#and also this is why duck and yellow need to HAVE A RECKONING

[gnomeniche]

do you think love can bloom even in puppet samsara

[hyperpsychomaniac]

Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 10

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

Chapter 1

***

The Negaverse Launchpad stayed another two days, until Darkwing called to let them know Negaduck was safely put away, for now, and he was ready to help Launchpad find the portal to send him back to the Negaverse. As much as he didn’t want to leave so soon something torn up and long buried inside had tugged at him ever since he’d made his declaration to Negaduck, telling him it was time to return home to his true family. Not that this universe’s McQuacks had not been like family to him. And that’s what made saying goodbye so hard.

Though she had only known him a few days Loopey hugged him tightly. “Don’t forget to tell that sister of yours how awesome I am too.” She’d asked him many questions about his Loopey. It had been simply curiosity, but it had helped Launchpad dig up the good memories he had of his sister, the things he hadn’t messed up. It had given him hope that, once he returned to the Negaverse and found her, she just might not tear him to shreds.

Launchpad hugged him next. He held him for a long moment, crushing him against his chest. When he pushed him back his brow was furrowed. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright over there?”

The Negaverse Launchpad grinned and clapped his double on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re not abandoning me. You didn’t the first time either. This time, I think I might just have a bit more of an idea what I’m doing. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know how easy those portal things are to find, or get going. But if you ever need help, me and DW are just one universe over.”

Birdie grasped the Negaverse Launchpad’s hands, and sniffed. “Be careful over there, baby. We’re going to miss you.”

“Aw, Mrs McQuack.” Launchpad wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll be alright. At least you know I’m not going to get all angry and pick stupid fights I don’t need to now. You guys, and your son, you taught me that.”

Birdie smiled up at him, her eyes watery. “You are literally going over there to join a resistance. Sounds like you’re picking a pretty big fight to me, but…” she said, as he opened his mouth to protest. “At least its for a good reason. You put that Negaduck in his place. Just be careful. Oh, and this is for you.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a packet, and handed it to him.

Launchpad unfolded the enclosing flap with a frown. It was only when he pulled out the small stack of photographs that he realised what they were. Photographs were not non-existent in the Negaverse. Often you simply had other concerns, like survival, that took precedent over the taking and hoarding of sentimental keepsakes. “You want me to have these?” His voice caught over the lump that had risen to his throat.

“Most are just ones of the family I dug up and I thought you might like to remember us by. But…”

Launchpad carefully shuffled through them, and came to the two as Birdie spoke.

“… I did manage to snap a couple of you and Ripcord when you were working on that plane together. You were both so absorbed talking to each other and positively covered in grease, I couldn’t resist. I thought you’d like them.”

“Are you sure?”

Birdie winked. “I have more than enough photos of my husband covered in grease.”

Launchpad and Loopey both winced. “Mom!”

“You got doubles?” Ripcord asked his wife.

“Of course. And I always keep the film.”

Launchpad slipped the photos into his jacket, and turned to Ripcord. He and Mrs McQuack had done so much for him since he’d crashed onto their front lawn and he didn’t know what to say to the man who against what had to be all better judgment had taken him under his wing. Heck he’d actually cared about him enough to get riled up and confront Negaduck, no matter how reckless that had been. No one had ever done that for him, and it had never even occurred to Launchpad that someone should. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry and void of words.

But it didn’t matter, because Ripcord took him by the shoulders and all but dragged him around to face him. “Hey, look at me, son. I don’t care how anyone thinks they have a right to treat you like. You deserve to be respected, and loved, and if you ever can’t find that over in the Negaverse, even if you can’t make your way back to us, I want you to remember you will always have that here. You got that?”

Tears filled Launchpad’s eyes. He threw his arms around Ripcord’s neck, breath hitching in his throat. “You guys have just… thanks for being my Mom and Dad these past few months. I love you both.”

The Negaverse Launchpad climbed into the Thunderquack’s cockpit, where Gosalyn waited for him. He waved to the McQuack’s with her, then focused on starting up the powerful aeroplane. All had had to do was get the blasted thing up into the air and leave. He could do this. An ache tugged at his chest as the McQuack family swung out of view. He wiped hastily at the corner of his eyes as they pulled up into the air, and he did not look behind him.

“Hey,” Gosalyn squeezed his arm. “You okay? I mean, you’re not going to crash or something?”

Launchpad grinned. “Come on, kiddo. You know I never crash.”

Gosalyn threw out her arms. “You literally showed me the skid mark where you crashed when you go here!”

“Had a broken arm. Didn’t count.”

“But…”

“Now, come on, we can’t waste time arguing like this. Your dad knows we’re leaving now, right? I reckon if I go full tilt we can get you home before he starts to worry, but still have plenty of time to get into some mischief. What do you want to do?”

A grin slowly spread across Gosalyn’s face.

***

The McQuack’s spent the next few days repairing their front hallway from the gashes Negaduck had hacked into it with his chainsaw. DIY was not beyond them, although they were all better at repairing aeroplanes, and the damage was quickly patched up. Birdie hadn’t quite trusted their skill with the kitchen however, and she and Ripcord had decided they would get it replaced professionally.

Now they were all in the living room, sorting through the photos Negaduck had knocked down. As the whole family was finally together, it was the perfect opportunity to see if they could dig up any different ones to put up. Some had been completely destroyed but, luckily, Birdie had many spares. She’d tugged out a number of large boxes from various cupboards around the house, and added them to the photos already there.

Launchpad sat next to his father on the sofa, his leg almost touching his. Ripcord had taken every opportunity to sit close to his son, sometimes almost awkwardly. It was kind of sweet, but also didn’t help Launchpad’s worry for his dad. He knew he hadn’t intended to put him in danger and had nothing to try make up for. All he could think of doing had been to give his father a quick squeeze around the shoulders, just to let him know he wasn’t uncomfortable with him being close to him like when he’d first arrived, and hope it would eventually sink in that his son was still there.

Birdie rushed past them, and opened another cupboard. Despite the half dozen boxes scattered around, she had insisted on continuing the search. Apparently she hadn’t found them all yet.

Ripcord sighed. “Honey, I think we’ve got plenty here to go through already.”

“I’m looking for something specific… yes!” She came back, not with a box, but a single photograph folder clutched to her chest. It was old, and yellowing, and far from pelting it onto the table like she had the other loose folders she’d found, she cradled it carefully.

Ripcord frowned. “They heck are those? Wedding photos or something?”

Birdie pressed the folder into her husband’s hands, but held on, stopping him from opening it right away. “We don’t have to put this up if seeing it upsets you. But, well, I had these stashed.” She sniffed. “I mean, you threw away the first prints, so…”

Ripcord gently took the folder from her and opened it.

Launchpad leaned over his father’s shoulder. “Dad, why’d you throw away photos?”

“I didn’t realise you knew I’d pitched them,” Ripcord said thickly.

“Of course I did, silly. This is why I always keep the film.”

Launchpad watched as his father shuffled through them, slowly, with a faint shake in his hands. At first, there seemed nothing remarkable about the photographs, save that they were quite old. Photos, many of Loopey of a baby, and of the family, and of him when he would have been about five. Ripcord stopped as he revealed one of him in the cockpit of a small plane that Launchpad couldn’t remember, on the ground, with one very excited five year old strapped to his lap.

Ripcord sniffed, putting a hand to his beak. Then he leaned over into Launchpad’s shoulder and held the photos where his son could easily see. Launchpad grabbed the photo’s edge, his hand touching his father’s. “Launchpad,” Ripcord said, his voice wavering, “You don’t remember this… but… this is the first time… I took you up in an aeroplane. That, that was the day…”

Launchpad put an arm around his father’s shoulders. “Dad, it’s okay. We already talked about this.”

Ripcord looked at his son and, with tears in his eyes, smiled. “That was the day you asked me to teach you to be a pilot.”

***

The Negaverse. One month later.

It was hard to appear non-threatening when you straight up waltzed into the secret headquarters of the resistance formed against your former boss. Especially when he had declared you dead.

A dozen weapons leaped out of jackets and holsters, muzzles tilted up to train upon their target. Launchpad towered over the ragtag group of fighters, and as he eyed them all slowly, the corner of his beak twitching up into a scowl. Man, Loopey was really scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

When he’d been unable to immediately locate Gosalyn, Launchpad had started searching for his sister. He’d trailed the resistance’s attacks on Negaduck’s proprieties and equipment, but when he spoke with anyone who had seen Loopey’s operatives in action, or even helped them, none could tell him where her cell was. If they knew, they hadn’t been keen to share with someone who had worked for Negaduck. And no matter how nicely he’d asked, his lack of aggression only seemed to confuse people more.

Frustrated, he’d eventually caught one of the operatives. It had sent a thrill through him to find him wearing a Darkwing costume. He’d scared the hell out of the poor guy with how excited he’d got, and his catch had flat out clammed up when he’d asked about Gosalyn. Where Loopey’s headquarters were, however, he seemed less keen to put his life on the line to protect. Not that Launchpad had used anything he’d learned from Negaduck to weasel it out of him. The threat had been enough, and even then he hadn’t made any actual threats, just paced and muttered to himself about what he was going to do with his captured prey until he’d cracked.

One of the fighters edged forward. Quackerjack was still dressed in the Darkwing costume Launchpad had last seen him in, when he’d found him and the other three in the company of Gosalyn. “Alright, playtime’s over. Put him down, nice and slow.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Launchpad had completely forgotten he still clutched Megavolt by the collar, his feet swinging clear of the floor. He set him down, gently. “I didn’t hurt him,” he said, for whatever that was worth. His reputation was preceding him, and whilst that had been helpful prying information from Megavolt, it was not serving him well now.

Megavolt stayed at Launchpad’s feet, trembling.

“Get over here, you idiot,” Quackerjack muttered with a wave of his rifle.

Megavolt bolted over and hid behind him. “He took my hat!”

“I didn’t… you dropped it!” Launchpad closed his eyes briefly, then raised his empty hands slowly. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ve come to see the Pink Baroness.”

“Yeah?” said Quackerjack. “On who’s orders?”

“No ones. I’m done with Negaduck.”

The fighters all exchanged looks. Some of the weapons lowered.

“Alright. But keep those hands where I can see them. No funny business. And, guys, check him for weapons.”

It took nearly a full minute for anyone to work up the courage to approach him. After much whispering, it was decided the safest option was for everybody to, simultaneously, pat him down. This resulted in far more pawing than Launchpad was comfortable with. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and kept his hands raised. If this had been before he’d left the Negaverse he would’ve snapped within seconds. As it was he could feel his jaw gritting tighter and tighter until, finally, someone declared: “I think he’s clean.”

“You’re sure?” asked Quackerjack.

“Pretty sure you’ve checked every crevice,” Launchpad growled.

Loopey’s fighters led him deeper into the warehouse. With every weapon trained upon him, which true to Negaverse standards included a fair number of rocket launchers, Launchpad really hoped a rat or something didn’t startle anyone.

Megavolt pushed open a door. A long table took up the middle of the room, a miniature Saint Canard set upon it. Some of it was actual scale models of buildings and vehicles, some simply tin cans and bits of rubbish pressed into service. A bright fluorescent light swung overhead, throwing shifting shadows across the half dozen resistance fighters crowded about the setup.

Bushroot leaned in and poked a leafy tendril at what Launchpad assumed was one of Saint Canard’s sad excuses for a park. “I know there’s not a lot of stuff still alive, but I should be able to coax the poor little fellas into helping us pull down Negaduck’s hanger.”

“Yeah, this is good. We’ll teach that selfish creep to close off ‘his’ airspace.” She still wore her worn and weathered pink jacket, torn off at the sleeves like her brothers, revealing bare arms. Her jeans were black, but the pink showed up again in her worn and greasy steel toed boots. Her hair was a cut in a mohawk, tipped in pink, and she’d never cared a damn that most folks thought pink a ‘weak’ colour. She’d soon set them straight.

“Loopey…” Her name slipped from Launchpad’s beak on a breath before he knew it.

His sister shielded her eyes as as she looked past the bright light. “Someone tell this joker I don’t go by that name any…” She stiffened, then took the cigar from her beak and snuffed it out in the ash tray beside her, never taking her eyes from her brother. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Launchpad gulped. “I’ve been looking for you. I’ve come to join your resistance.”

“You’re supposed to be dead. You selfish…” Loopey stomped towards him and her resistance fighters parted before her. Her fist flashed out like a snake and Launchpad barely registered the pink studded gloves, a new addition to her outfit, before they ripped across his beak. “… bastard. How dare you come here!”

Launchpad hissed and clapped his hands to his face. The blow stung; he could taste copper in the back of his throat. He drew in deep breaths, eyes squeezed tightly shut, until the pain lessened to a manageable level. When he looked up, Loopey had her fists raised. Her fighters’ weapons were again trained on him. Because no one in the Negaverse would let a cheap shot like that go without fighting back. Launchpad wiped his arm across his beak with a sniff, then let his hands drop to his sides and stared his sister down.

A frown creased Loopey’s beak. “You must think I’m an idiot. You realise how this looks, right? Negaduck says your dead. Then you rock up here, pretending you want to help? You were his right hand man.”

“I know,” he said thickly. “And I don’t know how to prove to you I’ve changed, but…”

“Launchpad!” Everyone jumped, which was rather concerning with so many weapons in play. A small something darted nimbly between the fighters, followed by a looping tendril of water.

“Now, just wait… you can’t… Gosalyn!” Liquidator gurgled. He wrapped watery arms around his charge just as she reached the front of the crowd, but she exploded through before he could nab her.

All that time searching, especially as he hadn’t been able to locate Gosalyn quickly, and without the support he’d had when he was staying with the McQuacks, had been taxing. Launchpad had questioned his resolve, his ability, and if he really could accomplish his mission without resorting to some of his old Negaverse ways. All he’d wanted was to find someone he knew, despite all his failures, would be there for him. His heart rose in his throat, his knees buckled and he dropped, arms flung open wide.

Gosalyn barreled into him with such force it knocked Launchpad back and he sat down hard on the concrete floor. “You’re alive!”

“Gos.” Launchpad buried his face in her hair. “Aw, kiddo. I’m so, so sorry for abandoning you. And not being there for you with Negaduck, and… I wish I’d been stronger for you.”

“Launchpad, none of that was your fault.”

Oh, how he’d missed that incorruptible little face. “I know. But I’m gonna make it up to you, promise.”

“Alright, wise guy, let our daughter go right now.” Megavolt had recovered from his kidnapping ordeal. He stood over them, electricity playing at his fingertips, alongside Bushroot, Quackerjack, and Liquidator. They loomed over him to form an impressive front of very, very angry guardians.

“Dads!” Gosalyn wrapped her arms around Launchpad’s neck. “It’s just Launchpad. He won’t hurt me.”

They backed down, but still hovered close. Damn. Darkwing had certainly picked the right carers for Gosalyn.

Gosalyn stayed protectively in front of him, but climbed off his lap so he could sit up. She put a hand to his cheek. “Are you okay? Wait, who hit you?”

Loopey hid her bloodied knuckles behind her back. “I thought you were dead. Why do you think I…” she swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. “Where have you been all this time?”

“In the other universe.”

“Wait, you saw Darkwing Duck?!” The four copy-cats exploded.

“Did he say anything about us?” Megavolt added, hopefully.

Launchpad slowly stood to his feet. Gosalyn stayed clamped to his arm. He wasn’t sure if she’d just missed him, or she was staying there to protect him. “Loopey, a lot went on over there. But long story short, I realised I don’t need Negaduck anymore.”

“Negaduck wasn’t very nice to him,” said Gosalyn. “I’m glad you left. He didn’t have any right to treat you the way he did.”

“I know, and he doesn't have any right to treat anyone in Saint Canard the same way. And I was a part of that.” Launchpad looked back to his sister. “That’s why I gotta make it right. I know I have to earn back your trust first. But I need to stand up to Negaduck, and I need your help for that, and… I just want us to be a family again, sis.” Tears filled his eyes, and you just didn’t break down in front of a heavily armed resistance and show that kind of weakness, but Launchpad no longer gave a damn. “Please, Loopey. I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t put me out.”

Loopey stared at him for a long time. “Sure you can take orders from your little sister?”

“I’m good at taking orders.”

“Good. You can start by cleaning toilets. After a week or two of that we’ll see how trustworthy you are.”

There were a couple snickers from the fighters. As well as one ‘oh thank god’, presumably from the last poor sucker who’d had that job. It was still better than what Launchpad had expected, which was to get punched in the face a lot more than once.

“Come on, I’ll get you patched up. And lower those weapons! You’re all so jumpy, you’ll put someone’s eyes out. If he tries anything I’ll just punch him again, now move it.” Loopey waved her way through the fighters, dragging Launchpad behind her until she was clear. Then she turned to face him and squeezed both his hands. “Are you okay?”

“You didn’t hit me that hard. It’s alright. I’ll just spar you later, you know, only if you’re okay with that.”

Loopey frowned at him, then shook her head. “I did, and I’m sorry. I forgot I was wearing these.” She waved a hand. “But that’s not what I meant. Launchpad, what the hell happened to you over there? You’re different.”

“A lot. I don’t know where to start.”

“I’m glad your done with Negaduck. Gosalyn told me how he treated you and…” Loopey’s hands tightened in his. “I thought he’d killed you. Why the hell do you think I started all this? But now you’re back and you’re all…” She trailed off and gulped hard.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m still here. All I wanted was to find you and Gos. You’re my family, and there’s a bunch of stuff I have to tell you, but… you know, like Mom and Dad always said, we’ve got to protect each other. I know I failed at that, and I’m sorry for the way I treated you over the years. I’m going to do better.”

Loopey made sure none of her fighters were watching them, then she threw her arms around Launchpad and buried her face against his chest. “You had better be on the level with me, big brother.”

Launchpad sagged into her arms. He was home.

***

Author's Note:

Fun fact. When I was plotting the sequel to this, I originally intended Nega Launchpad to fall off the Audubon Bridge and drown (and LP to try and save him cause he’s a nice guy). Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t.

This turned out a bit hectic… somehow I ended up writing about abuse and that was… interesting. Negaduck is a jerk. And its weird editing something to try and make a particular character be just the right bit of nasty, whilst simultaneously wanting to throat punch them.

Ripcord got a bit more than he deserved, poor guy. I’d intended to have his and LPs backstory, and, yeah, that was going to be upsetting for him. And then have him lose it over Negaduck mistreating Nega LP and go after him with a shot gun and for that Not to Turn Out Well. But I didn’t realise that Launchpad was going to get in the way until I was writing that part and… yeah, having your adult kid nearly die after you’ve just dug up all those memories of, you know, nearly killing your kid when they were a kid and how this sent you into a depressive spiral. Flip, Ripcord, I’m sorry.

But I am really happy with Nega LPs character arc. Kind of proud of the dirtbag. And when I get back to writing some original fiction and characters (which this has completely distracted me from)… yeah, really hope I can do something as good.

Please leave me a review or comment if you’ve read this. I do enjoy feedback and will usually try to respond. Thanks for reading!

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Heartbeat

In a heartbeat the short film... that in an au where your heart literally chases after the person you love. Imagine that with smol lexa being all what is an emotion but her heart is all !!! every time clarke is around. Also pls have it in the canon universe cause that would be a lot more hilarious if the commander of 12 clan's heart is constantly chasing after the commander of death

The rain was not going to interrupt training. It didn’t matter that the world was sloshing full of mud and everything was drenched through completely. The initiates stood at stance one and waited for the signal to attack, defend, and parry. 

Even so young, Lexa was deemed a favorite for the conclave. Agile and fast, smart and fierce, she exhibited all of the traits of a good and just ruler. But as the signal went, she proved to those who watched why she was a force to be reckoned with, laying her opponent flat on their back in a matter of seconds and with such dexterity, it was as if she was the rain, moving so quickly, so naturally. 

“Lexa, good,” Anya muttered, looking down over her cheekbones as she surveyed the other fights. 

With the smallest of grins, the girl of eight nodded and extended her hand to help her partner up from their back in the mud. 

“Prepare to go again,” Titus yelled over the rain from his booth above the training grounds. 

Lexa didn’t move to push the water out of her eyes, nor did she hear anything other than the beat of her heart in her ears as she sized up her next opponent. Each fight was a matter of life or death to her. That was how she was going to win the entire thing per her plan, because she very much did not want the alternative. 

The horn sounded and she prepared again, though this time, something caught the corner of her eye as she dodged an attack from the larger boy opposite her. And she couldn’t hear her heartbeat a second later. Three seconds later, she was on her back, wheezing out a sigh as she had the wind knocked out of her. 

“That seems to be enough for the moment. Break out and prepare for study,” their teacher said, dissatisfied to see his star pupil fail. 

Lexa accepted the hand given to her by her partner, and when she came up, she looked around to see what had ruined her perfect record. Not by her choosing, her feet followed the sight of stark yellow hair, peaking occasionally through the stalls in the market. The nghtblood found herself ducking baskets and weaving through legs and arms laden with goods as she followed the only color that appeared in the haze of the dreary day. 

And then it was gone. 

Lost to the crowd and unknown to her, she felt her heartbeat pick up, tapping excitedly, as if it were trying to beat its way out of her chest completely. But she turned around, ready to return to her lesson, slightly afraid of what Titus might--

She made it two steps of not paying attention to smack into the most wonderful pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen in her whole life. 

Nose to nose, the two children stood there. The only movement that was made was by Lexa to put her hands over her chest to keep her stupid heart from jumping out completley. It strained there, drawn to this stranger who furrowed and smiled. 

“Hi.” 

“H-h-hi,” Lexa managed, somewhat cross-eyed at the proximity. 

“Are you training to be commander?”

“Yes.” 

“That’s cool.” 

Lexa gulped and nodded. 

“I have to go. We have a long trip back to Arkadia. It was nice to meet you. I hope you win.” 

“Thanks.” 

With another second between them, the littler girl pushed past the gawking initiate in search of her parents that called her to them again. Lexa turned on her heel to watch the yellow hair disappear into the crowd again. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Over the years, Lexa sees the strange girl with the pretty yellow hair out from time to time. And without fail, she follows her at a distance, looking for a way to speak to her, but never knowing what to say. 

There was the time when Lexa caught her during a lesson, and asked to be excused, following her as she looked through the market. And there was the time she was at a ceremony, and the yellow hair wove through the crowded street, and Lexa ran down fifty flights of stairs just to lose her completely. There was the time they went to Arkadia as a unity meeting, and Lexa fell off of her horse when she saw the familiar face who furrowed and looked at her in the mud, offering a hand to help her up. 

It never ended well, Lexa realized, and yet her feet kept carrying her forward. And she couldn’t stop her heart from doing flips when she met a stranger. 

Freshly fourteen, Lexa was undefeatable in combat with her peers. She was gangly and smart, angry at the world and unable to focus on much of anything. It felt as if it’d always been that way, but she remembered a time of not feeling like she wanted to get hurt in combat. 

The sky was angry and hot, the sun burning through the trees as she set out on her hunt. Sweat pooled on her shoulders and back as she prowled through the woods in search of an offering for the festivities. 

Halfway through, the sound of hooves in the distance, and the deer she was tracking lifted it’s head and ran off while Lexa looked over her shoulder. Despite herself, she moved toward the noise of the people, following the group undetected. Skycru insignia were on their shoulders, and they moved without the grace of someone who was used to the ground. 

Annoyed as she was at having to restart, Lexa waited for the group to pass so she could resume but they slowed as they approached the stream, and as she circled toward the other side of the lake, a familiar stock of blonde hair moved through the green. 

“I’m going to take the long way around the lake,” the voice called. 

“Be safe. Take a radio, Clarke.” 

Clarke. That was the name attached to the voice and the eyes and the hair. The hunting trip was forgotten as Lexa followed along toward the lake and the figure that kept her up at night. She hadn’t meant to, but it felt as if she was being tugged in that direction. She paused when Clarke did, peering out from behind a fallen tree trunk. 

When the girl she was following turned around upon hearing a noise, Lexa hid, her heart beating in her ears, waiting a few moments to follow as Clarke made it to the lake where she paused and took off her shoes and then her shirt and Lexa was certain her skin was going to melt off. 

Clarke took a few steps out toward the water before she jumped, disappearing for a moment and reappearing a little bit further. This happened a few times until she walked back to the shore and took a seat on a long rock, drying in the sun. 

Lexa looked at her shoulders, already pealing from a previous tan. She looked at her hair, a lighter yellow than before. She looked at the skin exposed and glowing, shimmering with the droplets--

The crack of a stick below her feet made Clarke sit up and look toward her. Half out of the treeline, Lexa froze, unsure of how she’d moved so close. 

“I didn’t know anyone else was out here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa offered quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“You’re the girl, from the horse.” 

Her face squinched up as she surveyed the newest arrival to the beach. 

“Lexa.”

“What are you doing out here? Isn’t there a festival this week in honor of the commanders who have come before?” 

“Hunting. I was hunting, to offer to the spirits,” she managed, watching as Clarke swung her legs over and stood there in just her shorts and a bra. It was hard to think of much else. 

“Are you hunting me?” 

“No, no, of course not. I didn’t-- I just-- I was moving toward the base of the mountain, there’s a spring there, and I was hoping one of my traps-- No, no. I wasn’t.” 

Clarke eyed her suspiciously before moving to slide on her shirt. She had a smile that made Lexa’s heart stop.

“Are you going to be the next Commander?” 

“I think so,” Lexa nodded, swallowing with the realization, unable to do much else because her chest was constricting and practically pulling her closer though her feet, graciously, remained steady and rooted at the edge of the forest. “I have to go now.” 

Before she could hear a response, Lexa turned on her heel and bolted back the way she came, sprinting as fast as she could away from the lake, away from the girl who now had a name, away from the weird way her heart was lead and then lighter than clouds, and then beating so fast it was silent, and then thumping in her ears so loudly it was deafening. She ran as far and as fast and as long as she could before she stopped, in a very different forest, doubling over, she sat down on a rock on the edge of a clearing and tried to catch her breath. 

XXXXXXXXX

Newly inaugurated as the proper Commander, Lexa sat on her thrown and took a deep breath, the power of her new position heavy on her shoulders. Thirteen years, she’d been the person who trained for this, and she’d never imagined it’d actually happen. It was always such an abstract idea, that she wasn’t sure what it all meant, just that she was ready. 

“The ambassadors are assembled, Heda,” Titus interrupted her meditation. 

Slowly, she opened her eyes and took a deep breath before nodding for them to be let in.The wisdom of the commanders coursed through her, and there was much to be done. The celebrations would come soon enough; for now, she was ready to prove her worth all over again to the people she needed to understand it. 

The ambassadors of the Twelve Clans filtered into their seats on the council, their handful of attaches quietly huddling behind them. When the last clan entered, Lexa gulped. 

She had done her best not to think about Clarke. It wasn’t easy,e specially in the days following the lake, but days grew into months, and when Lexa saw a familiar shade of blonde move around her orbit, she refused to follow. She held her heart in her hand and she squeezed and compressed it until it was the size of an arrowhead. She took that tiny, unrecognizable and achy thing, and she locked it in a metal box. She put that box under a boulder that no man could move. 

But now the boulder rattled slightly in her chest as she caught Clarke’s eye across the room and cursed that Skycru would be sitting on her left, the closest of any other clan. Clarke smiled at her and stood behind the chair of her people quietly. 

“Thank you for coming,” Lexa began after a few seconds. “I have been left with the monumental task of ensuring this coalition survives and keeping it strong. I count on each of the twelve clans to stand behind me now.” 

There was a rattle of approval from the people who already loved her. She nodded and held up her hand for their quiet. 

“We will be finally dealing with the question of Skycru. It is my goal to strengthen us, and to do that would mean to bring them in as the thirteenth clan, if they can agree to follow our laws.” 

She turned her look onto the ambassador and waited for him to speak. 

“We want nothing more than to become productive, helpful neighbors to our fellow man,” Marcus explained. “You honor us with your consideration.” 

“Heda, surely you can’t allow--”

“Aren’t you sick of war, Ambassador?” she interrupted. “I am. We’ve lost so much. We’ve lost people and time killing each other.” 

Without meaning to, she looked over at Clarke and she felt the boulder crack and the little metal box start to shake. 

“I was taught that love is weakness, but in reality, love is what defines all of our choices. It is what starts wars, and pride refuses to let us end them, but I do not want to spend my time as Commander responsible for so much death.”

“We have our ways, Heda.” 

“And I mean to honor them. It’s time for us to prosper and build a great world,” Lexa explained, looking at Clarke for a moment too long. The metal box was opened and she felt her chest flutter about as her heart stretched it’s legs. 

The chorus of people in her room murmured their approval, or at least their moderate acceptance of her plans. 

“We will perform the ceremony after my ascension festivities and Skycru will take the brand of the coalition,” Lexa decided. “For now, Skycru is in Polis under my protection as my guests.” 

“But, Heda-- the law states that any not in the coalition are due out by sunset.” 

“Skycru is here under my protection,” she repeated herself. “Disregard for my word is treason. We welcome them by showing them what our lives look like. I hope you find yourself comfortable in the city.” 

With that and little else, Lexa stood and walked through the hall, out of the door before nearly every one of her ambassadors could stand. It took all of her being to not turn around and see Clarke, but instead, she let the doors close and walked quickly to her room. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The city was alive with celebrating the newest ascension. They clamoured and sang and drank and toasted to many years of peace and prosperity, to their new Heda, to the new lives they hoped to lead. Below her room, the torches burned and the party continued, destined to last until the morning, though she chose to bow out as early as respectable. 

With a sigh, Lexa looked down at the glowing streets and listened to the laughter and music that was carried up to her on the wind, and she smiled. 

At the feast, she saw Clarke and smiled, but did nothing else. She was able to keep her heart under control for at least a few hours, which was a sign. She thanked the spirit of the commanders for helping her grow, and hoped it wouldn’t always been this rough. Surely her heart would tire itself out crushing on a complete stranger. 

“No more, Titus,” Lexa sighed, heavy and tired as a knock sounded at her door. “The world will be here in the morn--”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Heda.” 

Smiling and standing in her room, Lexa looked frantically at her guard, self-conscious that she was just in her sleeping clothes, her armor discarded for the day. She needed something to protect her from Clarke. 

“She came with the word of the Ambassador,” her guard explained. 

“No, no, thank you, Jax,” Lexa nodded with a furrow, waiting for him to close the door behind him. 

“I didn’t get a chance to say hello at the party.” 

“I’m sorry. I had to speak with-- You wanted to say hello?” 

“Yeah, I remembered you. So much has happened, but we’ve run into each other before.” 

Lexa took a step forward despite herself. She felt like she could see her stuipd heart tugging her toward Clarke. She very much wanted to be in her throne, where she couldn’t move. 

“Yes, at the lake,” Lexa nodded. 

“It was before that,” Clarke explained. “I don’t know if you remember. We were kids. You had the same warpaint then. I spent weeks playing and putting in on with old oil or grease, or whatever I could find.” 

That was it. Lexa felt her heart doing backflips in her chest at the idea of Clarke wearing her warpaint. She wanted to see it. She wanted to touch her cheek and lips. She cleared her throat to get a hold of herself, pressing her hand to her chest and letting it drop a second latter. 

“I think I remember,” Lexa nodded. 

“You were following me at the lake a few years ago. I remember that. And then you ran away.” 

“I had to finish preparing my offerings.” 

Clarke eyed her, trying to decipher something and failing. Instead, she took a deep breath and a step forward, making Lexa retreat one step. 

“You left your own party.” 

“I, um. I was tired.’ 

“Are you tired now?” 

“No. Not at all.” 

“I didn’t get a chance to give you my offering.” 

“Skycru has already performed the--” Lexa watched Clarke take another step forward and she remained rooted. Her heart was thumping in her neck and she was afraid that her head was going to explode. She felt like her skin was on fire. 

“Every time I’ve met you, you look like you have something you want to say but can’t. Will you tell me what you’ve been holding?” 

“Nothing.” 

It was instantaneous that she uttered the response, prepared to die with all of the things left unsaid. That was easier, and for a moment she let herself consider the merits of war as memory-eraser. 

“”I won’t say anything. Just say it quickly and then I can give you a present.” 

Clarke got her a present. Lexa was the commander of twelve, soon to be thirteen clans, and she felt her body shiver with the idea that Clarke thought about her. 

To her credit she debated what to say before deciding that she was the commander and she could do whatever she wanted. So she set her back and shoulders, squared her feet, and met Clarke’s eyes. 

“The first day I saw you, I felt this… I felt like my heart was drawn to you. It pulled me through the market until I met you. And every time after that, when I’d see you somewhere, my whole body feels like it’s on fire. I saw you at the lake, and Id idn’t mean to walk toward you, but again, i couldn’t help it. I don’t know how to make it stop, despite my best efforts.” 

“Wow.” 

“Yes, I know--”

Clarke smiled and pressed her palm on Lexa’s chest, careful to feel the heartbeat growing in that exact spot. She looked at her hand and smiled, pressing there with a little bit of pressure. 

“It feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.” 

“It might try,” Lexa confessed sheepishly. The blush crept up her neck to her ears. She wasn’t sure why Clarke brought her hand up and placed it on her own chest, but Lexa looked at her palm as it sat on this girl’s chest. She felt a familiar and loud and fast racket. 

It took a few moments for Lexa to compute it all, but eventually she realized what it meant. 

“You felt it, too?” 

“I don’t know what it means,” Clarke shook her head. Lexa just smiled back a her. 

“Yes you do.” 

Both stood there, hands feeling each other’s hearts beat wild, steady rhythms against their rib cages. Lexa took the time to meet Clarke’s eyes and she stared so intensely, Clarke looked away, a blush on her cheeks. 

“I’m not going to--”

Before Clarke could finish, Lexa leaned forward and kissed her. Pressed her lips to hers and held them there, afraid to move any other part of her body, but her neck craning forward. It too a few seconds, but much to her relief, Clarke kissed her back, hands wrapping around her neck and shoulders, pressing her body against her own. 

“Wow,” Lexa sighed and chuckled. 

“I agree.”

[ohpsshaw]

~DFS Christmas Special~

No desire to draw lately, so I’ve been doing little prose sketches instead.

Just in time for December, here’s what turned out to be Uncle Jack taking Al Christmas shopping. This would be circa 199X B.G. (Before Glenn), making Al in his early 20s.

(Watch out if you have high blood sugar, cos this gets KINDA SACCHARINE.)

It had finally stopped snowing, thank goodness. The fresh white blanket reflected crisp light in through the windows, making him feel chilled inside. Luckily Pop was a comfort creature who kept a stock of hot chocolate mix in the pantry. Al never seemed to reach for it back at his apartment, but something about visiting home in the winter months made a warm mug feel as essential as a limb.

Uncle Jack had asked Al to accompany him for some holiday shopping later, and a chocolate briquette would be good to have heating his gut. He took it to the couch in the living room. Someone had dug up the old photo books and left them on the coffee table a few days ago. Flipping through, he noticed that half the pages were completely empty— photography had never been a popular concept in the Czar household. The preserved moments were of family trips and landmarks, rambunctious sepia-washed office parties, Al’s school portraits. Rarer was anything taken inside the house. One shot of himself at four or five years old, standing on the yellow-sunlit staircase and showing the camera a toy car, surfaced a memory of being coached to keep his mouth closed so as not to alarm a 1-hour photo developer. Thinking on it, it may have been more than coincidence that most of these were instant Polaroids.

Through the window, he heard the muffled sound of a car door, then: “What the fuck are you doing!?” Hey, Pop’s home. Al pulled back the curtain to watch the drama unfolding at the end of the driveway, where Uncle Jack had been chipping at the wall of powder the afternoon snowplow had left. Xav had just returned from morning errands and parked in the street, storming over the slush to stop his brother from working.

Cold air blasted from the foyer. Snow crunched as Xav shook out the snow shovel behind him. “Why was he doing this by himself? Did you become a quadriplegic when I wasn’t looking?”

Al flipped through the Rolodex in his head for the answer that would earn him the least amount of grief. He shrugged, as if confused by the absurdity of the question. “He didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask, Max.” Jack took the shovel back. “But you’re right, I should have. Reckon it was my vanity what did me in— I can’t stand to be upstaged by some young buck doing the same job in half the time.” He winked at his nephew. “Well, three-quarters.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Xav spat, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will. “You both know I’m not being unreasonable. You’re not a guest, Alan Henry. As far as I’m concerned, you still live here. You earn your keep during the day, and MAYBE I’ll consider putting on my robe and letting you suckle dinner from my left tit.”

Al choked on his hot chocolate.

“Shit. Careful on the carpet. I’ll get you a paper towel.” Xav left for the kitchen, grumble-exorcising demons as he walked. “If Papa caught one of us sitting on our ass while the other did chores...”

Why did Pop have to save his best lines for when people were eating? Bent over and lapping chocolate out of the crevices of his palm, Al thought he saw a piece of marshmallow among the bubbles. Heh... hope that didn’t come out of his nose.

“You still need me to shovel?” he asked Jack.

“Son, I would be honored,” Jack nodded, holding the shovel on the doormat like a knight leaning on an orange sword. “Gitcher boots on and you can finish the job before we head out. I’ll make sure your Pop watches the show from inside.”

Xav returned with the towels and a smirk. “Talking shit about me, Jack?”

“I was just sayin’ how you’ll hate to see us go, but you’ll love to watch us walk away.”

“Got that fucking right.” Al cleaned his face while Xav dabbed each of his fingers individually. An oddly tender gesture. “What are you two going out for, exactly?”

“Juuust... shoppin’. I need Alan’s opinion on somethin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Secrets being a rare and dangerous thing in this family, there wasn’t much question as to what this was really about. Especially between brothers who were as close as twins. But the holidays were about giving, after all, so Xav seemed to decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. A game is more fun when everybody plays along.

Truthfully, even Al wasn’t sure what they were going to get for his father. A successful family man hitting his sixties doesn’t want for much. By this point, Xav had enough neckties and “#1 Dad” mugs to be buried surrounded by them like a pharaoh. Jack could always steal the show by reaching into his deep D.D.S. pockets or by making a new piece of furniture, but the son was held to no such standards. Xav had simple hobbies, and he seemed to have the house exactly how he wanted it. Was Al too old to make a coupon book, redeemable for hugs and remembering to use a coaster?

Or maybe his gift to Pop could be giving college another shot. Dropping out had caused some... friction, a flint-strikes-wood situation that had led to Al moving out of the house, and eventually out-of-state. He had to admit, the independence felt good. Putting his shoes on the coffee table, not having to tell anyone where he was going... he’d definitely become more promiscuous. No independent murders, though, which was starting to grate on him. He’d realized lately that he had always expected to be allowed to do more, without his father and uncle. Maybe if he did what Pop wanted, things would calm down so he could move back to Michigan and use the cabin. But the idea of sitting in another classroom, taking notes on a subject he didn’t care about, all for the promise of 50 years chained to a desk... It made him want to sleep forever.

When the car pulled up to the mall, Al was not surprised at all by the entrance his uncle had chosen. “Mind if I peek in Sears?” Jack asked, as if wild horses could stop him.

Home improvement and appliance stores were another phenomenon Al only seemed to experience at home. The dusty, unvarnished smell and high ceilings had been a frequent backdrop during his childhood— for Jack, they seemed to be akin to a candy store. He was talented as a carpenter and repairman, and sincerely relished something going wrong with the house if it meant he could pull out his toolkit. He also liked to make things go wrong with human bodies on occasion, but there was a separate box for those tools waiting up at the cabin.

Two steps in the door, and a weary-looking holiday hire hit them up with a canned pitch: “...and I’m happy to help you find whatever’s on your list!“ Aggressive customer service, the bane of the paranoid shopper. Jack was the front line for shaking off overly helpful greeters, which Xav had called “the second-worst thing to come out of the 80s after Iran-Contra.”

“Just lookin’, God willing— I brought my conscience with me to make me behave,” Jack looked to his nephew. “Don’t let me buy a single screw, y’hear?”

“Got it. Bulk purchases only.” That earned Al a shove.

Salesperson successfully deflected, Jack ducked toward his usual corner: the big ticket carpentry goods. When Al caught up, he was running his hand over a table saw. As much as he loved his uncle, Al wasn’t particularly interested in watching him fantasize about cutting wood, or even bone. “You have a project in mind?”

“A bit of a science experiment, next time we play cards,” Jack’s pupils darted along the equipment, still in reverie. “I’ve been readin’ a book about crucifixions, and how they affect the body.”

“Oh, that’s seasonal.”

“‘Course, I won’t be able to try it ‘til next year. You think your Pop would let me pick out a rabbit by April?” Jack chuckled. He was not talking about the Easter bunny. “We can see if she comes back to life after three days.”

Al snorted. “Jesus.”

“Precisely. Y’know, Christ is usually depicted with holes in his hands, but in actuality, the Romans would have put the nails through his wrists.” Jack picked up Al’s arm to demonstrate, dancing fingers across his palm. “Ain’t much to take hold of in here. It’s too fragile and open-ended. But if you move up the arm,”— he pressed his thumb into the straightened portion of Al’s median nerve— “You can hook the radius and the ulna. Much better support.” Jack’s eyes flickered with glee. “And it hurts like a bitch!”

“Wait, are you going to go first, or last?” Playing cards was usually a once-a-year affair, and the night Al looked forward to the most. If Jack snuffed her out before he had his turn...

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Done right, she could last for days.” Not that she would, since Pop would probably have something to say about that. “I just want to try, er... doin’ as the Romans do. And who knows, maybe you’ll like it. Every bachelor eventually needs to have a girl nailed down!”

They cackled and then shushed each other, wincing like sneaky little boys at the idea that someone would hear them over the store’s ambient shopping muzak. They really shouldn’t talk like this in public, even with code words and euphemisms. Though over the years they’d learned that people can be experts at ignoring what’s right under their noses. Certainly none of the men had ever overheard anyone else planning a murder.

“It’s just a pipe dream, I’m still in the plannin’ stages,” Jack added. “Ain’t even got the lumber yet. So if you wanna put some packages under the tree that are, say, 4-by-6 and 72 inches long... I promise to be shocked when I unwrap ‘em.”

Al’s attention shifted over his uncle’s shoulder, to a shelf of handheld orbital sanders. Al was more of a hands-on kind of guy— he still got a little queasy thinking about Jack’s experiment to see which sandpaper grit was the best at removing skin.

“So what was it you wanted me to look at? I don’t think Pop needs a crucifix for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m just killin’ time before our appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“At the photo studio. I want you to give your Pop a picture.”

“...of us?”

“Naw, just you.”

Al loved that. “Yeah, that’d be hilarious. Merry Christmas, Pop, I got you me!”

A pause. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack, son. It’s just what he needs.”

“Do you have, I don’t know, a backup plan?” Al faltered. “Something less self-centered? I’m not exactly his favorite person right now. He kind of thinks I’m a failure.”

“Alan, you are not a failure. You are...” Jack patted his nephew’s cheek. “An unbroken mustang who has not yet found his ranch. And your father is just tryna keep you from bein’ sold as horse meat.” He slid them into a far aisle for more privacy. “He worries about you a lot, and he misses you somethin’ fierce.”

Al chewed his cheek. “Well, talk to him about showing it sometime.”

“No, son,” Jack took him by the shoulder, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Your father cries. At night when he talks about you, he starts wellin’ up like a waif. He doesn’t need to hear that you know about it, but it’s the God’s honest truth. All he talks about is wantin’ you back home.”

“I think movin’ out has been good for you, and I’m happy you did it. But it wounded him to his core. You’re his heart, kid.”

Al wasn’t sure how he was taking this information, but he knew how he was supposed to. He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

“Okay... If you’re completely sure he won’t think it’s stupid.”

“Are you kiddin’? He’ll put it on the nightstand.” Jack grinned. “And if you smile for it real nice, I’ll take you to that steakhouse in the plaza after.”

Al cocked an eyebrow. “You were gonna go there anyway.”

“Yes. Yes, I was. But won’t you enjoy your ribeye that much more knowin’ you’ve earned it?” Mmn, maybe. “Besides... did you have any better ideas?”

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Come Christmas Day, Xav had unwrapped the waist-up portrait and just said “thank you”— which was worrying because he was usually much more verbose than that— and gone silent in his chair. At least he wasn’t mad. Al looked to Jack, who smiled knowingly and handed him a package to keep the gift exchange going.

Al figured it was because Jack had given him something funny, but then he heard his father breathe in sharply.

“Maudit tabarnak... you fucking assholes,” Xav’s voice sounded high and squeaky, like it was being squeezed through slabs of rock. He ducked his chin into his bedshirt collar to hide his face.

“You, fucking... why’d you have to...” He shook his hand at the framed photo. Oh boy, he really did hate it. The whole idea was idiotic. Al had sat in front of that artfully-mottled green backdrop and squinted for a man with a bow tie and no indoor voice for nothing, except for the sheer discomfort of it. And a ribeye steak with a baked potato.

Xav blinked up at the ceiling and gulped, his Adam’s apple fluctuating grotesquely. Eventually he seemed to find his voice again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having pictures taken, so I could make sure he had his fucking hair combed?” He showed them the photo. “Look at his bangs— they’re all over the fucking place.”

Al had to admit, they did look a little wild. “Aw, shoot. Sorry, Pop,” he laughed.

Jack tutted. “I think it looks nice. Rugged.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to comb your hair either, Jack.” Xav brought the photo back into his lap, looking it over. “Looks like he fought a bear before sitting down. But don’t worry, I still like it. You look handsome, kid. Maybe I can find some space on my nightstand.” Al and Jack exchanged victory grins, and didn’t catch Xav wiping tears from both eyes.

[riskeith]

royaltied (1,292)

Keith is at a party he absolutely doesn't want to be at, but Lance is there to keep him company.

for anon ☆

PAIRING: Keith/Lance

RATING: teen and up audiences

TAGS: alternate universe - royalty; alternate universe - medieval; prince keith; pining keith; knight lance; humor; banter; fluff; getting together

read on AO3 or under the cut

“I can see you, Lance.”

Lance grins and sidles up to Keith’s side from behind the column.

He then tilts his head and peers at him with a playful look.

Keith doesn’t spare him a glance and continues watching ahead, where distinguished guests mingle with each other, and servants carry food and drink on gold platters.

Keith should be down there with them, should be ‘socialising’ with his subjects, but he would really rather be anywhere else.

The only saving grace is that he has some kind of a reputation. He doesn’t know what it is exactly, however he knows it makes others scared to approach him. People will sneak glances at him, talk about him with hands or fans or whatever object they’re holding in front of their mouths, but they’ll never try to actually initiate a conversation.

It’s great.

Only, Keith knows the queen is becoming impatient with him.

She’s finally come to terms with the fact he is not interested in a partner, so she’s now focusing all her efforts into teaching Keith everything it takes to be a good leader.

Which unfortunately involves attending parties he always managed to get out of before.

“Prince Keith, you’re scowling.”

Keith tears his gaze away from Krolia, who’s giving him a look that no doubt reads, ‘Get down here and talk to these people.’, and redirects his glare to Lance instead.

“Why are you even here?”

Lance puts a hand over his heart and pretends to be wounded. He falters back and his silver armour shines under the light. The blue emblem in the middle—signifying his status as a Paladin, a Defender of the Kingdom—reflects brilliantly, matching the ocean in his eyes.

He’s doused in it too, and the side of his face and hair are made to glow. Like this, he appears more regal than Keith does.

This is what they mean, he thinks, when they say the monarchs are blessed and descended from the skies above.

Except, Lance is just a knight.

But that doesn’t make him any less appealing.

It might do even more—with the combat skills he has, the ability to tame and ride any horse, the power in his brain and sword in battle—there is no question as to why he’s popular amongst the court.

Keith turns his face so as to hide his blush, hoping he can successfully mask it as annoyance at Lance’s antics.

“I’m here to guard you, of course.”

Lance’s voice is weirdly gentle so Keith looks at him again, and finds him resting a hand on the hilt of his sword, something he hadn’t noticed before.

He makes steady eye contact with Lance when he tells him, “You know full well I need no protection. And who would be so stupid as to try and assassinate the heir in his own home?”

“Many people, as you’re well aware. And I know you can fend for yourself, but I still have to obey Her Majesty’s orders.”

Keith groans and goes back to surveying the crowd.

He wonders if he can sneak to one of the food tables and grab something then come back without being noticed. Or whether he can just sneak back into his room and be done with the whole thing. He can visit the kitchen on his way too and still get food.

Apparently Hunk is catering for the event, and he makes the best dishes. Improved the castle’s meals immensely when he came here. Made it so that everyone got to eat like royalty, even if they were the furthest from it.

Hunk has a heart of gold—it’s no wonder he’s the Yellow Paladin.

“Which reminds me, she wanted me to tell you that events like these were important, and they’re good opportunities to build your image. ‘Keith may have the skills of a warrior, however he has a long way to go until he can communicate like a king.’”

Lance has pitched his voice higher, and talks with a posher accent.

“Are you trying to impersonate my mother?!”

Keith feels scandalised. Lance just grins at him.

One of the ladies-in-waiting walks past them, and when Lance redirects his smile to her and says hello, her cheeks become redder than the makeup already on them, and she quickly ducks her head and scurries away.

The exchange bugs Keith. He rolls his eyes and ignores the spike of something he doesn’t want to name in his chest.

“Ugh. Why couldn’t you just take my place? You’d be a much better royal than me.”

Keith never wanted the position anyway. And if he wasn’t a prince he could focus all his time and energy into being the Red Paladin. How many days has it been since he saw Red? He hopes she isn’t angry with him.

“You know,” Lance starts in that tone which means he’s about to say something bad, “there is a way I can become royalty.”

“Lance, you can’t get ‘royaltied’. It’s not like being knighted.”

He would though, if he had that power.

Keith would make Lance a prince, or a king, or anything he wanted to be.

Maybe then…

“Are you— You know what, I’m not gonna get mad. But as I was trying to say before you cut me off to insinuate I am unintelligent, if I married into the family, I’d become a royal.”

“My mother is not—”

“Ew stop! Aren’t you supposed to have the best tutors or something? How can you still be so stupid?”

Keith doesn’t lash out at the insult, but it’s a close thing. Lance is lucky Keith is too focused on trying to figure out his words right now.

“Wait. My mum is a widow. She isn’t going to remarry. So are you saying…”

Lance lets out a soft chuckle, and he moves right up into Keith’s space, gazes into his eyes with a gentleness that is definitely not associated with knights, and makes butterflies burst in Keith’s stomach.

“My prince,” and Keith’s heart skips at the possessive pronoun, “I mean this as respectfully as possible, but you are an idiot.”

That’s another insult now.

And once again, Keith isn’t going to do anything about it.

He does want, however, to…

“Lance.”

“Yes?”

“People are staring.”

“Let them. Let them wonder what this is. Whether I’m leaning close because I’m relaying confidential information, or whether the prince’s cold heart has been melted by the knight sworn to protect him.”

Lance glances down at his lips, and nervous laughter bubbles from Keith’s mouth. They’re really, really close.

Also, he would argue that it’s neither.

That his heart has long since been burning, charging him with fire.

Filling him with a desire for someone he’s just learned shared the same feelings.

Keith bites down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“Hey, would you look at that. I got you to smile.”

Ah. It seems Keith has failed to contain his joy.

“Lance.”

“Mmh?”

“Do you reckon you could get us out of here?”

Lance's eyes light up and he stands straight, in the official posture when receiving orders. There's nothing else serious about his demeanour though, this is all just for show.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He then turns and starts to make leave, Keith following close behind.

They maintain this order as they traverse the hallways like they’ve done many times before, but unlike the previous times, as soon as there’s no one around Keith finally reaches out for Lance’s hand. It’s something he’s wanted to do for so long, and when Lance’s fingers curl around his, he knows there’ll be no maintaining that reputation he’s inadvertently created for himself.

Not when even a simple touch leaves him absolutely enamoured.

[mypassionfortrash]

KICKS (part six)

Cleaning up and coming down from your first session with Roger, you start to think more about your feelings towards him. The pair of you also talk about what you want from your next encounter...

WARNINGS: Strong D/s themes throughout this fic; mentions of sex toys. STRICTLY 18+. NOTES: This is a soft chapter, lads. Thank you so much for the amazing feedback and support with this fic. I’d also like to say a special thanks to @just-my-sickly-pride​ for checking this over and to @jennyggggrrr​ for always being the first to read my awful drafts! Again, if you liked this fic, please reblog it and leave feedback! If you’d like me to tag you (or stop tagging you) just ping me a message!

CATCH UP: Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five

Tags: @jennyggggrrr @sarahgurl09 @scorpiogemini @johnricharddeacy​ @brianssixpence​ @hellohellothere12 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @internationalkpoplova @thefairyfellersmasterstroke @six-bloodyminutes @hannafuckingsucks​ @dancingcoolcat​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​ @theedwardscollection​ @inthelapofrogertaylor​ @80s-roger​ @just-my-sickly-pride​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @johndeaconshands​ @loveandbeloved29​ @toreyyyyyy @fallingprincess​

You and Roger collapsed together in a sweaty, exhausted heap of intertwined limbs, racing hearts and air-starved lungs. 

You couldn’t fathom why you suddenly felt so tired. Maybe it was the excitement of it all? But even gazing up at Roger depleted what little reserve you had left. “You ok, Roggie?” you whispered, giving his chest a nudge. 

Roger’s delicate eyes fluttered closed and he hummed quietly.

You knew that for the time being you weren’t going to get much sense from him. Cleaning yourself up might have been the last thing you wanted to do. But the fog in your brain had started to dissipate, drawing your attention to the sticky, squelchy lube still clinging to your fingers. Cleaning up was a necessary evil. Propping yourself up onto your elbow, you shot him one more look. He was out cold.

Cocooning yourself in your own kinky bubble for an evening made it easy to forget that beyond the spare room, February’s bitter cold still raged. You padded towards the bathroom. Eagerness to wash the filth from your hands made you trip and stumble your way there and when the door closed and your back turned against it all, warmth swelled inside you again.

Gosh, he was beautiful.

As soon as that thought reared its head, you stuffed it back into the back of your mind. Three steps forward. Hands draped over the edge of the sink, a sliver of skin in the mirror caught your eye. A subtle twinkle on the backdrop of an inky black sky. You stared for just a moment as the water soared above the howling weather, hands rubbing together. Bubbles. Rinse. 

All the while, that unbearable tension blossomed and bloomed.

You wanted so much more from him.

And the only thing stopping you was your own self.

Three loud raps on the door had you jumping out of your skin. You had been so sure – so certain – that you were alone with your thoughts. What if Roger heard? You did have a habit of thinking out loud.

“Are you in there, darling?”

“Give me a sec,” you called, giving your hands a shake that sent spray flying. When you opened the door, you found Roger shivering in the hall, lit only by a strip of pale moonlight on the edge of his form. “Are you alright?” you asked, smoothing his hair from his face.

He wrapped his arms around his torso in a bid to stop any more heat from leaving. His voice sounded so small. “I just wondered where you had gone.”

“Sorry, I– I thought you were asleep,” you blustered. “I’m just cleaning myself up…”

“I was just about to do that too. Feel absolutely disgusting for some reason.” The light in Roger’s eyes danced from left to right. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it. It… it was perfect. I loved it.”

Your palms fell on Roger’s biceps to calm him down. His skin was still clammy to touch. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He swallowed hard. “That’d be nice.”

“Come in,” you said standing aside. Ducking out into the hall, you flipped the light switch beside the door. Suddenly, the bathroom glowed in a sterile yellow that made Roger squint to acclimatise. You eyed him leaning back against the sink, still naked and dishevelled, for just a moment too long. “How do you want to smell after this?” you asked.

“Clean,” he chuckled.

You picked a bottle, any bottle, from the caddy next to the bath and drizzled its contents into the empty bath. Then you let the water come roaring down from the taps. “I’m going to get you some towels,” you smiled. Your eyes trailed down Roger’s body again. “And maybe a robe.”

Roger’s hands travelled south, preserving what little modesty he had left. “Thanks.”

“Back in a moment.”

“Don’t be too long.”

Roger groaned as he eased himself into the comforting blanket of bubbles. His eyes, unable to prop themselves open any longer, closed, and his head lolled against the cold tiles on the wall. After everything, this must have felt like heaven to him. Just like he looked like heaven to you. 

It was hard not to feel like you should be tending to his every whim. So you sat down on the floor beside the tub. Reaching out an unsteady hand, you raked your fingers through his hair; it was thick and matted and still damp with sweat at the roots. Even still, a quiet smile formed on Roger’s lips, relishing the attention like he usually did. “Do you want me to wash this for you?” you asked.

His eyes shot open in a moment of horror. “Oh you don’t have to. Only if you want to. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Close your eyes for me.” Dampening Roger’s hair, you lathered it up into a soft foam.

He giggled, taking in the sweet scent. “Smells like bananas,” he said, leaning into your touch.

“One thing’s for certain, you’re gonna smell like a bloody fruit salad after this.”

“Why do girls’ shampoos always smell better?” he mused.

“Suppose everyone always expects us to smell like a freshly-cut bouquet.”

“You smell nice. You always do.”

“You’ve been spending the last few weeks sniffing me?” you asked, giving his hair a sharp tug.

“Ow! Maybe.”

“Who’s the pervert now?”

“Your hand was practically up my bum an hour ago!”

“Point taken,” you conceded. For a split second, your mind strayed, dreaming up everything you really wanted to do with him. “Right, time to rinse you off. Head back.”

When you were finished with Roger, he looked like a drowned rat with strands of bleach blonde hair glued to his forehead and the sides of his face. He looked even sadder when you leaned back and scrambled to your feet. A little helpless, even. And it still tugged at your heartstrings. “Where are you going?” he asked, flashing you a glassy-eyed gaze. 

“I’m going to get some tea and toast. You look like you could do with something to eat.”

“It’s alright,” he said, batting away that suggestion with his hand in the air.

“Trust me. You’ll sleep better.”

He couldn’t hide that small smile of his. The coy kind that he reserved only for you. For moments like this. “You know best.”

You brushed your hand over Roger’s shoulder. “I’ll go and get the kettle on. You take as long as you need, Roggie.”

Alone with your thoughts for the second time that night, every noise seemed amplified tenfold, making you wince. 

The clang of the rack going into the grill. 

The hiss of the boiling kettle. 

The tinkle of a teaspoon swirling in a mug. 

Something was bothering you. You felt it draw at your shoulder blades and deepen the well in your stomach. The rushing sound in your ears. 

You had been doing so well tonight. Enough to keep it all in at least.

Roger was waiting for you in the spare room, wrapped up in a fleecy, fluffy robe, half nodding off when you returned with a plate piled high with toast and jam and steaming hot mugs of tea. You sat the tray down between you both and observed him delicately pick at the crusts.

“How are you feeling, Roggie?”

“Much better,” he said through a mouthful of bread. His eyes returned to you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You took a swig of tea to gather your thoughts. You were having a lot of those tonight and you couldn’t quite put your finger on what was going to pour out next. “It’s always a bit of a learning experience when you’re doing this with someone new.”

“You sound sad,” Roger said, sitting upright. “Want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing,” you smiled. “I’m just a bit tired myself. Takes it out of you.”

“I can believe that. You were really going for it when you were… on me.”

Roger had reverted back to his usual self and it earned a giggle from you. That was exactly what you liked about him. He’d do anything to make you laugh, you were convinced. You tilted your head and wore a contented smile, studying him as he tore the crusts from another piece. “I really was, wasn’t I?” You said.

“It was incredible.”

You reached out and patted Roger’s shin, thumbing at the sparse hairs. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Reckon you’ll want a next time?” As soon as those words popped out of your mouth, you felt your chest burn, dreading Roger’s answer.

He nodded. His own cheeks had taken on a slightly redder hue. “You know how you said you were going to… stretch me out?” he choked through his toast.

You shifted to sit up straighter, eye level with him. “Yeah?”

“Did you mean it? W-would you do that?”

“Do you want that?”

“Yes, please. If you want to do that with me.”

“I’d love to,” you said, still absentmindedly stroking his leg.

“How would we go about it?” Roger asked.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

Roger shook his head.

“Come over to the shop first thing and I’ll show you.”

You and Roger went your separate ways shortly after breakfast and the hours just dragged on while you waited for him at the shop. You got there early and dealt with deliveries, continuing to work despite agonising tendrils snaking their way around your insides. You swore your mind had turned into a hamster wheel, churning out an endless stream of worst-case scenarios about how this was going to go. 

Would you be honest? 

Play it cool? 

Stick to the script and stay in character? 

Your eyes didn’t budge from the clock; the hands barely moved, much like you trying to reach a decision.

Roger robbed you of those final precious moments of thinking time, showing up at Kicks ten minutes early, cosied up in an oversized fur coat, his red cheeks and dark sunglasses just visible above the collar. 

Rushing towards the door, you and Roger collided in a nervous hug. “How are you feeling?” you asked him.

“My muscles are in agony today,” he smiled.

“You have muscles?”

Roger chuckled, giving your arm a swat. “Right, show me what you’re shoving up my arse!”

“I’m glad you asked,” you began, wandering over to the cash desk. “Get your coat off, pull up a pew. I’ve got a few things here to show you.”

Roger did exactly as you told him and couldn’t peel his eyes from your movements as you assembled a row of plugs on the desk in front of him. They started small and gradually got larger in diameter. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth while you completed the set with the largest one – for now. Then he raised an eyebrow. His baby blues shot from the toys to you and back again.

“So what do you think?” you asked, shifting on the stool.

“I–I’m excited,” he croaked.

“I’m going to give you a week,” you began, leaning forward. “And what I want you to do is use these every day. Start small and slow with lots of lube. And when you’re comfortable, size up, wear them for longer. Maybe try sleeping with one in. How does that sound?”

Roger’s jaw slackened. “So just wear them around the house?”

“See what works for you. You could make it more fun if you want. It might make you feel good to edge yourself a few times a day using them.”

Roger’s eyes widened and his back straightened. “That sounds more interesting.”

“Are you up for a week of not being able to come?” You said. “Think you could handle it?”

For a moment, he seemed to have second thoughts about your suggestion, unsure of whether he really could go a whole week without release. Then he bolstered himself, his usual cockiness overriding his reservations. “Definitely. I could definitely do that.”

“I’ll have to punish you if you disobey me.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“And I’ll be checking in on you every single day.”

“Sounds excellent if I get to talk to you every day,” he said with a wink.

God, why was he like this? Charming and cheeky and utterly disarming. You had to fight to stay in character. “I can’t wait to see what that arse of yours can do,” you blurted. 

Roger leaned back and puffed out his cheeks. “Fuck.”

>>NEXT PART>>

[rustic-bowling-shoes]

Staring at the Sun- Ezra x Reader

Warnings- Blood, running, Ezra being a sweetheart.

(This is my first fic I’ve ever written for Prospect/Pedro and ngl I’m a little bit excited and a lot a bit nervous. Depending on if anyone at all likes this first chap we’ll see if I continue this or not (I most likely will though because I have nothing to do in my spare time but who needs to know about that). So voila! Enjoy!)

   CHAPTER 1: ON THE RUN

  Your lungs burned, the poison of the green seeping into your lungs. You shuffled through the trees speedily, you were running but you couldn’t remember from what. Everything was blurred, your vision doubled as the poison filled your lungs. You fell forward as you tripped, your hands slicing against thorns on the ground. 

  You looked down at your feet to see that they were bleeding, your fogged mind only then realizing that you were only wearing a shirt and shorts. They were soft, you liked that they were soft. You always liked soft things. Running. You were running, why were you running? You stood up again shakily, continuing to run. 

  You saw something in the distance, an orange lump... or was it green? Who gets to decide colors, what’s blue or pink? You started to slow down but something in the back of your mind screamed at you to go faster. You ran to the lump in front of you, hoping for salvation in the only nonconformity you’d seen so far.

  You stopped suddenly, your stomach churning as your head started to pound and white spots surrounded your vision. You leaned forward, clutching your stomach as you vomited. You wiped your mouth and continued forward. Everything was getting worse, the dizziness turning into the world spinning violently and the pain you blocked out starting to pulse through your body yet you still carried on.

  You heard shouting but you were unable to discern what was being said, the blob making its way towards you. As it got closer you were able to see that it was a Male in a spacesuit, his mouth moving but you couldn’t hear his words. Everything sounded like static and the blood pumping in your ears. You fell over again, this time due to the agony of your feet unable to take you forward any further. 

  You turned onto your side, branches and rocks stabbing into your skin. You noticed your clothing, your shirt a pastel blue and your shorts a soft yellow. Soft, your clothes were soft. You liked soft things, they were comforting to you. The blue reminded you of clear skies and the yellow of baby ducks. 

  You looked up at the various shades of green and blue, the bright colors freeing you momentarily from the pain. The man’s face came into view as he stood over you panicked; he kneeled beside you quickly, you saw his mouth move but you couldn’t understand what he was saying. You reached up for him, your hand coming into contact with his helmet. Your hand fell back, a vivid red handprint left behind in your blood.

  He grabbed your hand and looked it over, grabbing the other one and grimacing at the blood streaked across them. He looked like he was contemplating something for a second before he picked you up bridal style. You groaned out in pain as you were lifted into the air, your head lolling back. You lifted your head up but it felt like you were tied down by bricks. You saw your legs covered in cuts from running through the dense wood and the male that was carrying you. 

  He was pretty in a weird rugged way, like a german shepherd. The tuft of blond made you wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through his hair. You bet it would be soft, you liked soft things. Your head fell back again, you watched the trees pass by in a daze. You both reached a clearing and the bright rays of the sun that were blocked from the trees blinding your sensitive eyes. You hid your face in his chest trying to block the light out. He was warm, even though the suit was scratchy against your skin you wanted to cuddle in closer to him.

  All of a sudden you were lying on a cot, the man out of his helmet and suit. He put a mask over your mouth and nose, air flowing through the mask and to your lungs. You coughed as the air fills your lungs, attempting to replace the poison that coursed through you. He grabbed a needle and stuck it in your arm, injecting you with something. It took a second before fire started to burn through you. He pulled the mask off and grabbed a cup from next to him with a milky liquid in it, he helped you drink it and some of the pain went away.

  He worked on you quickly, putting the mask back on and grabbing a wet cloth from a bowl beside him. He worked at cleaning the blood from your hands, arms, legs, and feet. His touch was gentle as he cleaned the cuts. He grabbed some sort of medicinal cream from the first aid kit you just noticed was also next to him and he applied it to your wounds, wrapping them up with bandages.

  He pulled the mask off of you after 30ish minutes of aiding you, “Are you feeling better now?” His voice was somehow both gruff and smooth all in the same, it perfectly matched the way he looked. “Can you hear me?” he continued as you didn’t respond, his southern drawl making you feel… something deep inside.

  You opened your mouth to speak but found your throat to be too dry to speak. You coughed violently, your body bending forward as you heaved. He was gone from your side for a second before coming back with a canteen. He pressed your lips to it and tilted your head back. The water filled your mouth and ran down your aching throat; it felt like you hadn’t drunk anything in years as you guzzled down the man’s water.

  You pulled away and gasped for air, not realizing just how long you had been drinking. “Who are you?” you rasped, wiping water from your mouth. “My name is Ezra, I found you dashing through the green and ran to your aid only for you to collapse at my feet. Therefore, my little bird, the better question is who are you?” his voice was calm and didn’t let you know any of the emotions he was feeling. You hated that you were in this man’s bed without a reckon of what he was thinking. You were about to tell him your name before you paused, wracking your brain. You must have looked panicked because Ezra chimed in, “If you don’t want to inform me that is fine, we all have our secrets after all.”

  You looked up at him frantically as you felt your heart begin to race, “I don’t remember who I am. I don’t remember anything but running.” 

[padfootagain]

The Flower Shop Around The Corner (VII)

Part 7 : Bathed In The Sun

Here I come again with a new chapter for this fic! It's getting so cute!!! I hope you all like this! :)

Gif not mine

Word Count : 3722

Three weeks was all that Chris had left.

Three weeks to make you forget about Wallet Guy and make you interested in him instead.

With each day that passed by, it seemed that he fell harder for you. While he managed to hide his growing crush, he also had to keep on being the Wallet Guy. Which felt wrong, now that he knew who you really were and was developing feelings for the real you. With every letter he wrote, the pinch of guilt held on his heart. But he didn't have a choice. He had to keep on pretending to be Wallet Guy. It was the only way to keep you into his life so fully. Besides… he still adored receiving your letters, that fact hadn't changed in the slightest.

To learn to know you better, and get a chance to show you that he wasn't the jerk you thought he was, he tried to spend more and more time with you. From that night at the bar, he had asked you to accompany him and a few other colleagues to a few other nights out. And then one day, he had complained about not having anyone to go to the cinema with, and couldn't refrain his heart from jumping in his chest as you offered him company. You had since then shared two lunches, two more nights at the cinema and even an afternoon walking along the Hudson River.

And all along, you were laughing and joking, and soft…

And he tried to be clever, and funny, and show you that he was more than what you once thought he was. A clown seeking for attention. It was a good sum up of what you had said that night at the café. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the words away.

But now you laughed with him, and welcomed him with a warm smile every morning. He reckoned that it had to mean that you saw more in him than that now, did you not?

He bit on the pen as he looked for the right words, preparing the letter for you to find the next morning.

Meanwhile, Carlotta was staring at him with a disapproving look.

"You are taking terrible decisions with your life," she reprimanded him, making Chris look up at her with an arched eyebrow.

"Nice to hear," he replied, but Carlotta didn't laugh, nor smile.

"You should tell her the truth!"

"I can't. How many times do I have to tell you? And you've promised me not to tell her!"

"Of course not. It's your job to tell her, not mine. I'm merely the cupid here, the messenger of love! But you are the romantic Romeo, and you should be honest with your Juliet. How many deaths would have been spared if only these two idiots had talked in the first place?!"

"That's not that simple, Carlotta."

"It is, though. That's the problem for 95% of all that goes wrong on this Earth. People don't talk to each other enough."

"If I tell her, it's over. She'll push me away for good."

"You underestimate her."

"First, I have to make sure she likes the company of the real me."

"But she already does."

"I'm not so sure. And I have to be sure."

She crossed her arms before her chest, giving him a pointy look.

"You're just afraid to tell her."

"Of course I'm not afraid to tell her."

"Oh, yes, you are!"

"I'm not afraid of her."

"You're afraid of her reaction. You're afraid that all you feel for her could be unrequited. You're afraid she might push you away. But that's a chance all of us have to take, sweetheart."

He didn't answer at first. He merely let the florist's words sink in. There was quite a lot of undeniable truth in her words. But oh… how he wished he could push her thoughts away anyway.

When he spoke again, there was more sadness than before in his blue eyes.

"I have little time left anyway. I'll tell her soon, I promise. But for now… for now, I need to make sure we can stay friends after she finds out the truth…"

"We both know you're aiming for more than friends."

"Stop calling on me like that. It feels like I'm a mere open book to you!"

"That's because you are an open book, Chris."

"I'm mysterious."

"An open book, that's what you are."

He gave her a sad smile, before letting his eyes fall back onto the letter he was still working on, the pen orbiting a few centimetres above the blue paper, the ink not yet dry on the page. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Do you think she'll forgive me? Do you think she'll forgive me for being Wallet Guy?"

"She doesn't need to forgive you for being that, Chris."

But you did. Or so he thought at least. Because he was that colleague you used to hate, and that man you valued so much at the same time. You had to forgive him for being only Chris in real life, instead of that perfect stranger you had clearly fallen for through ink and paper. He wasn't the dream he had made you feel like while writing to you, and he needed to make it up to you, somehow. You would be so disappointed to see that the Wallet Guy was only Chris Evans in the end. How could he break that dream of yours?

But he didn't reply to Carlotta, and merely resumed his writing instead. He didn't need to speak for Carlotta to clearly read through his heart, though. The words were written all over his features after all.

And she was right.

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

 "Oh, it was such a good idea to come here, Chris! It's a beautiful day!"

You closed your eyes as you walked by his side, turning your face up to meet the warm sun. You heaved a content sigh. Meanwhile, Chris was staring at you with a dreamy smile on his lips.

He wondered why it had taken him so long to see this side of you, maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe it was all his fault or mainly yours. He had no clue, but he reckoned it didn't matter. Because he saw you now, the real you. More complex than Peony and yet just as wonderful, as talented and proud as his colleague, and yet so much more.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, focussing on the path before him again. The sun shone brightly upon New York, and Central Park seemed to glimmer under the warm light. The leaves shed some green light on the paths, while the water of both fountains and ponds reflected the blinding yellow light of the star. Many people had had the same idea as the two of you to spend their Saturday afternoon, and children ran across the grass, and couples walked hand in hand, and friends talked and laughed sitting on benches. Some flowers remained in full bloom despite the end of summer, sparkling their colours through the mostly green scenery.

Dodger was trotting a few steps ahead of you, looking back once in a while to see if you still followed him. You had been out with Chris and his dog a couple of times already, and the animal adored you already. Chris guessed that he had good taste in people.

"I can't believe we have so little time left here," you sighed, your eyes wandering through the park. "It didn't feel so long after all."

"That's mostly because you stopped hating me," Chris laughed.

"I've never hated you."

"You did. You did hate me."

"It wasn't hate, it was… I just… didn't like you very much."

You were not used to talk about this particular topic with him. It felt a little strange, a little forbidden. As you thought about it, between Chris becoming your friend and your letters to Wallet Guy, your life in New York was a crazy one.

A couple of ducks crossed the path ahead of you, Dodger barking at them and bringing an amused smile to your lips. But Chris was not done with the subject yet.

"I'm happy we're friends now," he let out in an uncertain tone, a little fragile.

You looked up at him, giving him a tender smile.

"Yeah… me too."

"We'll keep in touch once our job is done, right?"

"I would love to." You nodded, giving him a smile.

"Will you miss many people when you leave New York?"

The thought of Wallet Guy crossed your mind but you didn't know how to say this without being ridiculous.

Exchanging letters with a stranger in a flower shop, how mad was that?

"Yeah… a few."

Your vague answer made Chris roll his eyes.

"Come on! Tell me! Have you made friends or… met someone?"

He was good at hiding the way his heart sped up as he waited for your answer.

You nervously brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear.

"I… There's this man I… I like… It's a long story."

"Who is he?"

"It's complicated."

"I won't tell anyone, you know? I mean… we're friends now, you can tell me."

You stared at him for a moment, ignoring the children passing next to you on their bikes at a speed way too high to be safe with so many people walking on the path. Instead, you lost yourself in his blue eyes for a long while and…

It wasn't a way you lost yourself in a friend's eyes. You recognized the feeling, you had felt it before. It was something different, more intimate, more… you couldn't bring yourself to use that word…

But as you stared into his baby blue eyes, you realized that he was right. You trusted him. He was your friend. You felt comfortable enough around him to talk about anything. So why not talk about Wallet Guy?

"Promise me you won't laugh at me, cause it's not funny at all," you warned him.

"You have my word. Tell me everything. Who's this guy?"

"I… I don't know his name."

He frowned, and was excellent at hiding how fast his heart was beating.

"Really? How come?"

"I… I write to him. Anonymously."

"Like… on the internet?"

"No, letters. Paper and pencils, you remember those?"

He chuckled, but let you continue.

"We… it's ridiculous really, but… I found his wallet in a flower shop, and he left a note for me, to thank me. And then I left him a note too. And he left another and another and… things evolved into letters and we write to each other every day now."

"Sounds romantic," Chris smiled, and you were grateful when you detected no trace of mockery on his features.

"It's a bit silly."

"Not really. But you still don't know his name? For how long has this been going on?"

Chris struggled to let the words out, and he didn't have any idea on how he had managed to get them out in this conversational tone.

Because you had just revealed to him that you liked him. Or at least… Wallet Guy. You would miss Wallet Guy. You would miss Chris's letters discovered in the light of dawn. You would miss writing back for him to find your words in the fading twilight. You would miss him. When asked who you would miss in New York, it was him you thought of first. Chris's heart was swollen all of a sudden, growing and growing with a tender feeling until he was certain it would break his ribs to escape. Instead, the emotions had to be re-routed through his frame and reached his eyes to create tears there. It was overwhelming. Overwhelming, between happiness, and relief, and disappointment too.

Because he wasn't really Wallet Guy. And he had grown to lov… like you as more than Peony, but for now, you still thought of only this stranger with a pen. It was distressing really, to be competing against himself.

Maybe he should have told you then, that he was this mysterious man you wrote to. But then, what would happen? You didn't see Chris the way you saw Wallet Guy. You would still be disappointed that this man you thought was so extraordinary, actually was the normal Chris. Nothing extraordinary about him. Just him. And for now, you weren't fond of the normal him. The flawed one. For now, all you could see was the perfect part of him. Would you ever like Chris enough to love his flaws too? Oh, he hoped so, so ardently. Because he adored your flaws too by now…

"Almost since I came to New York, actually," you smiled a dreamy smile. "We wanted to keep it anonymous. And I don't know his job or anything too personal. We just talk about our days and how we feel and… what's going in the world… whatever we want to talk about, really."

"He sounds like a good guy."

"He is. He truly is. He… oh, yes, he truly is amazing."

"Wait… was that this guy you were to meet that night? At the café? Do you remember? When we still hated each other and I bumped into you."

You winced at the thought. And Chris thought it was because Wallet Guy didn't come. But it wasn't.

"I was so rude to you. I… I've never apologized properly actually, right?"

"Hey, it's nothing. I was being a knob, anyway."

"No, you… I mean, you were annoying. But I was straight up rude and a little bit cruel. And I'm sorry. I really am. Cause I… I didn't mean any of it. You just… I don't know why, it was just so easy insulting you. I'm usually so bad at this, I can't find my words and am barely gawking like a goldfish, and yet then with you I just… Was good at it."

"I don't know if I should take it as a compliment." He laughed, but you didn't join him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that I said. I don't think of you that way."

"Really? You don't?"

He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and his question came out in a fragile breath. As you looked up at him, he seemed vulnerable all of a sudden. And you hated yourself, you hated yourself so much for making him feel this way. You locked your arm with his, and he tried to ignore how good it felt to touch you, to have you walking close to him in that intimate manner. He knew it was just a friendly movement, but not to him. To him, it meant so much more.

"You're very talented, Chris," you spoke in a soft, soothing voice that left no place for lies, and he couldn't doubt your words. "And you're a very good and kind person. You're even a little funny."

This brought a soft laugh to both of you, before you went on.

"You're a good man. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner. I wish I had."

Chris shrugged your words away, trying to play it cool, when actually, he was on the verge of tears again. It was a such a relief to hear all this coming from you.

"You're rather amazing, Y/N, you know?"

His words were uttered in a mere whisper. But you caught them all the same and cherished them in a way that scared you a little.

You exchanged a smile, until Dodger was barking at a bunch of pigeons, and you both brought yourselves back to reality.

You bought some ice-creams and settled on a fresh patch of green grass, in the cool shade of an oak tree. And you couldn't deny that you hadn't felt this happy and peaceful in a long, very long time.

You laughed at him as he winced hard after taking a large bite into his frozen food.

“You’re too fast! I told you your brain would freeze!”

“This ice cream is too delicious. What can I do?” he replied with a shrug.

“You have no self control!”

“Not when it comes to ice creams, no.”

You let out a bright wave of laughter, and Chris couldn’t refrain a smile at the sight. You turned your face towards the bright summer sun, the star warming the lively park. Above your head, the oak deployed its large leaves, its branches stretched towards the sky. The shadow that it shed protected you from the hot weather, but the sun was so bright that you could feel its soothing warmth on your face anyway.

Dodger brushed his nose against your thigh, and you smiled as you started to pet his head. He waved his tail in contentment. And as you closed your eyes, licking your chocolate ice cream, your face still turned towards the sky to catch the sunlight, Chris didn’t even notice the smile that appeared on his features. It was a happy, tender smile though, that traced tiny lines at the corner of his eyes and made the two blue orbs glimmer. He only noticed his reaction as his heart started to quicken its pace, until it was pounding against his rib cage, as if it tried to escape his chest to get to you.

But he didn’t say anything. It was too soon. He didn’t stand a chance for now. He needed more time to make you change your mind.

Eventually, you turned to him again. Dodger started to whine when your hand left his fur, so you kept on stroking his head as you spoke to Chris again.

"I meant to ask you… if you don't mind answering…"

"Fire away," Chris encouraged you as you paused for several seconds.

"Now that you're done with playing Captain America, what kind of movies would you like to do? Cause you chose this one while you were still the Captain, so it doesn't really count."

"I already knew that it would soon be over though."

"Yes, but you were not directly confronted to the question. And now that you are… I guess things must be a little different, right?"

He slowly nodded, but didn't answer.

"I mean… You've been working with this character for ten years, he has to have become a part of you. I'm sure he changed you… for the better."

"For the better?" he asked back with mischief, and you rolled your eyes.

"That wasn't meant as a compliment for you," you replied, but your voice was too soft for the words to be true. "I mean… he's Captain America, he can't have a bad influence on someone. He's too virtuous for that."

"He is, you're right."

He stayed quiet for another moment, before answering. His blue eyes drifted across the grass before him, passed the laughing children and the walking couples without seeing them. His eyelashes caught drops of the sun, and you couldn't help but notice how long they were.

"I don't know what to do to be honest. It's a brand new chapter of my life that has started and I'm… terrified of it. I was terrified when I started to play this character, and I am terrified now to stop playing him. It's like… It's more than a job when you have to do so many movies with this same character. You're right, he became a part of me, and I… I grew up as a person thanks to him. He changed me. As a person, not just as an actor, and not just through my career."

"It changed everything for your career as well, though."

"Yes, it's definitely… It means the safety of a job in a field where there's none, really. I had my contract to do this amount of movies, I could still see that… three years ahead, no matter if I couldn't find any other job, I had this one, and that meant security, that was a solid point, an… an anchor in my professional life, Now, I'm going to be back with the full uncertainty of… desperately looking for a job, because otherwise there's no money coming in from any other project. I'm not complaining, I'm not pretending to be poor, but when you look three years ahead again… So much can happen in three years. And where there was this safety before, now there's just unknown. In a way it's exciting, cause it's been so long since I've lived like this, but in another way it's… just terrifying. And on a more personal point of view… He's been a way for me to improve as a man. I want to help others more because of him, I want to make a difference, I want to stand up for what is right… in circumstances where perhaps, before all this, I would have stayed quiet. But I can't do that anymore. Because I have his moral compass that has become… somehow my moral compass as well. And this part of him, I'll keep for the rest of my life. I know I will."

You gave him a soft smile.

"That's the best part, I reckon."

He finally turned to you again, and gave you back the same tender smile.

"It is," he nodded. "It really is."

His smile turned mischievous, and when he spoke again, his tone lacked the melancholy it had been wearing seconds before, replaced by something filled with joy instead.

"But I'm not him. We're still different. He wouldn't do that, for example."

And before you could reply he had pressed his ice-cream against your nose.

You loudly gasped, and cursed him under your breath, before getting your revenge and pressing your own ice-cream against his cheek.

"Not my beard!" he complained, trying to reach your face again.

"You're the one who started it!"

You were both laughing hard and giggling by now, and soon you lost your balance, Dodger taking a few cautious steps away. You dragged Chris with you in your fall onto the grass, and you kept on battling for a while, until all your strengths had disappeared because you were both laughing way too hard.

And Central Park bathed in sunlight was a shining place…

***************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi 

@theonelittleone @bookgirlunicorn  @simamenickk  @tessxblxckthorn​ @xceafh @illi-vanilli @panic-naran @lahoete @humandasaster @thenormreedus @symonlyjen5 @panic-naran @whothehellisspideypool @sing4mejensen  @draqcnheartstrinq  @humandasaster  @beckastark @biba3434 @itsallyscorner @silent-loucidity @marvelcapsicle @madamrogers

[thedistantdusk]

A Game of Two Halves

Sunlit Days Challenge 2019. Twist: Harry and Ginny attend a Liverpool football game. Also on AO3. A/N: This is incredibly NSFW, mostly because I hate sports. Thanks to Flo, Eslon, Hedwig, and Kmi -- and also to Liza, who organized this :)

_________________________________________

They’d started doing it at Hogwarts.

Back then, though, they hadn’t known it was a kink.  

They’d spent three sunlit weeks engaging in this weird little… habit…  but if Ginny’s being honest, she and Harry have probably been doing it much, much longer. Back then, though, they’d been too inexperienced to know what they were playing at with their banter and whispering and finger-light touches across bare skin.

Now they’re older. Now they shag — and quite a lot, save for the last ten days. Now they’re nearly married. And while they’ve never had an outright conversation on the topic, turning each other on in public has become a downright competition. Nothing is off-limits, either — including family events. Much like the one they're currently attending.

To celebrate Arthur’s fiftieth birthday, Ron booked an executive box at Anfield, home of Liverpool Football Club. Several months ago, this had seemed a brilliant idea; everyone (even Harry and Ginny) had been eager to see the joyful look on Dad’s face, to hear his earnest questions, to watch him marvel over muggle technologies without fear of being overheard by the general public. But at the time, neither Harry nor Ginny had known that said match would fall smack in between Harpies playoffs and a particularly time-consuming case at the Ministry.

So it goes without saying that Ginny’s… distracted. Very distracted. Extremely distracted. And for the first half of the Liverpool match, she’d convinced herself that her general disinterest in football had caused her drift in attention.

After all, Ginny’s a professional athlete. She spends most of her time thinking about quidditch. She devotes hours to analyses on ducking and diving and kicking and swerving; she spends countless days training and stretching and preparing until she’s at peak performance. Thus, when she is off work, sport is the last bloody thing she wants to think about.

Alas, here is where she has to be a little more honest, though… because boredom with football isn’t the only reason she doesn’t care about the match.

She shifts uncomfortably in her plush seat, glancing at her fiancé from the corner of her eye. Naturally, they’d been playing their own game since they’d arrived nearly forty-five minutes ago, and although she’s loath to admit it, Harry’s winning. In between various familial interferences, amid Bill’s raucous cheers and Ron’s pedantic explanation of fouls, Harry had steadily tortured her — in the most Harry way possible.

The second they’d stepped foot in the executive box, he’d pulled her into a seat in the back row, his fingers dancing over the swell of her arse. When her father hadn’t been pumping them with questions, Harry had taken every chance to lean over and whisper important football things into her ear. She’d erupted in gooseflesh when he’d traced game plays on the skin of her arm, when he’d toyed with the ring on her left hand.

But the moment she’d hinted at growing arousal by letting out a breathy gasp and rubbing her thighs together, Harry had abruptly withdrawn his hand from her forearm. He’d stopped, right in his tracks, the smirk dangling from his lips the only sign he’d done anything at all.

To Ginny, this almost qualifies as playing dirty: They haven’t shagged in ages, the bloody sport at hand isn’t even quidditch, and she can’t even use omnioculars to get a better view of the field. She’s not sure who’s expected her to behave for this long, really, under the circumstances; if this little game were being refereed, Harry surely would have a red card. Or a yellow card. Or whatever the hell the cards are.

Still, Ginny’s never been a graceful loser; giving up before she’s turned the tables is out of the question. So for the past five minutes, she’s been sitting ramrod straight, pretending to focus her attention on the little men running across the field while she waits for her opportunity to strike.

All the while, Harry’s arm has been draped over her shoulders, his left leg propped on his right. To anyone else, he’d appear a doting, kind fiance who loves spending time with his family. Ginny knows him better, though. His smile isn’t content — it’s triumphant. He’s sending her a very, very clear message: I’ve already won, so you’d might as well concede.

She turns to him with a sad sigh; he’s grown too cocky for his own good. Poor, poor Harry… pride always has been his downfall. Surely he must understand that she’s simply biding her time, that she’s used the past five minutes to collect herself, that she’s waiting for the perfect moment.  

And after nearly an hour of torture, the tide is turning in her favor. A tinny-voiced announcer informs them it’s half-time, which means people will get up. It also means that she’ll be able to carry out the next phase of her plan, because Ron (who has lingered close to Harry all day) finally rises from his seat and mutters something about checking on the food.

Ginny’s no Ravenclaw, but it would take a real numpty to ignore a sign of this magnitude. Granted, she ensures that Ron has left before she starts. Not getting caught is another one of their unspoken rules, much like never outright kissing; as much as Ginny enjoys their game, she’d sooner die than reveal it to her family.

Which is why it’s so key that she knows Harry as well as she does. She arches her back and pretends to massage a muscle in her shoulder. Harry reacts immediately — although in the nearly imperceptible Harry way that someone else wouldn’t notice: He merely sits up a smidgen straighter and pretends to focus more on the match.

Ginny smirks, rotating her shoulders. This will be easier than she thought.

“Getting comfortable, Mrs. Potter?” Harry rumbles, a vein ticking in his jaw.

Ginny sucks in a breath, pressing her thighs together again. She hadn’t expected him to bring that one out. At least not so soon.

She needs to rally — and fast.

She clears her throat and adjusts in her seat until their knees are touching. “You’re rather comfortable using that title,” she ponders, tracing her finger tip down Harry’s forearm. Light touch has driven him mad since he was sixteen — and based on the way he’s tensed beside her, his Adam’s apple bobbing, it hasn’t failed her yet.

When her nails graze a tendon, and she feels rather than sees Harry swallow… and deems it safe to move in for the next phase of the attack. “A lot can happen in two months,” Ginny purrs, leaning to brush her breasts against Harry’s arm. “By then, I might’ve become Mrs. Thomas instead!”

But Harry just laughs at this and leans in, too; Ginny feels an irrational surge of disappointment that her attempt at making him jealous hasn’t worked.

“You have a point there, Mrs. Potter. I’m not terribly concerned, though.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he replies, his voice so casual you’d think he was discussing laundry. Then, in a flash, he shifts until his lips are caressing the shell of her ear — and Ginny already knows she’s in trouble, even before he places his palm on the seat, right in the gap between her thighs.

“Cause let’s be reasonable,” Harry adds, his voice dropping to a growl. “We both know how badly you want Potter on the back of your kit while I fuck you in the locker room.”

Fuckkkk.

Ginny exhales raggedly, her eyes fluttering closed. Merlin, she hates it when he’s right. She also hates it when he thinks he’s pulled one over on her — which Harry definitely thinks he’s done.

Fortunately, it’s been ten days for both of them. It shouldn’t take… much. So she clears her throat, sits up straighter, and reaches for the elastic of her hair. Just a little tug, and — yesss. Her hair springs free, cascading down her shoulders; a stray red tendril brushes against Harry’s arm, just as Ginny had intended — and she milks every bloody second of it. She tosses her head back, raking her fingers through it, refusing to stop until—

“Unfair,” Harry moans to her right. It comes out somewhere between a plea and a whine, and a wry grin dashes across Ginny’s face. He has a thing for her hair: He knows it, she knows it, and she reckons everyone else knows it, because while Harry Potter is good at many things, he’s absolute shite at pretending he’s not turned on. As if on cue, he clears his throat and steals a furtive glance around them before deeming it safe to make a necessary trouser adjustment.

Good, Ginny thinks, arching an eyebrow as he squirms in his seat. He’s learned to keep his hands to himself.

But as uncomfortable as Harry is, he hasn’t quite surrendered… not yet. He’s close, though. So close. All it would take, in fact, would be—

“FOOD!” Ron bellows from somewhere to Ginny’s left. She releases a string of violent swears as she and Harry jolt apart, each jumping about a meter in the air. Fucking hell. Ginny loves her brother, really, she does — but she’d long ago concluded that she doesn’t always like him.

And now is definitely, definitely one of those times.

Harry seizes upon her brother’s interruption as she’d known he would. In a flash, he’s already leapt to his feet and rushed to accept the tray of food. His strategy is simple (and not to mention transparent): He’s getting as far away from her as he can, hoping the distance will… cool his ardor. Of course, Harry also knows he’s left her in a smoldering puddle, all while maintaining his wide-eyed facade of innocence. And helpfulness.

Ginny doesn’t exactly mind the view, though. Even if she knows Harry’s playing it up. She admires his backside as he and Ron travel through the executive box to distribute the fancy ordered food for everyone, and though they haven’t said a word, Harry knows she’s staring.

He takes his time, too. Which makes it worse. He painstakingly chooses snacks for everyone in their row: A packet of crisps for Bill, a fruit cup for Victoire (who’s off getting a nappy change), a bottle of water for Fleur, who’s still trying to ‘return to ‘er figure.’ Harry takes so long, actually, and bends over so often that Ginny begins to feel a bit deflated. Halftime’s nearly over, and she’s wondering if she shouldn’t have waited to whip out the elastic hair move. But just as she’s kicking herself for not paying closer attention to the game clock, Harry finally turns around… and a catlike grin creeps across her face.

Because Harry’s coming back to his seat. And he’s holding a massive ice cream sundae, complete with two spoons.

Poor Harry, she thinks again as he settles in beside her. The game’s beginning again and everyone’s returning to their seats, but based on his smug smile, he still thinks he’ll win. Harry’s surely planned to perform many unspeakable acts on that ice cream spoon to tempt her into conceding… but she’s got something up her sleeve. (And not that Harry’s oral skills aren’t spectacular — because they are. He’s world fucking class at that, if she’s being honest… but she also knows that her fiancé has a particular weakness. One she plans to exploit.)

She’ll let Harry have his fun, though. For now. He leans back in the seat and lifts the spoon, licking the ice cream and chocolate away with a few passes of his tongue. His jaw moves in fascinating ways, and she knows what he really wants to do… what they both want him to do. But Ginny’s not going down without a fight.

The moment Harry returns the spoon to the dish for the third time, a fight breaks out on the field — a beautiful, fortuitous fight that seems like quite the scandal. Everyone gasps and rushes to the glass for a better look, pushing over each other in their haste, and Ginny seizes her chance.

“Mm, can I have some?” she asks. Harry snaps his head from the ruckus in front of them, but he’s too taken with it all to expect what she’s got planned; he lets out a startled moan as she shifts forward — and in one swift motion, she brushes her breasts against Harry’s arm. And plunges his fingers into the dish.

“Oops,” she says, wincing. “Seems I need to… clean you up!”

And with that, Ginny bats her eyelashes, reaches for Harry’s hand, and slides his ice cream-covered fingers between her lips.

His response is instantaneous. And perfect. Harry grits his jaw as his eyes flutter shut, as her tongue flicks and swirls over his fingers. They both know what she’s reminding them of — what she’s mimicking. She’s harkening back to a particularly happy hour at Hogwarts when they’d been enjoying a picnic. When he’d gotten some treacle tart on his fingers, she’d shoved them into her mouth, just like she’s doing now…

Harry’s a bit better at containing himself than he’d been at 16. But not much. As is, he’s staring at her through heavy-lidded eyes as her tongue darts out to clean off all the ice cream — or at least this is the excuse she’d give anyone who approached. She flicks her tongue across his knuckle in earnest, and Harry releases that deep, primal growl she loves so much. Victory is so close she can taste it. It’s a heady feeling, being this close to winning — and she’s bloody basking in it. Yesss, she thinks, hollowing her cheeks… she’s won. And as her fiance stares at her, a delirious look of arousal and resignation in his eyes, Ginny grins around his fingers. Because she’d might as well be gripping the snitch from mid-air. With every shuddering exhale of his chest, she can almost feel the cool metal against her palm, the fluttering wings beating against her closed fingers… and she’s close… so close…

Harry’s Adams’s apple bobs one last time, and when his lips part, she knows — just knows — he’s about to give her the confirmation she needs. He’s going to give up.

But Ginny really should have remembered her earlier musings on pride… and she also should have remembered that Harry knows her better than literally anyone else. Karma has a funny way of surprising you, eh?

Just as Harry’s about to concede, just as she can taste victory as surely as she can taste chocolate, a lilting French accent pierces through the air, followed by a tiny giggle…

No. Ginny freezes, clutching at Harry’s arm, but it’s no use… it’s no bloody use. Almost as if she’s watching the events unfold from far away, Ginny stares as Fleur and Victoire appear behind Harry’s shoulder. Her stomach sinks to her toes, gooseflesh erupting absolutely everywhere, because—

No.

Ginny gasps, her eyes wide in horror, as three things happen in quick succession, much faster than she can run interference: First, Harry’s fingers drop from her mouth. Second, he wipes his hand on his trousers, leaping to his feet… and third, he holds out his hands to—

Nonononono. He wouldn’t fucking dare. He wouldn’t...

But he’s doing it, she numbly realizes. He’s going there.

And with that, Harry turns to face her, a smug smirk perched on his lips… lips he then bows to the crown of Victoire’s baby-soft blonde curls. A beaming Fleur shoots Ginny a wistful look from over Harry’s shoulder, but Ginny can only shudder, her whole body rigid, as his muscled forearms press the baby to his front.

Fucking Merlin…

A tendon juts across Harry’s arm as he jostles the nine-month-old like it’s the most casual thing in the world… he easily turns and chats with Fleur, even as he bounces Victoire. It’s so natural, so fluid, and Ginny doesn’t know why, but that’s even sexier — that he’s capable of talking about boring things like Ministry paperwork or cauldron bottoms. While he’s holding an infant.

Fuck.

Ginny’s mouth goes dry, and she numbly realizes she’s been staring slack-jawed for the past several minutes. But really, where the hell had he learned that little trick? Who’d taught him that one-legged shift from foot to foot, his legs bending slightly at the knees? Well, Ginny doesn’t know who his instructor was — but she’s torn between wanting to kiss this stranger and wanting to punish them. And then, an even worse thought occurs to her: Is it possible Harry’s just learned this on his own?

She can’t recall him being so natural with Teddy… but it’s been quite a while since Teddy was this small. Teddy’s a toddler now, almost too big to be held — and certainly big enough to have objections about being held. Has Harry always possessed this secret skill? Ginny doesn’t know… but she can’t deny that Victoire seems quite content in his arms. Her niece has settled beneath Harry’s chin, her blue eyes filled with wonder, her mouth releasing the tiniest baby sigh...

In retrospect, perhaps Ginny could have stayed like that exact space, caught in some limbo between losing and winning. If only Harry hadn’t done something unintentional. And with said unintentional move, he absolutely scores a screamer, just as a Liverpool player does, too.

Because the instant before the crowd erupts in raucous cheers, Harry’s lashes flutter shut, a lazy smile drifting across his face. He’s at peace. Totally, utterly happy.

And Ginny fucking loses it.

She’s up in a half-second, her pride abandoned as quickly as her seat. She hasn't outright told Harry about this little… predicament… with him holding babies. Like everything else, though, he’s inferred it on his own. He must’ve seen the dreamy look steal across her features when he’d held Victoire, or perhaps he’d noticed the way she’d gripped his hand afterwards as something primal had moved in her chest.

Whatever he’d noticed, though, was pure evil — mostly because she knows that he hadn’t even intended the worst of it. Like having the nerve to look completely content while he’d held a baby.

To Ginny, this means one thing: Harry has a secret weapon, something up his sleeve that he might unleash at any time. And there’s nothing she’ll ever be able to do about that, because even he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Harry does know, though, what that Ginny’s blazing expression means as she takes three heated steps towards him, her chest heaving. Fortunately, the universe hasn’t turned against her completely, either — because as soon as Ginny reaches Harry, Liverpool scores a massive goal; the executive box erupts as loudly as the rest of the crowd. It’s easy for him to hand Victoire back to her mummy under the guise of protecting her from the noise, but Ginny doesn’t miss the way Harry tenses and swallows, his eyes darting to her flushed chest. Fleur accepts the baby with a smile — but not before she shoots Ginny a knowing wink from over her shoulder.

Still, the look on Fleur’s face says it all: I’ll cover. And with that, Ginny almost forgives her sister-in-law for handing Harry a baby in the bloody first place.

The screamer from Liverpool proves a perfectly timed distraction; the joyous celebrations go on for ages, much longer than excitement over quidditch goals. The Weasleys leap to their feet, their cries echoing far louder than anything Ginny might whisper. So with that, she grips her fiancé’s hands in hers, stands on her tiptoes, and leans into his ear — all in such a rapid ferocity that even Harry looks a little surprised.

“The snitch is yours,” she concedes breathily, her voice drowned out by the surrounding applause. Various family members stomp and clap around them as Harry’s body freezes, a roar tumbling from his lips — but Harry doesn’t need to be told again. Before Ginny knows which way is up, he’s tugging hand towards the door, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark… and even though she’s definitely lost this round, Ginny can’t help but take his low groan as a consolation prize.

__________

Two minutes later, they stumble into the loo stall in a frantic blur of hands and mouth. As always, Harry handles the magic; they both know his focus (while randy as hell) is much better than hers. Which isn’t saying much. Nonetheless, he takes out his wand, locks the door from over his shoulder, and performs a cleaning spell, all while she kisses his neck.

“Thank Merlin for private loos,” Harry groans, setting his wand down on the counter as her hands slide beneath his shirt.

Ginny scoffs and busies herself with his trousers. “Thank Merlin for cheating to win, you mean!”

Harry releases a chuckle that becomes a moan as she unbuckles his jeans and slips her hand inside the flap of his boxers.

“Well, Mrs. Potter,” Harry manages, even as she grips him in her fist and gives a tight squeeze. Ginny leans in to nibble below his jaw, beginning slow, even strokes up and down — the sort designed to torture him.

“Fuckkk… ahhh — let’s not be a sore loser now!” His voice breaks on the end, just as her thumb finds the bead of wetness at the tip of his cock. Good, Ginny thinks as Harry begins thrusting into her hand. It’s about time she’s got the bloody upper hand. So to speak.

Then Harry lets out a grunt, his hand jutting out to still her wrist. She peers up at him through her lashes, but Ginny already knows why he’s stopped.

“If you want to have fun too,” he admits, chest heaving, “you have to stop that.”

Ginny smirks and presses herself against him, relishing in Harry’s shudder as the fabric from her shirt grazes his cock. “And how’ve you kept yourself busy the past ten days?”

Harry’s eyes flash with mirth — but that’s absolutely the only warning she gets before he’s sinking to his knees, pulling her trousers and knickers down. Ginny hisses and arches her back, preparing to grip his thick black hair… but it seems he has other plans.

“Later, love,” Harry promises, pressing a kiss to her thigh — and with a wink, he descends on Ginny’s mouth once more. And thank Merlin, she thinks as he grips her arse in his palms and steps back until she’s sitting on the counter, until his cock is just brushing against her heat… because she loves it when he takes what he wants.

Harry’s hands dip to her clit as he leaves a row of kisses along her jaw, sucking and nibbling as he moves, but Ginny’s just about had enough torture for one day. So with that, she quirks an eyebrow, wraps her legs around his waist, and deliberately slides him inside her in one fluid movement.

They both release ragged moans at the contact, their chests heaving although they haven’t even begun. Harry’s eyes are slammed shut, his fingers grip her arse with an almost bruising intensity. But Ginny quite likes an almost bruising intensity... so she doesn’t mind. She loves it, actually, how he still freezes every single time he’s fully inside of her. Like he can’t quite believe his luck.

A second later, Harry’s faces relaxes; she knows that look well, too. He’s pulled himself back from the brink, just in the nick of time. And she’d be content to keep teasing him, really, but then he opens his eyes — and they’re filled with so much passion and intensity that they take her breath away.

Ginny’s lips curl in wry resignation, but she doesn’t fight it. Harry doesn’t just want to fuck; he wants to make love... even in a stadium toilet.

“Been too long,” he murmurs, confirming her thoughts. “Too long without you, and—”

Ginny interrupts him with a kiss. “Later, love,” she mimics, nipping at his jaw as she locks her legs. If given the chance, Harry would wax poetic about his feelings — even right here, right now.

He chuckles, but complies with a sheepish grin. They both know they’ll have time for all that later — for whispers and caresses and confessions of longing. Now, though, things are more pressing; like always, they’re on the same page.

Harry stares at her again, bracing his palms on his hips, and without breaking eye contact for a single second, he begins even, measured thrusts… the sort designed to push her straight over the brink. A moan falls from her lips as he grazes against her clit with the base of his cock… and this, Ginny thinks, beginning to whimper in earnest, is one benefit of knowing each other very, very well…

He knows exactly how to hold her in place so that the hits her clit with every snap of his hips. He knows the perfect pattern to swirl and lift to get her off the fastest. But most importantly, Harry knows what to do that doesn’t involve sex at all — and these things make all the difference. So as he continues thrusting and swirling inside her, gripping her arse, he leans in to her ear and starts in on the familiar litany of panting whispers.

“Fuck, Ginny, you get me so hard," Harry grunt, his breath stirring the tendrils around her ears. She mewls, her arms draped around his neck, and they both know she’s close. “I thought about you every day,” he adds on a groan, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “about being inside you, just like this.”

She answers with a moan as he pulls back to stare into her eyes, as his hips provide the perfect friction against her clit… and just as the first ripples of her orgasm take her over, he utters five words that absolutely shatter her, right on the spot.

“Come for me, Mrs. Potter,” Harry growls into her ear, surging inside her a final time — and with that, Ginny shatters. She cries out a garbled version of his name, throwing her head back as the world explodes around her. It’s an orgasm that goes on so long she scarcely remembers who she is… the sort that leaves her weak and panting as incoherent words tumble from her lips. I love you is the only phrase she recognizes as the waves crest again and again, but the second she says it, she feels Harry reach his peak, too.

With a roar, he stiffens and spills himself inside her, and Ginny sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. Even now, she’s amazed she has this effect on him. It never ceases to astound her that he cares for her as much as she cares for him, that her orgasms always trigger his… and when he finally lifts his head to look at her again, she’s not surprised that his eyes look a little misty.

Ginny offers him a tender kiss, but she knows from the strain across Harry’s brow that he’s probably rather uncomfortable in this position. So she winces in apology, unwraps her legs from his waist and steps down onto the cool tile floor. With that, they untangle their limbs and clean themselves off, preparing to return to her family as if nothing happened.

“Think I’ll keep these,” Harry says a moment later. She turns around, confused… but of course. Harry’s casually leaning on the sink counter, her white lace knickers dangling from the end of his finger. “This is my trophy, I reckon.”

“Fine.” She shrugs and tugs her trousers on, making a great show of shimmying her arse in the process. Harry pointedly clears his throat as she does — which she’d intended; this victory will be much more uncomfortable for him, after all.

Ginny shoots him a final wink as they lace their hands together and push the door open. An easy grin has returned to Harry’s face, his hair looking only slightly messier than normal; they look relatively composed, she thinks, for a couple who just shagged in the loo.

“Ah, look!” Harry says as they turn a corner. A television screen down the corridor displays the score of the game.

“D’you think Liverpool have scored again?” he asks, swinging their hands, “Or maybe—?”

But Ginny interrupts him with a sigh, stopping dead in her tracks.

“I’m serious, though!” Harry says earnestly, nodding to the screen. “Your dad would love to see them win, and—"

Then, in a verbatim repetition of what she’d done after he’d asked her out all those years ago, Ginny turns to face him, drapes her arms around his neck, and gives him a plain stare.

“Harry,” she says, her lips twitching. “You must know by now that don’t give a flying fuck about the match.”

[wwoww-au]

West of Yesterday

Jameson sat on the faded couch of the Crime Department's time room, ornate tea cup in hand. It was his routine to arrive early to have his tea, a special blend that would help him gain his strength before the strenuous task of opening a time portal to the distant past. Today he was tasked with opening a portal to the tiny town of Incantation, Arizona, in 1868. At 2:56 pm, to be exact. He looked up from his cup when he heard the door open, Dark striding in with an abnormal look of excitement on their face.

"Good morning, JJ," Dark said. They were dressed in their normal clothes, only today they had added a vest and a bandanna around their neck. They held a black cowboy hat in their hand, cane tucked under their arm. 

"Dark, this is a pleasant surprise." Jameson placed his empty cup on the small table next to him, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you didn't like dressing up in ‘silly costumes’."

"I grew up watching westerns," they countered with a smile. "There's no way I'm passing up the opportunity to be a cowboy for a day."

“Ah, well history and man made each other,” Jameson chuckled. Dark looked at him with the expression they gave when they didn’t understand what he was saying, but also didn’t want to stick around or try and find out. 

"Let's get that portal open." Dark moved toward the center of the room, placing their hat on their head. "We've got an outlaw to catch."

.

.

.

Dark landed on their feet with a small thud, stirring up the sand underfoot. They looked up to find themselves next to a dusty wooden sign that read Welcome to Incantation. A couple yards ahead was the town in question. It was only a couple blocks of shabby, wooden buildings. A few people milled about in the street, going about their daily lives. From where they were standing, Dark noticed that some of the townsfolk had abnormally colorful hair or clothing for the time. Wizards. Stealing themself, they walked casually into town. 

As they made their way down the street, Dark noticed a few of the locals staring and whispering. This wasn’t too abnormal, they were used to some curious glances, but normally their outfit didn’t gain too much attention, especially from wizards. Wizards were known to dress oddly, it’s what they did, and what Dark was wearing wasn’t even all that odd. The extra attention made them bristle a bit, straightening their posture as they headed straight for the best place to start- the saloon. 

The saloon was an old building, the floor well worn with the traffic it had gotten over the years. It was a fairly lively scene for three in the afternoon, though not completely full. There was a young man in a vest and suit, playing out a bouncy tune on a piano in the corner. A group of about four people by the piano were drinking heavily and laughing at a friend’s failed attempt to dance to the music. Another group was sitting at a circular table in the middle, exchanging shifty glances and smoking cigars as each played a different game of cards. A couple of other patrons were scattered about, some in pairs and some alone. One gentleman in all white sat at the bar having an idle chat with the bartender, who was polishing a glass.

As soon as Dark swung open the saloon doors the room went silent. A dozen pairs of eyes stared at them for an uncomfortable amount of time before slowly going back to their previous activities, but Dark paid them no mind. They were too focused on one of the patrons in particular, sitting on a table and clapping and cheering to the music. Clad in bright pink and yellow and nursing a martini glass that they’d never seen empty, Wilford stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Warfstache,” Dark commanded in a slightly raised voice. The rest of the saloon returned their attention to the two, silently watching as they stopped a few feet in front of Wilford. He noticed Dark approaching, brightening his smile and sitting up straighter. 

“Hello, Darky! Come to join the party? They’ve got some lovely music here, I can show you the main attraction after a song or five!”  Wilford gestured toward the pianoman, signaling a request for the music to continue. Dark sighed, taking a step closer as their hand moved to their pocket where they were keeping their pair of magic handcuffs. They weren’t going to take any risks of losing them again. 

“You know I’m not. Come with me now,” Dark said rigidly. They could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on them, watching their movements with apprehension. They could feel the ripple of unease through the air as hands moved to their holsters in response to Dark’s reach. 

“I’d love to but I’d hate to miss the shooting part! They invented exploding sticks, isn’t that marvelous!” Wilford shifted one of his legs off the table, attempting to take a sip from his martini but largely unsuccessful. “Why don’t you come with me? It’ll be fun!”

Dark stepped forward, bringing out and raising their official WC badge as they pointed a finger at him. "By order of the Wizard Committee you have been-“ 

“How did you FIND ME!?” Came a very loud shout from behind Dark, startling them out of their skin. They whirled around to find themself facing one of the gentlemen from the poker table, with a large mustache and a wide cowboy hat. He was also wearing a pair of old jeans, from a brand that hadn’t been invented yet, and sunglasses also severely ahead of their time. The man had a glass in one hand and a gun in the other, which he was pointing wildly at Dark while slowly backing up towards the door. 

”Whoa whoa whoa,” Dark said, clearly bewildered. They held their hands up next to their head, taking a step back. They looked somewhat panicked, they had no idea who this was but he was clearly deranged. They just hoped he didn’t decide to actually fire the thing. “Look, why don’t you calm down and-“

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” the man shouted, firing off two shots that just barely missed Dark. He ran out the door as everyone else watched him go. The crowd didn’t react much, and Dark even heard a few mutterings of “him again”. Confused, they watched him go before turning back to Wilford. 

“Look, why don’t you just-“ But he was gone. They looked around wildly, but it seemed Wilford had left while Dark was distracted. They cursed under their breath, putting their badge away and walking over to the bar. If anyone could tell them where Warfstache had gone, it’d be the bartender. 

As Dark approached, they saw the bartender and the stranger in white eyeing them suspiciously. They leaned against the bar, avoiding a sticky puddle of some old liquid and the bar stool, clearing their throat and tapping on the bar top to get the bartender’s attention. There was a dirty spittoon that they’d nearly accidentally kicked, they noted, and it smelled something foul. 

“Excuse me,” they asked politely. The bartender looked up at them, putting down the cup he was polishing and walking over to them. 

“Can I help ya, sir?” He asked in a thick western accent, tone tense and neutral. It was clear he was a wizard even though he wasn’t wearing a coat, what with the bright rainbow shoes and the small collection of wizard booze hidden just behind the bar. 

“Not sir, exactly, uh-"

"Sorry; can I help ya, partner?"

“I’m looking for Warfstache. Do you know where he might have gone? He mentioned a ‘shooting part’, is there some kind of event going on?” Dark asked, calmly but a bit rushed. The bartender’s eyes narrowed at them before looking them over. Dark suppressed a small shudder at the thought of how much he must be judging them. 

“You're a Wizard bull, huh?” He asked, eyeing them suspiciously as he set the glass in his hand down, crossing his arms and leaning near the bar top. 

“Yes, I am,” they almost hissed, quickly flashing their badge at him. “I need to know if you know where he went.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but I reckon that ain’t none of your business,” the man droned. “Now why don’t you head on outta here, we don’t want none of your kind ‘round here.”

"My kind?"

"You Wizard Committee folks, always messin' around with the business of others. Our community is managing just fine without your meddling."

"Okay," Dark rubbed their temples. "If you just tell me where he went, I'll be out of your town as soon as possible. And I'll make sure the Committee doesn't send any more officers this way, alright?"

The bartender stared at them for a minute, sizing them up, before nodding and putting his hands on the counter. “Alright, but if ya cause any trouble I’ll be right there with a big fifty to cut ya a path outta here. He should be heading off to the hill a little ways out of town, they're havin' a shooting contest up there later."

"Thank you," they nodded. With that, they turned and stepped out of the saloon and into the dirt road. Up ahead of them, they could see the hill. A few people milled up top, setting up a row of targets. They strained their eyes to try to spot a blur of pink among the distant crowd.

"What are you looking at?"

Dark spun around to see Wilford, intently staring at the hill, too. "Why you-" they grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. "You're not getting away this time!"

"Of course not, why would I want to get away?" He shrugged. "This town is lovely! I think you agree, you really dressed the part this time. Did you see the horses? I know someone who would’ve loved to see the horses, she- "

"Enough nonsense! You're coming with me!" Another bullet rang out high above Dark's head, prompting them to release their grip on the thief's coat and drop to the ground, hands over their head. As soon as the echo of the gunshot died out, they jumped to their feet and whipped around. "What is your problem?"

The time displaced stranger from earlier stood a few paces down the road, smoking gun still aimed at Dark. "You're my problem!" He took another poorly-aimed shot.

Dark ducked out of the way again, though it wasn’t necessary as the bullet hit a tree a yard to their left. "What have I ever done to you?!"

"Don't play dumb," the stranger began reloading his gun. "I know the Committee sent you to take me in. Well you tell them they'll never catch the great Ed Edgar!"

There was silence as the others tried to comprehend why that name held any meaning. Dark was the first to speak up. "Who?"

"Don't play dumb," Ed sneered. "I was the most feared outlaw of the Dark Ages. I robbed and tricked countless numbers of unsuspecting mundanes into buying useless items! I broke too many laws to count! I robbed the largest wizard bank in the United States! My name was known for miles around!"

This time Wilford broke the silence. "I'm sorry, friend, but I've met plenty of famous outlaws in my time, and it may be because my memory isn't too good these days, but I have no idea who you are."

Ed seemed barely fazed by the comment. "It seems we've reached an impasse. I think there's only one way to solve this little conundrum of ours, a good ol' fashioned wizard duel! High noon, tomorrow when the clock strikes twelve!"

"Well, first of all," Dark began, "anyone familiar with the wild west would know that high noon is not when the clock strikes twelve, but actually when the sun is at the apex of the sky. Second, I'm not interested in participating in some useless duel-" but Ed was already gone from sight.

Wilford clapped his hands together. "Well this is going to be fun! A good old fashioned duel! Haven't been to one of those in ages! Or maybe it was last week? I get time jumbled so much, you know-"

"I'm not going."

"You're not? But it can be so much fun!"

"I don't see much fun in getting attacked by that delusional cowboy again," Dark roughly grabbed the man by the back of the coat. "And I'm here to arrest you, remember?"

"Okay then, I'll make you an offer," Wilford twisted out of their grip and shrugged, bouncing on his heels. "You participate in this duel, and if you win, I'll go quietly."

"You mean that?" They gave him a skeptical glare.

"Sure I do! I may be the wizarding world's most wanted fugitive, but I am a man of my word," he crossed his heart.

They crossed their arms and looked away for a moment, trying to ignore Wilford's infectious smile. "I guess it might be cool to fight a real outlaw in the wild west…"

"That's the spirit!" He patted them on the back. "Now something tells me you've never been in a duel before so I'll give you a few pointers."

"Wait, have you ever been in a duel before?"

"Yeah, I think so!"

"That doesn't exactly inspire confidence," Dark grumbled.

"Well I remember fighting someone outside a tavern in medieval Europe. I got a few solid punches in, before all his buddies showed up and gave me what for."

"That's not a duel, that's a bar fight."

"Close enough, it's all about finding your opponent's weakness. Now this Edgar fellow seems like a time wizard to me, so be prepared for him to use all kinds of portals and time skips to mess with you. But I think you still have a good shot against him. You use life magic-"

"Soul magic."

"Really? I could've sworn- ah, whatever. Soul magic, huh? Oh well, same premise. You've just gotta hit him before he can make a jump."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"Just, hit him? That sounds like bad advice."

"That's the only kind of advice I have!" Wilford said cheerfully. "Now come on, we have all day to rest up before the duel. We could check out that shooting competition on the hill. I know someone who would have loved this sort of thing…"

.

.

.

Dark spent the night in a rented room over the saloon, and spent the whole morning getting prepared for the duel. By the time they arrived on the dusty main street of town, a small crowd had gathered. Mundanes and wizards alike gathered on the side of the road and crowded around windows to see the duel. Ed stood alone down the street, fiddling with his sunglasses.

"Ha," he said. "I figured you'd be too scared to show up."

"Let's just get this over with," Dark glanced over at Wilford, who stood near the front of the crowd. He gave them a thumbs up and a genuine smile. They thought it strange how even after all this time they spent trying to capture him, he still showed them kindness. They shook the thought off as quickly as it came across their mind, they had more important matters to focus on. Like the person on the sidelines who had already begun counting down from ten to signal the start of the duel.

The moment the countdown hit one, an orange portal opened beneath Ed's feet and he vanished. No more than a moment later he reappeared to their right, hitting them hard in the jaw before disappearing through a portal again.

Dark spun in circles, trying to figure out where Ed would appear next. However, it seemed what the time wizard lacked in aim, he more than made up for in unpredictability. He had Dark stumbling over their feet trying to get a hit in, while he pelted them with a constant string of cheap shots. Dark knew he was trying to confuse them, and he was doing a real good job of it too. They tried to focus on a spell, but between Ed’s incessant attacks and the noise of the crowd, all they were getting was a headache. Finally, something snapped, and they cried out, sending out a large shockwave of red and blue magic.

The spell knocked them both down, the impact stirring up clouds of dust. Dark found themself on their back, the pain from the fight making it difficult to find the motivation to get up. As the dust began to settle, they heard people in the crowd gasp and murmur to each other. They looked up to see they were all staring at their face in horror. It was in that moment when Dark lifted a hand to their left eye and realized what had happened. When they fell over from the blast, the bangs that covered their face fell out of place, revealing the scar underneath; a patch of charred skin with unnatural veins of red and blue etched into the flesh. At the center was their eye, clouded and blue.

They quickly fixed their hair over their scar, and stumbled to their feet. With the duel now over, the crowd began to disperse. Wilford was the only one who stayed on the sidelines as Dark limped over to him. He clapped his hands together. "Excellent job out there! You really showed him what for!"

"Let's go," Dark growled, straight to the point as always. They picked their hat up off the ground, dusting it off before placing it back on their head.

Wilford frowned, "Why?"

"I won the duel," they said, pointing back to where Ed began to stir on the ground. "You said that if I won, you would go quietly."

"Yes, but that wasn't really a win now, was it?” Wilford reasoned, leaning back on his heels. “You both got knocked over at the same time and well, that's a draw. Not a win. I best be going now." He turned on his heel and reached into the recesses of his oversized coat, retrieving the Time Wand. With a flick of the wrist, a bubbling portal began to open in front of him. 

"No, you don't get to just walk away. We had a deal!" Dark moved in front of him, blocking his path to the portal. "You're not going anywhere!"

Wilford ignored their yelling, eyes drifting to the portal behind them to catch a glimpse of the scenery of its destination. A surprising look of vague recognition flickered across his face. He grinned, "You're right, I'm not going anywhere!"

Dark couldn't even process what he said before they were shoved back into the portal. They tried to reach out to grab at Wilford, but they couldn't do anything to help themself as they fell back into the unknown.

.

.

.

Dark hit the paved ground hard, only making their injuries worse. They sat up quickly to see the last pink bubbles of the portal spit out their cane before popping out of existence, giving them no other response as they sat yelling obscenities at empty air.

"Dark?" a voice behind them said.

They twisted around to Abe and Mare standing above them, staring in disbelief. That's when they realized where they were. The portal Wilford opened had dumped them onto the steps of Crime Department headquarters.

"What's with the cowboy costume?" Mare said, snickering as Abe bent down to help them to their feet. 

"Never mind that," Abe looked them over with concern in his eyes. "What happened to you? You've been missing for weeks!"

"Yeah, I was hoping you died."

"What?" Dark ignored Mare's comment. "I was only gone for a day." Abe and Mare only looked more perplexed, and suddenly it hit Dark. "That idiot thief pushed me into a time portal. He must've dropped me weeks after I left."

"Well, I'm glad you're alright," Abe said, giving Dark a gentle hug. "I was worried sick about you." He pulled a small watch out of his pocket. "I'll have to let JJ know to call the search parties back, and cancel my meeting with the Committee."

"Meeting?" Dark prompted. They were always anxious when Abe mentioned meetings about them. It was hardly anything good.

Abe hesitated, glancing cautiously over at Mare, whose scowl only deepened. "Well, the search parties haven't been able to find you, and since it's been so long, certain people were starting to presume you dead. I- well, I was meeting with the Committee to see about transferring the case to Mare."

"Oh," Dark glared at Mare. "Then it's a good thing I'm still alive. I can continue working the case as soon as possible. That reminds me, did any of the search parties manage to find Warfstache? It seemed like he was staying in Incantation after he pushed me through that portal."

"No, there wasn't a single trace of him when the search party arrived," Abe shook his head. "But, there was this one time wizard raving about being 'the world's most wanted outlaw'. Turns out he was wanted for some minor thefts back in the Dark Ages, so we took him into custody."

Dark scoffed, “Well at least someone got what they deserved.” They began to push past Abe before he stopped them with one arm.

“No so fast,” Abe said, turning them back around. “You’re not getting back to work yet. I want you to go get those injuries checked on, and then I want you to go home. You need to get some rest.”

“But—” Dark began to protest.

“Don’t make me have Mare escort you, Dark,” Abe threatened.

They huffed out a sigh. "Fine, but not for too long. I've already missed so much time." 

"I'll walk you to Henrik's," Abe looked over to Mare. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah whatever," the other detective crossed his arms, before storming off. Once he was out of ear shot, Abe smiled at Dark, gesturing for them to walk next to him as they began the short walk to the nearby clinic.

"So, how was it, getting to visit the Old West? I know you love westerns, it must have been exciting."

"Besides having to deal with two insufferable time travelers who knew nothing about it, I have to say, I quite enjoyed it." Dark just barely smiled.

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Abe nudged them on the shoulder. "Partner."

[punkscowardschampions]

Bea & Fraze

Bea: *Bea felt sick. She'd felt sick the whole day, not able to focus on any task, told off for daydreaming (as if), waiting for this moment to come, thinking SO hard for a way out of it but still not having a solid one by the time the bell for lunch rang and Miss was calling out their names. Crosslegged on the carpet, being 'Agosti' gave her no extra time to prepare either. There was only Josh Abbott and Amaya Adams before her on the register. She was a School dinner kid, that meant getting in line to be led to the dining room to get your tray of whatever shit they were serving today. The packed-lunch early years' kids stayed in the classroom, having their sandwiches and crisps and whatever else where they'd been doing their colouring and ABCs earlier. Trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she cleared it, and then trying to look the way the movie stars looked when you were annoying them, narrowing your eyes, raising a brow like you were so stupid, instead of shamefaced embarrassed, when Miss faltered at her interruption and the class tittered, expectant. 'Yes, Katie, what is it?' 'I've not got my lunch money, Miss.' Of course, it had to be drama, huffing and puffing with the classroom helpers who shook their heads, some with equal annoyance, some with pity, Miss making a big scene of 'Why not?' and then 'Well HOW did you forget?'; pondering out loud if she could be trusted to bring money in tomorrow, if that would be allowed and on and on it went, the kids getting rowdier again, laughing and sneering, all that bullshit washed over her anyway, she didn't care about them. Just standing there, still and expressionless, wishing they'd hurry up and make a bloody decision. Protests, pointing out 'I'm not even hungry anyway' batted away with annoyance 'You HAVE to eat lunch, Katie, don't be ridiculous!' Everyone loving how in trouble she was. This was all his fault. She hated him so much. Trying not to care, because that was the punishment, and if she wasn't embarrassed then he hadn't won, hadn't got what he wanted out of it, had he? She stood there, jogging her right leg up and down, the 'I'm bored of this now so you all should be too' look plastered on her face, fixed so tight it ached to maintain it on days like this. She caught eyes with that freckly boy, who hadn't joined in with the laughing yet, and wasn't looking at her just to see how much trouble she'd be in. She didn't know how she could tell, but she just could, she narrowed her eyes at him, furrowing her brows, as if to say 'What do you want?'* Fraze: *Lunch was proper class, not the cheese sarnies and deffo not the bruised fruit that his ma kept putting back into his bag day on day like enough threats and hard looks would make him eat it on one of 'em. Nah tah. Apples or oranges he could kick or lob decent but bananas were fucking scratty shit. It'd been a laugh when Joe showed him how to shove one up a car exhaust, yeah, but he couldn't reckon on one of the lads keeping watch every time. They were too soft, like. And he could hear his ma now if he got caught, feel how far he'd have to duck out of her way if the news caught her when she was home. Forget her having his knackers in a vice like she did his da, he wanted to be let out for footie, free to smash any other scally at the beautiful game whenever he fancied. That was what he was thinking about 'til it got gegged by the bullshit around him kicking up a notch. Alright. Fuck's sake. It was all going off from what he could tell 'cause that girl who was always on her tod hadn't got her spends, which shouldn't be nothing 'cept the teachers were being well cackhanded as per and keeping her pure embarrassed. Or so he'd have reckoned if he hadn't kept glancing, like. With one more he recognised how fuming she was. It was just the same as how he got, but she weren't handling it in any of the ways he did. Or didn't. Depending who you asked. He kept waiting for her to shout or swear or throw the tray and leg it, but there was none of that. Alright then. She had his full attention with the rest. 'Course that made him feel bad 'cause he wasn't stupid, he knew she didn't want any of 'em staring, but for every knobhead that he elbowed or glared at to shut up, more joined in laughing or pissing about that he'd have to make himself noticed too to deal with. That would be stupid. What then? It felt like ages before he worked out that he was gonna give her the fruit and half of whatever else Joe had thrown into his lunchbox this morning. Longer before he stood to do it, meeting the girl's eye for the first time. He made his voice loud.* Miss, she can share with me, I've got loads. Bea: *She didn't have to wait long for an answer, not that it was an answer that satisfied her, AT ALL; fucking hell. She shook her head, trying to protest but it was lost under how much Miss was wetting herself in excitement, literally clapping her hands together, making more of a show of how considerate and kind he was being, and how they should all make more effort to be like that to each other. Like, yeah, this boy was usually one for acting up, making her job harder than she liked, but no need to go overboard. Apparently so, though, at least Bea weren't the only one in this silly pantomime now, that gave her some solace and pride back. Not that it was hers to keep, a 'Thank you, Frazier' forced from her by their stupid teacher. As if that weren't bad enough, she was then plonked down next to him on his lunch table, as if he'd agreed to be her 'bezzie mate', as they'd probably put it. She scowled down at her shoes, kicking the table leg in frustration. This was so shit. She jutted her chin out, looking up at the blonde kid with defiance, and a shrug.* Thanks but keep it, I don't need anything. Fraze: *His eyes would've rolled back into his head at miss' bullshit if he'd let 'em, but right now, he only had eyes for who he'd lumbered himself with this break without knowing why he'd bothered. She wasn't, this girl whose voice didn't match his (too posh for 'round here), or really sound like it should come out of her either (too quiet for the anger he saw was there, barely hiding). She talked like someone off the telly but she kicked out at the table like she belonged at his, squeezed between his ma and da too, like. Same temper. Call this the mad kid table, yeah? Katie sat down and everyone stopped craning their necks and finally put some food in their gobs. Good. Still, his nose scrunched itself up at the teacher's continued fannying about, fuck the pat on the head. He didn't do it for that, he weren't no goodie two shoes and nobody called him Frazier, not even his ma when she was on one. He'd just wanted everyone to shut up and they had now. So whatever. Job done, yeah? Go away, miss. When it was only them two he emptied his bag out onto the table, and giving the lunchbox a hard shove towards her as she tried to refuse, in a way that matched her attitude and unmistakably said, 'yeah, you do.' Or, 'it's lunchtime, what else are you gonna do, watch me eat?' * Bea: *Bea scowled at him, taking a little less than half, what she knew she was meant to, including the battered banana that was starting to smell like what she knew as booze from all the people's breath she'd smelt in on. Gross. She was resolute on not eating any of it anyway, even if her stomach was growling, feral with the hunger, making her mood worse, it was always worse when she was hungry, all of it. She remembered Sunday mornings with her Dad, crispy bacon on fluffy white rolls, yellow pools of butter. Vague remembrances of him telling her not to tell her Mum soured by all the things she wasn't allowed to tell now. Not hungry anyway. Yeah, right. All they'd had in this morning was those rusk things Luce liked so much and it didn't feel right taking anything from her, even when she felt so empty she might fall in on herself. Candy from a baby, yeah? Didn't take a genius to know that made you the bad guy. And there wasn't room for three of 'em in one house, was there. There was only one baddie in the films, maybe a gang but they only counted as one 'cos they was bad in the same ways. She weren't nothing like him or her, nah, fuck that forever. No one was gonna be bad like they were to her, to Luce, never. She shook her head, not wanting to be here, in these thoughts, in her head, again. He had a point on that, even if he was annoying with it; What else was she gonna do? She tore her half of the sandwich up, playing with it, acting like she was always just about to put it in her mouth but always got distracted before she could.* I owe you then. Fraze: *He'd fucked up, she was telling him that every way but saying it out loud so it didn't matter how, why or because. His ma would say 'are-eh' all sarky if she were here, he reckoned and that jogged him on to get over it. Stop being soft. Sulking, like. If you don't like it, do something that voice inside told him. His da would. Joe would. Even little Tommo would have a go, if only by throwing a wobbler loud as a baby brat could. Fine then. Fraze turned to her with a shrug, shaking his head that nah, she didn't owe him fuck all. Meaning it. Well, it went boss, 'course it did. No effect. She was just still pissing about like she'd never seen a sarnie with the crusts cut off before. Maybe she was up herself like some of the other's said, too good to eat with him or any food made for him, like. That'd be right, after he'd put himself out. He kicked out at the table leg himself to settle his stomach back, using more force that she had, before bothering to try to fill it and replace the frustration with fullness. 'Cause that made you happy, yeah?* It's just cheese. *He stuffed the whole of his share of sandwich into his mouth as if to prove it weren't that bad, chewing with the same fierceness. Blue eyes burned into green unflinchingly as if forcing her to watch him would also make her copy the actions and eat. Like she was Tommo's age and it was that simple.* Bea: *She looks down at the table leg pointedly, raising a brow, 'What'd it ever do to you, like?' also throwing a cursory glance the adult's way, yeah, they were getting noticed.* Thanks a bunch. *She smiled sweetly, as if it were a genuine thanks, shoving a bit of the sandwich in her mouth sharpish, they'd be over like a flash to make her otherwise, least this display had 'em focusing on the kid choking on their crisps again, 'stead of them.* Well, I do. So think what you want fast or I'll decide for you. *She said, matter-of-fact. Savouring the first bite of food she'd had since...3 o'clock, yesterday? And that was only the sweets she'd settled on from Al's, should've gone for something more filling... She frowned.* And I know what cheese is, by the way. *Obviously, the boy was regretting being 'nice' to her now. Standard. Not like anyone else bothered. Oh well. She turned her body to face away from him, arms folded in her lap, body language closed. Cheeks pinkening at the idea he thought she was trying to be his friend, and not only that, but he was going to be like all the rest and be so openly against the idea. Well, think again.* I'll stop talking to you, how's that for a favour? Fraze: *He followed her gaze to where it went when it broke off from his and saw that he'd probably be in trouble if he didn't stop. At the very least one of the teachers would try and make him do that counting to calm down thing which never fucking worked and made him feel like such a twat. He sighed, exactly how he so often heard one of his parents do, without knowing he'd made a sound never mind done his own copying. There wasn't any consideration in his next action either, Fraze just did it. Broke the chocolate bar down the middle and assigned her the bigger piece. Like she was him and he was Joe. He handed her share to her, wordlessly, not taking no for an answer, like. Not waiting for one. No fucking way was he gonna let her decide anything for him. So yeah, he was thinking on his feet. And gonna make a quality choice, obviously.* Go'ed giz us some sweets then if you're gonna cry 'bout it, like. *He shrugged again, giving pretending that the idea of getting anything decent from her (just 'cause he gave her half a manky sarnie, handful of crisps and a banana) wouldn't make his day. A grin escaped anyway. He couldn't help it, how she talked made him want to. It was dead funny.* Yeah? *He raised his eyebrows as if he was pure shocked by the idea of someone knowing what cheese was. *Well, no take backs, you said I can have whatever I want, shit sarnie or nah. * He nudged her, playfully, grinning. *Okay, but what if what I want is for you to chat to me, what you gonna do then? Fucked it for yourself, haven't you? You've gotta set boundaries for me, see, or I want it all. Bea: *She tried to not look at the chocolate as if she'd never seen any before, save him taking the piss again. Also save melting it in her palms, waste; she was about to take a bite, 'cos they were eating lunch now and it was pointless trying to fight that, especially as hunger always got worse if you had SOME food. It was like teasing yourself, poking the bear or whatever it was that adults said. Once you had a little, you NEEDED more. But fat chance she was letting that comment go unanswered, dickhead! She kicked his foot closest to her, not hard nor nothing, didn't need the teachers back 'on 'em and didn't need to make HIM cry, like.* I.don't.cry. Get that straight. *Bea took a bite now, for emphasis.* Right then, easy. Come with me after School, get it sorted. *She nodded, happy to have it sorted by time the day was out, and happy he'd picked something she could give or she would've had to get creative. Blinking at him, at what felt like a sudden change of heart from the boy, and concealing the grin that tries to form in return of his, she shakes her head.* Nah, it's one for one, you don't get unlimited favours, idiot. And you'd rather have sweets, wouldn't you? *Bea shrugs, finishing the chocolate, licking her lips clean.* Fraze: *He laughed, no shame at it now that she was finally reacting in a way he was used to, shaking his head again, harder this time.* All girls cry. End of. *Ma's didn't count, like, and she didn't know his, so whatever. That could be the story and he was sticking to it. She had hers and the way she was telling it meant he'd get sweets. If she wasn't full of it, Joe would lose his mind. They all would. Ali would definitely cry and she wasn't allowed chocolate or sweets yet to know how good they were. His grin widened at the idea of having something none of them did, for once. But the voice was back as soon as he had that thought, turning it into more of a frown, telling him that if he showed the rest of them what he had, he'd have to fight to keep every sweet and losing wasn't just about sharing, it was shaming. Fuck. He'd have to eat 'em all before he got home. There weren't decent enough hiding places in the flat to risk anything else. The fucking dog would sniff 'em out and he'd be in the shit like he was at Easter. Fraze clicked his lunchbox shut, why the hell was he thinking about that? Stop being a div. She'd gonna think you are, and worse.* Alright. I'll ask. *Easy said, 'cause like he'd already, to himself, she didn't know his ma. Or that there was no chance she'd let him go down the shops with the new girl at school 'cause he asked nice. Still, he nodded himself to convince her (at least) that it was happening. Fuck knows what Katie would be like if she reckoned she still owed him. Nah tah, to that. But wait a sec, he might not have to be the loser mama's boy in her eyes though if this after school plan went tits up. She was right, 'course he wanted sweets, but he still knew better than not to take advantage of the possibility that he didn't, just in case. He was a McKenna for fuck's sake.* Who says? Bea: Well you must only know really pathetic girls then because I never cry so you're wrong. *She stuck her tongue out at him, not even checking if any adult was looking now. She believed it, though; Loads of the kids in their class, girls AND boys, still cried every morning when their Mums left, clinging to their legs, begging 'em not to leave... And barely anyone took the piss out of them, much. It pissed Bea off. She could handle the ones who just wouldn't have nothing to do with her, suited her fine anyway, but the ones who thought they were funny or hard or whatever were the worst. Didn't have time or energy for it, didn't they get it? She shook her head. Still, this one, Fraze, they ACTUALLY called him, not Frazier, wasn't being like that right now; So for this lunch break, (JUST this one, like), she'd 'play nice' as Miss always told her to.* If you can't come tell me what's your favourite and I'll still give it you tomorrow morning, swear. *She held out her pinky to him.* I say. What, you wanting something for every single bit of your lunch or something? That's a bloddy cheek, init? *She smiled, to show she was joking.* Fraze: *His eyebrows rose in proper surprise for the first time since they'd sat down together. She weren't backing down, maybe she was right that she weren't like other girls in their class? She already hadn't pitched a fit when he swore or run off to tell on him like others did when he did in front of them. But he couldn't let her know that, could he? Still a McKenna, like. If she earned it, he might give her a clue. Maybe. For now, he just had to fight back. With a laugh he balled up the empty crisp bag and threw it at her, not hard, but aiming for her head. 'Course it was a direct hit. A teacher moved towards the table at speed, but he reckoned it was worth it anyway. She'd be well impressed, how could she not be? Before the telling off could come and stop him, Fraze continued to grin proudly as he linked his finger with hers, making sure she did promise even if she was mad at him now. And he nodded too.* Well, I like Sherbet Lemons best, remember that, yeah? In case and just 'cause.* He grinned back, trying not to show how happy it'd make him if they could go to the shops sometime. He didn't like girls, but if she weren't, basically (and they both agreed, or as good as, that she weren't a standard one, at least) then it was alright. Fuck it. He laughed that off with what else she said.* Nah, not for this shit show, but next time I save you, for sure. I'll step my game up. Then you'll owe me big and won't wanna refuse. Bea: *She saw the hit for what it was, a challenge. She wasn't, however, as fully certain on what the response he was after was, especially when the big grin came. If he wanted her to cry, good fucking luck, boy. The teacher who marched over and made Fraze not only apologize to her but get up and put his crisp packet in the bin, helped her work it out, giving her no time or chance to respond with violence, like. Instead, she made funny faces behind the woman's back at him whilst he was at the bin, sticking up her middle fingers (being careful that only he saw because SO many of the girls would love a chance to dob her in for anything). As he sat back down she smacked him upside the head, shaking her own, bemused but not necessarily mad.* NEXT time? What makes you think I'll need you EVER again? And what's bigger than sherbert lemons? *Her eyebrows rose questioningly with her grin, to show she expected an answer* Fraze: *His apology was about as sincere as her thank you earlier, like, 'cause he knew she weren't mad at him. If he was sorry for anything it'd be the lunch bell going. This was a proper laugh and girl or not, Katie was sound. He didn't even get mad himself when he had to get up and clean up 'cause she made sure. No promise needed. It should've wrecked his head that this posh girl with no mates he hadn't spoke to before today was pulling the same tricks on him right now that he did to keep the lads thinking he was boss but he didn't. Maybe it was just that he'd already worked out they were the same and she belonged with him on the angry kid table or he could've been having too much fun watching her to care. Either way, like his ma and da always said, he'd take what he could get. Keep on loving it, yeah? It helped that she could hit an' all, better than most of the other boys on his street. Fraze was so impressed that he wanted to blurt that news out to her there and then, but he didn't. Couldn't 'cause that'd only show that she didn't need him, any time, probably, and she'd win. He wanted that way less than Sherbet Lemons, if he admitted it out loud or not.* What makes you think you won't? You got form now, ain't yous? *He shrugged, stomach twisting, though he didn't know why any possible answer she could give in reply would do that. So what if she never wanted to see him again? Give a fuck, yeah? He was popular, he didn't need her as a mate. She needed him to be hers, if anything. Remember.* Plenty of shit is, I can fit loads of 'em in my mouth if I want. I'll show you later on if you don't reckon so. Bea: *Back to scowling, getting up from her seat, metal chair legs scraping on the vinyl floor as she pushed away from the table and away from him, slamming her chair under the desk with more force than necessary. Why'd he have to say that, like that? Oh well. It was only a lunch time, like she'd said. And the bell was due to go in five, according to Miss' loud voice ringing too close in her ear.* Oh, piss off, Frazier. See you later.*She tutted turning away from him sharply. Bea busied herself with helping clean up, a task she usually left to the rest of her class, only pretending to help, like. She kept catching his eye from across the classroom, unable to stop herself for some stupid bloody reason. She made mental note to sit as far away as possible from him when it was carpet time next.* Fraze: *He didn't know what he'd said or done but he knew what he couldn't and wouldn't. He wasn't sorry. Not for anything. Not ever. He weren't no pussy, like. And he deffo weren't the kind of soft lad that trailed along after a stupid girl. Older lads took the piss out of any that behaved like that, he'd heard 'em, under the slide at the park, bevvied voices carrying, loud and proud. The old pissheads that stumbled out of the ale 'ouse in the afternoon were the same but only in volume. He was meant to keep away from them, his ma and da made him swear. Not these lads though, they were cool. Decent. Fraze puffed his chest how he'd seen these teens do and turned away. Another job done. 'Cept his back wouldn't stay to her, wanting to be aware of what she was doing and if she cared what he was. Or not. Jesus Christ. Why and what the fuck? Alright she was funny, but not enough of a laugh to be a proper bitch. Fuck it, if he found out what he'd done wrong it'd stop winding him up, yeah? He'd ask her next chance he got and that'd be that. End of. He just didn't like not having the answer. He'd get that and get over it. Easy. Then he'd get his sweets and go home. Like she said, nothing beat his faves anyhow so whatever.* Bea: [Home Time] Bea: *It had been dead hard avoiding the freckly kid all afternoon. Harder than it should be. He was no more on her radar than the rest before this, like, but now it seemed everywhere she turned, he was there, being all loud and...well, loud, really. It didn't help when they were sat on the same table to do puzzles, snatching pieces from the other before they got place it becoming a game that almost got her to grin when she remembered what he said and she had to remember to scowl at him again. Idiot. Form? What did that even mean? And he could fucking talk. His Mum always picked him up, and he had a Dad too, he'd picked him and his Brother up too sometimes, with the little boy and girl which must be more family. What did he know about anything, like. Absolutely nothing. Baby. Home time was easily her least favourite bit of the day. All the Mums and Dads and Nans and older Sisters and Brothers waiting in the playground, the way all the other kids ran to the window, all excited to see who was there for them, waving until they'd be allowed out to jump into their arms, tell them all about their day as they walked hand in hand to their lovely Home where they'd have fish fingers and beans for dinner in front of kids' TV before bath time and being tucked up in a cosy bed and read a story 'til they fell asleep and got to do it all again tomorrow. She hated them all. But she had to stick close. She weren't no idiot. She knew how dead easy she could get snatched by some wrong'un. So she changed the way she went home, switching it up every day. Following a different family every time, so they didn't get suspect and ask her where her 'Mam' was, all concerned. Safety in being confused as one of theirs, with an adult to protect her. She'd never followed freckled boy, he didn't live the same way she did. Anyway, his Mum stared too hard and Bea didn't like it at all. Miss tried (and failed) to get everyone to calm, back crosslegged on the carpet as she did the last register to make sure everyone was accounted for and sent to the right family and home. Bea reckoned they spent half their day saying 'Here', as if it was possible to get out. She'd tried, plenty of times. It would be easier when they were in proper classrooms like the bigger kids but they were still treated like such little babies. Fraze was sat about three kids away, so she leaned behind, tapping him on the shoulder, giving him a silent thumbs up and then a thumbs down, to gauge if he remembered. He had. So when her name was called, number three, she spoke loud and clear over the overly-excited chittering of everyone else.* Miss, I'm going back with Frazier and his Mum today. *When Miss nodded, how little she cared clear, Bea went to gather her bag from the cloakroom, hanging about there 'til they got to the Ms on the register; That's where he was, right?* Fraze: *It was piss easy ignoring that girl for the rest of the afternoon, like. He had loads of mates, more than anyone else in the class had 'cause who didn't like him, 'cept her now. But he weren't thinking 'bout that, was he? If he thought he was properly gonna, it was all grins and chatter and laughter. Being louder than all them other sounds going on in his head, learning it off Joe, everything what not too do 'cause his brother could be well quiet and frowny and he didn't like that. Fuck no. Besides, his ma and da were loud all the time, even sleeping they snored and snored. Jesus, his ma could say more with one of her looks than miss said all day, and everyone on their street knew it. Like everyone in this class knew he was the funniest, best at footie and fighting by miles. So there. Katie could reckon whatever else she wanted. What did he care? He was Fraze McKenna. End of. Still, he couldn't help trying to get the girl to grin again, wanting to see it same as before, share jokes that half the rest of 'em never got. Fuck knows why. Maybe she was right, and he was different too, not just better. And they were both more like the older lads under the slide than the babyish girls who hid under their tables playing pretend. He'd been weighing that idea up for a bit himself anyway. He could hurt his big brother if he wanted, and sometimes he did want to. Katie could hurt anyone here if she felt like it ('cept him, 'course) and he reckoned she did, maybe more than sometimes. That went round and round his head 'til the bell rang and he had something else to think on. Home time. Time to worry 'bout other shit. At least today if was only if his ma would let him go to down the shops or nah, Joe would say it could be worse and he weren't wrong 'bout none of that stuff ever. His brother could be trusted to be right when Fraze weren't sure if he'd dreamed things or muddled them up. Joe knew what was real and what weren't no matter what. Alright then. Fine. He'd just get permission to go. No need to fucking cry 'bout it, only man up, she said she'd bring the sweets tomorrow if his ma said no, swore as well. He couldn't lose. Fuck it. Fraze charged out to do exactly that as soon as he could, without looking back to check if the new girl was keeping up with how fast he could run. Unlikely. He was proper fast. He nearly smacked into his ma with the force of it, like, but she just laughed. Ruffled his hair, glaring back at him when he tried to do one to make her stop, before cracking up again. Fucking hell. Pure embarrassing. He tried not to go red and get his words out. If he made this quick she couldn't do anything else to make him look stupid, yeah? Besides ask loads and loads of questions about where he was going, who else was, and what Katie's mum reckoned about it. Fraze stamped his foot impatiently through each one, earning a less jokey look of warning. Oh come on! He answered every one, he weren't gonna do it smiling while she made him look like a twat, was he?* Bea: *Bea rolled her eyes, as he ran out, surprised he didn't fall and scrape his knees on the tarmac the way he kept looking back at her. She couldn't help but smile smugly to herself, making sure to take her time just as smugly, swinging her bag at her side as if she was in no rush. 'Cos she weren't in no rush to chat to his Mum, no thanks. He could bloody sort that, she'd be doing the rest; favours didn't extend that far no matter how much of a hero he chatted he was. She hung back, bored, as she did the usual Mum thing and he went all pink. Bea looked the lady up and down, studying. Fraze didn't look loads like his Mum. They were both blonde but she was more pale, and her eyes were really big and it was creepy, she decided there and then. She was young, younger than the Mums that all stuck together looking everyone else up and down, but not the youngest by any stretch, the Mums who looked like they should still be at big School, like. Probably about as young as her Mum and Dad had been...That made her dislike her more. Bea did her best to stay out of it, even though he was being such a boy and making a right mess out of it but she instinctively chimed in when she asked what her Mum reckoned.* My Mum don't reckon anything, she's dead. *You find out quick it's a decent way to shut people up, or make 'em feel sorry for you and give you what you're after, simple as. Fuck, even Nan could be tapped for stuff when she was having one of her days where she wanted to go on and on about how much she loved and missed her 'little girl' wailing and sobbing so dramatically like she was trying to get an Oscar. Of course, ran the risk of her calling her 'Kathryn' (even though that weren't even her full name or nothing) and saying she wished she was the one that died instead but, who cared? Not like she didn't wish her Nan was dead too so it was fair. She copied Fraze, stamping her feet too, making eye contact with his Mum as she grinned, willing her to relent.* Fraze: *Fraze blinked when Katie told 'em about her ma ('cause he didn't know that or anyone else who had a dead ma, only some lads without das, dead or taken off by the bizzies for a stretch) but his own didn't flinch, she just asked instead what 'whoever was looking after her' reckoned then, not missing a beat, and calling her 'kid' which made him go even redder, like, his own eyes basically begging her to shut up, but his ma weren't paying no attention to him, only the girl next to him. It wasn't a look he'd had aimed at him before so he didn't have a clue what it meant, good or bad. Either way, he reckoned it was best to try and hurry this shit along. Not that his ma was having any of this. 'Course she wouldn't. He weren't born yesterday even if she was treating him like he was in front of this girl. He tried saying 'please' and everything, only screwing his face up a bit around the word, 'cause a whole bag full of sweets wouldn't disguise the taste of having to. If she was proud of him, she never said though, insisting that yeah, they could go to the shops if she went with them. FUCK! Arlarse weren't the word. Right, this weren't happening. No way was he going with his ma along to hold his hand like some baby. He'd rather starve. Or never speak to Katie again, ever, than have her think that's the kind of lad he was. Tah, ma. Honestly. Cheers so much. His face was burning up to his ears, it was shit enough she'd see that, they both would. Fraze scowled, shaking his head, fiercely.* Nah. Forget it. Bea: *Bea raised a brow, disbelieving. Was this lady actually daft? She gestured around her with an encompassing shrug of her shoulders.* You see 'em here? They reckon it's fine, adult. *Putting thick disdain on the 'adult' because the 'kid' had rubbed her up the wrong way so sod you, whoever's Mum you are, give a fuck. She let's it sit for as long as she can but sighs, inevitably relenting when she won't and he's about to blow his top with it. Poor boy. More hassle than they were worth, parents. Glad she didn't have any, like. Sure. Bea was sure she didn't want/couldn't have her coming if she were gonna stick to her promise, and she always did so. She'd try once more to get Fraze to come with, thinking it'd be good to impress him with all the sweets she could get, for free; but if his old lady was gonna be a pain in her arse she'd have to settle for just getting him his share tomorrow morning. No fun in it but at least she wouldn't owe him no more.* Look, my Nan's husband- *She had to call him Grandpa when he was here, to show how close they were to people and what a great man he was to raise the orphan girls, but he weren't here and she took the small amount of satisfaction it gave her to disobey him here and now-* is a Doctor at that surgery right there, see? I ALWAYS go to the corner shop after School, he watches the whole time, yeah? I'll bring him back safe. But if you're REALLY worried about YOUR child, I'll just go ALL BY MYSELF then. *Emphasis as a challenge, like are you concerned for real like you're fronting or are you just like Miss and the rest? As long as you're seen to have done your bit, then fuck off, kid, I'm blameless and don't owe you shit. Go on, disappoint me, like.* Fraze: *He couldn't believe what he was hearing, nobody talked to his ma like that, even his da knew better than to try it, like, but fucking hell, here was this tiny girl, half his size, giving it all that and more 'cause she weren't fronting that she weren't scared or anything, she just properly weren't. Fraze's chest felt tight and his stomach was well twisty, making him reckon that maybe he didn't want sweets so bad any more now. Wide blue eyes went from Katie to his ma and back again, not daring to blink in case he missed a sec of what either of 'em were gonna do next. He watched for everything that weren't said out loud an' all, 'cause that was the thing with his ma, she could be quieter than Joe ever had, when she wanted, but there was always something going on. Like he said, she was always loud, not always in the shouty way of it or whatever though. And right now he reckoned he could hear her thinking. Deciding about shit. More than if he was allowed sweets or nah. He swallowed hard, waiting, counting not to calm, exactly, just...fuck knows.  He made it to 3 when he saw his ma do one of them smiles of hers that he tried to copy in the mirror whenever Joe weren't about to catch him. And then swore he felt the nod she gave as much as saw it, breathing out himself at the same time. Yeah? She was really saying it was alright instead of kicking off? Oh my god. His jaw was about to hit the floor, unlike his ma's which he knew was set as much as her mind was made up. She told him to 'go with his friend'. (The unspoken McKenna code passing between 'em with a look as he made sure to stand as tall as possible so his ma knew he understood that he was meant to look after this girl and would. Could easy.) He barely listened to the rest, knowing she'd be telling him the usual shit, to get his arse straight back to the cafe, no messing, blah blah blah, but he did hear her invite Katie back too, catching his classmate's eye quickly, unable to stop himself from hoping that she would come with after, get a coke with him and stick around. He liked her again and this time he really wanted her to know it. Be friends proper like his ma reckoned they were. But even more than that, he wanted to see if he could impress her too, somehow. For that, he needed time and opportunity so fingers crossed. The boy grinned widely, feeling it on his face but not caring who else saw. Things were going his way, why shouldn't he? Fuck off if you don't agree.* In a bit, ma. *He threw the words over his squared shoulders, feeling her watch him how he was sure she would they both until they were out of sight. Fine. He weren't mad. Not now.* Bea: *She wasn't sure how Fraze's Mum would react. Most adults (the normal ones) didn't know how to react to her, she made them uncomfortable, she did the other kids as well. Hell, even some of the bad adults she saw way more of couldn't handle her, just like old Al in the corner shop, she shook her head, smirking at the thought of rinsing him of all the good stuff, yet again. This time with someone to show-off to and share her spoils with. She liked it when she made people uncomfortable, it was better than the ones she didn't, they're the ones who made her feel like that instead and she hated it. Telling her how clever and grown-up and funny she was, but in the voice you'd use to talk to a baby so she doubted they fucking meant it. But she was. Had to be, so she had to take some damn pride in it too, thanks very much and fuck you for thinking otherwise. As much as she doubted the lady was gonna belt her one, still, Bea didn't reckon on a smile either; It ALMOST caught her off-guard, to the point she smiled back, before quickly wiping it off her features as if it never happened. Pretend it was to get out of here faster, whatever. She did a fake polite smile back when the invite came, knowing she couldn't already- but when she caught him trying to catch her eye, all eager and earnest- her reply that NEEDED to be 'No, thanks' stuck and instead she said nothing, just nodded her head dumbly. Oh well. She'd dash after, make whatever excuse worked best, no problem. Walking off from her with a bemused nod, kind of shocked that that had actually worked but proud it had, she stood up as tall as him (well, she wasn't, but back as straight and shoulder's pushed as far back, like), side by side. The shop really was only a few buildings down the road from their School and you only had to cross one tiny sideroad which was easy unless you was a total moron and she didn't think he was, actually. She looks up at him, grinning back, his infectious.* How many Brothers and Sisters you got then? *Bea asked, unprompted, wondering if there was more she'd not seen before or what.* Fraze: *He was pure made up to be doing this, he weren't allowed when it was him and his big brother together, though they did it secretly when ma and da weren't about to stop 'em, this was different. Proper. They'd asked and they'd got, that didn't just fucking happen, day to day. Not to him. Not with his ma. So there was no pretending he weren't happy. Simple as. He was bouncing on his heels all the way along, free and loving it, like. Fraze didn't look back once, wouldn't. He barely stole any the girl walking with him, 'til she spoke, breaking the easy silence. His eyes met hers then, searching for how she felt in spite of the grin he could see, making sure. Taking it serious, everything his ma hadn't needed to tell him to do and he hadn't needed to promise to. He shrugged at the question, surprised if she really didn't know already 'cause for some reason it was always something people did.* 2 Brothers and a sister. *He grimaced at that word same as he had with 'please'.* But she's just a baby, like. Whatever. *He meant that. Ali weren't annoying yet. Less than Tommo already was, following 'em about like a little shadow. Fuck that and fuck off.* Ma and da like me best though. *He laughed. The boast was half true, he was his da's fave, way more than Joe, who was a mama's boy. Like or nah. *An' they got a girl now so they ain't need no more, thank Christ. *He paused, looking at her again as he remembered what she'd said before about her own family, the only thing he knew about her other than her name and her anger. His eyes and voice both softened as he spoke up.* Soz 'bout your ma. That's shit. Bea: *He had loads of energy, like. It was hard for Bea to keep up, honestly, but she did her best not to let it show. That was par for the course when you never got enough food or enough sleep, you get used to faking an acceptable, undetectable level of 'fine' to keep from the more exhausting conversations no one wants to have. Simple as. Still, conversationally, he was easy to keep up with. So she had seen them all before. Bea nodded, pleased she had some experience to relate to what he was saying.* My sister too. *It was hard to tell how old babies were, they all sort of looked the same but she reckoned Luce was a bit younger than the little girl she'd seen with Fraze's Dad a few times. Fatter though, and she didn't walk yet or say much. It worried her a lot but she didn't wanna think about that right now when she had all the other time in the world to do that, right now she actually had something else, so appreciate it whilst it lasts. She laughs, meaning it, ruffling his hair like his Mum had, having to get on her tiptoes to reach.* Nah, bet they tell you off ALL the time. Bet you're- *She gets off him, quick, shrugging away, pulling her jacket 'round her tight but making a sound like she ain't even bothered, though she's walking faster.* If you reckon that's shit, my Dad's dead too so wha'd'ya think to that? Fraze: *Fuck's sake. It was going decent, she liked him again, he could see it, hear it when she laughed and feel it when she took the piss that it was playful same as before with the crisp bag, but he didn't keep his mouth shut and let it be. Why? She was the one with the dead ma, she knew how shit it was without him to tell her. Knobhead. She turned into Joe when their ma and da came home late or they woke up in the night 'cause the door was going again, like. If he tried another sorry she might hit him, or worse, cry like she reckoned she never. Either way, she wouldn't hear the apology 'cause she didn't want it. He blinked hard, scratching the back of his neck as he caught up with her increased stride. That bit was easy, finding something to say weren't. Fraze frowned and thought. It came to him after a sec.* I reckon you'll do all right, my ma and da don't have parents, never have, and they're sound. *He pulled the girl back by the sleeve of her coat, not rough like he would've if she actually was his brother, but insistent still, looking at her.* You won my ma round, like, and that ain't something I can do. Bea: *More nodding. Least that made sense, why his Mum had been nice to her, like. Dead Parents club. They didn't call it that, but she'd overheard him telling some well-meaning old biddies that that's where she went...Support group? Yeah, support group, that he'd found a really amazing one for her with other kids with dead Parents, sometimes dead Brothers and Sisters too, for a change. It was all bollocks, she didn't go nothing like that. Fuck, probably reckons if he lets her start chatting that all his secrets and feelings will come spilling out, never mind her own. Joke. She didn't really feel much about her Parents anyway, truly. No offense. Didn't have time for it. If she ever had the luxury of time to think on them, she just got angry at them for leaving her here because if they hadn't, all the rest of her problems wouldn't exist, so then she would have time to miss 'em like everyone reckoned she must/should. When Fraze pulls her back, she considers telling him, God, not all of this, but some of it, she decides against it, though. HIS Parents ain't dead, after all, and holy fuck she bets nothing like what's happening to her has EVER happened to him; So he ain't gonna get it, couldn't. She shrugs, less aggressively than before, sort of smiling that weird half-smile that was a bit sad too, that she'd learnt from the films, fluttering her eyelashes at him all for effect.* I am cuter than you. Fraze: *There was a huge part of him, growing every second, it felt like, that wanted to know what going on, behind everything, but just like his ma (who never even locked the bathroom door but still kept 'em all at arms length still) he had no clue how to get Katie to show or tell him either. He couldn't scream at her or hit her. You weren't allowed to do shit like that to girls, and everyone else saw her as one even if them two didn't, so he'd get in trouble if he dared try anyway. And he didn't, dare, like. Not 'cause he wanted sweets, fuck them honestly by now, he'd basically forgot 'bout the whole debt thing. But 'cause he couldn't stop thinking about her coming to the cafe with him and maybe tomorrow, sitting together 'cause they wanted to, instead of miss saying they had to. He shrugged back, staring at her openly, fed up with so many secrets around all the time. Fuck cute, that was for babies and animals and that. She was more. Impressive and fierce and...what? He needed to find a word for the new girl that was just better. Cooler. Properly decent. Something that fit.* You ain't cute, you're boss. Bea: *It isn't that the prolonged eye contact made her uncomfortable, it was that it DIDN'T, and she didn't know what to do with that at all. She was used to people looking at her, and those people and their looks making her want to rip off her own skin because it crawled so much. As much as their hands and eyes would roam all over her and- And she knew what to do with them, stare back, to hide all that...grossness, that she felt underneath, because that's what they wanted to see, so you couldn't let 'em. She had to make it hard for them, not as fun, or else, what the fuck did she have? But Fraze wasn't looking at her like that. Or making her feel any of that. But she felt SOMETHING, not nothing, like when people looked her up and down who didn't know. What did he know, though? It was confusing. Bit like the word he called her. She still didn't know exactly what it meant, when they said it the way they did 'round here, but she knew it was a good thing so she was happy. She smiled, opening and holding the shop door for him with a wink as they reached it.* You'll see. Fraze: *She smiled and he was back to winning. Nah, feeling like a winner was more like it. He smiled back, putting his weight on the door before it could knock her over, like. She really was tiny, smaller than any other girl in their class by loads but he'd never noticed until she squared up to his ma just now, which didn't make sense 'cause 'course that made her seem bigger. Why was he thinking 'bout how she looked anyway? Weird that. She weren't no boy he was looking to fight, working out his odds and that was the only time size mattered. Fraze told himself to shut his gob and went in, looking 'round 'til he found where the sweets were and went towards 'em. This shop had shit loads, if he had spends he could go well mad in here, like. Get more than a handful of his faves. His ma hadn't given him any though so that weren't likely, was it? He could hear her voice in his ear, saying 'take what you can get, kid' so he started filling one of the little paper bags with Sherbet Lemons, but he'd only thrown a few in, nowhere near enough to stop her owing him, when something else drowned out that wisdom. He turned back to the girl, sharply, stopping. Fraze kept his voice low, trying not to embarrass her again.* How you gonna buy these without any money? Bea: *Al was a nervous sort of man but Bea could see he was even more nervous than usual now that she wasn't alone, his eyes darting back to Fraze enough to be odd but he clearly couldn't help it. Probably reckoning the little girl had told the little boy all the bad things unassuming old Al liked to get up to with her. She grinned at the man fiercely, taking power in that thought, linking her arm with the boy's and Al smiled back best he could, all meek and licking his lips even five seconds making them all wet. Disgusting. Bea peered down into Fraze's pink striped bag and frowned up at him, talking loud to show she could, it weren't no secret.* Get more! Get stuff for your Brother's and Sister too, if you like. We can have whatever we want. Al and me are good friends, aren't we Al? *A mumbled 'Oh erm, yes, of course we are. Help yourselves, kids. Any friend of Katie's...' as he worried the skin on the back on his neck, coughing into his elbow furiously, going pink like Fraze had earlier with his Mum.* Bea made a big show of peering at every shelf, taking her time, 'Hmm'ing' out loud, tapping her index finger on her lips, in time to the tapping of her foot. She was really taking the piss today, trying a 'sample' of every pick 'n' mix going, shoveling jellybeans into her mouth and handing the boy as many, firing them into his mouth, see if he could catch them. It was a right laugh. Made better by the fact Al was getting mad but still couldn't do anything, even when she 'accidentally' knocked over a whole display of chocolate bars. He was still just laughing, in such a nervous, fake way and tutting over the top dramatic, cleaning up behind 'em. The power she felt in him being able to do fuck all was immense, it was why she came back every day. It was why he was so mean when he got his chance. Worth it though. Worth it to make him fucking squirm. In the end she got some of those little sugar mice for Luce, they were kinda gross and she didn't really like letting her sister eat them either (she was big enough and everyone knew sweets were bad for you) but her little sister loved it when Bea made them scurry about, pretending to nibble on the mouldy cheese way past the turn, acting like they were gonna bite the horrible dog's tail off, she proper giggled, like- Yeah, those for Luce and she didn't really fancy anything herself, feeling sick from how much she'd ate just to show her accomplice that she could, to show Al too. She felt full as well though that was impossible. Full of it, like. That's what she'd heard Miss say about the freckly face in front of her, dead affectionate though, like, not on a day when he was actually winding her up proper. He was just...likable. Bea liked him, she decided. Pulling him out the door, giggling, waggling her fingers at Al behind 'em who looked like he was about to cry, the absolute pussy.* If you come back with me again, you can have more, don't have to share your lunch or nothing. Just don't tell no one else. I only share my secrets with people who are worthy, okay? Only us can do it, not even your Brother can come...No offense. *She stuck her pinky out again.* Deal? Fraze: *Linking arms was the kind of playground shit that stupid girls did and he didn't like it, but he liked that she did, that she was over the top happy from the first sec she did it so he didn't pull away. Besides, the bloke weren't happy 'bout none of it, and Fraze liked him even less. Instantly. He was the kind of bell end his ma warned 'em off of, he felt that. Acting all nice to hide the sketchy. Loads of 'em did it, you had to have your wits, like. And a decent jab, which his da had taught him an' all. The way Katie called him a friend got his back proper up, not just 'cause he wanted to be hers, though he did. It was the way she said it, with the same voice his ma and da used when people came 'round, late. He felt sick over it, didn't want anything, would rather she was a dipper too, like him and Joe sometimes were, with little things you could hide easy. But every time he tried to shake his head nah or get words out to tell her they should just bail now, fuck this for a bad idea, the girl handed him something. It was tempting to go home the hero, sweets for everyone and as many inside him, like. He couldn't deny that. And anyway, if this man was a wrong'un then he was owed it. Worse too. Until he could tell someone, maybe make his da come 'round and scare the cunt then why not, yeah? They were good sweets, he couldn't deny that either, especially when she made a game of getting him to catch 'em. He laughed with none of the nervousness he felt in his guts when Katie did that, finding it even funnier when they fell on the floor. Al would have to sweep each of 'em up. Have fun, knobhead. He grinned wider than he had before now, 'til it almost hurt, picking out loads more sweets and chocolate than his ma would ever let him keep hold of, just 'cause. If he could leave this place with empty shelves, he would, to see how smiley Al would feel 'bout him taking everything. His ma would be proud of that much, he reckoned. It made him feel better, a bit. Brave enough to stick his own fingers up at the bloke when she waved, like it was how he treated shitty adults as standard. Still, he breathed out a huge breath once they properly left. The street under his feet felt massive suddenly and well bright. Fraze shook his too heavy head, only stopping when his new mate spoke to him, his eyes widening instead, both eyebrows rising up really high. That was alright by him, it meant he didn't have to ask any stupid questions when his face did that for him. A hand ran through his short blonde hair, too many thoughts to think.* Okay. Yeah. *He couldn't help grinning again, he knew she was only saying that stuff about him so he'd keep his mouth shut, but he liked it. Being treated like a winner by someone else without a fight and having a secret that even Joe wouldn't know. Sharing it with her. He nodded, redoing the promise. It didn't feel decent enough though, not for now, and not as soon as he'd had a better idea. The boy spat into his palm quickly and held it out for the other to shake.* Deal. Bea: *She knew what the other girls in their class would do if Fraze so much as attempted to do this with them, (though, why would he? He was always just playfighting with the other lads and generally tormenting the girls that came near and tried to make him play Mums and Dads with them or something), they'd shriek in horror and run away, hysterical giggling or crying, either to tell the Teacher or talk to the other prissy girls about how gross boys were. Bea just reckoned they were lucky if a bit of spit was really the grossest thing they could imagine. How lucky to be such a little Princess that you never have to touch anything unpleasant, that you can run and scream, and people will listen. She spat into her own palm, with more enthusiasm than necessary, (fueled by her annoyance at every other girl who wouldn't), and shook his hand real strong, like, looking him square in the eye, serious.* No takebacks. Your Mum will let you now she knows me so don't be tryna get out of it, alright? I'll know. *She poked him in the chest to show she meant it, but turned her serious tone into a playful one, grinning again, wiping their spit onto the chest of his School jumper.* Boss, yeah? Fraze: *He didn't know how he knew she'd do it before she did, he just reckoned she would. Without any of the other bullshit other girls brought with 'em, like screaming or telling tales of him. Anyway, who was she gonna tell, her granddad? He weren't scared of no coffin dodger and she hadn't called by him that anyway, so maybe she could stick him less than the teachers. Sounded like it, and yeah, if he knew more blokes like Al, no wonder. Fuck it, he weren't sorry 'bout spitting and he didn't have to be, 'cause she'd done the same back before he could even blink. So there. All Fraze could do now was hold her serious gaze.* I ain't never. I only say what I mean, nothin' else. And I reckon I like you, now. Kid. *He added the last word with a cheeky grin, doing the best impression of his ma's voice that he could, which by his own reckoning was pure decent. He'd practiced a lot, like, to make Joe and the younger 'uns laugh. He hoped she would too, fingers crossed. Every grin of hers made him do it too, if he realised or nah, but the boy felt this one, how it kept growing when she was grosser than him. He looked down at her hand when it touched him, small as fuck, but really strong against his chest. He wanted to put his own on top of it, or something, for a sec, 'til he blinked the moment away. Don't be stupid, he told himself, as quick. Why would Katie want that? Why did he? He forced himself to look away, blushing, a bit. Fucking hell. This was the most embarrassing thing that'd happened all day. He shrugged hard, pretending it was that easy to get past it. His voice, only his own again, steady and loud.* Yeah. You comin' to the cafe then? Bea: *Her face hurt from how big she was beaming but she didn't mind none, didn't even care how much she was showing all her cards right now, 'cos he had first so that made it alright for her as well. It was nice, different, but still nice. She really hoped he meant it and they could have some more fun, get in some more trouble. It'd make her days a bit less shit, she'd have less time to think about when she had to go 'Home'. No sense worrying 'bout it whilst she weren't there, couldn't be, HAD to be in School. It'd be ace if they could be kinda mates. Bea even let the 'Kid' slide because it was funny how much he could make himself sound like his Mum, she laughed, able to see the funny side when the woman herself weren't the one saying it at her. She felt him tense up under her fist, she didn't know why but instinctively dropped it back to her side, feeling bad she'd made him feel bad, though she didn't get it. Not like he was afraid of her, like he thought she was gonna thump him, surely? Maybe he thought she was gross? She let it slide, as well, knowing he'd only get dead moody if she tried to ask, (she would've too so), walking further on in the direction of the cafe. It was her turn to tense up. She wanted to. Even though his Mum and Brother would be there too, she really did want to stay with him, keep having a nice time. A lot, actually. But Luce...Bea bit her lip, conflicted. What was ten more minutes? But, how much would she enjoy them when she knew anything could happen in a split second and it was bad enough she had to spend 6 hours every day away from her, not able to keep an eye on Nan, keep her Sister safe.* Will your Mum put my coke in a to-go cup for me? I can't stay long. I have to go look after my baby Sister. Fraze: *She hadn't said nah and that put the smile back on his face, though his face still felt a bit hot from the hand thing and his stomach was doing that twisty shit again 'cause it was ready for her to go running off home and keep him waiting for tomorrow, like. That's what girls did, yeah? He'd seen it on telly and heard it from the lads at the park, both couldn't be wrong. No way. So she was different and he was lucky. And today was a good day where this girl kept being boss. End of. He weren't gonna ask why. Alright, maybe later when she had properly gone and he was in bed, trying to sleep, but not now. While they could, Fraze intended on having as much fun as they could. It weren't like he'd forgotten that he needed to impress her too for everything she'd already done. Easy it'd be 'cause they had ages before it was time to go pick the others up and head home. All he had to do was think of something that she'd reckon was 'worthy' again. He weren't no thicko, he'd get it done. Somehow. He was about to open the door, holding it open for Katie this time, when he worked out that she'd stopped. He hung back with her, waiting for the reason. It weren't the one he expected, 'bout getting in trouble for staying out or feeling sick from so many sweets and he blinked for what felt like the hundred millionth time that day. What? He looked at her confused.* Can't your nan or grandda do that? But yeah, she will. 'Course. Anything for one of my mates, like. Bea: *Any potential annoyance at him not getting it was assuaged by him calling her his mate. It felt good, on the inside, it was her turn to go pink, facing away so he couldn't see it, that and her stupid big smile. She weren't even arsed about all the kids at School who wouldn't be her friend, because they clearly didn't know shit, why'd she wanna be friends with idiots like that? And she reckoned him the same before but he was showing he was different now, somehow, even if she hadn't totally pinned down how, yet. It didn't matter, if they were mates, she'd have time to work him out, she was smart enough. Easy. She shrugged, being casual with it as she walked in the cafe, like it weren't the big deal it was.* ... Sure, but she makes me help her.  *Rolling her eyes at him all 'adults, yeah?', making it as relatable as she could, like, come on, get it and drop it quick.* Fraze: *He nodded, pulling a face of his own 'cause his ma was like that, on at him if he told Tommo to fuck off even though he weren't the one being annoying in the first place. So what if that was his little brother's first words? He'd fit right in then, yeah? You're welcome, like. He could answer the door for 'em next time armed with that and all the pointing he did. The grimace turned realer then, he'd only said the stuff in his head but Fraze just couldn't joke about that shit. Never. It made him scared and weren't having that ever, but especially now, with her. He nodded at his ma as they walked in, exaggeratedly as he made his fingers into a gun and put it to his head, miming dead for a sec after, to show Katie he knew exactly what she meant and 'course it was the same for him. He pulled out a chair for the girl at the table Joe was sat at, homework book already out, the one next to empty seat he was gonna take though. It didn't take long after they'd sat down for his ma to come over too and he told her quickly what they both wanted so she'd go again. He'd been embarrassed enough by her, knowing she'd ruffle his hair again on her way past to piss him off. It was fucking worse, she told him that they had to share 'cause she weren't 'made of money' even when he basically shouted back at her that Katie had to leave soon, trying his best to barter for the cup deal. FUCKING HELL. It was this table's turn for a kick and his to get pulled up by his collar so his ma could 'have a quiet word in his ear'. The whole cafe knew what she was really saying. His fists clenched as he went, no chance of calming down as he stared back at the two of them left at the table.* Bea: *Bea watched the whole performance from start to finish, mix of amusement and curiosity, sat passively on her chosen-for-her chair, opposite Fraze's Brother, who sat as passive. More. He wasn't even slightly interested, it seemed, barely looking up when voices were raised, tables kicked and his Brother dragged off. She got it. Your normal's your normal, no matter how unlike anyone else's it might be. God, she got it. The things she knew were bad that she didn't bat an eyelid at now, blinking like her friend had whenever she said something he weren't reckoning on. When him and his Ma were gone out back, she turned to properly study the Brother, Joe, weren't it? You wouldn't pin 'em as Brothers, for a start. He was dark where Fraze was blonde, long hair 'stead of short, shorter than him too even though he was the year above, brown eyes where his were blue, devoid of any freckles when the other boy was entirely covered. Opposites. Again, she got it. She loved her little sister but she was the weirdest looking thing and she was glad she didn't look like that, sorry Luce. The boy, Joe, smiled up at her, bit nervous, she smiled back, apologetically, not meaning to have been staring for that long. She didn't get out her Homework, no intention of doing it, even if she had the time. She sipped on the shared coke, taking the blue straw so Fraze would have to have the pink, smirking. It was a funny taste, but it seemed grown-up. She'd only had coke before now from stealing the dregs other people left in places like McDonalds. Pretending to be with this family or that, she'd never been noticed, good at looking like she belonged somehow. Her friend came back scowling, slumping in his seat dramatically. She pushed the glass over to him, like he had his lunch earlier today, nudging him with her shoulder to say 'Cheer up, mate'.* Fraze: *He was so fucking mad, knowing that his first shot at impressing the girl was gone already and not reckoning on having long for another, if she was even still there when he got back. Joe could make her wanna leave by being west in his own way if their ma didn't. He should've taken her someone else, somewhere pure cool, like the park, but he didn't reckon it until now, while he was meant to be listening to his telling off. Forget that shit though, it was always the same bollocks over and over, them reckoning he should do what they never did themselves. His ma and da weren't calm. Joe weren't, still as he sat. So why should he listen? It was stupid. Yeah, alright his ma didn't have loads of spends but neither did Katie and look at all the sweets he'd got. She coulda stretched to another coke to make him look boss too, if she'd wanted. But nah, she wanted to keep him a baby. Fraze didn't make a sound, dared not 'cause it'd make her keep him here longer away from his brother and mate, but he grimaced through every sec. Couldn't not, like. 'Til his ma started saying stuff he didn't expect, questions about Katie which made his eyes widen (again). There weren't much else he could give her, answers wise, all he knew 'bout this girl really was that she had a baby sister too, dead parents and lived with her grandparents (he didn't have any to compare to, 'course but they sounded annoying) He weren't gonna tell anyone 'bout Al, he'd promised and there weren't anything to say even if he hadn't. It was more of a feeling he had, not words and thoughts. How was he meant to explain that? If there'd been no promise, or he was a snitch, his ma still weren't giving him chance, talking and talking herself. The only question out of loads that he did answer was when she asked him if they nicked the sweets she'd already clocked him having. He didn't want her thinking Katie was a dipper when she weren't and he definitely didn't want to be marched back into that bloke's shop and made to give 'em all back. No fucking way, tah. He waited for her to kick off or call him a liar ('cause it weren't the proper truth, leaving Al out the picture) but his ma just let him go back to the table with one of her looks ('cept not exactly, and not the kind he reckoned on getting either). He went, but it didn't feel like winning, even being back with his new friend. He didn't like that look or what it might mean if he brought this girl back to the cafe again.* Bea: *Bea didn't like how it felt now. Dead awkward. She knew his Mum didn't actually like her, yeah, shocker and give a shit, lady, stop staring at me too; but that was seeming to matter more now it wasn't just them two. Probably 'cos she'd got him in trouble with his Mum and he was angry with her now. Shit. She didn't mean to do that, like. Not trying to make and break friends on the same day. Oh well. Guessing she'd leave before she could make it any worse, she got up almost as soon as he was back, leaning over to take a big gulp of the drink as she did.* Thanks for the drink. *She raised her voice loud enough so his Mum would hear too, show she had manners, actually.* See you tomorrow then? Fraze: *Fraze wanted to kill his ma right then and if looks could kill, he would've, without feeling bad, at all, like. As soon as Katie got up, he moved himself, holding onto the sleeve of the coat she hadn't taken off (again) to keep her at the table she'd leaned over for longer, shaking his head.* Don't go yet. *His voice sounded dead weird and he was glad he couldn't see whatever the fuck his face looked like, 'cause he'd only wanna take the piss out of himself and now weren't the time.* We've got loads of homework, like. *He could give a fuck 'bout that, he weren't gonna do it and even if the new girl was, he knew she didn't need his help, miss loved to go on 'bout how proper smart Katie was, but it was the first thing he could think of. Fuck's sake. Maybe he was a thicko. Fingers crossed she'd reckon on what he actually meant and he wouldn't end up more embarrassed that he'd already been today. Worth a shot, yeah?* Bea: *She looked down at her cuff, and his hand attached firmly to it, still, looking back up to his face, resolve softening instantly, seeing how mad he WASN'T at her, just his Mum. Instinctively, she'd drawn her hand up into the coat when he'd made to grab her, but she now had a strong urge to reach down and grab his hand back, to hold it for a while. Her fingers felt itchy from it, but Bea resisted. Booting her dropped bag back under the table, she smiled, sitting down again. Leaning down to get the homework book and a pencil out.* Alright, boff. *She stuck her tongue out at him.* Fraze: *She sat back down next to him and he breathed out hard, but making it the kind of 'oh fuck off' sigh he'd heard both his parents do as he made a face back at her. It quickly turned into a wide grin though, Fraze couldn't help that, his ma was cleaning the other tables, Joe wasn't trying to be matey with his new one (he did shove some sweets his brother's way, just in case he was gonna open his mouth to say something) and she was sticking around. He was made up to take all that. Homework weren't gonna keep him happy, but he reckoned he could think of something else to do with his book if he tried hard. Thinking, the boy blew bubbles in the glass with his straw, biting down hard on the tip when he realised he had a pink one. Tah ma, bet that was you, an' all. He nudged Katie with his elbow, showing her his 'masterpiece' when was done. It didn't take long, it was piss easy to make a flipbook, his ma had shown him and Joe ages ago and it weren't hard to draw a version of their teacher getting a lunch tray dumped over her head by the last page. Not impressive either, but he couldn't raid the cafe kitchen like she had Al's shelves. He weren't doing this to score points anyway, just make her smile. Or maybe laugh, that'd be best.* Bea: *Bea watched him studiously, over his shoulder, uncaringly brazen like, so she could try and work out what exactly he was doing. She laughed happily when he showed her the finished product. It was like a tiny film or something, she had no idea how it worked but she thought it was really clever. Not to mention funny, especially the look he'd drawn on Miss' face.* Cool! Show me how. *She bet Luce would love these. She could make her ones about the dog and the mice, make up stories to go with them...Yeah, that'd be good, she'd think it was like magic, her big brown eyes shining out from her pudgy little face. Fraze obliged, clearly feeling proud to know something she didn't but he was a patient teacher with it too, her tongue poked out in sheer concentration. By the end, she'd drawn Al, slipping on some gumballs and falling straight on his big bum, mop bucket landing on his head to add insult to injury, crying big, fat cartoon tears. She grinned up at her friend, seeing if he liked it, and could tell who the fat, bespectacled old stickman was meant to be. She whispered in his ear, so the other's couldn't hear, the cafe quieting down as they got closer to closing time.* You didn't tell your Mum nothing, did you? Fraze: *She did laugh and it made him feel weird, but not in the bad way he had in the shop or his ma had with her questions. It was like when he was little like Tommo and his da used to chuck him around and flip him upside down, all that kind of shit. When he laughed too, Fraze couldn't get his breath properly, as if he'd run really far and fast, and his face hurt (the same as when he had contests with his boy mates to see how could fit the most food in their gob) 'cause he was grinning so much. It got wider once she asked him to show her how to make a flipbook and again when she had her own go, but he weren't mad. Couldn't be. Honestly, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so NOT mad and not only that but happy instead. Happy, even though she was better at drawing than him by miles and normally he hated coming second at anything, announced out loud by somebody or in his own head, like. For a sec he almost told her how good she was, reckoning she'd like to hear it, but before he could, Katie got closer to him than she'd been up 'til now and he forgot any of them words. The upside down feeling was back, 'cause her hair was long and soft and it tickled his cheek when she moved (which should've been annoying but was only confusing 'cause it weren't ) and he knew it smelt nice but not why or what of. He knew too that, like her hand earlier, he wanted to touch it, but again, not why he did. He shook his head firmly no to both things, but couldn't stop himself from reaching to put every strand that'd got him behind her ear where it should be, telling himself it would get in the way of him talking into hers if he didn't.* 'Course not. I promised, didn't I? I always keep 'em. Bea: *She could tell he liked her, for real. She weren't being 'up herself' nor nothing, like everyone reckoned she was; But she couldn't help it when it was THAT obvious, could she? What was she meant to do? Ignore it? Pretend the opposite was true? That was just stupid, if you asked her. Anyway, she liked that it was obvious. Why was it meant to be all sly and secret and make you feel confused and wrong? It was like that with him, with all of them, and that was just... bad. Really bad. She appreciated how easy kids her own age made it. And it felt nice. Good. Nothing weird in it, she was the one in control too, knowing more than all of them always. Some of them didn't even know what it was, the feeling. She reckoned Fraze probably didn't. He didn't like girls, he'd said. He was one of those boys. The footie and fighting and running around being lairy boys. Some boys would play with the girls, preferred it, enjoying all the attention and love they got lavished on them if they were willing to be the Daddy, or worse, much worse, the Doctor. She'd kissed lots of boys under the slide, or in the Wendy House, when the Teachers weren't looking, but ONLY when they were being the Dad. Doctors and Nurses made her skin crawl. It made her wonder if these kids knew him like she knew him, the way they insisted on playing it. Too hands on, too in your face, too...everything. She'd give any boy, or girl for that matter, who came near her with the stupid plastic stethoscope a slap. No, that wasn't even the point right now. Focus on what he was saying, not doing. He's your friend, an actual friend, don't ruin this like you do with all the others who give you the time of day. They weren't going to kiss RIGHT NOW. In front of his Brother and Mum, for God's sake! So stupid. She shook her head, letting more strands of her strawberry blonde hair fall in front of her face, the tight ponytail she did before leaving the house a laughable mess by the end of the day, hair wild and essentially loose. It wasn't like she WANTED him to tuck the rest behind her ears too, nah. She smiled at him, a little breathless, a little pink, to show she weren't shaking her head at him, only herself.* Good. Me too. Fraze: *He smiled but couldn't look back at her at the same time, he needed to take a breath and a drink so he did both. Too fast, nearly knocking the glass of coke properly over. Thank fuck it only wobbled but didn't fall 'cause he was in enough trouble with his ma. Still, he shrugged, acting like even if he didn't mean to be that div, he didn't care that it'd happened. He was Fraze McKenna and he was cool, end of. Especially now she reckoned so too. This girl who weren't like the rest and he'd already told was well boss. He turned back to their homework books, clearing his throat, all 'ahem' like he'd seen loads of adults do before they said something important, like, deciding that now was the time to let her know what he reckoned to her picture of Al. He made his voice standard volume again, hoping his ma would hear it an' all ('cause she could draw or paint anything he'd ever thought up and asked her to do, unlike his da who weren't as decent as Katie, somehow.)* You're dead good at drawing, you know. Bea: *Bea went to steady the glass, grabbing it from him when it didn't fall and he was busy playing it off; taking a huge, gulp, finishing it for them with a grin.* 'Fore you're wearing it, like. *She explained, similarly loud enough for his Mum to hear too, the lady already not reckoning much to her manners as was. She smiled big and proud with the compliment he gave. Usually she didn't really care about approval or compliments or any of that shit from people, like Miss, definitely not from any of them. It was just telling her stuff, about herself, which she already knew? Like, thanks. Saying, well done, YOU'VE impressed ME. But from Fraze, it was I'M impressed by YOU. She didn't know if those things were really any different or if they just felt it, but it was like sunshine.* I just practice a lot really... *It was true. It was quiet, easy to do anywhere, when she couldn't sleep, when she weren't allowed to. And it was almost like being somewhere else when you could focus, see the picture so clearly in your head, put all your energy into trying to make it as real as possible on the page in front of you. .She did it to try and remember too. Where she'd lived before. Mum. Dad. It wasn't good enough to take her back, though. Maybe when she was older and really good, maybe then- No. Never. She shook her head. Invariably thinking about Luce now because that's how it worked, literal trade-off she hadn't asked for. That was mean. She was a baby. This wasn't her fault, she didn't ask for it either, she didn't do anything wrong- but neither did I, Bea thought.* I better get going now. *It probably seemed out of nowhere but it weren't, she'd stayed way longer than she should've, than she meant to. She really did have to leave this time. Running all the way Home, heart already thudding hard into her ribs before starting.* Thanks for lunch again. See ya tomorrow.

[hydrospanners]

bars and stripes. This isn't the first time Doc has impersonated an Imperial officer and it probably won't be the last. So long as his nervous alien friend doesn't get them caught, that is. SWTOR genfic. Doc, with a guest appearance from another companion. 1400 words. AO3.

“Wait, we’re going in there?”

  Doc nodded, tugging at the stiff collar of his borrowed uniform. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable the damned things were. “I’m thirsty.”

  “And I’m trying to get out of here without putting any new holes in this jacket,” his partner hissed back.

  “No one’s going to shoot you. Trust me, Master Jedi. I’ve done this before.”

  “Do you wanna say that a little louder?” The Jedi mumbled, doing his best to duck his enormous Mon Calamari head behind Doc’s shoulders as the door swung open and two very knackered officers stumbled out, laughing and falling into each other. Doc raised two fingers to his forehead in a casual approximation of a salute, and they answered with blissful smiles and a gesture that was probably supposed to be a salute of their own. “That club is officer’s only, Doc,” the Jedi whispered urgently, tugging him back by the sleeve of his coat. “I am not an officer!”

  “Hard to be an officer when you aren’t even in the army.”

  “At least you have some bars on your collar, Captain. We stole my uniform from a Corporal!”

  “Borrowed,” Doc corrected. “We’ll take it back when we’re done. And anyway, no one’s going to notice. They’ll either be too drunk or too fixated on you being an alien.”

  “I didn’t even think of that,” the Jedi whined. “No one’s gonna believe an alien is an officer.”

  “It’s all about confidence. Just follow my lead and everything will be fine.” Doc reached up, popping a pin from his collar and attaching it to the Jedi’s. Then he sauntered toward the club without waiting for an answer. It was usually easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

  As bars went, it was fairly sedate. Utilitarian. Nearly identical to every other Imperial officer’s club he’d ever been in, which was a surprisingly high number for a man who’d never been an Imperial citizen. He leaned casually against the bar, relaxing onto his elbow and gesturing for the bartender droid’s attention. He ordered a Sullustan gin and tonic for both him and his partner and scanned the room.

  “Relax,” Doc said, once the bartender had gone to fetch the gin. “We’re just a couple of officers having a drink. Same as the rest. They won’t be interested in you unless you give them a reason to be.”

  “I’m an alien,” the Jedi hissed.

  “Nobody will notice.” The droid returned with their cocktails promptly, and Doc took a slow sip. It was surprisingly good. “You’re going to need a name, you know. Can’t exactly call you—“

  “ Wan. Call me Wan. And that’s pretty rich, coming from you, Doc.”

  “Not my fault your job doesn’t exist on this side,” he shrugged. “Wan.”

“Not so loud.”

  Doc just grinned, sipping at his drink and relaxing into the bar. “You could’ve gone the other direction, y’know. Got some black robes, some big shoulder pads—“

  The color drained from the Mon Calamari—from Wan’s face. “No! No way. Do you know what they would do if they caught me?”

  “Probably no worse than what they’ll do if they catch you here.”

  But Wan was shaking his head, eyes wide with real terror. “They’ll kill me if they catch me here. If they caught me doing that—“ He shuddered, visibly. “They might let me live.”

  Doc didn’t need an explanation to know why that was worse. He’d heard plenty of stories, and after what he’d seen in their Medical Corps, he was pretty sure every one of them was true. “Calm down, Wan. No one’s going to catch you doing anything.”

  Wan nodded, though his yellow skin was still a little dulled, and climbed up onto the bar stool next to Doc. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall directly across from him and held his whole body ramrod straight and unnaturally still. He was making his nerves very obvious, but it was almost working in his favor. The Imps always looked like they had sticks up their asses and right now, despite the fishy features, Wan looked like he fit right in.

  “Keep that up and they might promote you,” Doc grinned, patting the Jedi on the shoulder.

  “Shut up,” Wan grimaced. “What are we even doing here?”

  “I told you. I’m thirsty.”

  Wan gave him a flat, unimpressed look Doc was starting to grow familiar with. It was a look he’d seen on hundreds of faces before and would likely see on thousands more before his time was up. “I can tell when you’re lying, y’know,” Wan said.

  And Doc did know. He’d seen it with his own eyes, how people like Wan could do could smell a lie on the air, or fish the truth directly from a person’s mind. He just wasn’t sure he believed Wan could do it. Wan hadn’t been able to do much of anything else Jedi were supposed to be able to do.

  “Fine. I’m looking for someone.”

  “Please don’t tell me you have friends here.”

  “I didn’t say it was a friend.”

  “Enemies are even worse, Doc.”

  “He’s not an enemy, either. Just someone I’ve worked with before. Someone who can help us out of this mess.”

  “The mess you got us in.” Wan’s eyes danced nervously around the corners of the room. “Is that him over there?”

  Doc shook his head, taking another sip from his drink. He’d hand it to the Imps; their officer’s clubs had much better stock than the swill they served on the other side. Just as long as you could forget the luxury of it was carried on the backs of slaves.

  He’d found that wasn’t a detail he was able to forget.

  “Are you sure? He’s watching us.”

  Doc shook his head again. “He probably just thinks you’re pretty.”

  “ Doc ,” Wan hissed, in that humorless tone of voice Doc knew so well.

  He smiled into his glass. Wan jumped half out of his seat when the door swung open and a trio of officers filed in, their shoulders straight and expressions somber. Their eyes all danced over Wan, but none stuck. They were more interested in the bartender just now. None of their faces were familiar.

  “Oh no.” Wan swallowed thickly, finding a way to sit up even straighter. “He’s coming over here.”

  “Play hard to get,” Doc suggested.

  Wan found it in himself to glare.

  A firm hand settled on Doc’s shoulder, followed by a low, Imperial drawl. “Gentlemen,” the officer—a Major, from the hardware wrapped around his throat—offered them both a predatory smile. His breath stank of rum. “I couldn’t help noticing you over here.”

  “I get that a lot,” Doc affected his own Imperial accent, smiling lazily. “And I’m flattered, really, but I’m taken.”

  The Major’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something in the black of his eyes that told Doc he was not amused. “Noted,” he said. “I also noted that your friend’s jacket seems to have some stripes on it. Surely you are aware that this is the officer’s club.”

  “You’re very observant, Major.”

  “And you are aware that corporals are not permitted in the officer’s club.”

  Doc shrugged, noting that they’d drawn a bit of attention. “He’s a Corporal Captain. Part of a pilot program from Vaiken. Something about finding a use for his kind in the Corps. We’ve got so many of them just sitting around, y’know, seems a shame to let ‘em go to waste.”

  The Major examined Wan thoughtfully, his glazed over eyes scrunched up in concentration. “We already have a use for his kind,” he finally said, sneering. It was clear to everyone listening what use he was thinking of.

  Doc nodded, taking another sip from his drink. He’d need three more of these at the rate this was going. “I reckon they’ve got their reasons up at Command, but Force knows they don’t share ‘em with me.” He gestured lamely to the Captain’s bars on his jacket. “Not my business. I just do what my orders tell me to.” He nudged Wan in the ribs. “Put that in the report, will you? We got another no.”

  The Major nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Well, thanks for your input, Sir. You’ve been a big help.”

  The Major sniffed, like the very concept of helping was beneath him. “Very well,” he said. “Carry on, Gentlemen.”

  Doc offered another lazy almost-salute which the Major turned his nose up at before retreating to his own table with the other, shinier folk. Enough brass to blind a man over in that corner.

  Wan released a long, shuddering breath once he was gone. His shoulders slumped forward and his fingers curled on the bar, like he wanted to move more but was afraid to. Doc just nudged the untouched gin and tonic toward him.

  “I hate you,” Wan said. He downed the drink in one long gulp.

[officialravendc]

Crimson Summer

Here’s a new story, for the first time in forever. Prompted by and dedicated to @princesscochlea.

"The rose was sweet like rotting death, like caramelised bones, a kind of corpse bruleé... and his eyes, pure glaring yellow. The colour of fear."

Iarina swears she's being stalked by Koschei the Deathless. But that's impossible, because Koschei is a character from a fairy tale. But as she searches for a saviour, something grim and ancient threatens to devour her city.

Read this story on AO3, or click here to keep reading!

There hung Koschei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Koschei entreated Prince Ivan, saying:

'Have pity upon me and give me to drink! Ten years long have I been here in torment, neither eating nor drinking; my throat is utterly dried up.'

The Prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up and asked for more, saying:

'A single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give me more!'

The Prince gave him a second bucketful. Koschei drank it up and asked for a third, and when he had swallowed the third bucketful, he regained his former strength, gave his chains a shake, and broke all twelve at once.

'Thanks, Prince Ivan!' cried Koschei the Deathless, 'now you will sooner see your own ears than Marya Morevna!' and out of the window he flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind.

-        “Marya Morevna” (1890)

Deep in the woods, a single sick rose twisted its way up through the snow.

From a young age Iarina knew the shape of good and evil. Good was warm, human, charming; evil was the figure she glimpsed late one night out of her bedroom window staring up at her as she froze closing the curtains. It was quite clearly there one moment and the very next not - a lurking shadow, suddenly reduced to a brief flash of white and then nothing. Iarina could not explain this. It was like nothing she had ever seen, not outside of the TV, and so her teenage mind performed a strange leap of logic and snapped straight to the events of a faerie tale she had been told earlier that evening.

 Iarina’s mother liked to spend the winter evenings weaving rich tales about the Faeries, the Dreaming Folk, like the Baba Yaga and the Firebird. These were the tales she had been told as a child, and her mother had been told as a child, and so on. These were old stories, stories with ancient roots in the cold Russian dirt – so it saddened and soured her when they failed to take hold with her teenage daughter. The slums of St Petersburg were a dismal and messy place that felt like a bit too much for a small, poor girl to take in. Iarina would rather be listening to easy stories of dashing American superheroes and tyrant aliens than grim complex faeries. It had been a while since Putin’s sardonic smirk had gently draped a new Iron Curtain across Eastern Europe, and the only escape from the perpetual uncertainty of politics was into simple uncomplicated fantasy.

This was why it came as a surprise when Iarina ran down the stairs one night and demanded a retelling of Marya Morevna. Her mother was taken aback, but complied gratefully until Iarina asked her to stop.

“Mama,” she said, “I saw him outside my window.”

Iarina, it seemed, had developed a fear of the archetypically brutal Koschei - Коще́й - the Deathless.

“The other tales I told you, they were based on respect,” said her mother. “A Baba Yaga? Something to be feared, yes, but also something to which you defer. If you treat her correctly, she will protect you.” She truly believed in the things she spoke of. “These are forces of nature, Iarina. Sheer elements. But Koschei?” She scoffed. “Koschei is a warning about trust. About deceiving appearances. He is not a god, a king or a spirit. He is dead. That was the punishment for his hubris.”

“But Mamulya – ”

“Don’t you ‘But Mamulya’ me.”

“Mama, you said to fear the Baba Yaga and her like, but…”

Iarina stopped, because it felt like someone was listening, and jumped when her mother spoke.

“…But?”

“But those stories are just fairy tales.”

Koschei was the Wife-Stealer, the hunter of young women, the ancient predator of Slavic folklore. No wonder, then, that he particularly struck a fearful chord with Iarina, who had to avoid men like him on her way to and from school each day. The trouble was Koschei was magical, and immortal, and probably much faster than anybody else she knew. Despite the fact that handsome young Ivan Tsarevitch had long ago killed the Deathless and burnt his lying corpse, something of him felt pertinent. Real. Current. Iarina had to admit that she fancied the concept of Ivan Tsarevitch, to the extent that her admiration of Prince Ivan was the only thing that matched her unnatural terror of Koschei. She was sure Ivan would carry her away as he had warrior princess Marya Morevna. She was sure.

A farmer by the outskirts of St Petersburg came across a great field of roses encroaching on his property. He went inside to call the police. They laughed at him, but five minutes after he put down the phone he was dead.

For a long time, Iarina had a vaguely embarrassing thing for Superman. Superman was simple and kind and good and wore bright colours to show that he meant well. He was a sort of prince, she thought, combining her two interests of aliens and superheroes rather neatly.

Then Ivan came along to vie for her affections, and of course he rapidly usurped the Big Blue Boy Scout, because he was Russian. Iarina knew of no Russian Superman. If he existed, she reckoned, he would be dour and grey and complicated. Ivan was not complicated. He had a sword and he killed bad men and was handsome and swept princesses off their feet.

Ivan kept Koschei and the Faeries at bay.

Trudging through the snow back home in the dark mid-afternoon, Iarina thought she saw movement in the gap between a couple of concrete shacks. A flurry, a flush of rich tail, like an animal out of a Disney movie just behind a thick pile of trash. Iarina came to a halt, staring curiously at the pile, and was about to take a step towards it when she noticed a pair of cruel eyes looking back at her from one of the windows. They peered coldly through a gap in the blinds, glaring bright yellow like a hungry tiger.

Iarina ran home and didn’t look back.

The roses crept along the roadside and down into the sewers. The smell was sweet like rotting death, like caramelised bones, a kind of corpse brûlée. It drifted on the breeze and suffocated three people in their beds. Despite the sugary stench, some insisted on picking the roses. Those who did shrivelled like dead petals and in minutes became screaming skin husks by the roadside.

  “Iarina,” said her mother, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just saying that,” Iarina responded. “I can tell by your pale face and clammy hands.”

Her mother was silent for a long time. Iarina waited patiently if unhappily, but when the response eventually came it was terse and vague.

“I do not believe in Koschei,” her mother said. “He is a tale for unhappy widows to muse on and nothing more.”

“But Mamulya - ”

“No more questions. Go to your room.”

“Please!”

“Go to your room!”

Nothing more was said, though the silence was fraught with the ghosts of arguments.

 Iarina found herself praying for Prince Ivan’s tenuous existence. She felt lost, scared, alone; she needed a confidant or protector or partner. The other girls at school ignored her already, and now that her mother had refused to support her the long walk home became bleak and harrowing. Iarina needed Ivan, because Koschei's shadow frequently tripped down the alleyways and loomed like a great tower under puddles of streetlight. She could swear there were eyes watching her too, ravenous demon eyes searching incessantly from the stark rooftops.

 Iarina prayed, and hoped, and feared.

  The roses had crawled a dark circle round the underside of the city, snaking grotesquely through the buried pipes and tunnels. They did not hesitate for the icy winter, spreading their knotted, thorny roots down into the brick and turf to take hold – and then, all of a sudden, it was time.

  Iarina was lost.

 These were streets with which she was familiar, streets she knew by their coarse individual feel on her feet. She could have charted her course home in her sleep. So why was she in unknown alleys, worn cobbles strange beneath her sole?

 The mist closed in, bringing with it a flake or two of snow. The street was quiet.

 So, so quiet.

 So quiet that when Koschei stepped out of a narrow passageway just in front of her, Iarina couldn’t even scream for fear of disturbing the silence.

 Koschei the Deathless looked like he had killed the Grim Reaper and climbed inside its skin. He made for a towering, skeletal figure in a smoky black shroud, and out of the peaked hood burst a pair of bright yellow predator's eyes. Iarina felt that hunting yellow, the colour of fear, as it wormed its way into her brain and down her spine.

 So she turned and ran. Koschei reached for her, thin pale fingers stretching from the ragged arm of his cloak, but she slipped past his clammy grasp and ducked into another fog-swollen alley. Her feet pounded at the cobbles, Koschei’s hobbling step gaining pace rapidly from behind. Iarina flung herself round a corner onto a wider street, then back into another passageway, breath hissing through her teeth in short, panicked strokes. Fists balled, movement violent, adrenaline coursing. Legs like pistons – swinging round a drainpipe – throwing down a stack of empty crates – blood pumping like a drum through ears – harsh inhalations – clutched side – frantic searching gaze – painful exhalations – a cry –

 “HELP!”

 And as if to answer her call, there stood wonderful, strange, beautiful Ivan.

 The Prince Tsarevitch was swaddled in rich fabrics, gold and red and woven like tapestries. His mouth was wrapped against the chill, but as Iarina stared at him in amazement and relief he pulled the scarf aside to reveal his warm, human eyes and confident smile. To his left stood a silvery, glittering unicorn, and to his right a coppery, glowing fox. Iarina recognised its tail as the one she'd seen some days prior slipping behind the trash in the alley. To think she’d been that close to safety, and had she followed her instincts then she would never have had to worry about Koschei at all. Ivan gestured in a kind of old-fashioned bow, and the animals inclined their heads towards her. It seemed as if he was about to speak, but then a dusty dry breeze wafted over Iarina from behind.

 Koschei stood there, hunched, eyes glaring a blaze of red. Rage peeled off him like steam, his stance one of utter hatred. As Iarina stepped back towards Ivan, Koschei's glare flicked towards her for a second and darkened slightly before returning, brighter than before, to Ivan.

 “Stop,” said Koschei in a mangled, unrecognizable voice, but Ivan waved his hand and the copper fox pounced to intercept. Iarina turned and ran, following Ivan and the unicorn down the barren street.

 The gutters were littered with Koschei’s victims, skin shells that might have once been people. Iarina gagged as she fled, the sickly smell invading her nostrils and burning cold fire through her sinuses. Tendrils clasped the bodies, holding them close to the floor, pulling them into the drains. Ivan looked back, checking on her, then started at a roar and a flash of light behind them. Koschei burst through the edge of the mist in pursuit, the molten remains of the copper fox dripping from his clawed fists.

 Ivan waved - the unicorn turned and struck, bearing Koschei back into the fog on its horn. Koschei grunted in pain, then vanished from sight. Ivan beckoned frantically, and Iarina followed his reassuring gestures, turning out into an open plaza. Suddenly she recognised this. They were back in the real world, in the city centre. Just up ahead, instantly recognisable, was St Petersburg’s famous Lion Bridge. Ivan’s eyes creased with hope, and the message was clear – over the bridge lay safety.

 Either side of the great bridge archway waited stone carvings of those great alert cats, guarding the causeway stoically. Before the Prince and Iarina could reach the gate, however, there came another roar and flash of light as Koschei emerged from the mist behind them, bony hands soaked in both his own blood and the silver blood of the unicorn. Ivan stumbled onto the bridge, shook off one layer of the rich fabrics he wore, and draped it over a lion statue.

 Ivan stroked the pelt, and the statue came alive, sheathed in gold. Iarina rushed onto the bridge, and the lion sprang at Koschei, just moments behind.

“No!” cried Koschei. “Stop! Stop!” But Iarina was already on the bridge, following her Prince, and Koschei struggled against the beast.

 “Iarina Vasiliev!” Koschei pleaded. How did he know her name? “Don’t go with him. You are in terrible danger.”

“Yes, I am,” Iarina retorted angrily, stopping and turning. “From you.”

“From me?” Koschei asked. The lion roared, but Koschei hit it with a burst of purple light and it whimpered back a couple of steps, struck fatally. “I am not here to hurt you, Iarina.”

Iarina stared at him for a long moment. “But of course you are. You are Koschei the Deathless. Wife-Stealer. Girl-Hunter. You are a predator, a murderer, and worse. I can tell by your eyes. They are like an animal's.”

But Koschei's eyes no longer glowed yellow. Now they were soft and sad. He stroked the lion, shushing it as its semi-life melted away in his hands, and spoke.

 “If I am like an animal, like a predator, then why am I not the one sending animals after you? The fox is a predator. The lion is a predator. And tell me, why do you think the unicorn has its horn? It is not to make it look pretty.” Although Iarina could not see Koschei's face, he looked expectant.

“It is for killing,” Koschei continued after a moment. He then reached up with both hands, still looking at Iarina, and slowly pulled the cloak back from his face. From under the hood there emerged a striking visage - hair as black as a raven's feather, lips red with her own crimson blood, and that same blood in tracks down cheeks as pale as the snow.

“You see,” said Raven, for it was she, “I am not Koschei.”

  Iarina reeled. Who was this woman, this she-Koschei, this contradiction in terms?

“Do you know the story of Koschei the Deathless, Iarina?” the woman asked.

“ – of course,” Iarina said in a small voice.

“Then tell me how Ivan found Koschei in Marya Morevna's tower.”

Iarina stuttered, then began to recite: “There hung Koschei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Koschei entreated Prince Ivan, saying – ”

“That’s it,” the woman said. “He appeared helpless, vulnerable... in short, exactly what a hero like Ivan wanted to see. Somebody to be saved.”

“What are you saying.”

“I'm saying, Iarina, that things are not always what they seem. So yes, I look scary, but...”

Her voice drifted as she looked up over the bridge. Iarina followed, and found Ivan, golden and handsome, standing on the other side.

 The lamps lining the sides of the causeway glowed soft and somehow distant in the mist. Iarina's slight frame shivered in the middle of the bridge, over the icy water, trapped between Ivan and the woman Koschei. The strange woman was thin, sallow, unsettling; the colour of her irises twisted and shuddered like a jammed video cassette even though her gaze was calm and fixed. By contrast the Prince was warm, comforting, beckoning with his no doubt toned physique and deep blue eyes. Snowflakes drifted down, melting on Iarina and Raven's flushed faces.

 “Why is he so perfect, Iarina?”

“Shut up.”

“The snow is sticking to him and staying there. He's empty and cold inside because he came from the ice and the snow.”

Iarina turned again, desperate. “Shut up!”

“And it hasn't talked once. I don't think it even understands the concept of language.”

“Stop talking! Koschei talked. He used his words to trick Prince Ivan into freeing him, because he was evil and dark and wicked, and so are you!”

Raven shifted. “Why did he appear? How did he appear? He’s a fairy tale, a story, nothing more!”

 Shouting now, she gripped the plinths on either side of the bridge's entrance and leaned in. “You wanted a hero, a perfect saviour Prince, and down came the faeries or daemons or something from up in the dark stars or deep in the heart of Russia's collective imagination and made that, that thing there, and it wants you, it needs you, it lives and breathes you and as we speak it keeps eating and eating and it has to stop.”

 Iarina was still watching the Prince, who shook his head and smiled, reaching slowly into his robes.

“And I can stop it,” Raven continued, “but you have to make the choice to reject it. You have to do this. You have to turn and walk away.”

“But,” said Iarina, on the verge of tears, “but...”

“But what?”

“But he brought me a rose.”

The Prince was holding it in his left hand, a gnarled beautiful thing, with the thorns and the petals and the scent, and somehow both he and it were utterly disgusting.

 Raven's eyes were a deep purple, and Iarina felt a great sadness and love wash over her, and her tears welled up and split dark rivulets down her face.

“Oh, Iarina,” said Raven,

  “...Roses only grow in the summer.”

“My father was terrible too.”

Iarina didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I can feel it in you,” Raven said. “I feel what you feel.”

“How?” Iarina asked, somewhat lamely.

“Magic,” Raven responded.

 Iarina looked down at the pile of golden robes where the Prince had once stood. “The sun is up already.”

“Time passes quickly in strange places,” said Raven, wiping blood from her face, “and this is one of them.”

The Prince had looked on, motionless, as Raven twisted her hands and tore it into little chunks of writhing maggoty meat and roots full of rot. Now it lay in a hundred different places, a silent blast pattern, a thing departed. The fog, as if on cue, had eased and retreated into the distance.

“It made some sort of circle under the city,” Raven continued. “I think it was building something. Some lost broken magick or other.” She took hold of Iarina and turned her away, walking her back across the bridge. “Truth is, I don’t know what it wanted. Or if it’s dead. Or if death is a state that even means anything to it.”

They reached the broken lion, stepping off the bridge. “For all I know, it could have been an inanimate function just dipping into our universe. Like a gamma ray - infecting one cancer cell, something that spreads, making more, and so on.” Raven looked at Iarina. “But you’re safe now.”

 “Are you a Baba Yaga?” Iarina said, after a moment.

Raven looked at her, then off into the distance, then down at her own hands.

“Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure I’d know if I was.”

“What do I do now?”

“Go home, get some rest,” Raven said. There was a moment, and then the ghost of a kind smile crept onto her face. “Believe in stories.”

For an instant there was a pure white after-image, then a whining tone like a badly tuned radio, and Iarina was alone.

Epilogue

The roses wilted, one by one, stretching back from the woods to the farms to the streets. As they died, they let out little puffs of air, like sighs of relief.

 The streets were empty but for a young woman running out towards the slums. Her head was purged of princes, as it had been of Kryptonian strongmen before. Instead it was full of someone else, someone tangible and present and – complicated, for once.

In fact, something that had been said about her father came back to her, and she began to wonder why she had cared for men at all.

 One rose, with a Herculean effort, tore its roots free from the dying knotted network. It was an attempt to hold on to life that lasted for a few brief instants before the boot of a running girl came down, flattened it, and kept moving on into tomorrow.

[sherlockwaatson]

mistletoe.

title: mistletoe. author: jeanette or caitlinsbarry. summary: in which it is a wasted christmas if there is not at least one kiss under the mistletoe. set post-1x09 of the flash ; the man in the yellow suit. author’s note: this is the first time i’ve published anything on tumblr, so here’s hoping it goes well !

. . . 

Caitlin Snow was a lot of things. Perceptive was one of them.

She watched as everyone else began to slowly exit the Wests' home. Eddie kissed Iris goodnight, and Caitlin wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see the way Barry looked away, feigning interest in the Christmas tree, as if the sight of them together burned his eyes. Iris lightly pushed Eddie away, kissing his cheek and whispering a simple goodnight.

If she had to guess, she would say Barry had finally confessed to Iris how he felt. Considering her comfortable state with her current boyfriend, Caitlin would reckon Iris didn't reciprocate his feelings. And for that, her heart broke for Barry.

She saw the way he looked at Iris. Like she had put the stars in the sky, and done so with a smile brighter than every constellation combined. Sometimes, it filled Caitlin with an unspeakable pang. She wrote that off as sadness and nostalgia over Ronnie, a name that still caused a flash of pain to shoot through her.

Emotions were, of course, all scientific reactions to stimulation.

It was just kind of hard to remember that when those emotions, scientific or not, completely overwhelmed a person.

Rejection wasn't anywhere near as awful as death. She knew this, and not in a self-pitying way, but in a practical sense. She knew the death of her father when she was younger was far more painful than romantic rejection in high school.

But she also knew that being in love with someone who didn't love you back could easily shatter a person into a million little pieces. Not that she had ever fallen in love before Ronnie. She was simply as certain of this as she was that her hair was brown, Barry had super speed, science explained everything, and Cisco had an unhealthy obsession with Star Wars.

(She wouldn't dare admit that maybe, just maybe, it was because she was slowly but steadily falling for someone who didn't love her back. Someone who had just been rejected by somebody who didn't love him back. That was irony at its finest, and she had no interest in allowing herself to feel those things.

Not openly, at least.)

Cisco and Eddie both departed within a few minutes of each other, bidding everyone goodnight while Caitlin observed from the sidelines. Iris said an awkward goodnight to Barry before darting up the stairs to her bedroom, and Joe retired to his room for the evening with an ominous glass of eggnog.

Leaving Caitlin with Barry. Alone.

At first, he seemed startled to notice her hesitantly hovering by the Christmas tree. As if he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had entirely forgotten her presence. Then a minuscule smile crossed his expression, filled with so much light that it made the sun at its very brightest appear dim.

"Cait. Interested in more eggnog? I'm not sure there's that much left, but--"

She shook her head, and he shut up. It was often like Barry to ramble on and on, especially when he was stressed or nervous. But he was neither of those things now, nor did he have any reason to be. It wasn't like she made him nervous, that was the territory of Iris West.

After a fleeting moment of silence, she finally spoke up. "You told Iris how you felt, didn't you?" Despite it being a question, it sounded more like a statement. Firm yet understanding.

A beat passed. She wondered if he was going to try to lie, despite the fact that his emotions were written across his face. Except, lying had never been Barry Allen's forte, not really, not unless it was necessary. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"I'm gathering it didn't go well?"

He let out a short laugh. "No, not particularly. I mean . . . I don't know." He chuckled again, ducking his head. She couldn't help but find the movement oddly endearing. "I'm happy for her and Eddie, honestly. I'm happy she's happy, it's just . . ."

"You would prefer it if she was happy with you." This time, it was a statement, through and through.

Barry smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. The realization of that, that the light was dimming in his eyes at least for tonight, hit Caitlin with the force of a punch. "You know me too well, Dr. Snow."

She found herself smiling back, as she often did around him, though she worried it was just as halfhearted as his.

Barry Allen's ability to always bring a smile out of her was something that still came as a surprise, even after how much time had passed. They were friends, that was true, but she could still perfectly recall what he had said to her a short while after they first met.

I just noticed you don't smile too much.

Life was always changing. Evolution was apart of everyday life, and this shouldn't have come as such a shock to her. But he had been entirely correct -- she hadn't smiled too much. Or ever, really.

Until he came along.

Caitlin tucked a loose strand of light brown hair behind her ear, not thinking of the way his gaze darted up to settle on her face as she did so. "You looked like you needed someone to talk to," she said softly. "So I thought I would stay for awhile longer. If you want."

Always trying to seem happy in even the worst of situations, she was hardly caught off guard when Barry smiled again. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind that." He sat down on the edge of the Wests' cough, patting the empty space beside him. Caitlin hesitated, glancing at one of the nearby chairs, but he shook his head, patting again.

Persistent little speedster, wasn't he?

With a quiet little sigh, she took a seat next to him. Keeping a safe amount of space between them, of course. Not that it mattered either way, because they were just friends. "So what did she say?"

Barry exhaled, the smile slowly slipping from his expression. She hated to see it fade. "She didn't say anything at all, that's the thing. I was just talking and talking, spilling everything I'd kept bottled up for so long, and -- and what could she say, Cait? She's in love with Eddie. It's fine. I'm fine."

Caitlin would totally believe that. If it didn't seem like he was trying to convince himself more than her, that is.

The thought that Iris could have apologized, or talked to Barry about it did occur to her, but she saw no sense in suggesting that. It would only hinder Barry's process of accepting all of this. "Well, at least you finally let it all out. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

He nodded, glancing down at his lap. The colorful holiday lights surrounding them, almost ethereally lovely with their soft glow in the near dark, caused his brown hair to appear almost reddish. She couldn't help but think it was rather . . . beautiful.

Caitlin was not a particularly touch-y person, never prone to excessive hugging or public displays of affection. A hug here or there when it was meaningful, a hand to hold in times of distress, but nothing over the top. It just wasn't her style.

For that matter, neither was comforting people who had just had their heart shattered by the person they had spent almost their whole life hopelessly in love with.

Despite all of that, she was prone to being there for those who needed her. Especially the people she cared about. And she had come to care about Barry Allen (perhaps too much, but that was a realization for another night). Quite a lot.

Hesitantly, Caitlin intertwined their fingers, responding to his startled look with a half-smile that she hoped appeared reassuring. "Everything will be okay in the end. If it isn't okay, it isn't the end."

"With sayings like those, you could be a motivational speaker."

"I think we both know I prefer science over emotions."

Barry chuckled, his attention dropping to their hands, so messily yet carefully tangled together. "I can definitely understand why," he muttered. There was still a certain sadness about him, easy to sense, and Caitlin felt her heart physically ache from the thought of him being in any kind of pain.

She wasn't certain when her protective nature over him had shown up. All she knew was that it had, and there was no getting rid of it now. Not that she wanted to.

But truly, how could she possibly protect him from this?

"Thanks for staying," he said suddenly, their eyes meeting once more. She felt something in her chest, not the usual pang she was accustomed to, but something that felt more like a skipped heartbeat. Highly illogical, but-- "And for everything."

Caitlin's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Everything?"

"Helping me become the Flash," Barry clarified. "I couldn't have done any of it without you. O-Or Cisco and Dr. Wells, of course, but . . . still. You've helped a lot, and I can't count the number of times you've saved my life, and dozens of other lives in the process. So, thank you for that."

There was that strange feeling in her chest again, far more prominent than before. Almost as if it was attempting to swallow her whole. She tried to ignore it, instead plastering a small smile on her face. "You don't need to thank me, Barry."

"Yes, I do," he insisted. Always stubborn, always sticking close to what he thought was right, always following through with it. Even if his entire world was crashing down. It was one of the things she admired most about him. "I do need to thank you. I might be the Flash, but . . . the reason I am is you."

Another beat passed, this one longer than the last time.

(It felt like her heart was going to pound right out of her chest, and at this point, she would have gladly allowed it to. Anything to stop these unwanted feelings. She wasn't ready to fall in love again, wasn't ready to feel anything like this again.)

Barry paused, clearing his throat awkwardly. "And, uh, and the others. Without you . . . guys, there is no Flash."

This time, Caitlin glanced down at their twined hands. Her hair brushed in front of her face, thankfully hiding her quickly warming cheeks. "Well, then. Thank you for always saving the day."

She had never been particularly skilled with words. She couldn't give long, sentimental speeches that left people flushed, not the way that Barry did. But the meaning was just the same, and she hoped he could sense that.

It seemed that he did. His fingers gently grazed his jaw, eliciting a startled sort of yelp from Caitlin, before he tucked her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek. "You know, no one's Christmas should pass without at least one kiss under the mistletoe."

Caitlin blinked rapidly. "I don't recall ever hearing that rule before."

Barry's eyes glinted mischievously, in a way that suggested she had never heard it because he had just thought it up. Suddenly, the light pressure against her skin was gone, leaving her feeling cold even with the heating, as he vanished in a blur. He was back before she could consider standing up, the Wests' front door cracked slightly open, letting in even more cold air.

She was about to chastise him for that, before noticing what he held in his right hand.

Mistletoe.

"We wouldn't want to break holiday tradition," Barry said, with a hopeful smile that caused butterflies to flare up in her stomach. (Which was such an unrealistic expression, those feelings were clearly due to chemistry, but she was too shocked to focus on that right now.) "Would we?"

Caitlin blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

And then she stood up, a smile filled with the same kind of child-like adoration she often saw his expressions reflect. There was something crazily bright and hopeful about Barry Allen, something that inspired Caitlin to continue searching for the good things in life, keep moving forward, no matter what. "No. No, we wouldn't."

With a steady slowness (such a drastic difference from his typical brisk pace), Barry took a few steps closer to her. She felt her heartbeat quicken with each step, the pulse in her wrists hammering from pure adrenaline, and then his left hand cupped her cheek and his lips were pressed softly against hers and she could hardly breathe.

For a kiss that couldn't have possibly meant anything to him, other than a show of gratitude for her being there for him, it certainly meant a lot to her. Too much.

It ended far too soon for her liking, but Barry kept his forehead lightly leaned against hers. His dark eyes were sparkling, and perhaps not just because of the twinkling fairy lights hung throughout the living room.

He was tragically beautiful, she realized with a pang that felt far too familiar to her.

(So much for not falling in love again.)

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Snow."

She swallowed hard. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Allen."

(We are quite the pair, Mr. Allen.

Yes, we are, Dr. Snow.)

[bornintheyeardot]

Episode 5

There used to be a Dad. 

Hazel and Rupert had met under a tree-planting contract up in Hesquiat Harbour in 1981. Back then Hazel was operating her own business, a juice bar lunch counter in a large health food store in the Happy Valley. In February the coffers of 'Squeeze' had dwindled; things were slow in the winter months. She'd heard of "big money up north," but was flabbergasted to actually land a cooking job after a five minute interview. They must have been desperate to hand a total stranger a chequebook and say "Go buy a camp kitchen and everything you need to feed thirty-five planters for six weeks." The company were overwhelmed with new contracts after fervent bidding wars. It was the 'heyday' of the tree-planting rush. So Hazel went down to Capital Iron and bought the works: coffee pots, bowls, saucepans, cups, wooden spoons, giant slotted spoons, frying pans, dish pans, cutlery and a lot of big plastic garbage bins. Then she went down to Sawaan Bulk Foods in the Square and loaded sacks of dried beans and rice, flour and oats, seeds, nuts, nut butter and finally, eight buckets of tofu. Caroline, her house mate, offered to 'woman' the juice stand and leant her a double down sleeping bag. She also tucked an ounce of red Lebanese hash into her jacket pocket on the way out the door.

 Arriving by barge to Boat Basin B.C. in Hesquiat Harbour, Hazel abandoned the thought of any mind altering strategies as the enormity of her job became clear. You could be fired if the coffee wasn't on at 4:30 AM. The outside reckoning came from the twenty-seven planters whose tastes ran to Sarsaparilla Tea, Ginger Tea, Lemon Balm and Fenugreek for a morning pick me up. She had arrived completely green and disguised this inexperience in a no-nonsense attitude with the planters and bosses alike. It proved to be the most creative and demanding job she had ever done. The day began at 4:00 AM getting dressed in the pitch black in an old school bus where she slept; clambering outside and over to the cook shack and lighting the fire in the airtight. She would then meander in the pre-dawn twilight down to the river where all the perishables were stored; chiming through the forest wearing a headlamp and zils: finger cymbals leftover from a dalliance with belly dancing. This proved to be a good idea. Arriving at the 'impenetrable' lid locked bins she found them open several times; contents strewn about and riddled with largish fang marks. Once there was a large cat slinking away in the dark, no tail. Retrieving the spoils she returned to camp and spent the next hour layering an array of foodstuffs that would allow a wide group of people with completely different tastes and backgrounds to eat breakfast and prepare a lunch for that day. At first Hazel felt sorry for them. They had to go out into the most rugged terrain on the west coast and actually determine their profit, whatever they ran into. Before long she realized that a certain percentage of the planters and foremen alike had no interest in hard work whatsoever and would rather hang around the cook shack, complain about the rations and crawl off to sleep in their tent (or a hollow log) later. 

A newcomer was flown in one night, eight days into the contract. He approached Hazel the next morning after breakfast. He was wearing navy coveralls, had an unruly head of indigo black curls and and his dark features gave him a slightly menacing look. But as he spoke to her he smiled " Excuse me - but I am the head of the committee against cayenne on the breakfast eggs." She had baked eggs in muffin tins and to make them look festive she would decorate them in red and green, dill weed being the less offensive garnish. " Well I suppose I could use paprika, but are you aware of all the health benefits of cayenne? You know it's wonderful for your circulation......" and she was off. Soon Rupert found reasons to hang around after the evening meal. He studied her cookbooks and helped her to do the dishes. Hazel never went for the 'everyone wash their own plate' routine in her kitchen as she generally found it involved a lot of other personal hygiene rituals using her precious heated water. 

Two weeks in, she was confounded by the incommunicado between camp and the rest of the world. It was a good thing she'd brought eight buckets of tofu, that she was lovingly rinsing in the river daily, which kept it fresh. Her assistant Jo-Anne was annoyingly political diet wise, and would produce slabs of unadorned tofu to the hungry carnivores night after night, instilling the notion that it was latex disguised as nutrition. However, as the other food stores dwindled, Hazel found the tofu invaluable. She bolstered the meatballs with tofu to stretch the 1 lb. of ground beef. She crumbled it with feta into the lasagna and even made a cheesecake that was all tofu. She had also been baking bread every night, the Tassajara short-rise recipe, with wholegrain flour and a lot of seeds, so they all filled up on bread and nobody complained of constipation. 

Cougar Annie, from whom they got eggs, was practically the sole permanent resident of Boat Basin. She had managed to get a Post Office there, sporting several skins over the doorway. Rupert sent himself a postcard, just to get the postmark. The setting was spectacular. Craggy dark mountains flaunting thick Douglas fir, Sitka spruce and lodgepole pine dropped down to hemlock, fir and shaggy yellow cedars skirting the beach. 

One afternoon Hazel, Rupert, Dal and Jo-Anne were walking the seashore, still shrouded in snow in some places, strewn with oozing kelp and bright winking shell. Glowing moss garnished the smooth black sandstone flanking the white sand. There were two skiffs down in the next bay and four men on the beach, Native, clam digging. They came up and introduced themselves. They were from Ahousat. After securing their buckets in the speedboats they invited everyone into one of the fisher shacks on the beach where they had a fire going. The older man started pouring cups of tea from the enamel pot on the airtight and someone had a pipe so Hazel thought it an opportune moment and pulled out the hash. Things got very charged and vivid after the fact and their questions wound into a lively discussion about the peculiarities of resource ownership, fishing rights and history. It was an exchange of understanding and recognition. Afterwards they silently walked back down the beach as the boats buzzed away. Eight days later, they were literally OUT OF FOOD.

Disorganization abounded with their thinly spread bosses and Hazel was in the disagreeable position of telling the planters as they left for work that morning " Kidney bean pie for dinner". They liked to know. All she had was kidney beans and some cornmeal and she was choked because the food orders to Tofino had been submitted ten days before. Rupert stayed home for some pretend reason that day. Together they wandered the beach which was so prolifically everywhere, ostensibly looking for seafood. They found one Gooey Duck. However, it was a tremendously sunny day and the mountains, anenomes and isolation were in full romantic flow when suddenly two skiffs pulled around the corner and dived onto the beach. It was the Indians they'd met the week before and they had come with food. Nobody had asked them. They had around 50 lbs. of Red Snapper and Rock Cod and forty-seven live crab. 

Things got really busy after that. Hazel was surprised that Rupert knew how to clean fish so efficiently. Right in the middle of their industry a chopper came into view and then landed on the beach. It turned out to be the delivery of a liquor order. At first Hazel was furious. Why were they being delivered booze when they couldn't even get food? Then, as they helped unload the cargo onto the beach it dawned on her that they had a serious spontaneous occasion on their hands. These guys had gone to work expecting kidney bean pie and a predictable session later on the long drop and instead they were coming home to crab legs in garlic butter, cod fillets, potatoes, snapper bisque with cornmeal muffins, bean salad, sea asparagus and Metaxa brandy, red wine, white wine, Tequila and Molson's Canadian...... It was March 1981 in Boat Basin B.C. and life was sweet! 

Hazel went to the available bosses that afternoon and suggested they make out a cheque in appreciation of the bounty. The two gentlemen were embroiled in heated discussion when Hazel popped her head into their "office", a truck camper balanced on two massive logs. They shrugged and began griping that the company were already over extended. "But they saved our asses!" Hazel exhorted. "Invite them to dinner." they offered, closing the camper door. It was a memorable night nonetheless. After feasting and drinking the guitars and drums came out and the merrymaking by lantern light around the airtight carried on well into the bountiful hours, progressing into a libretto of absurdly long songs with made up verses. Rupert was beaming throughout, even as he remained quite mute. "Don't you sing?" Hazel inquired, used to perpetual musicians. He turned shyly to her and staring at the floor he began to quaver in a wobbly tenor " Don't cry for me Argenteeeeena......" She looked puzzled and his face brightened into that radiant smile once again as he excitedly began to describe the musical, the history and his own sojourn in Argentina several years prior. The cacophony of voices receded as they wandered arm in arm down to Rupert's snow banked canvas tent on the beach. They were greeted by Jordon Bob, Rupert's tent mate, who was stony faced. He offered them coffee from his thermos and said there was a serious matter at hand. As they were sharing a bottle of red wine they offered some to Jordon Bob but he didn't ‘do alcohol’ and Rupert didn't ‘do coffee’ so they just shook hands and sat down together. He nodded at them both and explained that word had gotten out about their stingy bosses. He then packed up his few things and made his way to another tent. Solidarity was brewing. 

The next morning every aboriginal working on the contract left the camp.

[potter-imagines]

Team Captain - Fred Weasley

Prompt: Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students meet up at night to play a friendly game of Quidditch against each other. Y/n Y/l/n, also Fred Weasley’s girlfriend, is chosen as a captain. Fluff

Word Count: 3,308

Warnings: None- fluff. Possible minor swearing. 

It was an odd sight, truthfully; jogging down the slopes of the castle ground. The blowing breeze pushing the cotton material of your pajamas backwards. Your Gryffindor shorts provided as an accurate choice as the humid, nearing summer, air drifted in. The material of your maroon and gold tie dye tshirt, a gift from your boyfriend Fred, stuck snug to the skin of your stomach as your speed increased. 

The sight of the Quidditch pitch neared and you had no intention of being late to the party like last week. At least you would beat Ron and Lee to the game; those two were always the last to show. Ron got tied up chatting up a giddy group of Hufflepuffs- who mistakenly believed he was one of the twins. Their cheeks were smacked by cherries and their unstoppable giggles filled the air.

You had chuckled at the sight while sneaking past. Lee Jordan stuck around to see the final turn out but they weren’t far behind. Neither one wanted to miss the face off which would begin shortly.

“Y/n, where’ve you been? I reckoned you’d beat the lot of us down here.” Greeting you near the entrance was Fred. His hand was extended towards you as he thrusted a sleek wooden broom. The bristles were finely brushed and kept in the best condition.

A smile graced your cheek as you reached up and took Fred’s face in your hand. Leaning forward you kissed his smooth cheek, thanking him with the gesture.

Returning flat footed you let Fred lead the way through the small crowd of students. Some sported footie-pjs, few girls wore cotton shorts matched with their house shirt, and other showed up with warm sweatpants. Everyone looked different and that was the fun of it.

Fred held you close, silently warding off the other boys in the vicinity. You walked as a pair towards the undesignated Gryffindor bench.

Setting your bright sun yellow bag near the edge of the grass you took out a pair of tennis shoes and tied your hair up in a messy pony. Sensing your struggle, Fred placed himself at your side and held up your mass of hair as you searched your wrists for the band. You sighed happily and thanked Fred. He smirked lightly then gave you a look of expectancy. Your eyebrows knitted together. You opened your mouth to question him before you recalled the conversation.

Shaking your head you spoke,

“Sorry, Ron was putting on quite the show.” Fred took a step back, sending a look of horror. You let out a hearty laugh and tried to rid the thought from your mind. You put on a look of disgust and continued,

“Not like that.” You brushed a stray shed of grass off your bare leg. The sticky air had ceased and was replaced by a bearable breeze. Blinking up you flicked a bit of greenery from Fred’s shoulder.

“He had a group of girls wrapped around his fingers- well rather so George or you did.”

“I don’t follow.” He shook his head and sent you a look of confusion. You could tell his worries were growing by your words though you put them to rest instantly. You shook your hand at him, waving off the idea and explained, “These girls, little bubbly, thought Ron was George or yourself and they were head over heels. I bet once they realize the truth Ron will make it here in record time.”

This seemed to amuse your prankster boyfriend as his face brightened. Smirking, Fred rolled his shoulders back feigning a sight of all mightiness and strength. Scoffing at this you lightly shoved Fred’s side and went to make your way around him but he was too fast.

You walked in sync towards the Gryffindor side of the Quidditch pitch. Fred had his calloused hand snug deep in you own and swung them in a slight rythme. His siblings, as well as other familiar students came into your viewpoint.

George was shoving around in a group of the more riled up boys while the girls stood to the side chatting. The opposing team, Hufflepuff, seemed to be piling in so the night game was bound to begin shortly. Harry Potter bounced back and forth on his heels searching the crowd for a distinct face and just as you went to inform him where his friends was, Ron zoomed past you and struck him with a greeting.

Fred leaned towards you and rubbed the secured skin of your shoulder. His voice cut the air like a steaming knife as he stepped into an eggshell walking territory. “Huh, thought it was me? Were these girls cute?”

Your blood turned ice cold and reversed in course. You were sure your eyes grew five sizes bigger and full of rage as they snapped in his direction. Fred only laughed at your reaction and squeezed your side signaling he was teasing but it did nothing. 

“Fred!” Gasping, your hand swatted Fred dead in his stomach. He coiled in fake pain and chuckled to himself. You couldn’t beleive him in times like these. Fred was a huge fan of giving you a hard time but the second you joked about crushing on other boys he exploded with jealousy and hardle let you out of his sight for the next week to come.

Standing straight at his towering height Fred smoothed out his worn down wrinkled pajama set, identical to his twins who stood across the pitch. You huffed in annoyance and refused to give him a second of your valuable time.

Fred latched his stern arm around your waist tugging you near him. The skin of his lips trailed up against the shell of your ear earning a ripple of waves through your body. Your knees buckled with anticipation silently begging for him to make a next move. 

“I’m serious what’re we talking an eight or a nine?”

“What makes you think they were pretty?” You set the bait and waited for him to take a dangerous bite. One wrong word and he knew he’d unleash all sorts of hell. Although his mischievous charm outwitted his sarcasm as he replied by placing a sweet kiss to your forehead, 

“Well I always manage to snag quite a catch, wouldn’t you say so, love. I mean look at yourself.” Fred’s words dripped cheekily, loving the effect he held over you. The lost connection of his plump lips left you feeling cold and alone. You wanted to pull him to your level and act first but you weren’t about to dive in. Fred’s hand grasped your back firmly holding you in front of him.

You searched his face for a comeback and breaking point. This had become a game both of you expertised in. Who would crack first?

Glancing past his tousled red locks you met the gaze of chatty girls. Hermione, Ginny, Katie, and Alicia had huddled themselves together and off inference, were gossiping about Fred and you, again.

Their slim fingers lifted in your direction then was followed by hush word exchanges and repeat. Alicia’s eyes traveled from her friends, to you, and finally straight ahead a few meters away to the other daredevil twin. Her face lit up at the sight of George making you smile. When she made her rounds you gave her an insider smile as she ducked down in embarrassment.

Laughing at the action your head rested on Fred’s chest. He gladly accepted your coming on and placed his hand of the mane of your hair.

“What’s so funny, darling?” Rolling your eyes you pushed your body away from Fred’s warm embrace, ruining the short lived moment, and poked your finger into his solid chest.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Weasley.” Arching an eyebrow you walked around the smug schoolboy and advanced towards your friends, purposefully swaying your hips as you did. A groan emerged from behind and you smirked silently. Fred was such a tease and it was nice to have a change for once.

“So what if I am? You love it.” What girl wouldn’t, you wanted to say but you didn’t dare to give him the gratification. You rolled your eyes and placed your weight to your left leg.

“Keep dreaming.” Fred winked at this and motioned his head towards the pitch. It had been freshly maintenanced and the grass chopped only that morning. You spent hours at this field cheering on your boyfriends and friends but playing on it was an entirely different rush. Fred watched as you deciphered the pitch and asked, 

“You playing today or going to be my personal cheerleader?”

You sent his a funny look. Why would you come all this way only to cheer him on like you did every other day? Pretending to be confused you pointed towards the viewing bleachers and said,

“Are you saying you’re not going to be my cheerleader?” The table turned swiftly as you took the boy by storm. Offended, Fred stepped away and shook his head resembling fondly to a bobble head you had at home. 

“Very funny. The team needs me, love.” Fred insisted owning a righteous smirk. 

“Uh, no. Fred, the team needs me.” You joked. It was no lie you weren’t exactly Krum when it came to Quidditch although you loved the sport and had a good time playing alongside your friends. Fred tugged the scarf he had broughten in his Gryffindor bag and wrapped it around your neck tightly. He hardly gave you a second to get a word in before he dismissed you. The weather shifted faster than light at Hogwarts and with nightfall already here the coldness would soon follow. You figured if letting him keep your warm would keep him from not letting you play then you’d happily oblige. 

“Alright darling, can’t argue with you there.”

“Captains, please step forward.” Announced a sixth year Ravenclaw who was known for organizing these nightly outing. He had sharp eyes filled with a single minded perspective. The boy’s bitter persona gave you a slight scare though he never gave you any trouble. He was a silent fan of Fred and George’s work and for that he laid off of you.

Fred’s fingers massaged your shoulder as he jokingly warmed you up. You chuckled at his action and began to whisper, “Who did we choose for tonight?” Most nights one of the older and experienced players stepped up as the captain but every once in awhile they would change things up. A few weeks back Hermione had been picked and the poor girl almost passed out. Her rosy cheeks were painted white in astonishment and her heart collapsed in despair. To say Hermione was upset would be a massive white lie. She hardly moved in the air- consumed in frustration for over half the night. Once you convinced Hermione the title meant nothing after picking teams- which she was sure to pick all her friends last- she lightened up a notch.

Fred pretended to dig through his memory as he stared at the darkening sky. The pad of his pointer finger rested on his faintly stubble chin. Suddenly remembering the decision Fred drew his attention in your direction and went smug. “You.” “Me? What? Please tell me you’re joking!” Since your second year at Hogwarts you had become eligible for the traditional nightly matches and never once had you been picked for a captain. Usually the actual players were selected and having lacked many athletic skills, that was not you.

Fred squeezed your hand in reassurance giving you a one of a kind grin. Your friends hollered in delight as Lee Jordan cleared his throat, preparing for the opening call. You took one last chance to send an array of dangerous glares at Fred for putting you in this position. He simply threw you a shrug and placed his hand on the back of your neck, pulling your head towards his lips as he kissed you in a feather like manner.

As he drew back he left his lips within inches from yours as he filled you in on the process, “You get first pick, babe. Choose wisely.”

Ginny placed herself at your side and sent you a goofy grin. You swore she took these games more seriously than anyone else on the pitch. Ginny was a true Weasley and loved competition. You made a note to pick her for your team before the other team could beat you. All players huddled together in a large circle as they awaited the announcement. 

“Gryffindor has chosen Y/n Y/l/n to represent for them tonight as the Hufflepuffs have selected Ryder Dwellings. Y/n gets first choice in team.” Nerves slowly simmered as you surveyed the group. Fred was already stepping forward, his mind set on you picking him. Little did he know you had other plans in mind.

Sitting back on your heels you shrugged nonchalantly,

“I’m going to have to go with the obvious choice,” Half the Gryffindors rolled their eyes knowingly watching Fred practically skip to your base. You held your hand out stiffly and grinned at him,“George Weasley.”

Fred halted abruptly replaying your words in his head. He figured you’d misspoken or he had misheard so he continued inching forward. You flicked his shoulder and motioned for him to go back in line just as George bumped past him. Fred gave you a look of disbelief, desiring an explanation.

“What? I needed to make sure I got the best Beater on my side.” You stated cockily. George approached you and made sure to pull you snug against his side as he smiled brightly to his brother. 

“Told you she was a keeper.”

The softness in Fred’s eyes vanished as he looked away. He was beyond annoyed and irritated with both you and his brother. Deep down he knew he had it coming so he rejoined his friends- who all teased him- and waited for the next round.

Of course Ginny was your next pick and Fred’s jaw hit the floor at this. He threw his hands in the air trying to figure out your master plan but succeeded to no avail. Finally last round you selected him and Fred dragged his feet to your team. Buzzing of playful banter surrounded him and his light speed wit was in full action.

“No, no, Y/n and I had planned that. Y’know to keep everyone on their feet. Isn’t that right, love?” His eyes screamed at you to agree and save him the pain of his pride. His red hair was ruffled up by Lee making him look even more handsome than earlier. You shook the thought away and refocused. Grabbing your broom you walked back to your boyfriend and gave a simple nod.

“Uh huh, sure Fred.” You reached up on the ends of your toes to place a slow and sweet peck to his blushing cheeks. Fred turned his face in attempt to catch you on the lips but you were faster than him and exited prior to his move. He narrowed his gaze as if saying he’d get you back later. George caught eye of this and yelled at the two of you to save it for after the match but you couldn’t care less.

About an hour later of scoring, sweating, cursing, and cheering both teams had retreated to their dorms. Fred and you were the last to make it to the common room while you took a well deserved stroll around the castle grounds. With the map on hand Fred kept an eye out for any professors and hall monitors. Neither of you were in the mood to get caught and spend the week in detention.

The skin of Fred’s hand hugged yours as he let your hands swing freely by your sides. There was a comfortable silence in the air that was unaddressed. Light mud caked your shoes from tracking around outside the arena. Fred insisted on carrying you around all the puddles though you turned him down numerous times. He was far too good to you.

Eventually you found your way to the Gryffindor side of the castle and trudged up the trickful staircase. Your legs ached from being bent in an unfamiliar position all night and you head was pounding from all the commotion. It was fun to let loose and enjoy the night. You were thankful for having the next day to rest up because it was going to be much needed.

Fred’s orbs alleviated when they found you. He climbed the steps behind you and watched in concern as each rise seemed to drain you by the second. Your shoulders slumped with exhaustion and your spirit was dim. Not in the mood to bicker and hear your protests Fred scooped you up and shifted yourself in his arms so your body laid across his arms in a bridal form. Eager to protest you opened your mouth baking up a throwback that was until the satisfaction came. Being in Fred’s embrace made you feel safe and overflow with love and protection. It was everything you wanted in that moment. 

So instead you resided to curling your arms around his neck and leaning your head on his built shoulder. Fred smiled down at you and opened the door to the common room with the tip of his foot after answering for the password. Your eyes grew heavy with sleep but you didn’t want to leave the prankster yet. Moving towards the leather suited couch, Fred set you down more delicately than he handled his grandmother’s fine china. Readjusting you gave room for Fred to slip behind you and he did so allowing his arm to secure you by falling over your waist. He broke the wordless atmosphere as he cozied into the cushion of the couch.

“I’m sorry for throwing that curve at you but it was cruel of you to scare me like that.” His voice was sleepily groggy and he let his eyes droop close.

Percy would most likely be down soon for final bed check and you wanted to live up the last few minutes you had. Drawing your elbow towards him you nudged his ribs like a child. “Oh lighten up, Weasley. It was only a matter of time.” Groaning in fake pain Fred rolled over away from you and buried his face into the maroon couch. With his back against yours you could faintly hear him speaking into the leather.

“Bugger off.” The earned a set of laughter from both of you. You giggled loudly at his, what was supposed to be, harsh statement. Fred gave up his attempt at pouting and went back to his default spot of holding you close. 

He pressed his lips against the top of your ear making you shiver. The warmth of his breath was new as it fanned across you cold skin. His lips closed briefly just below your ear nearly at your neck kissing you as light as a feather. You let out a sigh and mumbled into the air,

“You played great tonight, darling.” You could sense the smile as his lips were still making marks on your skin. Fred gave one last final kiss to your cheek, resting into the couch once more now ready for slumber. 

“Maybe that was because I had a practically professional Quidditch player as my captain. Now rest up, sweetheart.” You did as he said and shut your eyes softly. Sleep invaded in no time and before you knew it you were out like a light in the arms of the one you loved most. Of course you did wake up in panic only an hour later when Percy angrily stomped into the room and ordered you both to bed. It was worth it.

- Daizy