#and now there’s an entire glove etiquette

[dannybobany]

Okay so this is hard to explain

I eluded in an earlier post that this had something to do with my oc’s but that’s a half truth- see, I don’t have oc’s so much as I have a huge world building project that I’ve been working with on and off for the last … seven years? It’s hard to say where it started because when it did start it was very mundane- but it’s become a … a whole DEAL

To loosely explain this art: in the world my project is centered around there are four goddesses who have almost every concept known to man split between them, there’s a convoluted explanation as to why this is but the important information to gleam from that is the goddess of death is also the goddess of winds and air, and it occurred to me some time ago that a culture worshiping this goddess would probably not want to bury their dead, because then you’re taking that dead person away from the death gods domain, which probably isn’t good for their soul right? So I came up with this concept of … hammock funerals?

I don’t know what to call them other then hammock funerals, the idea is that after a person dies the family constructs a canvas wrap and hangs it between two trees, preferably very high in the air but the highest two trees you have access to will be acceptable, then this is simply left alone for anywhere between 2-12 days both to give the persons soul time to pass on and as a mourning period for the family

How long this is left tends to be a class thing, if you live in a less open area then having one of these hammocks around will create a nuance and it’s considered taboo to work while you have a family members mourning period going on, so lower class people tend to have much shorter funeral periods whilst the rich who have bigger lands which won’t have to have a corpse right next to their neighbors and can afford to not work for an extended time or perhaps don’t work at all will take much longer periods, some grieving family members have even been known to keep the structure in place for up to a month, although this is considered excessive and … more importantly pretty gross

After this funeral period is over the body is taken down and either entombed or burned depending on the family’s preferences (some families will boat out onto the ocean and sink the body but this is not only illegal but VERY looked down upon by the average person)

So uh… yeah, random oc lore, hope you enjoyed all that? Idk why I did this I just thought to do it and then did not stop myself, I’m bidding for what scraps of creativity I can get right now tbh—

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Knight To Remember - Seungmin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: knight! Seungmin x princess! reader

summary: Your parents set up a competition for all the knights in the kingdom and said whoever wins it wins your hand. Your childhood enemy has entered just to piss you off but what happens when he unexpectedly wins?

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, tooth-aching fluff

Knights and noblemen from the entire kingdom had made an appearance. They had trained, bartered and bought their way into this competition. All for your hand in marriage. It wasn't that they were after. This long line of eligible men weren't your true loves. When they looked at you, they saw the crown. A shining symbol of money and power. Marrying you was just a technicality. An added responsibility they each of them would ignore the moment the wedding ceremony was finished. You would rot away in that castle just as your mother had. And there wasn't a thing you could do about it.

The first pairing stepped forward. An experienced knight that everyone knew by name. The crowd roared and cheered him on and he soaked up every moment. His opponent matched him in size but not popularity. The match was over in a few moments with Mr. Popular coming out the victor. “Who's next?” He shouted, his confidence growing by the second.

Some of the other knights instinctively stepped backwards, not wanting to risk the almost certain humiliation of going against such a distinguished knight. You sighed heavily as you watched the other men look around at each other, unsure what to do.

“I'll take you on, big guy.” A voice rang from the crowd with a familiar tone. You leaned over your balcony to see him, Seungmin, stepping into the ring. His gloved hand gripped tight around the handle of his sword and he moved his feet into practiced positioning.

Seungmin was exceptionally skilled as he was irrefutably stubborn. He had been asked by many to join their individual cause and help them fight, but Seungmin always brushed them off. Must have enjoyed the company of free drink and free women more than fighting for his kingdom. What a pig. You turned your nose and your back as Seungmin readied himself. But you still peered over your shoulder still, figuring it would give you some sort of entertainment to see him get his ass kicked.

Seungmin raised his sword in proper knightsmen etiquette, signaling that he was ready to begin. Mr. Popular stepped forward as well. He was noticeably taller than Seungmin. “Are you sure? I don't want to embarrass you in front of such a beautiful princess.” The knight boomed, gesturing to you in the balcony above the arena. Seungmin turned his head towards you and smiled. A smile you knew all too well. A smile that promised more mischief was to come. He bowed to you like a gentleman. You rolled your eyes in response. “Ready when you are.” Seungmin said, addressing the knight. Although his eyes never left yours as he spoke.

“It's not like I killed him.” Seungmin laughed as he pulled off his remaining armor. You stood together in your father's study. The entire kingdom was already filling up the castle with cheers of congratulations. The halls were echoing with Seungmin's name. In a panic, you pulled him in here to try to get an explanation out of him. “Do you realize what you've just done?” You were searing with anger. Seungmin moved to a small shelf with a bottle and some glasses and poured himself a drink. “Of course I realize it.”

You groaned in frustration as he moved casually. “You really do hate me, don't you?” You snapped. Seungmin sat across from you in a lounge chair that was almost always reserved for your father. He swirled a glass of wine, his long fingers clinging to the rim. A slow smirk spread across his lips.

“Is that what you think? That I hate you?” He said finally, standing up from the chair and making his way to you. He closed the gap between the two of you almost instantly. Like he was impatient now. Like waiting any longer to touch you was no longer an option.

Your body reacted immediately, stepping away from him and inching closer to the wall behind you. “Yes, that's what I think.” You whispered. Your voice was breathier now, like Seungmin had willed the air out of the room. His armor was gone now. But more than the iron helmet and the steel plates that he carried heavy while he battled. He was stripped away now. His broad shoulders and muscular arms filled the tunic that billowed and swayed as he moved. He looked vulnerable. Like the boy that threw rocks at your window in the middle of the night to tell you to sneak out. The boy who picked on you when you wore your fanciest dress. The boy that pulled your hair and ran away. “I don't hate you,” his eyes were hooded and dark. His pupils dilated from the dim lighting of the candles. “If I hated you, I would've let one of those fucking pricks win.” He took a long sip of his wine. His eyes stayed locked onto yours. “What do you mean?” You tilted your head, genuinely taken back by his response.

“Do you really think I'd let one of those entitled assholes marry you? Do you think they care about you? Do they know your favorite food? Or how you sneak desserts from the kitchen before dinner is served? Or that you are terrified of thunderstorms? No. And they will never care to learn those things. I can't leave your happiness up to someone else. That is my responsibility.”

Your breath was short and shallow like you needed to cry, or scream, or run away. “Your responsibility?” You snapped back, unsure of what you were feeling anymore.

“That's right,” Seungmin brought his hand up to your chin, gripping it firmly so you would really hear him this time. “ You're my responsibility.”

You wanted to push him backwards, scream that you are no one's responsibility. You wanted to tell him that you don't need anyone for anything… but your heart pushed past your head and grabbed the steering wheel, aiming you directly into his arms. Your hands cupped his face and pulled him into a deep, longing kiss. A kiss that started hard and desperate but then slowly turned into something more delicate and soft. His mouth would move into yours and your lips would respond the same. His hands made their way through your hair, down your neck and finally rested on your hips. Every breath you took mingled with him. The kiss never breaking in fear that this was all a dream and the moment you stopped you'd awake in your bed married to someone entitled asshole.

Seungmin grabbed you by the back of your thighs and pulled you up and around him. He held you so close to his chest you could feel his heart beating. His lips moved down from your mouth and lined your jawline and neck. Soft pecks gave way to hungry bites. Smooth caressing of his fingers gave way to impatient scratching and pulling. You reflexively rut your hips into him, the clothes between you seemingly like the worst torture imaginable.

“Where's Seungmin? I have to congratulate my new son-in-law!” Your father demanded from another room. You pulled back and in an instant so did Seungmin. He continued to hold you, your foreheads pressed against each other as you both attempted to slow your breathing back to normal. Your eyes flickered up to his and with a smile he knew what you wanted to say. He knew you and you were his now. His princess. His responsibility.

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[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: You accept the dinner invite, but can't shake the feeling that Sunday had alternative motivations. Well—you can't seem to get yourself to ignore it as well as you usually do, at least. wc: 1.3k

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (nsfw)

---

To say you’re surprised that Sunday knows something almost feels on its way to an insult. Ever since meeting him, you’ve felt the notion that Sunday fills every room he’s in with a sort of omnipresence—a watchfulness that extends beyond his direct gaze, an invisible cloud of eminence curling in the corners of space like steam. Sure, you collect information for him in your manila folders and papers and electronic mails… but you often wonder if it’s merely to organize, not to present. That he is already aware of all things, and only wishes for it to be in proper order. 

All this to say: The dress fitting you perfectly is entirely logical. Sure, maybe it’s a bit too perfect, but to show concern feels almost sacrilegious. 

Of course Sunday knows. It’s normal for an employer to know such things, isn’t it?

Regardless, you find yourself out of place in this Blue Hour restaurant. Your only companions seem to be the objects in your old clutch: Your phone, and a metal tin of your favorite mints. Bringing along a wallet or even a few credit bills was out of the question, Sunday had assured you. Even at your protest, he insisted it would be taken care of. 

You press a mint against the roof of your mouth with your tongue. You had been too anxious to remember the name of the restaurant, only hearing the erratic pace of the jazz music echoing from the band’s main stage. Only seeing the satin of the tablecloth. Only feeling the gnawing pit in your stomach.

“About today’s report, sir—“

Sunday would only keep his clasped fists against the table, maybe his forearms, but never his elbows. He was a man with remarkable, old-fashioned etiquette. 

“Please,” he corrects you. “Call me Sunday.” “Mister Sunday,” you reiterate. But something tells you to stop talking anyways.

Your eyes glance around the room, wondering from what other angles he seems to be watching you, ridiculous as it may sound. You curse yourself at how easy it is to ‘pay it no mind’, ‘give it no thought’ in any other occasion. During work, at meetings, or when his presence is invisible to you. The sentiment feels like the most logical thing in the world then, but now? It’s a ridiculous notion. 

But you can at least pretend to pay it no mind, and you find that to be enough for the time being. The band plays on, a saxophone wailing out its melody over double bass and the hiss of the drum kit.

"Jazz as a term for Penaconian music is a fairly recent construction," he begins to speak, at first seemingly to nobody but himself. "Popularized by my dear sister, naturally. Do you know what the term comes from?" 

You shake your head. 

"'Jats', more commonly phrased as 'the jats', also known as spirit, moxie, joie de vivre—Now, it's been corrupted to mean something closer to restlessness," he sighs. "But in its inception, to have 'the jats' was to be blessed by Xipe with a certain euphoria, and the style of music that many associated with such a feeling was said to be played by 'Jats bands'." Sunday takes the smallest sip of his drink before adding "But Jazz rolls off the tongue better, doesn't it?”

You laugh, a rictus showing on your face. “Indeed it does, Mr. Sunday.”

He smiles no wider than he would at any other person. Your certain vulnerability seems to almost leak onto the floor, rivulets flowing down the legs of your chair—Sunday relishes in the image, watery anxiety beading off the skin of your back and running down the curve of your spine. Underneath his gloves, his knuckles pale as he laces his fingers together tightly. The vision before him is everything he’d ever hoped for—what he’d been picturing when he selected the venue, the dress, the time. A plan perfectly orchestrated.

“I worry sometimes that you have the wrong idea of me, [Y/N],” he posits, glibly. “You seem tense.”

You stop yourself from placing another mint in your mouth to look him in the eye. “Oh, it’s nothing, Mr. Sunday,” you lie, “It’s just been a while since we’ve been seated, and we’ve only been given drinks.”

“I have an inclination that our food will be out shortly.” “…But sir,” you question, “We haven’t ordered.” “Our reservation asked for orders at the time of scheduling,” Sunday smiles. “As I said before, everything is being taken care of for you.”

Your eyes drift to the other patrons: A patchwork mass of Halovians here, Pepeshi there, many of which are discussing unknowable things over their large menus. You tell yourself it’s nothing to worry about. Logically, Sunday must know something you don’t. Sunday must know a lot of things that you don’t. 

Sunday watches the slight movements of your jaw as your tongue curls around the next mint in your mouth. The first mint in your mouth had lasted two minutes, the next forty seconds, and the final only twenty-five. Perhaps there was something you were trying to purify within yourself—the unease he found so tantalizing at this moment, a symptom of your delicious eagerness to please—that you hoped to extract from each mint, your cheeks sucking in a nearly imperceptible degree as you drained each one dry. Sunday could imagine himself reaching over across the table to open your mouth with his thumb, saliva pooling in your mouth from the way you were siphoning the little white tablets greedily, the delicate muscles in your face spasming and twitching as you shudder beneath his velvet touch.

If he was a lesser man...

"Don't spoil your appetite on those mints, darling," Sunday jokes. He can immediately see you tense up from the name, swallowing the tablet in your mouth. "My apologies, Mister Sunday."

...Boss or not...why the hell were you apologizing to him?

"I told you, Sunday is fine," he smiles. "...Do I frighten you?" "Excuse me?" Sunday tilts his head to the side the slightest bit, his cranial wings drooping. Still, even as he expresses his supposed concern, his smile doesn't fade.

"You seem frightened, dear," he coos. "If I'd known you would hate dinner with me so much, I wouldn't have asked you." Initially, you feel yourself overcome with guilt. He was spending all this money on you just for you to be so skittish... But that was never the point of the dinner meeting, right? You bite your lower lip, mulling over the possibility of getting the topic of tonight's dinner back to that of your work. You look askance, to the lack of plate right before you, and then to him. "It's just a concern I had regarding budgeting for the venue," you lie, "Some of the cost estimates you'd previously requested have changed since—" You stop when you feel something touch your ankle. Sunday has leaned in closer to you to place his shoe between your feet. You look down to where his shoe must be under the table—hidden by the long tablecloth—then to him, with that static smile still on his face. Not a hint wider than he would smile at anyone else. "Isn't it peculiar?" he asks. Sunday hasn't been listening to you whatsoever. "Look around the room. Each and every table here is surrounded by strangers. These figures around us are unknown to us, and likewise we are unknown to them." Even when it's not the point of what he's saying, you can still feel that sense of malice hidden behind Sunday's teeth when he refers to the folk of Penacony. Avaricious, calloused, snobbish and cruel. Corrupt is often the term he uses, with a bite that seems to imply he finds himself distinct from it. Like a single healthy cell surrounded by cancerous tumor. The outer side of his shoe draws a line up your calf, and he continues.

"Don't you find it fascinating that all these people may glance at us—pay us no more mind than what we pay to them—and have no idea what we are to each other? Most don't even know I have a secretary," he grins. "Perhaps I enjoy keeping you as my little secret." What he says is enough to keep you silent until your food arrives.

--- a/n: thanks so much for all the notes on the last installment, everyone! hopefully a bit of worldbuilding isn't a turn-off to any of you, i'm obsessed with penacony's jazz age inspirations just as much as i am with sunday xD just for the sake of keeping things cut up right, we'll end things off here lolol tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos

[smallpwbbles]

Strawberry shortcake and Hard things to talk about.

Got another Biolizard shadow au ic for y’all, I swear this was gonna be a short thing that just had fluff. I suddenly just started going off the rails and the lil devil on my shoulder egged me on to add angst.

Hope yall like it either way (gonna start putting these on A03 if I write a third thing and it ends up longer than this one)

————————————————————————

Amy concluded she was going to kill them when they arrived. She sat and stewed right in front of a large tartan pink picnic blanket adorned with many baked treats she had spent an entire morning slaving over to get everything to perfection. When she baked she didn’t do it half way.

It was getting to half past four, three o’clock she had told the blue hedgehog and had texted to Rouge as direct long distance communication with Shadow was practically non existent considering how scarce the beast hedgehog liked to make himself.

Many weeks of pleading and begging him to at least join one of her picnics had led to him finally relenting and agreeing on today's outing. The pink hedgehog's excitement was uncontrollable as she absolutely exploded in enthusiasm when he finally agreed. Rouge had to keep her grounded as her eager rambles about picnic locations and recipes to bake had overwhelmed the large hedgehog causing him to promptly leave with a chaos control.

Amy forgot how easily flustered the guy got when encountered with a reaction he had no idea how to respond to. She didn’t blame him for teleporting as quickly as he did, the confirmation of his attendance was all she needed to begin preparing for the picnic.

That was three days ago, and now she sat in a small secluded park outside of station square with her tasty baked treats getting stale by the second. So, yeah she was definitely gonna give those two a good hit with her hammer if they didn’t show up in the next 5 minutes.

Speaking of the devil, a blue burr dashed right up to her picnic blanket. Amy scrambled to keep her treats from flying off the blanket due to the wind generated by Sonic as he dusted himself off looking quite frazzled, it didn’t quell her anger at his tardiness.

“You better have a good reason for being more than an hour late” she chided, Sonic was picking at a branch that has somehow got lodged into his quills most likely on the way to the park. He peeped at all the delicious treats strewn about in front of him, it didn’t escape Amy’s notice the way his face scrunched up at her strawberry shortcake. With that attitude he was gonna receive a bonk on the head with her hammer regardless of a good reason for his current punctuality.

“Sorry Ames, had a bit of a blow up in Tails workshop, was making sure Tails was okay before jetting off” Sonic explained. Well that was definitely a good reason, she began to feel a little bad at her anger towards the blue hedgehog.

“Oh my gosh, is he okay?” Amy asked, her worry quickly eased by an adorable smile from Sonic.

“Yeah yeah, the explosion was just from a faulty invention of his, there was a heckuva mess but he’s all good” he gave a thumbs up to add to assurance

Amy sighed in relief, it was good to know the little fox hadn’t got himself hurt, Tails was usually the best with machinery but had the odd hiccup here and there.

Her relaxation was replaced with alertness as she watched Sonic reach towards her pound cake, Amy slapped the outstretched gloved hand which had Sonic bring it back to himself instantly. He pouted at her as he soothed his attacked hand, Amy only rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t be rude! Shadow isn’t here yet y’know” she scolded, she loved to let people indulge in her baked goods but she believed proper etiquette was to wait for all her guests to be there first.

“Aww but we have no idea when he’ll even be here” the blue hero whined “it’s no problem if I have a piece”

“You’re a world renowned hero and can’t wait a little longer to have some cake?” she teased.

“I totally can! I just happened to not have had breakfast today, give a guy a break Ames” he protested “if was shadow instead of me you would of given him cake at the first chance”

“Maybe, but unlike you Shadow doesn’t gag at the sight of my strawberry shortcake”

“It’s not my fault it’s like the worst kind of cake” Sonic huffed. She was about to reach for the hilt of her hammer when the air began to feel hot, immediately she and Sonic braced themselves when a large field of energy popped just several feet in front of them. Just as quick as it was to appear the energy dissipated with a present Shadow replacing it. The chaos energy felt like static as it waved around the area for a moment before shadow coolly drove away the extra energy his chaos control generated.

The monstrous hedgehog searched the park for a moment before laying his eyes on the two tiny normal hedgehogs and Amy’s adorable picnic blanket under a large oak tree. It provided a nice shade from the glazing summer heat which Shadow quite liked so he began a tiny trek to the other two.

Amy had gotten used to Shadow's overwhelming presence quite quickly as did Sonic, she heard his heavy footsteps as he situated himself in front of the picnic. His large size provided additional shade from the sun which she greatly appreciated as she hadn’t expected the Temperature to rise as much as it did today. Shadow plopped himself down and awkwardly placed himself on his hind legs, his current position reminded Amy of a cat which was funny because she was sure he was only a hedgehog and lizard.

“Shadow! I’m so glad you're here” she exclaimed as she ran up to give his ankle a quick hug, he returned the gesture by placing his claws on her back gently “I managed to get Sonic here too! Isn’t that great”. The monstrous hedgehog turned to the blue hero and gave a nod of acknowledgement , Sonic returned it with a wink which Amy could have sworn had Shadow flustered for a second.

She left the ankle to return to the large blanket “I worked real hard this morning, I’ve got all kinds of tasty goods for us! I’ve got peanut butter cookie cups, rocky road, lemon drizzle, strawberry shortcake” she pointedly looked at Sonic at the last item, Shadow could only raise an eyebrow at the sudden hostility. “Oh! I also tried something new, they’re these coffee pasty knots, Rouge told me how much you love coffee Shadow so I wanted to give these a try”.

Shadows' fluffy ears perked up at the word coffee, he also couldn’t help the tinge of annoyance at his bat companion for letting slip his obsession with coffee beans. Rouge and the little hedgehogs in front of him were some of the few he trusted most, but he couldn’t help the need to keep things about himself to a minimum. He’d have a word with the bat about it later, as much as he dreaded it.

Sonic paid no attention to Amy’s list of pastries, face already stuffed with her iconic pound cake, he held two other slices in his hand. Amy commended herself for going the extra mile on the pound cake as she knew Sonic was an absolute sucker for it. She hoped he’d indulge in the other treats as she came prepared with the info that Shadow didn’t actually need to eat. It came in handy for a person like him considering his massive size and the amount of sustenance that would be needed to satisfy him if he needed to eat.

Luckily the chaos energy that inhabited every molecule of his body made the need for such a substantial amount of food non existent. Not to say he wouldn’t eat here and there, though Amy had heard he only ever ate bags of coffee beans. An odd choice of food to be consuming all the time but Amy didn’t want to judge, Shadow was an odd being in itself and she only really wanted to understand the guy. That’s what having him here for the picnic was about

Amy recalled months back when Shadow was consumed by his grief, he’d lost all he ever knew and loved to people who wanted to keep knowledge of his existence silenced. She remembered the news broadcasts that presented a monster in station square, lashing out at anything and anyone around him in reckless but anguished abandon. With hindsight she knew the fear of him was natural, but knowing his history as she did now, Amy just wanted Shadow's time on the planet to be wonderful.

She couldn’t forget, when she encountered Shadow staring upon what she later found out was his old enclosure on the abandoned ARK. He looked numb and far away, she had stood her ground and begged the giant from the depths of her heart to help the people of earth, she wasn’t sure why her words had seemed to have struck him as hard as they did but she was glad, his effort in stopping the eclipse cannon was palpable though he was greatly injured after the events and needed many weeks to recover.

She was taken out of her thoughts as Sonic began choking on what was probably his 4th serving of the pound cake, Amy rolled her eyes as the hedgehog hacked and coughed to dislodged the cake he was previously munching on. She ran over and gave him a few firm pats on the back that didn’t seem to do the job until a forefinger and thumb entered her view and flicked Sonic right on the back. It managed to dislodge the cake but the force of the flick had been too strong and sent sonic flying into some dirt a few feet away.

Amy felt bad, she really did, but she needed a second to hide her laughter at the sight, Shadow looked nonchalantly and quite a bit proud of his actions. Better for your face to be covered in earth than choking on a piece of her iconic pound cake Amy thought, she didn’t say it out loud as the expression Sonic had when he lifted himself out of the ground told her he wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

————————————————————————

Sonic was currently strewn lazily across Amy’s lap while Shadow had lay out onto his forearms not too far from them. Her treats had been significantly devoured by Sonic who decided to show what a glutton he could be today. She had clapped madly when she noticed Shadow pick up the coffee pastry between two enormous claws to give it a try, she couldn’t help herself as she hounded him on how it tasted. Shadow merely gave a “it’s good” in response which to her somehow translated to it’s the best thing ever and she squeaked in flatteration. He blushed heavily and she apologised for her excitement.

She stroked the blue hedgehogs quills, she adored the guy but she was bewildered at how he didn’t notice the amount of little twigs and leaves caught in his head, sleeping on a branch of a tree was all she got in response when pointed out the reason for their presence in his quills.

Shadow looked just as lazy as Sonic did, as he lay with his eyes closed. She appreciated how calm and relaxed the beast hedgehog looked, it was far cry from the rage filled monster he was months ago, he used to looked like the living embodiment of anger. She recalled when Sonic described his first encounter with the lizard hedgehog, it was like the air itself was boiling with Shadows rage as he and Sonic had a standoff in the centre of station square.

The ferocity at which Shadow came at Sonic on that day was terrifying, meeting again with Sonic upon prison island, she was met with the blue hedgehog recovering from an attack that Tails deducted was a poisonous sort of chaos energy Shadow was able to generate. It was no wonder how Sonic got captured so easily. Though she couldn’t imagine Shadow attacking any of them with such a move now, she knew he wouldn’t admit it but he clearly had grown to like the lot of them.

She turned her attention away from Sonic to look at Shadow, his nose would twitch every so often, probably all the pollen surrounding them giving him a bit of irritation, she noticed Sonic’s Hay fever acting up a few times during the picnic, she outstretched her hand to the nose as it was the closest thing of Shadow near her, he opened his eyes at the touch of her tiny hand on his nose and sat up a bit.

“I’m really glad you're here shadow” she expressed, his face turned absolutely red and he plopped back onto his forearms, greatly trying to hide his flushed face behind them as the assertion of Amy’s gladness for his presence warmed his heart a bit too much to handle.

“I second that” sonic exclaimed as he passively pointed his finger in the sky and then to shadow. Amy hoped the extra love would make Shadow absolutely beat red but Sonic's deceleration seemed to make the Large hedgehog think hard for a moment, he sat up completely, casting a shadow over the two little hogs and gave them a hard look.

“I don’t…deserve this” his deep voice rumbled out.

That had Amy puzzled, what did he mean by that? Though she realised she wasn’t going to get an answer by looking up cluelessly at him.

“Deserve what Shadow?” She questioned, the hard look he had melted into a look of regret and guilt,

“What I did I-“ he fumbled on his words for a moment, she knew conversation was hard for him but she was patient for an explanation of his sudden rejection of their affections “I hurt a lot of people, I hurt Sonic…you shouldn’t be so kind” he finally found the words.

She watched as he fidgeted with his claws, Sonic had sat up from her lap and looked pensive at the huge hedgehog. The atmosphere had gotten melancholic at the confession, it pieced together in Amy’s mind about Shadows usual behaviour, why he made himself scarce and his refusal to do anything with their group. The most Shadow would go out and do was the top secret missions with Rouge but that was mandatory due to his admission into GUN and Amy wouldn’t count that “getting outside”.

Even then the admission had been because GUN wanted to keep Shadow under some level of control, Rouge fought hard for Shadow to work with the defence force lest they decide to lock Shadow away or at worst put him down due to fear of his power. She knew Shadow hated it and the confession he just gave concluded the acceptance of such a job was punishment for events that transpired months ago.

The humongous hedgehog had come to some sort near peace at his currently life, but the lingering, persisting guilt of everything never left him, the guilt that his very existence got his family and many other innocent people killed, the guilt of his rage that he took out on the innocents of station square and Sonic who had done nothing but try and defend his home. But especially with what led to the near firing of the eclipse cannon, which could have destroyed the planet, the only thing that kept Maria as motivated as she was to get better and live on said planet. With him.

He dug his claws into his legs, the recollection of the events began to make his head hurt, Amy rose to her feet and beelined to a claw placed close enough for her to reach “Shadow, no no we really do love having you here! What happened to you was terrible, anyone would be as mad as you were” she asserted

“It doesn’t make what I did okay” he retorted, Shadow always made sure to keep his voice down, he possessed powerful chords due to his size but in the moment, he could feel his irritation rise, she wasn’t getting it.

“It doesn’t, you're right but you felt like everyone was against you, you had just woken up and everything was different and anyone you knew was gone!” Amy argued, shadow flinched at the reminder, it was true. His emergence from stasis was followed by his brain wracking to recollect everything that has previously happened, in that moment he could only remember panic, screams and a gunshot. It was a miracle he didn’t just tear Eggman in two when initially met with the scientist's presence.

Amy needed to be careful, she could feel Shadow beginning to growl resulting in vibrations being sent throughout the ground, it shook her up a bit but her resolve stayed strong. She didn’t want him to up and leave, thinking he didn’t deserve the bit of peace he was given today.

“They’re gone because of me, it was all cause of me” Shadow refuted, Amy didn’t know what to say, his pain ran so deep yet so fresh, to him the events hadn’t transpired 50 years ago, he was here with no people that even begin to comprehend that sort of pain

“Ohhhh my GOSH, SHADOW!” Sonic exasperated, Amy had forgotten he was still sitting on her picnic blanket as he rose up pointedly and marched over to where she stood with one of Shadows claws in her arms, “c'mon you’re waaaay smarter than this”.

Amy punched Sonic on his noodley arm, Shadow didn’t need the blue hedgehog being his cocky or passive right now, she wanted to handle the current situation delicately and Sonic was asking for a bonk with her hammer with that last response.

However he surprised her with the renewal of his last response, “you don’t seriously think I would have come out here if I knew you weren’t here?” Sonic asked

“You would have came for Amy…and the cake” shadow flatly responded as he looked down at the two hedgehog’s”

“I mean yeah” sonic sheepishly rubbed the back of his head “but I wanted to be here for you too, you disappear so often and it’s kinda really hard to find you usually”.

Shadow shrank at that, he may have wanted to keep to himself and be alone, but the declaration that Sonic made began to challenge the beliefs that he was better off in doing that.

“We really are glad you’re here with us Shads, Amy’s the most honest gal I know so don’t even try think she would lie, she know what she means when she says what she does” Sonic reasoned, Amy turned to him and let a warm smile melt on her face, she really did adore him.

“I’m not even mad about those fights we had back then, that move you pulled with your chaos energy was actually kinda sick I’m not gonna lie” Sonic admitted, he truly wasn’t lying “does that move work on robots cause it would really help me out when I’m giving Eggman's robots a good thrashing”.

Shadow was nonplussed, the blue hedgehog really just had a way of confusing the ever living chaos out of him, he couldn’t comprehend why the hero couldn’t hold a grudge. He first thought the blue hedgehog's kindness was all a charade,as for the first couple weeks as he recovered from his injuries sustained from the eclipse cannon incident, Sonic would visit from time to time and in the moment Shadow believed it was to gawk or just see how defeated he’d become. It hit shadow the reason was because Sonic genuinely cared about him.

It overwhelmed Shadow, the non-rational and impulsive part of his brain just wanted to pick Sonic up like a doll and shake him until it satisfied Shadow, he instead lay himself gently on the grass and screamed into the earth.

The trembling from the screeching Shadow did shake Sonic and Amy up a bit as the latter grabbed onto the blue hedgehog for balance, they looked fixedly at the monstrous hedgehog as he finished his muffled shouts onto the earth beneath him. He merely turned his large head towards the two afterwards looking fairly calmer which was much better than the meltdown he was clearly heading towards before.

“Do you feel better?” Amy asked as she unlatched herself from Sonic's waist.

Shadow's eyes swivelled about as he seemed to think the question over, he decided a simple nod would be best to answer.

Amy was glad to hear that, but she felt she was going to undo a bit of that release of emotion with what she was about to ask, though the time for the question seemed appropriate as she couldn’t image when she could next ask him given the chance

“Shadow… back on the ARK, when I found you and asked for your help, what made you change your mind?” She finally inquired, shadows eyes fully opened at the question, Sonic turned to her questionably.

“I mean! Um- you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want, I probably shouldn’t have asked anyway sorry!” She felt embarrassment fill her cheeks as Shadow sat up to look down at her tiny form. She wasn’t sure if it was an ignorant thing to ask, but the way Shadow stared down at her made her feel it was.

He looked away from her, she watched as his chest puffed out from a large inhale then deflated from the exhale he let out. “Someone…” Shadow hesitated for a second before continuing “on the ARK, before everything happened I had someone… a friend”.

Amy and Sonic watched as he carefully picked his words, she regret her question now as the memories Shadow tried to retrieve seemed so painful, yet he persisted “she was stuck on the ARK because of a sickness, but she really loved the earth, she made me love the earth” Amy noted how wistful he looked talking about this part of his life, “when the ARK was raided and she got…hurt, she asked me that when I got to earth, I’d do everything I could to protect it, because good people on earth deserved it… I forgot that” Shadow finished

“so when I asked…” Amy was jarred, beginning to fully understand the impact of what she thought was a small plea to the lizard hedgehog.

Shadow looked beat, it seemed such a confession had taken up most of his mental energy. Amy turned to Sonic who looked just as jarred as she felt, but then he spoke up “man shadow, that’s… a lot”.

Shadow grimaced, he agreed and yet again lay on his front, the poor guy looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him up, no doubt feeling a flurry of emotions at admitting such a thing.

“Hey I don’t know how much this means… but I think you're a good person Shadow” Sonic affirmed.

Amy watched Shadow turn to Sonic, his expression made her want to just explode as she swore she could see the yellow of his sclera grow a bit misty, she couldn’t confirm as he abruptly sat up and rubbed at his gigantic eyes before declaring “I’m gonna go”.

Amy was about to argue as she felt he could use more endearment, she was stopped as Sonic placed a hand to her shoulder “no prob Shads! Why don’t you take some Amy’s snacks with you, you don’t mind do you Ames?” he offered

She realised what he was doing, Shadow did look like he needed some time to himself and Sonic was giving him the perfect out, “oh yeah! Of course not, would you take some for Rouge please, not sure when I’ll be giving her a visit so it’s better if you take them” Amy explained as she left Sonic's side to procure a few treats into a plastic container she brought in case either Sonic or Shadow wanted some cakes to take home. She placed the container into a giant outstretched claw that Shadow bent down to offer.

He rose back to full height and eyed the two little hedgehogs, said two hedgehogs enthusiastically waved as Shadow took a few ground shaking steps away from the picnic spot, he glanced a look back at them and responded with a shy wave of goodbye before promptly chaos controlling to whatever location fit for him to decompress.

Amy felt herself relax, she wanted this picnic to be as perfect as possible and while she hadn’t intended a vent session for Shadow she was actually quite glad it had. It seemed if anyone needed that today it was him, she sat back into her blanket and let out a sigh. However the feeling of relaxation began to get nibbled away by a feeling of confusion, she looked up to see Sonic with an annoyingly large grin, she felt something that would irritate her was about to come out his mouth.

“Man your cakes were just the best today Amy” he complimented, maybe she misjudged, that was very sweet of him-

“Shame Shads didn’t eat any of the strawberry shortcake, you sure it’s just me that hates the stuff?-“

The swift swing of her hammer upon his head promptly shut him up before he could continue on with the slander of her strawberry shortcakes.

————————————————————————

Rouge was having a quiet evening all things considered, she sat In her living room sipping chamomile tea from a mug adorned with the quote “another day another slay”. The peace was not long lasting as she felt a few quakes hit her building before she heard creaks and cracks coming from the top of the roof of the apartment building.

That would have been alarming to most people but Rouge had roommates of sorts, one being a homicidal robot with a dry sense of humour and the other being a 35 foot lizard hedgehog who adored the robot's dry sense of humour. She knew the commotion was caused by the latter, she had asked him to not teleport directly on the roof so it caused minor irritation to her when he had just done so again.

She made her way out of the apartment to find the set of stairs that allowed access to the roof, Shadow wasn’t one to just forget her boundaries so she hoped everything was alright with the monstrous hedgehog.

When she opened the old squeaky door that led to the cooling air of outside, she was met with Shadow curled up into a near ball, he needed to curl as the roof didn’t have much space for him to occupy when he spent his time there, the strength of the apartment complex held out well with his weight surprisingly. His quills and scales were a little bristled so she could assume the outing she badgered him to go on may have gone sideways.

She had hoped getting him to interact with others would open up the gruff exterior he led on with, but during the months she had spent with Shadow, it opened her up to many sides of the lizard hedgehog he had yet to share with anyone excluding Omega of course. He obviously didn’t owe anyone information about himself but nonetheless she felt it would be good for him.

Rouge apprehensively approached the massive being in front of her, he was breathing softly and had his arms held to himself, something she noted he did to self soothe, “Hiya hun” she called. He rolled over to address her, looking absolutely exhausted. Whatever limited social battery she saw him with this morning was practically begging for mercy at this point.

“Picnic go well? Did you have a good time?” She asked, she didn’t mean to mother him but she couldn’t help the sense of responsibility she had over him now, the gigantic face displayed to her scrunched up in thought before he let out a noncommittal noise that sounded like a “eh” to her.

Rouge deduced he was nonverbal at this point, he tended to become so when he was overstimulated. “No prob hun, you wanna talk about it tomorrow?” She asked.

His eyes silently thanked her for the out in any more talking, he gave her a firm nod that indicated there would probably be a lot to talk about tomorrow, that was fine. She sipped a bit of her tea and looked at the sun setting before them, “do you want me to stay?”

Shadow thought it over for a moment, he was really tired of talking and interaction but for some reason, Rouge asking to stay with him after today's events felt different, he looked at her and gave another firm nod. The bat flapped her dark purple wings and landed atop the beast hedgehog's head, he could manage that, he didn’t mind when it was Rouge hanging out on his person.

He thought about the first time she had offered to stay with him, it was past dark and she had no reason to be up on the roof with him. He wasn’t wondering that now.

[romanoffsbish]

On The Edge

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt Request | Natasha’s patience for your lack of time management boils over, and you pay the price | WC: 2,210

No pronouns used, but “pretty” and equally as soft terms are used to label / describe R.

Warnings: Non-Con (unintentional / momentarily) | Possessive Natasha

Smut: Dom!Nat | Prior Solo Play (R) | Oral / Fingering / Strap (R) | Teasing / Overstimulation | KO

18+ | Minors DNI

Natasha groaned, punching the bag in frustration as the secondary hand on the clock landed on the three. You were late, like usual, but you knew better than to leave her waiting in the training room for this long. So, the redhead tossed her gloves beneath the swaying bag and made her way to the elevator to collect you.

It wasn't like she didn't know where you were, seeing as how every time you are late it's because of sleep. It was honestly adorable to watch you stumble in, with the occasional patch of dried up drool on your chin, but usually that's only a few minutes after the time to train. Natasha never let you off the hook for it, but she also went far easier on you than she ever had anyone else, and that was simply because she adored you.

——

You were the light of the compounds, and her life... She's just never told you that before for the sake of professionalism as she was in charge of making you Avenger ready. Feelings, no matter how real, would not keep you safe in the field, so for the sake of a future relationship she dreamed of, she focused on training.

It worked, for the most part anyways, but there were times she nearly lost her cool. Like every time she'd pin you to the mat, your eyes would roll back at the impact and her mind would picture it in a different light. Or, the post training glow you usually sported that made you look twice as delectable. Natasha needed you in a way that challenged her every known process, she was not regarded as soft and sweet, but with your head on her shoulder after a long day, she knows she can be...

You were undeniably perfect, beautiful in both looks and spirit and as pure as the light of the halo that she imagined hovers atop your head... In a moments time though, her entire view of you would be changed, all because she was too frustrated to remember the proper etiquette, and the one of many reasons, for a knock.

Or to respect the barriers you'd put in place, as her trusty bobby pin clicked into place Natasha flung your previously locked door wide open and gasped. Her eyes laser focused in onto your exposed skin, and her hands were quick to shut and re-lock your door lest anyone else see what she now deemed—soon to be, hers.

The redhead wasn't the type to crumble, and if anyone else had been before her she'd remain an unmoved fortress, but if you begged she might just fall to the ground. Might a loose word really, because the longer she stared at you, the more she felt her knees shake.

Which would only be fair as you've blessed her with such beauty, lying there spread open for her. It was as if you were posed for her by a deity, in her worn down death metal hoodie that went missing after a mission.

You in her clothes was an undreamed fantasy, you truly looked ready to be ate, the fabric had ridden up significantly, leaving your naked lower half exposed to her predatory gaze. Natasha was gnawing on her lip when her eyes locked in on the strap beside your leg.

You were going to make such a pretty slut for her...

The smell that surrounded her was enough for her to know this was a recent endeavor of yours, fresh slick still shining on the skin of your thighs a clear mark too. An unexpected groan fell from her lips at the sight, leading to your body shuffling as your eyes snapped open. "Natasha?" Your adorable, groggy voice made her feel like smiling, but she kept her neutral face. "Y/L/N, why weren't you at our morning training?"

"Clint told me it was cancelled," you loudly yawned, but for some reason you didn't move to cover yourself up and the redhead smirked. "Y-you have a mission?"

Natasha now knew exactly what had happened, her best friend decided to meddle and now she was met with a glorious opportunity. Clint likely didn't expect that it would work out this way; she didn't mind, nor did she have the urge to ask him, she’d won regardless.

Natasha ignored your question and began to stalk her way over to you, her eyes roamed over your frame without even a hint of shame. This time you attempted to pull the hem of fabric down, but her hands latched around your wrists to stop you. "Is that my hoodie?"

The way you gulped in fear amused her tremendously, then you nodded and her lips upturned devilishly. "We are going to have so much fun together krasivaya," her tone dropped an octave, causing your body to shimmy as a pathetic little whimper left your chapped lips.

Natasha was two sounds away from ripping you apart, but she needed to be sure she wasn't taking advantage of your vulnerability. "Do you want to have fun Y/N?"

"Please," you cried instantly, hips desperately canting off the bed in emphasis as she swiftly straddled them. The way your slick spread against the skin of her toned abs and settled into the defined lines was what truly drove the woman into action. With determination and precision on her side Natasha helped you out of her hoodie, one hand fell to your bare chest to fondle your sensitive breasts while the other held your hands down above your head, her eyes were blown out in a way you had only ever dreamed of before this surreal reality.

"Fuck detka," she moaned, so deep and raspy that it was nearly a growl, "Your perfect tits are pierced?" The question was rhetorical, but her eyes were full of a lusty wonder, her fingertips pressed into the metal balls and her hand twisted, tweaking your nipple and ripping a deep moan of your own from within you.

Natasha moaned too and felt as her walls pulsed, she had you pegged as an angel, but here you were, a deviant and for some reason the subtlety was much hotter. In public you'd be her precious little peach, but behind closed doors you would be her pretty little slut.

"Do you have a safe word honey?" You nodded, then whispered a soft, "widow," when you saw that her eyes were waiting for more. "I can't wait to hear you use it." The redhead winked, then chuckled softly as she saw the way your eyes widened and your mouth fell open. "Don't worry now darling, I'll be gentle enough," her teeth grazed over your racing pulse. "Rough is fi-fine," you practically shrieked, hands flying up to grip and claw at her shoulder blades to drive home the need.

Natasha nodded with a smirk, not only hearing your message loud and clear, but finding it appealing too.

However, she believed in more of the long game, she slowly, painstakingly so, began to kiss all over your body, purposefully missing both sets of your slick lips. Open mouthed and fervent the more she got into it, leaving behind dribbles of spit along the various spots of injured skin as she'd claimed you without asking.

There was no need to ask to claim what's already yours, with you sleeping in her hoodie the ties were sowed, so all she was doing was making sure the world knew too.

Once she felt satisfied with the way your body looked, and more so how easily she'd gotten you to squirm, she devoured you wholly, her tongue slid in and out of your oozing hole until she could feel you growing restless. She’d crawled back up your body and pressed a kiss to your parted lips just as soon as she was released by your quivering thighs. A smile stretched her face as she saw the clear effect she had, you harshly panted as she'd worked you up so well, and she wasn’t even done.

You blinked a few times, clearing your vision only to be met with her blackened eyes. Part of you was terrified, but the other part was more so antsy for what was going to come next. Her eyes spoke to you, whispering promises of something you couldn’t quite decipher. Your heart was hopeful for love, but your heated body prayed for the opposite, it craved the widows carnality.

After only a second of time to think you got an answer, as did she as you couldn't stop a moan, but she did as her tongue seductively slid over yours while her middle and pointer fingers abruptly divorced inside of you. It wasn’t like the stretch of your strap had been, that was nothing but a filling up, her fingers were slender, but it was somehow better just because it was her doing it.

Natasha wasn’t the only one dreaming of this moment. Every training session ended the same, with you in the shower fucking yourself senseless to thoughts of her.

The redhead could feel that honesty with every thrust of your jittery hips that met her fingers, she truly felt liberated from the confines of your former student-teacher roles. It couldn’t be wrong when it felt this good; having you beneath her felt prophetic, and if today hadn’t been your last day together before you were tested by Fury she would have had to resign.

There was no going back to the grey area between the roles now, the blurred lines were finally washed away, that much was clear as you arched off the bed with a sultry cry of her name; Natasha officially had a new job, and that was to have you trembling and desperate for her, which you were, it was borderline humiliating.

Every move she made was intimately sloppy, the way her fingers prodded at your sensitive walls had you mewling around her tongue that played chicken with yours, intermixed with sharp inhales that wordlessly spoke to the woman above you of a job well done.

"You're so desperate," she acknowledged in a purr against your swollen, parted lips. Your inability to keep up broke the kiss apart, and allowed her a chance to take her teasing up a level. "This pussy is crying..."

"Natasha..."

"Do you remember what I say to you when we train?" Natasha knew it was cruel to ask you such a thing as your mind was blanked, with her fingers doing their best work inside of your velvety, clenched warmth.

"You can't keep being late and expect not to be punished Y/N," she taunted, a rough chuckle felt against your cheek as she removed her fingers. You whined, "I-I, Natasha please, I need you," just as she expected you to, and she brought the wet pads of her fingers up to your pulsing clit. "I always remind you too, that I call the shots detka, you’re far too precious to know what’s best Y/N, so hush yourself and relax."

The redhead rolled her eyes when she found your glossy ones already boring into hers, then without anymore hesitation she filled you up with a thick strap you'd left out, once again making her think this was what you wanted to happen from the start. Strong, eager hands held your hips down as she picked up a quick pace, her breath was hardly even different aside from the deeper rasp as she rutted her hips into you and whispered her filthiest dreams. Meanwhile you came with a loud whine and tears that pleaded with her to stop, but Natasha only rolled her hips faster.

"I'm not letting you go until you've either drenched the sheets, or passed out," she growled against the welted skin of your throat, her teeth nipped at the fresh sores, a display of her brutal carnality.

You were a panting mess at the mere threat of more, you were already sensitive from your private session. "I-I can't take anymore, please," you managed to stutter, but your resistance was as weak as your cunts grip. Natasha was ruthless, and since you didn't utter your chosen safe word she happily continued, "You can take it, and you'll do it graciously, one more complaint and I'll edge you all month."

"M-month?" Natasha rolled her eyes, she was strap deep inside of you, lips marking up your skin and still you questioned her attachment. Though that frustrated her, there was a rare softness to her tone that held a much deeper meaning. "If you thought this was a one time thing you were mistaken lyubov'." Natasha's lips pressed to yours right after her half baked confession, intent on devouring your soul as it left your body with the next deep thrust of her thick strap. "You're as good as mine now Y/N," she sighed against you as she felt the waves of pleasure ripple off your convulsing body.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered in amusement only moments later as your body relaxed and her eyes caught sight of your peaceful sleeping face. Natasha settled in beside you, strong arms wrapped around you to pull you closer, a sigh of relief followed, "My girl."

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter contains medical trauma in an emergency room, as well as pregnancy loss.

I was going to do my usual thing and post this tomorrow, but i felt too bad making yall wait so you get a one-two punch of pain today (on the bright side, and i promise this, things start to go uphill from here, if you could believe it <3)

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 16

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The darkened operating theater’s focused silence was sharply interrupted with the sound of ringing coming from the phone tucked away in the circulating nurse’s back pocket.  It was very obviously from Law’s phone, but the entire surgical crew kept their heads lowered and honed in on their work.  It was quite difficult to break your stride when someone’s body was cut completely open and their beating heart was framed by a metal cage keeping the layers of fat and muscle from closing.  The nurse was checking oxygen levels of the patient and simply let the phone continue to ring.  No one said a word.

The ringing stopped.

Then it started again.

“Just let it go,” Law mumbled.  He couldn’t be bothered, not when he was quite literally inside someone’s heart.  A mitral valve replacement required just as much care as any other open heart procedure, despite being a relatively easy operation for his skilled hands.

The ringing stopped.  The nurse stepped away from the monitor and made a circle around the team, checking instruments, patient vitals, and needed materials.

Then the ringing started again.  This time, a few glances were tossed around the room by the attending surgeons and nurses, but Law kept his head down, neck-deep in his work.  The nurse pulled the phone out of her back pocket and assessed the screen.  Your photo and name were displayed.

“Doctor, it’s your wife,” she announced.

“End the call and text her that I’ll get back to her when I can.”

Following his instructions precisely, the nurse tapped the red End Call button, opened her doctor’s phone with his passcode from their previous go at this very situation, and navigated to his text messages, pulling up your conversation.  She had to suppress a smile at the photo that was set for your contact- a photo of you and what she assumed to be your dog, both grinning brightly at the camera.  She began to text.

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse again!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he’ll call you back when he’s done!

She was about to put the device back in her pocket when it buzzed with another incoming text message.

Wifey

This is Law’s friend Shachi.  Idk operating room etiquette but his wife was taken to the emergency room from her job, im here with her and another friend.  Can you relay the message somehow?  Thanks.

The unsuspecting nurse felt her heartbeat grow anxious.  She herself didn’t really know how to properly announce that information to her supervising doctor, let alone the entire room of fellow technicians and nurses surrounding a patient with his chest fully exposed and heart cut open.

“Everything good?” the tired voice of the lead doctor called from his position, slightly hunched over the body under the bright lights and protective sheet.  He had stepped back only mere centimeters to let an attending nurse go in with sutures.

“Uhm…” the circulating nurse felt her palms grow sweaty beneath her blue medical gloves.  “It was one of your friends, your wife is in the emergency room, apparently.”

Law felt his blood run cold.  His head shot upward to look at the poor nurse who was now unfortunately involved in this, staring at her with wide, golden eyes below his magnifying hood.  He must have looked profoundly stupid partnered with his surgical mask and bright blue hair net.  “What did he say?”

“That was it, he just said to call him back as soon as he could,” she responded nervously.

“Doctor, the surgery’s almost completed if you–” one of his technicians began before being interrupted by the doctor.

“No, I’ll never leave the operating room until the procedure is finished.  Don’t worry about me, continue your focus on the patient.”  But for the first time in Law’s entire professional life, his focus was everywhere but the patient.  Why were you in the emergency room?  Why were you taken from work?  What in the world had happened?

Were you having another miscarriage?

No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring his focus back to the unconscious patient on the table in front of him.  He felt like a ghost out of his own body, merely observing his rigid frame standing amongst his colleagues, frozen in time and place, glued to the cold tiled floor.  Petrified.  Chills were creeping up and down his vertebrae, spreading out to the very tips of his fingers, making him wish he could run.  Run as fast as he could, run to the next building to where the emergency department was and run through every room to find you.  He needed to find you.

The surgery could not have ended sooner.  As soon as he was given the clear that the patient was in the recovery ward, he was sprinting with all of his might through the halls of the cardiac ward, out through the lobby, and into the bright summer sun that seemed to be mocking him in his frantic state.  His lab coat trailed behind him and passing nurses and patients jumped out of his way as he barreled down the bright sidewalk of the hospital complex, passing small bundles of blooming flowers that almost shook with how fast his feet were carrying him.  He felt like his heart might evacuate from his chest, or that he would surely lose his lunch with the stress of the unknown.

He rounded a corner and entered the emergency wing through a back entrance using his ID, sprinting to the nearest nurse’s desk barely catching his breath.  The young woman behind the counter, caught off guard by his sudden burst into the space, was staring at the man with wide, blue eyes, her fingers frozen mid-typing on her mechanical keyboard.

“T… Trafalgar.  Where,” was all he was able to gasp out as he clung to the counter catching his breath.  He never was much of an athlete.

The young nurse hurriedly picked through the screen of her computer monitor.  “Room 114.”

“Thank you,” he wheezed as he pushed himself off again, this time speed walking through the large corridors of the emergency room, not wanting to cause an issue with the attending doctors.  He passed by empty gurneys and folded wheelchairs, idle medicine carts and nurses chatting with one another, another ordinary day for them.  Room 114 seemed so far away.

Finally, the number appeared on the wall to his right.  The door was wide open, multiple bodies hunched over the bed.  Shachi and Ikkaku bolted upright from their chairs, mouths open about to speak to Law, but he pushed past them and into the crowd of nurses.

Your wrists were strapped to both handles of the bed you occupied, your eyes squeezed shut and an oxygen mask was forcefully strapped to your face, so tight your skin was visibly pinching through the hard elastic straps.  The hose extending from the mask and into an on-board oxygen monitoring machine seemed so foreign on your beautiful face.  A few heart rate electrodes were placed on your chest, picking up a well above average heartbeat.  Your feet were weakly flailing under the covers as multiple nurses had their hands on you, assessing your blood pressure, your oxygen, hands on your abdomen, your legs, your breasts.

Law saw red.

“BACK THE FUCK UP,” he shouted, finally drawing attention to himself from the surrounding nurses.  Hospital etiquette could fuck off for all he cared.  His wife had her wrists bound.  “GET AWAY FROM HER.”

“Doctor, please,” a man from beside your bed rushed forward toward the cardiac surgeon, placing his hands on his shoulders.  “Please don’t yell-”

“Why the hell is she tied to the bed?!” he demanded, every fiber of his being forcing him to maintain at least some level of composure.  Behind him, Ikkaku grabbed Shachi’s wrist and dragged him out of the room, not wanting to put their friend under any more stress.

“She was thrashing in the ambulance, we needed to restrain her,” the male nurse explained, attempting to push Law back from your bed.

Law looked past the nurse’s shoulder and screamed once more.  “I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER.”

A much larger male nurse stood up from his place around your bed.  When he stepped aside, his legs revealed a bright red biohazard container on the ground, a mere glimpse of the pants you were wearing that morning peeking into Law’s field of view.  

“Doctor, calm down or I’m going to call security,” the bigger man threatened, stepping toward Law and giving his shoulders a firm shove backwards.  He was built less like your average nurse and more like a basketball power forward, and the force of his hands against Law’s shoulders sent the black-haired surgeon stumbling backward.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he seethed.  “What kind of nurse ties a patient to the bed when they’re panicking, huh?!  Is that what they’re teaching you ingrates?!  Tying a panicking woman to a bed to keep her still?!”

He forced his way past the larger nurse, much to the man’s discontent, and pushed through the other employees surrounding your bed.  His first action was to loosen the straps of the oxygen mask on your face, giving your skin room to breathe.  His deft hands ripped the velcro blood pressure cuff off of your bicep, tossing it back to a nurse who had stepped away, shocked by his actions.  The oxygen monitor on your finger was next, followed by the restraint on your left hand, which fell limp next to your body.  Your wedding ring was missing.

“Where’s the ring?” Law asked, forcing the blood oxygen monitor into the hands of the same nurse who took the cuff from him.

“What ring?” the basketball nurse asked, visibly angry with the doctor’s intrusion.

“The wedding ring on her left hand.  Where the hell is it?”

A very small, meek voice piped up from across your bed.  “It was removed in the ambulance because the paramedic was afraid she’d hurt herself with it.”

“Hurt herself, or hurt you?” snarled Law referring to the confused gaggle of nurses that had come into contact with his wife, already fed up with whatever excuses they were giving him.  If he was more rational, he could argue that they were simply doing their jobs, but even from his standpoint, what they were doing to you was clearly too much.  “I want every single one of you out of this room, and I want an attending doctor here immediately.  I need one of you to find that damn ring and bring it back to me.  Don’t make me ask twice.”

A few nurses took the opportunity to scramble from the room, visibly frazzled by the surgeon’s fit of rage.  The two male nurses from prior, however, stood their ground.

“You’re not in our department, doc, I’m afraid we can’t take orders from you.”  The larger nurse crossed his arms over his chest in defiance as Law stood between your body and the man.

“Then take my directions as the family member of a patient.  Get.  The hell.  Out.”  If Law were to see himself, he’d have absolutely no idea where this authoritative side of him came from.  He was never one for verbal or physical confrontation, more used to shutting down and bottling in his feelings than displaying them outright, and never would he ever think to get in the face of an extended colleague, but now was not the time for rational thought.

The first nurse to put his hands on Law placed a hand on the shoulder of his fellow nurse, pulling him toward the door.  The larger man finally relented and followed his coworker out into the hallway and around the corner out of sight.  Silence had finally settled over the room and Law rushed to the other side of your bed to unstrap your right wrist from the metal barrier.  Your heart rate on the monitor was slowly starting to even out, but was still maintaining a fairly erratic pace.  His new position allowed him to get a glimpse into the red biohazard container that was improperly placed next to your bed.  Your pants, the ones you had purchased when out with your friends a few weeks prior and that you were excited to finally wear to work, were completely soaked with bright red blood.  The rest of your clothing was in the bucket, specks of blood on your socks, and the lower portion of your flowy summer shirt.  He shoved the bucket out of the way with the ball of his shoe, forcing down the nausea that crawled up his throat.

He placed his hand on your forehead, leaning over you, his face contorted in an agony that mirrored your own.  

Your eyes slowly opened, your body completely spent and exhausted.  He barely wanted to know what kind of ambulance ride you had endured that had rendered your usually-energetic and upbeat form into a shell of your former self.  Your irises were filled with sorrow, and your eyes immediately began welling with tears at the sight of your husband standing above you.  You gasped into the oxygen mask, almost choking on the breath of cold, spicy air that flowed through the hose and forced its way into your body.  Law was quick to pull the mask off, breaking every form of protocol he was familiar with.  He knew his outburst and actions easily risked his integrity as a high profile surgeon, but as he took in the sight of you, completely burnt out, humiliated, scratched up from the binding on your wrists and straps from the mask on your face, he couldn’t find the time to care about his integrity anymore.

Finally free from the confines of the mask, you sucked in a shaky breath, heavy, salty tears flowing down your cheeks like a waterfall.  You weakly reached a hand up to his, and he took it in both of his warm, calloused ones, clenching you tightly, funneling all of his love into you.

“Law…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out more like a croak.  He felt his heart shatter, splintering into toxic pieces of fiberglass that ripped at his flesh, that stung the soul and pierced the very heart he gave to you.  Your lips were violently quivering as your body shook with suppressed sobs, not having any more energy to scream.  All you were able to do was mouth the words, ‘I’m sorry.”

Law’s resolve shattered.  Whatever was left of his pride, his dignity, his status as your strong, unmoving, supportive husband, was fractured.  He crumpled above you, his legs shaking as his head fell to your trembling chest, his hands that held your own remaining close to his own lungs as the tears he had wanted to cry for the past two years of trying for a baby finally escaped from his eyes.  He sniffled, snot rapidly pooling in his sinuses as a result of his tears, but he continued to hold your trembling hand in his as he bit his lip so hard it stung, the scorching hot tears leaving his eyes feeling like trails of magma down his skin.  The smell of hospital sheets did not belong on you.  

The world seemed to implode in on your weak form in the hospital bed, your husband’s defeated body hunched over your own.

A crackled, broken sob exited his lungs.

[peaches2217]

Untarnished

Chapter 4 (HUGE thank you to @bberetd for her feedback!!)

AO3 Link! | Previous Chapter | Beginning

~~~

For the third time since their reunion, Mario smiled at her, and she was certain her heart would burst. The pain etched into his features melted away as he met her gaze. It was as if everything was alright in his world now. And as he lifted a tremoring hand and mirrored her touch, his tattered glove meeting her cheek, Peach realized that everything was alright in her world too.

That was it. That was the final push she needed to overcome years of shyness, dancing around social etiquette and expectations and uncertain affections. She was going to pour her heart out to him, right here, right now, consequences be damned.

Once again, he didn’t give her any time.

He kissed her before she had the chance.

.

.

.

It didn’t register at first. All she could do was gape dumbly ahead, staring wide-eyed at the space between Mario’s eyebrows. Everything was so still. No breeze in the air, no breath flowing between them, nothing but the grass beneath their bodies and his hand trembling against her cheek.

His lips were warm, and cracked, and terribly dry. They trembled as well.

And then they were gone, and suddenly the two inches of space between them felt impossibly vast. Peach had never so desperately wished to be robbed of breath once more.

She took it upon herself to grant that wish. Mario made a startled noise as she pulled him back in, his hand retreating from her face.

At any other time, she might have backed off, considered the possibility that his kiss meant something entirely different than hers, that she was overstepping his every last boundary. Right now, she didn’t care. Mario had kissed her. She had almost lost him, but he’d lived and he’d carried them both to safety and he’d kissed her. 

Even if it didn’t mean what she wanted it to mean — perhaps he was just as overwhelmed with relief as she was, and perhaps he simply couldn’t think of a better way to convey it in the moment — it was proof that he was here, he was alive, and she was with him once more. It was proof that her weeks of dwindling hope and agonizing uncertainty hadn’t been in vain.

His facial hair prickled at her cheeks and her chin and her palms. It tickled.

Then the warmth and weight of torn leather returned to her cheek — and Mario returned her kiss in earnest.

This wasn’t like his first kiss, stagnant, awkward, timid. This kiss was forceful. Desperate. His hand slipped from her cheek to the nape of her neck, and he somehow pulled her even closer. His fingers gathered and clenched at the roots of her unwashed hair. Peach scarcely had time to gasp when he pulled away, and then he was pulling her back in, pressing, tugging, clinging to her for dear life.

If her hair being yanked and her lungs shriveling from lack of oxygen caused her pain, Peach took no notice. She never wanted to breathe again, so long as it meant he’d never stop. She never wanted him to let go.

Cicada song was quickly drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears as she matched his affections, aggressive but not painful, too much yet not nearly enough. Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids and within her stomach. The unpleasant copper tang on her tongue was nothing compared to the giddy, almost indecent joy coursing through her blood. His hair was gritty with soot, yet this did little to dissuade her from running frantic fingers through it.

In an interlude for air, her hand returned to his cheek — and it was wet.

All at once the bliss dissipated, and Peach pulled fully away, a painful but necessary action. Right. He was still hurt. His wounds would need tended to before they could continue.

But it wasn’t blood or serum that trickled down Mario’s face, discolored from soot and sweat and bright red burns. The look he fixed her with was unlike any she had ever seen from him: his eyes were wild, and each unsteady gasp for air jolted his body, and tears dripped from his cheeks and from the broad tip of his nose, a silent but unending flow.

Where she’d just felt alive with passion, Peach now felt frozen with shock. She had never seen Mario cry.

It didn’t take long to realize, once she embraced him and buried her face into his neck, that she was crying, too. He had never seen her cry either, had he?

Quiet sobs wracked through her as she took it all in, the smell of blood and burnt skin and singed clothing, the warmth of another living being, him, all of him. And though she couldn’t hear much over the pathetic cries that spilled from her throat, she knew from the way he shuddered as he held her that he wept just as fervently.

~~~

“Something must be done post-haste. We cannot allow such misfortune to befall our Princess again.”

“Well, what would you suggest? Sacking all of the guards who stood on duty that night — which you agreed to as well, I’ll have you remember — has left us shorthanded. It will be at least a few more weeks until we have all the necessary resources.”

“Nonsense! We have everything we need! The old guards’ replacements already show great promise. I say we implement the improved layout blueprint and stick them right in. Problem solved!”

“Those replacements are still in training. Do you suggest leaving the safety of our Princess to a gaggle of rookies?”

“Well, unless the Princess is willing to reconsider our open borders policy, which, I might add, most likely contributed to this incident in the first place—”

“Do you mock Her Royal Highness? The great strides she’s taken to promote peace and unity with our allies?”

“What good have our allies done? Send us food when the harvest looks promising anyway, send us ranks when there’s no invading army threatening our people directly, but they certainly couldn’t pinpoint the location of the Princess, nor could they help organize efforts against that wretched Bowser! We must reflect inward if we wish to rebound!”

Hands clasped in her lap, Peach did her best to keep her spine straight and her expression neutral. For all the shouting of belligerent old Toads surrounding her, the past hour had still been fairly productive, if only because she was finally brought up to speed with the state of her kingdom… or, rather, the state of his.

The Koopa King was either dead or dying. His military was in shambles, his kingdom in complete panic. And while no one could say with certainty yet, current predictions, based on the observations of spies and similar informants, leaned in favor of the Darklands closing itself off until it was able to reestablish leadership.

Mario would be able to provide further insight, once he was well enough to recount his story. Peach could only pray he was permitted to do so at his own pace.

Without their king to lead them, Bowser’s troops were predictable. Petty at absolute worst, too cowardly to step foot outside of their borders at best. Peach felt perfectly comfortable with the notion of rookie guards standing at nighttime vigil. By the time any serious threat rose against her or her kingdom once more, they would be rookies no longer.

Of course, between the arguing of her Parliament and Toadsworth’s constant cries for order, Peach found very little room to voice these thoughts. Never mind that she had never asked for her original Nighttime Guard to be sacked in the first place. For these reasons, she couldn’t help but simmer with annoyance, tapping her clasped fingers against her knuckles beneath the grand conference table. What was the point in discussing her well-being if she wasn’t permitted to have a say in that very same matter?

(She could have, at any point, silenced the room with one swift gesture of her hand and a reminder that her word was the law by which they were all permitted to abide. She could have at any point taken control back into her own hands. Unfortunately, being thrust into the center of a noisy debate after three months in isolation rarely results in clear heads.)

“Oh, if only Master Mario had been on duty that night,” an older Toad with dark green spots on his cap called out. “He could have stopped this madness before it began!”

An abrupt chill rushed through Peach’s veins as a murmur of agreement swept across the room. She was quite used to random chills by now, yet this one felt strangely alien, so biting that it made her vision go fuzzy at the edges.

She’d had the same thought. It wasn’t the names of her guards or her retainers she’d cried as she was smothered by cold scales and ivory claws. She had screamed Mario’s name into the night, knowing full well that he couldn’t hear her, hoping in spite of herself that her voice would reach him, that he would reach her, that her nightmare would end just as quickly as it started.

As the days dwindled on and what ifs consumed her waking thoughts, she’d found herself imagining a thousand different ways he might have saved her, if only her voice had been stronger. If only she had asked him to stay.

“Master Mario! That’s another matter we must discuss: he will be receiving a knighthood once he’s well, I trust?”

“He should have been made a knight after his first rescue of the Princess! Perhaps Bowser would have thought twice about returning had Her Highness’ bodyguard been named a knight as well.”

“A mere title would not have stopped him!”

“Perhaps Master Mario can assist in training the Guard once he’s able?”

“Well, clearly we can’t change the past, so—”

“No no, it’s as I’ve said before, the Princess is never safer than when he’s—

“What of his feast? We must arrange a feast in his honor at—”

But could he have stopped Bowser had he been present? Her captor gloated, in excruciating detail, of the measures he’d taken to ensure her champion would fail: the traps he’d laid, the troops he’d armed, the secrecy with which he guarded her location to the outside world. Two years’ worth of painstaking preparation, all with one end goal: absorbing the Mushroom Kingdom into his fledgling empire, whether by reluctant political agreement in exchange for the Princess’ safety, or by killing her and taking the kingdom by force.

He had known her spies would track her down eventually. He had known that devoted little bodyguard of hers would come to her rescue. He’d spared no expense or resource ensuring the attempt would claim his life. He’d come so close to succeeding.

Had Mario been there that night, Bowser simply would have killed him on the spot. This was the only logical conclusion to make.

“M-my good fellows, perhaps a recess would be in everyone’s best interest. Twenty minutes, let’s say?”

He had been doomed from the start. There was no version of this event in which Mario would have escaped unharmed. From the moment he’d pledged service to Peach, she had doomed him to an uncertain future, a life of safety unassured. Wasn’t safety what she had promised him the day he and his brother stumbled into her court, displaced from their world of birth and hopelessly confused?

Was this not the fate of all whom she claimed to love? Who would she doom next?

“Princess.”

The sudden presence of pressure on her arm startled Peach, and she gasped as she instinctively jerked away from it. Danger. She was in danger. Her attacker, short and squat, with a thick white mustache and equally thick spectacles and black, beady eyes filled with so much worry—

“Toadsworth.” Peach exhaled heavily, and though she couldn’t quite remember what she’d been doing moments earlier, something sticky and unpleasant like guilt bubbled up in her throat. “Is— is everything alright?”

The creases around his eyes creased even deeper, and that guilt-like feeling within her thickened.

“I would ask the same of you,” he said, “but I believe I already know the answer.”

He spoke quietly, yet she could hear him with perfect clarity. Casting her gaze around the meeting hall, she found that its chairs were unoccupied, its politicians long gone.

“I had hoped your relative well-being would lend itself to a more agreeable climate,” he continued, huffing softly as he pushed his chair away from the table, an action Peach found herself miming. He hopped from his seat and wobbled briefly, quickly steadying himself against his cane. “But, clearly, what we all need is a break.”

Right. She’d heard him call for a recess earlier, hadn’t she? She didn’t remember anyone agreeing to it. Come to think of it, she couldn’t quite remember what her Parliament had been discussing in the first place… something about the guards? Something about her guard? 

Peach just barely fought the urge to slump over the back of her chair. She instead stamped her foot, which had fallen numb anyway. Right. Sores. Pain. Not a dream. If she wasn’t dreaming, why did reality still feel so dreamlike? It was as if her head had been knocked from her shoulders and hadn’t been screwed all the way back on, or perhaps had been replaced with a head that merely resembled her own.

“Princess.” Toadsworth’s tone mellowed as he closed their minimal distance, and as she shifted to face him, a wrinkled hand rested over hers, still clasped in her lap. “I believe you’ve suffered enough for one day. Have some lunch, then rest.”

Lunch. Rest. Those both sounded so good right about now. Still, what her heart yearned for, her mind rejected without a second thought.

“Suffering is part and parcel of the Crown, Toadsworth.” She gave him a good-humored smile, or at least tried to, and he returned one that looked much more convincing. “I’ll be alright.”

“You must focus on your health for the time being, Your Highness,” Toadsworth dissented. “How are you to lead our nation when you struggle with even menial tasks?”

Peach inhaled sharply. He always knew exactly where to strike. It wasn’t in malice, she knew, nor was he implying she lacked capability; he merely wanted her well, for everyone’s sake. She knew this. Still, her body surged with an unpleasant heat at his words. He was right, but he shouldn’t have been.

“I’d rather not leave you to weather all this arguing alone.”

Toadsworth chuckled, patting her hands. “I’ve managed to wrangle them for the better part of twelve weeks. One more day is a drop in the bucket.”

The unpleasant surge returned, and Peach sighed, staring down at their joined hands. It truly was a wonder he’d survived all this time. “The moment I receive clearance to take back over, you’re going on vacation. Just name the destination and I’ll see to it that all expenses are paid.”

“You’ll understand if I take you up on that.”

“Oh, rest assured, I’ll make it mandatory.”

Toadsworth chuckled at this, and somehow, Peach found the drive to giggle along with him.

He made small talk as he escorted her from the meeting hall so that the breaking politicians would pay them no mind, and she did her best to appear equally engaged. Once they turned the first corner, Toadsworth fell into comfortable silence at her side, tapping his cane against the floor with each step and humming quietly.

An odd sense of calm fell over Peach at the sight and sound. As a child, when she found herself overwhelmed by adult obligations, her steward would whisk her away under the pretense of “very important business,” and then he’d allow her to roam the winding halls of the castle or the sprawling expanses of the garden until she felt ready to return. He would engage her in conversation if she wished, whether she chose to vent her latest frustrations or make lighthearted small talk to keep her mind distracted.

Usually, however, she preferred to decompress in silence. Toadsworth would typically fill that silence with one of a handful of old drinking songs, humming merrily and tapping his cane in time to his tune. Even now, she recognized his chosen song as one she’d heard a thousand times before. He was older now, his spots darker, his whiskers whiter, but the placid contentment in his eyes remained the same.

Placidity. Peach’s birth father died when she was only three, forcing her to take the throne a mere ten years later. In spite of this, Toadsworth had done his best to give her moments of peace and calm through her otherwise hectic upbringing. At the very least, he did what he could to remind her that she wasn’t alone. For a brief moment, Peach was happy to feel like a child once more.

“You’re sure you’re alright on your own?” she asked once Toadsworth gave his approval of the cooks’ preparations (a hearty vegetable soup or stew, whose aroma already made Peach’s mouth water; she’d been cleared to begin limited solid intake, and she was immensely looking forward to it).

“Now now, don’t start that!” Toadsworth’s voice was stern, but the crinkles that peeked from behind his spectacles betrayed a lack of sincere ire. “You just worry about having a filling lunch. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t help everyone reach an agreement regarding your security.”

Peach could only shake her head as she turned to a familiar cupboard, scouring for and easily locating one of her favorite tea blends. “Good luck,” she called over her shoulder. “Stars know you’ll need it.”

“Well, we all agree on one thing at least: we need more guards like Master Mario.” As she prepped the nearest kettle she could find (and waved off a concerned kitchen attendant who insisted on performing the preparations for her), she heard Toadworth huff with some mix of frustration and amusement. “With the remarkable recovery he’s making, I may see about visiting him tonight. Perhaps I can pick his brain for ideas, or…”

Stars Above, not him, too. Magically-enhanced recovery or not, Mario needed rest just as much as she did; she knew for a fact her magic couldn’t heal mental or psychological wounds, and she could only imagine what sorts of battles he’d find himself fighting in the coming weeks.

It gave her comfort, however small, to remember just how resilient her dearest friend was. None of the coming battles he faced would be fought alone. He would be alright, and soon he would flourish once more, but to get there, he still needed his rest.

But as she turned from her tea preparations to chastise her steward for his haste, something ultimately held her tongue. Toadsworth was still, hunched over his cane, but his eyes shifted rapidly behind his lenses, movements so small and subtle she wouldn’t have caught them had she not seen this before. He was deep in thought.

“Toadsworth…?”

The call of his name produced no reaction. It took a repeat of that call, firmer but still gentle, for him to blink back into awareness, and when he looked up at her—

Enlightenment. His face shown with a cautious but ever-present enlightenment.

“I have a proposition.” He spoke quickly, his tone hard and clear with a newfound confidence. “Before I present it to the Parliament, however, I’d like to seek your permission.” Then he added, quietly, almost an afterthought: “And I believe you’ll wish to seek Master Mario’s permission in turn.”

~~~

Mario was awake.

And he wasn’t just awake, oh no. He was sitting up in his bed, smiling, laughing, conversing easily with his brother in their shared tongue. The hoarse rasp of an unused voice was gone; his tone was bouncy and light and clear, and though she could only translate bits of what he was saying, she knew he was in good spirits.

What she would have given to take in that sight forever. He was okay. He was okay.

Sadly, she was only able to gawk for a handful of moments before she was noticed. Dr. Toad greeted her cheerfully, inviting her past the doorway she loitering in (and she hadn’t taken note of his presence or where she was loitering, which made her feel quite dumb), and just as quickly, the lively conversation before her went silent.

His eyes. So bright and blue, unclouded by pain or confusion. Remnants of surprise quickly melted into a look she could only describe as reverence: a dusting of pink across his features, the smallest little smile. The short, patchy beard he’d sported the past few days was also gone, leaving only a familiar mustache. With a good portion of his face clean, she could see it with greater clarity now: he had lost weight. His cheeks, while not quite sunken in, certainly weren’t as plump as she remembered. He looked no less handsome for it.

He was still hooked to a heart monitor. It filled the silence by betraying Mario’s accelerating pulse, beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. Déjà vu.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him until the world fell to the wayside. She wanted so badly to lay in the grass with him and indulge years’ worth of words unspoken in a matter of minutes, just as she had that night. His taste had been metallic on her tongue, remnants of blood seeping through dried and cracked lips. What would he taste like now? 

She’d entertained the notion, more times than she cared to admit, that he tasted sweet and peppery like marinara, or light and fluffy and zesty like fresh maritozzi. More refreshing than a strawberry gelato, more filling than a bubbling manicotti, headier than the finest wines money could afford in his realm or her own— 

A loud, low rumble yanked her back into reality, and heat rushed to her cheeks as she clutched her belly, as if her hands alone could muffle the sound. Well. At least her appetite remained healthy.

Unfortunately, the sound didn’t go unnoticed. It pulled Mario’s attention away from her eyes, and quickly she was all too aware of the way he took her in, his smile fading rapidly.

She thought to cover herself. Maybe turn back and flee before he had enough time to process whatever he saw in her that upset him. But—

“Mamma mia,” he murmured, and he sounded genuinely offended, “when was the last time you ate, Princess? Has no one fed you?”

He didn’t even give her a chance to respond. Any response Peach might have formulated was quickly drowned out by the cacophony of an overworked heart monitor and agitated, half-understandable ranting.

“What are you still fussing over me for?” he asked in the general direction of the doctor, his hands flailing. “The Princess! That’s who you need to— she’s— stop wasting all your time on me, the Princess— ” He kept stumbling over his words, and if she wasn’t already familiar with his accent, she wouldn’t have known he was speaking in the common tongue at all. He was upset, if not incensed, and possibly on the verge of a heart attack… all out of worry for her.

This should have worried Peach in turn, and she should have stepped in to calm him down, but she was selfishly glad for his concern. Even standing a room apart from him, she felt safe, as if directly under his care once more.

“Hey’ey’ey,” Luigi interjected, “calmati, Mario! La Principessa mangia tutta la zuppa che può—”

“Zuppa?” And now Mario looked at his brother as though he’d been struck across the face. “ Ha bisogna di dolci! Torte! Biscotti! Pasticcini!”

“Il suo stomaco potrebbe esplodere! Non possiamo rischiare!”

“Allora, la lasciamo morire di fame?”

“Non sta morendo di fame! Stelle santo!”

As their bickering overlapped and their gesticulation grew increasingly dramatic, Dr. Toad patted Peach’s hand and smiled up at her, a tired but amused smile. “I think a lunch break is in everyone’s best interest, Your Highness.”

Peach assented with a single nod of her head, though she paid him no real mind. The bickering. Mario was only this argumentative if he was in good spirits; a sincerely run-down Mario would simply make a snide remark and then silently take it upon himself to fix whatever slight he perceived.

His voice and his body language matched Luigi’s as their petty war progressed, strong and unwavering. A familiar determination etched into his features like stone told her that he could keep at it for hours if he felt so inclined. She’d never been so happy to see the two argue in all her life.

As further testament to the notion that everything was on the up and up, the arguing continued until a kitchen attendant rolled a silver food cart into the room, and the aroma of roasted vegetables and hot broth compelled the twins to forget their squabble. As though there had never been any disagreement, they quickly shared only excitement for whatever lay beneath the serving trays. Peach shook her head fondly. How often had their mother witnessed the same scene in their youth? They must have been—

Her original mission forced its way back to the forefront of her thoughts. Toadsworth’s proposition. She needed to present Mario with Toadsworth’s proposition. But what sort of friend would she be if she didn’t let him eat first before making demands of him? She gulped and forced the fluttering dread in her throat as far down as she could possibly force it.

The doctor departed to take a lunch himself, leaving the three to their own devices. Luigi brought a second chair to Mario’s bedside and helped Peach into it before plucking three servings from the cart and passing them around, humming a tune she was certain she’d heard before. Everyone has a song in them today, so it seemed.

Through it all, Mario couldn’t quite take his eyes off of her. He was watching her, not maliciously or distrustfully, but with concern, gentle as a wool blanket draped over her shoulders. How terribly she’d missed those eyes on her. Had he always looked at her like this?

She paced herself as she ate, making sure to meet his eyes regularly as she did so; she didn’t want him to believe she was still starving. He’d seemed so distressed at the idea.

Luigi filled her in between spoonfuls of stew: the combination of her magic and modern medicine had all but restored Mario to his physical peak. A stroke of pure luck, he emphasized, the will of the Stars Themselves — the purse-lipped nod he gave Peach assured her that he held to their promise. Mario, they’d agreed last night, didn’t need to know the true cost of his recovery.

When she looked back to Mario, he was beaming up at her, face awash in pure awe. Pure reverence. Suddenly, Peach wasn’t sure if she could finish her lunch; she didn’t deserve his reverence. She didn’t deserve his anything, aside from maybe his scorn, yet still he admired her as a follower might admire a great leader, or as the devout might admire the divine.

Had he always looked at her like this? That adoring gaze which brought her so much comfort in the past days felt almost unbearable now. She tucked her arms as closely to her body as possible and focused a bit too hard on Luigi’s long-winded update.

There would likely be consequences to this accelerated state of healing, he continued: phantom pains, shortness of breath, bouts of weakness here and there, but nothing too worrying. He would be discharged tomorrow, so long as he could promise (or at least begrudgingly imply) that he wouldn’t exert himself for the next few weeks. “Which you will do, yeah?” Luigi quirked an eyebrow at his brother, who put on his best pout and shrugged, palms facing upward.

“Well how am I gonna know how I’m healing up if I don’t put myself to work? I’ll get bed sores if I sit still for too long!” He shifted where he sat, wincing in jest. “Already feel one comin’ on.”

“Stars, I’m gonna have to put a leash on you, aren’t I?”

The image that popped into Peach’s head was far more vivid than it had any right to be: Mario, with ears and a tail like a dog, sitting cross-legged and cross-armed on the floor in defiance, while his brother yanked repeatedly at a leash attached to a collar around his neck. She could easily picture the smug smirk he would sport, too.

The laugh this drew from Peach sounded more like a snort, and she nearly dropped what remained of her stew in her haste to cover such an embarrassing noise. But it was too late, and she knew that all too well; both brothers startled briefly, but within moments, all three were bent over in laughter, so wild and intense that her head began to throb from the pressure.

In that moment, she forgot. This moment felt like any other moment prior to her abduction, a simple gathering of friends over a good meal and good conversation. What hadn’t she taken for granted?

Their bowls now empty, Luigi gathered Peach’s before standing to take Mario’s. He hesitated, she noticed, resting his free hand on his brother’s shoulder, and though the cheer in their visages didn’t fade, something in the air felt a bit heavier.

“He smiled,” Luigi told her the night before, recounting the precious few minutes that Mario awoke in the midst of his healing. “He actually smiled. It’s…” Then he’d sniffed, dabbing the back of his hand to his already bloodshot eyes. “I can count on one hand — a-and I don’t even need the whole hand, Princess, maybe once or twice. He just… stopped smiling. It’s so good to see him happy again.”

And not even twenty minutes earlier, he’d dropped something even worse on her: “I kinda just accepted that he wasn’t coming back, y’know?”

The dread she’d forced down half an hour earlier came creeping back up, like bile rising in her throat.

Toadsworth’s proposition. She still needed to present Mario with Toadsworth’s proposition.

“If I know Master Mario well enough, then I know he’ll be delighted,” Toadsworth had assured her, shutting down her protests before she could even voice them. “You see, in your absence, he’s been… well. Well, he wouldn’t hesitate. I’m certain of it.”

Peach was equally certain. That just made the proposition feel that much more unfair.

As Luigi stepped aside to relocate the food cart so it could be whisked away, Mario looked at her once again, grinning a bashful and achingly familiar grin. Why did he look at her like that? With such tenderness, and such affection, and such trust? Had her wish power wiped his memory, too? Did he not recall how much agony he’d endured for her sake?

How she almost destroyed all which he held dear, without even lifting a finger?

That upbeat, brotherly conversation she’d interrupted with her presence, the laughing and chatting and bright-eyed contentment, was very likely the first normal conversation the brothers held since the day she was taken. Whatever Mario went through in his efforts to bring her home, those efforts drove a wedge between him and his brother. Luigi hadn’t said as much, but Peach could read between the lines. She knew the look he’d fixed his sleeping twin with in the pauses between conversation, the quiet desperation of words unspoken, of wanting so badly to fix everything.

“Princess…?” Her hero’s gentle smile strained now, just the slightest bit, yet Peach couldn’t find the words of reassurance that he needed so badly. Just another of many ways in which she’d betrayed him.

In her absence, she’d placed unendurable weight upon the most sacred fraternal bond she’d ever borne witness to. In her absence, they’d mended whatever had been broken between them. And now here she was, prepared to pull them apart all over again, all for her own selfish need to feel safe.

Hadn’t she already stolen enough of their time away?

“Princess. Hey.”

Peach blinked.

A hand. Large, strong, familiar. Mario was leaning forward now, his hand extended to her, just out of reach. His lips were drawn up and half-hidden beneath his mustache, a smile that was no longer strained, but… sad?

He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, patiently. As she continued to stare dumbly, his outstretched hand trembled in her peripheral, and his eyes crinkled under the creeping vestiges of fatigue, yet he refused to relax or rest.

He refused to rest because he knew Peach wanted to take it. He knew she trusted him. He knew she loved him. He knew her down to her very last nuance, her every last intention. He knew, and either because or in spite of this, he stayed at her side. If he had his way, he would remain beside her indefinitely. It was this very devotion that inspired Toadsworth’s proposition. Truly, she was destined to doom all whom she loved.

Hesitating, Peach finally accepted his invitation, resting her right hand within his; only then did he relax, still leaning forward but resting his arm, his fingers folding over hers. What was it about his touch that made her more confident? No matter how many times he took her hand, she always felt untouchable, or at least grounded.

She was only the messenger. This proposition was on Toadsworth’s behalf, not hers. He was running the idea by the Parliament this very moment, and likely being met with mass agreement. It was simply her responsibility to relay that idea to Mario… and to assure him, in no uncertain terms, that he’d already more than fulfilled his duties. That she expected nothing further of him. Surely he would know that as well.

“Mario.” His name sounded so weak on her voice, so uncertain, and already her words threatened to flee her grasp. She curled her fingers against his palm and glanced down at her lap. “I need to… T-Toadsworth has a proposition.” Her involuntary stutter made her heart skip a few beats, and she cleared her throat again to dissipate the cold, panicked feeling. “I’ve been asked to present it to you.”

“Oh?”

“Now, understand that you’re under no obligation to agree. I can’t overstate that. I want you to do whatever is best for your own well-being. This is only a… hypothetical suggestion.”

He squeezed her hand, his grasp firm yet gentle. “Spara, Principessa.”

Peach’s lips tweaked at one corner, and she blew a breath through her nose, a half-chuckle. “Lay it on me.” He always said it so playfully, coaxing her into sharing even the most unpleasant news with the promise that, whatever lay ahead, he could take it. That playful lilt was still present, but now his tone was so much softer.

She drew her left hand close to her chest and drew in a deep breath.

“The new Guard is still in training and further security measures are still being discussed,” she began. “Given the rate of your recovery, and the current air of uncertainty, Toadsworth feels it would be best if…” She exhaled. “If you were to remain in the castle. Until those measures are implemented.” As my guard, full-time. She couldn’t bring herself to say that part. There was no unselfish way to word it.

There was no altruistic way to demand she remain his top priority, after all he’d done.

But it dawned on her almost as quickly as the words left her mouth: perhaps there was more she could do. If she was going to make demands of him, then she would tailor the circumstances to his favor with reckless abandon.

“You and Luigi both,” she amended. Toadsworth would forgive her for altering the arrangement. He always forgave her last-minute declarations, however reasonable or brash. “Y-you’ll both be given rooms with full amenities, of course, and— a-a-and the staff will gladly provide any cooking or laundering you need done. We can— we’ll pay you, gladly! You’ll be compensated as always and then some. Double— no, triple! It’s the least we can do! And—”

“Pfft— ”

The unexpected noise jerked her back into spatial awareness, and she whipped in her chair to look behind, too quickly to see what sort of expression Mario was wearing.

Come to think of it, Luigi should have long since returned, shouldn’t he have?

“Have you been standing there this whole time?!” Mario, for his part, sounded every bit as startled as she felt; the sight of his two equally flustered friends must have pushed Luigi over the edge, because he quickly went from sputtering through his fingers to loud, boisterous, belly-clutching laughter.

“Oh, Princess!” he guffawed, swiping a finger at the corner of his eye, “I don’t think he caught anything after ‘implemented’ ! He’s been staring off into space with this real dreamy look for the past thirty seconds straight!”

“Weegee!” There was a bite to Mario’s tone, and she looked at him just in time to watch a deep blush blossom across his face.

“You should’ve seen it! His whole face lit up like a big Fire Flower. I think you’ve made his year!”

“Luigi!”

The voice of reason, a constant companion from her earliest days, told Peach that there was no reason to jump to conclusions. This was a manner that would need discussed in great depth and whose nuances would need to be carefully weighed before a decision was reached. She’d be a fool to start drawing conclusions so quickly.

The voice of intuition, now shrieking like an overeager teenager, told her that Mario had already made up his mind.

“You just keep resting up, okie-dokie?” Peach pulled her hand from Mario’s grasp as Luigi slid beside her, ruffling his brother’s dark hair before plopping back into his seat. “Luigi will take care of everything! He’ll have all your clothes and supplies ready for ya. All you’ll have to do is get the doctor’s A-Okay and then move right on in!”

“Grazie.” Mario laid back and glared up at the ceiling, but his lips wavered and his shoulders twitched, like he was trying to hold back a smile or a laugh of his own. “Grazie mille, fratellino.” And finally his resolve cracked, a reluctant but good-humored grin spreading across his face; he turned his head just enough to catch Peach’s eyes, and once again, he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to. That was the last bit of confirmation she needed. She smiled back at him, willing her anxious heart to slow, and another outburst of mechanical beeping informed her that Mario’s heart was every bit as on edge.

“So!” Looking to Peach, Luigi remained the picture of mischievous cheer, but shining through was a glimmer of emotion that ran far deeper. Gratitude. “Where are we staying, Princess?”

~~~

Peach should have been happy. She should have been more relaxed and at ease than she had been in months. She was in her own bedroom, beneath her own puffy pink blankets, behind the lovely sheer curtains that surrounded her mattress and offered her an illusion of protection. A place of rest and comfort that had been hers and hers alone all her life.

She should have been happy. So why couldn’t she stop trembling?

Chill permeated to her very bones. She couldn’t get warm, no matter how heavily she dressed or how tightly she wrapped herself in her comforter. This was to be expected, Toadessa had assured her; she’d lost a great deal of her body fat during the course of her imprisonment, so she would be more susceptible to cold until she put on weight. “We’ll get those pounds back on you in no time,” Luigi had promised her, then he’d offered her two or three cantucci, fresh from the oven. She’d only been able to eat one.

Still, she couldn’t tell if she couldn’t relax because she was cold, or if she felt so cold because she couldn’t relax. She had at first switched off her lights, hoping the darkness would permit her a steadier sleep than she’d found in the medical ward. Her senses came more alive than ever once the light abandoned her, though, and she’d spent the better part of half an hour tossing and turning and forcing images of dank dungeons and dingy stone walls from her mind. 

Yet that was all she could see when she closed her eyes. If she finally managed to relax, the slightest noise or the slightest shift in the breeze outside ensured she was on high alert once more. It quickly became apparent that she had two choices: remain awake, exhausted, but grounded in the present, or return to her home away from home in all but body.

With a resigned sigh, she fixed her robe and pulled it tighter as she threw her blanket back. The choice, though unpleasant, was easy.

She thought for a moment to stand on her balcony, as she was apt to do on sleepless nights, enjoying the fresh air and watching the lights glimmer through Toad Town’s sleepy streets. Another chill rattled her bones, and this time, she was able to place its source: she didn’t want to be alone right now.

Simple enough, she supposed, shuffling barefoot to the door to her drawing room. It was just barely eleven, almost a full hour ‘til midnight. Perhaps Mario was having trouble sleeping. He was prone to late-night restlessness, by his own admission. And even if he was asleep, Luigi might be awake, keeping watch, just in case his brother went into an unexpected decline.

They could watch over him together. The one who meant more to them both than anyone else. And should Luigi be asleep as well, then she would watch over them both. Perhaps then she would feel a bit less useless.

She opened her door in one fluid motion—

“Ah—!”

Mario’s left arm was raised, his hand balled into a loose fist, as though he’d been prepared to knock at the no-longer-closed door.

Peach mirrored his startled noise unconsciously and stepped back, taking him in, trying to decide if she’d unknowingly slipped into a dream. This Mario looked unnaturally well, after all; he’d traded his medical gown for long fleece pants and a short-sleeved red tee-shirt, both of which had clearly seen better days. His pallor was gone, his skin a deep and healthy tan, his arms covered in pale scars of varying length and thickness. His eyes were alert, and color tinted his cheeks, a lovely and rosy pink—

His cheeks. Not quite sunken in, but certainly not as plump as she remembered. She’d seen Mario in her dreams innumerable times in the past months. Only in the past few days had she seen this Mario. 

“Hey,” he finally said, and the bashful smile he graced her with was the same one she had seen that afternoon, in the medical ward, where he’d fought for and regained his life at a rate not naturally possible.

“Hey,” she responded. A similarly shy smile tugged at her lips.

Perhaps they should have lingered longer. Mario had an excuse prepared, if a flimsy one— “I just… I mean, I can’t not check in on you, I feel like I’m sleeping on the job, heh…” —and propriety dictated that Peach should thank him for his concern and see him off for the night, or perhaps invite him to sit in the drawing room with her for a few minutes. He was still supposed to be in the med ward, after all, and she was supposed to be a lady of decency and dignity.

Propriety also dictated that she shouldn’t let herself get kidnapped and indirectly force her dearest friend to abuse himself for weeks just to bring her back, so Peach, at the moment, really didn’t care what propriety called for.

There was awkwardness at first, just a smidge. Inviting him to sit seemed the best course of action. Rather than one of the seats in the drawing room or the small tea table in the opposite corner, Peach returned to her bed and sat at the edge of her mattress; Mario, after a pause, followed her, quietly closing the door behind him.

He stopped in front of her, but made no move to join her on the bed.

She was eleven inches taller than Mario (ten when barefoot, thirteen when in her fanciest shoes), so she was quite used to looming over him. But with him standing while she sat, their faces, for once, were at the same level. She could see it clearly in his visage: this was just as strange to him as it was to her.

He was close enough to touch, yet he felt so far away. What was she to make of the uncertainty that flitted across his features? Was he having second thoughts about the proposition he’d agreed to? About being here? About… about baring himself to her, proclaiming his love for her? Had he acted in an impetuous frenzy, sick with pain and relief, only to realize in a moment of clarity that it was all a lie? It wouldn’t have surprised Peach. She knew it was too good to be true.

In the ten seconds it took these thoughts to run their course, she hadn’t even noticed his hands raising, hovering so close to her face. Tentatively closing their distance. She glanced down at them and held her breath, suddenly terrified that one wrong movement would make him retreat.

“...Mario?” she chanced.

The uncertainty deepened. Mario’s brow creased and his lips formed around a single syllable, but went still before they could sound anything out.

In lieu of words, he touched her.

Peach’s breath quickened, and she felt her skin go hot beneath his palms. She was so fragile, and she was all too aware of it now, her jaw and cheeks bony from malnourishment, his hands calloused from work and powerful from experience. And yet, for the first time since departing for bed, she felt safe. He could break her so easily, yet he handled her like painted porcelain, and she knew to her very core that she couldn’t be in better care.

His hands trembled against her. In the lamplight, his eyes glinted, deep blue and cautiously attentive. Watching her.

She understood his uncertainty now, gazing into those eyes. He was waiting. He wanted her to affirm her comfort, or else tell him if he was pushing a boundary that couldn’t yet be crossed. He needed to know how far she would let him take this. 

Once more, her breath stopped… and then she gave him her answer.

In lieu of words, she kissed him.

Mario only tensed for a single heartbeat, and then he sighed against her lips, heavy and shaking, his body going slack. She pulled back to give him a chance to catch his breath and recompose himself, but he pulled her back in instead, properly cradling her face in his palms, returning her kiss deeply and slowly. All at once Peach felt hot, and dizzy, and maybe a touch dehydrated. She brought her arms around his neck and clung to him like a life raft, like she was adrift in an endless sea and he was her one and only saving grace.

This was everything and nothing like that night in the grass. Wonderful, beautiful, perfect— but where there had been fireworks that night, there was now a flame, flickering and self-sustaining and growing in steady intensity. There was no grabbing of hair, no frantic desperation, just long, unhurried stretches of bliss.

His lips were warm, and soft, and moved in unpracticed harmony with her own. He tasted sweet. Not sweet like a decadent dessert, but sweet like the first sip of water after a long day in the sun.

They parted on their own terms this time, lingering for longer and longer between kisses, each time reveling in the scant space between them. Peach wanted to look, wanted to see what sort of expression Mario wore, wanted to know that he felt as whole and satisfied as she now felt. She kept her eyes shut instead, just in case it was a dream. Just so she could enjoy it a while longer.

In an interlude for air, Mario’s thumbs ghosted over the curves of her cheekbones, his touch so gentle that it tickled.

“...Luigi said I, uh… crawled into bed with you,” he muttered, ever so slightly slurred. “That first night back. So… sorry about that.”

Peach’s face grew warm once more — so they had been caught, but left alone to rest peacefully — and she giggled. “I crawled into bed with you, Mario.” She couldn’t resist tilting her chin to steal another kiss. “Do you not remember?”

He hummed. “Everything’s still kinda fuzzy. I remember feeling all sore and loopy…” Another brush of their lips, delicate and lazy. “And I remember… feeling happy, too. There was pain, and then there wasn’t.” Even in the darkness, she could hear the smile in his voice. “I remember having the best dream.”

Peach’s eyes peeked open, the golden glow of her bedside lamp trickling into her vision. The light cast soft shadows across his face, illuminating scars and freckles and dimples, framing the mellow, dreamy smile on his lips.

He had chosen to keep his eyes closed, too. 

“I’m not ready to wake up yet,” he’d told her, delirious from exhaustion and anesthetics. Did he dream of her often? What sorts of sweet nothings did they exchange in those dreams? What words and gestures of love did he share with her, his tongue unbeholden to etiquette or shyness or whatever force held him back for so long? What she would give to hear it all uncensored, all day and all night long.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Peach, already leaning in for another kiss, withdrew just as quickly.

Mario’s eyes blinked open as a new silence fell between them, and instantly she knew the look he gave her. She’d come to recognize it even when she was still oblivious, the hopeful twinkle that hid behind every offer to fix something that didn’t particularly need fixed and every request to assist her in her work, however menial.

He shouldn’t have been there, a man in the Princess’ most private chambers at this hour. He knew this as well as she did. And he was begging her to give him a reason to stay anyway.

Peach, for her part, could find no shortage of excuses.

“Of course you should.” She unwound her arms from around his neck as she spoke, cupping his cheeks just as he cupped hers. “You’re my guard, are you not? I’d feel safest if you remained within arm’s reach.”

She always found reasons for him to stay. Over the years, she’d become an expert at conjuring up something that needed done that only Mario could assist with, and every single time, that hopeful twinkle flared into an aura of satisfaction and contentment, sometimes even excitement.

This made the darkness that fell over him, sudden and cold, that much more alarming.

She barely had time to call his name before that darkness lifted. The air around them remained dense, and a flurry of emotions flicked across his face too quickly for Peach to decipher any of them, but he smiled through it, small and doleful but sincere.

“Yes.” He pulled her in once more, and her eyelids fluttered shut in anticipation. This time, however, he redirected; he kissed her left cheek, light and fleeting, before pressing his forehead to her temple. “Yes, I’ll… I’ll keep you safe this time, Princess.” 

He inhaled, then exhaled, both breaths shaking and quiet, and Peach couldn’t help but wonder why she suddenly felt sad.

Just as quickly as sorrow touched her, he chased it away with another kiss to her cheek, ticklish and sweet and slow. “I’ll keep you safe.” He whispered the affirmation, and she felt his lips curl upward against her skin. “I promise.”

[skriblee-ksk]

“I checked the drinks… Princes’ outfits are up to code… Grimmy’s with Ryoko right now… I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

“Okay. Ready as I’ll ever be…! Let’s make this ball a success!”

Set to Home Screen: Are you ready? I’ll wait for you, if you need me to.

Home Transition:

1: Woah… The chandeliers are so bright and sparkly… 12 arms from the bottom bowl, which are four more than the one in the Mirror Chamber, but the top… Ah, sorry!

2: Deuce called me Lady Kiyuu earlier, which really made me happy. I would have worn a pretty dress, but these clothes are a lot warmer and comfier. I think I managed to make myself look feminine either way!

3: Kalim’s really enjoying talking to the attendees. He seems to be getting friendly with everyone, including people from RSA! Must be because he’s familiar with hosting parties.

4: So many attractive people are here… I wonder if I’d be bothering them if I said I wanted to take a picture of them…?

Home, after Login: This ball is really fun! If I lean back on this wall and squint, it just looks like a blur of blue, white, and gold. I think it’s nice that there’s a time these schools can merge like this.

Tap Home:

1: I’m excited to vote for the Belle of the Ball! Huh? Oh, no, I never had any intent to participate. I just enjoy seeing pretty people.

2: Ah, what? Oh, I’m just reviewing my notepad to make sure I’m not forgetting any etiquette. I’m doing perfectly well, so far! I reviewed it before I entered too, but just in case, you know?

3: Oh, no, wait, Grim’s gonna devour the entire table of finger foods at this rate. I’ll be right back!

4: I know I’m supposed to be helping the princes out, but I’m not sure if I’m doing a proper job here… Hm? You think I’m doing pretty well? Mm… Hehe, thanks!

5: It’s a little bit harder than usual to catch the attention of the attendees here since there’s so many people… Well, I guess I just have to find better ways to make my presence known!

Glimmering Soirée is a twst fan event hosted by: @starry-night-rose!!

Groovy Lines: Unlocked

Notes and stuff under cut!!

Groovy art coming soon!! maybe. hopefully. i have the sketch done so hopefully i can finish lol. I slightly tried imitating the twst shading style, but idk.

I searched up men’s victorian era clothing and ended w making this design. few obvious design changes in the end (color) result, mostly the gloves.

Here’s the pic without the SR thing! And the sneak peak for the groovy (which i rlly tryharded on so maybe i should’ve listed it as an ssr but whatevs i’ll leave that to my friend + ryoko because ryoko deserves that ssr title)

And tag list for my friend who rlly wanted to be tagged in Kiyuu stuff (if you wanted be added, just tell me!!): @kathxrat-01

[keouil]

until human voices wake and drown us

"gojo-san," ijichi says. "when was the last time you had your glasses checked?" 1k. gojo/shoko. fluff. also on ao3.

"Gojo-san," Ijichi says. "When was the last time you had your glasses checked?"

Gojo looks up from his phone. "I don't know," he admits. "Should I have been doing that regularly?"

Ijichi doesn't respond right away, still busy looking over the mechanism of Gojo's glasses and scrutinizing every piece in great detail. Gojo arrived earlier that morning and immediately surrendered his entire archive of glasses for cleaning, much to Ijichi's chagrin. The man had about 50.

Ijichi had his gloves on and was careful not to leave any marks with each piece, but was dedicating an extraordinary amount of time to Gojo's signature pair: his combat glasses. Every so often he came upon something and frowned, mumbling something under his breath. Gojo couldn't make out any of it.

"Well," Ijichi says after some time, brows furrowed and still looking hesitant. "I only ask because you wear them every day, and I think," he says this last part quietly, almost ominously: "I think it’s best you should have them checked. Along with your eyes."

-

"So get this," Gojo says the next week, propping his feet on the table and reclining further into Shoko's chair. They were in her office because Gojo was apparently incapable of spending a single day in school without wreaking havoc in her life. "Ijichi thinks I need to have my glasses looked at."

Shoko shoots an annoyed look at his feet, before turning back to check on her files. She'd ask him to put his feet down if he listened, which he won't. "Looked at for what?"

"See that's the thing," Gojo puts a finger under his chin, contemplating. The cicadas were singing somewhere outside, August sun illuminating the normally dreary clinic. "He couldn’t say exactly. Just something about making sure I can still see with them straight and if anything seems off."

"Why would something be off with your glasses?" Shoko asks.

"For one," Gojo starts, raising a finger in the air. "He thinks it's been tampered with."

Shoko’s hands still on a patient file. "What? What do you mean tampered?"

"Ijichi thinks someone's been messing with my glasses."

“You’re shitting me,” Shoko levels him a bored, unaffected look. "How is that even possible? You wear those every single day."

"Not in here," Gojo gestures to the clinic nonchalantly, still unnervingly calm and maybe even patient. Maybe even a little knowing. "Not when you're doing my eye exam." 

Gojo just smiles at her in that way of his that gets on her nerves.

Shoko doesn't bite. 

-

"Ijichi, my man," Gojo says over dinner, stealing some of his okonomiyaki. "You know I trust you with my life. But let's do some more research on cursed glasses, yeah?"

Ijichi waits to finish his dumpling before replying. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I've been doing missions for a week with this exact pair you've been saying is cursed," Gojo gestures to the black frames resting on his head. "And I feel and see fine."

Ijichi considers this for a moment. "Gojo-san," he began, tone of respect ever-present. "I only said they were cursed — not necessarily dangerous."

Gojo, not as refined, doesn't bother to finish chewing. "What," he spats out, cabbage flying everywhere.

Ijichi expertly ignores the decaying dining etiquette of his senior. "You have about 10 combat glasses last time I checked," Ijichi points to the one on top of his head. "But you always use that one. Can I ask why?"

Gojo thinks on it. "I don't know," he concedes, chewing more slowly now. "It's reliable. It feels the most durable."

"And why do you think that is?" Ijichi hums, tone still light as silk.

It takes Gojo an embarrassingly long time to put two and two together.

“Oh my god,” he nearly spits out his drink. "It's a safety curse."

-

"So you really didn't know?" Ijichi asks for the nth time when they're sitting on an open izakaya, rain pouring down all over them and Gojo insisting on a nightcap despite not standing the taste of alcohol. "Ieiri-san has been channelling her cursed energy into your glasses for years. It's practically bulletproof at this point."

Gojo downs a single cup of sake in one go, grimacing. "But how could I not know that? Me?"

Ijichi considers for a moment. "You might not even think to feel for it," he explains. "The same way we all let our guard down in school. The air feels safer somehow. I think maybe you're just so used to the feel of her energy now you didn't think twice about it."

Gojo is still trying to wrap his head around the idea. There's no way anything passes his six eyes without knowing — cursed energy, soulprint, he could even list down exactly who was in the school and exactly where they were at any given moment — and so he knew what it was like to be so finely tuned to his environment he can predict ten steps ahead. 

This, however, blindsided him.

"If I'm right," Ijichi adds, filling up his cup. "She's been cursing your glasses every time you come in for a check-up."

"Does she now," Gojo parrots, feeling temporarily dejected at having something this monumental escape him. He had a god complex, of course his ego was bruised.

"I — I don't see why you're so affected, Gojo-san," Ijichi frowns, only now just picking up on his sour mood. "Haven't you also been—"

“Shh,” Gojo cuts him off. "Not now, Ijichi."

-

"So," Gojo starts as soon as she opens the door the next day, a look of annoyance already on her face. "Ijichi tells me you've been messing with my glasses."

Shoko freezes. "What?" she says, and there's a hitch in her voice, and that's all the confirmation he needs. "No, I haven't—"

Gojo holds up a hand. "Relax, Shoko," he invites himself in, dropping the copious amounts of Chinese takeout on her table. "I'm not mad."

"M-mad about what?" she stutters, and Gojo recognises the artificial steel in her tone: knows how to read her better now, so many shared grievances and trauma bonding after. It was always easier for Shoko to feign detachment. "I didn't — I didn't do anything."

Gojo fights a grin, busying himself with setting up their food.

"Of course you didn't," he shoots a knowing glance her way. "Just like how I don't show up here every Wednesday because it's morgue day and if I don't force food down your throat you'll pass your meals again?"

Shoko swears under her breath. 

"No one asked you to do anything, idiot," she mumbles quietly, in that way she does, that tells him she cares more than she lets on and would rather bury herself in a hole than admit it.

Gojo turns to regard her fully then.

He didn't need the six eyes or the cursed glasses to see, then, all the signs: the dotting of red on her cheeks, the stubborn line of her mouth in defiance, her eyes going a mile a minute looking everywhere but at him. 

This was a Shoko who was caught red-handed for caring. 

It would've levelled him if it weren't so achingly familiar: Shoko at sixteen who got him his first eye drops after his eyes kept spiking from overuse, Shoko at eighteen who drank with him in a shitty hole-in-the-wall izakaya when they were finally out of jailbait, Shoko at twenty who dropped everything and came to his house in the middle of the night when he panicked over Megumi's rising temperature. 

Her brand of kindness was gentle, if not so unassuming: but oh, did she care.

Shoko’s caring wasn't a heart on sleeves thing: it was gently, silently taking parts of her cursed energy and filtering it through his for his own protection. It was adding first-aid kits to every student's weapons pouch along with her emergency contact information. It was letting him hide out in her office when the higher-ups pressed the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It was, above all, an enduring thing.

"And yet," Gojo says, and then: "I'm still here."

Shoko settles herself back into her chair, cheeks still dusted with rose and still stubbornly refusing to meet his eye. She wordlessly takes out the fried wontons and doctors their usual sauce the way Gojo likes it: with a hint of lemon and chili oil. Gojo fights another grin that keeps threatening to spill since he learned about the glasses. 

Really, this woman.

Gojo coughs. "So are we good?"

Shoko kicks his foot from under the table. "Shut up."

Gojo just laughs.

He'd never tell her about the invisible protective seals plastered around every inch of the clinic, nor the self-containing emblems hidden under every room of the morgue. No, he'd never tell her that. That would give her too much ammunition, and he quite preferred the look of embarrassment on her face when she found out. 

"I'm going to kill Ijichi the first chance I get," Shoko mumbles under her breath, mouth full of chow mein and cheeks still flushed red.

Yeah, he's definitely not telling her anything.

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 45 - evening dresses in 1922

I wanted to give Cora a post to herself, presumably because I can’t do math. But I’ll just throw in the ladies I cannot get in with the girls’ evening dresses.

Starting with Nellie Melba. I think she only wore this one outfit during her time on screen, presumably because they could only afford Kiri Te Kanawa for a few hours. But I read somewhere that she’s wearing an original. And if so – wow, what a nice ensemble they picked for her! Maybe as an apology for how nonsensically her character was treated on the show, but anyway, this sky blue coat with the dramatic collar and the little bit of trim is a beauty combined with the golden gown. The latter is heavily embroidered, but it’s all tone-in-tone to keep it from looking cluttered, and then there is this gorgeous tiara that I hope so much is also an original, because that’s some of the most beautiful art deco could do.

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

Onward to Cora, who also has some beautiful art deco jewelry with that glorious pendant, but that’s pretty much the highlight of her outfit because I still think Cora struggles with 1920s styles. Like, this is nice and all; velvet looks fantastic with some light on it, but evening dresses on this show are notoriously poorly-lit, so we have another drop waist sack-shaped blob. I like the buttons down her sleeves and the neckline.

I wish I could remember if this was purple or black. The neckline beading and the chiffon is definitely black, so there’s that. Did Cora wear that for anything except firing Nanny Shitface? Because I really couldn’t find anything in better lighting for this dress.

This velvet is actually dark blue, although that may not be obvious at first sight. I really appreciate that she chose silver silk satin gloves for this instead of black. The top element that makes up the yoke and the sleeves seems to be made out of a shawl, and it’s pretty in and of itself with the black twig embroidery; I just think it could have been set on in a nicer way than this straight horizontal line. I do love the necklace though – I’m weak for these little tassel ornaments.

We’re gradually going from black up through the dark shades to lighter ones; it’s possible Cora is still sticking to a certain half-mourning etiquette even when it’s not obvious in her day wear. But the dark blue silk satin and chiffon is quite pretty, and Cora repeats the necklace from before. These swirly beading lines down the front V are new, and they give this a little sparkling extra.

And now it’s light blue chiffon and silver beading, in zigzag lines so Cora can have a playful design element for once. The pendant in the first picture is potentially quite lovely, but I can’t see it very well. This one I actually prefer with black gloves, as it’s worn in season 5 when Cora also adds a black necklace to it.

I don’t know how this color is called. I mean, the base layer that peeks out at the skirt and neckline is periwinkle, but that on top? Dusty greenish grey…? Eh, anyway. This dress is quite interesting because it has a lot going on beyond its charming silver sunflower embroidery when Cora wears it during their little house concert. These long, slit sleeves that drag almost like a train, a sort of brooch with jewels and pearls that holds up the ruching of her skirt. This is fancy get-up; Cora wears a tiara to it and a necklace that honestly looks a little the evenstar pendant on an overlong pearl necklace. And then when the dress returns in season 5, the sleeves are gone entirely. The neckline is lacking that under layer looking out from it, making me think they turned the back into the new front. Okay. Just, why?

I can count the occasions on which Cora has worn red on one hand, but perhaps she’s coordinating with Mary, who’s also wearing red in that scene. A semi-nice evening dress; I think it’s no news at this point that I’m not a fan of the designs that emphasize the rectangle-ness of these dresses, as the beading here does. Why not let the spirals spiral free over the dress? The rest is not that noteworthy, chiffon sleeves, drop waist, long necklace with a tassel element. We know that. I approve the skirt volume though. What can I say; I like gathered skirts. And flowery hair pins.

Hm, this one is boring. Cora doesn’t lean quite so much into outdated fashion elements as Rosamund and Violet do in London, but she doesn’t get any more experimental either. This is just a smooth, loose tube of fabric that has some embroidery and beading around the neckline. At least it’s a nice neckline. And the necklace has one of those nice drop-shaped crystals on it.

I should stop complaining about dresses that don’t have a lot of interest but are at least rather flattering, because then I usually get slapped with something like this that has a lot of decoration going, rhinestones and pearl trim and a brooch on her hip and all that, but looks kinda ugly. I think white is my least favorite color on Cora, at least standing on its own. She looks like a ghost granny. Cora, darling, this kind of jewelry would have warranted black velvet as a backdrop! Look at this big-ass necklace and the tiara; she’s pulled out all the stops for the season finale.

Much better. A lovely shade of blue, and the tiara even looks like Cora chose it to specifically match the silver scallops on the yoke of her dress. Interestingly, while the yoke is pretty certainly embroidered, I think the leaves motif down the body is woven into the fabric.

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

Let’s look at what Freda Dudley Ward wears, shall we? The poor woman who gets reduced to her role of being the mistress of a royal. She does wear a nice dress though; that blue-bronze brocade is beautiful, so I’m not at all mad that the cut isn’t doing much. Rose must’ve liked it, too, because in season 5 this inexplicably becomes her dress. Not sure how I feel about Freda’s round silver hair adornment; I think I prefer the traditional headband or tiara format. But it sure is an excellent match to the necklace.

Okay, where the last dress went with understatement because of the sweet fabric, this one is an entire overstatement. Is there an inch of this that is not beaded? Freda is shimmering all over, in scales, in a band marking the drop waist, the trim around the neckline, everything. I wouldn’t have minded a little more gold shade in this quite cream-colored affair, but it is very pretty. Can’t see the tiara too well, but I think it has a flower element at the center.

This is the tiara of which I can actually get some good shots, but we’ll get to that. First, I’ll quickly go over this also cream dress that isn’t doing much the last didn’t already did. In fact, it’s significantly less glittery. I do enjoy these little flowers down the front, but ngl I like her better in blue.

So I get another blue dress! Well, it’s leaning toward purple, but it’s glorious; look what they did with the silver weave! And also, draping. I want to see her dance in this. Can you imagine how that volume looks in motion? How the shimmering fabric looks in motion? Freda is repeating her tassel ornament necklace to this and this very beautiful tiara that looks costly enough that it could’ve been a present from His Highness. I’m just a tad surprised that she’s wearing it so high atop her head. I thought the fashion of the time was to pull a tiara like that all the way down to the brow.

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

This young lady was an extra who only showed up for that one evening. It’s just that her dress intrigues me and I wanted to include it. I can’t really believe that they designed this particularly for the episode; the structured skirts are so unusual for the time that I’ve only seen them on the show in the events surrounding Rose’s debut. And why would you draft up something so peculiar for a background extra? So, is this an original? With its weird stiff skirt and hip paniers? With its beaded suns and irregular brown zigzag stripes on the front? I am fascinated.

[justanordinaryficwriter]

Family reunited

"What the [redacted]?" was the first thing to come out of her mouth upon landing...somewhere very colorful and confusing.

She couldn't remember how she got here. All she knew was that she was looking for someone. Someone close to her. Who that was, she couldn't tell.

She got up to get a better look at her surroundings. For the first time she realised that she wasn't alone. Staring at her were a one-eyed doll, purple rabbit, a chess piece dressed in royal robes, something that could only be described as amalgamation of shapes and colors, and some kind of masked ribbon creature.

Oh she needed to get the [redacted] out of here. Wait why couldn't she swear, what the [redacted]?!

As if this entire...situation couldn't get any more bizarre, suddenly floating dentures appeared.

"Well well well" oh, and it could talk too "a new face! Welcome, to our Amazing Digital Circus! Here is where you'll spend your next eternity. My name is Cain. I'll be your new circus master for all of time. Now let me show you around!"

"E-Eternity?" She didn't have time to process all that, as she was being dragged around by floating dentures, which went by the name Cain.

Meeting others was a mixed bag too. Ragatha seemed nice enough, but she wanted to strangle Jax with her gloved hands(since when did she wear gloves?).

It was here that she realised a horrible truth: she couldn't remember her own name. Or anything for that matter. Her new name was Marbles. It didn't feel right, but she had no other choice.

Caine also gave her "a special role" in the Circus: she was supposed to be the resident clown.

"Every circus needs a clown, and our last clown perished in tragic circumstances. But don't you worry your little clown head. I'm sure you'll fare much better!" Cain assured her. Marbles didn't know what "tragic circumstances" really meant, but she had a feeling she didn't want to find out.

"Oh, Pomni! Right on time. It's not nice hiding behind walls when new faces arrive. It's a bad etiquette you know?"

It was only then that Marbles noticed a jester, dressed in red, blue and yellow. Immediately she felt a connection.

"S-Sister?" She didn't know where that came from. Just that it felt right.

She could see the spark of recognition in Pomni's red and blue eyes too.

"Sister?"

"Sister!" Marbles knew then that Pomni was the one she was looking for. And she found her. She's here!

She ran to her and immediately tackled her into a hug.

"It's you! I thought I was never gonna see you again! So this is where you disappeared off to, huh?"

"Disappeared?"

"Yeah. You've been missing for...three months, I think." She wasn't really sure, but she had a strong feeling it was three months.

That was apparently a wrong thing to say, as Pomni started hyperventilating.

[redacted].

"No no no, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here now, im here." She reassured her while holding her tight.

Marbles didn't know where or who she was, but she knew one thing: that she had a sister. And she wasn't going to let her go a second time.

(reblog banner by cafekitsune)

Taglist: @la-vie-boheme-ships @floofyboi57 @sapphicselfship @the-dreamweavers-reverie @shipsashore

[arcstral]

He feels ill at ease here.

Lumera– Mother had meant well when she'd sent him away. He understands this, else he might not have acquiesced in the first place; reluctant to be separated from the person who had shown him such kindness despite being Father's foremost enemy. Treated like her trueborn child knowing full well they are closer to night and day. But to be alone in a faraway land, even in the interest of his safety now that he has done the previously unthinkable and turned his back on both Father and Gradlon... A metaphorical pit forms in his stomach at the thought.

(This academy's standard of dress bears very similar coloration to his previous attire. He has yet to decide whether it is a comfort or an unfortunate reminder of the past he has only just left behind.)

Alear freezes in his tracks. Cautious stoicism nearly falling away in an instant as scarlet eyes glimpse the all-too familiar shade of brilliant azure in his periphery, gloved fingers instinctually feeling for a ring that is most assuredly still with its siblings in Lythos before daring to venture closer. It couldn't possibly be...

And indeed it is not– not Emblem Marth, that is. The man in question is solid. Tangible. Absent of the aura emitted by a spiritual form, with his feet planted firmly upon the earth. But the visage is undeniably his regardless of these facts. He is the Hero-King, in the flesh. Even if the how and why are reasons unknown to a once-tool of the Fell Dragon.

Blue suits him far better than red ever had, Alear thinks.

"Marth. That is your name, is it not? ... You remind me very much of someone else. I couldn't help but stare."

               '—I'm afraid your path has chosen you.'

               At fourteen years of age with two feet clapped over the threshold between child and man, the words of Malledus tipped him over that fateful edge. In the context of a different land known as Archanea- submerged so thickly in unremitting war one could not see the future- it meant that Marth need fulfill his utmost duty and meet the darkness ahead without turning back for Elice; in the more merciful context of this one, Fòdlan, it means only that fate possesses a curious way of bringing two people together. Just as much as it might acquaint a princeling with the clauses of his lifetime onus, it nudges him ever so mysteriously toward a fellow who stirs him into longing before they might exchange a single word.

              Time slows as if caught in the neck of a funnel. Losing all speed and elasticity as his eyes raise to meet a young man stopped in his tracks; a sight that makes Marth freeze in tandem. He blinks, appraising the strange feelings collecting beneath his skin. The hall isn't totally empty at this hour and life continues on; it wheels past two men, two strangers who rebuff the courteous etiquette of assimilating into a crowd. At last Marth shakes his head, casting off the haze and stepping their conversation to the side. "Indeed... and I believe I know your name as well. You are Alear, the recently arrived Divine Dragon Monarch from Elyos. Another one at that."

               Red to the west and blue to the east divvies the head before him into two territories. Already that sight is familiar. His eyes travel down instinctively to the other's vacant hand as if in expectation of something; as if to sight the band of sapphire-encrusted gold that twisted around another finger; but the Alear that stands before him is different from the woman that shares his colors. Even the flickering shadows and solid planes of his face.  

              "In that vein, I must confess I am the same. If you do not mind my saying so; you also remind me of someone. The girl who arrived before you under the same name. Like her, your words suggest our acquaintance beyond my memory of the fact; beyond my understanding." The steadiness of the Hero-King nevertheless points to his adjustment, that he is not entirely shocked at the insinuations or even the point-blank declarations of his adjacency to a spirit sharing his face and name. To deny the truth would run him ragged, it is easier for a human mind simply to believe; to adapt beneath a crushing weight rather than reject it; but he cannot deny the element of bias that accompanies his acceptance as well.

               Because standing before the one known as Alear feels proper, but more importantly, it feels right. Like a friend he has been waiting a thousand years to receive, the sight of this calm young ruler puts him at rest for reasons that deny logic or sense. He cannot help the idea; if a fateful path has chosen Marth, then it is this meeting that has chosen them. "But no matter. Even if that should be the case, memories are but memories..." Words of acquiescence and friendship flow as easily as water for the fact, falling into old steps, forging new ones, on the offering of a solid hand warm to the touch. A warm crinkling of two blue eyes at their corners as fingers overlap in friendly betrothal. Engaged.

               "—Bonds can be reforged time and time again. That is the welcome way of things is it not, Alear? Welcome to Garreg Mach."

[mom-dont-like-it]

A Friend. Part 12

"You're back?" said Uraraka, on his way down. "And who is he?"

"This is Nakayama Fudo." Midoriya said, wondering how best to introduce him. "He's..."

"He's an jerk!" chuckled Bakugou, walking beside him. 

"What did you say?" shouted Fudo angrily, causing Bakugou to poke him.

"Are you deaf, too?" Katsuki snorted and dodged Nakayama's fist. Fudo stumbled backwards and almost fell. Bakugou laughed again. "I say: You're an idiot, a fool, an imbecile, a weak-minded slug. Do you want me to continue?"

"Bakugou!" although the Teacher was nowhere to be seen, Aizawa seemed to hear everything perfectly. "That's not why I gave you the mission!"

"Psycho," Fudo muttered as he straightened the crooked hood and stepped away, just in case. It was only now that he had a chance to have a look around. As a normal person living in society, he had only seen the heroes from the outside. A pretty picture, but now he had the chance to see everything from the inside. 

"Same as always, Bakugou-kun. Hi, I'm Ochako Uraraka, hero name Uravity." The girl who had flown up earlier grinned. She held out her hand to say hello, but only got ignored. Probably a quirk of flight, a bore, there was nothing interesting about her. 

"Are you going to join the training?" Ochako asked her friend and received a surprised look. "I see, I'll clear that up in a moment."

"Thanks, Uraraka-san," Midoriya smiled as she followed Ochako with a glance. Midoriya turned to Fudo as soon as she was out of sight. "You know she's older than you. Please show her some respect. It's not my demand, it's just common etiquette."

"Nakayama replied reluctantly, "Yeah, sure. 

Uraraka returned downstairs. 

"Aizawa-sensei told you to continue your training. You have the right to be here, but not to disturb the others. It's dangerous here, so keep an eye on him. 

"Do I look like a little child that needs to be watched?"

"It's not like that," Midoriya shook her head. She took out her gloves and put them on her hands. "It's just that it could be really dangerous here. Even though we have teachers with us, an unexpected situation could happen at any moment."

"Aren't you heroes?" muttered Fudo as he sat down on one of the nearby boulders. From here, he could see the entire training area. 

"What?" Midoriya clarified, unable to hear. 

"Nothing," Nakayama brushed it off. When Midoriya stepped back a little, when he couldn't be heard anymore, he muttered to himself again: "If you're heroes, why is it such a problem for you?" 

Nakayama spent all his time here. It was a great surprise to him how strong Midoriya's oddity was. At first glance, she looked frail and weak, even though her muscles were clearly visible through her clothes. Perhaps because of the side of her character she showed to everyone. Sometimes her friendliness seemed annoying, perhaps because Nakayama hadn't experienced it before. Occasionally, she would stop to say something to her classmates, but in the end, she would concentrate on her mission.

At the same time, his second 'overseer' was training alone, constantly demanding new clones from Ectoplasm. He drove everyone away, leaving plenty of room around him to turn around. His quirk was no less powerful. Moreover, its volume and brightness perfectly matched the explosive temperament of its owner. Occasionally, Bakugou would glance at Midoriya and think of something unpleasant, which would show on his frowning face.

"Hey, stupid!" the sudden voice of Bakugou made Nakayama jump. Despite the slight age difference, both Midoriya and Bakugou made him feel much, much younger. "Get away from him!"

"Come on, Bakugou." Mina stretched out reluctantly. She decided to take advantage of the situation and approach Nakayama while her teacher's clones were destroyed. "I am just interested."

"Take your curiosity and put it where it belongs!" shouted Bakugou, glaring menacingly in the direction of the innocent Fudo. 

"Bakugou!"

"Hi, I'm Mina Ashido," the girl murmured sweetly as she snuggled up next to me. "And what's your name?"

"Nakayama Fudo," Nakayama murmured, looking at Midoriya and remembering what she was talking about. "What do you want?"

"How grumpy you are, I just sat down for a chat."

"Aren't you in training right now?"

"Phew, you're boring," Mina sulked and went back to her old place. 

At the end of training, Midoriya ran up to Nakayama and said in a panting voice: "Everything okay? Nothing happened?" 

"Yeah."

"Look, wait a little, we're going to get changed and I'm going to get Kachchan to walk with you."

"Why?", Nakayama asked reluctantly, getting up from where he'd sat. 

Bakugou approached him and sneered, "Because."

Ten minutes passed. An angry Nakayama was now being led through the empty corridors of the school. 

"Tell me about yourself," Midoriya said after having paused a little. Her question was not only out of embarrassment, but also because she was genuinely curious about the boy. After all, it hadn't been for nothing that Aizawa had assigned him to Bakugou and Midoriya. "We know nothing of you otherwise."

"What the hell is this for?" muttered Nakayama. He looked at every corner of the school with interest, despite his outward displeasure. He might not be able to visit a heroic academy of this level again, no matter how much he disliked the company.

"To help. You didn't end up here for no reason, did you," Izuku explained, watching Fudo snort at her answer. "We can tell you about ourselves if you don't want to start first."

"Why would I have to tell him anything all of a sudden?" Bakugou shouted.

Midoriya sighed irritably and stepped forward, stopping the boys.

"I, Midoriya Izuku, was born on the 15th of July. I am 166 centimetres tall and my favourite food is katsudon. Ever since I was a child, I've admired heroes and always wanted to be one," Midoriya continued, not even caring if people continued to follow her. "I admired All Might the most. But I still admire him now. After I saw how he saved all those people, I was amazed! How could a normal person do that?

"Why is she saying all this?" whispered Nakayama and stopped. Just as he thought, Midoriya continued walking forward, not even paying attention to him. 

"Ha, try to stop her now," Bakugou chuckled and continued walking, giving Fudo a last nudge with his elbow. 

"The All Might once seemed so unattainable to me. I wondered how such a person could even live at the same time as me. But I was lucky, and now not only do I get to study where the All Might graduated from, but I get to learn what it means to be a hero from the greatest of them all!"

The bewilderment on Fudo's face turned to consternation. He shifted his gaze to Bakugou and stopped him, holding up the end of his shirt.

"She's one of those crazy fanatics, isn't she?" whispered Nakayama frightened, hiding behind Bakugou's back. 

"Can you talk normally?" grumbled Katsuki reluctantly.

"Well, I searched for any information about the idol, watched interviews and know almost everything there is to know about him. I don't know how to put it exactly, but it's clearly not the norm."

"Listen," Bakugou interrupted him. "If you don't like something, why do you keep stalling? Do what you have to do and ride off into the sunset. You will leave the way you came. So go on, it's time for the children to go to bed.

Bakugou turned and caught up with Midoria at a slightly faster pace. He didn't stop her, didn't say anything about Nakayama and let her go on.

[icecoldbitchbird]

“Oh my, you had matters to attend to that were more important than a trial regarding theft of an artefact of unspeakably potent infernal magic? A theft that was carried out by a trigger-happy imp that’d been using it to traverse the mortal realm completely unsanctioned and without due disguise? A trial called by Satan himself? Attended by the entire Goetic court along with the deadly sins themselves?” the words slipped effortlessly from his lips as he leant forward slightly, weaving his gloved fingertips together and resting his chin atop them as he gazed expectantly over towards the Prince. “My, my. Sitri. I hadn’t realised how dire your role was. What important matter did you have to put on hold? I’m thoroughly intrigued. Do tell~” Andrealphus was finding it increasingly difficult to play nice with the kitty-cat, detesting his specific brand of self-importance mixed with ignorance and idiocy.

At the mention of that pompous parrot, the ice prince felt his eyebrows knitting together to form a look of displeasure. Of course the pair were amicable — both of them were idiot princes who knew nothing about proper etiquette and decorum. A match made in Hell, some might say. “Cute is certainly a word that one could use,” Andrealphus would sooner settle on irritating, infuriating or downright insufferable.

Andrealphus tapped a gloved finger on the table idly, an outlet for his rising irritation. Why was it that, in spite of the Prince whining about how his words had hurt, he was laughing and grinning? Moron. The icy peacock hoped that the cutting words had stung. They were supposed to hurt. “My apologies~” he hummed out mildly, “It was never my intention to offend,” Lies. The words had been perfectly picked, a calculated move that sought to undermine Sitri while being easily dismissed as a mere slip of the tongue. That was how a Goetia was supposed to insult someone. Skillfully. Tactfully. Honestly, Sitri ought to thank him for giving him such a decent show of how he ought to behave.

“Did you fall asleep during the trial? or did you simply struggle to follow the proceedings?” Hm, okay, that was a little blunt. The icy words had slipped from his lips before he really had the ability to temper the fire of his irritation into something less…rude. Oh well. It was too late to retract his words now. A slow breath, misty with it’s iciness, slipped from his beak as he sat back in his seat, “…while morally questionable, fucking an imp is not a criminal act…although, I really think it ought to be…” he added the last part in a mere muttering to himself, “The grimoire, my dear. The grimoire was the issue.” Fuck! It was like talking to Stella.

Well, at least this meeting had confirmed to Andrealphus that his new-found prince status would keep him safe from Prince Sitri’s powers. The meeting wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Andrealphus allowed his glowing gaze to trail up and down the feline form of the Prince — his eyes settled for a moment on the snowflakes that were sewn in fine embroidery across his sweater. Very seasonally appropriate~ The light pink of the knitted wool complimented the warm glow of the Prince’s eyes. Sitri had always been exceptionally handsome; whether it was his fine coat of fur, impeccable fashion sense or suave demeanour was anyone’s guess.

The ice-cold peacock seemed to puff out his chest subtly in pride as his outfit was complimented. It was an exceptionally well put-together outfit. Andrealphus had taken a generous amount of time preening before the mirror, applying his subtle yet alluring makeup and selecting the clothing and jewels to adorn himself with — it was always nice to have his hard work and natural beauty appreciated. “Very well, Sitri,” he hummed out lowly, testing the name on his tongue.

As a small serving imp scurried over, Andrealphus ordered himself a peppermint tea and fruit scones. Turning his fully attention back to Sitri, he marvelled at how relaxed the Prince looked all slouched and carefree. The peacock arched one of his eyebrows, a mask of surprise and utter innocence flickering onto his features, despite the pride in his chest at the compliment. He had done a marvellous job at outsmarting that horny owl~ “I fear you are mistaken, I did not bring a prince down to his knees, Sitri,” the peacock stated with an air of faux-concern in his voice, “rather, the prince brought himself down.”

In the motions of acting, as he so often was, Andrealphus shook his head side to side in a disappointed motion at the sheer memory of the trial. Making a low, tutting sound in the back of his beak. “I could hardly believe my ears when my sister’s wretch of a husband burst into the courtroom and announced his guilt to everyone present.” That was the truth. Andrealphus had been shocked, and absolutely delighted, by Stolas’ appearance. Fearful of Sitri’s powers, the ice prince was already attempting to grow accustomed to telling manipulative truths to suit his deception. It was a difficult skill, so he figured practicing right from the get-go would be wise~ Afer all, he had utterly no clue how the mans powers worked.

[howlingday]

tragic backstory (tm) au) jaune and neo go to a fancy ball, weiss is bullied by her friends into following jaune in and seeing what he's up to, she's utterly shocked to see jaune's ... smooth? the man plays the game with the best of them, when she confronts him about the shift in his demeaner all the boy does is look at her and say

" diplomacy is the velvet glove that covers the iron fist of power"

meanwhile jaune's having way too much fun quoting movie lines at rich people as a distraction. they must not get out much because so far no one's recognized any of them, hell even weiss didn't notice... where did neo get to? (she's robbing the place blind)

Stiffer Than A Girder

Jaune never felt so out of place in his life. Well, except for maybe when he first showed up to Beacon with no skill whatsoever, but this was a different kind of alienation. He was in a hostile environment, laced with landmines and other traps that could end him when triggered, and predators just as capable, and more eager, to do so. Jaune Arc was at a fancy dinner ball with the Council of Vale.

He didn't understand what insanity gripped his Headmaster to think that sending him as a Beacon student representative. Thankfully, he was permitted a plus one, and though they had only known each other for less than a week, Jaune was confident he made the right choice choosing Mint. His friends weren't happy he chose "a complete stranger", but they were understanding. Besides, it's not like he'd know anyone here.

Weiss: Hello, Arc.

Jaune: (Thinking) Ah, dammit. (Speaking) Weiss! What a surprise!

Weiss: Because you thought you could escape rejecting me, the Weiss Schnee, for someone you only met three days ago?

Jaune: I... don't have an answer for that.

Weiss: Good, then you can shut up and listen. You came here, acting as the Beacon student representative, and you don't know the first thing about formal etiquette, do you?

Jaune: I'm wearing a tie!

Weiss: Who tied it?

Jaune: ...Mint.

Weiss: (Tugs the tie) And it's a clip-on. If you're going into any battleground, you must be armed with the weapons that best serve you.

Jaune: But this isn't a battleground.

Weiss: Of course not. It's a warzone. Do you have any dancing skill at all?

Jaune: I mean, Ren is teaching me.

Weiss: Do you know the difference between silverware?

Jaune: Yeah; forks, knives, spoons, and sporks!

Weiss: ...If this was the jungle, a monkey would have killed you by now.

Jaune: That's harsh. How did you get in, anyways?

Weiss: My entire family is here. It's one of the few times we all gather without hosting a ball. You, on the other hand, must do more than just stand around and pretend to know the difference between a cravat and caviar.

Jaune: ...

Weiss: You do know what those are, correct?

Jaune: ...Do I need to?

Weiss: (Sigh) Fine, I suppose someone must teach you proper ballroom etiquette. I doubt your friend knows anything about the high, aristocratic lifestyle.

Jaune: ...Hey, where is Mint?

Ozpin: Are you enjoying the festivities, madam?

Councilwoman: Oh, of course, but I believe I may have misplaced my timepiece. If you happen upon it, would you kindly return it?

Ozpin: Of course, madam. Enjoy your evening. (She walks away) That's the third person tonight. Excuse me!

Neo: !

Ozpin: Yes, you! A word, please? (Mint steps closer) I understand the youth of today are quite bold, but I must ask you maintain vigilance, dear. I believe a thief is loose. Do be careful.

Neo: (Nods)

Ozpin: And inform Mr. Arc of the same, please. (Walks away) Hm, I believe I must have misplaced my money clip.

Neo: (Walks away, Pulls money from money clip)

Weiss: First lesson, Arc; know your enemy.

Jaune: And who is my enemy?

Weiss: Everyone except you. Trust no one.

Jaune: What about you?

Weiss: What about me?

Jaune: Can I trust you?

Weiss: For now.

Jaune: Huh?

Weiss: Just listen to me very carefully, and do as I do. Here comes someone now.

Councilman: Ah, Ms. Schnee! A delight to see you once again! Tell me, how has the air of Beacon treated you?

Weiss: Oh, splendidly! The air in Atlas can be so cold.

Councilman: Of course. Vale is much further from the ice of Solitas.

Weiss: That is true, that is true.

Councilman: And who might this be?

Weiss: Councilman, allow me to introduce you to Jaune Arc, a fellow student of Beacon. Jaune, this is Councilman-

Councilman: Ah, so you are the famous Jaune Arc! Or perhaps I should say infamous in my case. (Laughs haughtily)

Weiss: (Laughs haughtily)

Jaune: (Weakly chuckles)

Councilman: Come, come, you simply must meet with our benefactor for the evening!

Jaune: Uh, okay, if I must.

Weiss: (Whispers) You do.

Ironwood: So, this is the famous Jaune Arc?

Winter: Indeed, sir.

Ironwood: Were you able to pull up any information on him?

Winter: Unfortunately, no, sir. When I asked for his files, the Headmaster replied, and I quote, "lent them to another student."

Ironwood: Another one of Oz's jokes. But if the rumors are true, he could be a valuable ally.

Winter: Or a formidable enemy.

Ironwood: Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

Glynda: Doesn't come to what, James?

Ironwood: Ah, good evening, Glynda. How are you?

Glynda: I'm well, thank you. (Glares) Winter.

Winter: (Glares) Glynda.

Ironwood: ...I'll be discussing affairs with the Vacuan representatives over there for the moment. (Hurries away)

Winter: Still shipping trash, Glyn?

Glynda: I don't know. Do you still have garbage taste?

Jacques: Ah, so you're the famous Jaune Arc?

Jaune: O-Or infamous? (Chuckles)

Jacques: Oh, come now, I'm certain the rumors aren't true in the slightest.

Jaune: Rumors?

Jacques: Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jacques Schnee of the Schnee Dust Company. This is my wife, Willow, and our son, Whitely.

Willow: (Half-lidded) Good evening.

Whitely: Greetings, Mr. Arc.

Jacques: I see you have already met my daughter, Weiss.

Jaune: Yes, sir, and she is quite lovely.

Jacques: Lovely enough for marriage?

Weiss: Father!

Jaune: M-Marriage?!

Jacques: I joke, I joke! After all, this is a ball, is it not?

Jaune: Er, yeah, I guess it is.

Jacques: And if Weiss is of no interest to you, there is always Winter, who is...

Glynda: (Growling) IronQrow is the ultimate ship, and I will die on this hill.

Winter: (Snarling) Then perish under the banner of IronPin, you cow.

Jacques: ...around here somewhere.

Jaune: I'll be honest, I'm a little nervous about marriage, sir. My last one didn't end so well.

Jacques: Ah, a shame. I suppose you could always settle for the bachelor life. There are times when I wish for it myself.

Willow: All you need to do is ask, dear.

Jacques: Again, I joke! There's no ill will here, is there?

Jaune: Well, not here, no, but somewhere out there, I'm sure.

Jacques: Oh, anything come to mind?

Jaune: Well, there's the Grimm.

Jacques: And the White Fang, obviously.

Jaune: Well, I don't know about that, sir.

Jacques: Oh? Don't tell me you sympathize with those terrorists.

Jaune: Well, not all of them are terrorists. If I remember from my class right, the White Fang were peaceful protesters at first, and something pushed them to violence. Maybe even someone.

Jacques: Oh? Are you suggesting we sympathize with these murderers and thieves?

Jaune: Well, not with them, but definitely the ones boycotting dust until labor conditions improve and the peaceful protesters calling for equal treatment.

Jacques: If they wish to freeze in the cold than pay a small fee for fire dust, then I say we leave them to their ignorance! After all, as a Huntsman-in-training, you understand the importance of using Dust.

Jaune: I don't use Dust.

Jacques: Excuse me?

Jaune: I don't use dust. I use a sword and shield. I never could understand all the hubbub about Dust. Mom used a wood-burning stove, and we used the ashes around the house.

Jacques: Yours is certainly... a unique case, but I digress. Back to the other matter, these... individuals protesting are asking for the impossible.

Jaune: Well, we have a saying back home; "For evil to win, The good must stop doing." It's only impossible, sir, if you let it be impossible. I know all too well how easy it is to give up, but some things are worth fighting for.

Weiss: Uh, Jaune?

Jacques: I... see. And what of the terrorists? Surely you don't condone their methods of pillaging dust shipments to hinder my company?

Jaune: I don't agree with it, but look at the results, sir. Until a few years ago, I never heard of the White Fang. Only thing I knew about were bandits, and I thought they were the worst. At least the White Fang are fighting for a good cause, granted, not in the best way.

Jacques: (Red in the face) "Good cause-?" Do you hear yourself? My company suffers from their actions, not the other way around! I'm the victim here!

Jaune: (Looks around) I don't see any Faunus councilmembers or diplomats at this private event. Only staff members, and I'll bet they're struggling to make ends meet. They're probably better people, too.

Jacques: (Struggling to form words)

Jaune: Enjoy your evening, sirs. Madam. We're done here. (Turns to walk away)

Jacques: (Grabs Jaune's sleeve, Growls) How dare you! You listen to me; I am Jacques Schnee, head of the Schnee Dust Company!

Jaune: (Tugs his sleeve away, Straightens himself) And like my great-great-grandpa Arc told Zakeriah Schnee, (Prods Jacque's chest) I! Don't! Care!

Jacques: You would compare me to that traitor who sacrificed his own countrymen to save one man?

Jaune: You're right. After all, (Turns away) you're not even half the man Zakeriah Schnee was. (Leaves)

Whitely: (Whispering) Incredible... He tricked father into making a fool of himself, in front of everyone!

Weiss: (Whispering) Of course. After all, Arc was a champion of Ansel pit fighting not only for his strength, but his cunning. (Speaking) I must be going. Good night, father, mother, Whitely. (Walks away)

Weiss: (Scroll buzzes) Excuse me. (Answers) Hello?

Yang: 'Sup, Weissy? I heard you guys are having fun.

Weiss: How did you hear about it?

Yang: Jaune's friend sent us a video of it. Apparently, he's getting a lot of buzz from everywhere.

Blake: Including the White Fang.

Weiss: Will that be a problem?

Blake: It's difficult to say. The things he was saying were very telling about his childhood around Faunus, or lack thereof. It would make sense for him to sympathize with a group treated like slaves, even if he only just heard about them.

Weiss: Just another Arc thing, huh?

Ruby: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Weiss: I... I didn't say anything.

Yang: Oh, she and Nora are laughing at Professor Ozpin's livestream of the event. Specifically, the cat fight.

Weiss: What catfight?

Winter: (Holding Glynda by her hair) Say it! Say Jaune Arc needs a strong woman as his queen, and I'll let go!

Glynda: (Holding Winter by her hair) Never! Say Jaune Arc needs a caring woman as his guide, and I'll let go!

Ironwood: Ladies, please, control yourselves! Oz, will you stop recording and help me?!

Jaune: Ah, the breeze feels so nice out here. (Tapped on the shoulder) Huh? Oh, there you are, Mint!

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 9

[Prev] [Next]

ou had barely gotten out of bed in the days that followed your emergency room visit.

You could barely even look at your husband.

This was far beyond Law’s realm of expertise, and he was quickly growing more and more concerned about your wellbeing.  You were barely eating, choosing to spend your days in bed with your head buried in your pillows as if you were trying to disappear completely.  It was incredibly generous that your boss had allowed you such ample time off, but Law knew for a fact that this self-isolation was going to do nothing but exacerbate the cycle of depression that your miscarriage had brought upon you.

Law swallowed a lump in his throat.

Miscarriage.

The word seemed so grim even prior to meeting you.  Now it held an entirely new meaning.  Miscarriage was what led to his wife spending her days alone in their bed, trying desperately to fall into a deep slumber to escape the crushing reality.

Shachi and Penguin had practically moved in with the two of you, helping to cook, clean, and take care of Bepo while Law was at work.  Neither of them had spoken to you, and Penguin hadn’t even looked at you in the days since you came home, no longer pregnant.  It was as if everyone in the apartment was afraid a single breath would shatter you like a pane of glass, tiny, glimmering pieces of a stabbing despair that were impossible to clean up.

Even your boss had come by, two days after you were forced to leave the office to go to the ER.  She had stopped by your apartment with a small basket of goodies as a condolence gift, and while she acknowledged that a few bars of chocolate was probably the least effective medicine for what you had endured, she expressed the desire to make sure you knew that the entire office was rooting for you.

When Shachi placed the small basket on your bedside table, you didn’t even move.

Law was starting to get more and more concerned about the risk of bedsores your constant, curled-up position might expose you to.

Even worse than bedsores, however, was the fact that Law still had to work.  Heart and lung diseases didn’t simply disappear just because you had a miscarriage, and as much as Law’s own heart broke whenever he had to slip on his shoes to leave, he needed to continue his job.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly thinking about you, however.

—

Law’s colleagues often joked that he operated like a robot when arriving at the prep theater.  The way he donned his surgeon’s scrubs and coat was the same way every single time: left arm into the coat, followed by his right, a 180 degree counterclockwise turn so his attending could securely tie the back, followed by his left hand glove, right hand glove, and then a second left glove, and a second right glove.  He had also developed the habit of placing his cell phone in the care of his circulating nurse, should any calls come from you at home.  It wasn’t quite allowed, and it definitely strayed from his own personal philosophy of a hyper-focused operating room environment, but he couldn’t help himself.  Despite this, Law’s second-nature ability to perfectly replicate operating theater etiquette did bring some level of calm to the entire surgery team, especially on days like today.

The cardiac team was about to undergo an estimated 6 hour coronary bypass surgery.

This was just the event Law needed to break out of his mold and return to life as it was about ten days ago.  For the first time since your emergency room visit, Law wasn’t thinking about you.

“Patient is a 45-year-old caucasian male with severe coronary artery disease.  He has experienced two heart attacks prior to this surgery.  We will be undertaking a triple bypass operation.  I understand this is a very daunting task for some of you, however you are expected to remain calm and do your work as you normally do.  Nothing about this particular surgery is any different than any other open heart surgery, just remember this.”  Law explained the procedure to his team in a very bold, emotionless voice.  

The operation began.

The lights in the room were dimmed slightly to allow for better focus from the overhead lamps onto the exposed portion of the patient’s abdomen.  Beside the table, a large machine that would be operating as a temporary heart for the patient was prepped.  The entire team was laser-focused on the patient, Law’s stern, strict aura seeming to radiate outward and affect the rest of his staff with a quiet, pensive attitude.  It wasn’t often to have idle chit-chat during operations considering the stakes at hand, however today seemed particularly tense.

Law led the procedure with a deft hand.  He expertly instructed his assistants with the suction and cauterization as he carefully opened the flesh of the man.  A saw was used to cut through the sternum and expose the pericardium.  Bleeding was carefully controlled and a fast-acting antibiotic paste was used throughout.  After approximately 20 minutes, the patient’s beating heart was fully exposed, the chest cavity held open by metal tools and a frame to fully support the operating window.  

The first cannula was placed into the aorta when Law’s phone began to buzz from the circulating nurse’s coat pocket.  She was standing away from the rest of the team and pulled the device out of her pocket to view the caller ID.  The focus wasn’t broken from the rest of the operating team.

“Silence it,” Law uttered, ingrained in the action of attaching the catheter to the air-tight bypass tube.

“It’s your wife, Doctor,” she awkwardly mumbled.  The phone continued to buzz.

A few awkward glances were tossed around the operating table.  Law simply kept his head down, beginning to search for the right atria to place the second cannula.

“Doctor?” she called again.

“My passcode is 0517.  Just text her and ask her what she needs.”

The anesthesiologist smiled, though it wasn’t visible below his mask.  “Isn’t that your wedding anniversary?”

The assistant holding the cauterizer cooed from across the table.  “Aww, that’s so cute!”

“I hope my husband is that sweet,” sighed the attending nurse.

Law grumbled.  “I’m inserting the venous cannula.  Attention to the patient.”

The room immediately snapped back to intense focus.  Behind them in the corner, the circulating nurse had unlocked Law’s phone and was navigating to his texts, being careful to avoid glancing at any pictures or messages he wouldn’t have wanted her to see.  She found your messages and began typing.

—

Your phone buzzed.

Baby~~<3

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he told me to text you in response to your call.  Is there anything I can help you with or tell him?

You sighed, figuring that was the reason he hadn’t answered his phone.  Beside you, Shachi leaned over and gazed at the screen.

“Hey, can’t knock him for being focused!” he chided, nudging your shoulder.

Sitting with your legs crossed on the couch in your living room, you couldn’t fight the proud grin that formed on your face.  “That’s true… I’d much rather him ignore my call than lose focus on a patient.”

Penguin was in the kitchen, an apron wrapped around his torso as he pulled a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of your oven.  There were already four other trays cooling on the linoleum countertop.  “I think it’s cute that he gives his phone to his nurse in case you call.”

“He probably does that for any incoming call,” you scoffed.

“Nope, he definitely only started doing that for you,” Penguin called back.

Shachi had stood from the couch and not-so-stealthily approached the counter, reaching his hands out to snag a few cookies while they were still warm.  “It’s true, once I called him during an operation without realizing and he didn’t respond for eight hours.  When he finally did call back he was like, ‘Sorry, I got caught up with something.’  Like, dude, you’re a heart surgeon.  I think I could figure that out.”  He plopped back down next to you, passing you a cookie from his hand.

Holding the sweet treat in your teeth, you looked back down at your phone, tapping the text window to begin typing.

—

Law’s attending nurse felt another buzz in her pocket.

Wifey

Omg, im so sorry to interrupt!  Can you just tell him to call me back when he gets a chance?  Tell him its no rush, either, i dont want him to stress LOL

Wifey

Thank you for your hard work, i hope hes not pushing you guys too hard <3

The nurse smiled, replying to your message and placing the phone back in her pocket.

—

Six and a half hours and a very cramped right hand later and Law was finally sitting in the break room with a microwaved dinner of some orzo dish that Penguin had made a few days prior.  He ran a weary hand through his unruly black hair, slightly greasy from the sweat that had accumulated under his surgical cap.  Taking a small mouth full of his dinner and taking advantage of the late-night silence in the break room, he finally opened his phone and tapped on your name, ringing your number.  It was nearing 11:00PM, so he doubted you’d even still be awake, but it was worth a shot anyway.  If anything, it would probably be Shachi or Penguin that would pick up.

The dial tone rang twice before a faint click sound reverberated through the receiver.

[Hi, baby!]

Law’s heart rate doubled its pace at the sound of your voice.  Your voice that he had sparsely heard the last 10 days.  He suddenly wished more than anything that he could end his shift early and race home to see you.

He swallowed his spit.  “Hey, darling, you called me during a surgery, I’m sorry I missed you.”  He truly was sorry.  He felt absolutely terrible about leaving you waiting for six hours, despite his stern and pointed attitude throughout the procedure.  Duty does call, in the end.

[Never apologize, Law, I understand.]  He could hear your exhaustion through the speaker.  [How did it end up going?]

Law pushed his orzo around with his spoon.  “It was a great success, it’s been a little bit since my team and I have performed any sort of coronary bypass surgery, so I think everyone was pretty relieved when it was finally over.”

[That’s incredible…]  You sighed into your end of the line, your airy tone giving away the smile you surely wore across your lips.  [I’m really happy it went well.]

The black-haired man simply hummed.  “Was there something you were calling about earlier?”

[Yeah…] you affirmed, however your voice suddenly adopted a more far-away flavor.  [I wanted to know if you were free this coming Friday.  Dr. Robin gave me a call earlier today and said she wants to get me in for a diagnostic consultation.  I… I don’t really want to go alone anymore.]

Law’s heart sank at the way your words sounded so little.  “I’ll check my availability for you.”

[Thank you, baby…]

“Darling, are you going to be alright until I get home in the morning?”  Law slowly felt his appetite waning as his anxieties about your current state at home were dawning on him.  “I have all day off tomorrow to spend with you, and we can talk about anything for as long as you want.”

[I’ll be alright, I promise.]

“You really promise?” Law confirmed.  It wasn’t like you to be so brief with your words, but at the same time he knew these circumstances were well past the realm of reason.

A dry chuckle bounced through the receiver.  [I really promise.]

Law drew in a deep, heaving inhale through his nostrils.  “Baby, I love you.  I’ll see you in a few hours, alright?”

[I love you too, Law.]