. I know how you get….” Ron trailed off, bringing his face away from his hand. Instead, he cradled his jaw, his eyes rooting Harry to his place. Then out of the blue, he declared, “You have gravitas.”

Harry’s head whirled. He spluttered, “I beg your pardon?”

“If what you’re saying is true, that’s why he’s attracted to you,” Ron declared, gesturing at Harry. “You’re both diplomats. He’s prim and grim. You’re rich, gloomy, and distinguished. If he fancies blokes, of course he’s going to want to shag the Chosen One. You are a walking success story. Death has lent you gravitas. I can’t say I envy you.”

“…Honestly, I’m astonished that you even know the word.”

“Hilarious, you are. But I heard Hermione say it once. I liked how it sounded. Gra-vi-tas.” Ron spoke carefully around the pronunciation of the syllables. “Makes you sound posh.”

“If you have the ability to joke, then you must be in an improved mood.”

“You’re also mul-ti-fa-ce-ted.”

“Incredible. Keep that up, Ron, and everyone will comment on how Hermione’s been a good influence on you.”

They shared a private smile. For a moment, it was as if they were two mates having a pint in a pub after work hours, back when they were both trainees bonding over who had the worst work anecdote of the day. It was only minutes later when the illusion shattered, once both wizards realized they’d gotten off-topic. Their demeanors immediately shifted back into that of sobriety.

“It’s up to you,” Ron begun, “what you want to do. You’re a functioning adult.”

“I know I’m an adult.”

“If you want to ignore it, fine. Y’know what my wife and I think about it. But I’ll support you every step of the way.”

Harry was silent for a moment. Then he whispered, “Even if it turns out to be a bad decision?”

The grin he received was bleak but lopsided.

“Well, maybe not always,” Ron conceded, making it a point to gaze directly into his eyes, “but unlike Hermione, I’ll back my best mate up—even when it’s stupid and mad. I’m familiar with that Potter stubbornness.”

“It’s tough changing my mind,” Harry joked, feeling the muscles in his face loosening. He must’ve been smiling back for Ron’s own to have grown looser. “In all seriousness, Ron, don’t tell Hermione this. She knows but….”

“Mum’s the word.” He mimed zipping his lips shut, twisting an invisible key and throwing it over his shoulder.

Time to take the plunge, Harry thought to himself, opening a drawer and seizing a stack of business cards tied together by a rubber band. Thumbing through them, he said, “I also don’t want to separate you from your wife.”

Ron blinked.

Finding the one he wanted, Harry leaned forward in his seat. “I’m doing this for your own good. Consider this an order.”

Harry slid a card over. Embossed on the black card was the name “IRENE TREMLETT,” with “Post-Marriage Counselling” printed underneath. Underneath, white ink bisected the center of the card like a jagged tear, fading in and out of existence. Harry had thought it to be clever symbolism.

“Tremlett?” Ron muttered, reading the card. His mouth was slashed downwards. “As in, the bass player from The Weird Sisters? The famous one?”

“She’s his wife,” Harry supplied helpfully. “Goldstein’s a fan of the band. You remember Donaghan Tremlett. From the band that was there for our Yule Ball?” Harry stole a glance at his pocket watch. He frowned.

“Why do you have—?”

His eyes shot back up. “Ron, your parents have noticed. Your brothers and sister have noticed. Everyone at work has. You don’t think I wouldn’t ask Goldstein one day if he had any professional referrals?” He tapped the card. “I know you and Hermione won’t do it. So I’m booking her for you two.”

Ron immediately launched into a string of protests.

“You don’t have a choice. If not me, then sooner or later, your mum and dad might.” Watching Ron wilt in his seat, Harry demanded, “Don’t you want to fix your marriage? Is this an issue of pride?”

“No! I mean, we’ve thought about it. But—”

“But nothing. There’s no shame in seeking professional help. No one is going to think any less of you.” Harry stood up. He took a deep breath. Then he rattled off: “Send me your timetable please, soon, so I know when the next available day is for you. I’ll take a look at Hermione’s too. I don’t want to get your knickers into a twist about it, so I’ll do you a favor and tell Hermione that you were the one to take initiative. It’s the effort that counts, alright? That you’re trying? She’ll like that.”

Scrambling to his feet, Ron mirrored his stance. He folded his arms. “Where are we going—?”

“I’m going to pick up Sesshomaru. I don’t mean to be rude, but I promised him. It’s our nightly thing. You…I don’t know what you want to do, but I assume you’d want to spend time with Hermione before you head back to the States again. You should.” His eyes rooted Ron to the spot. “How goes the investigation in America anyway?”

“It’s only been a few days, Harry,” Ron retorted, although his expression had become queer when Harry mentioned Sesshomaru’s name. He was looking at Harry strangely. “Do you two go on walks? Is that a thing?”

Harry ignored that. He insisted, “An update on its current status, Ron.”

“…We’re still settling in. Rubbing elbows. All that sod. It’s not that fast.”

“I said I wanted a report by the end of the month.”

“And you’ll get one.” Ron shifted on his feet. His shoulders were hunched, with one hand gripping his arm awkwardly. Although he towered over Harry, the way he now held himself made Harry feel like a giant in comparison. Ron added, “The Director still loathes you.”

Harry smirked. “Well, I can’t win them all.”