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howtodrawyourdragon · 4 years ago

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Nothing Like Bonding During A Storm

Summary: In a modern world, Toothless has trouble adjusting to the surface world. Fortunately, he knows he can always count on Hiccup, even when nature's extremes bring down her wrath on the world.

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless

Words: 3 075

Author’s Notes:

That moment when you finish and post a one-shot about an AU that's been developing since February before finishing the actual main fic.

Anyway, I've been watching a lot of videos on YouTube about tornadoes and I find them very fascinating to look at. I often find myself wondering "how do people deal with possible natural disasters in a world that has ended" and this came to mind.

This is basically just dipping my toe in a concept with countless of possibilities and I will probably return to it later to explore it some more.

I have barely slept the past two days, I hope it doesn't show in this one-shot. It doesn't feel as exciting as I want it to be.

Also, hopefully I can finally get the main fic over and done with instead of daydreaming about it. I literally have another finished one-shot of this AU that I haven't posted yet.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

Ao3

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Hiccup muses that today is simply the culmination of his hubris. His natural and unrestrained curiosity, his want to travel, his workaholic tendencies, having a best bud for a dragon who would love to explore this new surface world with him... All of this was bound to come back to bite him in the ass someday and today is that day.

Flying way, way out West in the hopes of finding more human settlements that wished to regain contact with others, Hiccup and Toothless find themselves far away from home.

Though his father was initially against it, his plan on returning the vast network of communication that mankind once had before it was taken from them turned out to be a fruitful one and that is the only reason why Stoick ever agreed on letting Hiccup stray even farther away from home.

He still isn't quite so keen on letting his son out of his sight, even after all these years.

So far this country has been just as empty as he already figured it would be before they left Berk. It's been days since he and Toothless arrived and they have yet to find a single remaining human settlement.

Plenty of birds, critters, and other local wildlife, but no humans.

Not that they have managed to explore much. They have found an abandoned town close to a beach and spend a little while combing through it, but once it became clear that it was empty, they moved on.

But finding no human life on this mission to do just that will have to wait. There is a matter far, far more urgent that needed their attention.

High up in the sky, Toothless rumbles his concern to his Rider. Hiccup is already looking in the same direction he is, the map in his hands temporarily forgotten.

"I know, Bud. I'm keeping an eye on it, too." He tells him and it's as if the dragon understands, relaxing just a tad bit with the knowledge that Hiccup is aware of it, too.

In and around the Northern island of Berk, extreme weather isn't something Hiccup is unfamiliar with. The Winters could get so cold, especially during the weeks that he and his people nicknamed "Devastating Winter". A fitting name for the below-freezing temperatures and the blizzards that buried their houses annually.

Many people from different countries have called them stupid for continuing to live here, but then, they are descendants of the Vikings that once lived there. So maybe their problem isn't so much stupidity as it is pure stubbornness.

And with climate changing, though it has most likely slowed down since the year everything went wrong, the temperatures during Winter are even colder than they used to be when Hiccup was a child. And the Summers so much warmer.

On the North Sea, you can expect the occasional waterspout as well. But so long as it didn't come on land, it wasn't too much of a threat, not too much. For the island's inhabitants, that is.

But the clouds Hiccup and Toothless see swirling are a little too threatening for their comfort.

They are dark, appearing to be stacked on top of one another to create an uneven tower as wide as it is tall with a thick saucer-like shape at the base. The clouds that make up each level appear restless, opposite from their usually fluffy nature.

Above them and the flying duo lies a dark, ominous blanket that stretches for miles. There is a strong wind, conflicting up and downdrafts fighting for dominance, and they make the clouds and column dance and swirl. There is a downpour of rain and hail beneath as well. It makes the area underneath it seem foggy.

Their appearance makes Hiccup's heart swell in awe-inspiring trepidation and he has to swallow as his mouth feels dry. Meanwhile, Toothless looks on in fear.

He still hasn't had much experience with the surface's weather. The sight of this dark sky makes him feel like his heart is about to burst right out of his chest.

Hiccup hasn't forgotten, of course. He knows his Bud is completely inexperienced and relies on his Rider to know what is best.

Thankfully, always having been quite fascinated by things that could potentially kill him ever since he was young, Hiccup has done his fair share of research on certain weather phenomena. Much like Fishlegs and his interest in geology and mineralogy.

What Hiccup is staring at right now, it could possibly be called a mesocyclone.

There is a supercell inside that thing and the winds around them are getting harder to fight.

Lightning weaves its way through the clouds for miles. There are multiple strikes and they follow each other closely, speaking volumes of the storm's electrical strength. The thunder is a good indication of how close Dragon and Rider are, too. It is deafening.

Mindful of the metal holding Toothless' prosthetic together, Hiccup decides it is wise to land.

Folding the map in his hands up and pulling his backpack to his front to stuff it away, Hiccup then continues to look at the world below them.

There is plenty of space to land, lots of open fields for miles around them. But with how close those clouds are, Hiccup would feel better if there is a shelter or something they can hide in. Preferably a storm shelter just in case that supercell had a particular surprise in store for them today.

"Down there, Bud! Let's land and see if we can ride it out there." Hiccup tells his Night Fury when he spots two buildings on the ground with a fence all around the perimeter. An abandoned machine stands in the middle of an overgrown cornfield. It looks to be a farm.

Right at that moment, the downpour catches up and soaks them both in seconds and the winds grow even fiercer. Quickly after, hail that grows to be almost the size of the palm of his hand.

Toothless lets out a panicked yell, startled by the sudden shower.

"I know, Bud, I know! Set down near that farmhouse! Those wooden houses over there!" His Rider points them out to him and he folds his wings for a quick dive. While holding onto the saddle, Hiccup attempts to shield his dragon's eyes from the hail.

They land on the dirt road before the home that is swiftly becoming muddy beneath their feet. Toothless wastes little time to jump underneath the roofed porch, escaping the rainfall. Hiccup dismounts, pats his dragon on the neck, and goes to work on finding that storm shelter.

Sunlight teases them from the edges of the miles of clouds, but it is much too risky to try and escape this storm. Not with the speeds at which this supercell is traveling and certainly not with winds so strong possibly dislocating wings as wide as Toothless'.

Leaving the restless dragon on the porch, Hiccup runs down the steps and back out into the downpour, his prosthetic slipping in the mud. His hair and his clothes already stick to his skin.

One look told him the entrance to their salvation wasn't there under the porch. But on farmland miles away from the nearest city and closest hospital and with weather like this not being completely uncommon, there has to be shelter around here somewhere

Running around to the side of the house, it isn't long before Hiccup finds a set of slanted metal doors leading to a concrete room underneath the home where the basement should be. Approaching it and finding it without a padlock, Hiccup opens both doors and finds a stone stairway down into darkness. It's a storm shelter.

The hinges of the two doors rattle slightly with the wind and that worries him, but this place will have to do. No use taking to the skies now.

Something spooks Toothless and he calls out to his Rider. In the rain, thunder, and the hail, Hiccup can only just hear him and he turns around, shielding himself from the large chunks of frozen water, to find a sight that makes him stumble. His eyes would've widened in wonder if the rain didn't make it too difficult to see.

At the base of the mesocyclone, the rapidly whirling clouds have formed a greyish funnel-like shape that reaches for the earth. Witnessing the birth of what could possibly turn into a tornado, one of nature's most dangerous phenomena, is truly astonishing and Hiccup can hardly put his feelings into words. Such a library of languages at his disposal and not one word can describe them.

It is fast, too, much faster than he previously anticipated, and the girth is quickly gaining width as well.

But enough staring in wonder at nature's lethal beauty, Hiccup can tell that Toothless worries. That Night Fury has never seen anything like this before and is rightfully freaking out.

But what he can't tell and Hiccup can, is that the swirling of dirt and debris on the ground means that the tornado has already touched down and the funnel simply needs to follow to make its conception complete.

Hiccup also realizes, much too his growing discomfort, that it is much closer than he originally thought.

"Come on, Bud!" Toothless doesn't need to be told twice and he comes with a leap. Looking down into the shelter, he gives Hiccup a skeptical look.

"Hey, I may be an idiot, but humans know how to build things." Hiccup tells him, shouts at him over the growing noise all around them, though he worries whether his dragon will actually fit.

"This will keep us safe, Bud, trust me." He places a hand on Toothless' head, scratches him behind his earfin. The rain is pouring, the hail is falling, and his heart pumps blood through his veins with great speed, but Hiccup still smiles as if aerial wrath isn't about to descend upon them.

Where he gets that kind of bravery, Toothless honestly doesn't know.

Reassured by his Rider's calm demeanor, Toothless finds it in himself to descend into the near pitch-black shelter. The pouring rain stops for him.

Toothless fits and Hiccup feels comforted by this. It is without a doubt not spacious down there, but at least they won't have to face a storm that size.

Speaking of which, he turns to face the monstrous clouds behind him and his breath is taken away.

There is something gorgeous about the display he sees before him.

The funnel now connects the earth and the sky. The clouds are dark, but still, the tornado contrasts greatly against the grey background. The rain doesn't hide its deadly beauty and its enormous size makes him feels insignificant and small. More so than even Toothless had upon their first meeting.

If he'd been born and raised in this country, he probably would've become a storm chaser, of that Hiccup is sure. If life hadn't been turned upside down on a global scale.

Sounding almost like a human groaning in annoyance, Toothless briefly leaves the shelter to grab Hiccup by the shirt and pull him down the stairs.

"Yep! I'm coming! I'm coming!" Snapping out of the trance that will probably kill him someday, Hiccup follows.

Why must the human be so attracted to things that are lethal him? Are all humans like this or just his? He knows Astrid is a lot more careful than Hiccup.

"Toothless, can you find the light switch? I've shown you what they look like, right?" Hiccup asks as he struggles to close the metal doors. The wind has picked up and dirt is starting to fly up outside. The neglected fields are being flattened and by now the rotting fence in view is knocked down. Debris is approaching and before long the tornado itself will be there.

Two trees are uprooted just as Hiccup manages to hold them close and he fights the urge to figure out the EF ranking of this specimen.

The light flickers on and Hiccup finds the latch to keep the entrance closed. Once again he is grabbed by the back of his shirt and he lets Toothless pull him further down. He is in a hurry to get Hiccup with him.

There are many dusty shelves down here, but besides cobwebs and the occasional spider, they are already empty. Plundered empty, most likely. Or the family that lived here, took everything and left. Either way, there isn't much room for something the size of a Night Fury.

Toothless lies curled up with Hiccup in the middle and still he can only move so much.

The roaring of the storm outside grows and grows and the doors aren't quite enough to keep it out. The house above them begins to creak and groan as the unforgiving winds beat it mercilessly.

Despite his size and his lethal nature, Toothless shrinks underneath the unfamiliar noise that sounds so much louder in his sensitive ears. He's never been through a storm this size before. And while Hiccup hasn't either, he at least knows and understands what is currently raging right above them, tearing apart everything in its path.

"Shh, it's okay." Hiccup kneels beside him, pulse just slowing down.

The dragon's instincts are screaming at him to get out and flee, his fear is almost suffocating. All that grounds him now is his human's presence. In the still short time that they've known each other, Hiccup has already proven himself to be far braver than Toothless can ever call himself, though his Rider would disagree. He trusts his judgment.

The house above them gives in beneath the endless abuse and is loudly ripped from its foundation. It is proof of the twister's power.

The dragon yells in Hiccup's face as if he even needs to be told and the human pulls his head onto his lap and embraces it.

He can't imagine how scary this must be for him. Before the surface world, Toothless didn't even know what rain was. So extreme weather like this was like a nightmare come to life.

Wrapping his forelegs around his Rider, Toothless finds solace with him.

The two don't know which is louder. The thunder booming above them or the roaring of the twister that, by all likelihood, is leveling everything above them.

Hiccup attempts to cover his Bud's ears. His own eardrums feel like they are about to burst.

This couldn't have lasted for more then a couple of seconds with the wind speeds this storm travels with, maybe a minute or two at most, but it felt like an eternity. Toothless' grip on his Rider tightens.

And then it passes.

The roaring leaves them, the explosive thundering moves on. Gradually, careful silence returns.

Their ears continue to drum for a little while longer.

Toothless moves to look up to Hiccup to see what the knowledgeable human thinks, but Hiccup shakes his head and pulls him back down.

They wait for at least an hour just to be sure.

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Toothless is close to napping when his Rider moves. Letting go, he raises his head to watch Hiccup rise awkwardly on his prosthetic.

He doesn't say a word as he climbs the stairs and out of Toothless' sight. The grating noise of metal sliding against metal reaches his ears and light comes shining down into the shelter.

Hiccup returns soon after with a smile.

"Come on out, Bud. It's safe now." He tells him and Toothless once again doesn't need to be told twice.

The air outside is relieving and welcomes the dragon as he ascends the stairs and exits the shelter. It is humid and a little chilly. Toothless takes a deep sniff and still smells the rain.

The tornado is gone and the wind has calmed. The once quaint farmland, though abandoned, is in ruins all around them. The long grass of the fields and the weeds lie flat against the ground, there is corn all around them, and trees are torn in two or entirely uprooted. Half of the barn has collapsed, but the house has been mostly leveled. Nearby lie the crushed remains of a metal contraption that humans call a car.

Turning his head, in the far distance, Toothless spots the dark tower and lightning is still striking. The thunder isn't as loud now.

But Hiccup isn't looking at the carnage. Hands on his hips, he is staring up at the sky.

Coming to stand next to him, Toothless follows his example.

The clouds above them, now tinted a lovely orange, are strangely shaped now. There is an entire blanket of them separating the earth and the sky above it. There are rows and rows of fluffy pouches that reflects the light of the sun beautifully.

He can see why Hiccup would smile at the sight. And in an area as abandoned as this, no human or dragon life was lost that they know of, so they can only bask in the moment.

"Glad we got that tornado warning, huh, Bud? The movies never said that we still needed to deal with natural disasters. Ah well, the joys of a post-apocalyptic world, I guess." Toothless doesn't know what his Rider is talking about, probably something he used to know from the time before their worlds met.

Hiccup kicks a nearby wooden board away and removes his backpack to check its contents. There are some things in there that can't get wet. Fortunately, it is a good backpack and everything inside it is still dry. He briefly ponders his raincoat, but leaves it. His plaid shirt and the one beneath it are already wet, no use pulling it out now.

But they were lucky, that is for sure. They are probably bruised, to be sure, but that the hail didn't hit them in the head, or the eyes in Toothless' case, is nothing short of a miracle. And to come upon this abandoned land with a storm shelter when they needed it most... If people still lived here then he and Toothless would have been forced to brave the storm.

Though they can still see flashes of lightning in the clouds in the far distance, the storm is dying. And with the sun setting in the horizon, Hiccup figures it is probably wise to find a nice spot to spend the night. Somewhere far away, where he would be certain they will be safe.

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

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Lost Things Ch. 5 (Epilogue)

The Reuinion

Epilogue

Someone had told him once, years ago, that the shivers that ran up his spine when nothing was around to cause it meant that someone was walking across his grave. It was a weird saying attached to a funny feeling that gave it a vague sense of foreboding.

Now, standing in front of his own grave, Ace was a little disappointed that he didn't’t feel any shivering at all. Just a bit of melancholy. On the cross was his favorite orange hat, a gift from Luffy all those years ago, his belt and dagger, and a necklace that he had been sure Akainu’s fist had broken two and a half years ago.

“I gathered the beads,” Marco said, as if reading Ace’s mind. He was good at that. “Haruta tried to help me string them back together, but I didn’t let her. I felt like- like I had to do it. On my own.”

Without looking, Ace grabbed his hand.

“Thank you,” he said. He looked at tomb, where they had erected a grave with his name on it. It was weird, he felt like it should have been more horrifying, to see where he had supposedly been laid to rest. Instead he just felt bitter that his family had had to erect it in the first place.

He and Marco still hadn’t been to see the others yet. Marco had explained, after his memories returned, that he was now leading the Whitebeard Pirates. After his crash into the icy islands and the ensuing months they had to spend together (which, Ace did not mind at all ) Marco had wanted to give Ace a chance to ease back into the swing of piracy before throwing him to the metaphorical sharks.

He was also probably well aware of the fact that the instant they had settled Ace was going to want to hunt down Teach, as well as that had gone before.

All of these thoughts were really just Ace procrastinating looking slightly to the right. Wind caught the massive white coat and pulled it, reminding the young man of the fact that he couldn’t put this off forever.

Ace breathed in the tepid air, trying to acquire some modicum of calm.

He lifted his eyes, slowly, to the monument built for his father. His real father. The one that loved him regardless of his origins, taken him in and offered to share his family. Edward Newgate was the only father that Ace had ever known.

And I got him killed.

Ace couldn’t breath around the knot in his throat.

“Pop’s… I’m so-”

“Don’t you dare.”

Ace swallowed tensely and looked over his shoulder. Marco’s gaze, normally half lidded and lazy, had sharpened. A gaze golden now outside of a phoenix transformation, a sign of how intensely Marco felt about Ace’s near apology.

“Marco…”

“Don’t. Pops died for you, Little Oars jr. did too. Don’t disrespect their love for you by apologizing for their willing sacrifice. If Luffy told you he was sorry he survived after you died for him, how would you feel?”

Ace worked his jaw slowly. The guilt in his heart wasn’t alleviated, not a bit, but he knew the truth in Marco’s words. If Luffy apologized for living-

Luffy.

Ace looked away from Marco, back to the grave. He bowed his head to hide his dampening cheeks. Where was his hat when he needed it?

“Thank you,” he said instead. “For being a wonderful father. I-I love you, pops!”

Ace could have sworn that he felt a massive hand weighing down on his back, warming his shoulders. A familiar laugh was carried on the wind.

“I love you too, my son! “

“Man, Luffy is going to lose his shit when he sees me.”

Marco glanced over at Ace, who was very meticulously applying makeup to hide his freckles. He had taken to tying his long, flowing hair into a loose bun behind his head these days, and even in the warmer climate of Dressrosa he had his throat covered with the thick white scarf that fluttered behind his back when he ran. It wasn’t much of a disguise, in terms of effort, but often times the best ones were the easiest. Not to mention the fact that Ace had died, publically been executed, two years ago. Most anyone who saw him now would just assume they were crazy, or that there was just a strange resemblance between him and the young pirate prince.

Pirate Prince, now that was a strange thing to think.

At this point, it was more accurate to call Luffy the prince, seeing as he would be the next King and all.

“Does your brother know that his hat belonged to Roger?” Marco asked abruptly.

Ace’s head snapped towards him. The younger pirate stared at Marco open mouthed. So Ace hadn’t known either? Not that surprising. Ace hadn’t even been born when Roger died.

“Ah. Never mind then,” Marco waved his hand to dismiss his words. Ace was marginally less sensitive about his lineage since he regained his memories, Marco could only guess why. That was the only reason there hadn’t been an outburst of Ace’s Issues with the dead king.

“Wait, does that mean Shanks was on his crew?” Ace turned towards Marco. Marco handed him his combat boots.

“Shanks? Yeah, he was Roger’s apprentice back in the day. Trouble maker back then. Not much has changed,” Marco shrugged casually. This was all old news. Roger had always been pretty good at keeping his cabin brats out of the limelight, so the government and therefore the public didn’t know about his relationship. Still, he thought…

Well, it didn’t matter what he thought.

“Who knew,” Ace shook his head. He needed it clear for what they were about to do.

“For the record, I’m against this,” Marco said for the millionth time.

For the millionth time Ace replied, “That won’t stop me. Lu needs to know I’m okay.”

“Just… be careful,” Marco must have let some of his genuine worry leak into his voice because Ace’s expression softened. He crossed what little space there was in their cheap hotel room and sat next to Marco, close enough they were pressed side to side.

Marco couldn’t help it if he worried. He had already lost so much already. He had barely kept the crew together in the last two years and even now most of them were in hiding after the disastrous attempt at revenge.

The attempt he’d lead them in.

A strong arm draped comfortably across Marco’s shoulders.

“We sure are a pair, huh?” Ace joked. “What would Pops say?”

Marco snorted. “He’d tell us to get our heads out of our asses and start acting like pirates.”

“Yeah. So what are we doing sitting on our asses? We’ve got trouble to stir up!”

Marco shook his head and leaned on Ace. He didn’t like this, the whole thing smelled like a trap. As if the devil fruit wasn’t enough proof of the fact that they were luring people in, the whole country was populated by living toys. It made Marco’s skin crawl.

He still had a lot of questions in regards to the fruit, and exactly what had happened with Ace. People didn’t just disappear in a flare of red when they were supposed to be dead. Accounts of devil fruit were rare and far between, so he just assumed that it had something to do with the Flame Flame Fruit. And, Ace still had his fire power.

So, either the fruit that was being offered as a prize was a fake, or they were missing something important about Logias.

Thinking about it, Marco had never heard of a logia user dying.

There was so much about devil fruits that no one knew, so much that they didn’t understand. Even to the people who had eaten them, even to people like Marco, who had seen thousands of devil fruit in his long life didn’t know that much about them.

Marco sighed and gently shoved Ace. He pushed a ski cap into his hands.

“Get going. You’re in A block yeah? Be careful and remember-”

“No fires, I know, I know,” Ace held up his hand and an exhasperated surrender. He flashed Marco a guileless smile and, with a parting kiss, ran off through the door with his scarf pulled up over his mouth.

Marco had a very bad feeling about all of this.

Ace had had a good feeling about this, at the start of the fight.

By the time he was on his knees, gulping in air while the crowds screamed around him, his opinion had changed a little.

Mr. Store lay on the ground in front of him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Blood dripped down a cut on his temple, saturating the brown paper bag that covered the rest of his face. One of his arms was bent at the wrong angle and the rubber on his boots had melted at some point. Hopefully no one would notice, what with the whole undercover thing.

Ace was breathing so hard he felt cold from his lungs outwards, only combated by his devil fruit abilities. Ace lifted his clenched fists above his head, tilted his face towards the sun a roared his victory for the world to hear.

He hadn’t thought the fight would be that hard. Everyone else in the block had fallen easily, but this Mr. Store just would stay down. Ace had to give credit where it was due, not a lot of people could take what he had dished out.

In the months since he had come back from the grave he had been training his ass off in a desperate attempt to get back to where he was, and to surpass that level entirely. If he couldn’t, he didn’t have the right to sail the seas. The New World was a place where only the strong survived, and Ace would not be a burden on Marco while they travelled together. So he trained, harder than he ever had in his life.

He would have been stronger if he hadn’t spent the last two years doing little more than running around a snow island, chopping wood and helping fix houses. But, he was stronger than he had been before, finally.

Strong enough to clear the coliseum block without using his devil fruit powers once.

...well, maybe once. Just to give him a little bit of leverage in that last bout.

Ace rocked unsteadily to his feet. He’d taken more damage than he’d wanted too. Marco was gonna be pissed when he got back. Actually, from the dark glower that was clouding his face from where he sat in the crowd, he was already pissed. Great.

Ace smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. His bun had almost come loose. God, he needed a haircut. After he wasn’t in hiding any more he was chopping it short again.

Luffy was here too. It had been impossible for Ace to miss him fighting in B block. This was going to be fun, he could already tell.

His good feeling only got better when he saw a flash of a gold helmet and a white beard turn through the same tunnel he was going through. Now, Ace had a plan when he came there. Beat everyone, show the world he was alive and challenge Luffy to meet him ‘where the sea meets the sky’. He was pretty confident that, even if Luffy couldn’t figure it out, that clever navigator of his would understand that there was a knock up stream around the next island.

Ace wanted a little bit of privacy for their reunion.

All those plans went out the window the second he realized he was within walking distance of his little brother. His little brother.

God, what was he ever supposed to say to him? He had speeches rehearsed in his head, excuses, apologies, pleas. But they all boiled down to thanks. Thanks that he had already given Luffy, given all of them on his deathbed. Er, death brick?

Ace grimaced and halted at the doorway to the place where the gladiators who won were all gathering. He clenched his hands into fists. Why was this shit so hard?!

It had been easier when he hadn’t known just how badly he’d fucked everything up in the past. It was almost enough to make him long for those days where the past was nothing more than the white wind the blew outside, untouchable, cold and dangerous.

Marco vanished in the crowd, also disguised though his was just some sun glasses and he actually buttoned his shirt up for once. He reappeared right above where Ace was hesitating, head poking out from the bricks that made up the colosseum. The whole place had a weird feel to it. It reminded him of walking on an iced over lake. Stable, with something lurking beneath the surface.

“Hey!” Marco tossed a pebble at Ace’s head. “Get going already.”

Ace rubbed the point of impact, like it had actually hurt, and made a face up at Marco.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” he crossed his arms over his chest childishly.

Marco rolled his sleepy eyes, looking utterly bored with Ace’s antics and indecision. For someone who was so bullheaded all of the time, when Ace’s self esteem issues reared their ugly head the cure was hard to find.

“Just go see him. Talk to him, if nothing else. He doesn’t even need to know your name.”

That was… a good point.

Ace fiddled with the dagger strapped to his hip. He’d taken that, and his hat and his necklace, off of his grave. He didn’t feel quite right without them, now that he knew they had been missing. It was a hollow mourning he hadn’t even known he’d been going through.

“Okay, okay,” Ace took a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked into the darkness.

Luffy had a habit of picking up weird people. Really, weird people. Ace stared at the guy in the diamond patterned pants and the red jacket. Honestly the most normal thing about him was the green hair. Those teeth.

Ace made a face.

He hadn’t meant to take so long to catch up to Luffy, but removing the makeup that hid his freckles and then tracking the boy down took more time than he wanted it to. Which was how he had gotten there just in time for the green haired weirdo, Bart or Romeo, he hadn’t been paying attention, to declare that he would win the Flame Flame fruit on Luffy’s behalf.

“That’s pretty bold talk, for a rookie,” Ace chided. The sound was muffled by his scarf. “Maybe I’ll win.”

The green haired man stomped towards him, half slouched over. Even like that he towered easily over Ace. Ace didn’t so much as blink. He hadn’t planned on having audience. On top of this guy, someone else was walking down the hallway towards them. Ace glanced over. An uncomfortably familiar hat bobbed in the dimly lit tunnel.

The ‘S’ on his arm itched.

“Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? I’ll win the fruit for him for sure!” he roared, pointing at Luffy. Ace peered around his shoulder and waved. It was all he could do. Even with the goofy disguise the dark brown eyes that squinted at him were unmistakable.

All Ace could manage was a strangled, ‘hey Lu.’.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the way that Luffy’s eyes got just a little bigger. The scar on his chest throbbed painfully. This was Luffy. Luffy, who he’d caused so much pain. He probably would have been better off if they never even me-

Being alone is worse than any pain.

Ace mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time for his self deprecation. Luffy needed to know. He needed to know that Ace hadn’t broken his promise. He needed to know he still had one brother left in this world.

“I’m afraid,” the stranger in the top hat said, coming to a halt next to them, “That I can’t let either one of you win the Flame Flame Fruit.” A thin smile slid across the half shadowed face. “Straw Hat Luffy.”

So this guy recognized his little brother too? Ace shifted on his feet, freeing a hand from his pockets. He lay his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. He wasn’t the only one defensive of Luffy, the green guy swaggered over, baring his teeth.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be? Where are you from? You can’t talk to him so casually!”

Ace sighed. Where did Lu find these people? He was a magnet for outcasts, oddballs, and victims of misfortune.

Oh, he was still talking.

“He’s the brother of the legendary Fire Fist Ace! Of course he’ll get the fruit!”

At that, Ace couldn't stop it. He laughed. All eyes snapped to him. He held his hands up, placatingly.

“Ah-ha, don’t mind me. It’s just, that fruit up there is fake. The real ones already been eaten.”

“How can you laugh at his tragedy!” the green man screamed in Ace’s face. Ace put his hand on his cheek and shoved him hard enough to send him into a wall.

The man stumbled away. Ace hadn’t actually hurt him. He was a friend of Luffy’s, after all. “You can’t- He’s going to be King of the Pirates one day!”

Ace smiled. Luffy kept finding these people with so much faith in him. So, weird or not, he could give the green guy his support.

“Oh, I’ve known that since way back,” the strange waved his hand in a gesture that was a little too familiar. There was something about him… Ace could swear he knew him, but the only real resemblance was impossible. So, who was he?

Before Ace’s eyes, the top hat came down. A fluff of blond hair appeared, an ugly scar that Ace recognized as being from fire painted his face. A face that, even twelve years older Ace would recognize anywhere. His throat closed up, squeezing a hiss through his teeth.

That was-

“Sabo.”

Past that he couldn’t hear anything they were saying, the words no more than static in his brain. Ace could only watch, jaw dropped from behind his scarf as Luffy, tears and snot pouring down his face, launched himself at the blond. Sabo was- Sabo was-

Sabo was alive.

Ace felt like he was a world away, no more than a bystander as Sabo turned his head and gasped for air, being strangled by Luffy’s rubber hug.

“B-but Sabo!”

Luffy’s sobs finally broke through the white noise machine that had replaced his ears. His heart wrenched his chest when Luffy poured his words out.

“I let Ace get killed right in front of me!”

Ace took an unsteady step forwards. He didn’t know if he wanted to hug or beat the shit out of both of them.

“I know,” Sabo’s smile didn’t fade at all. “Even still, I’m so happy you survived. I almost lost both of my brothers. If you had died, I would have been completely alone.”

“No!” the word burst past his lips. Sabo and Luffy looked over at him, one bawling his eyes out, the other happy as composed as he was. Ace gripped his white scarf with shaking fingers. His own eyes were starting to get blurry.

“You- you wouldn’t have been alone,” Ace ripped the scarf away, burning the stupid ski cap right off of his head, a few stray tears slipping down his face. “You didn’t let me die, Lu! I’ve been here the whole time!”

There was a beat of silence and for an instant Ace feared Luffy didn’t believe him. That he’d have to prove it.

Then a long arm slung around his shoulders and Ace found himself being slammed against his brothers. His brothers! Luffy and Sabo, all three of them. Ace’s knees grew weak and he was left with no choice but to cling to Sabo for support.

“Thank you,” he choked against Sabo’s shoulder. “Thank you! Sabo, Luffy!”

"Thank you for loving me!"

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #marco the phoenix #ace x marco #portgas d. ace #mugiwara no luffy #sabo #sabo one piece #ace lives

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ramblings-of-a-cavill-lover · 4 years ago

Text

New Neighbor

Summary: Your hot new neighbor goes jogging every morning, and you start exercising as an excuse to check him out.

Warnings: Language

Word count: 1,5k

A/N: @magdelen69 suggested me prompt 1 from this list. Thank you so much sweetie!

Thank you, sweet @shellbilee for being my beta/editor. 💜

Divider by @writeyourmindaway

The house had spent two weeks vacant since the Taylors decided to move to a warmer climate.

You didn’t see who had moved in, but you watched the moving truck while warming your hands with the little heat left around your cup of tea early in that grey, chilly morning. They unloaded so many things, the most curious of all being a contraption that looked like gym equipment.

Shuddering at the thought of working out, you headed out to your car and made your way to work.

Having stopped by the grocery store on your way home from work, you juggled with the overflowing bags as you made your way to your front door, determined to carry everything in one go. Dropping the bags on your porch to open the door, you peeked at the neighbor’s house, hearing the faint sound of what was distinctly country music and noticing a bit of light shining from behind the curtains of an upstairs room.

You scrunched up your nose at the choice of music but shrugged. It wasn’t your place to criticize, when your favorite song was a success back in the 90s.

Early next morning, as you were reversing your car out of your driveway, you had to abruptly break, when a body materialized in your rear view mirror.

Heart in your mouth, you stuck your head out of the window to glare at the offending athlete, who waved at you, already several meters away.

It took a few minutes for your heartbeats to slow down and by then you were late for work.

You decided you did not like this new neighbor. Who in the world jogs that early in the morning? Freaks.

You delayed your departure the next morning so you wouldn’t accidentally drive over the idiot, but still, you had missed him by mere seconds.

You huffed an angry breath, when he again decided to wave at you. You grimaced in response and moved along with your day.

It didn’t escape you, though, that his running sweats hugged his body in all the right places, and that his buns were quite the sight.

The remaining month of winter passed with more of the same novela, with minor heart attacks and a perpetual resting bitch face for you, while he was all smiles and waves. He could join the penguins of Madagascar for all you cared.

Then, spring arrived and with it, longer days. You couldn’t deal with that much sunlight so early, and being on vacation, your new year’s resolution to start working out nagged at you with vigor.

Project summer bod started with walks around a few blocks in your vicinity, despite your brain’s frequent reluctance.

Your neighbor, determined to irritate you, left home earlier, the same time you did in fact. Just because you decided to make the most of the first rays of sunshine before it got too bright, and moms had to take their kids to school.

But just as you were to let out a huff of frustration, he ran past you with a low “good morning” and your huff became a sigh.

His voice, so darn low and gritty from how early it was, stopped you in your tracks. For the first time you had the full force of his gaze on you, and his jawline cut straight through your heart and threatened to make your knees collapse beneath you.

You were defenseless against that attack, so you just watched as he went, his sweatpants hugging that gorgeous looking ass. It didn’t help your case that the t-shirt he wore hugged his broad shoulders and his lean waist. He was like walking - or in his case running - sex on legs.

Drying the figurative drool on your chin, you started walking in the direction he’d gone.

The week went by in that same routine. You woke up happier every day despite yourself, every day more disposed to go on your walks.

On Saturday however, you decided you were ready to run, just so you could keep admiring the peachy bottom that haunted your dreams.

It was easier said than done.

You jogged at best, pushing yourself to reach your house again. You gave up on the idea of running the distance you could generally walk, not having made it much further than half a lap around your block.

Despite all the walking giving you a bit more disposition and energy throughout the day, you were definitely not fit enough to be a runner.

Who wanted to be an athlete anyway? Definitely not you.

You managed to walk back to your street, with a hand on your ribs, but dropped down like a sack of potatoes on the corner.

You were out of breath and sweaty, your face felt like it was melting off and your legs trembled.

Taking a moment to just try and get some oxygen while looking at the asphalt as if it had personally offended half of your ancestry, you didn’t notice the person approaching until they were almost in front of you.

“You okay there?” asked a deep baritone.

You were too tired even to look at the person talking to you. But as you reluctantly lifted your gaze, two lovely thick thighs greeted you.

Your eyes kept on moving upwards, taking in the gloriously veiny forearms, thick biceps and chest, only to land on those most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. Now that you had the time to study them, they were so much prettier up close, their color like perfect skies with an alluring brown fleck.

You wanted to spend the rest of your life drowning in those azure pools, but his smirk brought you out of your reverie.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you mumbled, a little dazed.

“I asked if you were okay. Are you?” he said after a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m… uh…” you stuttered.

You took a moment to take stock of your condition, and thanked heavens you were no longer wheezing.

“First time running?” he guessed.

You smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“That’s the toughest part, you know.” he said as he sat down on the curb next to you. “From now on it’ll be easier every time.”

He smiled at you then, and for a few seconds more than you should, you stared at him with your mouth hanging slightly open.

Him chuckling at your expression once more told you he knew exactly what was going on inside your head.

You snapped it shut and lifted your chin in indignation.

“Who says I ever want to run again? I don’t even have the strength to call emergency services.” you complained, but your fatigue drained all the displeasure you had intended to infuse into your words.

Clearing your throat, you extended your hand and introduced yourself. He shook your hand with a soft and chilly palm.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. Why do you do this to yourself? The way I’m feeling now, I think my whole body will be sore. For a month!” you exclaimed, to his delight, if his loud laughter was anything to go by.

“I’m glad my suffering amuses someone.” you added, grim.

“No, no, I’m sorry! Not at all!” he hurried to explain, sobering up a little, but still smiling as he continued. “The way you said it is funny, not your pain. But you’re probably right. It will hurt for a while."

His matter of fact look broke into one of amusement mixed with sympathy as he took in the sheer shock on your face and your loud gasp.

"Your body gets used to it. Soon it won’t hurt as much. Maybe you’ll even like it!” his cheerful tone was not what you needed at that moment. There was a glint in his eye you couldn’t quite place.

“I highly doubt that.” you replied.

His amusement never abated, and he snorted.

“Well, just to prove you wrong, I propose a challenge.” he said, getting up and cleaning his sweatpants. “If you brave the pain and come out for a run every day for the next thirty days, I’ll run with you, at your pace. Deal?”

“But what about your pace and your fitness? Don’t you have to stick to some regime or whatever?” you asked, baffled that he’d be willing to do that to an almost complete stranger.

He extended a hand, helping you get to your feet. The trembling in your legs had subsided a little but you would feel better once you were lying on your couch.

You looked at him, shielding your eyes from the Sun that was starting to heat up.

He was regarding you intently but looked away soon after your eyes found his.

“I can make up for it by lifting weights in the gym.” he paused and smirked, gazing deeply into your eyes. “And there’s always cardio.”

For some reason, you felt your cheeks heat up. You could only stare at him, tongue-tied, but he didn’t let you suffer for long, widening his lips in a heart-stopping grin.

“Coffee?”

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #musings sans muse

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years ago

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In Conversation with Bruce Campbell.

Below is a short interview with Bruce Campbell that mostly covers The Evil Dead.

The film tells the story of five friends who take a vacation to an isolated cabin in the woods, and find themselves besieged by demonic forces after playing a tape recording of incantations. One by one they are possessed, and Ash (Campbell) as the last man standing, must survive the gruesome mayhem that upset British conservatism and saw the film labelled as a notorious ‘video nasty.’

Campbell spoke about the slow burn success of the movie, the moral ambiguity of the American audience, and how horror shouldn’t be something you’d hear on the six o’clock news

FRIGHTFEST: What were your expectations for EVIL DEAD in the beginning, and could you have anticipated its eventual success?

BRUCE CAMPBELL: Let’s not forget the time frame – its success was a very slow evolution. It took longer to raise the money than we had intended. We went to a different state to film it thinking it was going to be warmer, when in fact Tennessee had one of its coldest winters, and the state we fled, Michigan, had one of its mildest. So right from the start it was all very troubled.

It took about three years to complete the movie and we could not even find a US distributor. We finally got a UK company to look at it, Palace Pictures, and they finally distributed it. We were not even successful in our own country first, which was a big shock to us. It had to happen in another country first and then New Line Cinema came on board after seeing the success in Europe.

The whole thing was very strange, long and drawn out. I think the rights from EVIL DEAD 2, which was seven years later was when we finally got the investors to break even. So it took a long time for EVIL DEAD to be successful - it was a slow-motion success.

FF: From the responses to the film in the UK and Europe compared to America, is there a difference between these audiences?

BC: Well cynically, one would say in the UK they were more at the centre of the fall of civilisation, so they would appreciate chaos and nightmarish imagery. So that would be one theory for it. I think European audiences are more forgiving, whereas American audiences are a little more morally ambiguous. European girls don’t have the moral ambiguousness about sleeping with some dude – like it’s not thought of as being slutty. If you want to sleep with a guy you sleep with him. In the States, it’s this whole dance of should I, or shouldn’t I? Is it right, is it wrong? It’s the same thing in the States of, “Well that woman’s being violated by a vine in the woods, should I leave, should I stay?” Whereas in the UK it was just an outrageous scene and they probably laughed their asses off. So it’s weird, and it’s different civilisations is really what it is.

FF: When you think about THE EVIL DEAD, do you remember moments from the film or do you recall the experiences behind the scenes?

BC: …All my memories are of the experience of filming it, and then the experience of seeing the finished film in a theatre for the first time. You asked a few questions ago what did you hope to get out of it? We just wanted to make a finished movie, and when the film was completed, it was booked into my childhood theatre where I went to see basically every movie from the 70s.

I saw it on a Saturday matinee and there were only about 30 people in the audience, but I thought, ‘Okay, this is it. We did it. We’re playing our movie on our hometown screen.’ The funny thing is everything was gravy afterwards. The goal was could we figure out a way to get our movie into this professional theatre with Hollywood movies, and that was the fun part. So our definition of success might be different than other people’s, and where a big box office would be definition for some movies, for us it was just the fact we pulled it off.

FF: After sitting there in your local theatre, there was then the moment of thinking about what’s next?

BC: Obviously the first EVIL DEAD allowed us to make another movie, and that was the key thing too. We were very concerned about failing with our first movie, and it was one of the reasons why we made a genre movie in the first place. Most of our amateur movies in high school were not horror movies. Most were action or comedy, occasionally a drama, but mostly they were just silly movies, and so we were concerned about our investors getting their money back. We thought, ‘Well let’s pick a genre, let’s pick horror because it’s cheap, you don’t need any name actors and they can be very successful.’

One of the reasons why it was a horror film in the first place, was not because any of us were great horror aficionados. I was a Three Stooges fan, Sam was a big fan of the Marx Brothers, and I don’t think Rob Tapert was into horror of any kind. It was an economic choice

FF: I recall Quentin Tarantino saying that if you want to write books, read books, and if you want to make films, watch films. But could we argue that there are benefits to being less schooled, that allows for a different approach?

BC: …Very often a filmmaker’s first movie is their best because it’s all hands on deck. They go for broke, they don’t know where the limit is and when they should say, “no.” As a result it can sometimes be very excessive and masturbatory, but I thought Sam did an amazing job with his very first movie.

There’s a sequence in there where Ash is going crazy, and Sam stayed up all night doing storyboards for this sequence where the camera was tilted at a 45 degree dutch angle for every shot. I remember at the time we had discussions about whether that was going to be visually acceptable – could the audience even watch what was happening because it was such an extreme way to film. Sam was saying, “Ash is going crazy, the audience should be going crazy too.” It’s actually one of the best sequences of the movie, and it’s one of the most contemporary sequences because it was ahead of its time.

FF: Ideally, you want the film to endure and to engage with a future audience, and to not be limited to the period in which it’s made. Would you agree with this sentiment?

BC: I think nobody knows until the film is out. In my experience a film that is easy to make, is usually hard to watch. And usually films that are very hard to make, are much easier to watch. There’s just something about it when you know that the filmmakers and the actors have really sweated for a project - generally it tends to be better. If you have enough time to sit around telling movie stories between shots, I don’t think you’re working hard enough.

FF: In recent years we’ve seen torture porn and the celebration of violence to disgust rather than to provoke fear. How do you think THE EVIL DEAD fits into a person’s concept of horror who is watching it for the first time in 2020, compared to the context of horror for the 80s audience?

BC: Horror always changes and maybe it’s generational. It used to be the slasher movie, which was some crazy guy released from an institution and with an axe type concept. Then torture porn came in for a while and I’m very happy to see that go, only because it doesn’t celebrate the skill of filmmaking. You put a guy’s dick in a vice and poke it with a stick for half an hour, that’s not really horror. It’s just something you might hear on the six o’clock news.

The real success of a horror movie is getting someone to feel the atmosphere, to feel dread and to actually jump out of their seat. To build to a climatic scare is something that takes an incredible amount of skill between the filmmakers and the actors, and everyone involved. I’m just a big fan of if you’re going to do a horror movie, then it should be scary, but there’s a lot of different ways that something can be scary.

THE SIXTH SENSE I feel is a very disturbing movie, but there’s very little blood and violence in the whole thing. The movie THE TENENT, which is one of my favourite horror movies by [Roman] Polanski, it’s all mental. It’s actually making you think you’re going crazy, and that’s a skill. I’m a big fan of any horror that takes skill.

FF: I always admired that beyond the blood and the violence, it feels like you’re trapped, and you’re slowing succumbing to the oppressive claustrophobia, the gruelling psychological and emotional experience.

BC: The situation was real enough that it permeated into all of us. It was a real abandoned cabin down about a half a mile of road in the middle of nowhere. There was no electricity and no running water. It actually had some creepy history - a woman had fled there during a lightning storm, when someone was murdered at the cabin. So it all helped us to feel the reality.

We were only supposed to film for six weeks and we filmed for twelve. As the film dragged on, people were injured, they left, equipment broke, and it all added up and started to feel real after a while [laughs].

It permeated the movie because back in those days, if Ash hears a sound and swings his shotgun and blows out a window, that’s what you did. You used a real shotgun and you just blew out the window. We just did stuff viscerally back then, but with ASH VS EVIL DEAD, it’s all digital at that point. There’s no real shotgun show, no smoke, that’s digital too, there’s no flash, that’s added later. So I’m glad we made at least one of these movies completely analogue, and just about as real as you’re going to get.

#Bruce Campbell #Fright Fest #interview #Evil Dead #The Evil Dead

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margridarnauds · 4 years ago

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📂📂📂!

Thank you!

(1) It’s mentioned in “Moonlight Sonata” and it will be brought up eventually in “Le Cri de ma Naissance”, but when Lazare was a small child, he took up the harpsichord. It was something his mother and he liked to work on together, him often sitting on her knee and watching her fingers move across the keys. When his father died and his grandfather took custody of him, he decided that music would only distract the Viscomte from what was necessary, namely his military career, so he made him give it up. (He took it up again for Ronan’s sake, though Ronan had to convince him to part with the money to get a harpsichord of his own because of the expense involved. He’s never been able to adjust to the popularity of the piano, which seems much less....structured [ie mechanical] than the harpsichord. Ronan prefers the songs that he knew in his village, the country dances and working songs, the music from the harpsichord doesn’t have enough FEELING for him and it’s generally a little too slow for him, but he likes to see Lazare doing something that doesn’t involve killing people.) (2) At some point, Richard asks the staff at the Hotel Edler where he can get ahold of some microwaveable cinnamon pretzels. Felix looks at him like he personally murdered his mother in front of him. Josi is able to hold in his horror better, but is still in a state of mild shock that is barely concealed beneath years of training to handle strange and unusual requests. (It comes down to Emma to explain that, no, Austria doesn’t have those. And that they might actually be labeled a crime against humanity there.)

(Tbh I just. Put every single petty adjustment difficulty I had in Europe onto Richard. From “Why is the washing machine holding my clothing hostage?” to "Oh, you have to BUY plastic bags at the store, okay” to “....why is the bread going bad after only three days out?” to “COLD COLD COLD COLD COLD I NEED FOUR LAYERS TO GO OUT THE DOOR.” Since Richard’s presumably a California boy through and through and so has to be used to a MUCH warmer climate.)

(3) Lazare knows three languages: French, German, and English (the former because of the influence of Frederick the Great and the Prussian Army on military training at the time, the latter was more or less on-the-job training while he was posted in the Colonies during the American Revolution, which often involved getting Rochambeau’s son, a fellow aide-de-campe, out of difficult situations.) Both Mazurier siblings know a little bit of Brezhonegcourtesy of their mother, Ronan more than Solène because their mother died when Solène was younger and Ronan keeps it out of sheer spite. Both Ronan and Lazare are good at totally different areas of linguistics - Lazare’s good at learning the grammar of a language, but then becomes confused when the language is actually spoken, and he’s quite good at written translation work, which served him well during the American Revolution, when he had to maintain correspondence with a number of American officers whose French was often minimal if it existed at all. (If he’d been raised in a more classics-friendly environment, he’d have been brilliant at Latin or other dead languages.) Ronan, if he put his head to it, would be better more at adjusting to a spoken language - Picking up on idioms, slang, etc., but gets confused at the more technical aspects, and is much more likely to rush into a conversation only to realize, mid-sentence, that he doesn’t know a word but there’s no way in Hell he’s going to ask.

Solène has a mixed approach, though she doesn’t really need/have the option to study languages often - She basically picks up the traits of a language as needed. Unlike Ronan, who just kind of dives into it and often falls face first, she does try to take into account what she’s learned before and tries to figure out the pattern to a language, though, unlike Lazare, who will make a detailed study of the grammar, she tends to pick up more on a general “flow” and what sounds right.

Olympe knows French, Latin, a tiny amount of Greek, and a smattering of English, though she steers clear of the anglomania of some of the more radical members of the court -- Her father went to pains to make sure she was very well educated, as a man of the Enlightenment himself.

(4) I know you put in for three, but it was a buy 3, get the 4th for free type deal: If Lazare had an older brother, he’d have been assigned to the Church instead of military duties. Which in some ways would have been better and worse for him. (Tbh? Both Artois and Ronan would have probably still gone for him. Especially Artois. Because, after all, if he’s REALLY God, then, by all rights, Lazare should be worshipping him...Ronan’s just in it because, yeah, the new priest is insanely hot, but, more importantly, he’s off-limits, and there’s no way to get Ronan interested than to say “It’s societally impossible”.)

#iafa #1789: Les Amants de la Bastille #food tw #literally one of the first things I did when I got back to the USA #was send a picture of a pretzel to a German friend of mine #because across the board #the European reaction I got to microwaveable pretzels was PURE HORROR #and while I didn't actually speak to any Austrian international students #I have to guess that the result would be much the same #in other news Lazare is Me when I'm learning a language and THAT'S why I picked up Celtic Studies #i might not be able to have a conversation but you know what I can do? Tell you how you're going to die in Old Irish #mooncastle

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freyjawriter24 · 5 years ago

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Advent Omens: Warmth

My response to Day 22 of @drawlight‘s excellent advent prompt list. Yes, I know it’s February. But I’ve been being surprisingly productive recently, and wanted to channel some of that into cutesy stuff outside of my focus on Someone New, and this seemed a good, shorter way to do that, so here we are. I hope you enjoy (even if it is a little out of season... It’s still winter, though, and I’m only two months and a day late for this one! There are more coming that will be even later...).

-----

Crowley had never been a fan of the cold. Probably something to do with his being a snake or something, he figured, but whatever the reason, he hated it. Why on Earth he’d ended up mostly settling in a climate where it was never particularly warm, he couldn’t quite work out (ignore the angel-shaped reason, that can’t be it), but the winters were at least the reason he didn’t stay in New York more regularly – if it got cold in London, it was far, far worse across the pond.

The Bentley, it seemed, had acquired some of its demonic owner’s characteristics, one of which was very firmly hating the cold. The car flatly refused to move the first couple of times Crowley had attempted to drive anywhere when it was cold enough for frost to have accumulated on the windscreen, even when the demon exasperatedly pointed out that moving around would actually make the damn thing warmer. After that he simply miracled it to always feel the temperature of a warm spring day, which had the added bonus of meaning the windows never frosted up again.

Not that Crowley drove much when it was really cold, anyway. He preferred to hide away inside on days like that, curled up in a pile of blankets in his flat or the bookshop, a hot drink or a hot water bottle nearby.

Today, though, was an exception. Because he’d promised to take Aziraphale out, as a treat.

“Ugh, why did it have to be today?” he muttered as he started the Bentley. “I take it you think you’re funny,” he said in the vague direction of the sky, and then swore under his breath.

At least the drive itself would be warm. Not that that would make getting out of the car at the other end any easier, but still.

He rang Aziraphale from the kerb when he got to the bookshop. “Angel, I’m outside. Hurry up, or we’re going to be late.”

“Coming, my dear!”

The happiness in his voice was palpable, and Crowley groaned as he hung up. Why had he agreed to this again? What on Her green Earth had he been thinking? Even without the miserably cold weather, this was going to be an experience comparable to Hell.

The passenger door of the Bentley opened, and an angel appeared, wrapped up warm in a thick coat and matching tartan scarf and mittens. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, but couldn’t help feeling a little flutter of affection all the same.

“Ooh, it’s lovely and warm in here,” Aziraphale said brightly.

“Mmm,” Crowley said, pulling away as soon as the door was shut. “Bentley doesn’t like the cold.”

The angel nodded sympathetically, and settled himself into the warmth of the car as they drove off into the gathering dusk.

It took them far less time to get there than it should have done, of course, what with Crowley’s tendency to go double the legal speed limit on most smaller roads and attempt to push the needle past 100 on motorways, but the drive was still a small, peaceful haven of heat in an otherwise freezing and unfriendly world.

They listened to Beethoven on the way, which gradually morphed into Queen’s ‘A Winter’s Tale’, followed by ‘Body Language’, presumably because it was part of the ‘Hot Space’ album, and the Bentley thought that would be funny. Crowley had to try very hard not to look at Aziraphale during some of the lyrics, and tried not to wonder whether the angel’s pink cheeks were anything to do with the song or just the temperature.

He was inordinately grateful when they finally found themselves on a series of tight back roads and he had an excuse to turn the music off. “Should be around here somewhere. Keep an eye out for signs, they said there should be some.”

Iced-over puddles crunched under the Bentley’s wheels as they drove down one particularly narrow country lane, and then there they were. They’d made it.

“Oh good, looks like they haven’t started yet,” Aziraphale said happily, motioning to a group of humans who were milling about in a dark field together.

The angel hurried out of the car and over to someone who looked like they knew what was going on to sort out being let in. Crowley groaned, then sighed, then eventually clambered out of the warmth of the car and into the cold night air.

“Come on, my dear,” Aziraphale said, gesturing for the demon to join him. Crowley pulled his jacket tighter round himself, pushed his hands into his pockets, and sloped over in a striking impression of a stroppy pre-teen.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?”

“It was your idea, Crowley. Something about ‘taking the mickey out of all the inaccuracies’, I believe.”

“I wouldn’t have said ‘mickey’, I would’ve said ‘piss’,” the demon grumbled, accepting his fate as one of the in-charge humans glared at him.

“I’d like to remind you that this is a family event,” she said pointedly. “Also we don’t allow flash photography or filming of any kind.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, smiling.

“Sure,” the demon grunted.

“Right then,” the human said, smiling brightly. “Come on in!”

The two celestials thanked her and went through towards the group of gathered humans.

Everyone was dressed in warm clothes and gloves against the cold, some with bobble hats on or brightly-coloured scarves visible beneath their thick coats. About half the group were adults, apparently mostly parents or grandparents of the other half of the group, who were children of varying ages and irritability. The adults were talking in hushed tones to one another, the kids either messing about together or complaining about the cold or stood in sullen silence, waiting for the main event to start.

Then a voice came from out of the darkness.

“Two thousand years ago,” it said, with the clarity of hidden speakers and a good microphone, “a child was born that would change the world. He was the son of God, and he was called Jesus.”

Crowley was about to lean over and mutter something snarky in Aziraphale’s ear, when there was a sudden rush of bright light and the associated gasps of several of the people there. The demon froze.

God, he’s beautiful.

Aziraphale was gazing upward in wonder at whatever had been suddenly illuminated in a nearby tree. The light had lit him up, too, bouncing off his pink cheeks and spellbound smile, and Crowley couldn’t help but just stare for a moment.

Eventually, he realised he was meant to be paying attention to whatever it was Aziraphale was watching, so he turned to see a human stuck up in a tree, dressed in flowing white robes and apparently playing an angel. He’d missed most of the dialogue, but it soon became evident that this was supposed to be the moment where the shepherds were told about Jesus. A swell of singing sounded from the trees – a poor imitation of an angelic choir – and the spotlight on the ‘angel’ vanished as the crowd were ushered towards a nearby barn.

The humans filed politely – Britishly – into the barn and took seats on the rows of hay bales that had been arranged for the occasion. Crowley looked around, a little confused and intrigued by this arrangement. But it all became clear in a matter of moments.

The performance was, Crowley grudgingly admitted to himself, actually quite good. Not necessarily in terms of historical accuracy, mind, but for the drama of it – yes, that was all pretty solid.

He watched the angel’s face soften into love when Mary and Joseph came on stage, accompanied by an actual real baby playing Jesus – a real baby! He was impressed by the dedication to realism when the shepherds ushered in real-life sheep to meet the child – real sheep! And (not that he’d ever admit it) he actually gasped along with the rest of the crowd when King Herod and his men came in – which, to be fair, anyone would have done, if suddenly confronted with a galloping horse screeching to a halt amidst an indoors crowd – a real horse!

He also watched Aziraphale’s features harden as the King threatened the death of the Messiah and enacted the murder of all infants in the area. I know, angel, I know. At least you didn’t have to see it.

The three wise men were fairly dramatic just in their looks – again, a decent production value, regardless of any relation to actual fashion of the time. And all the main points of the story were there, all the important stuff that always got retold at this time of year. It was a solid show.

At one point, Crowley looked over to see the angel crying – making no sound, but tears glistening on his cheeks in the candlelight of the barn. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him – an arm around the shoulder, perhaps, or even a soft squeeze of the hand sat on the angel’s knee. But no, that would be too much – they’d barely known each other for six thousand years, after all, that date ticking past only a handful of years ago. And more to the point, the incident at the church was only sixty-four years ago, the exchange in the Bentley in Soho barely thirty-eight years ago. Don’t go too fast. Don’t make him uncomfortable. Let him come to you.

Which is why all the demon did was nudge Aziraphale’s arm gently with his own, and when the angel looked at him he mouthed ‘you okay?’. Aziraphale nodded, and reached a mittened hand up to wipe at the tears on his face. The other hand found Crowley’s and squeezed.

The demon didn’t pay much attention to the end of the performance after that. He was too focused on the angel’s hand on his – in his, as they gently rearranged their grip to be more mutually-entwined – and on imagining what that would feel like without layers of fabric in the way. Warm, he thought softly to himself.

All too soon, it was over, and Aziraphale carefully slipped his hand out of Crowley’s as he stood up to leave. The demon felt the loss of the contact keenly, like a kitten suddenly thrown out into the cold. But he said nothing, did nothing, just stood too and followed the angel out into the freezing, dark night.

But as they left the field and headed back to the car, thanking the in-charge humans as they passed them, Aziraphale caught his eye and gave a small smile. Thank you, that look said, and that alone would have been enough. But then the angel spoke.

“I was thinking,” he said slowly. “That perhaps we could... do more things like this, together. Perhaps, in the New Year, we could... ah, well... dine at the Ritz?”

Crowley recognised the offer for what it was instantly, and felt every atom of himself set alight at once. He struggled to maintain outward composure, but by the suddenly-increased pinkness of Aziraphale’s cheeks, he could tell he had reacted him some way. It was only when he tried to speak that he realised his jaw had dropped open.

“Uh, ngh, yeah,” he garbled, mouth moving like a goldfish with only the occasional sound escaping, none of it in any way sensical. “Of course, angel,” he finally managed. “Whatever you want. Sounds lovely.”

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.

Is this actually happening?

Crap. Shit. Fuck.

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and even soft and subdued as it was, shy and uncertain, his smile was as blinding as a million suns.

They reached the Bentley and climbed into its haven of warmth. Neither mentioned what had just been said for the duration of the drive back to London, and Crowley kept the music firmly turned off for fear of what the car might decide to play. But the silence felt companionable, warm, relaxed, not at all strained or awkward, and it was all Crowley could do to stop himself from saying something wholly inappropriate in light of it, like I love you, or this is the best day of my life, just for that, or you are the most incredible being I have ever met and just to hold your hand for so short a time is an honour greater than any other and one I most definitely do not deserve, so please feel free to take your time, I can live off this feeling from tonight for as long as you need.

The demon dropped the angel off in Soho, and drove to his own flat in Mayfair, and left the Bentley in its usual parking spot. And he didn’t even notice the temperature change as he climbed out of the car and into the frozen air, because right now, every inch of him was warmed with pure and simple love.

#advent omens #31 days of ineffables #warmth #good omens #My writing #drawlight #Aziraphale #crowley #this is partly based on a nativity performance i went to see a couple of times as a kid #yes i know it's february but it was frosty the other day and i got this idea in my head and then i wrote it so now here you are

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csnews · 6 years ago

Photo

Third of all dolphin and porpoise killed in Cornwall had contact with fishing nets

Graeme Wilkinson - April 14, 2019

Around a third of all dolphins and porpoises which wash up dead on Cornwall’s beaches have been in contact with fishing nets. While the exact causes of deaths vary, the remains show cuts to the fins, severed tails and marks from entanglement in nets. The data comes from the Marine Strandings Network, whose volunteers record details of marine wildlife off the coast of Cornwall.

Network manager Ruth Williams said: “Generally, 30 per cent of the animals show evidence of by-catch, that is contact with fishing nets. It is shocking. “There are various fishing fleets that are responsible for that and there’s no one sector, so it’s not an easy fix. The fishermen don’t want to catch them and we have looked at changes in fishing activity as a possible cause, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We’re doing a lot of work at the moment to try and find solutions to reduce that figure.”

She said the other top two principle causes of death were disease and parasites or starvation.

The Marine Strandings Network

The Marine Strandings Network is run by Cornwall Wildlife Trust and has a 24-hour hotline for people to report stranded or dead animals on 0345 201 2626. The network has more than 120 trained volunteers, who are poised to head out in all weathers to beaches and coastal areas to record and document everything from sharks to seagulls. The operation is overseen by Ruth, 46, from her office at the wildlife trust’s headquarters, on a nature reserve at Allet near Truro.

“There is nowhere else in the country that has the same volunteer network as Cornwall,” she said. “The Marine Strandings Network has been running for 27 years now and we are unique having that volunteer network.

“To see the body of any animal inshore is upsetting and sad, but the opportunity is there for us to examine that animal and collect scientifically robust evidence. We can’t conserve those animals or address any of the threats they face unless we know and have that evidence.”

She said the data allows them to plot populations and identify the major threats to wildlife – and in Cornwall that is fishing, climate change and pollution.

Dolphins and porpoises

Ruth said it was hard to gauge the numbers of dolphin and porpoises, because they are part of much wider populations, but the numbers of strandings in Cornwall have increased significantly in recent years.

“We’ve had a couple of really peak years for sightings,” Ruth said. “It’s not down to effort to record deaths on our part. That did increase in the 1990s but since then that effort has been very steady. Numbers have increased but the reason is harder to say.”

She said 2017 had the second highest number of dead dolphins and porpoise, at 250, since the network’s records began 27 years ago. She added: “We’re also seeing a lot of feed-fish close in shore and that’s probably responsible for a lot of animals coming close in. They are all feeding on the mackerel and herring.”

While most of the animals migrate, Cornwall also has its own resident bottlenose dolphins. There are 28 identified animals in one group, which live around the south coast and St Ives.

Humpback whales

One of the rare treats of recent years have been the sight of humpback whales, notably off in the bays of St Ives and Falmouth.

“In the last three to four years, we’ve been seeing them fairly regularly,” Ruth said. “We are really lucky and because of where Cornwall sits, we get a lot of animals coming in. We know of at least two humpback whales this year, seen on the north and south coasts on the same day – so they must be individual animals.

“Humpbacks are just incredible. They are a huge migratory species, generally seen feeding up in the Arctic but they come down to warmer waters to give birth and to breed. They’ve been really close in this year so you can see them from the cliff tops.”

Sharks

Sharks are typically difficult to spot, not having to come to the surface, but again reports have increased in recent years.

“The last few years have been almost ‘seas of plenty’ where sharks are concerned,” Ruth said. “We’ve had a lot of blue sharks as well as porbeagles and thresher being sighted.

“It’s not been such a great few years for basking sharks, although because they are a fish, they don’t have to come to the surface. It may be they’re still there feeding but we just don’t see them.

She said April to June were the prime months for basking sharks to visit Cornish waters.

Blue-fin tuna

Perhaps one of the most remarkable increases in wildlife has been from tuna, which have recently been spotted off Mousehole and Penzance.

“In my 20 years at the trust, getting blue fin tuna was nearly unheard of until the last three years,” Ruth said. They seem to be coming up from their southern waters and replenishing our seas.

“They are an amazing sight if you see them feeding – just their speed through the water. It’s a Blue Planet feeding frenzy off our south coast.”

Other notable species

Ruth said the thousands of Portuguese man o’ war, which inundated beaches in 2017, was exceptional.

“We’ve never had that influx before,” she said. “We suppose that was down to weather patterns. They are very limited swimmers and they generally live in the middle of the Atlantic.”

Other notable species sightings each year include turtles, which are common and generally sighted when there are a lot of jellyfish off Cornwall, and the huge sunfish. In her time at the network, Ruth said other incredible visitors include the massive fin whales, which can grow up to 60 feet in length and are seen passing between Land’s End and the Isles of Scilly. Much rarer and not sighted recently are orca, commonly known as killer whales, although they have been sighted off Cornwall in the past.

“Many years ago, I once saw two orcas feeding on basking sharks off Porthcurno. It was an incredible sight,” she added.

Plastics

Ruth said she welcomed the huge interest and awareness over the problems with plastic in the seas. However, she said they should not distract from the major issues of pollution. She said examination of stranded seabirds has revealed they all have plastic in the stomachs, although dolphins and porpoises tend to be intelligent enough to avoid eating plastics.

“It’s great that it’s getting the attention and people are so aware of it,” she said. “I think it’s a great thing to see that momentum but we need to make sure it’s put in perspective. Plastics are a threat but it is one of many threats. The biggest threats are climate change and pollution. We are very lucky in the south west where we still have diversity of species. A lot of other areas have lost that diversity and gone down to very reduced species of fish because of habitat change. Predominately, that’s down to the fishing industry. We’ve still got the diversity here in Cornwall, but the overall numbers are way down on what they were say a century ago.”

#news #wild #cetacean #marine life #dolphin #death #entanglement

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rosapeachhogwartsmystery · 6 years ago

Text

Winter in Romania (Hogwarts Mystery Imagine - HPHM Fictober 2018 day 16 & 18 - Reader x Charlie Weasley)

Masterlist (To view my Masterlist, visit my Tumblr page)

Prompts: Catching a cold (day 16), Snow day (day 18) and snowball fight (day 20) (@hphm-fictober)

Summary:

After returning from a Curse-Breaking adventure on a tropical island, you returned to the snowy and cold country called Romania. Of course, you weren’t dressed well for the cold weather in Romania. You were convinced it wasn’t normally this cold yet. Or maybe you just forgot about it... Also, you didn’t even have the time to notify Charlie you were coming home. So, surprise?

Pairing: Reader x Charlie Weasley

Words: 2.0k

_________________________________________________

Winters in Romania were pretty cold, you have been aware about that for almost two years now. Of course, being a Curse-Breaker meant you didn’t stay in Romania the whole year. You would often travel to other countries in order to break curses. Sometimes you would be with your brother, and other times you were solving mysteries on your own. You were sometimes so busy, that you didn’t see your boyfriend for months. It wasn’t until your brother pointed out you needed a break, you realised how long it had been since you had seen Charlie. For a little while you wondered if you had neglected him for too long, but he reassured you that wasn’t the case.

Romania was your home. It wouldn’t be your home if Charlie didn’t ask you to come to Romania with him. It was the first thing Charlie asked you when you two were about to graduate. Since Curse-Breakers could basically work anywhere in the world, you thought it would be nice to live close with Charlie. So, every time you came home from a Curse-Breaking Adventure, it was great to come back home.

However, you weren’t prepared for the change of the weather and the different temperature. You arrived in the snow in Romania without wearing a scarf, a hat and gloves. No, you definitely weren’t dressed for the winter. So, the change of being in a tropical climate to a continental climate was definitely a huge difference. Maybe you should have expected it after two years of living there, but it definitely caught you off guard. Although, it mostly had to do with the fact it normally wasn’t this cold at this time of the year. You just wanted to get home as soon as possible. You wondered if Charlie was home from the Dragon Sanctuary yet. If he was, then the house would probably be warm.

Once you arrived at the house, you could tell someone was also about to get inside. You grinned slightly, recognizing that person immediately: Charlie Weasley. “It seems like I came home just in time.” You said with a grin.

Charlie blinked and then he quickly turned to you. “Y/N!” He said surprised.

“Hey Charlie.” You said amused. “If you don’t mind, could we move inside? It’s a bit chilly outside.”

“A bit chilly? Don’t you mean freezing, Y/N?” Charlie said when he quickly opened the door.

Once you both were inside, you both took off your cloaks. The house was at least feeling a bit warmer.

“Merlin, what kind of outfit are you wearing?” Charlie said, frowning a little when he looked at you.

“Well, in my defence, I just got back from a tropical island.” You said, rubbing the back of your head.

He shook his head before he pulled you into a tight hug. “You know it is cold in Romania around this time of the year.”

“Not as extreme as this though.” You admitted.

“I guess you have a point, love.” He sighed. “Why don’t you take a bath to warm up? I will get the fireplace starting.” He suggested.

“Sounds like a good plan.” You said before you walked to the bedroom to grab some comfortable and warm clothes you could put on after you took a warm bath. A warm bath really sounded great at the moment. You knew you would have to warm up or you might be at risk to catch a cold. However, you wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t already too late to prevent a cold. You shook your head slightly before you headed to the bathroom. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought.

After you took a bath you felt a lot warmer again. It definitely felt a lot better when you put on the warm and comfortable clothes you had picked out. You slowly made your way to the living room, seeing Charlie was sitting on the couch. You gave him a smile and sat down next to him.

Charlie wrapped an arm around you and gave you a smile. “You never told me when you would come home.” He said.

“Surprise?” You said amused. “We finished a lot earlier than expected, so I couldn’t really send you a letter. Even if I did send one, it might be there by the time I was already here.”

“That makes sense.” He grinned. “It’s good to have you back here.”

“Sorry for not being home that often lately. It almost has been two months since I have last been here.”

“Don’t worry, you had a lot of cases to solve.” He ran a hand through your hair. “Jacob had also sent me a letter about how busy you have been.”

You blinked. “Really? He sent you a letter?”

“Yeah, he also apologized for perhaps pulling you along with certain cases and that you haven’t been home for a while.”

You sighed. “That might explain why he wanted me to take a break.”

“However, I do not mind a winter break. Especially, because I will be able to spend more time with my boyfriend.” You said with a smile.

“Sounds lovely.” He said, giving you a smile of his own. “Maybe this year we can actually decorate the house for Christmas.”

“Yeah, maybe we can.” You chuckled. “It has been a while since I have last decorated a house for Christmas.”

“Last year, we were both just glad to spend Christmas together.”

“It was quite a rush last year. We were almost late for the dinner at your parents’ place.”

“I don’t think mom would forgive me if we couldn’t make it.” Charlie grinned slightly, rubbing the back of his head.

“She probably wouldn’t like it, she would forgive you if it did happen though.”

“Maybe, or she will forgive me because of you.” He said amused.

“We will make sure to make it on time this year. Maybe we should be there early just to be sure.” You chuckled.

The next morning you woke up, feeling a bit under the weather. Nothing too bad, but you could tell you definitely caught a cold. You ran a hand through your hair and looked beside you. Charlie was still sleeping and you definitely weren’t going to wake him up. You slowly got out of the bed and walked over to the window. You opened the curtains a little and peeked out of the window. The snow was still out there, maybe even more than yesterday. It has been a while since you have been out in the snow and thought it might be a good opportunity to check it out.

You knew it might not be the best thing to do when you already feel like you have a cold, but you weren’t sure how long the snow would be out there. You quickly but softly changed into warm winter clothes before you headed to the hallway to put on your coat, gloves, hat and shoes. Once you put on everything to keep you at least safe from the cold, you headed outside.

The view was beautiful in your opinion. If there was a time you loved taking walks then it was the winter. Well, at least when it was snowing and freezing. Everything was covered in a layer of snow or ice. Maybe you liked the winter so much, because your mom loved the season. Whenever you were outside with her during a snowy day, she would tell you how pretty everything looked in the snow. It was before your parents were a bit depressed about Jacob’s disappearance, but the way she looed at everything was refreshing.

You didn’t need to have snowball fights or make snowmen during the winter months to enjoy yourself as a kid. You could easily enjoy the winter by taking walks or just stare out of the window, imagining things. Perhaps that was one of the few things you and your mom had in common. Even though she accepted you and Jacob were Curse-Breakers, she still wasn’t fond of the idea. She preferred you working in the Ministry of Magic. Even if you would work in the Ministry of Magic, you probably would have chosen for a path she didn’t like. Everything you would choose was too dangerous in her opinion. As for your dad, he didn’t have much of an opinion about it. He usually just sided with your mom.

“You forgot your scarf, love.”

You were startled and quickly turned around to face Charlie.

“Oh, I guess I did.” You said honestly.

Charlie put the scarf around your neck and kept his eyes around you. “At least you remembered to put on gloves and a hat.” He joked.

“Maybe I just need to take a course to remind me how to dress properly during the winter.” You joked, giving him an amused look.

“Or a course where they teach you what you should do when you have caught a cold.” He said when he gently poked your nose.

You blushed slightly. Was it that obvious you caught a cold? “I guess I have a lot to learn.” You grinned awkwardly. “How could you tell I have caught a cold?”

Charlie shook his head with a small grin. “I have known you for quite a while, Y/N. For example, your nose becomes red and your cheeks get slightly more colour. Besides, I heard you sniffling softly when you were dressing yourself.”

“Did I wake you up when I was dressing myself?” You raised an eyebrow.

“More like when you got out of the bed.”

“Charlie Weasley, you could have something when you peeked at me when I was dressing myself.” You said with a smirk.

“It’s not like I have never seen you do that before.” He said with a chuckle.

You bend down and quickly made a snowball. “Still, peeking at me isn’t really cool, Charlie.” You mumbled. “I think I have to punish you with this snowball.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t actually going to throw a snowball at your boyfriend, are you now?”

“Well, it would be a good way to cool down after working with dragons all the time.” You joked before you threw the snowball at him. You definitely had hit him.

“Since you already threw a snowball against me, then I suppose it means war, Y/N.” He smirked before he began making snowballs himself.

It was the start of a long snowball fight between you two. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a snowball fight with Charlie, but this one probably was more fun than the ones you had with him before. At least, in this snowball fight you teased each other a lot.

“I get why they didn’t make you a chaser for the Quidditch team, Charlie. Your aim is really off.” You said with a smirk.

“That’s probably the reason why you didn’t play for a Quidditch team at all, Y/N.” He said with a wink.

“Maybe I wasn’t too good at playing Quidditch, but I definitely was a pro at playing Gobstones back then.” You said with a shrug.

“What? All you did was confusing us whenever we played Gobstones.” Charlie said when he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Exactly my point.” You said when you managed to throw a snowball in his face. “Do you surrender now, Charlie?”

“Never.” He smirked when he moved closer to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Do you also have a special trick?”

“Maybe.” He said before he pulled you towards him.

You both ended up falling in the snow. “Very smart, Charlie. You wanted us to both lose the fight.” You chuckled.

“Well, it didn’t seem like you would give up any time soon.” He laughed. “Besides, it would be time for us to warm up again, don’t you think so?”

“I suppose it would be the right time for some tea or hot chocolate.” You said with a grin.

Charlie stood up again and then he offered you his hand.

You took his hand with a smile. “Thanks.” You said when he helped you up.

“No problem, love.” He said before he led you inside.

“Let’s hope your cold doesn’t get worse because of little snowball fight.” Charlie said with a small grin.

“Just hope you don’t get a cold yourself, Charlie.” You said with a wink. “It won’t be much fun if we both get sick, right?”

#Harry Potter Hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mobile game #hphm fictober #hogwarts mystery fictober #day 16 #day 18 #day 20 #hogwarts mystery imagine #harry potter imagine #imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley imagine #reader x charlie weasley #jacob's sibling #romania #post-hogwarts mystery

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quickeningheart · 6 years ago

Text

One

When the trio rumbled up to the Last Chance Garage, they were greeted with the sight of Charley setting a box on the curb, just beside a pile of other boxes. "Hey, Sweetheart! Didja miss me?" Vinnie called with a cheeky grin.

Charley snorted. "Oh, sure. It's been a whole twelve hours since I saw you. I've been pining away for your obnoxious self ever since," she retorted, brushing off her hands.

"Ouch, babe. That cuts deep." Vinnie dramatically pressed a hand to his heart, shaking his head sadly. Charley's lips twitched as she rolled her eyes and turned to stalk back into the garage.

"Doin' a little housekeeping, Charley-girl?" Throttle dubiously eyed the teetering stack of boxes over his field specs.

"As a matter of fact, I'm cleaning out all the junk stored in the spare room. You guys are just in time to help," she replied sweetly.

Vinnie didn't even try to hide his dismayed groan, and was rewarded with a smack across the back of his head, courtesy of Modo's metal hand. He yelped and glared, rubbing his skull as he followed the big gray mouse into the garage and up to Charley's apartment.

"We'll be glad to help, Charley Ma'am," Modo rumbled. "But why the sudden clear-out?"

"I'm expecting company." Charley riffled through a shoebox, wrote something on the lid with a black Sharpie, and stacked it in a corner with a few other boxes. "She'll need a place to crash, and this is the only spare room I've got."

The mice glanced at each other. "This the part where you tell us to get lost for awhile until the coast is clear?" Throttle asked.

Charley glanced at him, surprised. "Of course not! This place is practically your home, too. I wouldn't kick you out just like that," she scolded. "Besides, she'll be staying for awhile."

"So … you'll be telling your friend about us?" The trio glanced at each other. They weren't entirely keen on the idea of yet another human knowing of their existence. Too many knew of them already in that particular area of Chicago, no thanks to Limburger. The people they'd saved kept their mouths shut about hairy alien riders protecting the slum streets of the city, and they'd managed to remain fairly inconspicuous so far, but their luck wouldn't hold out forever.

"Relax, fellas." Charley rested her crossed arms on the pile of larger boxes stacked on the floor, regarding them with a whimsical smile. "No need to get your tails in a knot. Alley's my cousin. She's moving out here from Florida to attend college. I offered her a place to stay to help save on living costs. Why pay even more money for boarding when I've got a perfectly good room going to waste?"

The trio relaxed. Any family member of Charley's automatically made her an extended member of their own. "You think she'll like us?" Vinnie asked, always anxious to make a good impression. Or any impression, really, good or otherwise.

Charley pursed her lips in thought. "Well, I'll definitely have to warn her about you three before you actually meet each other," she replied slowly. "Honestly, I have no idea how she'll react. I haven't actually seen her face-to-face for almost ten years."

"Why so long?" Modo looked troubled; probably thinking of his own family, whom he hadn't seen in a long while, either. "Don't seem right, not seein' your family for so long."

Especially since you're all on the same planet was left unspoken, but Charley understood, and she offered him a sympathetic smile. "Can't be helped. I moved out here to Chi-town, and not too long after that, her parents relocated to Florida so her dad could start his own garage. Our dads are brothers, and they shared the family business, but…" She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Something happened?" Throttle asked gently. Charley didn't often talk about her family, and they never pressed the issue, although they were curious about what her life had been like before Chicago. They knew bits and pieces, minor things she'd shared over the years, but they understood all too well that some things just couldn't be spoken of. They all had skeletons in their closets, as the human saying went.

Charley ran a hand through her mussed hair. "They had … differences of opinion on how the place should be run," she replied slowly.

"Ah. A family falling-out?"

She sighed. "Something like that. My dad and uncle … they're both pretty strong-willed. And they both had their own ideas on how to make the garage successful. It … got pretty nasty toward the end, before they decided it was best to just sort of go their own ways. Alley's mom got sick, not too long after that. A pretty strong infection in the lungs, I think. The doctors recommended she be moved to warmer climates, so in order to save the family, and Aunt Viv, they decided it was best to move south. Uncle Chuck found a garage that was in danger of going under, bought it out, and completely turned it around. It's a pretty successful bodywork and detailing shop now. I think some of the cars he repainted even appeared in magazines. He specializes in the antiques and classics."

"What about your aunt?" Vinnie asked. "She get any better?"

Charley smiled. "Yeah, the infection cleared up within a few months. Last I heard, she's co-manager of a popular cafe. Let me tell you, the woman can bake. Her cakes and pastries are to die for." She sighed wistfully. "I haven't had one of her homemade whoopie pies in … forever."

"And the brothers?" Modo asked quietly. "They still on the outs?"

"No." She flashed him a small grin. "Since they don't actually have to work together or see each other every day, they get along pretty well. They take turns visiting over holidays, but they're all so busy, it doesn't happen a lot. Oh, my mom said they were kinda stubborn, giving each other the silent treatment and all that. Neither one of 'em wanted to apologize first, but Mom and Viv can be pretty persuasive when their men are bein' stupid." She chuckled. "The family is fine now. Don't worry, fellas."

"So how come you don't go see 'em?" Vinnie asked. "You haven't left this city since we've known you!"

"Oh, I haven't left it way before that," she snorted. "In case you lunkheads haven't noticed, I've pretty much got my hands full, runnin' the Last Chance. Throw in everything that's been happening with Limburger, and, well…" She shrugged. "It ain't like I never talk to them or anything! There's email, and we call each other on occasion. Alley writes me actual letters, too. Says traditional letter writing is becoming a lost art form. Sometimes I even write back, though I'm not quite as eloquent about it." She chuckled. "Anyway, when she told me she'd decided to attend college in Chicago, and asked if she could stop to visit, I offered her the guest room to live in, and here we are."

"So when's she arrivin'?" Modo asked.

"She's on her way as we speak, actually. But she's driving cross-country, so it'll take her a few days to get to Illinois. She thinks she'll be here by Saturday. So do me a favor and hide out at the scoreboard over the weekend, 'til I get her settled in and have a chance to talk to her."

"Will do, Charley-girl."

"Thanks, guys." Charley hefted a box and plopped it into Vinnie's arms. "In the meantime, there's plenty of stuff to shift around. How about you three work on clearing out this room? I've already marked where everything needs to go, either the hall closet or the curb for trash pickup."

"And what will you be doing while we're up here doing the manual labor?" Vinnie grumbled as Charley descended staircase into the garage.

"What else? Earning a living by fixing busted engines! This place doesn't run itself, ya know!"

~*~*~*~*~

Saturday rolled around, and Charley spent most of it working on a sleek black Mustang that had met the wrong end of a truck, due to the careless driving of the Mustang's owner, who had miraculously walked away mostly unscathed. The car hadn't been so lucky.

She'd already managed to put the mangled insides of the Mustang back together, which had felt more like assembling a jigsaw puzzle than a car. It had taken her nearly two weeks to finish, but finally she was done. When she turned the ignition key, she couldn't hold back the triumphant whoop when the engine turned over and started purring like a contented cat. She might complain about her job, but nothing beat the heady rush of pride and satisfaction she always felt over a job spectacularly done.

Well, for the most part. The engine was finished, but now she needed to put the mangled body back together and then have it towed to a detail shop across town for a new paint job. She'd have to enlist the guys' help for the heavy lifting, but at least all the parts she'd ordered had come in. Their boxes were currently piled carefully against the wall, waiting to be unpacked. She'd start on that tomorrow.

The purr of an approaching engine caught her attention. Well, it wasn't a purr so much as a sick-sounding rumble. Somebody seemed to be having car trouble. She glanced at the clock on the wall over the service desk. It was nine forty-five, long past closing-time. And long past due for her cousin to show up. She frowned and rose from her seat, stretching the kinks out of her back as she walked to the door. Then she stood and stared with her mouth slightly agape as a huge green, pink, and yellow flowered … monstrosity of a classic Volkswagen Bus pulled up, coughing and grinding to a halt. There was a sputter, as of the beast giving up its last, wheezing breath; a hiss of smoke and steam rose from its backside, and then the front door opened and a young woman climbed awkwardly out of the driver's seat, hopping to the ground with a triumphant "Made it!"

Charley blinked in astonishment at the blond-haired woman, who was nearly as colorful as her ride with her mid-length hair liberally streaked in rainbow hues, and a flowing white peasant top and stonewashed jeans embroidered with flowers and butterflies. "A-Alley Cat?" she stammered.

The girl grinned. "Well, look at you! Aren't you the regular grease monkey," she teased, eyeballing Charley's filthy coveralls.

Charley relaxed and grinned back. "I almost didn't recognize you for a moment. Boy, you sure grew up, huh?" Alley stood almost as tall as she did, and in no way resembled the little grass-stained tomboy who had followed her everywhere and constantly tackled her into wrestling matches when they were growing up.

"You sure you didn't just shrink?" Alley shot back, and Charley snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. "I see your smart mouth didn't change, though."

"Never! It's my most attractive feature."

"C'mere, you." Before Alley could protest, Charley pulled her into a brief hug, careful not to get grease on the younger woman's clothes. "It's so good to see you! How're things in Florida? How're Chuck and Viv doing?"

"Florida is … Florida. Hot. Sticky. Lots of old people driving around who really shouldn't be allowed to. My parents are great, though. Dad's shop is as popular as ever. You know, he refinished a Rolls Royce for some celebrity or something, and got invited to this swanky party as a thank you. He took Mom with him. They were rubbing elbows with all these movies stars and such. Mom loved it. She can't stop bragging about how she got to meet Johnny Depp," Alley laughed. "Dad's pretty pleased with himself. Mom hasn't nagged him for anything for the past two weeks!" She poked Charley in the arm. "Anyway, what about you? Ya never call, ya never write. Glad I didn't show up to find your decomposing body being eaten by wild dogs or something."

"Yeah, yeah. I told you, it's been sorta crazy around here for the last few years." Charley chuckled nervously, scratching her arm and wondering when would actually be a good time to tell her cousin about the consistent alien invasion happening right under the government's nose, not to mention her alien house guests. She decided to change the topic for the moment, turning to the smoking bus. "So. From what hellhole did you manage to dig this thing up? You didn't pay actual money for it, did you?"

"Shhhh! She'll hear you!" Alley lovingly stroked a stylized flower on the bus's door. "Priscilla is very sensitive, you know."

"Priscilla?" Charley couldn't keep the bark of laughter down.

"What? It's not like you've never named any of your cars."

"Well, yeah … but Priscilla?"

"It's a classic name for a classic lady," Alley sniffed.

"Just how classic are we talkin' here?" Charley eyed the bus. "Early seventies model?"

"Late sixties, actually. Sixty-seven, I think? I found it and Dad repainted it for me as my sixteenth birthday present."

"Uh-huh. And how old are you now?"

"Just turned twenty!" Alley announced proudly.

Charley circled the bus, shaking her head. "What happened? When did the trouble start?"

"It was doing great the first three days, but today I was driving only a few hours and it started acting up. Had to stop a few times to let it cool down. I didn't think I was actually gonna make it today, but we managed to push through. Priscilla is very good like that."

"You probably should've taken it to an auto shop instead of going on. You might've just killed Priscilla," Charley scolded. "That smoke there? Generally not a good thing to see coming from any engine, especially an antique like this."

"Uh, hello. I did take it to an auto shop." Alley raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Charley rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"Look, classes start soon. I just wanted to get here and get settled so I can prepare for them. Besides, I know you won't try and rip me off and tell me there's more work that needs done on the bus than actually does."

"I'm not so sure they'd actually be ripping you off," Charley sighed. "Well, I'll take a look at it, but it'll have to wait awhile. I've got my hands full at the moment. In the meantime, grab a couple of suitcases and I'll help carry 'em up. I've got a room ready for you. It's pretty basic, but you can fill it out with what you need. We can unpack the rest of the van tomorrow."

"Will it be safe, sitting here overnight? This doesn't exactly look like the classier side of town."

"It isn't, but Priscilla will be safe enough. She's not going anywhere in her condition. Unless you want to help me push her into the garage…?"

"Right. Tomorrow it is. Can you grab Mercedes from the front seat for me?"

"And who's Mercedes?" Charley teased as she opened the passenger door. "Your comput-Jiminy Christmas, Ally! What the hell is that?"

Alley blinked at her cousin, who had jumped back from the bus as if she'd been yanked. "That's Mercedes. I did tell you I'm bringing a pet with me, didn't I?"

Charley pressed a hand to her heart, releasing a deep breath. "I do seem to recall something about that," she muttered. "But I thought you were talkin' about a goldfish or hamster or something. I wasn't expecting a rat!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize she'd bother you." Alley opened the door of the carry cage and scooped the cream-and-brown rodent into her hand. "I used to have pet mice and gerbils when I was a kid, and you never minded those. A rat isn't that much different."

"There are some people who would disagree with that assessment," Charley replied around a dry chuckle. "Just … keep her in your room, okay?"

"Sure, I wasn't planning on letting her run loose in the building or anything. Want to hold her? She doesn't bite," Alley offered, and added a teasing, "You're not squeamish, are you?" when her cousin hesitated.

"Don't be silly," Charley snorted as she accepted the squirming bundle of fur, who proceeded to scramble up her arm and crawl across her shoulders. She squeaked and hunched when she felt cold little paws and twitching whiskers tickle the back of her neck, before Alley reached out to pluck Mercedes from her opposite shoulder. "It's just I know some guys who … really don't like rats. Guess I grew a bit biased without even realizing it."

"Awww, who could not like this adorable little face?" Alley cooed as she leaned in and nuzzled her nose against Mercedes's muzzle. She got a lick in response, and Charley chuckled. "Okay, I admit she's cute. Now come on in and let me show you the place. Hope you don't mind crashing on the couch for a day or two. Still haven't gotten a bed into the spare room yet."

"Hey, after three nights of cheap roadside motel rooms, I'd be willing to sleep on the floor at this point. It's probably cleaner than any of those beds were."

#biker mice from mars #bikermice #bmfm #fanfiction #Vinnie #Throttle #Modo #Stoker #Charley #original characters

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boldmistakes · 6 years ago

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white beaches & northern lights (seblaine, 1/1)

summary: In the years since the world got totally fucked by an apocalypse of the infected, Sebastian Smythe had created a new reality which operated on two very simple principles. One was survive. The other was keep Blaine safe, no matter what. Unfortunately, leaving the failing safety of a Quarantine Zone would put these goals to brutal test. [Zombie!AU in The Last of Us verse] [~12k] [A03] warnings: well, it’s zombies! violence, gore, death, past child death, dismemberment notes: a WIP from last year for seblaine sunday’s zombies prompt for oct. 8th, polished up and posted to prove i’m not dead! set in the ‘verse of the amazing game the last of us, where the zombies are caused by a fungal infection with various stages -- more details at AO3.

“We need to get out.”

Blaine nodded. Down on the street, a sobbing woman was forced to her knees by a soldier and shot. Sebastian reached out, tugging Blaine away from the window.

“You don’t need to see that.”

“Don’t I?” Blaine asked. “Shouldn’t someone?”

Sebastian cottoned on. “Plenty of people saw that. Have seen that.”

“It doesn’t count if you don’t care.” Blaine’s troubled gaze slid away, and then, slowly, he said, “I don’t want to stop seeing.”

“You won’t.” Sebastian ached to extend his reach, to wrap an arm around Blaine, hold him ... but Blaine still wore that ring. A barrier as sure as the walls of the Quarantine Zone they lived in -- and just as much of an illusion of safety, if you asked Sebastian. “C’mon. Let’s pack.”

“Okay.”

Blaine didn’t move, and Sebastian tugged again, more insistent. Blaine went, but it didn’t feel like acquiescence. Sebastian grit his teeth against it, and with teasing and reassurance in turn he managed to get Blaine to pack up his meager possessions. He didn’t comment when Blaine picked up a blood-stained felt rabbit and pressed it to his face, politely turning his gaze away. These were little things Sebastian knew how to navigate since Everything, Then, The End Of The Fucking World and Its Fucked-Up Sequels, whatever you wanted to call it. In today’s world, you made your own reality, and Sebastian ...

Sebastian had designed his with Blaine in mind. He’d had no other choice.

The QZs were supposed to protect them, but well, put armed maniacs in charge of keeping the peace and shit inevitably hit the fan. Armed resistances sprang up in return, Fireflies and riots and crazy-rage fires sweeping whole districts, with anyone not feeling suicidal stuck in the middle as they tried to make a living in a dying city.

Back in the Everything-Then-End Of The Fucking World, the QZs had been a beacon of hope. Relative safety from the infected, shelter, heat, supplies. Everyone had flocked to their promise. Sebastian had too, after a hellish time searching for signs of life in his family, his boyfriend, his sanity because fuck , these things weren’t supposed to happen.. Had heaved a sigh of relief when he’d seen the razor wire-and-concrete protections.

Then he’d had to take that breath again when he’d come across Blaine Anderson, of all people, in a rations line. Blaine, and Kurt, and their daughter, a little sweet thing. Old grievances were put aside so they could protect each other. Solidarity through circumstance, or maybe growing up, or maybe need before want. It had worked, for a while. Then, with time, with the hunger and the slips in the barriers and rising death counts, with the chaos of trapped animals chewing at their legs, it became just Sebastian and Blaine and his daughter.

Then just Sebastian and Blaine. Alone together.

That was years ago, but Blaine had never quite recovered. Always seemed to have a foot in another world, a world where likely his husband and daughter were still alive. His own reality to help him survive, and Sebastian couldn’t blame him. Who didn’t fantasize about an escape? Well. Not Sebastian. He had always accepted things as they came. That was probably why Blaine had once called him heartless.

(“You just don’t … care. ”

Blaine hadn’t even been angry. )

It was good Sebastian was cold. It was good he knew to be ruthless. It was what had kept the two of them alive.

So what if he told himself Blaine appreciated it, deep down?

They left come dawn, sneaking out through tunnels Sebastian had learned smuggling. There was no legal exit from a QZ. So desperate to keep the human race alive you weren’t even allowed to be suicidal -- or, as Sebastian had once heard it, a pioneer .

Nothing new left to find now, though. Just relics, modern history in frozen tableaus.

Sebastian had been as far as the furthest outlet mall out west before, but now they were headed south, needing warmer climates. He kept an eye on the world around them, suspicious of the unfamiliarity, even though he must have walked up this cracked blacktop highway years ago to get to the QZ in the first place. His own car might still be stalled somewhere along the hundred mile winding stretch of it, like all the other stripped cars scattered over the road like abandoned toys.

(“The cow goes moo, the piggy goes oink, the bunny goes -- uh -- hop?” )

Sebastian grabbed Blaine’s hand as Blaine started to lag, long days spent lying in his bed staring at the ceiling punishing him now. Blaine stayed at their hands but said nothing, didn’t grip back. Not a surprise, but Sebastian still frowned. Turned his eyes forward. Kept alert. The only time he let go was when they had to separate to climb over a car, but then they’d reunite, the bridge of their arms a tether -- and though Blaine faltered, he never stopped.

They didn’t speak. The only sound was their footsteps, the rustle of their bags and gas masks against their hips, the sounds of nature reclaiming wild space in whistling calls of wind and bird, the whir of insect activity, the occasional coyote howl.

It was … nice. Nicer than Sebastian had expected, since he’d stuck to more travelled pathways before. The greenery was alive, flowers bursting ripely, bushes hanging heavily with berries, the air fresh and sweet the way it had been in the dull Ohio springtime, driving past green fields. There was also nobody around for miles, infected or otherwise.

“It’s good,” Sebastian told Blaine, as they passed by a burnt-out husk of a gas station whose lettered sign read SURVIVORS INSIDE. “You can’t trust anyone who lives outside the walls. Total maniacs.”

“We’re going to live outside the walls,” Blaine said after a moment.

“Yeah.” Sebastian hefted a shoulder. “And I wouldn’t advise anyone to trust us either.”

Blaine’s gaze flicked back at the gas station, and he frowned.

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Me, then.”

“Still terrible.”

“I’m not trustworthy.”

“I trust you.”

Sebastian smiled at that. “Well, you’re the only one who should.”

Blaine nodded slowly and looked away. “Do you trust me?”

That surprised Sebastian, who paused them a moment, the sun warm on his back as he turned, tipping Blaine’s chin up with his free hand.

“Of course I do. Who else?”

Blaine smiled, and for a second he could be seventeen again, their first meeting, sweet and faraway from here. Then it faded, his expression undone, and Sebastian set them walking once more, brutally smothering any disappointment.

Those smiles had never been for him, anyways.

For a long time they were just … walking.

They slept during the hottest parts of the spring days, in shifts, then doing most their travelling at night, their flashlights doing the work where the moon failed them. If either of them had been afraid of the dark before, they’d gotten over it by getting a crash course in what went bump in the night during the whole apocalypse thing, and there was something refreshing in a world of caution about being fearless as they wandered. Old country roads gone to weed or major highways whose lights had long since gone out, it was all the same, just a path. In the blackest nights when the moon was gone and the clouds heavy and they couldn’t even really see each other, they still had the warm grip of their joined hands, and that was as good as roadsigns for Sebastian.

Since they had no real destination, it was, as high school motivational posters might have said, all about the journey.

(Sebastian had a silly fantasy about a white tropical beach somewhere, coconut and crab, just the two of them, but it hadn’t been a reality when planes existed so it was even less likely now.)

Sometimes people said the cold stopped the infection in its tracks. Sebastian thought that was bullshit; the only thing proven to help was gas masks to keep out the pollen and amputation of any area that had been bitten or scratched -- and the latter was heavily debated. It was, he felt, and Blaine agreed, better not to freeze your ass off in snows and ice just because you thought Canada sounded neat .

“If we make good time we should avoid this winter,” Sebastian said over dinner (or rather, breakfast) of squirrel stew that night.

Blaine nodded, and abruptly said, “I’d never want to do an Ohio winter without a house.”

“Definitely not.”

“It makes you think about homeless people,” Blaine continued, stirring his stew slowly. Sebastian hoped that wasn’t a commentary on his cooking; skinning something cleanly was harder than it looked, even with how good he’d gotten with a knife. “How hard it would have been for them.”

“Technically, we are homeless,” Sebastian pointed out. He paused, then laughed. “Christ, now there’s an idea that would have made a younger me actually cry.”

Blaine laughed too. Sebastian’s smile grew wider. “I can’t see you crying.”

“I’m sure it happened once or twice, not that I can remember.”

“Uh-huh …” Blaine took a bite, chewed, and there came the overcast shadow to his unusually bright expression; Sebastian sighed and returned his attention to his own food.

That was definitely gristle. Sebastian made a face, flicking it into the flames.

The fire cracked, pop. Threw embers. The light of it gleamed on Blaine’s wedding ring that slid down his finger, sized for more well-fed times. Blaine was terrified of losing it, and Sebastian was startled to realize Blaine slept with his hand curled in a fist to protect it. Before, they’d had separate bedrooms, and that door was always closed to him. Now, under the sun and stars, there were no secrets.

“You could put it on a chain, you know.”

Blaine blinked at him. “What?”

“The ring,” Sebastian said. “Your ring.”

Blaine offered his hand out. “It’s a wedding ring.”

“It being on the ring finger was a bit of a tip-off, yes.”

“Then you know I can’t take it off.”

“It’s not like I’m suggesting you toss it,” Sebastian said. “Just … move it elsewhere.”

Blaine returned to eating, shaking his head. “No.”

“C’mon,” Sebastian said. “It could be like -- closer to your heart. Whatever.”

“It’s a wedding ring,” Blaine snapped. “It stays on the ring finger. Discussion ended.”

“Fine,” Sebastian ground out, “don’t come crying to me if you lose it.” Blaine flinched, and Sebastian instantly felt like a jackass. “Hey, I didn’t mean …”

“I’m going to bed,” Blaine said, setting his half-eaten food down. “The ground. Sleep. Whatever.”

“You just woke up an hour ago --”

“I’m tired.”

With a petulance ill-suited to a man creeping towards forty, he retreated to the softest patch of ground under the tree they’d picked, and rolled over, putting his back to Sebastian. Sebastian shook his head, and though he’d lost his appetite himself, forced himself to continue eating.

He’d choke on as much gristle as it took to be strong enough to survive.

A few days later, after a series of thunderstorms that soaked them through and flooded creeks they’d been crossing, shunting their path back to civilization, they came to a mid-sized town -- or maybe village was a better descriptor. There was no sign, so just Nowhereville, West Virginia by Sebastian’s guess -- and it was the first tall buildings they’d seen in awhile, silently agreeing it was smarter to keep to less-travelled paths after a herd of clicker had driven them off their last highway. The sunset was brilliantly red, and felt unnecessarily ominous as it painted the world around them in bloody shades.

“I don’t like it,” Sebastian said, staring at the quiet streets and red-brick buildings. It was like something from a Rockwell. “We should go around.”

Blaine didn’t say anything, or even nod, but he stepped off the main road into the tall grasses that ringed the village, which was sheltered by a wide river on one side, and a bluff of reddish dirt on the other. Sebastian followed, keeping an eye on the town as it fell to the left behind them. It was a half-hour’s hike to get to the top, legs straining and trying not to slip on the soft dirt, before they finally hit a peak crowned by a short stone wall and a plaque referencing some old Colonial bastard. Sebastian leaned against it as Blaine hunkered down to retie his laces, taking a sip from his water flask, eyes closing briefly.

If they could trust others, this was the kind of place you’d claim. Set up a community, farm the nearby land, take advantage of how naturally defensible it was with the bluff on one side and the river on other. As was, chances were somebody else had had that idea and they were waiting down there like jackals to snag unsuspecting travellers …

“Oh god!”

There was startling energy there and Sebastian’s eyes flew open.

“What?”

“Look.” Blaine pointed. It only took a breath to spot the problem: down in the town square there was a flurry of movement, still visible in the fading light. A small group was backing away from a rush of runners; one gunshot, two; a runner went down, but then the gunman was hit by an unexpected clicker whose rattling shriek echoed all the way up to where they stood.

Nobody was screaming. They knew better than that; sound attracted more.

“They’re dead meat,” Sebastian reported, watching as the still-living trio rushed to climb on top two cars crushed together, then taking fire at the clicker. Judging by how it kept clawing hungrily after them, they missed. “Terrible aim.”

“We should help,” Blaine said urgently, and Sebastian grabbed his elbow before he could do something crazy.

“We should die, is what you’re saying.”

“Sebastian!” Blaine so rarely said his name; it made Sebastian’s grip loosen, and Blaine jerked away from him.

“Don’t do it --”

He made another grab for Blaine, but he was darting down the bluff, boots kicking up dust as he skidded dangerously fast through red dirt and grass. Sebastian swore, and for a moment that went on far longer than he cared to admit, he contemplated walking away. Finally turning his back on the depressed deadweight he had saddled himself to because, what, they had known each other for all of five minutes in high school and Sebastian liked his ass …

You could be free, something whispered in the back of his head. Relying only on yourself.

“I need someone to watch my back when I sleep,” he said aloud, and it was some old desire to hold onto appearances that sent him skidding down that hill.

He couldn’t be the crazy guy who talked to himself in public. He couldn’t be -- alone -- with his thoughts.

“Christ,” Sebastian muttered when he caught up with Blaine at the bottom of the bluff, Blaine drawing his gun and cocking it. “At least put your mask on. That’s too many for this place to be clean.”

Blaine glared at him. “I’m not stupid.” He tugged his mask on, and Sebastian mimicked him, hiding the roll of his eyes. Then his own gun was in hand as they crept silently around a large old church; the shrieks of the runners and the chittering of the clicker was louder here. They were making good time before a shift on stone announced a runner emerging from behind an overturned car for them; Blaine slammed it in the chin with the butt of his gun, and Sebastian stepped in smoothly with his knife, grabbing the runner’s hair and slamming the blade deep into its rotten, mushroom-filled skull. It choked, then died.

They were alive, in a way. Sebastian never did get over that oddness.

“C’mon,” Blaine said, then set off again. Sebastian dropped the body and followed. They got to the square to find at least seven runners swarming up the overturned cars, grabbing at the threesome with needy hands, cries rising and falling like broken waves. Blaine took a step forward; one of the survivors, a young woman, saw them and screamed.

“Please,” she begged, and then her stomach was torn open.

“Blaine,” Sebastian murmured, reaching for him, but Blaine didn’t need to hear it. He stopped, shoulders slumping, and they silently watched the strangers die. Once the last of their screams had faded, he finally made contact, cradling Blaine’s shaking shoulder.

Time to go. Blaine turned around, and Sebastian couldn’t read his expression through the flat glass planes and dark branching mouthpiece, but he knew him. He offered his hand, and Blaine accepted it, his gun dangling sadly from his other. Sebastian squeezed Blaine’s limp hand, and then they walked off together, carefully skirting the feeding frenzy.

Not that they actually needed to eat you. No, then this whole thing wouldn’t be pointless, would it?

They stopped at midday, and Blaine offered to take first watch.

Sebastian lay down in the shade, throwing his arm over his eyes. He tried to sleep, but Blaine was too quiet; Sebastian peeked, and saw that Blaine was sitting there, knees drawn up to his chest, staring off to nowhere as he slowly spun his wedding ring around his finger.

Kurt had lost his before he died; Sebastian had noticed that. He’d pretended not to notice that Kurt had lost it by throwing it at Blaine after a blazing row where Sebastian had lain his bed and felt like he was eight again, listening to his parents build up to their spectacular climax of a divorce.

That was why he had never gotten married. Well, that an inability to hold onto a relationship for more than six months and the end of the world. At least one of those hadn’t been his fault, too.

“You’re thinking loudly,” Blaine suddenly said.

Sebastian lowered his arm. “ I’m thinking loudly?”

“Yes,” Blaine said firmly, then hesitantly continued. “Do you … want to talk about it?”

Must be a good day, then. Or it was just the recent reminder of their mortality.

“I’m fine,” Sebastian said. “Don’t worry about it, tiger.”

Like Blaine needed more to worry about. Like Sebastian had anything to worry about, except for the obvious.

“Okay.” Blaine dropped his hands, and his chin to his knees. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Okay,” Blaine repeated. “It’s fine. You sleep.”

Sebastian nodded, and shifted his arm back over his eyes. Sleep still didn’t come, but he tried to think a little quieter, for Blaine’s sake.

Weeks passed. Summer was coming in, hot and clinging.

Under the moonlight through an apple grove they spotted a swollen, misshapen giant of a creature that moved in lumbering steps, swarmed by smaller runners and clickers like a queen bee with its hive. A bloater; Sebastian had heard of them, but never seen one. The stage of infection that came before they ended up splattered on the ground somewhere, releasing spores.

“Jesus,” Blaine breathed, once they’d put a hundred yards between them and it.

“I wouldn’t want to have to take that down,” Sebastian said, with great feeling.

Blaine nodded emphatically. “Definitely not.”

They saw bridges collapsed under the weight of too many cars. They saw a small nomadic group living in a graveyard who shot at them when they’d stepped too close; Sebastian had felt a rare thrill of real fear when stone had chipped near Blaine’s head in an explosive spray. After a gunfight they’d gotten away, then saw a towering tree growing through a car in the middle of a highway. They saw rotting runners nailed to trees, still squirming and hissing, and rotting humans swinging from tree branches. They saw a baseball diamond turned to a field of blood-red flowers, swaying gently in the breeze. They saw a lake with a dozen canoes drifting eerily, unoccupied. They saw two clickers melded together in one misshapen thing. They saw a thousand deer, tails white against the night as they ran silently through the grass.

Sebastian saw Blaine smile more. Saw some of that tension slip from his shoulders, saw him actually talking. It came in fits and spurts, a rusty tap needing work, but it was like … it was like Blaine was coming alive again.

“I love this,” he’d even said one night, staring up at the miles of unspoiled starfield. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian agreed, resettling his backpack. “That’s a plus for no light pollution.”

Blaine smiled. “I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights,” he offered. “It would be easier now.”

Sebastian grinned back. “I think we’re headed the wrong direction for that.”

“True.” Blaine shrugged. “But who knows where life will take us.”

“Yeah, I never would have guessed ‘zombie apocalypse’ myself …”

He’d never called it that before, but at some point, you had to accept the obvious.

Blaine’s eyes widened. “Don’t call it that!”

“What? Why not?” Sebastian squinted back.

“You’re not supposed to,” Blaine explained. “It’s … tacky.”

“Tacky? Did I skip over Miss Manner’s Guide To The Living Dead?”

“Obviously.” Blaine nudged him. “Besides, they don’t eat people. Not really.”

“That’s true …”

“I hate it,” Blaine admitted, tone turning thoughtful. “It’s such a waste. All this death, for nothing.”

It paralleled his own thoughts so neatly that Sebastian had to reach over and wrap an arm around Blaine’s shoulder, pausing their pace through farmfield furrows to half-hug him. Blaine froze, let out a slow breath, then relaxed. Almost pressed himself against Sebastian fully … but then, before long, Blaine pulled himself away.

“We should keep moving,” Blaine said, tugging his backpack strap straight.

“Yeah. Let’s.” Sebastian followed him; Blaine didn’t take his usual grip of Sebastian’s hand, and Sebastian couldn’t quite bring himself to reach out.

It felt like something had shifted, but he couldn’t say what.

Summer became fall, their feet ached, and they accidentally walked into a city at twilight because the only other roads had collapsed into impossible-to-traverse canyons of junk and infected just begging to give you either tetanus or a bad case of life after death.

“Should we go around it?” Blaine asked, staring at the concrete jungle with concern.

“It would take too long,” Sebastian said, which Blaine already knew, because he nodded.

“We’ll be fine,” Blaine said, and then moved to climb over the schoolbus blocking the way. Sebastian followed, and they paused on top of its rusted yellow hood, staring out over the miles of stalled and stripped cars. It was like a ship graveyard. Sharing a look, they carefully jumped down and made their way into the heart of the city, weaving through the wreckage. They hadn’t been in a city since the QZ; it was odd to be swallowed up by concrete again. This was greener, though, and falling apart in a way even the most ragged quarters of the QZ never had been. The stink of moss and vines in close quarters, even a deer running by in leaping strides.

There were also no infected and no people, that they could see. A ghost town.

Sebastian stepped a little closer to Blaine, but kept his hands free, one resting on his gun, head turning slowly to listen for any sounds.

Night fell, the moon high and painting deep pockets of shadows that seemed to pulse when you looked at them too long. His foot hit a rock. It bounced and echoed, skittering across the sidewalk. Blaine looked back at him reproachfully, and Sebastian winced in apology. Blaine’s hand was on his gun now, and they picked up their pace while still trying to move silently.

The buildings were getting taller. Spindly skyscrapers, some apartment buildings tipping like a jenga tower mid-fall, stately stone buildings looking unchanged except for end-of-days graffiti and threats. The streets, oddly, were cleaner. Odd was not good. Sebastian gave up on pretense and unholstered his gun, slipping his finger to caress the trigger. They were coming up to a broad four-way intersection, which looked so untouched it could have been the Before if it weren’t for the absence of streetlights and faces and cars. Just wide-open spaces ...

A clatter sounded. Blaine’s head shifted. They stepped aside in tandem, moving into the shadows of an old bank, and then froze at the sight of two men, bearing machine guns, turning the corner. The pair talked quietly, too quietly to be heard, but their bearing was casual. They must not have seen the intruders. Blaine glanced at him, eyes wide, and Sebastian nodded slowly.

Guns like those they hadn’t seen since the QZ either. Guns like those meant resources, and you didn’t fuck with people who had resources unless you had any to give back, and they were down to eating snails. Sebastian had an inappropriate, longing surge for a little restaurant in Paris that he would never see again, and then his mother, overseas with it, and then he and Blaine started to move once the duo had their backs to them. They turned the corner to the opposite direction where the men had come from, and stopped at the sight of an encampment in the street, spilling out from large buildings. Armed adults moved around the barriers, smiling, chatting, faint music even playing.

He’d never been so unhappy to hear Niel Diamond. It left the two of them like deer in headlights.

“Dammit,” Sebastian hissed, and they slowly began to retreat. Except once they turned around, they saw that the patrolling pair were coming back … and then they looked up, and saw them right back.

“Hey! You two!”

“Run,” Sebastian ordered, but Blaine started to raise his hands slowly.

“We just want to pass through,” Blaine called to the men. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Put your guns down,” one man, a redhead, ordered, after a glance at his bearded friend.

“Don’t do it,” Sebastian told Blaine, his finger tense on the trigger. “Don’t.”

“Only if you lower yours,” Blaine said, ignoring Sebastian without a look at him. “I’ll put mine on the ground, slowly, just please, lower yours too. We can work this out, gentlemen --”

Gentlemen? Blaine was going to get them killed. Sebastian couldn’t see anything, not the guns or the men’s faces or even Blaine. All he could think of was his aching feet, and the comfortable weight of his own gun in his hand. Mouth dry, his arm swung up, and everything zeroed in on the red hole that blasted into one of the redhead’s forehead.

The echo of the gunshot seemed delayed, the second one tripping on it. Both men dropped, and Sebastian grabbed Blaine’s arm as alarmed shouts came from the direction of the camp.

“Sebastian!”

He ran, dragging Blaine along. There was resistance, but it slackened when a burst of machine gun fire chased them to a clear street. Someone was shouting at them, and something split a line of fire across his leg. They ducked around the next corner, and Blaine pointed to an alley; they ran for it, spidering up and over a chainlink fence, another alley, then shouldering up against an ajar red door that tore the pair of them through a blood-stained coffee shop, then out a shattered window. Down the street. Around a corner. The shouting was becoming more indistinct, distant threats that had no words, only intent; Blaine pointed at a mall across the way.

They ran, breath panting, feet setting up a thunderous pattern, Sebastian white-knuckling Blaine’s arm in his hold; more gunfire, shouts, but not close, like hearing a wolf’s howl on a cold night, they needed to get inside -- no time for niceties, Sebastian raised his gun and fired again, shattering a display window in a diamond spray that they leapt through, glass scoring their cheeks and a mannequin sent flying to skid across the oil-slick floor. They didn’t stop, making deeper into the mall, down an escalator, past a fountain that bubbled with a collapsed infected who sprayed spores, couldn’t risk stopping to put on masks so they just held their breath and dived through to the other side, lungs burning, legs burning, everything tense as the hard, rattling breath that begged to escape --

Clear air, but an obstacle; the roof caved in past at least four stories, sunlight streaming down on the mess of beams and plaster and concrete that formed a mountain to block the way forward.

“There!” Blaine said, pointing to a small gap where a beam rested against the wall. Sebastian eyed it doubtfully, but they had no choice -- they both heard an echo --

“There!”

-- in the distance that was no real echo, but the dogs at their heels. They rushed the narrow, dark crack, more an absence than an entrance, and Sebastian tried to nudge Blaine through it first, but Blaine shoved at him instead.

“It doesn’t look stable,” Blaine insisted hurriedly, eyeing the structure; he wasn’t wrong. “If anything moves when you go through, I have more of a chance getting in second.”

That was true. Sebastian moved to the gap, slouching to fit, and Blaine made an impatient sound.

“You have to let go of me!”

Sebastian looked back, unsure, then realized he was still gripping Blaine’s arm. He let go, to see that Blaine’s arm had gone white, a handspan of red marking the boundary where the blood needed to rush out. Sebastian opened his mouth to apologize, but Blaine shoved him.

“Move! ”

Sebastian shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts -- was this even a good idea, he shouldn’t leave Blaine behind, he had to leave Blaine behind, that dead weight -- then moved to slip into the gap. His shoulder brushed the beam; it groaned, shuddered, stopped. Holding his breath, Sebastian inched his way through the gap as fast as he could, feeling his way through the dark.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he muttered under his breath, fighting the urge to turn back.

Blaine would be fine. They still had time. Sebastian shut his eyes for a moment, and soldiered on, groping out the open side of the gap --

Something grabbed his arm.

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“No --”

It bit down on his wrist, nails tearing into his flesh. Growled. Nausea rose.

“ No! ”

Copper exploded across the tip of Sebastian’s smarting tongue, and he shoved himself through the final bit, tackling the creature that was making work of him, his fingers twitching weakly as nerves severed. They fell to the ground in a tumble that smelled of mildew and death, and Sebastian reared back, pistol whipping the thing across its forehead. The flesh split and poured yellow-black, but it still didn’t release his wrist, and Sebastian aimed the gun, tugged the trigger --

The creature shifted. The bullet went through Sebastian’s mutilated hand and exited out the back of the infected’s skull, blowing an ugly splatter up behind its head. Sebastian exhaled, the edges of his vision going black for a moment, then tried to tug his hand free. It took two tries, and then Sebastian fell back, looking around frantically as he pressed his arm to his chest.

No more infected. But he was -- he was --

“Sebastian!”

Blaine was there, grabbing him.

“What the hell happened --”

“Are they behind us?” Sebastian asked, swaying briefly despite Blaine’s hold on him, the whole world swaying like the earth was buckling.

“Yes, we have to -- no, you can’t -- fuck --”

Blaine let go. Sebastian continued to move with the ocean he’d suddenly found himself in, and kept moving, until pain flared dully along his side as he hit the ground. A flurry of gunshots splitting the air, a loud rumbling -- god, was this really an earthquake? -- and then Blaine was back, grabbing him and hauling him up.

“Get up, Sebastian,” he ordered, voice as cajoling as the one he’d used on his daughter, all those years ago, Sebastian watching them together and so sure Blaine had been destined to be a dad, one of those things Sebastian had never wanted for himself, the ways their lives were never meant to align -- “Get! Up!”

That was more drill sergeant, or maybe coach during practise. Sebastian levered himself up with no conscious decision to do so and Blaine dragged Sebastian’s uninjured arm over his shoulder, wrapping a strong arm around his waist.

“Blaine,” Sebastian managed thickly, then spat blood.

“We’re going to fix this,” Blaine assured him.

“I’m bit,” Sebastian said, and swallowed laughter. “I know it’s not zombies, but Blaine, this is really -- I’m fucking dead.”

“No, you aren’t. I can see the infection, it hasn’t --”

“There’s nothing you can --”

“I don’t believe that!” Then Blaine froze, staring at something; Sebastian blinked eyelids which grew heavier with each thudding heartbeat at the sign declaring a hardware store. An inkling of a horrible idea hit him.

“Blaine, no --”

“We have to.”

Blaine walked them to it, half-dragging Sebastian, who shook his head. That swaying feeling was coming back. He might vomit.

“It’ll be cleared out,” Sebastian said weakly.

“I’ll find something.”

“I’m not sure …”

“I can’t lose you,” Blaine snapped, and his tone was still hard, hard enough to break something in Sebastian, who stopped resisting, let Blaine drag him through the dusty interior that was indeed cleaned out of anything useful. Blaine was muttering under his breath, but Sebastian couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears.

“Blaine …”

“Shh …”

He must have blacked out for a few seconds, yet he was still moving -- what was that smell? Had he thrown up? Or was it something else? Something that smelled like -- engines, his car blew out on the way to a QZ ...

“Sebastian, you can lie down, but you need to hold out your arm. Okay?”

Cajoling, teacher, daddy-voice was back. Sebastian opened his eyes with difficulty, fairly certain the world had spun more since he’d closed them. He was on -- the ground, this was the ground, why was Blaine wrapping a belt around his bicep …?

“Blaine -- what --”

“It’ll be okay.”

“What are you --”

“I just need you to hold still for me, okay, Sebastian, please --”

Sebastian couldn’t move. He hurt too much, blood on fire. He tried to tell Blaine that, but blood and bile bubbled up from his lips instead. Then he saw a gleam in the darkness, bright and cutting, like that damn ring …

Blaine had an ax. Sebastian mangled a cry.

“Blaine, what the fuck --!”

Blaine ignored him. Adjusted his stance. Kissed the ax blade to Sebastian’s arm. God. His arm. The wrist down was mangled red; the wrist up was the pale blue of his veins turning a sick green, climbing higher, interrupted only by laddered torn flesh. A middle-school rhyme came back to him in a distant sing-song: Across the street, not down the road …

“Blaine, stop!”

“I have to -- I’m sorry.”

“You don’t -- don’t --”

Sebastian couldn’t do this. He’d bleed out. Die. He’d survive. Be useless. He couldn’t -- he couldn’t -- that was his arm -- and for the first time ever since the world had fallen apart around him, Sebastian Smythe well and truly panicked.

“No, no, I changed my -- no, stop, Blaine --!”

He tried to jerk away, but he had no strength left. It was like a waking nightmare, frozen, forced to watch the world move around him. Blaine raised the ax.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, or shook, voice trembling, as he tightened his grip, knuckles white, that ring. “I have to, I’m sorry --”

No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t --

“No, Blaine, just let me go --”

“NO!” Blaine was barely anything to him now, blackness stealing what tears welling in his eyes hadn’t, a vague shape beyond his understanding. “Stop moving.”

“Blaine, please --”

“Shh,” Blaine murmured, and his fingers briefly touched Sebastian’s cheek before there was a rustle and a grunt of him lifting the ax again. “It’s okay, shh …”

Blaine swung. Blood sprayed in an arc over both their faces. Sebastian screamed, and everything after that, it wasn’t his to know.

He had fevered dreams.

Deer falling to wolves by the thousands, throats torn out, hearts eaten still-beating. Those three people they’d failed to save, getting in one of those beat-up clunkers and driving away, laughing. Kurt, braiding flowers, something about, “For you sweetie --” and his daughter’s laugh, bright and pealing, saying, “Uncle Seb!” the way she’d used to. His mother, falling to the blows of a mob, or maybe just dancing ... Blaine’s voice talking from somewhere too close to be as far away as it sounded, a litany of “I’m sorry”s and “Please don’t leave me”s ... His last boyfriend, blowing skunk-smoke kisses in his face, and then his arm, curled around his own neck, squeezing.

Sebastian woke to a new world.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian experimentally raised his arm, ignoring the wave of blinding pain, feeling as if his fingers were twitching, but seeing nothing but the bizarre stump of his elbow.

“How are you -- how are you feeling?”

Sebastian tried making a fist. He did. He had? He hadn’t. He had nothing to make a fist with. Which was a shame, because he kind of wanted to punch Blaine, and that was his dominant hand.

Had been his dominant hand. Did that make him left-handed now?

“Your fever broke two days ago, I was -- so grateful, you have no idea --”

It must have worked. No sign of infection. He was starving, but he didn’t feel sick. Fever must have done it, scoured him clean, inside-out.

So it seemed the rumours were true. Here Sebastian was, living proof. Living.

“Can you -- can you hear me, Sebastian?”

“Yes, Blaine,” Sebastian said, voice crackling from disuse. He swung his gaze to Blaine, who sat there, hands twisting atop his thighs. “How could I fucking not.”

Blaine stared at him, then down at his lap, mouth working silently. Sebastian, exhausted, slumped back against the dirty mattress he’d woken up on.

“I made soup,” Blaine finally said, quietly. “Are you hungry?”

Sebastian sighed. He was almost beyond hunger, that’s how hungry he was. “Of course.”

“I’ll get you some --!”

“No,” Sebastian said, eyes shutting. “Let me sleep.”

“You need to eat --”

“No.”

“You need to eat --”

“Or what?” Sebastian cracked an irritated eye open to glare at him. “Or you’ll force feed me? Hack off my other arm so I can’t stop you?”

Blaine was silent once more, and Sebastian shut his eyes again. He was half-asleep when Blaine spoke one last time:

“I’m sorry. I had to.”

Sebastian ignored him in favour of satisfying his exhaustion. At least it was simple.

The autoshop was big enough, yet it never felt smaller then when Blaine was there.

Sebastian couldn’t look at him, pretended to sleep -- did sleep -- as often as he could to avoid it, staring at the car lifts and the broken-down car (no gas) and the cheerful, faded signs declaring Service with a smile! Free air freshener with each consult! Oil changes done by the best!

He’d had an ego about his car. What guy didn’t? After it had broken down on him halfway to a QZ, he’d walked. He’d walked the soles off his too-expensive sneakers, afraid to stop with the howls of wolves in the air. Only the clothes on his back and ...

His phone and its charger. No service. Kept it alive because games were a good distraction for bored kids. About five years ago, when Blaine was having a fit locked inside their bathroom and needed monitoring, he’d turned the thing on, and played Solitaire until Blaine’s choking sobs died off along with his screen.

And then he’d tossed it. Another relic of a bygone age, useless keepsakes.

“Move it,” he told Blaine, the first words he’d managed in ages.

He was staring at the blood-stained ax, resting near Blaine’s side of the floor. Blaine nodded, and left, hiding it somewhere out of Sebastian’s current realm of invalidity in the shop.

“I should have cleaned it,” Blaine said softly when he returned. “Should have moved it. Should have -- sorry.”

“‘Out, damn spot?’” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him, challenging. “Like that would help me forget?”

Blaine’s eyebrows snapped down, dark pair to the circles furrowed beneath his eyes, almost inhuman looking in his brief rage, mouth opening, but then he … backed down.

Sebastian swallowed disappointment as Blaine turned tail and fled.

They were, essentially, trapped inside the mall.

Even if Sebastian was in a condition to be moved, they couldn’t. They could still hear patrols outside on high-alert after the … incident .. and this end of the mall was closed off. South exit caved in, stores built up against another building to the north, security screens in front of all the windows and doors, elevator defunct, the gap they’d entered through collapsed, and the rising doors of the autoshop could only be opened with power, something in short supply since the collapse of modern society.

At least it wasn’t the worst place to be trapped, just because someone had camped out here for a while, leaving behind rations, a mattress, and a stack of airport novels.

As to the occupant -- well, he had tried to eat Sebastian’s arm.

Sebastian stayed in the autoshop, recuperating, or more honestly alternating between frustration and mind-numbing trance states brought on by reading about the adventures of an intrepid reporter who never seemed to die no matter what situation he ended up in.

“You’ll regret that someday, buddy,” Sebastian muttered, pressing the book to his knees as he carefully turned a page with his free/only hand.

He’d been indulging himself in the crazy-talking-to-himself hobby more. It echoed Kurt’s snide voice in his mind -- “There’s no reason we can’t do the apocalypse in style,” -- Sebastian forced to have his clothes patched with careful hands ...

Fuck. Sebastian could do with a drink. He’d happily be an alcoholic if alcohol wasn’t harder to get than food, these days.

Maybe Blaine would find some as he explored and Sebastian could guilt him into handing it over. Unfortunately, Blaine hadn’t found anything half as fun, just scribbling his findings on a copy of the mall map he’d torn down from an info stand, insisting on going over what meager information and supplies they had ad nauseum.

This was a bunch of ramen, a pack of water bottles, a ladder, a car jack, a pack of cards, a screwdriver broken at the hilt, and that fucking ax.

“We can climb the cave-in,” Blaine suggested, as their food stores grew lower.

Sebastian raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Seems like a two-handed job to me.”

A pointed wave of his amputated arm, which Blaine could never quite look at.

Blaine shook his head. “Right … well, we’ll think of something!”

Sebastian bit back a sharp comment. If Blaine decided to abandon him right now, he’d die, and Sebastian wasn’t keen on that. He’d survived. Now that the damage was done, he could accept there were ways to work around one arm, as long as it meant continuing to draw breath. There was always a way. He’d swallowed that bitter pill long ago.

What he couldn’t take was Blaine’s forced optimism. He’d never had much a taste for hypocrisy.

“Maybe we could use the ladder,” he offered, once he’d reigned in his temper.

“I’ll work on it,” Blaine promised. “Don’t worry.”

Sebastian couldn’t help a side-eye at that, and a frowning Blaine did as he’d so mastered, and left.

It was getting colder out.

Sebastian could feel it, left/remaining/only hand pressed against the metal of the garage door, his heat leeching away. Rains came through the hole in the ceiling, washing over the mall floor, and the smell of rotting things only grew stronger.

“We should move before it starts to snow,” he told Blaine.

“I’m trying,” Blaine shot back, then crumpled. “I’m sorry --”

“Stop apologizing!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me, Sebastian!”

“Nothing!”

Blaine shook his head, dismissal painting the lines of his face.

“If only that were true.”

“What’s that supposed to mean --”

“I’m going to go check outside.”

Blaine climbed out the hole in the roof. Sebastian watched him go, rubbing his aching, bandaged stump. He didn’t return to the autoshop until he saw Blaine return.

Blaine found Sebastian. He looked grim.

“There’s no way down. No fire escape or anything.”

“Great. We’ll scratch that one off the list.”

“You don’t have to take that tone …”

“Tone?” Sebastian snorted. “I’m just being me.”

Blaine stared, then sighed. “Sebastian …”

“Look. We just have to find a way to next door. It must have functioning doors.”

“There’s no way to the other building, I’ve checked …”

“Where there isn’t a door, you make one.”

“Just like that?” Blaine’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. I’ll scout out for a place.”

They had no tools, and those walls were all concrete, but neither of them said anything.

Blaine smashed the glass that encased the elevator chute, then used the ladder as a way up to it, climbing the cables to the second floor -- safer than climbing the caved-in section, he said. He had hopes of checking out every floor this way.

Sebastian did aimless circles, taking peeks at his arm. It was healing, no longer the open wound it had once been, but it wasn’t a pretty sight, lumpy and pink and scar-stretched.

“This is why he never went to medical school,” he said to himself, giving it a poke and immediately regretting it as he was swamped with the pain of tenderness.

Blaine came back bearing gifts: a decorative throw and a pillow.

“I found them in a stockroom. Here …”

He went to place them on the mattress Sebastian had claimed, and Sebastian shook his head. The sight of the small comforts filled him with uneasiness, which was irrational, so he tried to smother it. “You should take them. You just have floor.”

“You’re the injured one.”

“I’m healing,” Sebastian said brusquely. “In fact, you take the mattress.”

“No, I can’t --”

“Do it, and I’ll take that hideous pillow.”

“Hideous?” Blaine held it up, staring at the faded pattern of owls curiously. “I think it’s cute.”

“More your style than mine,” Sebastian said, shrugging. It pulled at the skin of his arm, and he winced, rubbing it. Blaine glanced up at the movement, then returned his attention to the pillow, squeezing it.

“You never liked things just for being -- cute? Pretty?”

A memory from a different place, a different time: “Shame about Blaine. He was pretty.” How hard it was to reconcile that carefully put-together Blaine from eons ago with this bearded, armed, and bootcut-jeans one that kneeled before him. Still handsome, of course, and somehow, that made Sebastian’s ever-present anger these days rise sharply to the surface.

“Never was that kind of gay.” Sebastian looked around, deliberately pouring on the scorn as he continued: “I’m sure you’re wishing it was Hummel trapped in a mall with you instead.”

Blaine dropped the pillow, fist curling around the gleam of his wedding band as he jumped to his feet. He rounded on Sebastian, a storm raging behind his eyes.

“That’s low, Sebastian!”

Sebastian didn’t flinch. “But true.”

“I never said that!”

“Yeah, well, I know you. Never needed to say a thing.”

“Right.” Blaine threw his hands up. “So no need to ask. Just assume.”

“Christ. I am not doing this.”

Sebastian turned his back, clumsily running his hand over his face, fingers no-longer-there twitching with the desire to do it more neatly. He kicked at the mattress, biting the inside of his cheek.

“No, we are doing this. I want you to just say it!”

“Say what?” Sebastian whipped back around, stepping into Blaine’s space, glaring down at him. Blaine jerked his chin up, mouth twisting. “What am I not saying?”

They held gazes for a tense, breathless moment, waiting for something to snap, and then Blaine went to speak but -- he was interrupted by a sudden, rattling bang on the garage door. They fell silent, heads turning to stare at the corrugated metal. The room echoed with its begging, bang bang bang, underwritten with a pained moan that echoed up into a shriek. Not human. That was a relief. They stepped apart, no eye contact made, and quietly moved to either side of the room. They settled into opposite corners, trying to ignore the animalistic knocking, Sebastian on his mattress, Blaine leaning against the tool chest, hugging his knees. Sebastian lay down, trying to find a comfortable position, not that he’d been able to in the months since he’d come out of his feverish sleep.

He dreamed of classics class in university, droning over The Velveteen Rabbit to a comfortable weight on his arm, and his last boyfriend, who he’d been just about to dump when the apocalypse had taken care of that by making a monster of him … odd dreams, disjointed, taunting him with promises of understanding ...

He woke up in the -- night -- day? -- to an itchy nose.

Groaning, Sebastian reached up to scratch his nose. It didn’t seem to ease it, tugging him more out of sleep, and he opened his eyes. No hand in front of his face -- oh.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know about phantom limb syndrome. His brain really needed to catch up with itself.

Lowering his hand (ish) and kicking the helpless rage he felt, he used his other hand to scratch his nose, then paused as he heard something … skittering? rolling on the ground?

He turned his head, and squinted. Blaine was lying on his side, head pillowed on his arm, eyes just visible in the dim light, tracking back and forth. His hand moved; gold streaked across the ground; his hand moved, batting it back.

The ring. Sebastian shook his head, and went back to sleep.

Blaine was glowing with triumph.

“I found a way out!”

“Where?”

“Under the elevator!”

“... What?”

“I was on the fourth floor. There’s a manager’s office there, and there was paper half-burned, I thought it was useless, but it’s actually blueprints. Apparently there’s a service tunnel to next door, on the ground floor of the elevator shaft.”

He pulled out this charred blueprint with a flourish, unrolling it for Sebastian to see. Sebastian nodded slowly as he scanned it; Blaine wasn’t wrong.

“Problem: the elevator is on the ground.”

“Not totally.”

“There’s a few inches, so what? Have a Drink me! potion?”

Blaine pointed with a showman’s flair -- (he didn’t sing anymore, not since his daughter, but Sebastian couldn’t blame him; he couldn’t remember any words himself) -- at the car jack that Sebastian had been using as a footrest. His eyebrows went up.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Blaine echoed, almost mischievous. “If we can get it up just enough to slip under and open the hatch, we’ll be good. C’mon.”

Blaine grabbed the car jack, grinning, and Sebastian followed, quietly amazed.

In rare good luck since they’d entered this miserable place, the plan worked.

They got the elevator up, and Blaine was able to shimmy under and pop the hatch with the ax, after a cautious look at Sebastian, who forced his face even. Once it was open Blaine gazed back at Sebastian expectantly, hopefully, and Sebastian had to smile, though it soon faded.

“We shouldn’t just rush in there,” Sebastian said, crouching outside the gap and staring at the tiny hole.

Who knew what was hiding in that darkness. He was running out of arms to sacrifice just groping around.

“Yeah …” Blaine peered into it, and shone his flashlight. The light flickered; Blaine impatiently gave it a shake until the beam steadied. “There’s a ladder, it goes down, about fifteen feet … looks like spores, too.”

No surprise. They gathered in closed-off areas. Another good reason to avoid small spaces.

“Should throw a rock and see what comes running.”

“I’d rather nothing know where we are …” Blaine looked between Sebastian and the hole, then nodded to himself. “I’ll go in. Scout it.”

Sebastian’s gut gave an awful twist. “No.”

“Sebastian,” Blaine said, uncertainty flicking across his eyes for a second. “I need to.”

“Right. Blaine knows best. I forgot.”

Blaine glared at him, and then shook his head. “I’ll just see if there’s anything down there, and take care of it.”

“You could die.”

Blaine muttered something under his breath -- Sebastian had no idea what, though the tone wasn’t flattering. He wondered if Blaine was cursing him out. How ungentlemanly.

“I could die anywhere,” Blaine said aloud, peering back into the hole. “Anytime. That’s what life is.”

Sebastian reached out to grip Blaine’s ankle, breaking an unspoken boundary they’d refound, a line redrawn as harshly as the first time, when Blaine had screamed “Don’t touch me,” at Sebastian’s attempt to comfort, a little blood-stained felt rabbit between them ...

“Doesn’t mean you should take unnecessary risks.”

“‘Unnecessary risks’,” Blaine parroted, mouth twisting. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Well, I am.” He’d almost forgotten how damn stubborn Blaine could be. It made his teeth grind. “So I’m doing this, and you can’t stop me.”

“Fine.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, let go. “But remember, if I’m in no position to stop you, I’m in no position to save you, either. Doesn’t matter what I hear.”

Blaine looked him over inscrutably, then shrugged, tone bitter when he replied.

“Fine. I’m not asking you to. Stay here.”

With that, Blaine pat his gun, his knife, tugged his mask on, then shifted around to slip his feet in the hole and climb down. Sebastian watched him disappear a piece at a time, listened to the dull sound of booted feet on the rungs until they faded, and kept his vigil, looking on silently.

Nothing for a good long while.

Then --

Was that a distant scuffle?

Some kind of shriek?

Sebastian leaned forward, straining to hear --

A gunshot. Echoing. One. Two. Then no more.

He swallowed, shut his eyes, and started to count.

Kurt had died in a random stabbing. No rhyme or reason, never sure who it had been, and Sebastian had broken more than a few fingers trying to find out.

Their daughter had been infected. She’d been discovered, and taken care of. He was sure Blaine had never forgiven Sebastian for not getting her out, but …

He hadn’t known. He’d never known. She’d seemed so healthy, so herself, smiling at him all rosy-cheeked and sweet, listening to his not-at-all child-friendly bedtime stories with shock and awe.

“Daddy, one more,” she’d said, curling chubby fingers around his, gaze pleading. And Sebastian … Sebastian had left. Needed to get to work.

Incredible the kind of cat-in-the-cradle bullshit that could be pulled on you even after the apocalypse. Fuck. He’d never asked for that. Never asked for any of it. Should have left earlier, found himself a nice little abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere and shot anyone who got within a hundred yards of him.

But he couldn’t pretend being too smart to sleep alone was the only reason he’d stuck around. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t …

He was at nearly a thousand mississippi's when he heard footsteps.

Sebastian followed Blaine back to the autoshop, a little dazed.

“There were a couple clickers, and one on the wall, but other than that, it was fine … I took care of them. That ax saved my life when I ran out of bullets ... there’s a door on the other side. I had to jimmy the lock but it leads out! To a storeroom I mean, I think it was once a Brooks Brothers actually --” Blaine showed off a bowtie he’d curled around his fist like a bandage, miming a playful punch “-- I couldn’t resist, well, just one more door between us and freedom! We’re set!”

The manic energy was hard to manage after the tension of his wait. Sebastian blinked slowly, rubbing his aching temple, and stared at the cloth-wrapped hand.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Huh? No, I was … well, I hate punching them, I don’t want to get a cut … I was thinking how nice brass knuckles would be but for now wrapping my hands seems good …”

Blaine began to unravel it, continuing to chatter (“-- wish I still had the stuff I used back when I was boxing, that was great, sporting goods on floor three was cleaned out though except for hockey pucks, lots of hockey pucks --”) as Sebastian looked unsurely at their scattered things. Should they leave? It had to be November, at least. They didn’t have much in the way of winter wear. Should they just use the tunnel to get food and come back here, where it was safe?

No. Nowhere was safe. Nowhere was safe. He couldn’t let himself forget --

Blaine had fallen silent, staring down at his now-bare hand. Stomach plummeting and drawing out memories of torn flesh and the cleaving of an ax, Sebastian stared, but he didn’t see any kind of injury.

“What’s wrong ..?”

“I …” Blaine turned his hand over, to and fro, frantically, looking at it like he might tear it off himself. “It’s gone!”

“What’s --”

Blaine’s head darted up, eyes wide and frantic. “I need to go back.”

“What?”

Sebastian grabbed Blaine when Blaine tried to march past him, shaking his head at Blaine’s radiating terror. Blaine stilled, but couldn’t contain his trembling.

“Let me go, Sebastian.”

“What’s going on?”

“My ring. It’s gone.”

Sebastian looked and realized Blaine was right. No ring. Not even really a tan line. Like it had never been there. Sebastian swallowed.

“Blaine …”

“I -- I don’t know what --” Blaine shook his head. “I have to find it.”

“Blaine, it’s --”

“Don’t say just.” Blaine jerked away from his hold, sending Sebastian a sullen look like a starving, mean stray. “Don’t ever say that.”

It sparked something in Sebastian, this implication. That Blaine was the only one standing here, less than he once was. So he did as he’d always done best, and lashed out.

“And what if it’s gone forever? What then.”

“It’s not!” Blaine gave him a shove, propelling himself back, away from Sebastian. “It’s not!”

“But it could be. What then? Are we going to stay here until we starve so you can find it? Sorry, buddy, but dying for a useless hunk of metal isn’t on my to-do list --”

“Shut up!” Blaine hissed. “Why are you being so mean.”

“I’m being realistic! For fuck’s sake, Blaine, I’m the one who told you how to keep it safe! But you didn’t listen --”

“It wasn’t right! I couldn’t -- god, you’d never understand, why would I think you could …”

Sebastian pinned him with a look. “Understand what? Losing things?”

Blaine sucked in a breath, gaze darting to what remained of Sebastian’s right arm, and then his shoulders drew a tight, angry line as they straightened out.

“You think amputation is anything like losing your soulmate?” Blaine asked, and now it was Sebastian’s turn to be shocked, the callousness of the words ugly in Blaine’s normally kind mouth. “To losing your child?”

“Don’t use her like that. Fuck, even he deserves better than that --”

“Like your insults are any better --”

“Maybe not, but -- shit, Blaine, you’re not the only one with family! Loved ones! That’s all of our stories!”

“You love nothing,” Blaine told him, his now-bare left hand unfurling and then slamming into a tight fist over and over, hitting his own chest, eyes growing damp past the hot anger radiating from them. “You have no idea --”

“Fuck you,” Sebastian spat back. “Fuck you and -- you know what? I have done -- everything for you -- we’re only here, alive , for you to yell at me because of all I’ve done --”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what the hell do you think --”

“You’re the one who shot those guys!”

The words rung out, somehow more damning than anything else said so far. Sebastian shook his head, trying to figure out Blaine’s logic.

“What the fuck does that --”

“You shot those guys . And then we had to run, here , and you got attacked, you got us trapped, and it was your fault.”

Blaine didn’t look triumphant, more desperate, as the words landed low in Sebastian’s gut, sure as a hit, making him flinch. He battled a swell of guilt with righteousness.

“I had to!”

“No, you didn’t,” Blaine informed him. “They were going to talk!”

Sebastian snorted. “No, they weren’t.”

“They were lowering their guns!”

Sebastian blinked. No, that wasn’t -- he tried to think back to that day, the moon full overhead, the distant music, the two machine guns. They’d raised them, hadn’t they? The barrel up, the imminent threat, Blaine next him -- god -- Blaine --

“No, they were -- they were going to shoot.”

“They weren’t! I was handling it,” Blaine insisted, a hitch to his voice. “And you -- you went and did that! You murdered them!”

“I had to!”

“Why do you think that!” Blaine ran his hands over his hair. “You think I don’t know that you do these things , but I do, I always have, and I -- I always told myself you had to, but you -- you just shot them --”

“To protect us. Protect you.”

Blaine gripped his curls, mouth turning down, and he stared at Sebastian for several long seconds, tired lines around his eyes standing out all the more starkly. His brows lifted, almost marvelling.

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“It’s all I have to believe,” Sebastian replied, and the truth of it scared him.

What was he without Blaine?

“But we’ll never know, will we?” Blaine said, shaking his head, hands sliding down to cup the nape of his neck, holding onto himself. “Because you -- you tell yourself this, but when it comes down to it, that’s what you do, you -- I -- that’s not how I want to be protected.”

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“I want you to -- I want you to talk to me.”

“About what. The weather?”

“About --” Blaine swallowed a choked, laughing sound. “God, you can’t think of anything? How about your arm? Don’t act like you haven’t been silently judging me over it --”

Sebastian shook his head stubbornly. “I haven’t.”

Blaine sneered at him. “That’s a goddamn lie, Sebastian!”

“You saved my life, Blaine. I fucking know that,” Sebastian shot back, and pointed at Blaine with the stump; Blaine flinched. “You’re the one who can’t face what you did.”

“Because you’re blaming me!”

“I’m not! Christ, do you know what really bothers me? You want to know the real reason I’ve wanted to just -- just go?”

Blaine turned his face to press his mouth against his arm, brows furrowing, throat bobbing, and then he glanced back. “If you want to leave, you should.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m offering the why. Yes or no, Blaine, it’s a simple fucking question.”

Blaine took a deep breath, then stepped forward, releasing his neck and spreading his hands out to Sebastian. “Fine! Yes! Talk to me.”

“Because you’re pretending you give a shit.”

“I -- what’s that supposed to mean?” Blaine asked, almost like he hadn’t intended for it to be a question, the words reluctantly dragged from him.

“That you are an emotional zombie. For years I’ve had to all but wipe your ass while I looked out for you, and you could barely -- barely look at me -- and then -- and then when it’s my time to go you suddenly -- suddenly you’re willing to just do something like that. It’s not what you did. It’s that -- it’s that you only …”

Want me when you can’t have me. Sebastian swallowed, and turned away, covering his mouth and its unforgiving tremble with his hand. He felt sick, as sick as he’d been when the infection had first grabbed him.

“Really?” Blaine snapped, and the fury in his voice gave Sebastian pause. “You -- you said it yourself. After she -- after I lost them -- I, I was done Sebastian, I was -- but I couldn’t. Not when you -- you needed me -- and I’ve hung on, and that was for you, but you -- you didn’t do it for me, don’t pretend you did it for me --”

“So what you’re saying,” Sebastian began, speaking over Blaine, turning back on him with disbelief, “is that all this is some sick kind of revenge?”

Blaine’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Forget it. You don’t hear a word I say, do you?”

“Oh, I hear plenty, trust me.” Sebastian reached over, grabbing him when Blaine tried to step away, fear lancing through him. “But why don’t you illuminate me some more.”

Blaine sighed, and it was like finding a dead jellyfish on the beach, empty and sad. He didn’t try to tug away, just bored holes into Sebastian with his hard, wet gaze. “Why bother? All we do is talk past each other.”

“Then walk away,” Sebastian told him, feeling like he’d absorbed all the anger that had fled Blaine. “Turn around and walk off and leave. But if you don’t want to do that, tell me what it is you mean!”

“I can’t make it any clearer!” Blaine told him, a hint of a waver to his voice. “You don’t protect me, Sebastian, you protect what I do for you.”

“What …” Sebastian let go of, stepped back, unease splitting him inside. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means …” Blaine laughed, short, sharp, bitter. “That I could have been anyone.”

“You can’t really believe that,” Sebastian said, and it was his turn to marvel, searching Blaine’s face frantically for some suggestion of jest.

“If it had been me who died instead of Kurt --”

Blaine hadn’t said that name since Kurt had died. Sebastian sucked in a breath.

“Blaine, I fucking hated your husband.”

Sebastian hadn’t said the name either, and he didn’t feel like joining Blaine there quite yet.

“I know you two -- butted heads, but I also -- I saw you two together. So many times. Just … talking.”

Sebastian couldn’t even be angry; it was like seeing a map written in a topsy-turvy dimension, like Alice had come back and told him to look down for the sky.

“I --” Sebastian shook his head. “About you. I was telling him off, half the time!”

Their daughter, upon hearing that Sebastian had been to France, had instantly assumed that Sebastian knew how to do French braids. “Pleaaase, Uncle Seb?” Sebastian, not being a twelve-year-old girl, had turned to Hummel, and Kurt had taught him. “You’re a natural,” he’d told Sebastian, smiling kindly, and sometimes, sometimes things were good between them.

They were rare, but -- maybe hate was too strong a word. They’d shared something. Of course they had. Everyone did, who had seen what they had. But Sebastian -- Sebastian had known where he stood. He’d always known.

How could Blaine not? Was that really what this was? You love nothing? Sebastian could laugh.

“That’s only a half --”

“Blaine,” Sebastian interrupted again, but this time his tone had gentled, such a terrifyingly vulnerable thing that left him incapable of hearing his own words himself without cringing away, rather registering them with how they landed across the landscape of Blaine’s raw expression, “I love you.”

Blaine half-smiled, confused, then slowly shook his head. “What …”

“I’ve always loved you,” he continued, gesturing to encompass Blaine. “It could never have been just anyone.”

Blaine was now just staring at him, mouth parted, brows drawn low, a faint shake still tugging at his otherwise still gaze. Embarrassed, Sebastian continued, words growing softer but no less steady:

“And fine, if that’s selfish. If it’s selfish to love you and want to see you stay alive, because I need you, because I think you needed me … then fine, I’m selfish. We all fucking knew that’s what love is anyways -- selfish, horrible, desperate … but it’s love.”

“It’s love,” Blaine echoed, and then, “Why did you …”

He didn’t finish, looking almost confused, and Sebastian shrugged helplessly.

“Never say anything? I figured you knew.”

Blaine looked to his feet, then jerked his chin up. The sweet sting of embarrassment was reflected in his face.

“I think …” he grew even more shame-faced “ … I did know.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian huffed, tucked his hands -- hand -- into his pocket, shrugged again. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. You love nothing. “Yeah. You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies, Blaine.” Sebastian nodded at Blaine’s left hand. “You had your reasons, and I had mine. That’s … human.”

Blaine curled his hand into a fist, then slowly, slowly, smoothed it out, and then they both stood there in a silence that just verged on awkward, not quite making eye contact. It had been a furious argument and a whimper of an end, a just-forged sword slipped directly into water, and Sebastian had only steam left to breathe. His chest felt tight and hot, and he sighed to release it.

“I really don’t blame you for saving my life,” Sebastian said quietly. “And I’m sorry if you felt like I had. I probably would have done the exact same thing.”

Blaine crossed his arms, mouth moving softly, still not looking at Sebastian, and then carefully replied:

“I’m sorry … that you had to save me. And I’m … god, Sebastian, I’m thankful. I am.”

Sebastian smiled at that, and Blaine suddenly made a choked sound, shoulders hunching, and Sebastian stepped forward, offering an open arm; Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and with another half-sob he moved to hug Sebastian, tight and all-encompassing, tucking himself under Sebastian’s chin, and Sebastian held him back as fiercely as he could, some weight he couldn’t name slipping from his shoulders but leaving him with a feeling of grace. Of … peace.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known what that felt like before now.

That night, a blizzard raged outside, early winter come calling.

They slept tangled on that dirty mattress, breathing each other’s air, hearts beating against each other, feet tucked together, intimate and warm.

Blaine’s left hand was still curled in a fist, but now, Sebastian’s curled around it.

“I really am sorry about your arm. I wish there’d been another way.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I’m a leftie with jacking off anyways …”

“Right. … Where do you find the privacy to do that, exactly?”

“Privacy? No, I’m just very quiet. Ninja masturbation.”

“I …” Blaine laughed, nose crinkling at him. “That’s a skill, then.”

Sebastian, fond, nodded, and finished clumsily packing the last of his things; thankfully, Blaine hadn’t offered to help.

“Ready?” Sebastian asked, standing up and slinging the pack on.

“As ever.” Blaine adjusted his straps, smiled grimly. “Let’s get going.”

They slipped under the elevator, through the tunnel.

They both looked for the ring, not pausing, but flashlights sweeping the dark, lighthouses in the night, but nothing to be found, nothing to be warned for. There was only the dead and the soft puff of the spores, swirling through the beams, a quiet reminder of what awaited them all.

They left through the storeroom, up and out, through a field of empty mannequins and scattered hangers. Blaine briefly paused outside to stare up at the half-burned logo, thoughtful reflection curling his mouth, and then he looked back to Sebastian and smiled, offering his hand. Sebastian accepted it, his heart maybe a touch softer in his chest.

They left the city hand-in-hand, making tracks in the snow, their way soon swallowed up behind them by further falling drifts, with only forward to go.

“We should find a settlement,” Blaine said, and Sebastian nodded.

“Yeah, we should.” He knew they needed the help, now. “But we keep an exit strategy.”

“Of course.” Blaine leaned into him. “I think we just proved we can never be trapped.”

“We did, didn’t we?” Sebastian let out a huff of a breath, watching his breath swirl and part the air. “I guess we make a pretty good team.”

He sent a sly grin at Blaine, who smiled back, almost shy.

“We do,” Blaine agreed. “It’s why we’re still here, isn’t it?”

They squeezed each other’s hands, a warm moment that spread like waves on a tropical shore, the future of possibilities, white beaches and northern lights, and in understanding, they kept walking.

the end

#glee #blaine anderson #sebastian smythe #seblaine #my writing #blaine x sebastian #barbie's otp #happy halloween!

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