#unless a song strikes me fancy I don’t really bother to remember it

[nsfwitchy2]

Witchy! How in the world did you manage to escape Africa by Toto for so LONG?!

I don’t listen to the radio? XD

I know it was a meme for like, the longest time. I probably have heard it tbh in passing but if I have, I have no memory of what it sounds like lol

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (III)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Took a bit longer to edit this chapter, and made it longer. Hope you enjoy!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

@alexbandguy86​​​​​ @bettyschwallocksyee​​​​​ @fookingsummertime​​​​​ @juicebox-baby​​​@darksydork7​​​​ @edgythought​​​ @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo​

Song recommendation: ‘Bistro Fada’ by Stephane Wrembel

Chapter III - No. 1 Party Anthem

It couldn’t be.

Surely, she hadn’t been that drunk.

If so, she would’ve felt more than embarrassed.

She was standing in the very street she had wandered through the night before, yet nothing seemed familiar. There were no vintage sales, or shops for that matter, or Ford Roadsters that were illuminated by the antique streetlights perched on cobblestone roads.

Instead, she was faced with boring old Sheffield; cracked and bruised asphalt. A few clothing stores and a newspaper office. There was one pub, but not the one she’d been looking for.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mark said.

“I- Uh, yeah. I could’ve- I could’ve sworn it was here,” she stuttered in response.

“The pub you went to?”

She nodded silently.

“Maybe you went in a different direction. You were tired, happens to the best of us.”

She shot him a look. “I grew up here, Mark. I know my way around this place like the back of my hand, yet that street I went into… I’d never seen it before in my entire life.”

“Hm, strange,” he noted. She knew he was mostly humouring her, and couldn’t shake off the feeling he had been judging her ever since they talked over what happened. It must look crazy, she realized, but to her that was no excuse to not be understanding. He was to be her husband, after all, and weren’t those things most important in a healthy relationship?

“Call me crazy if you want, but I’m telling you; I went to a different pub last night.”

“I know, I believe you.”

She gave a slight sigh of relief.

“Now, come on, let’s go find a restaurant, because we’re not going to that pub on an empty stomach.”

 They had searched all over town, with Mark generously tipping the cabby to take them everywhere they wanted. Not necessarily an odd request, but when she started to ask the driver about an old pub with the exact descriptions, - not failing to mention that smoking had been allowed - he gave her a strange look and told her he’d never heard of such a place before.

He must know, as he’d worked as a cabby for ages.

And so, she was currently sat at a random local bar Mark picked out, slumped in her seat, while her fiancée chatted on with Rachel and James. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed with the pair, her mind too clouded to think of anything other than that very clear night.

She touched Mark’s shoulder, and muttered in his ear that she was going back to the hotel.

He nodded, “I’ll text you when I’m coming back. Don’t stay up too late.”

She smiled lightly, and kissed him on the cheek, before slipping out of the door, and leaving the musky scene behind her.

She didn’t really pay attention to where she was going. She was staring down at her feet, which kept their leisure pace on the tiled sidewalk.

She didn’t even bother giving the man in a tracksuit she nearly bumped into a second glance, or the dog that barked at her.

She walked up the few steps, through an alley, until she rounded a corner and was back at what appeared to be the main street. Only then did she actually bump into someone.

“You just keep appearing out of nowhere, don’t you?”

“Miles?”

She rubbed her tired eyes, until the flickering had disappeared, and she could look around again.

A cobblestone street, antique metal streetlights and shop windows filled with antique wear. The man that stood in front of her wore the same suit as yesterday, but without the tie and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

She couldn’t help but throw her arms around his neck in relief.

He huffed in surprise, “Good to see you again too, love. Hope that man of yours hasn’t been treating you poorly again, has he?”

“I’m just relieved to see you again,” she replied, avoiding his question, “I can’t believe I didn’t find this street earlier this afternoon! I went looking all over the place for it! Even asked a cabby, but he didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m so glad I found you.”

A mysterious glint flashed across his eyes. “Look for me, did ya? Worry not, love. You can always find me prancing about in the AM. I’ll most likely still be in bed in the afternoons. Best stay away from me then.”

She snorted as he linked her arm with hers and followed his lead into the pub, missing the way he’d given her a worried glance as she tried to memorize the name of the residence, which was painted in a neat cursive on the sign above it.

Mardy Bum.

 “Taken that bird with you again, Miles?” Alex asked from his seat at the wooden table, his foot sliding a chair out for each of them from underneath the table.

“Couldn’t help myself, Al. I just keep running into her. It’s like fate.”

“Call it fate or whatever you want, mate, but there’s no hiding you’ve always fancied the married girls.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that for me?” Miles held a hand to his ear facetiously. “I couldn’t hear you over the tune of ‘The Bad Thing’.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Are you playing cards with us, or what?”

Miles looked back at her, waiting for her answer. She shrugged, “As long as it’s not strip poker.”

“Shame,” one of the other men at the table muttered, who she recognized from the previous night as Alex’s drummer.

“This is Matt, by the way,” Miles pointed at him, before turning to the other two band members. “And that’s Jamie, and Nick. You remember them from yesterday, no?”

“Of course, you put up a great show.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere in a game of cards, love,” Matt teased, as he shuffled the deck of cards like he’d do every evening.

 And so, the night went on, filled with light and pleasant conversation, and a few more antsy rounds of cards. The beer gradually switched to something stronger, which she identified as a very fine whiskey. Not wanting to think about their tab yet which was bound to arrive at the end of the night, she enjoyed the smooth liquid burning her throat, and beat Jamie once again at his own game.

“I don’t like her,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be petty, Jamie. It’s not her fault you’re shit at cards,” Matt said.

“I’m not shit! I won last time!”

“Last time we let you win because it was your birthday,” Alex smoothly chimed in.

“What?!”

Matt burst out laughing at the guitarist’s aghast facial expression, and she noted even Alex himself smirked along with the merriment. She had only known him for two evenings, but from the lack of lines around his mouth, he didn’t seem like he smiled often, so it was nice to be graced with one.

What she did want to be able to unsee was the way he kept looking at her over the deck in his hands with those dark brown eyes. It made her squirm a bit in her seat.

“So, if we asked you to write an autobiography on the band, would you do it?” Nick asked. She’d told them about her career path, and how she hadn’t been able to write anything for a long while.

“I mean, if that’s what you’d want.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Matt quickly intervened.

“Well, why not?”

“She’d never believe us,” Alex drawled.

She met his eyes once more, and they looked awfully calm.

“No offence, but unless you’re going to tell me you go to Hogwarts and practice magic, I’m afraid you can’t say much that makes me find the story of a band who plays in pubs unrealistic.”

“A band who plays in pubs?! You must be joking,” the bartender suddenly intervened, setting the glass down which he had been drying with a towel for the past half hour. “They’re the most famous band in England! Even have their records played in America, they do. I’m lucky they still play in here, or it wouldn’t be so packed every Friday night.”

“We’d never abandon this place, John. This is where we became men and had our first beverages as adults,” Jamie said, raising his glass.

“Don’t play the fool with me, Jamie. You’d had too many pints before you got drunk to be a first-time drinker, and I’ve seen you sneak through the back when you were younger.”

“I didn’t know there was a certain age you’re supposed to be,” Alex quipped.

“Cause nobody told me!” Miles suddenly shouted, rising from his chair and humming a tune to himself as he cradled his drink closer to his chest.

“For the last time, Miles, if you’re going to dance, please find yourself a partner that isn’t the alcohol.”

The man in question pursed his lips thoughtfully at Alex. “Great idea, mate. I’m gunna take a piss and when I get back, I’ll have found my partner.”

He stumbled off in the direction of the restroom, and the group shared a look, for the hour was growing late and they were the only ones left in the pub.

“Sorry about Miles. He gets awfully vague when he’s drunk,” Nick told her.

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I’m having a laugh. I wish I could spend the whole night here. Haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

She noticed Matt trying to subtly glance down at his watch, which was close to striking 3 AM. “Probably not the best idea, love. I think it’s time to go home.”

Alex gave him a look. “Why? She could stay a bit longer, wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he slurred.

“You know why.”

“My fair lady!”

Their heads turned towards the back of the bar, where Miles had gotten down on one knee in front of a mop perched in a dirty bucket. “Please, grace me with a dance.”

The silence that followed seemed to be the cue for Miles to think the mop had accepted his offer, and for Matt to definitely call it a night.

Nick and Jamie helped Miles across the street – after managing to pry the ‘fair lady’ from his arms –  while Matt chatted away with John as he was closing the bar, and she was suddenly left alone with the singer himself.

“May I walk you home?” He asked her. “No funny business, I promise.” Though he’d held his hands up in surrender, the action was contradicted by the mischievous glint in his orbs.

“Sure,” she replied, and a very small part of her wished she had just said ‘no’.

 “So, since you’re famous and all,” she started, her gaze trained upon the way her feet carefully stepped on the individual stones cemented into the street’s dirt. “Have I heard any of your songs before? What were you guys called again?”

“I don’t think you would have. And we’re called the Arctic Monkeys.”

She raised her brow, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Stupid name, I know.”

“No,” she quickly said, “Not at all, actually. It’s somehow… Very fitting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 She smiled at him, until her eyes turned up to the sky, which was filled with flickering lights in the darkest of blues. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He hummed. “You must not be one to stay up late often, then. It’s beautiful, sure. But not the best sight I’ve ever seen.”

“What is the best sight you’ve ever seen?”

He studied her for a moment, and couldn’t tell if he was deciding on whether to answer her or not, or thinking of long-lost memories. “France. On the countryside. I’ve been all around the world, but that one night – probably caused by the empty bottles of tequila, might I add – was incomparable. Starry, with a really thin crescent moon in the sky, which Jamie described as ‘the moon’s side boob’. I thought that was quite profound. So, I wrote it down. Might even slip it into a song one day.”

The corners of her lips quirked up mischievously, the tingling sensation of the alcohol running through her system finally catching up with her. “Sing me a song, Alex.”

“A song?”

“Yesss,” she pleaded.

“Not sure your husband would agree with that.”

“He’s out and about with Mark and Rachel. Said he’d text me if he’d get back. I think we’ve got time.”

There was a quiver in his stride. “A text, you say?”

She nodded absentmindedly. “Anyways, he’s not my husband, so being serenaded isn’t illegal just yet.”

He let out a chuckle, but it was short-lived. “Could you humour me for a bit?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Could you tell me who’s the ruler of England right now?”

“What?”

“Just- Just answer the question, please.”

“The… the queen.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t get that wrong, did I? I’m quite plastered, I’m afraid.”

“No, not at all. Perhaps we do have to save that serenade for another night, though.”

They’d halted, but the building in front of them was not one she recognized, and the route they’d taken too short to have been able to get to the hotel. “I don’t think this is-“

He kissed her on the cheek, more gently than she would’ve expected, which left her hanging with her mouth slightly open, numb from sudden surprise.

“Have a good night, love.”

He spared her one last glance, until he turned, and walked back through the dark and deserted street.

She sort of stumbled through the doors, and her eyes widened at the sight, for she was back in her hotel, and when she looked outside, she no longer met with the cobblestone street, but only the cracked asphalt of New Sheffield.

[glassc0ffin]

Feedback

hee hoo i wrote a tma fic in the form of frankies statement to the institute

words: 2245

warnings: none, except for phil collins and thrown staples

pairing: oc (frankie james)/jonathan sims

[[MORE]]

FRANKIE JAMES:

-That a tape recorder? It's so cute! We've been trying to get one for the station, just so we can say we have one - y'know, to impress the hipsters - but they're well out of my budget. How did you get one?

ARCHIVIST:

I - Uh, it was here when I got the job, it was my predecessor's.

JAMES:

Wow, well, I'm jealous. [GIGGLES] A little tempted for thievery…

ARCHIVIST:

...Right. Would you like to begin your statement?

JAMES:

Oh, yeah, of course.

ARCHIVIST:

Alright. Statement of Frank James, radio DJ at -

JAMES:

Frankie. 

ARCHIVIST:

[PAUSE] Frankie James, radio DJ at Tranzishon Rock, London, regarding…?

JAMES:

Uh, a series of...obscene phone calls from an unknown person. 

ARCHIVIST:

Recorded direct from subject by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of The Magnus Institute, 21st of September, 2019. Statement begins.

JAMES:

Ah, so, okay. [SIGHS]

ARCHIVIST:

...Are you alright?

JAMES:

Yeah, I just… [SIGHS] I have a hard time...getting words out. I'm not...articulate.

ARCHIVIST:

Would I be able to help?

JAMES:

How would you? It's in my head.

ARCHIVIST:

[SIGHS] You'd be surprised. [PAUSES] When did it start? The phone calls.

JAMES: 

On my show. I have a radio show at Tranzishon, late nights, 7 till 10, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Towards the end of the show, from 9 till 10, we do a requests hour. Listeners call, or text, or tweet, or send a carrier pigeon, to ask us to play songs. The last one is only if they're fancy.

ARCHIVIST:

[SNORTS]

JAMES:

[PAUSES]

ARCHIVIST:

[PAUSES] Sorry. You were saying?

JAMES:

[LAUGHS FAINTLY, A LITTLE BREATHLESS] Ah, yeah, erm… [AMUSED] I can't quite remember where I was…

ARCHIVIST:

The requests hour?

JAMES:

Yes! Okay, so, er, I was announcing the requests hour, reading out our phone number and the twitter account, and as soon as I had finished reading the phone number, we got a call. I- We've got a small team of techies - well, two - that handle incoming calls, texts, tweets, whatever. One, Paul, looked up from the switchboard at me and put me through to the listener, and I did my usual spiel. Y'know: [RADIO VOICE] You're listening to Frankie at Tranzishon rock, dear listener, what's your request?

[NORMAL VOICE] And they didn't say anything. There was dead air for a couple of seconds, then as I began to say 'Anybody there?' my headphones are blown out by the sudden high volume. The person on the other end must have been right up on the mic, because there was an immense amount of feedback and white noise. I'm sort of thankful for that, 'cause it nearly covered up what they had to say.

[PAUSES] [DEEP BREATH] I... don't want to repeat what they said. Suffice to say, the techies had some lightning speed reaction time when they cut off the line. There was more dead air as I tried to recover from the shock, I think I made a joke about them wanting the number for Babestation instead.

ARCHIVIST:

[LAUGHS]

JAMES:

[PAUSES] [LAUGHS, WEAKLY] Yeah… Ah, so, w-we banned that number so they wouldn't call again, and I ended the show with Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) by The Offspring. Because I cope with bad experiences by burying them with humour. 

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Give it to me, baby. [EVEN QUIETER] Uh huh, uh huh. 

[COUGHS]

Uh. Anyway. I went home, had my day off, and went back into work the next night and tried to forget about what happened. And for the most part, I did. The first 2 hours passed without incident, and then when I announced the requests hour, I joked about the caller the other day. My techies looked at each other nervously as I laughed. I gave them a questioning look, but said nothing. I'd ask them after the show. I read the number and twitter and waited for the requests to roll in. Again, we had another phone call straight away. I said my spiel, and my heart was in my throat as I waited for the caller to speak. I looked at my techies. Sheena, my other tech, shrugged at me. I sighed, about to give them a signal to cut them off and answer someone else when the feedback returned, louder and more harsh this time. I threw my headphones onto the desk in front of me, but I still heard the words spilling out of them.

[SWALLOWS] Y'know that scene in Silence of the Lambs? Where Lecter asks Clarice to repeat what that other inmate had said to her? Y'know - [SOUTHERN AMERICAN ACCENT] 'He said, I can smell your cunt.'

ARCHIVIST:

Good lord.

JAMES:

Yeah. It was a bit like that. There was a lot more...squelching with mine, though. Ugh. The techs cut the call, as I knew they would. I was more than a little pissed off. I started playing a song someone had tweeted and turned off my mic, turning to my techies. I asked them, why didn't you ban them like you said you would last time? Sheena said she did, that she guessed they were using a payphone or something to harass us. Paul tentatively asked if we should inform the police, and I told him to F off. We've had no help from coppers in the past when we had Nazis and TERFs flooding our lines calling us all sorts of shit, why would they help now? Cops avoid gays like the plague unless its for propaganda. So, Paul backed down. 

Before the song ended, I quickly mentioned that maybe we shouldn't take calls anymore, just texts and tweets. I didn't want it to come to that, not really. I ended the show again with a song from a small local band, earning me a shoutout on their twitter. That felt good, at least.

I went home, picking up a 6-pack of Stella on the way. I wanted to make sure I slept that night. As I sat on the tube, a good 20 minute journey to my flat, my phone began to ring. At that moment, it didn't strike me that it shouldn't have been able to get any reception underground, yet there it was, ringing in my hand. I was more annoyed at it interrupting my music, but I answered anyway. It was the same fucking caller. I couldn't hit the 'disconnect' button fast enough. But I still heard what he said. [LAUGHS SHAKILY] At least the guy has some imagination. Never the same thing twice. [VOICE BREAKS, STUTTERING] I looked around the tube to see if anyone would be witnessing my quickly approaching panic attack, and finding no-one in the compartment with me, I broke down. The next 15 minutes passed with a blur, and then I reached my station, tears stopping as fast as they had came. 

I stepped off the tube and started walking in the direction towards my flat, and my phone started ringing again. My breath caught in my chest as I froze on the pavement, phone vibrating away in my pocket. I picked it up, screen lit up and facing toward the ground. Slowly, I turned it up, half shutting my eyes, as if the person on the other end wouldn't be able to see me if I couldn't see the phone. [SIGHS] Stupid. It was my mum's phone number. I answered, talked with her for a little bit - she lives a ways away, I don't get to see her a lot - and said goodnight when I got to my flat. I got blackout and passed out on my couch when I got in. Yeah, I know I'm a lightweight. When I woke up at 12pm, my TV was still on, replaying the DVD menu for Black Christmas - the 1974 version. I guess in my Stella-crazed state I was desperate to watch it again.

The entire day, I left my phone switched off. My boss won't be too pleased with me, especially after 2 shows of mine had very explicit profanity, thanks to our mystery caller, but I didn't care. 

[PAUSES]

Listen, I-I know, alright? I know it sounds stupid, I know I probably sound like a pearl-clutching housewife, how scandalous that I'm terrified of a few dirty phonecalls, but...you didn't hear them. You wouldn't want to hear them. Paul, Sheena, and I certainly didn't. At least they only heard them at the station…

Thankfully, on the Friday, we had decided not to do requests hour. Yeah, a few listeners would be upset, but the more loyal listeners would understand when one person ruins it for everyone else. We just settled for the last hour of the show to be requests from Paul and Sheena. Strangely enlightening, but I don't wish to hear any more Phil Collins than is necessary. And with Paul, he seems to think 10 songs is necessary. It isn't.

ARCHIVIST:

[OFFENDED] What's wrong with Phil Collins?

JAMES:

Apart from the fact that we're a punk rock station?

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough. You were saying?

JAMES:

Okay, so, ah… I was on my way home again, and had all but forgotten the mystery caller. We'd figured it had just been some weirdo that got bored of us cutting him off. But as I was walking from the tube station from my flat, I heard that ear-splitting feedback again. Doubling over in pain, I reached up to pull my headphones off, only to find that I had left them at the radio station. I pressed my fists to my ears, crumpling to the ground as the whine of someone being too close to a microphone pierced my eardrums. I felt something cold trickle out of my ear. I didn't have to check my hand to guess that it was blood. I hyperventilated as I lay on the ground. Something was shouting, screaming at me, screeching slurs and threats of what it wanted to do to me, what it will do to me. I remember vomiting, and then blacking out as the overlapping cacophony reached a fever pitch.

I woke up not too far from where I had passed out, £10 and a phone lighter. It was probably some homeless guy who took them, and honestly, I'm not too bothered. I'm more angry no-one took me to a doctor or something. I think, the last thing I saw before I passed out was someone standing in the distance. Staring. Yeah, it could have been some rando, but the image stuck with me.

They were silhouetted against the bright signs of the takeaways on the street behind them, hands stretching too far down, a little too tall. I might have been delusional or in the throes of oxygen deprivation or something, but I swear I saw it smile as I lost consciousness. 

I haven't been back to my flat. I've been staying with Sheena for the past couple of days. She's alright, but I can tell she wants me out. She doesn't want what's happening to me to happen to her. 

ARCHIVIST:

Statement ends. ...Are you alright?

JAMES:

[SNIFFS] Er, I - Uh, I should be, in a bit. Thanks for, uh...I don't know. Listening?

ARCHIVIST:

It's my job. 

JAMES:

Is that it then? What happens now?

ARCHIVIST:

We'll get in contact with you if we find anything out.

JAMES:

Oh! Then, you'll probably need this then. [SCRIBBLING]

ARCHIVIST:

[SHOCKED NOISE] Wh- What are you doing?

JAMES:

Giving you my phone number, what's it look like?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, I'm sure you can give it to me on paper, not my hand! And didn't you say your phone was stolen?

JAMES:

[SCRIBBLING STOPS] Oh. Yeah. Well, if I ever get it back, then. You know where to call.

ARCHIVIST:

R-Right. Goodbye, Mr. James.

JAMES:

Frankie.

ARCHIVIST:

...Goodbye, Frankie.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST:

Mr. James -- Frankie's behaviour was certainly... strange during our conversation. He kept looking at me, pausing and then quickly looking away again, having to restart his sentence whenever he did so. Maybe he realised that he had virtually no evidence to back up his testimony. The only witnesses we have are this Sheena and Paul, and they can only back up the instances of the phone calls happening at the radio station, not anywhere else. Conveniently, Frankie does not appear to record his mobile phone calls, so we have no evidence the phone call on the tube happened. Assuming it even could happen.

Furthermore, his constant stuttering only made me think he was making the whole thing up. Maybe he just wants a story for his show. He --

TIM:

Knock, knock. Was that Frankie James?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, i-it was -- Tim, saying 'Knock, knock' is not a good substitute for knocking. 

TIM:

Did I hear you saying that he was making it up because he was stuttering?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, yes. It's a common tell for lying.

TIM:

It's a common tell for a huge goddamn crush.

ARCHIVIST:

What?

TIM:

Oh, come on. You didn't notice?

ARCHIVIST:

No, n-no, I didn't.

TIM:

Jon, he was the colour of a tomato. He wrote his phone number on your hand! Look, he even drew a heart, for god's sake.

ARCHIVIST:

[MUTTERING] Hmm, yes, I suppose it does look like a heart… No, don't be ridiculous, Tim.

TIM:

[IN A SING-SONG VOICE] Jon has got a boyfriend, Jon has got a boyfriend!

ARCHIVIST:

Are you twelve?! Get out! [SOMETHING CLATTERS ON THE GROUND]

TIM:

Ow! Stop throwing staples at me!

[CRASHING SOUND]

[CLICK]

[cajunroe]

tbh i cant pick so i give you songbird for our world war lt dease/steele? :D

song: don’t take the money - bleachers

au!: “one of us dares the other to see a fortune teller and they tell us that we are ‘destined lovers’ - and that we will soon be brought together by the powers of fate. and though we both secretly want it to be true we laugh it off and don’t believe it but it’s been three weeks and all of this weird stuff keeps happening and i stg if we’re locked in ANOTHER small closet together i’m going to lose it and tell you everything” au

read below the cut or on AO3

send me ‘songbird’ and i’ll put my music on shuffle make an au and ficlet (optional: to send pairing/fandom)

somebody broke me once...love was a currency...a shimmering balance act...i think that i laughed at that

as they walked in another circle around the shop stalls set up in the renaissance fair, maurice couldn’t help but feel like he was floating. fred had finally come back from his three week long business trip and it was a gorgeous sunny day and the smell of jasmine permeating the air in a thick wave.

and as maurice watched his best friend admire the shimmering crystal jewelry glistening in the sun, he couldn’t help but sigh in adoration. fred was smile brightly and talking to the artisan about her technique. maurice always found it so endearing that fred could strike up conversation with anyone about anything. he’s had his fair share of jealousy trips watching fred talk animatedly with people other than him. 

“oh,” he heard the young girl called, “sorry, does your boyfriend want to take a look as well?”

fred spits his water out and onto some of the jewelry while maurice laughs and explains that they aren’t together.

the girl narrows her eyes in confusion and tells them that it isn’t funny to lie to people.

and the real kicker is that both men wanted it to be nothing more than true.

before either man can get another word in, she walks behind her curtain and is replaced by her gruff brother demanding that they visit bedisa before they leave.

the two just look at him in confusion before he points to a small tent on the other side of the shops with two words painted on a small sign, ‘fortune teller.’

normally, they wouldn’t bother, wouldn’t even take stock in being told what to do by strangers. but something about that day, perhaps the warmth of the sun or the odd lightness felt by both men, or the comfort of one another’s presence, has them blindly walking towards the tent.

before they enter, fred pulls maurice back gently by his wrist. and maurice really is too far gone on his best friend because the contact is enough to make his cheeks flush and heart race.

“which one of us should get it done?” fred is so close that maurice nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look up at him.

“doesn’t matter to me, neither of us believe in it.” maurice shrugs and pats himself on the back for how steady his voice is. god, three weeks away from fred and he’s on edge the moment he even thinks about his best friend

absence really does make the heart grow fonder. 

“rock, paper, scissors?”

maurice smiles wide and sees a flicker of something he doesn’t recognize flash through fred’s eyes, “after all this time, you still think you can win?”

fred smiles back, “anything is possible, my dear maurice.”

maurice swallows harshly at the endearment and places his hands on one another.

four seconds later and he walks triumphantly into the tent with a grumbling fred behind him.

when they walk in they see a short, middle-aged woman with slightly long acrylic nails and bright red hair.

they look at one another in surprise while the woman types away at her phone.

“have a seat please, couples are thirty-five dollars.”

they start laughing, but both men sit down gently in front of her.

“we’re not a couple,” fred said firmly and maurice can’t be blamed if the tone makes him want to curl up and cry. 

“not yet at least,” she replies just as firmly and finally looks up at the two of them.

before they could question her, she asks, “so who goes first?”

maurice smiles, shaking off the pain in his heart, and points to fred. “just him.”

she smiles back at him and he sees something in her eyes that cuts him to his cores, like she knows the hurt and suffering he’s experienced at the cards he’s been dealt. he looks away quickly while she grabs fred’s hands quickly.

she moves them around and follows the lines and curves of fred’s hands and maurice bites back the jealousy once again, a professional at it by now, and watches. 

she laughs loudly after seven or so minutes of studying, “oh my, you two have been ignoring fate for too long. she’s pissed.”

fred leans forwards and maurice follows suit.

“what's that mean?” fred asks, joking tone evident in his question.

she looks between them, mischievous smile etched on her mouth, “it mean, dear, that you two are what we call ‘destined lovers,’ and have been for a very long time.”

maurice swallowed harshly, ignoring the fact that he knew fred was looking intensely at him as he started to sweat in the small tent.

bedisa continues, ignoring the heart attack maurice is having, “true loves in all lives: past, present, and future. a delicate balancing act of friendship and romance all within one relationship.”

maurice laughed harshly, trying to make it sound genuine in his amusement, but failing. 

bedisa ignores him holds on tightly to fred’s hand, “as i said, fate is pissed because you two have been taking too long and soon the powers that be will bring you two together. do not fight it or it will only make things worse.”

maurice can feel fred next to him, every inch of his body connect with the other man from where they sit practically on top of one another in the small tent. he can feel the beat of the other man’s heart sync with his own. he can feel the easy breaths and watches as fred smiles in disbelief. 

“given what you two will experience soon, i’ll wave my fee.” bedisa smiled warmly at the two of them and walked away to the back of the tent laughing loudly. 

it’s a long while before either of them moves or speaks.

“well that was complete and utter bullshit.” fred jokes, clapping maurice on the back and slamming him out from his thoughts.

he laughs weakly and nods his head.

fred claps his hands together and stands up while maurice tries to remind himself that fred doesn’t and won’t ever feel the same way he does.

“come on then dease, i hear an elephant ear call our names.”

fred leaves the tent and maurice spends a moment once again burying his feelings before bracing himself to go back into the world.

and i saw your face and hands...colored in sun and then...i think i understand...will i understand?

fred can still remember the day he knew he was in love with maurice.

nineteen years old and watching across the table as maurice awkwardly tried to talk to christine mclaren, while janice klein sat beside him. 

they were having a double date at the restaurant on the pier after spending the day swimming.

they were all sun-drunk and relaxed and though janice klein was the dream girl of everyone in their class, fred had been watching maurice, and maurice-only, all day. there was something about his best friend, today of all days, that had made fred stare relentlessly.

he would turn his head back and forth, watching as the sun hit maurice’s slightly tanned body at different angles.

mostly he watched maurice’s hands as they lay by the side of his head, napping in the bright afternoon sun. 

the girls had went to get ice cream down the shoreline so it was just the two of them.

and fred had come to terms with his sexuality a long while before that day, but something about it being maurice that he fancied made him feel like he was sixteen all over again.

still staring at the sun-kissed skin of best friend, fred goes over every memory he has of maurice since fred moved to town five years prior. and every memory is now laced with a sweet satisfaction in knowing that fred has loved maurice in one way or another since they met.

and fred knew he had do something, say something, there was no way he could live without maurice knowing, or being able to hold maurice’s face in his hands at least once before he died.

he leans forward, hands working of his own accord, and when his hands reach maurice’s warm chest and just barely connect with the skin, he’s electrified. every nerve ending alight with a bright warmth that consumes him.

he notices maurice’s breathing hitch, knows he’s awake and just as he thinks he sees maurice’s hand reaching for his own, the girls crash down on them and hand them their ice cream.

after that, the spell breaks and fred gets too inside his own head and makes a vow that unless maurice does something, fred isn’t going to ruin their friendship. not for anything short of divine intervention. 

so years go by and fred realizes that he made the right choice. even though it hurts sometimes to see maurice go on dates or flirt with someone else, he would rather have maurice in his life and watch him with someone else, than no have him at all.

which is why when the fortune teller says what she does, fred tries his hardest to play it all off as a joke and not look at maurice at all because if he doesn’t, everything else could come back to the surface, stronger than before, and ruin the only thing, the only person, that matters to him. 

and once he’s out of the tent and into that same sun that had shone so brightly on maurice that day at the beach, he feels like he can breathe again.

maurice joins him a few minutes later and is happily pulling fred towards the food stands.

and as they share a large elephant ear in the shape of a heart - the worker had said ‘the dough shapes itself’- , fred thinks that it’s enough, that he could happily live out his years so long as maurice was a part of his life.

will we fight, stay up late?...in my dreams i’m to blame...different sides of the bed...roll your eyes, shave my head

two weeks later and maurice thinks that maybe there was actually something to what bedisa told them. 

for example, they’ve been consistently mistaken as a couple and, while not necessarily new, it been increasing in frequency. fred somehow caught the bouquet at their friends wedding and since the two of them showed up together people assumed they were together. maurice started taking shots and fred disappeared after that. they were cutting through the park to get to a movie and street band pulled them both on stage and sang two love song to them before fred ran off stage. the movie theater was packed and the two of them were forced to sit closer than normal because the people beside them demanded more space than necessary. maurice couldn’t tell anyone what the movie was about because the only thing he remembers of that night is the smell and feel of fred plastered to his side. he only wished it happened of their own accord. then, two nights later,  their favorite pub had a random karaoke night and all anyone wanted to sing were love songs. after the second rendition of stand by your man, maurice was ready to crawl out of his skin. 

so now, two weeks after the fair and the fortune teller, maurice was starting to lose his mind.

fred just rolls his eyes and says that he thinks that is some sort of psychological play because anyone can tell that they’re close friends and people like to play jokes. he always shrugs like it’s nothing. like he doesn’t see what everyone else sees.

maurice wishes fred would stop doing that because it breaks him more and more every time. 

he was hoping that maybe, even if the whole fate thing was a joke, this was a sign, an opening, to be able to tell fred what he couldn’t tell him that day on the beach. tell him that he knew, he knows, has known since before that day that he loves fred more than anyone else in the world. and that he can’t ever love anyone else like he does his best friend. fred is it.

but fred keeps laughing and saying that it’s all coincidence, but seeing as how they’ve never been locked in an elevator together every before, maurice thinks bedisa’s word might hold some weight. and for the first time, in a long time, he hopes. hopes that he’s right and that this will eventually lead to them being together. hopes that fred loves him in the same way he loves fred. hopes that this won’t destroy them. 

but his mother always told him that getting your hopes up was never good because that meant they always had somewhere to fall. and he should’ve listened because two days after the elevator comes “the fight.”

the beginning of the end. 

now we’re stuck in the storm...we were born to ignore...and all i got is a chance to just sit...(i’m in love and you’ve got me, runaway)

it had been a long day of work and maurice hadn’t talked to fred all day and was hoping for a moment of reprieve, but as fate would have it, and damn it if he didn’t hate that phrase, he remembered they had a concert to go to tonight.

he would’ve passed, faking a migraine and trying to spend the night taming his emotions, but they bought the tickets months in advance. and fred sounded so excited when he called to remind him that maurice would’ve never have had the heart to turn him away.

though he wishes he would. as he sits on stage and is serenaded by the lead singer of one of their favorite bands, maurice wishes he would’ve stayed home.

he smiles as the singer continues on touching and pulling and carressing him in a playful manner, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation and look to fred for confirmation in the way their lives have been lately. only when he locks eyes with fred, he doesn’t see mirth or joy, he sees anger and resentment and, he dares to say, jealousy. and maurice knew he had gotten his hopes up for nothing.

he knew how much this band meant to fred and for him to be pulled up instead and serenaded by the lead singer that fred practically idolized, it was enough to wipe the smile off maurice’s face because if fred wanted this then he didn’t want maurice. and if he didn’t want maurice then bedisa was wrong and everything that’s happened was coincidence. and as maurice slowly climbed off stage he felt his world come crashing down. he walks to the back where the bar is, noticing that fred doesn’t follow, and sits down heavily.

he orders a beer, for lack of anything better to do and because the bartender won’t leave him alone, and watches fred through the rest of the show. he just sits and watches his best friend and the man his loves more than anything grind against the others around him.

he leaves when he can’t stand it anymore. running up the stairs and out into the cold night air. lungs begging for oxygen as the tears start to form. 

god he was so fucking stupid to think that, after all these years, anything would happen. 

“so fucking stupid,” he murmurs against the brick wall.

he jumps when the door beside him slams open. and there pops fred, unwanted, back into his vision.

“hey why’d you leave?”

and maurice was so tired. so fucking tired of it all. of fortune tellers and fate. of this night and the past weeks. of loving someone who will never love him back. most of all, he was tired of fred steele, his best friend, being absolute fucking clueless to the living hell that maurice has been in. 

“because i couldn’t...” maurice trails off unsure as to whether or not he’s prepared for this. and then he steels himself, and tries not laugh at the connection, because maurice knows he can’t continue on like this. if he loses fred to this, then it’s worth. it’s killing maurice faster having to hide it all than if he were to lose fred. and if he does lose him, then fred isn’t the man maurice thinks he is. and it’ll all be better in the end.

at least that what he tells himself.

and fred, fuck, fred looks so worried and earnest that it break maurice’s heart a little more to have to do this, but he’s so far beyond breaking point that he’s surprised he’s even functioning. 

“you couldn’t what? maurice?” 

and at his name maurice looks up, tears flowing freely by now, and when his eyes meet fred’s, he breaks.

“i couldn’t watch you with those people anymore. i couldn’t watch as they kissed your neck because i wanted to. i couldn’t watch as you held them close because i’ve spent so many night longing to be held in your arms. i couldn’t watch to you flirt with them the way you never do with me. i just can’t do it anymore, fred.” 

fred is staring him, not moving, not saying anything. just staring, the same way he did that day on the beach. and god dammit if maurice can’t feel fred’s hand warm on his chest again, reaching for fred...always reaching. 

maurice wipes the tears staining his face harshly and clicks his tongue, cursing everything that has ruined this moment and forced him to reveal his deepest secret to the one man he could never tell. 

he looks back into fred’s eyes and states plainly, “i’m in love with you, steele. have been pretty much since the day i met you. and i know you don’t feel the same way. i know that this will pretty much ruin our friendship because there’s no way i can live a life where i’m not the one you fall asleep and wake up next to. but i can’t continue on like this. it’s been killing me all these years and i’m so tired.”

he drops his hands heavily at his sides and shrugs, “you’ve got me, fred. in every possible way, i’m yours.”

maurice sighs, feeling simultaneously relieved and worried that he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. but he can’t take it back and he just watches as fred stares at him. watches as his best friend’s eye flashes with emotions so fast that he can’t keep up.

he can’t keep looking and the fact that fred has done nothing, said nothing, make maurice cave in on himself and walk away.

so it’s over. god maurice wishes he could feel anything other than the numbness consuming he body at the loss of the only thing he held dear in his life.

he’s halfway down the block when he hears footsteps rushing towards him.

he’s about to tell fred not to even bother when his suddening stop causes fred, who was running, to crash into him.

they’re both on the ground before they can realize what happened.

and when maurice feels a droplet of water hit his face, he opens his eyes slowly.

above him, fred is crying and the brightest smile is plastered on his face.

“sorry mate, but i was hoping to one day sweep you off your feet. seems i already have.”

and maurice, cursing at the pain in his pain from the fall and fred’s ability to make him laugh no matter what, burst into a laughing smile.

then the words catch up to him, “you mean...” he exclaims in shock,

fred nods and places his hand gently on either side of maurice’s face, finally fulfilling that promise he made to himself all those years ago.

“since that day at the beach.”

after a long moment of just looking at one another in the brand new light of love, mutual and undying love, they both move.

and when their lips meet in the middle, it’s a unhurried and gentle first kiss.

the first of so many throughout the rest of their lives.

you steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it...i pray for everything we lost, buy back the secrets...your hand forever’s all i want

                                                   six months later

“do you wish this would’ve happened sooner?” maurice asks, head against fred’s naked chest, in the soft morning light of another lazy sunday in their apartment.

he feels fred shake his head, “i think it happened when it was supposed to happen, but i do think of everything we might’ve lost to time.”

maurice sighs, a little melancholy at the wasted time, but then shrugs, “can’t very well miss what never happened though, right? can’t want what you don’t don’t know you want, that it?”

fred pulls maurice to him and kisses him gently. he looks to maurice, serious and nervous. 

he places his hands gently on either side of maurice’ face, the same way he did six months ago.

“i want nothing more than to hold you hand for the rest of my life.”

maurice gasps, “the rest of...are you saying what i think you’re saying?”

fred smiles, “i think we’ve wasted enough time beating around the proverbial bush, maurice. it’s you. it’s always been you and it will always be you. past, present, future.”

maurice smiles and rubs against the embrace in fred’s hands, “past, present, future.”

[readbookywooks]

Riddles in the Dark

When Bilbo opened his eyes, he wondered if he had; for it was just as dark as with them shut. No one was anywhere near him. Just imagine his fright! He could hear nothing, see nothing, and he could feel nothing except the stone of the floor. Very slowly he got up and groped about on all fours, till he touched the wall of the tunnel; but neither up nor down it could he find anything: nothing at all, no sign of goblins, no sign of dwarves. His head was swimming, and he was far from certain even of the direction they had been going in when he had his fall. He guessed as well as he could, and crawled along for a good way, till suddenly his hand met what felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor of the tunnel. It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it. He put the ring in his pocket almost without thinking; certainly it did not seem of any particular use at the moment. He did not go much further, but sat down on the cold floor and gave himself up to complete miserableness, for a long while. He thought of himself frying bacon and eggs in his own kitchen at home - for he could feel inside that it was high time for some meal or other; but that only made him miserabler. He could not think what to do; nor could he think what had happened; or why he had been left behind; or why, if he had been left behind, the goblins had not caught him; or even why his head was so sore. The truth was he had been lying quiet, out of sight and out of mind, in a very dark corner for a long while. After some time he felt for his pipe. It was not broken, and that was something. Then he felt for his pouch, and there was some tobacco in it, and that was something more. Then he felt for matches and he could not find any at all, and that shattered his hopes completely. Just as well for him, as he agreed when he came to his senses. Goodness knows what the striking of matches and the smell of tobacco would have brought on him out of dark holes in that horrible place. Still at the moment he felt very crushed. But in slapping all his pockets and feeling all round himself for matches his hand came on the hilt of his little sword - the little dagger that he got from the trolls, and that he had quite forgotten; nor do the goblins seem to have noticed it, as he wore it inside his breeches. Now he drew it out. It shone pale and dim before his eyes. "So it is an elvish blade, too," he thought; "and goblins are not very near, and yet not far enough." But somehow he was comforted. It was rather splendid to be wearing a blade made in Gondolin for the goblin-wars of which so many songs had sung; and also he had noticed that such weapons made a great impression on goblins that came upon them suddenly. "Go back?" he thought. "No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!" So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter. Now certainly Bilbo was in what is called a tight place. But you must remember it was not quite so tight for him as it would have been for me or for you. Hobbits are not quite like ordinary people; and after all if their holes are nice cheery places and properly aired, quite different from the tunnels of the goblins, still they are more used to tunnelling than we are, and they do not easily lose their sense of direction underground-not when their heads have recovered from being bumped. Also they can move very quietly, and hide easily, and recover wonderfully from falls and bruises, and they have a fund of wisdom and wise sayings that men have mostly never heard or have forgotten long ago. I should not have liked to have been in Mr. Baggins' place, all the same. The tunnel seemed to have no end. All he knew was that it was still going down pretty steadily and keeping in the same direction in spite of a twist and a turn or two. There were passages leading off to the side every now and then, as he knew by the glimmer of his sword, or could feel with his hand on the wall. Of these he took no notice, except to hurry past for fear of goblins or half-imagined dark things coming out of them. On and on he went, and down and down; and still he heard no sound of anything except the occasional whirr of a bat by his ears, which startled him at first, till it became too frequent to bother about. I do not know how long he kept on like this, hating to go on, not daring to stop, on, on, until he was tireder than tired. It seemed like all the way to tomorrow and over it to the days beyond. Suddenly without any warning he trotted splash into water! Ugh! it was icy cold. That pulled him up sharp and short. He did not know whether it was just a pool in the path, or the edge of an underground stream that crossed the passage, or the brink of a deep dark subterranean lake. The sword was hardly shining at all. He stopped, and he could hear, when he listened hard, drops drip-drip-dripping from an unseen roof into the water below; but there seemed no other sort of sound. "So it is a pool or a lake, and not an underground river," he thought. Still he did not dare to wade out into the darkness. He could not swim; and he thought, too, of nasty slimy things, with big bulging blind eyes, wriggling in the water. There are strange things living in the pools and lakes in the hearts of mountains: fish whose fathers swam in, goodness only knows how many years ago, and never swam out again, while their eyes grew bigger and bigger and bigger from trying to see in the blackness; also there are other things more slimy than fish. Even in the tunnels and caves the goblins have made for themselves there are other things living unbeknown to them that have sneaked in from outside to lie up in the dark. Some of these caves, too, go back in their beginnings to ages before the goblins, who only widened them and joined them up with passages, and the original owners are still there in odd comers, slinking and nosing about. Deep down here by the dark water lived old Gollum, a small slimy creature. I don't know where he came from, nor who or what he was. He was Gollum - as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face. He had a little boat, and he rowed about quite quietly on the lake; for lake it was, wide and deep and deadly cold. He paddled it with large feet dangling over the side, but never a ripple did he make. Not he. He was looking out of his pale lamp-like eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking. He liked meat too. Goblin he thought good, when he could get it; but he took care they never found him out. He just throttled them from behind, if they ever came down alone anywhere near the edge of the water, while he was prowling about. They very seldom did, for they had a feeling that something unpleasant was lurking down there, down at the very roots of the mountain. They had come on the lake, when they were tunnelling down long ago, and they found they could go no further; so there their road ended in that direction, and there was no reason to go that way-unless the Great Goblin sent them. Sometimes he took a fancy for fish from the lake, and sometimes neither goblin nor fish came back. Actually Gollum lived on a slimy island of rock in the middle of the lake. He was watching Bilbo now from the distance with his pale eyes like telescopes. Bilbo could not see him, but he was wondering a lot about Bilbo, for he could see that he was no goblin at all. Gollum got into his boat and shot off from the island, while Bilbo was sitting on the brink altogether flummoxed and at the end of his way and his wits. Suddenly up came Gollum and whispered and hissed: "Bless us and splash us, my precioussss! I guess it's a choice feast; at least a tasty morsel it'd make us, gollum!" And when he said gollum he made a horrible swallowing noise in his throat. That is how he got his name, though he always called himself 'my precious.' The hobbit jumped nearly out of his skin when the hiss came in his ears, and he suddenly saw the pale eyes sticking out at him. "Who are you?" he said, thrusting his dagger in front of him. "What iss he, my preciouss?" whispered Gollum (who always spoke to himself through never having anyone else to speak to). This is what he had come to find out, for he was not really very hungry at the moment, only curious; otherwise he would have grabbed first and whispered afterwards. "I am Mr. Bilbo Baggins. I have lost the dwarves and I have lost the wizard, and I don't know where I am; and "I don't want to know, if only I can get,away." "What's he got in his handses?" said Gollum, looking at the sword, which he did not quite like. "A sword, a blade which came out of Gondolin!" "Sssss," said Gollum, and became quite polite. "Praps ye sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciousss. It like riddles, praps it does, does it?" He was anxious to appear friendly, at any rate for the moment, and until he found out more about the sword and the hobbit, whether he was quite alone really, whether he was good to eat, and whether Gollum was really hungry. Riddles were all he could think of. Asking them, and sometimes guessing them, had been the only game he had ever played with other funny creatures sitting in their holes in the long, long ago, before he lost all his friends and was driven away, alone, and crept down, down, into the dark under the mountains. "Very well," said Bilbo, who was anxious to agree, until he found out more about the creature, whether he was quite alone, whether he was fierce or hungry, and whether he was a friend of the goblins. "You ask first," he said, because he had not had time to think of a riddle. So Gollum hissed: "What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?" "Easy!" said Bilbo. "Mountain, I suppose." "Does it guess easy? It must have a competition with us, my preciouss! If precious asks, and it doesn't answer, we eats it, my preciousss. If it asks us, and we doesn't answer, then we does what it wants, eh? We shows it the way out, yes!" "All right!" said Bilbo, not daring to disagree, and nearly bursting his brain to think of riddles that could save him from being eaten. "Thirty white horses on a red hill, First they champ, Then they stamp, Then they stand still." That was all he could think of to ask-the idea of eating was rather on his mind. It was rather an old one, too, and Gollum knew the answer as well as you do. "Chestnuts, chestnuts," he hissed. "Teeth! teeth! my preciousss; but we has only six!" Then he asked his second: "Voiceless it cries, Wingless flutters, Toothless bites, Mouthless mutters." "Half a moment!" cried Bilbo, who was still thinking uncomfortably about eating. Fortunately he had once heard something rather like this before, and getting his wits back he thought of the answer. "Wind, wind of course," he said, and he was so pleased that he made up one on the spot. "This'll puzzle the nasty little underground creature," he thought: "An eye in a blue face Saw an eye in a green face. "That eye is like to this eye" Said the first eye, "But in low place, Not in high place."" "Ss, ss, ss," said Gollum. He had been underground a long long time, and was forgetting this sort of thing. But just as Bilbo was beginning to hope that the wretch would not be able to answer, Gollum brought up memories of ages and ages and ages before, when he lived with his grandmother in a hole in a bank by a river, "Sss, sss, my preciouss," he said. "Sun on the daisies it means, it does." But these ordinary aboveground everyday sort of riddles were tiring for him. Also they reminded him of days when he had been less lonely and sneaky and nasty, and that put him out of temper. What is more they made him hungry; so this time he tried something a bit more difficult and more unpleasant: "It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter." Unfortunately for Gollum Bilbo had heard that sort of thing before; and the answer was all round him anyway. "Dark!" he said without even scratching his head or putting on his thinking cap. "A box without hinges, key, or lid, Yet golden treasure inside is hid," he asked to gain time, until he could think of a really hard one. This he thought a dreadfully easy chestnut, though he had not asked it in the usual words. But it proved a nasty poser for Gollum. He hissed to himself, and still he did not answer; he whispered and spluttered. After some while Bilbo became impatient. "Well, what is it?" he said. "The answer's not a kettle boiling over, as you seem to think from the noise you are making." "Give us a chance; let it give us a chance, my preciouss-ss-ss." "Well," said Bilbo, after giving him a long chance, "what about your guess?" But suddenly Gollum remembered thieving from nests long ago, and sitting under the river bank teaching his grandmother, teaching his grandmother to suck-"Eggses!" he hissed. "Eggses it is!" Then he asked: "A live without breath, As cold as death; Never thirsty, ever drinking, All in mail never clinking." He also in his turn thought this was a dreadfully easy one, because he was always thinking of the answer. But he could not remember anything better at the moment, he was so flustered by the egg-question. All the same it was a poser for poor Bilbo, who never had anything to do with the water if he could help it. I imagine you know the answer, of course, or can guess it as easy as winking, since you are sitting comfortably at home and have not the danger of being eaten to disturb your thinking. Bilbo sat and cleared his throat once or twice, but no answer came. After a while Gollum began to hiss with pleasure to himself: "Is it nice, my preciousss? Is it juicy? Is it scrumptiously crunchable?" He began to peer at Bilbo out of the darkness. "Half a moment," said the hobbit shivering. "I gave you a good long chance just now." "It must make haste, haste!" said Gollum, beginning to climb out of his boat on to the shore to get at Bilbo. But when he put his long webby foot in the water, a fish jumped out in a fright and fell on Bilbo's toes. "Ugh!" he said, "it is cold and clammy!"-and so he guessed. "Fish! Fish!" he cried. "It is fish!" Gollum was dreadfully disappointed; but Bilbo asked another riddle as quick as ever be could, so that Gollum had to get back into his boat and think. "No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some." It was not really the right time for this riddle, but Bilbo was in a hurry. Gollum might have had some trouble guessing it, if he had asked it at another time. As it was, talking of fish, "no-legs" was not so very difficult, and after that the rest was easy. "Fish on a little table, man at table sitting on a stool, the cat has the bones"-that of course is the answer, and Gollum soon gave it. Then he thought the time had come to ask something hard and horrible. This is what he said: "This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down." Poor Bilbo sat in the dark thinking of all the horrible names of all the giants and ogres he had ever heard told of in tales, but not one of them had done all these things. He had a feeling that the answer was quite different and that he ought to know it, but he could not think of it. He began to get frightened, and that is bad for thinking. Gollum began to get out of his boat. He flapped into the water and paddled to the bank; Bilbo could see his eyes coming towards him. His tongue seemed to stick in his mouth; he wanted to shout out: "Give me more time! Give me time!" But all that came out with a sudden squeal was: "Time! Time!" Bilbo was saved by pure luck. For that of course was the answer. Gollum was disappointed once more; and now he was getting angry, and also tired of the game. It had made him very hungry indeed. This time he did not go back to the boat. He sat down in the dark by Bilbo. That made the hobbit most dreadfully uncomfortable and scattered his wits. "It's got to ask uss a quesstion, my preciouss, yes, yess, yesss. Jusst one more quesstion to guess, yes, yess," said Gollum. But Bilbo simply could not think of any question with that nasty wet cold thing sitting next to him, and pawing and poking him. He scratched himself, he pinched himself; still he could not think of anything. "Ask us! ask us!" said Gollum. Bilbo pinched himself and slapped himself; he gripped on his little sword; he even felt in his pocket with his other hand. There he found the ring he had picked up in the passage and forgotten about. "What have I got in my pocket?" he said aloud. He was talking to himself, but Gollum thought it was a riddle, and he was frightfully upset. "Not fair! not fair!" he hissed. "It isn't fair, my precious, is it, to ask us what it's got in its nassty little pocketses?" Bilbo seeing what had happened and having nothing better to ask stuck to his question. "What have I got in my pocket?" he said louder. "S-s-s-s-s," hissed Gollum. "It must give us three guesseses, my preciouss, three guesseses." "Very well! Guess away!" said Bilbo. "Handses!" said Gollum. "Wrong," said Bilbo, who had luckily just taken his hand out again. "Guess again!" "S-s-s-s-s," said Gollum more upset than ever. He thought of all the things he kept in his own pockets: fishbones, goblins' teeth, wet shells, a bit of bat-wing, a sharp stone to sharpen his fangs on, and other nasty things. He tried to think what other people kept in their pockets. "Knife!" he said at last. "Wrong!" said Bilbo, who had lost his some time ago. "Last guess!" Now Gollum was in a much worse state than when Bilbo had asked him the egg-question. He hissed and spluttered and rocked himself backwards and forwards, and slapped his feet on the floor, and wriggled and squirmed; but still he did not dare to waste his last guess. "Come on!" said Bilbo. "I am waiting!" He tried to sound bold and cheerful, but he did not feel at all sure how the game was going to end, whether Gollum guessed right or not. "Time's up!" he said. "String, or nothing!" shrieked Gollum, which was not quite fair-working in two guesses at once. "Both wrong," cried Bilbo very much relieved; and he jumped at once to his feet, put his back to the nearest wall, and held out his little sword. He knew, of course, that the riddle-game was sacred and of immense antiquity, and even wicked creatures were afraid to cheat when they played at it. But he felt he could not trust this slimy thing to keep any promise at a pinch. Any excuse would do for him to slide out of it. And after all that last question had not been a genuine riddle according to the ancient laws. But at any rate Gollum did not at once attack him. He could see the sword in Bilbo's hand. He sat still, shivering and whispering. At last Bilbo could wait no longer. "Well?" he said. "What about your promise? I want to go. You must show me the way." "Did we say so, precious? Show the nassty little Baggins the way out, yes, yes. But what has it got in its pocketses, eh? Not string, precious, but not nothing. Oh no! gollum!" "Never you mind," said Bilbo. "A promise is a promise." "Cross it is, impatient, precious," hissed Gollum. "But it must wait, yes it must. We can't go up the tunnels so hasty. We must go and get some things first, yes, things to help us." "Well, hurry up!" said Bilbo, relieved to think of Gollum going away. He thought he was just making an excuse and did not mean to come back. What was Gollum talking about? What useful thing could he keep out on the dark lake? But he was wrong. Gollum did mean to come back. He was angry now and hungry. And he was a miserable wicked creature, and already he had a plan. Not far away was his island, of which Bilbo knew nothing, and there in his hiding-place he kept a few wretched oddments, and one very beautiful thing, very beautiful, very wonderful. He had a ring, a golden ring, a precious ring. "My birthday-present!" he whispered to himself, as he had often done in the endless dark days. "That's what we wants now, yes; we wants it!" He wanted it because it was a ring of power, and if you slipped that ring on your finger, you were invisible; only in the full sunlight could you be seen, and then only by your shadow, and that would be shaky and faint. "My birthday-present! It came to me on my birthday, my precious," So he had always said to himself. But who knows how Gollum came by that present, ages ago in the old days when such rings were still at large in the world? Perhaps even the Master who ruled them could not have said. Gollum used to wear it at first, till it tired him; and then he kept it in a pouch next his skin, till it galled him; and now usually he hid it in a hole in the rock on his island, and was always going back to look at it. And still sometimes he put it on, when he could not bear to be parted from it any longer, or when he was very, very, hungry, and tired of fish. Then he would creep along dark passages looking for stray goblins. He might even venture into places where the torches were lit and made his eyes blink and smart; for he would be safe. Oh yes, quite safe. No one would see him, no one would notice him, till he had his fingers on their throat. Only a few hours ago he had worn it, and caught a small goblin-imp. How it squeaked! He still had a bone or two left to gnaw, but he wanted something softer. "Quite safe, yes," he whispered to himself. "It won't see us, will it, my precious? No. It won't see us, and its nassty little sword will be useless, yes quite." That is what was in his wicked little mind, as he slipped suddenly from Bilbo's side, and flapped back to his boat, and went off into the dark. Bilbo thought he had heard the last of him. Still he waited a while; for he had no idea how to find his way out alone. Suddenly he heard a screech. It sent a shiver down his back. Gollum was cursing and wailing away in the gloom, not very far off by the sound of it. He was on his island, scrabbling here and there, searching and seeking in vain. "Where is it? Where iss it?" Bilbo heard him crying. "Losst it is, my precious, lost, lost! Curse us and crush us, my precious is lost!" "What's the matter?" Bilbo called. "What have you lost?" "It mustn't ask us," shrieked Gollum. "Not its business, no, gollum! It's losst, gollum, gollum, gollum." "Well, so am I," cried Bilbo, "and I want to get unlost. And I won the game, and you promised. So come along! Come and let me out, and then go on with your looking!" Utterly miserable as Gollum sounded, Bilbo could not find much pity in his heart, and he had a feeling that anything Gollum wanted so much could hardly be something good. "Come along!" he shouted. "No, not yet, precious!" Gollum answered. "We must search for it, it's lost, gollum." "But you never guessed my last question, and you promised," said Bilbo. "Never guessed!" said Gollum. Then suddenly out of the gloom came a sharp hiss. "What has it got in its pocketses? Tell us that. It must tell first." As far as Bilbo knew, there was no particular reason why he should not tell. Gollum's mind had jumped to a guess quicker than his; naturally, for Gollum had brooded for ages on this one thing, and he was always afraid of its being stolen. But Bilbo was annoyed at the delay. After all, he had won the game, pretty fairly, at a horrible risk. "Answers were to be guessed not given," he said. "But it wasn't a fair question," said Gollum. "Not a riddle, precious, no." "Oh well, if it's a matter of ordinary questions," Bilbo replied, "then I asked one first. What have you lost? Tell me that!" "What has it got in its pocketses?" The sound came hissing louder and sharper, and as he looked towards it, to his alarm Bilbo now saw two small points of light peering at him. As suspicion grew in Gollum's mind, the light of his eyes burned with a pale flame. "What have you lost?" Bilbo persisted. But now the light in Gollum's eyes had become a green fire, and it was coming swiftly nearer. Gollum was in his boat again, paddling wildly back to the dark shore; and such a rage of loss and suspicion was in his heart that no sword had any more terror for him. Bilbo could not guess what had maddened the wretched creature, but he saw that all was up, and that Gollum meant to murder him at any rate. Just in time he turned and ran blindly back up the dark passage down which he had come, keeping close to the wall and feeling it with his left hand. "What has it got in its pocketses?" he heard the hiss loud behind him, and the splash as Gollum leapt from his boat. "What have I, I wonder?" he said to himself, as he panted and stumbled along. He put his left hand in his pocket. The ring felt very cold as it quietly slipped on to his groping forefinger. The hiss was close behind him. He turned now and saw Gollum's eyes like small green lamps coming up the slope. Terrified he tried to run faster, but suddenly he struck his toes on a snag in the floor, and fell flat with his little sword under him. In a moment Gollum was on him. But before Bilbo could do anything, recover his breath, pick himself up, or wave his sword, Gollum passed by, taking no notice of him, cursing and whispering as he ran. What could it mean? Gollum could see in the dark. Bilbo could see the light of his eyes palely shining even from behind. Painfully he got up, and sheathed his sword, which was now glowing faintly again, then very cautiously he followed. There seemed nothing else to do. It was no good crawling back down to Gollum's water. Perhaps if he followed him, Gollum might lead him to some way of escape without meaning to. "Curse it! curse it! curse it!" hissed Gollum. "Curse the Baggins! It's gone! What has it got in its pocketses? Oh we guess, we guess, my precious. He's found it, yes he must have. My birthday-present." Bilbo pricked up his ears. He was at last beginning to guess himself. H^ hurried a little, getting as close as he dared behind Gollum, who was still going quickly, not looking back, but turning his head from side to side, as Bilbo could see from the faint glimmer on the walls. "My birthday-present! Curse it! How did we lose it, my precious? Yes, that's it. When we came this way last, when we twisted that nassty young squeaker. That's it. Curse it! It slipped from us, after all these ages and ages! It's gone, gollum." Suddenly Gollum sat down and began to weep, a whistling and gurgling sound horrible to listen to. Bilbo halted and flattened himself against the tunnel-wall. After a while Gollum stopped weeping and began to talk. He seemed to be having an argument with himself. "It's no good going back there to search, no. We doesn't remember all the places we've visited. And it's no use. The Baggins has got it in its pocketses; the nassty noser has found it, we says." "We guesses, precious, only guesses. We can't know till we find the nassty creature and squeezes it. But it doesn't know what the present can do, does it? It'll just keep it in its pocketses. It doesn't know, and it can't go far. It's lost itself, the nassty nosey thing. It doesn't know the way out It said so." "It said so, yes; but it's tricksy. It doesn't say what it means. It won't say what it's got in its pocketses. It knows. It knows a way in, it must know a way out, yes. It's off to the back-door. To the back-door, that's it." "The goblinses will catch it then. It can't get out that way, precious." "Ssss, sss, gollum! Goblinses! Yes, but if it's got the present, our precious present, then goblinses will get it, gollum! They'll find it, they'll find out what it does. We shan't ever be safe again, never, gollum! One of the goblinses will put it on, and then no one will see him. He'll be there but not seen. Not even our clever eyeses will notice him; and he'll come creepsy and tricksy and catch us, gollum, gollum!" "Then let's stop talking, precious, and make haste. If the Baggins has gone that way, we must go quick and see. Go! Not far now. Make haste!" With a spring Gollum got up and started shambling off at a great pace. Bilbo hurried after him, still cautiously, though his chief fear now was of tripping on another snag and falling with a noise. His head was in a whirl of hope and wonder. It seemed that the ring he had was a magic ring: it made you invisible! He had heard of such things, of course, in old old tales; but it was hard to believe that he really had found one, by accident. Still there it was: Gollum with his bright eyes had passed him by, only a yard to one side. On they went, Gollum flip-flapping ahead, hissing and cursing; Bilbo behind going as softly as a hobbit can. Soon they came to places where, as Bilbo had noticed on the way down, side-passages opened, this way and that. Gollum began at once to count them. "One left, yes. One right, yes. Two right, yes, yes. Two left, yes, yes." And so on and on. As the count grew he slowed down, and he began to get shaky and weepy; for he was leaving the water further and further behind, and he was getting afraid. Goblins might be about, and he had lost his ring. At last he stopped by a low opening, on their left as they went up. "Seven right, yes. Six left, yes!" he whispered. "This is it. This is the way to the back-door, yes. Here's the passage!" He peered in, and shrank back. "But we durstn't go in, precious, no we durstn't. Goblinses down there. Lots of goblinses. We smells them. Ssss!" "What shall we do? Curse them and crush them! We must wait here, precious, wait a bit and see." So they came to a dead stop. Gollum had brought Bilbo to the way out after all, but Bilbo could not get in! There was Gollum sitting humped up right in the opening, and his eyes gleamed cold in his head, as he swayed it from side to side between his knees. Bilbo crept away from the wall more quietly than a mouse; but Gollum stiffened at once, and sniffed, and his eyes went green. He hissed softly but menacingly. He could not see the hobbit, but now he was on the alert, and he had other senses that the darkness had sharpened: hearing and smell. He seemed to be crouched right down with his flat hands splayed on the floor, and his head thrust out, nose almost to the stone. Though he was only a black shadow in the gleam of his own eyes, Bilbo could see or feel that he was tense as a bowstring, gathered for a spring. Bilbo almost stopped breathing, and went stiff himself. He was desperate. He must get away, out of this horrible darkness, while he had any strength left. He must fight. He must stab the foul thing, put its eyes out, kill it. It meant to kill him. No, not a fair fight. He was invisible now. Gollum had no sword. Gollum had not actually threatened to kill him, or tried to yet. And he was miserable, alone, lost. A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo's heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. All these thoughts passed in a flash of a second. He trembled. And then quite suddenly in another flash, as if lifted by a new strength and resolve, he leaped. No great leap for a man, but a leap in the dark. Straight over Gollum's head he jumped, seven feet forward and three in the air; indeed, had he known it, he only just missed cracking his skull on the low arch of the passage. Gollum threw himself backwards, and grabbed as the hobbit flew over him,but too late: his hands snapped on thin air, and Bilbo, falling fair on his sturdy feet, sped off down the new tunnel. He did not turn to see what Gollum was doing. There was a hissing and cursing almost at his heels at first, then it stopped. All at once there came a bloodcurdling shriek, filled with hatred and despair. Gollum was defeated. He dared go no further. He had lost: lost his prey, and lost, too, the only thing he had ever cared for, his precious. The cry brought Bilbo's heart to his mouth, but still he held on. Now faint as an echo, but menacing, the voice came behind: "Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it for ever!" Then there was a silence. But that too seemed menacing to Bilbo. "If goblins are so near that he smelt them," he thought, "then they'll have heard his shrieking and cursing. Careful now, or this way will lead you to worse things." The passage was low and roughly made. It was not too difficult for the hobbit, except when, in spite of all care, he stubbed his poor toes again, several times, on nasty jagged stones in the floor. "A bit low for goblins, at least for the big ones," thought Bilbo, not knowing that even the big ones, the ores of the mountains, go along at a great speed stooping low with their hands almost on the ground. Soon the passage that had been sloping down began to go up again, and after a while it climbed steeply. That slowed Bilbo down. But at last the slope stopped, the passage turned a corner, and dipped down again, and there, at the bottom of a short incline, he saw, filtering round another corner-a glimpse of light. Not red light, as of fire or lantern, but a pale out-of-doors sort of light. Then Bilbo began to run. Scuttling as fast as his legs would carry him he turned the last corner and came suddenly right into an open space, where the light, after all that time in the dark, seemed dazzlingly bright. Really it was only a leak of sunshine in through a doorway, where a great door, a stone door, was left standing open. Bilbo blinked, and then suddenly he saw the goblins: goblins in full armour with drawn swords sitting just inside the door, and watching it with wide eyes, and watching the passage that led to it. They were aroused, alert, ready for anything. They saw him sooner than he saw them. Yes, they saw him. Whether it was.an accident, or a last trick of the ring before it took a new master, it was not on his finger. With yells of delight the goblins rushed upon him. A pang of fear and loss, like an echo of Gollum's misery, smote Bilbo, and forgetting even to draw his sword he struck his hands into his pockets. And -  there was the ring still, in his left pocket, and it slipped on his finger. The goblins stopped short. They could not see a sign of him. He had vanished. They yelled twice as loud as before, but not so delightedly. "Where is it?" they cried. "Go back up the passage!" some shouted. "This way!" some yelled. "That way!" others yelled. "Look out for the door," bellowed the captain. Whistles blew, armour clashed, swords rattled, goblins cursed and swore and ran hither and thither, falling over one another and getting very angry. There was a terrible outcry, to-do, and disturbance. Bilbo was dreadfully frightened, but he had the sense to understand what had happened and to sneak behind a big barrel which held drink for the goblin-guards, and so get out of the way and avoid being bumped into, trampled to death, or caught by feel. "I must get to the door, I must get to the door!" he kept on saying to himself, but it was a long time before he ventured to try. Then it was like a horrible game of blind-man's buff. The place was full of goblins running about, and the poor little hobbit dodged this way and that, was knocked over by a goblin who could not make out what he had bumped into, scrambled away on all fours, slipped between the legs of the captain just in time, got up, and ran for the door. It was still ajar, but a goblin had pushed it nearly to. Bilbo struggled but he could not move it. He tried to squeeze through the crack. He squeezed and squeezed, and he stuck! It was awful. His buttons had got wedged on the edge of the door and the door-post. He could see outside into the open air: there were a few steps running down into a narrow valley between tall mountains; the sun came out from behind a cloud and shone bright on the outside of the door-but he could not get through. Suddenly one of the goblins inside shouted: "There is a shadow by the door. Something is outside!" Bilbo's heart jumped into his mouth. He gave a terrific squirm. Buttons burst off in all directions. He was through, with a torn coat and waistcoat, leaping down the steps like a goat, while bewildered goblins were still picking up his nice brass buttons on the doorstep. Of course they soon came down after him, hooting and hallooing, and hunting among the trees. But they don't like the sun: it makes their legs wobble and their heads giddy. They could not find Bilbo with the ring on, slipping in and out of the shadow of the trees, running quick and quiet, and keeping out of the sun; so soon they went back grumbling and cursing to guard the door. Bilbo had escaped.