physics miracle, the journal, stoners


an exchange of exquisite ideas

Because I couldn't find any, I just decided to write some.
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Bottomed Out

Neville/Harry (featuring top!Neville)


“Explain to us how it turned out that the two of you…” Hermione pursed her lips like she wasn’t sure, but carried on anyways, “How it was that you ended up…”

“Taking it up the bum.” Ron finished for her, and Hermione hit him on the arm again, “What?!”

Harry sighed and tucked the pillow under his head, turning on his side to face his friends where they sat on the edge of their seats.

Link to my tumblr

fuckyeahcommunity's Secret Sex Fanvid Contest
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
I'm not sure if this is where to post this, but I didn't find a Community Fanvid community on livejournal, so here you go

Rule #1: Video must imply that characters are having "secret sex"

Rule #2: Video cannot be longer than 2 minutes

Rule #3: The video CANNOT be Jeff/Britta (It's already cannon. Try and be a little more creative than that.)

My "Admins" and I will review all the submissions and announce a winner in December.

Good Luck~

“It's All Fine” Gender and Sexuality Explored Through the BBC's Sherlock
physics miracle, the journal, stoners

 When Steven Moffat began a modern day retelling of the classic Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, it was not expected to be very big or very popular; originally, just three episodes in a summer season. The series has sense grown in fan base, world-wide in fact, and a second three episode season was created and aired the following year, with a third season now in the works. The series is surprisingly very true to the original in plot and characters. However, because Sherlock is set it in modern times, it has forced the writers to deal with the sexuality of the characters in a way that few remakes of the book have done before (Ross & Rapp 164). The nature of the relationship between Sherlock and John is often called into question, or just flatly assumed to be a homosexual relationship. There are many sexually active characters, a good portion of which are homosexual. A quick search on Wikipedia reveals that the official line on the character of Jim Moriarty in the Sherlock series is that he is gay, and enjoys a flirty relationship with Sherlock, and one of the other major characters, Irene Adler, is a sex worker. On the whole, the television series Sherlock addresses the relationships of their characters without dismissing the dominant dsicourse (Harding 14), but also recognizing a gray area that emotion and experience can create in everyone's sexuality. For this reason, Sherlock can be considered constructionalist (Harding 7). At no time in the show is the phrase “born this way” or any variable there of used to describe those of homosexual, however neither is there any negative connotations associated with homsexuality within the show.

There are two versions of the first episode, the pilot and the officially aired version. Because they were both filmed very differently, and the ending was different, it is tempting to analyze them both, but for the purpose of this paper I will only refer to the officially aired version, A Study in Pink. It begins by establishing Dr. John Watson as a man, or more accurately, as a broken man. He is broken psychologically, waking up from a dream and crying, and has a limp that forces him to carry a cane. Through his relationship and shared adventure with the enigmatic Sherlock, he discards the cane and nightmares, and is a full man once more. Sherlock is introduced by him beating a corpse in morgue, and the morgue attendant Molly, flirting with him. It is unclear if Sherlock is pretending not to notice and doesn't care about hurting her feelings, or if he simply doesn't realize what she's doing. He notices that she's wearing lipstick, when she wasn't earlier, but doesn't imply any kind of recognition of what this might mean. Molly asks if he'd like to get coffee, but he seems to misunderstand, instead telling her how he likes his coffee so she can go and get him some. When she brings it to him, he notices that she is no longer wearing that lipstick, and says her mouth looks small without it, again hurting her feelings, and again it is unclear if this was on accident or not.

More than once in the episode, others make reference to Sherlock and John being a couple. Mrs. Hudson, when they first come to check out their new flat at 221B Baker St, asks if they'll be needing two bedrooms. Then, a man who wants John to spy on Sherlock asks if they should be “expecting a happy announcement soon,” implying that they moved in together rather quickly and seem romantically entangled. Then, they have an awkward conversation over dinner, where the owner/waiter believes them to be a couple. John protests, but Sherlock ignores the comments. It sparks in John the curiosity over what Sherlock's sexuality is. Sherlock misunderstands the question, thinking that John is interested in him on a romantic level. John frantically denies any such interest, but presses that “It's all fine.” Sherlock accepts this, and turns back to looking out the window, but John's near-crazed, almost horrified expression tells the story of an awkward conversation from his point of view.

The idea that John is in fact fine with any sexuality that Sherlock may have, is reinforced by the deduction that Sherlock made earlier in the episode. He deduces from John's phone that he has a brother, Harry, who is an alcoholic that recently separated from his wife, and John disapproves of the drinking and liked Harry's wife, which is why John doesn't keep in touch with his brother. John confirms all these conclusion, except to say that Harry is short for Harriet, and his sister is in fact a lesbian. He liked Clara, his sisters wife, and is disappointed that they broke up.

In The Great Game, Sherlock is tearing up the flat to slate his boredom and John is bent on nagging him into submission. They are compared to a married couple by Mrs. Hudson, who asks if they are “having a little domestic” which is a British term for a domestic dispute, or a couple's fight. John is so angry at one point in the episode, that he leaves and stays overnight with a female doctor he works with, and dated in a previous episode. It is not a sexual encounter, as he sleeps on the couch, but they do flirt and John implies that if he stays a few more nights he would like to share her bed, though it is unclear how she feels about that. When she goes to take a shower, John discovers that there has been an explosion near their flat, and thoughts of sex with his doctor friend are dismissed in favor of running home to see if Sherlock is alright.

Also in this episode, Molly introduces her new boyfriend, Jim. The man is apparently a great fan of Sherlock, eager to meet him, but Sherlock more or less ignores him, except to say “gay” under his breath. After he is gone, Sherlock points out all the visual clues that Jim is, in fact, a homosexual, with the grand finale being that he slipped Sherlock his number. Poor Molly, Sherlock hurt her feelings again. Other singns of homosexuality in this episode are one of the cases they solve which involves a famous woman who's brother is accused of killing her. It turns out instead to be the brother's lover, a man who cleans house for him.

When they next meet Jim, he is dressed in a suit, and asks Sherlock how he liked the “gay costume” he'd put together for their first meeting. However, his behavior through the rest of the episode still implies he is gay. He is effeminate, has a higher pitched voice, and says phrases like “Daddy's had enough now, Sherlock.” which has sexual connotations. Moriarty straps a bomb to John and demands Sherlock's attention because of it. Moriarty says “I will burn the heart out of you.” and when Sherlock says he doesn't have one, Moriarty smirks, says that is not true, and Sherlock looks at John. Moriarty plays Sherlock and John against each other. When John tries to sacrifice himself, Moriarty in turn threatens to kill Sherlock instead. “I'm so changeable!” Moriarty says flamboyantly. After Moriarty leaves, Sherlock quickly removes the bomb vest on John, and John says that he is glad no one saw Sherlock ripping his clothes off like that, because people might talk. Sherlock says “People do little else.” and they share a laugh.

By far, the most sexually charged of all the episodes is A Scandal in Belgravia. Before the major plot line of the episode is even established, we have Sherlock wearing nothing but a sheet and jokes about his brother being the queen (a reference to both British royalty, and a slang term for a flamboyant gay man). Sherlock and John are introduced to their main antagonist in this episode through her government file. Irene Adler is a dominatrix called The Woman.

MYCROFT: There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix’.
SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Dominatrix.
MYCROFT: Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.
SHERLOCK: Sex doesn’t alarm me.
MYCROFT (smiling snidely at him): How would you know?

(Sullivan 1)

Suddenly we discover that Sherlock is a virgin. Several times in the episode, both antagonists, both Irene Adler and Moriarty refer to Sherlock as “the virgin”. Irene flirts dramatically with Sherlock, even though the scandal she is apart of is with a female member of the royal family. There is also a conversation between her female companion and her that implies they have a sexual relationship in which Irene's dominatrix skills come into play. Not only is she a lesbian, but she is an S/M lesbian (Rubin 303)! Though her background in the episodes labels her as a lesbian, she seems unaffected by that interpretation of herself. The character of Irene Adler has a strength in her sexuality, that is that she personifies the woman who instead of taking a Victorian view of feminist strength in abstinence, empowers herself through her sexual prowess (Ross & Rapp 153), both literally and figuratively. Still, it is important to note that making the character of Irene Adler not only a sex worker, but a S/M sex worker, in addition to her role as antagonist for much of the episode, the mainstream view of alternative life styles and fringe sexual preferences as dangerous and criminal is blatantly visible (Rubin 295). How dangerous Irene is as a character is made clear by her profession, and is arguably an intentional move by the writers to do so. In this way, what could be a strong feminist character, is undermined.

John throughout the episodes is confronted by his girlfriend (whom we've never met before previous episodes) who accuses him to be a better boyfriend to Sherlock than to her. Either meant as an analogy or as a genuine interpretation of their relationship, it is not entirely clear. Despite the theme of the episode being that Sherlock is discovering his sexuality through a romance with the dominatrix, Irene is the one who brings up the context of John and Sherlock's relationship in a more serious and direct way than the minor jokes that have peppered the series.

IRENE: Are you jealous?
JOHN: We’re not a couple.
IRENE: Yes you are.
JOHN (quietly): Who ... who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.
IRENE: Well, I am. Look at us both.

(Sullivan 3)

So the undefined nature of the relationship between John and Sherlock gets officially put into the cannon of the show. Not only that, but the fluidity of the sexualities of two of the characters is seriously confronted in a straightforward way. John defines himself as straight, and Irene defines herself as gay, and Sherlock seems to have very limited sexual interest, and yet they are wrapped up in a love triangle. The sexual identities they present to the world bare no significance in their relationships with each other, because through their mutual contact all of their ideas of what sex are is changing (Ross & Rapp 163). John, and this is made clear throughout the show, but in this short interaction in particular, a sexual essentialist (Rubin 275). He demonstrates no prejudice against any people of any sexual orientation or preference, however in his mind these sexual preferences are concrete, and it is the fluidity nature of sexuality that scares him more than anything.

The issues that are brought to light in the BBC networks Sherlock are played out both through the dominant dsicourse (Harding 14), as in the jokes about them being a gay couple, and in opposition to the dominant dsicourse (Harding 14), implying that the sexual orientations people label themselves as are not necessarily universal to every situation (Harding 12). Through all of this, the mysteries are still detailed and integral, the risk to life and limb still feels real, and a small string of humor threads that itself through the whole series is not a constant parade of gay jokes. Both writers, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, have made idle jokes about how some women like seeing sexy men together as much as straight men like seeing two hot women together, and much of the fandom world that dismisses the complexities of all of the characters' sexual natures easily fall pray to this kind of criticism. If Sherlock and John are in love, are a couple, that does not justify the kind of immediate sexual relationship fanfiction seems to demand. Giving all the characters a duality makes them more real, and the affection between Sherlock and John, sexual or not, feels almost tactile. Sherlock and John in fits of hysterical giggles after a particularly adrenalin filled adventure is pure joy. John trying to suppress an urge to cry, his words catching in his throat, when he talks about Sherlock, has made me quite literally shed a few tears myself. The nature of their relationship, both in the cannon and on the forums, is still up for debate. However, just the mere fact that something as outside the cultural norm as recognizing that two people can be a couple without sexual interaction, and on such a mainstream network as the BBC, is significant.

Works Cited

Gatiss, Mark. "The Great Game." Sherlock. Dir. Paul McGuigan. BBC. 8 Aug. 2010. Television.

Harding, Jennifer. "Investigating Sex: Essentialism and Constructionism." Constructing Sexualities: Readings in Sexuality, Gender, and Culture. Ed. Suzanne LaFont. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2003. 6-17. Print.

Moffat, Steven. "A Scandal in Belgravia." Sherlock. Dir. Paul McGuigan. BBC. 1 Jan. 2012. Television.

Moffat, Steven. "A Study in Pink." Sherlock. Dir. Paul McGuigan. BBC. 25 July 2010. Television.

Ross, Ellen, and Rayana Rapp. "Sex and Society." Comparative Studies in Society and History (1981): 153-65. Print.

Rubin, Gayle. "Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality." (1884): 267-311. Print.

Sullivan, Callie. "Sherlock, Season 2, Episode 1 Transcript: A Scandal in Belgravia." Ariane DeVere. Livejournal, 4 Jan. 2012. Web. 10 Apr. 2012. <>.

(no subject)
harry ron hermion ot3 one true threesome
Title:Let's Go Film The Sex Scene
Author: buddhist_babe2
Rating: NC-14 (snogging and masturbation)
Pairing: Troy/Abed
Spoilers: Spoilers for 3x13 blankets vs pillows timeline
Summary: Abed is ready to delete all the videos from his computer, when he sees one labled "kick-puncher sex scene" and decides to watch it again, one last time.
Author's Notes: written for my fuckyeahcommunity tumblr. I wanted it to be a lot longer (and there to be some actual butt sex) but the time frame until the next episode didn't really allow it.


PS: if my tags are funky, please help me out

Like Sylar :3
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
What Kind of Serial Killer Would You Be?
Your Result: Organized and Goal-Oriented

You're a planner. You'd carefully plot each murder, and carry it out methodically. You'll kill them in one location and move them to another later, and you'll study up your forensic science. The good news is, you're much harder to catch.
You won't kill for the person, you'll kill for material gain. Your goal is finance, not a psychopathic compulsion- but you have absolutely no problem killing as many people as necessary to get what you want.

Organized and Mission-Oriented
Organized and Hedonistic
Organized Visionary
Disorganized and Gain-Oriented
Disorganized and Hedonistic
Disorganized and Mission-Oriented
Disorganized Visionary
What Kind of Serial Killer Would You Be?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Writer's Block: Fuzzy friend
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
If you could have any fictional creature from a book, film, or TV show as your pet, which one would you choose, and why?

I'm tempted to say Mr. Muggles from heroes, just cause I like the show so much. But I'd probably rather have one of the super smart cats from Harry Potter. Mrs. Norris would be the shit. Crookshanks is also supposed to be a very intelligent animal.

The Only Two People in The World
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
This is technically a companion piece to my other fic, Peter, Interrupted, but can very easily stand alone. It's still in the process of being beta-ed (by notferretkun ), but I was so excited about finishing that I had to post it right away.


 The Wall was where it always happened. Fitting, somehow, with sledgehammers tossed aside in a moment of frustration. Hot breath against each others faces, fingers gripping at lapels... Shut up! Why don't you shut up?! I'll shut you up. And the lips come together; crushing, hurting, demanding. Their kiss is like everything else with them: a power struggle. Maybe some day they'll learn it's okay to be equals. One will kiss the other and it will simply be returned, an exchange of a gesture. But not now. Not now, as Peter shrugs off his jacket and attempts to rip Sylar's peacoat off him. Not now, because Sylar is grabbing the front of Peter's jeans and pulling their erections together through the fabric. Not now, because Peter can't do anything but rut against the fiery warmth inside the other man's denims and when he throws his head back in wild abandon, Sylar's there to cup the back of his head with large hands and nibble viciously at his neck.

Peter can't think. Doesn't want to think. He just hates hates hates. And wants wants wants. And if Sylar doesn't start touching him soon he really thinks he might pick up that sledgehammer and...The moan that leaves his mouth might be a little reckless, but it does its job and within moments Sylar has taken it to the next level, pulling Peter's shirt off and leaving red marks all over his chest with mouth and hands. He thinks maybe he could get his hands trapped in Sylar's hair, it's gotten so long, and he deliberately twists his fingers into it while trying to push those lips closer to his skin. And he wants to be closer. Sylar is sucking on one nipple while he brushes the rough pad of his thumb over the other. Oh. Oh. Oh. It's so good.

One moment Peter is leaning against the hand at his neck, the next he feels his bare back hit the wall as Sylar spins them around. The bricks feel like they could cut and bruise his tender skin, but this is only a dream. A fantasy. Like so many other things in Sylar's twisted mind, it's all about how you interpret them. So the pain, the fast, dirty, injury of the whole affair, is so much more erotic than it might be in real life. In real life, he would never whimper just because Sylar pulled away. Or watch the man with hungry eyes as he peeled off his shirt as well, so they were both topless. He would never yank Sylar close, wrap one leg around his waist, and devour his mouth with teeth and tongue. He would never unbutton Sylar's pants with the tiniest movement then slowly, slowly pull down the zipper because he knew that Sylar loved the teasing vibrations. He would never know that.

Their clothes were gone. Their clothes were gone and it was skin skin skin. Who needed modesty in an empty city? They fit together so well. With each thrust, Sylar's shaft traveled the full length of Peter's. It was like velvet. It was like fire. It was like nothing else, and Peter didn't know if it was because it was another man or because it was Sylar. Sylar. Sylar.

Peter had to lower his leg, the impending doom of that strong heat too close to his as yet forbidden zone. It was dangerous, spreading his legs that far apart. Leaving himself open for betrayal. More dangerous than Sylar taking advantage was that Peter might let it happen. Best to remove the temptation. The illusion of temptation? The opportunity to be tempted. For both of them. They had always too easily pushed things too far.

Sylar grabbed Peter's ass with one hand, and wrapped the other one around both their cocks. He tugged. And thrust. There was no lube, but there was friction. The friction of Sylar's hand. The friction of Sylar's shaft. Velvet and callouses. And the best part was when he swept his thumb over the tip of Peter's cock, smearing pre-cum, then pushed his own through the tight ring of fingers and across the wet path.

Peter wanted to touch him. Peter did not want to touch him. He wanted to touch, but didn't want to want to touch. He wanted to feel the pulse in the thick member. Knew somehow it would make everything feel all the more intense. Wonderful. Wanted to grab hold, feel what the head was like against his hand instead of his belly. But he didn't. He never did. Sylar touched. Sylar always went that extra step to cross the line. If Peter ever wanted to, he would be able to blame it all on the other man. And Peter was grateful.

It was time to let go. He always knew because it was when Sylar started guiding his movements. Another release, of sorts. The hand on his right ass-cheek kneaded and shoved him up and closer to Sylar's own thrusting hips. Peter didn't have to hold back now. Sylar would take the blame. And with that Peter gave his body over to Sylar's glorious pre-orgasmic rush. He clutched at the strong biceps. Lulled his head. They weren't managing full thrust anymore, just bursts of closer closer closer please. Sylar's breath puffed in his ear and Peter gasped and whimpered. He would be embarrassed by the noises—should have been embarrassed—but Sylar moved his hand from between their bodies and crushed them together. And the contact was amazing. And Peter forgot he made a noise and started making lots more.

Sylar's fingers tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck. Shoving his hips forward so there was no space between them. Peter was lost to it. Skin. Warmth. Sweat. Breath. A heartbeat. The only other heartbeat. The only two people in the world. A person that is just his. Their lips met and it was like they were trying to swallow each other's souls through the kiss. There was no biting this time, just lips and tongue. Lots of tongue. Peter sucked on Sylar's hard before pulling back to catch his breath.


Sylar's voice was deep and gravely, coming from somewhere deep inside his body, but it was also almost a whisper, and more than Peter could take. He groaned. He wanted to beg. Wanted to call his lover by name too, but resisted. Has to resist. Peter winced, but it wasn't from pain. Sylar was still rubbing against him in short, painfully pleasurable jerks of the hips. He threw his arms around broad shoulders and clutched as tightly as he could, feeling his body draw near the peak.

“That's it.” Sylar mumbled. “That's it. That's it.”

Peter felt something rising in chest. Hot pleasure and something else, tearing apart his insides. He didn't understand, but it didn't matter. It felt so good. So good.

Sylar came in thick, hot bursts that landed all over both their abdomens, but still he didn't stop. He kept moving against Peter, using the extra lubrication to slide beautifully. It should be sickening, the idea of another man's spunk coating his member. But it wasn't. Peter was so close he was sure he would die if he didn't come that instant. And then, it happened. The world ended, and for once Peter just let it happen. His mind went blank. His body filled with pleasure. And when he came, rather than hear it, he felt the name “Gabriel” on his lips.

Neither of them moved until they had both caught their breath. Sylar didn't mention Peter's slip-up. He just rested his forehead against Peter's and breathed. They still had their arms slung around each other, but had moved far enough apart that Peter could already feel their mixed cum cooling. He twitched. Shifted his weight.

“I'm sorry. Can we just stay like this a moment longer?” Sylar rushed through the sentence, breath still ragged.

Peter responded by relaxing into the embrace. Sighing and enjoying the closeness while it lasted. After a few moments, Sylar suddenly brought Peter closer in a tight hug and then released him just as quickly. They dressed in silence. They walked back to the apartment in silence.

In the shower Peter banged his fist against the tiled wall and felt close to tears.

The only thing worse than hating Sylar, was not hating him.

Peter, Interrupted
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
At first, I was going to write a “missing scenes” fic like everyone else, but I enjoy Sylar and Claire's interactions so much and I had this little conversation bouncing around in my head for days! I had to write it down!

Beta-ed by the love
ly notferretkun 

“Hey.” Claire took off her oversized sunglasses and smiled weakly at the disheveled Peter who opened the door.

“Claire!” her uncle wrapped one arm around Claire's shoulders and pulled her into both a hug and the apartment, closing the door behind them. Once they were inside he grabbed both her shoulders and kissed her forehead gently.

“God, it's so good to see you.” Peter said, “I was worried.”

“I'm fine.” Claire made a face like she was trying to laugh and waved him off, “Dad got me out of there pretty quick. We're kind of “half hiding” or whatever.”

Noah had her holed up in hotel room, but had agreed to a tentative appointment with a reporter who seemed discrete. She was not supposed to call Gretchen, or even leave the room, but she had to talk to Peter. He was the one person who's advice was always free of personal vendetta, and who she could actually explain herself to and feel unjudged.

“That's a scary thing you did, he's bound to be protective.” Peter released her and loped into the living area. Claire let out the breath she had been holding and smiled as she watched him pick up, slinging dirty clothes into the crook of his arm and kicking magazines under the couch.

“Please. Sit.” he gestured towards the now free sofa, “Would you like anything? I'll go get something...From the kitchen...”

“Uh, sure.” Claire raised an eyebrow at him as she sat down.

“Anything in particu-” Peter was cut off mid sentence by resounding footsteps and a familiar voice.

“Peter, you don't have any food in your kitchen. What do you eat?”

Claire and Peter both turned to stare wide-eyed at Sylar, who had just come out of the kitchen holding a jar of olives and wearing a quizzical expression.

“Oh.” Gabriel said softly. “Claire. How are you?”

“What the HELL is he DOING HERE?!” the blonde sprang from her seat, body going into what might be a fighting stance, though Peter wasn't sure what she planned to do.

“Now let's hold on.” he said diplomatically, standing between the sad-eyed ex-villan and the cheerleader with a grudge, “He helped Emma, remember? He's on our side.”

“'Our side,' Peter?” Claire scoffed, “Don't be ridiculous. He's a murderer! He killed my father! Your brother! How can you just let that slide?!”

“A lot has happened since then, Claire.” Peter took a step closer, putting a hand on her shoulder and peering into her eyes imploringly, “Please just...let me explain.”

Peter watched her, head tilted to the side, eyes cautious. He waited until her face was less panicky, until her anger went back to the place where it always lay, smoldering, but not longer a flame. She both hated and loved him for this, her stupid, brave, beautiful, selfless, empathic uncle. He didn't always know what was best, but he had always tried to do right by her. She took a couple deep breaths and calmed herself down.

“I know this must be strange for you, Claire...” Gabriel began, in a voice that was no doubt meant to pacify her, but only brought to mind dozens of bad memories.

“What do you know?! You don't know!” Claire shrugged off Peter's touch and walked around the coffee table to stand right in front of Sylar, “This isn't the first time you've tried to be good, and it's not the first time you'll fail, either. You. Are. Evil.”

“You were the one who said my powers made me this way.” Sylar leaned towards Claire, to set the olives down on the coffee table, and she backed into it reflexively. There was a split second when he was in her space, threatening her, before he backed off, contorting his face into a kind of pained determination.

To Sylar, to Gabriel, to the person he was or was becoming, it seemed that Claire should be his friend. It was written in ink, and so fate, if you believed in that kind of thing. And how could he not, after all they'd been through?

“I'll figure it out, you know.” He said calmly, “It all lies in the brain, and I should be able to use my power as easily to figure out my own mind as I could for someone else.”

“Great. Then why don't we crack open that skull of yours and we'll poke around a bit?”

Peter had a brief moment to wish he had never used his inheritance to accessorize his apartment, before Claire had grabbed up a ceramic vase and smashed Sylar over the head with it.

“Gabriel!” Peter exclaimed, taking a step forward then remembering (yet again) that none of them could get hurt, “Claire! There's no reason for this.”

“Yes there is.” Sylar said darkly.

Claire let out a shriek as Sylar's hand curled around her ankle and he used it to take her legs out from under her. She fell on the floor. Hard. But before Peter could do anything about it, he found himself pressed up against his living room wall by Sylar's telekinesis. All he could do was watch as Sylar took up the half of the vase that was still intact and returned Claire's earlier gesture.

“You son of a bitch!” Peter cried, struggling against his invisible bounds, even though he knew it was no use. How could he be so blind?! All those years! All those...moments. “Dammit!”

Sylar stood over Claire's body and watched her heal effectively. He smirked in appreciation as she wiped her hair out of her face and all but growled in rage at him. The formidable man took half a step back, waiting to see what the cheerleader would do. No reason to initiate more violence if it wasn't necessary. He was, after all, trying to be a good guy here.

“I knew it.” Claire spat as she brought herself to her feet, “You're a psychopath. How long did you think you'd be able to keep this up before something like this happened?”

“I wasn't sure.” he answered honestly, “I was hoping longer.”

“Gabriel, think about what you're doing.” Peter wriggled, writhed, and Sylar tried not to be distracted by the little movements.

“Oh, I am, Peter.” Sylar replied, sounding more confident than he felt, “This is the only way.”

“What could you possibly...”

Once again, Peter was unable to finish his sentence, as there were more important things going on. Claire grabbed the end of the coffee table, flipped it over and at Sylar's head, but it halted an inch away from touching his skin.

“You're going to have to do better than that, Claire.” Sylar smiled. He liked their little chats, he and Claire. Both of them so yearned to be understood, but fought so hard to make sure they couldn't be. They would be great friends.

He aimed the coffee table at Claire and let it fly. The wood splintered ever so slightly as it hit her square in the gut. She was impaled, almost cut in two, on the wall between the living room and kitchen. She screamed, but it was in rage, not pain. Sylar watched as she shoved as hard as she could at the furniture trapping her, and considered that perhaps trapping her so soon had not been the best idea.

“You son of a bitch! You bastard! How could you?! How could you?!” Peter was still struggling like it was going to make a difference.

“How long have we known each other, Peter?” Gabriel asked, trying to sound both serious and cocky.

Sylar reached forward with his right hand and tore the table away with his power. But he was reckless, and its trajectory was pointed right at Peter. The moderately petite man cringed, shut his eyes, knowing he would heal since he had recently touched Claire, but still not looking forward to the assault. At the last moment, Gabriel flicked his wrist and the blood-soaked wood smashed on the floor instead.

Peter gasped, looked up, watched Claire slide the two inches to the ground as she re-knit herself. She had not even completely healed when she grabbed a piece of the broken coffee table and ran at Sylar, stabbing him in the heart with it.

“That's better.” Gabriel gasped out, staggering back ever so slightly before pulling what turned out to be one of the legs of the coffee table out of his chest.

Claire wasn't done. Before Gabriel had a chance to heal she had grabbed Peter's DVD player off the entertainment center and was bashing him in the head with it. Sylar fell to the ground, raising a hand up to protect his face instinctively. Claire had no such instinct, so when he stabbed her in the eye with the table leg, she wasn't ready for it.

“Consider that payback for the pencil incident.”

Peter tried to make sense what was going on in his living room. There stood Sylar/Gabriel, stance wide, face light. He wasn't advancing, though. It seemed like the twisted person was waiting for Claire to act before he went any further. Claire, for her part, was yanking the splintered wood out of her eye and panting as she waited for it to heal.

“Payback?!” Claire screeched, “You're the one who forced yourself on me! Took Gretchen!”

Peter didn't even get a chance to begin his sentence this time before Gabriel was answering.

“First of all, I never took Gretchen, only her bag.” he said calmly, “And secondly: Oh boohoo! Poor little lesbian had to kiss a boy! It's not like a raped you.”

“You forced me down. I couldn't get away! I didn't know it was only going to be a kiss,” she ran at him mid sentence, fists raised in a classic fighting style, “you son of a bitch!”

The punch landed, and Peter realized, finally, that Sylar had meant it to. Peter relaxed in his invisible restraint, and watched as Gabriel fell backwards with Claire atop him, the tiny girl raining punches on his comely face. The blonde was breaking knuckles with every punch, using her other hand to punch him again while that one healed, over and over again. Gabriel had stopped fighting, he just lay there, letting Claire ruin his face. Soon her grunts of rage turned into sobs, and her punches became less forceful and more like she was simply shoving his jaw from side to side. In a last futile move, Claire slapped Sylar bloody face and shoved herself off of him, clearing a path through the debris to the couch, which she leaned against as she sobbed.

Gabriel sat up slowly and wiped his face, but too much blood had already dried for it to really make a difference. When he looked up at Peter, the empath's eyes were kind, if not entirely unconfused. Slowly, he was lowered to the ground so that he was on his feet, Gabriel only hoped the gesture would be appreciated.

Peter, for his part, was doing his best not to think about the kissing, or mentions of homosexuality, and instead was just trying to decide who he should comfort first. Gabriel stood, and both he and Peter turned to look where Claire was staining the couch, sobbing and wiping blood and snot all over the place.

“What happened?” she finally gasped, turning to Peter, “Why do you trust him?”

Peter looked at Gabriel, then at Claire and leaned down to stroke her hair.

“We spent time together.” Peter said stupidly, “I can't explain it, but I know he means well.”

Claire looked into her uncles eyes, disbelieving.

“I spent some time busting down walls.” Gabriel said with a small smile. He reached out his hand to her, as if to help her up. Claire just stared at it, and him, like he was crazy.

“I've seen the error of my ways, Claire.” the watchmaker (sorry, restorer of timepieces) said without retracting his hand, “I spent a lot of time with Peter without having my powers. I learned to be a human being without them. I can never truly die for the crimes I have committed, but luckily you can kill me as many times as you like to make up for the pain I've caused you.

“I had a lot of time by myself. Alone with my sins and my notions of what me and my future is supposed to be. I figured out that we should just consider our powers to be a part of a longer list of traits, like loyal and good skin.”

“You do have good skin.” Claire parroted wryly.

Gabriel smiled and moved his hand ever so slightly forward, re-initiating the gesture. Claire stared at the hand for a few very long moments, and Peter held his breath, watching.

It was like a miracle; Claire slipped her petite hand into Sylar much larger one and he pulled her to her feet. They stood there for a few moments,

Then Claire hit him in the face with her elbow. Sylar reared back at the blow, but when he turned back to face them he was wearing a smile.

“You're just like your uncle. Elbows of steel.”

“I still don't trust you.” Claire said vigilantly, but she didn't try to attack him again.

“Don't worry Claire, I expect to have to earn that.”

Peter beamed at Gabriel, not being able to remember ever feeling so proud. Well, perhaps with Nathan's successes, but that was a can of worms he didn't want to open in his subconscious right now. Instead he gazed at the bigger man and wished he could pull him into a tight hug. Maybe his methods were a little bit questionable, but he was trying to do good. And, though Peter himself could never imagine intentionally hurting Claire, both she and Gabriel were basically immortal, and Peter could see how being hurt might not hold the same connotations to them as it did to his sentimental soul.

“Do you mind if I use your phone,” Claire asked almost shyly. “I need to call Gretchen.”

“No problem.” Peter smiled.

Claire picked her way across the demolished living room and finally found the phone. Peter and Sylar watched her dial with her blood encrusted fingers and make her way into the kitchen for a more private conversation. As soon as she was out of the room, Gabriel began using his telekinesis to do away with the bulk of the mess they had made. Peter held out his hand and received the power as well, and the two of them kept busy in silence for a few moments.

“Peter. Say something.” Gabriel finally pleaded, pushing everything into a corner with invisible hands and moving to stand closer to the other man.

“I don't know what you expect me to say, Sylar.”

Gabriel flinched at the sound of his alias, sad eyes looking down at the bloodstains beneath his feet. It was unspoken between them that which name Peter chose mattered. In the years they had spent together, Peter had at first only used the name Gabriel in mocking. But slowly he had begun to use it like a pet name, when he approved or wanted to show the slightest bit of affection. He spat the word “Sylar” but the way he said “Gabriel” could be like a gentle caress.

“I was only trying to let her get her anger out.” Gabriel plopped down on the couch and sighed, gazing up at Peter like a child getting reprimanded.

“And you couldn't have warned me?” Peter wasn't really angry, but he wasn't ready to let his pride slip away without a little bit of a fight, “You had to trap me with your powers? Taunt Claire with...secrets?”

“Yes.” Gabriel replied flatly, “How else could she be angry enough? She wasn't going to hurt me with you standing there unless I taunted her, and she wasn't going to do a damn thing if she thought it's what I wanted her to do.”

It was Peter's turn to sigh and sit down on the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair and then turned to Gabriel with a small smile.

“I think it was good for her, really scared me.”

“Scared you?” Gabriel looked appalled, “Peter, you didn't think...How could you think I would change so quickly? I thought you'd...”

“Forgiven you?” Peter blinked slowly and look deep into Gabriel's eyes, “I have. Somehow, I have.”

Peter suddenly found himself wrapped in the strong arms of Gabriel Gray, and he returned the hug because he had wanted it too. They sat there for some moments, just holding each other. Peter could feel Gabriel's breath against his neck and their heartbeats so close together. He hated himself for forgiving him, hated himself for enjoying the hug just a little too much. Peter didn't want to think about what they had done inside Sylar's mind. He had told himself at the time that it was just because they were the only two people. Men have needs, and when they acted out those twisted little fantasies while locked away it was no more than that: filling a need. But the closeness, the real closeness, he still yearned for it. All the women in New York City (and the men, for that matter) couldn't fill that place he now had in his heart for Gabriel.

They parted when they heard the phone beep as Claire hung up. She was just as bloody as she had been when she left, and it made Peter realize that he must be too, clinging to Gabriel like he had been.

“How is she?” Sylar asked conversationally.

“Good, I...” Claire swallowed, frowned, the rolled her eyes and started over, “My dad wouldn't let me call her. He took away my cell phone. She was worried because she saw the news and I had her car's all a big mess.”

“She's not angry, is she?” Peter asked.

“No, just worried.” Claire sighed, “We kind of fought before I left, and now I'm afraid she won't want to be my...She won't want to be around me now that I'm famous.”

“She loves you Claire.” Gabriel said with a smile.

There was an extended silence as Claire searched Sylar's face, like she was trying to find a hidden piece of it she hadn't seen before.

“I hate to ask again, but...” she gestured down the front of her body. Everything she was wearing had turned that nasty rust color and she had holes ripped too big to be really decent.

“Shower and clothes.” Peter finished easily, standing and walking towards the bedroom, “I'll see if I can find something of mine that might fit you.”

Claire stayed where she was, going back to staring at Sylar once more.

“You love him?” she asked, and Gabriel was clearly startled by the question.

“What a strange question, Claire.”

“That's not an answer.”

“You have your subtext, I'll have mine.”

Claire actually smirked at that, and for once, didn't say another word.

This is just my little take on the whole situation. I know there's not really as much petlar as most would probably prefer, but it's what my muse gave me. I might write a sequel with some actual smex if anyone really wants one.

Writer's Block: Life Unplugged
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
How long can you survive without mobile or Internet access before you break into cold sweats?

Not for very long. Our internet is really finicky, and whenever it goes out my roommate and I have a few moments of pure panic. We inflict senseless violence on our computers and scream battle cries which I'm sure alarm our neighbors.

I honestly do no know what to do with myself if I can't be online. I recently got one of the little notebooks and google chrome, but not having stumbleupon is really beginning to take it's toll. I know there's a way to do it, but the toolbar just takes up so much space. It leaves me with a strip of screen about four fingers high, and I have small hands.

Outside? Isn't that where zombies come from? No thank you.

Writer's Block: Beam me up, Scotty
physics miracle, the journal, stoners
If you could be transported anywhere in the world, at any point in time, where and when would would you choose to live, and why?

If I had control over space and time like that, I'd be Hiro Nakamura. As it is, I'm not sure what I would pick. I'd probably want to take people with me, if I decided to leave at all. There are too many choices, variables. I don't know what I would choose. I could go back to my childhood, the prosperity of the nineties. Japan at any time, aside from WW2, would probably be quite a lot of fun. Ancient Greece, a Mayan city when they were still cutting edge, a visit to before recorded time to see what our ancestors really looked like. The twenties were crazy, the 70s would be too, not to mention the future is always a tempting prospect. Maybe I would just go back in time a couple months and talk the whole thing over with my recently past self and eventually we could work something out...

And create a gigantic time paradox in the process.


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