#With Sleeper i think so they both got watched many times and seeped into my dna. I didn't remember Robert Lang being in it but then way

[danny-chase]

Hysterical Strength - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson and Garth, Dick Grayson and Roy Harper Characters: Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU), Roy Harper Additional Tags: POV Dick Grayson, Dick grayson centric, Teen Titans as Family, Broken Bones, Medical Inaccuracies, climbing up a cliff, Forehead Kisses, Garth needs a hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, a little bit of BAMF Dick Grayson, Garth whump, Dick Grayson Whump, Roy Harper is such a dad, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Garth (DCU), Dehydration, Confusion, can be read as slash for whoever you want, or no slash, idk up to you, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Garth is Tempest, Hello Kitty blankets, no beta we die like all three of them, Blood, Implied vomiting Series: Part 3 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Garth saves Dick, and Dick has to immediately return the favor.

Full Story Under Cut

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Recon. Would you believe Dick Grayson started out his night thinking he could actually handle an easy recon mission?

 Yeah, he couldn’t believe it either.

   He groaned, coming to on a damp floor. Night mode had activated automatically, and turning his head, he could see the insides of a cavern.

 Something was pinning him to the spot. He shifted and was welcomed by the sound of pebbles pattering down rocks in return. A sharp pain ran up the length of his calf. He moved slowly, pleasantly surprised to find nothing else wrong.

 What wasn’t fine, was whatever was pinning him was warm. Soft. Human… or well, too warm to be human, but warm enough to be…

 “Tempest?” He panted, cautiously shifting his arms out further. Creeping further out, he dragged himself forward, pausing whenever too many pebbles began trickling down around him. “Tempest, report!” No response. “Aqualad… Garth?” He could feel his pulse speeding up, adrenaline and worry mixing to heighten his awareness.

 Dust rained down from above as he dragged himself forward out of wreckage, the details of the mission coming back to him. Radio silence was to be maintained at all costs, the H.I.V.E. had caught on to the frequencies they’d been using. They’d been ambushed, caught off guard on the side of a cliff, nowhere to run.

 Garth had been next to him, they’d been alone. H.I.V.E started shooting, rocks started pouring out of the sky, an explosion in the distance. The last thing he remembered was being tackled out of the path of an avalanche. “Oh… Garth.” He doubled his efforts to drag the two of them out of the rubble.

 Avalanche. They weren’t safe here; the structure of the cave was possibly compromised. Silently, he thanked Bruce’s paranoia – he’d memorized the system instead of the map… which he lost… well… hopefully he still knew where they were.

 Crawling out from under Garth was tricky, but manageable. Rising to his knees, he got his first good look at his unresponsive friend. Blood trickled out from a head wound, and the back of costume was torn to shreds.

 <em>It should have been me.</em> He pushed the thought out of his mind, it didn’t matter, what mattered was getting Garth out of this; he needed medical attention. They weren’t scheduled to be back for another couple hours. He couldn’t expect help, he’d have to do this alone.

 It was his fault – he’d proposed this mission. He thought they were safe - the only way this could have happened is if someone had betrayed them. Stupid. He’d had more than his fair share of traitors, had been a traitor too – ugh. He’d have to increase the monthly brainwashing screenings to biweekly, this was getting ridiculous.

 And it was getting his friends killed. He dug his heels into the ground, centering himself in reality.

 One last tug and Garth was free of the rubble, he dragged him back a few more steps for good measure. He bit his lip, more injuries becoming evident; Garth’s right leg had snapped below the calf. “Now would be a great time for you to wake up.” He muttered, pulling a small medical kit from his gauntlets. Field dressings would have to last till they reached the exit.

 Starting with the headwound, he stemmed the bleeding best he could, taping on some gauze. He slipped a hand under the tattered remains Garth’s costume, feeling around for broken ribs and assessing scrapes as he went. He wrapped his ribs and prayed he hadn’t shifted him enough to puncture a lung. Moving on, he splinted Garth’s right leg with his escrima sticks.

 He leaned rolled back off his knees to the balls of his feet. He’d done what he could… which was never enough.

 Nothing he did was ever quite enough.

 He quickly wrapped the gash on his calf, it stung but wouldn’t kill him - like staying in the cave would. Fortunately, if they were where he thought they were, he knew a path leading out to the extraction point, avalanche, hopefully notwithstanding.

 A shiver ran up his spine, as he rose to his feet; the cave was damp and cool, the chill seeped in from rips in his costume. He hesitated, staying here wasn’t really an option – H.I.V.E. would come looking for them soon. But moving Garth like this could cause more harm than good.

 One day without having to make impossible choices. Just one day would be nice.

 As it was, he crouched down, sweeping Garth up in his arms, carefully trying to minimize the stress on his ribcage. Keeping his back straight, he slowly stood, and took a step towards the exit.

 Garth’s head lolled against his chest, warm puffs of breath tickling his skin as he walked. He tried to look at the bright side, at least he wasn’t cold – Garth was like a little space heater in his arms. On the downside, he had a mile walk, followed by a hundred-foot climb to the exit. And five miles after that to reach help. No pressure.

 Except for the crushing reality that he could be causing one of his best friends more internal bleeding. He did his best not to jostle him as he walked through the caves, watching his footing, and picking his steps carefully. It was an oddly familiar situation – if he squinted, he could pretend these were the tunnels under the manor, and he was twelve years old, carrying a practice dummy around as training.

 This wasn’t training anymore, for better and for worse. His arms no longer burned with exertion after the first few minutes; now, he could keep this up for hours though, the stakes were higher. And so, he silently walked, twisting and turning through the tunnels, watching Garth carefully as he went, scanning for signs of distress.

 Maybe it was a sign of how much time he spent in caves, but he was oddly comforted by the sounds of wings flapping in the distance. Bats.

 Garth twitched, and Dick froze in his tracks. He was a notoriously light sleeper, a hangover from the days spent alone in the wilderness – it meant the difference between life or death.

 “Garth?” His eyes shot open, and he squirmed, trying to break free of Dick’s grasp. “Calm down, it’s me, your safe. Garth please, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He tried to sound reassuring, as safe was probably an overstatement. Either way, the man slumped back into his arms.

 “Sorry.” He croaked, and Dick’s heart sank.

 “Sorry? Garth, I’m the one who should be sorry.” He ducked down, pressing a kiss to the top of Garth’s head, and picked up his pace once more. “I put together this mission based on information I collected. This is my fault.”

 “Mm.” He groaned back, squeezing his eyes shut. Dick gritted his teeth.

 “Do you need me to stop for a second?” Garth shook his head slightly. “Garth, what’s wrong?” His voice came out more panicked than he meant.

 “You… really need to ask?” He wheezed.

 “Humor me. How are you feeling?” Dick fought to keep his arms as still as possible, climbing up a few rocks as the elevation started changing.

 “Not great.” Garth got out.

 “Can you get your arm around my neck? That might help take some pressure off your ribs. Or I could try to-”

 “Dick?” <em>No names in the field</em>, a voice eerily sounding like Bruce chanted in his head.

 “Yeah?” He couldn’t quite tell through the night vision, but Garth seemed paler then normal.

 “Please stop.” He fell silent, pressing the chin to the top of Garth’s head in acknowledgement, and rolling down to give him another quick kiss. He vowed again to fix this.

 A few minutes later they reached the bottom of the entrance. Dick swallowed uneasily. He was going to have to climb using both hands, which meant moving Garth.

 As he stopped, Garth opened his eyes. “Leave me.” He quietly suggested, staring up at the opening. Dick huffed.

 “Over my dead body.” Which, if he slipped, that’s what it would be. He lost his grapples in the previous fight, and his climbing gear had to be left behind. Carefully, he laid Garth down on the cave floor. “I’m getting you out of here.” He tore the top half of his costume off.

 “By stripping?” Garth flashed a pained smile. Dick rolled his eyes.

 “I need my arms, you’re gonna have to ride on my back, and I don’t trust you to hang on.” This was going to be a pain in the ass. Or in Garth’s ribs. Likely both. He pulled out a wingding, and began fashioning a harness, with a little seat at the bottom.

 It was funny, how he didn’t even need to take measurements. He memorized all the Titan’s dimensions years ago. He knew Garth’s girth like the back of his hand.

 “Dick.” Garth hissed. “I’m slowing you down… Go get help and come back.” Dick ignored the protests as he pulled the strips around Garth’s chest. “They’ll catch us both.” He slid the makeshift seat under Garth’s legs, looping through to connect the bottom part of the harness.

 “I’m not leaving you alone.” He promised, helping Garth sit up. He sat between Garth’s legs, physically strapping the two of them together. <em>Try leaving now, Garth</em>. “Tell me to stop if this is too much.” He raised Garth’s arms up, easing them around his shoulders, luckily not hearing Garth hiss in pain. “This is okay?” He asked, getting ready to attempt standing.

 Garth rested his head against Dick’s. “I’m fine but… you should go.” Dick reached up, taking Garth’s hands in his own. He kissed each of them.

 “I love you.” He wouldn’t let Garth go. Not after Joey. No more Titans would die on his watch. “You’re going to live.” He grabbed Garth’s thighs and braced himself.

 A low whimper escaped Garth’s lips, barely audible, as Dick struggled to his feet, lifting all two hundred plus pounds of dead weight. He gritted his teeth as he made it halfway to standing, letting go of Garth’s left leg, he grabbed a rock on the wall, and pushed himself to his full height.

 “There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” He panted, looking up at his daunting task. “Let me know if you need a break.” Reaching up, he found his first handhold. Then stepped up on a little ledge, letting go of Garth’s right leg slowly, making sure it didn’t brush the ground.

He stepped up and reached, pulling himself up a few inches higher. Took another step up. He kept his breathing deep and steady. He grunted, raising the two of them up again, reach, pull, step, repeat. “Don’t look down.” He warned, feeling Garth’s head turn.

 It wasn’t long before his muscles started shaking with effort, his fingers burning. He was grateful to have his gloves.

 They were maybe twenty feet off the floor. “Do you need a break?” Garth whispered.

 “Nope.” He grunted. “You?”

 “Nope.” Dick took a deep breath and pushed up a few more inches. He could feel sweat building on his forehead. Another few feet and it began trickling down. “I can do this.” He muttered, not sure if he was talking to Garth or himself.

 “I love you too.” Garth whispered. “We all do... You don’t have to do this.” Dick snorted, reaching up for another hold. He concentrated on the rock wall. Yes. He did need to do this.

 Ignoring his burning arms, he climbed on, scanning the rocks for handholds, listening for any sounds of intruders. Counting his breaths and sharpening his mind. Sweat poured down his face, dripping off his chin. He ignored the straps cutting into his shoulders, the unbearable weight hanging off his back.

 He was halfway up when Garth nudged the side of his head. “I hear footsteps.” He warned.

 “Well. Fuck.” He’d been pacing himself before – no longer an option. He allowed panic to wash over him, giving in to the adrenaline rush, praying it’d last to the top. He picked up his pace, scrambling up the side of the underground cliff.

 At the seventy-foot mark, he heard the faint sounds of scouts making their way through the tunnels. He doubled his speed again. Garth squeezed him tight, and Dick thought of nothing but him – how he would die if he slowed down, how it was his fault Garth was even here, hurt and broken – he had to get him out. Stopping was not an option, ignoring everything else, he focused on the top of the cave.

 He moved to step up, but his other foot slipped in his haste, leaving him hanging by his hands. Garth squeezed tighter. His arms screamed and his heart hammered in his throat. He scrambled for footing, only finding some higher than before.

 He needed to pull himself up. But his arms had frozen up, pushed to their limits.

 He couldn’t move. He was stuck.

 He was stuck and Garth was going to die.

 “Nightwing.” Garth whispered urgently. Panic ate through his chest. “Catch your breath.” He pleaded, Dick shook his head, adrenalin spiking.

 “We’ve got to go.” He bit back, not caring to hide the fear in his voice. He grunted – muffling a scream and yanked himself up. His vision blacked out for a moment, and somehow, he made it to standing.

 He continued in the adrenaline-fueled haze, blocking everything out but the wall in front of him. Before he knew it, his hands reached the top, and he pulled them the rest of the way up, crawling away from the edge, he was vaguely aware of his stomach flipping as he stood, and something coming up his throat.

 The next few moments were a blur, and taking his first steps, he moved away from foul smelling stuff on the ground. <em>Get Garth to safety</em>, was the only thought on his mind as he briskly walked through the forest he’d emerged in. Continue north, keep moving – nothing else mattered.

 He wasn’t sure how long it’d been when he finally realized Garth was saying something. “What?” He whispered, constantly turning his head, scanning for danger. He could see the extraction point in the distance.

 “Are you okay?” Garth whispered. Dick took long strides, quickly closing the distance. He pulled a camouflaged sheet off their little plane. “Dick?”

 Time seemed to slow down as the sheet drifted to the ground. Dick blinked a few times. What was he doing?

 “Nightwing?” Ah yeah. Get Garth to safety.

 “Tempest.” Opening the door, he slid Garth into the passenger’s seat, and slipped out of the straps. He ran to the other side, hoping into the pilot’s seat, and gunned the engine.

 For some reason, his fingers refused to close around the controls. He glared at them, mind over matter – commanding them to close once more. They obeyed. Soon, they were in the air once more. His entire body shook, though he hardly understood why. Time seemed to speed up. He blinked and they were about to reach the Tower.

 Shaking himself into the present, he landed the plane with a practiced ease, relying on muscle memory rather than his own confused mind. He was getting… so tired. Like he couldn’t move… His eyelids drooped… Garth said something next to him… Garth!

 Eyes snapping open, he jumped out of the plane as it rolled to a stop. “HEY!” He screamed into the empty hanger. “GARTH NEEDS HELP!” He dragged himself to the intercom. The last thing he coherently remembered was hitting the panic button, his knees giving out, and sliding to the floor.

 A flash of colors and sounds exploded around him, too much to comprehend.

   The next time he opened his eyes, he was sitting on a couch, leaning against Roy. A half empty bottle of water sat in front of him. He felt like a pile of jello. “Wha?” He had a vague tingling he was supposed to be doing something.

 “You back on planet earth?” Roy rumbled, grabbing the water and twisting off the cap.

 “How’s Garth?” He realized, the words tumbling out of his mouth as fast as he could say them.

 “He’ll be fine, drink this.” He held the bottle up to Dick’s lips. He tried to grab it himself, but his arm just limply twitched. Traitor. Either way, he chugged the cool liquid. When he finished, it finally dawned on him that someone had wrapped both his wrists.

 “What happened?” He asked. “Where’s Garth? I’ve got to-” He tried to stand and succeeded in flopping his chest to his knees. “-Why can’t I move?”

 “Because you decided to free climb 100ft. straight up with 200 pounds on your back. And then walk five miles without stopping.” Roy leaned forward and pulled Dick’s legs onto the other end of the couch. “And despite what you seem to believe, you’re a human so you probably tore like a bazillion muscles, not to mention, you were dehydrated as fuck.” He kicked his legs up on the coffee table, lifting Dick’s head into his lap.

 “Where’s-”

 “Oh, my god, bird brain. Garth is fine, he went into surgery half an hour ago to fix his ribs-” Dick bristled.

 “That doesn’t sound fine to me.” He muttered. Guilt clawed its way into his chest. “I didn’t – shit. I shouldn’t have moved him, I should have-”

 “Calm your tits! He’s sleeping in the recovery room, he got out five minutes ago.” Roy sighed. “Jeez, you did the best you could. Cut yourself some slack.” He reached over the edge of the couch and grabbed another water bottle. “And take a nap or I’ll waterboard you.” He threatened, waving the water above his head.

 Dick blinked a few times, feeling exhaustion wear him down, his body sinking into the couch. He was going to be sore as fuck tomorrow – but that was tomorrow and now was now – and right now, he wanted to see Garth. He gazed into Roy’s eyes, relaxing his brow, and meticulously forming a slight pout. Roy crossed his arms, scrunching up his nose as he stared back. Dick wobbled his lower lip, opening his eyes wider. Roy sighed.

 “Fine, I’ll wake you up when he wakes up. Are you happy?” He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, then grabbed a couch cushion. “Stop it, now I’m immune.” Dick squirmed as the pillow covered his face.

 “Asshole.” He grumbled, though it came out more like “aff-ole”.

 “Can’t hear you.”

 “Fine, deal.” Light filled his vision again, as the pillow was slipped under his head. Roy pulled down a Hello Kitty blanket from the top of the couch. “You’re such a dad.”

 “Call me daddy, and I will end you.” The tips of Roy’s ears turned red. Dick grinned but decided not to push it. Well, maybe not too much…

 “Will you read me a bedtime story?”

 “I’m leaving.” He spread the blanket out, tucking Dick in, no indication of getting up.

 “Good night kisses?” The lights went out.

 “Dick, I will kill you.” His eyes were already closed, and as the room fell silent, he found himself drifting into an uneasy sleep.

 Just before he nodded off, Roy kissed the top of his head.

 “Goodnight.”

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Household Planning (1/2)

Summary:  

"It was Levi's household. The plates were arranged and sorted by color and use, the way Levi liked it. The cabinets and the storage were arranged in a way which would be efficient for cooking, or at least the way Levi would have wanted to cook."

Levi gets sick and Hange is left to navigate household chores.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes: Set in the same verse as  “Rough day”  and “Sugar Rush”

"You're taking a week off?"

Hange wished no one would be there when she dropped by the queen’s office to give the letter. It was painful as it is to fathom what the next week would be like. Making her way to her familiar office in civilian clothing and seeing Historia there in the room only added salt to the wound.

“I’ve asked Armin to take over first. It will only be for a week at the most,” Hange explained.

"No. Take as many days as you need. I don't think you've even taken the day off since the war ended." Historia gave Hange a reassuring smile as she placed the letter back in the envelope.

Hange was sure the queen would give the week off with no arguments. Queen Historia had always had been understanding about any excuses related to family. Somehow, the response had come as a big surprise to Hange. As she walked out of the office and into the courtyard, she felt the late afternoon breeze seep through the cotton of her civilian shirt. It felt oddly nostalgic and Hange was reminded that she had not taken a day off in years.  

“It’s not like I’m gonna be resting anyway.” Hange muttered to herself as she made her way through the courtyard and into the main road to call for a taxi.

"Where to, Ma'am?”

“Paradis Central Hospital.

20 hours earlier

Levi was usually the one who opened the door for her when she got home. That night, she was surprised to find their seven year old Luke by the door waiting for her.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep? Where’s daddy?” Hange asked as she helped her son stand up. The young boy’s eyes were drooping and Hange was sure he would fall asleep as soon as she put him to bed.

“Daddy’s asleep.”

“Really?” Hange glanced at the clock on the mantle as she carried Luke to his room.

It was only a quarter to nine and she had known Levi long enough to know he would never be asleep at that time. In fact, most nights he was the one who would welcome her home. He would be cleaning, organizing or mixing tea in the kitchen while she showered and got ready for bed. She always fell asleep to the clatters of plates and mugs, the clanks of pots and pans and the opening and closing of cupboards. Funnily, she always woke up to them too, a testament to the odd sleeping patterns of her partner.

Luke had fallen asleep in her arms. Hange lay him gently on his bed and put the blanket over him. As she turned off the lights and closed the door behind her, Hange was made aware of the fact that the house was unnaturally silent without the sounds of Levi tinkering with something in the kitchen. She hurried to the bedroom she shared with Levi to find him on the bed, his back to the door.

“Tiring day?”

Levi was a light sleeper. Some nights when Hange did wake up next to him, she could usually elicit a reply or reaction from him with almost any sound no matter how soft. At that moment though, Levi was not responding.

She approached the bed, letting her footsteps resound loudly on the wooden floor under her. He still did not react. Levi was covered up to his chin with blankets. Not wanting to disturb the set up, Hange rested her hand on his cheek, only to recoil at the heat being released.

How was he this morning?  Hange felt a twinge of guilt when she realized she did not remember much of it. She had still woken up to the same banging of pots and pans and a full breakfast. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Hey, are you okay?" Hange asked, as she shook him lightly.

"Just… need to rest." Levi did not open his eyes. In fact, his face tensed as he said those words and Hange guessed that that slight effort was already causing him pain.

How much pain was he in?  They were both soldiers in another life and they both had higher pain tolerance than most people. It had set off some alarms inside her and Hange was considering calling a doctor then and there just to be on the safe side.

Am I overreacting? The last time Levi had needed medical attention, they managed in the middle of the forest with a little first aid.

Hange changed into her pajamas and settled on the bed next to him.

She scooched closer to him. The heat emitted from his body alarmed her but Hange reassured herself by focusing on the rhythm of his rough breathing. He was still very much alive.

“Just make sure to tell me if the pain gets worse. ” Hange whispered.

Levi let out what sounded like a whimper. A wave of concern washed over Hange. She put her arms around her partner, hoping that even just a little she could absorb the heat that was resonating from his skin.

She let the rhythm of his breathing lull her to sleep.

                                       Household Planning

When Hange woke up again, the sky was still dark. The sound of birds chirping just outside the window was enough though for Hange to conclude that it was at least late enough that the sun would rise soon.

“Good morning,” Hange whispered. His body was not as hot as it was the night before and Hange found herself squeezing her partner lightly in relief. “You scared me last night.”

“Hange…”  

Hange unwrapped her arms from around her partner and sat up. “You okay?”

Levi curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his stomach. “My stomach...hurts…”

Hange had seen Levi in worse situations in the battlefield but never in her life had she seen him so vulnerable. She had brushed off her worry the night before but as she took in her partner, lying curled up like a ball, the ragged breathing and the uncharacteristic whimpers, Hange conceded that she could not take the risk of omission. “Levi. I’m sorry I’m calling a doctor.”

Hange wished Levi had protested the whole set off. At the least, she wished he were conscious or aware enough to even notice a sleepy and confused Luke next by his bedside. He was lying prone on the bed as the doctor put his shirt up and ran his hands through the stomach area.

Hange’s blood ran cold as she watched Levi squirm in pain at lightest touch. She had worked with injured soldiers long enough to know it was a common symptom of internal injuries. The question that lingered was how exactly had it gotten to that point.

“This doesn’t look good Mrs. Zoe. We're going to have to get him to a hospital quick. He might need emergency surgery.”

“Do what you need to do.”

Hange walked out of the room and sat her son down on the living room sofa. She could hear the doctor making his way to the phone, quickly dialing a number and a few seconds later, he was rattling off vitals.

Hange had a fair amount of experience with first aid but the science and technology brought back from Marley was a tall order for her to master and Hange had to admit she probably would have only understood 70% of what the doctor had told the paramedics.

She spent the next few minutes explaining the situation to her son Luke over a quick breakfast and while walking him to school. Luke had ended up late as he had asked too many questions.

Why didn't daddy make breakfast?

Where are they taking daddy?

Are you okay mommy?

By the time Hange made it to the hospital, Levi was being prepped for surgery. He was completely unconscious as they unbuttoned his pajamas and switched it with a hospital gown.

Hange stayed nearby just in case he did wake up through it. She occupied herself by marveling at the improvements made in the hospital and the new developments by Marley. It was her first time back there for at least three years having shifted her focus into railways and street car installations.  A nurse put a needle through his wrist which was attached to a bag on a rack. Hange had forgotten the name of that invention but deduced that it was to get medicine into his system.                          

"How long will he be in surgery?" Hange asked.

The nurse shook her head. "We don't know the extent of the damage yet but internal bleeding of this severity should take at least two to three hours."

Internal bleeding. That usually meant certain death in the field. Hange could not help but think, if Levi had experienced that sickness only just a decade ago, he would have been dead.

"Thank you for all your hard work," Hange said.

She resigned herself to the fact that she would have to wait out until news on her partner came out. She made a brief detour to the outdoor payphone to call sick for the day. Armin would be able to take over anyway, he was very familiar at least with the plans Hange had for the transportation route through the city.

Hange could not shake the feeling that she would be missing out though. Her best ideas always came when she was in the office looking through blueprints and construction updates.

She willed herself to dial the familiar number of her office and explain her current situation.

Armin who had answered the phone was understanding and had given genuine well wishes to Levi. When Hange went back to the waiting room though, she started to reflect on the fact, that maybe the one who did not want the day off was just her.

As she sat back on the chair of the waiting room and looked up at the blank ceiling of the hospital, Hange knew she was miserable.

She was left to do what she had not done in years, sit idly by and wait.

                                        Household Planning

"A burst appendix with abscesses around his stomach area. It was pretty bad, a very high risk of infection. We will need to monitor him for at least a week and he'll be on a strict antibiotic plan for a while."

An appendix. She knew that organ. It was the useless organ yet it caused so much damage in Levi's system. "How long will he be…"

"We set up a room for him. He'll be staying for at least a week since we will need to monitor signs of post surgical infection and possible surgery again. He's not out of the woods yet."

Hange followed the doctor into one of the rooms on the third floor, noting that there were a lot more nurses making their rounds on that floor.

A nurse was there putting the covers over her partner when Hange arrived in. Her stomach dropped as she saw the tubes that all connected to some part underneath the blankets. Even for dying soldiers, she had never seen that type of medical treatment before and maybe if it hadn't been on Levi, she would have been excited at the prospect of seeing first hand the medical technology involved in keeping a patient alive.

At that moment though, her thoughts were all on Levi, how much he remembered, how much pain he was in and most importantly, if he were going to live through it.

Hange walked to his bedside and put her hand underneath the blanket, feeling for his hand. His hand was limp but it was neither too warm or too cold. She grasped his hand tighter, focusing on its warmth as a reprieve from the events of the past few hours.

"Hey four eyes, where's Luke?"

"He's in school…" Hange rubbed her eyes, still adjusting to the waking world.

"His classes are until eleven. It's one."

Hange sat up and look at the clock at the end of the room. "Wait what?" How long have I been sitting here?

Levi was half sitting up on the bed, conscious but groggy, looking particularly surprised. "Did you forget our kid?"

The realization of what had just happened dawned on Hange a split second too late. By then, Levi’s eyes narrowed into an accusing glare, a quick change from that of disbelief only a second ago.

Hange felt blood rush into her face "I’m sorry. A lot has been happening. You're stuck in the hospital… I don't know what to do…"

"Son first. Questions later."

                              Household Planning

The next question, Hange found herself tackling was where to take Luke. It was an obvious logistical choice yet it took Hange enough brain space that she ended up cringing at the state of her mind at that moment.

She had considered leaving him at home but could not come up with someone who could stay with Luke at a last minute request. She knew she would probably be with Levi for a while in the hospital, possibly until late night. It was a risk, leaving a child with a sick parent in a hospital ward but it at least trumped the idea of leaving him alone at home.

Somehow, leaving Luke with a sick, possibly immobile Levi, still seemed to be enough to give her some peace of mind.

"You promise to stay good, okay. Daddy needs rest," Hange said as they stood in front of the door to his room.

"Promise."

The promise was short lived. As soon as the door opened before him, Luke ran towards Levi's bedside and Hange had to grab him as he motioned to jump on the bed next to him.

"Daddy!"

"How was school?"

"I was the only one there. I thought nobody was going to pick me up."

Levi sneaked a glare at Hange with their son's last statement.

"Sorry Luke. Mommy got carried away. Daddy's going to be sick for a while and there was a lot to think about." Hange hugged her son from behind.

"How long will daddy be here?"

"A week at least," Levi answered.

So the doctor at least explained the situation to him.

Levi still looked like he was in pain and Hange wondered how much of his motions were a front he was putting up in front of their son.

"Mommy and Daddy need to talk. Could you give us some space?"

There were nurses all over the floor and Hange was sure at least one of them would have the time to take care of a kid. It was a quick search and within a few minutes of going out into the hallway, she at least had the peace of mind that someone was taking care of her son. The fact the nurse was helping with homework was an added bonus.

"I feel like shit," Levi admitted as Hange entered the room once again.

"You're doing great. I thought you'd be asleep the whole day to be honest."

"I don't think I'd even be able to relax anymore. Imagine waking up to realize my wife forgot about our kid."

Hange gave her husband an apologetic smile. "Just give me a list of everything I need to get done, everyday. While you're here. I'll get it done."

"Don't you have work?"

                                    Household Planning  

By evening, Hange had filed her leave for the week, she had her to do list on hand and Luke was at least distracted with toys she had just bought him from the gift shop next to the hospital.

Her first challenge was dinner. She had the cooking skills but the way everything in the household was sorted out made Hange hesitate to touch anything.

It was Levi's household. The plates were arranged and stalked by color and use, the way Levi liked it. The cabinets and the storage were arranged in a way which would be efficient for cooking, or at least the way Levi would have wanted to cook.

In the cupboard, they were so tightly stacked on top of one another that Hange feared that she would break something just by pulling something out.

Hange sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she was still left shocked by the events of that morning. Less than 24 hours ago, she would not have imagined having to learn to navigate the household all by herself.

I'm gonna need a while to adjust.

"Luke, we're going out to buy dinner."

                                Household Planning  

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"Omelette!"

30 minutes to eight. Luke should be in school by eight.

"It's pretty late for an omelette… What about bread?" In fact, Hange did know Luke liked omelettes. She did not want to admit it to her son yet but although she had spent a fair half an hour looking through the kitchen, she could not find the eggs.

The only food stored places within reason were the bread and the fruits which were displayed in a basket and a bowl on the kitchen table. The bread was covered in cloth, neatly folded when she found it though. As she put back the bread after eating it that morning, she could not recreate that same intricate folding pattern Levi had done.

"There were eggs in the fridge."

Where? Who puts eggs in the fridge?

Hange chose to pretend to ignore it. "Let's just get you to school. What time do I need to pick you up?"

"Two." Luke was avoiding her gaze and Hange could tell he was trying to hide disappointment.

"I'll take note of that." Hange took a pen from her kitchen table and wrote the time on her wrist. "Just eat this for breakfast." She wrapped a piece of bread on paper and dropped it in his bag.

It's my first time having to be the one to cook breakfast, of course there will be a few bumps.

"I didn't know where you put the eggs so I just gave him bread for breakfast."

"Where did you think the eggs were?" Levi asked, not even trying to hide the disappointment in his gaze. Hange inferred that it could have also been from the meager breakfast he was given that morning of pudding and fruit which Levi was mixing as he listened to the developments that morning.

“I looked everywhere, the cupboards, the storage, I even checked our bedroom.”

“It’s in the refrigerator.”

“And that’s what Luke said. I checked it after dropping him at school but it wasn’t there.”

“I put it towards the back so it wouldn’t break if it ends up accidentally falling out.”

The new refrigerators that came from Marley were a welcome improvement to the icebox that most people in Paradis were used to. Having busied herself with other things, Hange never really bothered to learn its different compartments. It looked like Levi did not want her to learn it either. The latter had preoccupied himself buying them at the best bargain when they were finally available and had spent a fair amount of days since they got it, organizing and reorganizing all their spoilable goods.

“Why do you put your eggs in the refrigerator? Even if you leave it out, it won’t go bad.”

“It’s an animal product, you don’t know what it touched.”

Levi had researched his household plan well and Hange only appreciated it more when Levi took a pen and paper and drew the fridge compartments, perfectly from what she had remembered. He explained the contents compartment by compartment, with the rationale for each.

“Why don’t we keep the eggs in the compartments by the fridge door? You cook them everyday.”

“The sudden temperature changes can make the eggs go bad faster.”

“Why put vegetables in the lowest compartment?”

“Vegetables in the drawer below because this compartment has higher humidity levels for fresh produce.”

Levi made sense. Hange had done her fair share of experiments to quickly understand Levi’s logic behind everything. She was still taken aback by how far he had thought ahead and how meticulous the whole process of organizing the refrigerator was for him. It almost made her hesitant to take anything out of the fridge for fear of destroying any part of the intricate plan Levi had set up for all their spoilable goods.

Levi dropped the pen and sighed. “So I’m assuming you didn’t get any cooking done if you still don’t know where everything is. What did you pack Luke for lunch then?”

                                    Household Planning  

Levi probably would not have approved of Luke enjoying a late lunch of two soft serve ice creams and a slice of bread. That was the only way Hange saw herself pacifying the young boy who looked to be on the verge of crying and shouting at his mother when she picked him up from school. At the same time, the reminder from Levi was enough for Hange to at least have enough motivation to remember to show up on time to pick him up.

“Don’t tell your father about this.” She muttered, as she led him through the market. Levi had left her a grocery list before she left to pick up Luke from school. At that point, she was determined at least to not fuck up the grocery shopping.

Another tray of eggs, bread, spinach, oranges, apples. The list was straightforward. When Levi and Hange had planned the list, they considered the easiest things for Hange to prepare, cook, eat and store for the next week while Levi’s fate was still undecided. She only had to buy enough for the two of them at least.

The markets were designed that all types of produce and goods could be caught with one loop around the market. In thirty minutes, Hange had gone through everything on the list.

As Hange made her way to the exit of the market, she felt a tug on her hand. “What are you looking at?” Hange followed her son’s gaze to see the tea and coffee shop on the side.  

“Daddy might want tea.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He only has three more bags left at home.”

                                    Household Planning            

Hange had dreaded the process of storing the food she had bought. She imagined having to empty the fridge and make wild guesses on where Levi would have wanted each product and whether or not she angled them in a way where it would be most convenient for those who opened it or less likely to spill.

Levi had explained a lot of it to her but many parts of it were going quickly into one ear and out the other due to the detail he put into such mundane concepts. She found that the crazy amount of detail and the fact that she possibly left things out, had left her blank at what exactly to do when she opened the refrigerator door.

“Daddy likes the stem facing outwards.” Luke pointed out as he grabbed the spinach from the bag and put it inside the half open vegetable drawer.

“The eggs?”

“You have to push the cheese out of the way when you put the eggs in. Tray opening facing outside...”

Hange at least knew where the fruits and the bread went. She lined up the fruit bowl and the bread basket on the kitchen table and added the fruits she had bought from the market on to the pile.

Luke reached out for the oranges on the top and distributed them evenly towards the edges of the bowl. “Daddy said it might fall if you let them sit unevenly on a pile.”

Hange unfolded the cloth on the bread basket and put the bread inside. She attempted once again to fold it similarly to what Levi had been doing before. Luke scooched closer to her and Hange could only gape as Luke deftly folded it into the same tight pattern she had seen it in that morning.

“Daddy taught you all of this?”

[a-little-dreamer-s-world]

Desperate Times and Desperate Measures (Can Lead to Good Things)

So, this was my secret santa gift for @lovebug5151! I’m so, so sorry that this is so late, and I hope I got what were some of the things you wanted. I’ve been under a lot of stress recently, but now it’s behind me so I was finally able to post this! For anyone else wondering, this was a sanders sides g/t secret santa event held by @secret-sanders-sized!

Warnings?: Sickness mention, Loceit, Deceit as a character, allusion to past trauma with no description to it, anxious thoughts,

_____________________

It was quiet within the walls.

Dee wasn’t sure if he should be bothered by that fact or not. The boys, Roman and Remus, were both asleep in their beds. Normally, they would both stay up to talk and giggle with each other; the last few days had been rough, though, so he could understand why they weren’t in the mood to be playful. But for now, that’s not what he could focus on. No, there was something else entirely.

Logan was ill.

Now, if  they were human, it wouldn’t be a big deal; take some medicine, a lot of rest and fluid, and you’d feel better after a few days. But Dee and Logan weren’t human. They were borrowers.

Dee sat beside their shared bed, a bowl of cool water next to him as he used a scrap of cloth to wipe at Logan’s forehead. Lo was currently asleep, a fever coursing through his body that was almost painful to watch. When he finished, he put the cloth back into the bowl to soak as he tenderly reached over to hold his hand.

“What am I going to do, Lo?” He asked quietly, trying to keep him from waking. They weren’t human beans; they couldn’t go out of the house to get medicine. Whatever was in this house was in their grasp, but that came with its own risks. Much more likely to get caught, much more likely to get stuck, and worse of all, much more likely to overdose. 

Dee froze when Logan’s head moved toward him, blinking slowly at him. “Honeybee?” he asked, his voice raspy from sleep and from sickness.

“Yes, Logan?” he breathed out, squeezing his hand.

“Are the boys okay?” He tried to sit up, but he groaned as his very bones seemed to protest at the movement. Dee quickly got him to lie back down, petting his hair.

“Yes, they’re both in their beds, I made sure,” he said to him, trying to smile a bit. Logan shakily reached out and rubbed a thumb on the large scar that covered the side of his face, making him close his eyes and lean in the feeling. His hands were ice cold, much colder than they usually were. 

“Dee, do me a favor,” Logan said, his voice hushed. 

“Anything in my power,” he immediately said, looking at him with an aching worry.

“Go grab me a piece of paper and some lead,” he said, letting go of Dee’s cheek. The other man nodded, getting from the bed. He swiftly left to go down the hall towards the living room, but he paused at the boys’ room.

Roman and Remus were fast asleep, Roman’s bed empty and Remus’s holding double the amount of sleepers. He smiled softly at the sight of them; they liked to sleep together when one of them had bad dreams, or when they stayed up talking and scheming.

His smile fell as he left, going into the next room to grab what Logan wanted. He made his way back quickly, trying not to wake the boys up. When he came back into their shared room, Dee sat down next to the bed in his spot from before, handing Logan paper and lead.

Logan reached over to their bedside table, a spool of thread that had been cut in half (the other half being in the boys’ room), to put on his glasses. He blinked a few more times to get readjusted, looking down at the paper and getting to work.

Dee watched him write strings of numbers he could only wish to understand; before Logan had to move and found himself here, he had lived at a college professor’s home. It was there that he used the textbooks to learn much more complicated math than the simple adding and subtracting many borrowers knew.

When he was done, Logan flipped the piece of paper over and started writing normal words; he wrote simply, and Dee was grateful for that. He had grown up in the country; specifically in a barn, and it wasn’t until he moved into the more urban areas that he started learning to read.

“Here,” Logan whispered, handing him the paper. He took it, and his eyes began to widen as he understood what he wanted.

“Lo, are you sure?” he breathed, looking at the answer to what would hopefully solve their problem; an exact amount of how much a painkiller he could take. 

Logan nodded, taking his glasses off again. “It will help me be well again, so then I’m not a burden.”

“Never,” Dee reached over to squeeze his hand. “Never to me. Never have been, never will be.”

His love gave him that small, rare smile he loved to see, though to see it on a face so pale made his throat close up. Dee leaned over to kiss his forehead once and got up, getting his borrowing bag ready. He had medicine to get, afterall.

_____________________

Within one of the bedrooms of the Sanders’ home, a teenager lay on his bed with his headphones in, listening to punk rock music as he worked over something he hated with a burning passion: algebra homework.

Virgil sighed out as he sat up, rubbing his temples for the umpteenth time since he started this an hour ago. The fourteen year old may have been smart, sure, but even he didn’t think he could keep doing this for a minute longer.

He paused his music to take off his headphones, stretching his arms out and arching his back backwards. He stood up and went to his backpack against his dresser, pulling out a battered sketchbook. He snatched up a pen off his dresser and began to pace around, trying to think of anything to sketch.

His dad was downstairs making dinner, so he couldn’t do anything with him at the moment. Normally he’d help him, but this was something new they were trying, and his dad liked to know what he was doing so he knew how to teach him. He did offer to bake cookies with him after though, so he would probably take him up on that offer.

He groaned even more when he tossed the sketchbook on the bed, changing his mind to go get some pjs and take a shower. If he couldn’t draw, and he really didn’t want to go back to algebra, he could at least get himself cleaned up and ready for bed a bit early, right?

He went out into his hallway to go grab a towel out of the linen closet, light footsteps barely heard over the sound of clanking pots further away in the one-story home. When he got into the bathroom, he paused to notice that the medicine cabinet above the sink was cracked open. 

Virgil frowned as he set his clothes on top of his toilet, going over to open it up. Did his dad get cut or something and he left the door open? There wasn’t any blood in the sink, so he didn’t think so. When he opened, nothing seemed to be out of place, which confused him even more. The cabinet door was sturdy; it didn’t just swing open on its own. So what…?

As he was about to close it again, he thought he saw something move inside, making him stop to open it again. All was still once more, but now his suspicions were raised as he carefully started to move things around.

When he got to a bottle of cough syrup a sudden sharp pain came from his index finger, making him yelp as his hand pulled back with the bottle. He dropped it though, with growing eyes and his mouth starting to hang open, when he realized what was standing in the cabinet.

It was a tiny man, maybe a bit taller than his finger, standing there with a safety pin in his hand and a glare in his eyes. Virgil didn’t know what to say, taking a single step forward as all his brain could make him say was, “Uhhh…”

“Don’t come a single step closer,” the tiny man spat out, and Virgil couldn’t help but listen as he took in what he was seeing. This man was standing so close to the edge of the shelf, pointing out that safety pin right at him. The whole half of his face was scarred (burns, maybe?) and twisted in anger. No, it wasn’t anger at all.

It was fury.

“W-Wait, don’t move,” he finally said, worry starting to seep out as he realized just what kind of fall at that height would really hurt the man, and he didn’t want him to do anything like that thanks to him. 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” the man said, taking another step closer, another step to teeter on the edge. “I can and will make your life a personal hell if you try to lay a finger on me.”

“Please don’t move,” Virgil pleaded, his arms waving a bit in an attempt to calm him down. “I-I don’t want to do anything to you, so please—”

“Don’t think I don’t know your games, bean!” He yelled at him, making Virgil freeze at just how much hatred was in his voice. “You say you won’t do anything, but then you’ll set up traps to get me out, or better yet, you’ll do something like this,” he pointed at his face where the scar laid, “just because you can!”

Virgil felt confusion and anxiety and who knew what else course through at the tiny man’s words, but he couldn’t say anything when nothing came to mind.

“I’m not going to let that happen! So, get—” his tone changed to surprise and fear as his footing slipped, making him wobble over the edge and start going down. Virgil worked on pure instinct, rushing forward with his hands out, feeling a very small weight land in them. He slowly opened his eyes, peering down at the small man in the dark clothes, the smallest pack he’d ever seen by his side and spilled out.

Their eyes met, and for a solid minute the whole world felt like it had gone still. Virgil could barely breathe, but his brain was starting to process the whole fact that this tiny man, so impossibly small, was now in hands. He realized something else too: he was trembling, trembling with a fear he was trying so hard not to show.

The teen reacted quickly and carefully, leaning forward to set the man down on the bathroom counter. He happened to glance down and see that one of the things that had come out of the bag was a painkiller; that was probably why the man was in the cabinet in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay!” he blurted out, his hand slapping over his mouth. For reasons he didn’t know why  himself, he turned around and went out the bathroom door, closing it behind him to dash back into his room. He got to the side of his bed and slid down, his hand still over his mouth. 

He sat there in silence for a while, rubbing his temples as he tried to process everything he saw. As he did, other thoughts came into his mind. Where did the man come from? Had he always been here? Why was he taking a painkiller? What was he, and were there anymore?

He shook his head as the last question entered his mind, standing up. He didn’t know, and it wasn’t any of his business. He slowly went back out of his room, going to the bathroom door once more. He rapped a knuckle against the door and pressed an ear against it, listening for any movement. Nothing.

He opened the door to peek inside, finding it completely empty. He looked around, finding nothing that showed that the tiny man had been there. He did find the bottle of cough syrup on the ground, picking it up to put away.

He was starting to think that maybe he’d imagined the whole thing up somehow when something caught his eye. Curled up in the corner of the cabinet was a pile of string with a metal piece at the end. He picked it up carefully in his fingers, examining it. It looked like… a rope and hook. It clicked to him then that that must have been how the man had gotten inside in the first place, but now he had left it behind all thanks to him.

He chewed on his lip as he thought of what to do when he heard his dad calling him. “Hey, kiddo! Dinner’s ready, do you want to eat?”

Virgil quietly pocketed the tiny man’s hook and got out of the bathroom, calling back, “Yeah, one sec!” He glanced at his clothes on the toilet seat, his shower long forgotten. He could take one when he was done eating, and he figured he’d put the hook on the floor somewhere hidden, so that maybe the man would find it again. As much as he wanted to meet him again, he didn’t think it would be a good idea.

Unaware to him in that moment, Dee had made his way back home, a bit shaken up, but happy to be back safe and sound. He’d spend the rest of the evening to take the pain killer and scrape off the amount Logan gave him to help get better. This would make Logan better by the next day, and the day after his fever would break for good, but he didn’t know that yet. 

And unaware to the borrowers that lived in the Sanders’ home, Virgil’s sketchbook would start filling with doodles of a strange tiny man with a scar on his face, as well as lists of things he could try to leave for him, for the next few weeks to come.

[ashtheshortstack]

take my scars & make them stars - ch 3

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter Three

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sick Fic, Cancer Fic, Chronic Illness, Chemotherapy, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Mentions of Character Death

Read on Ao3

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter

It was a week later that the infamous “lunch with Kristoff” was to occur. Anna woke up that more with a buzz of excitement coursing through her. She couldn’t help when she hopped out of bed, more of a spring in her step than usual. Trotting down the stairs, she found Gerda when she reached the kitchen. There was a nice helping of eggs and toast on a plate waiting for her.

“Good morning, dear. I just plated those, so it’s still warm.”

Anna smiled. “Thank you, Gerda.”

She didn’t waste time digging in, careful not to eat too fast. She could easily make herself sick if she rushed. It was one of the many, many side effects of her treatment.

Elsa’s footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. Anna smiled, turning to her sister with a mouth full of eggs. Elsa always looked so put together in the mornings… a vibrant contrast to Anna’s flushed face, sunken eyes, congested nose. In her defense, at least without hair… a rat’s nest on her head didn’t add to this look like it used to. So, maybe she was a heavy sleeper. It couldn’t be helped.

Her sister took a seat next to her at the island, pulling up the bar stool. Elsa got a side of bacon with her plate. Oh, how Anna’s heart ached for a fattening piece of pork like that… but it had to wait. In a few more months, Anna could scarf as much bacon down her throat as her heart desired.

“How are you feeling?” Elsa asked.

It was typical. She always asked that at the beginning of every day. Anna was grateful for it. Grateful that her sister cared for her. That they had one another’s backs through their shared health struggles.

“I feel wonderful,” she practically sang. She may have been a little too cheery for that time of the morning, but she couldn’t help it. Anna was too excited to hide it.

Elsa hummed. “It wouldn’t have to do with the fact you’re meeting Kristoff this afternoon, would it?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “Of course not.”

Gerda grinned as she washed the dishes. “Oh? And who is Kristoff?”

Her sister gaped. “Anna! You haven’t told Gerda about Kristoff?”

“It didn’t come up!”

Gerda dried her hands, coming to a stand across the island. “Well, it’s up now. Tell me about him.”

Chewing her lips, Anna shied away from Gerda’s knowing stare. “He’s just—” she swung her fork around as she spoke. “He’s just some guy I met at the coffee shop with Elsa. He works there.”

Gerda hummed with a nod as she dried a dish. “Is he handsome?”

“I mean—yeah…”

Elsa was enjoying this far too much. Her sister was grinning beside her, casually sipping her coffee. She piped in. “He isn’t just some guy, Gerda, Anna puked on his shoes.”

Their maid let out a snort at that. “Oh?”

Anna pouted. “Elsa! Leave it alone! That was embarrassing enough.”

“And yet, he still gave you a ride home.”

“Because he’s a gentleman!”

“Because he likes you.”

Pausing, she swiped a hand along her ear. A habit of pushing strands of auburn hair behind her ear when she had them.  “Do you really think he likes me?”

Elsa and Gerda both giggled at that. Anna couldn’t help it. She knew she sounded like a childish school girl… but after being with Hans for so long… it was nice to have something new. Something to be excited about. Kristoff was so different than Hans. If she had puked on Hans’ shoes? Ha! He would have had a meltdown. Cried like a man child…

Her sister bumped her lightly. “I think he does.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him sometime,” Gerda teased with a wink as she turned back to the sink to grab another dish. 

Anna flushed at that. The prospect of Kristoff sticking around long enough, despite her health, to meet Gerda? To come to her home and—? Who knew really? She didn’t. She’d only started a relationship once and it didn’t turn out too well. And it was a high school relationship… full of football games, school dances, hand holding in the hallways (for show, she was sure). This—This wasn’t that. This wasn’t high school. This was real life, and a brutal one at that. Would Kristoff fit into this? She wanted him to…

Unable to talk about him further, Anna quickly chirped in and changed the topic. “So, Elsa, can we get a dog?”

“No, absolutely not.”

Anna pouted. “Why not?”

“Neither of us have time to take care of a dog! Especially—like—a puppy. One that isn’t house trained?”

“Elsa, now is the time. I literally can’t work. I’m at home all of the time.”

“We’re not getting a dog, Anna.”

Groaning, she rolled her eyes with a pout. She crossed her arms, giving her sister a pitiful state. “You’re such a party pooper.”

The elder sister gave Anna a knowing look. Elsa finished her plate and pushed away from the table. “I have work to do… Let me know when you’re leaving, yeah?”

Anna gave a nod as she watched her sister saunter towards her office. She couldn’t understand how Elsa was so graceful at all times. Anna thought of herself as more of a frantic mess. Awkward, stumbly, really clumsy. There was no grace about her. She even forgot the English language sometimes when speaking—or she spoke it too quickly for others to understand.

Gerda was still looking at her with a small smirk on her lips. It was clear she knew exactly how Anna was feeling. She was thankful for Gerda’s influence in her life. Thankful she’d taken on the burden of being her guardian when life took an unexpected turn. Thankful for all the support she’d given the sisters over these years. And even after the girls had grown into adults, Gerda was still there.

Gerda hummed, wiping a mug as she glanced up. “So, you really puked on his shoes, dear?”

Anna groaned, flopping her head on the island.

                                                            o~o~o~o

 After more teasing from Gerda as she finished her breakfast, Anna retreated to her room. She knew that it’d be a process to get herself dressed and ready for her date—not a date. Her lunch. With Kristoff. A guy she… may have liked. Which didn’t matter if he didn’t like her back. They were grabbing lunch as friends. He could very well have a girlfriend for all she knew. He didn’t specify his intentions, but—Anna hadn’t asked either.

Was she supposed to? Did she need to ask? What if she was thinking way more into this than he was? What if he was just pursuing a new friendship? Some guys were just nice. Not everyone was like Hans… not that Kristoff was even comparable to her ex-fiancé.

Anna jumped in the shower. She grabbed body washes and lotions—whatever she could do to make sure she smelled wonderful. Sometimes she felt like she smelled sick. Like the scent of hospital followed her everywhere. She had to stop herself from reaching for the shampoo bottle. It was still a hard habit she was trying to break.

When she was satisfied with her state of cleanliness, she retreated from the shower. She stood, wrapped in a towel, in front of her closet. Kristoff had been texting her throughout the week and told her the place he’d like to take her was a hole-in-the-wall joint. But what exactly did that mean for attire? Casual, right? But it was early spring… so something bright and colorful would do, wouldn’t it? She figured the man would learn her favorite color was pink fairly quickly. She grabbed a pink and frilly crop top—different than the tie-dye pink she’d worn when they’d first met—and a pair of high waisted jean shorts.

She tossed the clothes onto her bed, along with a pair of undies. Tugging on her robe, she trotted back into the bathroom, pleased to see that in her time rummaging through her closet that the mirror had defogged. They weren’t supposed to be meeting until a quarter past noon… but Anna knew how long it took to get ready. Her morning routine was heavy enough, but with the added pressure of a—not date—friendly outing with a boy she liked? It could take hours for her to decide. The outfit she’d picked out was cute enough… but maybe when she put it on she wouldn’t like it? What if Kristoff didn’t like it? No, wait. She couldn’t do that. She had to like how she looked—not him… Kristoff wasn’t that type of guy.

Well, since she was planning on wearing pink… maybe she should go more subtle on her face? Was that a good idea? Anna had discovered that in her time of treatments, she really enjoyed makeup. It was like art, but on her face. And it was a good distraction to others. If she caked her face then maybe the fact that she was bald with no eyebrows or eyelashes would be less noticeable. Anna had never known the wonder of falsies and eyebrow pencils until she required them to look “normal.”

Anna took to her normal routine: teeth brushing, face scrubbing, hand washing and lotioning. She looked over herself in the mirror. Her skin was littered with typical bumps and bruises from her clumsiness, but they shown through more with her skin being so pale. She couldn’t help but feel like she looked ill sometimes. Freckles were more prominent than ever along her pasty flesh. It wasn’t that she hated her freckles or anything—she loved them. She was proud of them, even. But she did miss the more golden tone her skin took when she was able to spend more time in the sun. That was something she looked forward to when treatment was over. Being outside, being active, going for jogs and not feeling out of breath.

She’d never be the same as she was before. Anna was stronger as a person after her diagnosis, she knew. But insecurities did seep in on occasion. Mostly because she felt so different on the outside. On the inside, she’d built up a hard shell along her squishy interior. But on the outside she was like a beacon flashing “I have cancer!” everywhere she went. It bothered her… It bothered her to look weak while she felt stronger than ever. With cancer, she looked like the withered husk that she once was when she was desperate for Hans’ love and attention because she never had her parents’ attention that she deserved. After therapy, she knew that now. Knew that her parents owed her much more than they ever gave her. Anna longed to have that confidence on the outside.

Kristoff was a good man. She knew that from their interactions, from their brief texts during the week. He’d checked on her. Asked when her next appointment was. The morning after she hurled on him, he asked how she was feeling. His kindness made her swoon more than he had before. It was odd—being treated right. The way she should’ve been treated for so long, but she had been blind instead.

After finishing her morning routine, Anna checked the time. She still had about three hours… which meant she cold let her skin cool before she caked on makeup. So, she flopped onto the large bed with a sigh. Picking up her phone, she noticed texts from the certain blonde who was already consuming her thoughts.

  Kristoff: Hey. Still on for today right?

Anna: Yes! Definitely! 😊

Kristoff: Great! Want me to pick you up?

Anna: Yeah, sure! At 12:30?

Kristoff: 12:00 would be better so we can get there

 before the lunch rush. If that’s okay?

Anna: That’s fine!

Kristoff: How have you been feeling today?

 God. How did she begin to answer that? She felt great. Mostly because she knew she was going out with him. It was going to be the highlight of her day, she knew. But she couldn’t tell him that! What if it made her seem desperate?

Whatever. She was a big girl!

So… she went for it.

  Anna: Pretty great, I’d say.

Especially since I get to see you!

Kristoff: You’re too nice to me Anna lol.

The feeling is definitely mutual tho.

  Anna tried not to squeal at the thought of Kristoff being excited to see her. But… while she had him—she may as well ask.

  Anna: This isn’t a formal event, is it?

Kristoff: God no. Just wear something casual.

Anna: Great! Okay!

Kristoff: See you soon, Anna!

  It was nearing ten by that time… Maybe, she should start getting ready. She’d rather be ready early than frantically getting herself together last minute. With that, she took to her vanity. Turning on the radio, she listened to tunes softly as she primed her face and started her typical routine. She decided to draw on brows and falsies would definitely be a part of the look.

She hadn’t realized how difficult makeup was becoming. Her fingertips tingled, a numbness stinging through them as she tried to swipe the eyeshadow along her lid. Despite her frustration, she stuck through it. Anna wasn’t going to let this get in her way—well, until it did. The tremor in her fingers sent eyeliner smudging along her shadow.

A string of curses left her lips as she stomped to the bathroom to wipe away her eye makeup to start over. There was a tiny knock at her bedroom door, and she called out for whoever to come in from the bathroom doorway.

Elsa stepped in, searching around the room before peaking into the bathroom. “Anna? What’s going on? I heard you swear.”

Sighing, she turned to look at her sister—who immediately seemed to understand when seeing the smeared mess along her lids.

Elsa put a hand to her lips. “Oh, Anna… You want me to help?”

Anna nodded despite the stinging tears of frustration she blinked from her eyes. Elsa pulled the chair to the vanity back out and the younger sister took a seat. Even if Anna was annoyed that she was unable to do her own makeup, it was nice to have this time with Elsa. She did feel a slight twinge of guilt that her older sister was doing this instead of working. She was sure Elsa was missing a video conference for this, but she appreciated it, nonetheless.

They chatted idly. Elsa asking what she was wearing so she knew what colors to pursue. Anna told her the look she was originally going for. Her sister nodded, redoing the eyeshadow that Anna had wiped away. She’d never want to admit it, but Elsa was much better at this than she was. The elder sister often got bored being locked up in her room, so when she had asked for makeup, their mother had gleefully obliged. Anything to keep Elsa happy. But it was fine—she’d had much more practice than Anna. Who had enjoyed looking plain until then. Until she had a reason to doll herself up.

How Elsa could do a perfect look wing, attach the false lashes, and plump them up with mascara so easily was something Anna could not understand. Anna wasn’t bad at it—but Elsa was an expert, definitely.

“You’re so good at this,” Anna murmured.

Elsa hummed. “Had a lot of practice.”

“I know… I guess I’m getting practice for the same reasons now.”

Her brows quirked at that. Sighing, her sister picked up the blush. “Yeah. We’ve certainly had it different…”

“We’re going to be okay though… Right?” Anna asked with a small smile.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Together forever?”

Elsa chuckled. “Of course,” she replied leaning up with a smirk. “Until you leave me to live happily ever after with Kristoff, that is.”

Anna felt her cheeks heat at that. “Hey! He could easily move into this mansion.”

Snorting, her sister took the brow pencil and started creating the shape. “Yeah, sure. Kristoff doesn’t seem like the ‘mansion’ type.”

“You never know,” she retorted with a shrug.

“Stay still.”

Anna squeaked. “Sorry!”

She had to admit how impressed she was that Elsa was able to mimic the light auburn of her natural brows. Her natural eyebrows had never been very dark to begin with, so the look was very organic. A rosy natural hue on her cheeks that didn’t cover her freckles was dusted along her face. Elsa brushed powered across her face, setting the look. She put on a light pink lipstick with some gloss to complete it. She added a bit of highlight to her nose and cupid’s bow before spraying her with setting spray.

Elsa spun Anna’s chair letting her look in the mirror. “Well? What do you think?”

She simply gaped when she saw her reflection. “Elsa… this is beautiful! Thank you!”

Her sister laughed, accepting the hug that Anna threw her direction. Elsa tapped her shoulder, before pushing her gently back to arms-length. “You’re always beautiful. Remember that, okay, Anna?”

“Okay,” she felt herself whisper. It was more of a gasp, if she was honest.

It felt so hard to accept that she could be beautiful like this. She wasn’t what anyone would consider desirable. Not anymore, at least. Maybe she was on the cusp of attractive when she was with Hans, but she doubted it. It was clear the man only dated her—proposed to her—because he wanted her money. He saw Anna as a meal ticket to Elsa’s buffet of cash if her health was to decline suddenly. It made her question everything. She doubted every compliment Hans ever gave her. He was a liar—a manipulator. So, what was true and what wasn’t?

Elsa seemed to notice her spiraling, squeezing her shoulders in a comforting gesture. “You are. You always have been.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and you still are. Cancer doesn’t change that. Even if it did, your beauty on the inside holds no bounds.”

Anna felt herself tearing up, but quickly blinked away the incoming tide. She’d cry more if she messed up the gorgeous makeup her sister just painted on her face.

“Thank you, Elsa.”

Her sister smiled, pressing a light kiss to her temple. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anymore help, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always here for you.”

“I know,” Anna replied, tension in her shoulders suddenly melting away at her sister’s kind words.

With that, Elsa left the room. With all the grace she always had. Sometimes Anna longed to be like her sister. To be so put together and strong-willed. But it was times like these where she was reminded that it was okay to just be Anna.

Checking the time, her heart stuttered seeing that it was eleven. She only had an hour before Kristoff would be at her door. Oh, God. Oh, God!

Anna quickly rid herself of her robe, pulling on her panties in a flash. She debated putting on the stuffed bra but decided against it. The crop top was flowy enough that her chest wouldn’t be noticeable either way.

So, she tugged on her shorts and top, careful not to touch her face when she pulled the shirt over her head. Looking over herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Her beanie, maybe? Sure, she could add that. And a colorful cardigan to accompany it as well? Yes, that worked. Something still didn’t feel right. Maybe this wasn’t exactly a date, but she really wanted it to be one. Even if she knew that dating was probably not something she was entirely ready for. She was okay with it being a date in her mind, but not actually putting a label on it aloud.

Eyeing the wig that sat next to her dress, Anna chewed her lip. She’d always opted out of wearing it, but Elsa had gotten it for her just in case. It matched the auburn waves of her natural hair. Maybe—just maybe that was the missing piece?

Maybe it’d be better with the wig? Maybe it’d bring less attention to the two of them? Kristoff could very well be uncomfortable with the attention she attracted. God knows she’d already brought attention to him in public. Wouldn’t it be nice for her to go out and look… normal? Would Kristoff like normal?

Anna took off her beanie for the moment, putting on the wig and ignoring the itch along her scalp. She placed the beanie back over the wig before looking over herself in the mirror. Her chest tightened at the sight. This was—weird. She didn’t look sick. Didn’t look like her hands should be tingling, didn’t look like her bruised arms were from constant IV pricks—didn’t look like her truth. It felt like a lie. She longed to look how confident she felt, but this felt wrong. In so many ways. But maybe… Kristoff would like this?

There was a light rap at her door. Anna assumed Elsa was returning. Or even Gerda was popping in the check on her.

She ran her hands along the wig. “Come in,” she called, not even turning to the door.

It was certainly surprising when a very male voice said “woah” from her doorway.

Jumping with a start, Anna turned to Kristoff standing there. Her breath hitched at the sight of him. His eyes were wide, jaw slightly ajar as he looked at her.

She watched him swallow as he stared at her. “W-What’s with the—?” he gestured to his own hair with a hand.

Anna gripped the wig, eyes flickering away from him nervously. “O-Oh, I just—It was there and I—um.”

He smiled slightly, approaching her. She pursed her lips as he approached, a bit stunned when he was suddenly invading her personal space. Kristoff grabbed a chunk of the wig, running the strands between his fingers before giving it a rough tug. Anna gasped when the wig was off her head and in his hands.

“You don’t need it,” he murmured.

A bright flush spread along her cheeks. Was she that easy to read? Sure, she hated the wig. But Kristoff didn’t know that.

“I-I… What do you mean?”

He glanced down at the hair and back to her. “I’ve never seen you wear a wig. I don’t want you to feel like you have to wear one because you’re going out with—uh—somewhere with me.”

Blinking, Anna gaped. She took the wig from him, staring down at the hair. “I just—I don’t know. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want the attention. I thought—I thought it’d be better if I looked normal.”

Kristoff reached out, hesitating for a moment before his palm timidly touched the bare skin of her scalp. His touch was gentle as he ran a hand down her head, behind her ear, and to her shoulder. “Normal is overrated. You look perfect to me.”

Anna swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Clearing his throat, Kristoff’s hand suddenly retreated from her person. “O-Of course, you can wear it if you want. I’m not going to get in the way of you doing you. I just don’t want you to feel obligated because of me.”

She wouldn’t dare tell him that he was the reason she was considering the wig. Of course, Kristoff had never made her feel bad about herself. Never made her feel like he wouldn’t accept her. Or be embarrassed by her…

Glancing down at the wig, she looked back up at him. Finally, she let herself smile at him. True and genuine. Oh, how she ached for this man. He was truly too good. She turned, placing the wig back on its head. Kristoff was ready and waiting with her beanie when she spun back around to him. Anna couldn’t help but giggle as he placed the pink beanie back on her head.

“Thank you, Kristoff.”

His cheeks pinked before he coughed and glanced away shyly. “Y-Yeah. No problem.”

Anna chose not to giggle at the crack in his voice. She held up a finger to him, telling him to wait a moment while she treaded over to her jewelry box. Snapping on a small pair of hoop earrings and a sun-shaped necklace she turned to him with a beam.

“Look good?”

He nodded feverishly, the blush on his cheeks spreading towards his ears. She chose not to think too much of it. The last thing she wanted was to call him out and embarrass him further. Besides, she didn’t know why he was blushing anyway. Kristoff could think she was cute without wanting to date her, right?

Right?

After slipping on a pair of converses, she followed Kristoff out the door. Elsa waved them off with a knowing grin. Anna chose to ignore the implications of her sister’s smirk, and instead followed Kristoff out the door like the little love-sick puppy she knew she was.

                                                        o~o~o~o

 Her “not date” with Kristoff was even better than Anna had imagined it would be. It was so natural to be around him, despite her nervousness. She would still stutter on words, feel her cheeks heat occasionally. But talking to Kristoff was fun. He had a similar sense of humor to her, she appreciated that he was a hard worker…

Kristoff was so empathetic to her situation, but never made her feel pitied. It was odd, to say the least. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. But she knew she liked him. And that mattered most.

Anna knew there was no way she’d be able to eat most of the things on the menu. She opted for an onion soup with a side of mashed potatoes. Unsurprisingly, Kristoff ordered a steak with his own side of mashed potatoes and extra fries. He definitely seemed like the type of man to eat a hefty amount of meat and starchy foods. It amazed her, really, that she’d never met someone as broad as him. Kristoff was just—a large man in general.

And… it was time to stop those thoughts right there.

As Anna sipped on her water, they fell into a small silence after the waitress left with their orders. It suddenly dawned on her that there was something they hadn’t talked about yet.

“Wait, we’ve never talked about your dog,” she blurted quickly.

Kristoff chuckled at that, taking a drink of his coke with a grin. “Yeah, we haven’t talked about Sven, have we?”

She couldn’t help but coo. “Aw, his name is Sven? What type of dog is he?”

“He’s a Bernese Mountain.”

Anna practically squealed. “Oh! So, he’s a big one!”

Nodding, he smirked. “Yes, definitely. And needy. Hates being alone all day.”

“I’ve always wanted a big dog, but Elsa would never,” she laughed. “I don’t even know with Elsa’s health if we could have a dog, but if we did then it’d have to be a small one.”

“Really? Elsa has some health problems too?”

Oh. She hadn’t mentioned that part, huh? It was a weird thought. Usually, anyone would know of Elsa’s issues first. Anna had always come second to her sister’s health. But here was Kristoff—paying attention entirely to her and learning of Elsa’s problems later.

Anna nodded. “Yes, Elsa has had chronic respiratory illnesses since we were kids. And well…” she paused, trailing off. She gazed at her lap, unsure if she should really elaborate on the situation.

But he was looking at her so expectantly. His head tilted so innocently as he sipped his soda again—eye contact never leaving her own. Kristoff wouldn’t push. She knew he wouldn’t. He was giving her an out to drop the subject if she didn’t want to continue.

“Honestly, her health overshadowed me. My parents paid a lot more attention to Elsa than they ever did me—a-and that made sense. I understand. She needed more care than I did but still I—” Anna stopped when she saw his surprised expression. She groaned, running a hand along her cheek. “I probably sound really selfish, huh? I never wanted for anything. My parents had money which meant I had any toy a child could ever beg for.”

Kristoff cut in. “You did want though, didn’t you? You wanted your parents to see you.”

She fiddled her thumbs in her lap, glancing away from him. “I mean, I guess so.”

“It’s okay to feel abandoned. It… It takes a while to come to terms with it.”

Anna hummed, nodding and quickly grabbing her water to nurse on. It seemed like an out. She definitely didn’t want to start sobbing at a restaurant. She was trying to get Kristoff to like her, not give him the impression that she was a crybaby.

Scratching at his cheek, Kristoff seemed a bit at war with himself. His adam’s apple bobbed, and Anna tried her best not to track the motion. She’d never been attracted to a man’s neck before, and yet, there she was.

“Not to make this conversation too heavy, but I know how that feels. I’m adopted.”

She nearly choked on her water at his confession. “Oh?”

Nodding, he smiled. “Thankfully, I have an amazing family. But I couldn’t help but wonder why my birth parents didn’t want me, you know? Was it something I did? Could I have changed their minds? But… you just ruin yourself with thoughts like that.”

“I… Wow. Thank you for being honest with me.”

Kristoff laughed, waving a noncommittal hand. “It’s a not a big deal. I used to—well—I used to hide it. I was really conservative and didn’t like people. Kept to myself… I was kind of—ugh.”

“Grumpy?” she guessed.

Snorting, he agreed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. And there’s nothing to say I’m not still grumpy sometimes now. But I’ve gotten better.”

They shared a small laugh at that before the waitress returned with their food and some drink refills. Anna waited a moment for her onion soup to cool as Kristoff started munching on his fries.

“So, how have your counts been?” he asked.

Anna blinked. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? How could he bring up her cancer treatment so casually? Had they discussed her blood count before?

She chose not to overthink the question and just answer him honestly. “They’re still a little higher than Dr. Mattias would like, but he’s optimistic they’ll return to normal sooner rather than later. Besides, my chemo is mostly for precaution. They took the lymph nodes from—” Anna gestured between her arm pit and where her breast used to be. “so, he’s confident nothing will spread. It’s just to kill anything extra that could try to come back.”

The way Kristoff looked at her was… different. Like he knew. Like he understood. His head just bobbed as she spoke, his attention completely on her like he held onto to every word she spoke.

“It wasn’t in a high stage then?” he asked as he began cutting into his steak.

Anna shook her head. “Stage two, thankfully. It was really aggressive though, so we had to act fast.”

Kristoff hummed in agreement as he took a bite. “How long have you been on chemo?” he questioned after swallowing.

“Three months. I was diagnosed six months ago as of like two days ago.”

He acknowledged her answer as he went for another bite. Anna watched him for a moment before quickly realizing she wasn’t eating. When she took her spoon into her hands, the numbing tingles stung through her fingers. Ignoring the feeling, she scooped up the onion soup. Only some of the sensations reached her taste buds—but she mostly just felt warmth. It sucked not being able to enjoy how things tasted anymore, but Dr. Mattias reassured her that all of that would return once her body was done with chemo. She was thankful the menu featured foods she could swallow without aching sharp pains hitting her tongue or cheeks.

With each spoonful, Anna would pause and let whatever flavors she could find linger along her tongue. It wasn’t much, but she could at least feel a twinge of salt and onion on her taste buds. It was better than nothing, she decided.

“How is it?” Kristoff was staring at her, brows pinched.

Was she making weird faces? Oh, God. She probably was. Anna had just been sitting there with soup in her mouth.

“It’s—um…”

“Can’t taste it?”

She sighed, nodding despite not wanting to admit it. “Yeah, I haven’t been able to taste for a while. Just—Just don’t tell Elsa, please. She doesn’t know.”

He was confused at that. “Why haven’t you told her?”

“She has her own burdens. I don’t want to bother her with mine.”

“She’s your sister. She’ll understand.”

Anna grimaced, gulping down more spoonfuls of soup. “I’m just—I’m not ready to tell her. I don’t want her to know what chemo is doing to me. I know she’ll understand, but I don’t… I don’t want her to start taking care of me. Elsa has been doctored and coddled her whole life and that the first chance she could do that to me instead she gets… overbearing.”

“Like she’s projecting?”

“Yeah,” Anna nodded quickly.

After finishing the small bowl of soup, Anna started on the mashed potatoes. Despite all these carbs, she knew this wouldn’t fill her up. The soup and mashed potatoes were small portions since they were intended to be sides.

“Haven’t told her about the ulcers either then?”

She gasped at that. “Are you—How do you know that?”

Anna didn’t want to admit he was freaking her out by reading her mind.

But damn. He certainly was.

He shrugged. “I just know a lot of chemo side-effects. The way you eat tells me a lot.”

“Oh, wow. Analyzing how a girl eats is certainly a way to flatter her.”

Panic quickly took over his features. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Kristoff, I was joking.”

Clearly flustered, he scarfed another piece of steak in his mouth before shoving his mashed potatoes towards her. Anna just stared between him and the dish before he nodded to coax her to take them.

“I figured you may need another helping. It’s not very large serving sizes on the sides.”

There was something about him she just—didn’t get. How did he make chemo so casual? Cancer so casual? How did he know so much? How did he figure her out so well? It just—wowed her. And freaked her out. She’d never been so easily read in her life. Maybe, she was telling him things she didn’t remember? She didn’t want to admit that she could forget their conversations so easily. But she did. Chemo brain was a true pain in the ass.

The twinge in her fingers finally won out. She hitched when a spasm hit her quickly, sending her fork flying to the floor. Hissing, she tried to ignore the eyes on her when she bent over to look for it. Sparing a glance at Kristoff, he noticed him holding out his spoon.

“Here, take mine.”

Anna took the spoon from his hand, shocked from his instant reaction. He left his seat, bending down to retrieve her fallen fork. He set it to the side of the table when he returned.

“You know, physical therapy can help that,” he told her.

Blinking, her heart fluttered in her chest. This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be real. There was no way that he just—didn’t care? He was so attentive. Knew much more about this than she did.

“Have you, like, researched cancer or something?” Anna blurted.

Kristoff appeared taken aback by the question. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Am I coming across like a know-it-all? I have a bad habit of just trying to fix things all the time. If I’m making you uncomfortable, Anna, just tell me. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

“Are you—I’m not just some charity case to you, am I?”

“What? No, of course not.”

It didn’t make sense. He knew so much. It almost scared her. It made her feel like there was nothing she could keep hidden. Why was he doing this? Suggesting all these things? Making her feel this way? It was—she didn’t know.

“Then—Is this a date?” Do you like me?  Was left unspoken on her tongue.

His eyes went wide with that. Scratching his cheek, he shied away as his cheeks flushed. “It’s—I didn’t mean to come on so strong, I’m sorry. This is just—I know a lot about it, like I said. I didn’t mean to make you feel like—like this was a pity date or something. It’s not. I—When I first saw you at the coffee shop I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Her mind wanted to shout that he was lying. But not everyone was Hans. She knew that. So, why was she allowing herself to jump from conclusion to conclusion? So, Kristoff knew a lot about chemo treatment, knew side-effects and was concerned for her. That makes him wonderful, doesn’t it? Why did she feel so invaded? God, she was going to ruin this before it even began if she put her walls up. Staying open minded was her best option. She had to trust him. Knew she could. He hadn’t given her a reason not to.

All of his texts over the week had been kind and caring. It was the same he was doing now. Looking out for her. Someone he’d just met. That told her all she needed to know about him, didn’t it?

“Sorry, I just… I’m so used to the pity by now. When you started asking so many questions I started getting defensive in my mind and… I think you’re pretty handsome.”

He giggled—he giggled and rubbed a hand through his blonde locks. “T-Thanks. I’m sorry. I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Reaching across the table, Anna smiled and placed her hand over his. “Thank you, Kristoff, really.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Yes, by the way. This is a date.”

Anna couldn’t help the girlish giggle that bubbled from her lips.

She wanted to kick herself for getting so overwhelmed by his concerned thoughts. But… she’d never been doted on before. It was new to her entirely. Kristoff asking her so many things, knowing so many things about what she was going through had her so taken aback. But now she knew, his intentions were the same as hers. This was a thing. A small thing, maybe, but a thing. And it made her giddy just thinking about falling in love again. With someone who actually cared.

Anna knew she’d have to admit that she had an ex-fiancé at some point, but after how intense the conversation had already gotten—she decided it best to save that one for another day.

They fell into a silence for a moment before Kristoff finally changed the topic from something heavy. “So, you want to see pictures of Sven?”

Anna nearly spit her potatoes out to agree as he chuckled and pulled his phone out.

[fifiliphaser]

Don’t Give Me Flannel (Cherik Ficlet)

[AO3 Version]

“You’re my roommate who’s super cute and it’s the middle of the night and you’re cramming for your exams in your flannel pajamas and disheveled hair and it’s becoming increasingly hard for me not to kiss you” AU

So, yeah, here we are. It was supposed to be a shorter one-shot, around 1,000 words or so, but I sort of took that prompt and ran with it, because apparently I cannot write something without any world-building in it. But it was a pure pleasure to write, even if I should've been working on my other WIPs. *sigh*

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this short—yet still somehow almost four times longer than intended—ficlet.

It's not beta-ed, just edited and proofread by myself, so you know the drill—and I'll be really grateful for any valuable remarks!

“Can you finally go to bed?”

Although Erik’s voice is hoarse, his annoyance seeps through very clearly. As a result, the question sounds more like an order, despite it not really being Erik’s intention. Nonetheless, he’s too groggy to care.

Generally, Erik Lehnsherr has always prided himself in being quite a heavy sleeper, capable of sleeping through anything and everything ever since he remembers. Even when he was just a few years old, he would occasionally wake up to hear about the storm roaring through the night, which did little to disrupt his sleep. His mother used to joke that the bomb blowing up nearby wouldn’t manage to jolt him awake. The manifestation of his powers in the early teenage years disrupted his routine for a while, but he managed to go back to it by the time he started university, and this time he hasn’t let anything get in the way of getting a healthy amount of sleep.

Willing himself to fall asleep has never been problematic either, even with a lot of background noise. Unfortunately, it seems like the light is his ultimate weakness. He’s been struggling to doze off for quite a while now, but a small lamp still kept alight turns it into a truly challenging feat. Facing the wall that his bed was pushed to, his eyes closed shut, he’s desperately trying to force his mind to finally shut down, having already given a shot to counting sheep and focusing on his breathing. Sadly, without the comforting darkness to drown out any unwanted late-night thoughts, he is unable to succumb to sleep. The worst thing is, he’s slowly growing more and more desperate and the thought to just ask Charles—the very culprit behind his current predicament—to do this for him keeps lingering at the forefront of his mind.

A quiet groan escapes his lips as Erik turns around, towards the rustle of paper behind him. Charles Xavier, his roommate, the fellow student who also happens to be a mutant, is sitting on the carpet between their two beds, surrounded by an array of textbooks and notes. He is, by far, one of the very few people whom Erik tolerates and who somehow tolerate him in return, which is still somewhat unbelievable to Erik—how such a person as Charles, so unbearably idealistic and impossibly kind, would like to as much as simply be in his presence continues to escape his comprehension.

Nevertheless, here they are, Charles spread on the floor and Erik failing to fall asleep. Overall, Charles is quite a nice roommate, certainly much better than the previous ones that Erik was unlucky to live with. (Or maybe it was them who were unlucky enough to cross his path, Erik wonders sometimes.) Although a chatter, Charles doesn’t bother with meaningless conversations and he has a quick wit, which is even more prominent over the chessboard that they sometimes use to play, all of which make him a pleasant enough companion even on the worst of days. His bright big eyes, with their remarkable blueness only accentuated by the flannel pajamas he is currently wearing and with his floppy hair falling over them, make him look rather appealing, as a quite impressive group of both male and female students can corroborate. Despite that, Charles’s favourable looks are no more than a pleasant addition, or so Erik tries to convince himself of.

He cuts that train of thought short, though. They are friends, even though this label hardly conveys the depth of their bond. Charles may be the closest person Erik has ever been to, other than his parents, which makes him just about the only family Erik has left. To ruin the most meaningful friendship in Erik’s life due to his irrational sexual urges is just unthinkable. So he proceeds to do what he’s been doing for weeks now, burying the budding attraction deep enough that the telepath won’t see it.

“I can’t fall asleep with the light on,” he grumbles, seeing that Charles has hardly reacted to his previous question. When that doesn’t work either, Erik continues, his brows furrowing, “I have an exam tomorrow, too, you know.”

Charles finally looks up at him, and his eyes are sparkling in the warm light of his bedside lamp, his liveliness evident despite the dark circles under them. Erik shouldn’t find that sight so endearing, and yet, he’s mesmerised all the same, almost forgetting his own annoyance.

“Yeah, sorry,” Charles says apologetically, gazing down at the notebook he’s just been leafing through. His lips, even redder than usual, what with the way Charles continues to chew at them, curl into a little self-deprecating smile. Erik can’t help but trace their movements when his friend adds, “Just… five more minutes.”

It’s clear how tired Charles is, leaning on his hand which is perched up on his lap and visibly fighting off the urge to let his head drop on his notes. Erik rolls his eyes, irritated with Charles’s insistence even more so now that he sees his exhaustion. It may even explain why Erik’s own tiredness feels so profound; if Charles is on the verge of falling asleep, his shields are prone to get weaker and sometimes he starts projecting his feelings, as if his mind was trying to get rid of the sense of fatigue simply by pushing it away.

In truth, Erik doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. He minds feeling more tired than he actually is, that is, but not the mental contact itself. It never fails to surprise him, how much he actually enjoys having someone brushing against his thoughts. Of course, he believes that all mutants should be treated equally, regardless of the nature of their mutation; and yet, telepaths are often facing quite a lot of resentment, even within the mutant community itself. For many, it is one thing to pass someone with a tail or a pair of wings on the street without batting an eye, and something else entirely to have a stranger overhear your thoughts—something intimate and meant to exist only for you to listen.

Erik can understand where such reservations might come from, even though he himself doesn’t view telepathy as so problematic. In fact, the anti-psionic bias seems to be chiefly the product of ignorance—there aren’t that many telepaths, most of whom not even powerful enough to fully enter someone’s mind without touching that person or at least being in a very close proximity to them, but people nevertheless are afraid of feeling so exposed, with more than unfavourable portrayal of telepathy in the media as manipulative and exploitative only feeding their fear.

Not that telepaths are actually interested in reading or controlling everyone’s minds; the fact that is obvious to anyone who has actually met a telepath. It would be exhausting, after all, to listen closely to every thought that comes your way. Not even mentioning the fact that a lot of people think they’re incredibly interesting and worthy of attention, while, in actuality, their thoughts are mundane and their secrets nonsignificant.

Erik has crossed paths with enough telepaths to know that. Besides, if telepaths truly did always listen to one’s every thought, Charles would already bloody well know how annoyed Erik has been for quite a while now.

“You’ve been cramming it for—” Erik reaches out with his power, tugging at the magnetic lines surrounding him, and feels the hands of Charles’s watch which is still wrapped around his wrist.

The soft hum of its metal is pleasantly familiar. Charles takes it off only to sleep, and its constant presence allows Erik to sense him, even if his friend is out of sight. It never ceases to surprise Erik how comforting he finds it, the possibility to feel Charles’s warm skin against the stainless steel of the watch anytime he wishes, wherever he is.

Erik reads the hour and groans resignedly, “—for six hours straight. You know everything that you need already.”

“I have to ace it,” Charles mutters, his gaze fixed back on his notes.

He bites his lower lip, again, and it’s truly infuriating how captivating it is. Erik spends entirely too much time looking at those plush red lips of Charles’s, wondering distantly if they’re as soft as they look and if their redness would be even more intense after a thorough kiss…

It’s getting ridiculous. He shouldn’t allow himself to think such things, especially not about a telepath.

“Did you even touch the tea I made you?,” Erik demands instead, resisting the temptation to ask another question that sits at the tip of his tongue, one that is as improper as it is stupid.

A quick glance at Charles’s nightstand confirms what Erik has already suspected. The green mug with a cat and a silly chemistry pun printed on it is standing exactly where Erik put it three hours ago.

Charles looks up once again, his lips rounding in a way that is both adorable and infuriating. What’s more, the sudden movement makes his hair, ruffled from the way Charles runs his hands through them every now and then, fall down his forehead, and Erik barely battles the urge to reach out and gently brush them away.

“Oh,” Charles breathes, his wide eyes making him look like a puppy whose owner has just scolded them for something that they are absolutely guilty of. “I’m terribly sorry, my friend,” he says sheepishly, averting his gaze. “I’ve got too immersed in all of this.” His hand flies around over all the books, the sleeve of his slightly too big flannel pyjamas tumbling down his forearm and falling over his wrist.

Why Charles insists on sleeping in that atrocious thing, whose only saving grace is its nice blue colour, remains a mystery to Erik. Their dorm room is relatively warm, even in winter, and yet Charles seems to be perpetually cold at night, sleeping under a pile of blankets all year long. Erik is reluctant to admit it, but it worries him that although the summer is about to start, Charles’ nightwear hasn’t yet changed. If he’s so cold, perhaps there could be a way to warm him up a bit. Which is hardly the best line of thinking for now, because the only solutions Erik can think of involve things that he’s pretty sure Charles wouldn’t want.

A small shudder runs down his spine, and Erik has to clear his suddenly dry throat, forcing his mind to think about something else—anything else, really. He ends up recalling the details of a few cases which will most probably prove to be useful during tomorrow’s exam, trying not to wonder how it would be to wrap his arms around Charles and pull him under the covers.

Frustratingly, even repeating in his head what he already knows by heart isn’t tedious enough to put his mind to sleep.

“You can’t keep doing that.” Erik’s voice sounds annoyed even to his own ears, more so than before.

“I know, I know…,” Charles says under his breath, clearly having completely recovered from his previous mortification.

“You should’ve started earlier.” Erik’s tone might be a bit too harsh, certainly more than he intended. He can’t help himself but be frustrated, though, what with everything that watching Charles raise his hand and gently tap his fingers against his lips does to Erik’s insides.

Charles sighs, burying his face in his hands. “I know that too.” Erik can barely hear him, his voice muffled by his fingers, but he can tell that Charles must be annoyed with himself too. “Just… this isn’t half as interesting as the project I’m working on,” he explains, with an edge to his tone.

Erik rolls his eyes, though there’s hardly any malice behind the gesture. “I can believe that, but it’s getting annoying,” he says a little less sternly, despite his patience seriously dwindling.

“Sorry.” But Charles doesn’t look so sorry as he grabs one of the textbooks and opens it, back in that study mode of his.

Taking a deep breath, Erik barely refrains from raising his voice, his irritation only worsened by the worry about Charles’s awful sleeping habits. “You know all of that. Go to bed already.”

Charles’s thoughts are clearly far away from their conversation when he mumbles, “Just… let me finish—”

“Charles, you’re overtaxing yourself.” Erik’s tone is yet again harsh, though this time he can’t keep worry out of his voice.

The telepath doesn’t even respond, his whole attention at the textbook on his lap. Despite his immersion in the text, Charles’s head continues to be drooping, his back leaning heavily on the frame of his bed, and Erik doesn’t know what to do anymore to make this man finally get some sleep.

It’s still somewhat bewildering to him, to care for another person’s well-being so much that he starts completely brushing aside his own. It’s not like he is uncaring, but ever since his parents passed away Erik hasn’t allowed himself to get too close to other people. His wounds haven’t properly healed yet, and the thought of losing anyone else is so unbearable that he’d rather isolate himself than face the prospect of going through that again. Yet, he finds himself growing more and more fond of Charles with every passing day.

Although everyone seems to love Charles—that goes without question—Erik isn’t like everyone and a creature of very little trust, so he can’t be easily swayed into liking someone, even if confronted with the smoothest of flattery. But Charles isn’t like anyone else either and hardly an overconfident and snobbish smooth talker that Erik thought he was upon their first meeting. It took more than a couple of heated discussions during quite a few classes and the mutant rights club meetings and one memorable party, however, for Erik to start appreciating Charles’s seemingly endless enthusiasm, his infuriating idealism and the admirable faithfulness to his own ideals, and, most of all, his unconditional kindness. 

As a cynic and a firm believer in the need for separation between baseline humans and mutants, Erik naturally would never agree with Charles’s integrationist ideas, though deep down he has to begrudgingly admit that such an approach might be beneficial in some instances. Besides, it’s not his fault, really, that Erik can’t resist that warm laughter, the playful quirk of that red mouth, and the mischievous glint in those hauntingly blue eyes. If he didn’t know much about telepathy, he’d think that this endearing charm is just a trick, but he knows better. Charles really happens to be just as charming, as if having the magnetic personality of an opposite pole, whose call is quite hard for Erik to resist.

Which doesn’t make Charles’s late-night study sessions any less irritating.

Erik must do something to make Charles finally go to sleep, and if the Charles way of talking and negotiating doesn’t work, it’s time for the Erik way. He slips from under the covers and jumps to the floor.

“Erik, give it back!,” Charles shrieks the second Erik snatches the book away from his hands, though his protests are much weaker than usual.

“I need sleep and so do you,” Erik says stubbornly, hugging the book to his chest. “So, just put it all away, or I’ll do that for you.”

Charles looks at him for a long moment, the exasperation in his expression mixed with something else, something odd. There’s a heaviness to his gaze that makes Erik shift minutely, slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those brilliant eyes.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” Charles says eventually, although he doesn’t sound resigned, only mildly amused.

“You’re the one to talk,” Erik snaps back, albeit good-naturedly.

Signing once again, Charles just shakes his head, a small smile creeping on his lips. Then, he fixes Erik with a stern gaze.

“I’ll go to sleep when I finish this chapter,” he says seriously, and the determination that is colouring his eyes suggests that he won’t step down this time.

Erik purses his lips and regards him for a moment, contemplating the offer. The chances for negotiating conditions more favourable for Erik are scarce, and now is not a good time to pick up a fight. It seems best to relent.

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Erik decides, slowly releasing the book from his grasp.

Charles quickly goes to grab it before he can even let go of it, the telepath’s fingers brushing against Erik’s forearms and leaving a trail of the pleasant tingling sensation behind. Erik can’t help but sit here transfixed, the plush carpet soft against the bare skin of his shins, as Charles goes back to studying. There’s something enthralling in watching him in his element—because as exhausted as Charles is, there’s still so much passion in the way he’s practically devouring what is written on the pages before him. His eyes are alight again, and his lips are moving—lightly, captivatingly—as he’s quietly repeating the crucial tidbits of information.

Erik has never wanted to kiss someone so much in his entire life.

Although the book is once again laying open on his lap and stealing all his attention, Charles looks up from it, apparently having noticed Erik’s dumbfounded expression. “You can go back to bed now,” he points out lightly, his brows drawn in mild confusion.

“Not until I tuck you in first,” Erik responds before he has time to think much about his words.

He doesn’t even get a chance to start feeling self-conscious, however, as Charles is seemingly taking it all in stride. “That won’t be necessary, my friend,” he says, giving Erik an amused look, the corner of his lips—so distractingly red—rising in a half smile, and Erik finds it hard not to stare at them.

Instead, he narrows his eyes. “We’ll see.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Charles snorts and glances down at the book, his fingers finding their way back to his mouth.

The tip of his thumb begins to slowly trace the outline of his lower lip, back and forth, drawing all of Erik’s attention to that one delicate motion. He cannot help but be hypnotised, wishing against his better judgement that he could reach out and replace Charles’s fingers with his own. To map those lips with his touch, to explore the softness against his fingertips…

Erik looks up abruptly, his eyes boring in the ceiling. Breathing out, he almost groans, but refrains from doing so not to distract Charles. It’s really of no use, allowing himself for such mental escapades. This absurd infatuation has already made Erik’s life miserable enough, there is really no need to add fuel to the flames.

Except, he finds himself unable to stop. Everytime he sees Charles, hears his warm laughter, feels his fingers brushing against his own arm, is confronted with a clever and spot-on counterargument during their arguments, or witnesses a particularly cunning move during the game of chess, Erik can’t stop his mind from being consumed yet again by the thoughts of his best friend. It’s truly a miracle that Charles hasn’t picked up on those thoughts yet, and for once Erik is grateful for Charles’s strict moral code.

Nonetheless, Erik knows he has to put an end to it. It’s just a silly crush, after all, nothing worth putting their friendship on the line. No more foolishness from now on—he’ll just focus on getting through his studies, pushing all the other matters aside.

After some time, which seems to have stretched from mere minutes to long hours, Erik abruptly hears Charles close the book. He drops his gaze in time to see his friend put it down and then proceed to gather all the rest of the study materials into a pile.

“Okay, I’ve finished, happy?,” Charles says, pushing the pile closer to his bed. “You can tuck me in now.” He looks up and momentarily furrows his eyebrows. “Erik?”

Somehow, the earnest look of those beautifully blue eyes makes Erik’s resolve snap. So much for an end to all the silliness. Before he can stop his traitorous lips from moving, the question is already leaving his mouth, the one he’s been longing to ask for so long.

“Can I kiss you?”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, as Charles’s eyebrows slowly rise, disappearing underneath his dishevelled hair. He’s still for what feels like an eternity, and Erik can feel the tendrils of the telepath’s thoughts retreating from his mind, folding in on themselves, which can’t possibly bode well.

Panic begins to rise in Erik’s chest. With his breath quickening, he does his best to slip on a mask of indifference over his face, hoping against hope that Charles hasn’t seen anything damning in his mind, especially not any of those lewd thoughts he’s been having lately. But before dread can consume his mind like a wildfire, Erik sees Charles’s expression soften and then the telepath is leaning in, stopping only when his face is a few mere inches from Erik’s.

He’s so close that Erik nearly goes cross-eyed, Charles’s breath ghosting over his lips. Erik remains frozen, waiting for his friend’s response, anticipating and dreading it in equal measure. He sees that Charles’s eyes are flickering all over his face, filled with… Is it excitement, or rather nervousness? Regardless, his look is clearly inviting, so Erik lets himself hope that maybe his friend does want the same thing.

“Yes.”

For a second, Erik isn’t sure if he has heard it correctly. It was barely a whisper, and Charles agreeing to such a ridiculous request sounds too good to be true. It soon becomes clear, however, that Erik’s ears were not playing tricks on him when Charles gives him one last smile and leans in farther to close the distance between them.

Erik’s eyes close on their own accord, and it takes a heartbeat for their lips to meet. It doesn’t feel like a particularly world-changing moment—or maybe it does, just not in the way Erik expected. It’s not like a lighting strike, turning his world upside down and igniting a raging fire inside of him, but it rather feels as if long-lost puzzle pieces finally fell in their proper places.

Kissing Charles feels like coming home.

His lips are just so soft, pliable against Erik’s, the warmth of their gentle touch spreading through Erik’s whole body like little electric shocks. The kiss is rather chaste, close-mouthed; even so, Erik can feel the air between them slowly changing and starting to crackle with the kind of tension that has barely reached the surface before. The wave of excitement mixed with lust that swiftly encompasses his mind proves that he’s not the only one who notices it.

Erik senses something else, however, something much deeper and warmer, as his hands find their way to Charles’s face. He runs his fingertips over the expanse of smooth skin, gently stroking Charles’s cheeks, and he can feel the warmth rising there. He can’t help but smile against his friend’s lips, feeling an affectionate nudge in his mind in return.

And then Erik hears it, a soft murmur permeating his thoughts.

I thought you’d never ask.

If anyone's interested, here's the mug Erik was reffering to (I found it funny, don't at me ^^').

And I'm considering perhaps writing more in that 'verse, so if any of you has any ideas, prompts, or requests, I'll be more than happy to oblige ;)

(Generally, I have more in store for Cherik, especially after Dark Phoenix (we'll always have Paris, after all), but those works are also getting longer than expected. Still, I'm cautiously optimistic about finishing them in August.)

[technicallyoneofakind]

Chance Encounter

Author's Note:

Yo! I did it. I wrote about the Winter Isle's arch… and a little about heading to Perdida… But mostly Winter Isles. I introduce one of the familiars that kind of grew on me (kind of like how Swaine did) as I had him in my party: the Sasquash turned Papa Sasquash here. I changed the name due to fear of copyright, but all's good. It's still, to me, the same derpy 'squash that I love.

Anyway. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own this game like I own a real-life yeti. I don't own a Yeti. Where would I even keep one?

~.~.~

The chilly winter air attempted to cut through the group, despite their newly obtained coats. They trudged up the hill towards the cave. Luckily, their warmth was well maintained due to all the beasts they fought during their trek up the mountain.

The two kids and the fairy seemed to do well acclimating to the snowy terrain. The thinner older man that accompanied them, however, stumbled now and again, all the while shivering in the cold.

They had nearly reached the Glittering Grotto- it could be seen in the distance. "Wow, it really does glitter," Oliver admired, gazing at the frozen over snow topping the entrance.

As if on cue, there was a soft thud behind the three. They looked back to see the thief lying face first in the snow, his arms sprawled out as if he had tried to catch himself in the fall.

"Oi, mind youer step. Snow places like this one, here, have got some pretty nasty terrain," the fairy warned a moment too late.

"Hey, are you alright," Esther asked out of concern.

Swaine lifted his head from the snow and clumps of the frozen material fell from his face in a small pile in front of him, small flecks of white sticking to his hood and parts of his face. "Oh, I'm fine. You know. Just freezing in the tundra of the Winter Isles," he sarcastically snapped. "Just peachy." He got up and began to dust himself off angrily. A chill seemed to run through him, the wet of the snow having seeped into his parka.

He shivered worse now, holding himself tighter than before. "Dammit. Now I'm even colder…," he cursed quietly.

"Will you stop complaining? We're all cold," the blond chastised.

"He is a bit thin. Maybe it affects him more," Oliver defended, remembering how gaunt the man looked when they first met.

"Maybe he needs a thicker jacket, like," suggested Drippy, crossing his arms and jerking his head at Swaine.

"What I need is to get out of this pla-!" Before he could finish their retort a blur of white tackled him. The three jumped and it took a moment to process what they were seeing. There on top of the thief was a Sasquash, pinning him down in the snow. "Ack! What the hell?!" He gazed up at a blue ape-like face in shock and fear as it sniffed him.

Oliver and Esther rushed to aid their friend, afraid of what it might do to the thief. To their wonder, the creature started to lick Swaine's face excitedly. The two kids exchanged a curious glance before breaking into a giggling fit.

"Pfft-! Yech… Hey! A little help, you two," the man cried as he continued to be assaulted by a large pink tongue.

"I think you made a new friend, Swaine," Oliver commented between giggles much to his friend's chagrin.

"It matches you perfectly," the familiar tamer added, covering her mouth with her glove as more laughter escaped her. Swaine glared at them sourly.

The creature suddenly stopped licking him to his relief. It seemed to maneuver around him, still pinning the thief in the snow, and sat next to the man's body. It picked him up and held him like a baby, pressing the former prince into its fur.

The warmth of the fur shocked Swaine, expecting a creature from the cold wastelands of the Winter Isles to be just as frigid as its environment. Despite the newfound comfort, he didn't like the idea of being coddled like a child.

"So… What do we do? It doesn't seem hostile for a Sasquash," the young wizard observed. He couldn't help but smile at how restrained the thief was being, despite how he was being handled.

"Yeah, maybe it confused Swaine for one of its pack," Esther reasoned, though unsure. "Wait… its kind roam in packs, right?"

"Does he look like a furry snow beast," Drippy commented irritably looking up at her, overlooking the girl's question.

"Well, we can't just attack it, it might hurt him. Or it might hurt us… or both," Oliver thought, looking to the others.

While they bickered, the thief had relaxed into the fluffy giant's arms, happy for the warmth it provided him. He knew he had to have looked absolutely ridiculous, but he didn't care. Anything beat freezing to death in the cold wet snow.

A snore alerted the three from their argument on what to do with the Sasquash. They looked to find that Swaine had fallen asleep in its arms. The beast nuzzled the thief, who only shifted in response.

"Heavy sleeper as always," Esther sighed. She began to walk towards the fluffy monster.

Seeing the girl coming close to it and its new friend, the Sasquash let out a loud snarl. It startled their sleeping companion awake.

"What the- Did I fall asleep?!" He felt the creature's grip on him tighten and heard it growl even louder as Esther and Oliver cautiously continued to approach. "Hey, hey," Swaine soothed, freeing his right arm and placing his hand gently on the giant fluffy being's face. "You don't need to protect me from them."

The Sasquash cast a softened look at Swaine who gave a reassuring nod. It wined in confusion, looking between the thief and his party before eventually, gently, letting the man go.

The two stopped advancing on the strange pair and watched as their older friend pet the yeti on the head, receiving a side nuzzle in return. "Did Swaine just…" Esther began.

"He did… He tamed a familiar," Oliver finished, astonished at the sudden addition to their team.

They continued to watch as Swaine called out Soliton the Grandsun, explaining the change in his crew of familiars. The Grandsun gave a nod- as much as it could being a flaming disk with a face and flew into the creature cage.

"How about it, do you want to be part of the team," the thief asked, jabbing his thumb at the other three. It looked at them and the man it had recently just tackled and cuddled with and nodded, but not before scratching its chest. Swaine chuckled and pet the giant fuzz-ball again. "You're not all bad, see? Just a big squishy pushover…"

"So you made a new friend," Oliver asked, drawing closer to the two.

The thief scratched the back of his head, though the parka softened the action. "Yeah, just in time, too. I was beginning to think I needed a familiar with a little more 'oomph' to it." He looked down at the burly snow beast with a smile. "Squishy hear will help with that, for sure."

"'Squishy'…," Esther asked. It wasn't the first name she'd go with for the yeti-like creatures.

"What? He's big and squishy. You've got a better name," Swaine retorted, waiting to hear their ideas.

"No, Squishy's a good name," Oliver corrected before Esther could continue their verbal match. As soon as its name was decided, Squishy started to glow a faint green, a sign that it had joined the thief's brood of familiars.

They had been up all night making strategic plans for the inevitable battle against Shadar. On top of that, they had recently faced many monsters akin to the area around Perdida. The group was subsiding on coffee alone to keep them awake.

It didn't cut it for the thief anymore. Noticing how close he was to passing out on their way up the mountain, he stopped a few feet behind the others.

Esther and Oliver turned around, holding the small cups of espresso. Their conversation about what the fight would be like and what familiars to use ceased when they saw the older man begin to sway from side to side.

"You don't look so good," Oliver said, watching as Swaine nearly stumbled and from his own lack of cognizance.

He shook his head, trying to fend off sleep. He put his right hand out to ease his younger friends' worries. "'t's okay," he slurred out of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. It hadn't been an easy day for any of them. "I'll be fine…," he yawned, slowly beginning to walk up the hillside.

"You certainly don't look 'fine'," Esther added a little groggily herself- the espresso was enough to keep her up though.

Swaine shot her an irritable look. He tried to move faster to prove his point, but tripped over himself, landing on top of a familiar furry snow monster. The thief opened his eyes and looked at the creature's face with a smile. "Thanks, Squishy…" He leaned into Yeti for a moment, the soft fur beckoning him to sleep.

The Papa Sasquash snorted in response, rolling its eyes. It picked up its lanky friend and put him on its back. The beast, now almost larger than its owner, walked up to the others, signaling them to continue up to Perdida.

"Can you do that," the familiar tamer asked, looking at Oliver. The wizard looked to Mr. Drippy.

"He's not even awake… How's that possible," the boy asked.

Drippy watched as the creature effortlessly climbed up the mountain, sleeping thief in tow. "He can as long as his will demands it."

"Really," the two kids exclaimed in shock.

The fairy nodded. "It's not like he's asking it to do much, is it? As long as it's nothing too big and thief-face wills it, the big fluffy so-and-so can do whatever he ordered it to do, even asleep."

"So, it can't be used in battle," the blond clarified.

The fairy nodded and the three followed the giant creature up to Perdida. Oliver reflected on how the furry beast joined them. It still puzzled him to that day.

Esther, noticing the lost look on her companion's face, nudged him. His head snapped up to attention. "Huh," he asked, looking in her direction.

"Something the matter? You look concerned."

The red-head nodded. "Oh… Yeah. It's about Squishy."

"What about him?"

"It's not like Swaine chose him, it's more like he chose Swaine," Oliver discussed, waving his hands subtly for emphasis.

Esther put her hand to her chin. "Yeah, I see what you mean…" She yawned.

The young wizard chuckled. "It's funny what you think of when you're sleepy." He received a chuckle in return.

"Haha, yeah." She looked to the Papa Sasquash who had taken the lead, smirking at the snoring thief draped over its back.

Needless to say, they were checking into an inn the moment they reached town.

~.~.~

A/N:

So, we meet again. The end of another drabble.

I wanted to write about my Papa 'Squash, Appa but felt to change the name. Copyright and stuff. He was originally got for a quest, but I figured to keep him around for the sake of giving Swaine a tank. Plus, I like the idea of Swaine having a big fluffy friend that he could ride around on if he wanted to. I think he'd look pretty freaking OP riding the furry snow monster into battle.

Also, I wanted to touch on something. I think it would have been cool to have it where different characters tame beasts differently and even have it where the beasts choose who they prefer to be tamed by. Some of them could even deviate from that character's favored genus. Kind of like how various characters have different miracle moves. I just don't like always having to have Esther on the team to catch familiars when I could have Marcassin, Swaine, or Oliver fill the role. My Esther has a lower level than those three, so it does put me at a handicap.

At any rate. Review with thoughts. I'd love to hear 'em. Don't be shy.

[doctor--idiot]

Men of Fortune – Ch. 1

A retelling of Uncharted 4 A Thief’s End. [AO3]

Sam had been joking earlier when he had asked Nate if he was going to faint, but Nate still felt shaky and vaguely like he was either going to collapse of throw up. Seeing his brother again after so many years had rattled him. He was in complete emotional turmoil, his mind entirely unsure how to process that the death of the person who had meant most to him in the entire world had not actually happened.

Instead, Sam had spent a decade and a half in a Central American prison for a crime he technically hadn’t even committed. And Rafe and Nate had gotten away. It was difficult not to allow the survivor’s guilt to cripple him anew. The first few years after Sam’s apparent death, Nate had been nothing short of a mess. He still had no idea how his friends and his now-wife had put up with him at all.

He was randomly throwing clothes into his suitcase, not even thinking too much about it, because the only thing on his mind right now was Sam. Lying to Elena about where he was going to go had come naturally, he hadn’t even thought twice about it. All that mattered was that Sam needed his help and that Nate would do anything to get him out of his debt to Alcazar.

I am not losing you again. I won’t.

He had barely been able to take his eyes off Sam long enough to make it to his car, drive home, and pack his stuff. Sam had laughed at him for it.

“Just go, Nathan, I’m not going to disappear on you,” he’d said, amused, but the words had hit too close to home for Nate’s comfort. It was exactly what he was afraid of. The miracle that Sam was even alive and here was so huge that Nate was sure he’d used up his allowance of luck in the universe all in once and he didn’t want to let go of his brother for even a second, in case anything were to happen when he least expected it.

He was drunk on happiness and sick with fear of losing his brother again. He was glad he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast or it would have been on its way up his esophagus right about now.

“Hey, you in a hurry?” Elena had appeared in the door to their bedroom without Nate noticing. He jumped at her voice.

“Yeah. I mean no.” He threw her a smile. “Just excited. Sorry I gotta leave you.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, hip leaning against the wooden door frame. “I told you to go, didn’t I? It’ll be good for you.”

Guilt crept up inside of Nate’s throat, making his voice sound hoarse. “Yeah.” He closed the suitcase and looked around.

Elena asked, “Good to go?” She was smiling and Nate hated that he had to lie to her but he didn’t have time to explain and he didn’t want to make things harder for Sam than they had to be. They didn’t know how much Alcazar knew, whether he was watching them, and there was no way he would drag Elena into that with him. He wanted her here in New Orleans, unworried, and out of harm’s way.

“I love you,” he told her on his way out as if it would make up for betraying her. She kissed him goodbye and he tried not to pull away too early, his stomach clenched tight.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.” That wasn’t a lie, at least. “Could be a couple of weeks, could be longer than that.”

Elena nodded, her smile dimming slightly. “I know. Just … watch yourself, okay?”

He squeezed her hip before turning away to jog down the driveway, lugging his suitcase behind him.

Sam had speed-booked their tickets and he was waiting for Nate at the airport when Nate got out of the taxi. He had showered, his hair still damp, and dressed in simple jeans and a T-shirt despite the chilly temperatures. Of course, he was smoking a cigarette. Nate hadn’t expected fifteen years in prison to rid him of that habit. If anything, it had probably made it worse.

“Ready to go?” Sam asked him and it struck Nate again that his voice was deeper than he remembered it being. He had first noticed it when he had talked to Sam at the dock. Maybe it was the smoking, maybe he had simply gotten older.

It was strange how he didn’t look that much older. The last time Nate had seen him, they had both still been in their twenties. He realized that last year must have been Sam’s fortieth birthday.

God, they had lost so much time.

He wanted to hug Sam again, hold on to him and not ever let go. Instead, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and nudged him toward the terminals. “Let’s go.”

Flying wasn’t something that had ever bothered Nate but he did get restless on long flights. Six hours in, Sam’s hand came down on his knee and he flinched in surprise. “Settle down. Go to sleep.”

Nate shook his head. He was too wired to even think about sleep. He felt like he had had five cups of coffee and then downed two more energy drinks on top. Sam’s hand on his leg kept him from jiggling it with nervous energy and the warmth of his brother’s palm seeping through the denim of his jeans helped a little with his restlessness. Sam kept it there for the next hour until he got up to pee and Nate instantly missed the contact.

One and half hours later they landed in London und Nate tried to work the crick out of his neck. His stomach was growling after not having eating for an entire day and they grabbed breakfast at a nearby Costa. Their connection flight was delayed by half an hour, so they hung around a while longer, sipping piping hot coffee.

“If we get the cross,” Nate started, “What do you think is in it? A map to the treasure’s location?”

Sam grinned at him over the rim of his paper cup. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Somehow I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Suppose not.”

They fell silent until they had finished their coffees. Nate tapped the back of Sam’s hand. “So how much time you got left?”

Sam chewed his lips, an uncharacteristically shy action. Although, after fifteen years, Nate had to admit that he might not know what was characteristic of his brother anymore.

“‘bout ten weeks. Took me a moment to get my bearings and find you.”

Nate nodded. “That’s not too bad, we can do ten weeks.”

Sam looked up at him with a half-smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Nathan, we don’t even know if there is a treasure. We could be on a wild goose chase for all we know. I didn’t–” He scowls down at his hands, lips curling sardonically, “I was an idiot to talk about it at all. I just–I guess I didn’t think I’d ever get outta there, is all. It was just a fantasy, something to keep me occupied.”

Nate couldn’t say anything, his chest feeling too tight to speak. He only realized his hand had still been lying on top of Sam’s when Sam pulled away and stood up.

“Let’s catch our plane, come on.”

The last stretch to Italy took less than three hours and Nate slept for almost all of the way. He woke once when the stewardess came by with inquiries about coffee, and then for a second time when the pilot announced the landing descent. In his sleep, Nate had dropped against his older brother’s side like a magnet, his body’s natural reaction to Sam’s presence even after all this time. He rolled his cheek against Sam’s shoulder, trying to shake himself into wakefulness.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

Nate dug his elbow into his brother’s side, earning a soft grunt. “Shut up.”

He noticed Sam subtly flexing his fingers after Nate had sat back upright, so his arm had probably fallen asleep with Nate leaning against him. Nate couldn’t feel bad about it, after all Sam could have woken him. The fact that he hadn’t despite his own discomfort made something warm bloom inside of Nate.

They were both stiff and a little cranky by the time they had claimed their luggage. Twelve plus hours cramped in economy class were no joke and Nate didn’t care if he looked weird stretching in the middle of the airport terminal.

They hauled a taxi to drive them to the hotel they had booked for the next two nights. It wasn’t the Hilton or anything but Nate didn’t mind simple accommodation. Preferred it actually. It meant more privacy and fewer questions asked. To save money, they had only rented one room – another thing that Nate didn’t mind.

He and his brother had always shared on their explorations. It was cheaper and it made it easier to throw ideas around and plan their next steps if they were in the same room. They had both been sound sleepers, not bothered by noise thanks to growing up in an orphanage, crowded into one room with ten older boys.

In a way, having one room for the two of them was already a luxury. Maybe that was why he had moved in with Elena so quickly, entirely unused to sleeping alone. He had found it too quiet, too strange not to be able to hear other people’s breathing, giving him a sense of security.

Now, the two of them gathered at the small, round table to lay out their plans for the evening. Sully had left a pair of monkey suits for the party and a set of worker overalls for them for the climb in. The Rossi Estate would be carefully patrolled and they wouldn’t get in without an invitation. Inside, Sully would be waiting for them. After that, they would probably have to wing it since they didn’t really know what to expect. They would have to find a way into storage and who knows what the security system was like. Sully had e-mailed them blueprints of the place but there was always a chance that, for an exclusive auction like this, enhanced security measures were in place. People tended to be on higher alert and they would have to be more careful.

It wasn’t anything they hadn’t managed to pull off before.

Nate had to admit that his brother looked exceptionally good in a tux. They had had to play dress-up for jobs before but back then, both of them had been scrawnier and if not anything else, prison had definitely had a positive effect on Sam’s physique. Nate had always liked exercising to stay in shape but his brother was all muscle now, his broad shoulders filling out the tuxedo almost obscenely.

“Come here for a minute,” he said when he caught Nate staring at him. Quickly, Nate shook himself out of his trance and shrugged into the jacket.

“Help me with this, will ya?” Sam held out his arms, biceps bulging under the crisp-white fabric, motioning for Nate to insert the cufflinks for him. Nate pinched the stiff fabric between his fingers, turning the cufflinks over in his hand. They weren’t anything fancy, simple silver and black, and Nate had completely missed them on the table.

Sam shook out his arms after Nate had finished, adjusting the collar of the shirt. “I hate these things. So restricting.”

Nate had to grin at this brother’s uncomfortable grimace. “The sooner we’re in and outta there, the sooner you can take it off.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound suggestive, and to Sam it probably hadn’t, but Nate still winced slightly. With the way he had been staring at his brother before, he couldn’t keep his brain from making the non-PG connection.

“Anyway,” he turned around, “We got everything?”

Sam laughed, a low and warm sound that made Nate turn back around. “Not so fast, little brother.” He looped the strip of the bowtie around Nate’s neck, playfully tugging him closer. Nate stumbled a little, surprised, and reflexively steadied himself on Sam’s shoulders.

“Warn a guy,” he says, voice too hoarse. Sam scoffed and pulled tie tight against Nate’s Adam’s apple. His fingers brushed Nate’s chin as he worked and Nate tilted his head back to escape the contact. His hands were slightly shaky and he didn’t even know why.

Sam’s presence was still too foreign to him, still too unreal and so fragile, as if he could vanish into thin air at any moment. Nate was still afraid that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep him.

“All right,” Sam patted him on the chest, “Lookin’ good. Let’s go.”

They quickly hopped into their overalls and hoofed it to a lookout by the Rossi Estate. The climb in went off without a hitch and it was exhilarating to be doing this again, together with his brother. Nate had always had a love for dangerous situations, nurtured by Sam after setting the initial example. They had always worked well together, silent communication, sensing the other’s position without looking, and it had made them nearly infallible as a team.

Until that day in Panama, where they had been surprised by Rafe’s diversion from the original plan and the sheer number of armed guards that had come after them. The memory was a little too hazy now to recall correctly because it had been too devastating to think about, and now it was crumpled, unavailable to Nate, who had spent the last two days trying to figure out what he had missed. How could he not have known that his brother was still alive?

Fresh grief for all the time they had been robbed of, Nate sank to the cushioned chaise in the room in which Sully had been waiting for them. Sam, who had walked ahead of him, stopped, turned. “Everything okay? You didn’t hurt yourself climbing, did you?”

Nate shook his head. “Nah, just glad we made it.” He meant it in every sense of the words and Sam returned his small smile.

“Boys,” Sully interrupted, “There’s time for you to flirt later, we gotta get a move on.”

Sam guffawed a laugh while heat shot into Nate’s face. He pressed into the shadow by the door on their way out, hoping it would hide his blush.

Of course, their stint didn’t go over without complications but all three of them were masters at improvisation by now and they managed to scrape by just so. Hurtling out of the driveway in a stolen limousine, Nate thought about Rafe and what it had felt like to hear his name again, to know he had been here, too, so close to Sam and Sully, and even closer to thwarting their little operation. He was the one who should have rotted in prison for fifteen years, not Sam.

Only, that wasn’t exactly fair. None of them would have deserved to land in prison back then, or maybe all of them would have deserved it, Nate didn’t know. What he did know was that he was furious, angry beyond measure that Sam had been dealt the bad hand instead of Rafe, who had grown up to be even more of an asshole than he had been fifteen years ago.

Sam grabbed his elbow, shouting “We did it!” over the roar of the engine and the howl of the wind. He was dangling Saint Dismas in front of Nate’s eyes but all Nate could see was the white-toothed grin nearly splitting his brother’s face in two.

[lazulia-fics]

Getting Dirty (Starlight Express fic, Flat-Top/Purse, NSFW)

Oh look, another entry in my “someone on Tumblr dared me to write a random rarepair fic” series. Here we have Flat-Top and Purse, enjoying a little dirty time.

It’s NSFW and tucked away behind a cut. Nothing kinky to speak of, no warnings beyond adult content. You can skip if you’re not comfortable reading it, I don’t mind in the least.

Tagging @thesodorcollective and @exdraghunt, since we were discussing this on Discord. Also @all-alone-in-the-moonlight, as I seem to recall us discussing a few HCs for this pairing. We never did come up with a ship name, did we? :P

Grime, dirt, muck. The air in this dive of a place was thick with it, a filthy mist of coal, brick, and gravel dust.

Purse shuddered. He could already feel it seeping into his plating, settling into his pristine seams and joints. He could taste it, could practically feel it dulling the shine of the glitter he wore on his face. He was used to the sterile cleanliness of the places electrics went to socialize, bright spotless clubs with gleaming walls and glowing lighting and filled with hushed, high-class conversation.

In this place, even the conversation was filthy. Purse passed a slate truck who was quite busy gyrating his pelvis for the benefit of his friends, evidently recounting last night’s conquest, and shouldered his way past two sloppy, inebriated coaches. One of them made a sound that could generously be interpreted as a whistle. Purse pretended not to hear it.

The money truck rolled with stoic grace all the way to the bar, debated whether to dust the stool, and sat down with a defeated sigh, trying to decide what to do with his arms before laying them on the bar top. He was already going to have to scrub himself raw after leaving this place. And take something for the headache pounding at his temples, thanks to the dirty, stuffy atmosphere of this place.

He’d barely had time to lock eyes with a stain on the bar top when a truck slid into the seat next to Purse. “Well well well. What do we have here?”

Purse gave him a bored, slightly disgusted look. A brick truck. He was as dirty as any truck here, covered in gravel dust and coal, a spare brick embedded in his helmet just in case anyone forgot what his job entailed, an insufferably cheeky look on his face as he looked Purse up and down. “Name’s Flat-Top. Come here often, gorgeous?”

Yes, actually. “I’m here on business.”

“Business, eh? Yeah, I got business too. We all got business.”

Purse didn’t bother with a reply. Somewhere in the distance, a truck released a string of profanity to rival Wrench the time she dropped a welding mask on her foot.

“We don’t get a lot of electrics down here,” Flat-Top remarked. Purse heard the scrape of a container on the bar top and glanced down to see Flat-Top pushing a drink in his direction. Purse turned his nose up at it. “Most of the time they think this place is too, uhh…”

“Dirty?” Purse coolly offered.

Flat-Top snorted and took a gulp of his own drink. “Dirty’s a word. Too much dignity to roll around with the freight, yeah? And you sure look like a truck with lots of… dignity.” He made a great show of looking up and down Purse’s body, making it clear he had another word in mind in place of ‘dignity’. “Yep, nothing breaks your composure, hm?”

Purse elegantly rolled his eyes, his attention momentarily drawn to two trucks dancing in a nearby corner, as though somehow they could hear the music above the roar of the crowd. Before long it was less dance and more of an obscene grind and soon a rather obscene kiss. Purse scoffed. Electrics would never get up to such behavior in a public area.  

Flat-Top loudly cleared his throat, catching Purse’s attention again. “Looks like you might be here a while. Maybe while you’re waitin’ for your business, you could--”

Flat-Top grabbed his arm. The gesture was somewhere between flirtatious and obnoxious. In either case, the hand left smudges on his plating. Purse shuddered. “Don’t touch me.”

“Hey, I jus’ thought--”

“Not here.”

A look of… disappointment, maybe, crossed Flat-Top’s eyes before he downed his drink and cocked his head toward the side of the bar. “There’s the alley--”

Purse was on his wheels before the brick truck could finish his direction.

The alley behind the freight bar was exactly what one would expect—weak, flickering lighting, punctuated by the occasional flashing lights in the far distance, the thick, grimy dust suspended in the spotlight of the overhead lamps.

Voices, some sober, most drunken, spilled from the bar and the nearby roads. Slightly more private than the bar, but still disgustingly public. Anyone could stumble upon them here.

And before Purse could analyze the locale any further, his back met the brick wall with a thump that made him wince in pain and surprise, Flat-Top pressing at his front with a brazen smirk.  

They didn’t kiss- Purse quickly whipped his head to the side before Flat-Top had a chance, barely missing the brick truck’s slight look of disappointment before he cut his losses and went for Purse’s neck instead, clumsily biting and licking at it. The low-key pain made Purse’s body shiver with something between lust and disgust, or maybe a healthy mix of both. The ragged brick wall scraped up his back as Flat-Top pawed at him, running his hands all over as though trying to sully him, pushing his fingers into sensitive joints, scrabbling at his pelvis and unlatching the plating with unsubtle fingers.

Purse sighed as his spike, already hard and twitching, landed in the brick truck’s hand. Flat-Top gave him a few rough strokes that turned Purse’s sigh into a ragged moan, the sound extending as Flat-Top went searching further. Purse expected rough fingers shoving inside him; the hesitation made him frown, tightening his grip on the grimy armour beneath his hand.

“S’okay if I…?”

“Yes, do it,” Purse huffed. Impatience made him snappish. He felt the press of thick fingers inside him, sending a jolt of sensation through his body that ended with another moan, just as he felt Flat-Top shuffle between their bodies and unlatch his own plating. The fingers left his body and Purse spread his thighs, as much as he could while stuck between brick and brick, and suddenly he found himself aided as Flat-Top grabbed his thighs, hoisting him up, slamming him against the wall with a satisfying rush that emptied his lungs of air. Purse was impressed; the brick truck was strong. And then Purse was impressed all over again as Flat-Top pushed inside him, stretching him to his limits, leaving him shuddering and gathering dust beneath his nails as he clawed at Flat-Top’s shoulders.

It was fast, and raw, and Purse wondered if his face looked more pained than pleasured as Flat-Top thrust into him, throwing his face into the money truck’s neck again, puffing loud, graceless groans into it. The sound was underscored by the steady rattle of chains Flat-Top wore around his body, along with the dull grind of metal and brick on ultra-polished plating.

Sex with Electra and the other Components was high art compared to this. Electrics had a reputation for indulging in enough kinks to make a seasoned sleeper car blush like a virgin. But this tryst in a dark alley scratched an itch Purse never realized he’d had. Getting fucked against a wall was quite tame compared to what he and Joule had gotten up to just that morning, but it wasn’t the act here that was kinky to him, so much as the situation.

“Mmm… so pretty. Don’t see many trucks with a body like yours… yep, you’re special… mm, so classy…”

In the cacophony of Flat-Top’s garbled moans and compliments and Purse’s own stuttered breaths, he almost missed the loud, drawn-out noise the brick truck released, followed by two quick thrusts and the sudden presence of dirty heat inside Purse’s body. He frowned, not expecting Flat-Top to be done quite so quickly, and the brick truck gave him a sheepish, but still satisfied grin as he peeled his face away from Purse’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Flat-Top snorted. He pulled out in a move that made Purse whimper, lowering him back to his wheels, and drew in a stabilizing breath before dropping to his knees in front of the money truck. “Whaddaya expect? Don’t worry, I got ya anyway…”

Purse rolled his eyes, then closed them in pleasure as the brick truck’s tongue made an enthusiastic swipe around the end of his spike. This was followed by a playful nibble of teeth and then a sloppy kiss followed by a sloppy suck, a completely uncoordinated effort that somehow worked really well, leaving Purse breathless and moaning.

The rattle of chains underscored Flat-Top’s soft grunts and sucking noises, a filthy combination of sounds that had Purse writhing against the wall until he felt the bricks dig grooves into his back plating. Before he could stop himself, he scrabbled to grip the edge of Flat-Top’s helmet (he was grabbing and not caressing, of course), following the bobbing motions and watching his spike disappearing into Flat-Top’s eager mouth until Purse found his breath again and groaned as he came, eyes fixed on Flat-Top’s throat as he swallowed until it was all done and pulled away with a smug look of triumph.

“Some business, eh?” Flat-Top smirked, chains jingling softly as he swiped his hand against his mouth.

A little shaky, Purse caught his breath and reached for his discarded plating. Flat-Top handed him the piece with something akin to reverence, the smirk slowly fading to something more subdued.

“Y’know… we don’t have to do it out here all the time. I have a shed. Bed and everything.”

“I know. You keep telling me.”

“So why we gotta meet here every time? You ashamed of me or something?”

“No! I--” Purse cut off his own indignant reply just as Flat-Top’s smirk returned.

“I’m kidding with you! Just sayin’, it’s not always comfortable out there. Pretty sure a rat almost crawled up my arse while I was busy.”

Purse tried and failed to keep from smiling. “I’m not here for anything more, Flat-Top. You know that.”

“Hey, s’okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. Sometimes you just need to get fucked in an alley, you know?”

Such wisdom. Purse’s tiny smile grew a bit. “If you say so.”

“I meant it, y’know. I got a bed. It’s a big one. Real comfortable. Never had an electric in there, but… you’re okay. So you know… yeah.”

“I suppose we’ll see, next time I have business here.”

Flat-Top nodded and shuffled on his wheels as though he expected something more, and tapped the brick in his helmet by way of a parting greeting before rolling back into the bar. Purse watched him go without a word, taking his time before thinking about rolling out of the alley himself.

Grime, dirt, muck. Now he was covered in it. Dirty inside and outside, filthy to the core, and wouldn’t Electra and the Components just be shocked to see him coming home in this condition. Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to shower any time soon.

Purse allowed himself a little grin, glancing down at the smudges and marks Flat-Top left on his body. His back still ached while other parts felt quite pleased. Flat-Top was right; sometimes, one just needed to get fucked in alley. But maybe next time, he wouldn’t mind seeing this bed.  

[magmawrites]

I Like You Just the WEIGH You Are

The Times They Remembered Pidge Was a Girl

One-Shot 6: I Like You Just the WEIGH You Are

Even defenders of the universe have insecurities - Hunk

(FF | | AO3)

"Hunk, it's fine," Pidge said, trailing after the yellow Paladin as they marched through the castleship.

"It's not. We almost—because of me—"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Pidge, I got stuck."

"So? It was a pretty narrow vent-"

"It's not even the first time I got stuck. Remember when we were all separated? Lance and I crash landed in some water covered planet. Lance had to do things alone because the mermaids saving us couldn't pull me through the hole. And then I tried to kill him!" Hunk rambled quickly. "And when Keith and I had to go into the weblum I got stuck in part of the circulatory system. Now that was just temporary but still the fact is-"

"Wha- What…? Hunk!" Pidge exclaimed. "Focus! You lost me."

Hunk stopped and exhaled slowly, turning to face the youngest Paladin, guilt on his face. "You almost didn't escape because I was stuck."

"Hunk…"

"You should have went first. You should have left me."

"…I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"It's true."

"Hunk, how can you say that?" Pidge said, placing her hand gently on his arm. "Do you honestly think I'd leave you?"

Hunk closed his eyes briefly but Pidge could feel him tremble. He pulled his arm away. "You should have."

.

.

Pidge collapsed onto her back, the hard floor of the lab strangely soothing as the cold seeped through her shirt. She rubbed her tired eyes and stared up at the ceiling remembering the time she was stuck with Hunk in zero G. She laughed softly to herself. Sure, the Castle of Lions was basically trying to kill them at the time but she remembered it fondly.

She snorted. Hunk didn't want to kick her because she was his friend. He looked surprised that she would even suggest a thing.

Pidge rolled to her side, resting her head on her arm as she picked at some grit on the floor thinking.

Today was tough for all of the Paladin's. They found a small Galra delivery base and decided to take it down. A small step in defeating the large empire but it was something. It wasn't too difficult but things got hairy near the end.

Pidge huffed, sitting back up and folding her legs. What time was it? She glanced at her laptop screen. Late. Of course. She didn't mean to stay up all the time it just happened. But right now she wasn't thinking of herself. A few more tics and Hunk should probably be up for a late night snack. She'd meet him in the kitchen for occasional late night talks while she refilled on something caffeinated (they weren't able to scrounge up Earth coffee but found something that came close) while he made something to soothe his rumbling tummy.

Pidge got up, wiping dust off her shorts as she made her way back up to the kitchen. The halls were long and it was always eerily quite. Her mind wandered to familiar thoughts. The Castle of Lions certainly wasn't built for just seven people in mind. There were several kitchens spaced throughout its halls and floors, many different communal bathrooms, and even more bedrooms. The place should be bustling with people and yet…

Not everything goes as planned.

Pidge had yet to explore every nook and cranny of the castle. It was too big. As she neared the shared kitchen closest to the Paladin's sleeping quarters she tried to listen for Hunk's familiar humming or the sound of clattering dishes and utensils.

Silence.

Just like the desolate halls.

Pidge walked inside, the automatic lights turning on. Spotless. Untouched.

"Hunk…" Pidge whispered to herself.

He should be here. He should be here testing out strange ingredients with labels he couldn't read, trying to mimic Earth recipes. He had told her baking cleared his head and now would be the prime time to de-stress. And he wasn't even here.

Pidge waited.

And waited.

She waited long enough that she nodded off, falling asleep right at the counter. The light sensors turned off and she was left in the dark.

Alone.

The castleship suddenly felt too large.

But perhaps that wasn't the right word to use right now.

.

.

"AHHHHH!"

Pidge woke up with a shout, swinging her mug around to hit whoever was trying to attack her. "Wha-what-" she spluttered, blinking as her glasses sat askew on her face.

"What are you doing sleeping here in the dark?"

Pidge blinked as the world came into focus. Coran stood clad in a robe at the kitchen entrance, hands on his hips.

Pidge groaned and sat down, exhausted. "What do you mean? I don't know about you Alteans, but humans like to sleep in the dark."

Coran moved closed, wagging his finger to chastise the girl. "You know what I meant, Number Five. It's bad for you to sleep like this!" Pidge half listened to the older man, briefly thinking of her father. She yawned as Coran continued with his lecture. "Think of your back. You should go sleep in your room."

"I was just waiting for…" she paused. "What time is it anyway?"

"Very late."

"What are you doing up?"

Coran straightened, pulling at his mustache. "I got hungry. I think Hunk noticed I get hungry at strange times…I've yet to train the mice to make me sandwiches on command…" Coran trailed off, as if thinking of new methods to get the space mice to obey his instructions. "Anyway, he always seems to leave something interesting to eat. So here I am."

"So here you are," Pidge said slowly, looking around. "Well, he wasn't here today."

Coran sighed, disappointed. "Pity." The older man seemed to change resolve quickly. "It's my chance to return the favor! I'll leave him a dish!"

Pidge smiled. "That's nice."

"You know what else is nice?" Coran asked, leaning down so they were nose to nose. "Sleep!" he exclaimed, straightening his back and gesturing towards the door. "Now come on Number Five, off to bed."

Pidge grumbled under her breath but did as she was told. She slouched and dragged her feet as she walked back to her room, passing some of the other bedroom doors.

She slowed as she approached Hunk's.

Hunk was a deep sleeper. Pidge swore his snores could shake the ship. But at least that meant he was sleeping soundly.

She paused for a moment outside his room.

Silence.

And that screamed louder than any snoring would.

.

.

Pidge didn't know what to do.

Hunk, though one of the more sensitive ones of the group, was the teams emotional crutch. He was their rock. And right now he was crumbling.

Pidge sighed. She felt tainted. Dirty.

Going to go wash off this guilt.

She didn't know why she felt guilty. There was nothing to feel guilty about but the thought of her Garrison friend upset…

Pidge sulked all the way to the bathroom. She debated going down to one of the ones further away, which normally gave her some more privacy, but right now the familiarity of the common bathroom would probably soothe her nerves. By some unspoken rule each of the Paladins had claimed a sink and shower. Lance's countertop area was home to his facemask and different beauty products. Shiro kept a neat little razor and Keith had a comb. Hunk kept a neat little array of his headbands, which Pidge noticed one day because she realized he did own different colors, but seemed to favor his signature yellow.

The bathroom door slid open and Pidge walked towards the hanging towels, reaching for her green one when she felt a prickling at the back of her neck.

Pidge whipped around, heart beating in her chest, before she realized it was just her friend.

"Hunk, what're you doing?" Pidge asked, watching the yellow Paladin stand at his sink, staring intently at the mirror.

Hunk seemed surprised to see her there, turning to look at her briefly. "Oh, hey Pidge. Sorry, I'll get out of your way if you want to shower."

The showers were off beyond a small curtained area so him being here was no issue at all and he knew that.

"That's alright," she said, walking closer to him, her towel draped across one arm. "What're you doing?" she tried again.

Hunk shrugged, leaning both arms against the counter as he stared intently at his face.

"Do you have a pimple or something?" Pidge asked, oh so sensitively. "I'm sure Lance wouldn't mind if you used his face wash."

Hunk shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that." He slapped his cheeks a couple times, leaning in closer to the sink. "Look at that."

Pidge approached him carefully, leaning with him against the counter. "Look at what?"

Hunk poked his cheek once more. "That jiggle."

Pidge huffed, exasperated. "Hunk."

"Sorry, Pidge," he said quickly, moving away.

She quickly grasped her arm, shaking her head. "No. You don't have to be sorry. You can say whatever you want. That's not-" She huffed, not sure how to say what she wanted to say. She wanted to comfort him. She wanted him to know he could talk to her freely. She just couldn't. "Just- just wait here. I'll be back. Give me a few minutes."

Pidge tossed her towel onto the counter and Hunk watched her run out of the room before turning back to the mirror, placing his hands on his hips. He turned to the side, staring at himself longer before letting out a defeated sigh.

Pidge came back a few moments later-

"Wow!" Hunk looked at her, surprised. "Pidge, you look so-"

"Don't say it," she cut him off, stopping beside him.

"But-"

She glared at him and he chuckled nervously. They stood together for a moment in silence. Hunk, his large, hulking height a great contrast beside her short, petite self.

"Where'd you get it?" Hunk asked.

"It's Allura's," Pidge explained, tugging at the end of her dress. It was a simple, dark green, lace dress that clung to the top half of her body, sheer near her collarbones, and openly flowed mid thigh. "She said she wore this as a child," Pidge snorted. "It was too short on her. I'm probably triple that age and it fits me."

"Is that a bad thing?" Hunk asked.

"Mm, yes and no."

"Well, I think you look beautiful," Hunk said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm a rectangle," she went on. "I saw this online but I think it fits," she explained before going on. "Turn me sideways and I disappear. Stick out my tongue and I'll look like a zipper."

"That's not true!" Hunk defended. "You're awesome!"

"I'm flat as a board," she continued, ignoring his attempts at reassuring her that her flaws were not flaws. She pressed her hand against her chest. "Okay, not exactly a board but-"

"I wish I could give some of my curves to you," Hunk said.

Pidge laughed softly. "What a kind gesture, Hunk. Thank you."

He was their emotional support. She couldn't find the right words to say but she knew he sure could.

"How come you don't wear dresses more often?"

Pidge snorted. "A dress wouldn't exactly be easy to take care of as a Paladin. And I like wearing pants and stuff but I guess sometimes it would be nice to feel attractive."

"I never want to hear you talking about yourself like that," the larger Paladin continued. "You are amazing-"

"So are you."

"You kick ass-

"You kick ass."

"You're super smart-"

"You're super smart-"

"And you're loved, I never want you to forget that."

"I don't want you to forget it either."

Hunk looked down at her as a few ticks passed. "I see what you did there."

Pidge laughed. "I'm trying, okay?"

Hunk leaned down and pulled her into a hug. She accepted it readily, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you, Pidge."

"Thank you, Hunk."

.

.

Lance walked in on them while they were bonding.

"Wow, Pidge, you're wearing a dress!"

"Go away, Lance," Pidge said, her voice muffled against Hunk's yellow shirt.

It was silent for a little while until she felt thin arms envelop her. She opened an eye and saw Lance embracing them both.

"I don't know what's going on here but I want in," he mumbled, squeezing tight.

Hunk snorted.

"Garrison trio, reunited!" Lance exclaimed, his voice echoing throughout the bathroom.

Pidge didn't feel dirty anymore.

.

.

Authors Note:

Because I felt we could have used more Hunk and Pidge in S3.

Dress Inspiration x

[romanoartsless]

Wow this stupid book I'm writing is having some actual conflict and not just characters being emo???? Shocking, I know.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter 32 

    Caterina’s pencil was rough against the paper. She enjoyed it when the paper she drew on had grit to it, it made it easier for her to smudge the graphite for more defined shading. She was drawing birds again; an eagle this time.

    The door to the cabin swung open, shocking Caterina, causing her pencil to scratch against her work in progress. “Shit! Could you not fucking knock?! I’m-.”

    She trailed off when she turned around and saw Jackie grunting and groaning while dragging Blackwing’s unconscious body in. “Jackie! What the hell happened?!”

    Jackie’s short raven hair was roughed up, but enough was out of her face for Caterina to see the confusion, shock, and fear in her eyes. “Caterina, you need to heal her!”

    “Wait, what happened?”

    “We don’t have time to explain! You need to heal her! Now!”

    She lifted her sister up onto the table in the middle of the cabin with ease. Her hand brushed away the hair from Blackwing’s face, making the bruises and cuts and blood more visible to Caterina. “You have to heal her, Caterina,” she pleaded, “heal my sister, heal our family.”

    “You know my magic is weak, Jackie. Without a soul partner- without one near me- my magic is weak. I can’t use it in large amounts, I can’t completely heal her, you know that.”

    “Then don’t!” Her green eyes were beginning to wet. “Just heal her enough so she doesn’t die! Don’t let her become just another body, just another tattoo on your face.”

    Caterina knew was she was referencing, the dots she’d tattooed at the edges under her eyes. Two under her left, one under her right. Each represented something. The left was the people she lost, the right the lives she’d taken. She never wanted to add another to the left. “Move.”

    She almost thought she saw a grin form on Jackie’s face when she pushed her away to get closer to the table. Caterina turned off her emotions, not wanting them to get in the way of her magic. She gripped Blackwing’s delicate hand tightly as she crouched at the edge of the table. The contact allowed for the magic to pulse through her skin. An almost inaudible whimper of pain came out of Blackwing. Caterina gave her a comforting hush, only letting that small bit of emotion seep through.

    She could barely feel the magic leaving her body at first, but once the amount she was using raised her body began to ache. She worked to her limit, maybe even going about it. The more time passed and the more magic she used the more her body hurt. It started in her hands then went up to her arms and her head. The pain was excruciating but she went on until she believed the Crow stable.

As the grip Caterina had on Blackwing’s hand loosened Blackwing’s grip on Caterina’s hand tightened. It made Caterina’s head perk up, ignoring her pain altogether. “Blackwing!” both the magic user and Jackie shouted.

The Crow sat up on the table, still visibly shaken up by the previous events. “I’m sorry,” she cried, rocking on the table in the fetal position. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to kill him. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Caterina turned to face the girl’s sister. “What does she mean?”

Jackie was clearly relieved by her sister’s now stable condition, but was still alert. “I just assumed the blood she was covered in was her’s, but I guess there’s a possibility it could’ve been someone else’s.”

She went back the the other Crow, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Blackwing, do you think you could tell me what happened?”

The girl turned to face her, her chocolate eyes flooded with tears. “I was minding my own business when this man came and attacked me. I managed to get away…”

“Is that when you- when you killed him?”

“No! No no no. I managed to get away, but I heard him attacking another person and I couldn’t let him hurt her.”

“You killed him to save someone else?”

She nodded.

“That’s an incredibly noble and brave thing to do, Blackwing; risk your life in order to save another. I would have never done something like that, I would’ve let them deal with it themselves. You have a heart bigger than everyone’s in the entire court of Novak. Be proud of that heart.”

* * *

    Jackie had fallen asleep on the couch as usual. She had always been a light sleeper so she shot right up when she heard the floorboard creaking. It was Blackwing still limping from the previous events in the day. “Jackie,” she whispered, crouching down to level with her sister, “Jackie.”

    “What?”

    “Caterina’s crying again.”

    Without hesitation, Jackie ran to the magic user’s room and threw open the door. Looking back at her was a pair of black eyes, red from tears. A few sniffles came from her nose until Jackie said, in all her bluntness, “Let it out.”

    There was a small pause before she cried, “We almost lost Blackwing and it just made me think of all the people I’ve lost. I’ve lost too many people and I’m sick of it- sick of it! When Silvertongue abandoned us I tried to convince myself it didn’t, but it did, it did affect me. No amount of mental repetition of, ‘Silvertongue is doing what’s making her happy. Deal with it,’ will ever change that effect. I didn’t want to lose SIlvertongue and I don’t want to lose you or Blackwing.

    “And I don’t want to say- I don’t want to force you two to stay, and I don’t want to guilt you into staying, but it hurt. It hurts when some of the few people who you care about leave you in the dust. It hurts more than a knife to the stomach, because at least you saw that coming.

    “Silvertongue hurt in a different way than my mom or Victor hurt. Those two didn’t choose to leave me, Silvertongue did.”

    Out of nowhere Blackwing came limply running into the room and squeezed Caterina tightly in her arms. The magic user seemed confused at first, but returned the affection soon after. Jackie swore she had heard her sister whisper, “We’d never leave you, Caterina. We love you,” into her hair.

    Jackie walked over to the edge of the bed and joined in on the hug going on between Blackwing and Caterina. “We love you,” she echoed from her sister.

 Chapter 33

    The three of them hadn’t met together in a few weeks. They hadn’t felt it necessary as they had all gone off and done their own thing. “Did you hear about Amber Lynn?” Crispin asked.

    “Crispin,” Thomas cut in, “we’re not here to gossip.”

    “What happened to her?” Gideon’s attention was peaked. He hissed when his head shot up too quickly and put the icepack back onto it to aid his sudden headache.

    “Guys! We have to focus.”

    “They found her bloody and battered out east.”

    “They what?!”

    “Yeah, someone beat the shit out of her-”

    “Guys! Focus!”

    “- and they found the body of the dude who did it next to her. It was Vladimir. Crazy shit, right?”

    Gideon practically fell out of his seat in anger. He didn’t care about the pain anymore, he cared about the condition of his friend a million times more. “Where is she now?”

    Thomas sat in his seat, frustrated at the situation. “Please, we need to focus.”

    “In some nursing room in the Ranez manor.”

    “Crispin, quit fueling him.”

    “I’m sorry Thomas,” Gideon said, “I have to go see her.” Before running outside, he sifted through a pile of papers next to him, grabbed a few of them, and threw them at Thomas. “There are your files.”

* * *

    He slammed his fist against the door, desperately trying to get someone’s attention, ignoring the ringing pain that still lingered in his head. He knew March and Lorelei wouldn’t be in the house, they’d be at the heads of the high families meeting. But he knew someone else would be there. “Why hello there Gideon.” The door opened and Gideon met with the woman’s one hazel eye and one blue one. Her mismatched irises were immediately recognizable as Saturday Ranez. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

    “Let me see her, Saturday.”

    A laugh came off her pink lips and pushed her long brown bangs out of her face. Her choice in hairstyle always confused the true tailor inside of Gideon. She kept her bangs long, a little more than breast length, but kept the rest in a choppy bob. “Why should I?”

    “Saturday, just let me see her.”

    Saturday held out her hand, as if she was waiting for him to put something in it.

    “You have to be kidding me! You’re a Ranez, you don’t need my money.”

    “It really would be a shame if Serephina found out that you were visiting Amber Lynn. Doesn’t she hate it when you go out and see people- especially Amber Lynn- without her permission?”

    “Please Saturday,” he was practically begging her at this point, “don’t tell Sere. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

    Saturday’s only reply was to point to her still open hand. Gideon groaned but dug into his back pocket and threw six gold coins into her palm. She moved out of the doorway and said, “Second room to the left, third story,” before he charged up the stairs.

* * *

    Amber Lynn knew she had heard her sister talking to someone downstairs, but she couldn’t entirely make out who it was. It couldn’t be their parents since they were at a meeting, but the nurses left a few hours ago so it couldn’t have been them either. She swore it was Gideon, but she told herself it was just her mind hearing what it wanted to.

    She couldn’t get up and go look for herself, the nurses told her to stay in bed for the next few weeks in order to heal properly. Amber Lynn hated it. She wanted to go out to parties with her friends, even if she’d be miserable, it was better than being locked up in this room.

    The door suddenly shot open and Amber Lynn’s face lit up when she saw Gideon’s sky blue eyes. “Gideon!”

    He crouched down next to the bed, concern shown all across his face. “Amber Lynn,” he said, stroking her blond hair, “are you okay?”

    “I guess.”

    “What happened? Who did this to you?”

    “I really don’t want to talk about it, I’m sorry.”

    “Don’t be sorry, it’s okay.”

    Amber Lynn began to zone out, not hearing the rest of what Gideon was saying. She simply got lost in watching him talk. He was so beautiful. Why did no one ever appreciate his beauty the way it should be? She loved him so much.

    Next thing she knew she was kissing him. When they were young, she had kissed him before. It felt so good to have his lips on her’s again. She prayed to the gods it could stay like this forever.

 * * *

    Gideon didn’t know how to react when Amber Lynn started kissing him. He never held any romantic feelings towards her and he assumed she didn’t have any for him either. Turns out he was wrong.

    He had to pull away he couldn’t stay in this kiss anymore. When he did, he saw the dread in her eyes. He felt sort of bad when he saw her expression, but he would much rather let her know his feelings than lead her on. “Amber Lynn, I’m sorry.”

    “Please just leave.”

    “I hope you know I still love you-”

    “Leave.”

    “- as a friend.”

    “Leave Gideon!”

    His heart sank to the floor. He had come to comfort her, he had never intended for any of this to happen, he desperately wanted to reach out and hug her, but he had to do what she wanted. “I’m sorry,” Gideon whispered before getting up and exciting the room.

[randomrichards]

Interesting Movies Coming in January 2019

So, begins another year showcasing movies that may fly over the radar.

January 11:

ASHES IN THE SNOW

Inspired by true events, Ashes in the Snow tells the story of a teenage girl used art to break the silence on an atrocity committed by the Soviet Union.

Set in 1941, the film examines Stalin’s brutal dismantling of the Baltic Region which deported many Lithuanians to Siberia. Many of them were convicted of treason and sentenced to a lifetime of labour. Among them is a 16-year-old girl named Lina (Bel Powley) and her family. But as she fights for survival, she finds her voice through art. In time she’s will use her art to expose what happened to her and her family.

I imagine this film will fall out of many people’s radar, shown only in art house theatres and film festivals. It’s a shame because this film shows a lot of potential in the trailer with an interesting real-life story. It sounds like a compelling David and Goliath story sure to gain acclaim. Thankfully, I have this blog to attract attention to films like this.

THE UPSIDE

Based on the French film The Intouchables, (which was inspired by a real-life story), The Upside tells the story of a bond between a rich quadriplegic man and an ex-con who assists him.

For the sake of his son, Dell (Kevin Hart) wants to get his life back together. To do that, he needs to get a job, or at least 3 signatures proving he’s interviewed for jobs or his parole is kaput. Meanwhile, billionaire Phillip (Bryan Cranston) needs assistance since he’s paralyzed from the neck down and he can’t stand the patronizing attitudes of home care applicants (much to his wife’s (Nicole Kidman) chagrin). Then Dell barges in to the interview and impresses Philip with his abrasive demeanor. So, Dell’s hired.

Now Dell gets to bask in the high life living in the Penthouse with Philip. Of course, there is the problem of Phillip having no experience taking care of a person with disabilities. Hell, he crosses his legs at the sight of a catheter. But what Philip likes about him is the fact Dell doesn’t pity him. As they work, they form a bond through their no-BS attitudes.

It’s common for Hollywood to remake foreign language films. What’s weird about this one is that the original is based on a true story and they change the location from France to America. It feels like a disservice toward the people who inspired these films. One could argue this is a way to garner an audience who don’t watch movies with subtitles, but that feels incredibly unfair to the original movie. Those people missed a fantastic performance by Omar Sy. But I digress.

You got some great actors in this film. You can’t go wrong with Cranston, who has delivered on Nicole Kidman, who is seeing a reemergence of her career with an Oscar Nomination (Lion), Emmy Win (Big Little Lies) and that badass fight scene in the recent box office hit Aquaman. But the one that stands out the most was Kevin Hart. He has sparked a major fanbase with an over the top, self-deprecating comedy style. He’s applied the same style in his movies, resulting in few hits (Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle) and many misses (Think Like a Man). Though there is a hint of his exaggerated acting, it will be interesting to see him give a more grounded performance. Unfortunately, he’s got big shoes to fill with Omar Sy’s award winning performance in the previous film.

There is a danger of this being sappy and there is a hint of that. But I like to give films like this a chance.

January 18:

GIRL

All the way from Belgium comes this coming of age tale of a transgender teenage girl struggling to achieve her dream of becoming a ballet dancer.

We follow Lara (Victor Polster) through an 8-week trial period at a prestigious Ballet Academy. She’s got a bit of a ways to go before her skills are up to par with the Academy’s standards. At the same time, she’s counting the day before her hormone treatment. But can she handle the stress of the Academy?

This film was a hit at the Cannes film festival and it has recently been nominated at the Golden Globe Awards. While the film has received critical praise, there is still controversy over the casting of a ci-gender boy to play a transgender girl. Yes, it’s great to see transgender girls getting representation and Polster disappears into the character, but it still doesn’t change the fact that transgender actors can’t seem to get role playing transgender character. Writer/Director Lukas Dhont clearly means well, but this matter’s much more complicated. It’s a shame because this seems like a compelling movie.

Can you still enjoy this movie despite this controversy? It’s going to be complicated.

GLASS

Never in my life would I have ever imagined a Shyamalan Cinematic universe. Of course, it didn’t help that his films have been more flops than hit. But he took us by surprise when that Bruce Willis cameo revealed Split to be an indirect sequel to his underrated hit Unbreakable. And now both films collide in Glass.

After 19 years, we finally find out what’s happened to the literally unbreakable David Dunn (Bruce Willis). After years using his super strength, invincibility and psychic visions for the greater good, he finds himself confined to a mental institution. He finds himself face to face with Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson), his comic book obsessed arch nemesis who goes by the name Mr. Glass. Also, there is Kevin Wendell Crumb (James McAvoy), a disturbed man with 23 personality who imprisons and kills teenage girls. With them altogether, Dr. Ellie Staple (Sarah Paulson) hopes to cure them of their “delusions.” Mr. Glass seizes this opportunity for a Supervillain team up with Kevin Wendell Crumb. So, he unleashes The Beast, Kevin’s animalistic personality with super strength and an aggressive thirst for blood. With these two out of the hospital and reigning terror on the world, it’s up to David to stop them.

This film also sees Anya Taylor-Joy reprise her role as Casey, the teenage girl who brought down Kevin in Split.

M. Night Shyamalan is quite a fascinating figure. He came out of nowhere and took everyone by surprise with The Sixth Sense. The fact he was able to stick himself into a zeitgeist in his first movie alone is a near miracle. But with the praise came high expectations. Though Unbreakable and Signs earned acclaim, none of Shyamalan’s films were of the same level. And then there were the flops. Oooh the flops. He released so many bad movies that he became a self-parody.

There were a few factors contributing to Shyamalan’s fall from grace. I mentioned the expectations, which puts a lot of pressure on any new director. Eventually, the fame went to Shyamalan’s head, giving him a misplaced sense of self-importance.  That self-importance seeped into his films, building a pretensions tone. He also relied a bit too much on quirkiness, resulting in unintentionally hilarious moments. It didn’t help that pop culture only associated him with plot twists, which kind of stuck him in a corner.

But then two factors turned his career around. First was Wayward Pines, a Twin Peaks-like series where Shyamalan’s emphasis on quirks became an advantage. In that same year, he stepped out of his comfort zone with The Visit, a found footage horror movie that got Shyamalan his groove back. And the deal was sealed with Split. Through these films, Shyamalan seemed to have let go of his pretentiousness and had fun with them. I hope he keeps this up for his sake.

January 25

SERENITY

In this thriller, Matthew McConaughey plays fishing boat captain Baker Dill. He was enjoying a quiet, simple life hosting tours off the tropical Plymouth Island, when along comes his ex-wife Karen (Anne Hathaway). She’s married to a violent man (Jason Clarke) and she wants him gone. So, she wants Dill to take him on a fishing excursion where Dill can leave him swimming with the fishes. The question is, will he go through with it.

This premise plays a lot like a film noir, from the rugged protagonist facing the past he’s trying to forget to the femme fatale leading him down a dark path. I imagine Baker Dill will confront many dilemmas that will reveal his true self.  

There’s a notable growth of publicity for this movie. But publicity doesn’t equal quality. It could turn out to be a surprise sleeper hit like Hell or High Water or forgettable flop. Writer/director Steven Knight has gone either way, having written critical darlings like Dirty Pretty Things and hits like the series Peaky Blinders. He’s also wrote the flop The Girl in the Spider’s Web and the forgettable series Taboo. So, this film could go either way.

January 30

THE WILD PEAR TREE

From the man behind the Palme D’or winning Winter Sleep comes another tale of an artist secluding himself in a remote location.

Young writer Sinan (Dogu Demirkol) returns to his home after graduating from college. He has a bit of trouble fitting in to the rural living of this small village while he writes. But he has bigger problems with his father Idris (Murat Cemcir) debts growing out of control. Now the collectors are targeting Idris through his son. This also leaves him with little money to publish his stories.

It’s going to be a huge challenge to get butts in seats for this movie. Not only is this film entirely in Turkish, but it’s also three hours long. Theatres usually prefer the movies to be under two hours so they can be shown more and sell more tickets. Still, Nuri Bilge Ceylan had already gained huge acclaim for the aforementioned Winter Sleep, a tale of a former actor who runs a remote hotel while dealing with his family. This film seems to be garnering similar acclaim.

It’s in moments like these that I wished I had taken the time to watch his previous movies. I would have had a better opportunity to discuss what makes Ceylan’s films so special to its audiences. But I didn’t and that ship has sailed.