#I’m solidly one day behind schedule but it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine

[altariaas]

your face all made up (living on a screen) 

Adrien knows, to some degree, that it’s the important things that are the most important to say out loud, but it would help to know that someone’s actually listening. It would also help if things would stop breaking every time he acknowledged his emotions, too. 

i’ve taken a total of three steps into this fandom but sure, let’s skip to season 4 and fall face-first into the Angst™, as it goes. I just think Adrien should get a little raw powers of destruction sneaking out of control in his daily life. as a treat. Post-Rocketear so lots of spoilers etc.

Adrien walks home from the fight against Nino’s akuma with a raging headache, a developing case of massive anxiety, and a purpling bruise the size of a basketball on his shin.

The last one isn’t actually from the akuma. Those injuries got neatly miraculoused away, along with Nino’s heartbroken betrayal. No, the bruise is from Adrien’s incredibly stupid attempt to funnel his tornado of emotions into something concrete by kicking the front gate, only to completely miss and slam his shin into the solid steel rungs instead, sending him stumbling back in a pained fit of trying to think up creative curse words that won’t result in his father murdering him if he overhears.

Metaphorically, of course. Father’s not a murderer, except when it comes to the slow death of Adrien’s social life.

Though he really…can’t entirely blame that on Father, either.

And there comes the developing case of anxiety. Adrien swallows, a feeble attempt to banish the souring feeling in his stomach and the aching tightness in his chest. He wraps his arms around himself, staring up at the mansion and fighting the increasing urge to run. The inside of his cheek stings as he chews at it, already abused from how hard he’d bitten there earlier when Nino had started making…observations. Accusations. Wildly misdirected statements that definitely aren’t any insight to how Nino truly feels about what might be the truest version of Adrien’s slowly splintering self, if he’s going to be dramatic about it.

Overly passionate, Father’s voice echoes hollowly somewhere in the back of his head. Prone to fits of drama, just like his mother.

Spinning abruptly on his heel, Adrien beats a steady path away from the mansion gates and toward…somewhere. Somewhere that won’t make that developing case of anxiety worse, and where no one can witness his fits of drama.

The urge to send the front camera a rude gesture in farewell is violently stifled as Adrien keeps his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like the action will keep everything in neat and perfect and safe from view. He feels more than hears Plagg rustle curiously in his front pocket, but Adrien ignores the action, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

Then the sharp reminder of how it felt when Ladybug ignored him in favor of Rena Rouge comes back and bites him solidly in the guilty part of his feelings, so Adrien pats his front pocket reassuringly.

“Just taking the long way home,” he murmurs.

Plagg’s eyes are calculating, almost greener than usual as they stare at him, and Adrien feels uncomfortably perceived. Not in the cold, bug-under-a-microscope way he feels sometimes when Father looks at him, but a hot kind of uncomfortable, the way he feels when someone looks right past the Adrien Agreste mask and sees—

What? What do they see? An awkward boy stumbling back against a wall because he never learned what his real self was supposed to look like? Hollow flirting and annoying with a capital a?

Fits of drama, Adrien reminds himself. He shouldn’t take it so close to heart. Not when Nino looked so devastated, so heartbroken. Not when Ladybug’s been giving him uncomfortably clear signs that Nino might’ve been right.

“If you say so, kid,” Plagg finally replies. “But I better get that camembert sooner than later.”

A half-smile tugs at Adrien’s mouth. “Sure, Plagg.”

At least Plagg still wants him around, masks and all. It’s a small comfort, but Adrien clings to it, his arms tightening around himself. Sure, things didn’t go…wonderfully, today, but it’s not all so bad. He got slammed into a van a couple of times, and maybe a couple of busted ribs, but that’s nothing, comparatively. And sure, Father’s finding more flaws in him to coldly evaluate than usual, and Nathalie’s growing paler and sicker by the day, and Ladybug’s either freezing him out bit by bit or starting to forget about him entirely and he isn’t sure which is worse, and his schedule is slipping further and further from manageable by the day and Nino dislikes a side of him so much it sent him straight into an akuma and—

“—kid, stop!”

Adrien’s thoughts cut off abruptly as his foot catches, his sense of balance going horizontal as he stumbles, and proceeds to nearly slam the rest of him face-first into the concrete. Plagg’s sharp warning echoes in his ears as he rights himself with a panicked yelp, hopping once while frantically hoping no one was around to see — whatever that was.

“Kid,” Plagg starts, but he doesn’t finish. He’s left the front pocket, his eyes bright green as he stares at him.

Adrien blinks, shaking the slight sense of vertigo off. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

Huh. What did he do? Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien glances at the street he stumbled over. He frowns.

The culprit is a jagged, snaking tear in the concrete, half a meter deep and the length of Adrien’s arm. He stares at the spiderwebbing cracks that branch out of it, fine grains of crushed concrete already scattering in the slight wind.

Weird, he thinks. He doesn’t remember fighting Nino this far down the street. Lucky Charm should’ve fixed that, even if he did.

“Adrien,” Plagg says, and there’s an uncharacteristically cautious edge in his voice. “What was that?”

Adrien cups a hand around Plagg, running a finger over his head in apology as he draws him out of view again. “Lost in thought, I guess,” he says, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

Plagg doesn’t reply, still staring at him with a look Adrien can’t quite identify. He feels oddly disoriented, like he actually did fall and hit his head, and now it’s spinning in retaliation. Across the street in front of him, the stoplight flickers — red, then orange, then red again. It flickers out entirely, before snapping back to a bright, acidic green. Adrien rubs his eyes.

“Let’s…let’s go home,” Plagg finally says, tucking himself back in Adrien’s shirt pocket. He doesn’t entirely meet Adrien’s eyes as he does, but he curls up against his chest, solid and warm, and it’s almost enough to banish the ache that lies beneath.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “Home, then.”

————

There’s a memory Adrien has, from when he was younger. It’s one he holds tightly to his chest, tattered and frayed as it is.

He was much smaller than he is now — barely six years-old, maybe, and small enough to hide behind the large statues his mother would put funny hats on to make his father laugh. She’d done just that earlier, standing tiptoed on the staircase as she’d slipped a terrible orange bowler hat on the pretty lady Nathalie said was from Greece. Adrien had giggled behind his fingers and his father had laughed, an unfamiliar sound that’s faded in memory now, but a bright and real one nonetheless.

It had been a good day, until mother had come down with a cold during dinner and Adrien had jolted out of sleep from a nightmare about giant, ugly orange hats that snatched up his mother with their ribbon-like fingers and took her away from him forever.

He’d sprinted through the house like the horrible hat monsters from his dream were on his heels, slipping in his socks up to the cracked door of his father’s study.

He hadn’t needed to knock, then, or even schedule a meeting. He’d slid through the doorway and barreled into his father, only to be caught by strong arms and swept into his father’s lap, warm and safe from any monsters that dared to follow him here.

“I’m worried about your mother, too,” his father had said. “But it’s just a cold, you see? Nothing to go slipping and falling down the stairs about.”

He’d received nothing but a sniffle in response.

“Alright.” Fingers had pinched around his nose as his father sighed. “How about we read a story then, until you’re not so frightened? Just you and me.”

The book they’d started that night was about a prince and a planet and a rose, and Adrien still remembers the sound his father’s voice made as it resonated where Adrien’s cheek pressed against his chest, his arms holding tight and warm around him, like nothing bad could slip in from outside and hurt him.

It’s a favorite memory of his, one Adrien finds springing back to mind whenever Father gives him a smile, half-formed and distanced as they are.

Lately, though, it’s a memory that stings to think about. It makes it harder to look Father in the eye, for some reason.

————

“And like, I really can’t say this enough, but I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, Nino, it’s fi—”

“No seriously, dude, I’m really sorry, I—”

“Nino.”

His friend finally jerks out from his puddle of miserable apologies, and Adrien gives him a weary smile. “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I dragged you into the boiler room then got akumatized,” Nino says, distressed. “That’s worse than like, the plot of eight different horror movies.”

“Your head was shaped like a giant blue tear, it wasn’t that scary,” Adrien assures him.

“I am ninety percent sure I remember shoving you to the floor,” Nino moans, not reassured in the least.

Part of Adrien’s mind, the part that sounds a little too much like a spurned cat whom hell hath no fury, or however the saying goes, wants to pipe up with the fact that getting shoved to the floor was five-star treatment compared to what Nino (akuma, Nino’s akuma, that’s important) had proceeded to do to him afterwards.

The bus-slamming thing had hurt.

Not as much as hurting Nino would’ve, though.

So instead, Adrien gives Nino the kindest smile he can, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says, “As if the akuma gave you the biceps to pull that off.”

“Hey,” Nino knocks their shoulders together, his guilt ridden expression easing just a bit as he gives him a half-hearted grin. “I’m ripped, bro.”

It takes Adrien a moment to reply, too busy fighting the overwhelmingly — traitor — urge to follow the warmth of contact with Nino like a starving animal. He doesn’t need to fight for too long — his brain throws everyone thinks you’re a joke at him just in time for Adrien to hunch his shoulders in and give Nino an awkward little grin of his own.

Maybe his brain’s a traitor too, though, because he doesn’t remember Nino even saying that about Chat Noir.

He thinks.

Hopes.

Actually, his brain can go sit in a corner if it’s going to keep throwing stuff like this at him. Shaking anything and everything knowledge-wise that belongs to Chat Noir from his mind, Adrien turns his attention back to the scribbled game of hangman they’ve been playing on the corner of Nino’s history notes. Group projects are supposed to be fun, anyways, especially with Nino.

“Uh, c,” he guesses.

Nino adds a single c to the blank letter spaces. Adrien squints at the paper, his mouth downturning at the suspiciously familiar arrangement he has so far.

_adia_t, ca_ef_ee, d_ea_y

“Nino,” he says, carefully.

Nino smirks. “Mm-hm.”

“If this has anything to do with perfume ads—”

“Uh-huh?”

“Then I hate you.”

Nino cackles, scribbling in the rest of the rest of the accursed phrase as Max loudly hushes him. Adrien rolls his eyes and huffs, but he’s unable to stop the small smile of amusement. It quickly fades as his words to Nino echo with an uncomfortable emphasis in his head.

You’re being stupid, he tells himself. Adrien pushes away the nagging feeling. Nino knows he’s not serious. He knows Adrien doesn’t actually hate him. Just like Adrien knows Nino didn’t mean it, when he said all that stuff about Chat Noir.

His fingers tighten around his pencil. He’s not supposed to be thinking about that. Nino apologized, to Chat Noir himself, and just because Adrien can’t get the sting out, it doesn’t mean that Nino meant anything genuine by it.

Overly dramatic, Adrien reminds himself. Way too emotional.

The ache in his chest makes itself known again with a pang, and Adrien bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at Nino from the corners of his eyes.

Maybe he should tell Nino he cares about him, just to be sure. The words form in his mind, only to catch abruptly in his throat, thick and cloying. He thinks of how thoughtlessly he’s been able to tell Father he loves him. Thinks of how easy it’s always been to tell Ladybug how much she means to him.

He thinks of how neither of them seem to like meeting him in the eyes, lately.

He swallows the words, opting to smile brightly at Nino instead. It’s probably for the best. Nino’s always been better at picking up on people’s feelings, anyways, and he doesn’t need the kind of nagging assurance Adrien does. And it’s not like Adrien’s had much luck telling people he loves them, lately. Actually, if you look at his track record, he probably hasn’t…had any luck at all.

Adrien shakes his head, shoving the coldness creeping into his chest as far to the corner of his mind as he can, and sketches out enough blank spaces on the paper to spell fake mustaches are the new sexy.

If he can still make Nino laugh, it’s fine. He wouldn’t be laughing if he thought Adrien was annoying and obnoxious.

So see? It’s fine.

————

Adrien thinks about elastics, sometimes. The stretchy, rubber kind that Mme Thurston uses to pull back the longer locks of his hair while she’s doing his makeup, tying it up in a neat little explosion on top of his head that makes him look like a blond weed. She makes it look easy, twisting the little bands around and around, until they’re tight enough to hold his hair in place.

(Adrien’s hair is always easy, of course. Chat Noir’s hair, on the other hand, would probably give Mme Thurston nightmares. Mainly because Adrien has a fun little habit of shaking his head side to side until it’s an unrecognizable blond disaster, but that’s not particularly relevant.)

(Ladybug doesn’t even need to use elastics, opting for the soft strands of ribbon that hold her pigtails in perfect place.)

Adrien doesn’t normally use elastic bands either, but he likes the way they feel when he’s nervous, stretching and rubbery, then snapping perfectly back into place, like he’d never twisted them all out of proportion at all. The way he can hook his fingers in both ends and pull and pull and pull, but they never quite snap.

Felix has a fun trick with those, when they do photoshoots together.

(When they used to.)

He’ll press a little elastic against Adrien’s arm and pull the end back, just far enough, then let it snap back into place, stinging little red marks when it slaps against skin.

“Stop it,” Adrien scowls at him, but the expression wavers. Playful isn’t a word he uses along with Felix very often, but photoshoots are always more entertaining with him, at least. Or they were, until his mother disappears, and family photoshoots grind to an utter and complete halt forever—

—just for now, his father says, until something changes, until that something happens, until that metaphorical other foot that’s always hanging over Adrien’s head finally stomps its way back to earth and demolishes him in the process—

Felix replies by stretching another elastic between his fingers, shooting it toward him this time like a little slingshot. Adrien snags it out of the air, slotting it between his own fingers to fire back. It misses by a miserable meter and a half, because at the time this conversation takes place, he and Ladybug haven’t stayed up all night practicing their aim by trying to hit the left ear of Le Stryge on Notre-Dame.

Felix snorts, snatching the elastic from the floor, and makes a show of placing the band back against Adrien’s wrist. He pulls it back with a meaningful look, like an exasperated teacher. “It’s the bounce back that hurts,” he tells him. “Not the stretching part. When it snaps back to place—” He demonstrates by releasing the band, and Adrien flinches at the tiny sting. “—that’s the part that hurts.”

Four years later, having up close and personally experienced what a shattered ribcage stabbing into your lungs feels like, Adrien wants to correct Felix on tiny little elastic bands and what actually hurts, but the point, he guesses, is that he still remembers what it felt like.

He still thinks about those elastics sometimes, and how far they can be pulled until they snap back into place. How the little rubber band can make it so far, get so close to breaking, only to snap right back to where it started.

(Chat Noir doesn’t use elastics, either.)

————

For all that Adrien will stand by stuffing the worst of his emotions into a box and never thinking about them ever as a perfectly reasonable way to go about handling things —and whatever Plagg says doesn’t count, he’s a kwami who compares emotions to cheese — Adrien really does believe in communication as key.

Living it out is just. Another thing entirely.

But Adrien’s lived his life with a cold mansion’s worth of words left unsaid, so on principle, he really does believe that if something’s important, you should say it. Maybe nobody will really listen to you, or take you seriously, but at least you’ll have said it, and maybe at some point they’ll remember you said it, and it’ll mean something to them.

But maybe that’s what stopping him this time — he just can’t decide if it’s the idea of not being listened to that scares him, or the idea of actually being heard that’s worse.

It’s not like he wants to tell Ladybug he’s upset. It’s not like he even wants to be upset.

It doesn’t change the fact that he is, kind of, a little bit, (a lot) — but again, on principle, Adrien just — he doesn’t like being upset. It’s all uncomfortable and hot and it sits on his chest like a rock, weighing heavier and heavier until he learns to get over it.

It’s only worse when he tries to say something about it, because that never works. Maybe it’s a really sucky side effect of being homeschooled for most of his life, but every time Adrien opens his mouth to tell someone he’s upset with them and here’s why, it always backfires spectacularly. There’s a weird moment where something happens and the other person says their part, and suddenly Adrien’s complaints sound so stupid he wants to crawl in a hole and hide. There’s a dizzying one-eighty and Adrien’s suddenly the one in the wrong, and the other person’s upset at him, and now he’s got to apologize before he makes it worse than he already has.

And granted, most of those other people are just Father (or Father’s tinny voice through the phone), but he’s already enough to beat the lesson in.

Metaphorically, of course. Always — always metaphorically. Adrien’s never doubted otherwise.

“Maybe I’m just that bad at arguing,” he mutters, swiping darkly at his phone screen.

“I dunno,” Nino says, his voice consoling. “I mean, you were pretty good at it when you argued me into watching that one anime the other night.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t upset with you about that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nino winks at him. “Unless your voice going all high-pitched about why Sailor Moon is the peak of animation is your default setting.”

“I wasn’t upset with you, though,” Adrien shakes his head, cutting him off. “I’m never upset with you.”

And he isn’t, really. Not even when Nino tells him, in an admittedly roundabout way, that he’s annoying and irritating and has loose and shady moral commitment to love and all its forms (or something like that).

He means, it stings, but only in the way Felix’s little rubber band snaps do. Not enough to justify picking an argument with Nino. Not to justify upsetting him, and possibly losing the one friend who’s stuck by him through the worst and actually shares stuff with him these days.

Adrien bites down on the inside of his cheek. If he’s not careful with the way his train of thought’s been steering itself lately, he’s going to accidentally show Ladybug how upset he is, and that’s—

Well, the fallout of that will hurt a lot worse than a little elastic band snap.

A lot worse than it already does, so. Back in your corner, resentful thoughts.

“Uh-huh.” There’s a quiet edge of suspicion in Nino’s voice, and Adrien stiffens, suddenly feeling horribly seen. The look Nino’s pinned on him doesn’t help at all, searching and curious and—

Concerned? Upset? Angry?

Adrien doesn’t know. He thinks it’s concern, but he’s also been thinking Ladybug’s been amused with him when she’s apparently just been annoyed, so who knows, really—

Shut up, Adrien tells his subconscious furiously. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“It’s okay, if you are,” Nino says hesitantly, perhaps having picked up on whatever storm of emotions are slipping through Adrien’s schooled expression. “Upset, I mean. At your old man or me. It’s better to talk to people upfront, y’know? Otherwise…”

Nino’s expression twists in guilt, and Adrien’s lungs feel a little like they’re shriveling up and dying. Or maybe that’s just his chest on the whole, collapsing in on itself and taking Adrien’s ability to breath right with it.

He isn’t upset. He’s not. He doesn’t need to talk to anyone upfront about it, because there’s nothing to talk about in the first place. He’s not going to be overly dramatic about this too, he’s not. He’s just— it’s just—

Is it personal? Was it something he did, that made Ladybug trust everyone else but him? Did he slip up at some point and he just — he can’t remember? She’d told him, she’d promised they were fine after New York, but maybe she’d changed her mind without telling him and decided he needed to figure out on his own where he messed up if he was ever going to be worthy of her trust agai—

“I’ll be — I’ve gotta — restroom,” Adrien stammers, shooting up from his seat and all but sprinting for the doors.

“Wait, Adrien—!”

Nino’s panicked call is lost as Adrien flies down the hall, slipping down the stairs to the bathrooms on the first floor where he’s less likely to be found. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry, or anything so humiliating, but there’s an awful crushing sensation in his chest that makes him think he might do something he’ll regret. Or say something, any of the raging thoughts that bang off the insides of his skull with hurt. Something he won’t be able to take back.

Adrien wavers, planting both hands on the edge of the sink and staring at the white porcelain. His breathing sounds odd in the echo of the bathroom, wavering and off-beat. His vision swims traitorously, so he glares up at the mirror instead, only to falter as he catches sight of his reflection.

He looks…not great. Pale skin and bloodshot eyes in the way that’s likely to make Nathalie call a doctor on him. Which would be just fantastically ironic, considering she’s the one who needs a doctor, even if she’s never going to admit it and keep lying to him. Just like Ladybug, all careful smiles and words chosen with forced, casual caution, staring at him with eyes that are a million other places except actually seeing him.

Stop, he tells himself furiously, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop. Ladybug is not Father. Ladybug is Ladybug, his best friend and partner and he trusts her, he trusts her to have her reasons for not telling him. He has to trust her. He does trust her, he—

A sharp cracking sound tears Adrien from his thoughts, and he snaps his head up to find seven of his own disjointed faces staring back at him. He blinks, and suddenly the faces are clinking to the floor, broken fragments of the mirror scattering around his shoes.

His first thought, apart from a bizarre sense of not being entirely in his body, is a well-timed curse word.

Instead, what he gets out is, “Seven years bad luck,” muttered, almost absently, beneath his breath.

Typical. He wonders if moonlighting as a black cat-themed superhero that leans heavily into exaggerated acrobatics counts as crossing one. Like he needs more bad luck, right now.

What he actually needs, is…

Is…

He needs an escape.

From everything, it feels like, but for now, Adrien will settle for an escape from the school bathroom with all the mirrors that just broke.

…somehow.

————

For all that he throws fits of drama about it, the thing is, Adrien has escaped.

He’s made it out of the house, to school. He’s learned physics and grammar and math that Nathalie taught him six months ago, and he’s learned how to play hangman and cut class and tell your friend’s fortune with folded paper. He’s made friends, real friends, and he’s learned how to muffle loud giggles on the phone at night and what kinds of snack food Nino likes and doesn’t like. He’s learned how to pick up on a whole slew of emotions other than disappointment and apathy and mildly reserved approval, and he’s learned how to tell when other people are hurting.

(He’s learned how to tell how he’s hurting, but he’s unlearned that one faster.)

He’s learned the words it takes to voice that Father isn’t always right, learned how to curl his fingers tight enough into his palms that they don’t shake so much anymore, and he’s learned how to stretch like a rubber band against people’s anger, bending without breaking.

(He’s also learned about the perks of night vision and bone density and six different ways to trip someone up with the leather belt you’ve got tied around your waist like a tail, but he can’t credit school for those.)

And he thinks — he thinks he’s come so far, he’s learned so much, he’s so much stronger now—

Then his father’s eyes soften just enough to resemble the eyes of the man who held him close and told him how much he loved him, loves him, who stayed up all night reading Adrien’s favorite book to him and whose lap was the safest, warmest place in the world, and Adrien—

Hates himself. Hates himself as he snaps right back into place, right back into the Adrien who crumbles at Father’s slightest snap of tone. Hates himself so much it stings.  

Because it’s so much easier to do that, than it is to hate his father.

————

Adrien doesn’t particularly want to go to the photoshoot after school, especially not now that mirrors are literally breaking at the sight of his face, but — and here’s the fits of drama again — like everything else Father’s deigned to want, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Technically, though, Adrien fantasizes as he fixes his eyes upward so the makeup artist can do her best to hide the darkening circles beneath them (“—really, dear, do you sleep at all these days—”), he could give himself a choice. He could make it fun, too, striking the perfect pose before transforming into Chat Noir right smack in front of the entire studio crew, and then Father would have something truly inspired to review that evening. A perfect snapshot of Adrien cataclysm-ing his merry way out of the studio and out into the gloriously free outside, that’s what.

Except then Adrien would have way too many choices to make, and even less all at once. The identity thing, being one. How to avoid Ladybug murdering him and dancing atop his grave, for another. Not that he thinks Ladybug is capable of murdering anyone, of course—

(—no, that’s solely reserved for him and his powers alone—)

—but he can imagine she’d be angry, were he to stage a reveal that way.

Were he to stage a reveal at all, Adrien thinks sourly, blinking until the stiff feeling of the makeup beneath his eyes fades. His makeup artist’s had to use the thick kind today, the extra-strength stuff that’s going to take forever to wash off. He stifles the urge to swipe at it, trying to relax into the feeling instead. Makeup is familiar, consistent. Sure, it’s technically another lie, but it’s one Adrien’s at least aware of. Makeup, he can see through. He can put it on and take it off himself, exercising some tiny semblance of control over what’s being hidden from the world.

Everything else, though…

“Carefree, my boy, carefree,” Vincent implores, his eyebrows furrowing as Adrien snaps himself back to the present. “You look as if you’re being drowned in mud, not soaring above the clouds.”

Adrien’s cheeks puff up as he blows his breath out, short and frustrated. At least Vincent is every bit as prone to fits of drama as he is, he reminds himself. It’s better to be stuck with someone passionate than someone as open as a brick wall, even if it is just Vincent antagonizing him with a camera again.

“Sorry,” he offers, giving him a weak grin. “I’ll get it this time, promise.”

Vincent doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he rambles about lighting and angles instead of scolding Adrien, which he can’t help but be grateful for. It allows Adrien a moment to let the smile drop, staring at the ground instead of the brightening lights around him.

He toes sullenly at the smooth linoleum of the floor, the solid black of Father’s logo glaring back at him from the side of his sneaker. Maybe he should just get more sleep. Maybe all the ugly tangled emotions in his chest are just residual buildup from being overtired, that’s all. Ladybug mentioned the stress getting to her a little while back, her own eyes bloodshot and exhausted. Adrien’s brilliant solution had been to take her to the movies, which had gone just as brilliantly as every other time he’s tried something like that, which is not very well at all. He’d been worried about her, though, even before she’d thrown him from a roof on accident. Ladybug carries so much on her shoulders, and strong as they are, Adrien knows what it’s like to be strung so tightly that even the slightest extra weight feels like it’ll snap you. He sees the same weight in his own eyes, now, even blinded by the studio lights.

His stomach twists. Ladybug’s eyes aren’t half as bloodshot lately. There’s an easiness to her that wasn’t there before, a lightening of tension, and yes, Adrien’s happy she’s feeling better, he’s nothing but glad that she isn’t so exhausted and worn, but…

But she’d trusted him before, even when she was strung her tightest. And now that there’s relief in her eyes, now that he’s taking a backseat and Ladybug adds more allies to their roster by the day, allies that she knows but he doesn't, allies that Alya and Nino probably know too, just like everything else, now that—

Was he the problem? Was it his fault, that Ladybug’s eyes turned shadowed and her movements wavered? He’s tried, he’s tried to be a rock for her, to be something constant and consistent as Adrien himself wants, but the horrible feeling that he’s not enough is now warring with the awful feeling that he’s the problem in the first place, because — why else? Why else would she shut him out like this? Why else would she decide he’s untrustworthy, after all this time, why—

The lights against his vision suddenly flare painfully bright, so bright Adrien’s forced to stagger back.

Vincent jolts away with a cry, waving his hand frantically as the camera sparks and sputters. Echoed cries of surprise ring throughout the studio as the overhead lights flicker wildly, turning the studio into a frightening mockery of a particularly bad nightclub.  

Adrien stumbles again, alarm coursing through his veins like a cold burst of water, and he darts for the intern nearby, who’s fallen over in her scramble to back away from the strobing lights. She’s just taken his hand when the lights go dark, plunging the studio into blackness. Before anyone can react beyond a frightened shriek, the lights snap back on, bright and steady as if nothing’s happened.

Adrien slowly pulls the intern to her feet, staring at the blazing lights as his vision swims, blinking against the sudden onslaught of dark spots in his eyes.

“Is it an akuma?” the intern asks, her eyes wild with fear. “Should we — should we evacuate?”

Adrenaline shoots through Adrien’s veins, his head whipping back and forth as he searches for a spark of purple, for the familiar edge of butterfly’s wings. But there’s nothing out of place, save the sputtering camera Vincent’s fretting over. There’s no sign of garish transformation, no following explosions, no loudly proclaimed demands for miraculous. In fact, if Adrien hadn’t seen it himself, it would appear as if nothing’s ever happened at all.

“It could’ve been the power lines,” someone suggests. “This place is pretty old, you know.”

“With Agreste’s standards?” someone else mutters. “I doubt it.”

“The camera is broken. Unsalvageable,” Vincent announces over the outbreak of murmurs. To his credit, he barely sounds shaken. “It must have been a power failure, or a blown fuse, I suppose. Nothing we can help.”

Vincent’s word is all the rest of the crew needs, and before Adrien can clamber up to inspect the lights himself, he’s being ushered from the studio, another intern furiously muttering about how she refuses to be fired for losing a model to “subpar building inspections” or something along those lines.

Adrien, who is already anticipating Father’s reaction himself, can’t blame her for bailing the moment he’s in the Gorilla’s hands.

————

Adrien is six years and three months old when his father finally finishes reading Le Petite Prince to him, and he comes the closest he ever has to throwing a fit at the ending.

He doesn’t actually throw a fit, of course, because then his father might not read to him ever again. That they finished this book together is already more precious as anything Adrien’s ever owned, and he won’t ruin that with his dramatics.

“Not all stories have the happy endings you want, Adrien,” his father tells him. Adrien feels his arms tighten around his shoulders, where he sits snugly in his father’s lap. “Sometimes you must make the most of what you have.”

Even at a young age, Adrien knows that he has quite a lot. The knowledge only grows as he does, just how much he has from his last name alone. His room alone could rival some people’s homes, Adrien has no right to want for anything.

And yet.

Sometimes, Adrien thinks back to the deep timbre of his father’s voice as he reads about yellow snakes and desert flowers and feels a stinging sense of loss so sharply it takes his breath away.

Other times, though, Adrien thinks about his father choosing to read a story about a boy who could only return home by letting a snake poison him, and wonders what that says about their relationship.

It’s not even Father’s icy tone that hurts anymore, really, Adrien thinks, as he picks at his dinner. Not that he’s likely to hear that tone tonight. Father’s locked himself firmly in his office again, and even Nathalie is nowhere to be seen. It’s quiet enough that Adrien’s gotten away with heating up the cheapest dinner they have in the house, and scouring enough cheese for Plagg that he won’t be complaining for a month.

Well, a day, maybe. Plagg’s a special kind of greedy.

But it’s painstakingly clear that Adrien will be dining alone, tonight. There hasn’t even been a single message fro Nathalie, informing him of all the lessons he’s been falling short in lately. Adrien twists his fork in his hand, setting it down with a weary sigh as dark spots flicker before his eyes again.

At least there won’t be anyone to lecture him, he tells himself, tapping absently on the table. The smooth wood looks immaculate beneath his fingers, the edge of his pinky still a bruised purple from the other evening, when Adrien misjudged the distance from the rooftop to his own window.  

Father won’t be able to lecture him about that, either, so it’s a good thing, really. It’s a good thing, that no one will be saying anything to him about the studio mishap earlier, or the darker than usual circles beneath his eyes, or he way he’s been showing up late more often than not to everything. Not about his slipping grades, or the way he keeps forgetting to hide his glare when photoshoots run longer than they’re supposed to.

It’s a good thing, Adrien tells himself, as his fingers clench around the table’s edge. It’s a good thing that he’s alone tonight. Being alone and unseen is much better than the alternative. It’s a good thing, that he can stew in whatever ugly emotions keep threatening to rise to the surface all by himself, where he won’t risk hurting anyone else with them. He can’t mess anything up if no one’s there to see it, so really, it’s a good thing, it’s—

It hits him, all-encompassing and overwhelming all at once.

Unwanted, thick and horrible and choking, the sensation of being traded out and traded off and stepped over, left behind and left out and laughed at in vicious whispers, closed doors and closed expressions and locking him out, like bars sliding down from the ceiling and cutting him off, trapped in place like an animal in the zoo, entertaining for a heartbeat than easily moved past for something better, unwanted and untrusted and alone, alone, alone again—

Adrien buckles and something howls in his ears, his hands burning as his fingers crunch through wood and his vision whites out.

For a heartbeat, Adrien isn’t Adrien — he’s the swelling of flames as fire catches light, he’s the pull of the undertow as it rips across the shore, he’s the blazing burst of lightning against metal, he’s on the edge of a cliff and stepping off—

And then he’s Adrien again, small and shaking and breathing in large, heaving gasps, trying desperately not to throw up all over the table.

“—drien, kid, Adrien, please!”

Adrien tears his hands from the table as if it’s shocked him. Black flecks drift from his fingers as they tremble, and Plagg splits into three as he flits in front of him, six pairs of green eyes staring at him in blazing concern.

“Plagg?” He barely recognizes his own voice, and his throat feels like sandpaper.

“Breathe,” Plagg orders as his image solidifies back to one, more serious than Adrien can remember him sounding. “You gotta breathe, Adrien.”

He does, in stuttering, shaky gasps, because Adrien will do anything Plagg asks him to. He’ll light himself on fire if he wanted, because Plagg is all he’s got.

Plagg is here, and that means more to Adrien than anything else could.

“Breathing,” he finally croaks out. “I’m — breathing, see? S’all good.”

It is most certainly not all good, because Adrien still feels like he got thrown off a building and into a blender, but Plagg almost looks frightened, looking from Adrien to the table to Adrien again, and—

Adrien freezes. The table. The stupidly, enormous, ridiculously expensive, lonely table his family’s supposed to use. The table he definitely, most certainly felt crunch under his hands.

Adrien follows Plagg’s gaze downwards, and suddenly feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Ice coats the inside of his chest, cold and creeping. The sidewalk. The mirrors, the studio camera, and now this.

“Adrien.” Plagg sounds so very serious.

He could explain most of it away. It’d be — it would be easy.

But this?

Adrien stares at the half-decayed table, ashes still flaking from the sides in a way that’s horribly distinctive of his cataclysm. A spiderwebbed path of smoldering destruction, all tracing back to where his fingers had been white-knuckled at the table’s edge.

Something snaps in the chandelier above him, cracking once and fizzling off into sparks.

It feels like something’s snapped in Adrien’s head. Maybe he’s lost it. Maybe he’s finally gone off the edge, and that — that can be his excuse, when Father asks him what, exactly, he did to the table. He can tell Father they’ve both lost it, they’ve both gone mad, and wouldn’t mom think this was all so funny—

A sound like a sob rips itself from his chest, before Adrien can strangle it into submission. He can’t lose it now. He can’t break down, he has to — he has to come up with a way to explain this, he has to find an escape, or Father’s going to be so angry, and so cold, and…and…

Adrien goes still. Like ice, numb and calming, he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about excuses. He doesn’t have to worry about any of that at all. No one’s coming. Not to check on him. The silence of the house is overpowering, the tiny patter of the vaporized table bits as they land on the floor almost thunderous.

“Adrien,” Plagg repeats, softer this time. “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, he lifts his head, meeting Plagg’s bright green eyes with his own. Something in Plagg’s expression goes tight, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes before he schools them back into careful calm.

“Oh, kid.” Plagg’s voice is gentle. It still sounds like a lament.

Adrien tears his gaze away, swallowing. His fingers, still shaking, curl into unsteady fists. They feel odd, almost scalded. Adrien ignores it.

He can hide the table, he tells himself. He can fix the chandelier. No one will notice. He can hide this.

He’s Adrien Agreste.

He can deal with a couple of cracks in his facade.

[blacktofade]

pls oh god of fics pls grant thee touch starved Shane and oblivious Ryan in shyan ship *bows down* (i sent one before and donno if u actually got it cuz it showed error so im sending in another try)

I didn’t get your other ask unfortunately, but this is an idea I’ve been wanting to write like 10k for, but I know I’ll never have the energy. So it’s a little ficlet instead.

CW: Includes post-kidnapping, malnutrition, and an embarrassing lack of touching for a touch-starved prompt.

*

Shane disappears on September 17th. Ryan only remembers because they’d been scheduled to shoot an episode of Weird and/or Wonderful World and he’d had to eventually make the uncomfortable call to the Los Angeles County Arboretum and Botanic Garden to cancel their tour and interview.

It had been funny at first with Shane’s habitual lateness. They’d all assumed he’d slept late, forgot what day it was, and completely blanked on the filming schedule.

It’s less funny a week later when a missing person’s report is filed and Shane’s parents fly out to stay with Scott while they wait for any kind of news.

Detective Flores finds him two states over, a month and a half later. There are six hostages in total, as part of some elaborate heist that’s foiled before it comes to fruition. Shane’s kept in hospital for almost a full week, treated for malnutrition and a few general injuries, the news passed to Ryan through Scott via a DM on Instagram.

For the first time since Shane’s disappearance, Ryan sleeps through the whole night.

On the Saturday following Shane’s return, Ryan wakes to a phone call at eight in the morning.

“Hello?” he answers, voice rough from sleep, brain barely online.

“I’m sorry,” Shane apologizes, but his voice alone is enough to wake up Ryan the rest of the way. It’s the first he’s heard from him. He’d been trying to give the family space and knew Shane would find him once he was ready. Apparently, now is that time. “Can you come pick me up?”

“Sure,” Ryan agrees instantly, shoving back the covers and getting out of bed. “Where are you?”

“My apartment,” Shane admits and Ryan pauses from where he’s trying to dig out a pair of clean pants. “I just need a break.”

“Sure,” Ryan repeats. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

It’s quiet on the other end of the line before, quietly, Shane says, “Thanks, Ryan.”

*

Shane’s waiting at the curb when Ryan pulls up.

Ryan unlocks the door and watches Shane fold himself into his seat, waiting a moment for Shane to settle before reaching over to set a hand on his knee, squeezing gently.

“Hey man,” he says gently. “Long time no see.”

Shane startles at the touch, but glances over, offering a small smile in return.

He looks different. His face is thinner, his cheekbones a little more prominent, and there’s a new scar on the right side of his forehead that disappears into his hairline.

“Hey,” Shane replies, buckling his seatbelt and giving Ryan a view of his right hand, which has two fingers splinted together. “Thanks for coming.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

Ryan stares at him incredulously and eventually Shane looks away, out the passenger side window.

“It’s just hard being surrounded by everyone right now,” he says, clearly talking about his family. “I need a break.”

Ryan checks over his shoulder and pulls back onto the road.

“Is my apartment okay? Or did you want to go somewhere else?”

“Your place is fine,” Shane tells him, and from the corner of his eye, Ryan sees him turn his head, staring as though Ryan won’t notice.

At the next red light, Ryan glances over. “How are you doing?”

Shane looks away, clearly caught. “Getting tired of people asking me that. It’s all anyone asks these days.”

“Guess they just want to know you’re okay.”

Shane glances back towards him. “Could be better,” he says bluntly and Ryan can’t help but let out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Yeah, no shit. But the hospital cleared you?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighs. “Apart from a few broken fingers and some weight loss, I’m okay.”

“I missed you,” Ryan admits. “It’s probably the longest I’ve gone without seeing you since we started at BuzzFeed.”

Shane frowns like he’s thinking and then the frown deepens. “Jesus, you might be right.”

Ryan laughs again. “Horrifying thought, huh?”

“Puts things in perspective.”

“Didn’t you miss me?” Ryan asks jokingly, but Shane doesn’t answer, just laughs quietly.

“It’s weird,” Shane says. “I was never alone, but it feels like I have to relearn how to be around people now.”

Ryan had read the news after Shane’s rescue. There had been five others saved alongside Shane, so he suspects they might be the reason Shane wasn’t alone.

Ryan shrugs gently. “Adjusting is hard, and I’m sure it’s even harder with your family refusing to let you out of their sights.”

Shane shakes his head. “You have no idea. I was in the shower for twenty minutes this morning and they started knocking on the door to see if I was still alive.”

“Rough,” Ryan laments. “Well, you’re welcome to chill at my place for as long as you need.”

“Can I move in?” Shane jokes, but Ryan just shrugs.

“If that’s what you want.”

It’s silent for a moment before Shane says, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Ryan offers him a smile. “Of course, dude. It’s what I’m here for.”

It’s quiet for the rest of the drive until Ryan pulls into his usual parking spot and glances over. “You good?

Shane nods and carefully unbuckles his seatbelt. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

Ryan’s chest tightens watching Shane limp his way towards the front door, but he knows the last thing Shane needs is more helicoptering.

“Can I get you anything?” Ryan asks as he shuts the door behind them, watching Shane glance around as though he expects Ryan to have redecorated during his disappearance, but ultimately Shane shakes his head. “Okay, well, make yourself at home. You know the drill. I’m gonna go grab a drink.”

He knows Shane can find his own way to the living room, so he moves around him, heading in the direction of the kitchen instead.

“Ryan?” Shane questions and Ryan pauses, turning back.

“Yeah?”

Shane hesitates like he doesn’t know how to get the words out, but after a moment, he takes two steps closer and draws Ryan into a hug instead.

Ryan isn’t entirely expecting it. Shane’s not a touchy-feely guy, which means Ryan can probably count on one hand the amount of times they’ve hugged. But Shane folds around him so tightly that it startles the breath right out of him.

“I did miss you,” Shane mutters and Ryan lifts his hands to reciprocate, holding Shane as hard as he dares when everything feels so fragile.

“I was really worried,” Ryan admits. “I thought you’d been killed.”

He finds himself rubbing one hand along Shane’s spine, trying to soothe him as Shane tucks his face against his shoulder.

“You were gone for a long time,” Ryan continues.

He can feel the warmth of Shane’s breath through his shirt as he exhales shakily. “They broke my fingers when I tried to escape.”

Ryan holds him tighter, needing them both to understand that Shane’s safe again. Having the weight of Shane leaning against him is grounding in a way he never knew it could be. About a month into Shane’s disappearance, Ryan had gone through a mourning period, assuming he’d never see Shane again. He finds tears prickling his eyes as the relief hits him solidly in the chest.

“God, Shane,” he murmurs and he’s not sure who’s comforting who.

The warmth of Shane spreads through him, all the way down to his toes, like a cup of hot soup on a cold day. Except that Ryan never realized he was too cold until this moment. He feels alive and whole again, and he knows he can’t even begin to understand what Shane experienced. The fact that he can feel every ridge of Shane’s spine as his hand passes along it says enough.

When he finally starts feeling like Shane’s probably ready to let go, he loosens his arms and shifts, one foot lifting to take a step backwards.

“Just a little longer,” Shane requests and Ryan’s more than happy to comply, a noise of agreement escaping as he nods.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need,” Ryan tells him. “It’s just good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Shane replies and tightens his grip again like he might never let go.

To be honest, Ryan’s okay with that. He holds on just as tightly and settles against Shane, finally feeling happy again for the first time in months.

[smugzayn]

Sorry for what?

You’re just Harry’s manager, and ignoring the fact that he’s been in love with you since day one, he accepts that. Of course, that doesn’t mean he will always accept that. When he invites you to spend the weekend at his family’s home in the countryside, you surprisingly accepts.

Featuring miscommunications, skinny-dipping, and heartbreak. A story told in three parts.

INTRO

There were a lot of things that one might love about being Harry’s assistant. He was incredibly kind, for one, and that was more rare than one might suppose in the entertainment industry, and it was a true joy to watch his talent and creativity at play even when he was only singing in the car on the way to an event or planning out his wardrobe, and there was nothing quite like his dry wit that seemed to make him near friends with even those he met in passing.

On the other hand, there were many things that one found to be truly infuriating about being Harry’s assistant. For example, he nearly never followed any type of schedule that any one would diligently craft and create by means of endless emails and tireless phone calls. Nor did he adhere to any of the rules that governed most manager/client relations. He hated being called Mr. Styles, and refused to allow anyone to wait on him, and there were few times when he ever saw a manager as anything less than a friend with a knack for organization. Additionally, he seemed to find an irritating amount of pleasure in peevishly vexing his managers on just that fact - pushing the boundaries of a professional relationship and of a schedule.

So, why exactly were you trying to convince yourself that you weren’t falling in love?

ONE

Most of your conversations began like this:

“Mr. Styles, are you even listening to me?” you demanded, glancing up from where you were buried in his email.

“Hmmmm?”

“Really? Why do I even bother?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “There’s just this melody that’s been on my mind all week, and I can’t seem to get it worked out. Go on, though.”

How could his carefree charm be what made him universally adored and completely baffling?

“I can pencil us in for later tonight? Perhaps, after dinner with your mum we can -”

Harry interrupted, “Don’t even finish that thought. I’m all yours.”

You leveled him with an appraising look, but his face was nothing but sincere. He even planted both feet solidly on the floor, leaned forward in the chair across the desk from you, and ran one big palm over his late afternoon scruff in pensive attention. You nodded and scrolled back to the first email on your agenda to begin again. In his attempt to show you his focus, he found himself studying the rise and fall of your chest, and the flutter of your eyelashes against the softness of your skin, and even the movement of your lips as you intently read through his agenda.  

Suddenly, as Harry had found to be the case as of late, all he could process were your lips. Their color, their shape, your habit of biting at them with just the very tip of your teeth when you were focused. And just now, in the way you sucked your bottom lip in when you were nervous.

Harry snapped his eyes up to find you staring at him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Styles?” you asked softly, trying to ignore the faint heat creeping up your neck at his complete attention.

“Yes,” he blurted out, deciding that he needed to do something, go somewhere, get away. He needed to do anything but be in this room any longer with you. Otherwise, he was afraid of what would happen. He had been burning for you ever since he had first interviewed you all those months ago, but suddenly the fire had inflamed every part of him. If he didn’t do something - and quick - he was going to do something he was sure would end in regret.

Of course, the minute he had spotted you, he had determined, assumed, promised to make you his. Despite your repeated refusals and annoying reminders that it wasn’t an appropriate relationship to have between a manager and client - a romantic one. He only viewed those as mere bumps in what he was sure you would make a very long journey towards dating, marriage, and everlasting bliss. Nonetheless, Harry certainly wasn’t going to begin it all in his family home with his mum and sister on the other side of the wall.

“It’s fine - yes - We will do that then.”

You looked at him strangely, standing up to watch as he shuffled about the room in an agitated search.

“Are you alright, Mr. Styles? Is there something I can -”

“It’s Harry,” he spat tersely for what must’ve been the hundredth time. “I just remembered that I have a meeting - er - not a meeting, but a call I was meant to take.”

“That’s odd...I don’t remember scheduling one.” You raised an eyebrow in question and flipped through his planner. “There’s nothing down for -”

“Yes, well, that’s because I forgot to tell you.”

He was uprooting carefully organized papers and shoving pillows and cushions to the floor in the study that you had been using as an office over the last week. It was so unlike him to behave so...so flustered. You were used to Harry always full of charm, and irritatingly suave, and you were the fumbling and agitated one in the relationship - not him.

“Here,” you held out his mobile, your eyebrow still raised in confusion but your lips were twisted with some mix of amusement and concern. “What do I always tell you about scheduling things with me? You’re a wandering soul, Harry. It’s best to have someone to ground you - like me.” You held up your pencil, always tucked behind your ear, and made a show of scheduling down his phone call in a planner.

He watched as your long, bouncy hair fell to cover your face as you leaned over the table to write. He wondered if you would like him to gather it all at the base of your neck, knot it up, and pull as he took you from behind.

When you looked up, the irritation was clear on Harry’s face. He scowled, “Yes, and what would I do without you? Now privacy, please.”

“You don’t need me to take notes?”

“I will remember any dates decided upon,” he growled, ushering you to the door, and forgetting that there was never a call to take place once you left anyway.

“Fine. I was going to go through some proposals anyway,” you waved a casual hand through the air. “Just text me if you need anything. I will hurry back and -”

“You’re officially off the clock,” he spat with more venom than he intended.

“Yes, but, as your manager, I am always-”

“No, you’re not. Right now, you’re officially not,” he interrupted. His nostrils flared and you could see a vein had risen in his neck.

“I didn’t mean to anger you. I only meant -”

“I know what you meant, and I will not continue to remind you that you’re my manager and my friend. Not particularly in that order.” It took everything within him to not wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest. Perhaps, if his words had yet to make you realise, then a more direct, more forward approach would be effective. “That is the nature of our relationship, and if you don’t see it that way, then maybe it’s time we made a change.”

You could feel your heart thumping in your chest heavily at the fire in his eyes and the harsh tone of his words. Your eyelashes fluttered close when you were finally able to pull your eyes away from his. Because you did not trust yourself to speak - and did not truthfully know what to say regardless - you nodded and left.

TWO

The minute you were gone, Harry threw his phone on the desk and roughly picked the pillows from the floor and replaced them on the sofa. He should never have invited you here. He ached for you, and he had known it, denied it, suppressed it for some time. You had brushed off all his flirting and advances with cutting remarks or a swat of the hand, but you had also ducked your head to cover a blush, and covered your coy smile with a planner or a pile of notes, and you were here with him this weekend. This weekend trip alone was enough to blur the lines, and yet here you were, laughing at dinner, and helping his mum in the kitchen, and even giggling in the bathroom brushing your teeth with Gemma.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, feeling a burning in his chest that was quickly perking up other parts of his body. He couldn’t sleep knowing you were only a door down from him. Even when he did make it through a night with even a bit of fitful sleep, he still had to swallow the lump in his throat as he met you in the hall in the morning. He had never seen you so undone - messy hair, pajamas, and glasses, and all, and now he wasn’t sure how he was to go back.

He looked out the window, checking the drive and saw only his car. Good. His family had all left.

“Where did I put that?” Harry searched through a pile of clothing that had collected in the corner until he found a jacket. He shoved on his boots and decided there was no place like home - in the country, away from the city, and with that delectable lake just a mile north of the house. He stomped out of the room, sharply turned down the hall, swept through the back exit, and headed straight toward the spot where he had traveled often as a boy.

It was time for a swim.

*****

“If he wanted me gone, then he could’ve very well just said so,” you muttered, as you stormed into the bedroom you were staying in and threw open the wardrobe. You were one to always neatly fold, organize, and write out exactly what had been packed and where. However, you were so angry you just grabbed handfuls of clothing, and toiletries, and electronics and stuffed them into your suitcase. 

Organization be damned; apparently, it wasn’t much appreciated anyway. You jumped when you heard a door loudly slam shut. Glaring out the window, you watched Harry stomping away in big, rubber boots into the woods.

You cursed him and continued to zip up your suitcase.

He couldn’t, or wouldn't, ever understand why you so adamantly drew a line on your relationship with him. He didn’t understand the presumption around female managers with male clients. There were always rumors, and whispers, and even the occasional tabloid accusing him of dating a “mystery” woman. You worked twice as hard to maintain a professional relationship because everyone else worked to attribute your every achievement to some imagined sexual favor or romantic romp. If you were to begin dating Harry, then all you would ever be is the flimsy who got into management to bed a popstar.

It didn’t matter that you thought you might love him. Aside from the fact of Harry’s entire celebrity, he could truthfully have any beautiful, talented person he wanted. And, to be fair, he often did.

The idea of being his fling was more painful than not having him at all. Besides, you weren’t cut out for his life forever. You liked it here, in the countryside of Cheshire. You preferred the quiet, the slowness. As soon as you and Harry parted ways, you knew that you would go somewhere just like this. Harry had paid you more than generously, and you had investments, and family inheritance, too. So, you’d leave the city after Harry, find some other career to occupy your time, and reside in the quietness and obscurity of the countryside.

You did one last sweep through your room, you didn’t want to leave anything behind. If Harry was done with you, then you’d make sure you were done with him, too. You fished through your bag, searching for the keys.

“Christ,” you groaned, realising that Harry had been the last one to use the car. While you always told him to put the keys in the same place, better for knowing where they always were, he was more apt to throw them on some random table, stuff them in his pockets, or God knows where else.

You glanced out the window, wondering how difficult it would be to break in. It was a rather unassuming car, but you were sure that didn’t matter when it came to you trying to break into it. Since it was the countryside, you knew there would be no neighbors to report you, but you weren’t sure you could suffer the humiliation of Harry walking back to find you with a coat hanger snagged through his driver’s side window.

“I’m not going to wait here forever,” you muttered bitterly. Now that you had decided to leave, there was no point in delaying it any further. You stormed from the room, luggage in tow, and shamelessly stalked into Harry’s room to overturn his desk, abandoned clothes, and even the bed. Even the kitchen, dining room, and living room tables were devoid of your escape.

You huffed. Staring out the window as if it might hold your answer and then, you realised, that it did. Harry must’ve taken the keys with him. You paused, frowning thoughtfully as you stared out at where he had disappeared behind the late spring trees, and then abruptly decided fresh air was exactly what you needed.

THREE

Through the tall grass, around tree stumps, and brambles, and mud, of course there was always mud, you stomped a path that vaguely seemed to be in the direction Harry had wandered. According to your phone compass, you were headed north. Although, that meant little to you, but it did seem to offer an ounce of comfort. You had all the confidence in the world to wander into the woods during the late afternoon on a warm spring day, your assuredness on your return home was slightly more concerning.

The cheerfulness of your surroundings did little to lessen the temper that had only seemed to grow since Harry had shoved you out of his room. You had never planned to work for Harry forever, but you’d also never imagined such a short lived relationship or an abrupt end to it at that.

Just through the last clearing of trees, you could see the blue of water and within fifteen minutes of walking you were just toeing up to the edge of a sprawling lake. Harry had told you about the lake at least a dozen times before, and you knew that this is what you had been searching for all along. He had spent his summers here with his mates, swimming, and fishing, and even occasionally swooning some young girl.  

But as you just began scanning the coast for some sign of him, you heard a splash and, as you whipped around to determine the noise, you saw the strong, naked back of a man in the water just to your right. He had just come up from being submerged, flicked his head back, and was running his large hands through his hair to shake out some of the wetness.

Harry. Oh Christ, it was Harry, and he was naked.

With a surprised gasp, you dashed backwards to hide behind a tree. After freezing in shock, you peeked once more to see him moving even closer to you, and, as your eyes scanned the shore, you found a scattering of clothes just on the other side of your hiding spot.

“Shit,” you croaked quietly, cursing your luck, and slamming your hand over your eyes to make sense of the predicament you had so suddenly found yourself in. Harry had always had a fondness for skinny dipping, you’re sure he even mentioned it in your first interview, but it had never crossed your mind that you might even see him while he was skinny dipping.  

And you should go. Not only was it strictly against your moral code as a manager, but he was naked, and completely unaware of your presence. It was wrong. Wrong. Yet, you found yourself peeking just ever so slightly until you could see Harry’s strong, muscled torso drifting through the water. Even if he just moved up shore a few more inches you were sure you might catch a glimpse of -

Wrong. You turned back around, took a deep breath, and decided that you would tiptoe forward carefully, quietly back to the house. With a deep breath, you gently pressed down for your first step and immediately heard a loud crack as a stick split underneath your weight. In all your panic and anxiety, you threw yourself to the ground, mud be damned, and lay there frozen.

For a second, all you could hear was the beating of your heart and the harsh sounds of your pants against the woodsy floor. 

Finally, Harry yelled, “Is someone there?” 

You didn’t move a muscle, and you didn’t dare respond.

Harry scanned the coast, waiting to see a camera, or some giddy teen, or even some giddy teen’s mother. It was private property, but Harry had quickly learned how little that mattered to curious onlookers. However, he looked and he saw nothing. Then, he saw just a sliver of shiny hair against the dark greens and browns of the woods.

“I can see you, you know. I know it’s you.”

You gasped, cursed into the mud, and then scrambled to your feet deciding your best chance was to run home, change your clothes, and deny, deny, deny.

“Don’t you dare,” Harry yelled, forcing you to freeze with your knees bent and ready. “If you try and run home, then I will just chase after you. I know the path better than you, I am faster, and I will not bother to dress, but please do not test me.”

You stood, still weighing your options. You were terrible at sport, but you were desperate and that had to put you at somewhat of an advantage.

“Stop hiding. Come out,” he ordered.

You didn’t even breathe.

“Now,” he warned. “Three, two -”

You paused, cherishing the last moments of what you had planned to be a dignified leave of employment, and then shuffled out until you were standing right near Harry’s abandoned pile of clothes. If you were any redder, then one might have mistaken you for a rose bush in the woods.

“Why are you out here?”

You flapped your hands at your side, hoping that would suffice for an answer. Harry just crossed his arms over his wet torso and glared at you.

“Well, I can’t very well leave without the keys. Can I?” Harry looked ready to storm out the water and tackle you, but you continued. “I saw you leave earlier and I figured I might as well follow to ask for the keys. Of course, I would have someone return your car back to town. It was, you, after all that insisted on driving together.” You flushed even more as Harry glowered at you. “I didn’t have any idea you would be out here swimming. How was I to ever guess that you would be in the water like - like that?”

He didn’t address your accusation. “Did you follow me here?”

“Yes, of course, I did because -” As his face split into an arrogant smile, you stammered, “Oh! Don’t be ridiculous. Not like that. Had I known that you were going to be naked, then I never would’ve come.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was still a condescending smile lacing his mouth.

“I will just go back now,” you blurted, turning your back and taking one grateful step away from his nakedness before he stopped you. “I will just order a cab once I -”

“Don’t move,” he growled. “Stay just like that, and I will put my clothes on so we can walk home together.” You could hear him walking out of the water and it was so like him to have no shame about the whole thing. “Besides you don’t even know these woods; it was dangerous for you to have come so far in the first place.” He ignored your irritated sigh and continued the lecture. “Don’t you know how easy it is to lose your sense of direction? The sun will set in probably an hour, and then who knows how lost you might find yourself?”

You hung your head, trying to ignore the rough tone of his voice, and the irritating line of scolding, and just how close his naked body was to you. If you even just turned one shoulder slightly, then you were almost certain to catch a glimpse of-

“I’ll just go now,” you shouted, interrupting what you realized was his continued lecture. You were desperate to get away before you ruined everything even more. With just the slightest turn of your head, you knew he would see it all in your eyes - that you had fallen for him. You staggered forward, “Really it’s no problem.”

A sharp tug on your elbow quickly pulled you back.

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you, and I”m even less in the mood to spend the afternoon tracking you down in the woods.”

“I’m no longer your manager, and I am no longer your concern,” you huffed and ripped your elbow out of his hold.

“If you take another step,” he threatened. “Then I will toss you in the lake and throw my keys in after that.”

He was still shirtless, and it only made the angry rise and fall of his chest all the more menacing. Harry was not often intimidating, but those who often were not made it all the more effective when they were.  

“Fine,” you yelled petulantly turning your back on him again as he slipped back into the carefully careless facade that always seemed to paint his face. He was infuriating, and charming, and arrogant, and kind, and you were thankful, at least, that your face was hidden because you were sure even your ears were red by now.

Without so much as a word, he brushed by your side, grabbing a handful of your sleeve, and tugging you along behind him. His hair was dripping down his neck and there were splotches where his clothes were sticking to his wet body.

After a silent minute of allowing him to drag you behind him, you abruptly stopped and tore yourself from his hold for the second time that afternoon.

“I can walk on my own,” you muttered. “Why didn’t you just let me walk home in the first place?”

He shrugged, “Peeping Toms can hardly be trusted.”

“I was not peeping.”

He just raised an eyebrow and then finally took you by the elbow again when you gasped like a fish to find a proper excuse.

“Exactly,” he murmured, pulling you up slightly as you stumbled over a root. “I don’t know how you went about spying on your previous clients, but it’s the one firm rule I have - respect my privacy.” He somehow managed to look both deadly serious and irritatingly amused as he looked back at you.

“Yes, I certainly know that.” You agreed miserably. As you trudged through the forest, it became clear as to how he must see this. He had wanted you gone and instead you had followed him out into his private woods and leered at him in secret until you had been caught. You had never felt so ashamed in your entire life. Oh, you were miserable.

“If you want,” you offered meekly. “I can get a cab right away. I won’t bother with your car. It was too much for me to assume it anyways, so there won’t be -”

You smashed into Harry’s back as he suddenly stopped, the anger returning to his face in a flash. It was amazing how quickly he changed from pleasantly amused and cocky to enraged. “You’re not quitting.”

You looked at him in confusion, and then it dawned on you how stupid you must’ve sounded. “No, of course not. I understand that. I am just - If you want to fire me, then I understand -”

“No, I’m not - that’s not,” Harry ran a flustered hand through his hair and looked at you in disbelief. “I’m not firing you and you’re not quitting. Absolutely not.”

“Well, I don’t know how we can continue like this.” You stared up at him in confusion. He was so close to you, and his hand was still wrapped around your elbow. The heat of his body was warming your own and the faintest wisp of his breath could be felt upon your forehead.

His eyes glared down at you - angry and sparkling with something else you couldn’t quite place. If only he could see all that hid behind yours. The desire for him and the foolish knowledge that it could never be him. Not for you and certainly not for him. And his lips, his lips were pink, and parted, and saying something, something -

“I’m going to kiss you,” Harry muttered before he pulled you tight against his body and at first his touch was hesitant and calculating, but as you leaned into him he became more needy.

You should have turned away. Hell, you should have turned and sprinted back to the house, grabbed your luggage, and scurried to town. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but stay rooted to the spot, soaking in his smell, and breath, and touch.

You gasped as his hand at the small of his back pulled you in desperately close to his body. You could feel the strong lines of his stomach against your own and you flushed as you felt his need pressed up hard against you.

He became more demanding, and you melted into his touch. He took advantage of your responsiveness, running his hands over your body, just barely knotting his fingers on your hair, and ghosting over the swell of your breast until your knees felt shaky.

“We can’t.” You mumbled, but Harry was too far gone to hear it. “This is too much, Harry.”

Still, you didn’t push him away, you didn’t reel back from his touch or turn away from his sultry lips.

“Mr. Styles?” you breathed out in desperation.

Then he did it for you. As if you were suddenly burning him, he wrenched himself back and you fell out of his hold. He stared at you, his eyes searching and intense. His breath was still heaving and his lips just slightly swollen by your touch.

You tore your eyes away from him, regretting you had done anything but run away after all.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He just watched you, saying nothing.

You were desperate to explain yourself, but you didn’t even have a semblance of how to begin. “I can’t, Mr. Styles,” his eyes flashed in anger. “This isn’t...We shouldn’t - I…”

“Fine,” he bit off, ripping his eyes away from you. “Then go. Now. Go.”

He reached into his pocket, grabbed a set of keys and held them out.

You hesitated, but he roughly grabbed your arm and shoved them into your palm.

They felt heavy and hot in your hand, like perhaps it was his heart or yours instead of a cold, tiny piece of metal.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed again, reaching out to him but he flinched back from you.

He shrugged off his reaction, masterfully shifting back to the careless, grinning Harry. Then, he added dismissively, “For what?”

You ran then. You ran back to the house, and then to the car, and then all the way back home to London. And from there you sent an official resignation, listed your London home, and promptly enlisted a realtor to find you a home in the countryside before the the next week had even begun. By the middle of the next week, you were living out of boxes and dipping out for a run to the coffee shop whenever a potential buyer came by to look. 

And the whole time all you could think about were his last words - so scathing, so careless, and, most painful of all, so true. Did Harry really not know what you had been apologizing for? And as you spent the week imagining your house in the country, and the hours you’d spend wandering the woods, and leisurely watching the days drift away, you wondered if you had known, either.

[part two]

[masterpost]

[captain-josslett]

Hospitalised Part Two

(Part One) 

Summary: Emma gets very ill while having sister night with Kara and Alex.

Words: 4.5k+

Warnings: Vomit, Needles, Mentions of Blood, Pain, Claustrophobia, Angst, Fluff

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor (Eventual), Alex Danvers x Sam Arias

Okayyyy. So I’ve been working on this all week. Humming and ahhing it this was good enough. But I’m just gonna most it. There should be a part 3 at some point! I hope this is okay!

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated.

Taglist: @thewitchandtheassassin , @natasha-danvers , @life-is-hella-unfair , @finleyfray​, @supergirl-writingz​

It has been five days since Emma Danvers was admitted into the hospital and her own private room. Many tests have been performed, one being an ultrasound where the technician confirmed Emma’s gallbladder was overflowing with stones. Causing her sister’s to hug her close.

More tests were scheduled for later in the week after the antibiotics should have taken out most of the infection in Emma’s liver. The test Emma is dreading the most is getting an MRI. Alex had to tell her all the calming techniques she knew to prepare Emma for when she is slid into the claustrophobic space.

But in the early hours of the morning Emma’s jaundice, hazel green eyes snap open as a familiar pain shoots through her body.

“Fuck!” She cries through gritted teeth. She slowly sits up and rocks her body to try and relieve the stabbing pain in her chest, right shoulder and back. But she feels no relief. “Please stop!” Emma whimpers desperately.

“Em?” Kara’s sleepy voice calls out from the bed next to her in the darkened hospital room.

But all Emma can do is respond in pained gasps and moans. She’s suddenly blinded by a light being turned on. Revealing Kara standing next to her bed.

“Oh Em!” Kara reaches out and feel’s Emma’s sweaty forehead. “I’m gonna get help!” Kara turns to rush out of the hospital room but stops when her baby sister takes a hold of her arm.

“Stay.” Emma wheezes. “Button.”

“Duh, sorry.” Kara rolls her eyes at herself, in her sleepy mind she forgot about the simple technology in the room. She presses the button on the wall to alert the nurse on duty.

The corner of Emma’s right lip goes up slightly in a smile and she weaves her fingers through Kara’s. Her sister gently squeezes her hand, hating how helpless she feels and at how yellow and pale Emma looks. How she’s constantly rocking.

“Glasses. Please.” Emma hates her thick rimmed glasses but she hates not being able to see more.

“Of course! Here.” Kara opens up the glasses and places them in Emma’s other hand. Emma puts them on and the room focuses.

“Good Morning Emma.” Emma’s favourite nurse, Sarah, enters the room and approaches the sister’s immediately. Looking over the machines and tapping on her tablet. “Where’s the pain?”

“The usual. Was. Asleep.” Emma gasps out, trying to breathe through the pain. Her head lolled back and forth repeatedly.

“Okay, from a scale of 1 to 10?”

“9.” Emma grits out. Kara gently squeezes her hand again and Emma weakly squeezes back.

“Okay, I’m going to give you some more morphine to help you feel more comfortable.” Sarah quickly gets to work and after a while Emma is able to lean back on the raised bed. The morphine taking effect and helping her body start to relax. “Better?” Sarah asks as she takes Emma’s temperature and blood pressure.

“Yea, a 7.”

Sarah nods and writes some notes on the tablet in her hand. “I’ll contact the Doctors to let them know you’ve had another attack. We’ll need to do another blood test.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders at her. Needles used to scare her but after being poked and prodded so much her fear has lessened.

“Atta girl!” The nurse smiles brightly and starts the process of the blood test.

“So I was thinking.” Kara starts suddenly making Emma look at her in surprise. “I still can’t see why you prefer The Little Mermaid to Beauty and The Beast!”

A laugh escapes Emma’s lips. Knowing Kara is trying to distract her. “It’s because of Ursula. I mean her voice is incredible. And the laugh! Plus I love ‘Part Of Your World’ more than any song in Beauty and The Beast.”

“But the ballroom scene -!”

“Sharp scratch.” Sarah calls out.

“Is wonderful and I still cry at it.” Emma smiles at Kara’s horrified face. She grimaces slightly when she feels the needle go in. “But it always bugs me how a Prince doesn’t know how to read. Or the fact the fairy turned him into the beast when he was a kid.”

“All done!” The nurse smiles at the sister’s and cleans Emma up.

“Thank you Sarah.” Emma says gratefully and she waits for the nurse to leave the room. “Sorry I woke you.” Emma says softly to her sister.

“Don’t be, it’s what I’m here for.” Kara reaches up and cups Emma’s face. Rubbing her thumb over her cheek.

“But you’ve had a busy day.” Emma whines, knowing Kara worked at Catco and then many hours Supergirling around the city.

“The joys of the work I do.” Kara jokes. “But you are so much more important Em.”

Emma smiles but she feels her eyes growing heavy. The painkillers taking full effect.

“Looks like someone needs to go back to sleep.” Kara says while kissing Emma’s head.

Emma nods slightly. She can’t remember the last time she’s slept solidly and feels refreshed after. Which annoys Emma greatly as she loves sleep.

Kara turns to go back to the spare bed but Emma holds on to her hand. “Stay?” Her weak voice broke Kara’s heart.

“Sure.”

Emma budges over and Kara climbs up on the bed. holding Emma close to her.

“Love you.” Emma says while yawning.

“Love you too little one.” Kara carefully removes Emma’s glasses and places them on the table next to them.

“Only a year younger.” Emma breathes out, feeling herself relaxing in her sister’s arms.

“Yea.” Kara strokes Emma’s blonde hair trying to soothe her. She smiles while listening to her sister’s breathing getting deeper and her heart rate slowing down as she falls asleep.

Kara wakes up to the sound of soft voices. The superhero slowly lifts her head and blinks the sleep away. Across the room on the sofa’s is Alex and Eliza, looking over a tablet.

It seems her mother instinct kicks in because Eliza looks up at her two daughters on the bed and sees Kara is awake. Eliza smiles, quietly gets up and makes her way to the bed. Alex follows behind her, still looking over the tablet in her hands.

“Morning Kara.” Eliza says as she leans down and gives Kara a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes shifted to Emma, snuggled into Kara’s neck.

“Morning.” Kara can’t help but let out a yawn.

“I see she had another attack last night.” Alex whispers scrolling through the information on the tablet.

Kara sighs heavily. “Yea, she was fine when we went to sleep but I woke up to her cursing in pain.”

“My poor baby.” Eliza reaches down and strokes Emma’s blonde hair. “I can see what you mean by how jaundice she looks. And you said it suddenly happened?”

“Yes.” Alex looks up from the tablet. “She was fine a week ago, nothing was wrong other than how tired she was.”

“Yea, but she was sleeping a lot more. I just took it as her period was coming up.” Kara whispers as she rubs a hand against Emma’s back.

“But the day she was admitted I did think her colour looked off. I did notice the signs and I’m angry I didn’t do anything about it.” Alex growls in frustration.

“We can’t change what’s in the past.” Eliza says gently.

Alex nods and goes to get a chair for her Mom and herself. Kara happily stays on the bed, being Emma’s pillow. The three women quietly talk until suddenly Emma bolts up.

“I’m gonna be sick!”

Alex leaps into action and grabs a sick bowl just in time. Kara jumps off the bed, aware her body heat could cause Emma more discomfort. She presses the call button again. Eliza holds Emma’s hair back and puts it in a loose ponytail. She frowns at the pain Emma is in. How her baby daughter rocks back and forth as she heaves. The tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

“Another one?” Sarah says as she quickly rushes in.

“Yes, she suddenly sat up saying she was about to be sick.”

“Poor Emma. Here.” Sarah hands Alex a new bowl while taking the partly full one. She gathers more painkillers and anti sickness medication and injects them into Emma’s cannula. “There you go Emma, you should feel that relief soon.”

Emma nods weakly as she dry heaves. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I wanna go home.” She whimpers causing her sisters and Mom’s heart to break.

“I know baby girl.” Eliza tries to soothe her daughter. Looking on helplessly as she rubs her back.

“Mama?” Emma gasps out before throwing up again.

“I’m here.”

Emma subconsciously leans into her Mom, who has to take the bowl as Alex almost had to lean over the bed due to Emma’s movement.

“I’ve got you baby girl.” Eliza coos and holds her daughter close.

Finally Emma stops heaving and Sarah makes more notes. “Pain level Emma?”

“I-I-I do-don-’t-”

Alex and Kara frown at each other. Worried at how slurred Emma’s speech was.

“That’s okay Emma, lean back and rest okay?” Sarah says kindly. Taking the bowl from Eliza and disposing of it.

Emma feels her Mom slowly lay her back down and immediately falls back asleep, holding her Mom’s hand.

Sarah reenters the room and picks up her tablet, typing away. Finally she looks up at the worried women around the bed. “I’ll alert the Doctors immediately. They should be here soon and generally they have a meeting before going around the wards.”

“Is this normal?” Kara asks, biting her lip.

“Generally no. But each case can be different. Unfortunately Emma seems to have the worst end of the stick.”

The nurse leaves and Kara changes into the clothes she brought with her. Both sister’s decide they are going to take time off work and stay with Emma. Both knowing they won’t be able to concentrate with how Emma is deteriorating. J’onn readily agrees and will cover as director and for Supergirl.

An hour later the door opens. All three women look over and they give Sam and Lena barely their smiles.

“Don’t look too happy to see us!” Sam jokes as she reaches Alex and gives her a kiss on the lips.

“Sorry, Emma had two more attacks in quick succession.”

“Oh no.” Sam breathes out and looks at the blonde in the bed. “She… She does look more yellow… Or am I imagining that?”

“No, she has got worse.” Kara says rubbing a hand over her forehead. Her worry for her baby sister makes her feel anxious and helpless. Realising Lena hasn’t said anything Kara looks up at the raven haired women standing at the end of the bed. “Lena?”

The CEO is staring at Emma intently, looking over every part that she can see. Analysing and running through ways she can help the woman she loves.

“Lena?”

Lena jumps when Kara calls for her again.

“Sorry.” She says quickly and sits in the chair by Kara.

“Don’t be. It’s not easy seeing her like this.” Kara wraps an arm around Lena’s shoulder and pulls her in for a hug.

“Have the Doctors been in?” Sam asks Alex, who shakes her head.

“Not yet.” Alex answers softly, running a hand through her hair. “Sarah said they need to get the MRI done so they can have a better picture of what’s going on. There may be a chance a stone has got caught somewhere and we don’t want that getting left behind when they operate.”

“Poor Em.” Sam looks at the blonde sympathetically and focuses on the hand Eliza is holding. She wonders how Eliza is keeping everything together. If this was happening to Ruby, Sam knows she would be a frantic mess.

Another hour passes. Lena and Sam reluctantly have to leave. Lena is especially sad she didn’t get to talk to Emma and feeling guilty for how busy she’s been the past few days. Even though she’s been leaving work in record time to spend the evenings with Emma, it never seems to be enough time. Lena places a kiss on Emma’s cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark, which she quickly wipes off. Not realising her kiss had woken Emma up.

After they leave there’s a knock on the door. Emma stirs more, taking a deep breath in as she starts to open her eyes.

“May we come in?” Dr Stevens asks as they open the door.

Eliza nods and Dr Stevens, Sarah and a few interns filter into the room.

“Ah Emma! You're awake.” Dr Stevens smiles kindly at the blonde. Who gives a weak smile back. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Emma’s voice is low and gruff. She coughs and Alex immediately grabs the cup of water by the bed and hands it to Emma. Who takes it gratefully, taking small sips. Alex picks up Emma’s glasses and carefully places them on her baby sister. Making sure they go on properly.

“What level is the pain?”

Emma thinks for a moment as she assesses how she feels. “Between 7 and an 8.”

“That isn’t good.” Dr Stevens looks down at their tablet. “Sarah, once Emma has her MRI can you set up a morphine drip? That way we can keep Emma more comfortable.”

Sarah nods and taps on her tablet the new information.

“Due to the recent attacks we are putting you ahead of the MRI queue. One of my interns will take you down in a moment. You need to take anything that has metal off, including jewellery, bras, little pieces of metal in clothes etc.”

Emma nods sluggishly at the surgeon.

“Do you have any questions?” Dr Stevens keeps their focus on Emma who looks at those around her.

“No, I think we are okay for the moment.” Eliza says squeezing Emma’s hand.

“Actually.” Alex pipes up causing everyone to look at her. “Have you got the results from the recent blood test?”

“We do, but I want to see what the MRI shows first.”

Alex nods at this and leans back into her chair. The surgeon bids them goodbye and all of the interns follow them out.

Emma reaches up and tries to unclasp her ear studs. When she struggles Kara stands and helps her remove them.

“Thanks Kar.” Emma says gratefully while Kara places them in a small pot by Emma’s bed. Emma turns her head looking at Eliza, who holds her hand again. “Hey Mom.” Emma has wanted her Mom terribly but due to Eliza’s work she couldn’t get to her baby daughter quick enough. Something that has frustrated Eliza greatly.

“Hi baby girl.” Eliza stands and holds her daughter close. A sniff escapes the blonde until the damn breaks and she’s sobbing into her Mom’s arms. The feeling of safety and home overwhelming her.

“Sorry.” Emma chokes out, feeling embarrassed by her outburst.

“Oh Emma. It’s okay.” Her Mom says while kissing the top of her head.

“But it’s stupid.”

“No it isn’t. You’re in pain and very unwell. You’re allowed to cry.”

“Yea.” Alex stands and hugs Emma’s back. Kara reaches out and takes a hold of Emma’s hand. “We don’t think any less of you for crying Em.”

“Sorry to interrupt but I need to take Emma down.” A female intern stood in the doorway. Kara, Alex and Eliza pull away. Emma shoots Alex a look of panic and Alex motioned with her hand for Emma to take deep breaths. Which Emma copies, but she still looks terrified.

“Remember to keep your eyes closed and think of nice things.” Alex says encouragingly.

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.” Kara starts singing ‘My Favourite Things” from The Sound Of Music.

“Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.” Emma sings with a smile on her face. They both sing the next few lines to each other.

“Brown paper packages tied up with string. These are a few of my favourite things.”

Alex rolls her eyes but smiles at her two musical loving sisters.

The intern smiles too and steps forward making Emma focus on her. “And I just need to check your clothing for metal. Is that okay?”

Emma nods and the intern lifts the blanket and sheets back. Checking the holes and drawstring in Emma’s sweatpants. They pull the sheet and blanket up over Emma.

“Are you wearing a bra?”

“No.”

“Great! And your earrings are out.” The intern pulls the bars up either side of Emma and everyone moves out of the way. Emma looks at Alex again in a panic.

“You’ll be fine Em.” Alex reaches out and holds Emma’s hand.

“You can have someone come down with you. They won’t be in the room with you though.” The intern offers kindly.

Emma looks at Alex and bites her lip.

“Would you like me to come down with you?” Alex asks softly, smiling at how much Emma looks like the child she remembers from their youth. All wide eyed and scared.

Emma nods and Alex keeps a hold of her hand.

“We’ll be here when you get back.” Eliza kisses Emma’s forehead and holds her daughter close. Next Kara gives Emma a crushing hug. Trying to convey all her love in that moment.

“Can’t. Breathe.” Emma gasps out.

“Sorry!” Kara flies back causing Emma to laugh but reaches for her sister again, pulling her into another, more gentle hug.

“I’m sorry but we really have to go.” The intern disengages the break and starts pushing the trolley forward.

Kara lets go of Emma and stands with Eliza in the room. They watch Emma being wheeled out with Alex by her side.

“Al…” Emma says quietly as they wait in the elevator. Alex looks down at her and squeezes her hand.

“Yea?”

“I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay to be nervous Em. But you got this. The doctors need this scan to know the best way to perform the surgery.” Alex reaches up and strokes her thumb across Emma’s yellow cheek. “You remember all the breathing exercises I taught you?”

Emma nods. “But what if I freak out?”

“Honestly, Em, we don’t have time for you to freak out. You need this scan. Keep your mind busy with things you like and focus on your breathing. The machine will let you know when to hold your breath and all that.”

“Okay.” But Emma didn’t feel okay. If she was linked to a heart monitor she was sure it would be going haywire at the moment.

The elevator doors slide open and the intern wheels them to the MRI room. Emma is immediately intimated by the huge machine, and the small gap in its centre. The technician greets them and goes through everything with Emma and asks the usual questions “Are you pregnant?” Which earned a snort from Emma before confirming she wasn’t.

“Okay, so we are all ready for you. Can you stand and walk to the slab?”

“Yes.”

The intern lowers one side of the railing around the bed and Emma slowly lifts her legs over the side. Alex stands by her side, helping Emma get to her feet. Emma closes her eyes for a moment as the room spins around her. Causing Alex to hold onto her.

“Em?”

“M’okay.” Taking a deep breath she opens her eyes again, taking a few cautious steps with Alex holding onto her shoulders and walking with her. They reach the slab and Alex helps her sit down.

“Going to need you to take your glasses I’m afraid.”

“Okay.” Emma takes them off and hands them to Alex. Her sister leans down and hugs her.

“You’ll be fine.” Alex says reassuringly and places a kiss on Emma’s cheek.

“Thanks Al.” Emma thinks she smiles at Alex, but she can no longer see Alex’s face. Just a blob of colour.

The voice of the technician is what she hears next.“Put these earbuds in, they will drown out most of the noise and you’ll hear when the machine instructs you to breathe and when to hold your breath.”

Emma holds out her hand and the ear buds are placed in it.  Emma puts them in her ear and immediately the noises of the room dims. She then lies on the slab and the technician places a shield over her chest and lower body. She is strapped onto the slab and the technician gives her the thumbs up. Or what looks like the thumbs up.

“Ready?” A muffled voice calls out.

“Re-ready.”

The machine suddenly slides her in and she has no problem seeing the top right in front of her face. For a split second panic floods through Emma and she feels like she’s in a coffin. But Emma immediately closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing.

After a while Emma starts imagining she is on a plane. The hum of the machine being similar to that of a plane. The cold air being pumped around her, reminding her of the air con on a plane. How Emma always needs to wrap up and take a blanket with her. The feeling of being squished into the machine, just like being squished in a small seat on a plane.

She pictures herself sitting next to Lena, on their way to Paris or Rome or Athens. Places Emma is desperate to visit one day.

“When you hear the beep, take a deep breath and hold for 15 seconds until you hear the next beep.” An automated voice calls out. Emma follows the instructions and holds her breath and releases when she hears the beeps. This continues for some time. Emma starts getting annoyed every time the automated voice interrupts her day dream of being in a city with Lena. Like visiting the Eiffel Tower or the Colosseum. All the different foods they could try.

Finally Emma feels the machine sliding her out.

“Well done! You’re a very good breather!” The technician jokes causing Emma to snort.

“Well that's good… I guess.” Emma says while the technician unstraps her and removes the shields.

“Here.” Alex says while holding out her glasses.

Emma takes them and puts them on. She looks up at her sister who smiles brightly at her.

“Told you you could do it!”

Emma smiles back at her before slowly sitting up. Alex helps her to her feet again and they walk to the gurney.

“One of our top guys is looking over the scans now, they should let your surgeon know ASAP.” The technician says kindly as the intern pulls the sides up again.

“Thank you.” Emma smiles at the and waves when she’s being wheeled out. “Please don’t make me do that for a long time.”

“I promise.” Alex says while taking a hold of her sister’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

“Unfortunately you may not be able to eat. You will probably be nil by mouth until we know if your surgery will be today.” The intern interrupts.

Subconsciously Emma lowers her head and squeezes Alex’s hand tightly. Alex looks down at her sister, seeing how defeated Emma looks.

“Hey.” Scared yellow eyes look up at her. “You’ll be okay.”

Emma nods but remains quiet, lowering her head again as they make the way back to her room.

“Emma! How’d it go?” Kara’s cheerful voice makes Emma lookup as the gurney is put back in place.

“Was okay.” Emma softly says while Sarah installs the morphine drip.

“When you need pain relief just press this button.” Sarah says and Emma nods. Pressing the button immediately. The movement earlier had aggravated her pain.

A voice Emma didn’t expect spoke next. “Was it as bad as you thought?” Green eyes connect with Emma’s jaundice ones. A small smile breaks across Emma’s face.

“No. Though I didn’t shut my eyes quick enough when they slid me in. But I just imagined I was on a plane.”

“That’s a good way of describing it actually.” Eliza says while sitting next to Emma’s bed.

“And I don’t want to sound rude, but, Lee?” Emma’s gaze focuses back on her crush. “What are you doing here? I thought today you had back to back meetings.”

“I managed to do some rearranging. As it’s Friday many were happy to reschedule as it meant they could start their weekend sooner. And as it’s lunch time I brought everyone something.” Lena goes over to the coffee table and picks up the take away bags with Alex and Emma’s food in.

“Oh! I er…” Emma pale cheeks colour in a blush.

“She’s not allowed to eat anything at the moment.” Alex says as she takes the bag Lena holds out to her.

“Why not?!” Kara looks at her sister outraged.

“Incase I have surgery today.”

“Oh! I’m sorry Em.” Lena looks guiltily at the blonde, putting the bag containing Emma’s food back on the coffee table, out of Emma’s view. Though Emma knows Kara will likely be eating it soon anyway.

“Would you rather we ate somewhere else?” Emma notices Sam by the sofa, already eating her lunch. She quickly looks at everyone, almost laughing loudly at how conflicted Kara looks.

“No it’s fine.”

“Phew!” Kara starts eating again, in record time to make up for the few seconds she wasn’t eating.

“So where did you imagine you were flying too?” Sam asks to break up the silence.

“Either Paris, Rome or Athens.”

“Oo nice! Have you been there?” Sam asks with a bright smile.

Emma shakes her head. “No.”

“Maybe I can take you sometime?” Lena tilts her head at Emma and smiles at her.

“CanIcome?” Kara says with a mouth full of food.

“Kara!” Eliza scoffs.

“Was that in english?” Emma laughs loudly.

Kara swallows before trying again. “Sorry, I said, can I come?”

Alex wanted to kick her sister’s shin and shoot her a glare. Instead she looks at Sam who gently rolls her eyes. Alex smirks into her lunch.

“I’ll take you another time.” Lena smiles at her best friend. Secretly making a plan in her head of taking Emma on a week, maybe two week holiday to these cities. Maybe add a few more in that Emma would love.

“Aw okay.” Kara sighs heavily.

‘So oblivious!’ Alex thinks as she shakes her head slightly.

Suddenly a big yawn escapes Emma. “How am I so tired?” She rubs her face frustrated.

“Cause your body is going through a lot.” Alex says between mouthfuls. “Plus you haven’t been sleeping well. Not good quality sleep anyway.”

“Yea… What is that again?”

“You poor thing.” Kara reaches out and strokes Emma’s arm. Careful not to tug the wires attached to the morphine drip.

Emma smiles at her sister and feels her eyes growing heavy. She blinks, trying to keep sleep away as long as possible.

“Emma, sleep, it’s okay.” Her Mom stands and strokes Emma’s head.

“Lee’s here.” Emma says wearily. “Specially.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up Em.” Lena stands next to Eliza. She watches Emma’s yellow eyes slide close and open quickly before closing again repeating. Reaching out Lena takes Emma’s hand and rubs her thumb over it. “Sleep darling.”

Emma finally can’t fight it anymore and her eyes remain close.

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Familiar | Dracula

Pairing: Dracula x reader

Summary: reader is Dracula’s familiar. when your master’s oldest vampire friend comes to visit a feast takes dangerous turn and truths are revealed

Word Count: 3522

Warnings: mentions of blood & death

A/N:  spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) for the purpose of this story vampires are able to transform themselves into any other person without killing them first...

Masterlist

- - - - -

Being the familiar to one of the most feared vampires in the country was not what you had planned or your life. Yet here you were, working for Count Dracula. 

You first met Dracula when you were ten years old. He found you begging on the streets after your parents abandoned you and he took pity on you, bringing you back to the castle. He gave you clothes, food, and a room of your own. In exchange you started cleaning for him. 

Initially you just dusted cobwebs off chandeliers and moped floors but after a few years you began taking on more duties. Lighting and extinguishing candles, preparing rooms and cooking meals for his human guests, cleaning up after one of his many feasts. After almost ten years of practice you were now an expert at getting blood out of any fabric. 

One of the hardest parts of being a vampire’s familiar is the sleep schedule. You follow Dracula’s sleeping pattern so you're awake all night and you go to bed just after the sun rise. You sleep for a few hours and wake up in the early afternoon to do your household chores before Dracula wakes up. You're tired a lot and you miss the sun, but you wouldn’t trade this life if it took you away from him. 

But today is different. After your master goes to sleep you don't go to bed like you normally would. Instead you get straight to work preparing the castle. Tonight one of Dracula’s oldest vampire friends is coming to visit and everything has to be perfect. You work solidly throughout the day and by the time the sun sets you're confident the castle is ready. You're just finishing sweeping the entrance hall when Dracula descends the stairs. 

You turn to face him and bow your head, holding your broom behind your back. 

“Good evening Master. Did you sleep well?” 

“I did. I trust everything is ready for our guest’s arrival” he says and you nod. Just then the door bell rings and Dracula waves his hand, signalling for you to answer. You quickly tuck the broom away in the cupboard and rush to the door. 

When you open it you're greeted with a tall, dark haired man who looks slightly older than your master. Behind him stands a younger boy, around your age, who you guess from his tatty clothes is the vampire’s familiar. 

“Please come in” you say politely as you hold the door open and bow your head. 

“Dracula you old dog! Good to see you again” he says as he walks past you and to the stairs where your master is waiting. He clicks his finger and his familiar comes shuffling in, dragging a heavy looking bag behind him. 

“Orlok! My friend, how was your journey?” Dracula greets his old friend with a handshake. 

“Not too bad. Although it has give me quite the appetite. Will we be feasting soon?” 

“Just let me get my cloak and we shall begin the hunt. Y/N! Help Orlok’s familiar bring his bag to his room” 

You go to move but Orlok holds up his hand. 

“My boy can do it himself. Can’t you?” He glares at his familiar who nods his head very quickly, fear in his face. “No need to trouble your little one” his eyes flick over to you and something about the look on his face makes you shiver

“Very good. I’ll get my cloak” Dracula disappears upstairs followed by Orlok’s familiar, leaving you alone with the unknown vampire. 

You turn to leave, making yourself busy but Orlok blocks your way. He stands in front of you, his dark eyes boring into your own making you look down. His hand finds its way to your chin and forces you to look up at him. 

“Well aren’t you a pretty one. Where has he been keeping you, eh? Hiding you away from me?”

“I’m sorry sir I must go… I have chores” you say shakily as you turn away again and go to walk but he grabs your wrist and spins you around so you somehow end up with your back against the wall. He closes the gap between you, pressing his body against yours holding you in place. 

“Stay. Take the night off. I can show you how much fun vampires can be” he smiles and you get a glimpse of his sharp teeth as he strokes up your neck with the back of his fingers. 

“Um…” you breath shakily “I-”

“Orlok! Leave her alone” Dracula voice suddenly cuts in.

“Don't you fancy a little pre-dinner snack” he sniffs the side of your face and your close your eyes tight, holding your breath.

“Not her. She’s off limits.” Dracula’s voice becoming more stern. 

“She’s just a familiar, we can find you a new one”

“I said no” he growls making you open you eyes and look at him. Orlok releases you, taking a step back holding his hands up in surrender with a playful grin. 

“Fine. Let’s hunt” Orlok leaves, winking at you before he disappears out the door. 

Dracula looks over at you briefly and you swear you can see a hint or worry in his eyes. 

“We’ll return soon with the humans, make sure the table is ready” he states before he disappears too, leaving you stood alone. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before getting on with preparing the dining hall. 

You begin setting out the plates and cutlery along the long wooden dining table. Even though no food will actually be consumed, your master likes the table to look fit for a grand banquet. As you lay the table you cant help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that soon this room will be filled with death. After a few minutes you're joined by Orlok’s familiar, who enters the room looking very anxious.

“Oh hello. We weren’t formally introduced. I’m Y/N” you say smiling at him and he looks surprised by your kindness.

“Elliot” he replies “can I help?”

“Thank you” you hand him the rest of the cutlery and carry on laying the table “they’ll be back soon with the feast so we should hurry”

“This is the worst part of the job. The killing I mean, not the cutlery.” He explains himself and you laugh.

“I don’t know, it’s going to be a big job cleaning it all up after” you joke.

“Well at least tonight were not get a night off from choosing the humans to be killed”

“What do you mean?” You stop working and stare at him blankly.

“My master makes me go out and lure humans back to his house for him to feed on. Doesn’t yours?”

“No, my master always chooses his own kills.”

“But that’s one of the main jobs a vampire familiar has. Providing food for the master”

“Well my master is very particular about who he drinks from, so…”

“Lucky you” Elliot sighs and you both get back to laying the table. 

Half an hour later you hear the vampires return and they enter the room, followed by a small group of humans who gaze around at the magnificent castle interior with awe. 

“Welcome to my home” Dracula smiles charmingly, opening his arms out gesturing for the humans to follow him to the table “take a seat, the feast will begin shortly.”

As the humans take their seats you go to them one by one, filling up their glasses with wine, making sure not to make eye contact with any of them. Knowing what’s about to happen to them it’s easier if you have as little interaction as possible. Once all the guests have their drinks you stand aside, ready to serve. Your master calls you over to him. 

“Thank you Y/N, you can go to your room now.” He says quietly and you look at him confused. 

“Master I still have duties-” 

“Not tonight you don’t. I don't want you anywhere near what’s about to happen in this room so go to bed. Lock your door. Stay there until sunrise.” 

You glance around the room at the unsuspecting humans laughing and having fun. Your eyes fall on Elliot, stood nervously in the corner of the room, and then to Orlok who is laughing maniacally with two girls draped over his shoulders adoringly. 

You look back at your master and bow your head. 

“Good night master” you leave the room and as you begin walking up the stairs you hear Dracula announce that the feast shall begin, which gains a round of cheers from the humans. 

You only just make it to your room when you hear screams start erupting from the dining hall.

You slam the door shut quickly and lock it behind you before jumping into your bed and pulling your pillow over your ears. 

In the almost ten years of working for Dracula you’d had to clean up a lot of blood from his meals. In the beginning it bothered you but you soon became numb to it. You understood that this was what your master had to do in order to live. And he would never leave any pieces of the body behind, that part he would clean up himself. 

But big feasts like this were always harder to deal with. Not just because the clean up usually takes a whole day, but because it feels more like murder. Instead of eating to survive, it’s eating for sport. The look on Orlok’s face before you left the dining hall confirmed that this was for fun. You could still hear him laughing now. 

You pulled the pillow tighter over your ears and hummed a song to yourself, trying to block out any thoughts of what was going on below you. Instead you filled your mind with happy memories of all the times your master had shown you kindness and cared for you.

— — — — 

You must have managed to drift off to sleep because a few hours later you're awoken by a gentle knocking on your door. 

“Y/N?” Comes a voice on the other side

“Yes master” you reply sleepily. 

“Can I come in?” 

You get out of bed and open the door, allowing Dracula to walk in. He sits down on the edge of your bed and gestures for you to sit next to him. 

“I just wanted to check on you, see how you're doing?” He says and you look at him confused. He doesn’t normally do this. 

“Uh, I’m okay” you shrug and he nods, licking a small remaining drop of blood off his lips “how was the feast?” 

“Good, good. Very good.” He looks into your eyes and you can feel something isn’t right “you should have seen those human’s faces when they realised what was happening. Hilarious!” He starts laughing. You stare at him almost in disgust as he reminds you more of Orlok than your master. “Oh and I’m afraid Elliot won’t be of much help with the clean up. I got a bit carried away…” he gestures to a particular patch of blood on his shirt and carries on laughing.

You’ve spent most of your life with your master but you barely recognise the vampire sitting next to you. He’s never acted like this before, and he would never treat a familiar like that. You look into his eyes and your heart drops as you realise they aren’t your master’s eyes. They’re Orlok’s. 

You try to remain calm, but your heart is racing faster than your mind. You have to think of a way to get out of this room without Orlok realising you know its really him. 

“Well there’s no time like the present. I’m going to get started on clean up straight away” you move to get up but Orlok puts his arm around you.

“Nonsense. Plenty of time for that later” he says

“You know how bad blood stains can be when they’re left too long” you shake him off and stand up “I’d rather deal with it now” you head to the door but suddenly he’s stood in front of you, blocking the way out. 

“Sit down” he says firmly and you just shake your head. “I am your master. You will do as I say now SIT DOWN!” He shouts the last bit making you flinch. You reluctantly sit back down on the bed and the vampire turns around to close the door. He stays stood with his back to you as he speaks. “You should have been there tonight. At the feast with us, witnessing the true power we vampires have over you mortals.” 

“B-but you told me to leave-” you stutter

“Oh give up the act.” He spins around to glare at you “I know you know who I am. I heard your pathetic little heart beat change when you realised. What was it? The eyes? It’s always the eyes that give us away. The one thing we can’t change. Smart girl for trying to play along though, I’ll give you that.”

“Where is he?” You ask, afraid of the answer.

“He’s having a little post feast nap.” He laughs to himself “you should have seen his face when I killed my familiar. Oh wait you can. It was like this” he uses Dracula’s face to mimic your master’s shocked expression “that reminds me, I don't need this anymore”

He opens his mouth wide, putting his hands on his lips and opens his face up until his own face emerges. You wince and look away. Orlok approaches you, placing a hand on your chin to guide you to look at him, now stood in his own form. 

“That’s better” he grins “I can see why he’s so attached to you. Pretty, loyal, hard working, clever. You’ll be a great vampire”

“I don't want to be a vampire”

“Nonsense. All familiars want to be vampires, that’s why you do the job. Pathetic really. Following us around like little lost puppies, completing our every command in the hopes that one day we’ll reward you by making you like us”

You shake your head, disagreeing with him. 

“You really don't want that? Then why? Why do you live like this?” He gestures to your small bedroom and looks at you expectantly. You don't reply. Then his face changes “oh of course. You love him. Don't you? That’s it, you love a vampire. That’s even worse” he scoffs. 

You cant look at him, instead you stare down at your hands in your lap and you fiddle your fingers nervously. 

“He’ll never love you back. Not while you're like this.” He sits down next to you, his face uncomfortably close to the side of yours. “I can help you. I can make you like us. A magnificent, fearless, beautiful vampire. He won’t be able to resist you.”

You think about it for a moment, and come to a decision. You turn to face him. 

“No” you say firmly. 

“Suit yourself” his face changes and he bares his teeth as he pushes you down onto the bed. You kick and scream, trying to get him off you but he overpowers you and forces your arms down. He holds your arms in one hand and uses the other to turn your head to the side, exposing your neck. He licks a stripe up from your collar bone to your chin and hums. 

“You know I’d have preferred if you’d given me your consent, it always tastes better that way but… I have a feeling you're going to taste exquisite” 

He draws his head back and lunges it back down to your neck. 

But before he can sink his teeth in an almighty roar fills the room and suddenly you can’t feel his weight on you of you anymore. You open your eyes to see your master holding Orlok up in the air by his throat. 

“I told you she was off limits” Dracula growls through gritted teeth and Orlok laughs.

Get out of here” he says to you but you remain frozen in place “NOW!”

Suddenly springing to action you jump up from the bed and and race out the room, sprinting down the stairs toward the front door, ignoring the sounds of the vampires fighting behind you. But before you can escape Orlok appears in front of you again, locking the door. You turn on your heels and run the other way into the dining hall, you don't get far as you trip over a body lying on the floor and skid face first in the pool of blood till you hit something. You open your eyes and lying face to face with you is Elliot’s lifeless corpse, covered in blood with fear still frozen his eyes. 

“Don't worry, we’ll get a new familiar once you're living with me. My vampire bride” Orlok’s voice startles you and you flip over onto your back so you can see him. You push yourself backwards along the floor as he takes slow, menacing steps closer to you. 

“There’s no use trying to run from me little one. No one is going to stop me from taking what I want. Dracula won’t save you. That pathetic excuse for a vampire, it was so easy to overpower him.”

Your back hits the wall and tears flood your eyes as you realise Orlok has probably murdered your master and now he was going to do whatever he wants to you. 

“Oh don't cry. I know you think you loved him, but now you can love me instead. And I'm much more deserving of your love”

He holds his hand out to you, but you don't take it. Instead you just shake your head at him and his face changes to pure anger. He picks you up with ease and pins you against the wall. 

“I tried to be nice to you. I offered you eternal life with me. And this is how you treat me?” He smirks at you “I am going to enjoy killing you, and it will be a slow and painful death”

A sob escapes your throat as you shut your eye tights, waiting for the inevitable. 

Instead he suddenly releases his grip on you and you drop to the floor, feeling a layer of ash and dust covering your face. You blink your eyes open to see Dracula standing over you with a wooden stake in one hand, holding his other hand out to you. You look into his eyes, studying him until you're sure it’s really him. You fling your arms around his neck and hug him before pulling away quickly. 

“I’m sorry master, that was, that- I thought he killed you- I thought-”

He interrupts your nervous stuttering by pulling you back into him, hugging you tightly into his chest. “shh. It’s okay, it’s okay” he whispers. 

You both stay like that for a while as you take deep breaths. 

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, pulling away to look you in the face and he wipes remnants of Orlok’s ash from your cheek. 

“Yes” you almost whisper “Are you? You just killed your best friend”

“He deserved it. I warned him, multiple times but he was out of control. I am so sorry you had to go through that” he looks at you with real sadness.

“It’s okay, I’m okay” you reassure him but he shakes his head.

“I think its time you moved on” he walks away fro you and heads up the stairs to your room. 

“What?! No! No I-” you follow him, frantically trying to stop him.

“I put you in danger tonight and it almost cost you your life. I cant risk that again.” 

“No” you try to interrupt him but he carries on talking

“I’ll provide you with a house, somewhere away from here where I know you’ll be safe” he packs the few personal belongings you own into a bag.

“I don't want that, master please I want to stay here. I want to stay with you, I love you!” You blurt out and he freezes.

You feel your face blush instantly with embarrassment. He turns around slowly to look at you.

“What did you say?”

You stare down at the ground as you repeat the last part of your previous statement. There’s a moments uncomfortable silence before he finally speaks again. 

“Why would someone as kind and gentle as you love someone like me? A vampire. A murderer. A monster.”

“You found a broken homeless orphan girl and you took her in. Fixed her, fed her, gave her clothes and a warm bed. Cared for her, gave her a job, a reason to live. That is not something a monster would do.”

You approach him and carefully place your hand on his face, his eyes meet yours and you smile at him. 

“You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that” he smiles back before leaning in and gently pressing his lips to meet yours.

“I love you Y/N”

“I love you Dracula”

[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

[clumsyclifford]

Hey so like. Perhaps it was my birthday and I would k!ll for some emotional support malum. And number four from the list of ways to say I love you is really speaking to me. "Come here. Let me fix it." So much potential im obsessed <3 - twww!ink

gfhfldfkmgjd thank you for sending this as an ask after i asked you to send it as an ask adri <3 that was a lot of words that start with a okay let’s move swiftly on, happy late birthday my love

read it here on ao3

-

The bed feels wrong. Calum waves his arm around and diagnoses the problem: it’s empty apart from him.

That’s definitely not ideal.

He groggily opens his eyes, turning his head tiredly to glance at the clock. 5:45am. As he’s squinting around the room in displeasure, the door quietly opens.

“Mike?”

It’s Michael, and he pauses at the doorway, then slowly shuts it behind him. “Sorry, babe,” he whispers through the darkness. “Honestly tried to be quiet.”

“You…” Calum shakes his head, trying to clear some of the sleep from it. “You were. I woke up on my own.”

“You?” Michael chuckles softly. “Woke up on your own?”

Calum makes a face at him. Then he frowns. “Why are you awake right now?” And then, “Why are you dressed so nice?”

“I have my presentation today,” Michael says, and Calum feels like an idiot for forgetting. The presentation, right. Only the thing Michael’s been stressing nonstop about for weeks. “Just thought I’d get up a bit early, practice presenting, get a coffee or something like that.”

“Michael,” Calum says hoarsely, “it’s quarter to six. Your class isn’t until half eight.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, shifting nervously. “I know.”

“So come back to bed,” Calum says, making grabby hands at Michael across the room, “and you can wake up in an hour and a half and worry about it then. You’ll make yourself crazy.”

“I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Michael admits, looking down at his feet.

Calum sighs. He’d like Michael’s presentation to be done already so that Michael can return to having a normal sleeping schedule, instead of staying up until the witching hours of the night and only going to bed upon incessant nagging from Calum. Last night he’d only come to bed because Calum had pressed him, pointing out that he’d no doubt do a better presentation on more sleep. Michael had conceded with concerning ease, but now Calum wonders if he’d even gotten any sleep at all.

“Tell me you slept some.”

“Yeah, I did,” Michael says. “Just not very well, and, you know. I’m just nervous. I’ll be fine after the presentation, but I just…I don’t know.”

“Michael,” Calum whines. He doesn’t really mean to whine, but he’s tired and he doesn’t have class at all today and he’d hoped to spend most of it asleep. “Come on. Please come back to bed. Even if you don’t sleep, it’s better for you to just lie down and pretend.”

Michael shakes his head. “I — I have to practice.”

“You’ve rehearsed this presentation so much even I could give it,” Calum says plainly. “Mikey.”

Michael runs a hand through his hair, then immediately winces. “Fuck, I — I had it all nice and now it’s —”

Calum personally thinks it looks way cuter like this, mussed up with a little personality, but he can see that this might be the thing that sends Michael into a spiral unless he’s careful. “It’s fine, Mike. Come here. Let me fix it.”

“I can just —”

“Come here,” Calum repeats, shuffling into a sitting position. He mournfully glances at the clock again and regrets it as soon as he does. There will be other time for sleep, he reminds himself, even though between sleeping and Michael it’s not a competition. Calum prefers to have both at once, but if he can only have one, he’ll die with eyes widen open and Michael at his side.

Michael hesitates, then approaches the bed and sits on the edge. Calum reaches up to fix his hair, smoothing it down until it sits more or less flat. His hands slide down from Michael’s head to his neck. “Michael.”

Michael exhales. “Yeah.”

There hadn’t really been more to that message; Calum just likes to say it, loves the feeling of Michael’s name on his tongue, the way Michael always seems to lighten just a little at the sound. But Michael is expecting more, and Calum can definitely do more. “You look sharp,” he says softly, leaning his forehead against Michael’s. “You’re going to make this presentation your bitch. You’re going to kick the shit out of it. I cannot imagine a world where you do badly.”

Michael closes his eyes. “Sounds like a lack of imagination on your part.”

“Hey!”

Michael chuckles. “Sorry, thank you. It —” He takes a deep, sudden breath in, and puts his hands on Calum’s shoulders. “That makes me feel better.”

“Good,” Calum says. Gently, he adds, “Now let’s go get some coffee and you can do it again for me.”

Michael pauses as he processes this. “You don’t have to come. I was going to go by myself.”

“I know,” Calum says, “but you’re not going to sleep more and I am your supportive boyfriend, so I’m coming with you.” He waits for Michael to protest further, but it’s a sign of Michael’s nerves over the presentation that instead he just sighs in acceptance. “Great. Sorted. Are we going to Starbucks?”

“I love you,” Michael says abruptly, and then kisses Calum before Calum can come up with an adequate response. The kiss gives him an opportunity to think, but nothing comes of it, because Calum’s still kind of waking up and his brain is full of Michael Michael Michael and empty of anything else.

Returning the I-love-you is too easy, a cop-out, but he has to say something, and he cannot for the life of him think of any way to properly express how fucking much he loves Michael. How easy he finds it, loving Michael, because everything about Michael just begs to be loved. How before Michael, Calum had just been aimlessly wandering, but Michael gives him direction. More than that, he gives Calum a place — or at least a person — to come back to. Michael’s not the destination so much as he is the home base, the save point, the only thing Calum wants to return to over and over.

And how the fuck does all of that fit into I love you, too?

He says it anyway when they break apart, murmurs it against Michael’s mouth, eyes closed because this way it feels a little bit like a dream he’s still having. Being with Michael, everything kind of feels a little bit like a dream, although Calum knows for certain he’s not imaginative enough to come up with a life like this.

(And he’s not optimistic enough to conjure up someone like Michael. Michael’s too good for Calum’s psyche to have awarded him, which is how Calum knows that this isn’t a dream, just a reality he has to get used to having.)

Michael breathes slowly out. “Is it crazy that I kind of want to get back in bed now?”

“No,” Calum says. “You slept probably five hours, if even.”

“It’s not that I’m tired,” Michael says, shaking his head and blushing a bit. “I’d just love a cuddle.”

Calum smiles. “Well, you know I’m always up for a cuddle.”

“Yeah, but —” Michael leans away, brows furrowed. “I need to practice the presentation.”

Calum waits patiently. He doesn’t want to encourage Michael to sleep if more practice is what will be most helpful to him, but he also firmly believes lying in bed, even awake, will do Michael a world of good.

Also, he would love a cuddle.

Finally, Michael chews his lip and says, “Okay, we can cuddle for a few minutes, but then I’m getting up. You don’t have to get up with me.”

“Mikey,” Calum says sweetly, kissing his cheek, “I’m with you wherever you go.” Always, he doesn’t add, although he really means it.

The comment makes Michael smile, and as he crawls back into bed Calum smiles too, even more so when Michael curls himself against Calum’s, reclaiming the spot he’d surrendered when he’d gotten out of bed. It’s warm under the duvet, even warmer with Michael solidly settled into his chest, face tucked into Calum’s neck, breathing slow and steady.

“I love you so much,” Michael mumbles. His breath tickles Calum’s skin.

Calum lets his eyes shut. He has no idea if Michael will fall asleep or if, true to his word, they’ll be getting up in a few minutes, but for now he wants to completely soak up the moment. “Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” he breathes, pressing a kiss into Michael’s hair. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Enough to wake up at six for me.”

“Yeah. More than that.”

“Well,” Michael hums, and Calum can already hear the slur in his voice that means he’s growing tired, “I love you more than that.”

Calum smiles. “You just keep believing that.”

“Mm, I will.”

In lieu of responding, Calum just tightens his hold on Michael, syncing their inhales and exhales, and sure enough Michael drifts off, fingers curled into the collar of Calum’s shirt.

It’s embarrassing to say, but yeah. Calum would wake at six every day for Michael. Calum would do fucking anything to have this exact moment for the rest of his life, for Michael to fall asleep in Calum’s arms every day until they die. Maybe to be in love is to make sacrifices, but it doesn’t feel like a sacrifice to Calum. Sleep is a small price to pay for the invaluable gift that is Michael Clifford. Although maybe that’s what it is to be in love: to make sacrifices willingly, to make pain feel like a privilege.

To love Michael, Calum would bear any burden.

[artificialqueens]

Ungodly Hour, Chapter One (Jaida x Nicky) - Scarlet Bloo

a/n: Hi! I started this fic back when the fic challenge was announced and here it finally is, (2?) months later, 3 days from the deadline. It’s been a ride, but I’ve finally gotten it to a place where I’m happy with it, and while not every chapter will posted during the challenge I’ve at least managed to get one in!

summary: Nicky is crushing hard on a bubbly soccer playing sorority sister. It’s unusual for her to ever be into anyone like this, and all she wants is to be on her radar. Popular girl Jaida is captain of the basketball team, and while she’s usually smart, French just isn’t her forte. Lucky for her, Nicky is a native speaker, so she makes it her mission to get her as her tutor. 

Challenge notes:

A large amount of the story is told from Jaida’s point of view. 

Close friends of the main characters: Widow, Heidi and Akeria (who will become more prominent characters in future chapters.)

The title is a song by Chloe and Halle Bailey. 

Nicky snuck a look in Jan Sport’s direction, her heart tingling as she absorbed her beauty. She sighed, knowing the preppy, popular sorority girl had absolutely no idea she even existed. It was laughable that she ever entertained the idea of a relationship with her, even if it was only in the late hours of the night, a fantasy to procrastinate her studies with. But with her long blonde hair, muscular arms and smiling eyes, how couldn’t Nicky be so intrigued by her? This was a new feeling. Nicky hardly ever found herself interested in anyone, let alone a woman. It was surreal to her, but it somehow felt right.

She cast her eyes away from Jan and tried to focus on the Professor at the front of the lecture hall. Unsurprisingly, it was nothing of value to Nicky. Miss Coulee was voicing her disappointment with the class after 70% of the class had gotten less than a C in the last exam. Nicky rolled her eyes, looking down at the big red “A!” circled on her own paper. Despite this achievement, she was regretting her decision to take French. Sure, it being her first language definitely made the classes easier, but left her so unsatisfied with how little she had to push herself to pass. 

“Of course you got an A”, Gigi whispered to Nicky. 

She had a defeated look on her face and Nicky felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Gigi and Nicky weren’t close, but seeing as they’d been sitting next to each other every French lecture since September, they’d gotten to know a fair bit about each other. Like Nicky, Gigi was a fashion major but was taking French so she could “make it big in Paris one day” and Nicky knew academics wasn’t her strong suit. 

“Yeah well,” Nicky smiled sweetly, “French is my language, fashion is yours.”

Gigi seemed content with that answer and nodded satisfactorily as Coulee dismissed the class and all that could be heard was the snapping shut of laptops and notebooks and friendly chatter.

Jan lingered by the door giggling with her friends and Nicky’s gaze locked in on her like a missile. She was beautiful, and she could help but trace each curve of her body with her eyes. She felt her hands go clammy as she found herself lost in her animated expressions. Jan was different to Nicky’s image of a popular girl, she didn’t strut around campus like she owned the place or go through millions of relationships. She radiated positive energy and it just made Nicky all the more eager to get to know her. She wasn’t usually this into people, but Jan Sport had turned her into a pile of mush.

“You’re staring again.” Gigi’s teasing voice brought a blush to Nicky’s cheeks. She had caught her staring at Jan in awe on multiple occasions and was one of the very few people she’d actually admitted the crush to. The only other person who she’d told was her roommate and best friend, Widow. But her other friends? Definitely not. They were all art majors, and while Jan was taking music, it wasn’t really the same thing. Nicky guessed it made them the artsy crowd, and therefore substantially less popular. With the exception of Gigi and Widow, who had been in an on and off relationship with a soccer player since freshman year, Nicky’s friends spent lunch breaks talking as much shit as they could about Charles College’s elite. And it was somewhat justified. Most of the popular kids were complete pieces of shit. 

Case in point - Jaida Essence Hall, Charles College’s star athlete. The girl walked around like she owned the place, and Nicky guessed she kind of did. At the snap of a finger someone would appear at her side, eager to grant any and every wish. Or jump into her lap. Or stick their tongue down her throat. She didn’t look as confident as usual right then though, sitting fists curled around the edge of her paper in the lecture hall. Everyone else, including Coulee, had left, but Jaida remained in her seat. She must have failed the test too, but Nicky didn’t feel much sympathy for the girl. Charles college was best known for its Basketball, with its best players usually ending up in the pros, and during their years at Charles, they’d get handed everything on a silver platter. Maybe it was unfair, and a tiny bit vindictive, but Nicky got a sense of triumph from knowing that Coulee was failing the captain of the women’s basketball team along with everyone else. 

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Gigi asked as she gathered her books.

“Can’t, I have to finish up all of last week’s design work.” Nicky got up, but didn’t follow her to the door, “Go on ahead. I need to check the schedule before I go, I can’t remember when my next tutorial is.”

“Okay,” Gigi said, “I’ll see you later!”

“Later!” Nicky called after her. 

At the sound of her voice, Jan paused in the doorway and turned her head. It was impossible to stop the flush that rose in Nicky’s cheeks. This was the first time they’d ever made eye contact, and she didn’t know how to respond. In the end, she settled for a small nod of greeting. There. Cool, casual yet wouldn’t come off as rude. Her heart skipped a beat when the corner of Jan’s mouth lifted into a faint grin. She waved in response, and then she was gone. Nicky stared at the empty doorway. Her pulse exploded in a gallop. After six weeks of breathing in the same air in the stuffy lecture hall, Jan Sport had finally noticed her. She wished she was brave enough to go after her. Maybe ask her to grab a coffee. Or dinner. Or brunch - hell, is brunch even a big thing in America? But her feet stayed glued in place because she was a total coward. She was terrified she’d say no, but even more terrified she’d say yes. 

Nicky was in a good place when she started college. Her issues solidly behind her, her guard lowered. She was ready to date again, and she did. She dated several guys, but other than her ex, Kayla, none of them had been female, and none of them had made her body tingle the way Jan Sport did, and that freaked her out. 

Baby steps. That was her therapist’s favourite piece of advice, and she couldn’t deny that the strategy had helped her a lot. Focus on the small victories, Sasha had always advised. So, today’s victory, she nodded at Jan and she waved at her. Next class, maybe she’d wave back. And the one after that, maybe she’d bring up the coffee, dinner or brunch idea. She took a breath as she headed down the aisle, clinging to that feeling of victory, however miniscule it may be.

Jaida had failed. She’d fucking failed. For the last 15 years before she’d joined Charles College, they had handed out A’s like tic tacs. But the year she decided to take a French class? She had gotten stuck with Shea Coulee. It was official. This woman was her archenemy. Just the sight of her flowery handwriting—which filled up every inch of available space in the margins of Jaida’s midterm—made her want to scream, rip up the page, and leave education indefinitely. Jaida had been passing all her other classes, but this (almost ironic) F in French was completely bringing her average down. Normally, she had no problem keeping her G.P.A up. Despite what she knew a lot of Charle’s population believed, she wasn’t dumb. And the worst thing about Charles? Their dean demanded excellence—academically and athletically. While other schools were lenient toward athletes, Charles has a zero-tolerance policy. When she spoke to Coulee before class, she’d bluntly told her that unless she was going to find her own private tutor, she’d have no choice but to turn up to extra tutorials which overlapped with basketball practice. It really was a lose-lose situation.

 Jaida’s frustration manifested itself in the form of an audible groan, and from the corner of her eye, she saw someone jerk in surprise. Jaida jumped too, because here she thought she was wallowing in her misery alone. However, the girl from the back row had stuck around and was headed towards Coulee’s desk. Staci? Selena? Jaida couldn’t remember her name, probably because she’d never thought to ask for it before. She was pretty, though. A lot prettier than Jaida had ever realised. Perfect features, dark hair, a petite hourglass figure. How had she never noticed her before now? Her skinny jeans clung to a round, perky ass and her round breasts peaked slightly out of her v neck. 

“Everything okay?” the girl asked with a pointed look. Jaida murmured a reply under her breath. She really wasn’t in the mood to talk right then. 

The girl raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow in Jaida’s direction, “Sorry, was that english?” 

Jaida balled up her paper and scraped her chair back, “I said everythings fine.”

“Okay, then,” The girl shrugged and continued down the steps. As she picked up the clipboard that contained the tutorial schedule, Jaida flung on her jacked, then shoved her  pathetic midterm into her  backpack and zipped it up. The dark-haired girl headed back to the aisle. Sophie? Sabrina? The S sounded right, but the rest was a mystery. She had her midterm in hand, but Jaida didn’t sneak a peek because she assumed she failed just like everyone else.

Jaida let her pass before she stepped into the aisle. She followed her up to the exit, suddenly realizing how tiny she was compared to herself—she was one step below her yet could see the top of her head. Just as they reached the door, the girl stumbled on absolutely nothing and the books in her hand clattered to the floor.

“Shit. I’m such a klutz.”

She dropped to her knees and so did Jaida, because contrary popular belief, she wasn’t heartless, and the polite thing to do was help her gather her books.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine,” she insisted.

But Jaida’s hand had already connected with her midterm, and her jaw dropped when she saw her grade.

“Fucking hell. You aced it?”  Jaida demanded.

The girl gave a sweet smile. “Well, I am French. I thought you’d have been able to tell from the accent.”

“Holy shit.” Jaida felt like she’d just bumped into Coco fuckin’ Chanel and she was dangling the secrets to her  universe under her nose. “Can I read your answers?”

Her brows quirked up again. “That’s rather forward of you, don’t you think? We don’t even know each other.”

Jaida rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, baby. I just want to peek at your midterm.”

“Baby? Goodbye forward, hello presumptuous.”

“Would you prefer miss? Ma’am maybe? I’d use your name but I don’t know it.”

“Of course you don’t.” She sighed. “It’s Nicolette. Nicky for short.” Then she paused meaningfully. “Jaida.”

Okay, she was way off on the S thing. And Jaida didn’t miss the way she emphasized her name as if to say, Ha! I know yours, bitch! Nicky collected the rest of her books and stood up, but Jaida didn’t hand over her midterm. Instead, she hopped to her feet and started flipping through it. As she skimmed her answers, her spirits plummeted even lower, because if this is what  Coulee was looking for, she was screwed. There was a reason she was a  geography major, for gods sake—she dealt in facts. Black and white. This happened at this time to this person and here was the result. Nicky’s answers focused on detailed analysis on texts Jaida couldn’t even translate in the first place. 

“Thanks.”  Jaida gave her the booklet, then cracked her knuckles. “Hey, listen. Do you…would you consider…” she  shrugged. “You know…”

Nicky’s  lips twitched as if she was  trying not to laugh. “Actually, I don’t know.”

Jaida let out a breath. “Will you tutor me?”

Her grey eyes—slightly green and surrounded by thick black eyelashes—went from surprised to skeptical in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll pay you,” Jaida added hastily.

“Oh. Um. Well, yeah, of course I’d expect you to pay me. But…” She shaked her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Jaida bit back her disappointment. “C’mon, do me a solid. If I fail this makeup, my GPA will implode. Please?” She flashed a smile, the one that made her dimples pop out and never failed to make people melt.

“Does that usually work?” she asked curiously.

“What?“

“The winning innocent pageant girl smile… Does it help you get your way?”

“Always,” the taller girl answered without hesitation.

“Almost always,” Nicky corrected. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time. I’m already juggling school and work, and with the winter showcase coming up, I’ll have even less time.”

“Winter showcase?” Jaida said blankly.

“Right, I forgot. If it’s not about basketball or your big pageants, then it’s not on your radar.”

“Now who’s being presumptuous? You don’t even know me.”

There’s a beat, and then she sighed. “I’m a fashion major, okay? And the arts faculty puts on two major displays every year, the winter showcase and the spring one. The winner gets a five thousand dollar scholarship. It’s kind of a huge deal, actually. Important industry people fly in from all over the country to see it. Fashion houses, investors, big magazines…. So, as much as I’d love to help you—”

“You would not,” Jaida grumbled. “You look like you don’t even want to talk to me right now.”

Her little you-got-me shrug was grating. “I have to go finish up some designs. I’m sorry you’re failing this course, but if it makes you feel better, so is everyone else.”

Jaida narrowed her eyes. “Not you.”

“I can’t help that I was born into a french speaking household.”

“Well, I want your help.”

Jaida was two seconds from dropping to her knees and begging her, but she edged towards the door. “You know there’s a study group, right? I can give you the number for—”

“I’m already in it,” Jaida muttered, embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, then there’s not much else I can do for you. Good luck on the makeup test. Baby.”

She darted out the door, leaving Jaida staring after her in frustration. Unbelievable. Everyone at this college would have cut their leg off to help her out. But this girl? Ran away like she’d just asked her to give up her first born so they could give it to Rumplestiltskin. And now  Jaida was right back to where she was before Nicky-not-with-an-S gave her that faintest flicker of hope. Completely fucking screwed.

[wintersweetbou]

Glaiveweek 2020- Day 5. Chicken Soup Solves Everything

Day 5 of Glaiveweek 2020. @glaiveweek I’m a bit late, but here it is!

Prompt: Angst, Fluff and Smut- Hold On, Time of your Life, Its Warm and Peaceful

Summary: The last wave of winter has a bad case of the flu bringing the glaive to its knees. Luche sneaks off to the kitchens, and finds help in a young adviser. 

Spring rain pelted the city, washing away the remnants of winter. However, the two seasons mixed first, bringing icy rain and grey chill to Insomnia. People trudged to work and then ran home. It was too messy to do anything else- and running about in sleet was not the best of ideas. The kingsglaive continued to run as always, but incurred some losses to the flu making its final rounds as the winter heaved its last breath. Luche warped from the parking garage into glaive headquarters. He bustled forward, trying to shake off the cold. He was on requisition duty today. Axis was out sick, so he needed to inventory the armory for potions, munitions, and weapon stocks. Asking the others about the state of their weapons for inventory might not be a bad idea either- the new forge order for custom weapons was coming up. Best to get ahead before anyone else got sick. Luche smiled to himself. Best to stay ahead of the game. The offices held the requisition tablet, and the forms needed to be filled out upon application...Someone sneezed. Luche turned to see Pelna making copies, looking absolutely dreadful. His usually warm umber skin looked kind of pale and sickly, his dark hair slightly plastered to his forehead with rain. Luche noted his state, and internally decided to make orange tea later for him. “You feeling ok, Pels? Looking a little pale there.” “Yeah...just tired...and achy.” Pelna seemed to droop a squidge more at the admission. “Take it easy today then. Do you have any custom armor or weapon requests? The forge order is coming through soon, and it's a good idea to check beforehand.” Luche murmured, adjusting the wayward hair on Pelna’s forehead. Pelna nodded, looking thoughtful, before shivering and turning away with his copies. Luche raised a brow, and changed that internal note to include soup. Charming citadel staff could sometimes beg treats from the castle kitchens. Maybe he could snag something hot- the dark haired glaive looked dreadful. Luche sighed, turning to check in with the captain before going off to the armory. The captain looked more haggard than usual, dark circles under his eyes. Luche glanced at him from the side, suspicious. “Here’s the list of things we definitely need, and as for the forge order, I am covered. Very thoughtful though. Recheck the armory and transport vehicles, especially the first aid and potion stocks.” Drautos grated, voice rougher than usual. “Yessir. You feeling ok? Sound a little scratchy there.” Luche watched, noting some stiffness in his movements. “I’ll shake it off. I’m fine. Dismissed.” Touchy, too. That meant the captain was solidly out of sorts. Luche saluted, and spun about, wondering if he was the only healthy glaive left. The armory was peaceful without the music that Axis liked blasting about, but also seemed colder for the same reason. Luche tucked his coat tighter about him, swearing about getting some citrus later. His work passed smoothly, even if the glaives were disasters on a personal level, they kept their gear organized. Arms noted, potions counted, bombs recorded...it had only taken an hour. Six, that was quick. Oh well. Perhaps he could check on the glaives training for possible forge orders. Luche shifted the tablet, making one final note, before heading off for the arena and weight rooms. Glaives warped and practiced magic at regular intervals in the arena. It was nowhere near the level of energy that was normally used. The sight of half-assed combat drills slowed Luche to a stop. Concerned, he turned on heel and made for the citadel. Whatever bug or fatigue was working through the ranks, he had to do something, else the glaives would start to drop like flies. And yes, this was a common occurrence throughout any historical militia, but these were modern times godsdamnit. Luche would make sure something was done. It was a quick walk through the hallways that connected the glaive headquarters to the rest of the citadel to gain access to the main keep. His status as a glaive gained him access to the servant hallways, normally only used by crownsguard and castle staff. Luche passed several guards, who raised eyebrows but said nothing. The kitchens were below the main floors, along with the boilers and other service hatches. It was just a few stairs- the elevators were packed with maids bustling with food for the council. Lunch was almost here, they needed to serve early so the council could eat and clean up before the session resumed. It was a tight schedule, but worked if he timed it right. Which was why Luche walked in when he did. The main meal was already measured out, so any leftovers could be served to friendly faces afterwards.  Smart guards and glaives made friends with the cooks, because royal leftovers were divine, even when microwaved.   Luche rounded the corner, and put on his best puppy eyes. Single rations were easy to get, but enough soup for a squad of glaives? He would need to charm it up...and stopped at the sight of a kid, perhaps ten, struggling to heft a huge bag of potatoes. The kid panted, teetering,  and Luche warped to steady the lad before he fell and hurt himself. The boy peered up from behind thick glasses, auburn hair combed neatly, uniform pressed to perfection. While his appearance was immaculate, his speech was not. A slightly accented voice stuttered apologies and thanks, blushing fiercely. Luche slung the sack over a shoulder, smiling gently. The kid was cute. “Be more careful, you could pull something by lifting too much at once. Luche Lazarus.” The glaive grinned, offering his hand. “Ignis Scientia. I will be more careful, thank you.” Ignis shook his hand, and pointed to the high steel countertop where he was trying to put the potatoes. “What is a kid like you doing in the kitchens?” Luche plopped the sack on the clean metal. “The cook said if I helped do some chores, he would teach me how to cook.” Ignis stated shyly. “Oh? Anything in particular?” “There is a dessert I’m trying to recreate, but I can’t get it to turn out right. I figured asking for help would be better than wasting more ingredients.” Ignis stared at the floor, the tops of his ears burning. “Practical.” Luche nodded. The both turned as head chef Brusa bustled forward, a large, jolly man, handing a peeler to the kid, and clapped Luche on the back. Luche smiled, accepting the affection. Showtime. “What can I do for the kingsglaive today?” The chef grinned, smile softening as Luche explained his plight, working his best sad eyes. His friends were getting sick, and he hoped he could please have some leftover soup to soothe their sore throats, whatever they had, pretty please… The Brusa was a major softie for the guards and the glaives. He announced that he would not stand by while those so nobly training to defend Lucis suffered. Ignis watched with wide eyes as his first lesson in pastry making  was hijacked into a lesson on making soup light enough to soothe troubled stomachs, but hearty enough to sustain soldiers. The young adviser took careful notes- even if this wasn’t pastry lessons, it would still serve the prince if he knew how to prepare foods for illnesses- and helped with the preparation of a huge, several gallon pot of stew. Luche watched, entranced at the controlled chaos enfolding before him. The chef whirled gracefully, preparing ingredients while lecturing about proper food safety. Clean the carrots, chop the celery, warm the leftover stock, measure out the noodles, the thick ones- these are for the glaives, Ignis!- set them to boil...Luche flicked open the notes app on his phone, quickly recording the recipe, for future use. The chef’s food was never ever a disappointment. Luche had to subtly swallow back some drool as the scent of something scrumptious began to waft through the kitchens. Ignis carefully added diced chicken, dripping some of the fat into the bubbling pot, listening to Brusa chuckle about how noodles soaked up that flavor, making it heaven. “ A bit of salt, thyme, rosemary..and heres the secret, Ignis, mint. Just a squidge- the camphor in the leaves has been used for ever in cough medicine, chest rubs. Not too much, it is dangerous in large amounts, but just enough. The broth will break up the mucus of the throat, but the mint is what soothes the flesh after.” The head chef beamed, sprinkling a handful into the monster of a pot, stirring excitedly. Luche typed furiously, feeling his own stomach start to grumble- loud enough for Brusa to hear. “Sounds good, right, glaive?” The chef chuckled, glancing at the sheepish glaive. “Sounds good, smells amazing. Thank you so much, chef. My compliments.” “My, my. You haven’t even tasted it!” The chef blushed, still stirring. “I have to compliment it now, while I still have words, for I’m sure your stew will render me speechless.” Chef Brusa flushed deeper, staring into the pot, before slapping a lid on it. “Give it ten minuets to boil together, then pour it into one of the travel warmers over by the sinks. Ladles are above. I’m afraid we are low on disposable utensils and bowls, but there are still an abundance of paper cups left over from the prince’s birthday celebration.” Luche bowed low, thanking the chef, and turned to haul down a warmer, and Ignis scrambled to find the cups. Fifteen minuets later saw the glaive and adviser-to-be turning the corner to the glaive headquarters, leaden with food. Ignis worked hard to match Luche’s stride, fueled by the promise of all the pastry lessons he could want should he help ladle out soup for the glaive. Lunch was about here, and if they worked fast, they could warm up everyone all in one go, as they convened in the common room for break. Luche and Ignis worked in tandem, handing out cups to exhausted, sniffly glaives. Snacks were always the secret to a soldier’s heart. Libertus tried to be gruff, but at the first sip his eyes glowed, and he mumbled thanks around a mouthful of noodles. Nyx grinned, warming his hands on the cup, sipping slowly, savoring. His eyes slid closed, and he breathed gratitude for the shef. Crowe nibbled on a noodle, pestering him for the recipe, warmth filling her. Tredd took the soup without a word, happily chugging it, giving a thumbs up as he retreated into the common area. Sonitus smiled, seeming the only one still healthy, accepting his share with gratefulness. Only Pelna and the captain were not present, and Luche loped off to the offices. Pelna typed absently at his desk, clearly in a fog. Luche cocked his head, noting how glassy his eyes were, setting the cup gently in front of the glaive. Pelna seemed to notice the movement, and glanced blankly up. Luche frowned, ignoring personal space, feeling his forehead. “Guess I’m not doing so hot.” Pelna sighed, picking up the soup, testing the temperature. “You are doing very hot. That seems to be your problem.” Luche pulled back, concerned by the fever burning under the tanned skin. Pelna grumbled absently in response, chewing slowly. “Go home. Take care of yourself and don’t spread this around. There is more soup- eat this, then meet me in the hallway. Pack up and go home. I will tell Drautos. Rest.” Luche squeezed his shoulders, and smiled at the sheepish mumble of assent. With that out of the way, Luche turned to check on the captain. The captain was borderline incomprehensible, his scratchy voice now almost gone. Luche leveled a glare at Drautos, before setting the cup on his desk. “You sound like shit, captain. With all due respect, get out. Go home, and sleep this off.” Luche growled, not liking the stubborn set of Dratos’s eyes. “I don’t care. I just sent Pelna home for the same reason. Rest now and heal early, or suffer longer. Choose.” Drautos glared down into the soup, then slumped as he picked up the steaming cup, trying a few drops of broth. His broad shoulders loosened, and he took a larger draught, unable to hold back the hum of appreciation. Luche continued to glare, until the captain grated out some sort of submission, standing to gather his things. It would do no one good if he was out longer then he had to be, it would be more efficient to nip this in the bud. Luche waved as the captain and Pelna ambled out into the rain. Mission accomplished. The glaive found Ignis stammering, ladling second helpings to appreciative glaives. The kid looked like he was about to combust under the compliments on his cooking. Several looked better already, Libertus loudly bickering with Nyx on traditional stew ingredients, and Tredd adding his own experience into the mix. Luche smiled, sidling up to the young adviser, helping him dole out more liquid happiness. “You did really good, kid. If you ever need help, we take snacks as payment.” Luche whispered. Ignis nodded, promising himself to learn more recipes under his breath. Maybe the crownsguard could be bought into favors with snacks too. The marshall’s sweet tooth was legendary. Ignis grinned, and Luche watched with no small amusement. A young adviser, already being taught to bribe glaives. He was proud. A glance around had Luche affirming that everyone had been served, and poured a cup for himself, gesturing for Ignis to do the same. The soup was heaven, noodles thick, celery and carrots crunchy, chicken hearty...Luche hummed deep in his chest, drinking deeply. The soup warmed him from the inside, sating the hangry festering there, A look about confirmed the other glaives felt the same. Warm, sated, and peaceful. If, later in the week, Luche awoke to a sore throat and aching body, well. He had the perfect recipe for heaven in a pot.

[writer-k-pop]

Five Petal Flower - Pt. 1

넌 절대 슛을 놓치지 않는다. You never miss a shot.

Description: [Set in old Korea, think Joseon era} After an attack makes (y/n) do something she never thought she’d have to do, she must be more careful of where she walks at night. But when her best friend, the 5th Prince Tae, gets tangled up in the aftermath of an attack, she has no choice to reveal secrets she wanted to keep secret. Warnings: Swearing, nothing too gory,  Genre: Action, Angst, Romance Word Count: 2.8k

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"Pull it back." (y/n)'s archery instructor, Soon, says, "And release."

(y/n) releases the arrow from her grasp and matches the release motion of the bow. Her eyes follow the arrow through the air and as it sinks solidly into the red center of the target, a satisfied smile grows on her face.

"Bullseye!" The range hand yells the result.

"As expected." Soon crosses his arms across his chest with pride, "You didn't cause any trouble last night, did you?"

(y/n) lowers her bow and turns to her instructor. "What kind of trouble would I possibly get into?" She asks, innocently.

Soon sighs, "There was a report of an attempted attack on the fifth counselor's home last night. But the attackers were driven away and killed only a few houses away." (Y/n) opens her mouth to defend herself, but Soon interrupts her, "All were shot with arrows in identical spots to the hearts. Not one miss."

"And you think it was me." (y/n) deduces.

"No one in the entire palace is as good of a shot as you." Soon defends his opinion.

"I was nowhere near town yesterday or last night. It wasn't me." (Y/n) chuckles and prepares to fire another arrow. She watches as the arrow lands squarely next to the first.

"You shouldn't have been out that late." A deep voice travels up the platform stairs along with the footsteps of multiple people.

"I'm fine, aren't I?" Another voice, not as deep answers. "Soon, do- oh, Lady (y/n)!"

At her name, she quickly turns around to meet the gaze of 5th Prince, Kim Tae. Next to him is his servant who wears an expression mixed with worry and anger.

(y/n) lowers her head in greeting, "Prince Tae."

Tae accepts the greeting and continues towards Soon.

"Do you have a few minutes to talk?" Tae asks Soon in a lower voice.

(y/n) busies herself loading another arrow but keeps her ears tune into their conversation.

"What is it about, your Highness?" Soon inquires, not moving from his spot.

"The attack last night." Tae continues in a low voice, "Can you give me any insight on the arrows?"

(Y/n) raises her arms and lines the arrow up with her sighted target.

"I don't know much about the whole incident, but if you told me information on the arrows, I may be able to help you." Soon offers. "Did you see the arrows yourself?"

Breathing slowly, (y/n) tries her best to focus on the target, and not the conversation going on behind her.

Tae hesitates for a second before answering, "I did. They looked normal but just past the fletching and just before the notch, there was an engraving. A five petaled flower, drawn in a single line."

(y/n)'s hand opens at the mention of the engraved flower. The arrow flies haphazardly through the air and ends up missing the the target completely.

"Miss!" The range hand yells and (y/n)'s go wide at the situation.

(y/n) quickly lowers her bow and places it in its holder. "I must've shot too many arrows today. My hand must be tired." (y/n) nervously makes an excuse, "I'll be back tomorrow, Soon, after some rest." She half smiles and bows before running down the steps of the platform, her servant, Min, following her.

"I haven't heard anything about an engraved flower, but I will keep my ears open." Soon's voice fades as (y/n) runs farther from the archery range.

"Lady (y/n)!" Min yells after her, "Lady (y/n)! Slow down. Please, wait for me."

When (y/n) feels she is far enough, and when her lungs scream for air, she finally decides to stop. Leaning against a palace wall, she catches her breath while Min catches up.

"Why did you run away?" Min asks, reaching her side.

"It, it was embarrassing," (y/n) sputters out the excuse, "I missed a shot in front of Prince Tae. That's extremely embarrassing."

Min laughs, "You were embarrassed so you ran?"

(y/n) nods.

Min is silent so (y/n) looks up to make sure she's still standing next to her.

Suddenly, Min's eyes widen, "You have feelings for Prince Tae!"

(y/n)'s mouth drops open, "No, no, no." She denies, shaking her head.

"Yes!" Min claps her hands, "See, cause why would you be embarrassed for missing a shot in front of Soon? He's taught you everything and has seen you fail countless times. So it's not him that would make you embarrassed. The only other person who was there who hasn't already seen you fail was Prince Tae. And the only reason you would embarrassed in front of him is if you li-"

(y/n) quickly covers her mouth to keep her from saying the semi true sentence out loud. "That's not the case, so please don't spread it." She begs Min.

Min nods and (y/n) drops her hand from her mouth.

"But did you have to run?" Min wonders, "Couldn't you have like just quickly walked away? Or skipped? You just had to sprint away, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes I did." (y/n) answers with a smug smile, "Now that I've had my exercise, I think I need a nap." She heads off towards her residence.

"I would like to be alone for an hour, please Min." (y/n) orders Min as she reaches her bedroom door.

"Yes, Lady (y/n). I will come wake you in an hour." Min bows and turns away to tell the other residence servants.

"Me. Having feelings for Prince Tae?" (y/n) thinks to herself as she enters her bedroom.

She walks to the window and takes a peek to make sure that no one is near and no one is coming. With the coast clear to her satisfaction, (y/n) moves to kneel next to her bed. Pulling back the mattress, she opens the hidden compartment in the floor. The quiver full of arrows lays next to her engraved bow in the compartment. Her hand toys with one of the arrows, turning it until the sun shines on the engraved five petaled flower drawn in a single line.

The moments of last night play through her mind. All (y/n) wanted was some forest midnight target practice but they changed her plans. They being the five people crawling out of the shadows and over the walls of the fifth counselor's residence. The men fought the counselor's house-hands before giving up the fight. The debate in (y/n)'s head on whether or not to chase after them. The moon being her only source of light as she aims her bow and pulls back her arrow. Five arrows. Five kills. And then the panic that set in when Tae's voice echos through the stree-

"Lady (y/n), the 5th Prince Tae would like to see you." Min announces and (y/n) quickly closes the compartment door while fixing her mattress.

When (y/n) doesn't answer, Min adds quietly, "I know you said no visitors, but he insisted."

Straightening up her mattress, (y/n) stands to greet the Tae. "It's alright, Min. Let him in."

The door to her bedroom opens up and Tae rounds the corner in the same clothes he was in earlier.

(y/n) bows and Tae steps into the room, headed for her mattress. Her heart begins to pound as he sits himself right above the hidden compartment but settles once he shows no sign of disturbance. The door closes shut, leaving the two alone.

"I didn't expect to see you at the range today." Tae says, fixing his robes.

"You know my schedule, you knew I would be there." (y/n) refutes, sitting down in front of Tae.

Tae opens his mouth but quickly closes it. (y/n) smirks at Tae's better judgement.

"You missed a shot today." Tae recalls, "Are you okay?"

"I didn't know the 5th Prince would ask such a question." (y/n) nervously looks around the room, not wanting people to know they were disobeying orders from the King.

"Come on, (y/n)," Tae urges, "We're alone now. I came alone and I asked Min to leave us for a bit. Though she looked a little too happy when I asked her for privacy." He scrunches his face in thought.

"Tae," (y/n) reverts to the name she only uses when they are alone, "I'm fine. I just shot a lot today and didn't sleep well last night. My hand slipped is all."

Tae nods in belief. "You never miss a shot. Well, at least not anymore." Tae chuckles, remembering the days when they were first learning to shoot.

(y/n) smiles, sheepishly, and looks down at her hands. "We all have bad days, Tae." She looks up at her best friend. "So why were you suddenly inquiring about an incident from last night?"

Tae's smile drops and he nervously scratches the back of his neck. "Well, I, I was, uhm, curious... as to-"

"You snuck out again, didn't you?" (y/n) accuses, already knowing the answer, and Tae nods, "You aren't supposed to leave the palace, Tae. You know that."

Tae lowers his head in shame, "I know, but I just needed a break."

"And you chose the night to do it?" (Y/n) interrogates him as the vision of Tae running towards the five dead as she runs along the rooftops in the opposite direction.

"I can't just go missing during the day, (y/n)." Tae defends himself, "I have duties to do as the 5th Prince. I have places to be and people to see."

"Things happen in the night, Tae." (y/n) can't hide the worry that begins to creep into her voice, "What if, what if something happened to you last night?"

Tae quickly scrambles over to (y/n), noticing the worry in her demeanor immediately. "But nothing did happened. I'm fine. Look, I'm alright, not hurt." He spreads his arms showing (y/n) his unscathed self.

"But still Tae." (y/n) meets his innocent gaze, "You can't worry your staff like that, and me."

Tae wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, "I'm sorry. Next time, I'll be more careful."

(y/n) pushes him away, "Next time? Tae-"

"I won't go out anymore. I promise." Tae promises, patting her back soothingly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turning onto her right side, (y/n) stares out the open window at the moon. Two days have passed since the incident and she hasn't slept a wink. Restless tossing and turning, wishing the visions would stop running through her head.

With a heavy sigh, she throws her blanket off of her. After changing into her black robes, she grabs her bow and quiver from the hidden compartment and quietly sneaks over the back wall of her residence, headed towards her private spot in the woods.

Walking in the shadows, she listens to the dirt crunch underneath her feet as the crickets sing to an unresponsive but always listening moon. The path leads her towards the fifth counselor's residence and she shakes her head to get rid of what she saw that night. Loud shouts from the residence cause her to cover the lower half of her face with a cloth mask and her body instinctively finds the nearest access to the nearest roof.

The shouts continue as she settles onto the rooftop, her grip on her bow tightening with every second.

"They're shouting, what's happening?" Tae's voice breaks through the surrounding silence.

(y/n) whips her head to find where he's coming from.

"Promise breaker." She mumbles when she spots him running towards the counselor's residence.

The shouts from the residence begin to draw near the front gates and (y/n) creeps forward on the roof, setting up to shoot the intruders as they exit though it may give away her and her location to the one person she doesn't want to give it up to: 5th Prince Tae.

30 seconds later, two men dressed in the same outfits as the other night, run through the front door, swords drawn, headed towards the forest.

Just before she can let the first arrow fly, Tae shouts at them.

"Hey! Stop right there!" Tae shouts, drawing the attention towards him.

Before (y/n) can process what her next steps should be, the two men charge at Tae. They easily overtake Tae, covering his mouth to muffle his screams then they begin to drag Tae towards the forest.

"Fuck." (y/n) curses under her breath as she pain-stakenly waits for a big enough distance to trail the assailants and Tae.

Once the distance is wide enough, she creeps along the rooftops for as long as she can before her only option is to follow at ground level. Her footsteps carry her with only the sound of the wind, her hands fidget anxiously in their grip of her bow and arrow.

"Let me go!" Tae's faint shouts lead her to her best friend and his assailants. "Do you know who I am?"

"Tae, don't tell them. It'll only be worse." (y/n) prays silently.

"Shut it." One of the assailants demands. "You're annoying." He adds, but this time, it's closer.

They've stopped moving so (y/n) hides behind a large tree and adjusts her grip, willing her hands to stop sweating. Taking deep breaths, she peers around the tree before moving a tree closer.

"What are we going to do with him?" A younger sounding assailant asks, agitated. "We were supposed to be in and out without any hiccups."

"I know." The other assailant sounds older but not by much. "God, plans never go according to schedule because of annoying pieces of night walking crap like him." The assailant takes his anger out on Tae and Tae lets out a groan.

Squeezing her eyes shut, (y/n) bites her lip, trying to push down her emotions to get Tae out of this situation. She can't let her best friend die. She has things to tell him. Things she's been hiding for too long.

"So what are we going to do?" The younger assailant asks again. "Do we kill him?"

With that suggestion, (y/n)'s eyes snap open. Sneaking around the trees, she gets as close as she can to the two assailants. The two stand facing each other with Tae kneeling in the middle, arms tied and head bowed.

Pulling back the first arrow, she waits, deciding which one to take out first.

"We were told to kill the fraudulent servant and his family." The older says with a steady voice, "We were told to get in and get out, no witnesses." He finishes and moves behind Tae, pulling a knife from his belt.

With blood boiling in fear and anger, (y/n) releases the first arrow and nails the younger assailant in the head. Before he hits the ground, the older assailant pulls Tae up and places the knife to his neck. The assailants eyes looking around frantically. while Tae is almost at the point of losing consciousness.

"Who's there?" The assailant shouts, "Show yourself or he dies."

Stepping out from the protection of the trees, arrow cocked and ready, (y/n) stares the assailant down with eyes as hard as steel.

"I would ask if you're a night walker like he is." The assailant nods at Tae, "But you're dressed like you don't want people to know who you are or where you're going."

(y/n) clenches her jaw to keep from having to use her voice, not yet ready to let this particular secret slip in front of Tae.

"Are you one of us?" He asks, "To make sure we did the job right this time? To make sure we left no one behind?"

(y/n) doesn't falter and keeps her bow and arrow aimed.

"I'll-I'll kill this one and the job is done. He's the last witness and then no one will know who we were and what we did." The assailant falters at the perceived answer (y/n) unknowingly gave him.

As the assailant moves the knife into a motion that would end Tae's life, a wicked smile of satisfaction spreads across his face.

"It's too small." The voice in (y/n)'s head whispers as she stares at the half of the forehead that is not covered by Tae's head. "The risk of hitting Tae is too big."

"But when have you ever missed your target?" Another voice counters. "When you kill him, you'll save Tae. And that's what's important now."

"The gap is still too small, no matter how great the reward." The first voice makes her grip tighten on the string, the grains digging into her fingers.

"It's Tae. The 5th Prince." The second voice practically begs, "Your best friend."

"He's my best friend." (y/n) repeats as she releases the arrow. The next few seconds draw out in slow motion. Every heart beat pushing the arrow further towards the assailant. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't blink. Only staring as the arrow pushes through the air, past Tae, and deep into the head of the assailant.

As the assailant falls, (y/n) lets her breath fall before rushing to help Tae who had fallen without support to stand.

Helping him to feet, she does a quick physical scans for any noticeable bleeding. Once she is satisfied that Tae is not terribly injured, she shoulders him and begins the trek back towards the village. His head bounces against her shoulder and soft groans escape his lips.

As they reach the now active village roads, Tae whispers, "Thank you."

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 45: The Time Will Come When You'll Have To Rise

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4; Chapter 37; Chapter 38; Chapter 39; Chapter 40; Interlude 5; Chapter 41; Chapter 42; Chapter 43; Chapter 44

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

tagging @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Woohoo! I actually managed another chapter, hard to believe, I know...

I think at this point, it would be more sensible to remove any scheduled updates, and I just post the next chapter when it's done. Fair warning though: November is fast approaching now and with it NaNoWriMo. I'm not going to participate in that this year, but my alpha-reader does. So I don't know how much time he'll have for editing and helping. And after NaNo, I'm very close to my delivery date already, so no promises about updates then, either. However, I solidly plan to at least post one more chapter before that! Afterwards, I don't know how quickly I will get back to writing. If you have questions though, you can always contact me through PM here or through the ATOV Discord server. And without a regular update schedule, I now have a tagging list here, so if you want to get included there, just tell me. 😊

I feel positive about this other update because a good part of it is already written as I'd originally planned to have that scene in this chapter. But as it is, the chapter got pretty long already so I split it again. This time, the ending feels much more solid than the last time I had to do that, and I hope it feels that way for you, too.

This week's title comes from the song Warriors again by Imagine Dragons. After splitting the chapter, I again had to come up with a new title, and after a bit of thinking, this one felt exceedingly fitting. 😇

. o O o .

Throughout the following few days, Astrid kept pondering over it all; Eret’s accident and everything that had happened afterwards. It wasn’t entirely by choice; she much rather would have thought about Hiccup and how they could be together instead. But she was at a loss there, only having Hiccup’s renewed optimism to hold on to, and repeatedly going through the same pointless plans wasn’t exactly productive. Thinking about other problems instead wasn’t necessarily more pleasant, but it was still… easier.

And thinking about those incidents certainly had a grounding effect. The more she mentally reviewed the attempted stab in the back against Eret, the more certain she was about one thing – from the fierceness and aim of his attack, the now-dead nobleman had intended for it to be a killing blow. It was a hot topic of gossip among the nobles, with many supporting her opinion – without her ever having stated it openly – and being outraged on her and her future husband’s behalf, aided by more witnesses speaking up about their view of the man’s dishonourable attack. Tournament or not, melee or not, stabbing a man in the back was seen as low and cowardly. Some had even called for action against the man’s family, such as fines or other punishments. But as he was already dead, the King had dismissed the idea, saying that they’d been punished enough. However, the entire topic, with the number of witnesses essentially corroborating Astrid’s opinion, was enough that even Eret and Dagur had to admit that it probably hadn’t been an accident at all. 

At first, accepting that fact had made especially Dagur’s anger at Snotlout grow even hotter, though not for long. Snot hadn’t gotten through that fight unscathed either, despite initial impressions. The hit against his head had caused a mild concussion, and the kick to his side had cracked a rib. If he’d lost on purpose somehow, then he’d made an incredibly bad bargain. 

Both Eret and Snot had been confined to bed rest on the healers’ orders for the following few days, making Astrid anxious for both of her brothers. No matter how irritating Snot’s behaviour lately had been, she still cared for him. But now, two days later, Master Mulch had been willing to state that he was relatively certain that both ducal heirs would fully recover. Eret had even insisted on riding out for today’s hunt again; not to actually participate, but at least to show that he was recovering, that he was still there and the place at her side not vacant again.

And no matter how much Astrid – and practically everybody else – had scolded him for this unnecessary show of bravado, she was also grateful for it. Eret could be pretty foolhardy, she knew that perfectly well. But she also knew that he wouldn’t risk his health and life for something as superficial as this. No, she trusted in him, in his assurance that he was doing fine, and let it soothe her enough not to worry about his injury too much. His safety was another matter altogether, but there was little she could do about that. Right now, he was out in the forest, accompanied by Hiccup and Dagur, and probably with a few of her father’s guards keeping a close eye on him, too. That would have to be enough. 

Sighing, she turned the next corner. For once, she had nothing to do; with her suitors being out on that hunt and with her governess being done lecturing her for today, she was at loose ends, for a little while at least. But as there wasn’t enough time to go anywhere, she’d opted for a stroll through the castle instead, with Timothy walking a couple of steps behind her. 

Well, there was one place she could go, and if things were different, she would have gone to visit Fishlegs as soon as her governess had let her leave. But of course, that wasn’t an option these days. Just thinking about Heather made a bunch of twisted emotions rise inside Astrid. There was the fear that she might expose them, despite her declaration that she would keep their secret. She’d made it clear, after all: she didn’t feel any fealty to them, not when their actions might threaten her own little family. And no matter how much Astrid tried to avoid that thought; she was acutely aware of the fact that, if Hiccup wasn’t a consideration, she probably would have married Eret without question – and thus make Dagur more inclined to focus on his role as ducal heir as well. 

But beneath that fear, she could also relate to Heather. The threat of having the future she’d been so sure of ripped away from her, of losing those she loved, and being ready to do everything to keep them… yes, she could sympathise with that all too well. She just hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, that Heather wouldn’t feel threatened enough to take actions against her relationship with Hiccup. Because Astrid wasn’t sure what she’d do then, was even afraid of how far she might be willing to go. 

If only they would be able to come up with something of a plan, some way to achieve their goal without tearing anyone else down with them. She just wanted to be with Hiccup, to be able to love him in peace and spend her life with him. Was that really too much to ask for? 

To soothe her anxiety at least a little, she pressed her hand to her chest, focusing on and basking in the warm glow of Hiccup’s soul. They would find a way! Somehow… Maybe running away really wasn’t an option, but that didn’t mean that there couldn’t be other ways. 

With her hand still resting over her heart, she paused at one of the high windows and gazed out over the land around the castle. It was beautiful, with the lake to her left, the edges of the forest in the distance, and grassland in-between, littered with solitary trees and shrubs here and there. It was still early in the year, but it was obvious that spring was coming quickly now, trees and bushes showing first signs of green and some early flowers growing everywhere. 

Yes, it was beautiful… But that didn’t change that it was nothing but a cage, binding and suffocating her. 

She was about to turn away when a bit of movement caught her eye. There, on a meadow to the right, a handful of horses pranced over the grass and chased each other around. Some grooms were there, too, watching over the animals, all clearly enjoying the sunlight. 

The sight gave Astrid a painful sting. Usually, visiting the stables on a day like this would be an option too, but… but not yet. Someday, she certainly would have the strength to enter the stables again. She was even looking forward to riding and generally being around horses again. But for now, the pain of losing Markor was still too strong. It had all happened so fast. In one moment, everything had been as usual and in the next, he’d just been… gone. She missed him with a dull ache in her chest, one that only worsened when she remembered how she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye in any way and had no way of remembering or mourning him. 

Except… that wasn’t really true, was it? she mused with something of a grimace. She still had the statue Hiccup had given her as a Midwinter gift. As a reminder, he’d said... Her lips twitched into a sad smile as she contemplated the irony. He’d meant that it would be a reminder of him for when he couldn’t be with her, and not of the horse it depicted. But somehow, she felt like this was the perfect way to remember Markor: frozen yet so alive in this tiny figurine – as if he was about to turn and run around at any moment. The thought made a lump rise in her throat, but she managed to keep any tears at bay. She would miss him, would always remember him. But no matter how pointless his death had been, endlessly crying over his fate wouldn’t revive him, either.

Tearing her thoughts away from that path, they inevitably landed where she hadn’t wanted them instead. It wasn’t even farfetched, her mind quickly drawing the connection between Markor and Hiccup, of him giving her that figurine, of the nights she’d spend in the stables, so comfortable and optimistic about their future. She still trusted in the Gods, or whatever force had woven their fates together, but even that didn’t really help when faced with the hopelessness brought by rejecting one impossible idea after the other. 

Maybe Dagur and Eret had been right after all and approaching Daniel with a request for help might work. But even though he certainly had been fond enough of Hiccup during the winter, Astrid wasn’t sure whether she could rely on just that flimsy hope, especially as he wasn’t to return for at least another week anyway. That would be hitting awfully close to when it would be too late… 

She also was aware of a certain piece of parchment that was still safely stored away in her new treasure box. She was ready to use her father’s boon for this; they would probably need every bit of help they could get. But without a plan, she was afraid of revealing her feelings to the King. She just couldn’t predict how he would react. All she knew was that simply ‘requesting to marry Hiccup’ wouldn’t work. The King had made it clear that his announcement of her marrying one of the eligible noblemen currently courting her wasn’t something he could or would take back. And ‘giving Hiccup land and title’ was equally hopeless. Because Hiccup had been right, there was no land even the King could easily give away just like that. 

It all seemed overwhelmingly hopeless, but she had to have faith, had to trust that they would find a way. Eventually…

Later, Astrid would be sure that what happened next had to have been the Gods who guided her steps. Meeting the Grand Dukes Oswald and Eret II in the vast labyrinth that was the castle’s corridors couldn’t have been just a coincidence – the timing was too perfect.

At first, she only heard a familiar voice from around a corner, one that made her feel a little more at ease in an instant, thanks to her mind associating it with enjoyable vacations in the South and days spent at Southshore’s sunny beaches. The voice spoke quietly, but as soon as she focused, the words became easily understandable. 

“...just received a letter from Lord Gregson. Apparently, it is as I feared.”

“That’s unfortunate,” came Eret II’s muttered reply. “What exactly did he– Oh, hello Astrid,” he interrupted himself as she stepped into view, a fond smile spreading across his weathered face at her sight. “How are you, lass? Are you bored to death by all these tournaments and suitors yet?”

Astrid’s face twisted, unsure how to react to that. Of course, Uncle Eret knew her well enough to know that she didn’t exactly enjoy all this fuss, just like she in return knew that he wasn’t any better when it came to overly formal events. But on the other hand, he’d been in on this plan, so it felt a little two-faced for him to complain about them now. Either way, she couldn’t ignore the fatherly smile on his face and not the usual sense of ease it gave her either. And it again reminded her of how, under different circumstances, she’d be about to join his House, his family, and do so happily. 

“You know me too well,” she played along, plastering an indulgent smile on her lips. “I’m just glad it’ll all be over soon.”

“Aye, it certainly will be,” Oswald agreed with a light snort. Beneath his own smile, he seemed troubled though, making Astrid wonder what the men had been talking about before she’d interrupted them. 

Cocking her head, she tried to look as innocent as possible. “But enough of that. What was it you were talking about just now? It seems to bother you, is anything the matter?” She wasn’t even sure what kind of answer she expected. But asking couldn’t hurt, right?

“Oh, that,” Oswald waved her off with a forced smile. “That’s just politics. Believe me, you wouldn’t be interested in this, lass. If you really think tournaments are boring, be glad that it’s not on you to deal with such things, too.”

Astrid had to bite back any comment on that. It was so typical that the men wouldn’t tell her anything.

Eret II grunted in agreement and shook his head. “Yeah, this really is nothing you need to be concerned about. But it’s good that we met here. I wanted to ask whether my son is already settled in his new rooms. I hardly get the chance to talk to him these days, he’s always so busy.” He chuckled and winked at her. 

Because of… reasons, Eret had been made to relocate into other rooms, reasons that made her have to hide a smirk. “As far as I know, he’s relocating today,” she replied as calmly as she could. “A group of servants should be transferring his belongings to the new room as we speak. At least I’m supposed to meet him there for a private dinner later – with a whole entourage of chaperons, of course.” She forced something of an amused grimace onto her face, hoping that it was an appropriate reaction. Deep down, she was glad over this development, though. With having made her unofficial choice at the ball came a few privileges that certainly were to her liking. Like being allowed to spend time with her future husband in a more private setting, with only her warder or maidservant and Sir Eret’s squire as chaperons.

Apparently, her reaction had been what the men had expected from her as they both chuckled fondly at her comment. Even Timothy behind her couldn’t stay completely quiet, covering up his laughter as coughing. Of course, his amusement had an altogether different reason, but that was something the Grand Dukes didn’t need to know about. 

“That sounds about right,” Eret II eventually commented, sobering up again. “Then we better not delay you, wherever you were heading to. See you soon.”

The men nodded at her with something of an insinuated bow – more of a polite nod with a bit of a bend at the waist – which Astrid dutifully returned with a curtsy of her own before she took the obvious dismissal and continued on her way. The fact that she’d again been excluded from any political knowledge bugged her though, so when she reached another junction only a few steps further down the corridor, she went there, giving the Grand Dukes a last friendly smile as she turned around the corner. As soon as she was out of sight though, she made a step to the side to hide in a doorway, indicating Tuff to be quiet and follow her lead. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn something about the political situation of the Kingdom after all. 

And for once, she couldn’t believe her luck.

“So, what was it Lord Gregson wrote to you in that letter?” Eret II said, picking up their conversation.

There was a low, unamused snort from Oswald. “Basically, that he’s giving up. He used so many fancy words that I think he asked one of Frigga’s Gythias to help him compose it. All of these wonderful, florid turns-of-phrase, on and on. About how honoured he felt that we put such trust into him and how he’d wanted to give his best to live up to these expectations and so forth.”

“Aye, I know the type of report,” Eret II said. “I think I’ve even written a few in my time, back when we were younger.”

“I know. I helped, remember? But you were drunk at the time, so I’m not surprised that you don’t,” Oswald said tartly but fondly. The pair of them walked past the doorway, and Astrid gave Tuff a look of dire threat if he so much as blinked loudly. Outside, Oswald continued. “But it all boils down to the fact that he doesn’t feel up to the task of rebuilding County Ravenledge. And at this point, it doesn’t even matter whether it’s because he feels as if the people there deserve better after all they’ve been through or whether he just realised how much work that would be and is too lazy to stand his ground under such circumstances. At least he’s honest enough to admit that he doesn’t feel up to the challenge. But that means that we have to find someone else to take it on, and I fear that the reasons for Lord Gregson’s pull-out will become publicly known sooner rather than later. Which also means that in a week or two, it’ll become increasingly difficult to find a replacement. Everyone is hungry for titles, yes, but that’s because they’re all spoiled brats who want to live like, well, nobles, not have to work with me looking over their shoulder.” 

"Yes, I see your problem," came Eret II’s reply, his voice getting lower and lower as the distance between Astrid and the Grand Dukes grew. "I wish we could spare Osmond this problem in addition to everything else, but he has to know about it."

"No doubts about that. But maybe, this can even come in handy." Oswald laughed harshly. "Although, while it would make for a great white elephant, it’s getting the poor sap to accept it that’ll be the tricky part. We…"

The voices grew too low for Astrid to understand more, but she felt as if she'd heard enough anyway. Stunned, she stood in her doorway and stared at Tuff, unsure whether she was ready to believe what she'd just heard. But in his eyes, she spotted the same excited gleam that was buzzing in her mind as well, and tentatively, she let hope take roots inside her.

County Ravenledge… the name alone was enough to make her cringe at the reminder of Harold, of his foul breath on her skin and his filthy hands on her body. But he was the past and that wasn't what truly was on her mind anyway. 

The man her father and the Grand Dukes had instituted as new Count Ravenledge had resigned his office. And now, it was back in the hands of the Crown, free to be distributed to whoever was deemed fit or worthy of the job.

Astrid's heart was pounding rapidly against her ribs and she was incredibly glad for the hard wood in her back keeping her upright. This was it! This was what they'd been looking for, the solution to their problem, the way out. If Hiccup became the new Count Ravenledge, then he definitely would be of a high-enough rank for her to marry him. Nobody would dare to object to such a choice.

"I assume you want to meet with Eret as soon as possible?" Tuff needlessly asked, emphasising the name to let her know that he knew who she really wanted to see. Astrid could only nod, her mind whirling with countless possibilities. "Then I suggest we return to your rooms and Ruff and I see whether we can help to get his new rooms ready. The sooner you all can talk this through the better.” 

. o O o .

The reason why Eret had to move into other rooms was the source of a wide range of emotions to Astrid. It had all started with some whispered mutterings on the morning after the ball, whispers Astrid herself hadn’t learned about until a day later. Apparently, some people thought it was inappropriate for Eret, the soon-to-be-but-not-yet-husband of the Princess, to spend his nights in such close proximity to her. After all, he inhabited an entire suite of rooms in the family wing of the castle, only separated from his future wife by three corridors. Why, behind two sets of thick oak doors, all sorts of... things could happen in his bedroom!

Yesterday, when Astrid finally had heard them from Eret, she’d initially laughed before another thought had struck her, making her irritation smoulder. Apparently, people were serious about the insinuations against Eret’s character. Eret had slept in that suite for months now, ever since he’d arrived in the capital last fall. And back then, people had already believed them to be a ‘couple’, and had for years. But now it was a problem? Just when things were heating up to the point that Eret was surviving attempts on his life? 

It was an obvious smear campaign, and her fury had started to kindle– 

–Only to vanish like smoke in a high wind when Tuff had burst out laughing at her indignation and Ruff had, after fighting her own mirth, explained that she and her brother had started the whispers. But even this confusion – and granted, Eret’s and Dagur’s as well – hadn’t lasted long. 

The rumours and public demands for decency had apparently all been part of their plan; a few comments down in the kitchens and washer-rooms and elsewhere had spread like a wildfire on open grasslands. With the castle still being unusually packed from the celebrations, there weren’t exactly many other places for Eret – and Hiccup – to move to. House Jag’r’s townhouse certainly was an option, but with Eret still healing and having to participate in the events again as soon as he was recovered, it was more sensible for him to stay at the castle. So, after some discussions – discussions in which the twins were included, in their positions as Eret’s apparent-betrothed’s personal servants – it was decided that Eret would relocate to the so-called haunted rooms. 

At that, Eret had merely raised an eyebrow, and Dagur had made an encouraging gesture, all of them waiting for Ruff to continue in her explanation. 

“The ‘haunted rooms’ are what the staff call the Greatpine Suite,” Ruff explained. “Two floors down from Astrid’s suite and on the other end of the building. Everyone thinks that they’re haunted because there’s this eerie whistling that everyone who stays there hears.” She met Eret’s eyes with a smirk. “So you’ll trade with the men currently barracked there; they’ll be happy to get out, even though your current suite is smaller. But surely a brave knight like Sir Eret of House Jag’r won’t mind, right?”

Laid out in his sickbed, Eret gave her a dubious look that made the twins burst out in even more laughter. Slapping her knee, Ruff gasped, “Don’t worry, there’s no draugr buried under the floorboards or anything else that people say about the rooms.”

“In fact, be honoured that we’re telling you,” Tuff snickered. “Because it’s a secret.”

“What is?” Astrid demanded.

“Why, the secret passage, of course!” Ruff said innocently.

Astrid blinked. “Secret passage?”

“Yup. The one that ends behind that particularly warty painting around the corner from your rooms, Princess,” Tuff said cheerfully. “It was probably meant to be an easy escape route in case of an attack, but hardly anyone knows about them by now.” 

Astrid gave another blink as Eret protested. “But you two can’t be the only ones that know about them. Secret or no secret, it’s really hard to hide a whole passageway, even in a building this big. Someone else will make the connection and complain – and it’s too big a risk to use them, if the servants use them, too!”

“But the servants don’t use them,” Ruff emphasised.

“Present company excepted,” Tuff corrected, grinning. “They’re too small,” he mimed a space only a bit wider than his shoulders and lower than his head, “and filled with cobwebs and... gunk.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “And you use them for prank getaways?”

“Milady!” Ruff exclaimed, faux-scandalized. “Such accusations!” She smirked and said, “Besides, even the ones that do know...” She shrugged and looked at Astrid and Eret. “They’re all caught up in the romance of it all. I know at least one cook gave me a wink when I made the suggestion.” Spreading her hands out helplessly, she looked between the two of them. “They know what’s up and are rooting for you two.”

“Greaaat,” Hiccup drawled. 

“It is, because it means that we can smuggle you in without a problem,” Tuff said, crossing his arms. “So say ‘thank you.’”

They had thanked the twins for their work. And now, two days later, all Astrid felt was a deep sense of gratitude and a good amount of anticipation, giddiness, and nervousness. If everything went as planned, Hiccup would spend this night with her again, and in her bed no less! Oh, if only it was that late already! She couldn’t wait to feel his hands on her body again, to kiss him and to lose herself in his touch.

But it was only mid-afternoon, with Astrid sitting at her decorated tea table, drinking tea, and nibbling at some light pastries as she waited for the hunting parties to return and for her private dinner with Eret to begin. And before she could enjoy feeling Hiccup’s closeness again, there was something else she had to do anyway.

Aside from making sure that they’d all made it back unharmed and wanting to be close to Hiccup again, she also couldn’t wait to tell them about the conversation she’d overheard. A part of her warned her to be cautious, to not get too excited yet. The idea of Hiccup becoming a full Count in only a few days, of him legally joining those participating in the tournaments and hunts to court her… it felt too good to be true. 

Nervously tapping her fingers against the porcelain cup between her hands, she tried to imagine the reactions to her officially and openly changing her mind and choosing Hiccup instead of Eret. Would it be possible for her to ask her father to excuse Hiccup from participating in any fights, just to keep him safe? After what had happened to Eret, that certainly wasn’t an unreasonable concern, right? But would the King even support such a request? Would he support her choice at all? Or would it be better if she only made her choice public at the very last moment, not giving anyone even the slightest chance to take action against Hiccup? 

For hours, her mind circled around those same thoughts, over and over, until a knock on her door drew her attention. Astrid heard a servant girl delivering a message to Ruff and it made her heartbeat quicken almost unbearably. 

“Are they back?” she asked as soon as Ruff approached her and got up from her seat, unable to sit still any longer. 

Her maidservant smirked. “Yes, they’re all back, unharmed, and Sir Eret awaits you for your dinner in about half an hour,” she replied in a ridiculously formal voice. Astrid’s lips twitched but she didn’t say anything and simply let Ruff dress her for the occasion, waiting impatiently for her to be done. 

Walking along the corridors and down the stairs to Eret’s new rooms seemed to take forever. She knew that this distance served a purpose, one she supported wholeheartedly, but right now, the prolonged walk was driving her insane in her impatience. Eventually, Tuff halted in his strides though and turned to knock on a door to their right. As Eret’s only servant, it was Hiccup who opened them, the sight of him enough to somewhat calm Astrid’s unquiet mind. He was clearly happy to see them, his eyes nearly flowing over with love as they met her own. But there also was a certain tension in them, in his every movement, and after he’d closed the door behind them again, it became clear that Eret and Dagur were just as tense as he was, the atmosphere overall enough to make her forget everything else.

“What happened?” she asked anxiously, looking around from one man to the other. In a corner, she spotted a table set for two even though it was laden with enough food to last at least twice as many people. But where before she’d been looking forward to this informal meal with her brothers and Hiccup, she now couldn’t even think about eating anything. 

“Nothing, really,” Eret eventually mumbled, looking up from where he sat on his bed’s edge. Astrid wanted to scoff at this obvious lie, but he lifted his hand to directly ward off her protest. “Nothing that changes anything, at least. It’s just been… let’s say, it’s been a rough day.”

Astrid still wasn’t inclined to let the topic drop, but before she could demand a more thorough explanation, Dagur already jumped in. 

He was sitting backwards on a chair, his arms crossed over the backrest, but she suspected that he was still ready to jump in case Eret needed help. “A new rumour was spreading like wildfire during the hunt,” he grumbled, shaking his head in annoyance. “The rumour that… well, that Eret and I are more than just close friends since our childhood and that the whole betrothal is nothing but a charade to cover for us.” 

Astrid could do little more than gape, her eyes wandering from Dagur to Eret and back again. They both looked heartbroken, hunched over and with their arms defensively crossed in front of them. 

“Okay, but why’s that a problem?” Tuff commented after a few more uncomfortable seconds had passed. “I mean… it’s true? And it’s not as if that’s unheard-of; we have Freyr’s male Ástir for a reason, after all.”

With a heavy sigh, Eret raised his head to look at Tuff. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be much of a problem. But that didn’t make this day any easier. Every time we encountered some of the other men in the woods, they made comments about how I should be ashamed of myself for leading the Princess on like that. That I should openly stand to my preferences and tell her the truth, decline her choice, and leave her to someone who can truly satisfy her.”

“That’s a nice way to describe their insults,” Dagur scoffed angrily, but Eret just shrugged.

“It’s what it all boiled down to,” he replied, sounding tired. “And they’re right. I mean... Aside from Hiccup and this charade of a betrothal not being real anyway… It could have become real. And they would’ve been right; you’d deserve better than that, Swanja. Better than me.” 

With the lump forming in her throat making it hard to say anything, Astrid made the few steps to cross the distance between them and sat down next to Eret on his bed. She wasn’t sure whether she was even capable of comforting him right now, but she at least had to try. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” she said softly, reaching to squeeze his hand. “I… When I agreed to marry you, I knew about all this, remember? So whatever they said, it’s nothing but bullshit. And no matter how things are now… I rather would have spent my life with you, as my partner and best friend, than with any of those idiots who only see me as a trophy to be added to their glory.” Imagining a life where Hiccup didn’t exist felt weird. Wrong! But she also knew that what she’d just said was true. If it wasn’t for Hiccup, she would have gladly married Eret.

She wasn’t sure whether her words were able to help him though, or whether they would only make it worse instead. But after a short pause, Eret squeezed her back. “Thanks,” he muttered with a weak smile. “I just… well, I just hope that whoever Father might eventually pick as my wife will think the same. So maybe it’s even good that this cat is out of the bag now. It means whoever it might be will know what to expect right from the beginning.”

To that, Astrid wasn’t able to say anything. It was because of her that this was something to worry about again, and there was nothing she could do to help him there. But instead of letting the awkward silence linger, Eret shook his head and put on an almost scarily dark expression. 

“But that’s not really the problem here,” he went on in a far graver voice than before. “The question is who started this ‘rumour’. And why now?” He motioned for her to sit down at the set table, gladly accepting her help to get up himself without straining his bound chest too much.

“Could it have been Heather?” she asked as she sat down on her seat, her worries over the other woman and how much harm she could do resurfacing again. 

But Dagur vehemently shook his head. “That wouldn’t make any sense. That was a secret she would have wanted to keep, in her own interest. With everyone now knowing that I’m not interested in women, me producing an heir to get her and her child off the hook became just that much more complicated.” He sighed. “And I have no idea who else could be behind this, either. I mean… we tried to not let anyone know but it certainly wasn’t an ironclad secret either. Everyone could’ve found out.” 

Astrid wasn’t entirely convinced though. “Are you sure? There were quite a few people who knew, after all. Could anyone–”

“Maybe,” Eret interrupted her, though directly contradicted himself by shaking his head. “But I don’t think anyone here started that rumour, and I can’t see why Cami would do so, either.” He paused, taking a deep breath, before he continued in a darker tone. “And I don’t want to suspect Snot. He’s acting weird, but… we still know him, right? And I don’t see why he’d do it anyway. Certainly not to separate us; he knows that you know, after all. No, I don’t think he would go behind our backs like that. Especially not with him still being not allowed to get up anyway. He didn’t even have the chance to spread such a rumour without it being too easy to trace it back to him. Anyway,” he went on, noticeably aiming to change the topic and mood to something more cheerful. “People know, and we’ll have to deal with it from now on. Which doesn’t really change anything; it’s just annoying.”

Dagur huffed. “Yeah. Just as annoying as your grandfather making the effort to come and meet you this morning only to yell at you two. I’m just glad this circulating rumour hadn’t reached him yet. But who knows? Maybe he’ll have a heart attack once they do. That would make so many lives easier.” 

At the mentioning of his grandfather, Eret winced and threw an apprehensive and apologetic look to the side – or, more precisely, to where Hiccup was leaning against the wall next to her. Astrid turned too, and easily spotted the pained grimace that crossed Hiccup’s face. Their grandfather… As far as Astrid knew, this had to have been the first time Hiccup even met the old goat with the old man also knowing who Hiccup was. And judging by his reaction, it hadn’t been a pleasant meeting.

Without even thinking about it, she reached for his hand, letting her thumb glide across his knuckles in a way to comfort him. “What did he want?”

Hiccup seemed to appreciate the gesture, squeezed her hand in his and even let something of a weak smile tug at his lips before he said anything. “He scolded Eret for choosing what had to be the worst squire in history,” he said in a low, but clear and almost emotionless voice. “‘It obviously was the fault of that failure that your armour wasn’t in a good-enough state to deflect the blow like good chainmail should. That idiot might as well have tried to kill you himself and he should get executed for his sloppy mistakes.’” he quoted, and let out a harsh laugh. “He didn’t even deign to look at me or to talk to me directly.”

“And just like the old pigheaded asshole he’s always been, he didn’t even listen when I explained that that had only been my decorative armour anyway,” Eret grunted bitterly. “In opposition to all these noblemen who came here because your Father invited them and who knew about the upcoming tournaments, I didn’t bring my heavy battle armour from Eastervale when we came here last fall. That piece of ceremonial chainmail I was wearing was never meant to withstand such a blow, and we didn’t expect… Oh, whatever. He didn’t even want to listen to any of that anyway.”

“Yeah. You said that it wasn’t your good chainmail, and his response was ‘And whose fault is that!?’” Hiccup added, sounding pained. 

“My father’s,” Astrid murmured.

Eret shrugged. “Yes and no. It’s not like we should have expected the armoury here to have chain in my size.” He flexed sarcastically, showing off his physique, and Astrid had to agree with the point; Eret was taller and broader in the chest than most men. “But let’s be honest here. This wasn’t about me,” he continued. “This was about him being upset that all of his dynastic game moves almost got wasted because his last playing piece got a dent. He wasn’t doing it to listen to anybody, just to vent his frustration that we’re not doing what he wants us to do, like good pawns.”

“Well, he never listens, does he?” Tuff threw in, mirth saturating his voice. “Although I’d love to make him listen, especially if someone told him about you and Dagur. Loki, I’d love to see his face.” He shared a dark grin with his sister, but quickly turned serious again, his gaze shifting to Astrid again.

“Anyway,” he went on, the changed tone of his voice and expression on his face showing that he was about to start an entirely different topic. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell the others, Astrid?” 

For a heartbeat or three, she just blinked at him in puzzlement. But then, her mood brightened. “Right! There’s something I have to tell you,” she exclaimed at the reminder. The dark atmosphere had distracted her when she’d arrived, had made her focus on her friends’ – no, her family’s – problems instead of what lay ahead of them. But now, it was all back at the forefront of her mind. 

Eagerly, she turned to look at the others again, her hand still holding Hiccup’s squeezing him. “I was lucky this morning,” she began, cheeks heating with excitement. “Tuff and I overheard a conversation between your fathers,” she nodded at Eret and Dagur. “Something about Ravenledge – the county, not the man. Apparently, the man who was supposed to become the new Count resigned – because it was too difficult a job for him, or something – and now, it’s back in the hands of Uncle Oswald and my father. If we can convince them to install Hiccup in that position, then that would be the solution, wouldn’t it?”

At first, all three men just gaped at her. They seemed to need a few moments to wrap their heads around this news, but Astrid couldn’t blame them; she was hardly able to believe in this simple solution either. And that was after she’d already had hours to think about it all. 

“That… that could actually work,” Eret eventually muttered after a seemingly endless pause, something like cautious optimism swinging in his voice. “If Hiccup becomes a count, he automatically should become eligible for you, too. The only question is how we can convince them to–”

“I can use my boon for that,” Astrid interrupted him. Her gaze darted up to Hiccup, eyes filled with excitement. He knew that she was more than willing to use her father's promise in his favour. This was the solution they’d been searching for!

Hiccup was looking at her in return as well, but with a somewhat wavering expression instead of the hope she’d expected to see. As if he wanted to let that hope take over but didn’t quite dare to accept it. 

Dagur seemed more confused though. “Uh, what boon?”

It took her some effort to tear her eyes away from Hiccup, from assuring him that this could work, and look at Dagur instead. “After… after Harold’s execution, my father granted me a wish,” she explained, grimacing at the renewed reminder. “A royal boon. He said I just need to name what I want and as long as it’s within his power, he’ll grant it to me. And I don’t see why naming Hiccup the new Count Ravenledge would not be in his power. Odin, from how it sounded, they even expected to have trouble finding someone who’d be willing to take this position.” 

Eret nodded at her explanation, thoughtfully turning his attention to Hiccup. “What do you think?”

Hiccup’s eyes wandered from one waiting face to the other across the room. He still seemed hesitant though, reluctant even, and Astrid could read his thoughts as if he was saying them out loud. This is too good to be true! 

She got up from her chair and turned toward him, heart singing when his hands glided around her waist practically on reflex. Capturing and holding his gaze, she tried to assure him that this was real. There wasn’t much to be misunderstood from the conversation she’d overheard, after all. 

For an endless moment, they gazed at each other, silently communicating. Astrid didn’t need words to know what Hiccup was thinking and feeling, his love for her and the growing hope crystal clear in his eyes. He nodded ever so slightly, probably only visible to her, and his expression softened, his lips stretching into a cautious smile. “There was a time where I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with this solution,” he murmured, voice rough with emotions. Swallowing, he glanced past her to where Eret and Dagur had to be watching them. “I openly admit that I’d hoped to gain this title back when it was vacant a few months back. If… if things had been different that night, if I’d known you’d distribute the county right away, then I’d probably come up with some reason to stay. I would have tried to recommend myself as best I could, hoping…” He trailed off, his eyes gliding back to Astrid as he lifted one hand to caress her cheek. 

She remembered that night, the first night she’d sneaked out to meet him at the stables. Missing out on those hours they’d spent together that night would have felt devastating back then… but if it had meant that he’d had that title already, it would have been worth it.

“But unrelated to that, I also wanted to gain this title, or any other, with my own means,” he continued in a low voice, his eyes back on her now. “ I wanted to prove myself worthy of you. But now, I know how stupid that was. Now, I won’t turn down such an opportunity. So yes, I’m okay with this idea. More than okay. I’d do anything to be with you, no matter whether it includes gaining a title without my doing or accepting any difficult circumstances that might follow.” He gave her a loving smile. “Because it will be worth it.” 

From one moment to the other, Astrid felt as if every bit of space between them was too much, every thought about decency unimportant. Before she could think about it, she’d stretched, her mouth pressed to his and her hands on his back and in his hair pulling him even closer. This was it! They’d found their solution, the way to be together. This was really happening.

And it seemed as if Hiccup had accepted this truth now, too. He was kissing her back with equal eagerness, holding her close with one arm around her back and the free hand at the nape of her neck – still reflexively mindful of her hair as it seemed, but also unwilling to part from her anytime soon. From behind her, Astrid thought she could hear noises of amusement, chuckling and low voices talking, but she wasn’t in the mood to pay the others any mind. All she wanted to focus on was Hiccup, his body pressed so tightly against hers and his tongue dancing along her own, playful, teasing, joyous. 

But it seemed as if at least one of those assembled in this room wasn’t quite as optimistic as the rest. 

“When you listened in on my father and Uncle Eret,” Dagur asked, apprehensively but in a voice loud enough that it drew even her and Hiccup’s attention, “did they say anything about why exactly Lord Gregson resigned?”

Reluctantly, Astrid parted from Hiccup, though just enough to turn in his arms and give Dagur a thoughtful look. “I… don’t think so,” she said, her forehead wrinkled as she scoured her memories. “Just that there apparently were some reasons to it, but not what those were. Oh, and they said something about an… an elephant, but I don’t know what that was supposed to mean. Elephants are these weird animals in the Southlands, right? Big, with ridiculously large ears and noses?” She threw Hiccup a look and spotted his lips twitching. Clearly, he remembered how they’d looked at that book together, too. Especially the last pages.

“An elephant?” Dagur inquired, his brows furrowed. “That... Was that all they said?”

Astrid shrugged. “I… think so?”

But Tuff shook his head, drawing everyone’s attention when he pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. “No, that wasn’t all,” he said with a thoughtful expression. “I remember because it sounded so odd, as if it meant something completely different. So I memorised it to find out later. Lord Berserker said that ‘while it would make for a great white elephant, it’s getting the poor sap to accept it that’ll be the tricky part’.”

Dagur’s face darkened. “That’s what I feared,” he grumbled.

Eret cocked his head, clearly intrigued by his lover’s reaction. “What is it, Dag? Does that mean anything to you?”

Dagur nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “A ‘White Elephant’ is something of an idiom we took over from the people of the Southlands,” he explained in a pressed voice. “It means it’s a… a trap, you can say. As in, they give the county to some rival they want to get rid off, knowing that the effort of rebuilding it will ruin them.”

From one moment to the other, Astrid’s good mood fell, her stomach feeling as if it was dropping down to her knees, not helped by Tuff nodding and mumbling something like, “When something looks too perfect, it probably sucks." 

“So… so it’s not a sensible solution after all?” she asked meekly. All this had sounded too good to be true… did that mean it had been nothing but wishful thinking after all?

But Dagur shook his head, albeit reluctantly. “I… didn’t say that. I mean, let’s be honest, it’s not as if you have much to lose anyway. It’s not as if Hiccup would put some major fortune into this county or risk his high reputation if he wasn’t able to succeed.” He gave a harsh snort. “But I’ve read a few of the reports that came in from Ravenledge over the past weeks. The county really is in a horrible state. You’d have to rebuild the entire main city, along with some smaller ones, and that’s not even counting the long-term damage from the old count’s rule.” He started ticking off on his fingers. “You’d have to do all that without having the craftsmen nearby because they have no place to live or to work yet. And without being able to organise the work, because you don’t have any administration. Not even the Orders can be of any help with organising or manpower, because there are no central temples anymore. And in addition to all that, the people won’t easily trust yet another nobleman who comes to rule over them, especially not after Lord Gregson now gave up.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but...” He shrugged, looking grim.

Astrid felt the weight of Dagur’s words pressing down on them, noticeably dampening the good mood from only moments before. But before she could work through them and try to come up with reasonable objections, Ruff beat her to it. “Not trying to downplay the problems you just mentioned,” she said dryly. “But I think Hiccup and Astrid have an advantage your Lord Gregson didn’t have.” 

Dagur cocked his head at her, puzzled. “And that would be what exactly?”

Ruff gave a snort. “Astrid is the Princess! It’s not just any other nobleman who comes to these people but the daughter of the King herself. That alone should give the people there a little hope, the trust that, this time, their problems get taken seriously. And I’d be surprised if the King wouldn’t send some more serious help in the form of goods and men and money when it comes down to ensuring his daughter’s future.”

“She’s right,” Eret threw in before anyone else could say anything, a grin on his face now as his eyes met Astrid’s. “And that’s not the only advantage you might have.” He took a moment to look from one to the other, his grin widening. “Remember what we talked about the other night? We might not be able to get Hiccup a title… But once he has one, we’re definitely in a position to support him. We’d still have to talk to our fathers, but I don’t think they’d be against drawing up trade contracts and assurances of support in advance. Hiccup might not have much to offer all on his own, but he sure as Hel has friends in powerful positions.”

Slowly, Dagur nodded. “That would make a difference, indeed,” he agreed, his face brightening. “It still won’t be easy, though. It’ll probably take years before something like normalcy or routine would come back to your life. Are you sure you’re feeling up to such a task and the responsibility?” he asked, his eyes firmly on Hiccup. 

Hiccup nodded, though a little tense. “I’m prepared to take that kind of responsibility.” His eyes dropped to her, his lips forming a soft smile. “So yes. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 . o O o .

Oh, wow! Looks like there's an easy solution after all. 😇

Or... is there? *evil laughter in Author*

Next chapter

[seasonofthegeek]

Not Lost but Still Found, Part 2

A big thank you to the gorgeous @lahiffed for requesting a second part of this Chloe/Nino story through ko-fi. I’ve fallen for this ship (but let’s be fair, I’m trash for most Nino ships at this point).

Parts 1, 2:

“You really might be my best work yet. No one we see today will be this handsome and put together.” Chloe adjusted Nino’s tie and stepped back. “This color looks so good on you. I’ll try to find you another suit like it in a different cut.”

Nino was finding it hard to swallow past the anxiety-induced lump in his throat.  “If you say so. I feel kinda silly.” 

He’d let Chloe coat his face in moisturizer after she chastised him for not doing it himself after his “lessons” the day before and even applied an eye cream to cover up the dark circles from his lack of sleep. Nino had to excuse himself and escape into his bedroom to change afterwards because her gentle fingers on his face and the concerned look when she demanded to know why he hadn’t slept well was just a little too much for him to handle. His feelings were quickly shifting from only friends territory into something else and it was making his head spin. 

“Well, you don’t look silly; you look dashing.” She stepped in front of the mirror by the door and checked her make-up and hair one last time. “So the car should be downstairs any minute. As soon as we get to the first place, I need you to act your ass off. I’m going to be showing you around town in places I know my former clients will be.”

“I’m liking this idea less and less.”

She waved her hand carelessly. “It’ll be fine. Just pretend you’re a rich prince or something. You’ve hired me to make you irresistible.”

“Chloe.”

“These people will believe whatever I tell them.”

Nino frowned. “Yeah, I know. They believed what your nemesis told them too. That’s why you lost most of your clients in the first place.” He saw the furrow begin between her eyebrows and thought it better to cut it off before it grew into a full scowl. “But if you think this is the best way to get your business back on its feet, I’ll support you.”

“I do,” she sniffed, lifting her chin. She looked down at her phone. “The car’s here. Don’t forget your suitcase.”

“Ah yes, my empty suitcase that costs more than our couch.” Nino lifted the expensive leather case up carefully. He was hoping he could somehow return it and avoid the stress of trying to keep it from getting scratched on every surface it happened to touch.

“Our weekly takeout bill costs more than that couch,” she replied flippantly and led the way out the door.

___

“Oh, you poor darling, I was just devastated when I heard you were leaving us,” crooned the lady with the bottle tan that edged just the wrong side of orange. 

Nino took another sip of wine to avoid making a face at her obvious show. They’d “just happened” to bump into Chloe’s fifth former client and each one was worse than the last. They’d all acted so distraught that she’d “left” them and their wardrobes to fend for themselves, as if Chloe didn’t know they’d all turned around and hired the woman who spread the false rumors about her to begin with.

“Well, someone’s been keeping me busy.” Chloe looped her arm around Nino’s and pulled him close. “Just look at these eyes and tell me how could I not give him all my attention?”

Nino pasted on the self-deprecating smile he felt he’d perfected at this point.  “I’d be lost without her. She’s a fashion genius.”

The woman visibly preened and offered her hand daintily. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

At that moment, Nino felt his phone vibrate in his chest pocket and he pulled away from Chloe as gently as it could while ignoring the woman’s offered hand. “Sorry, sweetheart, I need to take this.” He didn’t meet her gaze as he stepped away and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Do you remember,” Alya began in greeting over the line as soon as he answered, “when I predicted that you and Chloe would end up together? You laughed and told me I was crazy. Crazy, you said.” She left off with that and Nino audibly sighed.

“I can’t really talk about this right now, Al.”

“You sent me a novel’s worth of texts last night. We’re talking about it.”

He cast a quick glance back to see Chloe’s eyes darting to him as she pretended to listen to her former client drone on. “Okay, yes, I want to talk about it because I’m kinda losing it here, but I can’t talk about it now.”

“Mmm. So you’re with her?”

“Yeah. I stepped away while she’s talking to an old client. I’m helping her get her business started back up.”

“How very noble.”

“Alya,” he whined. “I’m in over my head here. She’s got me in a suit and I have a briefcase and I’m pretending to be her...her boyfriend or something.”

There was a pause and even the sound of the tapping of Alya’s keyboard over the line quieted. “Was the pretending thing her idea or yours?”

“What does it matter?”

“Just answer the question, my dearest Nino.”

Nino knew he was blushing and made sure he was solidly turned away from Chloe. “Mine, I guess. I offered and she said it was a great idea.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But it’s not real!”

“Sure.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh, I know. Marinette’s not really my girlfriend either. We’ve just been sleeping together for three years now but it was only for pretend. I actually thought you and I were still dating this whole time.”

“Don’t be rude. This is so not the same as you guys,” Nino insisted, lowering his voice and moving further away. “Chloe and I are...we’re friends. I mean, at least I think she thinks we’re just friends and that’s fine. This is something I need to get out of my system and I thought talking to another friend would help but I was sorely mistaken.”

“Don’t get your boxers in a bunch; I’m only teasing you. You know I want you to be happy and I think you and Chloe would be great together, especially after everything that happened with the bitch I shall not name.”

“It would be too easy to say your name right there, wouldn’t it?”

“Watch it. I’m your favorite ex and you better not forget it.”

Nino let out a small chuckle and felt relief flood his system. It was always so easy to be honest with Alya. “I feel like I don’t know how to act around her.”

“I get that. I definitely had a gay panic moment when I realized my feelings for Marinette were more than just best friend territory. Try to take it a day at a time. If you feel brave enough to talk to her about it, go for it. You might be surprised how she feels.”

“Or she might freak and move out of the apartment.”

“I don’t think you’re giving Chloe due credit, but do whatever feels right.” There was a murmur in the background and Alya sighed. “Sorry, sweets, but I’m on a deadline. Hit me up when you want to talk more. I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks, Al.” Nino ended the call and slipped his phone back into place. He turned and found Chloe walking towards him, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just catching up with Alya about some stuff. How’d the rest of the meeting go?”

She beamed at him. “I’ve got Sophia scheduled for a shopping trip next Tuesday. I asked if Claire was the one who suggested the tan and then offered to hook her up with one of my contacts who does a lot of celebrities when they are going to be on the red carpet. She took the bait instantly. I’m a badass bitch.”

“That you are. Your week is filling up fast.”

She looped her arm around his as she’d done so many times that day even though there was no one around to see. “It is, but don’t worry. I still have plenty of time for you. What do you say to an early dinner?”

___

“My feet are killing me,” Chloe whined. She dramatically stumbled through the door and fell face first onto the couch. “I hate high heels.”

“Then why wear them?” Nino followed her inside and closed the door behind them. He cast a forlorn look at the small scratch on the side of his new suitcase before setting it down by the key and mail table.

“You just don’t get women’s fashion.”

“I don’t get wearing something that hurts, no,” he agreed. “And on that note, I’m going to go change out of this suit. I’ve hit my tolerance threshold.”

“Ninnnnnno,” Chloe wailed. “Help me. I can’t feel my feet.”

He shook his head and rounded the couch. “Do you really want me to take your shoes off for you?”

She wiggled her feet in answer. 

“Pathetic.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top.”

Nino took a deep breath and carefully undid the buckle of her shoe. He slid it off and let it drop to the floor unceremoniously.

“Hey! These weren’t cheap. Be careful.”

“I think you meant to say thank you.”

Chloe made a huffing noise and lifted her remaining shoe up. She’d turned her head so she could watch him and Nino felt his skin run hot. He fumbled with the buckle this time and almost dropped the shoe on accident before jerkily setting it down with the other one. 

“Okay, I’m going to go change now.” He straightened and moved away as fast as he could without being obvious.

Chloe propped herself up on her elbows and frowned at him. “You aren’t going to rub my feet?”

There was no verbal reply as Nino’s bedroom door pointedly closed.

___

The soft knock was all the warning Nino got before Chloe was entering his room. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her face scrubbed free of make up, and she was wearing one of the oversized hoodies he’d grown accustomed to seeing her in. 

“I could’ve been naked,” he chastised from his lounging place on his bed, pushing one of his headphones back so he could hear her better.

“Pity. I could’ve used a peep show.” She climbed into his bed beside him and leaned against the wall. “What are you listening to?”

“One of the records I picked up last night.”

“Can I listen to it with you?”

Nino nodded, feeling a little thunderstruck as he reached over to pull his headphone jack out of the record player on the nightstand. 

“Oh, this is nice. It isn’t like the stuff you usually listen to.” 

“Thanks for that underhanded compliment.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder with a content hum and they sat there together for two songs before she spoke again.

“Thank you for coming with me today. You really helped it seem like I’ve got my shit together.”

“You do have your shit together.” Nino eyed Chloe’s hand that was splayed out, palm up, between them. His own palm itched with the need to be pressed against hers. He curled his hand into a fist and shoved it into the large front pocket of his sweatshirt.

“You know I don’t, but I want to try to get to that point. I think these meetings next week are a good place to start. I’m feeling really good about it.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” Nino finally allowed himself to rest his head against hers, if only to relieve the crick in his neck from trying to stay so rigid. With that action, Chloe scooted closer to him and made another happy hum. She curled against his side and slid down just a bit before huffing.

“I thought this was going to be more comfortable than it is. Scooch down with me.”

“I was just fine sitting like this, you know.” Nino wanted desperately to do what she wanted but he thought he might lose his sanity if he did.

“Scooch,” she demanded and tugged on his arm. 

He reluctantly wiggled down until Chloe curled up against him again. 

“This is much better.”

“Good to know, your Highness.”

“That’s your Majesty,” she corrected. She yawned and rubbed her cheek against the soft material of his sweatshirt. “I really like this music. It makes me feel calm.”

“Yeah, it’s good for that.” His voice was barely a whisper but he didn’t think he could speak any louder. His arm had gotten trapped under Chloe when she’d moved in closer and he chose the option of trying to casually rest his hand against her side rather than let it keep tingling.

“I’m going to sleep in here,” she murmured. “Can I?”

It was such a Chloe thing to say that Nino felt his heart swell. A statement followed by a question. 

“Of course,” he replied softly. 

Buy me a cherry coke?

[itsmyusualphannie]

i’ve seen tomorrow (i’ve seen yesterday)

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” – L. P. Hartley.

future time travel au in which dan and Phil's jobs are to fix fractures in the timeline. this particular mission will take them back to 2019, but how well will they work together when they've just had a fight?

11.8k words - (read on ao3)

written for the phandom reverse big bang. beta’ed by @phanbf, with amazing art by @maybeformepersonally. it’s wonderful and captures the mood of the story so well. and just...the colours. the design. i’m not okay. it’s also integrated into this fic, so reblog it here! milo and elle are both incredibly lovely and helped make this fic what it is now. any remaining mistakes are mine.

i’ve seen tomorrow (i’ve seen yesterday)

It was the year 2079 and yet the sound of slammed doors would still resound throughout an entire flat. The reverberations of this particular one were angry and seemed to take an eternity to dissipate.

A figure sat slumped on the sofa. “Dan?” he called reluctantly toward the bathroom. The bathroom door was still vibrating from the force of its impact.

“Fuck off, Phil!” came a voice from the bathroom. “I’m getting ready like you wanted!” A drawer banged shut and something crashed to the floor.

Phil sighed again. He climbed to his feet and reached for the glasses on the coffee table. They buzzed when he picked them up. He slid them onto his face and a notification popped up onto the right lens, a pale blue message that informed him that his ride was here. He blinked and it cleared away. “That is not what I said,” Phil told the closed door, but he doubted Dan cared. “I said that maybe we should finish this conversation later, like after work.”

No reply.

“The cab is here.”

That garnered a response. “Why don’t you just go?” Dan sounded even more irritated than he had a minute ago, if that was possible. “I’ll get my own.”

“It’s scheduled to pick up both of us.” Phil absent-mindedly shoved aside a cushion on the sofa, glancing under it for his phone.

“Fine! Just give me a fucking minute.”

Phil gave him five fucking minutes. He found his phone under a Totoro plushie and replied to a few messages while he waited. His glasses and phone buzzed simultaneously, both bringing up his work reminder notification. He swept them both away. The world wouldn’t end if they were late… probably.

Dan emerged from the bathroom with another slam of the door and Phil winced in sympathy for the doorframe. Dan didn’t usually bang things around, but their previous conversation had clearly upset him. Phil glanced up at him as he grabbed his own phone from its charging dock on the kitchen counter and then stormed past Phil.

“Let’s go,” Dan said, as if he had been the one waiting. Phil rolled his eyes and followed him out the front door, which locked automatically behind them. The little alarm light above the door blinked on, glowing solidly to confirm that their security system was active.

Phil checked his phone one last time and then went down the flight of stairs right behind Dan. They emerged onto the grey pavement and bright morning sunlight. Phil paused and squinted against the light for a brief moment before his glasses adjusted, dimming so he could see more clearly. When his vision cleared, a little darker than the actual level of light, Phil could see Dan climbing into the small two-seater cab. He hurried after him, dropping into the other seat and buckling himself into it.

“This vehicle is now in motion,” a pleasant male voice announced and then the car was moving, barely a whisper of sound or movement beneath them. Buildings flashed past the opaque windows, a few trees here and there, but Phil didn’t see them. He was sneaking glances at Dan out of the corner of his eye. It was frustrating that Phil couldn’t actually judge by Dan’s neutral expression how upset he was, but even more frustrating that Dan had refused to listen to Phil earlier. He’d only shut down Phil’s argument, insistent upon his own point of view.

Phil had been serious when he’d said they needed to talk later, though. Their job couldn’t afford any mistakes that may come by tension or inattentiveness. They would have to set aside their disagreement until they left work that afternoon.

“Dan?”

Dan’s gaze flicked from the phone in his hands to Phil. His usually soft, dark eyes were now cool and precise. “What?”

“We have to get along while we’re at work. This can’t affect what we’re doing.” Phil hadn’t been able to read Dan’s expression a moment before, but now he could. Dan was annoyed again.

“You think I’m going to let this affect my work?” Dan’s eyebrows were sharp and narrowed over his eyes. “Well, fuck off. You know I’ve never let personal shit mess up my job. What about you? How do I know you won’t fuck up because you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you!” Phil insisted, now also annoyed. “You’re mad at me.”

Dan scoffed. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at what you keep doing.”

“I’m trying! You don’t get it.”

“How hard can it be?” Dan’s voice rose shrilly. “It’s not that difficult to do. Just pick up the fucking-”

The car beeped, the noise cutting him off. “We have arrived at Work,” the pleasant voice informed them.

Dan heaved a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before looking at Phil again. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Truce?” Phil offered. It earned him a generous eyeroll.

“Truce, whatever.”

The car beeped mildly again. Phil leaned forward and tapped his phone against the round disk in the centre of the console. It chimed instantly and the voice said brightly, “Your payment has been accepted. Thank you for driving with AutoNav Cab Company. Please be careful when exiting your vehicle.”

Dan was already climbing out the other side of the car, but Phil waited for the door to slide out of the way before hopping out. He swept his hands over his shirt, brushing away any wrinkles that might have appeared during the drive, and waited for Dan to join him on the pavement. Dan did so a moment later, stepping up beside him and deliberately leaving a ridiculously small amount of space between their shoulders. Phil was beyond tempted to lean into it, as he usually did, but instead he turned and headed for the small building that the car had stopped beside.

Phil’s glasses had adjusted once more to the sunlight, though it wasn’t as bright here. Tall trees cast the building into shadow, the greenery a stark contrast to the concrete and glass buildings all around them.

They reached the front doors in only a few dozen long strides, Dan keeping pace with Phil. The red alarm lights above the wide glass doors blinked at them as they approached, but as soon as Phil reached out to push against the door, both of their phones sent the information on their electronic identity cards to the building’s alarm system and the doors unlocked instantly. In a smooth motion, Phil swept open the door to the left and gestured for Dan to go ahead of him. He did, but Phil could sense his internal eyeroll even if he kept his face carefully innocuous.

The air inside the lobby was dry and cool, a relieving change from the warm, muggy air outside. The door locked again as Phil let it shut behind him. Empty but for a few tall plants in the corners and a simple receptionist desk, the room was stark and simple. There was a single door behind the receptionist desk, plain and uninviting.

The receptionist himself glanced up at them as they crossed the room toward him, his bright eyes keen. “Hey guys!” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Tyler!” said Phil, matching his enthusiasm.

“It’s going fine,” said Dan.

“Just fine? Not great? That’s sad. What can I do to help?”

Dan seemed to consider that, stopping just before he ran into the tall desk. “You could give me one of those little bags of Haribo that I know you keep stashed behind the counter.”

Tyler’s mouth dropped open in false shock. “Why, Dan!” But he shuffled aside papers and various items to find a bag of the gummies and tossed it at Dan.

“Thanks,” said Dan, huffing a laugh. He tore open the packet and tossed a few into his mouth. Phil gazed mournfully at the sweets.

“Okay!” said Tyler. “Security questions, you know the drill. Dan, what instrument or instruments do you play?”

The questions were different every day. They were usually a random fact about the individual’s life but could range from a fact that only they would know or what was their favourite type of flower. Phil personally thought that Tyler had far too much fun getting the answers to the questions. He also, sometimes, considered how easy it would be for Tyler to take down this whole company with all of the information he pretended not to know.

“Piano,” said Dan through a mouthful of Haribo. He didn’t elaborate.

“And Phil! How many pairs of glasses have you owned in the past five years?”

Phil had to actually think about that one. “Eight?”

“Nine,” Dan corrected. “That brown pair that you sat on and crushed the first day you got it counts too.”

“Nine,” amended Phil.

“Correct!”

Phil was also slightly concerned about the fact that Tyler actually knew the right answers to these questions.

“You’re good to go!” said Tyler. He had found another snack-size bag of Haribo and was busy tearing them open. He waved Dan and Phil past his desk with a fistful of the gummies and then promptly shoved them in his mouth.

“That’s so attractive,” Dan scoffed at Tyler. Phil opened the door behind the desk and waited for Dan to catch up.

“I try,” said Tyler with a bright grin.

Dan caught up to Phil and they both left the lobby through the door. The hallway inside was dark, barely lit by the light through the closing door, but once the door had completely swung shut, lights along the top of the hallways’ sides lit up and illuminated their way. The walls were a neutral cream colour, the floor a carpeted beige. Phil thought it looked gross. It was the actual worst thing to see twice a day, five days a week, and certainly wasn’t designed to boost morale.

The crinkle of the bag when Dan crushed it between his fingers was loud and seemed to echo in the long hallway. Phil cast him a judgemental look, his stride not breaking as they headed down the ugly carpet toward the door at the far end, but his judgement was more for Dan’s decision not to share the sweets with Phil than it was for the sound. Dan gave him an unsympathetic glance back, shoving the empty bag into the tight pocket of his jeans.

The door at the end of the hallway flew open before they ever reached it. “Boys!” said a woman striding through.

“Agents,” Phil corrected her.

“Boys!” she said again. “You’re two minutes late.”

Phil exchanged another glance with Dan, but this time it was a look in which they decided not to comment on the time of their arrival. Two minutes, Dan mouthed. Phil snorted quietly in agreement and they turned back toward her. They had almost reached the end of the hall.

“Director,” said Phil, and he could hear Dan’s voice echoing the same title at the exact moment as him.

Her face twisted, unsettled, either from their disturbing chorus or from the word itself. “I’ve said to call me Bryony.”

“Director Bryony,” Phil amended. She looked exasperatedly fond. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Bryony assured him. “I just wanted to see what was taking you so long. Come along, both of you, I’ll give you the rest of the details for your mission.” She turned and waved a hand for them to follow her. Her dark suit and slacks stood out in stark contrast to the unsightly hall.

“Mission?” Dan asked. “I thought that was scheduled for tomorrow.”

“We finished prep a lot earlier than we’d thought,” she said. The door she had come through was still open and she went right through it, calling over her shoulder, “We have everything ready, as long as you’re both good to go.”

Dan was first behind her, entering the large room, and Phil strode through after both of them. He glanced around the room, awed as always by the striking lines of the room, the sleek beauty of the machinery inside, and the buzz of the many people working on their separate tasks. The room was incredibly different from the bare, simple exterior of the building; it had a high, arching ceiling, brightly lit with not a trace of shadows and there were dozens of elegant machines and computers in circular rows around the centre of the room. Technicians and various specialists occupied each machine, either sitting or standing next to them while they worked. It was all arranged around the middle of the room, where a massive rectangular machine sat by itself on the stone floor. It was tall, with glass sides and gleaming metal supports.

Phil was still a little afraid of the machine. Maybe not afraid of the actual thing, but afraid that he would somehow trip and crash into it or otherwise break it. He’d almost fallen into it multiple times, but after ten years of working in this job, he’d somehow managed to avoid breaking it. It had, of course, been upgraded since its first clunky design. It’d only been big enough for one person when it was first created, and he and Dan had had to go into it one at a time.

“We’re good to go,” Dan said. Phil’s attention snapped back to Bryony and Dan, the latter of whom was frowning at him. They had all stopped beside a narrow square table that sat closest to the door and oversaw the rest of the room.

Bryony hadn’t noticed Phil’s lapse of attentiveness while he was distracted by the room. She pulled out a chair and adjusted something complicated on the table.  “Here,” she said, “sit down. We’ll go over the mission before you get dressed. I think Louise is finishing up the shirts.”

There were four wooden chairs at the table. Phil picked the one facing the centre of the room and Dan, notably, picked the one that wasn’t exactly the furthest from him, but it also wasn’t the closest. 

Bryony dropped into the one she’d pulled out, heaving a sigh. She swept a hand over the glass tabletop and the inlaid devices reacted immediately, flashing out a holographic green interface. It was lines and lights and words, and none of it made sense to Phil. Her fingers darted here and there, selecting various pieces, and the interface responded accordingly, expanding her selections until they grew to the length of the table and a metre tall. Phil could barely see Dan’s slumped form on the other side of the table through the display.

“This is case 1031 out of 2566,” Bryony said, pointing at the highlighted block of information that was slowly circling above their heads. “We’re calling it the Subway Talk, since that’s what you’re going to be doing.”

“Sorry, wait,” Dan said. A green outline of a face drifted through the interface right in front of Phil and made Dan’s outline a blurry, viridescent shape. “You said 2566? Weren’t there just 2560 the other day?”

“Yeah,” said Bryony. She looked aggrieved. “The analysts found six more fractures over the weekend. It’s not that they’re still happening, it’s just that we haven’t found all of them, even after ten years.”

“God,” said Dan, tone disgruntled. “Repairing them all is going to take forever. We’re only managing about two a week because of all the regulations and secrecy and how everything has to be perfect.”

“We’ll have a job as long as we’re finding them,” Phil reminded Dan.

Bryony was nodding in agreement with Dan when Phil glanced at her, though. “You’re right, it’s pretty exhausting. But it has to be perfect. We don’t want to cause any more fractures by doing anything wrong. It has to be researched and scheduled to perfection or we might mess something up.”

By ‘we,’ she also meant Dan and Phil. Though nothing could be done without all of the various highly-skilled techs, analysts, and specialists, the burden of perfection eventually rested fully upon Dan and Phil and the way they handled their missions. Small mistakes might not matter, but anything too out-of-place could cause disaster. Although...

“Time always corrects itself in the big ways that matter,” Bryony completed Phil’s thought. “So we’re not too worried. But if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person, it might destroy what we’re trying to accomplish.”

‘Destroy’ was a big word to bring out before lunch, Phil thought. He wondered absently if Bryony had picked up on the underlying tension between him and Dan.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dan said. “I know. So, mission?”

Bryony’s hands darted to manipulate the interface and the information that was displayed matched her words. “You’re going back about sixty years. Like most other fractures, this one just caused a tiny jolt in the fabric of space-time. In this case, it was inside a Subway, a sandwich shop in that time period. All it did was trip a customer entering the shop. However, from our previous records, we know that the action caused a tiny chain of events that weren’t supposed to happen. The victim, who had previously been considering asking for a promotion, took that as a sign of bad luck and decided not to do it. They quit their job three months later and didn’t go on to become the director of the business, like they were supposed to.”

“So... the Subway Talk?” questioned Phil, but he could see where this was going.

“A talk at the Subway,” she agreed. “We’re going to send you both back. The rules on this one are actually a little looser. We don’t have a script for you or anything, so you’ll be relying on your intuition and reflexes for it.”

Dan snorted, probably at the idea of Phil and reflexes. Phil hoped he could feel the force of Phil’s glare through the projection between them.

“We’re going to drop you about five minutes before it happens, right down the street from the Subway. The spacial analysts have found a precise location where there are no cameras and no people so you won’t be noticed. The behaviour counsellors have recommended just stepping right inside the shop to wait for the target and then either catching the target or helping them up when they trip. Then, just... talk. Try to bring up jobs and if they mention theirs, encourage them to go for their promotion.”

“It sounds simple.” Phil was suspicious, and he had every reason to be. The ones that sounded simple tended to end up even more complicated.

“It’ll be fine.” Bryony waved a dismissive hand. “You have to finish within an hour, though. The exact time and location will be on your phones. Get there and we’ll pick you up. As usual, until we get some sort of technology worked out where we can remain in open communication with you, we won’t be able to talk to you.”

“Sounds good,” said Dan. “When are we starting?” He seemed to actually be paying attention to the bits of information about their mission that drifted with the projections, which Phil was grateful for, as he understood little of the shorthand that made up the details. The one thing he did notice and file away in his memory was the clear portrait of their target. They were slim, with a narrow face and arching eyebrows.

Bryony caught his gaze following the moving portrait and she reached a finger to catch it and hold it still. “Yes, that’s your target. Their name is Ainslie. All you’re supposed to know is that they’re vegan. Actually, I probably shouldn’t have told you even that. Forget I said it.”

If Phil knew anything more about the targets, he tended to bring up the facts in weird, stalker-ish ways. He didn’t mean to, it just slipped out of him. Bryony had stopped telling him anything but the essential facts about a target so he didn’t disturb any of the targets by announcing one of the random details about their life on accident.

“Dan!” came a call from the other side of the room. “Your clothes are ready!”

“Yeah, Louise, just a sec!” Dan yelled back. He stood, but Phil could barely see the movement through the bright lines of the display in front of him. “Anything else, boss?”

She shook her head dismissively. “You got all of this yesterday, I’m just refreshing you both. You’re good, go get dressed.”

He left, and Bryony waved away the projection as soon as he was halfway across the room. The lines and indistinguishable words blurred and collapsed back into barely-visible green lights that spread thinly across the table. Bryony’s gaze met Phil’s. “Okay,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“Happening?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Philip Lester,” said Bryony. “I know you, and I know Dan. What’s going on between the two of you?”

“We’re fine, it’s not going to affect the mission,” Phil tried, but she cut him off.

“As a friend, just for a second, okay? Not as your boss. I knew you before you even started working as an agent. It was just a coincidence that your profile was exactly what we needed for this position.”

Phil could feel himself slump in his chair. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back absent-mindedly, ignoring the chirp of acknowledgement from the lens. He dropped his hand and the glasses went back to their idle state once they recognized that he wasn’t giving them a command. “It’s just... look, it’s not going to affect the mission. We just had a little... domestic, this morning. Dan was upset with me and he didn’t even try to understand what I was saying.”

“A little domestic?” she repeated. “Sorry, but Phil, if it was that little, I doubt I’d even be able to notice the obvious tension between you two. You’re usually so close, it’s like you share brainwaves.”

“Well, we obviously don’t!” Phil reigned in his snappish tone and tried again. “Dan wouldn’t even listen to me. He was only talking about how I messed up and wasn’t even trying and he didn’t want to see it from my point of view at all. And I’ve been trying! I’ve been trying really hard, but he doesn’t even appreciate it.” He was whining, and he was aware of it, but he couldn’t help it.

Bryony looked unimpressed. “I’m going to drop a truth bomb on you, mate. Okay, not quite, but listen.” She waved a long finger in his face before he could protest. “And don’t interrupt me. When the first time machine malfunctioned eleven years ago, it caused all of these cracks and fractures that were only discovered because of the former painstaking preservation of time records. We were founded by the maker of that time machine to repair what the machine had done. It took almost a year to perfect our device and get all of these different people together to work on it. That’s when we found you, one of the few whose entire ancestry had been unaffected by the malfunction, and started sending you on missions. We figured it would be better with a partner, so we found Dan a few months later. You’ve both been working together for ten years now. Ten years, Phil. And you’ve been living together for almost nine of those years.”

Phil didn’t find that brief recounting of the past decade’s events actually very helpful and so he told her as such.

She just looked exasperated. “What I’m trying to say is that you and Dan are really great together. You’ve worked out many other arguments, I’m sure, so what’s different about this one?”

“Dan is being stubborn,” said Phil.

Bryony blinked long and slow at him. “I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

Phil didn’t respond for a few seconds, feeling somewhat defensive. “This isn’t very good friend advice.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She stood from her seat, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I’m not a relationship counsellor. I’m just the director of a goddamn time travel corporation.”

Phil stood as well, stretching in a small movement until his back stopped twinging. “Time Co. is better off with you as their director than as their relationship counsellor, anyway.”

She swatted his shoulder, snorting. “Oh, shut up. Go get dressed, I’m sure Louise has finished your outfit by now.”

She was Director Bryony again, strict posture and precise movements, and not his friend of over twelve years. Phil nodded in acknowledgement and slipped past her toward the far corner of the room, where he could see Dan almost towering over Louise, who looked harried as she waved frantic hands at him. From her motions, it looked like she was telling him to either take his shirt off or to do jumping exercises. It probably wasn’t the latter.

“Hey, Phil!” called one of the time machine techs as Phil made his way past their block of computers.

“Hey, PJ!” Phil slowed but didn’t stop, his destination obvious. “How’s it going?”

“Good!” said the brunet, beaming at Phil while his fingers didn’t pause their incessant typing. “We’ve got ol’ Timey Wimey powered up and ready to go when you are!”

Phil still didn’t know who had named the incredibly advanced and complicated piece of technology after a phrase from an old show about time travel. He suspected Dan, but it could have been any one of the techs who worked here. They were all nerds. “Great!” he said. “Just have to get dressed and we’ll be ready to go.”

PJ waved briefly at him, then went back to hunching over his computer, and Phil went on to the corner. There was an array of wheeled clothing racks surrounding Dan and Louise, and he had to push one aside to get to them. A tall, folded room divider was leaning against the wall behind Louise.

“Good!” Louise said upon seeing him. “Prop open the dressing screen for me, Phil. You both need to get dressed.”

Phil did as she said, reaching for the room divider and pulling it away from the wall to unfold it and arrange it in a half-circle against the wall so there was a hidden space behind it for them to change. Louise promptly shoved Dan inside, thrusting a pile of clothes after him. “Change!” she ordered, and then turned to Phil.

“I hate your legs,” she told him before snatching a shirt and trousers from one of the clothing racks. Phil might be offended if she didn’t say it almost every time before a mission. “I swear to God,” she continued, slinging the trousers over one of Phil’s arms and then beginning to unbutton the shirt still in her hands, “this is literally torment for me. I have to find the largest clothes designs in each time era that you visit and then I have to individually tailor it for you. Your legs.”

“Dan’s taller than me,” Phil said. “You should hate his legs too!”

“I hate all of your legs.” With that, she chucked the unbuttoned shirt and a pale undershirt at him and pushed him behind the divider to join Dan.

“Um, hey,” said Phil.

Dan finished wrestling the shirt over his head. Curls tumbled across his forehead as his face appeared. Phil couldn’t look away from Dan’s fingers as he dragged the shirt down over his stomach, too slow for it to be an accident. The last sliver of skin was hidden by the dark shirt and Phil’s gaze darted hastily back up. Dan smirked. “Like what you see?”

“It’s a nice shirt,” Phil retorted. He had liked what he’d seen, though, and even more so last night.

“No snogging!” came Louise’s voice from outside the divider.

“That was one time!” Dan called back.

“And it was one time too many!”

Phil could feel Dan’s gaze trail over him, and then Dan huffed a laugh and sauntered past Phil, carrying the clothes he had changed out of tucked under one arm. “Hurry up, Phil.”

Phil complied, hastily stripping his jeans and shirt and dragging on the other trousers, then the undershirt and button-up. They were snug against him in a faintly uncomfortable way, but in a way that was perfectly respectable sixty years ago, which was why he was wearing them. Wearing clothes that hadn’t even been designed yet when they went back in time would look just a little too out-of-place. It took him a few exasperating moments to button up the overshirt, something that Louise had made look ridiculously easy even with her long nails, and then he yanked on his socks. He ducked out from behind the divider as soon as he was done, depositing his clothes on a stool by one of the clothing racks and turning to fold the room divider and place it back against the wall. 

Dan was already tying the shoelaces on his era-appropriate shoes when Phil turned back around, so Phil took the shoes that Louise was waving at him and tugged them on over his socks. There were no shoelaces on these. Louise had grown tired of watching Phil unsuccessfully try to tie his shoelaces over the past years and had started selecting shoes without laces for each of his missions.

“We’re starting the sequence, boys!” Bryony called from across the room. “Five minutes!”

“Agents,” Phil muttered under his breath.

“Your hair is fine,” Louise decided, hands propped on her hips as she looked back and forth between both Dan and Phil. “I guess.” She whirled away, constantly in motion as she shoved and rearranged and moved clothes and clothes racks.

Phil didn’t know whether to be offended or not. He felt like half of his emotions today had been some kind of offence at what everyone had said. Especially Dan.

As if summoned by Phil’s thoughts, Dan stood and moved toward him. He sidled right up against Phil, his head ducked as he reached for Phil’s shirt. Phil resisted the urge to step back as Dan’s fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt.

“Undressing me already?” Phil tried to joke, but he could feel that he was too tense for it to work.

Dan’s fingers seemed to clench involuntarily. Fabric bunched in his fist, but he relaxed and smoothed it back out. His hand brushed almost tauntingly over Phil’s chest, whispering sensation against a nipple, and then he was back to unbuttoning Phil’s overshirt. He didn’t say anything until he had it completely undone, and then he started buttoning it again, from the bottom to the top. “Your buttons were done up wrong,” he murmured, so low that Phil could barely hear him. “Idiot.”

Phil didn’t know if he wanted to shove him away or kiss him. He settled for tightening his fists at his side and watching the quiet purse of Dan’s lips while he finished slipping the buttons into their corresponding holes.

“There,” said Dan once he was done. He tugged briefly at the bottom of Phil’s shirt and turned away.

“Thanks,” Phil said, but it was softer than he had intended. Dan may not have heard him.

“Two minutes!” Bryony announced. “Go ahead and load up.”

Dan was already halfway to the glass machine in the centre of the room. Phil followed, dodging the last of the clothes racks and the station where PJ sat with a few other techs. One side of the machine slid away from its body, leaving a hollow space inside about a metre in diameter both ways. Dan lifted a foot to step over the short barrier, and then he was inside, his back pressed against the glass and facing Phil.

Phil cast one more glance around the room that was now bustling with activity and, barely managing to avoid tripping over the barrier on the floor, he climbed inside. He was careful to place his feet a certain distance from Dan. However, when the side of the machine slipped shut right behind him, it nudged him further toward Dan until their chests almost collided. It was close, the air pressurized and cold, and Dan’s breath was damp and warm against Phil’s cheek. His eyes, when Phil finally glanced up at his face, were half-lidded and so, so dark.

This is not the time, Phil informed himself sternly.

Bryony’s voice came faintly through the thick glass surrounding them. “One minute! Make sure you have your phones!”

Phil checked. He had it. His glasses vibrated quietly against the skin above his ear.

“So,” said Dan, sudden in the quiet of the machine. Outside, computers whirred quietly and chatter bounced between techs, but here, in the enclosed, ever-so-close space of the surrounding glass, it was still and cool. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready. Are you ready?” As retorts went, it wasn’t the best, but Phil felt like he had something to prove for some reason. He didn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling like it.

Dan rolled his eyes. Bryony began counting down from outside the machine. It sounded muffled and insubstantial.

“We’ll have five minutes to get to the Subway,” Phil reminded.

“Yeah. I’ll catch the target, then we can both talk to them?”

It was easier this way. They always made last-second plans, even though it drove Bryony mad. The familiarity made Phil relax, just a little. “That sounds good.”

“Good,” said Dan.

“Three!” Phil could hear, somewhere outside of his focus on Dan’s coolly resolved expression and his soft breaths wafting against Phil’s lips. “Two!”

One.

The world twisted around them.

They landed on a cobbled street surrounded by tall brick buildings. Landed wasn’t an exact description - it was more that their atoms reformed into existence in this particular space, their feet forming millimetres above the ground, so they had little distance to fall.

Phil, naturally, managed to trip anyway. He flailed a hand to grab Dan’s shoulder and steady himself, and used to it by now, Dan let him. Once he’d regained his balance, Phil edged away and patted Dan awkwardly on the shoulder. “Er, thanks.”

Dan gave him an odd look.

“Right,” said Phil. “On to the Subway place, then.”

“It’s just called Subway.” Dan turned away from him and headed down the street, his shoes clicking against the cobbled path. There was no one around; as arranged, they had landed in the exact moment and place where no one in this time would be suspicious of two random, curiously tall people appearing out of nowhere. “It’s a sandwich shop.”

“I know that,” said Phil, even though he hadn’t. Whatever this business was, it hadn’t made it all the way to their time, so he had no reason to know it. He probably should have paid more attention to the briefing.

“Sorry,” said Dan to someone who stepped out of a shop and almost run into him. They muttered an apology back and moved around him. Phil glanced around, noticing the few people that he could now see walking down the pavement, busy with phones or other devices and otherwise ignoring everyone around them. He wondered if anyone would have noticed if they’d landed right in the middle of them without any planning by the spacial analysts.

Dan slowed, jostling Phil with an elbow and away from his train of thought. “There it is.”

And indeed, there it was. A squat, garishly-coloured shop with tall brick buildings surrounding it. It had tall glass windows instead of walls, open and airy, and bustling with customers. Bright signs decorated the pavement in front of it, declaring the specialities and deals. Phil squinted at one sandwich that looked like someone had sat on it. He didn’t understand how anyone would want to eat a squashed sandwich. Maybe smashed food was the popular choice in this time?

“Oh, shit.” Phil leaned closer to Dan, almost tripping over his own feet again, and whispered, “What time is it?”

The smack of Dan’s hand against his own face startled Phil. “Jesus Christ,” said Dan, muffled against his palm. “Why do you do this every time? Read the fucking information we’re given.”

Phil pouted at him, but the effect was lost since Dan was looking away from him and into the Subway that they were approaching. “I do read it! Most of it. I just forget, sometimes. That’s what you’re here for.”

“I’m here to complete the mission, not tell you about it while it’s happening,” hissed Dan, then smiled through gritted teeth at the customer who opened the door of the Subway for them.

“Thanks!” said Phil to the customer, and they walked inside.

Dan sighed in exasperation, directing Phil off to the side, next to a tall, round table that sat right beside one of the massive glass windows. “It’s 2019. It doesn’t matter, that shouldn’t come up in conversation anyway. October ninth.”

“Oh!” said Phil. “Thanks. Hey, if that was the date back in…” He paused, reconsidering what he was going to say. “I mean.”

“Just stop,” said Dan, sounding wearied. He had pulled his phone out and stared down at the screen. “We have three minutes.”

“Happy anniversary?” Phil tried.

Dan was tapping away at his phone. “I’m going to get you the fucking cheese special sub if you don’t stop.”

There was probably nothing he could be doing on his phone right now; their phones didn’t even have a signal in this time. Phil huffed at him and glanced around the shop. The table they were standing beside was one of the only empty ones, while the others had chattering patrons filling them. There was a line to the counter with about five customers waiting. It was strangely busy for a sandwich shop, Phil thought.

“There’s a university a few blocks down,” said Dan, not looking up. “And this place is cheap.”

“Oh,” said Phil. He understood the comment Bryony had made earlier about their ability to share brainwaves, with Dan’s apparent reading of his thoughts. He didn’t know how he had actually survived those first few months when he’d been going on missions by himself. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Two minutes.”

“Should I get in line?”

“No, let’s wait.”

They waited. After another few seconds of Dan tapping away on his phone, Phil decided he was probably playing a game. He sidled closer, trying to get a glance, but Dan just took a few steps back. “Nope,” was all he said.

Rude.

The door jingled as someone came inside. Phil spared them a quick glance, but it was just an exhausted-looking teenager with a green Subway shirt. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafted with them and Phil coughed involuntarily, suppressing it as best he could with a hand to his mouth. 

Dan watched him until he stopped, then the concern on his face collapsed into disgust. “Gross, go wash your hands.”

“You’re gross,” Phil retorted. He slipped past Dan to steal a generous blob of hand sanitizer from the machine he had noticed beside the door. He rubbed the cold gel into his palms and waved them to help it evaporate faster, going back to the table to stand beside Dan. “There, I’m clean now.”

“You smell like alcohol.”

“You smell like…” Phil trailed off, uncertain, then finished with a triumphant, “your mum.”

“You’re the actual worst person.” 

Phil grinned. His glasses vibrated against the side of his face, and he could feel his phone doing the same in his pocket. It was their ten-second warning, letting him know that it was time to be professional. He was facing the door, with Dan between him and the door with his back against it. Casually, Phil let his gaze slide over to the window so he could see the pavement outside. There were a few people walking past, but no one was - wait, there.

“Target sighted,” Phil murmured.

Dan’s fingers were still moving over the screen of his phone, but his posture had relaxed into his ready pose. This particular mission didn’t require any strenuous or immediate action, but it was hard to drop the instinct after so many others that had needed it.

Dan turned halfway, casual and smooth. The door swept open and the tiny bell above the door tinkled merrily and Phil’s stomach twisted, an automatic reaction to the split-second of time warp that had just occurred, just as their target stepped inside the door,. No one else would notice it if they hadn’t been trained for it.

The target stumbled and flailed an arm as they lost their balance, but Dan was already there. They toppled right into his side, and he snatched at their shoulder to keep them from falling to the floor. “Fuck!” he said purely by instinct, but he saved them. Phil took a few steps forward, but stayed back, and watched them both stagger a few steps to regain their balance. Dan let go of the other’s shoulder when he knew they were safe from falling.

“Are you okay?” Phil blurted, letting his feet carry him forward to examine both of them. Dan allowed Phil to brush his hands over his shoulders, his concern real but exaggerated for the sake of the target. 

“I’m fine,” said Dan. He turned toward the target, his eyebrows wrinkling. “You good?”

They blew out a breath, glancing down at themself. “Yeah, I think so. Shit, that was close. Sorry about that, I’m pretty clumsy.”

“That’s okay.” Dan waved the apology away. “So’s Phil.”

“Hey!” said Phil, but half-heartedly. He briefly examined their face for any signs of pain and was relieved to find none, but their eyebrows were drawn tightly together. They definitely matched the picture he had seen earlier, with a slender face and choppy, dark hair. A bag was slung over one of their shoulders, and they patted it urgently, apparently making sure that nothing had fallen out or been crushed in the jostle.

“You sure you’re okay?” Phil asked. “You look kind of stressed? Sorry, that’s rude.”

“I am stressed,” they said. “It’s fine, I don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter either.”

Dan snorted a laugh.

“Sorry for running you over,” they tried to apologize to Dan again, but he shrugged it off.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t paying attention either. I’m fine if you are.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, in which Phil felt both himself and Dan searching for something to say while he could see the target glancing past both of them at the counter.

“Cool shirt,” Phil heard himself say.

They glanced down at their dark shirt and the blocky letters that spelt out ‘Vaccines Cause Adults’ and laughed. “Thanks! I actually wear it to work.”

“You’re allowed to wear it there?” asked Dan, and Phil could hear the engineered surprise in his voice. Workplaces were apparently much stricter in this time than in Dan and Phil’s own, and so Dan would pretend to be shocked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a pretty cool place to work,” they said, eyes crinkling briefly at the edges, but then the blooming smile was lost. “I mean, usually. I’m not sure about today.”

“Work troubles?” Dan sympathized immediately.

“You could say that,” was all they offered in reply.

“We should get in line,” said Phil, seeing someone else out of the corner of his eye as they approached the door from outside. He took a step sideways away from the table, making sure he had Dan’s attention, then turned and headed for the back of the line. He avoided multiple tables full of chattering people, stopping behind the last person in the row of waiting customers. He could feel Dan come up beside him, and then the target.

“Oh!” he heard Dan say. “My name’s Dan. This is Phil.”

“Hi!” said Phil. His position in the line secured, he turned toward them.

“Oh,” they said, in a different tone than Dan. Their face was flushed. “Um, Ainslie. Sorry, again. I’m so awkward today.”

“Those days happen,” Phil told them. “I’m awkward a lot, too.”

Ainslie laughed, the tone of their dark skin cooling somewhat. “Uh, thanks. Yeah, you were right,” they directed to Dan. “Work troubles. It’s just been a shit day at work. I even took an early lunch.” They gestured toward the Subway sign and menu above all of their heads. “This place doesn’t really have good vegan options, but it was the closest fast food place.”

Oh good, Phil mused. The vegan characteristic was the only thing he’d had to worry about accidentally blurting out.

“You’re vegan!” said Dan. His posture had shifted fully toward them. “That’s cool. So am I... well, mostly.”

They both shared a commiserating laugh at the troubles of avoiding meat.

“So do you guys work close to here, too?” Their eyes were darting between Dan and Phil, clearly trying to assess their relationship. Phil let himself drift a little closer to Dan, their arms knocking together, but he went with their usual story.

“We’re actually on a business trip. We’re between boring work conferences right now, so we decided to grab a sandwich.”

“Conferences are the worst,” Dan agreed. He moved a few steps further in the line with Phil when the people in front of them edged forward.

Ainslie looked intrigued, keeping up with Dan. “Really? I kind of like conferences... like, figuring things out and whatever. Determining what to do next in the company can be fun. I mean.” Their laugh almost sounded like a cough. “I mean, not that I go to many of them. I wish.”

To Phil’s ears, Dan sounded careful, but he might have appeared casual to Ainslie when he asked, “Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know.” A flippant wave of their hand. “I’m not quite important enough to go to them. I’m trying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” they agreed. “I’m... working on it, kind of. I was actually…” They looked hesitant, eyes darting as if what they were going to say was more nerve-wracking than Phil could understand, “actually, I was going to ask for a promotion today. I’ve been thinking about it.”

There were some things that were just... easy to tell a stranger. It was a phenomenon that Phil had encountered many times during these missions, and yet he was still always pleasantly surprised by these kinds of admissions, these words or intentions that were held so close to a person’s innermost thoughts and released when they least expected it. Strangers were impartial, brief witnesses to someone’s life and it didn’t mean anything if a secret slipped out to a person who didn’t really matter in the long run.

“You should go for it!” Dan was saying to Ainslie, his tone bright and encouraging. Their gaze dropped at his words, cheeks a dusky brown again.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You totally should,” Phil chirped. “If you actually like conferences, you’re practically a CEO already.”

Oops, too far. Dan’s sharp gaze narrowed on Phil, warning him. They both knew that, if this mission was a success, Ainslie would go on to become one of the most successful CEOs that the business had ever seen. It was over twenty years in Ainslie’s future, of course, but a stranger’s words that seemed out-of-place could be remembered for a long time.

Ainslie did not seem to have noticed, however. They were smiling now, a small, careful thing. “Yeah, you think so?”

The line moved forward again. “Of course I think so!” said Phil, shuffling to keep up with the other moving customers.

“Go for it,” Dan said. “You’ll never know until you try.”

“Ah, well.” Something reluctant had slipped across their face. “I’ve asked twice for the promotion now. My supervisor is kind of an asshole.”

Phil wondered if saying “I believe in you” was a weird thing to say to a practical stranger. He decided not to risk it.

“I believe in you,” said Dan.

Phil frowned.

Ainslie laughed. “Thanks, Dan.”

They had all reached the counter now. Dan gestured for Ainslie to go first, but they declined. “You guys go ahead, I’m going to look over the menu first.”

The employee behind the counter looked dead-eyed. It was the exact expression Phil wore when he had a mind-numbing job as a teenager. He wondered how long this person had been working here. “How can I help you?” the employee asked.

“Um.” Phil hadn’t even glanced at the menu after he saw the squished-looking sandwich on the board outside. “Uh.” He scanned it now, squinting urgently at the tall screen above his head.

“We’ll get the foot-long roast beef on white bread,” Dan told the employee.

Rapid fingers tapped the order. “Anything else?”

Phil spotted a bag of crisps on the counter and he beamed. That was something familiar, at least. “Crisps!” he snagged two bags and dropped them onto the counter.

The employee looked down at them, expression bleak. “Okay.” They were added to the order. “Anything else.”

“Er, no.”

It was at that moment that Phil realized he didn’t have any money with him. He patted his pockets anyway, just in case he might find something inside them, and then he glanced helplessly at Dan.

“Are you kidding?” said Dan, once he noticed Phil’s pleading stare. “Louise had heaps of money and you didn’t get any? You’re horrible.” He moved to pay anyway. Phil was sure that the brief exchange wouldn’t make sense to anyone around them, but when he shuffled sideways out of Dan’s way, he spotted Ainslie’s curious stare directed at both of them. He hoped it was more of an ‘are they together’ stare than an ‘are they from this time’ stare. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever stared one of the latter stares, actually.

Once Dan had paid, he moved with Phil down the rows of meats, cheeses, and condiments, pointing at various objects to place on the sub. The wearied employee piled them on obediently. Phil could see the other employee, the one that came in earlier smelling overwhelmingly of cigarette fumes, step up to take the place at the till.

“I’ll get the veggie delite,” he heard Ainslie tell the employee, and their order was rung up quickly as well. They moved down the line, close behind Dan and Phil, and gestured to their own selection of foods to put on their sandwich.

The bright Subway sign caught Phil’s attention again and a sudden, overwhelming desire took a hold on him. He shuffled closer to Dan, clearing his throat. “Hey, Dan.”

“No cheese,” said Dan to the employee. “What, Phil?”

Phil lowered his voice to an almost inaudible tone. “What do you call a bad sandwich?”

Dan looked aggrieved. “You don’t.”

“Subpar,” Phil said cheerfully.

Dan’s face twisted, but Phil could tell he was trying not to laugh. He snorted a moment later, despite his efforts. “God, no. You’re the worst.” He turned away, moving to take the wrapped subs from the bag that the employee held out to him. Phil just laughed.

Dan sidestepped out of the line and Phil followed him to the table by the door. By some luck, it was still empty. Their movements were casual, careful not to make Ainslie suspicious.

Dan dropped the bag onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud and Phil eyed it warily. He didn’t trust foods that made disturbing sounds when they were put down.

“It doesn’t have cheese,” said Dan, mistaking Phil’s expression.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” Phil edged onto one of the seats by the table and Dan followed suit, sitting across from him and pulling the sub out of the bag. He pushed it toward Phil, who took it with a grimace.

“We could die from this,” Phil said morbidly. “Who knows what germs are on it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Dan rolled his eyes. He’d already ripped open one of the bags of crisps, crunching on a handful as he spoke. “Just open it.”

Phil opened it, but did so gingerly. At least it smelled appetizing. The folds of the meat and the limp lettuce, however, didn’t look very appetizing.

“Hey.”

Phil glanced over. Ainslie stood beside the table, their sandwich tucked under one arm. They adjusted their bag, lips tugging up at the corners. “It was nice to meet you both. Thanks for the... encouragement.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Dan, smiling back at them.

Phil echoed the words, but added, “Go get ‘em!”

Ainslie laughed, so he didn’t regret it. “Thanks.”

Phil sensed what was going to come next - an offer for a phone number in case they were in town again - but that never ended well, so he gave Ainslie a cheery wave. “Have an awesome day!”

They hesitated, but nodded. “You too. Goodbye!” With that, they turned toward the entrance to the Subway and were gone, door swinging behind them. The mission was complete.

Well, mostly. Phil yanked his phone hurriedly out of his pocket and surveyed the timer. They had about six minutes left to get to the alley behind this Subway.

“Oh no,” deadpanned Dan. “It looks like we won’t get to eat this delicious sandwich.”

Phil rewrapped it and shoved it across the table. “Here, throw it away.”

“No! That’s a waste of food.” Dan looked genuinely offended. “Like half of the world is starving in this time.”

“We can’t exactly teleport it to them,” Phil said. “And if we leave it here, an employee will just throw it away once they notice no one’s here to eat it.”

“Point.” Dan got up with Phil, but still looked reluctant as he dropped the bag and its heavy contents into the trash can by the door. He handed the other bag of crisps to Phil, and they both snacked on the contents as they left the shop and walked toward the location programmed into their phones.

Phil kept an eye on the tiny navigational line in the corner of his glasses lens, trying to avoid tripping over his own feet and keep track of it at the same time. He tossed another crisp into his mouth and crunched down on it, then turned where the navigation directed him. Dan was right beside him, dodging a trash can that was inconveniently right in the centre of the pavement.

“The timing on that was almost perfect.” Dan took another bite of the overly large crisp in his hand. “We’ve been given more than enough time to get to the pickup spot.”

“The behaviour counsellors plan these conversations out pretty well,” Phil agreed. “They know us pretty well, too, and how our conversations go.” He eyed the bag of crisps in Dan’s hands. It looked considerably more enticing than the one that Phil was eating from.

“There’s the alley,” said Dan. “Yeah, I guess they do. Still, don’t you ever think it’s kind of creepy how well they plan out everything so perfectly?”

Phil shrugged. “Not really. That’s their whole job, after all. They have all these computers and machines and formulas to help them, too.” He slowed as his glasses beeped at him, then they turned into the indicated alley and stopped beside a massive green bin called a... dumper, maybe. A dumpster? It was quiet back here, out of sight from the main road and little travelled by pedestrians. Despite the disposal bin in this alley, the ground was littered with rubbish. Phil kicked a crumpled can beside his foot and watched it bounce across the paved ground.

“I guess,” Dan said again. Both of their phones buzzed in their pockets - their two-minute warning.

They munched on their crisps for a few moments. Phil, after more unsatisfying bites of his own, glanced down at the bag and shook it. He tried to sneak a hand over to Dan’s bag and earned a slap on his palm for his trouble.

“Fuck off,” said Dan mildly, tipping the bag up to let the contents fall into his mouth. He crushed the empty bag and tossed it into the dumpster, then reached out and snatched Phil’s bag.

“Hey,” Phil complained.

“What? You aren’t going to eat them.” Dan started eating those, too.

Phil sulked, but he hadn’t been about to eat them. He still found it rude, though. His glasses beeped with their one-minute warning.

“Well,” said Dan through a mouthful of crumbs. Phil made a face at him but Dan wasn’t deterred. “This was a short mission. Figure we’ll get to go home right afterwards?”

Phil felt nervous, suddenly. He’d almost forgotten about their argument this morning, but the reminder that they were going to have to go back to their flat and revisit the conversation made him regret that he hadn’t been thinking of it. “Er, maybe. You know it’ll be like five in the afternoon when we get back. The machine takes forever to re-calibrate.” It didn’t matter how much time they spent in the past; the time machine that brought them here and back needed time to cool down and be reprogrammed, usually about eight hours in its actual time.

“Yeah, but,” Dan tossed another crisp in his mouth, “we have to debrief or whatever.”

“Our phones and my glasses record everything,” Phil reminded him. He wondered if Dan was picking up his bad snacking habits from Tyler. “They usually just ask us a few questions about why we did what we did.”

“They take ages.” Dan peered down in the bag, searching for any more crisps, and hurled it into the dumpster when he found none.

“I’m sure it’ll be fast,” said Phil, hoping that it wouldn’t. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to going back to their flat and an argument.

Their phones buzzed. It was time.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” muttered Dan.

~~

Bryony was on them the instant that the glass door of the time machine slid open to let them out. Phil stepped over the barrier on the floor to meet her.

“Well done!” she said as soon as both of them had left the machine. “The repair’s been fixed wonderfully!”

“Of course it has,” Dan said, mock-haughtily. “You sent us, after all.”

She laughed and urged them both toward Louise and her piles of clothing in the corner. “Go on, get dressed and we’ll have a quick debrief so you can go home. I know you’re tired.”

It took her saying that for Phil to realize that he could feel the bone-deep weariness that weighed him down. These trips, no matter how short they’d stayed and how safe it was supposed to be, still ripped apart their molecules and completely put them back together again, twice in one day. It would take the stamina out of anyone. This was another reason why they could only do two trips a week, at maximum. If they did it more often, the very cells of their bodies wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“We might as well have worked a full day,” Dan agreed with Bryony. He accepted the pile of clothing that Louise shoved into his arms. She, or someone else, had set up the room divider in anticipation of their return. Phil watched him toss his phone to Bryony and duck behind the divider to change.

 “Thanks,” Phil said to Louise when she handed him his clothes. He gave his phone to Bryony, along with his glasses, and she left immediately to download the information that was recorded on them. His vision was blurred without glasses so he gingerly made his way behind the room divider to join Dan. He could easily have his eyes fixed, but no matter the safety guarantees, he still didn’t trust sharp instruments or lasers near his eyes.

“Hey,” said Dan. He sounded warm and close. Phil regretted taking off his glasses, suddenly. The blur of dark pants and bare chest a metre from him wasn’t something he ever wanted to miss. Dan moved closer, his shirt clutched in one hand, and came more clearly into focus. The bare skin of his chest and arms was golden and looked invitingly tantalizing.

“Put your shirt on,” Phil ordered, tearing his gaze from the dusky brown of Dan’s nipples. He could see Dan’s pout, but he didn’t argue, sliding the shirt over his head. Phil shoved his clothes into Dan’s arms and shrugged out of his own two shirts, shoes, and jeans he had been given before the mission. The socks joined them a moment later. He purposefully avoided Dan’s eyes, feeling the gaze heavy upon him as he took back the clothes he’d given Dan and swiftly pulled them on.

“Hmm,” said Dan when Phil was fully dressed. His tone was disapproving.

“Like what you saw?” Phil said, echoing Dan’s words from earlier that day.

“Hmm,” said Dan again. He pointed at the pile of clothes on the floor. “No.”

Phil felt a flush overtake his cheeks and he huffed, leaning to grab them. “Fine.” He turned and left Dan in the makeshift room, giving the clothes back to Louise and heading toward Bryony, who was back at her table. He could sense Dan behind him, but ignored him.

He almost tripped over the chair when he tried to sit down, yet managed after a moment of fumbling. “Did you download everything?”

Bryony snagged the frames from her tabletop and leaned toward him, offering them back to him. “Yeah, we got everything.” She watched him slide them on, shaking her head. “Honestly, Lester. You need to get the surgery so you’ll stop tripping over everything.”

“He’d trip over everything anyway,” said Dan. He had come up behind Phil, and his hands settled onto the back of the seat. His knuckles brushed against Phil’s shoulders and Phil was instantly irritated by the shiver that rippled through him at the touch.

He leaned forward in his seat. “So you said it was a success?”

“Yes!” Bryony confirmed. “It worked just as we’d planned. From our updated records, we can see that Ainslie went on to ask for the promotion that very afternoon. They went to their supervisor’s supervisor instead of their supervisor, and got the promotion immediately. In 2039 they became the CEO of the company and remained in that position for over fifteen years. That’s what was originally supposed to happen, before the time warp. Everything was fixed exactly as it was supposed to.”

“Great,” said Dan. Phil could hear the creak of his chair’s back as Dan’s hands tightened on it. “I liked them. I’m glad we fixed it.”

“So, yeah.” Her gaze seemed to flick between them. “I think we’ll finish this up tomorrow. I can tell you about your next mission then, too.”

Phil held back his urge to argue. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“You worked great together,” she said.

“We are professionals,” Dan said. His voice was lilted carefully. Phil wanted to stomp on his foot.

“Okay!” said Bryony. “Well.” She clearly had no idea what to do with the tension between her two agents. She handed their phones back instead of addressing it. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The chair squeaked as Phil stood. “See you.” He swiped a few times on his phone, summoning a vehicle to their location for pickup.

“Bye!” Dan offered to the room at large. Louise waved at both of them where she was rearranging the clothes and a few other techs in the room expressed farewells. Phil returned PJ’s waggle of his fingers from where he was sprawled across a machine, seemingly trying to repair it.

Dan and Phil left the way they had come in that morning, the hallway just as ugly and the lobby just as bland. Tyler wasn’t at his desk, but Phil had no doubts that he was still monitoring the room from his location. A car was idling on the kerb when they left the building, and this time, Phil got in first, sliding to the far edge of the seat and buckling in. He tensed up when Dan dropped into the seat beside him. He didn’t look forward to continuing their argument.

The AutoNav’s conversational warning about the vehicle being in motion didn’t register when Phil saw Dan’s lips purse together like he was about to say something.

“We’re not back yet,” Phil blurted before he could stop himself.

Dan’s eyes narrowed, but he slumped back against his seat and shook his head, accepting it. “Fine.”

The short ride back to the flat was utterly silent after that. Phil could see Dan, with one arm crossed across his chest and phone tucked against his elbow, tapping away at the screen. He wondered what Dan was playing, but chose to stare out the window at the passing buildings and scenery instead of asking him, like he usually would. The sky was almost the same colour as it had been that morning, but the sun had clearly travelled far, casting shadows in the opposite direction than earlier. It was obvious that over eight hours had passed since their drive in the morning.

The vehicle slowed and pulled over once they reached their destination. Phil leaned forward to tap his phone against the console and ignored the warnings about exiting the vehicle when he climbed out. Dan was right behind him.

It was still quiet when the door to the flat shut behind them. Dan toed his shoes off, eyeing Phil, and headed for the kitchen. Phil sighed and followed him.

“Well?” he said, right on Dan’s heels.

“What?” Dan didn’t look at him, yanking open cabinets and pulling out various items.

Phil shrugged, shoulders tight. He’d gotten past the point of wanting to avoid the topic and now he just wanted to get it over with. He leaned against the corner of one counter and watched Dan drop a bag of flour beside a mixing bowl. “You know what. Just because we’ve been acting normal all day doesn’t mean it’s fine. You’re obviously still upset with me.”

Dan seemed to coil like a wound spring at that, whirling to fix Phil with a harsh stare. “Obviously? Me? You’ve been tense the entire time we were at work and even Bryony picked up on it. You’re the one that said you didn’t want this,” he waved a hand between them, “to affect the mission.”

“It didn’t affect the mission. It worked.” Phil realized he had crossed his arms across his chest and made an effort to pull them down. They hung awkwardly at his sides now.

“Fuck the mission anyway,” Dan decided. “You know what I want to talk about.”

Phil felt himself rolling his eyes, not intentionally, but he didn’t resist it either. “Yeah, I know. Why can’t you just see it from my point of view? Why’s it all about you?”

“All about me?” Dan had thrown open the door to the fridge and he yanked out a carton of eggs. Phil winced as he smacked them down on the countertop. “This affects you too! Stop acting like it doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t affect me! I don’t even notice until you start complaining about it.”

“Exactly!” Dan stabbed a finger toward Phil. “That’s the problem! You don’t even fucking notice and it’s driving me insane. How do you not see it?”

This wasn’t a continuation of their argument, Phil realized. They were just repeating what they had said this morning, albeit with slightly less yelling now. He huffed and tried to re-organize his thoughts. “Look,” he said. “I’m trying, okay?”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” started Dan, but Phil threw up a hand to stop him.

“I’m trying,” he repeated. “I try to remember and I do it whenever I think about it. It’s just... it’s frustrating because you never notice when I actually do it, but you get upset whenever I forget.”

“You forget nine out of ten times,” said Dan, but he looked a little less angry and the lines around his eyes had smoothed somewhat. “Do you need fucking reminders to do it?”

Phil actually considered that. Of all their arguments about this, they’d rarely tried to bring up a solution for the problem. “That, uh... that might work.”

“Fine.” Dan abruptly turned back to his assembly on the counter. He pulled out a jug of milk and added it to the growing collection of food, movements sharp. “Make reminders. Make one for every two hours we’re home.”

“That seems excessive,” Phil stated, but was already pulling out his phone and tapping away at it.

“You’re excessive,” muttered Dan. There were a hundred innuendoes that sprang to Phil’s mind, but he suppressed them to avoid Dan’s ire. He hoped this idea would actually work. This was a constant argument, and if they could avoid it, it’d be better for both of them. His phone chimed with confirmation of the reminders he’d set.

“Good,” said Dan, recognizing the noise. He slapped a whisk down onto the counter. Phil could see him grimacing as he looked down at it. Some things were better left unremembered. “Come help me make dinner, idiot.”

Phil scoffed at the insult, but he felt a pressure ease off his chest. The insults were practically pet names that Dan used, but he never said them during an argument. The use of one was a clear indicator that Dan, though he might still be irritated, considered the conflict resolved, at least for now. Phil joined Dan beside the pile of ingredients, accepting the tin of baking powder that Dan handed him. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“But.” Phil blinked. “I love pancakes.”

“Oh, do you?” The sarcasm was clear. Dan’s dimple winked at Phil every time Dan spoke. “I didn’t know. You’ve certainly never ranted to me for hours on end about them.”

Phil couldn’t stop himself. With a hand centred on Dan’s chest, he pushed him back against the counter and crowded up against him. Dan didn’t resist. Their hips fit snugly together and Phil rested a hand against Dan’s neck, brushing a thumb over the soft line of his jaw. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that he had Dan sufficiently trapped. Emotions welled in his throat, choking him. This day had been a roller coaster of feelings. “God, Dan. You…”

“I’m the best,” Dan offered. He shifted against Phil’s weight, leaning an elbow back on the counter. “You’re a twat, we both know - oh.”

Phil leaned in closer, closer... and he bit Dan’s cheek, pressing his teeth against the indentation of Dan’s dimple. The skin was soft beneath his lips.

“Ow,” said Dan, but he didn’t push Phil away. He seemed satisfied to let Phil nip at the hollow in his cheek. Phil pushed his thumb against the dip, driving it deeper, and bit it once more, then let his tongue dart out to lick at it. He only stopped when the skin around the dimple looked flushed and wet under his touch, and then he rocked back onto his heels with a noise of satisfaction.

“You’re a fucking weirdo,” said Dan fondly. He reached up to wipe at his cheek.

“Yeah.” Phil wasn’t going to argue with that.

Dan did shove Phil back now, his expression amused. “Come on, let’s make pancakes.”

And they did.

[sassyshoulderangel319]

Karaoke Date

So my last two MLQC one-shots went from really long to fairly short and this one is solidly in the middle. I recently had a lot of professional musicians tell me I have a good singing voice so this just felt like a lot of fun.

I was sitting in my office when my phone rang. Glancing at the Caller ID and contact photo, Kiro’s smiling face and bright eyes were looking back at me. I picked it up. “Hey Kiro,” I greeted.

“Miss Chips!” Kiro replied happily, like he didn’t think I would answer. I chuckled.

“What can I help you with?”

“I came up with a brilliant idea! Hear me out,” he said dramatically. “You and me: karaoke!”

I blinked. “Uh… Kiro?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a superstar. Why would you even think that’s a good idea? You get mobbed stepping out your front door. Putting you on a stage in some bar under a bright spotlight and singing a song—even if it’s not one of yours—would be the biggest security risk I can think of. Your agent would kill me if I let you—”

“But that’s the thing! There’s this new karaoke place in town where you’re in individual rooms but your microphone is projected into all the other ones. You can lock the door and sing completely anonymously. I could go in there and sing someone else’s song and no one would know it’s me!”

“I’m pretty sure everyone would know it’s you because they can, y’know, recognize your voice… but I guess you have a point.”

“So you’ll go with me?”

“Sure.”

“Great! I’m gonna come pick you up from work tonight if that’s okay!”

I smiled. “That’s just fine. I’ll be waiting for you.” If that wasn’t the motivation I needed to get everything done in the set work schedule today rather than going overtime, I wasn’t sure what was.

“Why are you smiling, bossman?” Kiki asked.

“A friend is picking me up for karaoke after work,” I said. I purposely left Kiro’s name out of the conversation because I knew Kiki wanted me to date him and I didn’t want her to have a full-scale squeal-fest in the middle of the office when it was this early in the morning.

“Oh have fun!” Kiki said.

“I will. Definitely.”

*****

“Good evening, Miss Chips. Your chariot awaits,” Kiro said, opening the car door for me. It was a nice car—not as expensive as Victor’s but still a piece of art on wheels. He had on a hat and hipster glasses, covering his blond hair and bright eyes, as well as baggy, dark clothes. His jewelry was still the same but I’d only ever seen him without his earrings once or twice, and never without his ring. Not even at the summit. How that hadn’t given him away, I’d never figured that out. Maybe the people at the summit weren’t looking for his telltale styles.

“Hi, Ki—” I greeted, cutting myself off from saying his name. I ducked into his car. “What should I call you tonight?”

He shut the car door once he made sure I was safely in and jogged around the hood to the driver’s side. He slid in himself, so fast he nearly knocked his hat off. He gave me a dazzling smile. “I think tonight I should be… Lee. Just Lee.”

I smiled. “Okay. Lee. How was your day?”

“Long and exhausting, but I’m all better for seeing you.”

What an absolute sweetheart. “Aw. Thanks. I’m better for seeing you too.”

He beamed at me and we drove off. The radio was playing classical music, strings and winds running around each other, competing for dominance and then blending together in a perfect choir.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Kiro said.

“I’m just… listening to the music. I figured you were more of a pop radio guy.”

He snorted. “Just because I sing that stuff doesn’t mean I like listening to it in the car. Classical is so much more interesting. Have you read sheet music?”

“All the time,” I said. “I’m a pianist. And I play the cello a little.”

“Yeah. So you see my point. Pop music is so boring from a sheet music perspective.”

“I agree,” I said, thinking back on when Anna bought me a book of the most popular music of the year for piano and the music was waaay below my skill level and so simple I didn’t even need the music to figure it out by ear.

“Finally. Usually people seem shocked that my own genre isn’t my favorite,” Kiro remarked.

“Well we’re all more complex than people tend to think. We like to put things in boxes, but people never fit in boxes,” I said. Kiro hummed in agreement and kept driving. I realized he was a much safer driver than any other guy I’d been in the car with recently—except maybe Lucien. Gavin was reckless and Victor drove so fast—but Kiro was pretty cautious. I got the feeling that maybe he didn’t drive very often.

We got to the karaoke place in good time. I handled the check-in while Kiro stood just slightly behind me, not making eye contact with anyone but holding my hand. We were escorted to a private room. There was a tablet set into the wall where we could make song selections and order food and stuff.

Kiro locked the door and winked at me. “Don’t wanna be caught by any fans,” he whispered before examining the equipment. There was a bright smile on his face. “Ah, man! It’s been so long since I did something silly and normal like this!”

“Well let’s not waste time, then,” I said, crossing to the tablet set into the wall. “Let’s see… how about…” I started listing off his own song titles with a playful grin on my face. Kiro came up behind me, his torso pressing against my side and one hand resting on my shoulder to read past me.

“No way am I doing one of my own songs. That’s how I get caught,” he said.

I giggled—I couldn’t help it. “I knooow. I’m just playing with you.”

He tsked. “How rude, Miss Chips,” he teased.

I snorted. “How about this one?” I gestured to a song title. “I mean, if you want to do a duet.”

“Of course I do! I can’t wait to hear how good you are!”

I laughed. “Hold your horses, tiger. I can carry a tune but I’m nowhere near your level, Mr. Superstar.”

Before I could say anything else, Kiro reserved the song for us. The tablet gave off instructions so we’d know when it was our turn. Someone else’s slightly-off-key singing was echoing over our speakers. We turned it down a little so we could talk.

We just chatted for a few minutes. There were only two songs before us, according to the queue on the tablet screen.

When we got to be on-deck, Kiro and I took our microphones.

He looked at me as the guitar began. “Tell me somethin’ girl… are you tired of this modern world…” He had such a beautiful, crisp, clear voice. It captivated me and pulled me right in. I stared at those bright blue eyes and could have gone for a swim in them. He sounded incredible. I wondered if anyone recognized his voice.

He sang it better than the original recording with What’s-His-Face. Maybe I just like singing something straight—without overdoing the stylization. Kiro didn’t bother with fancy riffs or vibrato.

It was my turn to pick up with the female part. I cleared my throat away from the mic and then held it close. “Tell me somethin’ boy… aren’t you tired of tryna fill that void…” I started quiet but confident. I knew the lyrics—and even if I didn’t, they were on the huge TV screen that was meant for karaoke. Kiro stared back at me, both of us just holding the other’s gaze.

For the life of me, I couldn’t read his expression.

I held the mic slightly farther away from my mouth so I could let out my full belt. I’d always spoken with a loud voice and accompanying that was a singing voice that could fill a Broadway theater. I’d been taught how to sing quietly, but letting loose felt so much better.

“I’M OFF THE DEEP AND WATCH AS I DIVE IN—I’LL NEVER MEET THE GROU-OU-OUND!”

Kiro stared at me with his jaw going slack. I felt my ears reddening and my voice wavered as though I was performing in front of an audience looking right at me instead of just Kiro.

But he picked up the harmonies perfectly when he was supposed to come in, and he knew them. He didn’t even look at the lyrics on screen. Neither did I. We didn’t need them. I did the vocalization in the middle, slowly building up the volume and then repeated the refrain. Kiro added the harmonies again.

I didn’t realize until the song petered out a few seconds later that we were standing within inches of each other. His warm breath brushed over my face.

I put the mic back on its stand. Kiro did the same. After a few moments, another song started up, signaling to us that our equipment had been turned off. Kiro immediately grabbed my arms with a massive smile on his face.

“Miss Chips!” he exclaimed. “That was amazing! Why didn’t you tell me that you could sing like that! You should come on stage at my next concert!”

I shook my head. “Oh no. I don’t sing in front of crowds that big. I don’t… sing in front of crowds, period. But thanks, Kiro.”

He fell onto the couch in our little room. “I cannot believe you never told me you were that good! You should be in front of the camera as a star—not behind it producing.”

I chuckled and crossed over, standing next to him but turned slightly toward the tablet screen so I could look at the food menu and the other songs. “But I like my job,” I said.

He leaned forward, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me down onto the sofa.

Except he misjudged the angle and I ended up falling right across his lap with a, “Whoa—WHOA!”

He caught me with a hearty laugh. “Whoops! Sorry,” he said, sounding entirely and genuinely unapologetic. But the sparkle in his eyes dissolved my irritation completely.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“We need to make this a regular thing. Come and do karaoke. I can’t go the rest of my life never hearing you sing ever again—you sound so good!”

“Kiro…”

“I’m serious, Miss Chips. It can be our little getaway thing. Or you can come to my place any time you wanna practice. I just… I’ve discovered my new favorite artist,” he said.

I snorted. “Thanks,” I muttered.

He brushed a few strands of my hair out of my face, eyes peering deep into my soul with earnest affection. We froze right there for several moments, someone singing what could have been Welcome to the Black Parade in one of the other rooms. The song was fuzzy though, tuned out as we focused solely on each other.

Heat spread over my face, originating from my ears and crawling down my neck too.

So many thoughts swirled through my head all at once that I couldn’t make sense of any of them. One of them, though, rang out loud and clear, like a bell, as I stared at Kiro’s smiling eyes.

I love you.

The thought pulled me up short and my face got even hotter. I must have been turning bright red. I slowly picked my way off Kiro’s lap and went back to the tablet screen. “Want to get something to eat?” I asked. “I’m hungry.” I hoped that would be the end of it. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the moment but… I wasn’t ready to say those three words out loud yet. Kiro was… a great guy and I really liked him but he was so busy all the time. I didn’t know if I wanted to get involved in a relationship with a superstar.

If there was ever a way to get thrust into the spotlight without being a public artist myself, that was it.

“Something wrong?” Kiro asked gently at the sudden change.

“No. Just hungry. Haven’t eaten since noon and it’s…” I glanced at the clock on the tablet screen. “Holy—wow. It’s seven-PM. No wonder I’m getting a little woozy. I haven’t eaten in forever.”

Kiro pressed against my side again as I browsed the food menu. We picked what to eat and I returned to the sofa. Kiro stayed at the tablet for a second though, scrolling through songs.

“Wow,” he said. “They have a lot of my songs here.”

I snickered. “Everyone loves your songs and wants to sing them, I guess,” I said.

He turned and fell back onto the sofa next to me. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No!”

“Well—it’s just—you just—you went all red and got up like I… like I did something wrong.”

“It was nothing you did, I promise,” I said. “It was just… I felt like you were looking right into my soul. I psyched myself out.”

Kiro smiled. “Maybe I was looking into your soul,” he teased.

I defaulted to playful mode to get over the awkward. “Oh yeah? Did you like what you saw?”

He leaned incredibly close to me. “I loved it,” he said seriously, so breathy it was almost a whisper. Immediately my heart hammered against my sternum so hard I thought it might break my ribs.

There was that piercing look again. The one where he was seeing the contents of my heart and soul laid bare. He was so close that if I barely shifted forward I could kiss him.

Over the speakers, someone was singing one of Kiro’s love songs—one I’d listened to… way too many times. Especially on days I was feeling lonely or down on myself. It was hard, even over a recording, not to feel like Kiro was singing right to my heart. Singing for me and only me.

And I’m sure everyone who listened to that song felt the same way.

The karaoke singer definitely didn’t have the nuance of Kiro’s voice, nor Kiro’s charm, but they sounded good.

But all of that was at the very back of my mind while the artist himself was looking at me like he was trying to shine his sunlight on the deepest, darkest depths of my heart.

And there was that thought again, amongst the too-fast swirling other thoughts.

I love you.

Feeling impulsive—and knowing we had quite a while to wait for food to come—i leaned forward, closing the distance between us.

He met me with enthusiasm, his fingers sliding into my hair. I felt the ring on his right finger brush my left earlobe. My nose was squished against his cheek, letting me smell his skin. I couldn’t tell if I recognized his aftershave or not but it had a sharp sweetness to it.

Just like him.

His fingers flexed in my hair, pulling me even closer to him. I relaxed against him, letting him take the lead.

“I love you,” I breathed against his lips. “I’ve fallen for you hard. And I don’t intend to try to get up.”

He chuckled, his eyelashes brushing my cheek, not pulling away from me either. “I love you too,” he replied. “Every love song I ever wrote pales in comparison to how I actually feel for you. I never had the proper experience to write about being in love accurately until I fell for you.”

[beckzorz]

Out of Nowhere (6/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Words: 2702 A/N: The song for this chapter is “Chant in the Night” by Professor Cunningham And His Old School from The Rhythm Method. The plot thickens this chapter; buckle up!!! Hope you enjoy :3

PART 6: “CHANT IN THE NIGHT”

By the time Jesse got home from work on Monday, Bucky was due for lesson planning in less than fifteen minutes. The effects of Marilyn’s prolonged absence from the office were starting to take root. Between that and her own lingering anxiety about last Friday morning, Jesse had stayed late once again to finish everything on her plate. She hadn’t succeeded, but she had to get home to meet Bucky. Work would have to wait.

Jesse scurried around the apartment, trying to meet her guest-coming-over cleanliness standard. She cleaned the toilet—her skin crawled at the memory of dunking her arm—and did a hasty sweep of the bathroom and kitchen to pick up anything that had accumulated in the corners. Were the surfaces clear enough? The papers on the coffee table were in a single pile, and the top was just a shopping list—perfectly uninformative and bland. The counters were clean, with just a few dishes in the dishrack, but she ran her squeegee across the counter to get any crumbs in the sink.

The buzzer rang; Jesse froze with squeegee in hand. She quickly brushed the crumbs into the sink and ran to the buzzer unit on her wall.

“Hello?” she said into the speaker.

“It’s me.”

Bucky.

An unbidden smile appeared on her face as she pressed the button to let him in, and then she turned around and flinched. She still needed to do a few things—close Fran’s door, run the sink to get rid of the crumbs. A knock at the door came as she was closing her own bedroom door, and she dashed to turn off the sink before opening the door.

There he was. Bucky was typing something on his phone—a grammatical monstrosity of a text? She couldn’t tell. He was dressed similarly to that time at the coffee shop, with a baseball hat and a long shirt that didn’t quite disguise his musculature. Jesse tried not to stare. Fortunately, he finished typing in a moment. Bucky put his phone in his pocket and gave a tight smile.

“Sorry,” he said as he came inside. “It couldn’t wait.”

Jesse locked the door. “If it’s urgent, we can reschedule…”

“No, no.” Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the partition wall between the kitchen and living room. His smile was lighter now. “Not that kind of urgent.”

“Good, I hope!” Jesse said. She bit the inside of her lip. She usually asked people to take off their shoes, but Bucky was wearing combat boots, of all things. Better not. “How are you?”

“Alive,” he said.

She snorted. “I feel that. Haven’t slept properly in days.”

“No?” Bucky tilted his head and fixed his eyes on hers. Worry wrinkled his brow. The concern written on his face sent a swoop through her; she swallowed.

“No,” Jesse repeated. She went to grab a cup of water; it wasn’t hot in the apartment, so why was she so warm? “Want something to drink?”

“I’m good. What’s up with your sleeping?”

Jesse fiddled in her freezer for ice cubes. Did she dare tell him about the scare last Thursday? She was pretty sure it was just a case of a distorted memory, but… No, no, Bucky didn’t need to hear about her problems. He never shared his with her. The least she could do was follow his lead.

“Just had some bad nights, I guess. I think I screwed my schedule up with all the late evenings.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Once she’d filled her cup, Jesse turned to look at him, but he’d left his perch by the wall. She made her way into the living room and saw Bucky inspecting the photo arrangement over the couch. He’d left his hat on the coffee table; she could see his whole face now, and he was frowning.

“Who is this?” He pointed to one of the many pictures with Fran.

“Oh, that’s my roommate. His photos have the gold frames. Mine are all silver.”

“Huh.” Bucky studied the photos for another minute, then turned to her with his face set with determination. “So what’s the plan?”

“Let me pull up what I’ve got, and we can go over it…”

Jesse grabbed her laptop and opened the document her college friend had sent. She talked Bucky through the different steps—warm-up, introduction, basic footwork, open position, closed position, dancing together, so on and so forth—and Jesse tested out various wordings for explaining the different motions and moves before typing it out in the lesson plan document. Bucky just typed, but he didn’t edit at all. Jesse looked over his work whenever he tilted the screen in her direction, but it was always solidly done. He must have had a lot of practice planning without making a sound.

It only took about an hour and a half to get through two lessons. Getting through the basics for total beginners didn’t exactly go at a clipping pace.

“Hopefully the kids are as enthusiastic as the ones from your other workshop,” Jesse said. She scratched the back of her neck. All the dance lessons she’d taken involved willing participants; plopping into a middle school to teach unsuspecting preteens wasn’t necessarily going to go so smoothly.

“Enthusiasm is catchy.” Bucky typed up his last comments. He shut the laptop and set it aside on the coffee table, then leaned his elbows on his knees and smiled ruefully at her. His eyes were bright, open. “You do a good job of it.”

Jesse snorted and propped her feet on the coffee table. “You haven’t seen me in front of a crowd.”

“I bet you could fake it,” he said.

“If I can, so could you,” she countered with a cheeky smile. “At least, I suspect so.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s lips twitched, though he wasn’t smiling yet.

“I’ve seen you smile before,” she teased. “Properly, I mean.”

Bucky laughed out loud. Still grinning, Jesse surreptitiously studied the laugh lines on his face. For all his reserve, he was able to smile around her, and now laugh. How had she gotten so lucky? How many people could say they’d seen Bucky Barnes laugh because of them?

Not many.

He stood up and headed to the door, still chuckling. “We’ll find out when we get started,” he said. He unlocked the deadbolt and turned back to her. “Should we meet again before then?”

“Marilyn wanted at least five lesson plans set before we start,” Jesse told him.

“I’ll be out of town for at least part of the week,” Bucky said, his expression more serious than before.

“Okay.” Jesse’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, though she tried not to let it show. Out of town doing what? Did he have some work—dangerous work? Would he be okay? Would he come back? Or was he just going off to visit a friend? Did he have friends? She clenched her teeth against the avalanche of questions building in her brain. “How about next Sunday morning?”

He pulled out his phone again. “Should work. Here again?”

“Ye—no, we should take advantage of bagels,” Jesse decided. “There’s a great bagel place on Prospect Park West, two blocks south of the park.”

“Fine,” Bucky said. He pulled on his cap, shielding his eyes from her. “Ten okay?”

“Works for me.”

Bucky opened the door and tilted his head up to look her in the face without his hat obstructing his vision. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a softness in his blue eyes that set her heart beating fast. “Good luck sleeping.” He slipped out and shut the door.

Jesse sat on the arm of her couch and fell back onto the couch, feet dangling. All things considered, that had gone awfully well. She’d made him smile; she’d made him laugh. He’d looked more carefree in that moment, with his hair tucked back behind one ear and his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, than anyone she’d ever seen. How could he consider anything he did normal? He was extraordinary, every step of the way.

—

    Today, 9:08 PM

itsadrian: i finally beat that game!!! jesse.kaplan: nice!! jesse.kaplan: did it have a good ending? itsadrian: surprisingly, yes itsadrian: i was def expecting some cop outs on the tough stuff, but nope itsadrian: they did a good jesse.kaplan: haha, good! itsadrian: what are you up to tonight? jesse.kaplan: picking up my takeout jesse.kaplan: I had a late meeting itsadrian: what for? jesse.kaplan: dancing stuff itsadrian: uh huh… itsadrian: with someone in particular? :P

—

Jesse couldn’t help the smile on her face as she stuffed her phone back in her purse. Adrian had the subtlety of a ton of bricks. Jesse wasn’t sure if she was smiling over fondness for Adrian or because of someone in particular, as Adrian had put it. Adrian usual made her smile, but so could Bucky, when he wasn’t awkward or frightening. Which was more and more, lately.

She crossed the street, and from there it was steps to the Chinese restaurant. Jesse went in and gave her name at the counter, but the cashier frowned at her.

“Someone picked that up already,” he said.

Jesse’s eyebrows went up. “What?”

“Sweet and sour chicken and veggie dumplings for Jesse?”

“Yes, that was for me,” Jesse said. “Steamed dumplings.” Her stomach growled, and the cashier winced.

“Someone picked that up a few minutes ago,” he said. “He knew the order, so I assumed… Even the steamed bit. One sec.”

He went back into the kitchen and started speaking Chinese to the chef. Jesse turned away, lips pursed and stomach panging. Of all the nights! She was already starving. And the news on the tv over the other wall was full of disturbing stories again.

    [ A Brooklyn woman has returned home after     [ five 5 days missing. Authorities report th

The cashier came back quickly, and Jesse turned away from the tv.

“We’ll get another order made up right away. So sorry,” the cashier said.

“Thanks,” Jesse said. She made her way to the counter and stools by the front window and perched there, frowning at the other patrons.

What the hell? This was bizarre. She’d been coming here at least once a month for the last year and a half, and nothing like this had ever happened before. She’d always called in an order, waltzed in fifteen minutes later, and picked it up. Boom, done. How had someone gotten their order mixed up with hers? Was there another Jesse out there with the same tastes?

No, that couldn’t be it. If that was the case, there would be a second order that she could take instead. Someone knew her order. Despite the heat of the restaurant, Jesse couldn’t help the chill that ran up her spine. She adjusted her gray dress over her leggings self-consciously. How could someone have known her order? She’d called in it at home—from her bedroom, no less.

Her stomach dropped; she rubbed her right arm, trying to get rid of the phantom feeling of wetness there. Did this have something to do with last Friday? She’d been working hard to convince herself the toilet and all the rest had been nothing, just a series of happenstances she’d brought about herself, but now… Now she was back to square one. She couldn’t figure a way for this to have been a coincidence, or anything else she could explain away. Her order was specific enough—steamed dumplings weren’t even on the menu! She’d asked for them special. How could someone have known that without listening in on her? Could they have read the receipt on her takeaway bag? She glanced behind the counter, but the completed orders were off in the kitchen with the orders obscured by a pile of unassembled boxes.

So. Someone was listening in on her. How? Something in her apartment, or just hacking the phone lines? If there had been a break-in last week, she knew which was more likely, but she was less and less certain of the truth. Nothing made any sense. Who would spy on a conversation just to steal some takeout? Or was this about something else?

Was this… about Bucky?

Jesse’s eyes prickled; she pressed her lips together and stared at the ceiling. God, let it not be about Bucky. She shuddered a little and pulled her phone from her purse. The blank screen stared up at her.

Should she text him? Call him, even? No, she couldn’t do that. They weren’t on calling terms. And if he wasn’t traveling, he was alone, enjoying some privacy. Jesse shoved her phone back in her purse and crossed her arms tight over her chest. She was supposed to be a normal thing in his life. He’d looked so pleased at the possibility. They’d toasted to it, together. If she couldn’t give him normalcy, what good was she?

Her stomach growled again. Jesse grimaced. She needed a plan, one that didn’t involve Bucky. She still had no idea where he lived, but she doubted he lived close enough to actually be of help. The closest police station was less than a mile away. She could go there—get an Uber, a cab, whatever came first.

But first, food.

She waited there for another five minutes, her whole body tense and her purse clutched tight on her lap. The place got a little busy at one point, and a stocky man bumped into her, poking her arm with his keys. He apologized, but Jesse just gave a tight smile and went to sit further away from the door.

When her food was finally ready, the cashier brought it out to her with a tense smile. “Sorry about that,” he said. “We threw in some egg rolls for free.”

A smile ghosted past Jesse’s lips as she took the stapled back from him. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Sorry for the confusion.”

Jesse slid off her chair and stumbled. The waiter grabbed her by the arm.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said quickly. She pulled away, stood up straight, and rolled each ankle. “Just sat still for too long! I’m calling a cab, so no worries.”

Jesse gingerly sat back down and called a cab line. She kept an eye out of the front window, though exhaustion was catching up with her fast. Her vision was beginning to blur, and her limbs were tired. She blinked rapidly and pinched her arm.

A cab pulled up to the restaurant, and Jesse perked up in relief. She slid carefully off the high stool and made her way outside. She tried to pull open the back door of the cab, but her hands were as compliant as wet rags. The driver turned in his seat to raise his eyebrows at her, and Jesse gave a harried, apologetic smile and tried again. This time even her wrists didn’t engage.

“Let me help.”

Jesse turned her head and blinked groggily up at the same stocky man who’d bumped into her a few minutes before. He put a hand on her elbow to move her a little out of the way, and Jesse sucked in a harsh breath. Keys? He hadn’t bumped into her with keys! He’d done something to her! She tried to pull away, but all her strength had seeped away. Keeping herself upright was almost more than she could manage, but she shook her arm as much as she could, heart racing.

“Dun touch me!” Jesse meant to shout, but her words were barely a groan.

The stocky man ignored her. He opened the door and maneuvered her inside, then slid in beside her. The moment he closed the door, the driver peeled away from the curb.

“No,” Jesse mumbled. Her vision was fading. She tried to fumble for the phone in her purse, but the stocky man beside her easily pulled both her bags out of her reach. He patted her shoulder consolingly as he worked the takeaway bag open. Jesse’s head drooped, and before her eyes slid shut she saw him pulling out an egg roll.

“Relax, Jesse,” he said. Jesse heard him take a crunchy bite and swallow. “Just relax.”

[little-fandom]

This Wonderful Time Of The Year

Even if you're a centuries old Warlock, there are still new things to try awaiting you.

When Alec finds out that Magnus has never been ice skating, he offers to teach him. Magnus is of course helpless to refuse his boyfriend, so he agrees. Turns out it's more difficult than he thought, since he and Alec also set up a 'no magic, no runes' rule...

Or, basically a fluff, where Alec for once gets to teach his boyfriend some skills, and not the other way around.

read on ao3

“So… you’ve never done this?” Alec asks, as Magnus puts their mugs full of hot chocolate on the table, and sits down on the couch next to him.

“No, I actually haven’t.” Magnus admits and notices that this slight look of surprise is still covering Alec’s face. “Why are you so surprised about this?” He asks as he narrows his eyes.

“Well…” Alec starts as he shrugs lightly. “You’re an all-powerful Warlock, you’re literally hundreds years old… and you haven’t been ice skating even once?”

Magnus just sighs as he leans on the couch.

“I haven’t don’t a lot of things…” He tries for a casual tone.

Alec just throws him and unimpressed glare.

“Like what?” He prompts, eyes still fixated on his boyfriend.

And as Magnus tries to think… he comes out empty. True, he is centuries old, been around the world more than once, met lots of people, tired lots of things… but turns out, that even if you are hundred years old, there are still some practices left. There was no way he would try everything the world offers, but such simple thing as ice skating… it seems like he should have tried it ages ago, but somehow, he hasn’t.

“There just always were more important things to do, I guess.” He states simply.

Alec throws the blanket that’s he’s been covered with over his boyfriend and snuggles closer to him, picking up their mugs of hot chocolate and handing Magnus one.

“That’s fine.” He says as he leans to kiss him on a cheek. “Have you ever wanted to try tho?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.” Magnus declares as he takes a sip of his drink. “Sure, it looks cool and everything, but I didn’t think it was kind of my thing.” He tries to extricate himself.

“Why?” Alec questions. He can totally imagine Magnus on the ice. He’d probably move just as gracefully as he always does. “Are you afraid of falling down on your ass?” He teases.

“No,” Magnus spats him on the arm lightly. “I don’t know. Maybe…”

“The High Warlock of Brooklyn scared of a fall!” Alec continues in a playful tone, putting a hand on his chest and pretended that he’s shocked.”

“Hey, stop this.” A little smile is creeping onto Magnus’ face, as he throws a pillow at Alec, but the Shadowhunter swiftly ducks his head avoiding it. “I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate me hurting my backside just as much as I do.” He states with a smirks and Alec rolls his eyes with a grin. “And by the way, how come you had done this?” Magnus asks then. “I thought you Shadowhunter don’t really engage into any kind of Christmas attractions.”

“Well, we usually don’t.” Alec agrees. “But Izzy has been dragging me to the ice rink since we were kids, and it kind of stuck with us as our tradition.” He recalls with a smile. “We were terrible at the beginning, even if we used our runes, but after a few times we got the hang of it. Later, Jace joined and we taught him.”

“That sounds wonderful, darling.” Magnus says with a soft smile, reaching for Alec’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

“So I thought that maybe we could go together this year.” Alec suggests. “But it’s fine, if you don’t want to-“

“No, angel I’d love to.” Magnus quickly interrupts, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. “But I also want you to have fun. And you won’t if you’ll waste the whole time just teaching me-“

“What are you talking about?” Alec shakes his head lightly. “That would be the best part! Since I was older, I learnt quicker than Izzy, so I used to teach her. I loved it.” He adds with a smile.

“Or, you just want to pride yourself on that, that you can do something better than me.” Magnus teases and smirks at him.

“Well… maybe.” Alec says with a playful grin spreading on his face. It doesn’t happen often, that he had done something before Magnus did it. Alec has tried more new things in that few months since they got together than in his whole life. But it feels kinds nice, to have this kind of advantage of Magnus in this one thing. He wonders if his boyfriend always feels like this with him…

“But I’m no pro.” He carries on then. “Just so you know. I can skate, but it’s not gonna be too flowing. Not any of the figure skating stuff you see on TV.”

“Oh, and I was just beginning to hope.” Magnus pouts jokingly.

Alec just rolls his eyes, but smiles as he asks again.

“So, you’re agreeing?”

And who is Magnus to refuse, when his amazing boyfriend is looking at him with his puppy eyes, and this beautiful, soft smile.

“Sure, darling.”

Alec beams, even if he tries to hide it behind the mug he’s holding.

“Okay,” He starts after taking another sip of his drink. “we can go tomorrow, if you’re not busy.”

“I think I might find a few hours for you, my dear.” Magnus states as he brushes Alec’s hair out of his forehead.

“Great.” Alec resorts as Magnus’ palm wanders to cup his cheek and he kisses it lightly. “One more thing.”

Magnus raises a questioning eyebrow at him, and Alec leans a bit closer as he continues.

“No magic.” Alec orders solidly. “That would be just cheating.”

This kind of ruins Magnus’ subtle plan, but he knows that Alec will spot every time he tries to use magic. They’ve grown to know each other’s every move. Alec knows when Magnus is about to snap his fingers, or flick his wrist. They often use this well- trained body language knowledge in fights, but it’s actually more fun to just be able to use it in more domestic or intimate moments.

So there’s actually no other thing left to do, than to agree with his Shadowhunter.

“All right.” Magnus agrees. “But if you get to make a condition, then I have a right to make mine.”

“Name it.” Alec simply says with a shrug.

“No runes.” Magnus grins and Alec nearly snorts.

“Never. That’s how the tradition goes.”

Magnus just smiles wider and puts his mug down on the coffee table, opening his arms so Alec knows to scoop closer. His boyfriend just hugs him tightly, settling comfortably in his lover’s embrace, looking as pleased as ever, tilting his chin up to soon receive a soft kiss on his lips.

Magnus snaps his fingers and a second later content flames appear in the fireplace. And it’s an evening like many, but still it feels wonderful with Alexander curled up to his side, watching as the snowflakes begin to fall down on their balcony.

 The weather is beautiful as they walk together in Central Park, nearly reaching the ice rink. It’s a bit cold, but not freezing and any chill is reduced by Alec’s warm hand in his. As they walk, the Shadowhunter can’t really hide the excitement as he talks enthusiastically to his boyfriend.

“I’m so glad you agreed to go.” He says and smiles softly at Magnus. “I haven’t done that since last year, but it’s so much fun, trust me. I hope you’ll like it.”

It’s actually their first winter, and first Christmas together, and Magnus was quite curious of how Alec’s acts around this time of the year. As a Shadowhunter, he never really participated in most of the Christmas traditions, since this apparently isn’t a Shadowhunters’ thing. But Magnus was quite surprised to find out how much Alec knows about Christmas. Just last week they decorated the Christmas tree at the loft, and hung around all the decorations. Next week, they’re planning to bake some gingerbreads, and there’s still a tone of gifts to wrap before Christmas Day.

But he’d never would have thought, that Alec was the one for ice skating.

And he can’t help to feel quite nervous, because he’s never done this. And there are rarely things he hasn’t done. And what if he’s terrible at it? Will Alec laugh and make fun of him? But actually at this point, he doesn’t really care. He feels comfortable around Alexander, and if he was to make a fool of himself in front of anybody, Alec would be the best choice.

Alec helps him to tie the skates and he already almost falls just standing from the bench they were sitting on. His boyfriend only chuckles, but offers his hand, and together they make it to the entrance of the rink.

It’s not really crowded, since it’s the middle of the week, and at this hour some people might still be at work. But with Alec’s schedule cleared for the few hours and Magnus’ clients postponed till the next day, it’s the only time that works for them today. But Magnus is glad, since they have more space. He feels confident that he can make it.

Until his first foot touches the ice.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea, Alexander.” He states with a slightly panicked expression, but Alec just tugs at his hand, and gets him fully out on the ice.

“Why?” He just questions with a soft smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” Magnus still doesn’t look convinced, so he adds. “I’ll be holding your hand the whole time. Don’t worry I won’t let you fall.”

Magnus reciprocates his smile and nods lightly and lets Alec lead him further on the ice.

He feels quite unsteady, but if he wobbles Alec steadies him with a firm grip on his arm or waist. It’s actually kinda fun, he needs to admit. But they’re going really slow for now, and as Alec starts to skate faster, he grows a bit hesitant again.

“Maybe you should… slow down?” He suggests, but Alec shakes his head as he turns to skate backwards, taking the whole of both of Magnus’ hands.

“Why?” He grins.

“I don’t know,” Magnus starts as he almost loses balance again. “since I’m still new to this.”

“You’re doing great.” Alec states, but he still proceeds to go faster.

“Alexander, seriously-“ He doesn’t even get to finish, before his foot slips and he falls on the ice bringing Alec with him.

Fortunately, he lands half on top of his boyfriend, so they landing wasn’t that bad.

“Sorry…” He begins, but Alec just starts laughing as he sits up, whisking away some snow from his hands.

“Falling is a part of learning.” He resorts with a shrug, and Magnus chuckles too.

“Are you okay though?” The Warlock asks, still a bit concerned. “You practically eased my landing.”

“I’m perfect.” Alec states simply and leans in to peck him on the lips. Then he swiftly gets up and holds out his hands to Magnus. “First fall, checked. Now probably a dozen more left.” He grins and Magnus almost whines as he gets up.

So they get up, go another few loops around, this time slower, since Magnus doesn’t want to know how it feels to fall fully on the ice. He still does, but Alec is always there to catch him, or pull him back up. Magnus feels like he’s actually doing some progress, and Alec still keeps giving him some useful tips, that he’s trying to implement.

“Try not to tear the foot so fast from the ice, it will make your strides longer.” He instructs and Magnus attempts to do as he says. “See, you’re actually getting the hang of it!” He exclaims happily, as he moves swiftly to skate on Magnus’ left side, still holding his hand.

After they finish anther turn, Magnus wobbly gets to balustrade and leans on it as he turns to Alec again.

“Go,” He gestures with his hand at the ice rink, but Alec just looks at him a bit confused. “I can see that you’re going slow for me, just go, skate have some fun.”

“This is fun.” Alec states simply and Magnus rolls his eyes.

“Go.” He repeats and smiles at his boyfriend. “I’ll be pretty content here, just watching you.”

“Already getting tired, Warlock.” Alec teases as he starts to skate backwards again, towards the middle of the ice rink.

“You bet.” Magnus smirks back at him.

“I’ll be back for you after this lap.” He declares and Magnus blows him a kiss as he skates away.

Alec said he wasn’t a pro, but Magnus sees kind of the opposite. He skates lightly, but surely. He swiftly takes turns or changes directions. It’s a joy to watch him like this, and even if Magnus was about to fall over another dozen of times, he would gladly do it just to see his Alexander like this. It’s a little weird, to see his sometimes clumsy Shadowhunter moving with so much grace and style. Magnus knows he’s pretty graceful himself, in the way he moves, the way he uses his magic, and it’s a nice view to see Alexander like that.

Soon Alec returns and holds out his hand to Magnus, so they begin to stride together again. Soft smiles still present at both of their faces.

“You said you’re no pro.” Magnus says after a while, when he finally has his steps under control and can focus on something else.

“And I’m not.” Alec chuckles.

“What you just did proves otherwise.” Magnus announces and his boyfriend laugh again.

“Babe, you really should watch some professionals.” He advices as he shakes his head lightly with a grin.

“You skated backwards! On one foot!” Magnus exclaims as if in awe and it makes Alec laugh even louder.

“We’re definitely watching some figure skating when we get back home.” He resorts.

“I’d rather just watch you.” Magnus decides and Alec turns his head to place a soft kiss to his cheek.

The make a few more circles and when their time is almost out, Alec asks.

“Ready to go back?”

Magnus nods, and suddenly Alec is letting go of his hand and turning to face his boyfriend again, but he skates backwards so he’s too far away,  more than at Magnus’ arms’ reach.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a nervous chuckle, but Alec just keeps backing out.

“Come on,” he prompts and gestures with his hand for Magnus to come closer. “we’re going back.”

“Alec…” Magnus almost whines, but the Shadowhunter laughs again.

“Go, you can do this.” He encourages and Magnus lets out a shaky exhale as he takes the first stride.

It feels weird, not to have Alec’s hand in his and moving without his body next to him. But he manages. The first few strides are the worst, since he’s losing balance all the time, but then he finds the rhythm and steadily moves his legs until he’s skating pretty surely.

He keeps his eyes focused back on the ice, following his way. But then he looks up and as he sees Alec smiling softly at him, he almost falls back again, but somehow manages to stay on his feet.

Only a few more meters and he’ll reach Alexander.

His boyfriend already holds his arms open, and Magnus slides into them with a chuckle.

They both laugh and as he pulls back a bit from their embrace, Alec kisses his forehead and speaks.

“You did amazing.” He states with a smile, and Magnus tilts his head up to be kissed properly, to which Alec gladly obliges.

“I had a great teacher.” Magnus resorts when they part.

Alec takes him by the hand again and they go to take of the skates and return them to the rental office.

“So, did you have fun?” Alec asks when they leave the ice rink area.

“Actually I did.” Magnus begins. “It was pretty scary at the beginning, and the falling wasn’t nice, but I enjoyed the whole thing.”

“I’m glad you did.” Alec kisses his temple as they walk. “It was fun to teach you something for once.” He says then. “You know, you basically showed me the whole world, and I learnt so much stuff from you. It’s nice to be able to somehow… return the favour, I guess.”

Magnus smiles and tugs at his hand till they stop and turn to face each other. Then he places his palms on the side of Alec’s neck, creasing it softly, as the Shadowhunter’s hands wander to his waist.

Alec continues to just smile at him, and then they both lean in, lips meeting in a loving kiss.

“I’m glad I got to be your first at something too.” Alec says and rests their foreheads together.

“I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, Alexander. I love you.” Magnus follows his words with yet another kiss.

“Love you too.” Alec replies when they part from each other. “Let’s go.” He says as they begin to walk again. “You owe your teacher a coffee after freezing his butt of on the ice.”

Magnus chuckles lightly as he brings Alec closer, wrapping his hand around his arm.

“I guess that sounds fair.” He states and his boyfriends nods in agreement.

And as they continue to walk, with the sun already down, and the shiny Christmas decorations settled around the New York city lightening their way, Magnus decides that no matter really what time, or season, every day with Alexander by his side is just wonderful.