#oh shit bitch this is kurt BONE DEEP

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Tempest in a Teacup: Three

Clint was enjoying watching you work from his spot a ways away in the grass. The dulcet tones of Kurt Cobain’s wailing drifted across the grass interspersed with some hip hop songs. One was something about being 100% that bitch. It wasn’t bad. 

Slowly, a cooler was brought out and other drifted out with lawn chairs, lounging and watching the show. Clint knew you’d be at it at least the better part of the day and he’d drift between sitting with the others and sitting on top of one of the tables with you.

You were barefoot and sitting on the table when he brought you a coke, “Looks good so far, Punk,” he said fondly. You frown, “I hate it,” you say rubbing your neck. “Baby girl,” he said, kissing your head, “you hate everything until you polish it up.” You groan and he smiles a little, “You’ll see,” he encouraged, “It’s going to be beautiful when you’re done.”

You look up at what you’d done so far, thinking. Asgard was a tall order. Especially since you’d never seen it and you were working from a few blurry cell phone pictures from Jane Foster and the stories Thor had told you. Clint watched you thinking and sat quietly next to you. He’d told you last night about the money and what he planned to do with it for you. Education and a car you could drive back home to Chicago. He’d keep your bike until you were actually old enough to drive it. And some of it for you to just have fun with. Maybe take a trip somewhere with friends and do kid shit. He was glad you were a good kid with more common sense than he’d had at your age. You’d said that that all sounded perfectly reasonable and politely asked to be able to have some money to buy tickets so your Gran could see a band she was fond of when they made it to the states in October. Good kid, he thought nodding to himself.

By the time you finished your work, you’d warmed to it a little. A panoramic Asgard as seen through a telescope. Complete with a rainbow bridge. It was pretty fantastic. And Thor thought so too. He’d pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and insisted Jane take pictures so he could print them to show his mother.  Clint was proud of you for even trying to do it. Privately Pepper told him this might be your best work and she anticipated it making quite a nice sum of money on the Auction block. Even more, now that they were going to display your previous work alongside it at the Gala. “Is Y/N still going to be your date?” Pepper teased gently. Clint had been bringing you with him for years to avoid being hit on. No woman would hit on a guy with his teenage daughter nearby. I mean, most of them didn’t want to be a stepmom anyway. And Clint was pretty sure that any woman who’d say some of the gross things women had said to him with you in earshot wasn’t the type of woman who deserved to be your stepmom. 

The rest of your visit was fun. Clint enjoyed his time with you, watching movies, playing pranks, and having him teach you how to defend yourself in different ways. 

He made himself watch you until you were out of sight. He had promises that you’d be careful and that you’d stop for the night when you got tired and that you’d call him the second you were back at your gran’s in Chicago. He hated it. Hated it when you left. He really did. He always had. He liked it when you were around. The sneaky moments of humor and knowing with 100% certainty that you were safe. He knew why he couldn’t keep you as the custodial parent. Why it wasn’t feasible. But that didn’t make him feel better about it. Natasha put an arm around his shoulder, “You okay, Clint?” she asked. He nodded, “I think I’m gonna go lie down,” he said stretching, “I’ve got a while before she’s going to call me for anything.” She squeezed his hand, “Want company?” she asked. All he could do was nod. It felt like a piece of his heart was roaming around outside of his chest. She walked with him. She knew that this would last a couple days. He’d be sad and worried until you called and told him you were finally home. 

She also knew it wouldn’t be long until he got you back for a week, for fall break and the Gala, but telling him that now wouldn’t do much good. 

________

“Hey, Punk!” Clint said firing an arrow at a HYDRA Agent, “Did you get your plane tickets?” Clint could hear you hesitating on the phone and he was struggling not to sound out of breath. You worried about him enough without hearing him at work. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” you say and he can hear you taking a deep breath, bracing for fall out. Or a lecture. Or worse being shouted at. So he waited and fired a few more arrows, getting some Goons off of Steve’s back. “Can I bring a date to this thing? Just for the Gala part,” the words come out in a rush and Clint lets out the breath he was holding. He’d thought you were going to tell him you weren’t coming. “What’s his name?” he asked smiling a little. “Her name,” you correct quietly. And he realizes you’ve probably been getting shit for it for weeks trying to work up the nerve to tell him. That hurt. 

Not that you were dating a girl. He didn’t give a fuck about that. It bothered him that you felt like you couldn’t tell him. But that wasn’t a conversation for right now. “What’s her name,” he corrected himself. “Kat,” you answer. He can hear you smile and it makes him feel a little better, “Is she pretty?” he asked, teasing. “She’s really pretty,” you say softly. “I can’t wait to meet her,” Clint said, “send me a picture?” “Okay,” you say and he can literally hear the tension ratcheting back down for you and he wants to give you a hug and a cookie. “Listen, Punk,” he said gently, “I love you. I gotta go. Work’s calling.” You sigh and he can hear rustling paper, “I love you too, dad. Be safe,” you tell him. It’s a command, not a request. The line goes dead and he goes back to work, trying not to think about how desperately he wanted to go to Chicago and hug you. 

Later that night, when he was icing his shoulder and replaying his last conversation with you in his head, he looked at the picture you sent. You had your arms around this girl, Kat. You were looking up at her like she hung the moon. And she was pretty. Long blonde curls and big green eyes. Tall and curvy. But there was a coldness to her. She was looking at the camera and not at you. The longer he looked at the smirking smile on her face. “Oh, man,” he groaned, “This girl’s trouble.” He found himself hoping that when she did break your heart it was quick and she was gentle about it. Or better, he hoped that he was wrong and she just studied modeling or something and that was her picture face. 

Tags:   @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt​

[purrpickle]

Because I’m not feeling up to finishing any of my Christmas WIPs, here, have a preview of one of them instead:

The days passed, Rachel practically acting like nothing had happened, already having straightened everything and put it all back so it was cleaner than it had been in the first place by the time Santana and Kurt had come back from the bar near them that didn’t card. Santana, who came around every other day, couldn’t reconcile the girl with the creature of anxiety she had seen, and the one time she had tried to bring it up, Rachel had artfully waved it away, asking her to try the vegan spaghetti sauce she was making and did Santana want some dinner to take back to her hotel? When she talked to Kurt, he was even more lost, being intimately privy to his roommate’s willful avoidance.

“…so I’m just saying I think you could move back in after Christmas,” Kurt smiled tentatively at her, holding the door open for Santana to walk inside, “Rachel seems to have calmed down. The fact that she allowed you to stay overnight last week was a good sign.” He grunted as he wheeled the door shut behind them.

“Yeah,” Santana replied, shrugging off her coat to add it to the already bulging coat rack, “I was surprised she could handle my presence for that long. I was getting used to split seconds of friendliness and lowering of guard before she’d snap back into remembering she was barely tolerating me. When she went crazy was practically the longest time I’d talked to her in a while.” She smoothed her hair down, behind her shoulder, allowing an uncharacteristic hint of vulnerability to cross her face as she turned back to Kurt. “It’s getting expensive at the hotel. And I’m pretty sure the manager’s filming when I take a shower.”

Kurt gasped. “That’s terrible. Maybe you should switch hotels?”

“Hummel.” Santana levied a serious look at him. “It’s the cheapest hotel that has working locks anywhere near here and the diner. I can’t afford to move. Either money-wise or possessions-wise.”

Offering Santana a bottle of water from the refrigerator, Kurt sighed. “I’m sorry Elliot couldn’t take you in. You sure you and Dani won’t…?”

Santana almost coughed around her sip of water. “Ugh. Way to ask me when I’m drinking,” she gave him an unappreciative look, shaking her head and taking a deep breath as soon as she could breathe fully. “No. I’m not like your Warbler – not expecting my ex to take me back when I run off and sleep with someone else – even flirting with marrying that someone – before breaking it off.” She shrugged, “I’m mature enough to admit I didn’t handle any of that well.”

Kurt gave her a strained look. “He’s not ‘my Warbler’ anymore,” he said flatly.

“What? You guys broke up? And here I thought you two were so ‘destined’ that even Sue was planning your wedding!”

“What – Sue – ?” A weird look took over Kurt’s face, “Okay, that’s creepy. But for your information, yes, the last time I flew back to Lima, I broke up with him.”

A slow, real, pleased smile spread across Santana’s face. “Look at you, Porcelain, finally growing the balls you should have grown years ago.” She held up her hand for a high five. Once Kurt gave in, slapping it, she smirked at him. “I was beginning to think you’d be lost in Anderson’s unhealthy gravity for the rest of your life. Was even scripting my intervention, a la Plastic Gigolo.”

Kurt covered his face with his hand, badly hiding a smile. “Ohh, and I want you to move back in again why?”

“Because you love me and I’m the only one willing to call you out on your bullshit.” Santana tapped her nose, smiling.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt placed his water bottle back into the refrigerator. “Let’s just hope Rachel realizes that, too. If only so I don’t have to pay so much.”

“Yeah, you’re an intern. That’s the polite term for ‘buttmonkey we don’t have to pay’. Though, wait.” A giant grin stretched across Santana’s face. “Maybe you like that…?”

Kurt was saved from answering as the squeal and rumble of the door rolling open made them turn to watch Rachel back into the loft, barely stopping to strip herself from her jacket and gloves before twirling on her heel, greeting, “Good afternoon, Kurt, Santana,” as she breezed past them on her way to her “bedroom”. Watching her, and only turning back after the blanket swung closed, Santana met Kurt’s thoughtful frown. “Well, at least she said my name this time. Progress?”

Kurt nodded. “Definitely progress.”

Santana sighed. “Great.” Though she didn’t say it out loud, she was honestly starting to get truly fed up with the girl’s hypocrisy. Sure, she could hold a grudge like the next bitch, but this was ridiculous. And she hadn’t been lying – the hotel was eating up her funds. Hell, sometimes, when she was alone and listening to the constant boning of her next door neighbor, who just so happened to be a sex crier, ew, she even wondered if it was worth it trying to cater to Rachel’s ego. The girl had always been bat-shit insane. Santana didn’t even know why she was putting up with Dani’s cold shoulder at the diner just because she wanted back into her life, kickass loft aside.

But she did want back in to the strange family Kurtcheltana had been. Sighing again, Santana picked at the label of her water bottle. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation anymore.

A hesitant touch made her look up. Kurt smiled at her supportively. “After Christmas.”

Santana smiled back, but honestly wasn’t sure if she would be able to stick around that long. Her ill-advised spur-of-the-moment trip with Brittany had depleted her funds. What did it say that she was practically dependent on her ‘rents sending her money? God, she was acting beyond pathetic. Gross.

Rachel breezed back into the open space, expression tranquil and perfectly welcoming as she bypassed Santana and Kurt, pulling a container out of the refrigerator. “Should I leave this out?” she asked no one in particular.

“No,” Santana muttered, suddenly unable to feel up to being around the smaller girl, “I have a late shift.” Ignoring Kurt’s surprised look, she mustered a smile for Rachel when she turned to her, nodding at her offered, “Have a good evening, then.” “Right. …Night.”

Some ways, she thought, glancing back to see Rachel and Kurt conversing calmly behind her, slipping into her coat, Rachel’s casual dismissal was worse than righteous, overflowing animosity.

Oh well. She’d give it ‘til Christmas. If worse came to worse, she was sure Sue would hire her to whip the new Cheerios into shape, even if it was only for a penny a day. At least then she’d have a guaranteed place to stay at her parents’ house and a valid source of respectability.