#completely unimpressed with my mother (and she’s been over feeding him this whole time which def adds to why his cage is a mess) god i am

[milo-is-rambling]

REUNITED WITH FUNK!!! HE STILL LIVES AND REMEMBERS ME

[langwrites]

Merc Work

I have no excuse for this other than needing a break from my NaNoWriMo break from Kei.

Be warned: It has no ending.

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

On a half-decent day, Kei would wake up with the dawn in a world without alarm clocks. If the day was especially good, she’d do so in her own fucking bed and not be on a ridiculous solo mission that’d gotten blown so thoroughly off track that she couldn’t see the proper path with the Hubble telescope. Waking up in an unfamiliar continent was already a sign of a bad time, and then the power of an unfeeling cosmic gearbox threw in the unasked-for bonus of pervasive xenophobia while surrounded by European fantasy analogues. Especially while being trailed by three Academy students on what should have been a harmless trip to visit the graves of their family. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the comparatively minor setback of Kei being on third watch. Sleep was for people who didn’t have a demonic turtle sitting in their lap. And who weren’t “new meat” by local standards.

So, between having to join up with a mercenary band to avoid dealing with racist jackasses through the power of numbers and swords, the apparent tech levels not supporting indoor plumbing, the safety of her students, and sitting in the cold for two hours before sunrise… Well, Kei could be forgiven for feeling a bit crabby.

Ha.

You hush. 

Never.

Kei considered the complete inability to actually keep Isobu from intruding on any conversation he liked, then sighed. There was such a thing as a hopeless fight, even for her. 

Isobu folded his armored forelegs under his belly. Had you not been transported here alongside the children, would you have joined this mercenary band to begin with?

Kei made an “I dunno” noise without opening her mouth. I mean, the sheer isolation would be an absolute nightmare. I know my limits a bit better now. 

The spiritual wreckage of her left arm attested to that issue. 

Isobu looked down, over the edge of Kei’s lap and toward the forest around Remire Village. They were probably about ten meters into the crown of the oak tree Kei chose as her lookout post for the last week, with only minor modifications to the branches. The only real change between this night and others involved Isobu being a lookout alongside her, rather than haunting the nearby river and stealing fish for his own amusement. 

And for feeding the kids, but that hadn’t happened since they’d joined the Jeralt mercenaries last month. 

Even if Kei didn’t trust rowdy men and women to look after a bunch of kids with special powers, she did trust Isobu to keep track of them. If the mercenaries got into a skirmish with bandits or anyone else, Kei ordered Kaito, Aiko, and Roku to hide with their spiky guardian as their sole point of contact with the group. When the situation was safe, Kei would call for them. If it wasn’t… well, that wasn’t going to happen. Kei had seen the local idea of what “power” meant and was left unimpressed. 

Nothing could get past me if it tried.

There’s a sentiment I can get behind. She’d survived worse than angry knights chasing her with spears.

The only one Kei wasn’t entirely sure of was the mercenaries’ second fiddle. The Ashen Demon, sole child of the Blade Breaker, went by Byleth Eisner (or just Byleth) to everyone else. They were half their father’s bulk and didn’t resemble him much in either coloring or general features. The lack of visible emotion on their face left most people around here fairly unnerved, but Kei found it was actually something of an advantage upon joining the mercenaries. Because people like Jeralt were already used to Byleth’s culturally-remarkable flat affect, they had an easier time giving some slack to Kei’s preferred mask of complete professional stoicism. 

The kids didn’t bother hiding their feelings about the whole thing—they latched onto Byleth insofar as they did anyone, perhaps because they were the smallest adult available who wasn’t Kei. 

But Byleth also had a job, and that job included enough of Kei’s personal stabbing quota to disqualify them from combat babysitting duties. 

Though she’d asked once about it anyway.

Byleth’s microexpressions were difficult to read. She left the conversation with the impression they were more confused by Kei’s willingness to approach them than insulted by the presumption, and thus joined Kei and her ducklings at dinner on occasion like they had a standing invitation. 

They basically did. Kei wouldn’t shoo away people who liked her cooking, and Byleth didn’t get loudly drunk all damn night. 

Don’t worry, though. You’re still the indisputed babysitting champion of the battlefield.

Pah. Isobu swatted Kei’s hand with one of his tails. 

Rowdy for a clone, aren’t you?

Insulting for a host, are you not? Isobu reversed it, because of course he did. And it is not as though this clone could be destroyed by anything less than your brute strength.

Fair.

Normally, Kei could have continued this line of thought for some time. Bantering with Isobu was a peaceful way to pass a watch shift. He had good night vision. She had the ability to interact with the world as a human being. These things were very complimentary. 

And Isobu used his sensitive eye, adapted for exploring the sea, to spot the problem before Kei heard it. Smoke at night was difficult to see without decent moonlight, at least for humans. Isobu poked at her brain to draw her attention to it. Likewise, the orange flicker of distant flames was just barely visible in Kei’s periphery if Kei angled her vision, like she would if observing the stars. 

That is going to be our problem in short order.

Isn’t it always? Kei replied, leaning as far sideways as she can to see through the modified canopy. Any farther and gravity would be held at bay only by chakra usage. Time to get up.

Indeed. And that was when Isobu opened his mouth to roar.

It was a tiny noise, relative to his true form’s size, but the sleepy village below them started to stir. The mercenaries were used to the sound of Isobu’s dying rabbit screams by now. 

And down.

Kei shoved Isobu off her lap, sending his spiky ass tumbling out of the tree to land among the three kids piled up in their camping bags. Kaito stirred first, patting sleepily at Isobu’s ridged belly before sitting up. This dislodged Roku and Aiko in order, just in time for Kei to land about a meter away with her finger in front of her face in a clear shh gesture. 

None of her three charges moved a muscle. 

“All three of you need to hide,” Kei told them, in the language no one around here spoke. 

One by one, she hugged each of them tightly enough to convey the seriousness of her request. Three pairs of cautious eyes met hers, in turn, and then they scrambled to hide their possessions under thickets in the village’s outskirts. No bandits could know there might be someone here to chase. 

After about a minute, she picked up Isobu’s little clone and placed him in Kaito’s shaky arms.

The kids knew she’d come back. The mercenaries had fought in five skirmishes since they joined like glorified camp followers, and not one of those battles featured a single opponent Kei couldn’t destroy with her eyes closed. 

But this was their comfort zone. Each time Kei left them, like a mother wolf leaving her den, she stripped that security like a worn bandage. 

Even only after a month of immersion, the kids picked up the local tongue fairly fast. They were young and adaptable and Kei was the only human adult around who spoke Japanese to them. Until they heard it again, from either her or Isobu, they’d stay out of sight. The waiting, though, never really got any easier. 

“They’ll never find us,” Roku said, tugging gently at Aiko and Kaito’s wrists. The oldest, at barely eleven, and already forcing himself to be the most responsible. 

“Bye, Sensei,” Aiko said reluctantly, before Roku curled his arm entirely around her to keep her from running off. 

“Stay safe,” Kei told her. She looked directly to Kaito and added, “Be good for Isobu-chan.” 

Kaito didn’t say anything at all, instead just fixing Kei with a stare like he’d forget what she looked like if he didn’t. This lasted until Isobu ordered Roku to get all three kids away from there, and he did. 

All three of them disappeared into the forest. They knew how to climb trees like bear cubs—or shinobi—which would have to be enough. And if a single enemy got near them, Kei would probably need to cut a grown man in half. Perhaps several.

Byleth would help.

I’ll let you know when it’s safe to be out here again, Kei thought to Isobu. 

You should know that I was not designed for an arboreal existence. I have many prehensile tails, but I am not a squirrel.

But you’re so cute!

Flattery will get you nowhere. With that sassy rejoinder, Isobu did the equivalent of flicking Kei in the forehead.

Kei headed to the village’s front gate, cutting directly through the forest with the ease of someone who’d been in and around the wilderness her entire life. She could hear another group crashing through the woods at high speed, relative to normal human averages, and a larger group likely in pursuit. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. 

Hidden Mist. Though the hand seal for this technique was more of a stance, she could still put her detection trick in action. She just had to make sure it was concentrated on the pursuers, not the pursued. Deliberately leaving voids was useless for her strategies, but it probably kept people from breaking their necks unnecessarily.

And it let her know that the slower, louder group was thirty strong.

She kept going until she reached the village’s gates, spotting a mercenary named Arkady on duty. Backlit by torches, his five earrings caught the light and gave him away. 

“Back from the camping trip already?” Arkady asked, a note of alarm creeping into his voice. “Where are the kids?”

“Safe,” Kei told him. She slid into place on the opposite side of the gate, hand on the borrowed steel shortsword that’d carried her for the last month. Her katana was not to be wasted on bandits around here. Or in sparring. “But hidden. Someone is heading this way.” 

Arkady paused, eyed the forest, and then nodded. “I’ll wake the captain and his kid. Stay here.”

Kei let him go and drummed her fingers against her sword’s hilt, waiting. The crashing was getting closer, and her kids were fifty meters away in a tree. Even while dead certain Isobu was with them, her nerves refused to settle.

Strictly speaking, she didn’t need to keep herself and her team so far away from the mercenaries. They were a rowdy crew, but they were only of the rough-and-tumble sort. They expressed affection by going out drinking and slapping each other on the back and fighting shoulder-to-shoulder through wind and rain. Since Byleth had been with Jeralt since before he founded the company, presumably the various members would be at least peripherally trustworthy with children.

Kei, as a nineteen-year-old with dependents who had one half-cracked voice between them, only trusted the company on the battlefield. 

Arkady returned without Byleth or Jeralt, but he did have Marcel. The two of them were like a pair of piratical brunet bookends and cracked jokes anytime they weren’t on the job. It made her students edgy around them, but they were well-liked within the boisterous mercenary crew. Like many soldiers of fortune, they wore a fair amount of jewelry to emphasize their success, which was some of the best advertising around. So was the mess of scars, though only Marcel was missing a chunk of his nose. 

“What’s the matter?” Marcel asked, right before the group Kei’d been hearing for the last sixty-odd meters finally crashed out of the woods at nearly the same volume it started.

Three muddied, twig-strewn teenagers stumble up to the pool of torchlight, panting. 

Kei pointed at them, because it was faster than bothering to explain herself.

One white-haired girl and a dark-haired boy, at complete opposite ends of the “has this person seen the sun in the last decade” skin tone spectrum, while the tallest is the blond boy in the middle. If not for the torches, Kei wouldn’t even be able to call them “kids” in any meaningful sense, but she did know what school uniforms look like. Kei wandered out of her education as a baby adult, by one reckoning or another. Both of them. She hadn’t been able to look up information on the internet for unfortunately obvious reasons, but in a world where bespoke tailoring is a norm rather than a luxury and damn near nobody wore customized clothing unless they were rich, Kei’s intuition was subsumed by screeching alarm bells. 

Third watch on a morning  when they were supposed to be marching north into the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and now this. Kei’s private list of complaints kept getting longer.

“Scarface,” said Marcel, while the kids caught their breath, “why don’t you back up?”

Kei did so, because these kids were likely to react to Kei’s not-Caucasian features with the traditional xenophobia displayed by basically every non-mercenary person from Fódlan so far. If she had to deal with weapons swinging at her face before the sun came up, they’d better be attacks from people she already wanted dead. She didn’t have the patience this early in the morning.

The motion caught the eye of the boy with the yellow shoulder-cape, but little else about Kei was too distinct once she was out of direct torchlight.

Well, mostly. 

Sort of.

She was wearing a haori, her armguards, and the local pants-and-boots combination because her sandals could be saved for special occasions. Instead of covering her face with a mask or even wearing her headband as intended, she tied it around her neck like an ascot. There was only so much point in pretending to be anything but foreign. Between her accent and facial features that she was not going to burn chakra trying to hide, it was something Kei kept in perspective. 

And the yellow-themed kid was still looking at her.

“Kid, eyes over here,” Arkady demanded.

Kei silently cheered at even a token attempt to direct attention away from her.

At this point, Jeralt and Byleth arrived. 

Jeralt was a huge, dull-orange mountain of a man with dirty blond hair and a braid and undercut combination Kei didn’t think would ever catch on. His scarred face told even more of a story than Kei’s did, and no one was quite sure how many battles he’d rushed into and out of alive.  Nor were they sure how old he was. More than anyone else in the company, Jeralt was a cavalry commander down to his metal greaves and could be trusted to lead the group to victory come hell or high water. 

Competing for second place was his shadow. Byleth, the quietest person in the company and therefore the one Kei’s students tolerated best besides the horses, was about Kei’s age. They were also one of the few adults shorter than Kei was. Their eyes were a distinct deep blue and their hair a dark teal, which almost blended in with the charcoal-gray clothes they preferred this late at night, punctuated by matte black armor along their arms and legs. The ghostly complexion stood out like the fucking moon by comparison. 

The two of them commanded all the attention better than a weird foreigner did. 

“Please forgive our intrusion,” said the blond one, bowing with his hand over his heart. Kei’s brain tried to calculate angles to assess formality before remembering that cultures were weird and American accents were weirder. He went on, “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.”

Jeralt visibly took note of the formality, then said, “What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?”

“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits.” Oh for fuck’s sake. While the blond noble kept talking—and he was a noble, because Kei had much more experience with the blunter speech patterns commoners used. Couldn’t be anything else. “I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support.” 

“Bandits? Here?” Jeralt’s gaze flicked to Kei.

She nodded, because it was as good a designation for the enemy still shouting their way through the forest as any. Bandits had been trying to kill Kei since she was Aiko’s age. This wasn’t new.

Jeralt didn’t give the order to attack them just yet. Instead, he turned his attention back to the kids as they started talking. 

The white-haired girl said, “It's true. They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.”

Not a great sign. Why had three noble children been exposed like that? In Kei’s experience, nobility tended to spend a lot more time cloistered inside protective structures, and even traveling daimyo tended to take a proper procession with them. Where were the guards? People died when they were caught alone. 

Maybe the fire she’d seen was a part of it?

As though to confirm her rising tide of suspicions, the noble boy in yellow said, “We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered. They’re after our lives…not to mention our gold.”

Well, then. If they were anything like the bandits Kei ran into during the initial month she’d spent as her students’ sole reliable defense, this wouldn’t take long. 

“I’m impressed you’re staying so calm considering the situation. I… Wait.” Jeralt’s body language went rigid. Like he’d just found an armed opponent in a darkened hallway. “That uniform…”

One of the group’s archers—Rickard—ran up with his bow drawn. He shrugged off Marcel and Arkady’s questions, attention locked on Jeralt so thoroughly that he nearly tripped over Kei on his way to report in. If she’d stuck her foot out, he’d have slammed face-first into the village’s defensive wall. 

“Bandits spotted just outside the village.” Rickard gestured out at the forest. “There are a lot of them.”

Byleth turned their head toward Kei, making an inquisitive gesture with their hand. One of the many, many reasons Kei’s students liked them was because they were willing to pantomime nearly everything if necessary. And while body language didn’t often cross national boundaries, Byleth was willing to learn almost anything Kei put in front of them.

Kei held up three fingers on her right hand—counting her thumb—then brought all five of them together to a single point.

Byleth’s gaze sharpened. 

Jeralt considered Rickard first, then said to the kids, “I guess they followed you all the way here.” He’d caught the gesture conversation with Byleth, and said to his child, “We can’t abandon this village now. Come on, let’s move.” 

Byleth nodded. 

“Hope you’re ready,” Jeralt grunted. “Kid, you take these three into cover and pick off anybody you can reach. Rickard, you’re with Marcel and Arkady. Rally the rest.” Then Jeralt only had Kei left to address. “And you. Your job is skirmisher. Don’t let them get around the village’s defenses.” 

Kei bowed, arms held rigidly at her sides. “As you wish.”

Jeralt waved her off, so Kei decided this was an excellent time to make herself scarce.

[annoyinglyjovialbird]

Voltron: Next Generation

Wavering Objectives: I

Word Count: 3283

A/N: Longer cause I can!

It had been a few days since Kova's great escapade, but the effects still lingered. 

Yorak and Vhix were studying the holoscreen recording of the event. She was smart, quick on her feet. Vhix stared at the recordings in a begrudging impress. Yorak was supporting himself on the table, bowing his head and glaring at a still of Kova's face. 

"Well, Kyla sure has grown up, hasn't she?" Vhix muttered. Yorak's hand tightened into a ball. With a thunderous blow, Yorak pounded his fist into the table, shaking the screen and disabling it. 

"Kyla is still the same spineless girl she was before." Yorak stood at full height, cradling his fist. "We can break her. Rebuild her. Make her fight for us." Yorak had turned to look out the small porthole-sized window behind him. The stars flickered past the slow-moving ship. The rainbow clouds of dust glowed in the distance, much too far to reach. 

"And how do you intend to do that?" Vhix asked, crossing his arms across his chest and leaned on the edge of the table. "Her moral compass was determined by the ones who raised her, and that wasn't you."

"Ezrid," Yorak growled. "Don't tell me things I already know." Yorak turned to glare at the man behind him. Vhix looked unimpressed, only uncrossing his arms at Yorak's turn. 

"Well, Junior," Vhix said. Yorak sneered at the name. "Entertain me. How are you going to break someone who isn't here to break?"

"In due time, Vhix." Yorak flexed his hand, wincing at the pain that shot up his arm. "When we return to the outpost, I'll tell you."

"Until then?" 

"Track her down. Double the ransom. We need her back."

———————

The crew of the Coeus was gathered on the bridge, hoping to hear all about the amazing escape. Kova, for her credit, stood in the middle of the floor in full view of everyone's eyes as they looked her over. She was wearing only a black t-shirt, black pants, and combat boots. Her hair was held back in a loose ponytail, her eyes downcast. 

Rolling her head around, she met everyone's eyes and sighed. 

"Let's just get this over with." She muttered. Stiffening her shoulders and holding herself steady, Kova's eyes brightened. "Who's first?" A barrage of questions came her way, and if there was a way to physically be blown away by the questions or the volume at which they were being asked, Kova would. "Time out, time out!" 

"What happened? What did you do?"

"I called for a timeout, Griffin!"

"Don't care!" Liz held her face in her hands in a glamor pose. "How did you escape?" Kova rolled her eyes and rested her hand on her hip. 

"I made an elephant toothpaste trap, escaped through a hole in the sewer, and was blown out through the back door." A few awkward blinks came Kova's way, and she stared back. "Seriously, that's what happened! Ugh, anyway. Who's next?"

"Are you physically okay?" Cake asked next. Kova nodded. 

"Besides a wrist sprain from holding on to the door, I'm fine."

"Then why are your arm and leg wrapped?" Kova really hoped Cake wouldn't ask. Her body language said as much. Kova's leg had been scratched from her jump into the emergency toilet that she hadn't noticed, the small scratch on her hands climbing out of the emergency toilet later on, and the wrist sprain didn't and shouldn't warrant an arm sling and Kova's left arm and right leg to be completely wrapped in gauze and tape. 

"I wish I could tell you, Cake." Kova looked to the quiet side of the room. "Next?" 

"Did you recover any pertinent information?" Allie asked. 

"Not much. I'm sorry. They took me to a closet across from the Emperor's room. The second-in-command told me I should be grateful for not being in a crowded prison cell." 

"They were treating you well?" 

"I know! I was shocked too. It seemed like I was their main priority. They tried feeding several times. I even dunked a soldier's head in a toilet, but they let me go. I wasn't punished." Allie sat back in her chair, pondering. "Who's next?"

"How were we able to track you?" Shiro was supporting himself on the banister around Kova's station. 

Kova's eyebrows lifted at her father, who stood firm. She shrugged and turned to face the windows to the dark space outside. She stooped down to lift a small panel on the floor and inserted a small chip. The screen came to life, showing a unique code, color-coded to show the differences. Kenny and Cake marveled at the sight, geeking out at the individual codes. Everyone else was trying to understand what it was. 

"These are the individual tracking codes on the suits. When I was going through the suits and updating, upgrading, or even unlocking several different components, I also inserted a tracking code." 

"Into the armor or the bodysuits?" Cake asked, tuning into the conversation. 

"Both," Kova said, turning to face him. "I managed to have the codes be separate from each other unless combined together."

"Meaning?" Keith asked. He had been quiet throughout the whole conversation. At least he was interested in something. 

"Meaning that the bodysuits will emit a tracking code unless attached to the armor. Then, the bodysuits disable their code when their pairing code is in position."

"So, wait. The code Cap knew is—" Liz started again, being cut off by Kova. 

"The code to the Black Paladin bodysuit." Kova's right hand found itself a home on her hip as she stared at everyone's awed stares. If reversed, you'd be impressed, too, she chided herself. "I kept all the code on a small password-protected chip in case of plagiarism. I hoped to integrate it with the modern suits after test runs."

"So, wait." Caleb held a finger in the air. "Our suits are tracking code experiments." Kova raised her eyebrows again, giving Caleb a flat stare. Allie, although not visible to Caleb, also gave a flat stare. 

"Caleb," Kova pinched the bridge of her nose. "You. Were. There." Caleb crossed his arms and pouted. "Are you going to ask a question, now, or are you going to keep pouting?"

"What is your relationship with the Fire?" Keith demanded, turning all eyes to him. 

"What are you talking about?" Kova asked. Her heart was racing. Did he know? Did Keith recognize her? 

"You're half-Galra, aren't you?" Darn. 

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?" 

"Whose side are you on?" Keith had descended the staircase to stand in front of Kova. He was taller than she was, but she didn't move. She met his stare. "The Fire's or the galaxy's?" 

"Stand down, soldier." Kova's eyes flared at the accusation. "I'm on the side that takes down the Fire, not the other way around." 

"Then why haven't you done anything against them?"

"What are we supposed to do? We're kids!" 

"So was I, and I defeated the Fire! Give me a real excuse!" 

"Alright, alright, enough!" Shiro intervened. "We can discuss more later. Kova, go put ice on your wounds. Keith, go rest in your bunk. Everyone else, continue normal duties." To a chorus of 'yes sirs' and huffs from fighting parties, the crew did exactly what they were told to do. 

Later that night, and in the middle of the night, the crew had a rude awakening. One minute, the Coeus is stable. Drifting through space without much interference from the space around it. The next, it went nyoom to the right. With thunderous crashes, every teen had fallen out of bed. Kenny, who positioned his bed in a small alcove, hadn't been affected. Until the ship took a hard left to reposition itself. Then he raced to the bridge. 

The paladins raced in, in varying degrees of sleepwear. Together, they scanned the windows, searching for warnings or blasts. Instead, they found Keith. He was wearing the clothes Shiro had gotten him from the space mall: A plain black t-shirt, a gray vest Shiro had stolen back from Kova, matching gray cargo pants, and boots. Red ribbons were tied around his calves to keep the pants from billowing. 

Keith only stared at the teens, holding the console. It seemed to the teens he didn't expect the teens' response time to be so fast. Clearly, he didn't know how often they've been attacked. 

From left to right, the teens wore their Lions' colors well. Allie wore a light blue long-sleeved smocked waist dress with matching blue pants and white slippers. Caleb wore a bold red shirt with a plaid breast pocket and black and white plaid pants with black socks. Kova wore solid purple sweatpants and long-sleeved tunic with fitted wrists and ankles and barefoot. Liz wore a white tank-top with bright green shorts underneath. covered by a green robe and white socks. Cake wore a long green and yellow tunic similar to the ones his mother wore on the Balmera. They all had varying degrees of bed head, from Allie's bent pigtails to Kova's tri-pronged hair and everything in between. 

"It's the middle of the night!" Liz exclaimed. Cake and Allie were quick to follow her anger but did nothing to stop Keith. "Kova! Kova?" Liz tried to rally the stunned teen and noticed a vein protruding from the girl's forehead. 

"DAAAAD!" Kova's voice started small, growing in volume as she stood to full height. "DAD!" She leaned her head out the doorway. "DAD! Control your, uh, whatever!" 

"Get into positions," Caleb ordered, sighing tiredly. The teens complied, watching. "He's probably still strapped into the bed." 

"What a shame. I don't care." Kova turned to glare at the man in her place. "Get away from my console." Keith didn't budge. She repeated it. His eyes hardened as she got closer. 

"I have to get back to Earth!" Keith shouted, pulling a hand away from the console. The Coeus once again went nyoom but the teens were semi-prepared this time. "I have to get back to my family!"

"We have a larger mission at hand!" Kova argued, lunging at his hand. Keith moved away from her grasp, turning the ship right-side up. "Sorry to say, but I think your family can wait!"

"You don't understand!" The Coeus tilted to the left. 

"Try me!" Rightside up. 

"You're a kid! What do you know?" Coeus went almost flat to its right. 

"More than you, apparently!" Rightside up again. 

"Enough!" Shiro yelled, interrupting the two. Kova took Keith's distraction to pull him forward and flip him onto his back. "Kova!" She stood at attention, directly in front of the console. "What's going on?" Keith was quick to stand up. He opened his mouth to explain, but Kova beat him to it. 

"We awoke to the Coeus changing direction. While aware of your sleeping circumstances, we attempted to resolve this on our own."

"Kova." 

"Fine." She sighed. "I tried to solve this on my own. But he started it!" She pointed a menacing finger at Keith. He pointed one back. 

"She doesn't understand what happened!"

"He almost killed us!"

"No, I didn't!" 

"Stop it! Enough, you two!" Shiro stood in between them. "Kova, be more understanding of others around you." She glowered as Keith beamed. "And Keith, you're new to this dynamic, but Kova's in charge until I take command." Now it was Kova's turn to beam while Keith scowled. "Kova."

"On it." She turned to her team, ready for orders. "Liz, pull up cameras. Cake, redirect our course. I uploaded some data into the Coeus's hard drive. Allie, can you decode for Kenny? It's Altean. Caleb, get me a hot chocolate."

"No." He spun in his chair, typing away at his console to check on weapons systems. Kova shrugged at her dad, who gave his head shake of disapproval. She didn't mind much. 

"Keith, there's a chair in the corner." Kova pointed at the chair in its long-forgotten corner. Of course, he didn't listen. Luckily for the teens, there was an all-clear. The teens climbed up the stairs, all hoping to reacquaint themselves with their sheets and pillows. 

The Coeus, once again, went nyoom, taking a hard hit from the left. The teens slammed into the nearest walls. 

"Oh, I'm never going to sleep tonight," Kova muttered with her head bowed. She stood, taking command. "All right, everyone, get to stations!" Keith had a first-class seat to the efficiency the team dealt with the threat. Unfortunately, now they were all too wired to go to bed. Keith wasn't pulling his stunt again tonight. 

They're kids! What do they know!

Kova was typing away at her console. The low light on the bridge had darkened her features, making her look more tired than she was. For once, the look matched the feeling. All the attacking and the running and the plotting were starting to take their toll. The universe didn't have to know about Voltron just yet, but having to break the news to the Coalition might be the end of her. Or her career. Or both. 

"You ask her!" 

"No, you!" 

"Why do I have to do it?" 

"She's your pilot!"

"This was your idea!" The hushed, hurried argument between Cake and Liz was entertaining at best, annoying at worst. There was no reason for them to be up here. They knew Kova was more than capable to handle the bridge duties by herself. 

"Hey, uh, Cap?" Cake inched himself closer to Kova at her console. He glanced at Liz, who motioned him to continue, and he smiled awkwardly at Kova's head. 

"What's up, Cake?" She replied, still not looking up. 

"We, uh, um," Cake cleared his throat. "We want to play a game up here if that's alright." 

"I won't interfere. Go for it." Cake rolled his eyes and Liz smacked her forehead.

"We want you to play with us." Kova's fingers stilled over the keyboard and she looked up. Slowly she turned her head to Cake, who began to sweat bullets. They stood there for a few seconds as the message was being processed in Kova's brain. She half-smiled and agreed. Cake, blown away that it worked, was dragged to the floor by the hand by Liz, who held an empty bottle. 

"Guys, she said yes!" Liz cried excitedly, and Caleb and Allie soon appeared. All the teens sat down in a circle on the floor of the bridge and placed the bottle in the middle of the group. 

"I think we're too young to play spin the bottle," Kova said. 

"We're not," Liz said, spinning the bottle. "It's kind of like truth-or-dare, twenty questions, and spin the bottle rolled into one." The bottle slowly came to a stop in front of Cake, who had finally come out his daze. 

"Whoever the bottle lands on has to answer every question the other members of the group ask them truthfully." Cake explained further. 

"And it's your turn." Kova pointed out. Cake smiled sheepishly and turned to the person on his right. This was Liz. 

"Lady Eliza, what do you wish to ask me?" Cake said in a fake posh accent. Caleb stifled a laugh and Allie covered her mouth. Kova smiled at the ridiculousness. 

"Why thank you, sir," Liz replied with a matching accent. "Lord of Cakes, I wish to know your real age." 

"My word, Lady Eliza, know you nothing of proper manners." Caleb couldn't hold his laughter in anymore. At Caleb's laughter, Allie laughed too. Kova giggled, which was enough to boost both Liz and Cake's egos. 

"For real, though," Liz said, dropping the accent. "What is your real age? I know Balmerans probably age slower than humans do." 

"I'm still your age." Cake answered. "It's human genetics. I live longer than a human but tragically short for a Balmeran. I don't think about it too much." 

"Does that—" Liz started. A finger twice the size of her own pressed against her lips, and Cake looked away dramatically. 

"Lady Eliza, please! Only one question!" The three other teens erupted in laughter again and one by one asked Cake their questions. 

"What's the story behind your nickname?" Allie was the last to ask, and Cake scoffed at her question.

"Easy." Cake rested his hands in his lap. "I was trying to help my dad in the kitchen. He was working on a huge cake order at the time, and I thought I could sift or mix or pipe frosting or something. I wanted to feel useful. I tripped and caught myself on the counter and dropped a sheet cake Dad had been saving for his overworked pastry chefs. I wound up returning to the Balmera with some proper embarrassment from Talia, who sent pictures of me around the Garrison. I was famous as the 'Cake Kid' before I even got there." 

"I thought you were told the story before," Liz mentioned, and Allie shrugged. 

"I wanted to hear it again." Allie rested her hands on her knees. "Who's next?" Liz leaned forward to spin the bottle again. Round and round it went. It slowly came to a stop in front of Kova. 

"Can I start?" Cake asked excitedly. Allie nodded.

"Who's Kyla?" Liz butted in instead. Cake pouted, but accepted it and turned to Kova. Kova had wide eyes, a look of fear etched into her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. May Allura forgive her.

"Kyla is my real name," Kova answered, her hand reaching out to rub the back of her neck. "Kyla Hannah Kogane." 

"Ha!" Cake exclaimed, earning everyone's stare. Well, everyone except Liz. "You owe me 20 GAC!" Cake turned his head to read the room and muttered an apology. 

  "Who's next?" Kova asked. Cake's eyes lit up, but Kova ignored him and looked to the other side to stare at Caleb. "How about you?"

"Nope. Look at Cake." Caleb answered. Kova said something about Caleb being no fun and turned to Cake. 

"If Keith and Pidge are your parents, and you knew they were your parents, why do you never call them mom and dad?" Cake asked his perfect question. Kova lifted her knees to rest her chin in the crook of her knees. 

"Keith and Pidge weren't the perfect parents everyone imagined they were." Kova started, looking off into the distance. "Oh, sure. They had their shining moments, but those were always with my brothers. It was never with me. I can't remember ever calling them mom and dad. TJ always called them by their first names, and Kenny always called them mom and dad when I wasn't in the room. When I left the Kogane home, I took a family picture with me. I stared at it every once in a while. I never had an issue because they weren't parents."

"Th-that's s-s-so sad!" Cake sniffled, tears and boogers coming out of his eyes and nose. The other teens distanced themselves from Cake, equally disgusted. 

"Ugh, Cake! You asked the question!" 

"I didn't think it would be such a sad answer!" Cake sniffled again. 

"Ew." Kova shook her head. "Allie, you're next.

"Alright. Um," She began. She wouldn't finish. 

The Coeus took another blast from the left, earning a quick response from the team. The bottle, disturbed from its resting place, rolled itself to the outermost wall and falling into a vent. The Coeus survived by making a wormhole jump about a week's worth of travel, but barely. In the morning, Kova, Kenny, and Cake would have to suit up and make repairs. Calling it a night, the teens left the bridge and slept in their bunks, leaving the bottle forgotten and left behind.

[curufins-smile]

Speed Dating For Scientists

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Or, Curvo needs a baby mama and he needs one now.

(Pure crack - this is my attempt to reconcile my aroace curvo hcs with him having a wife and son)

-

Tyelkormo can’t believe his ears at first.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” he blurts to an unfazed Curufinwë.

“I said, I want to have a baby,” Curufinwë repeats, “so that I can be Atar’s favourite son.”

“No, you’re going to have to elaborate on that,” states Tyelkormo, “because I still have no clue what you mean.”

Curufinwë sighs impatiently. “I want to be Atar’s favourite-“

“And you’re telling this to me, your direct competition?” Tyelkormo says, slightly incredulous. “Besides, you know Atar doesn’t play favourites.” Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Curufinwë has always been competitive. Especially about their father.

Curufinwë raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Atar gives us all equal love, but I have a plan to get the most.”

“Again, aren’t I competition?” Tyelkormo asks, feeling slightly insulted.

“Well, are you?” Curufinwë replies.

“Not really, but still it’d be nice to be considered as much!”

“There, there, Turco,” his awful little brother says, “you’re such a threat I hadn’t even thought of a plot to surpass you.”

“That’s better,” Tyelkormo says. He lets Curufinwë get away with too much, probably, but it’s too late to do anything about it. “So, why would having a baby help that?”

Curufinwë sighs, “Honestly, can’t you guess?” Tyelkormo levels an unimpressed stare at him, and Curufinwë continues, “Fine! What does Atar love? Children! What does Atar want more than anything but won’t say for fear of putting undue pressure on us? Grandchildren! Therefore, I shall present him with the long awaited First Grandchild and thus be the favourite forever.”

It’s a typical Curufinwë scheme, grand goal, excellent reasoning but with a big hole that sinks the whole thing.

“You need another person for that,” says Tyelkormo, “unless your genius has far surpassed Atar’s and you have found a way to reproduce without the aid of another.”

Curufinwë waves him off. “Not to worry, I have a plan.”

-

“This is the worst plan,” says Tyelkormo. Next to him, Irissë is not even bothering to hide her guffaws of laughter.

“S-so,” she says, attempting to compose herself, “you’re just going to ask a woman if you can,” she pauses, struggling to control her giggles, “use her uterus?” She loses the battle and collapses into laughter once more.

“Yes,” says Curufinwë. “Why, is there something wrong with that?”

“Is there something right with that?” Tyelkormo murmurs under his breath, setting Irissë off in a fresh fit of giggles.

“Why wouldn’t she want to participate in making a baby? I’ll compensate her,” Curufinwë says.

“That’s even worse!” Tyelkormo cries.

“How is that worse?” Curufinwë says, and Tyelkormo honestly cannot believe he’s this dim about relationships.

Tyelkormo sighs. It’s not even worth the battle. “So, that aside, what are you even looking for in a wife? What sort of personality, what sort of appearance is your type?” He knows Curufinwë well enough to know that his brother will have at least some thoughts on this to help the painful process that this is guaranteed to be.

Curufinwë reaches into his pocket and pulls out an honest to Eru list and Tyelkormo really hasn’t had enough to drink to deal with this. He takes the list from Curufinwë and stares at his brother’s scrawled handwriting.

“I hope you aren’t planning on wooing her with sweet letters,” Tyelkormo remarks. “Your handwriting is awful as always.”

Irissë peers over his arm at the list and grins. “Wow, I had no idea Curvo had such bad handwriting,” she says. “You wouldn’t think your father would let him get away with it.”

“Sadly, Atar allowed Curvo to get away with far too much as a kid, and now he’s got awful handwriting, terrible sleep habits and won’t eat most things.”

They both look up at Curufinwë, who is impervious to shame. “Yes, and?” he says. “Anyway, my handwriting isn’t important. What’s important is on the list.”

Years of practice means that Tyelkormo is pretty good at decoding Curufinwë’s handwriting. “Let’s see... Noldo, preferably taller than you- really?”

“Well, I would like for our child to outgrow me,” says Curufinwë, the shortest of the Finwëans by some margin.

“Well, at least that’s not a difficult demand to fulfil,” says Tyelkormo in amusement. “Hmmm... pleasing facial symmetry?”

“I want our child to be beautiful, is that so wrong?” Curufinwë replies, without a single trace of embarrassment.

“No, but people don’t usually say it so... bluntly,” Tyelkormo says. Irissë is laughing again, and has sunk down onto a bench, clutching her stomach.

“How on earth do they make their wishes known?” Curufinwë asks, guilelessly. Too guilelessly.

“Is this a joke?” Tyelkormo asks suspiciously.

“No, but I’m not that stupid,” Curufinwë says. “I wasn’t going to show her _this_ list.”

Tyelkormo breathes a sigh of relief, then starts as he realises what Curufinwë said. “What do you mean, this list.”

“Well, of course I have an indepth list of questions in order to determine her suitability as the mother of my child,” says Curufinwë. “I need to make sure that she has the intellect in order to ensure that our baby is an intelligent and creative child, as deserving of Atar’s first grandchild.”

Irissë is just gasping now, completely in hysterics. Tyelkormo half wants to laugh, half wants to cry. It’s just all so peak Curufinwë.

“Anyway,” continues Curufinwë, “I came here to ask Irissë if she knows anyone suitable.”

Tyelkormo glances down at Irissë who is beginning to compose herself. “Do you know anyone?”

Irissë sits up, wiping tears from her eyes. “I don’t really, but Elenwë might.”

Curufinwë stiffens almost unnoticeably, and Tyelkormo grins. “Oh, but she might tell Turukáno, no?” he says, deliberately glancing at Curufinwë.

“It’s a sacrifice I am willing to make,” says Curufinwë through gritted teeth.

-

Elenwë comes through with a friend of a friend who might be interested in meeting Curufinwë, and who might be acceptable to Curufinwë’s exacting criteria.

They meet for the first time in one of Tirion’s leafy parks. Tyelkormo is, of course, lurking in a tree to watch. This is guaranteed to be amusing no matter what happens. Carnistir is next to him on a sturdy branch.

“Why have you brought your knitting?” Tyelkormo hisses.

“I don’t know how long this will take,” Carnistir whispers, calmly finishing a row, “and I want to make something for the baby. Poor kid is already going to be Curvo’s, it may as well have a cosy blanket.”

“There is no baby yet!” Tyelkormo whispers back.

“It doesn’t hurt to prepare,” Carnistir replies, unconcerned. “Anyway, she’s here.”

The lady is much more striking than she is beautiful, with hawkish blue eyes and hair tied back into a severe plait to keep it out of her face. She also has about a head on Curufinwë in terms of height.

“So,” she says, and Tyelkormo and Carnistir do not need to strain to hear her clear, enunciated words, “you are the one who wants to use my uterus.”

Tyelkormo nearly falls out of the tree and has to grab onto a similarly stricken Carnistir.

“My name is Costamë,” she continues, “and yes, ‘Quarreller’ is an accurate description of me. Now, shall we discuss the details of our planned association?”

Next to Tyelkormo, Carnistir swears. “Somehow Curvo has managed to find the female version of himself.”

Tyelkormo nods in agreement, slightly dazed.

Beneath them, a strange contract is being hashed out. “We will have intercourse only until the child is conceived,” Curufinwë says.

“Agreed,” replies Costamë, “and I will carry the child to term, as long as I am allowed to write all details of my pregnancy down for a treatise which I plan on authoring.”

“Most acceptable,” says Curufinwë happily. “I will fund any research you wish for until our child reaches fifty years of age as long as you do not interfere in its raising after your initial duties such as feeding are over.”

“Until it reaches a hundred years,” Costamë replies, “and I will see it once a week after it is weaned. After the child is old enough, this will be raised to twice a week so that I may teach it mathematics and biology, my fields of particular speciality.”

“Very much agreed.” Curufinwë says. “Excellent, I had hoped that you would understand, but scarcely had I hoped for such a fellow scientist and researcher.”

“And I you,” replies Costamë. “I have been wishing to study the effects of pregnancy on a body firsthand, and track a child’s growth, but mothers can be so tiresome about privacy and my efforts to find someone to help me do it myself have thus far been fruitless.” She pauses and Tyelkormo takes the time to try and right his world from where it has apparently tilted.

“I cannot believe Curvo has found his mind-twin or something,” Carnistir marvels. Beneath them, Costamë and Curufinwë are agreeing on the meeting time for their “intercourse”.

“Yeah, really,” Tyelkormo replies. Costamë is leaving now, apparently too busy to spend time with her husband-to-be now that the important things are finished with.

Curufinwë looks up. “I know you’re there,” he says. “I don’t mind. It’s good to have witnesses to my success.”

-

Curufinwë Tyelperinquar is born healthy and wailing in late spring. He is promptly presented to his adoring grandfather and great grandfather, who are ecstatic to have another baby to coo over.

Curufinwë beams at Tyelkormo. “Told you I’d do it.”

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Tyelkormo replies. “Now, let me hold my nephew.”

-

I got Costamë’s name from a site tumblr won’t let me link but if you google realelvish name lists it’ll probably take you there

Costamë ends up loving Tyelpë, but she’s just too busy and not really the huggy, mothering type so she leaves most of that to Curvo who’s really happy with the whole arrangement.

[sophisticateddesign]

Lies and Lunch.

INVOLVED:  Mercedes Jones and Titus Wilkerson  LOCATION: Lenox Mall; Atlanta, GA. TIME FRAME: Saturday NOTES: Mercedes fails to find maternity clothes. AUTHOR’S NOTE: n/a

You could call Buckhead the center of Atlanta.  You may or may not be right about that.  But whatever you believed, one look and you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt, there was money here.  If you were to live in the black Mecca of the south and be privileged enough to be a person means, Buckhead was where you wanted to be. Truth be told, Buckhead was north of the city proper. Right before you left for all points North; Marietta, Cobb county, Alpharetta. That was where the real money was. Where the white elite dug in just off Johnson’s Ferry road.  Where if you went just over the river and you found that one little secluded road. The one behind the Mc’mansions that all sat on a golf course. You’d find the estate of Ludicrous himself.  

Like all the burrows in the city, Buckhead had its own shopping center, Lenox Mall.  A lavish white shelled mall, boned in cremes and marble floors, that housed over 200 stores and eateries.  That’s where Mercedes and Titus were. Mercedes toted a osingle small black bag from Mac. Her eyes scanned every window display they passed. Mentally giving them either her stamp of approval or her frown of rejection. Titus, on the other hand, was studying young hot ass, either smiling or sometimes waving at the ones who caught him gazing at them in approval.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm!” Titus exclaimed, as his head twisted on his neck following one man’s ass like it was a mouse and he was a hungry owl. “She has to know that man is gay.” He said, hand clutching at his heart.

Mercedes sighed, her hazel eyes unable to hide her annoyance. “You sir. don’t know that man’s life.” She said, in a fruitless attempt at challenging his gaydar as they passed Louis Vuitton.  The window display was outlandish, with thirty-six cameras all pointed at 2 lone handbags. Mercedes came to a full stop to marvel at the uniqueness of the display. “I think I really want a Lou baby bag.” She said dropping more than a hint at her shopping companion.

“First of all, I might not know his life, but I know where he was two days ago.” Titus gloated, “Second, your bad and boujee ass should buy it.” He caught her hint and threw it right back at her. “if you want. Because I already know what I’m getting my Godchild.  It’s called a baby shower.  I’m not buying anything for your ass.”

One hand went to Mercedes hip a look of mock shock on her face. “That man was too young for you.  I.. I’m speechless.” She said in a voice dripping with admiration. Titus was five years older than her, but managed to act, on most occasions, 20 years younger. At his next return Mercedes rolled her neck, and cut her eyes at him severely, walking off. Her hips swaying from side to side as she continued on her quest for maternity clothes. Only a pinch saltier then she was a second ago.  “We are supposed to be finding me a new wardrobe. I’m already using a rubber band to hold these pants up.  I brought my clothes to accentuate my ass and my waist trainer to ensure my stomach wasn’t a factor.” She said lifting her bag, “yet, all I have managed to get are foundation refills.”

“He too old for me to date. What we were doing, I wouldn’t consider dating.” Titus said, throwing his scarf up around his neck. He rushed forward to catch the surprisingly quick woman, which wasn’t hard considering how short her legs were.  He gave her a sharp pat on the ass. “You know Lenox on a Saturday afternoon is for seeing and being seen.”

 Mercedes gave him a questioning look, “Who made that a thing?”

 “Everyone!” Titus said, taking a quick step away from her. “Well everyone whose head hasn’t been stuck in a hole. In the past few hours, your ass has been the star of its own one man show. A show that you have been completely oblivious of...” Titus said shaking his head.

“I have bigger things to worry about then what random men want to jump my bones.”  Mercedes said reciting a well-practiced line.

Titus rolled his neck and repeated her words verbatim, adding a bored inflection to scorn her. “You have had tunnel vision since before that baby was thing.” He said eyeing her hidden belly.  “It was all about taking care of your mother, sister and the kids.  And now that they are gone, before you even attempt to find a person to love you.  You go and create a whole new person by yourself.” He said annoyed.

He had a point, not that she was going to admit that to him. “You act as if I've never dated. As if I never tried.” Mercedes argued. “Need I remind you of John, Trevon, Jordan, Bobby…” she said with her lips curling into a hateful snarl.

Titus held his hand up silencing the woman.  “I will admit you had some bad luck. But… there were some good ones. Mercedes there will be good guys in your future if I have to find them for you myself.  Don't think for a second that this child is going to stop me. If Michael and I can find our bliss.  I know damn well you can.” He finished wrapping his arm around the woman's shoulder and hugging her close to his side. “That is another promise I made your mother.”

Mercedes laughed and shook her head, “Adding my mother to this doesn't mean anything you know.” She lied trying to sound in control of her emotions.  

Titus’ laughter bounced off the walls and echoed all around them drawing a number of pompous eyes their way.  “Now we both know that’s a whole lie. You are to much. Anyway, changing the subject.” He said taking a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish, dramatically dabbing at his forehead.

Mercedes jumped into the gap.  “You can change the subject after you feed me.” She said patting her stomach.  “I am starving.”  

~30 minutes later ~

The shrimp flipped end over end into the air before hitting the grill top, where it sizzled. Mercedes smiled at the little trick.  A faint sigh left her lips as the chef continue to cook. “I wanted food not a show.” She grumbled just loud enough for Titus to hear her over the clink of the spatula dicing through the chicken on the grill.

“It must be nice to be a beggar and a chooser.’ Titus muse tossing imagined hair back over his shoulder. “Anyway…” He said in exaggerated tones.  “Tell me about him...  I know you had a few meetings, dinner and when to the doctor with him.  But outside of he seems nice.  You haven’t said anything of real import.“

 Mercedes shrugged. She held that posture for a moment, then let her shoulders fall. “There isn’t much to tell.” She said easily.  “He seems nice. Owns his own business. Is smart, and reasonably caring.” She rattled off trying to deflect. She sat back a little in her seat as the chef began plating their food. “He’s basically everything I wanted in a donor.  I’m lucky.” She finished, whispering thank you to the chef.

Titus listened, his face disapproving. “Mhm…” He said, completely unimpressed by the scant information the woman just offered him. “That’s a relief. I suppose.”  He said as his own plate was filled.  “I could run a complete background check on him if you’d like.  Just so we know what you’re dealing with.”

Mercedes shook her head, “No need.  I’ve already had it done.” She smiled,  “He is completely on the up and up.  Good family, nice home…” She trailed off taking a huge bite of chicken and rice into her mouth. She closed her eyes and almost came off how delicious it was.  Sighing around the mouthful she chewed, smacking her lips a bit before taking another bite

“Even better.” Titus commented with a nod. He waited for a long moment, adding soy sauce to the dish in front of him. He glanced over at Mercedes who had already began to eat, then sat the bottle down with a hard clink on the wood.  “You make me sick.  You are really going to make me wild horse your ass Mercedes Jones? Is the man potential or not.  For heaven sakes.” He fussed, turning the chicken, rice and shrimp over with his fork. “Here I am trying to marry your stubborn ass off and your holding out. The man owns a business, wants to be a daddy and has a house… Is he at least cute, woman? And young enough not to need dentures?”

Mercedes laughed around her mouthful, fully aware of how annoying she was being. She placed her hand in front of her mouth trying not to spit any food out of her lips.  “I’m sorry. You are just too easy.” She said tucking her lips in to her mouth to let her laughter die away before she answered his question. “He’s okay.” She said trying to seem unimpressed by the man. Which even now was hard as the thought of his towering figure and massive arms caused a slight flush to run up her neck. “And no, he’s not an old man.”

Titus beamed doing a little shimmy with his shoulders, “Looks aren’t everything. If he’s not your granddaddy we may have a prospect.”

Mercedes touched his arm quieting the man. She shaking her head no, “He is not my type. And besides that, he’s white.  You know how they love their stick figures.” She said as if the matter was closed. She shrugged again and went back to her food.  “But he’ll make a good co-parent.” She said twisting her lips up in thought. Their argument? Still bothered her.  She didn’t really know what to say.  Or for that matter why the idea of him being impotent even bother her at all.  She slumped a bit her mind working feverishly against what she deep down already knew. She had a crush on her baby’s daddy.    

Titus’ shoulder slumped, “Damn!” He said once she laid out the facts. “I could forgive him being white if he was hot but a regular degular white guy is unacceptable.  They often appreciate curves but only with the lights low.”  He sucked his teeth, then settled in and started eating.  He glanced at Mercedes noting that faraway look she always got whenever she was mulling something over, be it what color drapes to buy or when to dump a man. No matter what the look was always the same. “What’s that look about?

Mercedes sighed, “Nothing.” She said, “Tell me how David is doing?  I can’t believe he’s almost 18. You have to get him to tell you what he wants for graduation.”

Titus rolled his eyes, “What most teenage boys want. Tickets to the playboy mansion.” He said shaking his head, “I swear he tries to be super hetero- as a way to spite me. But you!” He snapped, “Stop changing the subject. What’s the matter with you?”

Mercedes giggled, but didn’t miss adding more food to her mouth. “Change.”  She said as if the word meant anything. “Changing and dealing with another person.  It’s trying.”

Titus squinted, “Tell me something I don’t know.” He sighed, “Wait…” His face contoured. “What is this about?”

“We, the baby’s daddy and I...“ Mercedes shook her head and took a bite of steamed cabbage.  “Let’s just say it’s hard getting to know people. Somethings were disclosed, and it’s made our interactions a little awkward.”

Titus laughed, “Your whole situation is awkward. And that’s what your ass gets.  Miss I’m going to make a test tube baby.” He said loudly, “Suck it up. And find a way through.” He said knowing full well how is friend operated. “That bundle of joy is coming and try as you might it isn’t going to get any easier. Hell, it’s not like you want to fuck him.” He said eating happily.

[mentalcurls]

2. Sei uno str***o

I’m back with my thoughts of episode 2 of the first season of Skam Italia. This was much quicker than analyzing episode 1, but there’s still a lot of stuff I hadn’t caught or thought much about the first time I watched the season, like pre-Luchino interactions between the boys, sexy times and the earliest mentions of Marti’s mom. Bechdel test results at the end. Warning for gratuitous use of italics.

I’m still not over Skam Italia doing that video of Gio and the chat between him and Eva, referencing and overturning Skam og’s “No Norwegian boy would go down on a girl”, that shit was savage, bless LudoBesse

Oh, the song that plays while Gio and Eva are getting to the cabin! “It’s gonna be you / And me / It’s gonna be everything you’ve ever dreamed” is 100% referring to Eva, to her wanting to be with Gio, in peace, for a while, to her anticipation and plans for this trip

seeing the cabin again, though. I mean, intellectually I know this is the first time it’s ever seen on screen, this was the first time I saw it as well cause I watched all of S1 that weekend after 3.5 Ammucchiate, but now the magical triad of “Sto a Bracciano”, “Due ore” and “Patatine e marmellata” colors my experience of it so much, I almost teared up when Gio and Eva got inside

I had kind of forgotten how much they actually show of Gio and Eva having sex, I get why people drew the comparison after the Nicotino sex scenes, BUT “DUE ORE” AND “TU NON SEI DI MILANO” ARE PERFECT ANYWAYS

still not over the absence of any fic in which Gio gets to properly show off his oral skills (with Eva or anyone else) 

Marti moaning and complaining about how he’s scarred and traumatized after he walks in on Eva and Gio kills me; tbh his problem is mostly that he saw a bit too much of Eva (not a lot I think, because that sheet was pretty strategically placed) and not enough of Gio

I can’t focus on Eva when there are proto-Contrabbandieri interactions going on, I just cannot

ok, so, Marti. He says his mom “freaked out” because she decided to do housework and that he had to run. So, like. Given that he uses that same wording “sbroccare” that he’ll use in later episodes to talk about his mother’s mental illness, what’s happening here? Because while I see how a person would “freak out” about cleaning (like if they suddenly started obsessing over everything being dirty), I think from what we’ve seen of Mrs Rametta that’s not likely and she probably simply tried to do the spring cleaning. So is that what Marti considers a “freak out”? Does he put spring cleaning on the same level of what I’ve always assumed were, like, panic attacks? And then of course there’s the fact that we have a boy who runs like a bat out of hell as soon as household chores are mentioned. Now. We know in a few months Marti is going to pray for his mom to want to do the chores 💔

“C’mon Eva why are you being like this?” are you really asking Gio?

Marti is at peak 🐍🐍 here: he hijacks Eva’s time with Giovanni, stops them from having sex and keeps Gio busy with a thirteen-hour-long game of Risk Eva doesn’t take part in at all. And Gio lets him! He doesn’t even appear to stay mad about not being able to have sex for more than those two minutes when he hits Marti with his sleeping bag, is he even a teenage boy

that build up to Elia’s appearance, with the creepy music, gets to me every time and Gio going for the fireplace log lifter kills me

Elia Santini is a living meme from his very first line (“Ammazza che accoglienza”)

I mean that chuckle + “Che, davero?” combo is ICONIC

Eva’s unimpressed face at Gio is also iconic. 

“C’mon, what could I do, he asked if he could come, should I have said no?” ahem, OBVIOUSLY YES, since you promised your girlfriend it’d be the two of you (honestly, Gio, how did you expect to have sex, with your best friends in the room next to yours, only separated by a door??)

Notice that Eva walks away (only a few paces), fully expecting him to follow her and try to placate her more, so she can properly scream at him, except he doesn’t, he goes inside with the guys

so we get to the beach scene and what I can’t help but wonder is how long the two schemers, Gio and Elia, spent coming up with a suitable excuse to feed Eva for going back to Rome, something she wouldn’t question… and she actually questions it anyways for a minute

and God, the suspicious look Eva gives them as they walk away

in this proto-Contrabbandieri dynamic, I can’t help but notice that Martino fills that Luchino-ish role, obviously he’s not treated the same because he’s much more likely to have a sharp comeback to mocking and he’s not as naive as Luca, but he’s the one that gets left behind while the trouble duo goes to get the weed; and I think that if a Bastardata-like situation was to happen in S1 Marti would be the “victim”

and of course this episode has this big gaslighting incident, where Gio tells Eva he’s going back to Rome for his brother, Martino covers for him pretending he knows nothing (and encouraging Eva to drink and forget 😑) and when Gio comes back they all act like it’s fine, like it’s normal that he was gone most of the day and the whole night and like she’s totally overreacting when she’s mad

ok, but Marti is really really invested in Gio’s sex life, this boy is gone, desperately looking for any and all scraps. I think I’ve seen fic do the “Marti never wanked over Gio, he couldn’t have faced him afterwards” thing and while that’s valid, I think that he actually fantasized a lot about him, basing himself on the sexcapades Gio has told him about, like Villa Sciarra, because this boy has shown he’s thirsty af from day one, first telling Eva “c’mon, zozzoni, let me see” on Skype and then in this episode asking Eva outright what Gio’s like in bed

I can’t even describe Marti’s face during the conversation, first he fakes nonchalance, then he goes for a nice-guy-encouraging-reassuring smile, then he smirks and wiggles his eyebrows, then he’s smug, when Eva seems to be mustering up the courage to speak again he’s kind of hopeful, then smug again, then he softens when he starts cuddling Eva, but in the last shot from that clip he’s looking in the distance, he stops smiling and has a slightly disappointed expression

that conversation with Eva, God. Aside from any and all speculation of Marti’s motives, she is obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable, yet Marti keeps pressing; she clearly states she asked Gio not to talk about their sex life (not too in depth at least), yet Martino confirms he’s ignored her request and quotes some notable examples that prove his knowledge, which embarasses her further, to the point she stops the conversation; finally, Marti justifies Gio and himself by saying “You know, we’re like this.” like that excuses anything (or means anything, really)

those shots of the lake in the early morning and of the trees *insert Poetic cinema meme here*

Gio has the gall to come in like nothing’s happened and announce he’s brought back brioches, then to shake his head and sigh when Eva storms off, like dude? You left her alone with your best friend for a whole day and a whole night, no answers to her calls and texts, she woke up hungover on the couch and in the arms of a boy who’s not you and you’re surprised and exasperated by her being mad at you?? Honestly, Gio, you might be il mago dell’amore cause you’re half decent at matchmaking but you’re shit at doing relationships, at keeping them healthy and working

at least Eva finally gets him to follow her where they can talk alone, she finally gets him to choose her over his friends for a few minutes

Eva’s paranoid and controlling behaviour is not healthy for her or for Gio or anyone else, really, but I get where she comes from. Her relationship began with cheating, her boyfriend is currently hiding something, so trust is not something that comes easy here. Still, asking to read your boyfriend’s messages to someone else is not something conducive to a better relationship.

“You-you change when you’re around them.” hello “7 things” by Miley Cyrus!

And here we go again: “Eva, do you really think I’m hiding something from you? Eva, I’m not hiding anything from you, okay?” and he kisses her, trying to placate and distract her with physical affection 

poor Eva walking to a place that is as isolated as she feels

I mean, this trip must have been devastating for her, she’s been anticipating it for weeks, it should be her occasion to be with Gio, to strengthen the one relationship in her life that’s going well, to placate her fears and to forget all the stuff that’s going to shit in her life for a few days; instead Gio’s friends gatecrash the trip, Gio spends half of the time going back and forth from Rome, she gets stuck with Marti who’s a good guy, but inappropriate, she finds out her boyfriend discloses info about their intimacy without her consent, and there’s the whole Laura thing. The only pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel is that kind-of-weird, a bit too touchy-feely girl from the Easter party befriending her on Facebook, how sad is her life?

Bechdel test: this episode doesn’t pass the test. There’s a brief conversation between Eva and her mom at the beginning, but her dad intervenes, plus Eva’s mom is still unnamed so the conversation doesn’t count for the test.

This post is part of my complete series of meta about Skam Italia season 1.  If you’d like to read more of my thoughts about the other episodes, you can find the mastepost linked in the top bar on my blog under SKAMIT: EVA. Cheers!

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

Ok so i just read every single sprace fanfiction youve written and theyre all SO GOOD so i was wondering if you could do a different soulmates au the one where any mark on your soulmates skin shows up on yours and race keeps writing in italian and spot is both confused and mad because he thinks race lives in italy possibly maybe ok bye love your writing !!

This took forever but I hope you like it ^.^

Shared soulmate marks could be a blessing or a curse. ForDavey, they had meant paint streaks up and down his arms that he couldn’t washoff. For Jack, they’d meant equations and formulae inked neatly across the backof his hand, and reminders about endless clubs and societies. They never askedeach other to change, even after they’d met.

For Spot, it meant lines and lines of Italian that he was terrifiedto translate. For Spot’s soulmate, whoever they were, it meant a tattoo at thebase of their neck that Spot had gotten as an act of protest against the wholesoulmate thing. Nothing on his skin would ever be just his and he hated it so,despite the stigma around getting tattoos without your soulmate’s consent, hehad the Brooklyn Bridge, all wires and harsh lines, on the back of one of hisshoulders. At least it would make it easy to identify his soulmate, if thatmoment ever happened.

Italy was a long way away. The thought occurred to Spotevery time he looked down and saw new writing on his arm. It was always in Italianand pretty frequent and all him could think when he saw it was what if I never meet them. He had anuneasy relationship with the idea of soulmates, but he’d seen how happy Jackwas when he’d met Davey. Yeah, it was a little creepy and invasive that someoneelse shared every mark on his skin, but what if that person was really who hewas meant to be with. Only they didn’t speak English, apparently.

“Translate it,” Jack said for the hundredth time, rollinghis eyes when he saw Spot tracing a finger absentmindedly over the words again.He’d been trying to convince him to just use google translate since the writinghad first appeared.

“I can’t,” Spot shook his head. “You know I can’t. What ifit sounds awful in English.”“What if it says ‘hey, my name is Blank and you should meet me at Blank onBlank date,” Jack countered, helping himself to a croissant.

Spot hated working in an independent coffee shop inBrooklyn. The hipsters were bad enough, but the free food that encouraged Jack’srepeated presence only made things worse. And besides, it wasn’t actually free.If the manager noticed it missing then it came out of Spot’s paycheck.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he groaned, throwing a napkinin Jack’s general direction and scowling when it fell short of him and floatedto the floor.

“It could,” Jack reasoned.

“No.”

And that was the end of it because the more they talkedabout Soulmates, the more uncomfortable Spot felt.

***

It was 4 years and 4 months to the day after Spot hadstarted getting the Italian on his arm when something changed.

Mariana school 55 E25th

The words appeared next to a list of Italian but they were finallysomething Spot could understand and his heart leapt into his mouth. Becausethat was an address. Possibly a New York address. When he typed it into hisphone and found that there was indeed a school there in the city, things suddenlygot very real.

He could go.

He could meet them, whoever they were.

Hovering outside a high school was probably not a good ideabut for the first time Spot’s soulmate seemed like they were on the right sideof the Atlantic and that wasn’t an opportunity he could pass up. Closing up thecoffee shop without really caring what his boss was going to say, Spot got thefirst train into Manhattan and tried to ignore the fact he felt like he washeading into an active volcano.

When he finally made it to the school, around the timeclasses ended, Spot realised the fatal flaw in his plan. He didn’t know whatthis person looked like. They were likely to be in their early 20s, around hisown age, but other than that he had no idea.

A man caught his eye, leaning against the wall and scrollingthrough a feed on his phone. His dark hair and slightly tanned skin meant hecould be Italian, which would definitely explain the language of the writing,but his arms were completely covered by a jacket so Spot couldn’t check if theyshared the marks. Still, no one else seemed to fit the bill of who Spot waslooking for so, swallowing his pride, he walked over to him.

“Hi,” he managed, wanting to be sick as nerves boiled in hisstomach.

“Hi?” the man asked, confused and a little concerned.

There were no words for this situation, Spot realised. You might be my Soulmate just soundedridiculous and nothing else was coming to mind, so he tried the next best thingand pushed up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the neat Italian.

The man let out a long, low whistle and stepped away fromthe wall, pocketing his phone. This was a big deal. He hadn’t even realisedthat the note on his arm to pick up his sister would let his soulmate knowwhere he was, let alone considered the possibility that they might meet himthere.

“You’re the asshole who gave me a tattoo,” was the firstsentence he managed to coherently string together. It had been there a coupleof years now and he didn’t see it much, but there was no doubt it was there andthat he’d had no say in it.

Spot hung his head. “Shit,” he groaned. Everyone had told himhe’d regret the tattoo once he met his soulmate and found out what they thoughtof it but he’d always denied it. They’d been right. “Yeah, sorry about that,”he mumbled, sheepish.

The man watched him stonily for a second, before breakinginto a small smile.

“You’re lucky I like it,” he shrugged. It was a great tattooand an ever-present reminder that his soulmate was out there, somewhere.Apparently that somewhere was now right in front of him.“You do?” Spot asked, hopeful.“Yeah. It’s cool. Actually I-”

Just as the man was about to explain how he’d consideredgoing to the Brooklyn Bridge to try and find his soulmate, just in case thatwas what the tattoo meant, someone else piped up.

“Race, who’s this?” said the short girl who’d walked upbeside them, and Spot was willing to bet this was Mariana.

“Um-” Race stumbled, eyes going wide when he realised hedidn’t even know his soulmate’s name yet.

Before he could ask, Mariana caught sight of the writing onSpot’s arm where it was still bared, his shirt rolled up around his elbow. Whenhe caught her looking he tugged it back into place, self-conscious, but it wastoo late.

“Shit, you found your Soulmate?!” she shrieked, jumping upand down.“Language!” Race hissed automatically. He’d moved out two years ago and didn’teven live with his sister anymore but he still felt the need to make sure shebehaved.

“Oh fuck off. You’re worse,” the girl laughed, tossing backher hair and grinning.

Race shuffled awkwardly, wishing Mariana would go away. Buthe wasn’t sure how impressed their mother would be if he didn’t drop her home safelylike he’d promised he would. So he was stuck with her, and it made sense tointroduce her to his soulmate sooner rather than later since they were probablygoing to be seeing a lot of each other over the years.

“This is Mariana, my little sister. She’s a delight,” hesaid drily.

Spot nodded hello. He had nothing against the kid but hewanted to talk to Race and he’d rather not have an audience when he did.

“Look, this doesn’t seem like a good time for you. But doyou want to-” he started, but Race didn’t even let him get to the end of thesentence.

“Yes,” Race said, emphatically.

Spot couldn’t help but laugh. He dug around in his pocketfor a receipt and scribbled his phone number on it.

“Okay, here’s my number. Text me,” he instructed, handing itover and starting to walk away. The longer he stayed the harder it would be toleave and he didn’t want to impose on Race’s afternoon with his family.

Watching the man head down the street for a couple ofseconds, Race decided that he couldn’t just leave it like that. OrderingMariana to stay put (was having a younger sibling really that different fromhaving a dog, when you really thought about it?), he ran after him and tappedon his shoulder to get him to turn around.

“What your name?!” he asked, desperate to know.

“Spot. Well, Sean. But Spot, please,” was the reply, andRace knew there was a story there that he wanted to hear. But it could wait,because Spot was right- he really couldn’t do this now.“Nice to meet you, Spot,” Race beamed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek andhightailing it back to Mariana before Spot had time to react.

Mariana just watched from a distance as Spot’s eyes turnedlarge and round, and he raised his hand to his cheek and gently touched the placewhere he’d been kissed.

“He likes you,” she informed Race when he reached her.

“Good,” Race smiled. “It’d be awkward if he didn’t.”

***

“So. Tell me,” Spot began a week later, sat on Race’ssofa after their second date.

“Yeah?” Race asked, needing more than that to knowwhat Spot was trying to get at. Despite the rumours of telepathic soulmates, hecouldn’t actually tell what his was thinking.

Handing Spot a cup of coffee, Race sat down beside him and smiled.He wasn’t use to having his soulmate around but it was nice and he was certainit wouldn’t take long to get used to.

“All that Italian you were writing? What did itsay?” Spot asked, finally wanting to know what had been questioning himfor years. Race hadn’t written anything new since they’d met, but it wasn’trare for the notes to be spaced about a week apart.

“Oh, you never translated it? I write my grocery liston my arm,” Race shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.

Spot just blinked, unimpressed.

"You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that what Ithought were a cute love notes were actually just reminders to buy pasta?”

Jack was right. He should have translated the words afterall. He’d spent years obsessing over the neat cursive and finding out it was agrocery list made his cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Race said, pretending for acouple of seconds that he’d been joking until he couldn’t help a grin. "Wedon’t buy pasta, we make it.”

Elbowing him, Spot groaned. “Italian bastard.”

“At your service,” Race said, with a small gesture of abow. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the words in his life, and he knewthere was no malice behind them.

"I didn’t want to translate it because I thought itwould ruin it. Like it would be prettier in Italian,” Spot whined, holding hismug close and pouting. It was stupid to feel disappointed – he had his soulmatenow and that was worth so much more than a few anonymous love notes, but itstill stung a little.

"To be fair, it still is. Even if it is just groceries,”Race smiled, before he realised Spot was actually a little upset about it. “Here,”he tried, reaching for a pen and scribbling something on the inside of his ownarm.

Spot watched as the words appeared on his skin. It was thesame neat handwriting that he’d grown so used to, but he was willing to bet itwasn’t another ingredient.

Sono contento che mi hai trovato

“What does it mean?” he asked when Race put the cap back on thepen.“Translate it,” Race teased, taking Spot’s cup away and ignoring his complaintsas he put it down on the coffee table and pulled him in for a kiss.

[rodypowderedmilk]

RIP WIP: if you see this post, respond with a snippet of a fic you (sadly) won’t be completing.

It doesn’t make any sense, is the thing. This insatiable need to watch Harry dance around the new born alpacas as she puts up lights for Christmas. She leans down and sings to them, pulls leaves off the trees and feeds it to them. She presses kisses to their dusty fur and scrunches her nose at them when she sings low.

Moving in across the street from Harry and her mom had been the best unintended decision she ever made. For some reason, the mother and daughter owned 43 alpacas, 2 llamas, and one llampaca. She remembers the first time meeting Anne, Harry’s mother. She’d walked up to the house, looking for directions and was approached by what she had thought was a llama. It butted it’s head again her shoulder and proceded to rub it’s face against her to it’s hearts content. The force of the animal nearly knocked her over but she’d never tell anyone that. Anne had come over, then.

“Tony!” she yelled, “Ugh, you dumb thing,” she’d said, exasperated and shook her head at the animal.

“Sorry,” she’d said, “Ya’ all right?” and pulled the insistent animal’s head away from Louis’ shoulder.

“Yeah, m’ alright,” Louis’d responded, big smiles and intrigued eyes watching the animal.

“Friendly llama you’ve got here,” she said, laying the charm on as she moved to pet the animal’s pelt.

“It’s an alpaca!” she heard someone yell about five yards away, where someone was filling up a trough for what seemed to be goats. They were bleating and jumping away happily at her feet, small and excited. That’s when Louis was able to look away and finally see the girl.

She was gorgeous, to put it simply, absolutely gorgeous. Thick jeans and a flannel and a belt, wavy hair and bangs. Proper Mick Jagger look it was. And she was looking at Louis, amused and unimpressed.

“It’s an alpaca,” she said again, and cocked her hip.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” the older woman said, “She’s a bit of a know-it-all,” she told Louis conspiratorally.

“Ey! I’m not deaf, Mum!” she called. Louis laughed, “I’m Louis,”

“I’m Anne,” the woman said, “And that there is my dummy of a daughter, Harry,”

“Mum!” Harry whined and Louis had simply been charmed.

Thanksgiving was yesterday, and Harry immediately, promptly at 5:30 in the morning wakes up, beanie placed upon her bangs and begins decorating for Christmas. Louis knows this because of the stubborn insomnia left over from the constant travelling. She tries not to think about it. She’s been up since 4:43 and is on her third cup of tea and her fifth run to the loo. She starts with hanging ornaments from the very large, very tall pine tree right next to their driveway in the ugliest, cutest jumper Louis has ever seen. She’s paired it with her high waisted thick jeans and a belt, as per usual. And Louis is enthralled, as per usual.

She has yet to tell Harry that her birthday is the day before Christmas in the hopes of delaying the inevitable. Harry becomes extremely excitable when it comes to birthdays. It’s her thing. She writes silly songs, sends letters, and buys way too many gifts. The problem is, Harry has always been too emotionally intuitive for her own good, and yet, at times, utterly oblivious. She’ll know, like she always does, psychoanalyze, like she always does, hit it right on the nose like she always does. (She sees right through Louis which is frankly terrifying and also concerning) It’ll start hypothetically, why do i feel like people lump your birthday and christmas together. And then she’ll get that sad mopey muppet face and make Louis cry. Like she always does. So she hasn’t told her yet and is wondering how long she can get away with it.

Her curly haired friend was just that. A friend, and a quite good one at that. She’d invited Louis over for Thanksgiving yesterday, sat her right at the end of the table and placed her home made pumpkin pie right next to her. Louis teased her endlessly, “This isn’t nearly as good as Costco pumpkin pie,” she told her.

“You and your American shops,” Harry’d responded, pretended to gag, “What even is a Costco?”

“Oh darling, do not try me with the American crap. This holiday is American,” Louis says as she tries to slice the pie, grumbling when Harry swats her hand away.

“And what about it?” Harry had said, inquisitive eyebrow raised in challenge. Louis simply shrugged and began to speak with the other guests Harry had invited. Harry’s Orphans, Anne liked to call them. There was Chloe from Tesco, one of the only stores in town, who’d moved out here after finishing college and tried to find some semblance of independence from her mother. She misses her terribly and speaks of her often. Louis can sympathize. Anna, who Harry had immediately been drawn to because she thought she shared a name with her mum, works at the local sandwhich place and is the only non-white person in town. Harry has learned a few words in Spanish and is incredibly adorable when trying to get the pronounciation right. And lastly, Niall, the only fellow in the whole group. Despite the man’s extroverted demeanor and joyous laughter, even Harry hasn’t been able to pry his life story from him. He lives at the end of the couldesac, moved in four weeks after Louis and seemed to be renting. It was a collective effort to subtly figure out everything about the man, although he charmed the pants off anyone who tried and so none were succesful.

Louis wonders how they’ll celebrate Christmas while she continues to watch Harry jump to try and reach higher branches. She hides a smile behind her mug. Harry Styles is the love of her life and nothing will convince her otherwise. Of course this does not mean she’ll ever pursue her, despite Anne’s knowing smirks and Niall’s goodnatured nudging. It’s much more fun to love Harry from a far and a lot safer, too.

It begins when Harry asks her to come into town with her because “I need more decoarations. This will simply not be enough,” she’d said, earnest and mocking all at the same time. They pile into Louis’ pick up truck that she’d wisely invested in once she’d decided to move out here. She hopes it sufficiently communicates GAY to the general population if her outward appearance does not.

“So,” Harry begins and Louis does not need to look over to know that the dimples have popped out. Louis suppresses a groan.

“I’ve always wondered when your birthday is, Lou,” she says, mocking ignorance.

Louis groans then.

“And recently a little birdie told me that it might… maybe- perhaps- possibly be the day before Christmas,” she feigns dismay.

“Is this true?” she asks, turning to face Louis and placing her elbows on the console.

“Quisas,” Louis says then, wondering if Harry will remember Anna’s training.

“Oh, you dirty rat, you! You didn’t tell me your birthday was on Christmas Eve!” she says, softly punching Louis’ shoulder repeatedly. Louis remains unharmed due to the nineteen layers of clothing she’s wearing.

“I was working up to it!” her voice steadily rises.

“No you weren’t!” Harry insists, voice rising as well.

“Okay, I wasn’t, but you know how you get about birthdays!” she whines.

“And?”

When Louis’ only response is garbled noises and shrugs Harry promptly replies, “Inexcusable,” and Louis lets out an indignant squawk.

“Your punishment is absolutely unbearably amazing birthday treament. I’m sorry!” she turns her head away and gives Louis the hand, “There’s nothing to be done about it.”

And when Louis attempts to object more, “No, sorry, I don’t make the rules,”

“You dumb bitch,” Louis mutters.

“No, but really, Lou,” her soft voices becomes much more sincere, “Do you not like your birthday or something?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s totally fine, I don’t mind, you can bake my entire house into a cake for all I care,” Louis snorts and then thinks better of it, “No, don’t you fucking dare bake my house into a cake you birthday monster,” she reaches over and shoves Harry when she hears her giggle.

“I’m driving, you absolute villian,” she says, while she attempts to wrangle the wild girl into her side of the car.

“I’m going to get you all the presents,” Harry sighs dreamily, “And Christmas presents, too,” she adds. It’s then that Louis freezes up a bit.

“Wait,” pink lips frown, “Wait, did people-” she stops and frowns some more, “Did people lump your birthday presents in with your Christmas presents?”

Louis holds her breath and stares pointedly out the windshield, “Hm?”

“Louis,” Harry whines, “They did, didn’t they?”

Louis shrugs, “It’s not a big deal. I was convinced when I was younger all the people putting up lights were celebrating me birthday, so I guess it evens out,”

“Aw, Louis. That’s darling,” she gushes, “But wait- Oh, you stupid head, you’re trying to distract me from your childhood tragedies with your cuteness,” she leans over and shoves Louis’ shoulder.

“Harold, I’m driving!” she says, as she attempts to swerve the car back into their lane.

“No one lives here, dummy, and stop distracting me with potential car accidents. We’re talking about important things.”

Harry makes it a point to ask about her birthday at least once a day. It’s on the first day of December she asks, “Wait, are you going home for Christmas and your birthday?” She freezes for a second at the thought of home, eyes glazing over for a second before she eases the tention in her shoulders and moves her thoughts elsewhere.

It’s strange to hear someone refer this time of year as her birthday. Most people have glossed it over in favor of the much larger holiday it predates.

Louis shakes her head, “I’m just settling in here,” she explains, close to the truth but not qite “And who else would eat your dumb pie during Christmas?” It’s a bit nerve wracking, and frankly presumptuous to invite herself to Harry’s Christmas.

“Won’t you want to go home and visit your family? Your sisters? Oh, and your brother, sorry,” Harry seems confused, head cocked and curly bangs sliding across her forehead. The concern is endearing although the subject matter stirs anxiousness deep in her stomach, awakens the melancholy pang in her heart.

Louis shakes her head, “I’ll visit them for New Years, maybe. We haven’t sorted it out, yet. Big procrastinator, I am,”

A big smile blossoms on Harry’s face, lips stretching and dimples appearing.

“So you’ll be celebrating Christmas with us, then?” she asks, hands fiddling in front of her, raising on her toes. It’s impossible to be sad- to even think about being sad- when Harry is smiling at her like that.

“Who else would I celebrate it with, dummy?” Louis sticks her tongue out at her, perfectly mature, and squeezes her eyes shut. She opens them to Harry beaming at her, practically bursting with excitement. Suddenly, Harry leans forward on the balls of her feet and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

“I have so many plans!” she squeals and runs off, baby alpacas trailing after her.

Monthly movie night has been deeply infiltrated by Christmas, as has everything else in Harry and Anne’s house. The only light comes from the television and the single string of Christmas lights, battery operated from the convenience store by Harry’s work. She’s got hot cocoa between her hands, sweaterpaws shielding her from too warm warmth. The dimples are out in full force and Louis cannot stop staring. There are bruises developing along her ribs from the amount of times that Niall has elbowed her, and she’s sure that Niall is developping the same amount of bruises from the times she’s retaliated. He’s been staring at Anna all night and it’s infuriating. Straight people are supposed to have their shit together when it comes to romance. Right?

Anyways, the season is coming and coming fast. The familiar feeling of wonder and cozy warmth is spreading through her bones and she just wants to sit on the carpet, watching the telly, preferably in someone’s lap, preferably Harry’s. She has simple wants and needs, really.

Harry has passed her a third cup of eggnog, “It’s Christmas spirit in drink form, Louis, drink up.”

She watches, entranced as Harry waltzes clumsily around the room to the deep croon of Michael Buble with her cat, Dusty. The other three cats are in the other room, watching as Anne makes holiday goodies while the dogs have been banished to the cold. Harry pouts every time she looks outside and Louis rolls her eyes. Then she looks away and tries to hide her smile.

Harry’s sitting behind her on the couch and she finds herself leaning back into her legs as she becomes warmer and looser watching Eloise at Chrimstastime. Niall’s right next to her on the floor and he’s as rigid as a board, doing his very best not to make any physcial contact with the oblivious and very shy girl behind him. Chloe is chatting happily away with Anne and Harry, although quiet as to not disturb the film. And that’s when she feels the fingers first skim her hair, just the nape of her neck, the whisper of a touch, absentminded maybe. It has her shivering and seeking more of the touch, inching closer into Harry’s space, the warmth of her legs against Louis’ shoulders. Her eyes close involuntarily for a second when the touch returns, a thumb sweeping over the peach fuzz at the back of her neck.

She swallows and looks over at Niall, rigid as anything and attempts to cover up how affected she is. She elbows him in the ribs and sends him falling into Anna’s legs. Her legs immediately move to accomodate him and she leans forward almost imperceptibly. He looks noticably more comfortable. Jesus Christ does she have to do everything for him? And then she feels Harry’s hands in her hair again, soft and attentive, smoothing over the back of her head where the hair is the shortest. She cards her fingers through the longer hair at the top, perfectly styled mess just plain messy now.

“I like it that way,” she always tells Louis when she’s ambushed the Doncaster girl early in the morning under the guise of having no tea left. Louis always calls her on her bullshit, but makes her tea anyways, pyjama pants dragging on the floor.

Louis turns around, an unimpressed look on her face and watches as Harry just smiles at her. She rolls her eyes and turns back around, making a vague waving gesture to signal to Harry that she wants her to continue petting her. She does.

It’s when Louis can hardly keep her eyes open that Harry’s fingers slide back down to her neck, tracing something into her skin. It brings goosebumps to her skin, warm and cold at the same time before she slides her fingers to the back of Louis’ ears. It’s soft and vulnerable there where she’s gently thumbing over, hidden to the rest of the world and it feels like some kind of metaphor, beautiful and sweet and unheard of. She can’t stop smiling.

She falls asleep there, between the legs of the sweetest girl she’s ever met, lips turned up and eyelids fluttering under Christmas lights.

Waking up, for the first two seconds she thinks she’s home with her family, Mum waking them up and sending them to their room with a few soft words and a goodnight kiss. When she realizes it’s only Anne, the world comes startingly into focus, Christmas lights blaringly bright where before it was only a hazy glow. She gives Anne a smile, and doesn’t lean against Harry’s legs again.

“C’mon, you lot, off to bed,” she says, proper mum, and ushers them up the stairs. It’s not until Louis was halfway up that she catches herself.

“Oh, Anne, sorry. I’ve better be heading home,” she starts, blinking rapidly, confusion and all kinds of emotions tangling up in her chest.

“Nonsense,” Anne tuts and continues to bat them up the stairs. “Harry sleeps over all the time, it’s no problem.”

This makes Harry laugh and Louis joins her, “Well, I mean- she’s your daughter,”

Anne only shrugs. Despite Harry being right behind her, she can’t bring herself to look at her. She doesn’t want to be sad in Harry’s presence. She straightens her back resolutely and flinches any time she thinks Harry might come close to touching her, scared that if she does, she’ll feel the melancholy thrum under her skin. It doesn’t make any sense, but knowing Harry she’ll find a thread of sadness and tug on it until Louis falls to pieces like the string pinatas Anna’s told them about.

Anne opens the door to a one bedroom room, and Louis pointedly ignores the very subtle smirk Harry’s mum gives.

“Alright, girls?” she says, with a smile and winks as she closes the door.

Louis plops face first on the bed, spreads her arms out, tries to deflect her awkwardness and tries not to acknowledge how small the bed is. She rolls onto her back and kicks off her shoes, doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes, tries to ignore how loaded the situation feels.

“Are you gonna get in bed, you fat lump, or are you gonna stand there all night? Sleep like a horse,” she says this all with her eyes closed, elbow over her eyes and tries to make the situation lighter than it is.

She hears Harry snort from across the room and listens as the bed springs creak under the weight of her jump onto the bed. They squirm around trying to get under the covers, trying to escape the chill of the unused guest room.

They’re cold toes brush each other under the flannel sheets and Harry giggles.

“Get your cold toes away from me, you git,” she says and pushes her own feet against Louis’ legs, nearly shoving her clear off the bed.

“You menace,” Louis gasps, and swipes her cold toes under Harry’s fleece pajama pants, pushing the material up to her knobby knees.

“Lou!” she shrieks, “You cut me with your toenails!” she whisper shouts.

“You cut me with your toenails!” the girls dissolve into giggles and settle against each other, legs tangling resting against each other.

“Your leg hair tickles,” Harry whispers suddenly.

“Ah- Harry!” Louis responds, surprised and incredulous. She rolls over and hides her face in Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” she groans and rolls back over. The only thing to do is act normal, push away any possible thought of sadness. She’s more, now than usual, anything she would normally do now heightened to about ten and that includes her affection for Harry. It’s a bit conflicting, her usual instinct to hide her fondness for Harry and the instinct to deflect, hide her emotions from her.

“This used to be my room, you know,” Harry says into the dark.

“Yeah?”

“There weren’t any alpacas or anything back then,”

“No, that was all you,”

“And how do you know that, Louis Tomlinson?”

“They’re your alpacas, Harry. They worship you,” she whispers, and so do I, she thinks.

She wakes up the next morning pressed into the delicious warmth of another body. Her cheek rubs against an impossibly soft sweater and she nuzzles deeper into the lovely coziness. Her grip tightens involuntarily where it’s holding Harry’s side- Harry. Louis has somehow managed to sneak her hand inside Harry’s shirt and grab hold of her smooth, warm skin.