#i drew this on the train so excuse the shaky lines

[camigani]

Shetland Sweaters

[fatalmagnus]

Oh boy oh boy.. Look who's back. (It's me)

More art.

Trickee looking irritated.

Rue and Hype. (This isn't canon stuff.. at least not for now?? I'm really not sure. It would make a bit of sense and everything, but yeah.. Hype and Rue used to be shipped, so I did this. Rue was actually shipped with all of Kismet.)

Snake troll from before and Keko who belongs to @foolishb0y

Drew this in a TRAIN so very shaky lines and all.. Rue threatening Boom.. or technically threatening Kismet that he'll hurt Boom? Idk, I just wanted am excuse to draw angst. (This isn't how he'd canonically interact with Kismet! He's actually charming towards them like he is with everyone else.)

Hype encounter with the snake troll? (A friend made a comment that he's being sized up and honestly? Wouldn't put it past the snake. It probably IS sizing Hype up.)

The eye contact... 😍😍 /J (Hype is actually about to die.)

[theunholygrails]

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

[mrskurono]

a/n: I just used @semisgroupie​ collab event as an excuse to write something so fucking self indulgent instead :> word count: 1.6k tags: pwp, semi established relationships (reader and Makki are a thing but you’ve known Kindaichi this entire time), mmf threesome, oral (female receiving), fingering, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms (no overstim), slightly possessive Makki, dumber than shit Kindaichi, um I just wanna fuck both of them this is fairly tame, semi unedited  character(s): Takahiro Hanamaki (hq), Kindaichi Yuutarou (hq) synopsis: Makki’s always supported his underclassmen, even when they’re not even in high school anymore. Your boyfriend is just that sweet of a guy and you love tagging along to cheer on your friend’s in their volleyball games after high school. So when Kindaichi’s poor playing with the Tamaden Elephants reveals that the poor man is just feeling lonely and unwanted after Kunimi has been too busy for him, well, it’s up to his supportive ex-upperclassmen to cheer him up.

Legs spread. Both sets of eyes on the man between your parted legs.

Only Makki was daring enough to fill the air with more than a moan.

“Fuck- Don’t stop. That’s right, let her paint your face with her juices-”

Makki’s lewd words filled the air as he sat behind you. Chin resting on your shoulder as he lovingly watched his ex team mate run his tongue up and down your slit with eagerness. Kindaichi’s cheeks glistening with your juices as you squeezed his love drunk face between your thighs and smiled.

“You’re even more handsome like this Yuutarou.” A shiver was sent through your body when the 6′4 middle blocker did as Makki had said and didn’t stop with his tongue grazing over your clit. Sloppy and not as assured of himself as your boyfriend was. The way his undercut scraped your thighs and his broad calloused hands from years of volleyball gripped your thighs, it all made up for it with his excitable licking.

“Talk like that....in front of me,” Makki teased, lips dancing over your neck when he threw his touch into the mix. His hands not hesitant at all to spread your legs further apart, “That might hurt my feelings.”

“Tch-” A short snort through clenched teeth as Makki stifled your immediant reply with his fingers replacing Kindaichi’s tongue on your clit. Touching exactly how he knew would cause you to come undone. You inhale sharply and dig your fingers into his thighs at your sides, “You wanted this...Don’t lie to him.”

Kindaichi’s eyes lightened up to his ex upper classman. All of which Makki couldn’t help smile slyly and shrug, “Guess your handsome like this. So why don’t you shove your fingers in her already?”

“Really?” Kindaichi piped in a little shaky. Thrilled at the idea but he didn’t know where to look. From your face, too Makki smiling at him or the scene right in front of him as he saw your lips spread apart and Makki’s fingers working diligently at your clit.

Makki kissed the side of your neck and grinned at his ex under classman, “The lady wants it. Look how wet she is for you.”

No need to be told twice Kindaichi drew his fingers up along your soaked core. Covered in mostly his spit it didn’t make a difference as he eased one finger inside you. Use to Makki’s fingers, someone else’s sent every nerve in your body on fire. Writhing under the touch until you urged him to put another one in. Kindaichi a wonderful listener. In no time he had his fingers knuckle deep in you going with the motion of your hips rolling into his fingers.

“Wait wait wait-” You gripped his wrist stalling his motion. Kindaichi in a panic looked up at you certain he did something wrong. Not expecting to hear the next words off your lips, “I wanna cum on your cock.”

“W-What-” Kindaichi stumbled, immediately feeling the ache to his poor neglected member. He nor Makki had seen any action since both of them flocked to your naked body the second the master bedroom shut, “I mean- But you two- I can’t-”

“Hey, if she wants it,” Makki smiled as he leaned back and brought you with him into the reclining position against his chest, “Then by all means give the woman what she wants.”

Giddy at the aspect almost, Kindaichi didn’t even waiver on the fact this was his old team mates girlfriend. Something so exciting about it he was above you in no time at all. Lining his hips up with yours as Makki slowed his rubbing along your clit.

“Mmm fuck, don’t tease now,” You move your hips up as Kindaichi spent far longer than he needed just grinding up against you.

“S-Sorry sorry-” Kindaichi swallowed the lump in his throat, just the warmth from your core as he saw his cock coated in your juices was making it mind bogglingly hard to contain himself. 

Much slower than Makki ever did, Kindaichi buried himself in you as slowly as possible. Moans escaping the man’s lips as you stopped clutching at Makki’s legs and opted to wrap your arms around Kindaichi’s shoulders. By the time you felt him exhale and the weight of his hips bear on yours, you swore you were already loosing your mind.

“Don’t keep her waiting of course,” Makki cooed to the both of you as he danced his well trained fingers around your clit a bit faster, knowing damn well how good it felt to have you tighten around his cock so there was no doubt in his mind that Kindaichi probably felt like he was already gonna blow.

Face hovering inches away from yours. Caged between his long arms. You drew your fingertips along the buzzed hairline and yanked Kindaichi down into a heated kiss. You were going to cum from Makki’s finger no matter what. Having Kindaichi fuck you through it only seemed like a real plus.

And a plus it was. Something intoxicating about being in your boyfriend’s lap as your long standing crush fucked you into him. Makki kissing along your neck. Kindaichi’s lips hardly able to stay against yours. His panting and Makki’s lewd teasing filling the air between the three of you. Each swipe of Makki’s finger along your sensitive clit paired with the way Kindaichi’s cock hit just the right spot to take you past the point of no return.

“S-Shit! Yuutarou! Fuck me don’t stop-” A sloppy excuse of a kiss. You didn’t care as every inch of you shuddered under the Tadamen player’s body. Legs twitching. Hips bucking. You rode out your orgasm on Makki’s attentive fingers and Kindaichi’s cock without hesitation. In no time that was matched with Kindaichi’s gasping moan against your lips. 

A twitch to his cock and the ragged thrusts. Suddenly another man aside from Makki filling you to the brim with cum.

Heaving breathes didn’t last long. Gathering yourself from your orgasm with Kindaichi draped on top of you. The post sex glow would have to wait. 

Quick to move you both around. Makki was no longer something for you to longue on. In fact he ushered Kindaichi along his way. Didn’t seem to matter though as he was happy to collapse beside you. With the insistence on Makki’s part to keep kissing on your neck and shoulder. So he did just that as the other man wedged his way between your legs. Kindaichi’s cum still dripping from you when Makki smiled down at you.

“Hey beautiful,” Makki teased with a grin knowing damn well you were a little fuzzy for a good retort.

“Fuck me,” You sigh still tingling from Kindaichi’s little gift. His insistent kissing on your neck not much help either as you held his face close to you and let the excitable man press into you even as Makki brought his face to yours.

“Oh, I intend to.” Slipping his cock, swollen and leaking, against your cum covered pussy lips. Makki swiped his cock only a handful of times in the mess before pressing slowly into you. Watching as Kindaichi’s cum leaked around his cock. Each twitch of your cunt pushing more of the thick creaminess out in favor of the cock you knew and loved.

Comparable in size both men had you gripping onto something just as Makki bottomed out in you. Savoring the moment your already tight cunt was doing around his cock with the sticky cum now soiling both of you.

“Mmm, I like the way this looks,” Makki leaned down, his breath against your cheek as you kissed on Kindaichi, “I think I could get use to fucking Yuutarou’s cum into.”

“Maybe add your own to the mix huh?” You remark as you turn Kindaichi’s attention up towards Makki. Instead of you kissing your boyfriend. You usher the ex team mates to kiss each other.

And no peck on the lips. A second of hesitation and both men were locking lips with no reservations. Leaving you to kiss on Kindaichi’s neck and hear him moan into Makki’s lips. All of course as you boyfriend slowly started thrusting into you.

Just as intoxicated as you had been with Makki holding you as Kindaichi fucked you. Makki was not immune to the feeling of Kindaichi’s lips against his and your cunt around his cock. Struggling to hold on as you cooed at them both. Watching them get more and more into the kissing. Kindaichi’s free hand moving down to find your clit. Mimicking what he saw Makki do best as he could in his situation. You helped as you moved your hips up against Makki’s and lightly gripped Kindaichi’s forearm the more persistent his fingers became on your clit. 

“Fuck-” Makki growled against Kindaichi’s lips. Still unable to tear himself away both men moaned into their heated exchanged. You could care less as you felt a second orgasm washing over you. Kindaichi’s fingers coated in your slick as your body shuddered under Makki. The milking of your cushiony cunt and Kindaichi’s lips were simply too much. 

Just as his ex team mate had done moments before. Makki rutted his hips into yours. As deep as he could manage as his own orgasm stole low groan from him. Filling you with a second load. Both men’s cum mixing inside you as Makki refused to pull out.

Collapsing on top of you Makki heaved a few breathes between a tired chuckle to himself. Kindaichi sheepishly burying his face in your neck as you reached up and lazily combed your fingers through both men’s hair separately. The sensation of cum dripping out of you as Makki stubbornly refused to pull out. More than alright though as both men glued themselves to you. Smiling you settle down under them when you can feel Kindaichi’s cock hard again against your thigh. This was going to be a regular thing and there was no mistaking you liked it.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 16

First

Previous

So… fighting people while injured, even if it’s not a particularly long or difficult fight, is apparently a bad thing. Marinette didn’t feel it until the adrenaline wore off, but the moment it did it hit her like a freight train. She’d had to lean against a nearby building, her hand cradling her ribs, trying her hardest to keep her breathing under control.

When that didn’t help as much as she would have liked, she called Danielle.

“Hey, so, hypothetically… what do you think would happen if I ignored the bedrest thing --.”

“The fuck?”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“Hahahaha anyways so what I did was... so, like, I may or may not have, maybe, sort of, um…” She swallowed thickly. Her mouth tasted of copper, which was never a good thing. “Scaled a two-story building, crawled through some vents, flipped a guy that’s over a foot taller than me over my shoulder, lifted said guy back to his feet, and then jumped off the roof? You know… as you do?”

“You do not get to say ‘as you do’ what the fuck that is not a normal thing --.”

“How long do you think it’ll be?”

Danielle sighed and she could hear her count to ten under her breath. When she finished, she said: “... can you afford an extra few weeks? Because that’ll at least set you back half a month. I’d say an extra month and a half but...”

“I hope I can,” Marinette said, biting her lip. Had Emma told Joker how long the doctor had prescribed she took time off? Because if she already did that then there was no way Joker was going to allow the extra few weeks.

Not that Marinette thought she would be able to go that long without doing anything at all, she supposed, but she would love an excuse not to see his pasty face.

“I’ll have to prescribe painkillers if you don’t --.”

“No.”

Danielle scoffed a little but didn’t press it. A lot of Gothamites had seen what painkillers could do to people. And, from what Marinette could find about the woman, Danielle was a perfect example -- she’d struggled with the workload of going to med school and having a job at the same time, she’d gotten hooked, and it had promptly ruined her life. Of all people, she wasn't going to question why someone wouldn’t touch the stuff.

“At least try and stay out of trouble this time, okay?”

Marinette huffed a little (and then winced when her ribs protested it). “I do! The job really hadn’t been that bad today. Trouble just has a way of finding me.”

The doctor only laughed.

~

It was late at night, but it was cold in her apartment (the heater was broken, which was a surprise to absolutely no one considering how cheap the apartment complex was) and she couldn’t fall asleep. So, Marinette had been making macaroons for Tikki when she’d heard a knock...

On her window. She knew the distinct sound of gloved knuckles hitting glass by heart thanks to the occasional vigilante dropping by her safehouses for help with wounds they didn’t want the Big Bad Bat to see.

But they didn’t know that she was Canary, bats wouldn’t be coming by for her first aid capabilities.

Unfortunately, she could think of one other person that wore similar gloves that had already gotten into her apartment through the window. And he probably wanted his miraculous back, so there was a motive for his sudden appearance.

She didn’t want him in her apartment again. This was her house. It was supposed to be safe.

(Not that her houses have been feeling all that safe ever since Cobblepot had figured out who she was.)

She could hardly breathe -- a feeling she was getting far too used to for her liking. She brought a shaky hand up to the hollow of her throat, pressing on the tiny indent in her collarbone. It was a pressure point, she thought she remembered, it was supposed to help calm her down.

It wasn’t working.

She pulled a knife from her knife block and slowly crept around the wall that cordoned off her bathroom.

Her eyes scanned the apartment for anything that was off. Nope, it seemed that he’d stayed outside… she looked out the window...

Oh. It was Red Robin.

This was… marginally better. Maybe.

Marinette put the knife back and walked over. She bent down to unlatch the window lock and let Red Robin in.

He clambered through the window once she had moved out of the way. He closed it behind himself and, though she knew that was just so it would be harder for eavesdroppers to hear their conversations, it made her skin crawl.

He noticed, apparently, because he didn’t even lock it and he kept a wide berth as he walked around to stand in the middle of the living room part of the apartment, by the couch.

“You should have checked to make sure that it was really me,” Red Robin said and she fought back a wince. That was his work voice.

“Well, no one else would wear an outfit that awful.”

Her voice came out flat. She was still anxious and it was throwing her off. She picked at the fingers of her gloves, pretending to be very interested in a nonexistent loose thread as she tried her hardest to push down the emotions that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

He was there to interrogate her, sure, but that was fine. She’d faced far worse interrogations before, had interrogated people in far worse ways before. This was nothing new, she could handle this.

Knowing she would be fine, though, wasn’t enough to relax her.

She took a deep breath to get herself under control then cringed. Broken ribs shouldn’t be so hard to remember. She brought her hand up to rest over the injury.

“Are you alright?”

His tone had softened a little, but that only made her bristle. She didn’t want his pity. Not when she could see a burn she had caused poking above the neckline of his suit.

“I’ll be fine in a month.”

(Okay, actually it was closer to a month and a half to two months since she had irritated the injury, but who cares about those kinds of technicalities?)

“What about you? Are you…?” She couldn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to know if it wasn’t going to get better. She knew they were on opposite sides, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea of them getting hurt. They were…

Well, they weren’t friends.

They were like rival football -- sorry, soccer -- teams. On opposite sides, but they held little actual malice for each other.

He seemed to sense the genuine unease she felt at the idea of him being hurt because of her, because he gave the ghost of a smile.

“I’ve had worse.”

She picked at her gloves again. She wanted to take them off to pick at her nails but even the idea of taking them off in front of someone was enough to make her feel a little sick.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to but I needed to make sure you wouldn’t come and arrest me or my friends immediately and I thought that would distract you but it was kind of a dick move and --.”

He cut her off with a chuckle.

Heat rose to her cheeks.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, the point that I was trying to get to was that I didn’t actually want to hurt you… it was just...”

She didn’t have the words to excuse what she had done. She could only shrug lamely.

Some of the amusement faded. “It’s fine. Like I said, I’ve had worse. It’s an occupational hazard. For both of us, apparently.”

“I -- yeah -- I’m sorry about that, too. I honestly didn’t think we’d all become friends and I felt kind of bad about not telling you but -- but I just couldn’t.”

“I get it.”

She raised her eyebrows just slightly.

He sighed lightly and leaned back against the couch. “I do. You couldn’t tell me. I’m the textbook definition of a narc. You were just looking out for yourself.”

She managed a stiff nod.

But now she didn’t really know where to go. Why was he there? Why hadn’t he told the other bats yet? Was it that they were also narcs and he was protecting her? Why? Sure, he said it was fine that he had blown her up, but she doubted that it was really fine. People were like that, saying things that they didn’t mean because they didn’t want it to be awkward.

The questions swirled around in her head, each one clamoring to be the first one to be voiced. But she still couldn’t seem to come up with any one question to ask.

“I don’t get it,” Red Robin said when it became clear she wasn’t going to be saying anything for a while without prompting.

And, wow, that sentence was exactly what she had needed to pull her out of her thoughts. Because what?

“You just said…?”

“I don’t get why you’re a henchman,” he clarified. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Her frown deepened. It wasn’t all that hard to understand, she didn’t think.

“... because I need money to live, and I don’t really have many other options when it comes to getting it,” Marinette said, her tone making it obvious just how stupid she thought he was. Which wasn’t fair to him, Red Robin was a born and bred rich kid (she knew this fact in her bones, though he would never admit anything like that for fear of her finding out his secret identity), but it was simply obvious.

He shook his head. “It just doesn’t line up. You look up to heroes so you clearly have morals, why would you give that up for money?”

She scoffed at that. Because the real Marinette Dupain-Cheng had done more than looked up to heroes -- she had been one. But even that hadn’t been enough to keep her from becoming Canary when push came to shove.

“Morals are a privilege, Red.”

The lenses of his domino widened.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I drew a line in the sand and, when it became clear that line wasn’t going to be enough for me to survive, I stepped over it and drew a new one. You say you’ll never break a law, and then you say you’ll never hurt anyone, then you say you won’t hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it, and then you say you won’t hurt kids… and then one day you wake up and you realize that there isn’t that many more lines left to cross and the first line you’d made is so far behind you that you can’t even dream of getting back to it.”

Marinette swallowed thickly. She was too close to this, this was way too close to real for her. She hated the old feelings that this case was dredging back up. She hadn’t felt this awful -- this helpless -- in such a long time and she didn’t want to feel this way.

Red Robin didn’t seem to notice, at least, far too stunned by what he was hearing to notice the tears brimming in her eyes.

“But -- but you haven’t even been here that long!”

And he was right. The process had gone fast for the fake Marinette, she’d gotten a job not that long after she had officially arrived in Gotham… but she had an explanation for that:

“I don’t have any other options. You can look up my name and find article after article talking about how I stalked a hero. There goes all the legal options, no one wants someone like that representing their company. And, since Canary exists and has no problem going undercover, most of the Rogues don’t hire Asian women if they don’t have a Rogue vouching for them, saying that they’re a real person and not just someone trying to give information to their competitors. So, I’m stuck with Joker.”

He reached a hand out like he wanted to hug her. She didn’t make any moves to stop him, but he still thought better of the action and let his hand fall limp at his side.

The silence in the room was deafening.

And then, he broke it: “Let me help you.”

That simple sentence had nearly broken her.

Because those were the exact words she had been longing to hear.

They were just many years too late.

Why now? She wanted to scream.

“Why me?” She asked instead.

“Because I care about you,” Red Robin said softly.

The tears in her eyes were getting harder and harder to hold back and she needed to channel that into something more productive.

Anger. Anger was productive. Usually.

“Your job means you’re supposed to care about everyone. Why me?”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said: “You clearly want out.”

“Everyone does. Why me?”

He looked a little frustrated. Marinette knew the feeling.

“If everyone wants out then why are you so mad about it?”

Why would she be mad about it?

Marinette found an answer with ease: “I don’t know, Red, probably because I almost had to fight a kid to the death in order to get a job with Joker -- and the best option I could give was to send him to Scarecrow instead. Or because there’s two sixteen year olds working with me… and Benny is smart, he was in honors classes, he skipped grades, he got a full ride scholarship, so it’s not a lack of potential. They’re all good people -- and, above that, they’re kids. If anyone deserves out, it’s them. So, for the last time: why me?”

He couldn’t seem to find an answer. His mouth hung slightly open, as if he was shocked at the outburst.

“Say it. Say the quiet part out loud,” Marinette dared him.

She didn’t actually want to hear it, though. She didn’t want him to say that ‘I care about you more than them’. Marinette liked to think that she’d ended up the way she had because she was inadequate in some way, that if she had tried a little harder or that if she had been just a little more skilled maybe she might have gotten out in a legal way. It was what kept her sane. It was a personal problem, not a systemic one. Personal problems could be fixed, systemic problems never would be. But this entire job challenged that very ideal. Because this ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ she had created was close to the one that had existed ten years ago, but this Marinette was getting so many more opportunities... she was friends with a Wayne and the bats. It had only been three and a half months and she had already found two different ways that she could have gotten out, but if she could do it now then that meant she had always had the capability. It meant that the thing that could have saved her -- no, that the thing that had doomed her was nothing more than bad luck and a lack of good connections.

Maybe Red Robin knew that she didn’t actually want to hear it, or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to say it… but, whatever the reason, he turned around and made his way towards the window.

“I know I’m a bad person, Red. We both can see that. And that’s fine. But you don’t seem to know that you’re not a good person, either.”

He glanced back at her, lips drawn in a thin line, but didn’t say anything. He simply slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.

She let herself sink to the floor and bury her face in her knees.

She’d gotten what she’d wanted.

So, why did it feel so awful?

~~~

SpoilerAlert: canary totally has a knife kink

TheBetterCanary: what the fuck

SpoilerAlert: why else would you use knives almost exclusively

TheBetterCanary: because theyre quiet

TheBetterCanary: and stabby

SpoilerAlert: you’re so right i’m so sorry

~~~~~

Next

Taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje @mystery-5-5 @flyhighdreamer @starlit-dreaming @aespades @lowhangingtreebranches @twsssmlmaa @queenz-z

[bluejayblueskies]

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

 After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

 Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

 And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

 It had gone like this:

 They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

 It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

 The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

 Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

 “Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

 Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

 Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

 “I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

 Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

 Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

 It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

 At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

 It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

 Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

 The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

 After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

 “It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

 But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

 Clearly, he’d been wrong.

 He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

 “Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

 His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

 “It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

 “Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

 “Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

 Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

 He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

 “Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

 Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

 “Martin, what—?”

 One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

 It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

 When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

 Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

 Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

 Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

 Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

 Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

 “I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

 Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

 Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

 “Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

 Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

 Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

 That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

 “Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

 Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

 “I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

 Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

 The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

Taken

Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, Language Summary: You’ve been living on the train for as long as you could remember along with your brother. The front section can really mess up you in the tail section.

A/N: Excuse the mistakes that appear in this fic, this fic is HELLA old so please bear with me, this is an old fic and so I didn’t know where my mind was going lol

You were just getting ready to head to sleep, seeing Curtis who people call their leader. Ignoring that he was there, you were slowly getting ready to climb up to your bed. "Hey, Nicholas." You heard Curtis speak to your little brother. You turn around and saw Curtis look up at you. "Y/N."

"Curtis." You say, helping Nicholas up on the bed. Curtis let out a small sigh, "Look Y/N, I'm sorry about Edgar-"

"Don't apologize. Edgar should be the one to apologize, I don't eat anyways so what's the point of arguing that he stolen food from me?" You shrugged, slowly began to get Nicholas in bed. "You starving yourself isn't gonna get us out of here," He says.

"It'll get me out of this damn train. I don't want to wake up everyday with all of us bruised and bloodied. My parents died to protect me. Now I'm doing the same for my brother. What's it been, Curtis? 17 fucking years on this goddamn crazy train." You said. You slowly climbed up and dragged the small old curtain to cover the bright light over your guys' bed.

.

"Y/N. Y/N, wake up." You opened your eyes slowly to see Nicholas shaking you. "They're calling us." You quickly sat up, hearing men yelling and Curtis pulled the curtain back. "Come on." He helps Nicholas down and then you jumped down. Everyone lined up where they were supposed to be. "This is pathetic..." You muttered, Curtis looks over to you. "Just do what the say, it's not hard," He says, keeping his eyes forward. You heard the guard talk, men holding guns behind him, even the doors behind were opening slowly but closing afterwards. "Row one." His clicks on the button in hand. The front row sits down. "Two." The next one does the same.

"Three."

"Four."

"Five," Your row sits down but you only stood up, Curtis noticed you didn't sit. "Y/N-"

"Ma'am, sit down." The guard calls, you just stood there. "Sit down!" The man behind him pulls his gun up. "Y/N, sit down!" Curtis says harshly, one of the guards behind begins to walk up with a baton. Curtis stood up, holding your arm. "I got her! I got her! She's just... tired. Not functioning right at this moment." Curtis puts his hand up to keep them from aiming their guns at her. "Well, get her functioning. Next time we won't hesitate." The guard snaps, Curtis finally pulls you down onto your knees.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked, you just looked forward not bothering to look at him. Curtis slips his hand into yours and that finally made you glance at him. "Don't ever do that again." He asked. Edgar looked over at you two. "That wasn't the plan was it?" Edgar asked, Curtis shook his head.

.

It's been a few hours, you and your brother were exhausted, you never ate the bars that they made. It concerned Curtis, you weren't skinny but you weren't caught eating either. It was either you give your bars to Edgar, Nicholas, or Curtis. You were holding Nicholas on the bed you two shared, your hand brushing in his brown curly hair. "I'm scared," Nicholas says, you pulled him into your chest, "I know... I'll keep you safe." You heard people were called out for the worse part for your little brother. Every kid would be lined up and some will be chosen for something you couldn't know.

But they would never return, it scared the both of you. You were older than him, he was just 5 and you were 20 years older than him. You both slightly gasped when you saw Curtis who looked at you, "Come on-"

"No," You said, holding your brother close, "They'll take him." Curtis held out his hand, "You have to come. Or they'll hurt you both." For some reason you nodded, Curtis helped your brother down from your top bunk. Curtis gently held your waist as he helped you down. His hand placed on your back as he helped you guys gather around. Kids were put up ahead, you slowly hid Nicholas behind you. "Y/N-"

"Shut up." You grit your teeth, Curtis knew they could hurt you if you didn't give up your brother. But you loved him. You saw one of the men look up, seeing the unusual look on your face, keeping your eyes low. The lady with the yellow jacket walks up to you, seeing your hand drawn to your back. She lunged forward and grabbed your brother. You instantly shoved her away from him but she had a good grip on him, "No! Let him go!" You screamed, trying to grab your brother's hand, or rip her hands off his arm.

One of the others kid was taken and they tried to fight back and get their kid. You cried, pushing passed the people to grab your brother but Curtis came behind and held you. "No! Let go of me! Nicholas! Nicholas!" After they were done measuring him, she took him and the other kid through the doors. "Nicholas!" You screamed, a guard came up and slammed his gun stock into your head and you stumbled to the ground.

Your eyes slowly opened, hearing chatter and small cries. Your eyes went to the side to see people pass by. You slowly sat up but the pain immediately caused you to fall back. The curtain was drawn back and you saw Curtis. "Hey," He says, you slowly drew your eyes back to the ceiling.

He lifted the cloth off your forehead and sighs, "You should stay down for a bit. They hit you pretty hard-"

"I want Nicholas-"

"We can't do anything," He says, "Not now we can't."

You grit your teeth, "You let them do it. You let them take him."

"They would've killed both of us." He says, you shake your head, "When you die, you're free. We're all animals on this train that takes us nowhere. I don't care if I die." Curtis reached over to gently place on your shoulder. "I'm sorry... Tanya lost her son. We're all gonna find them and we'll return them back safely."

"It's over, Curtis. For me." You felt a tear slip down your cheek. "We can't get him back. I don't know what they'll do with him." You winced when you sat up. Curtis trying to help you lay down, "Y/N, you need to lay down-"

"No! I want Nicholas! Those bastards took him. He's everything to me!"

"You're everything to me to! I don't want you to die on this train."

"Everyone dies on this train. He's my brother! He's my Nicholas-" Curtis jumps up and pulls you into his chest, "I know. I know..." Softly, he said. You felt his fingers slowly brush your hair, your sobs muffled in his coat. You clamped his coat in your hands, crying into his chest. "I love him. Now I lost him and I can't get him back-"

"I promise you. I will get him back," Curtis kept you in his embrace, speaking softly to keep your sobs quiet and calm. You slowly calmed down, tears that were dragged down your cheeks. It could have filled a glass of water just on how much you cried. Your head pounding painfully bad, Curtis slowly pulls away, "You should rest." He began to move off but you stopped him. "No. Don't," Your bottom lip quivered, "Stay with me."

He slowly exhales and laid down next to you, you both faced each other, your arm draping over him to stay close to him as possible. He was warm, and to be honest you were freezing, the blankets you guys had were useless. You let out a shaky breath, "I love you, Curtis..." You felt his arm drape over your frame and pulled you in closer.

"I love you, too."

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[blue-lions-baby]

Operation Confession (Dimitri x Reader) [Ch. 1]

hi!! so sorry for the inactivity! i’ve been super busy preparing for college n stuff, so i didn’t really have time to write anything... but like i also didn’t want to go *another* week of not posting anything so lol

i’ve been working on this fic for almost a month now and as i was approaching the 5000 words mark, i figured it would probably be best to chop it up into more.... manageable sections ^^’ please enjoy~

spoiler-free and pre-timeskip fluff!

~*~

Oh, this was perfect.

Sylvain watched in pure amusement at the scene playing out before his very eyes. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, reduced to nothing more than a blushing schoolboy antsy with the love bugs and raging hormones. He weakly disguised his chuckle with a cough when he saw yet another quill snap in the blonde’s hand, most likely in reaction to that adorable pouting face you had put up. You had absolutely no idea what type of effect and the severity of said effect you had on the prince.

Which made it all the more entertaining.

You didn’t mean to-- in fact, you weren’t even aware of the raging feelings Dimitri held towards you.

But Sylvain knew.

And you could bet your ass he was gonna do everything in his power to help his longtime friend man up and confess to the girl of his dreams.

Dimitri’s cheeks, once dusted with only a faint pink, suddenly became a hodgepodge of every shade of red when he realized that was the third quill he broke in this hour alone. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, helplessly looking to his teacher for help.

“Your Highness... Have you broken another quill?” Dedue murmured beside him, concern eminent in his voice. Dimitri looked down at the large splinter running down its side and mentally banged his head against the desk.

“It appears so... I will request a replacement from the Professor.” He muttered back, silently rising to his feet and making his way to the desk up front. He was suddenly stopped on his 4-step journey when Byleth (with a crinkle in their nose and a sigh) redirected their frazzled student to a whole box of spare quills behind the blackboard. Dimitri-- very much aware that this box filled with ludicrous amounts of quills were entirely for him-- bowed deeply to the professor, picked up the feathery thing, and hurried back to his desk.

You looked up from your work to give your eyes a break from their swimming lessons and accidentally made eye contact with the returning prince. You both paused for a split second before you flashed him a heartfelt smile; a gentle warmth kissed the surface of your cheeks and you averted your eyes back to your studies.

A resounding snap reverberated throughout the quiet classroom.

“Dimitri?”

“Y-Yes, Professor?”

“See me after class.”

“Yes, Professor...”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

While the rest of the class huddled outside the door and watched their house leader write “I will not break another quill” line after line on the blackboard, Sylvain looped an arm around your waist and winked.

“Hey, (F/N). Mind if I steal you for a bit?”

“Um... Sure.” Wary of his skirt-chasing tendencies, you were reluctantly led away from your classmates and into a more secluded part of the monastery.

“This better not be one of your tricks again, Sylvain... I already told you, I don’t like you in that way.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Sylvain’s lips formed into an exaggerated pout and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Nah, this ain’t about me for once. It’s about a certain... someone.” He continued rather vaguely.

“A certain someone? Sylvain, are you sure this isn’t about you?”

“It’s really not, I swear.” He put his hands up in surrender and seeing him genuine for once, you decided to believe him.

“Well, before I continue, I just wanna know if you... y’know.” Sylvain’s eyebrows wriggled very suggestively and a teasing smirk splayed his features. Your heart thundered in your ear, already knowing where this was going.

“If I...?” You whispered, taut fingers knotting the fabric of your uniform.

“Like, like-like anyone?”

Sylvain wished with all his heart that he had some way to capture the look and flood of colors that quickly took hold of your face. He watched in silent amazement as your face shifted from a barely-there pink to strawberry red in a matter of seconds. Gotcha.

“W-Well, I mean--” You took a shaky step backwards and your jaw clenched so tightly you were certain you were gonna chip a tooth. “There is this guy... Wait, why am I telling you this?! It’s none of your business!”

You rammed past the tall male with enough force to almost knock him over as you promptly made your way back to where the rest of your classmates were.

Satisfied with the laughable drop in quality in Dimitri’s penmanship, Byleth finally let the poor male join his classmates outside. His fingers twitched in an unsightly fashion and his wrist throbbed and cricked with every motion he made. He let out a guttural groan, making small, crackling adjustments to his neck and shoulder. The only thing he had left to do today was train, but he’d probably just go ahead and retire to his bed, at least for a little while...

Past the sea of heads crowding around him, he saw a flash of (H/C) streak across his vision, followed shortly afterwards by a head of shaggy red. (F/N)...? What were you doing with Sylvain?

Crippling exhaustion transfigured into searing jealousy and his eyes narrowed at his childhood friend with cold suspicion. Sylvain could easily feel the scorned prince’s hard stare like a knife in the back.

Was he at all fazed? Not in the slightest.

In fact, thought Sylvain as he sidled right up next to you, he wanted to toy with Dimitri’s heart just a little bit more...  

“Excuse me everyone, but I must speak to Sylvain immediately.” He emphasized the last word sharply, gently pushing his way through the crowd. While he brushed shoulders with Ashe and waltzed around Ingrid, he spun around and ended up face-to-face with... Oh Goddess, his legs were turning into jelly.

“Dimitri...? Is something wrong?” You breathed, fumbling with your clammy digits.

“O-Oh!” Said male rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Nothing, Belov-- (F/N). Please excuse me, but it is imperative that I have a little... talk, with Sylvain.”

He left you no room for response as he quickly latched onto the toothy-grinned noble and practically dragged him away on his heels.

“What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?”

“Let us discuss the issue in my quarters.”

“Your quarters? Oh ho ho.~”

“Stop it, Sylvain. ... We’re here now.”

Dimitri watched Sylvain plop on the edge of his bed, his lips upturned in a carefree fashion. Dimitri lowered himself on his uncomfortable desk chair, his hands anxiously squeezing his kneecaps.

“So what would you like to talk about, Your Highness?”

“It’s about (F/N).” Dimitri spoke resolutely. “Sylvain... I know this will sound nothing short of mad, but--”

“Let me guess. You like (F/N).”

Dimitri’s bodily organs ceased to function; every ounce of blood in his body mutated into sharp, prickling icicles that seized his heart in a snare of terror and dread.

“I-- Wait, how--?”

“Your Highness. No offense, but pretty much everyone knows how you feel about her. You’re not exactly... subtle.”

Dimitri? Not subtle? Even after the extraordinary lengths he went through to make sure you remained ignorant of his true feelings for you? His brain filed through each and every interaction he’s had with you, combing through each word and shaky glance and awkward blush exchanged between either of you. Well, sure, he’s no master of disguise, but he wasn’t that bad... right?

While Dimitri’s thoughts remained in utter chaos, Sylvain coolly continued.

“Hey, about that lil’ act earlier... I was just messin’ with you, Your Highness. (F/N)’s a serious cutie, but I’m really not after her. I swear.” Sylvain winked. “Plus, she doesn’t even like me. She actually told me she likes--”

“WHO?!” Before Sylvain even had time to process-- well, anything-- Dimitri was on his feet rattling the poor noble to and fro, completely forgetting the crippling strength his Crest bestowed him.

“Gah! Stop it! That hurts!” Sylvain cried, trying with all his might to pry Dimitri’s iron grip from his shoulders.

Coherency finally returning, Dimitri immediately unclasped his digits from Sylvain. An expression of apologetic horror shot through his eyes as he stumbled back, back, back against his desk. The chest of both men heaved violently; raspy and hasty apologies slipped out of Dimitri’s lips while pain-stricken groans and a few obscenities raced out of Sylvain’s.  

“I’m so-... I’m so sorry, Sylvain, I-- I’m so, so sorry--”

“Augh, Goddess... You’ve got quite a grip there, Your Highness...” Sylvain chuckled weakly, feeling his skin swell and bruise.

“Allow me to fetch a healer for you!”

“N-No worries... Ugh... Just, I need to talk to you.”

“Sylvain--”

“Please. Seeing you skirt about this issue is far more painful than any bruise you could give me... But I’m not gonna lie, this one comes pretty close.”

Dimitri drew in a deep breath and settled in his desk chair, its wooden legs creaking slightly from his weight. He planted his elbows firmly by his kneecaps and rested his chin on folded hands.

“Lemme ask you a question, Your Highness. Do you truly love (F/N)?”

“Yes.” Dimitri answered unfazed, but suddenly realized the gravity of his response and drooped his eyes towards the floor.

“Then tell her!”

“I... I can’t. I’m afraid I lack the confidence to waltz up to a girl and profess my feelings to her. Especially with what happened to...” Dimitri shivered at the awkwardly painful memory and continued. “Sylvain, what if she doesn’t like me in that way? Then I’d have made a fool of myself in front of everybody. But most importantly, her...”

“Well, since she didn’t tell me exactly who she liked, there’s no surefire way to know...” Sylvain acquiesced. “But I’ve got a real good feeling about this. Trust me! If there’s one thing in the world that I can help you with, it would be something like this.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right...” Dimitri pondered, sighing in defeat. “But regardless of whether she likes me or not, I am unable to simply walk up to her and tell her my feelings. That’s...”

Dimitri trailed off, dejection glossing his pastel blues.

“I don’t deserve someone like her.” He breathed out just above a whisper. Poignancy took hold of Sylvain’s heart after hearing the sincerity in Dimitri’s voice. One look at the despondent royal was enough to tell him how much he believed those words-- how much Dimitri believed that he, a beast stained by blood and vengeance, could never have a beauty as tender and loving as you.

“Hey, come on Your Highness... It’s not fair on your part to be giving yourself so little credit.”

“Sylvain, look at me.” Dimitri cupped his throbbing head in his hands and he growled. “I am a monster. I can not drag someone as pure, lovely, and beautiful as (F/N) into...”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“She deserves someone else-- someone who can bring her true happiness. Someone who’s... not me.”

Sylvain gritted his teeth from the dark and pulverizing atmosphere. Dimitri was spiraling. Further, faster into the void.

“Cheer up, Your Highness!” Sylvain bubbled half-heartedly, desperately trying to reel his friend from the abyss. “You’re a great guy! Hey. Remember when we went out to cull some bandits outta that one village? And some bad guy almost got (F/N)? You managed to swoop in just before that happened! You saved her, Deems. The look of pure adoration and gratitude in her eyes after the battle... It felt good, right?”

“I... suppose.”

“Oh! And remember when (F/N) was having a hard time grasping the concept of that battle formation the other day? Who came in, and spent the rest of their afternoon tutoring her until she could explain why you needed to send the flyers in first?”

“... I did.”

“Yup! And who’s the chivalrous, hard-working leader of the Blue Lions that everyone looks up to?”

“I am.”

“Atta boy, Your Highness! See? You’re a great guy! And the fact that you’re a prince doesn’t hurt your chances either.” Sylvain’s eyebrows danced smugly.

Dimitri’s chest rose and fell in laughter; Sylvain’s eyes lit up like a star. He managed to save him-- at least for now.

“Thank you, Sylvain. I really needed that encouragement. I... I apologize for--”

“No worries, Your Highness. ... I’m just glad I was able to help.” Sylvain clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Um, Sylvain...”

“Hm?”

“How do I confess to her? Properly?”

Sylvain clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ve got a plan.”

[novannna]

You Were the Hands That Held Me

Danissa soulmate au.  everyone has a soul mate, and any marking that appears on their skin, appears on yours.  narcissa’s pov.  Kinda angsty, but also fluffy.  

tw: self harm, and mentions of abuse kinda

wc: 2363

Narcissa stared at her arm in awe.  This was the first time her soulmate had ever drawn something on her skin.  She had felt the same cuts and bruises her soulmate had received, just like everyone else, but this was the first time her soulmate had deliberately marked her own skin.

Messy butterflies with uneven wings, and twisted antennas marched down Narcissa’s forearm.  

“Oh,” she whispered.  “Cool.”  She grabbed the nearest marked, and held it poised above the other arm, ready to reply, but thought better of it.  

She shouldn’t force her soulmate to stop their art for Narcissa.  She dropped the marker, and kept watching the thick lines as they covered her entire arm.  

That night she washed it all away in scalding hot water before her grandfather noticed.  He wouldn’t approve of Narcissa communicating with her soulmate.  

He hated the idea of How there was one person in the world, waiting just for you.  

His soulmate had died years ago, leaving him heartbroken and angry, bitter to the world.   

If Narcissa wasn’t careful, he might take the anger out on her.    

Narcissa could take it, but she didn’t want to hurt her soulmate too.  Narcissa would feel awful.  

So she tried to ignore the small flowers and butterflies her soulmate drew constantly.  Narcissa tried her very best.  

---

Years later, Narcissa wrote to her soulmate for the first time.  It was in the middle of the night, when Narcissa had felt a searing pain across her arm that looked like a red slit across her pale skin.  

Her soulmate was in trouble.  She couldn’t just stand by now. Narcissa had to do something.  

Grabbing a tissue to staunch the bleeding, Narcissa scrawled across her hand in thick ink. 

STOP

I can’t , her soulmate replied. 

Please, just hear me out, Narcissa wrote, hoping she could do enough.  Hoping she could convince the person who had drawn butterflies everywhere on their body, that maybe the world really did want them. 

please, just stay out of this

I can’t. This is my body too.  And even though I’ve never met you, you're my soulmate and I care about you. 

Fine. I’ll listen. Her soulmate's handwriting was a little shaky, but very neat, with tall, loopy letters.  

I’m guessing you’ve been having a hard time with life recently, Narcissa started. 

I guess

Do you want to be here?  Narcissa asked bluntly

There was a long pause.  I don’t know, her soulmate finally responded.  I love Earth, but the people…. I can’t stand the people. All they do is bring hate and hurt to me

I get that.  But the people don’t matter. You do.  Danna wrote desperately. 

No I don’t. I’ve never done a single good thing in my life

You have!  You’ve made me smile!  You’ve made me laugh!  

Her soulmate replied, When?  This is the first time I’ve ever talked to you

When we were younger, you used to constantly doodle little flowers and butterflies all across our bodies. I loved to watch you draw them, watch the blocky little lines appear across my body.   Danna smiled as she recalled the delicate insects she wore across her body daily. 

I thought you hated those. That’s why I stopped

No, of course not!

Then why did you erase them?

Narcissa sighed. She thought for a second, then wrote, my grandfather. He hates soulmates. If he knew I was communicating with mine, I’m afraid he would hurt me.  And doing that would hurt you. 

But… that means you could get in trouble right now!

No. I won’t, I’m fine. You are more important.  Tell me, what made you want to hurt yourself today?

I guess I’m just tired of being ignored. I’m tired of being treated like a child. I want to leave my house, but I can’t. I can’t live on my own. 

Thats okay, you shouldn’t be ignored.  You should be your own person, and if your parents cant see that, they’re idiots!!

Narcissa capped the pen, and tried to wrap her blanket around her arm, the blood slowly soaked through the fabric, staining the blanket a bright red.  How would she explain that to her grandfather?  It didn’t matter right now though.  Right now, she had to make sure her soulmate was okay.  That was her one and only goal.  Nothing else mattered.  Narcissa had the opportunity to maybe save a life right now.  That’s what she had to do.  

They aren’t.  I’m the one who’s screwing up, her soulmate replied.  I cant ever get anything right.  Im just a big mistake that shouldn't even exist.  The worlds probably better without me

THATS NOT FUCKING TRUE!  Narcissa scrawled as quickly as she could.  I dont believe it.  Not for a second.  Just by being here, you’ve made the world a better place.  Everyday, I wake up and check my body for some indicator that you’re here.  I can’t help but think about the fact that there is someone out there meant for me.  And I’m meant for someone.  

I guess…

Narcissa sighed heavily.  She had to go to bed before her grandfather woke and saw her light on.  

Are you okay?  She wrote.  Are you in any danger?  If you are, im here.  For both of us

A minute passed before the reply came.  I dont think so.  I think im better.  But… if i feel bad again, can i talk to u?  This actually really helped me.  Thank you

Narcissa smiled.  Of course!!!  Just, could u write somewhere less obvious?

Sure.  I understand.

Narcissa smiled gratefully.  How ‘bout our ankles?  That’s less obvious and easy for me to hide

She felt pressure on her right foot, and slid it out from beneath her blanket.  A smile, and little butterfly doodle greeted her eyes.  

Good night, soulmate, Narcissa wrote

Good night.  Sleep tight.  And… thank you.

Narcissa smiled.  She slid out of bed, and held her arm close to her chest while creeping to the bathroom.  Once inside, she scrubbed all of the ink off her skin, and bandaged the red slit shut.  

Narcissa and her soulmate were okay.  That was all that mattered.  Everything was alright.  At least for now.  But now was the only thing Narcissa could bear to think about.  

---

After that one night, Narcissa’s soulmate never hurt themselves like that again.  But that didn’t mean they weren’t hurting.   Narcissa could tell they were hurting themselves in other ways.  

She tried to help.  She wrote reminders every few hours, telling her soulmate to eat, and drink water.  She wrote encouraging messages, and doodled across their skin.  

But still, Narcissa would feel her stomach growl with hunger, and her tongue beg for more water.  She felt her eyes grow heavy even though she had slept almost 10 hours the night before.  Her soulmate just didn’t care, and there was nothing Narcissa could do. 

They would talk to each other constantly, ranting about their day, or commenting about something they saw.  Narcissa grew much closer to the person she had never even seen the face of. Closer to them then anyone else she had ever known.  

Even her grandfather. 

Narcissa had a very strained relationship with her grandfather.  She knew deep down he loved her, but he had a hard time showing it.  He was caught in a life of crime, and there was no way out.  

He had been an arms dealer for years, selling guns and other weapons on the black market.  He made a lot of money, but not a lot of friends.  He was a bitter old man, who took all of his anger out on Narcissa.  He had never hit her, but his words were hard enough. 

Narcissa knew she was being abused, and belittled, and manipulated, but she always ended up excusing his actions. Or even worse, sometimes she would place the blame on herself.  She knew she was in a bad situation, but it was one she was stuck in. 

Narcissa talked about him lots with her soulmate.  It turned out, they had a similar situation with their parents.  

Mistreated, abused, bullied, shamed. 

The two escaped into their skin, engrossed with each other.  They held each other right through the pain and the tears.  Though at times, both of them desperately wanted to, they held strong and never hurried themselves for fear of hurting the other. 

---

One day, the straw finally snapped for Narcissa. She was 17 now, and old enough to live her own life. Old enough to understand what her grandfather gave her wasn’t love, it was trauma.  

After he yelled at her for an hour straight because she put a book in the wrong bookshelf, Narcissa decided she had taken enough. 

Can we go?  She desperately scrawled across her ankle. Can we escape these sorry excuses for lives?

Her soulmate wrote back a few minutes later. What do you mean?

We’re old enough to live on our own. Why are we forcing ourselves to live with these people who treat us so terribly. Why don’t we just run away together?

Ok. The reply shocked Narcissa. She had been expecting them to try and convince her otherwise, make her see the absurdity. Not agree.  But Narcissa was glad they agreed. They both deserved a chance to start over. To make a life for themselves, and do it right. 

You will?

With you?  Of course I will silly. I’ve been waiting years for me to ask

When?   When can we leave?

Whenever your ready

A week, Narcissa declared, I’ll meet you in a week at Gatlon City, at the train station

Ok.   I’ll be there, I promise, her soulmate wrote. 

Me too. Narcissa grinned. She was finally escaping. Finally starting fresh. Finally leaving her grandfather to be with someone who truly cared.  Narcissa couldn’t wait.

---

Narcissa creaked the door open, cringing as the hinges squealed loudly. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?”  Her grandfather slurred from the couch. 

Shitshitshitshit, Narcissa though. She was caught.  She was never going to escape her life.

“I told you earlier this week I’m going to a friends house tonight,” Narcissa said lightly, trying to mask her terror. 

“Stop lying!”  He screamed.  “I know that’s not true, you don’t have any friends.”

Narcissa cringed.  

She breathed in deeply.  She was already leaving forever, there was no point in lying anymore.  

“Fine  I’m leaving.  For good.”  She braced herself for the rage. 

Instead, he laughed.  “You?  You're leaving?”  He scoffed.  “You would never.  You’re too scared and dependent on me.”

Narcissa drew herself up.  “No.  You’re wrong.  I’m leaving, to find my soulmate.  We’re making our own life.  Together.”

He gaped at her.  “You can’t!  You can’t go to your soulmate,” he spat.  “You’ll live a terrible life.  You’ll be tied down forever.”

Narcissa shook her head.  “No.  I won’t.  I’ll live the best life I can.  Because I’ll be happy.  I won’t live in fear anymore.  I’m sorry you weren’t meant for your soulmate, but it’s different for me.  I know them.  We are meant for each other.  I wouldn’t expect you to understand.  All you know is hate.”

“So you’re really going?”  Her grandfather’s lip curled up.  

Narrcissa nodded.  “I am.  I’m making my own life, as far away from here as possible.”

“Then go!”  He snarled.  “I don’t want you in my house if you won’t see a reason.  Go.”  He picked a book sitting next to him, and hurled it at Narcissa’s head.  

She ducked, her hair ruffling by the wind.  

She turned to him, tears in her eyes.  “Goodbye grandfather.  I’m sorry.”  She threw open the door, and fled into the night.

---

Narcissa’s heart thudded in her ears.  This was it.  This was the day she was going to meet her soulmate.  She knew she should be realistic, but Narcissa couldn’t help imagining the meeting like something out of the sappy romance novels she liked to read.  

She expected the dreary clouds to disappear, and the sun to shine out on top of them.  

She expected to know exactly who was her other half

She expected to run up, into their arms, and kiss them like she had wanted to be kissed her entire life.  

But Narcissa knew how unlikely it was.  But, a girl could hope, couldn’t she?  

She inhaled deeply.  Uncapping the pen with her teeth, she scrawled on her palm, I’m here  

Me too, her soulmate wrote back.  The familiar loopy red marks eased Narcissa.  She knew this person.  This was her soulmate.  Everything was going to be okay.  It would all be okay.  

Her eyes locked onto a girl standing near a bench, her head bent over her hand, a pen tucked behind her ear.  

Somehow, Narcissa knew.  She knew this was the person she had been searching for her whole life.  She knew that the girl was her soulmate.  

Summoning every miniscule scrap of courage Narcissa could find, she approached the girl.  

She tapped her shoulder.  “Hi,” Narcissa breathed, heart pounding.  “I’m Narcissa.  I think I’m your-”

She was interrupted by the girl throwing her arms around her tightly.  

“I’ve waited so long to meet you,” Narcissa’s soulmate said roughly, her voice thick with tears.  “I’m Danna.”  

Narcissa laughed.  She realized she was crying.  “Me too.”

“I feel like I already know everything about you,” Danna laughed.  She swiped her eyes.  

Narcissa nodded.  “I know we’re soulmates, but I want you to know I understand if you don’t want me,” she said.  “I get it- not all soulmates are really soulmates.”

She was cut off by Danna pressing her lips to hers.  “I want you,” Danna breathed.  “You're the one who I’ve trusted with every secret I’ve ever held.  You’re the one who helped me when no one else could.  You’re the one who took care of me.”  Danna held their hands up, exposing the thick identical scars that spread across their wrists.  “You are the only other person in the world who understood, and actually helped me.  You were the hands that held me.”  Danna reached her hand to Narcissa’s face, wiping away her tears.  “I want you, and no one else.”

“Me too,” Narcissa whispered.  “Me too.”

Tag list: @novissa @thepurpledragon4444  @phobidawg @janisarkisian  @rvbell @lavenderbloo @redassassin  (let me know if you want to be added/taken off!!!)

[itendedbadly]

Invited In

An explanation: So, the reader is going through her fertile cycle, and this thought came to me and I couldn’t leave it alone, so here you are. It’s un-beta’d, purely self-indulgent, and yeah that was an unintentional throwback to Twilight listen it was an accident. Honestly, I wrote this because I’m a horny bitch for Claes Bang and his role in BBC’s Dracula and needed an outlet for my fantasies, no I won’t apologize, and I really like imagining him saying dirty things because his voice really gets to me.

Pairing: Dracula x reader

Tags: Mentions of blood and gore, dirty talk, sexual reference, the reader is not technically his servant freely?, Dracula has a super-nose, honestly the reader should’ve just gone to bed

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: “You daft girl,” his voice was a low growl.

Another inhale and a heavy groan vibrated against you.

“Your smell, it makes me want to eat that sweet cunt of yours.”

Three years. It was a long three years you’d been with the Count, helping with personal affairs and just overall trying not to get in his way. The last thing you wanted to be was a nuisance considering his allowance of your stay in his condo ever since the unfortunate circumstance of your accidentally viewing his “extra-curricular” activities. Well, “allowing” you to stay was a bit of an exaggeration. The terms of your agreement not to kill you were that you kept his secret and stayed in his home to help him adapt to the different climate of the present date. This included the management of his social media presence as well as introducing modern fixtures into his lovely home (the television heralded an immediate fascination from Dracula as well as, surprisingly, detachable shower heads).

Now, if someone asked you how you felt about said arrangement (which they didn’t) you would say that while preferable to the alternative, it didn’t come without its hazards. Such hazards including: Constant fear that the slightest mistake will lead to death, the constant degrading reminder from the Count that the slightest mistake could lead to death (should the mood take him), and that no matter how hard you tried, you could never escape. What you wanted was and shall remain irrelevant to him, because how could such a selfish creature ever contemplate the desires of a young, empty-headed girl. Or rather, that’s what he labelled you in his mind, if he ever spared a thought for you at all. Though, you had an inkling that he cared for you more than he let on. If you ever said something particularly clever, or helped to solve an issue weighing on his mind, he would sometimes afford you the same kind of glance an owner would for their pet after doing a trick with no training.

It was this idea that brought a sly grin to your lips while picking up a towel and left-over pieces of clothing Dracula had, again, left on the floor of his master bedroom. Contrary to popular belief, brought about by his well put-together demeanor, the Count was, in fact, a bit of a slob. Constantly forgetting things or just throwing others away out of disinterest, it left you to clean up the mess. Though, you made it known that you drew the line at any piece of clothing or linen with a blood-stain on it. The idea of who it may have belonged to often left you feeling queasy and remorseful for serving such an unempathetic master. Though, you would never admit to his face that you thought of him as such, either unempathetic or as your master. Any scrap of power you could successfully keep him from holding over you, you would.

You’re brought out of your now slightly-dreary musings as the door slams downstairs. Uh-oh. The Count had been in a dreadful mood for the past few days, with no explanation as to why, but it seemed the mere sight of you made it worse. Quickly, you threw what you were holding into the dirty laundry basket and tried to slip to your room, where you would often find your sanctuary when Dracula had said something particularly harsh. You didn’t make it more than a few steps before you heard your name being called in a tone conveying urgency. Your chest swelled and deflated in a heavy sigh as you made your way downstairs. It wasn’t halfway down when you heard Dracula conversing with someone, presumably over the phone since there was no other discernible voice. It took some strength not to meekly peek around the corner of the bottom of the stairs before rounding into the spacious living room.

“Yes, I said that’s what I wanted. No, you don’t need to come my home and further discuss the details.” It seemed you were catching the tail-end of a conversation between him and his lawyer. “Alright, I’m hanging up now, yes, yes, yes, goodbye.” The Count brought the phone slowly away from his ear, and faintly you could hear the sounds of someone struggling to be heard before the call was cut off.

“Y/N, come here a moment. I need you to dispatch of my profile on this particular dating website.” Sigh. Seemed Tinder hadn’t worked out, then, a matter most definitely having been brought up by his lawyer. You reluctantly made your way to the laptop sitting, already opened, on the coffee table. With a few mouse clicks and password entries for confirmation, the Tinder profile was deleted and with it, any trace of how Dracula was finding his victims.

A cold presence settling in behind you made you aware that your actions were being closely observed, and that, if you wanted, a single step back would press you to the vampire, back to front. An errant thought you swept away with a quick shake of your head.

“Are you displeased with my orders?” You quickly turned your chin over your shoulder to address the Count, hoping to dispel any ideas he had towards your dissatisfaction.

“No, sir.” Nothing further was needed, and you hoped he would leave the thoughtless action alone. And, it seemed to be so, since you felt his presence fade and heard soft footsteps to the couch, where he sat down heavily.

“I think tonight will be a quiet one, so you may dismiss yourself to your bedroom.”

Now this, this was odd. It seemed the ever-energetic supernatural being was … worn down. Considering this, what you should have done was thank him and immediately start to the stairs, and then head down the opposite hallway to his, towards your own room for some quiet, personal time. Instead, you couldn’t help the words that practically fell out of your mouth.

“Do you- I mean, are you alright, sir?” The Count didn’t seem to pay any attention to the oddness of your actually questioning his orders, and merely waved a large, pointy-nailed hand in your direction in a clear sign of ‘go away’.

“Don’t bother your pretty little head over it and run along like a good girl.” A flush tried to make its way onto your cheeks, but you successfully stifled it and calmed your heart rate with gentle breaths, so as to not let him know how much those two words actually affected you.

You gave a hesitant nod, even though he wasn’t actually looking at you and made your way past his figure, towards the stairs. Just as you dropped your shoulders and let a long breath past your lips, you felt a hand of icy fingers wrapped like steel around your wrist. With a gasp, you looked back to see that Dracula had nearly lifted himself off the sofa, bending away from it and towards you in his, clearly, unplanned grab of your wrist. Even his eyes seemed to widen a little, taking in what he had done. You looked at his face, expecting another command, but instead found that he would not meet your eyes, merely staring at his own, apparently-traitorous, hand. In a movement that screamed the effort of prying off a metal beam, he released your own appendage finger by finger. The vampire turned his head away, clearly waiting for your departure, but you just stood there, staring at him.

In three years, you had not seen this sort of behavior from him in any way or form. Maybe he was ill, did vampires even get ill? Maybe he was finally getting too old, and he was not, in fact, immortal. In any case, the smart thing to do would have been excuse the action and head back to your room regardless. However, smart wasn’t a word you would use to describe yourself, brave certainly, but not smart.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Count?”

Almost as if speaking was too much effort, his lips parted and closed again, resulting in him turning his entire body away from you. You admired the broadness of his shoulders from this heightened angle, and the always well-styled black locks on his head. You didn’t want to presume the meaning behind his actions, all too aware that jumping to conclusions could not only break your heart, but lose you your life. In a bold move that you normally would never even consider, you placed your hand on his shoulder and let out a shaky breath at the firmness of his frame, unable to help yourself imagining it placed against you. But, even as you thought about it, the muscles beneath your hand began to relax and almost sag down onto him. Well, you had certainly never considered it possible that you could help the Count relax in any way. Even so, you drew your hand back and made a few steps to circle towards the older man’s front. What you saw took your breath from your lungs like a punch in the chest.

Pupils surrounded by red and elongated teeth were exposed in a pained grimace, as if he were holding himself back. Quickly realising that you had placed yourself into a precarious position you stepped back, only for a low growl to rumble out of Dracula’s chest. You froze, not wanting to further upset him.

“If- uh, if you’re hungry I could go out, maybe bring someone home.” It wouldn’t be the first time you had asked someone on the street to come back with you, to help you with something, only for them to become the main course for the beastial man in front of you, however guilty it left you feeling.

“I’m not hungry” the words left him in a choked manner, “for food.”

“Oh, ah, well. Um, what exactly could I do to help you, sir?”

“You could leave to your room, run away, this very moment.”

You felt a swell of hurt rise in your chest, was your very presence so distasteful and unwanted to him?

“Have I done something wrong, sir? Do I disgust you?” The words slipped past your lips without permission, yet you let them embolden you and took a few steps forward so that your knees nearly touched him in his near-crouch position.

You could tell he was holding his breath, though the reason for why did not make itself clear to you. Maybe, you had a bad smell lingering on you somewhere? Surely, nothing to call forth this sort of reaction. You waited for him to reprimand you for your behavior, or to even threaten you with the end of your agreement, but he didn’t make a sound, to prevent any sort of intake of air.

With red staining your neck and collarbones, working its way onto your cheeks you asked, “Do I smell bad or something?” A quick sniff to your wrist and hair proved useless, you smelled the same as usual.

At your actions he huffed out what might’ve been a laugh, if he hadn’t breathed back in on habit, the air seeming to get stuck in his throat. A loud snarl wrenched the air and his hands appeared on your hips, with a grip tight enough you were sure you’d see bruises later.

You tried to pull away in fear, despite knowing that the motion would prove obsolete, and felt a shiver run up your back. This was it, you didn’t know what you’d done or what you’d been thinking, but this was it, the end of your agreement, and subsequently, your life.

A pitiful whimper left you as his head nodded forward to rest against your lower stomach and he inhaled heavily, like he would never breathe again.

“You daft girl,” his voice was a low growl, “It’s your scent, darling. But, you don’t smell repulsive.” Another inhale and a heavy groan vibrated against you, where you felt warmth start to pool in your abdomen. “Your smell, it’s divine. It makes me want to eat that sweet cunt of yours.”

A shock of arousal shot through you, and any sound you might’ve made got caught in your throat as he pressed firmer against you.

“Once a month, sweetheart,” he started, “Once a month, I can smell how your wet pussy longs to be filled with my aching cock, and every month it gets harder and harder to deny how much I need it.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as if you are on fire, but they do, and your excitement leaps with every word from his mouth. And, as he lifts his head to make eye contact with you, you know he can see in your eyes just how turned on you are, if he couldn’t already smell it. His lips tug up on one side of his face, and though what he said was filthy, his face seemed to relax as if talking about something as mundane as the weather.

“It’s unusual for someone like me to crave something other than the richness in your veins, but I’ve also never lived with someone living for a prolonged period of time.” He rose slowly to tower over you, “Or maybe,” you felt one of his sharp claws run across your bottom lip gently while looking into his rich brown eyes, “Maybe, you’re just special, hm?” A shimmer of mirth.

Finally, you caught your breath, but couldn’t make your brain put enough words together to make sense.

“I, um- What- Do you, uh-”

“No, no, no,” he shushes you in a sweet manner, though you knew what lay behind it, “No talking, now. I just need one thing.” His head dipped to bring his face closer to yours, and you knew you would be more than happy to oblige to whatever he wanted from you.

“I need an answer, just one, got that, sweet girl?” A sharp nod of your head.

“Good, you’re so good for me, aren’t you?” He cleared his throat, and spoke with clear intent, “Now, may I come in?”

Each word was pronounced slowly, and you knew by the look in his eyes exactly what you would be agreeing to. A moment’s consideration wasn’t need, because you had your answer long before he asked the question.

“Yes, Count Dracula, please come inside.”

[dothwrites]

blood which we drew

Dean/Castiel, 15.09 speculation. I wanted to write MoC!Cas, and this was my take on it. Canon-compliant, so...probably not going to end super happy. 

---

The mark of Cain is stamped upon our foreheads. Across the centuries, our brother Abel was lain in blood which we drew, and shed tears we caused by forgetting Thy love.--Pope John XXIII

---

Once the dust clears, once they determine that Chuck is really gone, once they lick their bleeding wounds clean, Dean reaches out for Cas’ arm. He pushes Cas’ sleeve up, much like Cas once did to him, and looks in at the paler skin of Cas’ forearm. 

The Mark sits on Cas’ skin, close to the location where it once sat on Dean’s arm. 

 Unlike the livid red of the Mark of Cain, this mark is unobtrusive. It’s only slightly darker than Castiel’s skin, and if it weren’t for his prior knowledge, Dean could almost dismiss it as a birthmark. 

He can’t determine the shape. This mark doesn’t bear a resemblance to anything that he’s seen before. “It’s different,” Dean finally says, stupidly. He can’t stop staring at it. “I thought that it would be the same.” 

“No,” Castiel murmurs. His own eyes are trained to the blemish on the once perfect skin. “The Mark of Cain was created to cage The Darkness. it was born of something that was inherently malicious.” His fingers hover over the mark, like they want to touch it, but they’re afraid to. “Chuck...God...” Cas laughs mirthlessly. “Whatever he may have turned out to be, he didn’t begin as a malicious force. He began...” Castiel sighs. “It was good in the beginning. The idea of creation. Free will. It was good.” 

Dean’s fingertips inch up along the smooth skin of Cas’ arm. When they ghost over the mark, Cas’ breathing hitches. A small tremor shakes through his muscle. When Dean presses down more firmly on the mark, Cas’ arm twitches in his hands, like he wants to pull away, but he somehow resists. 

“Free will,” Dean says. He can’t stop looking at the mark. The lines of the mark twist and whorl on Cas’ skin and he can’t find either an ending or a beginning to them. He presses the pad of his thumb squarely in the middle of the mark. A soft cry falls from Cas’ lips. “Looks like we’ve got a lot more of that these days.” 

He strokes over the mark, eyes glued to the sharp lines. Full shivers wrack Cas’ body, but he doesn’t pull away, not even when Dean raises his arm upwards. “There’s a lot you can do with free will,” Dean says, before he presses his lips to the faint blue veins lurking under the thin skin of Cas’ wrists. He drags his lips up the line of Cas’ arm. By the time he kisses just underneath the mark, Cas’ breathing is raspy and audible. 

He presses a kiss to the center of the mark. There’s a faint tingle in his lips, like he’s been sucking on ghost peppers, the soft buzz of electricity humming through his skin. He’d thought that maybe it would taste different, that the skin would be raised, that he’d be flung across the room, something--But there’s just the clean taste of Cas, fresh rainstorms and sweat on his tongue. 

But Cas--Cas reacts like Dean just zapped him with five thousand volts. The moment that Dean’s lips press to the mark, a sharp cry leaves his lips. His muscles tense and his left hand clamps down on Dean’s knee. 

Dean pulls back and finally looks up at Cas. Truth be told, he was afraid to look at Cas before--terrified that this mark would be like the last, and that he would look into Cas’ eyes and not see his angel looking back at him. 

But when he looks into Cas’ eyes, it’s still just the same Castiel looking back at him. Sure, he looks a little flushed and flustered, a little unstrung, but to be fair, Dean has been doing his best to make him that way. 

“Free will,” Dean says. His breath ghosts over the mark and this time he can watch how Cas’ eyes darken, how his pupils expand. “With Chuck gone...anything could happen.” 

He presses his thumb over the mark again, just to watch Cas shudder. Before Cas’ eyes close, he thinks that he might see something swirling around the edges of Cas’ pupils, something ancient and cold, something that regards Dean and everyone else as only pawns in the course of a greater quest--But then a shaky smile spreads across Cas’ face and it’s just Cas in front of him. Just the angel that Dean’s helplessly in love with. 

“Anything?” Castiel asks, and Dean forgets what he thought he saw.

---

And for months, it’s fine. 

Contrary to all of Chuck’s ravings, their world is fine without him. Life continues the same way that it always has except, with perhaps a few, exceedingly welcome additions. Like, Eileen moves in permanently into the bunker. From there she moves into Sam’s bedroom. And Cas...Cas makes a similar horizontal shift, from his bare-bones excuse of a room into Dean’s much more well-decorated room. Dean shares his memory foam mattress with someone who has octopus limbs and who doesn’t technically sleep but who will do a damn good job of faking it when it comes time to do any sort of chores. 

And it’s fine. 

And sometimes Dean will wander in and Cas will be standing, stock-still in the middle of a room, head tilted like he’s listening to the fabric of the earth rumble, and he won’t respond when Dean calls his name. Dean will touch him on the elbow and it will take Cas an eternity to turn around, stiff-limbed like his arms and legs are appendages that he hasn’t learned how to work yet. And when Dean looks at Cas’ eyes, it’s just...it’s empty, but it’s not because there’s something there, something ancient and calculating and so very very vast that even though Dean is a few inches taller than Castiel he feels like he really is craning his head back to look at the top of the Chrysler building. 

And then Cas blinks, and he’s just Cas, just the weird, dorky guy who Dean has somehow inexplicably fallen in love with, and who more inexplicably, loves him back. 

And it’s fine. 

---

It starts slow. 

The hunts start to pick up and the movie nights dwindle until Dean can’t remember the last time that the four of them were in the bunker for longer than it took to grab four hours of sleep, a meal, and a shower. Sam’s eyes are shadowed and, Dean realizes with a lurch, there’s a faint silvering at his temples. Eileen’s lost weight and, where she used to coyly mention a house in town that looked like it had a nice backyard, she now mentions death tolls and body counts and witnesses. 

Ever since they got the news about Claire, none of them laugh much. 

But worse in a way is Cas. Cas, who starts to pull away from Dean, inch by inch. He never needed to sleep, but he would always stay in bed with Dean and allow Dean to pull him selfishly closer during the middle of the night. And when Dean awoke, Cas was always there--sometimes tapping away on a laptop, sometimes flipping through a paperback, sometimes watching something with the volume turned all the way down and subtitles on. Now, Dean wakes to a cold bed whose sheets don’t even hold the impression of another body. Whole days will go by without Cas talking to him, and Dean says that it’s the stress, that it’s the grief, that it’s the frustration, but then he’ll see Cas standing stock still on the roof in the middle of the night, his right forearm bare and the dark weight of foreboding will dip into his stomach--

“Cas,” Dean calls, deliberately vulnerable in just his robe and boxers, not even slippers on his feet. “Come to bed.” 

Cas turns and for a second--Dean can see the calculations rolling, the tumblers falling into place as this thing that is and isn’t Cas tries to place who he is--

And then Cas’ forehead creases in worry as his eyes flick over Dean’s form. “Dean, what are you...You’re not wearing shoes.” 

And despite the hard kernel of worry taking root in the pit of his stomach, despite the cold seeping into his body through the soles of his feet, Dean smiles, because it’s Cas who comes over to him, it’s Cas who ushers him downstairs with an exasperated fondness, it’s Cas who slides into bed behind him and doesn’t even grumble when Dean puts his cold feet against his shins. 

And Dean knows that everything’s going to be fine. 

---

It’s the vamp’s nest that changes everything. 

Dean and Cas had gotten the call from Sam earlier that day--It’s not just a few vamps Dean, there’s like thirty here, what the fuck is happening--and they’d hauled ass to get there. All through the drive, the tension had consumed the both of them. Cas had been quiet, a pensive look on his face as he rolled his shoulders in a continuous motion. 

They’d walked into a bloodbath, Sam and Eileen holed up in a closet with a dwindling supply of dead man’s blood, Eileen with a nasty cut on her forehead and Sam hobbling on what looked like a bad sprain if not an outright break. 

“Cas, I need you to--” Dean had said, dabbing at Eileen’s forehead. He’d meant for Cas to come over and heal Sam and Eileen so that they all stood a chance of making it out of there, but Cas ignored him. He walked with purpose towards the door, his face blank of everything and Dean hadn’t seen that look on his face since...Since thousands of souls were writhing in him and Cas obliterated an archangel with nothing more than a look. 

“Cas, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean snaps, too worried about Sam, too worried about Eileen, too terrified of the way that Cas’ right arm rises until his hand is palm up and at a ninety-degree angle with the floor. He can almost see the faint glow of the mark underneath Cas’ clothes. 

And when Cas turns around, his eyes aren’t the warm shade of blue that Dean falls asleep to every night. They’re cold, wisps of white curling around his pupils. 

“Close your eyes.” The voice echoes around them and it sounds like Cas, but it’s not Cas, Dean doesn’t recognize this creature, this being, but he does recognize the white light gathering in the palm of Cas’ hands. 

He throws his arm up over his eyes, just in time. Blazing heat washes over his skin, and Dean suspects that he’ll have a hell of a sunburn, despite it being mid-February. A shrill ringing sets in his ears. Underneath it, on a lower register, he hears the sounds of screams, and underneath that, the awful sound of flesh sizzling. 

It feels like it takes hours, but it’s probably only seconds, before the heat pulls back and Dean feels like he can breathe. Next to him, he hears Sam’s harsh, quick pants, and Eileen’s ragged gasps. He hesitantly blinks open his eyes and sees--

Cas stands in in the middle of the room. There are no vampires in sight. 

But what there is, Dean finds, is a fine, black ash that crumbles away at the touch. He rubs a little between his fingers and tries not to gag when he realizes...that was a person once. This was a flesh and blood body, and Cas...

But he doesn’t blink until he comes to the side room. 

The door doesn’t want to open, but Dean forces it with a decisive shove of his shoulder. Inside are...He gags and ducks his face into the curve of his elbow. Intellectually, he knows that these used to be human bodies, but their features are warped and twisted beyond recognition. Gaping eye sockets peer accusingly at him and Dean can just catch a glimpse of what looks like screams of pain on their mangled faces. 

“Feeders,” he finally realizes with a sick twist of horror. He feels, instead of sees, Cas behind him and he turns around. Cas peers inside the room, an innocent sort of curiosity on his face. His eyes...his eyes are empty. “Cas, these were feeders!” Dean shouts, pointing at the five corpses in the room. “They were human! They probably didn’t have a choice in being here, they were...” His voice catches on the last word. “Innocent.” 

Cas tilts his head. There’s a disconcerting expression of confusion on his face, like he’s honestly trying to understand what Dean is saying, but it’s just not making sense to him. 

“They were tainted. They weren’t human, not really. Not anymore.” Something resembling compassion lights on his face. It looks like a contortionist trying a new pose. “They didn’t suffer, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Dean gapes. “They didn’t...” He gestures behind him, just barely managing to keep his gag reflex down. “They had time enough to be afraid, which means they had time to suffer!” Uncaring of the consequences, he pushes a hard finger into Cas’ chest. It’s like poking a brick wall. “We don’t kill these people, we save them! That’s what we’ve always done--”

“And how has that worked?” 

Castiel asks the words without malice. There’s an amused note in his voice. “How has saving people worked for you?” 

When Dean has no answer, Castiel tilts his head. “There’s a better way. I’ll show you.” 

Dean closes his eyes because he’s heard those words from Cas before, he’s heard them in his nightmares--

When he opens his eyes, Cas is gone. 

---

{read the rest on ao3}

tags! message/reply to be added/removed!

@screamatthescreen @queenvee08 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @dizzypinwheel @stay-inside-the-salt-ring @deansbff @spaceshipkat @rogerslouis @espejonight28738 @proccastinate 

[misskikuwrites]

Change

Takumi/Corrin (fire emblem fates)

-

All it took was a single letter for everything to change. For Takumi's world to be upended.

The moment he read those words, the moment he found out that he and Corrin weren't related, everything changed.

The feelings he'd been desperately holding back for so long, feelings that he'd cursed himself - despised himself - over, erupted in a fountain of relief. The love he had for her swelled and swelled until he was all but drowning.

He was torn.

Torn between telling her, between letting these feelings for her run free and wild and giving in to everything he wanted, and the fear of her response.

How was he to tell her?

How could he tell her that his- no, her mother, had written him a prophetic letter before she'd died, telling him that it was okay for him to fall in love with Corrin because they weren't siblings. Oh, and that he was in love with her. Utterly, maddeningly, completely in love with her.

Gods.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend nothing had changed. How much longer he could stifle the pain that lanced through his heart every time she called him her brother. A sliver of ice that dug deep into his flesh at her words.

Soon. He would tell her soon.

For now, he would pretend as though his pulse didn't skitter beneath his skin when she joined him in the archery range. His heart leapt and swelled at the excited smile on her face.

"Look, Takumi," she said, holding up her hand. "The cut's all healed! I'm ready for my next lesson!"

An amorous smile danced on his lips, a bubble of joy blooming in his chest as he swallowed his own excitement, his own fluttery nerves.

"Good," he managed to say without his voice cracking. Sounding normal, calm and level headed. He could do this. "Now, let's see what you remember."

Corrin skipped as she gathered what she needed, quiver swung over her shoulder filled with arrows, a familiar wooden bow in her hands. She eyed the targets, drew an arrow from her quiver and lined up a shot.

Takumi frowned. "Pull your elbow in closer. No, closer!" He huffed, stalking over to her so he could shift her elbow into position. "How did you manage to forget so much?" he chided, reaching around her waist to lift her other arm with his hand. "You need to raise the bow higher too, otherwise your aim will… be…"

Close. He was too close. A striking scent of something sweet and flowery filled his lungs. The warmth of her arm against his hand was like an open flame against his bare skin. All that lay between their bodies was a ghost of air, buzzing and thrumming and alive.

Takumi swallowed, focused on her aim, on correcting her posture rather than the rush of heat pouring through his veins.

How did he do this before? How did he manage to touch her so casually, to stand so close to her with ease, to somehow ignore the tug of desire in his heart and teach her?

Now that he knew that there was nothing wrong about his feelings, there was nothing holding them back. It had become impossible to force them into the back of his mind. Not when the chains he'd tied them down with had crumbled into dust.

Takumi stepped back from Corrin as casually as he could, letting his hands drop away from her. "There. That's how you're meant to aim a bow."

Corrin grumbled, an embarrassed blush warming her cheeks. "It's been a while, that's all!"

She let the arrow fly. It sank into the centre of the target and she whirled to him with an ecstatic gasp.

"Did you see that?"

His heart skipped. "Try that without my help this time."

She bounced on her toes, determination blazing in her crimson eyes, and turned back to the target. Takumi tried to fall into his regular practice routine beside her, but soon found his concentration fracturing.

He heard every sound she made, every gasp and grunt, every puff of frustration and the deep breaths she took to calm herself. Her silver hair flashed in the corner of his eyes, his gaze constantly sliding over to watch her.

Occasionally, he found something worth critiquing in her posture, her aim. Even her breathing. Anything that worked as an excuse for why he was watching her whenever he had the chance. Whenever he reached for another arrow, in between shots.

If it wasn't for his desire to train himself, the ache in his chest that told him he needed to get better, to get stronger, he would have abandoned his bow long ago and watched her in earnest.

Because, Gods, she was distracting. On more than one occasion, Takumi had let his arrow loose too early due to her, her sudden gasps and huffs that made his heart skip.

If it wasn't for her, and the pounding of his heart, the archery range would have been mostly silent. Her mutterings, her groans as she rolled her stiff and aching shoulders, were as loud as thunder.

"Ugh, I'm going to need a good massage after this," Corrin groaned.

Takumi glanced at her, keeping his expression neutral as warmth crawled up his cheeks when he looked at her.

"That's what happens when you don't practice for a while," Takumi said. He twirled an arrow between his fingers absently, watching her in the corner of his eyes.

Corrin grumbled in her chest. "I know… Oh, perhaps Jakob could give me a massage tonight! I'll ask him-"

"I'll do it." The words were out of his mouth before he'd realised what he was saying.

Corrin looked at him, their eyes meeting with a jolt shooting down Takumi's spine.

Uh oh.

She blinked at him. Heat burst across Takumi's cheeks and he stole his gaze away for a moment. "I can do it. Massage you. Since… I'm the one training you and all, and I know where you'll be sore…" He shrugged as though he didn't care either way. As though his heart wasn't racing in his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

"Sure!" Corrin agreed with a bright smile. "That sounds great, actually! If you don't mind, then I'll take you up on that offer!"

The air in Takumi's lungs fled in an instant beneath her smile and he nodded stiffly. "Sure. I don't mind."

Oh, Gods.

What had he gotten himself into?

She turned back to the targets, nocking another arrow, and Takumi wanted to slam his head against a wall. All it had taken was the idea of her even asking her butler for a massage and the words had spilled from his lips.

And now… he'd agreed to massage her. To massage Corrin, the woman he was so desperately in love with, who still thought they were siblings.

He bit back a sigh and raised his bow. Was that why she'd agreed to it?

He hit the centre of the target with ease, watched Corrin's arrow land off-centre by a few inches.

If only dealing with his feelings, with love, came as simply as archery did to him.

-

Takumi stood outside the door to Corrin's treehouse, her quarters, later that evening as she'd requested. He hadn't even knocked and his heart was already pounding harder and faster than usual. He rapped his knuckles on the wood and tried to force down the rising heat on his cheeks, tried to act as though nothing had changed since the last time she had invited him into her room.

The sight of her when she opened the door, dressed in a simple robe, her cheeks flushed from her bath, almost knocked him off his feet.

"Come in!" she said cheerfully, stepping back from the door, and it felt like Takumi fell into her room rather than walked.

His mind clouded instantly. Dizzy and flustered and Gods, this was so different, too different, and he's forgotten how to breathe.

Had her room always smelled like this? It was like the scent permeated his whole body, his mouth, his nose, his lungs. His eyes drew right to her bed, to the plush blankets and soft cushions piled up by her pillow.

Her bed.

Takumi jolted as Corrin strode past him and plopped herself down on her bed as usual. She patted the spot next to her with a smile.

As usual.

Nothing had changed for her and yet this was a world and a half different for Takumi.

This was her room. Her bedroom. And she was asking him to sit beside her on her bed, fresh and still slightly flushed from her bath and… he'd agreed to massage her.

Takumi forced himself over to her and sat on the edge of her bed, pushing down any thoughts, any tugs on his heart, and steeled himself.

Act. Normal.

He risked a glance at her, to find Corrin looking at him eagerly.

"F-Face that way!" he snapped, motioning for her to turn her back to him. "How am I supposed to massage your shoulders if you're staring at me?"

"Sorry!" She gave a quiet laugh, shifting as he'd directed. She gathered her long hair off her back, draping it over her shoulder and exposing her back to him.

His heart stammered. He swallowed, taking a deep breath, and focused on the task at hand. He drew his hands to her shoulders, fixing his gaze on a single spot. Blurring everything else. Letting the room around him, the figure before him, fall away and become meaningless, become nothing.

Takumi's attempts to distance himself from the room he was in, from the woman in front of him, shattered with Corrin's gentle sigh of delight.

"Mm… that's nice…" she sighed, her shoulders sinking beneath the ministrations of his hands.

A spear of heat sliced down his spine, breath hitching in his throat. His hands almost froze, faltering on her shoulders, before he caught himself and continued.

"Of course it is," Takumi said, clearing his throat to cover the crack in his voice. "I know what I'm doing."

She sighed again as he drew the tight muscles of her shoulders upwards with gentle pressure, working slowly and methodically with his hands. He felt her relax further as he worked. Her shoulders loosened, her posture sagging slightly.

Her sweet sighs were music to his ears. Dangerous, intoxicating music that drew him deeper, deeper into her. Heat blazed across his face, burning to the tips of his ears at the otherwise salacious sounds dripping from her lips. All she would have to do is glance over her shoulder and his love for her would be exposed immediately. He dropped his head, exhaling a shaky breath, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Gods. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take before he burned into cinders. The magic of her sighs had set something alight in his veins. Liquid fire seared through his body. His fingers trembled as he worked downward over her shoulder blades.

Corrin stole a breath, arching into his touch with a heavenly sigh. "Mm… you sure know what you're doing."

Takumi's heart was jammed in his throat. He stared at the blankets between them, coils of burning, burning, heat ablaze on his cheeks.

"Y-Yeah, well, I don't do this for just anyone, so consider yourself lucky," he said as his brain scrambled for something else, anything else, to say.

Corrin giggled lightly. "Well then, thank you for the privilege!"

"It's only because you worked so hard today, that's all," Takumi said quickly.

"Aw, really?"

Takumi eased his thumbs over her shoulder blades, working inwards towards her spine. He tried not to focus on how firm her back felt beneath her robe, how solid her muscles were under his touch…

"Maybe… if you manage to hit the centre of the target three times in a row, I might consider giving you another massage as a reward," he found himself saying in response to her disappointment.

"Really?!"

Her excited gasp made his heart skip.

"I… I said I'd consider it."

"Three times in a row. Got it."

Takumi pressed his lips together firmly, knowing he was going to give in to her the second she met his criteria.

With a sigh, Takumi finally finished the massage, and he shifted away from her on the bed and stole a deep breath, feeling as though he'd been holding his breath the whole time, despite how impossible that was.

"Ah, I feel so much better now," Corrin sighed, giving her shoulders an experimental roll. She turned to face him, gracing him with a smile.

"It was nothing," he muttered, looking away.

Soft fingers dusted across his forehead, stealing his breath as they swept across his fringe. Takumi held his breath, freezing under her touch as Corrin's fingers slowly brushed his hair. Her tender touch drifted down the side of his cheek, following the hair that framed his face before gliding up again.

Takumi's eyes flittered to hers. "You… you always…" the grumble caught in his throat.

It wasn't the first time she'd done this. Touched him like this, gentle and tender. She'd often pat the top of his head when she got the chance, he being taller than her, and had fussed over him in a similar manner the first time she'd invited him over.

And he'd snapped at her that he being jostled by her was the worst feeling.

Now… instead of being used to her touch, he was smouldering. Succumbing to the way her fingers wove through his hair, the way she dusted her thumb across his cheek with a soft smile.

Rather than being treated like a kid, like she was taking advantage of being older than him, it felt… more intimate than that.

His gaze snapped away as warmth curled on his cheeks again.

Corrin giggled.

"Wh-What?" Takumi barked, though it came out strangled and faint.

"You're so cute, going so red so easily," she giggled sweetly. She swept her thumb back and forth across his cheek.

His heart squeezed tight. Before he knew what he was doing, Takumi caught her wrist. "You… what are you trying to do, touching me like this…?"

She tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. "Nothing, really. I'm just enjoying how adorable my little brother is."

A blade of ice stabbed deep into his heart. He dropped her hand. Of course.

"See, you go so red! It's so cute!" She squished both of his cheeks with her hands.

Heat returned to his cheeks at her touch. He sighed, trying to mask the shaky exhale with a grumble, and almost gasped when she cupped his cheeks tenderly, resting her thumbs beneath his eyes. A hint of pink remained on her cheeks as she smiled at him.

"Corrin…"

"Hm?"

He met her eyes. "There's… something I need to tell you…"

A beat, a moment of breathless silence.

"Corrin, I…"

A knock at the door shattered the moment and Takumi jolted away from her.

"Oh, that'll be Jakob!" Corrin said, rising from the bed to answer the door. She greeted her butler as Takumi smouldered on her bed, dropping his head into his hands.

"Takumi?"

He looked up at her, saw her holding a tea tray with a steaming pot and two empty cups on it.

"Are you alright?" She placed the tray on the table, looking at him with concern.

He managed a smile. Managed to stand and step over to her, drawn by the thrum of his heart.

"Corrin, I need to tell you something."

-

Everything changed again. Takumi's world had shifted again. He no longer had to hide his feelings, not when they were reciprocated, not when she loved him as well, but that didn't make things any easier.

Takumi stood in her room, alone, and felt out of place. He didn't know whether to sit or stand, to take a seat by the table or on her bed as usual…

They'd been courting for a few weeks now and he still flustered at the thought of just being in her room, even when she wasn't there.

He should've waited outside.

Corrin told him she wouldn't be long, told him to wait in her treehouse, her room, and he hadn't thought twice about it.

Now, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Her room, her bedroom, his eyes again and again sliding over to her bed. He sat down on it with a sigh, a deep puff of air.

His heart patted away in his chest.

This was where he'd confessed. Where they'd had their first kiss. They'd spent hours and hours in here together, sometimes long into the evening until Takumi reluctantly, and gratefully, returned to his own quarters. They hadn't gone that far yet.

Yet.

No, he wasn't- he wouldn't think about that. Even if there were whispers and rumors spreading through the group.

Takumi fell onto his back with a huff and curled onto his side, facing the door.

It wasn't long before his eyes fluttered closed against his will and he fell asleep.

A gentle touch roused Takumi from the depths of sleep, a light gracing of fingers across his cheek enough for him to stirr. He opened his eyes and snapped awake in an instant when he saw Corrin lying in front of him, mere inches from his face.

"Good evening, sleepy head," she said softly, giving him an amused smile. She traced her fingers down his cheek, dusting gently across the growing heat building on his face.

Takumi's mouth opened and shut wordlessly as he flustered. "What… what are you doing?" he tried to hiss, but it came out like a gasp.

"I saw you sleeping here and decided to join you," she said innocently.

"Wh… why…?" He turned his face away, pressing deeper into the blanket as he smouldered beneath her gaze.

Her fingers continued their journey, slowly finding their way into his hair and smoothing his fringe across his brow.

"Because I wanted to," she said.

Takumi swallowed the strangled grumble building in his chest and grabbed her hand. "That's… not the issue."

"Then what is?"

He held her hand between them, drawing his eyes to hers again. "You can't just… do this sort of thing, touch me like this… and expect me not to… to…"

She watched him. "To what?"

He moved before he could think and kissed her. Pressed into her, melding his lips over hers and tasting her silent gasp as he burned and burned, letting his kiss tell her what he couldn't voice. He let his lips linger, let them slowly drag over hers in a flustered dance before he pulled away, hovering just above her. The urge to sink against her, to claim her lips again, was hard to fight.

She blinked at him, lips parted, cheeks pink. Stunned speechless.

"If you… do that sort of thing," Takumi began, fumbling over his words as he was more breathless than he'd realised, "then I might… get the wrong idea…"

"How do you know it's the wrong idea?" Corrin asked quietly, reaching up to cup his cheek. Her face blazed as darkly as his.

Takumi couldn't breathe. "Wh-What?!"  

"I did want to kiss you," she admitted. "So, I don't think you had the wrong idea."

Takumi drew off her, flopping onto his back with a sigh and draping his arm over his face. "That's… not what I meant…"

"Then, what did you mean?" Corrin sat up and looked at him, confused.

He made an incoherent grumble in his throat. "When you do things like that you… you're really tempting me, you know…?!"

"Tempting you…? Oh!" Corrin gasped. "Oh. I… um… sorry…?"

Takumi sat up, staring at the wall beside him. "Just… just forget it. I… shouldn't have said anything."

"Takumi…" She took his hand, gave it a squeeze. "You know I… think about that stuff too…"

Takumi felt his blush darken, felt his cheeks burn as she spoke. A silent gasp escaped his lips.

"I know it's… a bit soon for… for any of that, but… but for now…" She squeezed his hand again, drawing his eyes back to hers. A question lingered in her eyes. "Will you stay here tonight?"

His mouth dropped open. "S-Stay? Here?"

She nodded quickly, pressed her lips together firmly as she waited for his reply. "I… I don't want you to go. Not tonight. I just… want you here, even if we… we don't do anything, I just…"

"Okay," he said quietly. Held her gaze for a long, burning moment as his reply sank in. "I'll stay."

He didn't want to leave her.

That much hadn't changed, at least.

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 17/?

May I? - 17/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot by @ geekygwen

The hours Data and Faith were separated were filled with endless calculations and theories on how to reach her. 

Data did not know how he would orchestrate his and Faith's escape. He had yet to gather sufficient information on the vessel which they traveled. Fajo was careful with his words and actions, not revealing or doing too much to give Data an opening to rebel.

When he saw Fajo attack Faith, he had attempted to break the door down without success. Right then and there, he vowed to do whatever he needed to get them home. He only hoped Faith would be more cautious with her own personal safety.

As such, he played along with Fajo's wishes. He wore the clothes, he sat in the chair, and currently, he entertained his guests.

Faith sat by his side, body stiff with tension. Data felt more comfortable having her by his side rather than locked away. He also now knew the location of her room which was not far from his. 

He only agreed to the dinner on the stipulation that he be allowed to see Faith first. Fajo begrudgingly agreed and Data suspected it was because Faith was being so difficult.

The dress Fajo made her wear was obscene. Though Data did feel it accentuated her body in an aesthetically pleasing way. Faith clearly did not feel the same way. She shifted in her seat, reaching up to subtly adjust the front of the dress to hide as much of her breasts as she could.

He reached over to lay a comforting hand on hers. Faith gave him a soft smile before squeezing his hand back.

Fajo was in the process of telling his friends all about his time in prison and subsequent release. Kornok and Dulcer listened excitedly. Enil kept his eyes on Faith, much to Data's dismay.

There was something in his expression that he did not trust. He could tell Enil made Faith uncomfortable by the way she avoided eye contact with him. Not to mention his question about their intimacy was inappropriate.

Eventually, talk turned back to Data himself.

“Tell us about yourself, android,” Kornok said, leaning his elbows on the table. 

“I created by Dr. Noonian Soong and was built with an ultimate storage capacity of eight hundred quadrillion Bits and a total linear computational speed rated at sixty trillion operations per second. However—"

“Bah, none of that technical stuff,” Kornock interrupted. “I mean tell me about you.”

“Well, I am a Starfleet officer who has achieved the rank of Lieutenant Commander. I am Second Officer of the Enterprise and have received numerous accolades.”

“Is that all you do? Work?” Dulcer asked.

“No,” Data answered. “I also paint and play the violin and guitar. I often enjoy reading and various other recreational activities.”

“Fascinating!” Kornok exclaimed. “If it weren't for his skin and eyes he could pass as human.”

“The detail is fantastic, isn't it?” Fajo beamed proudly. 

As they continued their back and forth, two of the Oz'ods came from the kitchen pushing trays of food. Faith leaned over to quietly whisper, "The one on the left is Soshi. They bring me meals."

"Mala is the other," Data responded, equally quiet. "They are Fajo's personal aid."

"Slave is more like it."

"What are you two whispering about?" Fajo asked, drawing everyone's attention to Data and Faith.

"Data was complimenting my dress," Faith lied smoothly.

Data doubted Fajo believed her but his guests found it entertaining.

"How sweet," Kornok said. "Tell me, android, is romance built into your programming?"

"Many aspects of human life were not initially included in my program," Data explained. "However, I can create programs as I see fit. For example, I have spent a significant amount of time building a romance program, as well as a subprogram specifically for Faith."

"He can adapt, how delightful!" Dulcer exclaimed. She turned her attention to Faith. "You must feel very special to have a mate who can perfectly match your desires and expectations."

"I do," she said, though her smile did not convince Data. He was not sure why but Faith seemed uncomfortable with Dulcer's statement. 

It intrigued him. They had not discussed the logistics of their relationship and Data theorized that may be a contributing factor. 

"Mr. Data does seem particularly attached to Faith considering his lack of emotions," Fajo said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Though I doubt he'd really truly miss her if she were gone."

There was an underlying threat with his words. Faith's hand gripped Data's tightly. The Oz'ods served the guests. Data's eyes remained on Fajo.

"That is incorrect," he stated. "As I establish friendships, my positronic brain develops connections to thoughts of those individuals. If that person were to leave, I will experience a sense of loss. In essence, I will miss them."

"Fascinating," Enil muttered, unmoving even when food is placed in front of him. "So your mate is not a simple plaything? An outlet for your curiosity?"

"No, she is not."

Data did not appreciate Enil's insinuation, nor the way he constantly eyed Faith. 

"Enil, stop being rude," Kornok scolded his companion. "I must apologize for my fellow delegate. He has an affinity for human females."

"Personally, I don't see the appeal," Fajo said flippantly as he ate his dinner. "But if Data must have her around, I am happy to oblige."

Data glanced at Faith, noting the darkening of her cheeks and the way she became entirely too invested in her food. Their dismissal of her was misogynistic and insulting to her accomplishments.

"Faith is a decorated Starfleet officer," he said. "She recently made Lieutenant and is Engineering's second-in-command. Her intelligence is vastly superior to her peers and she has a keenly trained eye for details. She has a lot to offer as a mate and a friend."

"Was a decorated Starfleet officer," Fajo corrected. "She and Mr. Data live with me now."

"That does not change her accomplishments."

"It seems the android does not enjoy your insults," Dulcer said to the men. "And he is not the only one. Let us discuss something other than the woman."

Faith relaxed her grip on his hand. While she gave him an appreciative smile, he could tell the conversation had affected her greatly.

Unfortunately, dinner stretched on for hours. Course after course was brought out. Faith ate very little, though Data knew she was likely hungry. Soshi seemed to notice as well and tried to provide her with larger portions. It did not help.

Throughout the evening Data answered any and all questions the delegates posed to him. Very little was asked of Faith but he suspected she was grateful. Even he found their questions tedious to a point.

Eventually, the food was removed and by then the novelty of Data and Faith seemed to wear off the guests. Talk turned to matters of business, which Data found intriguing. Any business Fajo was involved in could only be illegal and dangerous.

Unfortunately, once the subject changed, Fajo waved his hand at the couple. "You may be excused," he said. "Mala, escort them to their quarters."

Data suspected Fajo did not wish for Faith and Data to overhear what he and the delegates were really meeting to discuss. 

Mala bowed and waited patiently for Data and Faith to stand and follow. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Data said with a dutiful bow. “If you'll excuse us…”

“Nice to meet you too,” Kornok said with a wave. “Really, the manners, the movements...stunning!

“Very well done,” Dulcer agreed.

Enil sneered. “Very.”

Data kept his hand on Faith's lower back, making eye contact with Enil as they left. The man still watched Faith like a hawk.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Faith let out a noise of frustration. "Stars that was insulting! Who the hell do they think they are?!" She was shaking with anger, her hands balled into fists. 

"I will admit their comments were inappropriate and out of line."

"Thank you for sticking up for me," Faith said. "I knew I had to ignore them but I'm grateful you didn't."

"I cannot. It is in my programming, remember?"

Faith smiled and wrapped her arm around his, hugging it tightly. "Yeah, I remember."

They reached her quarters first and Data turned to Mala. "May we have a few minutes alone before I must be escorted to my room?"

The Oz'od seemed hesitant. "Mr. Fajo no like Mala delay."

"You have my word it will not take long," Data assured them. "I would like to say a proper goodnight and do not know when we will see each other next."

Mala conceded with a nod, opening Faith's door for them. "No take long."

Once they were alone, Faith threw herself at him, yanking him down into a fiery kiss. Data matched her energy or at least tried to, wrapping his arms around her. The dress was soft but he found himself longing to touch her skin instead. 

She drew away with a shaky breath. "I hate the idea of being separated again."

"I do not find it satisfactory either," Data agreed. His hand suddenly slid over something hard tucked into the back of her dress. "What is this?"

Sheepishly, Faith reached into her dress, pulling out a dinner knife. "I swiped this when no one was looking," she admitted. "I don't have a phaser so I needed some kind of weapon.”

Data was surprised and impressed. Even with his keen eyes, he hadn't noticed her theft.

"That was very risky. If Fajo had caught you, it would not have gone well."

"I know but I had to try. You have your strength and mind to protect you. I don't have anything."

Data studied her carefully, noticing the fear in her eyes. "I understand. I only ask that you be careful."

"I will. Trust me, I'm not going to attack him. But having something with me helps the anxiety."

She left his arms to slide the knife under her pillow. After, she sighed heavily and sat on the bed. Data joined her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Would you like to know what I have learned so far?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

“I believe we are on the ship that attacked the Enterprise. It is constructed from the same materials. That will work to our advantage as Starfleet has already been made aware of its existence. There will be people looking for the ship. The doors can only be operated by Fajo and the Oz’ods.”

“Also Fajo has a phaser that hurts like a bitch.”

Data reached out to touch her injured hip. “Are you in pain?”

“A little. These damn shoes didn't help.” She kicked out of her heels. “God I hate this dress.” She looked around and spotted a pair of pants and a shirt folded neatly at the edge of the bed. They must have been delivered while they were at dinner.

Data watched her stand, wiggling out of the purple dress to slip on more comfortable clothes. Considering her anxiety, he was surprised she had no apparent qualms about undressing in front of him. 

Once she was dressed, she slid onto his lap. She looped her arms around his neck and hugged him. 

Data held her close. “We will escape this place.”

“I think the Oz’ods might be our best bet with that.”

“How so?”

“Soshi all but told me they're prisoners. They're only helping Fajo for protection. They don't think they can survive without him. But if we make them see that they can, maybe they can help us.”

“That is a solid foundation to build upon,” Data said. “I will try to speak to Mala. As of yet, they have been reluctant to answer questions but with this information, I will adjust my approach.”

He suddenly remembered her reaction to Dulcer’s comment at dinner. “Faith, why did you react negatively when Dulcer mentioned my programming adjusting to your needs?”

It took her a moment to recall what he was referring to. “Oh, that. I don't know, I just didn't like the way she said it. There was insinuation there that didn't sit right with me.”

“To what insinuation are you referring?”

“To me, it almost felt like she was saying I was lucky to have someone cater to my desires and expectations. Almost as if I don't have to put any work into our relationship. I don't know. Maybe I was reading too much into it.”

“And that thought insulted you?”

“Yes, of course it did. When you're with someone, both partners should be willing to adapt to each other. It's not fair if only one person has to change to fit the other's needs.”

This made Data curious. “Are there aspects of my personality that you need to adjust to?” 

Faith seemed to hesitate before answering. “Yes,” she eventually said. “But not in a negative way by any means. I just have to remember that there's a learning curve between us and that you're still learning about human interaction in general.”

“If I have done anything to make you frustrated or upset, I do apologize.”

Faith leaned in and kissed him. It was gentle and meant to comfort. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, nuzzling his cheek. “You've done nothing wrong, okay?”

Her expression was earnest and sincere. Data nodded. “Okay.”

As much as he wanted to stay, he knew he needed to get back to his room before Fajo finished with his friends. 

“I must leave you now,” he said. “I will do everything in my power to see you again soon.”

Faith whimpered and gave him another hug, which he returned. Data found it difficult to pull away. In fact, the hug lasted twenty-three more seconds than the average hug between them.

Once they parted, he kissed her goodbye and stood. Before he reached the door, he turned back. She sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her trembling frame.

“Please remember to eat,” he said.

She gave him a small smile. “I will.”

Data left, meeting an anxious Mala in the hall. The Oz’od hurriedly brought him to his room. Despite Data’s cooperation, it was still sparse. Fajo did not seem to trust the android enough to allow him anything more than the decorative chair to sit upon.

Before Mala closed the door, Data turned to them.

“Please help Soshi take care of Faith,” he said. “She is special to me and I do not wish for Fajo to harm her.”

“Fajo no harm Faith so long as Faith listen,” Mala said.

“May I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Your friend who infiltrated the Enterprise, how did you intend to bring him back home?”

Mala pursed their thin lips but remained silent.

“Ah. I see. You did not intend to.”

“Toka died for Oz’od safety. Will be remembered.” Mala made a move to close the door.

Data cocked his head in confusion. “Toka is not dead.”

Mala froze, eyes meeting his. “You lie!”

“I am not lying,” Data said. “The Enterprise captured Toka but they are still very much alive. We would not kill a new life form without provocation.”

“Fajo said Toka dead,” Mala said in a soft voice.

“I believe it is Fajo who lied to you,” Data said. “Once Faith and I get back to our companions, I would be more than happy to reunite you with him.”

“Lies! Fajo said you lie to trick Mala!” With that, they slammed their hand on the panel and the doors shut, leaving Data alone once more.

He had suspected convincing Mala would be difficult. He only hoped he had been able to plant the seed of doubt.

With nothing else to do, Data sat in his chair and waited for Fajo. He knew the man would seek him out after the meal. He only hoped he performed well enough to his captor’s satisfaction. 

It was two hours and fifty minutes later when Fajo strolled in. He seemed to be in good spirits, which Data took as a good sign.

“That went spectacularly,” Fajo said with a large grin. “See? It's not so bad doing what I say, is it?”

“I did not appreciate Delegate Enil’s interest in Faith. His comments were inappropriate.”

“Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?”

“I cannot feel jealousy.”

Fajo waved dismissively. “So you say. Don't worry about Enil. He's harmless. Well, mostly harmless. You and your little girlfriend certainly made an impression. I thank you for the delightful dinner.”

“What do you plan to do next?”

“Well, we have to keep moving, obviously,” he said. “Thankfully this ship has a spectacular cloaking device. One of a kind and built by the Oz’ods themselves. There are a few items of mine that I would like to get back. I expect you to help me with them.”

“And Faith? She will still remain safe, correct?”

Fajo snorted with disgust. “Ugh, Faith, Faith, Faith. That's all you talk about! I have half a mind to sell her to Enil and be done with it.” He glanced at Data with a smirk. “Thankfully, she's worth more to me right where she is.”

“I have made it clear I will listen to you so long as she's safe,” Data said. “You do not need to keep threatening her safety.”

“But it's so fun. Every time, I swear I'm going to get a reaction out of you.”

“Do you wish to elicit an emotional response from me? You know I do not have them.”

“You say that but I theorize that you must. In some capacity,” Fajo said. “You just need the right push. No matter. We have plenty of time to test my theory. In the meantime, enjoy your room. I'll be by tomorrow to discuss a job I'd like you to do.”

He turned to leave but then paused and spun back around on his heel. 

“One more thing,” he said. “I am a reasonable man. If you continue to perform so spectacularly, I may consider allowing you and your little pet to share a room together. Keep that in mind.”

Data was surprised by the thought, though he did not trust Fajo’s charity. Still, planning their escape would be easier with Faith by his side. 

“I will do my best,” he said.

Fajo smiled brightly. “I know you will. Sleep tight!” He chuckled at his own joke as he left.

[persona-5-for-want-of-a-nail]

Chapter 1 - New Horizons

4/9

Megumi adjusted her glasses as the train continued to clatter along. She held her bag closer to herself, trying to get any semblance of something homey from it, though it was to no avail. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for riding with us today,” As the voice on the speaker began, Megumi glanced up to catch sight of the nearest one. “We’ll be arriving in Shibuya shortly. This is the last stop for this line. Please transfer here for all subway lines. The doors to your left will open.” 

Quietly, she stood up and grabbed onto one of the dangling handles above. Grimacing as a pit formed in her stomach, almost as a bitter reminder of why she was in Shibuya to begin with. 

The glare of the overhead streetlight, the innocent woman’s cries for help, the stench of a hopelessly drunk man, the thud on the pavement, the shouting, and above all else, the harsh grip of the very police officers she had called for help.

Without thinking, she ran her fingers across her bicep, practically feeling the strong fingertips that had dug into her flesh that short time ago. 

“What? Are you for real? A mental shutdown?” The chatter of two nearby girls dragged Megumi out of her trance, glancing over in curiosity. 

“It’s the truth!” The other retorted, a certain conviction in her words.

“To a person though?” Her friend asked, skepticism in her voice. “That’s gotta be a joke.” Still, she giggled, pointing to the phone in the formers hand. “You really love that occult stuff, don’t you?”

Mental Shutdowns…?

Odd.

After dismounting the train, Megumi made her way up into the station square. Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag as she slowly weaved through the crowds. This certainly was different from home… 

A beep from her phone drew her attention back to the device in her hands. Her brow creased as she looked at the screen.

“What on Earth…?” 

Casting on the screen was an app she was unfamiliar with. She knew she didn’t download it, so what was it? She stopped in her tracks and tapped on it, though it didn’t seem to open properly. Megumi sighed prepared to reboot her phone, but then she noticed something. Everything seemed to have stopped in its tracks. 

Even the birds overhead. 

The most striking thing of all, however, was nestled right in the center of the scramble.

Raging azure flames danced and licked away at the skies, though they soon formed together, making a coherent figure, standing tall and proud. Just as soon as it formed, it dissolved, and for the briefest of moments, Megumi could have sworn she saw herself in it. 

And just like that, the world was once again turning. 

Megumi looked back and forth. Was she just seeing things, or…?

Whatever, it didn’t matter. She was probably just tired from the train ride. That was what she told herself, anyway. She looked back at her phone screen, gently setting a finger on the offending app and dragging it to the trash. 

She still kept a tight grip on the straps of her bag as she dismounted yet another train. Yongen-Jaya, this was the place all right. Her steps were slow as she left the station, not wanting to miss the place she was staying- it probably didn’t help that her sense of direction wasn’t perfect to begin with but that on top of how out of touch she’d felt that day, it simply wasn’t a good mix.

Still, she didn’t know a lot about Yongen, but from what she could see, it felt rather homely from the get-go. She gave everyone who paid her any mind a gentle wave as she weaved her way through the area’s backstreets. Sojiro Sakura was the one she was in the care of, if she recalled correctly, but where on earth was…? 

Let’s see… A second hand shop… What looked to be a theater, that could be fun… Takemi Medical Clinic? At least something like that was local, same for the supermarket.

Emerging from the short alley where the clinic was nestled, Megumi sighed, holding her head in her hands. Was she really not even going a day without directional issues?

“Excuse me, Miss.” A gruff sounding voice had asked- no, not asked,- told her, and in response her head shot up, meeting the eyes of a rather menacing officer. Unconsciously, her grip tightened around the cuff of her sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, sir?” She had asked, voice just a touch shaky. The last thing she wanted right now was to cause trouble.

“Are you alright? You’ve been wandering around this area for a while now, you aren’t up to anything suspicious, are you?” Without thinking, her back straightened as she shook her head.

“No sir, I was just wondering where the residential area was.” 

The officer shook his head with a sigh, pointing over to the girl’s left. 

“Just down that way, take the first left and you’ll be there.” 

Offering a quick thanks, she continued on her way.

Don’t make waves.

In a way, it was almost fortuitous. The first house on the left had a small brass nameplate, the surname ‘Sakura’ embossed on its surface. She shuffled from heel to heel as she gently pressed on the doorbell, but received nothing in return. She chewed on her lip. Was he out, or perhaps was there another ‘Sakura’ living in the area…? What to do…

“Ah, looks like no one’s home…” 

Megumi glanced over her shoulder, noticing a delivery man with a parcel under his arm. It was clear he hadn’t noticed her, attention on other things.

“I suppose it makes sense, Sakura’s usually at his cafe around this time. Although, LeBlanc’s in the back alley, I’d probably be best off working on my other deliveries first…” 

Megumi had hesitated for a moment, though she supposed this wild goose chase would have to bring her something at some point. She was thankful, though. It wasn’t nearly as tricky to find LeBlanc. 

Slowly, she pushed open the door, the lingering scents of coffee and curry spices that danced out into the cold air calming her down considerably. It felt… homely. 

“A public transit bus was driven down an opposing lane with its customers still in it! The citizens can’t live in peace if this keeps up.”

...Oh Heavens. 

Megumi craned her neck over to catch sight of the TV mounted on the wall at the far back of the small cafe. Sure enough, a news report of an incident from just a day prior. Maybe it wasn’t in her best interest to stay here after all…? Though it wasn’t like she had much choice in the matter.

“How frightening.” 

Soon, she found her attention on an elderly couple in one of the establishment’s booth seats.

“What could be going on?” The man’s wife had asked, a clear concern on her face. “Didn’t something similar happen just the other day?” Her words made Megumi’s stomach twist. 

“Vertical is… the name of a shellfish used for farming pearls…” 

The manager of the place however, seemed to have minimal concern, simply focusing on a crossword, pen between his index and middle fingers flicking back and forth. Soon enough though, he caught sight of Megumi. His brow creased as he put the crossword on the countertop behind him.

“Right, they did say that was today, didn’t they?” 

She nodded, not even sure if she was supposed to reply. 

“We’ll be going now. The payment’s on the table.” The older man had said, both him and his wife getting up from their table, a small amount of coins left behind on the smooth surface.

“Thanks for coming.” The manager had said, only glancing at the couple for a moment before he looked back to the teenager in the doorway. Still, the couple continued to ‘joke’ on their way out of the shop.

“At least this place is in the back alley, there’s no worries of a car crashing in here.” The man had said, mostly to his wife but the manager picked up on it.

“A what?” 

“Oh? Haven’t you heard? There’s been an entire string of those rampage accidents. I just hope that none happen around here…” 

The manager shook his head, looking as unimpressed as ever.

“It’s none of my concern.” He had said curtly. The elderly man had laughed before bidding his farewell and leaving with his wife. Once the bell had chimed, signalling the door had shut, the manager sighed.  “...Four hours for just a single cup of joe.” He looked away from the table that had been occupied for so long, back to the only other person in the shop. “So, you’re Megumi?” 

She nodded, straightening her posture without thinking about it.

“That’s right. Is Sakura-san here?” She had asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He had smiled at that- not a friendly one, but an entertained one.

“Yeah. I’m Sojiro Sakura. You’ll be in my custody over the next year.” His gaze flicked up and down over Megumi’s form. “I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but… You’re the one, huh?” She didn’t blame him for being confused, she would be too. She was, to a degree. “Have you been told? A customer of mine and your parents are good friends and-” She nodded along with his explanation, which he seemed to notice after long enough. “Well, not that it matters. Follow me.” He turned around and motioned for her to follow, bringing her up a rickety staircase to a large attic at the very top.

The attic was big, if cluttered, one on shelf large bags of coffee beans sat, while miscellaneous junk covered the entire left of the room, a desk in the back covered in old and worn magazines and folders. There was also a small worn bed in the corner opposite the desk, just as dusty as the rest of the room. In the center of it all was a large cardboard box- that she had recognized. 

“This is your room.” Sojiro had said curtly, sweeping over the place with his gaze. “Oh, I’ll at least give you sheets for the bed.” Again, she nodded, an action she was getting used to very quickly, as she stared into the distance. “You look like you want to say something.” He had told her, as if he was testing her.

“It’s just a lot bigger than I thought it would have been.” Megumi had told him, staying as polite as possible. She set her bag down on a table next to the stairs, resting her hands on her hips as she looked the room over again and again. “..Could be cozy though…” She mumbled, more to herself, though it’s not like Sojiro hearing would hurt her.

“It’s up to you to clean up the rest.” He had said, hand lingering on the back of his neck. “I’ll be leaving after I lock up each day.” Sojiro looked back toward Megumi as he spoke “You’ll be alone, but don’t do anything stupid; I’ll throw you out if you cause any trouble.”

“Okay.” She had replied, quickly and quietly. 

Don’t make waves.

“Now then, I got the gist of your situation.” He had begun. Megumi still hadn’t moved from the top of the stairs, standing straight and tall like a tin soldier. “You protected some woman from a man forcing himself on her, he got injured, then sued you. Right?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“That’s what you get for sticking your nose in a matter between two adults.” His expression was sour, not like he was scolding his own child for doing something wrong, more like scolding a puppy. “You did injure him, yeah?” 

“We-” 

Before she could even begin, Sojiro cut her off.

“And now that you’ve got a criminal record, you were expelled from your old high school.” She didn’t particularly mind that part. She didn’t have much attachment to her old school, much less friends she would miss. “The courts ordered you to transfer and move out here, which your parents also approved. In other words, they got rid of you for being a pain in the ass.” 

He looked so smug at those final words. She knew it wasn’t like that, her parents just didn’t have many other options…

“It’s best you not talk about anything unnecessary. I am in the restaurant business, you know. Behave yourself for the year. If nothing happens, your probation will be lifted.” 

“Yes sir.” As much as she wanted to say that that was her plan, she didn’t want to seem smug, especially after only being in the attic for two minutes. She knew her sentence would last until next spring, but she figured it’d be best to at least try and make the most of it.

“Just remember, cause any problems, and you’ll be going straight to juvie. We’ll be going to Shujin tomorrow.” 

“...Shujin…?” Megumi had mumbled, moreso to herself, but Sojiro still heard it. 

“Shujin Academy. The school you’ll be attending.” He had said so matter-of-factly, an underlying tone of exhaustion in his voice.. “We’ll introduce ourselves properly to the staff there. You’re lucky there’s a place that’ll accept someone like you, you know.” He sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What a waste of my Sunday.”

Megumi stayed quiet. She wanted to apologize, but was sure she’d only get snark in return. 

“Your ‘luggage’ arrived a little while ago. I brought it up here for you.” Sojiro gestured to the large cardboard box in the middle of the room. Without another word, he went back downstairs to the cafe. 

A few moments after he left, Megumi finally broke out of her soldier stance, stretching out and looking at the box from home. She knew a lot of what she needed was in that box, clothes, three spare pairs of glasses and a few other odds and ends. 

She ended up opening the box with a mechanical pencil in her bag. She didn’t want to bother Sojiro by asking for a knife or scissors. No matter the impracticality, it got the job done. Taking the opportunity, she changed into some more comfortable clothes- a grey turtleneck sweater which happened to be her favourite shirt she owned, and a simple pair of black pants. 

Megumi looked around. Cleaning this place would probably be a good start…

It was nothing too complicated, just a bit of dusting here, a bit of mopping there, putting fresh sheets on the bed, piling a couple trash bags on the table with her school bag and tucking away all the loose magazines underneath the table. She didn’t throw them out in case they held any importance to Sojiro.

It was just as she was pushing the cardboard box with her belongings into a low shelf when Sojiro had come back upstairs. 

“What the heck? I heard you making all sorts of noise up here, but I didn’t think you’d be cleaning.” He had said almost as soon as he came up the stairs, looking around the room. Megumi had opened her mouth to apologize- what for, she didn’t actually know, but Sojiro had interrupted her before she could even speak. “Actually, the place doesn’t look too bad. Though it’s only natural you’d want to keep your room tidy.” 

That was the first time she even tried to smile in days. Even if it was rather backhanded, she would take the praise regardless. She stood up straight, but before she said anything in reply, she yawned. What time was it, anyway…?

“Why don’t you go to bed for tonight?” He had suggested. “You don’t have anything better to be doing, right?” Sleepily, Megumi nodded, getting a nod from Sojiro in reply. “I’m going to close up shop and get out of here myself. Just remember that I’m not the one who’ll be taking care of you if you get sick from staying up too long, got that?” 

“Mhmm…”

Megumi had changed into her soft, creamsicle-coloured pajamas, and looked around the attic once more. She debated doing more work with the cleaning, but she really didn’t feel up to it, practically ready to pass out as soon as she hit the sheets. 

As tired as she was though, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about everything that led up to now. Arrest, then trial, and now a criminal record and probation. What else was she supposed to do though? 

One thing had led to another and she ended up getting home late, she remembered worrying as she checked her watch. She knew her mother would be worried sick about her, but here she was, lightly jogging through the neighbourhood, but slowly her steps became uncertain. 

“Just get in the car!”

She stopped in her tracks completely. Gently, she chewed on her thumbnail. The yelling was coming from her left, but that was the opposite way of home. She was late enough already… Maybe it would just be a second? Megumi found herself trying to rationalize things as her steps guided her toward the voice. Maybe it was just someone trying to coax their pet into their car. At… 8pm. Though she soon found it was hopeless to be optimistic, as she soon picked up on a younger woman’s voice alongside it.

“N-no! Let go!” 

“You dare cross me?!” 

Again, Megumi stopped. She could see what was happening now. She could see under the glare of the streetlight the silhouette of a man forcing himself on a younger woman, and she could see her struggling rather noticeably. Could she even do something about that? Quietly, she took out her phone and dialed for the police, voice barely above a whisper. She was a bit relieved to hear that the police were on their way- what a mistake that would turn out to be.

“No…!”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“Ow! P-Please, stop…!”

Letting out a sharp breath, she moved forward, her legs carrying her without a second thought. It didn’t matter if she could or couldn’t stop it, she just needed to try. As Megumi approached, she began catching the heavy scent of alcohol looming in the air. If anything, it made her stomach twist more. 

“Tch… What a waste of my time. You think you’re worth causing me trouble? Huh?” The drunken man continued, not letting up.

“I’ll call the police!” The woman had squeaked out. Her nails gripped onto his arm as she desperately tried to pry him off.

“The police are my bitches.” He had growled out. “They’re not gonna take you seriously.” The look of fear on her face only increased at his words. Only moments later the sound of police sirens pierced through the tense atmosphere. The man’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration and anger. “Someone called the cops, huh?” Both his scowl and his grip on the woman tightened. “Get in the car!” He had yelled. “Incompetent fools like you just need to shut your mouths and follow where I steer this country!” 

Megumi felt her blood freeze as the man finally noticed she was there, his gaze staring daggers at her from behind his orange tinted sunglasses. 

“...What’re you looking at?” He snapped out. “Get outta my face!” She took one step back, gripping onto the strap of her bag. “This ain’t a show. Get lost, kid.” His hand slid off the woman’s body as he began fronting on the high-schooler. Before he got closer, he sneered at the woman again. “See? This is all because you’re so damn slow! Get in the car!” He ordered. 

Megumi sighed and shook her head. There was no use even thinking about it now. It was far too late to think about anymore. Just as she felt herself begin to drift, her phone had played it’s little note, trying to grab her attention, which it had. She nabbed it from the floor, and whatever it had tried to notify her on had been pushed to the wayside as she noticed the strange app from just that morning. Her index finger loomed over it, puzzled. Did she not delete it? She thought she did, but she supposed it was entirely possible she didn’t. She was quite frazzled after all. Without another thought, she dragged it off to the recycling bin and placed her phone back on the floor. 

Her eyelids were getting heavy and her consciousness began to drift. She’d be scoping out her new school tomorrow, so maybe this would be her lucky break in disguise. Potential friends, potential experiences… She was optimistic, but she’d have to see the hand fate felt like giving her. 

Megumi wasn’t sure when she had awoke, but nothing about it felt right. Sure her bed wouldn’t be called luxurious, but it wasn’t this uncomfortable… 

The rattling of a chain made her shoot up to sitting, though that only made her notice the chain on herself, going from one wrist to the other with a little bit of give, cuffs linking them to one another. She swung her legs over the side of her ‘bed’ and clutched her head. Sure she could excuse it as a dream, but her wrists certainly did hurt. A chuckle dragged her attention to just outside her new cell. 

Just outside she could see two girls, awfully young looking ones at that. They weren’t identical- she didn’t think so anyway, but they shuffled closer together in sync, as if they were moving in a mirror. As Megumi approached, she only found herself stuck at a point, only to look down and pin the cause as a ball and chain. Now what in the world was this…? Megumi only stared at the two girls, hands resting and gaining a loose grip on the bars in front of her, loose striped sleeves sliding down her forearms. 

The girls stared back, their uncovered eyes unmoving, though the both turned away, no longer blocking Megumi’s view of the long nosed man in the center of the room. He had offered a hand that she could never grab, and announced in a low, booming voice.

“Trickster… Welcome to my Velvet Room.” 

“So, you’ve come to, Inmate?” One of the girls had asked, glancing at Megumi from the corner of her eye. 

“The you in reality is currently fast asleep.” The other had continued, her voice just a bit softer than her cohort. “You are only experiencing this as a dream.” She clarified. 

“You’re in the presence of our master. Stand up straight!” Without hesitation, she did. She could swear she saw the tiniest grin pop up on the younger girl’s face, but said nothing.

“Welcome.” The man in the center had started, the two girls at either side of you falling quiet. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter.” He continued. Megumi’s grip only tightened on the bars. “It is a room that only those who are bound by a ‘contract’ may enter. I am Igor, the master of this place. Remember it well.” Igor continued to drum his fingers, which were just a touch too long on his desk. Megumi told herself that she probably wouldn’t forget this even if she tried. “I summoned you to speak of important matters. It involves your life as well.” She furrowed her brow, not wanting to make waves.

“Important matters?” She asked. It was just a dream, that's what she told herself anyway. Just a strange, strange dream. It probably wasn’t that important overall, but there was no reason not to play along. Igor only nodded along at her words.

“Still, it is strange…” He looked around, as if searching for something. She glanced around too, unsure of what the problem was, besides the obvious. “The state of this room reflects the state of your own heart. To think a prison would appear as such…” His gaze returned to her. “You truly are a ‘prisoner’ of fate.” Igor pointed at her, index finger only drifting around; lingering. “In the near future, there is no mistake that ruin awaits you.” 

“Ruin…?” She repeated, concern growing on her face. Igor simply chuckled.

“Worry not. There is a means to oppose such a fate. You must be ‘rehabilitated’. Rehabilitated toward freedom… That is your only means to avoid ruin.” He stared at her again, eyes boring deep into her. “Do you have the resolve to challenge the distortion of the world?”

Megumi stayed silent, though considering Igor’s inclination of doing the same, she realized he was looking for a reply. 

“Well, I’d like to avoid ruin…” To this, he grinned even wider than he already was. 

“Then allow me to observe the path of your rehabilitation.” As he finished his words, the two girls turned on their heels to face her once more. “Ah, pardon me for not introducing the others. To your right is Caroline; to your left, Justine.” Her gaze travelled as he said each direction. “They serve as wardens here.” 

“Hmph,” Caroline huffed out. “Try and struggle as hard as you like.” 

“The duty of wardens is to protect inmates. We are also your collaborators.” She couldn’t tell if Justine was trying to calm her. The words seemed sincere but her tone and demeanor was of ice. “...That is, if you remain obedient.” Megumi decided her uncertainty was best left where it was. 

“I shall explain the roles of these two at another occasion.” Again, as Igor finished speaking, the wardens turned on their heels in perfect sync to face their master. “Now then, it seems the night is waning… It is almost time.” Almost time for…? “Take your time to slowly come to understand this place. Surely, we will meet again, eventually…” At the flick of his wrist, sirens began blaring in the small prison. Caroline snapped her attention to Megumi. 

“Now hurry up and go back to sleep.” 

Megumi was confused, but soon enough found her consciousness fading yet again.

[sebthesnipe]

Pencils

A prompt that myself and @gilby-the-geek-girl​ decided to do a ‘write this in your style’ involving Logicality roommates and Ticonderoga #2 Pencils

You can read her’s here.

Also check out her main AU that its based in on AO3 here.

If you’re interested here are some links to my work as well:

The Collection (My Oneshots)

My Dearest Procyon (My Multi-Chapter Magical!AU)

Other works by me

Now! Lets get this party started!!!!

Logan gave a small curse as another one of his pencils broke inside his cheap sharpener. He tilted the small plastic container to get a better look inside. Sure enough, a large piece of lead was stuck inside the small cone, pressing against the razor’s edge. He wouldn’t be able to resharpen his pencil until it was removed.

As he took the small pencil sharpener apart, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Perhaps, he could rearrange his budget to allow him to purchase some better writing utensils. Patton had already convinced him to spend some extra money on the ‘B2p’s. He had been right about them. The pens were 89% recycled water bottles, which was good for the environment, and they wrote very smoothly, which helped ease the pain that writing caused.

Carpal tunnel syndrome was far more unpleasant that Logan had expected it to be. Of course, he hadn’t expected to enjoy the tingling or numbness, but the sheer amount of pain it caused was staggering. The simple act of holding a pen longer than half an hour was something he could no longer do without the help of an anti inflammatory. His all night note taking sessions were now cut by more than half, and that was on a good night with a decent writing implement.

Surgery was possible, but it would pull him out of school for far too long, and cost more than he was willing to spend without the proper insurance. He was far too close to graduation and couldn’t afford the recovery time, mentally or financially. At least, not yet. For now, he would bide his time and push onwards towards his end goal.

He sighed as he pressed his pencil into the cleared sharpener and twisted. For now, he would make due. The pens Patton had recommended were more than satisfactory, but he only had a small budget for his supplies.

He removed the pencil and examined the now sharpened tip. The graphite was uneven, but pointed enough for his note taking, though the wood around it was rough and almost fuzz-like. It would smudge the graphite’s markings if he wasn’t careful. Luckily he was accustomed to such cheap craftsmanship and could make due with what he had.

He set the sharpener aside and took stock at the desk before him. Everything had its place. His box of untouched pencils sat perfectly parallel above his notebook, directly right of his lamp. His three subject college ruled spiral was open to a half written page, marked with a small blue tab indicating that it was on the topic of Mathematics (specifically Number Theory). Behind the blue tab, a number of tabs could be seen, neatly lined along the pages, each representing a different course. To the right of his spiral lay five sharpie brand highlights, each a different color, placed in a perfectly straight line. Every color had its purpose, just as every tab of his notebook did.

Logan could not compromise when it came to certain tools. He needed a brand of highlighter that would not bleed through his textbook pages or smudge his notes whether he wrote in pen or pencil. He needed pens that were a bit more pricey so as to ensure a smooth glide without bleeding or ink transfers. He needed index cards made of a decent caliber to avoid damage or creases. All of these things were important. Far more important than the way a pencil sharpened, or turned fuzzy or smudged when he tried to erase it.

There was no more room in the budget for any pencils better than the ones that he had and that was that. He would just have to live with the way the graphite would snap when he tried to underline something. He would have to deal with the way the lead would fall out of the faux wood, or the lines seemed muted unless he put more force behind it, which made his hands hurt even worse. It was all a sacrifice he must be willing to make. He couldn’t afford better.

He couldn’t help another small growl as he made a mistake on his graph and moved to erase it, the cheap eraser ripping through the paper. He stared at the spot for a long moment, willing himself to just leave it. It was just a small hole. He could work around it. He didn’t need to redo the entire page.

It was just a hole…

A tiny inconsequential hole…

Miniscule… infinitesimal….

UGH! Logan ripped the page from the spiral, crinkling it in his hands before tossing it into the bin next to him. Everything had its place! Everything was meant to be somewhere and a hole was not meant to be in the middle of his notes!

He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to push away the headache he could feel coming on just as his phone’s alarm began to sound. It seemed more time had passed than he had expected. Logan pushed to his feet, producing his phone and swiping away the alarm as he moved to pack up and head to his first class of the day.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Logan pushed open the door to their shared dorm, dark locks falling into his eyes as they dripped water onto the mat beneath his feet. He was silent as he kicked the door shut and began to shed his outer layers.

It was late. Far later than it should have been. Logan did not like when things didn’t go according to schedule. His second class ran long, which meant he was late to lunch, which didn’t give him the sufficient amount of time to go to the library as he had planned without skipping his meal. Which made him feel a bit lethargic during his third and fourth class, causing him to forget his bag, which had him missing his train. Which meant he had to wait forty-five minutes for the next one. Then the rain started, which was not in the forecast; which meant Logan’s ten minute walk home had him soaked through completely.

It had not been a good day.

He took stock of the small apartment. Patton must have already gone to bed. The poor man had four a.m. classes. Most culinary students started earlier than the rest of the students. It was no wonder the man was so early to bed. Well, ever since Logan provided him with the optimal schedule for his ideal personal time to study/class ratio that is. It seemed to be working out for him, though Logan didn’t get to see him much anymore, which was surprisingly disappointing. The man was far too chipper, but he certainly knew how to make Logan smile.

Logan headed for his room and the attached bathroom, dropping his bag next to his desk and trying not to drip too much on the carpet. He needed to get out of his sodding clothes before he caught a cold.

Fifteen minutes, a hot shower and some dry clean clothes later and Logan felt like a new man. He checked the time. There were still a few hours before bed. It wasn’t as much as he had hoped, but he could still manage some studying.

He moved to his desk, pulling out his chair and sinking down, thankful the day was beginning to wind down. He pulled his bag closer and dug out his spiral, opening it to the page he had been working on earlier that morning and laying it out neatly exactly where it belonged. He reached for his pencil and…

He froze. His usual box of 12ct #2b cheap off-brand pencils were buried. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at what lay atop them. He couldn’t believe it. Atop those horrid, demonic, sorry-excuse for pencils lay a box of 24ct Dixon Ticonderoga premium wood #2 pencils with latex free erasers.

Logan took a moment to calm his excited heart. Before he knew it, he was reaching out with a shaky hand, collecting the box for examination. The clear plastic had been unopened, each stick perfectly preserved within the transparent packaging. Logan turned the object over in his hands, admiring its beauty as he caught sight of thick black words scrawled in sharpie on the back.

‘To Logan, From Patton. I saw these and thought of you. So, I bought them. It just felt ‘WRITE’! XD’

Logan couldn’t help but give a snort at the joke before fumbling to open the box. It almost felt like Christmas had come early as he pulled one of the pencils from its place among the others and set the box aside. He took a moment to examine the utensil in all its glory before reaching for his sharpener.

He inserted the blunted wood and twisted. Once. Twice. Thrice. He heard the sound of the graphite against metal and pulled the pencil out, bringing it to eye level for inspection.

The sharply pointed lead was smooth and crackless, forming a seamless cone with the sleek pale wood that surrounded it. It had glided so perfectly against the razor’s edge and now stood regal and polished before him. It was perhaps one of the most stunning sights he had ever laid his eyes on.

His chest tightened as his smile widened, moving to redraw the graph he had damaged earlier. He drew the lead across the paper gently, the line coming out smooth and dark. Just as it should be. He flipped the pencil in one quick and fluid motion and erased a small portion, the graphite coming off cleanly and without much force. It was satisfying and rejuvenating.

How could he have ever thought a day like this could be bad?! He had everything he ever wanted! Warm clothes, a perfectly tempered room, his desk organized exactly as it should be, and a friend who cared enough to-

Realization hit, ‘The World’s Best Pencil’ falling from his fingers and clattering to his desk (without so much as chipping the perfectly pointed tip) as he brought his hand to cover his mouth in shock.

His heart pounded against his ribs almost painfully. His other hand tangled in his still damp locks. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. Everything he did was purposefully calculated and scheduled. How could he… He wasn’t…. This wasn’t possible…. But the evidence was building against him.

Logan Sanders was falling in love with his best friend.

Taglist:

@nightashes

[valiant-reindeer-queen]

When All Is Lost, Then All Is Found (Chapter 3)

Rating: K Words: 2,399 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: Kristoff receives a head injury after coming home from ice harvesting and suffers from amnesia, leaving Anna to deal with the fear she never wanted to face. Anna learns to cope through yet another difficult circumstance, and Kristoff learns to see things through Anna’s eyes. Chapters: 1  2  3  4

Chapter Summary: Anna receives news that Kristoff doesn’t remember her, and she doesn’t take the news too well.

Notes: Youch! This was a difficult one for me. All aboard the pain train! Also, please excuse my awful writing. I’ve never written a story before, this is my first. No one will probably see this since I’m posting it close to midnight, so reblogs the next day would be appreciated. :)

Anna waited. Waited for what seemed like hours outside the bedchamber. Consumed by her own sorrow, her heart ached to know whether Kristoff was alright or not. She wondered why the doctor had told her to step out of the room, but she also knew that she could trust him. Doctor Kjellberg was the family doctor for over twenty years, and Anna and Elsa knew him well, they even considered him to be family. Still, she couldn’t help but think about the possibility of losing Kristoff. The image of his head injury was burnt into her mind. ‘How can someone recover from that?’ she thought to herself. The tears continued to flow until she felt she could cry no more, that is, until she heard her sister.

“Anna!” Elsa cried out.

Anna looked up and relief was finally upon her, the tears came back as well.

“Oh, Elsa…” Anna cried as she stood up, hugging Elsa as tightly as she could.

“I know, I’m here now,” Elsa said soothingly. “I’m here.”

Anna curled into her embrace and Elsa could sense that she wanted to be held better, “Come on, let’s sit down.” she sat on the floor and Anna immediately nuzzled into her, allowing Elsa to wrap her arms around her more securely. Elsa wish she knew what to say but she was just as speechless as Anna. Anna didn’t need words though, all she needed was the warmth of her sister.

A few minutes had passed, and Anna steadily calmed down. Elsa waited for the opportune moment to speak with her distraught sister and felt this was her opportunity.

“Have you heard from Doctor Kjellberg yet?” Elsa asked carefully.

“No, and they won’t let me be with Kristoff either.” Anna said with a sour note.

Elsa sighed. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Over a half hour.” Anna said with a raspy voice.

Elsa felt terrible, she knew how much Anna hated being alone, and to be alone in a circumstance such as this must’ve been especially difficult. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner, Anna.” Elsa said feeling helpless.

Anna looked up at her with eyes that could put a person at ease. “No, it’s okay, Elsa. I have you now.” she said with a smile.

Elsa smiled back, feeling empathy for her sister. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying so much. ‘She needs rest.’ Elsa thought to herself.

******

Back in the bedchambers, the doctor continued to monitor Kristoff closely after redressing his head wound. He was there at his bedside, waiting for any signs of movement.

Eventually Kristoff regained consciousness, his eyes struggled to open, and he grimaced at the throbbing pain he started to feel.

“Ah, my head. It hurts so bad…” Kristoff said, his voice sounding hoarse.

“I should think so, young man. You have a very serious head injury.”

Lines formed between Kristoff’s brows, “What? Why? What happened?” he said squinting, turning his attention to the doctor.

“I don’t know how it happened. I do know it must’ve been a pretty nasty accident though.”

Kristoff’s vision transitioned from a blur to a bit more clarity, he blinked rapidly and winced, “Where am I? Is this your place?” Kristoff struggled to say as he felt more pain.

The doctor’s expression changed, he knew from Kristoff’s response that he had something more than just a head wound. 

“I think I’d better explain something to you, son.”

******

Just outside the room, Elsa was still holding Anna, trying to comfort her the best she could.

“Elsa, I’m so scared. I’m afraid I might lose him.” Anna said with a brittle voice.

“I know Anna, but let’s try not to worry until the doctor comes out, alright? Kristoff is very strong, I’m fairly certain he’ll pull through this one.” Elsa said reassuringly.

“But what if he doesn’t?” Anna said looking up at her.

Elsa looked downcast, before she could think of a response the doors finally creaked open, it was the doctor! The sound of the doors triggered Anna to shoot straight up from Elsa’s lap; the sight of the doctor induced her to ask unhesitating questions.

“Is he awake? How is he? Is he in a lot of pain?”

“Yes, he’s awake.” The doctor calmly replied, “He’s in pain, but he’s taking it well.”

“Can I please see him now?” Anna asked as she was already making her way toward the room. The doctor stopped her.

“Yes, you can. But there’s something you need to know before you go in.” He said seriously.

Anna’s brows drew together, and her eager posture wilted away. Her heart flooded with anxiety knowing he didn’t have good knows.

The doctor paused trying to think of the best way to tell her. After a disheartened sigh he said simply: “Kristoff received quite a blow to the head. And….when this happens, memory loss is not uncommon.” 

“What are you saying?” Anna said confused, Elsa came up from behind resting her hands around Anna’s arms.

The doctor sighed once more. “He doesn’t remember that he lives here. And…I think it’s safe to assume that if he doesn’t remember his own home….he’s not going to remember you.” He said as gently as he could.

Anna’s eyes widened, a blank stare glazing over her eyes. She let out a sudden shaky breath as she backed herself into Elsa. 

Elsa wrapped her arms around her now grief-stricken sister, “Is the memory loss temporary or permanent?” she asked, knowing Anna was unable to at the moment, tightening her grip around her.

“It depends, for the majority of cases it’s temporary, but there have been some cases where it’s permanent.”

“I don’t believe you.” Anna said, her breathing shaky.

“Anna!” Elsa said, looking down at her.

“No!” Anna loosened herself from Elsa’s grip, “He just needs to see me, that’s all! Then he’ll remember me, I just know it!” She made her way toward the doors when the doctor stopped her again. 

“Please, listen to me for a moment, your majesty.” He said in a concerned tone.

“No! You don’t understand. I know him. Kristoff and I have something really special. Our love is strong enough to make him remember!” She said with determination.

“Your majesty, listen to me. With a head injury like his it doesn’t matter how cherished those memories may have been, the results are still going to be the same.” He said looking directly at her. 

Anna’s breathing was still unsteady, she shifted her gaze from the doors to the doctor.

“The one thing I ask of you is this,” he appealed. “please be patient with him. He’s going to be very confused, very irritable. But don’t take it personally. And don’t try to force these memories on him, let him ask, let him try to remember. If you force him it will only make matters worse; he needs time to breathe. Just be there when he needs you. This will bare the best result, trust me.”

She stared off, taking all that he said in. After some time she responded,

“Okay...”

“Alright, you can see him.” He said gently, moving out of her way. 

Anna slowly made her way toward the doors when she stopped and turned around, “Can I at least tell him I’m his wife?” she asked.

The doctor thought for a moment. “If the conversation goes in that direction, yes.”

Anna nodded, she readied herself to knock but then hesitated. After refocusing and taking a shaky breath in, she put on a brave face, knocking on the door lightly, proceeding to open the doors. 

When Anna caught sight of Kristoff, her heart shattered even more. This was the first time she saw him consciously deal with the pain, she wished it were her instead. She went ahead trying to be strong.

“Hi, there.” Anna said timidly.

Kristoff tried focusing on the direction of the shy voice. “Uh, hi.” he said through the pain.

Anna proceeded into the room sitting on the chair next to the bed. She sat there for a moment before clearing her throat. “Um, h-how are you doing?” she asked.

“Well, my head is still killing me. Other than that I guess I’m alright.” Kristoff said with a smile creeping at the corner of his mouth.

Anna hummed lightly and then bit her lip. “Do you- uh… need anything?” she said nervously.

“No, I’m fine.”

There was an awkward moment of silence until Kristoff decided to speak again.

“So… are you my nurse or something?” He said sincerely.

Anna blinked a couple times before her eyes widened; A whirlwind of thoughts consumed her mind in such a brief moment, there was a small part of her that hoped Kristoff would have remembered her once he saw her. The feeling of tears came rushing their way through.

“Um, could you excuse me for a moment?” she said as she got up from the chair, quietly walking out of the room at a good pace. Kristoff watched her leave with a puzzled expression.

Anna came back out to Elsa and Doctor Kjellberg, shutting the doors behind her. She took a few steps forward, looking absolutely dismayed. 

“He doesn’t remember me…” she said with the same blank stare returning, “…He doesn’t remember me.” she repeated shaking her head, her eyes full of tears.

“Oh, Anna…” Elsa said as she wrapped her arms around her sister once more.

The doctor put his hand on Anna’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry your majesty. Perhaps a good nights rest is all he needs. I think it would do you some good too.”

“He’s right Anna, we should get you to bed. It’s very late and you’ve been through a lot tonight.” Elsa said.

Anna was still staring off blankly in disbelief, all but a few tears dropped from her eyes that appeared be full, ready to burst.

“Doctor Kjellberg…” she said.

“Yes, dear.”

“Could y- could you tell Kristoff that I’m his wife. I had the opportunity but I- I just couldn’t.” She said as the sobs finally came out.

“Yes, your majesty. I will.”

Elsa turned her attention from Anna to the doctor. “Thank you for everything.”

The doctor nodded with a melancholy smile. 

“Come on, Anna.” Elsa said as she guided her distressed sister to the other room, the next room over from where Kristoff was staying. It was difficult for Doctor Kjellberg to watch. He knew what the two girls had been through throughout their life, and that this was no easier. 

He then returned to Kristoff. 

Once he entered the room, Kristoff questioned him almost immediately.

“Doctor, was that one of your nurses who was just in here?” 

“No, she wasn’t.” He replied low-spirited.

“Oh. Then who was she?”

The doctor paused. “She’s… your wife.”

Kristoff stared at him in complete, utter shock.

“My wife? I don’t have a wife!” He said as his voice slowly got higher.

“Like I just explained to you, your head injury was so severe that it has caused you to experience a considerable lapse in memory.” The doctor explained once more, a bit firm in tone.

“Yeah, but to forget my own wife?!” 

“It seems you’ve forgotten quite a few years, my boy.”

“No, no, no.” A half-suppressed laugh escaped him. “See, I was never planning on getting married. It was supposed to be just me and my reindeer, Sven, for the rest of our lives...ALONE.” 

“Well, as your trusted doctor I can confirm that you are indeed married to the girl you just saw. She’s been worrying herself sick over you.”

Kristoff felt bad for a brief moment before shaking it off. “Okay, let’s say I did get married to that girl. What are we doing living in this castle? Are we servants here?”

The doctor paused again, there really was no easy way of telling Kristoff any of the information he had forgotten. 

“She’s the queen, and… you’re the king.”

“The QUEEN?! And I- I’m the KING?!” Kristoff said in disbelief.

“Yes. For nearly a year now.”

He scoffed. “Okay, the living here part may have been believable, the being married part was semi-believable, but the king and queen part? You have to be joking! This is all just a big joke, right?”

The doctor sighed, “My boy, you’ve had a very rough night. Why don’t you try to get some rest. Things will start coming back to you slowly the more you rest.” He approached the door getting ready to leave the room when he turned to him. “I’ll be in the room next door. I’ll be checking up on you throughout the night. You can ring the bell if you need me.” he was about to leave the room when Kristoff called out to him.

“Hey, wait!” He said suddenly.

The doctor turned to Kristoff’s view, “Yes?” he said.

“What is that gir- my wife’s name?”

“Anna. Her name is Anna.” he turned back around, “Goodnight, Kristoff.” he said as he shut the doors.

“Goodnight.” Kristoff said with confusion written all over his face.

*******

Both Kristoff and Anna’s minds reeled. Though in separate rooms, their thoughts were nearly the same. They now had only one thing in common; They could not believe what was happening.

‘I can’t believe he doesn’t remember me.’ Anna thought to herself.

‘I can’t believe I’m the king!’ Kristoff thought to himself.

One was distressed, the other was perplexed. One cried herself to sleep, the other exhausted himself to sleep with his own anxious thoughts.

Elsa stayed with Anna for the night. Though she felt her efforts to comfort Anna were unsuccessful, Anna did eventually fall asleep. This reminded Elsa of the nights she used to comfort Anna after a nightmare; The only difference was this nightmare was real.

Elsa’s eyes got heavier as she gazed out the window. The sky had cleared up, showcasing the moon that was nearly full. ‘How can that be after such a terrible storm?’ she thought.

Now that Anna was asleep it was as if her body was now giving her permission to let out her emotions. Tears streamed down her face. Her sister was inconsolable, and her brother-in-law, who she considered to be her actual brother, was in a terrible state. She didn’t know what to do other than be strong for her sister.

“Tomorrow’s another day, Anna.” Elsa said quietly as she closed her eyes. “Tomorrow’s another day.”