#this is a reminder to me to get my ass in gear and keep trudging with my silly little tlok overhaul project

[beifong-brainrot]

ugh that ssktyles screenshot they're so miserable. anyways bumi, kya and tenzin are all kataang's children and those bitter zk shippers can die mad about it 🤪

i agree that aang wasn't the terrible father certain fandom corners makes him out to be, he was flawed but ultimately he loved his children and they loved him back. writing-wise though i think the concept of airbending being so synonymous with air nomad culture warrants criticism. i hate the way the narrative painted bumi and kya as less than for not being airbenders even though they had just as much air nomad heritage as tenzin. i can't recall which episode it was but there's a scene where bumi says he finally feels like he's part of the air nation after becoming an airbender and tenzin agrees like ugh no! he was always part of the air nation regardless of bending!

ironically enough bumi and kya embodied their air nomad side more effortlessly than tenzin given how free-spirited they were and picked upon on spiritual matters quicker than he did. i'm also thinking about the ways tenzin embodied his water tribe side but that's a ramble for another day. i just think tlok's writers really dropped the ball in depicting the nuances of the kataang kids' mixed race heritage but yeah i'd love to hear your thoughts on this

Frankly, I don't want to talk about them if I can help it. I've learnt my lesson on interacting with that side of the fandom or thinking one can reason with them. Never again. Block them. For your own good.

I'm just really tired of the 'Aang was an awful dad' thing. He's no worse a father than Hakoda, who also couldn't spend as much time with his children as he wished due to external responsibilities. But Aang didn't get the change to speak to his children about this, because, unlike Hakoda, he was deader than a doornail by the time complaints began to arise.

I'm 50/50 on the airbending question. In a vaccum it's a solid concept. To ye ole air nomads, airbending was a matter of spirituality, to the point that if an airbender list their spirituality, their airbending could weaken, or dissapear. This is a very cool concept, and ties in nicely to the Air Nomad's ties with buddhist monks.

However, when set in a world where, to the other nations, bending is more up to the genetic lottery, it sets some very obvious hurdles for mixed families. Which isn't an entirely bad thing, it would be interesting to be fleshed out. It is a shame, but it's also not the only potentially amazing storyline to not be explored in the show.

I think the fact that Tenzin is our main window into tlok's Air Nomads is also what sorta drags their characterisation down. As nicely as I can put this, Tenzin can be a bit of a stiff prick, especially to his siblings. Granted, he's under A LOT of stress and pressure (plenty of it self inflicted), but still...

Shifting more into perspectives of a less baggage-ridden character like Jinora, or newer airbenders like Opal and Kai (here is Quill's very sneaky attempt at begging for more Opal content) might have given us a newer, less local-man-convinced-he's-the-single-person-upholding-the-legacy-of-a-genocided-nation flavoured viewpoints.

Tenzin feeling the pressure more than his siblings was, frankly, unavoidable. Even if Aang and Katara didn't encourage him taking on the air nomads legacy at all, he would still be expected to participate in it by outsiders, being what he is. It's certainly a case of someone's identity becoming political, and being burdened with great responsibility for something you can't change about yourself, a phenomenon many minorities irl are intimately aware of.

I do like how Aang handled this aspect of raising Tenzin, wven if it seemingly did not stick lol

Tenzin internalising the importance of his airbender heritage is also not improbable. The issue, to me, is that he is never challenged on this.

Don't get me wrong, I adore the moment in the Fog of Lost souls when he speaks to Aang's spirit and realises he doesn't have to try to be Aang to carry on the air nomads legacy. It's great start, but it could go further, with him mending rhe bridge between him and his siblings, and realising that they are also part of the Air Nomads.

B3 would be a good place for that arc, but it doesn't happen. I hate the "well you're part of the nation now 😌" scene between Bumi and Tenzin, because it feels so artificial. Wouldn't surprise me if it existed because people felt bad for Bumi in B2, and it were an attempt at quickly patching that up. But that's purely speculation, as B3 just feels like it's full of useless fanservice in general.

I can actually get behind Tenzin's mildly condescending attitude towards his siblings. If I had to get into his head, Kya and Bumi both shirked whatever responsibility they had to the Air Temples, even if it was smaller than the one Tenzin was saddled with. Bumi joined the military, which is not very pacifist-monk of him and Kya left the fold to wander the world. Leaving Tenzin alone to carry the weight of the Air Nomads. Of course, from their perspective, they were already excluded, but Tenzin didn't seem aware of their feelings.

I think multiple people have pointed out the hypocrisy of Tenzin, leader of the Air Nomads, criticising his sister's nomadic lifestyle, but I'll do it again. It is very funny, how Kya and Bumi seem to more effortlessly embody select Air Nomad values, and certain of Aang's personality traits, than Tenzin ever could.

Kya, of course, spent a lot of her time as a nomad and seems to genuinely take to meditating and spirituality. Similarly, Bumi seems to naturally gravitate to spirits, even befriending one.

I'd actually argue that Tenzin is the most similar to Katara personalitywise. People have joked about how he got her temper, but I think it's more than that. They have other similarities in personality, as well as their deep and fierce love of family and need for a community. I also like that they're both not natural bending prodigies. Katara was shown struggling with waterbending, but became a master through perseverance and passion. Similarly, Tenzin didn't get his arrows until he was over 16, a far cry of Aang and Jinora who were both around 12 for it.

Honestly, Tenzin trying to be so much like his father, when he's obviously a mama's boy is one of my favourite parts of his character.

I honestly wish we had more between these two, and perhaps an arc of Tenzin reconnecting with his Water Tribe roots. He clearly does have some care for them, visiting for festivals, and with a lot of the furniture around Air Temple island having some callbacks to water tribe furnishings weve seen before. But it's obvious he's cut himself off from that aspect of himself to focus on the duty of rebuilding the Air Nomads.

So, I think my ultimate opinion on the cloudbabies and their relation to their Air Nomad heritage is, like with many aspects of tlok: excellent potential, great setup, fascinating characters- not enough time and fumbled execution.

[leiawritesstories]

Protector, Defender

Rowaelin Month, day 17. 

The story I had planned for this prompt decided to fight me. So, enjoy a snippet/first look type of thing. This may or may not become a multi-part fic.

Warnings: I actually don’t think this bit has any. Language maybe.

~~~~~

It is just past three in the morning. An icy breeze whirls through the streets, cutting into the man’s nondescript black jacket. He burrows himself deeper into his multiple layers of clothing, rubs his gloved hands together to keep them functional, wriggles his feet in his  sturdy boots. His eyes scan every angle at all times, alert despite the late hour and his constant suppressed wish to go to bed.

In his line of work, sleep happens only when allowed.

The barely-there scuff of a footfall in the January snow has him whirling with feline silence in the direction of the sound, finger instantly curling around the holster at his hip.

Fuego to Buzzard, Fuego to Buzzard. Stand down, I’m not a threat. He nearly jumps at the unexpected voice in his ear. 

Buzzard to Fuego, Buzzard to Fuego. I presume the footfall was you announcing your presence rather than appearing and giving me a heart attack?

Don’t be so put out that I’m the only human who can sneak up on you.

Status, Fuego?

All clear north and east, Buzzard. Status south and west?

No signs of activity.

Excellent. 

A new voice enters the comm channel. Lion to patrol. Taking north and east now.

Fuego to Lion. Stay awake.

And another. Hades to Buzzard. Taking south and west now.

Buzzard to Hades. Keep warm.

Lion to Fuego and Buzzard. Go get some sleep.

Roger that, Lion.

His relief offers a nod of camaraderie as he takes up the post, ever alert, ever on guard against all possible threats to the royal family.

Inside the security wing of the royal estate, he stomps the crust of icy snow off his boots, hangs up his winter gear and Kevlar layer. Impulsively, his eyes, a shock of forest green against the tan of his skin, scan the mudroom, landing on his shift partner removing her protective layers with efficient precision.

“There’s really no need to stare, Buzzard, you see plenty more than this during training,” Aelin teases in that throaty voice of hers.

“I’m not staring,” he blurts, his words too rushed to be true.

She chuckles, pulls a soft blue sweater over her dark thermals, pats his strong shoulder as she leaves. “Yes, you are. Means you’re tired, so go get some sleep before training.”

She’s out of the room before he can sputter a reply.

And what bothers him the most is that she’s right. 

So he trudges back to his room, flops onto his bed, and is asleep within minutes.

~

The alarm buzzes far too early for his liking. Goddamn Captain and his goddamn debriefings, he thinks as he hauls ass out of bed and into presentable clothing. On autopilot, he heads downstairs, taps his ID against the secure doors to the security complex, and enters the main conference area. The unit captain, standing at the head of the table, cocks a brow at him.

“Long night, Whitethorn?”

“And then some, but you damn well know it, Captain Schedule-Maker.”

Captain clicks his tongue, smirking. “Is that any way to address your superior?”

“Oh, piss off, Ilnair, you know I could take you any day.”

The captain chuckled. “All right, Rowan, I apologize for that shift, I know it was the worst to pull.”

“But you don’t see me complaining, and I pulled the shift too,” Aelin remarks.

“Ah, good morning, my favorite femme fatale.”

“Shut the hell up, Cass, it’s too early for your stupidity.” 

The captain pretends to look affronted, then he turns his attention to the room, where he and the fifteen members of royal security who aren’t currently on duty are gathered.

“Good morning, everyone. Just the usual today. I’ll wait no longer than five minutes for His Royal Tardiness to climb off his wife and get his royal arse down here before I actually go into today’s details. Anyone here think it’ll be five minutes?”

Not a single hand goes up.

Naturally, the king chooses that moment to enter the room, rumpled and half-awake as per usual.

The entire team smothers giggles as they stand in deference, as is protocol. 

“Sit down, sit down, you still don’t have to be suckups.” He waves a hand at the room, slumps into his chair at the head of the table. “Right, Cass, spill.”

“So terse today, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t pay you to be a smartass.”

Cassian snorts. “Let’s get started, people! Shift changes in three hours. I have Team Beta scheduled to go on outside rotation then. Team Delta, you’re taking audience hall duty. Team Alpha is currently outside. Team Gamma is monitoring the family and guest wings. As for the rest of you…what have I got in store?” A smirk slips across his face. “Cadre!”

“Yeah?” chorus eight voices.

“Y’all are pulling personal detail.”

The eight glance at each other. “Who’s with whom, Captain?” 

“Hades and Buzzard, you’re with His Royal God Complex here. Sunbeam and Moonbeam, you’re with Hera. Dwarf and Rover, you’re with Hercules. Lion and Fuego--” he shoots them a very large and wicked grin--“Deathless is arriving today. You’re with her.”

Gavriel raises his eyebrows at Aelin; she nods back. He grins a shit-eating grin. “We’ll take that assignment with pleasure, Cap. You just keep out of her pants and we won’t have any problems.”

Aelin slaps Gav a high five.

Everyone else is in various stages of laughter.

The king, meanwhile, just smirks at his head of security. “He’s not wrong, brother.”

“Rhysand Matthieson Selvari, need I remind your team what I regularly hear you call your wife?”

“You forgot my titles, Captain.”

The captain flips off the king, who chuckles and rises from his seat. “As fun as this has been, I’m afraid I do have a schedule to follow, and that schedule dictates that I primp for a good hour at minimum before holding court.” 

Everyone else stands, gathering into teams for the day. Rowan and Lorcan trail the king as he strolls out of the room, bracing themselves for whatever the hell might happen. 

After all, the life of a royal bodyguard is ever unpredictable.

[whiskery-louis]

Body Image

Calum Hood x Reader

Warnings: Body image, body shaming, self esteem issues, angst

A/N: This is my first Cal writing. I've been reading a lot about him and I just love him so please enjoy BestFriend!Cal

Word Count: 2.2k

I sighed turning around to look at myself in the mirror once more, my mouth twisted to the side as I studied the third outfit I had tried on. I wanted to believe I looked as good in it as Katie had convinced me when we were at the mall. I wiped at the tear that threatened to fall down my face. I don’t know why I agreed to go out tonight anyways, I thought it would help me feel better after the break up but as I looked at myself in the mirror all the things he said to me were running through my head.

My body didn’t fall under society's standard notion of beauty. I was always a little bit heavier than most, my stomach being a bit rounder, my thighs a bit larger and my arms a bit jiggly. It was always something that I struggled with, but being told by someone that you love that they are breaking up with you because of your weight will really mess with you. I used to enjoy buying new clothes and getting dressed up, but now all I see are my flaws. I did what I could to keep my mind off my body image, but it's not easy with social media being a constant reminder. I spent most of my days in t-shirts and sweatpants praying the baggy clothes wouldn’t call unwanted attention to my stomach.

I sighed again as I pulled the shirt over my head and replaced it with a t-shirt. I didn’t feel up to going out anymore, being unable to like anything on my body really put a toll on my mental health.

I sent Katie a quick text to let her know I wanted to stay in. I knew she was worried about me, but she was the only one who knows why Dalton really broke up with me and didn’t have the heart to drag me out to a bar when she knew how much I was struggling. Katie tried to convince me to tell Calum but I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else pitying me. Everyone else though that Dalton and I broke up over commitment issues and I let them think that. It was less embarrassing than the truth. Katie tried to tell me that Dalton was the one who should be embarrassed for how he treated me at the end, but whenever she tried to bring it up I changed the subject. I wasn’t ready to admit that I believed everything he said about me.

I trudged down to the kitchen to find something to eat, I was really craving some comfort food but after being upset with how I looked in every outfit I opted to make a salad. I plopped down on the couch mindlessly scrolling through Netflix before settling on New Girl. My pity party was interrupted by two quick knocks on the door. I hoped they had the wrong apartment, but two more knocks quickly followed. I groaned as I stood up and trudged my way to the door. I looked through the peephole and saw Calum in the hallway holding a pizza.

“Go away, I’m not in the mood,” I called through the door.

“Come on Y/N open up! Katie told me you canceled again tonight. I”m not letting you spend another Friday night alone.”

I mentally cursed Katie, vowing to send her a strongly worded text later.

“I’m fine Cal really, just had a long week.”

“I’m not leaving Y/N, and if you don’t let me in I’ll just sit out here singing all night.”

I hit my head against the door knowing Cal wasn’t going anywhere. I unlocked the door and walked back to the couch knowing he would hear it and come in automatically. I picked up my salad, taking another bite but I lost my appetite at the smell of the pizza wafting from the kitchen.

“Where are all your plates? Nevermind I’m bringing the whole box in, I’m starving anyway.”

He set the pizza down on the coffee table and threw his body on the couch next to me, nearly crushing me under his weight.

“Cal...can’t...breathe,” I muttered. “Why are you crushing me?”

“Missed you, we’ve barely hung out since I got back from tour. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Have not.” I pushed at his chest and managed to create enough space between the two of us that I was able to scoot back to the other side of the couch. Calum sat up and pouted at me, while I just rolled my eyes at him.

“Have so, ever since you broke up with Dalton you’ve shut me out. I’ve tried to give you space but I can’t standby anymore knowing that you're hurting and do nothing to help.”

“Cal I really am okay, I just needed time to process.” I glanced over to him to see that he was staring at me with a look of disbelief on his face.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying. If you’re as fine as you say you are then why haven’t you touched the pizza I brought. I got it plain with extra cheese and a large side of ranch. You’re favorite.”

I shrugged, “I’m not hungry,” I mumbled, not even believing my own lie. “I had a salad.”

“You mean the one sitting there that looks barely eaten,” he looked at me, his eyebrow raised, clearly seeing through my bullshit. “Katie told me that there is more to your breakup with Dalton than you’re leading on. Plus talk to me Y/N, I’m worried about you.”

I sighed and pulled the nearest blanket over my body, I felt nearly naked under Calum’s stare. He always had a way of knocking down my defences and convincing me to let him help. I didn’t want his help this time though, I was too scared to admit that Dalton was right about me, I had barely admitted it to myself, let alone tell Cal. We sat there in silence, him waiting for me to speak and me playing with the edge of the blanket praying he would drop it.

“Hey,” Cal reached out and placed his hand on my knee, “you can tell me anything you know that right?”

I don’t know if it was the look of concern in his eyes or the comfort from the circles he was rubbing on my knee but my walls were slowly breaking down like they always did around Calum.

“I lied to you about the breakup like Katie said, we didn’t break up because Dalton couldn’t commit. He’s the one who broke up with me.” Cal shot me a confused look, not knowing why I would lie to him about something like this, but he didn’t interrupt me. “He told me that I gained a few too many pounds the last few months and didn’t listen when he told me to eat better or get out more. He said he couldn’t be with someone who let herself go and that he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.”

“What a fucking ass, I’m so sorry that he said that to you Y/N. I’m going to fucking kill him,” Cal spoke through his teeth, trying to quell the anger rising in him with every word I spoke. I could tell that it was taking everything in him to not run out of the house in search of Dalton to beat him for hurting me like this. And it was the last thing I wanted.

“Cal it’s fine,” I shrugged, pulling the blanket closer to me. “It’s not like he’s wrong anyways.” I whispered under my breath instantly regretting it when I realized Calum heard me. His head snapped to me, jaw slightly open in shock at what he just heard.

“Y/N you know that everything that prick said about you was wrong right? You have to know how beautiful you are.”

A scoff escaped my lips before I could stop it. “You have to say that Cal, you’re my best friend but please don’t lie to me. I don’t deserve your pity, it’s why I didn’t want to tell you. He just confirmed what I’ve always known deep down. I’m not worth it, I’m not beautiful and I just have to accept it and move on with my life.”

It was silent after I spoke. I could see the gears turning in Cal’s head as he processed what I just said. This was exactly why I had been avoiding him since the breakup, I knew once we talked about it I would admit that I believed everything Dalton said about me. It was the worst part of the breakup, knowing that my deepest insecurities came to light and were thrown in my face like that.

Cal moved slightly on the couch, moving his hand from my knee to take the blanket out of my hands. He pulled the blanket off me and tossed it on the floor. He wrapped his one hand around mine, moving the other to my chin so I was looking into his eyes as he spoke.

“Y/N please believe me when I say you are beautiful. Inside and out. I love everything about you and I’m not just saying this as your best friend. Dalton is a dick for saying those things about your body and they are so far from the truth. I know you’ve always struggled with your body image but believe me when I say that I love your body. I love the wrinkles around your eyes when you laugh, I love that you aren’t as skinny as those instagram models, it shows that you’re real and that you take care of your body by eating. I love that you can put a whole pizza away faster than me and the guys, it’s one of my favorite memories. I love your stretch marks, they are a unique map of only your body. I love how your body feels like it was made for me. I never want you to hate your body because it is an amazing thing. Fuck Y/N can’t you see that you are perfect to me, every last inch of you. Your eyes, your hand give the best massages, fuck even your boobs are fucking perfect-”

Calum’s eyes widened as he realized he got a little carried away with his speech praising my body. I’m sure my face mirrored his. I never knew Calum felt this way, never imagine this would be his reaction when I told him the truth about the breakup. I couldn’t help the small smile that was forming on my lips. There was a new tension in the air that wasn’t there before. It was a new feeling between Cal and I, but there was something so natural about it. Deciding to cross the line, I reached out for his free hand. His eyes narrowed at my touch, trying to decipher what I was going to do next. I looked him in the eyes as I slowly pulled his hand closer to me, placing it on my side just below my breast.

“What were you saying about my boobs being perfect?”

He eyed me tentatively, trying to gauge my response to what he just said. “Y/N what are you-”

I cut him off. “Calum thank you for saying all that. You don’t know how much that means to me. I realized Dalton was a dick but it was still hard to hear. But you-you always know just want to say to make me feel better. It’s something I still have to work on and I think having you by my side will help. I think we both knew this was going to happen one day Cal. It’s always been you and me, so why can’t one day be today? So again, what were you saying about my boobs?”

My breath hitched as Cal moved his hand slowly up from my side to cup my breast.

“I said your boobs are fucking perfect, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve pictured them bouncing as you ride me.”

Now it was my turn to pick my jaw off the floor. I wasn’t expecting that comment to come from him. He chuckled as his lustful eyes met my shocked ones.

“I’m going to show you just how much I love your body.”

I woke up the next morning, rolled over and collided with a solid body. I opened my eyes and saw Calum looking down at me with a small smile on his face.

“Good morning beautiful,” he moved his head to give me a peck on the lips. “How did you sleep?”

I smiled back at him, “Good, glad last night wasn’t a dream.”

“How’re you feeling this morning?”

I snuggled closer to his chest, “I feel much better than I did yesterday. I feel like I could learn to love myself with your help.” I pressed a kiss to his neck.

“I like the sound of that. Maybe I can show you how beautiful you are again after breakfast.”

[visual-explorxtion]

Vinylic Taste [Carlos Oliveira x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: You’re trapped and alone in the midst of an outbreak, struggling to survive. In the depths of your despair, Carlos came to the rescue. Through your ups and downs, Carlos soon became your best partner and vice versa. But...you soon realise Carlos isn’t who he appears to be.

A/N: Are you reading this at night time? Good...Wanted to write a Carlos fic but also wanna try and write something different from my usual stuff. But also got super distracted by other ideas and this fic got pushed waaaay further back and kinda took a different turn from my original plan and 11 pages in, I panicked. Still in first person POV.

TW: Graphic depiction of Violence, Blood, Gore, Angst, a bit of horror (idek), prob not as graphic as you think but it’s still graphic, uhh language and bit of a Mind Break.

Words: 6.0k

How did things turn out this way? Blood seeped its way across the vinyl floor, forming a pool around my feet as I sat helplessly with my body shivering in fear. Chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked wide open, my blurry gaze fixated onto a man but I could only make an outline of them. Him; on his knees, lays a lifeless corpse in between them, all drenched in venous blood as the deep red colour streams down every rigid and curves of his face. The air is thick combined with the stench of iron and gunpowder. He stares at his hands, covered in liquid but not his own. He laughs- echoes through my soul and pulsated the room- never have I ever heard of something so harrowing and sinister coming from a human. If he even had any sanity left in him. Neck twists abnormally towards my direction, head tilts eerily as if it's only supported by a thin piece of string. A soft gasp left my mouth, throat scorched with fear and lips quivering. My limbs lay still no matter how much I tell myself to run. My sense of self is being sucked into his dark, endless gaze. The light behind his eyes had vanished, all that's left is a soulless carcass I no longer recognise.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

---------------

The thunderous rain came washing down my face, lowering my field of vision. The moisture trickles down from thick strands of hair and onto the rubble concrete in a light rhythmic pitter-patter. In the span of 24 hours, everything turned from just an average day in this town to be engulfed and corrupted by a fiery shitshow. Humans eating humans, without a hint of remorse. They have no emotions, no pain tolerance. Their sole purpose is to feed on anything that has a heartbeat. It creeps me out. Like somebody playing a joke too far to the point of no return. That's what I'd initially thought. In my struggle to keep myself alive in this godforsaken town, each bullet is scarce but every item you gather is expendable. As the gun recoils, a leftover shell would flicker out with each bullet piercing the head of the undead. A steady hand, steady trigger finger and steady breathing. One by one, I shot them down. The feeling of ambivalence surrounds my mind with every shot I take. This isn't right, they are...were...humans, flesh and blood.

The ringing in my ears grew louder with each squeezing action I take. The heat of adrenaline coursing through under my skin, my peripheral vision gradually disappears until I'm left with the image of head to head. Before I could react, my back was already on the ground. The backside of my head slams against the solid sidewalk with a loud crack, the noise echoed inside for a nanosecond. My self-defence mechanism kicks in- forearm struggle against the zombie's throat, it's jaw hinges wide open with blood oozing out as it frantically pushes it's deadweight onto me. Its skin texture is abnormal, like every part of them is set in stone. Why didn't rigor mortis happen? My fingers tremble, trying to grasp for the handle of my gun that's just out of reach. Muscles burn and ache as my defence is crumbling to its limit, teeth-gritting with every last strength that I have. I refuse to die like this. Not like them.

As my forearm grew tired- inching closer and closer to my face- I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look Death in its soulless gaze and let it consume me slowly in the space of darkness. The next moment, I felt liquid splatter across my face but the pain never set in. My eyes flew open and watched as the corpse lay limping on my arm and the rest drop dead around my vicinity. I grunt as I discard the corpse aside, inspecting it one more time for any sign of movement. Face frozen in place as blood runs dry from the temple. The sight of this made my stomach churn.

"Hey, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A muscular figure towers over me, fully equipped in tactical gear. One hand armed with an assault rifle and the other extended out towards my direction. His hand is all worn out, even though the gloves I can see his fingers covered in blisters and scratches. They have seen better days.

"Yeah...I'm fine."

I choked out as I accept his assistance. His grip heaved my weight without breaking a sweat but may have overestimated his strength a little. His aid offset my balance and my body crash-landed in his embrace. Even with me standing on my own two feet, he's still almost a foot taller than I am. Our eyes met for a brief moment but I immediately jumped out of his arms as heat flushed up my cheeks and I regain my composure. He chuckles.

"My name is Carlos, I'm with the UBCS and we're here to get you out of here."

The organisation doesn't ring any bells in mind, nevertheless, receiving help from a rescue team is better than trudging through this damned hell alone. I would be lucky if I could even make it out alive. But, this strange rescue encounter sends comfort to my mind and slowly easing off my anxiety, or maybe it's because I'm no longer alone with Carlos's presence next to mine. Either way, I shouldn't let my guard down even with the help I'm getting.

The rest of his team is gathered in the subway station, we've arrived just in time for the last train to bound. Every one of them is tattered and covered in rags, exhausted and in pain. I can't imagine what kind of hell they've fought through, compared to myself, it's nothing but a just a minor scratch. Carlos caught up with his crew while I took a seat as all my energy is drained from my soul. The cool metal sensation seeped through my jeans and triggered goosebumps and hair along my arm, I couldn't care less about the shock as exhaustion washes over my limbs. I've been beaten down mentally and physically enough for me to not realise the train was already in motion. The view from out the window is nothing but a fast pace blur of darkness. All that just happened felt so unreal- the gush of blood, the viscous touch of muscle fibres, so red yet so cold. Getting pinned to the ground by this...thing. Its strength is vicious and animalistic with a face that doesn't resemble a human anymore. And at that moment my mind went blank. What if, at that very second, nobody came to save me? What if, I just gave up? What if, I let its teeth sink into my neck? What if...I just died there and then?

"How are you holding up?"

Carlos appeared before me, interrupting all the trepidatious thoughts. A slow realisation sets in as my hands tremble in my lap. Immediately, I curl my fingers into fists to cover up the jitter from him. "Still holding" I swallowed and smile politely, hoping the lump in my throat won't betray me right now. He returned the smile and positioned himself in the seat next to mine. "You were brave out there. Fighting by yourself...not many people have the balls to do that."

I let out a quiet snort. "No, you saved my ass. I wasn't brave. I was just lucky. If it wasn't for you I would've..." A pause, "I would've become one of them by now." Tears tingled behind my eyes as I blinked several times to keep them at bay. Carlos catches my hands tenderly, unravelling my fingers one by one, releasing all the tension I took a grasp of and crimson liquid came dribbling out the crescent-shaped wound. The fear in my head numbs all my pain; unaware of the shallow cuts, the maroon shade stained the dents of my fingertips. He took out some bandages from one of his pouches and carefully bind them to stop the bleeding. "There. That should do the trick." he grins as I admire his patchwork. "Thank you." I returned the kindness and we sat in comfortable silence. Upon closer inspection, Carlos does look kinda cute. The corner of his eyes crinkles and smile line deepens whenever he laughs, not to mention, his voluminous mane is the centre of attention. It kind of reminds me of an Old English Sheepdog and that image alone made me giggle.

"Carlos, we have a situation." we turn our attention to another team member, dressed in the same gear as Carlos- except his appearance was more well-kept, clean-shaven. Carlos turns, face sombre, knowing the news that comes next won't be any good. "What's the status?"

"Charlie's comms are down. The situation currently unknown."

"And Bravo team's position?"

"They're en route to Charlie, but they've already lost half their men"

He ponders for a moment. "Alright, change of plan. We'll meet up with Bravo and rescue Charlie. Once we get there, see if you can call for extraction out of this city."

His colleague nodded and went off to relay the message to the rest of the squad. Carlos turns back and kneels down, looking at me in the eyes, he softly spoke. "Hey. We're gonna have to take a detour, but I promise you, I'll keep you safe." He paused, reading my reaction. "Are you okay with that?"

My gaze wanders around his nervous expression, but I simply smiled. "Yeah, it's better than being alone out there right now. And besides, I don't doubt your abilities to keep me safe." His face went blank for a few seconds to unexpectedly bursts into laughter as though my answer caught him by surprise. "Okay. We'll be getting off next stop. In the meantime, stock up on some supplies cuz we don't know what's out there. Talk to one of the guys and they can get what you need." Carlos winked before leaving me to psych myself up for what's coming ahead. Knowing the chaos that's happening out there, it's going to be a dirty fight.

Our clattering footsteps relay around the walls of the subway as the lights flicker in a retrospective beat. The place is bare and quiet. Too quiet, even. Not even a single croak or heavy breathing could be perceived. It is deadly silent. Why is it empty? With the city running amok, you'd expect people to be escaping this hell hole; or worst-case scenario, laying dead in this underground. But, nothing. Not a single body insight. That's what worries me. I could say the same for the rest of Carlos's team. Which means, whatever is waiting for us out there is greater than what we could imagine.

My knees are getting weaker by the minute, shuffling closer to Carlos as I grasp my gun tight. Fingers nervously fiddling with the indents of the grip; sucking in a cool breath of air and pulling my shoulders back, we press on.

The layout of the underground is intricate and labyrinthine- reaching an intersection every few minutes, but we haven't let our guard down. Turning the last corner, we finally arrived at the main plaza; still remaining empty but the place was already thrashed. Carlos signalled for everyone to spread out and search the area, while I linger next to him. My heartbeat is racing quick as ever since I stepped off the train with the rapid pulse stuck in the back of my throat. He gently touches my arm, worry flash before his eyes but I shook my head. 'I'm fine' I mouthed. He looked at me for a few seconds, unconvinced, but decided not to force it any further. This place is eerily bleak, what was once lively is now filled with desolation. Somehow there's a slight dread and sadness inside me. The noise of metal clanking took my attention away from my surroundings.

"Damn it. The exits blocked." He gave it another shot but the gate shows no sign of budging. A short, heavy breath escapes his nose. I examined his troubled look and spoke out, "I'll go look for a way to open the gate."

He was stunned. "No. I can't let you do this. It too dangerous-"

"Please, I insist. You've helped me enough so let me do this. Even if I am in trouble, you'll come to save me, right?"

Carlos's expression is tense; I can almost see his thoughts rotating, like clockwork, inside his mind. Considering and reconsidering my offer. At last, my words overthrows him. "Okay, but take this." He hands me a palm-size radio, all tattered and taped. "Anything you see, you radio in. And I mean that. If you see one of those things, do not hesitate to shoot. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I respond, sloppily saluting as I backed away to complete my new objective, continue to traverse down to the backside of the plaza. By the repetition of office doors, this justifies that I'm going in the right direction, but which one? The fluorescent lights blinked abruptly before returning to normal. Seems like the building is getting more unstable, with time quickly ticking away, I should hurry. And by some miraculous luck, I stumbled upon a door that catches my attention. 'Employees Only', this must be it. The door isn't locked but it took a great amount of energy to push a gap open, just enough for me to squeeze through.

Stacks of documents and brick computers blockade the door and next to it; a dead corpse that was once the employee of this place. He must have been dead for 2 hours- top, by the looks of it. The blood forms into a pool around the body and adheres to the sole of my boots. He took the quick way out. A blow to the head with his own pistol, laying dormant in his hand, now motionless in white. Crimson red liquid and shards depicted the blank wall, chunks frozen in place.

"I'm so sorry..."

Choking back my grief, I resume my search and in front of me is my mission objective. Monochromatic screens all tracking specific places of the building. Right on the bigger screen, displays Carlos and his men searching the perimeter. I radio in, "Carlos, come in. I'm in the control room. Hang on, I'll get the gate open."

"Good job. Hurry back and we'll get out-"

The building fades into darkness, heightening my sense of fear in this unfamiliarity. I draw out my gun and tightening my hold like it's my lifeline. My chest stiffens with each shallow breath I took, the effect of the blackout is developing claustrophobia within me. I heaved and the lack of oxygen in my brain cause me to hallucinate all my nightmares, but the image of Carlos flashed vividly in my mind. I took a deep breath and count to three. One...Two...Three... The emergency lights came on before my eyes and my anxiety reverts back to a sense of tranquillity. Talk about timing.

"Carlos? Carlos! Are you okay?" Please tell me he's okay.

No reply.

"Carlos? Are you there? I can't see you." I bit my lip, searching relentlessly on the screen for a trace of him. Just any sign at all.

"Yeah, we're okay. We've taken cover but it's pitch black out here, but...we could only see so much with our flashlight. See if you can get the power back on from your end"

Frantically, I pressed every button presented on the switchboard, nothing seems to be doing the trick. "Negative. I don't think I can do anything from here." All of a sudden, the floor began to rumble. And gradually it became stronger that shook the whole room, files and objects tumble to the ground until it subsides back down again, just like a tank passing by. "What was that?" I said in dismay.

"I don't know..." Coming from the other side of the line, a low growl and heavy footsteps. "But, whatever the fuck that is...It's definitely in here with us now."

In search of the monitor, I glue my eyes to the blurry image shown; even if everything doesn't seem out of the ordinary, my gut feeling is telling me otherwise. Still as a statue, they listened in closely to every motion IT makes. The sound is too quiet to be perceived. Out of the corner of the screen, something whoosh by. Its movements are too fast for me to catch but it's inching closer and closer to the lifeforms. With one swift swipe, it took a man down, and then the next. The claw marks on the wall...it stretches 10 feet wide from point to point, even looking through the screen, the blood is so vividly deep in hue. It crawls in close, but the team is still desperately searching.

It strikes! "Get down!" My voice is shaking down to its core.

They duck, but some did not make it. Their limbs severed; corpse dangling in half on the claw of the monstrous being, still clinging and screaming for their lives and then cease all at once. I shrieked out in horror. The size of that thing knocked the air out of my lungs. This being couldn't possibly be a human?! The zombie creation stood ten times its original size. The exposed skeleton is partially bound by its flesh- all swelled up and tainted, its tail bone morphed to a whip carrying a single-edge blade. Claws digging into the shallow pool of blood as the liquid cascade down the cracks of the marble flooring. The remaining squad open fire, bullets fly and ricochet off the wall. In the brief moment of spark, they lost sight of the target again.

"Shit, where is it?" I can hear the frustration in Carlos's tone.

Their flashlight drifts around the room as the tension sets in. You fear what you can't see, even more so if all you could see is darkness. The beast growls and encircles them, but the squad can't pinpoint where the sound is coming from. Intensity fills your gut as you watch the monitor closely, decoding its every move. After a beat, it leaps.

"Carlos, your 4 o'clock!"

He whips around at the speed of sound as he squeezes the trigger. The blast took impact greater than his expectation, every shot penetrated into its fleshy fibres while it screeched with a chalkboard sound. It struggles to keep a hold of itself up on the pillars as it collapses and tumbles to the ground. Without missing a beat, the team executes the behemoth until it turns into a bloody pulp, killing it with brute force. They inspected the pulverized mess further before they could ease off their defences. As if by command, the power's back on. My stomach turns into a knot. This is strange, but I pay no mind to it.

"Carlos, you alright?" I asked.

"Yeah...that was too close. That thing was too quick... We could've been killed here if it wasn't for you. You were our eyes when we couldn't see so...thank you." I could almost hear him blush at the other end of the line.

"Don't sweat it. Alright, I'm gonna get the gate open." I pulled the lever and watch the gate rise and retracted back through the screen.

"Got it. Now get your ass back he-" THUMP! Something's outside the door, trying to crank it open.

THUMP!

"Carlos? Carlos, someone's trying to get in here." my voice shivers.

"What? What do you mean someo-"

BANG! The door flew open. As an instinct, I drew my gun and aimed it towards them. A team of four heavily armed soldiers dressed in black armoury kicked in, almost like a SWAT team, weapons aimed ready. Without a second thought, I opened two shots on their thighs and calves to buy myself some time. They did not flinch, nor did it cause any pain to them. The unit moved in closer and closer towards my position by the time I made the first punch. My right hook collided with one of the soldier's throat and swiftly transitioned my elbow to another one in between the ribs. But all of that did not matter, my attacks took little effect as they soon surround me, putting me in a lock hold position, hands bound behind my back and dragging me away from the room. I can feel my heartbeat pulsating in my throat while I struggle to break free. Who the fuck are these people? What do they want with me? I don't want this. I'm scared.

"CARLOS!"

His name was the last thing that left my lips before the hooded squad inject my system with some form of liquid. My eyelids grew heavy, I fought back to keep myself awake but alas, the shroud of darkness consumes my mind, taking my soul to a distant world. The next time I wake up, the doors to the pandora's box had already open and it's already too late for me to stop it.

The snickering and one-sided conversation waver into my ear. I can't shift my body, still situated in darkness along with the effect of the drug. The icy metal clasp my limbs tight cemented on either side of my body and unable to produce any strength. The noises stopped and I froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah...you're awake. Good, good." The man sneered and carry on muttering in an absence. "You know, I was surprised by your...actions. You all exceeded my expectations. With this data you provided, we could improve on the flaws with our last experiment." He chuckled. "For now, my child, sleep. When you wake up, you'll be born anew again." His words became a slur in my brain, lowering into a hushed tone. Phrases repeat and distorting, just like an echo in an ice cave, cold and enchanting before my conscious slips away once more.

------------------------

"WHAT HAPPENED? HEY, COME IN. HEY!" The statics over on the other line holds its place. "FUCK!" Carlos's voice howls, the thunderous boom stunned the remaining of his teammates. His fists clenched in a fit of rage as he smashes the radio onto the bloodied floor. The radio explodes with shards flying across the hall, some splinters still clinging onto his hand.

"Carlos...umph..." Tyrell struggles, limping its way towards him as he compresses his wound. "The mutated monster...the lights and the locked gate...I don't think it's that simple." he sighs, pushing his glasses back up with his forefinger. "There's only one company that would create such a big experiment. Carlos, listen...you need to stop them."

Carlos shifts to look at him. "T, we still have to meet up with Bravo and we've already lost half of our men. There's no prediction of what's roaming out there."

Tyrell shakes his head, a stern look in his eyes. "No...You've seen what they are capable of, there's no saying what Umbrella might do to next. Go rescue them, I'll handle the rest." He waves him away, still clenched in pain but casually shrugs it off. Carlos conflicted for a short period but ultimately chose to listen to Tyrell. Tyrell gave him a quick pat on his shoulder before Carlos turns away.

[Umbrella's research facility]

The eerie sound of silence fills the whole facility. A silence that stayed constant in your ears, just like the tv sign-off tone. The uneasy feeling never left Carlos's mind as soon as he traverses through the isolated building, gun in position. Walls dressed in white, the distinctive chill in the air and corridors that lead to nowhere. Carlos grew impatient by the minute.

There, at the end of the hallway, lays a door just barely visible for the naked eye. 'Security Room, EMPLOYEES ONLY'. He breaches in; a vast space all clustered with fallen chairs and paperwork, the multiple screens project different rooms within the facility, some looked like its the cafeteria and another resembles a cool storage room with weird pieces of machinery scattered around the place. Yet they are all empty, except one. At the top left-hand corner of the display box, it presents various aqua chambers containing partially mutated humans and failed experiments. And in the centre of that screen, he saw his companion positioned upright on a surgical bed, unconscious and all tied up. But getting there might be difficult without putting up a fight as four heavily armed mercs all gathered outside of the laboratory. Carlos unclips his assault rifle and peeks, the ammunition is barely enough to fight four soldiers; hell, not even four zombies. At this point, every shot counts.

The build-up of sweat in his palm loosened his grip. He examines his hand; trembling and numb with uncertainty, what lies between him and his enemies is just one simple electronic door. Beyond that, someone important is there waiting for him, alive and afraid. Or perhaps they...no. That couldn't possibly be the case. He clutches the handle once more, on the count of three breaths, he bursts in. It only took a split second for bullets to fly across the room, landing hits in the enemies' calves and forearms. Carlos moves in closer before they could react, instantly killing a soldier with one shot under the jaw as blood and plasma spew out onto the ceiling. They return fire, only to hit their ex-partner's lifeless corpse. Carlos thrusts the body towards the two henchmen and staggers them to the ground, he flips; locking the remaining guy pressed up the wall with his entire body, they struggle but was immediately executed with a blow to the head. Blood splattered on Carlos's right shoulder but that didn't faze him. The sound of his assault rifle clicks empty as he saw the two crawling back up. "Tch." His tongue snapped as the gun launched across the room at a high velocity, knocking one in the face and stumbling backwards. Like a chain of effect, they’ve sprawled out on the floor once again. Stepping his right foot on their torso, his gaze shows pity as he ponders over them before pulling out his pistol from the holster.

"Hope you got friends on the other side."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The aftermath of those four shots lingers in the room. A mixture of gunpowder and blood made Carlos's stomach twist up in a knot, but he got more important things to worry about. The life of his partner was the only thing that occupied his mind. The final door slides open; revealing a skinny, middle-aged looking man in a fresh set of lab coat, stood in front of a worktable and unaware of his presence. Inside, those hydro chambers stood twice his height with flesh substance floating inside the liquid. Some are just a blob of meat and others have fully transformed into somewhat human-shaped, but all are deformed. Upon closer inspection, one mutated monster's eye pop open. Carlos flinched. He examined around and was shocked to find that they are alive, all of them. What kind of sick joke is this? Is this what I've been fighting? He wondered.

"Admiring my creations, I see. Do you like it?" The man asked.

"Is this what's been running the city into a shitshow? What the fuck is this pharmaceutical company hiding?" He looks around. "Where are they?"

"Ah, yes! My precious little plaything. You're just in time to witness the beginning of my newest creation." The man chuckles, he pressed a button and the sound of machinery begins to whir. The glass cell shifts closer into the room, unveiling you in a comatose state, pretty as a picture. "They are sedated, for now. But soon, they will become humanity’s greatest invention and you will be the first one to witness it. Isn't that something?"

The blood inside him boils; the rage within could not be contained, white-hot magma erupting and coating every strain in his system. He pulled the trigger; the shots punctured through both of the man's legs as he knelt on the floor, screaming in agony. Carlos rushed to your side, unclasping any restrictions and carefully let you lean against the wall.

"Heh...what will you achieve by saving them...? The city's gone rogue...everybody's dead...and yet you couldn't save half your men. So...why bother saving them...the end is nigh!" His manic amusement shakes the whole room to the ground. But, the laughter was cut short and soon, it has been replaced by the clinking of a bullet shell against the hard deck and empty clickings. Gun drops as he struts towards the pathetic slob, straggling in the crimson liquid that's supposed to keep him alive. Well, not anymore. Carlos straddles on top of his weakened body, gaze bore into his soul. He wondered. How could someone like him still be alive? As the world burns and he gets to live? The ability to heal given to this monster and yet, he chose destruction. He must be purged.

The sound of his leather gloves creek as it made the first impact. The feeling of bone to bone seems odd to Carlos but...it excites him. With each hit, the pain pushes him even further, numbing and bruising. It felt right. He pants, the blood spews and paints him in a new shade of violence. The man weakly chuckles.

"The man who fights monsters have become a monster himself. Isn't that irony...?" He coughs, blood spilling out on the edge of his lips.

"Killing humans...how does that feel? Still want to play the hero and save them? With the world on fire and all those lives in your hands...you will only taint them. Lemme tell you a story...do you know what kind of flower blooms the brightest even in the harshest weathers?" Carlos looks at him quizzically.

"Snowdrops. They are the first ones to bloom long before spring comes around...the pure and innocent. At the beginning of time, Snow searched for a colour to borrow... The element admired flowers and their vibrant colours. One day, Snow asked and pleaded for one of the colours from the flowers, but the blossoms denied Snow's request; they felt Snow was too cold and undesirable. The snowdrop, however, felt sorry for Snow and offered it its own colour. It accepted the gift and the element itself became as white as an angel's feathers... To show its gratitude, Snow allowed snowdrops to bloom at the end of each winter with their own protection against the blizzard weather. From then on, Snow and snowdrops exist side-by-side as friends."

He heaves. "Like I said...irony... Their friendship is only a fabrication out of pity. Just like you!" The deathly cackle roams as he chokes on his own spit and blood.

Ears buzzed with white silence, his visions hazed with a red lens filter and heart palpate at an abnormal speed. Carlos felt every ridge of the handle on his knife and takes out his weapon, unhurried. The shiny metal pressed upon the wilting man's oesophagus- with only a little strength, it opened up. Blood spatter across Carlo's face, unflinching. His eyes darkened, tunnel vision focused on the crevice of the wound; there's friction on the thin layer of skin as the sharp edge glides slowly from one end of the neck to another. Carlos finishing him off with a fling of his blade, scattering red all over the wall. Both of his hands grip the handle tight; rising it high above his head, he paused for a moment to look at him one last time, then strikes down into the man's right chest in the speed of light. Pulverising his cardiac organ. He retrieves the knife and repeats over and over again with the red fluid gushes out with each stab until there is nothing left. A monster bathed in his enemy's blood. The man croaks in agony and over a few seconds, it stops. And so does Carlos.

The white noise has been replaced by his own rapid breathing. Thoughts are empty, his gaze quivers yet, he does not fear anything. He felt it...warmth. How did he not notice it? Is this how warm humans feel? He never realised this, this kind of feeling, it's something so different from killing a zombie. He looks down at his own two hands...so red. A smile crept along his face with the feeling of content. In a spark, he burst into a peal of harrowing laughter, vibrating the whole room.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

------------------------------

In my moments of wake, I find myself bestowing my gaze upon a beast gazing back at me with a musing look in his eyes. They're so dark and dire, almost like someone gouged out a part of him and replaced it with something so sinister. He snaps, now truly looking at me through the eyes of the actual Carlos, as if nothing happened.

"You're awake! Good, I was starting to get worried about you. We should probably leave and catch up with Tyrell. They should've called for the extraction by now." Placing his tarnished knife back into the holster, he made his way towards me. My fear of him vanished, he's just like the Carlos I met a few hours ago. Warm and caring. "Let's go." He said, both his arms shifts under my back and behind my knees, picking my weight up with ease. "Get some rest...I wake you up when went get to the rendezvous point." His voice is hushed and the sound of his heartbeat soothes out all my stress. By the time we left the room, I was already drifting between dreamworld and reality.

The sound of his footstep was kept at a constant pace, his movement rocked me side to side, gently without missing a beat. But the further he tread, the temperature in the air got colder and yet I could not feel the wind brushing against me.

"Stay here. I'm gonna fix something real quick." Carlos's body heat left my side and was replaced by the icy touch of a piece of furniture. The mechanical hum occupied my eardrums and everything sound muffled once again. Eyes weakly opened and the sight wasn't what I was expecting. What greets me was four walls made of glass entrapping my body as he stood and watched.

"Carlos...what are you doing? Let me out. Come on...this isn't funny, Carlos. Let me out of here!" I begged.

He shook his head, resting a hand on the glass in front of me, looking at me longingly. "I can't." His words were breathless.

"Why?"

"I made you a promise. And this is the only way for me to protect you...You would be safer here, nothing can hurt you." His thumb grazes something small in his palm. I looked up and saw a room that was surrounded by pieces of machinery and nitrogen tanks, placed accordingly in rows of four. Then, it hit me.

"Don't do this..." I cried. But, it was too late. His thumb clicked on the small device in his hand and soon, a strain of gas misted out from the tubings and masking the entirety of the glass cell, leaving me dazed and numbed as I crawl back to the shivering nothingness.

"I'm sorry...I promise I'll come back for you." His empty words circulated in my ears and through the air as he walked away, leaving me in the darkest den of Umbrella. Cold, afraid and alone; frozen in time without anybody knowing.

And there I was, still as a landscape; living on top on a snowy mountain at the beginning of Spring, as pale as Death herself. Bidding my farewell to him until next Winter comes; when a blanket of snow tops the upside of the greeneries and then, we shall meet again.

[lady-divine-writes]

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 29

Read on AO3.

“Who in the world needs three trousseaus?” Sebastian moans, trudging behind his boyfriend, his sister, and his soon-to-be brother-in-law through what Olivia refers to as “the hallowed halls of Carolina Premium Outlets”. Kurt was initially surprised that a woman with the financial means of Olivia Smythe would opt to shop at an outlet mall instead of the other upscale clothing stores within a hundred mile radius of the beach house, but it also made him adore her even more.

Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel does not appreciate outlet shopping. His monthly bill to Rue La La alone will attest to that fact.

On top of that, not only had she invited Kurt to come, she demanded his attendance. “I need you, Kurt! I need someone with your refined, sophisticated eye for fashion to help me in this, my hour of need!” she’d declared with the dramatic flair befitting a literary scholar, grabbing him by the hand and wrenching him from his seat in Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, not about to take no for an answer. At first, he suspected she chose him because her mother was otherwise occupied (which he discovered later on that she wasn’t), but it still flattered him that she went to him for help in this arena and didn’t opt for a personal shopper.

Going to a mall, doing something that could be defined by uncultured swine as banal, had been a welcome change. Not that Kurt didn’t absolutely love everything else they’d done so far - fighting the tides for their dinner, braving bee stings, nearly drowning in Sebastian’s Mustang …

… karaoke.

And the jellyfish. Oh sweet baby Jesus, he can’t forget the jellyfish!

This vacation started out like an episode of Survivor: North Carolina Edition, and even though it isn’t over, Kurt has nothing to worry about because he’s already won the grand prize. But walking into this plucky haven of discounted commerce, with it’s bright, white, artificial lighting and grainy, outdated music piped over the speakers feels like returning to the familiar. Breathing the recycled conditioned air relaxes every muscle like a full-body Shiatsu massage. It reminds him of weekends spent hanging out with his girls, grabbing a soft pretzel and complaining about the men in their lives, which was really a disguised form of good-natured one-upping:

“Finn will never understand the sanctity of my evening ice water face bath! He says it looks painful! He won’t even try it, the scaredy cat! Something about brain freeze and him being afraid of shrinking his skull. But his pores, Kurt! He’s got pores so big, you could live in them! And the sun damage from all that football? He’s such a … such a boy! I don’t know what I’m going to do with him some days! Anyway, did I show you the absolutely adorable music note pin he got me? It’s so perfect, I’m surprised you didn’t have something to do with it! You didn’t, did you? No, I didn’t think so. He said it was for the anniversary of our second kiss! How did he even remember?”

(How did Finn remember? Kurt had thought scornfully. Aside from the fact that Rachel circled the date on Finn’s calendar, then filled in the box with a note written in blood red Sharpie; inputted a message into his phone; and then reminded him every day of the week before; Kurt had no idea …)

“I completely understand what you mean,” Kurt had agreed with an appropriately commiserate eye roll. “I’ve finally managed to open Blaine’s eyes to the importance of jade rolling, but he’s so impatient! Married to the idea that an alpha hydroxy toner is some magical elixir that is going to solve all his problems for him.” Kurt tutted, nodding his head solemnly when Rachel gasped at the failings of his boyfriend. “But he did go out and buy me the cutest raw silk bow tie, out of the blue and for no reason whatsoever, so I guess I can’t be too angry with him for neglecting his dermatological responsibilities …”

The current man in Kurt’s life wouldn’t be in the running to win that competition, not with his constant bitching and complaining about the pain in his feet, the pounding in his head caused by the ‘lame ass music’, and his all-encompassing boredom.

But in this instance, listening to Sebastian gripe doesn’t dull Kurt’s shopping experience an inch.

On the contrary - it heightens it.

“I do.” Olivia grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts towards Talbots to outrun her brother’s sour attitude. “Now, hurry up! We’ve got seven more stores to hit!”

“Why bother?” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s other hand, frowning when his fingers close around air. “I think you’ve bought every white outfit and peony-covered bed sheet in this place!”

“Hmph. You can never have too much white. And floral never goes out of style,” Olivia tosses over her shoulder, smirking when she notices her brother’s ineffectual attempt at retrieving his boyfriend.

“Great! You can use those sheets when you’re a wrinkled old biddy then.”

“That’s the plan,” Olivia replies with a grin of superiority nearly identical to her brothers. It’s uncanny, like they pass it around, only one of them allowed to use it at any given time.

“Should you even be wearing white at this wedding?” Sebastian retaliates. “I mean, isn’t white reserved for the virtuous?”

“Oh boy,” Brian mutters, taking a gargantuan step away to show how not associated with Sebastian he is at this moment.

Olivia and Kurt stop walking, spinning around in unison to glare down the approaching offender. Kurt wraps an arm around her, shielding her ears with his hands.

“That’s a low blow!” he scolds.

Sebastian shrugs, unfazed. “All I’m saying is that Olivia and Brian haven’t exactly been waiting on a block of ice for this day to arrive, have you guys?” He glances at Brian, who’s strategically hiding behind his fiancee’s fifteen shopping bags and a rotund, fiberglass planter. “Come on, man! Back me up!”

“Look, Sebastian, I love you like a brother,” Brian says, “but I’m not doin’ that. I know which side my bread is buttered.”

“Coward.” Sebastian turns his attention back to his sister and his boyfriend. He rolls his eyes condescendingly at their united front, their matching expressions of umbrage. “Sorry, not sorry,” he offers as his trivial non-apology.  

“Oh, okay …” Olivia rolls up her sleeves, gearing up for a fight. “If that’s the way you want it, let’s talk some truth! If I was worried at all about a higher power sending lightning down to smote the impure at my perfect wedding, I wouldn’t have invited Julian or you! Between the two of you, you could set the entire venue on fire!”

Instead of being offended by that remark, Sebastian grins. “You’re not wrong. In fact …” Sebastian’s grin widens like he’s just conceived the most brilliant plan in the world “… I think it might be better if Kurt and I didn’t attend your stuffy old wedding.” He creeps closer to Kurt, prepared to take his sister to the ground to get his boyfriend’s hand back. “For the safety of your guests, of course.”

Olivia pivots, maneuvering a giggling Kurt out of her brother’s reach as swiftly as a chess master would castle a king. “I never said Kurt would set the place on fire.”

“And who says I wouldn’t go just because you weren’t going?” Kurt points out as he’s shuffled towards the safety of another store.

Olivia squeezes Kurt’s hand and beams, proud to have such a loyal companion in this fight.

“Employing that logic, I don’t see why my presence was necessary for this shopping excursion,” Sebastian argues, though it comes across more like he’s pouting. “You have Brian here to play valet. You guys could have gone by yourselves and had all the old lady fun you wanted. I would have given you my blessing.”

Kurt’s jaw drops straight to the collar of his borrowed button-down. “We told you where we were going! And I told you you’d be bored out of your mind! You begged us to come!”

“As a favor to you, babe.” Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler - a toddler with biceps the size of Kurt’s calves, on breathtaking display in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. But Sebastian also looks so charmingly immature, Kurt can’t help breaking, smiling at him with heart eyes. This attitude shift - his playful moping and edge-free teasing - is one of the things Kurt loves about having Sebastian out here, surrounded by the loving bosom of his family. He’s softened, less sardonic, stopped trying to keep Kurt at arm’s length via the use of inappropriate jokes and jabs that skirt a line.

He’s gone from minor criminal mastermind, the scourge of Dalton Academy, and has become a goofy teenager.

Sebastian caps off his claim with, “Lord knows neither one of you has any sense of style,” and this time, it’s Olivia’s turn to cover Kurt’s ears. “Offense! Now you’ve gone too far!”

“Come, Olivia …” Kurt sniffles, squaring his back with a dignified roll of his shoulders, symbolically sloughing off Sebastian’s slights “… I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a boy wearing boat shoes.”

“Now, Kurt, don’t you listen to that mean, bitter … oh my God! Neiman Marcus is having a clearance sale! Come on!” She grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts toward the store, and God, is she strong! Kurt feels his feet fly out from under him as he rushes to keep up, Sebastian and Brian chuckling behind them. Kurt loses Sebastian in a sea of discount racks, each boasting bright red and yellow signs proclaiming 50% off! Final sale! 85% off re-racks! Kurt frowns at the signage, but then can’t help snickering at his own reaction to them. These signs are tackier than Kurt would expect for a Neiman Marcus store, outlet or otherwise, no doubt, but look at him being a sign snob when he can barely afford half the items on the rack at regular price?

Kurt finds his size (or his general range) and starts sifting through items one at a time, savoring the experience. He hears Olivia ooo and ahhh at a rack beside him, but his mind begins wandering to thoughts of the boy sauntering their way, helping Brian bear his load, laughing while his eyes search for Kurt.

And smiling like he’s never been happier.

For all of Sebastian’s incessant whining and rude remarks, Kurt can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about going on a no holds barred shopping excursion with him. He’s curious as hell how Sebastian would dress him. How Sebastian sees him. This button-down he’s wearing, top button undone and collar popped, is one of Sebastian’s - something Sebastian had tossed Kurt’s way after breakfast with only a, “Please?” as if his intentions were clear without further comment.

And they were.

But in a dedicated ensemble-selecting situation, what would his aesthetic be?

Kurt assumes there’d be a lot of denim and distressed tees involved, which might actually be quite fetching on him. It is on Sebastian, and the two of them are proportionately similar. With a chunky leather belt and his Doc Martens, he could see himself pulling that off. It’d be comfy, less restricting than the clothes he chooses for himself. And who knows? Sebastian might throw him a curve ball, surprise him by choosing an out-of-left-field accessory.

He’s exceptionally good at that.

The more Kurt thinks about it, the more he finds himself getting excited over the prospect of such a trip even though it’ll likely never happen.

But it could. Who knows?

It gives him something new to fantasize over.

Cooper had once accused Kurt of picking out Blaine’s clothes, and Blaine had defended him. Or himself, come to think of it. His personal style choices. But the truth is Blaine balked at a lot of Kurt’s attempts to dress him. He borrowed items from Kurt’s closet and vice versa, but letting Kurt style him? They didn’t do that all too often. The two of them had such signature styles, it felt like stepping on one another’s toes.

Might have been a good thing that Kurt didn’t, in retrospect. As with Rachel’s carousel horse sweaters, Blaine owns a cardigan or two that Kurt wouldn’t mind setting on fire.

And the temptation is strong.

But as for Sebastian’s style - Kurt suspects there’s a degree to which someone else buys his clothes for him. Like a personal shopper, or perhaps even his mom. He wears a lot of the same outside of his Dalton uniform - designer label clothes that suit his figure but don’t exactly scream personality. Kurt can see Sebastian approving the colors and having the final say, but in the end, he doesn’t do the work.

His t-shirts are a different story. Those he obviously picked out personally. They’re conversational, speak to more than his taste in clothing.

They’re a peek into his identity.

If Kurt had the chance to get his hands on Sebastian’s wardrobe, he’d dress him in pieces tailored more for his figure - dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up and one tail untucked hinting at his trim waist, layered over simple tanks of solid colors, and jeans slightly snugger than he usually wears.

Kurt swallows, his mouth stone dry at the silhouette that combination creates in his mind.

He startles out of his daydream when he realizes he’s stopped searching. Olivia’s voice has become a low hum in his ears, blending with the music and occasional store announcements; his hands gripping two separate hangers like an iron vice determined to break them in half. He peeks up to see an amused Sebastian staring at him, heading in their direction, but his view gets cut when Olivia thrusts a hanger in front of his face.

“Oh, Kurt! Look! It’s Tom Ford and it’s leopard! It would look so fierce on you!” Olivia takes a gander at the tag. “And it’s 75% off! A steal, Kurt! You have to get it!”

“Should I?” Kurt turns to the nearest mirror, mounted on a support pillar, and holds the long-sleeved shirt up to his chin. It is rather stunning. He doesn’t have to look at the price tag to know that it costs a pretty penny. 75% off of Tom Ford’s average retail price is quite the splurge for normal, non-economically blessed humans. What Olivia considers a steal would mean the sacrifice of an entire weekend at his dad’s shop. But, luckily, he has it to spend. And he’s worth it, especially after everything he’s been through.

“Absolutely! You’d be losing money not buying it at that price!”

“You know what? I think I will!” And as excited as he is at adding a new separate to his Tom Ford collection, Kurt feels a pit grow in his stomach when those words pass his lips. He feels guilty not bookmarking every single cent he has for NYADA, but seeing as he has this new plan to put into action, he breaks down and decides to buy the shirt, a pair of slacks, and a belt to tie the whole look together.

“You know, you should just go crazy,” Sebastian mentions. “It’s all good. I’ll pick up the tab.”

Kurt’s heart speeds at the offer, an orgasmic Yes! pinging through his brain, but he shakes his head. “That’s very generous, but even on sale, the prices in this place are insane! I don’t want you spending that kind of money on me.”

“Why not? I have it to spend. What’s a couple thousand between boyfriends?” Sebastian says, playfully bumping Kurt’s hip with his own. “Besides, I like the idea of spoiling you.” He leans close to Kurt’s ear and whispers, “If you want, I can take it out of what I owe you. Or in exchange for sex. Whatever floats your boat.”

Those words, in contrast to the heat of Sebastian’s breath, make Kurt’s skin go cold. It’s a joke. Sebastian is teasing. And Kurt should be happy that he feels free to tease him about this. Things are slowly coming out in the open, people are finding out about their ruse, and they don’t care, because in the end, the two of them fell in love. They’re happy.

And no one died.

Jokes about money, or their relationship, may not mean anything to Sebastian, not since the end justified the means. So they shouldn’t mean anything to Kurt.

So why do they?

Bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz.

Kurt’s phone vibrating in his pocket is rare enough for this trip that it makes him jump a full foot in the air. Truthfully, he forgot he brought it with him. He’d deemed it unnecessary for most outings, only holding on to it in case of an emergency. He sticks the leopard shirt under his arm and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks his screen and sees an incoming message from his father. He taps on it to open it, but it refuses, bouncing back to the main screen after a few seconds of stalling.

“What is it, babe?” Sebastian asks after Kurt stabs at his screen for the fifth time with no luck.

“It’s a text from my dad, but I can’t open it,” Kurt replies. “He sent a picture attachment, but it keeps freezing up.”

“Maybe it’s too big.” Sebastian puts his share of Olivia’s shopping bags down and rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, gently kneading away the tension this is causing him. “Lord knows I understand that problem.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt deadpans, assaulting the screen more vigorously like he’s interrogating it for information.

Which he kind of is.

“Speaking of, can I see those pictures?” Olivia asks.

Sebastian shoots his sister a disturbed look. “You want to see pictures of my junk?”

“Does Kurt have pictures of your junk on his phone? Because if he does, I think we’ve identified the problem.”

“And what’s that?”

Olivia stares at her brother with such intense seriousness, Kurt thinks she may not be kidding when she says, “His phone obviously has a virus.”

Brian guffaws unexpectedly and turns away.

“Funny,” Sebastian deadpans back.

“I want to see the pictures from that hot air balloon ride you guys took!” Olivia clarifies, blessedly halting the conversation in its tracks.

“Oh. Yeah,” Kurt says, distracted by this issue with his phone. “Let me just …”

“Did you forget how to use it?” Sebastian asks, only half kidding. “I mean, you haven’t really been using your phone since we got here.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt says, not surprised anymore by how easy it is to bypass Sebastian’s humor and see the real message inside. Kurt is struggling to open a text - a text from his father. Sebastian knows that’s going to cause Kurt anxiety. “This has happened to me a few times before. Shoot! Now it won’t let me access my photo gallery!”

“I should really upgrade your phone,” Sebastian says, like it’s his responsibility to handle this problem, as if he has the authority to make that decision.

“My phone’s fine, Bas,” Kurt grumbles, more annoyed at his phone than he is at his boyfriend.

“Kurt, this is serious! I don’t want your wack ass service to go out when I need to get a hold of you. What if we’re sexting and your phone locks my messages, too?”

“I don’t think it’s the service. I have full bars. I can get on the Internet just fine. It’s my internal storage … mmph!” Kurt gives up on his gallery, accessing Facebook for the photos instead. “It’s the phone! I think it’s finally aged out.”

“Ergo why I should upgrade it.”

“Grr!” Kurt doesn’t bother glaring at Sebastian since he accepts the fact that he made his point for him. Yes, it would be nice to have a new phone. This one’s been giving him grief for a while. But it still works, and it’s decent. Why toss something away because it’s temperamental and frustrating? If that’s the case, he should break up with Sebastian. He laughs out loud when that conclusion pops into his head, but he doesn’t mention why, regardless of the strange looks he’s getting.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian mouths to a perplexed Olivia while pretending to patronizingly pat Kurt’s hair. “He does that sometimes.”

“Okay, okay!” Kurt cheers as his Facebook page pops on the screen. “I’ve got it! Here’s the one at holy shit!”

“Holy shit?” Olivia repeats.

“I don’t remember us going there.” Sebastian crowds with Olivia and Brian around Kurt, all staring at his phone. The first photo that comes up is the exact photo Kurt wanted - the two of them kissing in the basket of that hot air balloon with the caption he wrote, Love Defies Gravity, overhead. But that’s not the issue. The issue is:

“Seen by … 1,452 people!?”

Even Sebastian gasps when Kurt reads it.

“That’s … a lot of people,” Brian says, a less astute observation than Kurt would expect from a lawyer.

“It is. I---I didn’t even know this many people were checking their Facebook pages over the summer. Everyone seemed so busy …” Kurt pauses, swallows heavy, one that fills all the negative space in his throat, then crawls through his chest when it gets that far - his lungs, the spaces between his ribs, his heart. There it stays, obstructing his breathing, rooting him to the spot with its oppressive weight. Because it’s not just the length of the seen by list that makes Kurt’s eyes swell (and yes, it appears that almost everyone he’s ever met, known, given his Facebook information to has seen this picture), but the comments they left. Only the first four are displayed, but when he clicks the View more comments hyperlink, they shoot down his screen, disappearing out of sight.

Kurt scans the list of names quickly, noting that pretty much every member of the New Directions has not only seen the pictures but has had something to say – something positive, and that makes Kurt giddy with relief. Not that their disapproval would have had any influence over whether Kurt stays with Sebastian or not. He doesn’t need a single one of his friends to approve as long as they understand that this is what he wants. But it’s nice to know that his friends are happy for him, even Rachel, who has left him a string of heart emojis, one or two of them broken, and the almost impossible to believe comment – I’m so sorry. About everything. Call me soon. I want to talk about this.

Kurt stops reading names after he sees Santana’s remark - Plot twist of the century! Way to get it, pretty pony! FYI - I’m still down to cut a bitch if he goes back to being a puto!

“Hey!” Sebastian says, pointing her comment out.

“What?” Kurt gives him a one shoulder shrug. “It’s her way of saying she approves. Besides, it’s good to know.” Kurt smiles to himself when he hears Olivia backhand her brother and he yelps, “Careful, will ya!? Your engagement ring’s sharp!”

Kurt gets so caught up in his happiness, he doesn’t see one name in particular at the way bottom of the list. The name of someone who had said they’d sworn off Facebook for the summer, but who’d been checking it on the sly whenever they got the chance.

One of the first people to flip through all the photographs on Kurt’s page, even though they didn’t leave a comment.

They couldn’t bring themselves to, not on any of the photographs Kurt has uploaded while he’s been at the beach house – the ones he took of the ocean view from Sebastian’s room, the selfie he took with Sebastian on the porch swing, the one he took of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Especially the one of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Blaine Anderson.

***

Several times on the car ride home, Kurt attempts to download his father’s message. He waits while the loading icon circles round and round and round, but all he gets back is the error message File not available for download.

“Shoot! But why aren’t you available for download?”

The phone doesn’t answer, but Sebastian does.

“Because I’m a shit phone, Kurt,” he says in a cartoonish falsetto. “Let your sexy boyfriend upgrade me.”

Kurt side-eyes Sebastian. “Is that code?”

Sebastian bounces his eyebrows. “Do you want it to be? There is such a thing as a gadget kink, isn’t there?”

“You would know,” Kurt mutters. “You do realize that even if you upgrade my phone today to one that is faster, more reliable, has a longer battery life, and …”

Sebastian glances from the road to Kurt stuck in the midst of that sentence with his mouth half-open “… and …?”

“I don’t know. I kind of lost myself in my own argument.” Kurt’s face goes blank, marooned on the question of exactly why it is he’s turning down the offer of a new phone. He’s never been a phone snob. He’s the one constantly defending the fact that yes, he owns an older iPhone, but if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.

Except now that argument is invalid.

A newer generation iPhone would be nice, but again, it’s too much money. He loves Sebastian, but he doesn’t need him paying for everything.

At what point would spoiling be considered mooching in Sebastian’s eyes, even if Kurt starts out by vehemently objecting?

Kurt shakes his head, demolishing the image of himself wielding the latest in Apple technology when he remembers the point he was attempting to make. “That’s right. Even if you upgraded my phone today, I still might not be able to open this message. If I can’t download it, it might not transfer over.”

“Why don’t you give him a call?”

“I’ve tried! It’s not just my texting that’s on the fritz, I can’t do anything! The infuriating thing is I haven’t gotten any significant messages from anyone the whole time I’ve been here! The one day my dad has something so important to tell me he includes a picture, it pulls this crap, deciding that, after a long and loyal relationship, today is the day it’s going to screw the pooch!” At least it waited longer than Blaine, Kurt thinks sourly. Was more reliable in the end, too.

“Maybe the problem is your service and we’ve entered a dead zone,” Sebastian says sympathetically, as if a similar criticism about Blaine may have crossed his mind. “You’ve had no problems using your phone at the house, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I say wait till you get to the house and give it another shot.”

“You’re … you’re probably right.”

“Hey …” Sebastian reaches across the center console for Kurt’s hand. Kurt takes it without looking, without needing to look “… if you’re that worried about him, use the landline. Put your mind at ease.”

“Yeah.” Kurt pockets his phone, his mind whirling through the spectrum of possibilities, trying to hit blindly on which one is more plausible. It doesn’t help too much since not a single one of them is any better than the rest. “I might just do that.”

***

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Sitting alone on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, staring at his phone screen, those words are as far as Kurt gets before his phone goes loopy again, but the chills that spiral up and down his spine show no sign of stopping.

Now that he has that much of the message open, his Facebook app starts flipping out. He’d been reading the threads underneath his photos, but the longer he scrolls, the app errors out and shuts down, forcing him to log in all over again. He has two-factor authentification set on all his apps, which means waiting for an authorization text before he can do anything. He’s had to change his password twice so far. He prays he won’t have to do it again.

There are just so many variations of TheGoddessPattiLuPone he can come up with.

He’ll have to move on to TheGoddessBetteMidler soon.

In between shut downs, he catches snippets of conversations that solve a couple of mysteries for him. Like how Sebastian managed to see his old Cheerios videos. A helpful Brittany was apparently instrumental behind that one, bringing them up on her phone from the official Cheerios archive (accessible only by past and present members of the Cheerios) when Sebastian mentioned he was interested in starting a squad at Dalton and would she mind giving him a few pointers seeing as she was one of McKinley’s star cheerleaders and all.

Kurt sighs over the fact that she fell for that one but he can’t hold it against her. She’s a sweetheart that way, rarely thinks badly of anyone for too long. Even with everything Sebastian has done to sabotage the New Directions, it would be water under the bridge as long as he was nice to her. Maybe gave her a gummy bear or two.

Kurt’s coffee order - a splash of cream and a half spoon of sugar - Kurt deduces in a round about way came from Mercedes one day when they went to visit Dalton to pick up some transcripts and he took her to the commons for coffee. He remembers her commenting in a voice that could never competently whisper, “A drop of cream and a half spoon of sugar? Oh honey. What’s wrong now?”

It was only once. Kurt had forgotten Sebastian was even there. He had started to dish when he caught sight of Sebastian out the corner of his eye. He immediately took Mercedes by the arm and led her away out of earshot of ‘the criminal chipmunk’.

If Kurt doubted that Sebastian actually did spend a great deal of his time gathering blackmail fodder on people the way he claimed, his mind has definitely changed, though he’s not exactly sure how knowing Kurt’s secret coffee order would help Sebastian bend him to his will.

On the flip side, Kurt is interested to find out what else he knows, and about whom.

The phone shuts down and restarts. As soon as it springs to life, it rings, the volume turned up so loud, it shocks him, causing him to fling his phone a foot in the air. Luckily he catches it before it hits the floor. He can’t afford for this thing to break more than it has. He looks at the screen, expecting (but not necessarily hoping, and that makes him feel like a heel) his dad’s number. But it’s not.

It’s Rachel’s.

Kurt groans. He’s not sure he wants to talk to her yet. Because it won’t be talked to, but talked at, a dozen questions flying at him in a single breath which he won’t be given a chance to mull over adequately before he’s expected to answer. And even though he recognizes that he doesn’t owe Rachel anything - any explanations and definitely no apologies - she may ask questions he doesn’t have satisfactory answers for. Not according to her.

Oh God! He doesn’t need this now! Doesn’t need this stress, doesn’t need to be pressured, especially when he has a mysterious message from his father to reckon with. He argues over it to a phantom Rachel in his head, outlining his reasons in a numbered list as to why he doesn’t need her interrupting his calm, harshing the one luxury he’s allowed himself the entire summer, and how there’s not a single thing she can say that will guilt him into feeling anything other than over-the-top, insanely happy.

He gets so wrapped up in winning this non-existent argument, lining up the zingers he’s been stockpiling for just such an occasion, it takes him a few seconds to notice that his phone has stopped ringing.

He stares at the red disconnected call icon on the screen, a choked off, “Oh no,” slipping past his lips.

Kurt took too long.

This could be bad.

But on the bright side, it’s not bad right this second. It seems fate answered his question for him. At least now he has a chance to take a breath before he has to consider---

The phone rings again.

Kurt sees Rachel’s name re-appear on the screen and mutters, “Good God.”

Rachel has nothing going on this summer, so she has plenty of time to keep dogging him till he answers. He knows that for a fact.

He could turn off his phone, put it in a plastic bag, shove that plastic bag in a pillowcase, and then put that pillowcase in his luggage, but he’s still trying to get to the bottom of the text from his dad.

He has no choice.

Best to get this over with, he decides, before she sweet talks Finn into finding out where he is and makes him drive her to North Carolina to talk to him personally. Even if they can’t narrow down the exact location of the beach house, she’d make him drive around while she called out his name through a bull horn to hunt him down.

Erring on the side of caution, Kurt begrudgingly picks up. Rachel’s voice comes through before the phone even makes it to his ear.

“Kurt?”

“Rach?”

“Oh thank God!” she says with an exaggerated sigh, as if Kurt has been missing for months. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

Kurt glances at his screen, the call history for her number outlined in small white numbers denoting this as the fifteenth call from her in the past hour. “I can see that.”

Then comes silence.

Silence because she expects him to lay everything out for her without her having to ask.

And, at the moment, after everything she said about Sebastian being a temporary person (even though, to be fair, Kurt had given her no concrete reason to think otherwise) he’s bitter enough not to.

She breathes in as if she’s about to start a sentence.

He breathes in, prepared to cut in and say, “I know what you’re going to say, Rachel,” though he doesn’t.

So he waits.

She clears her throat, and in a compassionate voice, she asks, “Wha---what happened?”

“Uh …” If that isn’t the loaded question of the decade, Kurt thinks. “It’s like this … he … Sebastian, that is … no - maybe I should start with Blaine … but first, there was this …” Kurt sighs. There is no good place to begin. “You know, it’s a lot to talk about and, to be honest, I’d rather not do it over the phone.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and Kurt can almost hear her nodding. She breathes in again but pauses, holding this one breath for a long time before letting it out in a rush. “You and Blaine aren’t getting back together … are you?”

She sounds so sad.

She sounds the way Puck’s hug felt after he and Blaine told their friends about their decision to break up.

She sounds like something important has been ripped away from her, because Kurt and Blaine’s plans for New York were, in small part, Rachel and Finn’s plans, too. As much as he’d daydreamed about living the poor college student life with Blaine, their Bohemia Academia in a run down apartment they’d make quaint and homey with a combination of stuff from home and accumulated kitsch, Rachel had imagined living somewhere nearby with Finn so they could drop in unannounced for impromptu trips to the farmer’s market; hang out on the fire escape during hot summer nights, sipping sweet vermouth and talking about the cattle calls they’d been to, the parts they hoped they’d get, commenting on no small parts, only small actors, which would turn into a dig at Blaine’s and Rachel’s heights respectively, and probably devolve into a pillow fight..

There was a future wrapped up in Kurt and Blaine’s plans that wasn’t entirely theirs and now that life is being mourned.

“No,” Kurt says, pulling off that bandage before it sits too long, hurts too much. It’s not the declaration that hurts. It’s the anticipation of what that answer might bring. He closes his eyes, jaw going rigid, hands clenching, bracing for the impact. “Never.”

Another in a long series of silences hovers between them. Not a tense one, but not a comfortable one. But then Rachel says the one word Kurt never expected to hear in response to that revelation.

“Good.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open, and inside his chest, his heart stops. “Come again?” he asks when he should be relieved he’s getting away relatively unscathed.

“He shouldn’t have broken up with you, Kurt! He was wrong! Everything he said at that party was wrong!”

“What about what you said at the party?” Kurt asks sarcastically. He can only keep so much of his anger over that contained. Of course what she said was annoying - typical Rachel Berry rhetoric. But he also felt betrayed by the person whose alliance was the most difficult of his life to obtain. He’d thought that made it the sincerest. “About how we were being very mature about the whole thing, and it was good that we were taking some time to reevaluate our choices as we stepped into the future as adults?”

“I was wrong,” she admits tearfully. And not Rachel Berry’s overacted I feel sad when you’re sad tears. These are the genuine article. “I wanted to support you. I wanted to support what I thought was your joint decision. But thinking back on it, re-evaluating what Blaine said, how you reacted to it …” She sniffles, blows her nose away from the phone, and all of the seething bitterness that has been building up in Kurt’s heart over her melts “… then seeing those pictures of you and Sebastian together, and after having a long talk with Finn, I realized that what Blaine did to you is wrong. On so many levels. You did nothing to deserve it. Nothing. And if Sebastian treats you right, if he treats you the way Blaine should have treated you, the way you deserve to be treated then …” She pauses for a deep breath, returning to form, coming to the crux of her argument “… you have my blessing.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at the insinuation that he needs any blessing from her, but he smiles fondly, so hard that his cheeks hurt. It’s a curse that none of them can seem to stay angry at Rachel for long. Even Mercedes, who had more right than any of them to hate Rachel’s guts after that rigmarole with West Side Story came around about a month later. “Thank you, Rachel. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says, her voice slightly broken as she gathers herself together. “Well (*sniff*) now that you guys are official (and Kurt can see the air quotes on that one), may I ask you a very important question? And please answer honestly. This is for science.”

Oh boy. Here it comes, Kurt thinks. “Sure, Rachel. What would you like to know?”

“He’s a good kisser, right? Tell me I’m right! A boy with as much experience as he has should have gold medal technique!”

“Yes, Rachel,” Kurt says, laughing when he hears her snort. “A-plus. The absolute best!”

***

“Fuck …”

Sitting on the porch swing, stiff and expressionless as an Easter Island statue, Kurt stares at his phone screen, unable to blink even with the salty sea air stinging his eyes, sucking the moisture from them. His lips try to move instead so he can mutter to himself, sort things through with a private debate, but all he can manage is another expletive.

“Fuck …”

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Along with that ominous message, his father sent a picture of an envelope, the return address NYADA, specifically the financial aid department. Across the bottom of the envelope where Kurt has gotten used to seeing the words AMOUNT DUE are stamped the words FINAL NOTICE.

Kurt swallows hard.

He’d tried calling his father when they reached the beach house on both his dad’s cell phone and the house phone, but they just rang and rang. They didn’t even go to voicemail. Considering the time, he was either running errands or in a meeting, Kurt didn’t know for sure, which didn’t calm his anxiety any. Because those errands could be to the doctor’s office, or with his cardiologist.

Spur-of-the-moment meetings, since Kurt didn’t know about them, indicating something important had cropped up while he was away.

He’d considered calling the Lima Police and requesting they stop by and do a wellness check, but that felt like an overreaction, so he decided to try one last hard reboot of his phone. The screen went black for what seemed like an hour but was probably more like fifteen seconds. After keeping him waiting, sweating it out, the operating system had the nerve to update. Close to five minutes later, the screen went white. His icons shuffled, then everything snapped back to normal. Then, without him touching it, the boxes he’d been trying to access for most of the afternoon opened, including the message from his father and its accompanying picture.

He didn’t have to look at it too long to know what it was. It slapped him in the face the second it filled the screen.

He wishes the file hadn’t opened so smoothly, that he could have eased into accessing it. Because now, underneath this beautiful star-filled sky, a stone’s thrown away from a magnificent beach, he’s about to be sick.

No, he thinks. Not now. Not when I’m here, in this sanctuary, where nothing bad can touch me, still trying to make sense of my feelings. Not when I don’t have a clue how to fix this, where to even start.

But maybe that’s the rub. Maybe he was never meant to figure this problem out. Maybe his acceptance to NYADA was something he was meant to lose, like Blaine, another part of his life he arrogantly thought was a sure thing, something he didn’t bother worrying about once he’d gotten it, slipping through his fingers.

“Hey! You figured your phone out!”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, quickly closing the text. “I just … turned it off and turned it back on again. Worked like a charm.”

Sebastian looks his boyfriend over, but particularly his smile - two-dimensional, not doing its usual job of lighting his eyes - and starts to worry. “What did your dad have to say? Nothing bad, right? He’s not … he’s not sick or anything?”

“No. No, he’s fine. He just got home, I guess.” Kurt tries to stuff the phone in his pocket, but his numb fingers have a problem working.

“You know” – Sebastian sits beside Kurt, his eyes lingering on the phone Kurt tucks out of sight – “I never did ask you what you needed $10,000 for. I mean, did you pick that number out of the air at random? Or was that what you thought dating me was worth, because, if that’s the case, then frankly I think you sold one of us short.”

Kurt nods tersely but doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s paralyzed. Now is definitely the time to own up to something, but what? To his old plan of needing the money to go to NYADA? Or this new plan of moving wherever Sebastian is going that he’s become attached to? He knows he’ll tell Sebastian both, but which one takes precedence? If emotion weren’t entering in to it at all, if he wasn’t still confused about this relationship with Sebastian, then the answer would be NYADA, definitely. And even as that new plan, glimmering in his head, tickles his lips to make its way out, he knows the answer is NYADA no matter what, above all.

Sebastian puts an arm around Kurt’s shoulder and pulls him against him as he reclines. He pushes off the porch with his feet and starts the swing rocking its soothing rhythm.

“Originally I thought it was so you could buy yourself a new wardrobe,” Sebastian continues, trying to get Kurt relaxed enough to spill, “and I have to say, I was all for that. Hell, I was going to up it to $50,000 and take you shopping myself. Make sure you got your money’s worth.” Sebastian waits for a comeback, a snide remark, anything. But when Kurt remains quiet, Sebastian kisses his head. “Talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt sighs. He can’t put this off any longer. Putting it off, coming up with some excuse not to talk about it, would feel like lying, and he doesn’t want to lie to Sebastian.

“It’s for … it was for college. NYADA.” God, he isn’t prepared to admit this. Not yet. Even after the time he’s given himself, he’d never wanted to admit to any of this out loud. That was worse than not having the money, so he’d been doing everything in his power not to. “I had gotten some scholarships and some financial aid, but I was approved before my father was elected to Congress.” Kurt hears Sebastian sigh. He knows he can fill in the rest, but Kurt feels like he has to keep going. “It never dawned on me to call and update them, but they found out on their own anyway. They readjusted my aid and, in the end, I came up short. Without that money, I … I can’t go to college.”

Sebastian sighs again, but instead of sounding frustrated, this sigh sounds hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Sebastian. I can’t take that money now. Not after …”

“Stop, Kurt.” Sebastian reaches into his back pocket. “Just … just stop.” He pulls out his wallet, takes out a piece of paper, folded once, and hands it to Kurt. At first, Kurt has no idea what it could be, though he has a nagging suspicion. But that suspicion can’t be correct! It would be ludicrous if it were!

But since ludicrous seems like par for the course this summer, it’s exactly what Kurt thinks it is – a cashier’s check for $10,000, made out to Kurt Hummel, dated the day Kurt agreed to their fake boyfriend arrangement. And even though Kurt is teetering on the brink of incredulity, he has to smirk at the comment Sebastian had the bank print in the memo line – For services rendered. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.

“You’ve … you’ve been carrying this around with you this whole time?”

“Well, yeah.” Sebastian shrugs. “Regardless of what you see on TV, you can’t just write a personal check for ten grand. And I had every intention of keeping up my end of the bargain. I got it drawn up early in case we didn’t fool anyone and my folks cleaned out my bank account. A personal check would have been worthless then, so …” Sebastian makes a go ahead and take it gesture, encouraging Kurt to put it away for safe keeping. But Kurt shakes his head.

“Thank you, but … but I … I can’t,” Kurt says, those words killing him, driving nails into his heart and twisting as he stares at this check, made out for more than he needs, his name in the pay to the order of line. It’s the answer to all his prayers, but for the sake of his conscience, he has to turn it down. Goddamned conscience! Fuck you! “That’s very generous of you, but …”

“We had a deal, Kurt,” Sebastian interrupts. “You more than held up your end. In fact, I would say you went above and beyond considering.”

Kurt nods. Objectively, he has to agree, but the way Sebastian chose to phrase it makes him feel sick. Plus, and he doesn’t know why, he feels offended. He doesn’t know what he expected Sebastian to say about the matter. He’d prepared himself for Sebastian to give him the money. He’d prepared to refuse and for the two of them to fight over it. But instead of indignant, he feels insulted.

“Then … then what does that make us? What does that make this? Everything we’ve done so far?”

“It makes it what it is, Kurt,” Sebastian says, throwing an arm in the air. “I love you, and you love me. And this …” He gestures to the check in Kurt’s hands like it’s an annoying fly he’s shooing away “… this is ancient history. Tying up loose ends.” Kurt starts shaking his head. It’s a reflex to object. This doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that boyfriends did for one another. Teenage boyfriends at that! It’s too much!

Sebastian, facing down his obstinate boyfriend, groans. “Kurt! Are you really going to throw your dreams away, your entire future, for something as stupid as money?”

“Well, you can call money stupid,” Kurt argues, his hand holding the check shaking. “You have it, alright? But when you don’t have it, it’s not stupid! It’s actually kind of important!”

“You’re right,” Sebastian agrees. “You’re absolutely right. It is important. It’s important, and you need it. You need it to go to college. So why the fuck aren’t you taking it, Kurt? I’m fortunate. I happen to have more money than I can use, sitting around, doing nothing. So let me give you some …” Kurt scoffs, rolls his head away. Sebastian amends his statement. “Or lend you some - however you want to do this. Remember when I said that money doesn’t matter to me beyond enjoying all the things my wealth can buy me? Well, I would really enjoy the opportunity to do this for you.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, hoping the right words will simply come to him. When they don’t, Sebastian takes that as Kurt trying to come up with a better argument against this, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Look, if you don’t take it, I’m just going to send it to fucking NYADA with your name plastered all over it, so you might as well stop being so fucking stubborn and do it your damn self! If you and I hadn’t gotten together for real, if we hadn’t fallen in love, you’d be taking this check, conscience clear, and on your way to New York. But we lucked out, Kurt. We got something better out of this in the end. Being able to call you mine is worth the world to me. But if it causes you to give up your dream, then it’s a bad thing. I don’t want what we have to be a bad thing. I want it to be a good thing. I want it to grow and last, and that will only happen if you live out your life. If you follow your dream.”

Sebastian takes the check from Kurt’s fingers. He folds it and slides it in Kurt’s pocket. Kurt doesn’t move to object. He can’t. What Sebastian says makes sense to him logically. It’s his pride that has a problem with it. This isn’t the end. Sebastian isn’t Blaine. He isn’t going to let Kurt go just because they’re going to schools in separate states. Kurt is finally seeing an ending to this where he gets to have it all – the school of his dreams, the future he planned, and the boy he never planned on. This would be a loan, he promises himself. He’ll pay back every single cent, even if it takes him a lifetime.

“You’re going to NYADA, Kurt,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the forehead between words, “one way or another. And there’s not a force anywhere on earth that’s going to keep me from making sure you get there.”

[wistfulwisteriawitch]

Arthur Morgan x Lilith Vallent OC: Vas Ura (My One)/ Vas Soluna (My Bonded) Part 01 Chapter 03: Colter

Part 01 Chapter 03: Colter

I managed to get myself set up, knowing we’d actually be going after John since he was still missing. Attaching the leather over bust corset riddled with knives as well as the leather leg guards I exhaled, it would be interesting to see what they thought of our way of doing things but they seemed rather accepting thus far.

And as we moved to go out, Abigale grabbed my sleeve. “Miss Vallent?”

“Yes Abigale?”

“John…”

“Oh the gentleman that you said was your sons father?”

“Yes…”

Arthur had walked into the room and was warming himself by the fire. “Where’s little John gotten off to?”

“Arthur he hasn’t been seen in a couple days, I fear the worst.”

“John is fine, he gets himself out of scrapes all the time.” Arthur huffed. "Granted he could throw himself on the ground and miss so that's a feat in and of itself."

I cocked a brow, “I’ll go find him.” I pat her arm, “I can track him.”

Arthur groaned, “I’ll go with ya.”

“How kind.” I grinned as I walked by, Hosea nudged me as I sidled by with a smirk and a whispered thank you.

“I’ll come too!” Javier noted. “John would do the same for me and Arthur.”

“Sure, might be good considering the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Javier asked as we mounted up.

I nodded, after ensuring I had everything needed including shotgun with slugs. “Yes, alright you two, flank me, head forward in a V position, and try to keep it unless we head up the mountain, in that case line up.” With that I spurred Luna into a gallop. “Let’s go! Belladonna shadow!”

“Aye Milady!” And with that her horse charged off into the wilderness.

“Shadow?” Arthur inquired as we moved at a quick pace.

“She’ll scout ahead, and send Aristotle if she finds something.”

“And that is—“ A screech above as a Ferrugius Hawk soared past.

“She is skilled in Falconry, her family learned for many years in her home country. Normally their line uses Peregrine, but him...he's been with Belladonna alone, and each member has their own Falcon breed. Birds like that are the largest of hawks to be used for Falconry. And he is quite protective. She found him in Mexico.”

“Ha!” Javier seemed a bit stunned, “you all keep surprising us.”

“We are a surprising people. Javi.” I managed to find John’s trail and exhaled, “fuck he went up the mountain.” Just like the game.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “just like him to have someone dig his ass out of snow.”

I sighed, “Arthur take the middle, Javier take the front, I’ll watch the back.” And with a chiding look as he glanced over his shoulder. “This is what family does.” I noted as we lined up and began to trek up the mountainside, myself taking the end. “Javier do you see where the trail picks up?”

“Yes, he headed up this way.”

“We’ll have to leave the horses.” Arthur noted and I agreed, we got off and began to make our way further along a cliffside. “John!” Javi shouted.

“HELP! DOWN HERE!”

With that I took off, making sure to keep my movements swinging forward to help me trudge through the snow faster. “Mister Marston?” I called finding him on the ledge. “Awe poor puppy.”

“Puppy?! Who in the fuck are you?”

“A friend. Hold the fuck still. We don’t need you bleeding and bringing a bear. Wolves are a pain in the ass enough.” I gathered what I needed from my satchel and made him down a few tonics and salved him up with an antiseptic solution of old mans beard and golden thread. “That will have to do for now, I’ll need to draw any infection out at the cabin. Alright, come on.” I gripped under his arm and hauled him up. “Arthur!”

They were there reaching for him, Arthur laughing, “well now Marston, looks like ya got yer head ate by wolves. How much’a yer brains did they get?”

“Shut up Morgan.”

“You gonna have to come up with a better story for those scars.”

“Getting half eaten by wolves ain’t enough?”

“We got company gentlemen!” I shouted, ”Javier, Arthur— get him to the horses!”

“I got you.” Arthur had one shot down in seconds as the others charged down the slope.”

“BELLA!” A shrill whistle as a large hawk circled over head and dove into the eyes of one of the wolves screeching.

A black streak of horse and woman charged forward from behind us as she leapt off it's back, her body clad in leather padding as she took the tackle of a she-wolf head on while I dodged and sliced a death blow to a jugular. “Come on ya wee bitch!” Bella roared plunging a blade into it’s throat.

Aristotle soared high, blood splattering from his talons and across his feathers as Bella let out a snarl of glee when the final wolf was downed by a blade thunked into it’s throat.

Arthur shot down the final one, sighing and glancing at the two of us. “Remind me never to make her angry.” He mused as Bella ruffled Aristotle’s feathers and set him loose again, “that is a big bird.”

“He’s a beauty inn’e?” Bella asked fluffing her hair out and wiping blood off her face. “We ready?”

“Yes, John how you holding up?” I asked.

“Feel drunk.”

“Good that means it’s working.”

“Oh joy.” Was the sarcastic reply.

We managed to make it down the mountain, Belladonna staying to get the meat and pelts from the wolves.

“She gonna be alright?” Javier asked.

“Worry about the woodland creatures who piss her off.” I laughed.

“Bella?” Belial asked as we rode in, “ah…hunting.” He chuckled and walked off back towards the kitchen area.

Arthur sighed and leaned over to speak to me, “watch the golden boy not get a scolding despite holding up a job.”

Dutch of course was ecstatic John was back and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Siblings?” I asked smiling.

“We both was raised by Dutch and Hosea. They taught us to read.”

“Awe, I can see that.” I smiled wide at him, and he returned with a shy smile back. He gets a bit of a playful look, “you know for someone so small you sure as hell take up a lot of space.” He sniffs and cocks a brow.

“You know for someone so big you can curl up on the edge of a bed real easy. Next time just huggle-up and I won’t have to latch on like a damn possum.”

It was the first time he genuinely laughed. “I’ll remember that little wolf.” He was glancing over my gear and had a look of confusion.

“Leather, protects quite well.”

“What ya goin to war?” He poked my arm guards and outer leg guards as well as the leather corset flicking a knife handle.

“Life is war.” I tilted my head.

“Hmph, ain’t that just bout right.”

As I was about to ask what he meant Belladonna zoomed into camp with furs and blood all over her. “I’m back!” She said prancing off her stallion Bairn.

I chuckled, “welcome back sister.”

“Didja see the pelt on that she-wolf?” She crowed tugging it off her horse, “it’s like ya hair milady, I should make a new cloak and we can trade.”

“I would like that thank you Bella.” She grinned and whistled for Aristotle who landed on her thickly gloved forearm. “There’s a good boy.”

Everyone in camp balked.

“Wah ya never seen’a damn bird afore?” She scoffed. “Come on pretty boy.” She was feeding him strips of wolf, “lessee what ya da is up ta.”

I rolled my eyes. “You get used to her.”

“Body can get used to anything…”

“Even hanging.” I finished and we laughed walking over to Hosea and Dutch.

“Got anymore maidens that need saving?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Hosea chuckled. “Thanks you three.”

“Javier tipped his hat and walked off as Arthur joined me in the cabin where Abigale tended to Marston.

“Alright, lemme work.” I shooed most people away, and grinned. “Marston this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Ya aint gotta look like ya gonna enjoy it!”

Arthur chuckled, “I will.”

“Of course you would.” John muttered.

I forced willow bark tea down his throat, irrigated the wound with stinging solutions of horsetail and once it was cleaned I made a salve and packed it with bandages. “Don’t touch it. You’ll have a mark but congratulations you were chosen to bear them by a powerful creature. In our ways it means you are protected.”

“Sure felt like that when they bit me.”

“They could have killed you.” I said softly. “But they did not. They left. Think upon that. I do not play with coincidence or dice to tell me my fate rather that things happen for a reason.”

John pondered and cracked a slight grin. “Guess so.”

“Either way, get rest, I shall have Bel bring food, you need to gather your strength to heal.”

“Thank you.” Abigale clutched my hand tight and I nodded, “let Jack see his Pa.” I leveled a gaze at John, “I am sure he was quite worried for his father.”

John seemed to squirm under my direct gaze and I softened it before leaving.

“What was that?”

“It seemed there was some tension in regards to little Jack.” I said.

“That obvious?” Arthur huffed an annoyed sound.

“Yes, but Marston is young, he can learn.”

Arthur glanced me up and down, “hm.” Was all he said.

I really wished I could get into his head sometimes.

— - - - - - - - - - - -

Arthur grumbled, “some people learn too late.” And he walked away, his chest heavy with memories long past. “Other’s should be so lucky.”

She caught his hand, “Arthur, despite that lessons can be passed down to prevent more pain.” Her voice is soft, and that damned look she gives him— it’s not pity, he couldn’t stand it if it was but this is somehow worse— she has an air of understanding, an acceptance about her with him as if whatever he lays at her feet is perfectly fine.

“Maybe so.”

That hand retreats, she seems to be thinking as she chews her bottom lip looking at her feet for a moment.

“S-sorry I know I probably—“

“S’fine.” He assured her rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a hang up he and I have had.”

Lilith nodded, “my brother and I had something similar happen.”

“Oh?”

“Yes…but we managed to talk it out.” Arthur lets out a bark of harsh laughter.

“Me and him? Talk? Shoot, ya ain’t known us long but ya gonna see that’s a bit hard for us Van der Linde boys.”

“Oh that’s plain as day Mister Morgan. But as I said, everyone can learn.” A wink as she sauntered off.

“Damn woman.” He grumbles to himself striking a match on his boot to light up a smoke. He couldn’t make heads or tails of her as she checked in with Dutch and asked him several questions, Dutch did seem to be in a better mood, and she was always checking in with him— she said the word was deference. She acknowledged he was leader. But she herself led the two people she had.

Arthur had to admit the way she did things did scream leadership. It was rare to see such things. There wasn’t anything she herself wouldn’t do that she’d ask of others. Mucking a stall, hunting, ensuring people were clothed, mending, healing…Dutch hadn’t done that for a long time but he did get his hands dirty when needed.

It further solidified Arthur’s ideology that if women ran shit it might be a mite better, he glanced at Susan who was chatting with Hosea before she went off to screech at someone for not working hard enough.

Belladonna walked up to him and grinned, offering her hawk, “wanna pet’im, seems ta like ya.”

Arthur was never one to pass up petting an animal.

Shit he’d pet a bear if it wouldn’t rip his damn arm off.

“Sure, Aristotle was it?”

“Mmhm. He had many ideas of the stars that man. Mi’lady said it suited because this hawk could damn near fly to them with these wings.” She kissed the hawk who let out a little chirping sound as Arthur placed a warm finger against it’s chest feathers. The big raptor fluffed his feathers and crooned, leaning forward and nudging Arthur’s hand.

“Here, he likes meat.”

“Here boy.” Aristotle took the piece and gulped it down and flapped his wings before Bella let him go. “He just nests somewhere?”

“Oh aye, he has a mate somewhere, but I canna catch her, she is too fierce. But she hunts with him and has never left his side. They keep the same mates their whole life.” She smiled up at the sky and sure enough, a smaller hawk circled with him swooping and gliding. “Quite a sight.”

“Sure is.” Arthur grinned. “You all keep any other animals?”

“Oh aye, you should see the family wolves.”

Arthur paused as he walked by, “beg pardon?” He furrowed his brow.

“Milady found a pack of wolves who’s cubs were abandoned. She took them all in, they are the sweetest, deadly, but they are the comfiest things to snuggle with. Sometimes all four of them are with her.”

“And these are….ah…”

“No here. They in the wilds probably hunting, somewhere up north west in the Grizzlies. They look different, no from here. Timber wolves from the west. Darker coats. Then the wolf dogs…all except for Talla—they look like they wolf kin. She is almost a strawberry color but she’s half wolf and half some big dog from Alaska.”

“Been round a lot.”

“Aye, we been all over. The wolves are bout five or so now. Talla and her siblings are with her brothers, she breeds them.”

“Breeds wolves.”

“Just for the family.”

“Ah.” This family got weirder and weirder, “they guard? The wolves not the half breed ones.”

“No no, wolves are quite timid despite people thinking they fierce, unless the family is attacked, they no just go about attacking randomly, Talla and her siblings though, they were bred with a type’a dog that will protect their master anywhere, any time. Talla especially, her mate is a full wolf, but she is far fiercer than he.”

Arthur laughed, “you talk like they people.”

“You talk to yer horse like it’s people.”

She had him there. He kicked at the snow. “Never knew an animal to dislike it.”

Belladonna grinned, “you ken for a scary bastard, ye pretty nice.”

“Don’t know nuthin bout that.” Arthur snorted as he walked off.

Dinner was a lighter affair now that John was back, everyone celebrated with some whiskey and a meal of wolf steaks and deer meat. Arthur watched as everyone milled around, chatted, and tried to liven their spirits, the deaths of ones close still loomed— as did the damn frost.

Some spring this turned out to be.

He glanced at the three strangers who had dropped into their lives as he scribbled.

It is rather strange to be in the company of wolves.

I find that they are a gentle people unless provoked, despite their appearances, the females are far more aggressive then their male counterparts, as Belial seems to have a very playful nature, they all do in fact. Shoving at one another as they walk in the snow to push the other into a drift. Or leaping onto one another’s backs as they run off.

I have only seen wolves play once, when I came across a den by accident when the welping season came. Indulgent and confident in my spot I had used binoculars to watch a game of tag played by the pack. It is of similar air.

Hosea is doing alright, but I know the dark haired woman named Lilith is concerned, he is coughing a lot, and his breathing is labored, he stays indoors mostly under her direction, and she’s been shoving tonics into his mouth whenever he allows it. Seeming hell bent on keeping him alive.

John is alright, a pain in my backside still, but he’s lucky to be alive. … We all are.

Not sure what in hell happened on that boat, but whatever it was it weren’t good. Charles heard that a girl died. Dutch outright shot her…saying it needed to be done….

That ain’t like him…

The red head reminds me of Sean, I wonder where that Irish bastard got off to. Knowing him he’s probably found trouble. Davey…Jenny….Both gone in a matter of weeks….We lost folks before but not like this— so needlessly. They are calling it the Blackwater Massacre.

This family is strange, stranger still is the kindness they show everyone. It is gentle, despite their steel hard spines and unwavering eyes…unnerving eyes.

Eyes that gleam when they look at ya, like a beast’s catching firelight in the dark.

She looked at Micah as if he were nothing but an ant to be pitied for facing a mountain.

Wonder what that’s like….ain’t never said I was confident, I can fight with the best of em…

But I have a feeling this woman could give me a run for my money…

Half inclined to piss her off and find out…

[omnivorousshipper]

12 Days of Shobbs: Day Two- Scarves

Summary:  This is a serious of prompts following the relationship between Luke Hobbs and Deckard Shaw through the twelve days of Christmas.

Day 1     Day 3

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 

“Reminder to self: never visit Canada in the winter ever again,” Luke mumbled to himself as he got out of his truck and landed in almost a foot of snow. Sighing, he trudged through the unblemished snow towards the other vehicles sitting in the clearing. There were three other large trucks and SUVs, with several DSS agents milling around them, setting up equipment.

Heading towards them, Luke tugged his hat further over his ears and tried to ignore the strong wind trying to knock him off his feet. Reaching some of the techies, he could see that they were struggling to keep the equipment snow free.

“Hey!” He called out to the agents. “Who’s in charge here?” “I suppose that’s me,” a woman stepped forward. She was about a head shorter than Luke and wearing at least four layers of clothing. She didn’t bother to offer her hand to shake, instead keeping it in her pocket while she introduced herself. “I’m Agent Mou. Nice to meet you Agent Hobbs.”

“Same to you, ma’am. So what’s the game plan?”

“I don’t want to start the brief until your partner arrives.”

“Partner? What partner? I was told I would be doing this solo,” Luke asked, staring at the smaller woman, eyebrows furrowed. 

“We thought so too, but your superior, Mr. Nobody, contacted us and said he was sending another agent,” Mou shrugged. She was shifting from one foot to the other, no doubt trying to stay warm. 

“Of course he called,” Luke muttered to himself. Turning back to Mou, he asked, “Anything you want me to do right now?”

“Unless you know how to hack closed camera systems from five miles away, no Agent Hobbs, I don’t need you to do anything right now,” Mou said irritatedly. “We’ll brief you and supply you with the equipment you’ll need when your partner arrives.”

With that, Mou stormed off, having to lift her feet all the way off the ground just to walk through the high snow. Sighing, Luke couldn’t fault the woman’s irritability; she was running an operation while it was below freezing, enough snow to make an army of snowmen, and now she was forced to add yet another agent to the equation, without knowing if she could trust either Hobbs or his mysterious partner. Deciding to try to stay on the woman’s good side, Luke stood close enough to the trucks to be shielded from the harsh wind, but far enough away so as not to be in the way. 

After ten minutes of Luke practically feeling his fingers lose feeling, he finally saw another vehicle pull up. It was military grade, and looked as if it could drive through four feet of snow with how tall the wheels were. Luke watched the car park close to them and the driver step out.

Well, the person looked more like a marshmallow on legs with a large, white coat on. Squinting, Luke could also see a grey scarf the size of a blanket wrapped around the person’s neck, obscuring their face further. As the person came closer, Luke could see that their black beanie had small cat ears on the top and a cat nose and whiskers on the front of the hat. Luke just stared at them until they were close enough for Luke to hear them.

“Nobody said you’d need help,” Deckard Shaw grunted. “Didn’t mention we’d be doing the job in Jack Frost’s arsehole.”

“Frankly, I don’t know why the hell he called you in,” Luke said, still a bit dazed at seeing Deckard. “But it makes sense that he would send an elf to the north pole.”

“Get bent, you tosser,” the smaller man grumbled, and seemed to burrow further into the giant scarf that hid most of his face.

Before Luke could say something in kind, he heard snow crunching and turned his head to see Agent Mou heading towards him and Deckard. The cold didn’t seem to be agreeing with her by the pissed off look on her face. 

“About time you showed up. We’re almost half an hour late. If we’re supposed to get this done before sunset, then I suggest you two stop the little tea party you’re having, and get your asses over here,” she snapped at the two men. 

“Sorry, miss. Took longer than I thought to get out here,” Deckard apologized politely.

“I don’t care why, just follow me. I need to brief both of you,” Mou angrily told them. Deckard and Luke shared a look with each other before falling in step behind Mou as she led them to a tent that had been set up. The inside just barely fit the three and another agent, who was rapidly putting items into two packs. 

“Ok, you two, here’s the deal. Your target is this,” Mou showed them an image on her tablet. It was a small missile, one that could fit perfectly in Luke’s hand. “This was developed by an American weaponsmith for the U.S. army, but only a handful were actually made. It was made to destroy up to a 200 mile radius, destroying everything around, even underground bunkers. A small terrorist cell was able to get their hands on one. We need you two go in and retrieve it.” 

“Simple enough,” Luke commented. 

“Glad you think that, Hobbs,” Mou responded dryly. Quickly, she brought up the blueprints of a large storage building. “We were able to get the rough layout of their hideout, but we don’t know much else. Nothing about how many guys there are, or what kind of weapons they have. I’ve had my boys prepare you enough ammunition to take down any stronghold, along with a device to block any electrical signals from being sent out.”

“Like Hobbs said, this shouldn’t be too much trouble,” Deckard said.

“Never thought I’d ever hear you agreeing with me,” Luke said, an eyebrow raised at Deckard, who was glaring back at him.

“Since you two seem to know what you’re doing,” Mou interrupted, “Then I encourage you two to leave. Now.”

Taking the hint, Deckard and Luke took the packs from the other agent and made their way outside.

“We’re taking my car,” Deckard announced, not bothering to look at Luke.

“Fine. But I’m driving.”

“When hell freezes over, jackass.”

Climbing into the passenger side of Deckard’s car, Luke couldn’t help but stare at the other man. It had been only a week ago that the other man had placed a kiss on Luke. And Luke still wasn’t sure what to feel about it. The entire time during that mission, Luke couldn’t get the kiss out of his mind, and it seemed like this mission was going to be about the same.

“Got something to say, Hobbs?” Deckard snapped, after a few minutes of silence, and a couple dozen of side glances from Luke. 

“Just wondering what in the living hell you’re wearing, is all,” Luke shrugged. 

“Owen and a few of his mates went to Switzerland for a ski trip, and he took a lot of my snow gear. The little arsehole,” Deckard mumbled the last part mostly to himself. 

“And you just happened to own a hat with a cat face?”

“Present from my mum. She thought it looked cute,” Deckard rolled his eyes. 

“It sure is,” Luke snorted. “It fits well with the stuck up princess look you have going.”

“I know it must be hard for your walnut-sized brain to understand this, but I could easily leave your arse out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” Luke challenged. 

“Just keep pushing, sunshine.”

Luke chuckled at the threat. They were quiet for a time, with Luke staring out at the snowy landscape, and Deckard navigating the car through it. Unfortunately, Luke couldn’t enjoy the view, instead his mind going back to the kiss. 

“I swear I can see the smoke coming out of your ears right now,” Deckard chuckled. “You’re going to hurt yourself thinking that hard.”

“Very funny, asshole,” Luke rolled his eyes. Looking over at the smaller man, he decided to take a leap of faith. “I was just wondering. Why did you kiss me back at the base?”

He saw Deckard’s hands tighten on the wheel and his mouth pull down into a frown. “We were under the mistletoe. Don’t read into it.”

“I told you, you didn’t have to. But you still did. So, why did-”

“Look, just drop it,” Deckard snapped, interrupting Luke. “We’re at the drop point. We need to walk from here.”

Which meant that they would be walking in the strong wind, making it impossible for them to hold a conversation. Sighing, Luke followed the other man.

The plan was for them to park a short distance away from the facility, walk the rest of the way, and sneak in. From there, they would split up and each look for the missile on their own. All they needed to do was not to alert the guards, so it should have been an easy job. 

Unfortunately, alert the guards was the only thing Luke seemed to do. When Mou had said that they had no idea how many guards there were, she hadn’t been joking. Every corner Luke went around had at least five guys, each armed to the teeth. It was inevitable that he would alert one of them.

That’s how he found himself in a massive gun fight, hiding behind a random pile of boxes in one of the main rooms of the facility. Bullets were flying past where he was hiding, slowly chipping away at his cover. Luke knew that his shelter was either going to be demolished or he was going to run out of ammunition. And he was sure that the former of the two was going to happen soon, because he only had one more clip left. 

Cursing his luck, Luke put the final clip in his gun, and quickly popped out from his cover. He was able to hit three assailants, but as soon as one went down, two more took their place. Out of options, Luke desperately looked around, trying to find an escape route, but found nothing. Before despair could overwhelm him, Luke heard a yell over the gunfire. 

“Hobbs!”  Came a distinct voice shouted. “Down!”

And it was almost predictable what happened next. While Luke wasn’t exactly expecting it, he wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of a small grenade go off in the middle of the guards shooting at him. In the confusion of the blast, the bullets stopped, allowing Luke to duck out from his cover. Spotting Deckard on the other side of the room fighting three guards, Luke started heading towards him, trying to find a gun for himself on the way.

Having no luck finding a gun, Luke was forced to fight off the guys that came between him and Deckard. After taking down ten of them, Luke finally reached Deckard, who was missing his large coat, but still had his hat and scarf. Other than the missing coat, Deckard was only slightly panting, almost as if he hadn’t taken down twenty trained men in the last ten minutes, and had only gone for a short jog in the park. 

“Did you get the missile?” Luke hurriedly asked. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I got it,”Deckard huffed and showed Luke a small case, presumably carrying the missile. 

“Good. We need to get out,” Luke looked around them, spotting a side door, that was being guarded by thirty or so men. “You got any extra guns on you?”

“Yeah. Here,” Deckard responded. Reaching into his scarf, he pulled out a pair of silver revolvers from the folds of his scarf. “They’re already loaded.”

“How the hell?” Luke whispered to himself, but took the guns nonetheless. Shaking his head, Luke chalked it up to Deckard being an ex-MI6 agent. “Come on, there’s an exit over there.”

Together, they slowly made their way towards the exit, back to back, and taking shots at anyone that came at them. Even though Luke couldn’t see it, he could hear Deckard take down several men that tried to rush them. Trusting Deckard’s abilities, Luke focused on the men coming his way. 

After what felt like hours, they finally broke through the wall of men, and outside. It was only a short jog to Deckard’s car, and they were speeding away. Looking out the side mirror, Luke was surprised not to see any vehicles chasing them.

“Where are they?” Luke asked aloud.

“I might’ve blown up all their snowmobiles,” Deckard laughed, giving Luke a toothy grin.

“You fucking pyromaniac!” Luke laughed. 

Soon enough, they were back at the base camp, handing the missile over to Mou. Who gave them a few choice words over their fairly explosive retrieval of it. After a short reprimand and praise for getting the missile out successfully, she sent them on their way.

“Hey. Thanks for the guns,” Luke said, as he and Deckard walked through the flurry of agents dismantling equipment. Holding the guns out to the smaller man, Luke was surprised when Deckard instead pushed Luke’s hand away.

“Keep ‘em. ,” Deckard shrugged. 

“You sure?” Luke asked, not a small amount of confusion in his voice.

“I know you like Chiappa Rhino guns. So just keep them.”

“Thanks, man,” Luke said graciously. They were standing in front of Deckard’s car, as Luke took in the other man. Deckard’s face was flushed red from the cold, and he had a small smile on his face.

“Don’t mention it. You need all the help you can get, twinkletoes,” Deckard said, his smile growing. Luke help but smile back before something popped back into his head. 

“Hey. You never answered my question.”

“What?”

“Why’d you kiss me?”

“Just drop it, Hobbs,” Deckard sighed. Swiftly, he was in his car and slamming the door in Luke’s face. 

“Oh come on! Just answer me!” Luke shouted after Deckard’s speeding car.

… Two loaded guns

And a punch to the face!

[nika-the-hunter]

House of Mist [Ch.9]

Evergreen Point, Pacific Northwest House Mist Territory

+157 Days

Nicole yawned and stretched out beneath the blanket; swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and pulled her undersuit back over her shoulders. The Eliksni lying beside her in the bed rolled over and flipped the blanket over the hole she had left behind. Things had been going well enough over the last four months since the two had begun sharing a bed together; those first few days after the battle had been both emotionally jarring and traumatic. They had bonded that night more than they had ever before, even if they had been practically living together at the time. She was not entirely sure how relationships went with the Fallen, but they were managing. Even if she did not understand where they stood to him, to her, they were very close.

Remaining cocooned in the warm blankets, Rykis rolled to face her. "What's the plan for today?" He asked in his native language.

She had hardly uttered a word of english ever since the battle in the pass. Her Ghost was the only one that refused to use the Eliksni language; it had become clear that he actually did know the language, just preferred not to talk in it. Her language lessons from Rykis had gradually stopped after the second month and now she was just learning by exposure nowadays.

"I think we're going after another camp," Nicole answered. "Scouts found another further north on another abandoned mountain pass."

The large House of Devils outpost they had cleared off of the old Interstate-90 mountain pass had not been the only one in the area. The Devils had evidently created small dens and chokepoints all over the mountain range and foothills to harass House Mist and the reported Human settlers in the region. Thankfully the first camp they had cleared out months ago seemed to be the largest thus far. Nicole had been going on missions almost weekly to remove them. Every time had been a success, but it was never long before another made itself known.

Most of the locations had actually been given up by House of Devils defectors. Jasix had told Nicole one evening that Dregs and some Vandals had been coming down the mountains bannerless ever since the local leadership had been decimated at the mountain pass. They brought plenty of intelligence in exchange for a place in a friendlier House. Nicole was a bit miffed about that, the Dregs were welcomed into the house much faster, and she was not. She had already done more for Mist than she had thought she would have to, and she was still waiting on approval. It was out of her control, she would just have to be patient.

"Another camp," Rykis shook his head. "How many more of them are there?"

"Not a clue, but there are fewer and fewer of them every time; eventually we'll be done," Nicole replied.

"Yeah… eventually." Rykis sighed.

"Alright, come on. We have to be at the highway by eight AM, and you know how long that walk is." Nicole finished strapping her boots on and stood up. "We don't want to keep Baron Asckis waiting." She pronounced the Baron's name as Ass-kiss just to spite him; she never used it in public, only in the comfort of her own home.

With another sigh, Rykis threw the blanket off of himself and pulled his armor closer. "Your Human timekeeping throws me off," he commented. "Why break up the day into twenty four bits, why not twelve like us?"

"Rykis, I can't answer for Human history, my clock was pre-set to it anyway. It's just what I'm use to. Besides, can you tell me why you use twelve?" She glanced back at him with a playful smirk.

"Well its... um well... no I cannot," he paused. "Its just how its always been."

Nicole laughed and stuck her tongue out, a decidedly human gesture that lurked in the depths of her subconscious. It had turned out that the Eliksni of Mist had a similar expression, but one that required the use of their mandibles, and of course a maskless face; mandibles that she did not possess. "Same for me, Rykis. All history."

"History neither of us know," Rykis shook his head.

Nicole mirrored the gesture and then looked up to her old room. "Ghost, Come down here!"

He hovered down from one of the few holes in the ceiling. His shell was still blackened in some places where he had taken the strike from an Eliksni arc grenade four months ago. She had tried to clean it off, but some areas had proven persistent. The arc zap had knocked him out for nearly five days, and Nicole had been extremely worried that he may never recover.

She brought it up to Baroness Tansis one night, and she came up with a potential solution; she would hit the Ghost with another shock, and hopefully that would reset the little machine's system. Tansis had brought over an old medical device, she likened it to what humans had apparently called a defibrillator. Nicole had not known what one was, but it had been explained to be a device that delivered a regulated electrical shock to someone to restart or restore their heart beat. Tansis charged the paddles and pressed them against the small machine's core. One quick jolt later, and Nicole's Ghost shot off the table and did a lap around the room.

Afterwards, he had been very adamant about who had held him while he was out. He apparently found the thought of being held by an Eliksni disturbing , something Nicole did not agree with at all. She had told him that her hands were the only ones that touched his shell, but that was only mostly truthful.

The Ghost came to a stop just in front of her, giving Rykis behind her a glare. "Yes Guardian, what is it? Oh!" He seemed to light up as he realized they were getting ready to go. "Are we headed out to another rough and tumble with the Devils?"

"Yes, headed out soon. Can you summon my gear the easy way, gotta beat slowpoke back there."

She flicked her thumb back at Rykis who was pulling his straps taunt with one pair of arms and wrapping his others with cloth at the same time. More than once she had wondered what it would be like to have a second pair of arms, so much more she could do... like carrying four guns instead of two.

"Got it," he Ghost replied.

"Laugh all you want Neh-cole, for I am just about..." Before he could finish his sentence, Nicole's armor vanished from the table and materialized on her body in a flash.

"Done," She finished for him.

Rykis just sighed and chuckled. "Okay fine, you win. Again."

Nicole unclipped her helmet from her belt where it had appeared and slipped it over her head. She reached out and gave her Ghost a pat on his shell. "Thank you Ghost. Come on Rykis, lets go." She pushed out into the corridor and found that the weather was pretty bad. Water dripped through cracks in the atrium skylight, Nicole's patch job up there was doing good enough.

The main stairwell had probably been the most intact part of the building when she arrived. She had swept up all the dirt and cleaned the remaining light fixtures recently, and wondered why there was so much dirt inside a seemingly closed space. This rain storm gave her the answer; the runoff had transformed the stairwell into a roaring waterfall, splashing down the steps and over the side of the landings.

"Guess the stairs are out of the question." She sighed in annoyance, they would need to be cleaned again. After the weather passed. She turned around and hopped over the railing overlooking the central atrium, and splashed into the marsh a floor below. Only in a few areas she could tell that this used to be the hotel's pool; a ceramic tile here and there, and the diving board poking out from a cluster of ferns and moss.

Rykis dropped beside her and grumbled, she had waterproof boots and all he had were woven wrappings. "Remind me to retrieve my proper footwear if we ever return to Seattle together."

"Why didn't you get them last time you went over yourself?" Nicole asked, trudging through the water towards the door out to the terrace. At some point long ago, a landslide had back flowed up and over the outside wall and created an easy slope down to ground level.

"I forget easily and you might remember where I do not." Rykis shrugged and followed her out into the rain storm, then they stomped down the fern covered muddy hillside.

Around the front of the building, Nicole noticed that there was an old Human truck parked under the overhang. It had not been there before; she had walked under that overhang countless times right where it was parked. She then noticed that it was rumbling quietly, and Nicole changed directions to investigate. Pinned to the back of the truck was a banner bearing the House of Mist sigil, denoting an official vehicle. She figured that was interesting. It looked a lot like the various rusted hulls that littered the roadways across Mist territory, only it was now obviously functional.

She got around to the front, and there was one of the small Not-Dregs that Mist had in the driver's seat. They looked out at her and then back to the lobby entrance, then honked the horn twice. Another Not-Dreg popped out of the doorway and bounded across the parking lot.

"Guardian!" the other Not-Dreg called. "Your presence has been requested by the Kell at the earliest of moments."

Nicole looked over to Rykis who just shrugged. "Him too?" she asked. There was no reason to refuse, a meeting with the Kell was important. Maybe it was finally her time.

"Yes, Guardian." The Not-Dreg said. "Please get in the back of the rig, we will take you there immediately."

"Its best not keep the Kell waiting." Rykis pushed passed her and climbed into the back of the truck, getting out of the drenching rain. Nodding in agreement, she hopped in behind him and the Not-Dreg closed the cloth flap behind her.

The truck pulled out from in front of the old hotel and splashed down the road. The rain was really coming down as they drove over one of the floating bridges that spanned the lake. Nicole was surprised that it was still so intact after so long had passed. She had only been back to the old Seattle ruins once since the day she had been resurrected, and that was only to visit the material market. A real reason never presented itself, so she was looking forward to that as well.

The heavily armed checkpoint on the other side did not stop them, they had already moved one of the tanks out of the way of the tunnel passage. They were just waved through and the truck continued onto the next road. The entire journey only took close to ten minutes before it came to a full stop along side the old theater hall the Kell used as a throne room. Normally, it would take her three hours on foot.

The rear flap swung aside and a Vandal in clean fancy armor waved her and Rykis out. He had netting draped across his chest, like many of the other House Mist Eliksni. The fishing gear look seemed to be something they all appreciated, except for Rykis. The area was protected from the rain by a large canvas of Eliksni design that ran over the street between buildings. Nicole and Rykis were ushered through a doorway and into a room that looked like it had been a back stage dressing room centuries ago.

More fancy armored Vandals were waiting with towels and brushes. They began to brush away the mud and dirt from their armor, making sure that they were presentable it seemed. "So what's going on?" Nicole asked.

One of the Vandals scrubbing the white plated areas on her chest plate chittered. "Our Kell has called you for a formal meeting. If we had given you more warning, I would assume you would have cleaned yourself. Either way, we will have you ready in just a few moments."

She looked back to Rykis and directed her next question to him. "Think this is good news?"

Rykis nodded once, "There was no way that the Kell would call you into a meeting to dismiss you. He must have decided to accept you into the House."

"I can only hope so." Nicole giggled, a bit giddy at the thought.

When the cleaning crew was finished, one final Vandal came in through a door and collected the two now clean and polished visitors. "Follow behind please. Stay three paces behind me, Guardian. Vandal Rykis, three paces behind the Guardian."

The Vandal guard retrieved an electrified spear from the wall, the blade cracked with energy, but it did not seem that its purpose was for combat anymore; the spear was decorated very similarly to their armor. Nicole complied and followed the Vandal out into the main hall had once seen orchestras and plays, but now served as the place of leadership of an Eliksni house.

Now that Nicole was more familiar with the Eliksni, she could take in the area more; although that did not mean that she was not nervous about whatever ceremony that was about to happen. There was still the slight chance that this was all going to be an elaborate refusal of her request to join the House. Even with all her time that she had spent with the House so far, that spur of the moment decision to request to join had been a horrible idea. She was still new to being alive and did not have all the cards in front of her, and had been to bullheaded. Now they were going to see what it was all about.

The theater hall had been cleared of its seats at some point, though there were still some at the edges of the room. They were occupied by none other than fellow Humans. Nicole was surprised; she had not seen a single human until this moment. They were dressed in what had the appearance of casual clothing, but wore tabards with the House of Mist sigil over them. The humans looked happy to see her, giving her a small wave as she entered the hall. She waved back to them, intending to meet with them after whatever this was had concluded. It made her feel better knowing that they were so happy to see her there, even if she did not know them.

She took notice of all of the Mist Barons that were standing at the base of the old stage. Nicole recognized Baroness Tansis and Baron Asckis talking with one another. Asckis scowled back at her, though his expression did not look as aggressive as the previous times she had met with him. She had gotten pretty good at reading the emotions off of the Eliksni faces, especially with only half the face showing most of the time. There were not many of the lower ranks though, Nicole could only count maybe six Captains and a handful of Vandals.

She was escorted down the center of the hall, and stopped at a raised platform a few meters from the stage. Flanked by more of the Kell's guard, the Kell himself emerged from the back of the stage. Everyone knelt down, and Nicole followed suit. The Kell lowered himself into his throne chair and addressed the assorted members of House Mist before him.

"Barons of House Mist, I have called you here so that you would all bear witness to my final decision on the matter of the Guardian." He looked down at Nicole. "The Guardian has already proved that they are willing to fight for us under the Mist banner, and they have followed every request we made of them. Baron Asckis, as you were the only one to oppose her initial request, what say you now?"

Asckis glanced back at Nicole on the platform and shook his head. "As much as I hate to admit it, but the Guardian has proved to be a useful tool in dislodging the House of Devils from our mountains. I still do not trust them to be completely loyal to us."

"I understand that complete loyalty will be something we will likely never see, the Guardian is ultimately loyal to the Great Machine." The Kell nodded to Asckis. "However, she has met the requirements that I placed on her privately for House Membership, and the Guardian has surpassed the normal milestones we place on other inductees to the House. Are you still advocating for refusal, Baron?"

"No, my Kell, I... withdraw my refusal." Baron Asckis said, looking down at the ground.

The Kell clapped his upper arms together. "Excellent, does anyone else have anything else to say regarding the Guardian?"

Baroness Tansis spoke up from where she stood. "Not regarding House membership, but I would appreciate it if she, and mainly her Ghost, could spend some time with me at the Vehicle yard."

Nodding in agreement, the Kell offered a hand in Tansis' direction. "I am sure that she would gladly assist you."

Another Baroness, one that Nicole had never met before rose from where she had been sitting. "I would like to see the Guardian make her presence known in the north. We are fairly isolated from our main den, and contact with Humans is exceedingly rare. It would be good for my boat crews to meet with a member of the risen before going out on the summer runs."

"That is another excellent idea, however with House membership, comes her right to movement in Mist territory, unless ordered she is free to visit on her own accord." The Kell said. "Anyone else? No? Very well then, with that I view this petition approved. Guardian Neh-cole, I welcome you to the Great House Mist."

Nicole smiled behind her facemask before removing the helmet from her head. A great worry left her chest, they were not going to kick her out to make it on her own, they were welcoming her in. She had been mentally prepared if they had chosen the other, but this was so much better. She knelt down on the platform, Rykis had told her a few weeks ago that it was what she should do, and she hoped he was right.

The Kell continued. "Every Eliksni carries their House Banner with them, and we are honored to have you carry ours with you." One of the fancy armored Vandals stepped over from the side of the platform with a folded sheet of cloth that could only be a small House Banner that the Kell was referring to.

"Even should you eventually depart on a quest to the Great Machine, you will retain your House status and will always be welcome to return."

Nicole stood up and accepted the folded banner. It was small enough to fit into one of her belt pouches, so she quickly placed it into the one closest to her side. "Thank you my Kell," She replied, kneeling once more.

"If you do eventually travel to commune with The Great Machine, please let it know that we have treated its new chosen with respect and have assisted them where we can to get through their whirlwind. I hope that the Great Machine will welcome us once again."

She nodded to that thought. As of yet, she had not actually seen anything that the House of Mist had done for other Humans; in fact no Humans had been seen anywhere in the Mist territory that Nicole had visited yet. They had treated her well, and Rykis had told her about working with other Humans, but still, there had not been any personal experiences yet to judge the statement against. Finally, she replied with a mild assurance that she would do what she could.

All of a sudden from stage left, a large Eliksni wearing similar armor to the Kell, but appearing to be older than anyone else's in the chamber marched across the stage platform. A large circular machine the size of a Vandal floated in behind them; it was a Servitor, one of the machines the Fallen used to make Ether. Nicole had seen one or two in the other outings she had done against the Devils.

The intruder fumed not anger but what appeared to be annoyance. "Sirakas I cannot believe you went through with this so quickly. I told you not to accept her into the House until I had a chance to speak with her." He jabbed a finger at the Kell in the throne chair. "Welcoming a chosen of The Great Machine is an important event and not something for a simple summons."

"Archon Marakis I would like to apologize for the assumed haste, but the wait for our Guardian sister has been longer than any other." The Kell chided.

The Archon seemed to calm, even though he kept the energy in his voice. "Fair enough, my Kell. I just wish to take the Guardian and speak with her at my complex; to help her understand the House that she had requested to become a part of."

"I see no problem with that, will you go with the Archon, Guardian?" The Kell asked her directly, the tone in his voice seeming to encourage her to leave with him as soon as possible.

Nicole looked to the Archon. "Of course, I would enjoy an opportunity to learn about Mist." Rykis had told her some, but if this high ranking Eliksni would like to sit her down and talk, who was she to say no.

"Excellent, you should come with me right away, my Skiff is waiting." The Archon motioned towards the door that he had come from.

She nodded and hurried up to the staircase leading up to the stage. The other Humans would have to wait until later, and they did not seem bothered by her quick exit. Rykis seemed to not know whether to follow or stay, and elected not to leave with them. The Archon led her out to the street through what had been an emergency exit door at one time. The ship waiting was a large Skiff, large enough to easily hold the much larger Fallen. It was hovering in the street, wobbling slightly in the heavy rain and wind.

"Please join me on board." The Archon said, climbing through an open hatchway.

Nicole felt really small sitting in the passenger compartment across from the Archon. Everything inside was sized for him or the Barons. She felt like a child, even though she could not remember ever being one, the feelings were still there.

The Archon sat and glance out one of the viewing ports as they roared over the ruins of Seattle. "This must have been quite a wonderful city before your Collapse." he commented.

She nodded and looked out at the overgrown roads and buildings. Some areas boasting trees that looked like they belonged in an old growth forest. "I do agree, but do not remember ever seeing it any other way than it is now."

Archon Marakis guestured a motion Eliksni often used as understanding. "So then it is true that the Great Machine's Risen do not remember the lives before, interesting." He grew silent again for the rest of the quick trip.

The view west, beyond the city that she had seen on the ground, was of old docks. Like the other ruins Nicole had seen while on the train, the port facilities and piers were high and dry. Trees sprouted at the bases of tall pilings that lead into a sort of valley. From this height, she could still see that water entered the old bay, but it was probably a good kilometer way from its historical location.

Nestled between the skyscrapers was a strange tower that stood over a low built park area. It was an old human design, red and rusty but some specks of white still were visible in areas; it was also leaning slightly towards the coast.

The large dropship came down for a landing at a cluster of buildings near the towers' base. More strange old human construction jutted out from a pond; probably some kind of art that was barely standing after all the years. The Archon got out and took her through a set of garage bay doors into a room filled with Eliksni styled furniture and machines.

"Come sit." He pointed to a small her sized seat across from one of his size. Nicole took the invitation and sat across from the Archon. "So Guardian, what would you like to know about our great House of Mist?"

Nicole looked around the space, and at the Eliksni infront of her. She summoned her Ghost and looked at him, thinking on what he had said about the Fallen when they had first encountered them. "Well, what makes you all so different from the others? Why are you so friendly?"

"Well, my Guardian friend, we can start there." The Archon chuckled. "I suppose it comes from what we were back on our homeworld, before the Whirlwind. I don't know too much about pre-Whirlwind Mist, but we were sea workers. We manned the ships, worked the docks, we were the laborers that maintained the supplies for our society. Mist had a Kell, and all the normal organization Houses had, but we were not at the same level as the others."

The Archon shifted slightly. "We close to the bottom rung of the social ladder of sorts. It made us close knit and more accepting. When we left our world in pursuit of the Great Machine we operated the cargo vessels which carried all our supplies. Then when the infighting began, and the old Houses started to splinter, Mist was split between the victors. We were allowed to exist as long as we maintained our posts and shed our house banners. Our original Kell fell to to Kings, and the leadership followed." The Archon paused. "When the Eliksni fleets arrived here, in this system, those of us that were still loyal to Mist mutinied and re-established our sigil. We recaptured a handful of carriers and cargo vessels, and managed to steal a ketch from the House of Winter."

"House of Winter?" Nicole asked. "How many Houses are there?" There was a lot of history the Archon was skipping over. Like how they managed to take that many ships. Though then when she thought about it, she had met a lot of House Mist members and the Archon had said they only captured a handful of ships. Nicole mentally shrugged; it worked out.

"There are many, though mostly four large Houses. The Devils, Winter, Kings, and the Wolves. Others that I am aware that survived were the House of Storm and Saints... well the Saints are gone now as much as I am aware."

"Wow, if they're larger than Mist, then there must be a lot of Eliksni here." Nicole said.

"Yes, I was not part of the original push, but it had been explained to me that we Eliksni took all we had for this mission after the Great Machine."

"That's a risky push..." Nicole shook her head, then decided to bring the Archon back to his original story. "The mutiny, is that how you ended up here?"

"No, no, after we took the ships we fled to one of the moons around the ringed planet where you Humans had constructed arcology structures. The ships were hidden under the ocean, and moved onto one of the structures. It was not my first choice, but it turned out to work well enough."

"So then how did our ketch end up crashed outside this city if you originally set up out there in the system?" Nicole asked.

"Well, that is simple, Guardian. We, as you Humans would say, 'pissed off' the House of Devils."

[bonesmctightass]

Stranded

It was getting colder as the sun dipped ever closer towards the horizon. This didn’t make a damn lick of sense in McCoy’s book, seeing as how it was supposed to be the dead of summer on this planet. It was sorta nice, he guessed. Kinda reminded him of winter vacations at the skii lodge his grandparents owned back in the day. There was a bunch of log cabins strewn about and they looked mighty inviting. But this wasn’t shore leave, and they had a schedule to keep. McCoy hiked his medbag higher onto his shoulder and regarded Spock with a jut of his chin.

“Y’alright? Holding up okay?” He asked, doing what he thought was an excellent job of keeping the worry out of his voice. They were following a representative of the planet to an impressive looking main structure that resembled a medieval castle of sorts. As such, he didn’t want to tip off their hosts that the alien to his left was probably rattling his bones by now, so he kept his voice hushed.

“I am adequate, Doctor. Please do not worry about my current state. We have important business to attend to which is much more pressing than my meager abilities to withstand the cold.” Spock replied stiffly.

“Don’t worry. Don’t worry my ass.” McCoy replied flippantly.

The important business he was referring to was actually the planet’s leader. They had been told he had contracted something on his last visit to the sister planet in the star system. McCoy had later found out, thanks to a rushed blood sample, that it was a mutated variation of the Auroral Plague. He’d had some… unfortunate interactions with the disease in the past. McCoy would not be making that mistake again. He gripped his tricorder and trudged through the snow to the warm haven awaiting them.

“Are you quite certain Mister Spock will be unharmed?” Their escort was wringing her hands nervously, having stopped outside the corridor leading to the main chamber. “If you must turn back to your ship we would understand.”

“There is no need,” Spock said calmly. “I am a Vulcan, and thus immune to the bacteria. For this reason I was the most qualified candidate to accompany Doctor McCoy.”

“I’ve also been vaccinated, as we previously discussed. No harm will come to us, ma’am. We’ll get the job done soon as we can. Please get yourself a safe distance and make sure that no one has access to the area for the duration.”

The woman nodded and quickly retreated, leaving the pair to their duties.

---------------------------------

“There. That ought to do it. He’ll be right as rain after a few days rest.” McCoy announced triumphantly. This encounter with the Auroral Plague was much more pleasant, all things considered. “Thanks for the help, Spock. You make an excellent scrub nurse.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Doctor. Although I should like to remain in my current position. Now if you are amenable, I would like to return to the ship as soon as possible. I believe I can endure approximately thirty seven more minutes before I begin to lose feeling in my hands.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that Spock was looking considerably more green than usual. The blood capillaries in his face had risen so close to the surface of his skin, McCoy could actually see the fine webbing of his veins. He frowned, not liking the look of that at all. “Let’s get you home to a warm bed, then, shall we?”

They gathered their medical gear and found their way to the entrance. As they were about to enter the grounds to the estate, the same woman from before made an appearance.

“A storm is coming.”

At this, McCoy bristled. He absolutely detested being unprepared. What he detested even more was the thought of harm coming to Spock due to the increasingly plummeting temperature.  “What storm? There was no talk of a storm before we beamed down. Are you saying we can’t leave?”

The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty five. Earning McCoy’s ire had the poor thing looking like she’d be reduced to tears any second and he instantly felt bad. “I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be safe for you to beam up now. I really am sorry. Please, I’ve made up a room for you to rest. You will be warm enough for the night and there is nourishment for you both. As soon as dawn comes, you will be able to leave.”

Rubbing his hands over his face, McCoy heaved a heavy sigh. “Alright. Guess we’ve got no choice. Come on, Spock. Let’s follow the lady and we’ll try to get Jim on the comm.”

It looked like Spock was having trouble getting his body to cooperate, which made McCoy even more nervous. “That would be agreeable.”

They set off down the hall and the many twisting corridors that followed.

“Please let me know if there is anything you need. We cannot thank you enough for your healing. Please, anything at all. I’ll be just down the hall.” The girl said as they stopped in front of their quarters for the night. She left as quick as she’d come, leaving the two mean to inspect their shelter.

“I’d better call Jim before things get too bad out there.” Apparently he’d spoken too soon. He tried to send a message to the bridge but the communicator couldn’t get a signal through the heavy snowfall. “Damn it. I guess we’ll just tough it out, then.” He signed and pushed the heavy door open.

The room actually wasn’t terrible. There was a good number of blankets. A nice fireplace, already roaring. Plush carpet spread along the wooden floors. Sort of reminiscent of a bad porno he once saw when he was a teenager. McCoy grimaced and shook his head, focusing his attention instead on the large four poster bed against the adjacent wall. He swallowed thickly, wearily eyeing their accommodations for the night.

“Well. Guess this planet has no qualms about bedsharing.” McCoy huffed. Spock remained ramrod straight on his spot just in front of the door, still in parade rest. He was getting increasingly worried about his friend’s health. “Hey, come on. Get into the bed before you freeze to death.”

“I’m afraid I am unable to move. It appears that the blood flow to my extremities has slowed considerably. My body is beginning to shut down.”

“Jesus, Spock.” Determined not to panic in the face of this new obstacle, McCoy set his jaw and thrust himself into the task of getting Spock into the bed. An incredibly challenging feat, seeing as how his bones were several times denser than his own. “God, you weigh a ton! No wonder you’re so goddamn strong. You lug this dead weight around all day, I don’t know how you can stand it!”

After several embarrassingly long minutes, McCoy was finally successful in getting Spock onto the mattress. He tucked the Vulcan in and piled as many blankets on top of his body as he possibly could.

“How’s that? Any better?”

“I will update you in a moment as I am still quite numb. My apologies for the inconvenience, Doctor.”

“Oh, shut up.” He got up and stoked the fire, making sure the temperature in the room climbed a few degrees higher. “I’m your friend. I’m not about to let you turn into an icicle. At least we’ve got a fire going. That should get your blood flowing again.”

“The feeling is slowly returning to my fingers. I will survive the ordeal, thanks to your aid. If you do not mind sharing the space with me, I suggest you prepare yourself for sleeping. Surely the Captain will be eager for our safe return.”

If you do not mind. As if. McCoy knelt to the floor to remove his boots. He wouldn’t mind. In fact, he would have preferred to coax Spock into his bed the old fashioned way. It took him far longer than it should have to untie the laces. He was delaying the inevitable. He knew he was going to get into that bed. He knew he was going to be mere inches away from Spock’s body. And he knew that he was not going to be able to resist touching it.

Their courtship was a long one. They had flirted here and there. Had a drink once. Met for dinner and spoke of times past. There was something there between them and they both knew it. An easiness. It was so easy for them to come together and speak casually about any number of things. So easy to debate and argue. And so fun. But it was also fragile. So very fragile. Any sudden movement and McCoy feared everything would fall apart. Even speaking about it had been off the table thus far. But there was something.

“Are you going to join me?” Spock asked quietly, startling McCoy out of his reverie.

“Yeah.”

The bed dipped with the added weight. McCoy slid under the blankets and settled stiffly onto his back. He had never been in a bed with Spock before. He had sat across from him in the mess. Even shared a space on the couch in his quarters, once. But most of their camaraderie was spent in the medbay in McCoy’s office. This was new uncharted territory.

“Is this fine?” He asked hesitantly. He could hear Spock inhale shallowly and felt something move against the sheets.

“Leonard,” Spock said seriously. “I am quite frigid. Perhaps you could come closer. If you would permit it, I would greatly benefit from your body heat.”

After waiting the two or three minutes it took to actually process what the hell Spock had just said out loud, McCoy scooted a bit closer. He sidled up against Spock’s side, a hair's breadth away from touching the length of his body with his own. He could feel the heat rolling off Spock in waves, his body desperately trying to return to its normal temperature. McCoy bit the inside of his cheek hard. Just a little closer. Just a bit. For Spock’s benefit.

Another few centimeters and they were touching. McCoy was trying to hold still, trying not to ruin it. Trying not to breathe.

“Is this still fine?”

This time Spock exhaled and he definitely felt the movement of those devastatingly elegant fingers.

“Yes.”

@strangledbythestars

[gveret-fic]

Kara and Lena have a hard time making breakfast prompt, but really it’s so broad go ahead and do whatever!!!

Lena is a fairly decent cook. Her repertoire isn’t extensive and herpatience is limited, and she certainly doesn’t have a little notebook filledwith a grandparent’s timeless recipes or anything of the sort, but she can whipup a casserole or stew or fancy salad without issue. Certainly, a simplebreakfast is no trouble. Neither is breakfast for two. Not even if one of thetwo is a superpowered alien advertised to be ‘fueled by the sun’ when in all actuality she is fueled by goodold calories just like anyone else.

Lena can even—she knows this from experience!—prepare an ediblebreakfast for one-and-a-Kryptonian with said Kryptonian actively trying tohelp. It’s trickier, no doubt, but Lena rather enjoys a challenge.

Preparing an acceptable breakfast for two while wrangling a Kryptonianwho is also simultaneously alien-stoned and experiencing a post-fightalien-adrenaline crash, however—that might be just beyond Lena’s capabilities.

“Kara, please, I need to use at least one of my hands,sweetheart,” Lena fairly begs as she attempts to crack an egg into the panwith both elbows pinned firmly to her sides.

Kara loosens her unyielding grip around Lena’s whole torso, graciouslysliding her hands beneath Lena’s armpits instead, and promptly returns to herattempt to mold every inch of her body to Lena’s back. She plops her face ontoLena’s shoulder for good measure, fluffy wind-tossed hair spilling over, herentire weight now draped over Lena like her very own superhero girlfriend cape.

Arms finally free, Lena quickly dumps a carton’s worth of eggs, twelvetomatoes, four peppers and a head of garlic into the frying pan all at once,just in case her fortune will turn. Patting around the countertop, shetragically discovers she hadn’t thought to grab a wooden spoon. She eyes thecutlery drawer. That’s four whole steps away.

Lena takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and prepares to lug oneadult Kryptonian around her damn kitchen.

“Why are you so heavy?”

“’M made of love,” Kara mumbles.

“Well, I know that much.” Lena shambles over to the fridge;she’s panting by the time she reaches it. “Could you carry at least someof your own love, maybe?”

“No! I give it all to you.”

Lena cradles her spoon and a pack of veggie sausage to her chest and leansKara back against the fridge to catch her breath. She stares longingly at thestovetop, a whole world away.

Her cardiovascular endurance could really use some work.

Kara takes the opportunity to hook one foot around Lena’s shin and slideher hand to Lena’s opposite hip, burrowing her thumb underneath Lena’s tank topto stroke half circles across her skin.

Lena pushes back against her harder. “What the hell did they shootyou with? Spoiled housecat gun? Affectionate octopus ray?”

Kara takes in a long and noisy sniff of Lena’s neck. “I forgot whatyou smelled like.”

“No, you haven’t. You spent the night before yesterday here and yousniffed me then, too.”

“How could I forget someth’ so nice,” Kara slurs mournfully.She slumps even more heavily in her remorse.

Lena groans. “Hold this, at least.” She shoves the sausagepack into Kara’s hand and grips the counter’s edge, using it to drag her way acrossthe kitchen. “This reminds me of that rowing machine,” she wheezes.“Thanks for the workout, darling.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Kara murmurs against Lena’s pulsepoint.

The eggs are nearly done by the time they make it to the stove. Lena hasthe sausages sizzling and bread toasting and is fully immersed in a fantasywherein she’s finally done with this ordeal and Kara is sober and veryimpressed with her newly developed muscles when her butt starts playing Inthe Navy.

“Kara, can you get my phone out of my back pocket? It’s yoursister’s ringtone.”

Kara reluctantly unglues herself from Lena’s ass, making a pitiful noiseand slotting her leg between Lena’s thighs as compensation. As soon as she’sfished out the phone, she’s back to sticking to Lena like a warm and loveableslug.

“Is she with you?” Alex says the moment Lena accepts the call.

“Hi, Alex. Yes, she flew over here a little after dawn. Said shewas hungry.”

“Do you have eyes on her right now?”

Lena glances sideways at Kara. She’s busy rubbing her face along thecollar of Lena’s tank top. “I do.”

“How does she seem? Is she acting strangely? Spiteful or distant?”

Kara grips her gently by the waist and kisses the bump of her vertebra,then bursts out laughing.

“No,” says Lena.

Alex lets out a breath. “Okay. Keep her close if you can?”

“I’ll do my best,” Lena says, straining to guide Kara awayfrom the ticklish spot on her nape.

“We still aren’t sure what the full effects of that vapor might be.We know she’s not emitting radiation and she doesn’t seem to pose a danger toothers, but I want you to be careful, Lena.”

“Mm hm.”

The smell of burning rubber starts emanating from the stove. Lena triesto take a step and trips over Kara’s foot. She yelps, but the impact nevercomes.

“Oh, so now you can suddenly support your own weight,” Lenagrumbles, eyeing the floor half a foot beneath their feet.

“Lena,” Kara says very seriously, “I will always protectyou.”

“What’s happened? Are you hurt? Is Kara exhibiting heightenedaggression?” Alex sounds ready to strap into her kryptonite gear and fly ahelicopter over.

“No, no, no aggression,” Lena hurries to clarify. “Heightenedclinginess, definitely. You can put us down now,” she tells Kara.

Kara helpfully obliges, but then Lena remembers the burning sausages.“Actually, fly me over to the stove, thank you, so thoughtful.” Shepats Kara’s hip.

Alex makes an impatient noise on the phone. “Put me onspeaker,” she commands. “Kara, how are you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” Kara replies. “Really comfortbable. I loveyou,” she says to Lena.

“I love you too,” Alex and Lena say in unison.

“I love you too,” Kara repeats.

Lena snorts and plates their food. She slides all of the burnt sausages ontoKara’s plate, hoping that in her current state she might not notice.

“I love food,” Kara croons. “I love food and I love you. Ilove… fyood.”

“I don’t know about this,” Alex says uncertainly. “Maybewe should get her to the DEO. At the very least she could use a sunbath.”

“Alex, you’re being so stupid right now,” Kara says emphatically.“So stupid.”

“I think I can solve this,” Lena says. She turns her head tolook at Kara, and Kara promptly kisses her cheek. Lena bites down on a grin. “Howdo you feel about eating breakfast and then taking a nap out on my convenientlyeast-facing porch?”

Kara giggles, kisses Lena’s cheek again, nods, and keeps kissing.

“That’s a yes from Kara. Alex?”

Alex sighs. “That’s fine.”

“Great. I’ll just grab some sunscreen. Kara?”

Kara snickers. “It’s funny cuz you’re so ill-equipped to live on yourown planet,” she explains.

“She’s so articulate when she’s making fun of you,” Alexpoints out.

“I’m always artictulate,” Kara says. “I’m areporter.”

“You spelled ‘atrocious’ wrong two weeks ago, and you weren’t evenhigh.”

Lena ignores their commentary. She has an entire apartment to trudgeacross, an intoxicated Kryptonian to feed, and some damn sunscreen to put on.

Somehow, she ends up spending the rest of her Saturday morning wedged snuglyunderneath an exuberantly snoring Kara out in the gentle autumn sunlight.

She still ends up ever so slightly sunburned.

[alphacrone]

we are the reckless, we are the wild youth

[From my own prompt here @ omgcppromptsplease]

Jack tried to remind himself that couldn’t make it to playoffs if he murdered half his line.

He’d been asleep when the call came. “Brah,” Shitty had slurred, too loud and staticky in Jack’s ear. “Jack, we need you to bring us clothes.”

“Why?” Jack had asked. If this was another case of Shitty stripping down and forgetting where he’d put his pants, then Jack was hanging up and letting him deal with it alone. “Who’s we?”

“The boys,” Shitty said, as if that meant something. “You know, like me and Rans and Holtzy and Bits.”

It was the mention of Bittle that made Jack sit up straight. “Why do you all need clothes?”

“Because we went skinny dipping,” Shitty said, as if that were obvious. “And the Chads stole our clothes while we were in the water.”

“There’s only three Chads on the lacrosse team,” Jack said, pulling himself from his nice, warm bed.

“Three too many, dude,” Shitty said. “So, like, I’m just sittin’ on the quad, buck-ass naked, and the others are developing hypothermia in the water, so if you could get that beautiful ass in gear…”

Which is how Jack now found himself trudging across campus, a duffle bag full of his own clothes in tow. He expected this kind of behavior from Shitty, and knew Ransom and Holster would do anything stupid at least once, but Bittle--Bittle, who couldn’t handle winter while wrapped up in six different layers--should have known better.

When he got to the Pond, Jack was, indeed, greeted by the sight of a stark naked Shitty lounging in the grass as if it weren’t 7 degrees outside. (Jack may have been born in Pittsburgh, but you could pry the metric system from his cold, dead, incredibly Canadian hands.)

“Hey, Jackie-O,” he called, waving Jack over. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“I was asleep,” Jack grunted, tossing the duffle bag to the ground.

“Like you need the beautyrest,” Shitty quipped, flashing a grin up at Jack. “A hot piece of ass like you...and with a heart of gold! Pure, Canadian gold, fresh from the gold farms of Montreal.”

Jack bit back a smile. This was typical for Shitty when he was high--bizarre, yet endearing, compliments.

“Put some pants on, Shits,” Jack said instead. Shitty pretended not to hear him.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” Holster grunted, shuffling up to Jack. He, too, was naked, drenched in pond water and shivering. He looked like a golden lab emerging from the water, and shook his hair dry to complete the image.

“Move,” Ransom shoved Holster out of the way to grab a pair of pants. “There’s a whole bunch of Tri-Delts on the other side laughing at us.”

“C-c-can’t have th-that,” Bittle said, his dry tone overwhelmed by the chattering of his teeth.

Jack averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks heating up a bit. He was used to seeing the guys all naked; most of them paraded around the dressing room in the nude until someone yelled at them to get dressed. But Bittle was modest, rarely staying naked for more than a couple seconds when he could help it, and, well...Jack had always seen him in a slightly different light than his other teammates. He found himself wanting to see Bittle without his shirt, when he was usually the one demanding the boys--namely Shitty--put clothes on.

By the time he looked up again, Bittle was wearing clothes, but somehow it felt even more indecent. Bittle was swimming in Jack’s shirt, and had rolled up the sweatpants several times to keep from tripping. He was still wet, hair dripping water in small rivulets down his face, catching on his eyelashes, his nose, his lips-

Jack bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration. Every muscle in his body tensed, desperate to hoist Bittle over his shoulder and take him somewhere private. Bittle’s a friend, Jack chanted in his head. A friend and a teammate.

“Jack?”

Bittle was looking up at him, concern written all over his face. His hand was outstretched, as if he wanted to touch Jack’s arm but was holding himself back.

“You okay?” Bittle asked, biting his bottom lip in worry.

Jack thought he might actually explode. Instead of answering, he nodded his head in short jerks.

This seemed to only distress Bittle more. “Thank you so much for bringing these clothes,” Bittle said earnestly. “I know Shitty doesn’t have much problem with wandering around naked, but-”

“It’s no problem,” Jack said as genuinely as he could manage. “It’s not your fault your clothes got stolen.”

“It is though,” Bittle said, fiddling with the hem of his--Jack’s--shirt. “Skinny dipping was stupid, but- I just- I wanted to do something stupid, y’know? I didn’t really have a lot of friends in high school, so I didn’t get to do this kinda thing -- parties and drinking and TP-ing house and skinny dipping where anyone could see…”

“Bittle,” Jack said, heart aching a little as Bittle kept rambling. “I get it.”

The look he received was blinding in its hope and curiosity. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a shrug. “C’mon, you look like you’re going to freeze to death. Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Bittle murmured, bumping his arm against Jack’s. “Home.”

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teasers: AFTER THE SHOT DROPS by Randy Ribay!

We are so excited that AFTER THE SHOT DROPS is almost here! For Kwame Alexander fans that have grown out of middle-grade, or YA fans of THE HATE U GIVE and ALL AMERICAN BOYS, this sports novel about two best friends torn apart by privilege is heartbreaking, but ultimately hopeful. Scroll down to read an excerpt!

1

Bunny

I’m never sure what to write for the dead. I mean, most of the time when someone hands me the marker at one of these vigils, I just end up laying down something vague

and comforting. You know: See you in heaven. We’ll miss you.

Rest in peace, bro. 

Something like that. But it never feels right. Never feels like your words will make a difference, like they’ll make his family feel better or stop anyone else from dying for no rea- son. The person they’re meant for won’t ever read them, so you’re just wasting ink.

But the small, silent crowd shuffles forward, the girl ahead of me passes me a marker, and it’s my turn. I’ve got to write something.

I step up to the big oak tree that stands in the middle of Virgilio Square, its bare branches spread out overhead like skeletal fingers. A white sheet’s been wrapped around its trunk, with te queremos, gabe, airbrushed across the middle in big blue letters. I know enough Spanish to know that means “we love you.” Everyone’s notes and signatures are scrawled in the spaces all around it. A bunch of teddy bears and can- dles sit at the base of the tree in front of a framed photo of Gabe smiling big, all nestled in a nook formed by the roots.

This is where Gabe and his friends were hanging when the shots were fired. Word is the bullet was meant for some- one else. Too bad the bullet didn’t know that.

I’m tall, so I decide to add my message up high on the sheet where there’s only a couple others. I take off my glove and shake my hand to try to warm it up, then I lean against the tree and press the tip of the marker against the white cotton. The black ink bleeds into it.

I stay like that for a few moments, adding nothing but a black dot because I still don’t know what to write. I want to put down something meaningful. Gabe lived three streets over and was only a year ahead of me in school. We weren’t real tight, but coming up, he was part of the group of kids we’d always play football or manhunt or whatever with. For some reason, I keep thinking about how he used to eat apples whole, core and all. The rest of us would tell him a tree was going to grow in his stomach if he drank too much water. Funny how your mind picks something small like that to re- play.

But I also think about last summer, when I announced that I was transferring from Whitman High, our neighbor- hood school, to St. Sebastian’s, a private school in the sub- urbs. Pride in Whitman High’s basketball team runs real deep around our way, so a lot of people didn’t like that one bit. My main man, Nasir, straight up stopped talking to me. But Gabe was cool about it. I was shooting around at the courts one day shortly after the announcement, and some guys started getting in my face about it. Gabe stepped in, calmed them down, and sent them on their way. Then he told me to keep my head up, to not let it get to me. Maybe it’s because he was good at football and so understood what I was trying to do with basketball, but whatever the reason, it meant a lot. Only, I don’t know how to express all this on a bed sheet wrapped around a tree.

I feel the line behind me growing restless, since I’m tak- ing forever, so I give up trying to find the perfect words. I settle for i won’t forget you, and sign my name. Don’t know what happens to us after we die, but if there’s some way he can read this, I know he’ll understand the words I feel but can’t find.

After handing the marker to the woman behind me, I step aside, slip my glove back on, and dig my hands into my coat pockets. I go back to the rear of the crowd that’s gathered in the blocked-off street, bundled up in their winter gear and waiting for his pastor or his parents or whoever to take the mic that’s set up in the patch of grass next to the tree. After a bit, one of the local politicians gets up there and starts going on about how we can’t let something like this happen again. I’ve heard this song before, so my mind drifts.

It’s overcast and frigid. Late February and still hasn’t snowed more than a dusting all winter. Looking up, I wonder if today’s the day. The gray clouds feel heavy as my heart, like they’re about to dump two feet of snow on us at any moment. An airplane crawls across the sky on its way to Philly on the other side of the river, the drone of its engines getting louder as it approaches. A lot of people hate that we’ve got these jets flying past every few minutes, but I don’t mind. It’s like God’s constant reminder that there’s more out there than this. Besides, I kind of like how they make the sun blink when they pass by on a clear day. Of course, right now the sun’s hid- den behind the clouds, so the plane passes and then it’s quiet again except for boots shifting, people sniffling, cars passing on the side streets. Some hushed conversations. Quiet, sad laughter. Every now and then someone breaking down.

The politician at the mic is still carrying on, for some reason talking about one of her new initiatives. I stay tuned out, letting my eyes wander across the crowd. There are a lot of families from the neighborhood out here, as well as what seems like most of the kids from Whitman High. The girls hold each other and dab at their eyes while the guys stand around like they’ve got faces cut from stone. A few nod at me, but I hang back.

I mostly stay to myself these days. My interactions in the neighborhood usually go one of two ways: either people try to start something like I betrayed them personally by trans- ferring to St. Sebastian’s, or they try to put all this pressure on me to go back to Whitman High. Either way, I’m not feeling like dealing with any of it, so I turn to leave, even though the memorial’s still going.

That’s when I see Nasir. He’s off to the side with his cousin Wallace. Easy to spot them, what with Wallace’s height mak- ing Nasir look even shorter than he would by himself. Both have their hoods up. Nasir stares at the teddy bears at the foot of the tree while Wallace looks all around like he’s got somewhere else to be. I’ll see them on the court tomorrow since they both still play for Whitman, but I consider walking over to say what’s up to Nas. It’s stupid we’re still not talking because I want something more than what Whitman can of- fer. Out of everyone, I expected him to get that.

But as I’m about take a step toward them, Wallace catches sight of me. I nod at him, but he doesn’t nod back. He holds my gaze for a beat and then nudges Nas. Nas lifts his eyes and they meet mine for a moment. Then he turns his back to me and walks away. 

2

Nasir

Everyone’s hanging their head as we trudge toward the bus, headphones on and bags slung over shoulders. Got our asses handed to us by St. Sebastian’s, 29–65, and

now back we go to Whitman. We might argue we weren’t feeling it, what with Gabe’s death hanging over us and all, and, yeah, maybe that was part of it. But the main reason we lost tonight?

Bunny Thompson.

Bunny tore us apart at both ends of the court. You think he’d at least have the decency to pull back a bit against his old teammates, but no. Put up a double-double — his, like, fifteenth consecutive one this season. Not that I’m keeping track of his numbers or anything.

And with that, our season’s finished. We’re teammates but not a team. Players out of game.

The sun is setting behind us, and the air smells like snow. I’m last in line, and before I step through the narrow door, I look over my shoulder at St. Sebastian’s one last time.

The school sits there with its fancy stonework, a statue of its patron saint perched above the main entrance. Dude’s hands are bound behind his back, and he’s wearing noth- ing but a loincloth. Five or six arrows stick out of his body, but he’s got this smug look on his face like he’s about to say something.

The driver starts the engine, and its low rumble calls me back to reality. I turn around and climb onto the bus. Wallace waves for me to join him in the back, but I pretend like I don’t notice and slide into an empty seat a couple rows be- hind Coach Campbell and Coach J. They don’t even bother to take attendance. Coach Campbell tells the driver we’re all set and then leans back, folds his arms over his broad chest, and closes his eyes. Even Coach J — who’s usually so positive you want to slap him — just flips open the scorebook and shakes his head. They didn’t say a word about the whole Bunny thing tonight, but they must have been as sore as we were see- ing him suited up in St. Sebastian’s red and white instead of Whitman’s purple and gold.

But whatever. The bus rolls out.

 I readjust my earbuds and turn up my music. I consider finishing this book we’ve been taking forever to read in En- glish class, Of Mice and Men, but I decide I’m not feeling it. So instead, I gaze out the window and watch the rich suburbs surrounding St. Sebastian’s slide past. My parents always taught me to be content with what I have, to value people over stuff. But still, these are some big-ass houses.

I also try not to think of the game. I mean, it’s not like ball’s my life — I’m not even a starter. But my brain keeps pushing it into my thoughts. This loss hurts more than most. Not that anyone expected us to win tonight. St. S was a pow- erhouse even before this season, before they stole Bunny. That didn’t stop me from fantasizing that we’d destroy them and Bunny would realize he made the wrong decision.

Last year, when he was still on our team, we went twenty and nine. Even made it to the semifinals of sectionals. This season: ten and seventeen. Didn’t even qualify for the post- season. Unforgivable for a team that’s produced its share of all-Americans in its day. I mean, we even lost to William H. Harrison High this year.

William H. freaking Harrison.

Maybe I won’t play next season. It’s not like I’m that good. Main reason I tried out freshman year was because Bunny wanted me to.

But the worst part? He didn’t even talk to me about all this. Went away for a week to DC with his AAU team for nationals in July and came back with the news that he was headed to St. S in the fall.

I realize I’m clenching my jaw and tensing my shoulders. So I take a deep breath, try to let it out real slow and even. Bunny doesn’t care about me anymore, so why should I care about him?

Wallace comes up from the back of the bus and drops heavily onto the seat across from me. I sigh on the inside, because I’m not up for pretending to laugh at the dumb jokes I’m sure he’s about to crack. But all he says is “You cool?”

I nod, then he nods and turns to look out his window, like all he means to do is keep me company.

Grateful and exhausted, I close my eyes. The track I’m listening to ends, and the next one begins.

3

Bunny

My hands are so cold the warm water hurts. I clench my teeth and count down from thirty. The pain will pass. Always does.

Sure enough, by the time I get to zero, my fingers feel like fingers again instead of icicles. I shut off the faucet, pat my hands dry on my hoodie, and then head back into the living room.

Jess is on the couch wearing a big sweatshirt and winter cap because the heat’s broken again. She’s got a fat textbook open on her lap and a yellow highlighter in her gloved hand. But her eyes are on the TV, where the news is playing real quiet. Justine and Ashley, our little twin sisters, are curled up against her on either side under a pile of blankets, asleep like they had a real hard day in the second grade.

I pick up the ball from the other end of the couch. 

“You really going back out there?” Jess asks. Her eyes are locked onto the old guy on the screen going on about politics or something.

It’s tempting not to. Trust me. It’d be real nice to unlace my sneakers and take it easy the rest of  the night. Maybe play 2K or plop down on the couch right here or go over to Keyona’s place. I mean, I did have a full day of school and a hard workout at practice.

But then I think of  the playoffs. We’ll start with a bye since we were seeded first, so we’ll play on Friday for the quarterfinals. Four more days to get ready.

I also think of Mom busting her butt working the grave- yard shift at the hospital right this very moment and Dad’s bookstore not doing so hot. I think of Jess sitting in front of me studying hard but still racking up student loan debt. I think of the twins buried in blankets because our landlord doesn’t bother getting anybody over here to fix the heat like he claims he will and leaving the oven open doesn’t warm the whole place.

I know there are people out there who got it worse than we do, but there’s people who got it better, too. A lot better, and they’re probably not even working as hard.

“Yup,” I say. “Right back at it.” “Isn’t it cold?”

I shrug, pull my own knit cap from the front pocket of my hoodie, yank it down over my head, and then flip my hood up. “Like it’s summertime in here?”

“You’re crazy,” she says, though I’m thinking the same thing about her spending all that time studying to become an underpaid social worker someday. If I’m going to work hard for something, you better believe it’s going to pay the bills. “Aaron said he called someone about the furnace.”

“Right,” I say. Aaron’s our landlord, who lives in the suburbs. “In the meantime, feel free to burn those to keep warm.” I gesture toward the kitchen table at the stack of col- lege brochures that’ve been flooding our mailbox for the last few months. Schools can’t send me specific recruiting stuff until June 15, when I officially become a junior, but until then they can send me all the junk mail they want, apparently.

“Mom and Dad would kill you,” Jess says, laughing.

I laugh, too, because it’s true. They’re collecting each and every one so that we can go over them together when they have time. They won’t let me toss one until we’ve read it all the way through and discussed the pros and cons, even if it’s from some small school nobody’s ever heard of before, like the University of Chicago in Nebraska or something wack like that. But the problem is they both work so much that that pile of brochures will probably reach the ceiling before long.

I say goodbye to Jess one more time and then head back outside, careful not to make too much noise as I close the door behind me. Out of habit, I glance up at Nasir’s window across the street. His light’s on, so I think about rapping on his door and asking if he wants to come with me. But then I think of him turning his back on me at the vigil the other day and then him acting like I didn’t even exist during our game, so I roll out by my lonesome.

The streets are empty. The houses are dark. Don’t want to wake anyone, since it’s a Monday night, so I hold the ball on my hip with one hand and bury the other in my pocket as I make my way to the courts. I walk quickly, with my breath puffing out in front of my face. Nasir and I must have made this walk together a million times throughout the years. One of us would play offense and the other defense as we went up the sidewalk. If the defender could steal the ball, then we’d switch. Most of the time I was the one dribbling. Not that Nasir was that bad, but I knew him well enough to know that his eyes would flick downward right before he’d lunge for the steal, and that’s when I’d cross over and spin, slipping past him to run the rest of the way to the court, laughing as he trailed behind. But sometimes I’d let him swipe the ball away just because.

That was how it used to be, though. Now I’m always mak- ing this walk alone, putting my moves on ghost defenders. Wondering if I made a mistake.

After a few blocks, I reach the park. It’s behind the com- munity center on the other side of the soccer and baseball fields, far enough away from any houses that I don’t feel bad dribbling once my feet hit the blacktop.

There’s an empty forty at center court. At least whoever left it didn’t bust it and leave the blacktop littered with shards of glass like they sometimes do. I go over and pick up the bottle with my right while dribbling with my left. Toss it into a trash can and then turn back to the hoops.

It’s not as nice as St. Sebastian’s gym, but this is my home court. This is where I started really playing ball with Nasir once we graduated from the low-hanging crate nailed to a telephone pole on our block. I know every crack and dip like the back of my hand. I know if the shot’s going to drop by the sound of the clang when it hits the steel rim. I know the lights click off at ten but you can still see enough to keep shooting if the moon is bright.

This is where I’ve lost and won a thousand games. Where I drained that half-court shot as a sixth-grader to beat the high school kids. Where I broke my nose catching an elbow on a drive and didn’t get the foul shots. Where I dunked for the first time and nobody was around to see — except for Nasir.

This is my home court. Our home court. 

I toss up a rainbow, which sails through the netless hoop. But I’m not here for three-pointers. I’m here for fadeaway, midrange jumpers — the shot I blew three times during to- night’s game. If I’m going to lead St. Sebastian’s to another state title, I can’t be missing that action every time.

After grabbing the rebound, I reset at the top of the key. Lower my dribble and visualize my man crouching low, hands up like they teach in basketball camp. I start counting down from ten. At five, I fake right and then cross over to the left. At four, I turn and back the dude down, and at three, we’re a few feet inside the arc. At two, I pivot and leap. At one, I release the shot at the peak of my vertical. At zero, I fall backwards . . .

The shot falls short and glances off the front of the rim. I chase it down, return to the top of the key, and restart.

Dribble, cross over, back down, pivot, fade away, and release. Another brick. Another rebound.

I keep repeating the motions. Each dribble echoes across the night. The soles of my sneaks scrape over the concrete with each motion. The wind picks up, frigid and stinging. My fingers and toes start to feel numb again, begging me to quit, to save it for practice tomorrow.

But I don’t.

I dribble, cross over, back down, pivot, fade away, release. 

Rebound.

Reset.

***

Bunny and Nasir’s journey has only just begun. If you want to read more of this incredible YA for fans of THE HATE U GIVE and ALL AMERICAN BOYS, pre-order it from the links below!

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[sinfully-romione]

Gilded Cage

Sins: Envy

Rating: M/18/R

Summary: Ron receives an assignment that is the last thing he’d ever do willingly.

“That is your assignment, Weasley. Griping about it won’t make your case easier.”

Ron ignored the comment. “Why am I stuck with the shit assignment? This git got what he wanted!” Ron refused to mention that Harry’s assignment for bodyguard duty would be entirely too close for normal public consumption.

“Every Auror on staff is protecting someone right now,” Director Gawain Robards growled, “including me. I’m protecting the bloody Bulgarian Coach. Sorted?”

"It’s cocked up.”

“Yes it is. Blame the sod who sent the note. Anything else, Weasley?“

Ron realized that he was going to have to suck it completely up for the next sixty hours. "I need an hour, to pack a ruck for this assignment.”

“One hour. A minute late and I’ll have you chasing rabid werewolves in Northern Ireland by yourself if you’re late.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron trudged out from the Director’s office, completely beastly for his assignment for the next sixty hours. He needed to tell Hermione he had an assignment, not a real mission, and he’d not be home ‘til early Monday morning.

Fuck all of them.

After a ride on the lift to the third floor, where Hermione’s office was, he walked in. As usual, she was the only one in the water closet that masqueraded as an office.

“Ron!” She jumped out of her seat and danced around the stacks of parchment, wholly intending to snog him breathless.

“I can’t stay long. I have to run home and pack a ruck for the next couple of days.”

“You have a mission, don’t you?”

“It’s not really a mission but more like an assignment.” He looked over and saw the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on her desk and scowled at the face on the front. “Why the bloody hell are they featuring that muttonhead again? Everyone including Aunt Muriel know he’s the top international Quidditch seeker in the world but they’ve had him on the front page three damn days now.”

“It’s the Quidditch World Cup Qualifier, Ron,” Hermione added without taking her eyes off of her newlywed husband. “I thought you’d be thrilled considering your sister is featured too.”

“I am, but they put her on the last page, in fine print, about being the new addition to the team. It’s like they are giving the Bulgarian bastard a verbal knob job. It’s disgusting, the amount of press that idiot gets from the newspaper.”

"And you’re ghastly because it’s Viktor and not the seeker for the English team?”

“Of course I am. The ruddy pumpkinhead isn’t English so he shouldn’t be the one featured in an English Wizarding newspaper three days in a row.”

“You’re jealous.”

“That sod?” He made a disgusting noise. “Bloody bastard was groomed to it. He’s not had to work a day in his life except ride his sodding broom. No one has the bollocks to tell him he’s a shit seeker.”

"Ron, it’s been years. What’s going on?”

Ron’s wand rattled and he put it to his ear. His expression changed, to outright anger. He growled a few vile things before turning towards the door. He stopped when Hermione shoved herself between him and the door.

“I’m sick of hearing about him. I’m sick of the way everyone is on their knees for him. There’s plenty of other Quidditch players who are as deserving of accolades.”

“Ron, stop.”

“No, I won’t. And now I have to be on a bloody mission guarding that sod and not being with you.”

“You didn’t choose this?”

“No. I’m on duty because someone owled in a kidnapping threat. Harry’s unavailable. I have the sodding job. Fuck everything.”

She kissed him on both cheeks before a burning kiss. “Come back to me.” Her fierce look would be the last he’d see of her for almost three days.

“Yes, dear.” He opened the door and stalked out, pissed at the world for very good reason.

The team of Aurors landed at the designated spot outside the stadium, well away from anyone. Ron looked around and recognized the area. “We’re here? Shit!” He was the last to take off for the player’s entrance, on the side of the stadium. A few patrons were wandering around while waiting to enter the facility. Their briefing before leaving via portkey said the players were already present and waiting on the Aurors before they could start practice – or leave.

The group entered the security gate in front of the stadium and were checked a second time by a supervisor from MLS. Once each was cleared, the two groups started to split.

“Asshole.”

“Quit bitching, Ron.”

“Look who’s talking, git. You get to protect Ginny. How’d you manage that?”

“I asked. Look, the only one who was really threatened was Krum. You’re the best – “

“Am not. Why aren’t you guarding him?”

“I asked so shut up. You have the duty. You’re faster than I am and won’t be goggle eyed if you’re guarding him, since you can’t stand him.”

“Damn right.”

“Do your job, don’t cock it up and keep your eyes open and wand ready. Hermione’s waiting on you to come home.”

“Don’t bloody remind me.”

Harry took off towards the Harpies locker room, leaving Ron to make his way to the visitor’s room, where the Bulgarians were holed up. He passed a gathering of patrons and media idiots with Director Robards and one other Auror, intent on getting to their facilities.

“You pulled us away from our families, for these gits?”

“The minister considered it a credible threat. It wasn’t my idea to owl the threat to the Owner of the Bulgarian team. I said it was rubbish but Kingsley overrode my decision. He said it was worth having all hands on station, just in case. Notice I’m here too?”

“It’s bollocks. Krum is the last person who anyone would kidnap. Every law enforcement group would hunt them down. He’s already protected.” Ron scanned the gathering in the hallway. “No one gives a flying fuck about the Bulgarians,” he said under his breath.

Robards heard his muttering. “You dumbass. Bulgaria is the odds-on favorite to win the Quidditch World Cup this year because of Krum. You take him out and there’s plenty who would make galleons hand over fist just on the odds. You know there are sods who bet on Quidditch.”

“What’s the spread? Maybe I should bet on the English team.”

Robards stopped and backed Ron into a wall, away from everyone.

“Potter told me you have a hard-on for Krum. I don’t give a shit but you aren’t to mix work with anything else. I would have put you with the English coach but that idiot said they wanted a Senior Auror protecting them. Hemera has that job and you weren’t it. You’re next best in the department so you got the duty protecting Krum. You can’t take this lightly.”

“Sod him and his bloody broom.”

“Shut your hole, Weasley. The Bulgarians will hex anyone who makes that comment loud enough about him. They love him as much as you love Harry and Hermione, if not more. You keep your hands off of him.”

“Bollocks and bullshit. I can’t stand the git. I have no intention of touching him, much less wanting to fuck him, whatever Harry said. I’m married, as you well know!” Ron held up his left hand, showing the goblin silver ring on his finger.

“No one asked for your pissbaby opinion,” Robards drew him up short. “I don’t care a lick if you got shorted for giving the whole bloody team knobjobs. You’re an Auror and will do your job or I’ll punt you to Glasgow. Understand?”

“Sorted, sir,” Ron barked back and refused to say another word.

Robards looked up and down the tunnel. No one else was in the immediate vicinity.

“Now that your pants are straightened, here’s what I know. The Director of the Sports and International Cooperation department received an owl saying that there was going to be a kidnap attempt on Krum’s life. We have bailiffs from MLS crawling over the stadium but your task is to be Krum’s bodyguard until his arse is on the portkey for Argentina. Hell, I even called in Longbottom to be the Auror on duty with the trainers and support staff. Sorted?”

Ron bit the inside of his cheek to keep from complaining of his duty.

“Pissed you off, have I? Good; means you’ll be too busy watching your back and keeping Krum safe than fawning like a school girl crushing on the star. Now get in there and keep that bloke from being kidnapped.”

“Just me? Full shadow duty? No one to replace me?”

“Only you, full shadow duty and no replacements. The match is Sunday at Puddlemere but the teams are practicing here for safety reasons. He’s not to leave your sight until he’s on that portkey at 2am Monday morning.”

“Probably wants me to hold his cock too for a piss,” Ron grumbled.

“No but if you keep whining, I’ll tell him to make you wipe his ass. Now get in there and keep him where he’s supposed to be. I have to go deal with a diva coach.” Robards went up the tunnel and away from the locker room.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Ron pouted and pushed his way into the locker room. Like the one at Hogwarts, yet different, the visitor’s locker room was spacious by comparison, with cozy leather chairs around the room, and nice lockers for the player’s gear. It was also raucous, if Ron could guess at the language being shared between the players. The charm on his ears was working as expected.

“You, you’re the Auror for Krum?” A wizened wizard asked him. “I asked for two of you.”

“Auror Weasley. Sorry sir, but I was informed I was the only one for Viktor.” Ron pulled his credentials from his cloak pocket to show to the elderly wizard.

“I asked for two, including Harry Potter. We want him too. Tell your Minister I insist.”

“My apologies sir, but he’s unavailable.” Ron didn’t want to divulge that Harry was protecting his sister and probably closer than he wanted to think about.

“They sent you? Thank goodness,” a voice broke through the cacophony. The two men turned and saw Viktor walking up. “I trust you’re here on business?” His accent was less than the last time Ron remembered speaking with him. Ron nodded. “Is Dragomir being protective? He usually is when it deals with me.” The older wizard scowled. “I get these threats daily wherever we go. The mysterious owls threatening to hurt me, hex me, seduce me,” the old wizard opened his mouth and closed it. Viktor went on. “I told them this was nothing but they don’t listen to me. ‘You’re too important,’ they tell me.”

“You know this man?”

“I do.” Viktor smiled. “Tell me the last time we talked.”

“My brother Bill’s wedding. Fleur invited you. You went mental over – “

“This is Ron Weasley, one of the heroes of Hogwarts. He’s Harry’s partner in the Ministry Auror Corps and one of the best men I’ve met. He’s as important as Harry here.” Ron blushed. “Auror Weasley killed the notorious werewolf Greyback the night of the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“I didn’t do it by myself,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“Well, then, I can see that the English took what I said seriously about the kidnapping attempt.” He turned to leave the locker room. “This man knows to not to leave your side until we depart England. Is that correct?”

“Sorted, sir.” The elderly wizard pushed his way out the green doors, leaving Ron in the locker room.

“Well, come along. Welcome to my oversized kelpie bowl.”

Ron followed Viktor back to his corner of the spacious facilities, where there were numerous journalists, yelling over one another to ask him questions about the exhibition match Sunday against the English team. Viktor sat down in the plastic chair in front of his locker, letting the towel around his waist flare over his knees, and sat for an hour answering questions, in Bulgarian and accented English from all of the journalists. Ron waited while Viktor answered every single question and ignored the two reporters who inquired about his presence by Viktor’s side. Director Robards said no media and he meant it. One by one the reporters eventually departed, leaving Ron and Viktor alone in the locker room.

“I’d tell you to go home to Hermione if Dragomir and Bogdan didn’t insist. But they have, whether it’s legitimate so you’re stuck with me.” Viktor looked Ron up and down once. “You’re taller than I remember and I think you will discourage anyone daring to try anything. But since I have to go with the team, we’re going to a pub in town and having a pint. Zdravko says I can only have two the entire night and I have to charm the glass so no one tries to sneak a potion into it. With you here, no one would dare do a thing while we’re out.”

Ron stepped aside and reached for his ear. He listened behind a non-verbal charm, for privacy. “Sorted, sir,” he said and let the charm disappear.

“Problem, Weasley?”

“The director said that my sister got the same threat. It’s a good thing that she already has protection for the match. Too bad we’ll be missing brunch with Mum at the Burrow. She won’t like all of us being missing because of work.”

“The Burrow?” Viktor asked.

“That’s the name of my parent’s home. You were there for the wedding. Mum cooks weekly for the kids who are around. But that’s the day of the match so I won’t be able to go. Harry and Ginny won’t be there either, since Harry’s on guard duty and Ginny is flying for the English team. Percy and George might be there, along with Bill and Fleur and their kids.”

“It’s nice that your Mum dotes on the family so much,” Viktor injected before a well-dressed wizard walked up.

“Viktor dear, you’re still not ready for the interviews. Get dressed and be in the interview room in five minutes. You’re already late.” The wizard walked off, storming through the doors and yelling something Ron didn’t catch with his augmented hearing. He’d have to thank the nice witch in the Department of Magical Cooperation for the spell that helped translate Bulgarian for him.

“Who was that?”

“That’s Anatoly, the Public Relations director. I have to meet with more reporters from home.” Viktor stood, still looking slightly knock kneed and pigeon-toed. “Welcome to my world.”

Ron kept his eyes outward but stole a glance at the man he was sworn by duty to protect. Ron towered over the international Quidditch star by inches, and probably had him by some pounds, too. He was skinny, much like Harry used to be until he went into the Aurors. In some ways, he did look like he had a boy’s body, even if he was terribly hairy – considerably more than Harry. He could pass for a werewolf, the amount of hair on Viktor’s chest. Ron stepped away from Viktor, to give him a moment’s privacy if he wanted.

“You English are so prim. I have no problems changing in front of anyone. If I hid to preserve my modesty, I’d never get anything done.”

Ron kept his eyes away but saw out of the corner of his eyes Viktor dropped his towel on the ground. He had his pants on, thankfully. He dressed quickly, like a man used to running from interview to interview. Ron bit his cheek to keep from noticing that Viktor had name-brand trainers and attire to interview in, aside from his uniform. The last things Viktor put on were an expensive watch and a gaudy pinky ring on his right hand.

“This might be awkward for you, Auror Weasley,” Viktor’s English was well-practiced. “But with the spell, you might not pick up everything in the interview in a minute. The home country media, they badger me. Let them since I’m used to it.”

“They do?” Ron asked.

“Yes, they do. They ask if I have a girlfriend. They ask if I have seen my parents. What do I think about politics at home and in the region? No matter what, they want a nice quote, whether it’s accurate or not, for the papers and radio. But the team wants no drama or anything that would make them look bad. They want me looking a certain way and repeating what Anatoly tells me to say. It’s all quite boring, really.”

Viktor stood up and Ron followed, walking down the tunnel a few meters to the press room. They walked in and were swamped. Ron kept his wand in his hand, shoving Viktor forward through the press of bodies trying to get a soundbite before Viktor made it to the dais for the interview.

Ron saw a door behind the dais. “We leave the back way once you’re done.” Viktor nodded.

Ron stood at the doorway, with his arms crossed and watching everyone in the room. He picked up bits and pieces of what was being asked – in Viktor’s native Bulgarian – and Ron barely listened until –

“Is that your new boyfriend, Viktor Krum?”

“Him? No. He’s English Security for the next few days. I’m fortunate to know this Auror. I’ve known him since my early days of my Quidditch career.”

“But he looks like your type.” Ron felt his ears turning red and kept his face neutral. Viktor gave Ron a side-eye and smirked. He turned back to the press gaggle and laughed. “I don’t have a type, not at all. I’m married to Quidditch and the national team.”

“But we thought you were dating someone like this man.”

“Dating? Who has time for dating? I play professional Quidditch, in two leagues. It’s the off-season for my club team and I’m on tour with the Bulgarian National team, with World Cup qualifier matches. I’ve not been home in four months. So when and how do I have time to have a relationship with someone?”

“But the Sophia Broomstick said you were dating – “

Viktor waved his hand, like batting away a beetle. “That rag? It’s not even worth the ink to print it.”

Ron tuned out the rest of the press briefing, since most weren’t talking Quidditch. But then again, while standing in the doorway to the press room, watching the magpies and vultures try to tear into an International Quidditch star reminded him of Harry’s treatment so many years ago – loving him one minute, castigating the next.

“No more questions, gentlemen,” Anatoly the posh wizard interrupted. “We have another appointment.” He grabbed Viktor by the collar and Ron put a wand in his face. “Until I’m off duty, you don’t touch that man. Understand?” His quiet voice scared more people than his yelling ever did.

The other backed off. “But we have to be at the next appointment in five minutes.”

“So? We’ll be fashionably late. They’ll understand.” Ron saw Viktor grin slightly and make his way towards the back door of the room.

“Thanks,” Viktor muttered while they went back to the locker room to grab his items. “Anatoly has a habit of touching me. I’m used to it. I never thought it was strange.”

“How long has he worked for the national team?”

“He’s worked for my club team for ten years. This is his first time for the national team.”

“He could easily slip you a poison while touching you. I can’t allow it.”

“He’d never. He’s the owner’s son.”

“And Draco Malfoy would never stoop to murder, unless his git of a father is involved. Nonetheless,” Ron started and Viktor grunted at the comment.

“Then we can keep him at arm’s length right now.”

Ron followed Viktor back to the locker room and watched as he packed his expensive dragon skin overnight bag. “Got everything you need? Who is seeing to your things to your room?”

“I do. Boris, the team trainer, he will take my things to my room. I charm it anyway so only I can open it.” Viktor put on his silver bracelet. “See this? I put this bracelet on last. It’s never left out and stays in a sealed compartment in my bag. My bashta had it made from goblin silver when I was named starting Seeker for the Bulgarian National team at 18. It’s probably the thing I most prize, now that my bashta is retired. I bought my parents their doma, their home, once I signed my second contract. I owe them everything, for helping me get here. I take care of them above all else.”

“And a family of your own?” Ron asked quietly.

“Who has time for that when you’re busy at Quidditch?”

Ron winced. “Not even a bird for an evening?”

Ron followed Viktor out of the stadium, shortening his stride to match the man next to him. He had plenty of practice walking with Hermione and shuffled his size 12s easily. Viktor was a magician on a broom and clumsy on his feet, walking like he already had 2 shots of whiskey in him.

“I can’t get a bird past the team trainers for a night. They might turn a blind eye if I brought a bloke back to the room but the photographers would see but I’d never hear the end of it. Anatoly would tattle on me to Pyotr, his father, and I’d be sacked for dishonoring the team and the club. That can’t happen. So no, there are no blokes or birds for me, not during the season.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s lonely going back to the room every night, sober and without any companionship. The owner protects me from myself and others since I’m considered the country’s superstar. They don’t want any bird acting like a niffler, getting pregnant and besmirching my reputation. Besides, witches realize who I am and they want with me because I’m famous and rich, not Viktor Krum from Kotel so I can’t get pissed at a pub, I can’t catch a bird, can’t shag a bloke, and can’t have the fun that the others have.”

Ron took a look at the man next to him. Unlike when he was much, much younger, he really looked at the man next to him. He was shorter than him, by some inches, and while most would say he was fit, Ron saw the way he walked and the slump in his shoulders. They walked, passing various homes and the occasional alleyway.

“Mind if I ask you something, something slightly personal?”

“It’s about Hermione, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s long ago.”

Viktor smiled, ignoring the others walking the other way on the sidewalk. “She was very kind to me, and so polite. When she would talk, it was about schoolwork and such, mostly to break the silence while I was trying to do mine. It was nice because she didn’t see me as a Quidditch star, but a nice wizard who asked her out.” Viktor gave Ron a glance. “We stayed friends and still are, I think. You know, she mailed me a letter, telling me all about you, some years ago.”

“What?” Ron stopped.

“She is so proud of you, especially for being accepted into the Aurors. Her letter, it was 10 pages, while she was attending Hogwarts, and you were off at training. She was praising your name. Every page had something about you in them. She told me what she was planning, what goals she had, but she also thanked me for being there to listen, and for being the man she needed when you, how shall I put it, ‘couldn’t figure out she was a girl.’”

Ron turned beet red. “I was nothing in comparison to you, ever.”

“Sure you were. But she was never really interested in me, not the way she was for you.”

“Did you,” Ron couldn’t finish the sentence. He felt sick for even thinking the thought. He cocked up most of his sixth year because of the envy that Viktor got to kiss Hermione first, and not him. His fear of rejection hurt so much then, and felt like a phantom ache now. He’d never forget how sixteen year old Ron felt those stabs of jealousy, for something that happened two years prior.

“I did, but I was a gentleman. I asked. She agreed. And I behaved as a gentleman. She was sweet but she was also 15. See, she was my first kiss.”

“Bollocks.” Ron growled. “Surely there were witches at Drumstrang who turned your head?”

“There wasn’t. Quidditch was all I was interested in until I came to Hogwarts and I met Hermione. I’ve had others since, but only the three of us – “

“No, my sister and Harry and another bloke know – “

“Oh. Well, a small group of us only know about Hermione. I never told another soul. I never would. It would be rude. It would disrespect her. I value her as a friend to treat her that way.”

“Really?” Ron felt the sixteen year old inside, the one he kept locked away in a particular loo, screaming bloody murder for making an epic mess of things along with fourteen year old Ron who was jealous of… absolutely nothing of importance. Thank Merlin he grew the fuck up.

“She saw me as Viktor, not Viktor Krum, World Class Quidditch star. She saw a lonely awkward young man and treated me like a normal wizard, not a world famous one. She’s my friend, when I have so few. I wanted to protect her reputation. I cherish our friendship.” Viktor took off walking again, and Ron easily kept up.

“You did. I didn’t find out for a few years. But people gossip, especially at Hogwarts.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that so many knew.”

“Word traveled fast enough, once it got out.” Ron refused to mention the epic row he had with Ginny that started it all.

Viktor stopped in front of a closed storefront. “Hermione is an incredible witch, and I am fortunate she’s my friend. But there was nothing there between us, not compared to you. I couldn’t compete.”

“Me? I’m – “

“You were the one who turned her head every time you walked in the room. I realized she fancied you long before she met me. I was a distraction but she was entirely too kind to say anything. It didn’t keep me from noticing.”

“But she – “

“Nonsense,” Viktor turned and started walking towards the pub again. “She was the first friend I made who didn’t like me for Quidditch. Do you know how important that was, at the time? Yes, I fancied her but she didn’t feel the same way. So I was happy to have her as a friend, and nothing more. So when we write to one another, I talk about work, and travels, and how boring things are when I’m not in the air in front of 50,000 screaming fans. I talk about my mother baking at home when I am there, or my father puttering in the garden of the house I bought for them. You know, trivial things, things that almost no one else except my parents are interested in. It’s nice to have a friend who is genuinely interested in your life outside of your work. It’s nice having someone who has no interest in bedding you and causing a scandal.

“And when she writes me, she brags so much about you. I can see why she fancied you, even if you didn’t see it then. After a while, I came to envy the life she has with you, and want that for when I find someone to have a family.”

“Really?” Ron’s voice threatened to break like he was still 14.

“You figured it out. Hermione told me about getting married to you. She sent an invitation but I didn’t come. It would have been rude to you. You got the girl who adores you. You have a job that you chose, not one chosen for you when you were small and pitiful. You have those purple wands that so few get unless you’re dead.” Viktor stopped and Ron halted, towering slightly over Viktor. “You have what I covet, and that’s freedom. Sure, you have a job that requires so much – but you chose it. You can say sod all and walk away from it, if you want.”

“Not if I want to eat,” Ron said. “Bloke has to pay rent, you know?”

Viktor ignored it. “What I’m saying is that you have choices, in your life, career, and the love of a wonderful woman.” Viktor motioned towards Ron’s hand and his ring finger, seeing his own goblin silver ring on the third finger. Viktor took a deep breath. “I don’t have anyone to wake up to, and for that, I will envy you. For it to be Hermione, who is beautiful, brilliant, completely kind, and warm-hearted, well, that makes it that much more. When I do meet someone, they will have to live up to Hermione, unfortunately, and I have lived enough to know that there are few like her.”

“You could walk away,” Ron yelled after Viktor’s retreating back. He ran the few meters to catch up. “I know it’s Quidditch and all, but you could retire.”

“I could, but what else could I do? Quidditch has been my life since I was a small child. I know nothing else. I have a career that lets me travel and provide for my family where they don’t have to work ever again. But I also have to pay lawyers so the taxes are paid everywhere I travel, an accountant to make sure the lawyers are paid, and a nutritionist who travels with the team so I can eat right but not gain any weight, which is in my contract. This doesn’t include the business manager, to make sure that my money is tended and a personal assistant, to make sure that I don’t miss any appointments or public relations events.”

“That’s messed up.”

“I do not have my own life. I do what I am told, where to be, how to smile, which way to hold my broom, which broom I am to fly, and what to eat. I’ve not had a woman in my bed in six months and it will probably be another six before I am allowed to have a woman for the night. She will be someone who might catch my eye but she will have to pass three people before she is allowed to spend the night.”

“You could retire. You’ve been doing it long enough.”

“I could, but I’d have nothing else to do, since Quidditch is my life. What would I do?”

“You could bed any bird you want,” Ron cheeked. Viktor shook his head. “Have you ever come across a bird like Hermione besides Hermione?”

“I’ve not met a woman who hasn’t been screened in years. All of them are either with other players or off limits because they are married. Besides, I find most women are silly. They talk of pretty things and spending galleons but few want to know me. That’s what made Hermione special – she could talk of so many things, none of which were related to Quidditch.

“And a wizard? My parents would die of shame if I did that and it made the papers. I do enjoy the company of men, too, but they only want to talk Quidditch. They are only interested in the Quidditch Viktor, not the man.  Now you see my problem?”

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

“I am. But we can at least drink some, listen to bastards make claims to my feats, and have a fun night at the pub. But I can’t get too drunk and you can’t drink. We have to watch for the occasional bird to slip me a potion to bed me. I can’t have little Viktor running around a year from now.”

“No, that would be cocked up.”

Viktor stopped on the edge of the pub, looking at his issued bodyguard. “You know Weasley? I like you. I see why Hermione likes you too. You listen well and give a shit.”

“Well, I am on duty.”

“But you’re not obligated to listen to me whine about my life.”

“You’re not whining. I do that well enough. I’m practically a professional. You’re just talking shite, like most blokes I know do.”

“Come. Let’s flirt with some birds we can’t bed and drink some bad beer.”

“When do you have to return to your room?”

“My contract says I have to be in my room for the night at 11pm and lights out at twelve. You, Hermione’s husband, have a very uncomfortable chair in the hallway to sit in.” Viktor shook his head. “You’re a professional. I know you will find time for a nap somewhere and sometime.”

“Probably when you’re in team meetings and I can sleep in a chair in the room.”

“Why do you think we have portkeys? I can’t sleep in chairs anymore. It’s too hard on the body after too many bludgers to the back.” Viktor slapped him on the back. “Come. There must be some dragon piss known as beer in here. I’ll even introduce you around. I’m sure my teammates want to meet Auror Weasley and buy you some butterbeer.”

“Me?”

“News spreads even to Bulgaria.”

The two men opened the door to the pub and were greeted with raucous yells from those inside.

Ron stepped into their flat and dropped his cloak and jacket in the rickety chair. He unzipped his boots and toed them off, letting them clunk on the other side of the chair. He knew he was getting in extraordinarily late but the Portkey was for 2am and he’d be arsed if he didn’t see his duty through with the Bulgarian National team. Then he’d had to check in with the supervisor on duty before coming home.

He padded back to their bedroom, ignoring Crookshanks in his little pallet by their bedroom door, snoring lightly in the darkness.

He opened the door and saw the candle still flickering, and Hermione sitting up in their bed, reading a book. She looked up, smiled, and he melted. “You’re up. Why are you up? It’s after four in the bloody morning.” Christ, she was a sight for very sore eyes and a very tired arse.

“I wanted to greet you when you finished your assignment. I took today off because I thought you would want my company,” she blushed slightly, using the euphemisms that made him laugh.

“Hermione, if you’ve not noticed, I’m not 14 anymore.” He stripped out of his jumper and t-shirt, along with his trousers and socks, leaving him in bright orange and black Cannon’s boxers she bought for him a few years ago.

“Well, your pants betray you.” She lifted the bedclothes and he slid in, snuggling up next to her.

“I was wrong about Viktor,” Ron started. “I was so wrong about him.”

Hermione turned to him after putting a bookmark in and laying the book aside. “Regarding what, Ron?”

“I was such a twat, at 14. I would be pissing and moaning if I had the life Viktor leads, with people telling him constantly what he has to do on a daily basis. Sod can’t do a bloody thing without approval from three people.”

“So you finally saw what I’ve known for years?”

Merlin keep Hermione. She didn’t smirk or natter on about told you so’s he’d hear from Harry and Ginny. Ron snuggled into her side and put his head on her shoulder, blowing breath across her chest. “Well, yeah, I did. It’s rubbish when Mum owls, telling me to come visit more often, and I can’t because I’m working too bloody much, either for the Ministry or for George. But Viktor? He has no life. He can’t go see his parents because he’s traveling so much. Sure, he’s an Internationally Famous Quidditch star, and makes gobs of galleons, or whatever the Bulgarian wizarding currency is, and has so many people wanting a piece of him every single second of the day, but you know what else? He has zero freedom, has like twenty people telling him what to do every second of the day, and he doesn’t have a moment’s peace, even while taking a piss. He was shaving before his match and he had three people in the loo with him, with one telling him the English game strategy, and another discussing his endorsement contracts in Bulgaria – for a cereal, of all things, and his nutritionist informing him that he needed more fiber in his diet.” Ron looked at Hermione with a slightly green tinge. “I won’t even tell you how the team nutritionist knew that. And that doesn’t even include his personal chef who was constantly busy cooking his meals that looked like rubbish and tasted even worse. I know. I shared breakfast with him and it was worse than you get at the canteen at the Ministry. Your cooking is loads better than that rubbish.”

Hermione pinched his cheek and he laughed.

“I can guess since it’s probably close to what professional models have to endure. You’ve seen them on the telly at my parents place – well, at least the world class ones that you think are entirely too skinny.”

“Well, they are!” Ron retorted. “Anyway, he might make galleons hand over handle, but he won’t have a real day away from everyone for at least another six months, way he tells it, and hasn’t in six months. I took a look at his planner and everything is mapped out, such as when he wakes, works out, eats his meals, including what he eats, who he’s to meet with, when to practice, what exercises he does, when he gets his massage, and all of the other rubbish. He might have ten minutes a day total to himself.”

“Are you now happy with what you have? You’ve decided that you don’t want to throw away everything you’ve worked for and be a Quidditch groupie, following around Viktor for every match?”

“Fuck no! I’d be a groupie for the Cannons, if you let me.” Hermione laughed and Ron did too. He finally settled down into her side, relishing he could have these times to talk with her without interruption.

“Have you finally decided that you don’t envy Viktor anymore, that you have nothing to envy?”

“Well, it’d be bloody nice to be so wealthy that you can play Quidditch professionally and not have to otherwise work, or have barmy blokes trying to kill you daily, but I’d be completely spare if I had someone telling how much to eat every day – what to wear – meeting people every hour without an hour to sit on my arse, drinking a butterbeer and listening to the wireless.  He has the glory, attention and affection of thousands, but he’s so lonely. He’s not seen his parents in almost a year and hasn’t seen his friends for months, all because of Quidditch.”

“What are you getting at, Ron?”

“He lives like a prisoner – sure, it’s a magnificent gilded cage – but I have things that he doesn’t, like you, and can shag my wife when I want while he’s left bereft for months on end for tournaments. He looks like he has everything he’d ever want in life, but he’s nothing more than a glorified poppet, flying for an owner who uses him and – “ Ron pulled Hermione on top of him, letting her feel every inch of him.

“I’m tired of talking about Viktor. I rather snog you.” He pressed Hermione down into the bedclothes, appreciating how responsive she was to his needs. She eventually pushed him off and onto his back and straddled his waist, removing the vest she had on. “So you’re happy with the life you have?”

Ron stopped moving so he could appreciate his wife out of her kit. “I am so bloody content with my life. Viktor wishes he had what I have.”

“Does that include me?” she softly kissed him. Ron reciprocated with everything into his kiss with Hermione, smiling through it all.

“Absolutely. Viktor envies me.”

[turboknucklehead]

Army of Darkness (1992) and the Weird Healing Power of Having Your Ass Kicked

When I was 15, my mother lived in a trailer on the south-west side of town. The park was on the edge of King Street which ran towards the #9 highway. The local graveyard ran parallel to the park. The area was quiet and without movement. It didn’t have much to offer. It boasted no substantial yards to relax in. I never met a single friendly neighbor or face. It sucked.

Everything about being 15 sucked. Puberty was in full effect. Weird teenage pressures and hormones ran in high abundance. Everyone around me was experimenting with drugs and alcohol. Friends I was having sleepovers with no less than a year ago, were beginning to party and sleep with the seniors at the school. I felt strange and immature. I felt deserted.

I was angry all the time. I was stressed out. I had panic attacks in the washrooms at school. I skipped class regularly; often to just spend time in the library by myself. I hated everything that didn’t include spending time with my friends from the Catholic high school on Friday and Saturday nights. I had to wait all week to see them. It was also around this time that I had begun to seek companionship outside of platonic relationships are started dating. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m here to remind you that dating when you’re 15 is a special kind of hell. And dating when you’re 15 and depressed is somehow even more fucking terrible. I struggled to maintain any and all types of relationships. 

Moreover, things were bad at home. I was in counseling once a week. I fought with my father incessantly. We couldn’t get along. I’d scream and lock myself in my room. I was overwhelmed by everything. I spent most of my time on the computer and grounded because I was failing my classes. 

Now my mother relocated to my small town -- a blessing in disguise I would later come to understand. Initially, however, it felt as though someone had thrown a fucking wrench into the gears of my life and ground everything to an awkward, lurching trudge. Navigating the new dynamic of sharing households and living within two separate worlds was challenging. 

Worst of all, in addition to dealing with ruthless depression and anger, I struggled greatly with self-harm. I lacked healthy coping skills and the communicative abilities to reach out and express how I was feeling despite all my counseling. My skin always ached. I was fucked.

My one coping skill that didn’t involve damaging my body and acting out was watching movies. I began to spend a lot more time hiding at my mother’s trailer by the graveyard. It was easier to ignore my problems here where no one knew to find me (or more aptly, where people wouldn’t come to look). It was then that I discovered Army of Darkness and met Ashley Williams.  
I posted up weekend after weekend, watching Ash kick deadite ass. I watched him lip off renaissance men and women with brutal confidence while simultaneously fucking up collecting the Necronomicon. I’d chuckle at his incompetence and rude guy attitude. “You idiot...” I’d quietly say while he coughed through incantations. And then something clicked. 

Something about Ash - other than his fantastic jawline - resonated within me.  Throughout the series, Ash repeatedly gets his ass fucking beat. It isn’t until Army of Darkness that he fully snaps and finds this weird area of eustress where he begins to straight up handle shit. It’s amazing. Despite being a total shithead, Ash adopts this tough guy bravado that allows him to respond to his challenging and dangerous environment. He leans on this quite heavily by Army of Darkness and it serves as his greatest weapon. It keeps him safe and alive. Ashley’s resiliency inspired me, honestly. I found the strength I so desperately needed within Ash. His, “fuck you, fuck this, fuck off” attitude in this 1992 timewarp gave me the will to fight for my shitty life.  I looked forward to those cold nights in the trailer with Ash. Watching Army of Darkness became a part of my weekend safety plan. Each time I hit play felt like a reset on the week. I had a knight in my corner now. 

Army of Darkness helped me recognize and shoulder through my depression. I won’t say that it cured it because it didn’t. But it did give me the boost to wake up every day and at least try to navigate through the haze. I won’t try to say that AoD cured my penchant for self-harm because it didn’t. But it did give me the courage to seek out help. To talk to my parents, my friends. To actively give a shit about my mind, my body and my spirit. On hard days, I would imagine myself as Ashley - plowing through the slime and the blood and muck of everyday trials. I remembered his defense mechanisms and weapons: his sneer and textbooks. I adopted them as my own. I began to fight my depression and attack my problems with all the fervor and vigor of a pissed off dude in the wrong fucking time period. I took a more proactive role within my counseling sessions. I began to communicate with my loved ones slowly but surely over time. I stopped holding my breath and found myself laughing at the beautiful slapstick humor of the Darkness. Most importantly, though, I began to hope. 

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 9

“Destani are you crazy, we can’t tell him that. Do you know what he’ll do to that guy if he finds out?” I nearly sobbed as I begged Destani to keep quiet about what we’d just witnessed in the second floor bathroom. “Sy’Diyah, what the fuck… that is wrong! What we just saw was absolutely fucking wrong. I’m not about to go back down here and face our best fucking friend, knowing what the fuck is going down right above his head and not say anything!” Her face was flushed as she hollered over the bass of the music. I just about sprinted to keep up with her as she rushed down the steps, barely acknowledging the bodies that stood in her way. She pushed her way toward the kitchen with an expression on her rose tinted face that could kill. Spotting Nalay and Tameka near the fridge, she made her way into the room not slowing until she stood breathlessly in front of them.

“Girl what the hell is wrong with you? Look like you ‘bout to strangle a bitch.” Tameka exclaimed, turning to share a laugh with Nalay. “Where is Chris?” Destani asked, never even breaking a smile. “He was still out in the other room with the boys when we came in here. What’s wrong Dez?” Nalay asked, concern etched onto her face. “Me and Sy just…” She started, but I quickly nudged her in the side and glared at her. I didn’t even feel comfortable with her sharing what we’d just seen with the girls. I feared any possibility of news getting back to Chris… no one in this entire house knew of the terror that he would unleash if he found out.

“No Sy’Diyah, I don’t fucking care. That shit is fucked up and there is no way we can't tell him that his fucking slut ass girlfriend is fucking some random nigga in the bathroom!” She virtually yelled across the kitchen. “Whoa, what did you just say?” We all whipped around to find a frowning Rashad approaching with Dontay and BJ behind him… and Chris right at his side. My heart skipped so many beats, I had no clue how I was still standing. I felt almost light headed as I stared into his blank face. Rashad was the one to speak, but Chris had surely he’d heard Destani… he’d heard her loud and clear.

Chris never muttered a word as Rashad asked Destani to repeat what she’d said, but it was much too late. He’d already turned toward the exit of the kitchen and the boys were quick to follow behind him. We quickly teetered along behind them and I watched as Rashad attempted to pull Chris back by the arm, but to no avail. He snatched away from him and stormed up the stairs just off the exit of the kitchen with a stone cold expression on his reddening face. People seemed to part in waves like the Red Sea as he trudged up the steps and I wished that by some miracle, someone would catch the malicious look in his eye and create a human blockade to stop him.

I reached the landing before the girls and immediately wanted to turn and run back down… exiting the bathroom door that Destani and I had just left only minutes ago was Gabby and her comrade. She sashayed out of the door, smoothing her skin tight skirt down as she moved. The guy kept a pompous smirk on his face as he moved behind her and reached to adjust his pants at his hips.

No one had time to prepare or react as the confrontation ensued. Within seconds, Chris was down the hall and directly in the guy’s face. “Chill my nigga, who the fuck are you?” The guy asked with defensively furrowed brows. In response, Chris catapulted his infamous right hook directly into the guy’s nose. The guy reflexively threw a wild punch that landed square against the left side of Chris’s cheek, but his head barely even shifted from the impact. Chris quickly caught him by a handful of dreads as he went tumbling back and whipped him around to bash his face into the nearest wall.

Without hesitation, Rashad, Dontay, and BJ rushed toward the brawl and attempted to drag their deranged friend back. With the amount of adrenaline I could sense coursing through his body, he pulled out of the frantic hands of his friends with ease and kicked a large timberland into the side of the guy who’d fallen onto the floor. Gabby stood pressed against the wall across from the fight, crying and screaming frantically in her native Spanish tongue.

After yet another organ shifting kick to the guys side, Chris whipped his head to the right, zoning in on her before stalking in her direction. The boys yanked at any part of his arms and shirt that they could get a grip on and were finally able to tame the wild animal that was he. “Gabby what the fuck! You fuckin dirty ass hoe,” He roared as he strained against their restrictive hands, “In the same house as me bitch? Are you fuckin serious?”

"Papi I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I love you, mi amor I swear. I'm sorry!” Her accent was thick as she pleaded her case onto deaf ears. His eyes bulged as if she’d just offended him in the worst possible way “Don’t fuckin say that shit to me, fuckin lyin ass bitch... fuck you! I’ll fuckin hurt you girl… I swear on my mother’s life, I will break your fuckin neck!” The boys tugged relentlessly on his now shuddering body and Gabby cowered away from him, pushing herself into the furthest corner of the hall.

They continued to restrain him and pull him away from the catastrophe he’d created. As they dragged him back past his victim, who lay in a bloodied pulp on the floor, Chris couldn’t resist a final kick at the guy… and this time, his boot landed square in his face. I cringed from the sound of the impact and trailed silently behind Destani as we all ventured back down the stairs. With Dontay standing the next tallest to Chris, he held him in a confining headlock as Rashad and BJ worked to restrain his arms. The spectators from the end of the hall and the stairs didn’t hesitate to move out of the way, allowing us to retreat peacefully down the stairs. They managed to drag him down each step and once we made it to the first floor, I finally felt like I could breath a sigh of relief.

“Get the fuck off me Dontay.” Chris muttered through the restrictive hold Dontay kept on him. “Not until you calm down bro… chill out, I got you.” Dontay responded firmly. “I’m fuckin calm. Let me go.” He jerked against their clutches and managed to yank his body completely free. They stared on warily as he huffed madly and stormed away from them. He held his hands against his hips, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt with his head tossed back as he continued to breath hard through his nose and shut his eyes.

“Bro, you good?” Rashad asked softly, approaching him with caution. The girls and I lingered safely at a distance on the porch and we all watched curiously as the boys attempted to make peace with Chris in the yard. “Sy’Diyah…” My ears perked at the sound of my name leaving his mouth, “I need her to ride with me.” “You sure you’re alright to drive man?” Dontay asked with a quick glance back at me. “I’m straight." He mumbled, snatching his keys from his back pocket. He raised his blank stare to me, completely disregarding everyone else, and kept his eyes glued to me as he waited for me to make my way to him as he’d demanded.

Glancing discreetly at Destani, my stomach dropped at the apprehension on her face. She didn’t utter a single word as she nodded her head in his direction, coaching me to follow his lead. Hesitantly, I ambled off the steps and slowly trailed behind him as he turned and marched off toward his truck. No one from the crew spoke a word to Chris about his abrupt decision and no one dared to follow us out onto the street as we crept into the night.

--

We cruised down a dark and empty road that was completely foreign to me. The radio was off and the truck remained silent as Chris maneuvered down the narrow one lane road. I sat tensely, staring out of the passenger side window with not a clue where we were going and I couldn’t tell if his anger had worn off yet. I wasn’t all that positive that I wanted to be alone in a secluded and wooded area with him under the influence of alcohol and drunk with anger. Finally decreasing his speed, I gazed through the front window at a clearing a few feet ahead and watched as he veered into it. He pulled the truck to a halt in a makeshift space and shifted the gear into park. 

Quickly unlatching his seatbelt, he pushed his door open and glanced over his shoulder at me “Come on.” He mumbled. Slowly and carefully, I climbed from the confines of the truck and immediately inhaled the refreshing aroma of the earth surrounding me. I trailed around to the front of the truck and followed closely as he led me down an uneven path. He reached back to grasp my hand and I instantly clung onto it, fearing that I would topple over the pebbles beneath my unstable feet. I listened closely to the melodic sound of water splashing ahead of us and nearly ran into Chris’s back when he stopped abruptly.

Unexpectedly, he pulled me around to stand in front of him and I stared in awe at the dark, glistening water across from us. The circumference of it was surrounded by thick foliage, but the lake itself was wide open to the stunning night sky. On this particular night, the sky was bursting with stars and they reflected down into the water giving it a radiant and twinkling illusion. “So beautiful…” Chris whispered. I’d nearly forgotten his presence altogether, but was quickly reminded as he slipped his hands into place at my waist.

I tilted my head to peer back at him and nearly gasped when I found his striking eyes already on me, “Beautiful.” He whispered. “Chris how’d you find this place?” I questioned delicately, turning to face the mesmerizing sight once more. With a shrug, he squinted his honeyed orbs and stared out at the water “Whenever I get angry and feel like society can’t handle my frustrations, I just take off in my truck with no destination in mind. I drove down this road one day and spotted this lil hideout through the clearing back there. I’ve been comin here ever since.”

I smirked as I absorbed his words… he’d discovered a secluded refuge for himself and he’d personally brought me along to join him after the horrific end to his night. He wanted to introduce me to a side of him that I assumed no one knew of. The thought alone ignited a flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach as I reached for his hands at my sides. I pried them away from my hips and fully turned to face him “Thank you for letting me experience this with you Chris. It’s absolutely breathtaking.” He stood frozen for a moment as I gripped his hands and stared into his unblinking eyes, but within seconds his blank expression morphed into a deep scowl and he sighed heavily.

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” He asked, dropping his gaze uneasily. I nodded quickly and watched as he took a step away. He plopped down on a dry rock a few feet away and motioned for me to join him. Cautiously, I moved toward him and he reached for my hand to help me take a seat. “I wanna be honest with you Hope,” He started, once I’d successfully taken a seat and he lifted a hand to adjust his hat at a higher angle, “You’re the only girl who’s ever made me question why I stayed with Gabby.” Furrowing my brows with confusion, I quickly turned to face him “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly and shook his head, turning to stare out at the calming water “I’ve been with a few girls, you know. Out of every single one that’s come and gone in my entire life, you’ve been the only constant. I mean besides Dez and my mama,” I giggled and readjusted myself on the cool surface of the flat rock so that I could face him, “I don’t know if I can make it make sense to anyone else, but in my mind it makes perfect sense. It’s like… what this lake does for me whenever I drive out here, you do for me every fuckin day. You make me focus, you show me what’s good in this world… you make me wanna be a better person. With Gabby, I feel like I’m settling for something all wrong for me. That’s not what I want… but that’s what I seem to attract. There’s no depth to her. It doesn’t feel like she loves genuinely, her love is almost artificial. She has her reasons for being with me and I know none of them have anything to do with her actually caring about me.”

“I care about you Hope,“ He continued, cutting his eyes in my direction with his elbows propped on his knees and his hands linked lazily together, “You mean a lot to me and I want you to understand that. You’re like my little gem.” With a smirk, he reached over and plucked gently at the tip of my nose. I playfully pushed him away with my shoulder and laughed. I couldn’t deny it... it felt truly amazing to witness him morph from a raging monster to such a peaceful soul in such a short amount of time. He seemed at ease now as he stared out into the lake and I was truly honored to be a part of the puzzle he needed to bring him serenity.

We relished in silence for a while and I pondered over what both my aunt and Destani said about his supposed dependence on me. Up until this very momentous moment, I never allowed myself to believe that anything they’d said was true. I couldn’t deny it much longer though… from the lips of Chris himself, he was beginning to make me understand the connection he felt with me. My heart fluttered and my stomach quivered with butterflies as the reality stuck that in his eyes, I was somewhere high up on a pedestal. He even openly admitted that he felt as though he was settling by being with someone as stunningly perfect as Gabby.

“I guess I should probably get you home before your aunt sets out on a manhunt for you.” He smirked, glancing down as he rose high above me in his masculine stance. Delicately, he reached for my hand and tugged me onto wobbly feet. Sensing the instability in my legs, Chris slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. I felt as like I was floating as he carefully swept me up and secured me with both burly arms. Peeping down over his arm, I gasped and instantly clutched at his biceps at the realization that he’d literally lifted me smooth off the ground.

He chuckled in my ear and I whipped around to face him with my lips hanging open in shock “I’m already taking you home late Hope… I’m not trynna take you home late with a broken ankle.” I tossed my head back with laughter and eventually felt my body lowering as he settled me back onto a flat surface just feet away from the truck. “I told you I would sweep you off your feet. Now I just have to seal it with a kiss.” He beamed and with a wink, turned to head to the driver’s side of his glistening vehicle.

--

Swiftly pulling into my driveway, Chris shifted the truck into park and I turned to face him with confusion etched on my face “Why are you parking in my driveway?” “I didn’t wanna park in my driveway and make you walk through the grass in those sexy ass boots.” He smiled, tossing a glance down at the knee high boots adorning my feet. His chivalry was through the roof tonight and I figured I would vomit soon from the amount of butterflies dancing wildly in the pit of my stomach. With a shake of my head and a soft snort through my nose, I dropped my eyes to my lap and twiddled the button of the clutch I’d carried with me through the night.

“What?” He asked, tilting his head with that charming smile still spread across his lips. “You,” I started, rotating in my seat to face him, “You’re something else, you know that?” Pressing a hand incriminatingly against his chest, he jerked his head back in mock surprise “What you mean?” With a giggle, I tossed my head back against the soft headrest and released a sigh through my nose “I don’t know… I’ve just never seen this side of you before. It’s crazy. I’m not used to this Chris.”

His face was completely somber as he stared at my profile for a few silent moments, he leaned forward suddenly and reached for my chin turning my head so that I could face him “Well you should get used to it.” He was easing closer to me, but I remained frozen in place as the edge of his nose lingered just inches from mine. My eyes danced back and forth between his stunning pools of copper and he flashed a quick grin before slithering his tongue out to moisten his bottom lip.

He leaned closer and brushed his lips against mine, pausing to wait for my response. I didn’t move… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breath as he pushed forward and pressed his lips gently into mine. His lips were softer than I could have ever imagined. They were perfect.... and I secretly envied his tongue, because I knew it got the pleasure of touching the plumbs of pillowy perfection every day. He pouted his lips out against mine a few times then barely moved back with his eyes glued to my lips. “And sealed with a kiss…” He whispered.

[sly-punk1712]

Jane was out of town when all the Avengers trudged in looking the least heroic Darcy had ever seen them. Without even speaking Clint stomps threw the common room where Darcy is lounging watching DogCops. Natasha follows silently but heading the same path her friend had taken. Steve came threw next giving her a grim nod and  heading for the elevator and likely the gym. Tony and Bruce had settled at the counter and Tony is already pouring shots in between sipping from the bottle. Normally Bruce would complain but he makes no comment and knocks back his first one before staring morosely into the second. Bucky flings himself down on the armchair and Sam takes the other end of the couch both oddly quite.

“I’m glad you’re home” Darcy offers softly. Sam doesn’t acknowledge other than his eyes glazing over looking exhausted. Bucky grunts and scratches absently at his stomach. Whatever happened must have been really rough for Bucky to not even wink at her. Before Darcy can decide on her next course of action the last Avenger comes in from the cold.

“I would eat and then meet you on the train grounds, Lightening Sister.” Thor’s voice usually fills a room. Even in his softest tones his words swell to seem fuller somehow than any non Asgardian’s. Darcy nods and is standing before she realizes. “The Armour you wear for Lady Natasha will suffice” and then he’s rooting around in the fridge, back to the others. Darcy looks around but Only Bucky is even paying attention and he just shrugs.

“Have fun Doll”

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

“Where did you get that?” Darcy exclaims in awe when she arrives in the gym. She must have been wrong about Steve because Thor is sitting alone beside a number of impressive looking mid evil weaponry. Thor looks up from the short sword he’s holding. 

“Anthony and I fashioned them when you mentioned your interest in taking up arms” He smiled lightly flipping the sword causally. “It was an good bonding experience to bend metal with the Man of Iron”  

Darcy steps closer and can tell the Tony works from the Thor works. Tony’s look impeccably sharp and deadly. All raw edges and gleaming in the sunlight pouring in threw the windows. Thor’s however, they look just as deadly but the handles are more interesting. One is a curving a leaves and stars and it reminds her of Jane. There’s a huge double headed halberd that has a wing on each blade and is connected to a twisting center pole that ends in a hawk like bird on the end. There are several smaller knives and Darcy could spend all day looking at the things he’d made with his hand. 

“Which of these calls to you?” Thor asks gently breaking up her look at all the sweet stuff trance. Darcy’s a little overwhelmed. She had jokingly told him she’d like to be a bad ass wielding claymore warrior like Lady Sif from the Norse stories but it seemed a tall order for her to not only hold one but successfully swing one as she was 5f3 to Sif’s 6f4.  Darcy’s lamenting the lack of Claymore and her stature when she sees it. 

It’s undoubtedly one of Thor’s because the hilt is engraved with lightning and runes. If she didn’t know any better she’d call it a long sword but it’s thicker than anything she knows the words for. When her fingers close around the hilt she surprised at how light it is. The weight it perfect and she closes both hands around the grip admiring the center ridge and shininess. Thor chuckles lowly. 

“I have told you that this is a highly personal request yes?” Thor speaks again and Darcy manages to stop staring at her new found friend. She nods. “The first weapons training Asguardian children have is with their father or mother, whichever is more skilled. Most of the time parents will craft the weapon together for their young and then the parent and child go on a trip together to learn. It is different with each house and each child. It is a very special thing Darcy” He says. Darcy nods again almost afraid Thor will change his mind. He waits however needing to hear her speak.

“Did you make this for me?” Darcy gestures to the weapon in her hand. He gives her a tight smile that reminds her of all the years he has lived. He nods. “It’s amazing, buddy, I love it. If you don’t want to do this it’s okay I can learn on my own and well spar or something” He chuckles at her babbling. He holds up a hand before she can talk herself out of this. The sun is beginning to set and the way it slams into their tower windows has her sweating slightly. 

“I did not know what to make of your request at first. But Anthony tells me you have no father or mother. I have long considered you my family, Darcy and I can not hope to replace that which you have lost but I should like to be your family as much as I know how.” His lower lips trembles just enough that Darcy’s heart instantly breaks. Whatever happened today has him in knots. 

“Yes.” Her voice is thick too seeing his emotions. “Yea of course.” Thor shakes his head as if to clear whatever was bothering him, he wants to push it off a little longer. “So does she have a name?” Darcy smiles holding her weapon again and striking a pose.

“Not yet, little one, We’ll name her together when we finish.”

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

They practice until the sweat rolling down Darcy’s body has nothing to do with the Sun that has long disappeared. Thor shows her the correct way to hold position her top hand so the cross guard doesn’t chafe her knuckles so badly. He demonstrates a thrust and Darcy copies. He continues it shoulder muscles rippling with each ferocious jab and they repeat it until Darcy finally lets loose and completes the move with all her energy. Thor beams and they move onto perrys. 

Eventually Thor senses her tiring and calls it quits, passing her a bottle of water. Darcy is exhausted and aching in weird places her workouts with Nat don’t touch. It was incredibly difficult and she feels another flare of respect for Sif and her Claymore. 

“You would have made a formidable opponent had you learned as a child” Thor commends. “and will be sooner than I anticipate, no doubt” He winks with a secret smile. Darcy grins back. It was weird to say they bonded thru arms training but she really did feel closer to her giant bestie. 

“Did you like use Mjolnir to make this? Because I feel like that makes me pretty worthy be default. I fully expect a coronation on my first visit” She giggles. Thor barks out a laugh.

“Why wait?” He grabs his cape from where he’d tossed in on the bench and throws it around Darcy’s shoulders. The cape is heavier than she would have guessed and of course is a foot too long for her. It pools around her on the ground but Darcy stands a little straighter beaming up at him. “By the power granted me by this might hammer, I proclaim you, Lady Darcy, Princess of Asgard.” He grabs her shoulders and presses a kiss to her forehead. His lips linger and Darcy feels his fierce love and his emotional day surrounding her. She wraps as much of her arms around him as she can, keeping him in close. It seems so wrong that such a big guy could tremble in her arms, like a child, but his arms shake with tremors that the work out had pushed off. 

“It’s okay” She says softly. Hot wet tears splash on the top of her head and forehead. “It’s gonna be okay Thor, There’s nothing we can’t fix. It’ll be okay” She mutters gentle reassurances until he’s calmed and finally he pulls back with a watery snotty smile. It was mildly comforting to Darcy that even Thor was an ugly crier. 

“You are surely a blessing I have not earned little one.” He says. “Come let us name your blade” He smiles for real and grabs the hilt and presses it back into Darcy’s hands. She grips it expectantly waiting for instruction. Thor beams at the picture she makes, short, flushed, eager and in under armor gear and his billowing red cape. 

“So how bout Alfred?” She says awkwardly rocking on the balls of her feet. Thor laughs again and clasps his hands on the grip over hers. 

“Do your best to relax.” Thor says and that’s all the warning she has before their hands begin to glow a bright white color and heat flares up her am like she’s touched a car that’s been the hot sun. It’s almost too much to bare when Thor finally releases her and the white light fades to blue and the blue light rescinds into the weapon.  “Loki is not the only son to study with Mother” He smiles. 

Darcy spreads her fingers curiously to find two things. The first is that the dull silver lightning engraved on the grip is now an otherworldly blue and a name has been carved into the blade just above the rain guard, Thor peers at it curiously before beaming at her. 

“Eldr Hjarta ?” Darcy stumbles threw the unfamiliar words. “Fire something right?” She looks up into Thor’s eyes, thumb still rubbing the words. The lightning matches his eyes, she thinks. 

“Fire heart” He agrees. “It is a good name. My first one was called, Byrstr, or thirsty” 

Darcy laughs and the worry she held about Thor softens a little. He’s going to be okay. 

“Come let us spread the news.” He passes her the scabbard and belt. Thor is packing away the other weapons while she fastens the belt and blade to her side. 

“You’ll talk to Jane about whatever happened? and maybe Sam?” She asks. Thor hums noncommittally. “Seriously Thor if you can’t tell those two who can you tell?” 

“You are very wise, sister.” He huffs. “Very well, let us dwell on it no longer. Instead I should like to brag to Anthony that you chose a blade of my fashioning over his.” His smirk is playful and Darcy can’t help but giggle.

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

They enter the common room and Darcy’s so excited to show off her present she doesn’t really think before she speaks. 

“Bucky look at my sword!” She shouts the second she’s off the elevator pushing her hips  toward his face.Sam must have gone to bed or he’d be laughing at the bewildered owlish look on Bucky’s face. Bucky blinks rapidly at her pelvis for a moment before seeing the actual weapon 

“That certainly would explain a lot about you Lewis.” Tony sniggers from behind his glass. Darcy glowers. 

“As if I would call my hypothetical dick a sword!” She scoffs. “It’d be a Thompson gun” She smirks. Bruce chokes out a laugh and even Tony cracks a smile. 

“I happen to be a weapons expert Doll” Bucky winks with a smile. Darcy pats his head affectionately and beams at Thor..

“So am I Buck, so am I”