#every time i go to my page i gotta physically press play >:Ic

[moonjima]

I OPEND YOU BLOG ON MY COMPUTER AN I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE PLEASED FOR SOMETHING TO AUTO PLAY IN MY LIFE STEP AND GO BABEY!!!!

HELL YEEAAAAAHHHHHHH

STEP AND GO BABEYYYYYYYY

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

~

It’s here!! Thank you all for the support of this universe, it truly means so very much to me. Every time I get a comment, or get to read the fan fiction you all write, see the art you create...it just fills me with so much joy. I’m so excited to share the Sweater Weather sequel with you, Vaincre! Go Lions!

cw: brief mention of past injury and past abuse

~

part i: July

I’ve been holding my breath

I’ve been counting to ten

~

The media wasn’t kind. There were network shows and blogs. Magazines and papers and podcasts. Not to mention Twitter.

Remus had heard his name on all of them, even if he wasn’t listening. It was part of Alice’s job to make sure he knew what was being said about him. It was his job to tune most of it out. Some outrage. Some elation. Some confusion.

This is my question, one podcast asked. I mean, I’m happy for Black. Lupin, too. I’m happy for the hockey world to have this happen, it’s about time, I mean, tune it, come on, and all that.

I’m confused about the, you know, ‘let’s put the PT on the roster.’ I’ve seen college clips, like, those have been released, we know that he got injured, we know all that. He’s fast, we know that, too. But a lot of guys are fast.

Just…what a move by Coach Weasley. A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus had always loved to run. It cleared his head. It had been one of the forms of exercise he had been able to do first once his shoulder had healed, before weights or any sort of strength training. His therapists had recommended it. Endorphins, they had said.

But Remus liked it because it was the closest he had been able to get to gliding on the ice, even when he still couldn’t stand to even look at a rink.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus was used to not knowing. He was beginning to think he thrived on it. Would he play hockey again? Would he ever find love? Would Sirius want him?

Was this really happening?

He didn’t think of dreams as coming so late, but, then again, why should dreams be put on any sort of time schedule?

Now, he banged out the screen door and onto the rickety, well-loved porch of the lake house that had been passed down through his family for years. His mother and her brothers split it up in the summer, overlapping for a week or so, and there were always little gifts left behind for each family at the trade-off. A bottle of the best maple syrup, or some of the local honey. They were small, but Remus smiled when he saw what his uncle and aunt and cousins had left for him and Sirius after his parents and Julian had given them the month of July with the house to themselves. A little flower arrangement with two hockey sticks, carved out of wood, sticking up in the middle.

Sirius had plucked one from the dirt, twirled it over in his fingers, and smiled.

“Your family will never stop surprising me.”

Green Lake was deep, prime for fishing, and gorgeous. The smell of the water, of the soil and sweet summer air was as good as home to Remus. He breathed it in now as he bent to lace up his sneakers. He could smell the fire pit that they had lit last night, one that he and Julian had roasted thousands of marshmallows over.

“I showed Jules how to roast the perfect marshmallow here,” Remus had said that first July night, leaning back against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius had blew out his burnt-black one. “Like this?”

Remus had scoffed. “No, you heathen.”

Sirius looked good here, surrounded by the woods and rusty cabin, wearing the old fleeces that never seemed to leave this place for when the sun had yet to warm the chilly mornings. Some mornings, they’d make their coffee, tangle their socked feet together on the small couch until the sun began to get high and they’d strip it all off in favor of swimsuits and sunscreen. Other mornings, Remus would rise, pressing a gentle kiss to Sirius’ sleeping face, and take to the dirt road that ran around the lake.

Sirius, just off of the hard won playoffs, needed to rest. Remus needed to train.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

They would leave in two days for Pascal’s Cup Day celebration, and then to meet Remus’ parents, his little brother Julian, and Regulus back in Gryffindor for Sirius’ Cup Day. And August training. Remus stretched his hands to his toes and closed his eyes. A strange type of adrenaline filled him whenever he thought about practicing with the team, about the fitness tests that would come first. He’d have to prove himself again and again. He wanted to. But part of him wondered what would happen if he couldn’t.

The screen door squeaked open and shut again, and Remus jumped, looking up to find Sirius, still sleep rumpled, standing there in running shorts.

Remus laughed, reaching up to trace a pillow crease in his cheek. “You’re supposed to be sleeping in while you can.”

Sirius let out a grumbly sort of yawn and gathered his hair, long from the summer and just brushing his chin now, back into a small half-up bun.

“I can’t believe you do this before coffee.”

“Too acidic. Gives you running stitches.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius sighed, and threw his arm around Remus’ shoulders as they walked up the steep driveway to the road.

Remus kissed his wrist. “I’ll miss being here with you.”

Sirius smiled. He was tan from the summer, hair dark as ever and his skin sun-kissed.

Remus leaned into his shoulder. “I mean look at you. I like seeing you this relaxed.”

Sirius bit his lip as the rounded a bend, waving at Mrs. Barrow, who was tending to her garden.

“I don’t think I knew I could be this relaxed,” Sirius admitted. “It was always train, train, train, you didn’t get a Cup, try harder.”

Remus was familiar with the notes that appeared in Sirius’ voice now from years of Sirius’ small slips in conversation, even when, to Remus, Sirius had only been they youngest captain in the league, cold and reserved from even more years of his father’s abusive, relentless attitude towards hockey and Sirius’ skills. Even when Remus had only been the team’s physical therapist, closeted, crushing on Sirius, and surprised by the cracks Sirius showed when he had gotten his ankle smashed by Severus Snape, Captain of the Slytherin Snakes—the Gryffindor Lions greatest rivalry. Pain, it had seemed, and fear of never stepping on the ice again, had given Remus his first glimpses into a different Sirius beneath it all, a boy who was filled with much more than just a need to win, but for whom the want of winning only made him love his sport, and his team, more.

“And now that you have a Cup?” Remus asked. “How’re you feeling?”

They came to the road and Sirius balanced on one foot, stretching his thigh. “Now that I have you,” he said. “I’m feeling just fine.”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, the Stanley Cup Champion part has nothing to do with it.”

Sirius laughed, but took Remus’ face between his palms. “If I didn’t have you, and I had only a Cup, all I would be doing right now is thinking about another Cup.”

Remus put a hand on his chest, fingers finding the number twelve pendant that rested there.

“Now, there’s more,” Sirius said simply, and leaned down for a tender kiss. “Like your mother’s peach pie.”

Remus punched him in the arm as Sirius laughed loudly.

“You’ll have to beat me if you want a slice of that!” Remus called as he took off.

Sirius made a wounded noise, but sprinted after him until they were side by side again.

~

“I don’t think I can leave this beach,” Leo mumbled into the lounging cabana they were spread out beneath, and Logan looked down at him from where he was reading—trying to read—one of the books Finn had given him. He didn’t know how many books Finn had tried to get him to read over the years, but he knew he never made it through more than a few pages without looking up, getting distracted, or having to go back.

“Non?” Logan asked.

Leo shook his head. “The sun. The sea. I’m in heaven.”

“What about hockey?”

“Brr.”

Logan laughed and settled back into the pillows, setting the book aside and rolling towards Leo to feel his sun-warmed back and leaned down to kiss his temple. A private beach definitely had its perks—and so did three hockey salaries.

“We’ll just stay here, then.”

They’d had a good summer. Leo’s Cup Day, Finn’s, his own, all in their hometowns and accompanied by large parades and fanfare. Logan had finally gotten to take Leo home to his sisters and parents for the first time. It had been nice to see Finn around his family again, too, after what felt like eons of avoiding him in that small gap between being at Harvard and then them both making it to the NHL, and to the Lions.

Leo’s sleepy smile up at him melted Logan like ice in the sun.

“Okay, good,” Leo said, then his eyes went behind Logan. “There’s the ghost-on-toast with our drinks.”

Logan snorted and looked up to see Finn—and Finn’s tiny blue swim shorts that he insisted weren’t see-through—walking towards them through the sand from the resort bar with a tray of drinks in his hands.

“Hey, lover-nuts,” Finn said as he set the tray down in the shade. “Got us some snacks, too. That bar tender loves me.”

“You are so pale,” Leo laughed. “I love you, though, please put more sunscreen on.”

“Keep your sandy feet off my towel,” Logan nudged Finn’s foot with his own as he reached for his drink. Finn just smiled and nodded at the book.

“How is it?” Finn asked.

Logan just looked at him.

He laughed and ran a hand through Logan’s salty, damp hair. “I know. I’ll read it to you later. I just thought you might want something for the beach!”

Logan held up his cocktail. “I have something for the beach.”

They settled back under their cabana, the thin, white linen curtains fluttering around them in the three o’clock breeze. Maybe Logan, as he closed his eyes between Leo and Finn, Leo’s hand still on his thigh, Finn’s arm pillowing the back of his neck, never wanted to leave this beach, either.

“Back to Gryffindor tomorrow,” Logan said.

“Group chat says most guys’ll be back this week,” Finn said, squinting at his phone over his sunglasses. “We gotta be back for Dumo’s, and then Cap’s Cup Day. That’ll be nice, man.”

“I like that they’re bringing it to Gryffindor Pride,” Leo said, rolling onto his back. “Should have thought of that. Or, I guess…” Leo trailed off and Logan frowned. They couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least. Leo caught Logan’s expression and rested a reassuring hand on his thigh. “I’m glad we get to go, even if its for them on the surface. That’s real thoughtful of them, you know?”

Logan nodded. It was thoughtful. When Remus and Sirius had brought it up to them, he’d found himself getting a little choked up.

“We want you guys to be able to experience that, too,” Remus had said. “If you want. No matter what you decide to do public-wise in the future.”

Finn clicked his phone off and chucked it to the side. “Hey, don’t take me off island time yet. We’ll order to the room, eat on the deck, hike up and stargaze…”

Finn rattled off the perfect list, tilting towards Logan until their lips met.

“And then we’ll go win another Cup.”

Leo and Logan punched him at the same time.

~

Thomas sat in the shade with Kasey as they watched Alex try to take on Natalie and Noelle at pool basketball.

“I really think they’re going to accidentally drown him,” Thomas said thoughtfully.

“He probably thinks that, too, and is just too competitive to stop,” Kasey replied.

Thomas laughed, and held out his beer to cheers.

“This is a nice house the O’Haras have, man,” he looked at the sparkling ocean beyond the steps and fence, and at the pool with the grill and lounge chairs. They’d only come up for the weekend, between training and visiting their own families, and before returning to Gryffindor for the season.

“Tell me about it.”

“Cheating!” Alex spluttered from the pool as Natalie put all of her weight on him to dunk him under the water. Alex pointed very seriously to the foot marker on the side tile. “We agreed from that to Thomas’ chair, I was too far away!”

“Too bad!” Noelle shouted as she made another basket.

Thomas didn’t think it was the alcohol that made him feel a little fuzzy at the edges as he looked over her in her swimsuit. She was all curves of tanned muscle, softened the summer around her stomach and arms. Thomas was a goner. But she seemed pretty gone, too, so he guessed it was all right.

“This moment’s always rough,” Kasey said softly from beside him, and when Thomas looked at him questioningly, he gestured vaguely with his beer. “The end of July. One more month, but not really. Alex’ll go back for training, you know? It’s like a trick. I always think, I get three months with these two. But it’s more like two and the first week of August.”

Thomas nodded. “I know. Noelle, too. Her training camp starts on the eight. I’m just…”

Kasey sighed in sympathy.

“At least you have Nat, you know?” Thomas said. “Not that I’m saying you have it easier, I just…”

Kasey shook his head. “I know. Believe me, I’m thankful for that every day. But…when you miss someone, you miss someone.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”

Last season hadn’t been too bad. His relationship with Noelle had been new. They only really knew FaceTime dates, and squeezed in weekend flights that sometimes left them more exhausted than sated. They had been taking it slow. Thomas had been kissed by Noelle—a lot. Enough to make him dizzy with it. Only, then she’d met him at the airport in Quebec, they’d spent a month with her family in France…

And Thomas wasn’t sure he knew how to do just FaceTime anymore. There was a new yearning, knotted just below his heart. He knew what her skin felt like under his hands now, knew what she looked like right when she waked up, even her skincare routine before bed. It would feel like being away from the ice for too long, the knot pulling tight. He thought this year was going to be harder. Maybe he knew it, but if he did, he was pretending it might be easy still.

“T,” Noelle called, floating on her back, dark hair fanned out in the water. “C’mere!”

Thomas smiled, setting his drink down. He would come, whenever she called. Wherever.

~

Cole Reyes didn’t know if Adele Dumais staring at him the way she was was a good thing, or a bad thing. He was nervous enough without the seemingly disapproval of Pascal Dumais'—the Pascal Dumais of the Gryffindor Lions, oldest player in the league—teenage daughter.

“Don’t you talk?” Marc, one of his sons, asked.

Cole blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah.”

Adele waved her brother off. “They’re always super nervous at first. Remember Sirius?”

Marc scoffed. “I was a baby.”

Cole let out a breath. Now they were casually talking about Sirius Black, who had lived in the very room Cole had been sleeping in for a week now when he was a rookie, too. It was the same with Logan Tremblay. He felt like he needed to keep the room pristine, like he was living in some Hockey Hall of Fame museum that he had not earned the right to be in yet.

“You’re still a baby,” Adele shot back.

“Kids,” came Celeste, Pascal’s wife’s voice from where she was setting the table. “Come on now.”

“Sorry, maman,” Marc said softly.

“Sorry,” Adele sighed more reluctantly.

“Go help your father with the grill, you two,” she said. “Everyone will be arriving soon.”

Katie, Celeste and Pascal’s youngest daughter, perked up from where she was sitting beside Cole, drawing. Not Pascal, Dumo—Cole kept having to remind himself that he could call Pascal by his nickname now, that it was all official, that he was a Gryffindor Lion, too. Katie hadn’t left his side since he arrived a week ago to billet with the Dumais, and he still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Even the Cup?” she asked.

Celeste laughed. “Oui, ma cherie. Cole? Would you mind going to get the flowers for the table? They’re on the kitchen counter, just inside.”

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dumais,” Cole nodded, glad for something to do. The thought of the Cup arriving gave him the chills. He’d have to be careful not to touch it. He was scared to even look at it, to be honest. His mom would be laughing at him right about now. He wanted to call her afterwards, tell her everything.

“Call me Celeste, I told you, please,” Celeste smiled. She was lovely, with her dark hair twisted and clipped up and a summer dress as green as her eyes, silky against her olive skin.

Cole flushed, but smiled. “Celeste.”

Cole made his way through the sliding door from the back yard and through the dining room. The kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the house—and it was a big house. Beautiful copper pans hung shining above the island, along with some herbs that Celeste grew and dried herself. It looked like something out of a magazine to Cole, and it was nice, but it wouldn’t beat his mom’s kitchen in the small apartment they shared in Boston. The small space would fill up to the brim with the smell of spices, or cobbler. The thought sent a pang right to his heart. He missed home, that was for sure. After being away for so long, for so many hockey camps, he’d hoped he would be more used to it by now.

The flowers were right where Celeste had said they would be, and he was reaching for one when the back door that led to the garage dinged open. Cole froze, sure that he was about to run into captain Sirius Black completely unprepared, when a girl stepped through instead. She was dressed in denim shorts and a white tank top, had dark brown skin, and a Gryffindor College hat over her hair, which was plaited back into many small braids.

She smiled when she saw him. No sign of surprised, or of the nervousness Cole felt when he met basically anyone.

“You must be Cole,” she said.

Cole nodded. The girl was gorgeous. Cole was a mess of nerves already. He didn’t need the stare of the teenage daughter of one of his idols, but he especially could not handle a beautiful girl right now.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “No, yeah, um. Yes.”

The girl strode forward, setting her bag down on the counter, along with a water bottle decorated in stickers. He caught a few Lions ones. She offered her hand, which was slender and had two golden rings on it. “I’m Layla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cole took it, trying to place her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I babysit for the Dumais family,” she said in explanation, then waved her hand. “Well, this year, at least. I’m actually—we’re going to be working together.”

Cole blinked. “You mean the Lions?”

She nodded. “I’m in the middle of my undergrad for physical therapy. Dumo’s amazing and he got me an internship under the new PT. You know. I’ll probably get you stick tape or something,” she laughed. “Congrats, by the way.”

Cole tilted his head and she raised an eyebrow.

“On making it to the NHL?”

“Oh,” Cole laughed. “Oh, I, yeah, thanks. You, too—or…yeah.”

Cole was going to stay in his room in the basement and never come out.

“I gotta—Mrs. Du—Celeste wants these flowers outside,” he said, picking the vases up.

“Sure thing,” Layla smiled.

“Layla,” came a shriek, and a moment later Katie Dumais came sprinting into the kitchen and wrapped herself around Layla’s legs and smiled at Cole. “This is my new hockey player.”

Cole couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but Katie sure was cute.

“Yours?” Layla gasped as she smiled at Cole. “He’s all yours, is he?”

Katie nodded. “Like Tremzy and Sirius. His name is Cole, like when Santa Clause doesn’t like you.”

Again, with the casual mentions of Logan Tremblay and Sirius Black.

“Oh, of course,” Layla laughed. “Well, I’m sure Santa Clause has never not liked you, babes. Let’s go let your mom know I’m here, okay? Your new hockey player can come with us, too.”

“He’s yours, too!” Katie insisted. “You’re here all the time, so he’s yours, too, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good,” Layla said. “I was worried.”

When Katie looked at Cole expectedly, Cole managed, “I guess everyone does need a hockey player?”

“Exactly!” Katie squealed, and Cole could only follow them outside, heart pounding.

~

It was good to be back in Gryffindor. Remus and Sirius had dropped their bags in Sirius’ entryway, said hello to Regulus, showered, and then hopped right back in the car to get to Pascal’s house.

“You two look disgustingly happy,” Regulus said, leaning forward from the back seat.

“We are,” Sirius grinned at him in the review mirror. “I am also happy,” he stroked the leather steering wheel of his Range Rover. “To be back with this baby.”

While Sirius’ hair had grown longer, Regulus had shaved his short. The curls were barely curls at all anymore, but Remus was happy to see that his seemingly ever-present dark circles had receded some.

“Why, thank you, Regulus, you look happy, too,” Remus snorted. “When do you leave for NYU’s orientation?”

“August 23rd,” he said. “Been texting with my housemates, too. They seem cool.”

“Maybe one of you will pull a Finn and fall in love with each other,” Sirius said.

“Twice,” Remus laughed, and Regulus did, too.

“I think I’ve had enough romance drama to last me a life time, thanks,” Regulus smiled. “But, yeah. I’m just…I’m focused on friends right now, I think. Normal, non-hockey creatures like you two. But that’s not to say if something came up…or I guess someone. Who knows.”

Sirius’ smile was softer this time. “Focus on whatever you want, Reg. You deserve it.”

Regulus just grumbled something about hockey gods, and then they were pulling up to the Dumais’. There were silver and white balloons lining the driveway and the fence to the backyard where, as Remus slammed his door, he could already hear laughter. A zing of excitement shot through him.

“I missed this team,” he sighed as Sirius took his hand.

Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple. “Your team.”

“Our team.”

“Jesus Christ,” Regulus said, and gave them a shove forward.

Thomas gave a loud woop when he spotted them coming out to the backyard. Regulus immediately made a B-line towards Leo and the Cubs.

“Yes! The Captain!” Thomas said and pulled Sirius into a hug. “Missed you, man.”

“You, too, T,” Sirius said. “Ready to tear it up?”

“You know it.”

Remus smiled as Thomas hugged him next. “I forgot you two train together before pre-season.”

“You two?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, the small gold hoops in his ears glinting in the sun. Remus noticed he’d shaved three stripes into one side of his head. They were a little wobbly. Maybe Noelle had done it. “You’re not coming with us?”

“You know how this one is about his routines,” Remus said, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist. “Wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”

“Please,” Sirius said. “I want you there more than I want a second—”

Remus and Thomas punched him at the same time.

“I know you weren’t just about to say that,” said an accented voice from behind Remus, and they turned to see Pascal standing there. He looked as he always did, smile lines around his eyes, gray streaks at his temples. He wore a white t-shirt and had Katie on his hip. She was definitely getting too big to be carried around like that, but Remus couldn’t see a time when Pascal would ever refuse her. He’d probably carry Adele around like that, too, if she’d let him.

“Dumo,” Sirius smiled, and took the two beers he was holding out, handing one to Remus. He kissed Katie’s forehead. “Good summer?”

“The best,” Pascal laughed, and nodded towards the edge of the yard. “Especially with the promise of seeing that thing again.”

Remus followed his gaze, and his breath caught, just as he knew it would. The Cup stood there, its guards near by with drinks and plates of food in their hands. It sat proudly on a table, surrounded by white tulips—no doubt Celeste’s doing.

“I’m excited to see you two bring it to the parade,” Pascal said. “That will be a wonderful day for everyone.”

Remus glanced at where Logan, Leo, and Finn were standing with Kasey Winter, Gryffindor’s goalie, and his partners Natalie, with her long blonde hair, and Finn’s brother Alex, who played for Tampa Bay.

Sirius’ smile lit up his face. “It will be.”

Remus peered around him. “Is that our rookie?”

Sirius scoffed. “A rookie can’t call a fellow rookie rookie, rookie.”

Remus blinked. “What did you just say?”

“That’s Cole!” Katie said. “I love him.” Then she turned and shouted his name again. He looked up from where he was standing quietly beside Jackson Nadeau, another player, and Remus suppressed a smile at the way his eyes widened when he saw Sirius.

“Oh, here we go,” Sirius mumbled.

“Oh, hush,” Remus said, and sounded far too much like his mother to himself. “You’re going to be throwing hands for him the second someone gets close, and you know it.”

“I don’t know how to tell rookies I’m just a person!” Sirius whispered as Cole began to make his way over. “They act all…”

“Star struck?” Thomas offered.

Sirius just glowered at him.

Cole Reyes did not look as young as he was. Even at 19, he was jacked, and tall, with light brown skin, green eyes, and a stripe shaved into one of his eyebrows. His hair was shaved at the sides, but longer on the top and in tight curls.

Remus glanced somewhat self-consciously down at himself. He could only put on more muscle healthily so fast. He thought he’d been doing well, but looking at Cole…

“Hello,” Cole said hesitantly and Pascal set Katie down and clapped Cole on the shoulder.

“Reyes, meet Sirius. Sirius, meet the boy who is a much better billet than you ever were.”

Sirius snorted, and Cole laughed—nervously.

“Hi, Cole,” Sirius said, and held out his hand. “I know we spoke briefly over the summer, but it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“You, too,” Cole said, smile slight. “Thanks for the call. My mom freaked out. I mean—well, me too, but my mom…” Cole stuttered out, wincing.

“Loves me?” Sirius laughed. “I get that a lot.”

“He’s so humble,” Remus shook his head jokingly. “Hi Cole, I’m Remus. Welcome to the team.”

“You too…?” Cole said hesitantly. “Well, the roster, I guess.”

“Cole,” Katie said, taking his large hand in her small one. “Come meet Tremzy. He’s my best friend.”

Sirius feigned a pout. “What about me?”

Katie smiled sheepishly, throwing herself at Sirius’ legs, “You, too!”

“Always one-uped by Tremblay,” Thomas laughed, shaking his head. “How’s it feel, Cap?”

“Wonderful,” Sirius said dryly and then looked down at Katie, petting her head. “Go on, go show Cole your best friend.”

They watched her lead Cole through the crowd for a moment before Sirius huffed.

“See?” Sirius whispered to Remus. “It’s like he’s scared of me.”

“I’ve never heard you use the phrase spoke briefly in my life. Who are you, Alice?”

“I was trying to be professional!”

Remus laughed. “Why?”

Sirius just rolled his eyes and dragged him over to stack their plates with food.

The party went well into the evening, the sky pink and blue in the setting sun. There were lanterns floating in the pool where Evgeni and Jackson were playing chicken with a delighted Marc and Louis, or sometimes one of Coach Arthur Weasley’s boys, on their shoulders. Logan was sitting with Cole and Finn, cradling a sleepy Katie against his chest, Leo and Regulus laughing with Kasey and Alex.

Remus found Sirius again standing alone in front of the Cup. His hair was falling into his face, the curls gentled by the evening breeze and the Cup’s silver surface reflecting the silver of Sirius’ eyes. Remus went to stand beside him, and neither of them spoke for a moment.

“I’m nervous,” Remus broke the silence.

Sirius nodded. “I know, mon loup.”

Remus sighed, resting his head against Sirius’ arm. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Sirius switched his drink to his other hand so he could run his fingers through Remus’ hair. “This is…big.”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Remus whispered. It felt dangerous, to say the words aloud. “It’s everything that I lost. Last time.”

Remus could still feel Fenrir Greyback rip at his shoulder, even if it was years ago now, while they were still at college. Being in the NHL meant that Remus would have to play against him again whenever they met Vegas.

Sirius turned towards him, hand on his cheek.

“You will have this,” he said earnestly, and then smile, reaching into his shirt for his necklace, the one Remus had gifted him last Christmas. He brought it to his lips. “Loops.”

Remus smiled at the now familiar sight, touching the pendant when Sirius’ let it drop.

“You know,” Remus said. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted, too.”

Sirius’ smile was one of Remus’ favorites, and he tucked him against his side. Remus followed his gaze to find him looking at Cole again.

“I’m not happy with the way it happened,” Sirius said softly, and Remus knew he was thinking of the pictures that someone had leaked of them kissing. The pictures that had upturned their entire lives. “But I’m glad I get to hold you like this in front of new faces. I wasn’t thinking about trades—I try not to—but getting Reyes, if things had been different, would have meant we were back to square one at parties like these.”

Remus nodded, taking a drink. “And he seemed okay with it. With us.”

“I was thinking we should invite him to train with us. With me, you, and T. Maybe Dumo would join, too. I know he usually goes with Sergei, but Sergei might be with Kuns and Nado, even though they usually like it just them. The Cubs—”

“Okay, Captain, okay,” Remus laughed.

Sirius pressed a hand over his eyes, laughing. “I just don’t like it when they’re nervous around me. Like Leo was. It’s so much better now that we’re friends.”

“You’ll get there with him,” Remus said. “Yeah, invite him to train with us. The more the merrier.”

Secretly, Remus wanted to see how Cole trained. He couldn’t shake the analytical side of him, the physical therapist side. Cole was built for such a young age.

“If I didn’t know better,” Sirius said softly, mouth close to Remus’ ear. “I’d say you were checking him out.”

Remus spluttered. “I’m not! I want to know his routine!”

Sirius cracked up. “This is your superstition, isn’t it? Cracking other player’s codes.”

Remus just shrugged, smiling into his cup.

“Have you cracked my code?” Sirius asked in the low voice he used that made Remus not want to be surrounded by people.

Remus looked up at him. “Maybe. It certainly has nothing to do with a piece of toast at five o’clock.”

“My pre-game toast is very important to me.”

Remus leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “No, you just like honey and cinnamon.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to talk to Reyes now.”

“Catch him if he passes out.”

Sirius just glowered over his shoulder as he stalked across the grass. Remus looked around at the back yard, at the team, together again. His team.

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Maria! You have been accepted for the role of Abel Hawker (FC Change: Jeremy Irons). Woah. I may be biased, but I was blown away by your interpretation of Abel. He’s a human being made up of dichotomies and you found such a beautiful way to write him. His gentle yet terrifyingly stern manner of speaking, his war hero past, everything is perfect. We cannot wait to see what kind of Mayor your Abel will turn out to be! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Maria Age: 23 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT Activity estimation: Every other day Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Abel Byron Hawker Age : 05/08/1923 Gender: Male Pronouns: Him/Her Sexuality: Straighter than the Tennessee Line Occupation: Mayor of Devil’s Knot Connection to Victim: Abel Hawker knows pretty much everyone in Devil’s Knot, whether they realise it or not. The same could be said for the Goode’s. Though he never personally interacted much with Brian, Abel certainly positioned himself at the forefront of the search. After all, a Mayor has to take responsibility for the safety of his citizenry. In Abel’s case, he does so by putting pressure on the police on Ms Goode’s behalf. Not that she asked him to, of course. Alibi: According to Abel and members of the Chapter, he attended his regular meeting after church but left early due to a headache and went home. It was, like many evenings, the usual for the Mayor. Faceclaim: Jeremy Irons

WRITING SAMPLE

The Michigan sun poked through the veranda, the soft, not too warm glow basked Mayor Hawker’s face in its orange hue. A curl of smoke cut through the clear blue skies as it wafted from the end of his thickly rolled cigar. He remained like that, leaning on his rocking chair, its long swinging creeks creating a lulling song that he could and had listened to most of his life.

It was his father’s chair, and his father’s father likely sat on something not too dissimilar. Carved from the wood of one of the many red oaks that lined the property, it represented everything the Hawker’s were about. Longevity, home-grown and standing the test of time. He fingers, rough and coarse from the years, ran over the expertly polished arms, just appreciating the craftsmanship as well as the weather.

As he sat, relaxing and looking out, a little song crept into his mind. It drew a slow forming, gentle smile on his lips, his crisp paper-like skin pulling with it. There was no one around, and that was just how he liked it in long afternoons like this. For a moment, he let his eyes closed, heeled shoe clicking against the hardwood of the patio, drumming the beat for an old ditty.

“I loved a girl in Saginaw, Michigan…” His voice was underlined with a faint croak that matched the eek of his chair, the tune rumbling deep in his chest to produce the consummate voice of an older singer.

An image began to form in his mind as he took another deep intake of his cigar. Him and his boys in the brushy fields of Pyongtaek, the beginning to the Korean war stretching out ahead of them. Benny banged his metal mug against the table with all the enthusiasm of Buddy Rich reborn, and Tony clapped completely offbeat as Abel and Ryan started up a song. It wasn’t this one, but that didn’t matter. He could still see them now, their eyes bright and ready to return home as heroes. It wouldn’t take long, after all, it was just some country folks who had caught up with the Russian’s red curtain, that’s what they thought. “The daughter of a wealthy, wealthy man…”

The image of Benny sprawled across the dirt floated up in Abel’s mind as the song continued. His guts had been a pollock-esque splash of reds and browns, glistening in the summer heat. Next to him, Tony was slumped with a bullet hole in the centre of his head.

“But he called me, that son of a Saginaw fisherman…”

And Ryan? Well, Ryan never quite came back right. They found him drowned in the river just two months before the end.

“And not good enough, to claim his daughter’s hand…”

The front gate creaked down the long garden path that led up to the porch, causing Abel to crack an eye open. He pulled the cigar reluctantly from his lips, licking the spot that it had sat on, its warm presence still a ghost against the skin.

“Now I’m up here in Alaska, looking around for gold…”

He continued, a little louder, letting the words drift towards his new guest. The flash of the Sherrif office’s brown uniform was all he needed to see, continuing to idly rock as if he hadn’t noticed anything at all. Only once the visitor was climbing the porch steps did he deign to speak rather than sing away.

“I was startin’ to wonder if you were gonna turn up, my boy.”

The youth was a rookie; it only took one glance to tell. Blonde hair and greener than the fields, the 20-something kid awkwardly grasped his belt and tried to stand straight, but it was evident with the uncertain flicker of his eyes around the large Hawker estate that it was all for show. Abel thought he recognised him, one of those good for nothing kids that got raised on the poorer side of town. Typical that George Adam would give these economic rejects a chance. “Urm…ur…Mayor Hawker, sorry to bother you sir but-”

“Aye, aye, I’m aware boy, you gotta do your due diligence and get the story of what I was doing that night.”

Abel slowly pulled himself off his chair, with all the speed of a seaswept turtle, which was entirely on purpose, as anyone who knew Hawker knows that the Mayor kept himself in good health. He gave the standard ‘ah’ that an old person was expected to give after completing menial physical tasks as if they had climbed the summit of Everest. With a wave, he gestured the kid officer to follow, pushing open his ornately carved front door and shuffling into the Hawker estate.

Estate was a polite word for it. It was a mansion in pretty much every regard, an ancestral home that would immediately put anyone at unease. There was just a vastness to it that put one on the back foot, as they look up at the ceiling that seemed almost as far as the moon, it’s large traditional beamed structure overlaying a pure white paint job. The walls were a half mix of beaming, polished to a shine, wooden panelling and delicate fleur-de-lis sprouting wallpaper that made it feel akin to a royal’s home.

Confronted by a large hallway that could easily fit three people shoulder to shoulder and a long, winding staircase that enticed one to see what the three upper floors held, the rookie police officer did what anyone would have - he froze.

Abel for his part kept walking a little down the way until he glanced over he shoulder, that grin coming out again. It was the full simper that belonged to a man a few decades his junior, but he wore it now just as he had in his youth, the life in it flashing in his eyes like claps of thunder. It that moment, it was as if he filled the space of the whole house, as grand and extensive as it was. “Come on boy, ain’t time for slack jaws, your boss will have your ass if you take too long.”

The cop shook his head free, quickly stepping after his guide. The house on its part kept an eye on the visitor, the walls lined with sprawling quantities of photos, whose subjects stared out to those passing. It went from old sepia constructs that desperately tried to fight the effects of ageing behind their glass windows to much more recent copies, showing the Mayor, his own children and a plethora of grandchildren.

Eventually, they turned into one of the adjourning rooms, revealing a parlour lounge. Abel didn’t waste a moment, his body immediately cut to the side of the room where a tray sat with a collection of alcohol, whiskey duly placed in a decanter. The rookie didn’t even have a chance to speak before the older man was thrusting a delicate crystal tumbler with the perfect amount of ice and bourbon in it.

“Ah..” The officer blinked after what seemed like an age, finally processing what was being offered and responding to it with a gentle shake of his head.

“I’m flattered sir, but I’m duty I can-”

“Hogwash.” Abel cut in. His voice had a sense of power to it, a thick with husky confidence that was at once both honeyed in Michiganian drawl and intense in its strength. It was almost like being hugged and punched at the exact same moment, it winded you, and you found yourself wondering what exactly happened.

“Ain’t your ma told you that it’s rude to refuse what is offered in a man’s home? It’s just one glass, ain’t no one gonna know.” He pressed the glass into the boy’s chest, and let it go, forcing the poor chap to hold it to avoid it following.

Abel turned around to sit on one of his lounge chairs, the movement hiding the sly smirk that drew across his lips. It always was so easy to play people to a fiddle. More often than not, all it took was a level of firmness, confidence that just begged people to question you and say no. Most people fold because humans, by nature, try to escape conflict. It only took fighters like the Hawker patriarch to know how to only bend to your own will.

“Aren’t you having some as well, sir?”

Perched on his old leather chair, Abel gestured at the boy again, his old veiny fingers beckoning him like a lazy puppeteer. He seemed almost like a relaxed king, his chin lifted in what could be confused for an old man trying to adjust his sight but was, in fact, concealed contempt. “Me? Oh no, I’m going on eighty, son, I gotta pick my battles with the booze. So, whatcha gonna ask me?”

Deputy took a sip of the bourbon likely to try to avoid causing offence and cleared his throat awkwardly before drawing closer to the Mayor. “Well sir, I just need to know your whereabouts and actions on the night of Saturday, 5th October.”

“Boy, if I told you about my whole day, we’re gonna be here till morn, how about you just give me some times to work with eh?”

A blush drew across the officer’s cheek, and he took a longer sip of the bourbon, trying to drown out the embarrassment. It was quite the social awkwardness to waste the Mayor’s time after all. “Ah yes well, any time in the afternoon would be helpful, urm, sir.”

“Well, I spend most of my evenings by the church, meetings and such with the local community. Wasn’t any different that way. I was doing an after prayer meeting at the church like I’ve been doing for longer than you’ve probably been alive.” It didn’t seem like a cutting remark, more just a flag clearly planted. It spoke clearly to the situation 'I’ve been doing this for a very long time. Have respect’.

“Yes, of course, sir, I’m sure the group will also confirm that, ah…um…” The poor newbie was struggling on the whole 'interviewing’ process, he juggled between his glass and getting a notepad from his shirt pocket. In what could only be described as an awkward tangle of limbs, the deputy eventually flicked to a page of notes and setting down his glass, he starts to write.

“Did you do anything after that, sir?”

Abel paused. It was just a minutia of movement, a brief hesitation that was entirely missable. He had to think about what he wanted to say for a moment, which was a rarity. “I got a headache, my age you know, soon as you get a whiff of a cold it hits you hard. So I came home early, and just…relaxed.”

“Of course, understandable, sir.” The youngster gave a nervous smile that likely was trying to be charming, though Abel barely gave it the time of day. Took more like cordial social interactions to actual gain his favour. He was at his heart, the sort of man that appreciated action over the frivolity of words.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The deputy blinked, and stared at Abel as if to ask 'me?’. The Mayor just raised a patient brow, a corner of his lips curled in a half-smile to encourage the boy.

“Urm, D-Deputy Roger Turner…sir.”

“Roger, old sorta name that. Did Sherriff Malvo recruit you?” Abel asked his questions with a gracious smile, but his tone was the kind that a police officer may have wielded ironically. It held a profound sense that answering wasn’t optional.

The deputy just nodded, putting his pad away and blinking away like an epiphytic deer in headlights.

“You know, I went to school with the Sherriff. I was older, but I knew him well enough. Still know him.”

Still completely lost on where this is going, the officer just bobbed his head along like a toy being shaken. His eyes were wide-eyed as if the prospect that his boss could know the Mayor well was surprising, even though anyone with even a modicum of a brain would expect it.

“I know, that if he knew one of his deputies, sent here to question me formally in the capacity of his office, decided to stand around and sip my bourbon, he’d fire them quicker than you could say missing kid.” It was said with the clinical cut of a surgeon. A master of the board calling out his checkmate, though Abel had to admit when it came to dimwits like Rogers, it so easy as to be boring.

The penny dropped. No, in fact, it tumbled down with the force of a loosen boulder, and just like that the naive youngster realised the brevity of his mistake. The only thing deputy could offer was a bumbling mess of words. “I well, you, um, I don’t…what?”

“It’s alright, my boy, I ain’t that cruel. I think we can come to an arrangement, make sure you can keep doing your good work. Take a seat.” To say Roger took the seat was being charitable, it was closer to collapse, the heavy browned leather of seat wrapping around him and making him seem like the 'boy’ that Abel had been calling him from the start. He just mutedly nodded, putting himself in the Mayor’s mercy.

The grin came back as Abel sat forward, a cat who had spotted its next meal. His eyes narrowed in conspiratorial slits a that broad smile of a kindly old man could now be seen to be what it actually had been, the deadly visage of a man who was unforgiving in exploiting your weaknesses. A game hunter in sight of prey.

“Now, why don’t you tell me all the hard work ya’ll have been doing. Don’t leave anything out.”

ANYTHING ELSE?

> Abel Hawker is a man of the draft. Not only did he serve in the Second World War upon turning 19 in 1943, but he then went on to make a second draft into the Korean war in his twenties. He’s a man who has killed and be trained to kill, causing violence to be no stranger to him. However, being a soldier has its price. There’s a simmering rage in Abel that’s hidden beneath his advanced age and small-town manners. It takes a lot to unsettle a man whose been in such brutal wars, but if you do, expect to find a hurricane of force that would rival many of Michigan’s infamous tornados.

> The Mayor was a loyal husband while he still had a wife, and can be quite the caring partner back in the days when he bothered with relationships. A sense of loyalty runs deep in him, and it spreads to his family. While he could never truly understand the interracial and liberal relationships that his children took on, he never removed his support (though he did spare a comment or two of opinion on it), because to him, family sticks together, always.

> No one is entirely sure of the source of the Hawker family wealth. It seems to be an accepted part of Devil’s Knot. The sun rises, the snow falls, and the Hawker family are wealthy. Only Abel and his father before him genuinely knows how the fortune was built and continues to be maintained. Make no mistake, the Mayor does not just sit on his inheritance, he grows it, to pass on to his son and his grandchildren. A tree after all, without the right care, only withers.

> The day of Brian Goode’s disappearance, Abel did indeed attend his usual Chapter meeting, he did also leave early. However, the bit he fails to often mention is that he had visitors to his house that evening when his grandson was seemingly long asleep. Man in dark coats and suitcases, who spent quite a few hours speaking to the Mayor about matters not uttered very openly.

> Mayor Hawker is quite the singer. Back in his day, in fact, Abel was part of a travelling band for a few years after the Korean war. It was just a hobby of boys trying to find work (Abel’s father was notoriously frugal), but should someone look hard enough, they may see old photos around Devils Knot of the band’s past shows. Still now, one can often catch him singing an old tune or listening to a recording on his record player. He surprisingly keeps up with more modern music too, but you’d never catch him admitting it. Perhaps in another life, he could have tried at it for real.

[wandschrankheld]

Lousy Weather, Clear Skies

Characters: APH Russia, APH America, APH Canada; Minor: APH Australia, APH Seychelles  Relationships: Rus/US Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: During the preparations for a family get-together in a remote Alaskan cottage, Alfred and Ivan get surprised by a blizzard and lose contact with the outside world for a week. 

My gift for @bella-voce1812 for the @rusame-secret-santa-2017! It’s fairly obvious which of your prompts I chose, but I hope I managed to create something you’ll like! I’m pretty satisfied with it myself - so here’s my gift to you, six pages of established relationship fluff. 

There was a last „- and don’t eat all the ham-!“ before the line fizzled out and Alfred was left with silence.

„Dead“, he sighed and dropped his phone on the couch with a soft thud. „Telephone poles must’ve given out under the snow. Not that the reception here is anything to write home about in the first place...“, he muttered under his breath, frowning. „Mattie says they ain’t comin‘ through, not tonight, anyway. Set up camp in, uh, Eagle Village – y’know, the tiny lil‘ town we drove through on the way here?“  

Ivan gave a low hum from the other side of the couch and flipped the page of his magazine.

„Everyone else wasn’t gonna be here before the day after tomorrow anyway, so“, another sigh, deeper this time, as he sank back into the leather cushions and the supposedly real fur throws, „looks like we’re stuck here. Alone.“

Ivan hummed again, neverminding Al’s dejected tone.

„Dude. Seroiusly?“

Ivan looked up, eyebrows raised in question.

„How can you be so calm?“

He chuckled, and placed his lecture on his lap. „It’s just snow, Alfred.“

Alfred did not appreciate that comment. His fingers found the hem of the throw he was leaning against and started combing through its strands, twiddling them between his index finger and thumb. „It’s a fuckton of snow, is what it is.“ He turned his head to the side and backwards to look out of one of the large, square windows lining the sides of his cottage, and groaned. „And it ain’t stopping! Are you seeing this shit? These flakes are as big as my head!“

Ivan, amused, tilted his head to the side to watch the snowflakes dance in a wild flurry. It was getting hard to see the landscape as their dance grew more and more rapid with each passing second. „Ah, but your head is very tiny, you see.“

“Haha”, Alfred pulled on the fur and played with the threads that would come loose before letting them go over the edge of the couch and watching them fall to the floor slowly. “Very funny, big guy. I’m serious. There could be a blizzard comin’, and you’re sitting around reading Teen Vogue!”

“I’m not reading Teen Vogue-“, Ivan protested, a smile still lingering on the corners of his mouth, and was cut off promptly by Alfred jumping off the couch. He started marching towards the opposite end of the room, where the kitchen was, then changed his mind and turned on his heels to dart off to the right. He went straight for his jacket, and before Ivan had the opportunity to ask him what he was doing, Alfred had thrown him his coat and scarf.

“C’mon, buddy. We gotta blizzard-proof the house while we still can.”

Ivan reluctantly arose from his comfortable spot on the sofa, and together they layered up before venturing outside. It took them the better part of two hours to carry firewood, gas canisters, LED lamps and the emergency generator upstairs, most of the time which was spend looking for things Alfred was sure he’d stocked the house with only for him to remember he had given them all away years ago, or to find them broken and untended to. After they were forced to leave the gutters rudimentarily cleaned due to the heavy snow obscuring their sight and the harsh winds biting at their skin, they double checked the locks of each window and door, and finally the insulation on the pipes.

By the end of it even Ivan was ready to admit that, just maybe, the ongoing snowfall would pose more than just an inconvenience.

They cooked up a feast to reward themselves for their hard work – “As long as the electricity’s still workin’, right?” – and ate it listening to the old radio that looked like a brick and had its weight too Alfred still had from the cold war era. They bickered over whether to listen to festive, kitschy Christmas music or ancient, soothing classical tunes, and had a heated game of rock-paper-scissors decide who could choose the channel for each course.

After their plates were clean and the radio started playing white noise rather than music, they strolled back to the living room sofa. They curled up on the sofa, Ivan with a book as thick as his hand was broad, Alfred with this quarter’s copy of the “Reviews of modern Physics”, and soon were entangled in a snug embrace. Ivan was lying on his back, his feet reaching over the armrest on the opposite end, his arms slung tight around his boyfriend – who, in turn, had his legs entwined with Ivan’s and his head resting on his chest, and was turned to the side. His hair was ticking Ivan’s nose, and Ivan’s elbow jabbed into Alfred’s sides every now and then, but it was warm and cozy, so neither minded all too much.

With Ivan’s hand softly petting his hair, and his cute cheeks and soft lips just within kissing distance, Alfred nearly forgot about the storm raging outside. He stopped fumbling with the edge of every new page, stopped pulling and folding until thin tears rendered the top of the page almost unreadable; he stopped fidgeting, and started to relax. Maybe this whole storm thing wasn’t even so bad. Maybe, having some alone time – even if it was forced on them – would do them some good.

Alfred pressed a soft kiss to Ivan’s lips, delighting at the surprised noise he produced.

Yeah, maybe this wasn’t gonna go bad at all.

That was day one.

 On day two, the snow did not stop falling. It laid on the earth as a blanket so thick they couldn’t pry the front door open, and Alfred emptied a pot of coffee in less than two hours. Ivan, concerned, held his hand and cracked a joke about being used to it snowing harder than this in July. Alfred, feeling the caffeine, insisted on opening a window so he could run outside to grab more firewood. Ivan had to block the window with his body, and no amount of whining, pleading and prophesizing of their cold, frozen deaths would move him. He finally persuaded Alfred to channel his energies into something less likely to give him frostbite, and they danced to the trickle of music the radio played, danced whatever they could still remember the steps to – Charleston, Lindy Hopp, Polka, Sudarushka.

They ended in a waltz, Alfred’s hand on Ivan’s hip, Ivan’s hand on Alfred’s shoulder, and their joined hands clasped tightly, swaying to the beat. The radio had fizzled out, producing nothing more than static, so they hummed their own melody – one two three, one to three -  and Ivan would chide Alfred ever so gently for growing too impatient and messing up the rhythm.

They danced until Alfred crashed from the caffeine, and Ivan let him sleep in his lap while he bravely ventured on through his book.

 On day three, Alfred drew a mistletoe on a sheet of paper, and held it over every doorway Ivan attempted to pass through. It was cute at first, but got annoying fast, so Ivan retaliated by simply lifting Alfred up, turning around 180 degrees, and putting him down where he stood before walking through the door. Alfred found it hilarious, and demanded he kiss him anyway. Ivan obliged every time.

In the afternoon the snow stopped, and they cleaned as much of it off the roof as they could and scraped snow and ice from the gutter and the windows.  Back inside, Ivan produced an old deck of cards from his luggage, and they spent the rest of the day playing Durak and Canasta, with brief instances in-between games of Alfred trying to teach Ivan Minnesota Whist, and Ivan doing the same with Bura. They kept going back to the familiar games, and ended up playing poker for pennies and kopecks until deep in the night. When the electricity finally gave out, they lit some candles and turned on the LED lamps they had brought up from the basement, and played until Ivan fell asleep with his cards still in his hands.

 On day four, Alfred was bored. He had exhausted the batteries of both his phone and tablet listening to audiobooks and podcasts he had downloaded for the trip, and Alfred himself had insisted just hours before that they only use the emergency generator for essentials when Ivan had wanted to plug in his kindle. Books were boring, dancing was boring, cards were boring and Ivan – Ivan was boring too, for wanting to stay in bed and cuddle.

Alfred cleaned out the storage closet and wiped down every surface in the house. He dusted his shelves, and rearranged every book and DVD by color, and every item by the degree to which it made him smile. He re-arranged the furniture in living room and guest room each four separate times and still wasn’t happy with it, but before he could do it a fifth time, Ivan emerged from the bedroom and announced his body was demanding sustenance. They threw canned goods in a pot until it smelled good, and Alfred threw in diced ham – “To refine the taste” – and corn – “Just cause I like it”. Ivan burnt his tongue scarfing down the stew, and Alfred gladly kissed it better.

In the afternoon, Alfred remembered that he had an attic, and set out to explore. He brought down an old, dusty carton that reeked faintly of mold filled with VHS tapes spanning the genre gap from “7 years in Tibet” to “The Rescuers Down Under”. “This is a necessity”, he declared, and Ivan agreed as long as he could pick the movie. They lounged on and in front of the couch watching “Meet Joe Black”, and dozed off to “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”.

 On day five, it was Ivan’s turn to mope. The snow had started up again, and was falling in a thick sheet. Ivan did not care for it. He didn’t want to get up at all, and hid under his blanket until Alfred made him poke his head out and listen to him tell a funny story about what happened last time Arthur tried to order knitting wool online. He clung to Alfred’s sides and whined until he pet his hair, and soaked up his warmth like a leech. They stayed in bed until well in the afternoon, living off protein bars and candy from their pockets, and the care package Yekaterina had made Ivan bring, just in case. It’s fun, and it’s soothing and it’s reassuring, having each other completely for themselves after all the time they had spent apart.

They migrate to the TV some time in the afternoon for another VHS session, and heat up the leftovers from yesterday. They build a house of cards on the floor, a romcom chattering away in the background, and talked about what they should have brought with.

“I wish I had my chess set here… you still know how to play, yes?”

“Duh. It wouldn’t have ended well for you – be careful – I wish I’d brought another book…”

“I have a book you could –“

“An interesting book, Ivy. Oh, and my toothbrush.”

“ – What?!”

“Just kidding. Or am I?” Ivan punched him in the arm, and knocked over their house of cards. “Aw.”

 On day six, things did not start out well. The snow stopped falling, but ice made it hard to see out of the windows, and the wind was going strong, still. Ivan wanted to stay in bed, and Alfred was itching to play full contact football or do literally anything else that would get his blood pumping and his muscles aching – and Ivan was extremely not in the mood. So, Alfred put on sturdy gloves, goggles and two jackets, and started shoveling snow off the winding path to the cottage possessed by an impatient spirit. Ivan slept an uneasy sleep, tossing and turning in the polka dotted bedsheets.

When he crept down the stairs, there were bags under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept all week. Alfred was exhausted as well, but jittery and hungry and with an insatiable need to tell Ivan all about the snow he had just spent many futile hours shoveling here and there.

It started with off-hand comments, throwaway lines that on any other day would be less than irritating, and soon they turned to specifically targeted jabs, exploiting their long relationship to the fullest to hit where it truly hurt. Neither of them started screaming – Alfred had a loud voice by nature, and found it enough to drive home his points; Ivan grew more and more quiet, his eyes like needles and his mouth a blade. They broke apart when one of Ivan’s comments had Alfred stagger back, dumbfounded, and he grabbed his wooly hat and goggles to storm outside once more.

He slept on the couch that night, arms crossed and thoughts racing.

 On the seventh day, the skies finally cleared. The snow stopped falling, the wind ceased blowing, and the radio spat out more than static again. They listened to the weather forecast in silence, and they plugged in their phones so that the others could reach them. Alfred was the first to apologize, not looking at Ivan once during the speech he’d rehearsed in his mind all morning. Ivan took his hand, pulled him closer and kissed his forehead. “ I am sorry, too.”

They held each other for a while, needing but not wanting to talk about what had happened the day before. It wasn’t the right time for it. Finally, they broke apart, and Ivan suggested they go outside and build a snowman. It turned into a competition, each of them piling more and more snow onto their creations until neither of them was recognizable as a snowman anymore. Alfred insisted his was a sasquatch, while Ivan thought it was quite obvious that he had build a snow Snegurochka – the other insisted all he could see was a blob, and so they started over, and over, and over again.

It was dark by the time the cold drove them back inside. They set up a kettle of tea and pooled the last of their candy and sweets, and settled down on the couch once more.

“You’re cold”, Ivan said and pressed a soft kiss to Alfred’s icy nose. It tickled, and Alfred hat do laugh.

“So are you”, he said and returned the gesture. Ivan denied it firmly, but his nose was just as red as Alfred’s. Alfred snuck a hand up Ivan’s sweater and placed his icy fingers on his warm skin, and laughed at his boyfriend trying to hide the shiver going up his spine.

“Y’know, Ivy?”

“Hm?”

“You’re real cute.”

Alfred flashed him a wide smile, and watched in delight as Ivan’s cheeks grew a faint pink.

“Am not.”

“Mhm. Yeah.”

“Stupid”, Ivan pulled him close to his chest, not giving him enough time to protest being smothered. “You know flattery will get you nowhere, yes?”

“It got me in your arms, though, babe – “

Ivan squeezed him tightly until Alfred giggled out a “No, Stop-!”, and tried squirming out of his embrace, a big smile on his face. He only let go of him for a few seconds to let him catch his breath before going on the offense again and tackling him, so he was lying with his back on the couch.

“You are cute!”, he said, and placed a flurry of butterfly kisses to Alfred’s neck, who was still trying to wiggle free, laughing, his hands grabbing at Ivan’s shoulders.

“You’re being unfair – let go –“, he giggled as Ivan nibbled at his skin, and softly pulled at his hair to guide his head up. Ivan kissed the underside of his jaw before obliging, and looked down on him with eyes so warm they could melt glaciers. Alfred was breathless.

“I love you.  More than you could ever hope to know.”

Their next kiss was soft and gentle, at first, Alfred’s hands in Ivan’s hair and Ivan’s weight resting comfortably on his legs, his stomach, and his arms were wrapped around him. It grew deeper soon, lips parting to make way for breath, and tongues and teeth and finally they were holding onto each other for dear life, their hearts beating against their chests in unison and icy cold hands sliding up scratchy, soft sweaters on both sides.

“Ivy-“, Alfred gasped, trailing his thumb down his cheeks.

The door flew open.

“Are you two alright - ?!”

Ivan and Alfred scrambled apart. Ivan knocked an empty cup off the table, and Alfred lost his balance and toppled over the arm rest and onto the floor. There was a loud thud, footsteps and snickering, and Alfred heard Matthew sigh.

“Seriously?” he shook the snow off his boots before stepping forward, and set a large bag of groceries down on the floor. Behind him, Nicholas and Victoire were both wearing the same shit-eating grin, as well as lovingly hand crafted beanies. “We thought you died.”

“For real, we even had a bet going –“

“The two of you did, don’t drag me into that.”

“Oh yeah? You owe me a five, Mr. “Died of starvation” Williams.” Victoire mocked, and cleared the snow off her thick hoodie. Nicholas gasped and slipped out of what looked suspiciously like a pair of moon boots.

“They even got snickers, see?”, he pointed at the sweets piled on the table, “I told you my ice bear theory was more realistic. “

Matthew grumbled and sighed, and headed straight to the kitchen. “Whatever”. He ruffled Alfred’s hair as he walked past him, and Alfred thought he saw something like relief wash over his brother’s face. That nerd. As if anything here could kill him – well, apart from Ivan, maybe.

Ivan shot him a puzzled, but amused look, and extended a hand to help Alfred off the floor. He’s up on his legs soon enough, and pressed a last kiss to Ivan’s cheek before walking past him, following Matthew into the kitchen. Ivan, cheeks still red, righted the collar of his turtle neck and nodded “Yes” when Nicholas asked him if he reckoned it was OK with Alfred if he took one of his candy bars.

“Al, where’s the ham?”, they could hear Matthew say from the kitchen, and Victoire and Nicholas started snickering again.

“We ate it.”

“….You ate it.”

“Yup.”

“All of it?!”

“We were gonna die, Mattie! I was gonna die of starvation if I hadn’t eaten that ham – your own brother! – Ack, no, that’s unfair-!” The telling noise of skin smacking against skin, and Alfred came rushing out of the kitchen with a big laugh on his face, holding his recently viciously poked at sides.

“My ham-!”, Matthew came out after him, hands at the ready.

Ivan watched, laughing to himself until Alfred decided to use his body as a meat shield and hid behind him. They chased each other around the living room until Matthew tripped and Alfred caught him, nearly losing balance himself. Matthew gave him a good hard knock on his head with his own, and pulled him in a huffy hug.

“Naw Mattie, y’know you shouldn’t have left me alone with that ham. Sorry”, Alfred laughed and patted his shoulders. Ivan watched his boyfriend closely, a smile settling on his face.

“I know”. He points to one of the plastic bags bursting at the seams. “That’s why I brought two more.”

[theartofdyingrp]

Congratulations!

Welcome, Valeria! You’ve been accepted as Aaron Solano. Well, I may or may not have cried reading this. Thanks for that. I think your vision of Aaron is so well thought out and I can’t wait to play on the dash :) 

Please send in your account to the main within 24 hours and be sure to read our New Member Welcome Page.

OOC INFORMATION -

N A M E

Valeria, she/her.

A G E

Twenty-four!

T I M E Z O N E

CST.

A C T I V I T Y  L E V E L

REMOVED FOR PRIVACY

A N Y T H I N G  E L S E

REMOVED FOR PRIVACY

IC INFORMATION -

D E S I R E D  R O L E

Aaron Solano.

W H O  A R E  T H E Y  T O  Y O U

Aaron is deeply afraid of disappointing the people who matter the most to him. Failure is simply not an option for someone like Aaron Solano. That’s why he ended things with Eileen. Whenever his father went to prison, Aaron felt disappointment and hurt within himself, and deep down, he wanted to spare Eileen of that. Even if it was on a subconscious level. On the surface, Aaron believes that he ended things with Eileen because she simply didn’t understand that type of grief that he was feeling. She didn’t understand the world that he was a part of because he wouldn’t let her.

For someone Aaron’s size, it’s pretty impressive that he managed to worm his way into such a violent hobby. Determined and competitive, Aaron’s rather fearless whenever it comes to his opponents. Most people would think that someone of his stature would be easy to beat, but Aaron has a lot of heart, and he was trained by the very best. Aaron cannot shy away from a challenge. He’s gotta be the greatest, every time – it’s probably a Solano thing.

Though Aaron noticed the flaws in his father, he still thought that the man was the closest thing to perfection. Aaron idolized the man, aspired to be just like him whenever he was all grown up. The fact that Aaron placed his father on such a pristine pedestal certainly made everything all the more difficult whenever his father fell from grace. Aaron sincerely believed that his dad was untouchable and watching him cuffed and sentenced in a court room hasn’t left his mind since. Aaron didn’t like the idea of not being in control of that situation – that there was nothing he could possibly do to fix his father’s mistake. Because of that, Aaron is wildly protective of Amelia. While his cousins don’t necessarily need protecting, that doesn’t mean that Aaron wouldn’t do anything humanly possible to keep prevent another family tragedy.

Whenever it comes to work, Aaron can actually be rather charming! Most people underestimate Aaron because of his boyish looks, but Aaron’s managed to win over quite a few independent dealers with his charisma. Money looks good on Aaron, and he wears it exceptionally well. Aaron’s confident, and potential clients can always see that. With a wave of the hand, Aaron can usually summon a server with the most expensive bottle of liquor in the building.

C R E A T I V E

I don’t have any creative stuff (yet) aside from the para sample~~ I will try to maybe get some other things together later!

- - - - -

No matter how hard Aaron tried, he couldn’t move on from the idea that his father was gone. For-fucking-ever. He’d rot in a prison cell for the rest of his days – a goddamn sin for such a skilled fighter. Now, his father would eat shitty, prison food. He’d lose his agility as the years went on – his muscles would get stiff. He’d grow old in a gray fucking cell, wearing an orange colored jumpsuit, and miss out on Aaron and Amelia’s entire lives.

Aaron didn’t think it was humanly possible to be as angry as he was. Losing the man who had taught him everything, after losing his Uncle Luis. It was a shitty fucking year. Why not get rid of the last good thing in his life?

Eileen.

Aaron loved her – a whole fucking lot. But after all of the loss that he’d endured, there was no room for love in his heart. There was no room for tenderness, or understanding, or patience.

Aaron stood at Eileen’s doorway, stiff as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was trying to comfort him – to show him compassion and empathy, but there was a wall that Aaron couldn’t tear down. There was another side to Aaron’s family that she was, for the most part, very unfamiliar with. She could never understand.

“You doing okay?” Eileen wondered, her hand resting on the nape of Aaron’s neck. He glanced down, found her eyes, and nodded – as if he wasn’t about to fucking break her heart. He could see the concern on her features as she tried to decipher the puzzle before her.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Aaron began, gently removing her hand from the back of his neck. Aaron took a step back. As if he wasn’t ripping his own heart in two. “We’re over.”

Eileen stood there like she’d been hit so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Finally, she opened her mouth – to argue or offer some sort of explanation, but Aaron couldn’t hear her. He’d made up his mind.

“I can’t, Eileen,” he snapped, his voice cold and detached. “I just can’t fucking do this anymore.” He said it like it didn’t hurt.

Aaron turned around, walked away before Eileen could say another word. He made it down to his car, sped away to the location of the next fight. It was over. Thank fucking god it was over. Right?

Aaron forced himself not to think on the fight over. He didn’t wonder if he’d regret this later on, once the dust has settled. He didn’t think about what Eileen had done once he’d left. He didn’t think about how Max’s arms were probably around her.

He won the fight, but only barely. Aaron walked away with a few broken ribs and a swollen left eye. But he’d won, and every time that his fist slammed into his opponent, he saw his father, his uncle, his ex-girlfriend. He’d walked away from the match with a couple thousand bucks – pocket change for Aaron Solano. It meant nothing.

A trusted associate dropped him off at Amy’s. He didn’t want to go to a hospital. She opened the door, obviously concerned, and tended to Aaron’s wounds. Amy went to work quickly, digging out the first aid kit that had been running low on supplies after his last few visits.

“You look like shit,” Amy said gently, trying to mask the concern in her voice. She knew that it was a difficult time for… everyone. And Aaron seemed to be taking it the hardest.

“You should see the other guy… or whatever,” Aaron replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Amy didn’t laugh. He stood, pulled at the ends of his shirt to change into a spare t-shirt that Amy had, but he winced in obvious pain. Aaron tensed, stifled a cry in his throat. He watched as Amelia’s hand inched towards her cell phone – probably to call a doctor.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They can’t do shit for broken ribs. It’ll be fine. Just… let me crash on the couch.”

Amelia frowned. “You need to get out of that shirt if you’re getting anywhere near my couch.”

Amy walked over, fished out a pair of scissors from a drawer, and tore Aaron’s shirt down the middle. Amelia froze whenever she saw the deep, purple bruises forming on his abdomen. Aaron didn’t realize they were that bad.

“Aaron…”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just gotta sleep it off. I don’t work for a few days.”

Amelia stayed silent as she wrapped an ice pack with a clean kitchen towel. She pressed it against Aaron’s swollen eye. “I can call Eileen–”

“Nah. We broke up.”

Amelia knew better than to lecture Aaron, or pry into the details of his break up. Especially right now.

“Oh. That sucks. I’m… really sorry.”

“It’s fine. Hey, we should order expensive food and a few bottles. On me.” Aaron dug out the wadded up hundreds in his pocket. He slammed them on the table.

The twin telepathy thing was real. He could physically feel Amy’s concern, and he knew that she could feel how badly he was hurting. Even if he’d never admit it.

“'kay. You pick what we watch,” she said, handing him the TV remote. Aaron looked up at the TV, his vision slightly blurry. He blinked a few times. Fuck. Did he have a concussion, maybe? Amy must’ve notice the look of confusion on his face, and the way he was squinting to get a better look at the TV.

“Aaron…” Amy said, staring at him with the same sad eyes that she’d had since their father got locked up. “You’re– I think– you’re…”

Aaron looked down, saw that his chest was wet. He reached up, the pads of his fingers brushing away what felt like tears. He was crying.

“Oh. I guess my ribs hurt more than I thought,” he simply said.

Amy nodded. She knew what that really meant. She wrapped a blanket around Aaron’s shoulders.

“I think we should watch something scary,” she suggested. “I hear Hereditary is really fucked up. I bet you’ll be so scared, your ribs won’t hurt anymore.”

Aaron nodded. He walked over to the couch, sat down as comfortably as he could without being in too much pain. As Amy pressed play on the movie, all Aaron could think about was how fucking miserable he felt. He had no desire to crawl his way out of this misery, either. He wanted to live in it forever – his own prison cell.

[the-caboose-be-loose]

Letting the Daydream Continue, Ch. 2

Linka hummed a tune quietly to herself as she milled about in her room. She was just trying to kill a couple of minutes while she waited for Loki to finish getting ready for their trip to the mall, so her options were limited to things she could put down easily. The comic book laying on her desk caught her eye.

A recent purchase, she’d just read the whole thing two days ago. The art was great in this one and, since she knew the story, flipping through it again could let her appreciate it in a way she hadn't been able to before. Artists were always sneaking in little details you only catch the second go-around.

She grinned widely as she settled on the side of her bed and flipped it open. The story wasn’t bad, but it was pretty typical villain-of-the-week stuff for the heroine to deal with. Her off-and-on love interest had been taken hostage while he was snooping where he shouldn't and, yadda-yadda-yadda, he’s captured and she's gotta get him out.

The villain didn't really have any powers besides being a good fighter in a gimmicky costume, but the choreography across the pages was excellent. Whoever came up with it clearly had an appreciation for the martial arts and the artwork captured it beautifully, really giving it that sense of motion and fluidity that is difficult to find in still pictures. It moved so smoothly that it was completely believable for the heroine to not only knock the villain out with a blow, but also destroy the love interests bindings at the same time. Completely ridiculous if you thought about it, but necessary since he needed to be free for what the writer wanted next. Linka turned the page to a full spread of him launching forward, grasping her cheeks and smashing his lips to hers in a massive kiss.

Blushing brilliantly, she slapped the comic book closed with both hands. She'd forgotten about that page and how she'd had the exact same reaction two days ago. She had purposely pushed it far from her thoughts specifically because she didn't want to think about it and, well, looks like that plan backfired on her.

“Ugh…” she groaned, setting the comic aside and putting a hand to her forehead.

She drew it down her face, then slapped her cheeks to try and prevent the growing funk inside her. That only helped her remember someone else's hands touching her cheeks just like that love interest had. And now she was thinking of the word “love interest” in relation to her brother. Her thoughts were just snowballing at this point, so she might as well stop fighting them.

Why did Lynn kiss her?

He acted like it was just part of the play-fight, but Linka wasn't stupid. That kiss was way too intense for it to be some sort of joke or something. She’d kissed a couple times before and none of them even came close to what that had been. It’d been a week and she still couldn't stop thinking about it.

Lynn had gotten back with the ice cream and apparently that was that as far as he was concerned. He hadn't brought it up at all since then. Linka wasn't sure what exactly she expected him to do, but she thought he would do something related to it. Take her aside and apologize again, at least. Yet he hadn't mentioned it at all. She certainly had no idea how to bring things up herself, so the topic just sort of lingered like an uncomfortable fart in an elevator.

Things between her and Lynn had gotten to that level of awkward. Linka feared it would continue to be like that until the matter was set to rest. There was perhaps a chance that continuing to ignore it, as Lynn seemed to be doing, would eventually let it pass. She didn't really see that as likely, though, since every time she saw him the memory inevitably came back.

If she had to guess, she could go maybe 5 minutes in his presence before it all came flooding back. The slight bit of perspiration forming on his forehead from the heat of the day. The look of shock he had when she flipped them and how quickly it switched to one of determination as he acted. How his hands, lightly callused from years of sports, had landed on her cheeks and gently, but firmly, commanded her to stay put. That soft, yet rough feeling of his partially chapped lips meeting hers and the burst of warmth throughout her body that eliminated any desire to resist. The longing for it to happen again after they broke for breath, but before she came to her senses.

“Heyyy, Linka, sorry that took a bit longer than I- whoa!”

Linka snapped out of her daydream memory with a jolt. She'd slipped back into it just thinking about thinking about it! This was getting ridiculous. She looked over to see Loki standing at the entrance of her room, a grin as sly as it was wide growing until it reached from ear to ear.

“Jeez, we’re going to need a bucket and mop with all that drool you're leaking everywhere,” he teased.

“I'm not drooling,” Linka said with a huff. Despite her words, she touched her mouth anyways just to be sure.

“So who’s the lucky boy that’s got you all flustered?”

“I wasn't thinking about a boy!”

“A girl?”

“What?” Linka asked, confused.

“Yeah, a boy,” Loki said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“I said I wasn't thinking about anyone!”

“Then what were you thinking about?” Loki asked, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh! I, uh…” Linka’s mind raced for an explanation. She latched on to the drool comment for inspiration. “Ice cream!”

“Ice cream,” Loki repeated in a flat tone.

“Yeah! Ice cream! I could reeeally go for some. Can we go by the ice cream parlor at the mall?” Linka begged, tilting her head down and looking at her brother with large puppy-dog eyes. She hoped this new line of thought would dissuade Loki from prying any more.

“Riiiiiiiight,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “Sure, I don't see why not.”

Linka knew she hadn't convinced him, but at least he was backing off for now. Hopefully the time she had bought would be enough to make him forget…

-------

“Like the ice cream?” Loki asked, lapping at his cone.

“Mhm!” Linka hummed as she licked a melting drop before it could dribble downwards. She took a small bite of the soft treat and moved it around her mouth so it wouldn't burn any particular section with the cold sensation.

“As much as you liked when he kissed you?”

Linka’s tongue mashed the ice cream to the roof of her mouth in surprise. It stung, and she felt the beginning of an ice cream headache before she quickly swallowed to stop it from happening. She winced at the feeling of something so cold sliding down her throat and forced an eye open to glare at Loki.

He was nonchalant, merely continuing his lazy laps at his own ice cream as he watched her. He kept his face fairly neutral, but she saw the gleeful grin he was trying to hide. This was obviously a train of thought he was very intent on pressing, she might as well just answer him and satisfy his curiosity. Without divulging too many details, of course.

“I didn’t like it,” she said once she'd cleared her mouth.

“Yeah you did,” Loki said dismissively. “Like I said, you were basically drooling at the memory.”

“I was not! I checked!”

Loki rolled his eyes, “‘Basically,’ I said. Just because you weren't drooling for real doesn't mean you weren't ‘basically’ drooling. You totally liked it.”

Linka frowned, “I didn't! He just grabbed my face and kissed me out of the blue! I didn't want to kiss him!”

“Wait, he forced you?” Loki’s voice turned from teasing to serious.

Linka panicked, she hadn't meant to make it sound so bad, “I-I mean, no, he, well, he, y-yeah, sorta, I guess? It wasn't really forcing exactly, or, it was, but like, it made sense in context? I mean, I kissed him first so he was just kinda taking over the situation.”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You kissed him first? But you said you didn't want to-”

“I didn't! I didn't want to kiss him, um, that way… I kissed him as a joke. It was just a peck! See, we were wrestling, and I had to distract him and-”

“Waaait, wait, wait,” Loki interrupted. “So, you were wrestling with a boy, as in, close physical contact. Then you kissed him.”

“Well, yeah.”

Loki stared at her and Linka shifted uncomfortably. She licked her ice cream for a bit of comfort.

“Did, did it not occur to you that he might like you?” Loki asked.

Linka hesitated. The answer was an absolute “No”, but she knew she'd look like an idiot to Loki if she said it. He didn't understand. Obviously, she normally wouldn't have been surprised if a boy kissed her in that situation, but the thing was that the boy was their brother! Of course it didn't occur to her that he might like her.

“I-it…” she stuttered, “I, um… n-no. But it's kind of complicated.” Linka was struggling to answer him honestly, but vaguely so he wouldn't guess the truth.

“Complicated?”

“Yeah. It’d take awhile to explain, but we, uh, well I didn't think he’d think of me that way. I thought we were just good friends.”

“Good friends, huh?” Loki asked suspiciously. “Do I know this boy? I don't think I know any of your guy friends you're close enough to wrestle with, but you don't think are interested in you…”

His eyes suddenly popped with revelation and Linka felt unnerved. “Wait! You're full of it, aren't you? It's not just some random boy that surprised you, is it?”

Linka sweated nervously, afraid of what he would say next.

“You were totally into this boy before and you've been keeping him a secret from us!”

“Wh-what?!” Linka said, flush spreading to her face. Where the hell did Loki get that idea?! She didn't like Lynn in that way before he kissed her, or after for that matter!

No, no, Loki was just reading into this with what he knew, she realized. He thought she had some secret boyfriend she'd been hanging out with. Good lord, was that better or worse than if Loki somehow guessed the truth of the matter?

Or had he, in an indirect way he wasn't even aware of? She'd fallen into that kiss so easily. It'd been stuck in her thoughts ever since it happened. What if she did like Lynn before he kissed her and she had just been oblivious about it the same way Loki was now? An answer so ridiculous she wouldn't have even considered it if not for the kiss itself.

“Maybe I did…” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh! N-nothing. Nothing important!”

“Aw, you aren't sure, are you?” Loki said sympathetically, patting her shoulder.

Linka averted her eyes, not wanting to give away anything more. She'd been dumb giving anything away to begin with. What would happen if Loki found out Lynn had kissed her? There had been a dangerously protective look in his eyes when he asked if she'd been forced into the kiss. What if he thought his own brother had forced weird thoughts into her head? She didn't like her brothers fighting over petty stuff, so something that serious was a terrifying prospect.

“I'm not sure, no,” she said, looking up at Loki with a half-hearted smile. “Um, can, can I ask you for a favor?”

Loki gave a confident grin, “Need advice?”

“No, or…” she paused. Loki had helped her move her thoughts on the whole situation, which was more than she had been able to do in the last week. She shouldn't just discount him out of hand, though she'd have to be very careful about it. “Maybe. But, that's not the favor.”

“Mhm?” Loki hummed, cocking his head.

“Can you keep this between us? You know, not tell any of the others? It's really complicated and I, I don't want to make it, y’know, even more complicated,” Linka said as she watched a large dollop of ice cream slip from its perch on the cone and land on her wrist. It was cold, but she barely felt it.

“Yeah, sure, sis!” Loki said cheerfully. “Just between you and me, got it!” He leaned in, a smile on his face but a serious glint in his eyes. “But, for real, let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks,” Linka said, forcing a smile to match his to her face. “I will.”

“And, hey, Linka,” Loki said, leaning back.

“Um, yes?” she answered, licking the dollop from her wrist.

“Did you actually like it when he kissed you?”

His voice was quiet when he asked it this time. It didn't feel like the same teasing question as earlier, more like actual curiosity. Linka felt the memory coming back yet again, though more subdued than before. Maybe being honest about how she felt made it all less distracting?

"Yeah,” she said, warmth growing in her core. “It was really nice…”