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#a broken heart and is also stuck in a place where she is gawked at and feels that she is only valued because of her money............
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Romance Drabble - Festival Kiss - Introducing my OC's
Also I wrote this randomly because the scene was stuck in my head so this is kinda taking place mid-plot but ya know just enjoy the writing and the fluff!
Context because this is very out of context to the whole lore of the world I'm writing 😭:
Galbana is a country in this universe (They're not actually from there tho)
Opal is Neo’s (the narrator’s) cousin
Mia and Neo are roommates and also coworkers and also vigilante idiots (:
This is a fantasy world so magic is a thing but its not really talked about here-
Obviously, I was a little tipsy. What's a festival for if not to try the various colourful ales random merchants hand you while dancing. Mia seemed to think the same, as soon as I was done talking to my brother I saw her with Opal across the field, holding a glass of a bubbly liquid such a bright yellow it almost glowed against the darkness of the night. She was smiling wider than I had ever seen her do so before. It was either the booze or Opal’s delightful sense of humour, but considering my cousin's depressed demeanour tonight I assumed it was the booze.
The band sped up to the tempo of abnormally fast folk music, urging us to dance. I couldn’t bring myself to move from my spot, leaning against the buffet table, looking at Mia. I watched as Opal and her interlocked arms and approached the dancing, both swaying a little as they walked. The purple dress the festival organisers somehow forced Mia into twirled as she moved, the fabric reflecting the fairy lights illuminating the field, it was like she was wearing a skirt made of starlight. Even without her drunken smiles, I had never seen her like this, partying in a dress, laughing with girlfriends, or relaxing at all really. It was pretty, it made me feel like relaxing too. Not that I wasn’t, after all I make it a sport to be pretty much unbothered all the time. But at this particular moment I was bothered, I was bothered because instead of dancing with the girl I love I was standing there gawking at her like an idiot.
I approached the cultish- I mean jolly- circle of frolicking losers from behind and I waited until Mia and Opal danced themselves into the direction of where I was standing. I tapped my cousin on the shoulder to swap out and she gave me the dirtiest look I’d ever received. I waited for 2 more spins until I tapped her out again. Opal groaned and stepped out of the circle. Mia looked confused and as she found an awfully handsome gentleman next to her.
She giggled, “Neo I thought you were getting pissed.”
Oh man, the impressions I give to people...
“No, actually I was bonding with my brother.” I said with dismay but I couldn’t help but grin at how in awe she looked at me, usually it was the other way around.
“Okay.” She said softly as she looped her arm through mine.
We continued dancing like this for a while. A while, until my back reminded me that it was still fractured only a month ago. Before I could escape back to the buffet table of peace Mia tugged on my sleeve.
“Neo,” she said, “my leg’s starting to hurt again, let's chill somewhere.”
And so we did. I took her hand and led her to a clearing in the field where the music was a bit quieter and the people were a bit sparser, but the lights shone just as brightly.
The band in the distance was beginning to slow down, the tempo was now at a lazy waltz. Unfortunately for my two left feet and broken back, Mia seemed to have heard the new music and looked at me expectantly. But of course, she knew me like the back of her hand so before I could speak she had her arms over my neck and said,
“Just sway with me.”
And so I did. My heart was pounding in my chest like it was going to pop out and kiss her for me.
Why was I even being like this? Did my flirty ballsy act officially die?
We lived together, spent every waking moment together, and yet that night more than ever I wanted her to be mine. I suppose it was special since she was the one holding onto me, just for a second it didn’t feel like an empty pursuit. I knew that when the morning fell, things would be the same again, and then we’d go home into our apartment and keep going about our business as if I don’t love her more than anyone else in this world.
“So, how are you liking Galbana?” I asked quietly, in awe of how magical this stupid country can be sometimes.
“I love it. It’s beautiful.” She said, but when she did she never once looked away from my eyes.
I gazed into hers with the same severity and chuckled.
“Thank you for taking me here.” She crooned.
Before I even had the chance to melt at her sweetness, her head shot up and she pecked me softly on the lips, standing on tiptoes. She exploded into giggles and I just stood there, stunned.
“Mia did you just kiss me?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yeah~” She replied with a sing-songy voice, still holding on to me. It’s a good thing she was since I felt as if I was going to drop dead from shock, and probably sheer joy.
My cheeks hurt from the, probably ludicrous, expression I was making.
“Why, how bold of you.” I teased as I caressed her cheek with my hand. She didn’t flinch away from this touch which I counted as a win. We swayed for a few more seconds until the flirt in me finally got the memo.
“May I return the favour?” I suggested cheekily.
Mia nodded, also smiling massively. I rested my other hand on her face as well.
She gave a little hiccup.
And then it hit me,
“Mia, are you drunk?”
“ Hic - probably…” She replied guiltily.
I dropped my hands from her face immediately. When this passed she was going to kill me.
“Have you even drunk before? Woman, you just kissed me?!? How are you this shit-faced?” I demanded, while also imagining how tomorrow I’m somehow going to get kicked out of an apartment signed under my name.
She looked at the ground in embarrassment, “I don’t really drink…”
I frowned, “Well, how much did you have?”
“Dunno” She replied.
“Oh boy,” I grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her in the direction of the boarding house we were staying in, “that’s it we’re going to bed.”
“No!” Mia whined.
“Come on.” I pushed her gently away from the site of the festival.
“I wanna party.” She moaned some more.
Never thought I would live to hear her say that. I sighed, as cute as she was, she was not in her right mind.
“Trust me, you’re gonna thank me in the morning…”
Somebody please let me know if u like these characters and wanna know more about them and their world because I will make that happen!
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beavesaintmarie · 4 years
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me @ the Sanditon tag right now: 
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#im only now getting caught up on the Gigi drama and like........................lol can y'all please unclench????#it's WILD to me how folk are willing to afford Stringer so much empathy and understand and humanity when all he's done is like have a crush#on a girl he's had a handful of conversations with..............and he's been exalted to saint status for THE BARE MINIMUM#but everyone is ready to rip Gigi to shreds for having a bad reaction to the idea of her best friend and her pseudo-adoptive dad/big brother#maybe getting together........................#also..............let's be really real right now..........Sidney hasn't totally mended his relationship with Gigi in the same way he has#with Char. while yes we know he cares about her wellbeing. we gotta look at this from  Gigi's POV#he's essentially a man with whom she has no real connection to other than her WHITE SLAVE OWNING FATHER making him her guardian#a man who up until VERY RECENTLY thought that the best way to be a good guardian is to like keep her on house arrest#and never explain to her WHY he was so against her being with Otis and left her free to assume the worse#worst* which is the same thing Char did until she saw with her own eyes that she was wrong about him#so like THERE'S SO MUCH TO UNPACK WITH GIGI AND HER DYNAMIC WITH SIDNEY#and i don't doubt for a second that those two will come to an understanding and start from the beginning with a fresh slate#but man y'all are VICIOUS when it comes to ripping apart a young black woman who was taken from her home. lost her family. is nursing#a broken heart and is also stuck in a place where she is gawked at and feels that she is only valued because of her money............#like i love Parkwood as much as you guys. LOL MAYBE EVEN MORE SINCE I LOVED SIDNEY AT HIS MOST DOUCHENOZZLE SELF#cause i knew still waters ran deep and he'd end up learning to EARN these relationships in his life#can y'all like..............get off Gigi's aerola and give her some space to like grow and mature too????????#ANYWAYS THOSE ARE MY THOTS ON THE BULLSHIT#lol all fandoms are like cesspools honestly#sanditon itv#crazy ramblings of a troubled mind...
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lovely-angst · 3 years
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What UA taught me
this was going good and then it wasnt
pairing: bakugou x reader
word count: 3k
genre: fluff
summary: it was the sports festival at UA, but your school gets broken into by villains
12.05.20
-
“Hello?” 
“Hey Katsuki! It’s nice to hear your voice again,” you tease with a smile as Bakugou goes silent on the other side before quickly replying, “you should be thankful I picked up your damn call,” he shoots back, but you know better. 
“Like you didn’t answer my call right away,” you giggle as you glance up at the orange sky, “but you’re right. I should be thankful thee Bakugou Katsuki has picked up my call.” 
“That’s what I thought,” he finishes, a small smile on his lips. It had been a while since he was able to joke around with you like this, and did it leave him feeling more refreshed at hearing your voice. “Sorry that we haven’t been able to call often, it’s been hectic as a second year,” Bakugou confesses, but you shake your head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see you. 
“Don’t worry about it Katsuki, I know you’re working hard to become number one. Our phone calls can always wait,” you say gently, a small smile on your lips, “I’m just happy we were able to call today.” 
“Oh! You want to hear something funny?” you begin to tell Bakugou all sorts of stories about your new classmates and the new things you’ve been doing now that you’re no longer at UA.
Bakugou shared a few stories with you as well, keeping you up to date on your old classmates and friends. You smiled as he rambled on about Midoriya before talking about his hero internships and how they weren’t as hands on as he’d like. 
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and run into you on the streets when you’re doing work study,” your tone shifted into a hopeful one as you thought about seeing Bakugou in person, “that would be so nice.” 
“Don’t come distracting me now,” he teases, causing you to roll your eyes, “yeah right. You’re going to distract yourself. Stop putting the blame on me,” you tease back with a slight giggle before it goes silent on both sides. 
“I really miss you, you know?” you confess with a sigh. “It sucks not being able to see you every day. I can’t believe I’ve already gone two months without seeing you once.”
“Yeah, yeah, I miss you too,” he responds and you could already imagine the faint blush on his cheeks, causing you to smile. “Don’t forget to watch me on the big screen next week.” 
“How could I ever forget UA’s sports festival? It’s like the biggest event in Japan!” you cry, “My classmates and I are going to watch it together in class. I haven’t told them about you yet, so they’re in for a surprise once I tell them who I’m dating,” you giggle into the phone. 
“Damn right, those extras better know who you belong to,” rolling your eyes at his dramatic comment, you see the train station ahead, much to your dismay. 
“Oh, I’m at the station. I’ll have to end the call here, Katsuki,” standing still under the streetlights that helped light the darkening streets, you let out a sigh. “I’ll call again after the sports festival next week. Good luck! Let’s get another win this year!” you cheer, hearing Bakugou snort from the other side. 
“If I win, do I get a prize?” Bakugou asks, and you knew he wasn’t talking about some medal. “I don’t know. How about you win first, then we can talk?”
Bakugou clicks his tongue, “Come on, give me some motivation here, sweet cheeks,” he calls out, adding pet names that have you rolling your eyes, “Jeez, you’re so needy,” you joke, shaking your head with a smile. 
“Um, I’ll give you a kiss if you win,” you say, “Can’t back out now, I’m going to expect a kiss by the end of the day after my victory,” he says undoubtedly, causing you to gawk. 
“But you’re not allowed out and I’m not allowed in!” you protest, but you hear him click his tongue. “Should’ve thought of that beforehand, princess. See you later, don’t forget my prize.” 
Beep.
Pulling your phone back to see the ended phone call, you could feel your cheeks heating up from the thought of a kiss. It wasn’t like you two had never kissed, but a kiss after two months apart had you fainting at just the thought. 
Shaking away your nerves, you quickly made your way to the station before waiting for your train.
---
“It’s starting! “your classmates shouts as they quickly ran to their seats, students scrambling around quickly before quieting down to watch the television that had been rolled into class. 
One of the biggest events in Japan was just about to begin—UA’s annual sports festival. Businesses and schools alike had been shut down for the day so everyone would be able to enjoy such an anticipated event. 
Thankfully, your teacher had talked with the principal into letting your class watch the event in the classroom together and thankfully, he agreed, which resulted in where you were right now. 
Memories of your first year at UA beginning to flood your brain as you watched the familiar stage and arena in nostalgia, but now as a spectator.
“Didn’t you use to go to UA, (Name)?” a classmate asked as they turned around to face you before you gave them a nod. “So you were in the sports festival last year too?” 
You gave them another nod before they awed at you. “Whoa! Is it just as intense as it looks?” Your eyes widen with another nod, “You have no idea. It’s super competitive, but it’s definitely rewarding at times.”
“Oh, here comes the first years!”
As everyone focused back on the television, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach. You felt so nervous for all of the students, but you also were so anxious to see Bakugou on television.
Of course he was going to do well, but it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, well, in action. 
Watching the first years was just as amazing as you had remembered your first year to be. You had some favorites, quirk wise and personality wise. 
Though you loved watching the new first years of UA, you couldn’t wait to get to the second years, where your old classmates were and especially your boyfriend.
It had been a few months since you’ve seen them and you couldn’t wait to see how they’ve progressed in such a short amount of time.
After Midnight had announced this year’s winner’s for the first years, the second years walked out onto the stadium, looking ready for anything heading their way.
Present Mic was already announcing the introductions to the second years, causing your heart to flutter.
The camera landed on Bakugou, with Present Mic loud commentating, “Last year’s winner, Bakugou Katsuki! Will he be able to keep his title as victor this year?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes at the camera, stuffing his hands in his pockets at the comment. 
“Also representing the second years, is Bakugou Katsuki!” 
Bakugou shot his head over at Midoriya with a glare as the poor green haired male brought his hands up in defense. “We all thought you’d be a great representative after everything that’s happened in our first year!” Mina cried as she jumped on his back playfully. 
You could see your old classmates surround him with warm and supportive smiles before Bakugou eventually gave in and walked up to the microphone beside Midnight. 
“I still will become number one,” he starts casually, “but if I somehow don’t, I know my class will come out on top.” 
Everyone in the stadium gawked at his answer. He wasn’t much different than he was a year ago, but he was definitely more fond of his classmates. You couldn’t help but smile at his answer.
Midnight let out a chuckle, “Well, you seem very certainly motivated today. What is behind that motivation?” 
Bakugou took a step forward, grabbing where the mic sat in the stand, “My girlfriend said she’d give me a kiss if I won first place,” he said smugly, glancing over at the camera. “(Name), you don’t want to let everyone down now if you don’t give me a kiss.” 
You choke upon hearing his answer as you watch him walk away like he hadn’t just exposed you to all of Japan. 
Your classmates all slowly turned their gaze on you, silently demanding an answer on why the stuck-up blonde had said your name and called you his girlfriend. 
You duck your head down sheepishly, “I was going to tell you all at the end of the day today, but I guess he already announced it to all of Japan,” you start. “That’s my boyfriend, Bakugou Katsuki,” you confirm with an awkward smile before your class erupts in chaos, missing the start of the second year’s obstacle course.
-
“And finally, this year’s first place winner is Bakugou Katsuki! For the second time in a row!” Midnight announces, as Endeavor, being the new number one hero, hands out their medals. 
You facepalm internally as you watch Bakugou with his smug smile. You knew he was just waiting for that kiss!
Once the third years walked out onto the arena, you felt your phone vibrating before Bakugou’s caller ID lit up the screen, causing your eyes to widen before some of your classmates noticed. 
“(Name) ’s boyfriend is calling her!” they teased, “he’s waiting for that kiss!” 
Pouting, you stood up before grabbing your phone and walking towards the doors, “Jeez, you don’t have to remind me!” you cry, sliding the door open before stepping out to take the call. 
Sliding the accept button, you bring the phone towards your ear, “Hello?”
“So, when am I going to get that kiss?” his low attractive voice says through your phone speakers as you scrunch up your nose, “Katsuki, I can’t believe you announced that to all of Japan,” you whine before he lets out a snort, “just making sure you don’t forget.”
Your classmates begin to cheer loudly from within the class as you peek through the door’s small window before focusing back on Bakugou. 
“First of all, congratulations on winning! Secondly, I’d love to give you a kiss, but I just don’t know how we’ll be able to see each other,” you had gone through the possible options, but they never made it far. UA becoming a boarding school made it almost impossible for the two of you to meet. 
“Well, when do you think the next time we’ll be able to see each other is?” Bakugou asked, irritated that he wouldn’t be getting his kiss anytime soon. 
“New Years?” 
Bakugou choked. “New Years? Are you fucking kidding me? You know it’s still early in the year,” he complains, but all you can do is shrug your shoulders.
“That’s how it’s gonna be, so suck it up. We only ever went home once last year and that was for New Years,” you inform, hearing him huff on the other side of the phone. “I know you really want that kiss, Katsuki. I want to kiss you just as much, but we can’t see each other because of how strict UA has become, I’m sorry.” 
Bakugou sighed, “Don’t be sorry,” he starts, earning a smile from you, “our New Year’s kiss better be fucking worth it.” You couldn’t help the giggle that falls from your lips at his words. “It will be, I promise.”
After saying quick goodbyes, you and Bakugou ended the phone call before you made your way back into class to finish watching the remainder of the sports festival with your classmates.
“What did I miss?” you ask, sliding into your chair as your eyes focused back onto the screen. “Nothing much, just the third year introductions. They just started the obstacle course.” 
Suddenly out of nowhere, a loud explosion was heard, causing you to jump from your seat. 
“What was that?” you asked nervously, your classmates alike glancing around with wide eyes. “Was that from the TV?” 
“It couldn’t have been...that sounded way too loud and too close.” a classmate responded as you stood up in your seat to walk carefully toward the door, listening for any other sounds. 
When no other explosion came, you quietly slid the door open before secretly peeking your head out, glancing around for any suspicious activity. But you couldn’t pick up on anything. 
Turning around to face your shaken up classmates, you let out a determined breath. “I’m not sure what the situation is right now, but I’m going to need you all to stay calm and cooperate with me here,” you order as they all glanced at you.
“Enna, could you use your quirk to see how many people are in the building and what they are doing right now?” she quickly nods her head before standing up and closing her eyes, activating her quirk as you all watch silently. 
Her eyes shoot open before she glances over at you in fear, “There are three people on the first floor, heading up to the second floor where we are. It looks like there might be some people surrounding the school perimeter as well,” 
You nod and thank her before turning to look at another classmate, “Miki, you have an enhanced hearing quirk, right? Could you press your ear against the door and try to listen for what they might be saying?” 
You could tell she was shaken up, but she nodded nonetheless. Walking shakily towards the door, she pressed her ear against the cold surface for a minute before turning over to you. 
“They’re looking for the UA student who transferred...” 
Your eyes widened as her words struck you—they were coming for you. 
Your heart was beating wildly in your chest even as you tried to calm yourself down. Glancing over at your classmates, they looked terrified, some bursting into tears at the thought of villains heading their way. 
You were surprised you could stay calm during such an event, but then it hit you. You’ve been through this, facing villains head on. You had been training for this and you were their only hope of staying safe. 
Putting on a determined face, you face your classmates, “Listen up and listen closely, we don’t have much time,” you start, leaning closer, “We know they’re coming for me, so we have to make sure we keep them away from us as soon as possible until help arrives.”
Their desperate eyes watch you as they nod with every word you say, clinging onto the hope you had given them. 
“Worst case scenario is that we have to fight them ourselves, but let’s do our best to keep ourselves safe,” you say with a comforting smile, “I’ve gone through enough training at UA to be able to devise a plan, but it can only do so much.” 
And so you began to create a plan with all of the quirks from your classmates.
A classmate with an animal shifting quirk would change herself into a bird and fly out of the window to find any pro hero patrolling out in the streets, while your classmates try to secretly and safely escape. 
You tried dialing Bakugou to no avail; his phone most likely turned off due to the sports festival. 
‘there are villains at my school, please come with help as soon as you see this’ 
quickly hiding your phone in your pocket before turning around to continue your escape route with your classmates.
“Here, this way, quietly,” you usher towards the window as Enna had cleared the area of any villains, making it the escape route. “They’re searching the classes right now, we need to hurry,” Miki explained as you helped the students lower themselves onto the ground with the makeshift rope. 
“There are two people around the corner, but if we use Tomoya’s quirk, we could make it out without being detected,” Enna informed as you turned towards Tomoya. 
Before you could ask for his help, he nodded at you before kneeling down, touching the ground with his fingertips before raising his hand into the air, creating an illusion of the same image of the school ground, but with the students hidden behind the illusion wall. 
“I can only keep this illusion up well for five minutes before it starts vanishing,” Tomoya explains as he continued to hold his arms up with the illusion. 
On the other side of the gate, you could see the students running away to safety while you were left with Tomoya and another student who was climbing down the ropes from the window. 
“Ah!” a scream caught your attention before you heard a thud, a student on the ground clutching her ankle. “(Name), I think I sprained my ankle!” she cried as she glanced up at you for help. 
“(Name) I can’t hold this for much longer,” Tomoya strained as you could see the illusion slowly warp away. To your dismay, the two men around the corner noticed your presence as they came rushing over. “Over here!” 
“Tomoya! Get Nina to safety!” you cried as you ran towards the two men. 
“What about you, (Name)?” he shouted, but you continue running, “Don’t worry! Go find the pros, I’ll stop them from getting to you guys!” 
As you came face to face with the two large men, you were quick enough to dodge their arms, running under them before pressing a hand on their back before activating your quirk. 
Chains began to wrap around their torsos before you pull your arms in, causing their bodies to smash together as you held them tightly against each other as long as you could. 
Your strength with holding down two people wasn’t as strong as when you held down one person, but your quirk training had prepared you for this. Curling over yourself, you held your breath as you continued to hold the two men down. 
Minutes passed before you felt yourself starting to lose consciousness from the overuse of your quirk to its full potential. 
At least all of your classmates are safe and away from danger. This is what being a hero is, right? Your vision begins to blackout, your grip on the villains loosens before you fall onto the ground with a thud. 
“Congratulations on receiving first again for the second time in a row!” Sero cheers, wrapping an arm around Bakugou’s shoulder as the class returned to their dorms after an eventful day. 
Shaking the man’s arm off, he trudged forward into the common area before walking into the kitchen for some water. 
“Hurry up and turn the TV on! I need to relax now!” Mina exclaims, falling onto the couch beside Momo. As the television turned on, the news channel came on, catching everyone’s attention. 
“A group of villains broke into a high school today in search of a previous student of UA,” the newscaster announced as Bakugou’s focus shifted towards the television. 
“All students were able to escape safely thanks to their classmate, (Last Name) (Name), who devised a plan to get everyone to safety, even using her quirk to keep the villains strapped in place.”
The camera shifted to a classmate of yours, interviewing them on the terrifying event. “(Name) stayed calm even when she knew she was being targeted. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if we’d all be here safe and sound.” 
“She prioritized us over herself and made sure we were safe. She’s so brave. A true hero.” 
“(Name) was unconscious when pro heroes entered the scene and she is currently under UA’s care, suffering minor injuries due to over exhausting herself from quirk use.”
Bakugou threw his cup in the sink before digging into his pockets to find his phone, now noticing all the missed calls from you before reading your heartbreaking text. 
“Fuck!” he yelled, running out of the dorms only to crash into Aizawa around the corner. 
“Bakugou-”
“Do you know where (Name) is?” Bakugou pleaded, “please.” 
Aizawa let out a sigh before answering, “she’s in the nurse’s office with Recovery Girl. Make it back before 10 pm and I won’t give you any consequences,” Aizawa inform before Bakugou was off and running again.
As soon as he made it to the Recovery Girl’s office, he noticed you on the bed closest to the window, your eyes focused on the scenery below you.
“(Name),” Bakugou breathes as your head turns to face him, eyes widening. “Katsuki?”
Before he could think, his body moved on its own, falling into your lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist, face in your stomach. “Katsuki, are you okay?”
Pulling away, he gave you a stern look, “You fucking passed out fighting some villains, (Name).”
“It was only for about an hour or two, I’m just here for precautions,” you say, staring into his eyes before smiling. “But I’m glad I get to see you today,” 
Sighing, Bakugou hid his face in your stomach with a sigh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. If only I had picked up your calls or read your text you wouldn’t have ended up here,” he confessed but you shake your head.
“You had things to do, don’t worry about it. I’m safe now aren’t I?”
Bakugou reaches over to intertwine his hands with yours, “be more careful, dumbass. You’re lucky they were some low class villain that didn’t know what they hell they were doing.”
Squeezing his hand, you give him a nod, “I was just doing what I was taught at UA,” Bakugou quietly stares at you with a frown, “You sure you can’t come back?” 
Brushing your hand through his blonde locks, your smile softens at the feel of him, “I’ll ask my parents when they arrive here. Aizawa said he was going to talk to my parents about enrolling me back because it would be safer for me.”
Just as Bakugou was about to close his eyes and relax into your touch, your soft voice asked for him to sit up. 
Your hands place themselves on his cheeks before you bring him in for a kiss, heat rising to his cheeks at the sudden affection. “Congratulations on your win today,” you say cheekily before he smirks, bring you in for more. 
-
A month passed since the incident and everything was back to normal. Bakugou trudging to class so early in the morning as he plopped himself down in his desk before homeroom announcements would start. 
It wasn’t long before Aizawa walked into class, looking as bored and tired as always, causing Bakugou to glance over towards the windows. 
“Good morning, class. I have some important news today, so please listen up,” he starts as the class begins to settle down. “First off, I’d like to introduce our new student who will be joining us today. You can come on in,” Aizawa informs as the door slides open.
Bakugou peels his eyes from the windows to glance over at the door, his eyes slightly widening in shock.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself,” Aizawa asks, stepping aside as you take the podium.
“Good morning. My name is (Name) and I’ll be finishing off the school year with you all. Please continue to look after me.”
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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years
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Together In Paris
Auror!Draco X Auror!Reader
Summary: Cliche mini-series: There was only one bed/fake dating
A/n: I have no idea where this came from but it’s beautiful and so soft and cute and ugh. I love you guys so much so let me know what you think as always!! Also this is 8k words because I have no self control at all.
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“There has to be some mistake,” I gasped. “Harry, you can’t be serious!”
“I need this case in the hands of my two best Aurors, and that’s you and Malfoy,” Harry leaned against his desk, arms crossed.
Draco was very quiet and very still beside me. Where my anger was loud and biting, I could tell that his was cold and unforgiving.
“Okay, and I’m flattered, but Harry,” I dismayed. “This is a weekend in Paris for a couples retreat. What the bloody hell do you expect us to do there?”
“Act like a couple,” Harry said, as if it were obvious. And I wished that it wasn’t. “And bring in this potions smuggler,”
I huffed and stormed off, heading to my desk to gather what I needed for this god forsaken case. Stupid Harry. Stupid Malfoy. Stupid shiny shoes that were in my line of vision.
“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” I looked up, abandoning my spare anti-hex potions in their bottom drawer. “What do you want?”
“You act like I’m happy about this,” He snapped coldly. “I’d rather spend a weekend in Paris doing something enjoyable with just about anyone else.”
Fury burned in my heart as his words pierced it. I couldn’t deny that they stung a bit. Truthfully, Draco wasn’t the worst person to get stuck on a case with. Instead I was angry because Harry just assumed that I’d be okay with pretending to date someone, even for a case.
“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I snarled. “What do you want Malfoy?” I sighed, continuing to pack my bag.
“What time would you like me to pick you up tonight?” His tone was so polite that it had me reeling, abandoning my task of packing.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The case, it starts tomorrow evening. I assume that you’d like to get there early and see what we’re dealing with? You have with cases before,” He gave in tidbit of knowledge so offhandedly that I almost missed how Draco had somehow managed to pick up on my habits.
“I... uh. Yeah,” I zipped my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Is seven alright with you? I have a few things that I need to get in order before we head out.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven then,”
Deciding that the interaction with Draco was one of the weirder moments of my life, I prepared myself for a weekend filled with... coupling—ugh. I spent about an hour ranting to my empty flat as I packed a suitcase and garment bag, my more expensive dresses safely inside. I paused in the mirror and sighed wistfully. Coupled with Draco Malfoy. Yeah right. We weren’t even in the same spheres of influence. Our spheres didn’t even touch remotely.
Promptly at seven, my doorbell rang, and I could tell that Draco was eyeing my jeans and sweater skeptically. I seemed like a teenager standing next to his immaculate, no doubt tailored- to-him suit. Lost. Lost was a good word that fit. I seemed lost when I stood beside Draco.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed, letting him in so that we could apparate together.
I should have looked over the case notes a bit more. I would have dressed better if I had known Draco and I would be staying at the Ritz. I understood Draco’s look of contempt for my wardrobe earlier.
“Are you ready?” He asked again, softly.
“Yeah, sure.” I smiled settling into a fake persona that was desperately in love with Draco Malfoy. With the smile he returned, I could tell that Draco had done the same as he wrapped his arm around my waist. I tried not to gawk at the lavish lobby as Draco checked us in and I tried to also ignore the disapproving looks I got from the staff about my wardrobe. I stuck closer to Draco after one to many nasty stares.
French fell elegantly from his lips as he spoke to the receptionist. It escaped my mind that he could speak the language—it was probably one of the leading reasons that he was placed on this case: he could thrive without a translation spell. The small French woman made a remark that seemed to upset Draco, his words becoming harsh, his lip curling in anger. The woman started to stammer her words in what I assumed was apologies as she smiled nervously at me before pressing a key into Draco’s hands. A bellhop followed behind us with our luggage.
“What was that all about?” I asked Draco when we were alone in a imperial suite—either the Ministry had given Harry way too much power over funds or this had Malfoy written all over it.
“What was what?” Draco asked, drawing the curtains.
“The receptionist,” I gave, running my fingers over a marble statue of the Venus De Milo.
“Yes? What about her?” He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugging off his blazer and undoing his cufflinks.
“You snapped at her,”
“Ah,” Draco’s lips drew into a thin smile. “Well, I could hardly stand for her to be insulting the love of my life, now could I?” Sarcasm dripped in his tone as his smile became wicked.
“Oh, you stuffy people and your stuffy rules!” I dismayed. “Jeans are comfortable! So are sweaters!” I folded my arms childishly.
“I’m not arguing there, but Y/n, come on, at the Ritz?” Draco piqued an eyebrow.
“I didn’t know it would be here! Bloody hell, I would have dressed better if I knew!” It’s what I had been wanting to scream for the past hour that it felt nice to let the words finally leave my lips.
A chuckle fell from his lips as he sat at in a plush armchair, gesturing for me to join him. I sighed and sat in the adjacent chair, pulling my legs up onto the seat with me. If Draco disapproved, he didn’t voice his opinion.
“Now, before we begin,” His voice dropped into a formal tone, and I knew he was speaking about the case. “I need to know boundaries for you. Yes, we have to be a couple, but I don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable or throw you off guard. I need you sharp and focused for us to do this case successfully,”
“That was... almost sweet,” I chuckled darkly.
My tongue darted between my lips as memories that I tried hard to keep locked down came resurfacing. It was another reason for my fury about the case. Harry knew that I had just gotten out of a toxic long-term relationship and I doubted he thought twice about my approval on the matter of this case. My eyes dropped to my lap; my eyebrows drawn together.
“Y/n,” He called softly, drawing my attention from my spiraling thoughts.
“Just...” I started. “I’m fine. Hug me, kiss me, hold me close, call me whatever, I don’t care,” The words were sharper than I meant them to be as I stormed out of the room and slammed whatever door was between us.
Leaning against the same door, fighting tears and the urge to apparate back home, my eyes settled on one large, silk draped, pillow lined, king sized bed.
“No,” I gasped. “No, no, no!” I screamed. “There is no way in hell!” 
“Y/n?” A soft knock was on the door behind me.
I yanked it open and met an anxious looking Draco.
“What the hell!?” I gestured wildly to the bed.
“Are you alright?” Draco neared me cautiously. “Are you sure you’re up for this case?” 
“Oh, don’t patronize me!” I snapped. “I’m just fine!”
“Then what in the world are you on about?” He folded his arms defiantly.
“The bed,” I hissed.
“Yes, what about it?” Oh, I wanted to punch him. 
“There’s only one.”
“Oh, she can count, the day is saved,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, there’s one bed, do you think a couple would be sleeping in separate beds? We have a cover to keep,”
My face scrunched up in anger as I sighed and scrubbed my face, my resolve falling flat.
“Right, the case.” I nodded, putting on a false calm smile. “Any boundaries of yours I need to know about?”
Draco eyed me warily, and whatever he wanted to say died on his tongue as he regained composure.
“Just be polite. Formal. We’re... how did you put it? Stuffy people, not teenagers,” There was a small smile on his lips.
“Right,” I nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,”
“It’s my fault, I should have warned you.” His tone was soft. “And I also should have mentioned that I fully planned on sleeping on the floor, or perhaps a couch. I’d never impose on your privacy like that.”
I thawed a little more and my smile became a bit more real. “Thank you, Draco,”
“I’ll... leave you alone. If you’d like to change, we can explore a bit, though it’s all about the same here,”
“You say that like you come to Paris for lunch,” I drawled. “Not all of us have been out of the country, Malfoy,”
“You’ve—” He backtracked. “You’ve never been to Paris?” 
“No?”
“Get changed,” He ordered. “Never been to Paris,” He scoffed, closing the door behind him.
 __________________________
........................
“Harry,” Draco hissed, his eyes darting away from your retreating form.
“Can it, Malfoy,” Harry pushed off his desk and rounded it. “I don’t want to hear how you don’t want the case either,”
“Forget about me.” Draco nearly roared. “Don’t you understand how bad this is going to be for Y/n? How much this is going to hurt her?”
Harry looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you are so blind!” Draco distressed. “She just got out of a very unhealthy relationship not a month ago and you want her to pretend to be in love with someone else? Are you bloody mad?”
“It’s just one weekend,” Harry insisted.
“Oh, I pity the girl you take home,” Draco sneered. “I’ll do the case. For her sake.” 
...................
Of course, Draco knew about your breakup. He worked with you for Merlin’s sake. He noticed when you were too quiet or skipped out on meals. Not that he ever meant to, but he liked his routine, and every other person in their rightful place as well. He noticed when a pattern was broken.
You were still a brilliant Auror despite it all. You smiled more. You actual made conversation with him now. He was happy for you. You seemed... free. Reanimated. He feared that this case would be the mental breakdown that everyone around you seemed to be waiting for. And Draco didn’t know if he was ready for that. He didn’t know if you were ready for that.
So, he’d be civil. He’d be a jerk if it meant sparing your feelings. He’d make this as easy as he could for you. He knew what it was like to need to break but terrified of the act itself. To hold his head high despite wanting to lash out at everyone and everything. And he had grown from it. Learned how to break in a healthy way. And how to pick himself back up.
It was about fifteen minutes before the bedroom door opened and you stepped out. Draco’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Switching your jeans and sweater for an A-line black skirt that draped down your frame, paired with a white button up blouse, sheer thigh highs and a pair of heels in one hand and a Prada bag in the other.
“Is this okay?” You asked timidly. “I... I don’t really do this sort of thing,”
Your hair draped effortlessly down your shoulders, and light makeup that gave you an airbrushed look. An inviting look. Whatever made you think that you shouldn’t do this sort of thing needed to be stopped immediately because you looked wonderful.
“Draco?” You pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, recovering.
“Uh. Yes, that’s perfect,” He rushed out, your cheeks flushing pink. “Shall we?” He offered his arm.
Slipping on your heels, they clicked on the floor, a melody to the sharp sounds of his dress shoes harmonizing on the marble floors.
“So, you’ve never been to Paris?” He mused.
“No,” You looked down. “I’ve always wanted to travel but...” A sharp breath entered your glossy lips. “I guess I can now. Huh,” You smiled at the thought, holding your head high and Draco wondered if your ex-lover had prevented you from travelling. “So, this is Paris?” Your eyes flitted to the towering antique buildings, the smile remaining on your face.
“A small part of it,” Draco chuckled. “The night is coming soon, but if we have tomorrow, I’ll take you around the city,”
A laugh bubbled from your lips, a pretty sound that went with the flowers in the window boxes. The sun was setting and the streetlamps hanging their heads began to illuminate the Parisian streets. It gave the scene around them a softer look, painting you in a golden light.
“You know you don’t actually have to take me on a date,” You mused. “It’s just a case, Draco,”
“Case or not, I won’t have you in my city and not see some of it.” Draco decided.
“Your city?”
“You understand that I do have a summer home here, right?” He raised an eyebrow. “And this is where my family used to come on holiday? And that one of my best friends lives here?”
“Really?” Surprise flickered across your face. “Who?” 
“Pansy,” Draco smiled. “She moved here after...”
You nodded and your eyes traced to a small café and a couple sharing a soufflé on the patio. Your eyes dropped to the sidewalk under your heels, your smile falling.
“Would you like to get some dinner?” He asked softly.
“I... no thank you,” Your voice was quiet. “I already ate.” 
“Dessert then perhaps?” Draco tried. “Ever had crème brulee?” 
“Can’t say that I have,”
Your hand dropped from the crook of his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around yourself. He could see you shutting down at the thought and he wasn’t sure if he should keep pushing you or let you close yourself off.
“Don’t you think you deserve one? You’ve always wanted to come here, you’re here now. Don’t let him ruin it,” Scared he had overstepped his bounds as your silence dragged on, Draco began to grow more worried with each quiet second.
“You’re right,” You finally spoke. “I’m here now. I’m free to do as I please. And I really want to try a crème brulee,” There was a childlike smile on your face.
Draco led you across the cobblestone street to the small café that you had been eyeing earlier and swiftly ordered for the both of you in French as you got lost in the sights and smells around you.
Despite the later hour, the café was far from closing down. The waiter came with the assortment of bakery sweets that he had ordered, and you gaped at them.
“I thought we were getting one crème brulee,” You protested.
“Well, I figured you’d want to try a few other things as well. I know that you enjoy sweet things,”
Draco pushed the small dishes your way and watched you nibble your way through the pastries and desserts, hoarding the ones you enjoyed and passing to him the ones you didn’t prefer. You were lost in your own little world as you marveled at the Parisian pastries, particularly enjoying macarons—as well as your crème brulee.
“Thank you,” You looked down, a soft smile on your lips. “This was... really nice.” The dishes had been long cleared from the table and it left the pair staring that the stars through the shop window.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Draco offered his arm again and led you back towards the hotel.
There was only one bathroom in the suite, so Draco allowed you to use it first. In the meantime, he stood out on the balcony of the suite, overlooking the Paris skyline. It hadn’t changed much since he was a small child. The only thing that seemed to change massively was the one looking out. Draco didn’t know how long he stood there, pondering the stars, but your small voice pulled him from those thoughts.
He turned and you were back into your normal favored attire: cotton sweats and a sweater, thick socks on your feet and your hair in a messy ponytail. A smile touched his lips, because you looked just as wonderful like this.
__________________________
The girl in the mirror looked confused, but happy all the same.
“We’re just friends,” I told her. “That’s all I need. This is a case. This is a job, and Draco’s a friend.” She smiled back at me and nodded.
“Draco?”
He was on the balcony, lost in thought I supposed. He turned all the same, a soft smile on his face.
“I... I can take the couch if you want,” I offered. “I’m shorter than you... it’ll probably be a nightmare for you to sleep on the couch,” My gaze dropped as I shifted from foot to foot.
“Don’t worry about it,” Draco smiled, closing the French doors to the balcony and drawing the curtains. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again,”
“Oh,” I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that but brushed off the intrusive thoughts that threatened.
Since the bathroom was connected to the master bedroom, I perched on the bed, the bedside lamps on allowing me to continue my book. It was an old muggle classic that I found myself lost in. The bathroom door opened, and my eyes darted over to see Draco with damp hair in an old pair of Slytherin sweats and a V-neck. A small laugh escaped my lips at the sight.
“What?” He demanded.
“Nothing just didn’t expect to see you in Slytherin sweats, that’s all,” I closed my book, resting it on my lap.
“Oh, well.” He flushed slightly. “Goodnight,” 
“Goodnight,”
He closed the door behind him, and I stared at the ornate doors for longer than I cared to admit. Sighing, I pulled out the case file and began to comb through the details. Harry wanted us to find potions smugglers who sold to high-brow cliental. From Polyjuice potion to Death Draught. The next sale was supposed to go down this weekend here at the Ritz during a couples ball. There were no names given for the criminals, but a description: male, two meters tall, brown cropped hair, and green eyes.
There was something almost familiar about the description, but I couldn’t place it. Sighing, I set down the file and turned off the lights, settling in for a long day tomorrow. The oversized pillows and expensive sheets offered me no comfort. They were too cold, to silky. I craved my quilt from home and my cotton sheets.
Giving up on the notion of sleep, I threw off the covers and went to the closet. There I found a knitted blanket that was heavenly soft to the touch. Stripping the bed of the top sheet and duvet as well as most of the pillows, I curled up with the blanket and a couple pillows and chased sleep.
“What in Merlin’s name?” The voice was confused and loud for this early in the morning. “What did the pillows ever do to you?”
I blinked out of the warmth of my dream and into the crisp morning, face to face with a disheveled sleepy Draco Malfoy.
“What?” I sat up, scrubbing my eyes.
“The bed? Hell, if I knew you were going to demolish it, I would have said take the couch,” There was a slight smile on his face.
“Didn’t feel right...” I mumbled, hugging my knees. “I’ll... I’ll clean it all up.”
“Don’t bother, we’re paying enough, housekeeping can take care of it. I’ll ask if they can switch the sheets to cotton for you,”
“Oh, no. Please don’t cause any trouble on my behalf.” I stammered quickly. 
“It’s not trouble,” Draco smiled. “It’s their job, darling,”
“Doesn’t mean we have to make it harder.” I stumbled out of bed and grabbed my wand, casting a spell so that the bed remade itself. “Why are you up so early anyway? The sun is barely up.”
“Old habit,” he gave a tight smile. “Fancy some breakfast?”
“It’s too early to eat,” I grumbled. “Coffee however is necessary so lead the way, darling,” I drawled sarcastically, draping one of the hotel house coats around me to mirror Draco’s silk green one that he no doubt owned already.
Draco paused at the door.
“If you need an out. Or a break. At any time. Let me know and I’ll get you out.” His voice was careful and serious.
“I’m not going to break,” I refuted defiantly. “If that’s what you’re waiting for.” I pushed past him and out the door, down the hall and to the elevator. The ride was quiet and tense.
“I never meant to imply—”
“Just leave it.” I cut him off. “I haven’t had enough caffeine to deal with this yet.”
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered as we exited the elevator and I wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, but it thawed me out a bit.
Breakfast was tense and quiet as we ate in silence. Draco read the Daily Prophet and I continued on my book. We made polite conversation with passersby and smiled like we were in love.
And I was in love. With the China teacups and their gold leaf accents. With the rich foods served and the beautiful decor. I was in love with the lavish tablecloths and the fancy napkins. I adored the chandeliers and sconces and fresh flowers that were on every table. It was beautiful and I was in love with it.
It wasn’t fair that Draco looked at home among the beautiful things. As if he came with them. “Are you still wanting to see the city?” He asked cautiously when we were back up in the suite.
“If you’re willing to put up with me for the day,” a smile touched my lips. “I... I know I can be a handful.”
“All things considered,” he mused softly. “I think you’re doing wonderfully.”
I smiled and lingered a moment longer than necessary before heading to the master bedroom to change. Favoring for a pair of high waisted black slim pants and a cold shoulder emerald top, I decided I could have looked worse. Lacing up my boots I headed out to Draco who was laying down his collar. His eyes swept over my figure, leaving me slightly self-conscious as I braided my hair loosely.
“Here,” Draco reached into the nearest drawer and pulled out a black ribbon and passed it to me before reaching back into the drawer. “These are my mother’s, but I don’t think she’ll mind you borrowing them,”
He offered me a black velvet box and inside were nestled a pair of diamond earrings. 
“Draco, I can’t—”
“You can and you will,” he smiled. “You deserve it,”
I looked at the earring and my resolves crumbled as I put them on.
“Is this your suite then?” I mused.
“Took you long enough to figure that one out,” he chuckled.
“Should have known from all the green,” I teased back.
“It’s a regal color,” Draco insisted.
“Sure thing darling,” a chuckle left my lips as we headed out the door. 
“It is!” He tried again, causing me to laugh. 
_________________________________
Draco had been to Paris just about as many times as he had been to London. Perhaps the city lost some of its shine over the years. Maybe after the war the Paris lights didn’t look the same to him. Perchance he had lost his childlike awe of the historical envied city.
But you... you had never been to Paris. You have never walked along the Seine. You had never seen the Eiffel Tower, never browsed the art of the Louvre. You’d never stood under the light filtered through the stain glass of the Notre Dame. Your fingers never ran over the rough stone of the Arc de Triomphe.
Now you had.
“This was a very nice not date,” You smiled, sitting beside him on a bench watching the people of Paris below you from the top of the Eiffel Tower. “I can see why you keep coming back,”
“I haven’t been since the... since I became an Auror,” Draco’s eyes were trained on the horizon.
“Well... I’m glad you came.” There was a gentle smile on your face as he caught your warm eyes. “On the case, I mean.” You recovered and looked down at your hands. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you either,”
“It could have been worse,” Draco teased lightly. “I could have been stuck with Greengrass,” His words seemed to pull you from your moping thoughts as your smile returned.
“She’s a sweet girl, I’m sure you would have been fine.” You went back to fidgeting with your hands, your eyes dropping to them, “Besides who wouldn’t want to go undercover as Draco Malfoy’s significant other,” It was a sad sort of humor.
“You?” Draco pressed softly.
You gnawed on your lip, lost in thought as your eyes became glassy with unshed tears. “We should go,” You barely whispered, standing. “We have a banquet tonight at the hotel.” 
“Y/n,” Draco followed you to the elevators.
“What?” It was a bit more defensive now.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t mean a lot of things, I know,” Your arms folded tightly across your chest, your head ducked down. “It’s fine, we have a case to do and a criminal to catch. You said it yourself, I need to be sharp and focused to do this successfully,” Your tone was clipped, and Draco was taken aback at your sudden change of attitude on a drop of a dime as his words came back to haunt him. “So, if you don’t mean any of it, then neither do I,”
Draco opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Your abrasive words sent him reeling. What had happened to the girl who was wonderstruck by the city? The girl who was amused at the street performers and the girl who smiled something carefree? Just when he thought the real you was free beside him, you caged her back again and locked him out, and he shouldn’t care, but he did. Because you were hurting. The same way that he used to.
But he had to admit that you were right, he had a case to accomplish. And if he wasn’t focused you could get hurt, he could get hurt, or the felon could slip through your fingers.
In his well tailor suit and his hair coiffed back precisely, he was ready to do everything and mean nothing. A cold mask that you mirrored as he met you in a deep navy draped silk gown, your heels in hand again. His heart didn’t mean to skip a beat.
Tucked against his side, smiling like you didn’t have a care in the world, he was quite glad that the other guests and staff didn’t expect much animation from him. It gave him time to keep an eye on you. He could schmooze with ease and little effort, and he soon learned that so could you. From the outside, you two looked perfectly smitten with another. Despite his many shortcomings, Harry was right, you two were perfect with this case.
But that’s not what held Draco’s main focus. Instead, it was the constant reminder that this meant nothing. Every gentle touch of your hand, every smile, every pet name, every laugh, every praise of him, every declaration of love, every concerned and caring word—they all meant nothing. It meant nothing to you. It was an act. A job. A case.
And he was losing focus.
Because though you had stumbled into his affluent world in jeans and a sweater, you were now at home among the wealthy wizards you now rubbed elbows with, possessing the grace and poise of someone who was brought up like he was. You knew how to use the silverware set before you. You knew proper etiquette.
“Miss Y/n,”
Amelia Bones, the former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was sat at the banquet table along with you and Draco. You rose your head politely, nodding a hello.
“I’m surprised to see you so cozy with Mr. Malfoy, was it not a month ago you were engaged to another?” Her words seemed harmless, but Draco watched your smile become more forced as the breaths passed.
“My apologies,” Draco cut in coldly. “But I don’t see how that is any of your business,” 
“Oh, forgive me dearie, I meant no offense at all,” Mrs. Bones flutter her hand.
“Of course,” You smiled widely, “And yes, you’re correct, but well, since working with Draco it deemed nearly impossible not to fall for him,” The look you gave him made him lose focus completely. “And it was an arranged marriage, my parents offered me the option at the beginning of the war, and well, I had no reason to refuse,” Your hand slipped into his. “Until I met Draco that was,”
“Oh, isn’t that just lovely,” Mrs. Bones fawned to her husband beside her. “A real fairytale ending you have yourself Y/n, I’m sure others are just dying to be in your shoes,”
“I’m sure,” Your smile became forced again, but you held your composure.
But that didn’t mean that Draco didn’t commandeer the conversation to keep the attention off of you for the remainder of the banquet. You excused yourself slightly early, though it was a polite time to leave, nonetheless. Draco bid the folks he was talking to and followed you out.
He found you on the balcony, barefoot, your hair out of the tight bun it had been in, your dress still on. The stars stretched out before you over the rooftops of Paris, the Eiffel Tower illuminated in the distance.
“I told you, I’m fine,” Your words were barely audible.
“I didn’t say anything,” Draco retorted, slipping off his blazer and tie.
“You were thinking it,”
He smiled as he came beside you, leaning against the railing.
“Maybe I was,” He sighed softly. “Regardless, you’re my partner on this case, and I dare say you’re a friend of mine. I’d like to know if you’re okay. It’s what friends do,”
A sigh escaped your lips as your eyes lifted from your hands back to the skyline blinking back tears.
“Friends,” You muttered weakly. Not that he liked the word much either, but he’d take it to keep you close.
“I... I know that we—I haven’t had much luck at this, but if... if you need someone to...” Draco trailed off, shaking his head. He knew it was a lost cause. He knew that you didn’t mean anything.
Again, you were quiet. He turned to leave, but you spoke up.
“He was supposed to be my happily ever after,” The words were soft and sad. “My prince charming come to save me.” Draco paused and turned back to you; his brows furrowed. “All this time I thought he’d save me... but I ended up saving myself, and him.” You went from facing the city to facing him, “And he refused to save himself. And made me feel terrible for saving myself... for becoming someone new... someone stronger.”
“You... seemed happier after...” Draco spoke carefully.
You nodded. “Everyone was waiting for me to break. To cry... go off the wall... and sometimes I wonder why I don’t. Why I can’t.” You turned your head to the side. “Sure, I get snappy... and the nights haunt me... but to cry? To miss someone who drained me?” A shrug fell from your shoulders. “I can’t do it...” A pause. “Maybe I am broken. I can’t even break properly.”
“No one said you had to break,” Draco took a careful step forward. “No one said you had to cry.” 
“But shouldn’t I?” There were tears in your eyes now.
“No,” Draco shook his head softly. “Breaking hurts, and it seems like you already have. Now you’re just picking up the pieces where you can,”
You mulled over the thought and nodded, facing the city once more.
“They always talk about the one who got away, but they never ask her why she left, do they?” The question was gentle from your lips as Draco left you alone to think. He was sure that he wasn’t meant to hear it, but he did.
____________________________
The cotton sheets of the king-sized bed that night welcomed me. The bedding had changed drastically, from silks and down feathers to cotton and quilted blankets. They were still green and gold, but it was an improvement as I stared at the paintings on the walls and ceiling. Despite the change in sheets, sleep still eluded me. Frustrated this time, I slipped on the housecoat and quietly opened the bedroom doors.
Only to find Draco awake with the light on, reading. I almost wanted to smile at how he was draped over the couch in sweats and nothing else, looking at home among the lavish furnishings. He looked up from his book.
“Can’t sleep,” I confessed, leaning against the door jam. “Thanks for the sheets and stuff though...”
“Is there something I can do?” He asked softly, setting down his book, sitting up.
“Got any Sleeping Draught on you?” I asked hopefully.
“Afraid not,” He pursed his lips.
Moving to the adjacent chaise lounge, I curled up under the throw blanket, running the golden fringe through my fingers.
I wasn’t aware of when I had fallen asleep. I was barely aware being carried to the lavish bed and tucked in. I was aware that I had moved when I awoke to the sun shining in through the curtains.
“Good morning,” Draco greeted as I exited the bedroom, dressed for the day.
The day was a quiet affair. Breakfast mimicked yesterday and lunch mirrored dinner last night. There was no time to go out on the city today, not with the masquerade ball tonight. This was the entire reason for this weekend in Paris. To get into this ball and catch the convict. It took the two hours that it took to get ready to remind myself that this was a case, and not a fairytale ending. I didn’t get those.
Draco escorted me down to the ballroom, commenting on how beautiful I was. I let the compliment roll off my shoulders though I desperately wanted to cling to his words. Words that he didn’t mean.
It didn’t seem fair that the entire Ritz hotel was something out of a fairytale and tonight I was required to pose as the perfect princess, though I felt far from it. My only relief was that my eyes were hidden behind a mask. No one would see accidental tears. I had told Draco that I didn’t need to break, but this might just break me.
An hour slipped by of talking and schmoozing other guests before Draco led me to an adjacent standing table, offering me a haven from the prying eyes and whispers.
“Would you care to dance?” Draco offered his hand, smiling, as the next waltz began from the live quartet.
“We don’t have time to dance,” I retorted. “We’re on a case here,”
“It’s just one dance,” He rolled his eyes, his hand sliding to my waist, ready to escort me.
“You need to focus on this case Draco,” I snapped. “We need to catch this guy in case you’ve forgotten.” I didn’t mean for the words to be so harsh.
“Of course,” His hand dropped from my waist, “If you’ll excuse me,” Draco said quietly. 
“Dray, wait, I didn’t mean—”
“I’d know those lips anywhere,” A familiar voice purred from behind me.
“Dean,” My breath caught in my throat as I turned, wishing I hadn’t just sent Draco off.
“And I thought he’d never leave.” Dean grinned. “I gotta say, didn’t think you’d move onto some stiff like Malfoy, and so soon. Does he know he’s a rebound?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered, taking my clutch and walking away from him, scanning the crowd for Draco to no avail.
Dean grabbed my arm and spun me back, a dangerous look in his eyes. He pulled me to a quiet corner of the ballroom.
“Let go of me,” I shook him off, drawing my wand.
“Now, now, wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would we?” His smile became predatory. “There are quite a few important Muggles in the crowd tonight,”
“You’re a bastard, you know that?” I hissed.
“Such naughty language in front of such high paying cliental.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “It’s you,” I breathed out. “You’re the seller,”
“In the flesh, sweetheart,” His green eyes held danger. “What, didn’t expect me to move onto something better? Like you went off and did anything valuable with your life after me, not that Malfoy is much of an improvement.”
I hid my surprise well: he didn’t know that I was an Auror. He didn’t know about the case. Now all I had to do was get him away from harming anyone and pray that Draco would find me to help detain Dean. But to get Dean away from these people, I was going to have to break. Hard.
A perfect masquerade to be someone that I wasn’t. Someone that Dean wanted me to be. Someone who would break my heart.
“Tell me about,” I smiled sweetly, “Maybe I’ll ditch the stiff.” My eyes scanned over Dean in false want.
“So, you realize that leaving me was a mistake,” Dean tilted his chin back.
“Since the moment I walked away,” The lie weighed heavy on my tongue. “Please De,” My hand trailed up his arm.
I could feel my heart splintering. 
_______________________________
“Not to alarm you Mr. Malfoy, but it seems that your lady is being entertained by another young man,” Mrs. Bones spoke softly. “They just left out the side door,”
Draco snapped out of his self-pity party as he scanned the crowd for you, his anxiety and adrenaline spiking. You had found the convict.
“Thank you,” Draco gave curtly, untying the mask from around his head and as soon as the door closed behind him, he took off running, wand out, desperate to find you.
He heard soft voices in coming from an adjacent sitting room and cautiously hovered outside the door.
“Remember this?” The voice was low and husky, and one he didn’t recognize. 
“Yes,” Your breathy voice came in response.
A thousand thoughts ran through Draco’s mind and for a moment he thought that you really had run off with someone else. That you hadn’t found the felon, but rather someone to... He didn’t want to finish the thought.
“Say it,” The first voice demanded.
“I’m s-sorry,” Your voice whimpered. “I’m sorry I ever left you. Draco... he—he’s nothing compared to you,” Fear and tears were mixed with your voice and Draco had a very good idea of who was in there with you.
Call it jealousy, or his job, Draco burst into the room, finding you pinned against the wall, hands above your head held there by a young man whose lips were pressed to your neck, making you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut. A man with green eyes and brown cropped hair. Their target. And you had found him. And he seemed to know you. Very well.
Then it clicked. The criminal was your ex-lover. Of course, it was. When Draco saw Harry again, he was going to sock him a-la-muggle.
You look absolutely terrified when Draco caught your eyes. Your mask was gone, and you looked disheveled and defeated.
“I was hoping you’d show Malfoy,” An amused smile curled on the target’s lips as he let you go. You fell to the floor, caught off balance.
“Don’t hurt him,” You pleaded, picking yourself up, and Draco didn’t know if you were talking to him or the target.
“You’re not in a place to bargain, sweetheart,” The target snapped. “Auror Malfoy. Here to turn me in I suppose?”
“After I beat the hell out of you, yeah, it’s on my list of things to do,” Draco snarled. 
“What? For taking your girl from you?” The target laughed. “She was never yours.” 
“She might not be mine, but she sure as hell doesn’t belong to you either,”
“I’m afraid she does,” The target grabbed your arm and jerked you in front of him, creating a shield between he and Draco with you. “And you obviously care for her, so here’s what’s going to happen.” The man drew his wand and held it to your throat. “You’re going to let me make the deal I need to, and then I’m going to take Miss Y/l/n here and leave,”
Draco glowered, his mind racing to figure out how to get you safely out of this. He could see you trembling, your eyes refusing to meet his.
“Dean, please,” You whimpered, curling yourself into his arms.
Your arms draped around the target’s—Dean’s shoulders as you whispered soft things into his ear that made Dean grin and Draco’s blood boil. How could Dean not see how uncomfortable you were? How you shied away from him? Draco’s grip on his wand tightened.
He watched as your lips pressed to Dean’s neck, your hands trailing down his ill-fitting polyester suit as you slinked your way around the felon, distracting Dean long enough that Draco was able to throw a Full Body Bind at him.
“You bitch!” Dean roared.
“You’re the bitch here,” You snarled. “How in a million years could you think that I would want you?” Seething you rounded your frozen ex, wand drawn. “I did do something with my life you asshole! I’m an Auror! And a damn good one!”
“You never had the guts,” Dean barked a laugh.
“On the contrary,” Draco grinned. “She’s the best one we’ve got,”
“You two set me up!”
“Duh,” You laughed, tucking away your wand.
Draco wanted to warn you about the dangers of the deed, but you surprised him and drew back your fist, landing it squarely on Dean’s nose.
“That’s for assaulting me!” Another to his jaw, “That’s for using me!” One more to his cheek, “And that’s for coming back into my life,”
You turned and walked away from Dean, leaving him bleeding, still petrified. Draco caught your hand before you stormed out of the room.
“I’m fine,” You shrugged him off.
“No, you’re not,” Draco refuted.
“Awe, trying to play hero, now?” Dean jeered.
You froze under Draco’s touch, squeezing your eyes shut, your jaw clenching.
“She doesn’t need a hero,” Draco let you go and faced Dean. “She picked herself back up and walked away from a lowlife like you. You were so wrong to ever assume that she needed to be saved.”
There was a knock on the door. 
______________________________
I was still trembling. It had been about two hours since Dean first touched me. First shoved me against a wall and forced his lips on mine. From when I had first started to shatter.
In that time, Mrs. Bones had intervened and called backup to detain and court away Dean to Azkaban, the room had been cleaned of any trace of our battle, and Draco and I were alone in the suite, for one last night before we left.
We hadn’t spoken a word since the fight and the tension between us was tangible. Curled up in a deck chair, I desperately tried to rid my mind from Dean and the feeling of his hands on me, his lips on my skin, his whispered words. I shouldn’t be afraid. Not like this. I was an Auror. I was independent and strong.
But hell, I was breaking. Fast and hard.
Draco knocked on the balcony door, drawing my attention. I looked to him, hopeless and terrified. He offered his hand, an invitation, a call. I rose, my resolve fading as I ran into his arms, breaking down in tears. His arms wrapped around me, cradling me to his chest. I frantically grasped at his white button up, trying to ground myself.
Draco gently tugged me to the floor, still cradling me in his arms.
“I—I’m sorry,” I cried out. “I... he... I thought I...”
He shushed me softly and rubbed my back softly. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” 
“I didn’t mean it,” I gasped out through tears. 
“I know,” His tone was somber.
But though the night dragged relentlessly, it was not the worst night of my life. I took comfort from that. And I was not alone. There was a great deal of comfort in that, too.
My hindsight seemed unbearably clear tonight. I could see every mistake I’d made, every bit of harm I’d done, the small things and the big things. Each pain I’d caused Draco, each wound I’d given myself, stacked up into neat piles that I could not ignore or deny.
And I realized that I’d been wrong all along about wanting to be alone. It had not been Draco and I that I’d been trying to force apart, it was the two parts of myself, the one who craved a companion and the one who was independent and free. But they didn’t know how to exist together, and I should have tried harder to figure it out.
I’d done so much damage.
Draco said little; he just held me on the floor and let me ruin his shirt, staining it with saltwater. At some point a blanket was draped around my shoulders and I was too miserable to figure out where it came from.
It took longer than I thought it would for that smaller, broken part of me to cry herself out. It happened, though, and I was eventually exhausted enough to sleep. While I slept, I felt warm, protected, comforted. I didn’t feel alone.
In the morning, I saw the reason why. It was one of the reasons that had me terrified in the beginning of this entire case:
There was only one bed.
And I wasn’t alone.
Epilogue:
“I did apologize right?” I asked again sheepishly.
“And I told you, you have nothing to apologize for,” Draco smiled. “It’s what friends are for Y/n,”
I smiled at the word. Friends. It was the solution to my dilemma. The part of myself that craved a companion but satisfied the girl with dreams and freedom. It was in front of me the entire time. I wished I had realized sooner, and maybe this weekend would have been different, but friends... more than friends, whatever we were or weren’t, Draco had decided to stand by me regardless, and I was grateful.
“Y/l/n, Malfoy, how was Paris?” Harry asked offhandedly as we reported to him Monday morning.
What I wasn’t expecting however, was Draco grabbing Harry’s collar and decking him.
I covered my mouth, trying to conceal a laugh but failed miserably.
“What the hell Malfoy?” Harry sputtered, holding his bleeding nose.
“You wanna know who was dealing those illegal potions?” Malfoy snarled. “Her ex. And you sent her into this weekend blind,”
Harry’s eyes widened in shock as he stammered out apologies.
I rolled my eyes and left the office, a warm smile on my face. Draco walked beside me.
“You didn’t have to do that you know,” I muttered. “Is your hand alright?”
“I know how to throw a punch and not injure myself,” Draco rolled his eyes at me. “And I’ll take any chance I can get to punch Potter in the face,”
I laughed as we apparated to Paris for lunch.
.
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fnf-brain-rot · 3 years
Text
[Whitty x Boyfriend] Chapter 9 - do you know what love is?
Thursday.
It's been over a week since Whitty started staying at Boyfriend's place. He stopped sleeping completely, and constantly had his head poked out of windows, or the peep hole in the front door. Boyfriend woke up every morning to Whitty cuddling him in bed, nervously wrapped around the smaller for reassurance.
Boyfriend wanted to do something to ease his anxiety.
Boyfriend walked with Whitty into the living room, holding his hand as a guide. He noticed the other has been a lot more touchy as well, which he didn't complain about. He encouraged it. "What do you wanna do today?" The smaller male looked up to him when they sat on the couch. Whitty shrugged. It was obvious his mind was elsewhere.
"You want me to call Gigi so we can hang out again?" Boyfriend then asked, and Whitty shook his head. Just the two of them huh.. Today should be a calm day. Boyfriend gasped quietly to himself, though he startled Whitty. "What? What happened? Did you see something??" Whitty stood up off the couch, and Boyfriend snorted a little. "No no, I had an idea!" He reassured him, somehow coaxing him to sit back down.
Whitty was obviously anxious staying in the same space, so why not have a change of scenery?
________________________________________________________________________________
It was so chilly outside, Boyfriend wished he had a car. He would be too scared to drive anyway.
They had been walking for what felt like an hour. Whitty knew Boyfriend wasn't a damn machine, so he let him rest on his shoulders. Boyfriend tried his best to behave on Whitty's shoulders, but being so high up felt like a little gremlin was kicking at his insides, no matter how fun it was.
They arrived to their secluded little spot just on the outskirts of Philly. It was quiet outside the city. Whitty appreciated that. "I looked up some peaceful places to go, and there's this hiking trail out here that I found. Dunno if it's safe though." He looked down at Whitty from above. Whitty didn't seem bothered. He never even thought of leaving the city to hide. He always felt trapped within the confines of the looming, steel buildings and brick walls. This, however, is a nice change of pace.
"You wanna get down?" Whitty then asked the blue haired man, and he shook his head. "No, not yet! My feet are still dying!" He whined in response, letting out a bunch of incomprehensible noise after the fact. "Okay okay! I'm not forcing you off! You big baby.." Whitty snurked a little, and Boyfriend tugged on his fuse in retaliation, making him stumble back a bit with an "Ack!"
They eventually started moving again, walking down the trail that dipped lower into a bunch of broken trees and crazy brambles. Boyfriend got smacked in the head a little too frequently with branches, so he opted to get down and walk. What they didn't expect to find, however, was a little lake. It was small enough to be more of a pond, but big enough to call a lake.
Boyfriend would totally go swim if it wasn't freezing right about now. It was around the holidays, the ones capitalism loves so much. "Wow.." Whitty breathed out at the sight. It was cloudy, but faint rays of light beamed down onto the murky water. There were a few large rocks scattered about, and Boyfriend ran to sit down. He didn't care if they were covered in moss.
"The sweet smell of amphibimous creatures." Boyfriend sighed happily as Whitty took a seat next to him, resting his elbows on his knees. He's starting to think he didn't say that right.. "Amphibi..am.. tiny pond animals." boyfriend put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, acting like he never messed up in the first place.
"Tiny pond animals?" Whitty parroted him, and the smaller nodded. "Yep! Like frogs, and turtles, and salamanders." He stood up and walked over to the edge of the water body, crouching down. "C'mere!" He whisper shouted to the other man. Whitty mimicked his actions, crouching the same as him. "Listen.." They both looked out to the lake, when Whitty noticed something. There were many tiny sounds around them, from the occasional croaking noise, then the constant high pitched buzz. "What are the noises?"
"The tiny pond animals! And some bugs." Boyfriend smiled up at him. "Watch this." Whitty scooted himself back a bit to give Boyfriend some room. The rapper stuck his tongue out, as if he were focusing on a single spot in the water, then shot out his hands. Water splashed on them both as he tore his hands back up just as fast. "Tadaa!!" He was holding a.. "What is that??"
"It's a frog!" Whitty watched in interest as the frog's neck puffed out. It was fast, but he could still see it. It let out the croaking sound he had been hearing earlier. "It's so small.. and green.. and.. slimy?"
"You wanna hold it?" Boyfriend inched it to him invitingly, and Whitty nodded quickly, holding out his hands to take it. "You gotta hold it tight or it'll jump away. Not too tight though, they're very fragile." He set the frog on his hands, and Whitty held it to the same capacity as Boyfriend had before. It was slimy. "Why is it so slippery?" he asked the blue haired shorty, who laughed lightly. "I think they said it's cause it's mucous. It's uh.. I think it's for protection. Some frogs have poisonous mucous, but those ones are mainly in the jungle." Boyfriend patted himself on the back for knowing so much.
"Where's that?" Whitty tilted his head curiously. "The jungle? Oh, in tropical areas and such. You know."
"Tropical?"
"Y...Yeah?"
"Where's that?"
Boyfriend gawked at him. He really didn't know anything did he? "Did you have any sort of education when you were younger?" He quickly asked him. "No.." Whitty muttered honestly. Boyfriend sucked air through his teeth. Even he knew he was pretty stupid, so Whitty being stuck with him of all people might not get him far. Whitty let the frog go, and watched it launch itself back into the water.
"I'll teach you as much as I can then." The smaller nudged his side gently. "Can you tell me about love, then?" Boyfriend blinked at the question, then his face began to go red. "Uh.. What makes you wanna learn about that?"
________________________________________________________________________________
The day after the carnival, Whitty talked to Girlfriend about feeling weird around Boyfriend. He told her his insides felt funny, and he felt it every time Boyfriend hugged or kissed him, but he also felt the same watching him do that to someone else. He recognized it as a negative emotion, but he wasn't sure what about it was negative.
"Fluttery, huh? I see.." Girlfriend giggled to herself, gently applying the man's blush. Whitty liked the feeling of the brush.  It was soft, and somewhat comforting. "Do you know what it means to like someone?" She spoke softly, lowering the brush to look at him. Whitty shrugged. "To appreciate them?" Girlfriend nodded. "There's two types likes. Platonic, and intimate. Platonic means you like them as  friend, or a brother or sister. Intimate is more like.. a romantic partner."
"Romantic partner?"
"Romance is.. love. You said you were twenty percent human, right?" Whitty nodded. "Then you must have the ability to love someone, not based on numbers anyway."
"But what does it mean to love someone?" Whitty asked her softly, and she laughed a little. "It's that fluttery feeling you get when you and Boyfriend touch. When you see him smile, laugh with him, eat with him, cuddle with him. When you're around him and you "feel weird", as you put it, that means you like him, more than just a friend or a brother."
Whitty took all her words to heart. So he wanted to be more than a friend to Boyfriend. But what does that mean?
________________________________________________________________________________
Finding a partner is a big deal in society, so he wanted to be gentle on Boyfriend. He didn't want to scare him or make it weird. "It has to do with the affection stuff you taught me, right?" Boyfriend nodded quickly. "Yeah but uh.. That's just the tip of the iceberg. Things other than that are a lot more intimate. Are you sure you wanna.. get into that?" He tried to hide his flustered face with his coat. Whitty nodded, then went back over to sit down on the stone. He patted his lap, and Boyfriend's face got even more red.
He eventually mustered the courage to walk over to him, turning around and sitting in his lap. "No, like this." Whitty lifted Boyfriend up, who clung onto his arms in surprise, and turned him around, forcing his legs apart across his lap. Boyfriend's face flushed a deeper red as Whitty wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him close. Whitty wasn't cold.. he can produce his own heat. Boyfriend appreciated that, as he began to warm up just cuddling him.
Boyfriend would admit, he was kinda touch starved. That would probably be why he was so quick to have sex with Pico.. It's also why he was so eager to show Whitty affection. That and there was no way the guy has never had a damn hug.
"Do you like this?" Whitty asked Boyfriend softly, and the smaller swallowed, then nodded. "Yeah it.. feels nice.. Do you like it?" He threw the question back, which Whitty didn't expect. That feeling again, in his chest this time. This is probably what Girlfriend meant. What it's like to like somebody. Or even love somebody. They made eye contact, and Whitty took his time to finally slow down and look. Boyfriend had such cute little cheeks.. He knew really nothing about societal body standards, but Boyfriend was nothing short from beautiful. His smooth, milky white skin, and the red hot blush that dusted across his cheeks, and his little button nose.
Most people wanted blue eyes, or green eyes, or eyes that change color, but Boyfriend's pitch black irises held more emotion than he's seen in anyone else's. "Yeah.." Whitty smiled, hugging the male tighter. "I really like it."
Boyfriend laughed a little, his own arms wrapped tightly around Whitty's torso, honestly trying to get as much warmth as he could get.
They hung around the area for a good few hours, cuddling the entire time of course, watching the sun move around in the sky. Boyfriend took it among himself to talk to him about how big the world is, and just how many things were on this planet. He saved the 'We're on a giant rock floating in space" talk for another day. He didn't want him to have an existential crisis so soon.
It was around five in the afternoon when they decided to start making their journey back home. Whitty felt enlightened, happy, and.. safe. Boyfriend wasn't the scariest looking dude, he certainly wouldn't be able to protect them if something were to happen. Whitty didn't mind though. He.. loved him? For who he was. He's done so much for him already, now he's gonna do stuff for him in return, and show him how much he appreciates him.
"You wanna stop and eat somewhere? I'm kinda hungry." Boyfriend put a hand on his growling belly, and Whitty hummed in thought. "If you can afford it." Boyfriend playfully glared up at him. "I told you not to worry about money with me." He gently punched his hip, but winced as his hand connected with literal fucking metal. Right, mostly robot. "That's what you get for not letting me worry about your financial situation." The taller laughed lightly, beginning to walk ahead as Boyfriend stood behind to recuperate.
"You fucken-" Boyfriend began to retort, but soon couldn't really hear much. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his body hurl itself backwards. He tumbled across the pavement, seeing nothing but white for a good few seconds. Inhaling a gasp, he opened his eyes and looked up at the slightly cloudy sky. What the fuck was that?? All he could hear was a high pitch ringing, which could mean..
He quickly looked down in front of him, his eyes wide with fear. "Whitty?? No no, Whitty!" Whitty's body lay unmoving on the pavement some ways from him. His voice was muffled in his own head. What happened?? Can he just explode at random?? He scrambled over to him, examining his headless body. He's exploded before, but there was an indicator for when he would explode. His fuse wasn't lit this time. What.. What caused it??
They weren't too far into the city, just enough for the lower income houses and some empty lots to be visible. "Jesus christ.. I-It's okay Whitty, it'll be okay,  fuck.." He whimpered out softly. He did all he could, lifting his body by the arms and beginning to carry him out of the open. They sat behind some random building, the ground littered with trash and dirt. It smelled pretty bad, but that didn't matter now.
What mattered was that Whitty woke up safe and sound.
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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years
Text
You’re The One I Want To Go Through Time With
Day one of HWOL is finally here!! So excited to share all I’ve written! For today I chose the prompt Neighbors AU!!! You can read this on ao3 also as part of the collection as well!!  Hope y’all like it!! 
Word Count: 11,952
Rated: G
It finally happens when he’s 15 years old. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it coming, but Steve gets kicked out.
In the very beginning of a particularly brutal Hawkins summer, he had decided to invite Tommy over to smoke weed in the pool house. He thought nothing of it, but the neighbors complained about the smell, and, coupled with every other act of his deemed irresponsible, immature, disgraceful, by his stuck-up parents, a couple of blunts was apparently the last straw.
They tell him the Harringtons had a reputation, an air of elegance and respect they had to upkeep, so they couldn’t just let him bring drugs onto their property. He thought it was ridiculous, considering that they were allowed as much wine aging in the cellar and expensive whiskey propped up on a hutch as they wanted, but when he’d brought it up he’d gotten nothing but a stern look.
They’d been through this a thousand times over, how worthless and terrible a son he could be, grounding him for bringing too many girls home, taking his car away when he failed a class, so he knew to expect a punishment.
This is obviously the next step, the throwing him out on the street thing, for years he could feel the neglect and tension starting to build up and boil over. Sometimes, they’d even hang threats of it over his head, so now that was told he had to be out of the mansion by the end of next week or there would be consequences, it couldn’t be too much of a shocker.
Though at some point, he’s got to wonder if they ever really thought as far ahead as consequences, or if they just knew they trained their boy well enough that it never got that far. If only he had more of a spine.
Now, as unsurprising as the scenario may be, Steve was still absolutely in no way, by any means ready to be thrown out on the streets before he even had his driver’s license.
In the case of emergency, like the time Stephen Sr. got just a little too rough and popped his wrist out of place, or when they’d left him alone for a month at age 9 and he went three days without food because he didn’t know how to turn the stove on, he had his aunt, the thankfully much more compassionate counterpart to his mother, who lived over in California.
The minute they’re gone, having passive aggressively hurried off somewhere, probably the country club or something, to complain about how disappointing their son was with their rich friends, Steve grabs a suitcase from the closet and gives his Aunt Margaret a call.
Before he knows it she’s got him a flight booked, a written agreement from her sister that proved taking him in was legal, and a set of luggage. Three days later, he was flying first class towards the rest of his life.
~~~~~~~
Touching down in San Francisco has got to be the most surreal thing he’s ever done.
He’d never even left the Midwest before, his farthest ventures being into the three states surrounding his home state, so to be charted off to the west coast? It’s an experience alright.
Aunt Margaret is there waiting for him, her jet black permed hair a few inches above the rest, her brown eyes sparkling with the kindest smile he’s ever seen as she runs up to hug him.
She takes all of his bags, swatting his hands away when he tries to carry even one, and makes him sit in the car while she shoves it all into the trunk.
He wasn’t used to not being the help, since that’s all his parents ever really saw him as anyways, only valuable as their son if they got something out of the time they spent with him. It’s got him feeling weird the whole drive back to the Margos apartment, like he’s in some alternate reality where people are nice to him for a change.
She lives in one of those shared places, a duplex where the house is divided into two halves for two different renters, the very kind his mother would’ve turned her nose up at despite having been raised in one herself. Margaret told him there was a mother and son who lived in the other half, but they’re quiet enough, and polite.
Just pulling up outside of the house, Steve already knows it’s everything he’s ever wanted.
The house itself, painted a pale shade of peeling yellow and missing the majority of the shingles off of the roof, is actually a reasonable size, a direct contrast to the mansion he grew up in, fit for a dozen but occupied by one most days.
Brutal summer heat has dried up the lawn and the garden so they aren’t perfectly tailored, not trimmed by underpaid staff or watered by automatic sprinklers. All across it there’s a scattering of ornaments, like colorful pinwheels in the front garden, and plastic flamingos standing guard by the mailbox.
There’s even a rickety old fence, all mossy and broken up to mark the edges of their property, so different from the white vinyl fence in his backyard at his parents house.
It would seem too that the garage was only big enough for one car, not three like he was used to, and that the makeshift gravel driveway leading up to it was at max capacity with only his aunts Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais, and a dinged up old Karmann Ghia the same color as the house parked in it.
Basically, there were none of the telltale signs that a neglected rich boy lived there, and from that alone he already knew he belonged here.
His aunt hurries him into their section of the house, theirs is the right side, so he can get to resting off the jet lag before he starts unpacking, but he’s far too distracted taking everything in to worry about being a little drowsy.
The rooms are small and the ceilings are low. Where there would’ve been beige and white and other sophisticated tones, there was a rainbow of colors in Margos apartment, from the curtains to the carpet, the Afghan on the back of the couch to the little trinkets in the entertainment center and windowsills.
He notices that, to accommodate for the heavy summer heat, there was a fan spinning in the corner, and all the windows were left wide open. His parents had the windows painted shut back home.
It might’ve been overwhelming, being thrown into a place like this so suddenly, but in his heart he knows this was what he was made for: a cozy life with someone who treated him with the bare minimum of respect.
~~~~~~~
Eventually Steve does fall asleep, the switch from Eastern Standard to Pacific time just being too great for his body. He doesn’t really mean to, he thought he’d just lay down for a minute while he was putting his clothes away in his new dresser, but he ends up sleeping until it’s almost dark out.
He goes looking for Margo when he realizes the house is empty, an irrational pit of dread growing in his chest at the familiarity of being alone, and finds her out back.
The yard also seems to be shared with the other house, a wispy line of barely showing through grass separating the two where a divider had once been, but had since been ripped up.
His aunt is with another woman, a blonde lady who he assumed was from the next door apartment, were sitting in mismatched lawn chairs, cigarettes glowing as the sun got lower and lower in the sky.
Margaret beckons him over once she notices him, and shows him off to the woman. It’s not at all like his mother would’ve done it, none of the flaunting him to make a good impression. This is more like her wanting to introduce him because she genuinely cares.
In a way, it almost makes Steve more uneasy. He could handle all the fake stuff with only the slightest hint of discomfort at being gawked at, because most of the time he’d never have to see those people again, but this was astronomically different.
“Maria, this is my nephew Steve.” Deep blue eyes seem to take him in, accompanied by a polite smile that makes his stomach drop for no good reason.
He panics, shifts into the role of the perfect little socialite he’d been working on his whole life. Without thinking, he extends his hand for her to and produces the generic response his mother’d trained into him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms..”
She takes his hand, but looks a little surprised about doing it. “Hargrove. But we don’t have to do formalities.”
“Right.” It feels awkward to Steve, but judging from the laid back attitude of the women, it’s not a universal sentiment. That only makes it more embarrassing, to be the only one bothered by it.
His aunt leans back in her chair, tapping the ash of the end of her cigarette and tells him, “Go ahead and grab a chair Stevie.”
He straightens his back out and scans the yard, expecting a chair to already be propped open somewhere. The confusion must be apparent on his face when he finds nothing but grass and more grass, because his aunt specifies, “By the shed, kiddo.”
His parents always told him they weren’t allowed to have lawn furniture except the pool chairs cemented to the ground, because they said it didn’t fit the lifestyle they tried to lead. Even the concept of a shed would’ve been insulting to their tastes.
He's done enough growing up to know now that they were just afraid to look too much like they were people who lived in rural Indiana instead of in true big city luxury. They couldn’t risk seeming too much like they weren’t in the upper middle, it would be a disgrace.
The contrast between that and just sitting out there and not having his guard up is so, grounding. Not having anything at all to do but just, sit and appreciate instead of performing and worrying, it’s a lot to take in at once.
He was so nervous the whole way up, even though it was his aunt and he already knew she was nice, that they wouldn’t get along, since that’s the way things always were with his own mum, and lord knows he hardly ever even spoke to his father.
But it’s really not tense at all, actually, it’s sort of the opposite. For once in his life he feels free of expectations, and takes the moment to just exist. Ruthie and Stephen Sr. had long ago made sure that was a concept he could barely understand.
It’s not too long after that that the screen door to Maria’s side of the house swings open, scaring Steve so bad he almost tips his chair over as he startles.
There’s a boy who he’s guessing is about his age leaning out the door, but from the distance he’s at and with how dark it’s getting, Steve doesn’t see much else about him. “M back momma.”
“Okay baby.” The screen door clicks shut again in the next moment, and Maria offers Steve an apologetic smile “You’ve gotta excuse my Billy. He’s not too good with other kids.”
“No, it’s alright.” He assures her, like a polite social butterfly should.
Maria goes in a little while after that, and Margaret and Steve follow suit, since the sun’s almost all the way down.
But Steve’s curious now. He wants to know more about the boy, Billy, he thinks was what Maria called him. It’s only right to wonder, being that they’re neighbors now and all.
It gets brought up later that night, when they’re watching TV on the couch, a thrifted, feather stuffed thing he thought was simultaneously the most hideous and most comfortable thing he’d ever sat on.
“I didn’t know you had neighbors.” He’d been trying to work himself up to talking about it, sitting in the corner of the couch in a little ball and picking at his nails as he worked up his courage.
It was funny, being so nervous over casual conversation, but he guesses he could blame his parents for that one.
His own mum wouldn’t have even paid him any mind, at most pretending to listen while her eyes stayed trained to the television or magazine or coworker in front of her and hummed a non committal response, but Margo turns her whole body on the couch to face him while she answers him, with a complete sentence even. “Oh, people used to come and go all the time over there.”
“How long have they been here? Maria and her son?”
She thinks for a moment, a little surprised at her nephew's interest in the topic of their neighbors. “I don’t know, probably about a year or so now.”
“What’re they like?” He comes across as maybe a little too eager, and his aunt notices.
“What’s got you so curious?” There’s a teasing bit of reprimanding in her tone, just enough to suggest that she knows he’s being a nib-nose, but doesn’t mind it.
And he feels himself flush, because he is being nosy. To try to save face just a little, he comes up with an excuse that isn’t quite a lie. “Nothin’, just knew all my neighbors back in Hawkins, I guess.”
But she wasn’t upset with him, it wasn’t her intention to get him to shut up, like it would’ve been had he heard the same thing from one Ruthie Harrington, so she answers that question too. “I don’t know, they’re nice, sort of reserved, but I’ve never had any problems with them.”
~~~~~~
The two boys are properly introduced for the first time the next morning, when Steve goes out to fetch the mail for Margret. It feels like the least he can do for bumming off of his aunt.
Stepping out on the porch just shy of 8 in the morning and not seeing dewey grass, or the early sunshine muted behind rolling fog and dreary clouds is something he’s going to have to get used to.
Summers in Hawkins were always muggy, full of thunderstorms and unpredictably dreary days. San Francisco is so bright, so different, and such a relief.
While Steve basks in it, the already warm breeze and the sun shining bright, the neighbors’ door opens up and Billy comes out to do the same, standing on his tip-toes to reach up into the mailbox beside the door, holding a traveler's mug of coffee in the opposite hand.
When he turns around to go back inside, Steve, staying true to wanting to get to know the other boy better, has taken a few steps closer, and has extended a hand for Billy to shake, the same sort of introduction panic he’d felt last night.
But, Billy, seeing that his hands are a bit preoccupied by a stack of bills and a cup of coffee, just offers a sheepish smile.
Steve settles for a formal introduction without a handshake, though it’s still too stiff an interaction to really get to know him beyond the awkward new rich kid in town. “Hi. My name is Steve Harrington. I’m uh, I'm your new neighbor.”
“Pleasure to meet you Steve Harrington. M’Billy” They stand there, neither of them making any move to do anything but just look at one another. Billy clears his throat and shakes the coffee cup towards Steve, sensing that maybe this was the place for hospitality. “You want some? My momma always makes too much.”
“No thanks. I’m uh, allergic to coffee beans.”
“Huh.” He seems amused by that, scrunches his nose up like he doesn’t believe it, and Steve wants to curl up and disappear. “I’ll see you later then, Steve Harrington.”
He watches the other boy turn back to leave after that, and still sort of just stands there before his brain comes back on and he realizes he should say something in return. “Right, uh, bye.”
It’s just a moment's passing, but Steve can’t get the interaction out of his head.
He chalks it up to being nervous that his new neighbors won’t like him, the fear that Aunt Margo will send him back to his parents if he can’t get along here, and that makes logical sense, except, what he’s caught up on is Billy’s crooked smile, and his blond curls that lay just past his ears, messy from just waking up and bleached from the sun, and the spatter of dark freckles across his nose.
First full day in California and he has a crush on the neighbor kid. He can’t believe himself.
There isn’t very much time to mull that fact over though, because, over breakfast, what his aunt calls her ‘special occasion breakfast’ of cinnamon rolls with ice cream, she tells him she’s going to do some errands today.
And that’s alright, he tells her he’ll be fine all by himself, and he is, for the first few hours, but the more time she’s gone, the worse and worse he starts to feel. It’s that worry again, that deep rooted fear that he’ll be left alone forever.
Experience has taught him to try to calm himself down, to catch his breath and try to focus on the fact that he knows he’s being irrational, but those techniques don’t cut it, as they often don’t, and he’s sending himself further into a panic attack trying to think too hard about it
Sitting inside, he gets stir crazy, feels suffocated by everything that had before been inviting to him, so he goes for some fresh air out front. Watching the road for so long, just waiting for the Oldsmobile to pull up, he starts to feel antsy again, so he goes out back where it’s quiet instead.
There’s a glider on the porch back there, an old rusty thing that squeaked every time Steve rocked it forward or back, but the calming motion of it is probably the only thing keeping him from spiraling too far.
He doesn’t really know what time it is anymore, only that he’s hungry, and that the sun’s going down, and that he’s been sort of zoned out back there for a long while. He feels hot and cold at the same time, and he’s lost in his head.
The sound of a screen door gently tapping against the side of the house brings his eyes up from the spot on the ground he’d been staring at with tears in his eyes, but it isn’t his aunt Margaret coming home, it’s just Billy.
With his hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against the wall between the back doors, he says real quiet like, “Momma told me to ask if you wanted some of the dinner she made.”
He shrugs. “I’m alright.”
“I figured.” Billy looks at the floor while he tries to figure out how he wants to approach this. For a long moment, neither of them say a word, no sound between them but distant field crickets, until Billy asks, his voice quiet enough it barely registers in Steve’s mind. “You okay?”
If he’s being entirely honest, Steve doesn’t really know if he’s okay. He trusted his aunt enough to move all the way across the country with her, and yet he can’t manage enough trust to believe her when she said she’d come home from some errands? Doesn’t sound too okay to him.
But he’s not in Hawkins, he’s away from the people he knows for sure wouldn’t be coming back for him unless it was to pull something like they had and treat him like garbage. So in a way, he guesses he’s better than ever.
Unable to think of any words that might convey what he’s thinking, Steve just shrugs again, but Billy seems to get it. He sits down next to Steve on the glider and plants his feet so it won’t move, and so Steve’s attention will be on him.
Knowing he’s got Steve’s focus, since he looks over at him with glossy eyes, Billy tries to reassure him, “Your aunt’s a good lady. She wouldn’t leave you.”
“Who said I thought she would?” It sounds pathetic, wet and stuffy with the remnants of tears he hadn’t known were falling, but there’s a vulnerability he couldn’t hide behind even the toughest of masks that reveals he isn’t being honest.
“The way you watched for her car said enough.” It makes Steve feel exposed, having a total stranger see right through him, but Billy explains himself. “When my momma went out looking for this place, I was sure I’d never see her again.”
“Why did you guys move here?” If he was going to psychoanalyze Steve, he felt it was only fair to ask Billy a pressing question back.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” He deflects it back onto Steve in a way that might’ve seemed cocky, but it's obvious he’s just trying to avoid the question.
Steve won’t let him win this one though, maybe just to save his own ego, or pretend like he hadn’t been caught crying by someone he met that morning, or maybe it was just because he had asked first, but he wants Billy to answer, so he tells him, with the slightest hint of a bashful smile playing at his lips, “You first.”
“Stubborn.” He cracks a smile back though, and goes ahead and goes first at the other boys insistence. “My dad’s a real nasty s.o.b. Would get drunk and mean for no good reason, so momma took me and we high-tailed it before he did anything too drastic.”
He didn’t know what he was expecting, why he even felt like it was any of his business, and he doesn’t know what he should say to that.
For lack of a better response, he gives his own little life story summary. “My parents were rich. They didn’t want me, so they have the time of day for me. No matter what I did they punished me for it, grounded me, hit me, sent me to Christian school, until they just got sick of me, I guess.”
“That sounds pretty shitty.” Billy offered.
“Yeah, yours too.”
After a while, Billy, sounding for a moment like he’s a lot wiser than any 14 year old has the right to be, says “What matters is we’re here now.”
Steve feels so touched hearing that. It was so simple a thing for the other boy to say, but coming from Billy after he’d just shared what he did, it means a lot more than just basic condolences.
Hardly anybody had ever been that genuine in anything they said to him. Steve can hardly force a response out of his shocked mouth. As he looks over at Billy’s face, still turned up towards the sky, he sees all that meaning there illuminated by the stars, and he's able to mutter a breathless, “Yeah.” in response.
They both jump when the door flies open, and aunt Margo comes running over to Steve. Frantically she explains that she’d been trying to make sure everything was legal, only to find that some of Steve’s papers were missing, and they had to try to track them all down and get some of them faxed, and it ended up taking way longer than expected.
It feels nice to be understood. Just a few years ago his parents left for what was supposed to be a three day trip to Indianapolis, only they didn’t come back for what was almost two months. Once they were home they didn’t even mention it, just continued going about their business as usual until it was time to leave again. His aunt taking the effort to explain herself was already a vast improvement from that.
He lets her pull him into a big hug, accepts her apology as the air is squeezed out of his lungs, and when he pulls away from her, Billy’s gone.
~~~~~~~
Finish reading on ao3! You can find this posted under the same title by ej_writer or as part of the hwol collection over there! Sorry tumblrs word limits deemed this too long!
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the-delta-42 · 4 years
Text
Fallen
Based on This Post by @nerdasaurus1200
Fallen
Marinette scowled at the sky. Ever since Lila came back, everyone’s IQ had fallen to single digits, Max included. Alya had brushed Marinette’s concerns off a jealousy, but Marinette didn’t have any proof, aside from her own word and Adrien, who wanted to go with the high road approach.
Marinette inwardly snorted, Adrien had a heart of gold, but he seriously needed lessons on social skills. Marinette glanced down at the stub in her hand, if her parents found she had started smoking, they would flip. Marinette didn’t actually intend for smoking to become a habit, but another one of the class presidents had noticed she was stressed and given her a cigarette, it happened a few more time and it eventually stuck, Tikki always tutted and gave Marinette a disapproving look. Thankfully, no one came on to the roof to look for smokers, they always looked on the ground. Marinette stubbed the cigarette out and put it in a disused flower pot.
“Well, well, well,” Crooned a sickeningly sweet voice, making Marinette spin around, “what do I have here? Why, if it isn’t Marinette, breaking a school rule.”
Lila smirked smugly at Marinette, Marinette looked behind Lila and spotted Alix, Kim, Chloe and Sabrina.
“Can I help you?” asked Marinette, tiredly.
“You weren’t at lunch.” Said Lila, faux sweet voice lacing her words.
“Well, here I am,” Waved Marinette, “you can go now.”
“Oh, but, Marinette,” Said Lila, sweetly, “I don’t want to go.”
Marinette sighed, hauling herself to her feet, “Okay, but I don’t want to know what you’re doing up here.”
“But, Marinette,” Lila’s smirk went cold, “I want to talk to you.”
“How unfortunate, because I don’t want to talk to you.” Said Marinette, plainly.
Lila took a few steps closer, “I told Alya that I could help you start your fashion career, I told her I could introduce you to so many people.”
“I’m not interested in your lies, Lila,” Said Marinette, folding her arms, “your stories don’t work on me, it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone else cottons on.”
Alix went to advance toward Marinette, but Kim held his arm out.
“Let’s see how this ends.” Kim whispered his voice quiet.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Lila grit out, fuming.
“It means, stop lying, once everything comes to light, the class, hell the school, will turn on you like a pack of dogs,” Said Marinette, “And believe me, they will tear you apart.”
Marinette stopped at the edge and looked across the City, for some reason, she felt oddly calm.
Lila let out a yell and charged at Marinette, her hands pushing Marinette’s back away from her, causing Marinette to topple over. Marinette let out a scream as she fell, abruptly cutting off as she hit the ground with a sickening crack-thud.
“Marinette!” Screamed Alix, as she ran past Lila and gawked over the edge of the roof.
Alix stood still for a moment, before she rushed back down the stairs, the others following after her, leaving Lila alone on the roof.
*/*
Adrien laughed as Nino imitated an elephant.
His father allowed him to have lunch at school, which gave him the opportunity to introduce Kagami to his other friends. Kagami had brought some of her classmates with her, Adrien presumed for moral support.
“Didn’t you say Marinette was going to be here?” Asked Kagami, looking around for the blue-eyed girl.
“Yeah, I think she’s caught up in something.” Said Adrien, making Alya snort.
“The girl is turning into a workaholic, one day she’s going to run herself into the ground.” Commented Alya, “She said someone wanted to speak with her and she’d join us as soon as she was done.”
Kagami hummed in response.
Alix suddenly burst into the courtyard.
“Lila just pushed Marinette off the roof.”
*/*
She was dead.
Lila could only stare at the body of the class representative that she had pushed off the roof. In hindsight, the push had been a bit much, she hadn’t meant to push her off the roof.
Lila could see her classmate slowly gather around the body, someone screamed and there were more than a few wails. Adrien looked up and made eye contact with Lila. She had never seen such hatred before and now she was witnessing it, all because Lila Rossi had murdered Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
She didn’t think she could lie herself out of this one. She knew she couldn’t lie her way out of it when the class began hunting her down.
Lila started frantically looking for a way to get down without having to use the stairs she used to get up here. She spotted a fire escape, and ran for it, hastily rushing down the steps and into the alley that it let out into. Lila wasted no time in running home and hiding away in her room, she needed a way out of this mess without getting arrested.
*/*
They’d moved Marinette into an empty classroom. It had been an hour and the whole school had heard, and everyone was quiet when they were informed. Everyone was told that it was probably planned by Lila, as Kim, Alix and Sabrina had told the staff. The Art teacher had donated a sheet so her body could be covered. The Police and Ambulance were arriving, paramedics being taken to Marinette’s body.
An officer was questioning Marinette’s classmates when one of the Paramedics rushed in.
“We have to move her.” Said the Paramedic, gasping for air.
“Why?” Asked the Officer, “The Coroner’s van will be here in a minute.”
“She’s still alive, she’s being loaded into the Ambulance now.” The Paramedic then rushed out of the room, the Officer looking back at the class, before following her.
The classroom was silent, before Alya made a shuddery gasp.
“She’s alive.” Gasped Alya, her arms wrapped around Nino, “She’s still alive.”
“But for how much longer?” Came Adrien’s response, his tone dark.
No one wanted to give a thought to that possibility.
*/*
Tom and Sabine were in the middle of the lunch rush, when Police cars and an Ambulance arrived at the school across the road, one of their usual patrons entered, babbling about how someone had been pushed off the school roof.
The poor person left without collecting their change. Shortly afterwards, a Police Officer walked in, quietly asking to speak with them.
“I think you should sit down.” Said the Officer, as soon as they were somewhere private.
“Is something wrong?” Asked Tom, as he closed the door.
“I am afraid something has happened, concerning your daughter.” Answered the Officer.
“What’s wrong? Has she been arrested? Is she hurt?” Sabine threw a fast flurry of questions.
“No, she hasn’t been arrested,” Said the Officer, “at 13:47 today, one of her classmates had lured her up to the roof of her School and pushed her off. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid the chances of your daughter dying is more likely than her survival.”
Neither spoke, before Sabine let out a shuddering gasp.
“Where is she?” Demanded Tom, his tone a mix of grief and rage.
*/*
The doctors were rushing around when the trolly came in, a doctor rushing over to them.
“Okay, what’ve we got?” Asked the Doctor, matching the pace of the paramedics and trolly.
“15-year-old female, Caucasian-Asian, was pushed off her schools’ roof.” A paramedic listed off, “The Police will want to question her if she wakes up.”
“When she wakes up.” Said the Doctor, looking down at the girl, “Anything else?”
“Severe trauma to the head and spine, possible punctured lung, her right arm is broken.” Came the response, “There’s also suspected internal bleeding, so there is a chance of there being other punctures.”
“Right,” Said the Doctor, before calling out, “Can someone prep her for surgery?”
*/*
By the time class had been released Marinette had been released from surgery, with Tom and Sabine sitting by her bedside.
“How is she?” Asked Alya, as she entered the room, Nino and Adrien trailing along behind her.
“They say she’s stable, but they don’t know if she’ll wake up or not.” Came Tom’s reply.
“Who did this?” Came Sabine’s quiet demand.
“Mrs. Cheng, I don’t think we’re allowed-” Sabine cut Adrien off mid-sentence.
“Who did this to my daughter?”
Everyone was quiet, before Alix piped up behind them.
“Lila pushed Marinette off the roof.” Said Alix, quietly pushing her way to the front.
“The girl with the lying disease?” Questioned Tom, as Adrien shifted slightly.
“Mr. Dupain, I don’t think that was a disease,” Said Adrien, “the only thing that would remotely match that is a compulsive lying disorder, which isn’t a disease.”
The room was silent, before Tom got up and muttered about how he needed to get outside. No one stopped him from walking out of the ward, while Sabine was gently stroking Marinette’s head.
*/*
Lila cowered under her desk in her room, she had heard someone knocking on the door to her home, Lila was desperately trying to think up something to get her out of this mess. She couldn’t fall back onto the lying disease, because there had been witnesses to Marinette’s murder and they all saw her push Marinette. She couldn’t claim self-defence, because Marinette was facing away from her. Lila was stuck in a corner, both figuratively and literally.
Lila stopped. She could say Marinette jumped and her push was actually her trying to save Marinette. Yes, that should work, it would take a few well-placed lies to get the class to believe her, but she might be able to get it to work.
Lila nodded to herself, she could work with this, and maybe, she could ruin Marinette as well.
There was a splintering sound as the front door was kicked in.
“Lila?” Came the voice of one of Paris’s heroes, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Lila clamped her hands over her mouth to prevent ant sound from escaping.
“Come on, Lila,” Whined Chat Noir, his claws scraping against a wall, “I only want to talk.”
Lila was breathing as quietly as possible, unwilling to remove her hands, lest she makes a noise, tears were streaming down her face. Lila’s door was kicked open and Chat Noir walked in.
“There you are.” Grinned Chat, as Cataclysm glowed in his hand.
Chat then rushed towards her, his cataclysm hand outstretched.
Lila woke with a gasp, sweat rolling down her body. She was in her bed; how did she get here? Then it all came crashing back to her. She pushed Marinette off the roof of the school and she planned on twisting it to make it seem Marinette was the aggressor.
Lila was drawn from her thoughts by the front door slamming shut.
“Lila!” Yelled her mother, making the girls heart sink.
“Y-yes, Mum?” called Lila, hoping her mother hadn’t already heard.
The sound of her mother stomping towards her room put a dull feeling of apprehension in her. Her door slammed open and her mother looked livid.
“What’s this I hear about you pushing someone off a roof?!” Demanded Lila’s mother.
*/*
“She’s lucky, I’ll say that much.” Said a Doctor, looking over Marinette’s file, “She’s going to need to rest to get the bones in her arm and leg to heal properly. Although, we’re going to want to keep an eye on her lungs for a while.”
“Why, was one of them punctured?” Asked Sabine, making the Doctor frown.
“Yes, but they’re just showing signs of smoking damage.” Said the Doctor, “It might be an idea to see if she has been smoking, just to be safe, since it could be smoke inhalation.”
The doctor finished up and left the room.
“Well, now we know why she was on the roof.” Said Sabine, looking over at her daughter, “Do you think we’ve been pushing her too hard?”
“I think it’s been a gradual thing, she started to struggle with things, and someone gave her a stress release.” Replied Tom, watching Marinette as she breathed in and out.
“We’ll have to talk to her about it when she wakes up.” Said Sabine, as Marinette shifted a little.
Both adults went silent as they watched Marinette wiggle around, before rolling over onto her side, her broken limbs resting on top of her non broken limbs. Marinette gave a little sigh and soft snores started coming from the bed.
“Well,” Said Sabine, her eyebrows raised, “at least we know she’s not in a coma.”
There was a flash and shutter sound at Tom took a picture.
*/*
A couple of weeks passed since Marinette woke up and was forced to come clean about her new habits, now she was sitting awkwardly, trying to take down notes from Ms. Bustier’s class. Her classmates tried to do it for her but stopped after Marinette made it clear she could manage. Marinette was avoiding Adrien’s gaze, she didn’t want to look at his smug face.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Marinette?” Asked Adrien, leaning towards Marinette, “It’s not to late to ask for help.”
“Bite me, Dracula.” Retorted Marinette, before swearing as she dropped her pen.
Ms. Bustier stopped and sighed.
“Adrien, please take Marinette’s notes for her, that’s the twenty-sixth time she dropped her pen.” Said Ms. Bustier, before continuing with the lesson.
Adrien looked beside himself, while Marinette pouted.
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This first Chapter of ‘The forest and its teeth’ was proofread by the amazingly sweet @haro-whumps. Thank you a lot for this and all the things I learned from your comments. They were also a delight to read while editing <3
Tag list: @broken-horn @finder-of-rings  @haro-whumps  @voidwhump2 (if you don’t want to be tagged in this pls let me know)
                                                   --
 First a hunger plagued our world, equal to none. We searched and searched, desperate for a solution, and as we finally found one a forest of flowers swallowed our world whole.
Wastelands and cities blossomed into a garden, Eden. The planet became a manmade god of roots and spores. Unfathomable. Merciless.
And we were cast out of our own creation, like we were cast out of the garden. The forest was no place for humans.
The world may have forgotten hunger, but we would always know about the creatures that lurked in those omniferous woods. Creatures with mouths bigger than our own. We knew that we were the ones who put them there.
                                                    --
The warm summer breeze carried a whiff of lavender from the safe zone’s border into the village and made Charlotte’s translucent blouse cling to her sweaty skin, tickling her pale thighs as she strolled through dusty streets.
People laughed as they hurried past her and Kaja, carrying fresh bread, flower garlands, and pieces of fruit to the marketplace. The Bromberg twins chased after a roly-poly, screaming as the poor creature scuttled up a rooftop, escaping its fade as a chitin-shelled pony knock-off.  Charlotte felt giddy just thinking about tonight’s feast. She’d seen Mara run around the orphanage with a strawberry bigger than her head today, declaring it the undefeatable champion among the offerings.
Kaja chattered beside her, overflowing with life as they slowly made their way out the village center. Charlotte had always found her effervescence oddly infectious, and wished she had more in common with the blonde, toothy-smiled woman than just blue eyes and their love for dancing. But where Kaja was all round, warm cheeks with a heart soft as her belly, Charlotte had always been rough edged, restless, untamable, much like her unruly copper curls.
“I wonder how big the watermelons will be this year. Hey Charlotte, say, do you think six people will fit in one this time?!”
“Six toddlers maybe,” Charlotte jested. “You should know the mutation cycle needs more than a year to double plants in size.”
Her eyes flitted over the forest, its endless expanse encircling the village’s border. Some colossal trees in the far distance cast the land under them in darkness, colored patches on maps eternally midnight-black.
“But what is our knowledge worth anyway?”
“Party pooper.” Kaja grinned, long skirt puffing as she twirled around. “We’ve got a festival to organize. There’s no time for long faces.”
Charlotte huffed. “That’s how I always lo-“
“Miss Kaja, Charlotte. Hello!” Boomed Micha’s voice from up ahead, earning him a smile.
He leaned in the bakery’s doorway, flushed cheeks hidden under his cap’s brim. A few black curls stuck up from underneath it and he was covered in specks of flour, white smudges all over his apron and forearms.
Kajas face lit up as they strolled over to the small red house, tucked between the streets curve and a grassy hill, solitary and half swallowed by ivy. Only the display window’s nook was meticulously cut free and filled with cream pies and cookies.
“Hey Micha,” Kaja beamed, “Say, what have you planned for tomorrow?”
A bright smile split his lips and his eyebrows raised conspiratorially as he leaned closer, voice dropped into a whisper. “That’s a secret.”
Charlotte huffed a laugh. “Give us a tip?”
“Nah.”  Micha flicked his cap’s brim up. “‘m not gonna spill. Y ’all’ll see tomorrow.”  
“Okay mister mysterious. Tomorrow then,” Kaja said, skirt swishing around her ankles as she twirled away, Charlotte right behind her.
Micha flushed red as his brick house, gawking after the two as they strode up the hill road.
“Yeah. See ya.”
Nudging Kaja’s shoulder, Charlotte couldn’t contain a snicker. “Mister mysterious, hm?!”
The tease tinted Kajas cheeks pink. “So what?! Wait till we’re at the farm and you see snail boy again.”
Charlotte bristled, upper lip curling as she hurried ahead to the roadside where little stone steps parted the bushes, cutting their narrow path through thick underwood up to the snail farm.
“He is just- We are just trading books sometimes!”
                                                     --
 The old two story house stood proud on its little plateau, encircled by roots so massive they nearly reached its shingle roof. Its bricks were laid one at a time, many summers ago, and little extensions had grown over the years, some extra rooms that stuck out from one side, the kitchen with its thatched roof. The grass surrounding it was short, completely gone in some muddy patches were it had fallen victim to the snail’s insatiable hunger. They roamed the forest floor, finding every new sapling, eating every fresh blossom, and kept the ever growing woods at bay.
Every few days Sahar would herd them onto the orphanage’s grounds, reading while the snails feasted. He would sit in a patch of shadow, nose buried in a book - just like he was sitting now, rested against the root beside the tiny staircase that lead up to the plateau.  His short hair stuck up every which way and his dark boots were covered in grass stains. The big silvery-white scar on his right arm was barely visible in the shade.  
Charlotte watched with a smile as Sahar pushed a snail’s head down gently, away from the fruit pieces beside him, snickering as it retracted one eye, offended.
“Really Asmodea?! Didn’t I just feed you an hour ago?”
Kaja knocked on the low wooden gate to their front yard and made Sahar flinch. He had always been jumpy, Charlotte wondered.
“Hello. Say, are Moira and Ansgar there?”
The book slipped from his hand as he jumped up and his voice barely carried over the short distance. “Ah, uhm, hi. Yeah I- I’ll go get them. Come in. The- the snails don’t bite.” His nervous smile faltered. “Well, without having teeth and all -uhm-“
He bit his lip, stopping himself, before he hopped over the root and vanished behind big wooden sliding doors into the house.
                                                          --
 Charlotte had never been inside the house before, had only ever seen the grey bearded farmer and his wife down in the teahouse chatting with others or when they had to run some errands, back before Sahar had seemingly appeared out of thin air. Since then, he’d been the one to handle their errands, readily shooed this way and that.
Ansgar had simply dragged the boy into the teahouse one day declaring him his new hireling and not bothered to explain where he had come from or how a mere child had survived the outsides?! Eight years later the question still remained, lingered over the dimly lit marketplace like teapot steam, but the people had given their inquisitions up. Their storm of curiosity had burst against the couple’s stone set silence.  
Charlotte had barely followed the discussion about the snail riding they planned to organize at the orphanage tomorrow, she was too preoccupied by Sahar entering the living room while he balanced five cups and a teapot on a tray, setting it carefully onto the table. Its wooden surface was worn smooth over countless shared meals and long evenings filled with games and chatter.
A faint eucalyptus smell tickled her nose as Sahar timidly slid a cup over to her and she couldn’t help but wonder how on earth they had gotten their hands on eucalyptus? The last delivery of it had been years ago.
Charlotte watched Sahar drag a stool over from beside the high, over-cramped bookshelf, so small he had to kneel on it to be on eye level with the rest of them, and took a first tentative sip.
Chamomile?! Had her nose played a trick on her?
“We really should get going.” Kaja smiled apologetically. “There’s just so much left to organize. But we’ll come back for another round of tea soon. Right Charlotte?”
She shot Kaja an irritated look and caught Moiras knowing grin. The woman’s slim observant eyes crinkled with her crooked smile. Moira’s greying, artfully pinned locks swished softly as she turned to Sahar. “I’ll bet our little barista will gladly serve you again? Right, Sahar?”
He fidgeted with his tea cup, not looking at anyone as a faint blush rose to his cheeks before mumbling softly, “Yeah.”
Ansgar coughed slightly as he stacked their cups in two neat little piles on the tray. “There’s really lots t’ do. But let’s take ya down the road a bit.”
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adolanables · 4 years
Text
Flame - Part 7
Masterlist
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Grayson huffed, running his hands over his chest that was clad in one of Ethan’s tight, white t-shirts. 
“Yes, I am.” Ethan nodded at his younger brother who had finally taken his glasses off. “You have to experience at least one frat party in college dude.”
“Fine, okay.” Grayson gulped, staring down at the tight black jeans he had on - he felt so unlike himself. He knew people made fun of the way he dressed, but he didn’t really care as long as he was comfortable. 
“Relax - you can have a few drinks, loosen up and you’ll have fun.” Ethan assured him, grabbing his keys and phone before heading out of the dorm. 
Ethan would be lying if he said he hadn’t prayed that Logan would end up at a different fraternity tonight - or maybe none at all. It was the Saturday before school started back up and Kyle and Bridget weren’t coming back until late Sunday. Maybe Logan would stay back knowing she wouldn’t have her sidekick to tag along with her. 
“I don’t wanna black out, E.” Grayson mumbled as he took another sip of hooch, the three shots he had taken earlier already hitting him pretty hard. 
Ethan smirked at his brother and patted him on the back, “Just drink that cup and wait another hour before having another.” He explained. It didn’t seem like Grayson was paying that much attention as a slew of girls in tight skirts piled into the house. “See? I told you this was a good idea.”
“Good idea.” Grayson gulped, his eyes widening at the amount of beautiful girls that were around him. Even though he was looking them up and down, all he was doing in his head was comparing them to you. 
-
Honestly, you almost hadn’t gone to the party. You knew Ethan would be there and Bridget wasn’t around to go with you, but after nearly a week of seclusion, you had no choice. Being extroverted meant you felt like your battery was constantly running low when you were alone. With that being said, there was just no way you were going to go into this frat house where an angry Ethan would surely be waiting for you without having a few drinks. Before you even left the dorm, you had taken five shots - your buzz coursing through your veins nicely. 
The moment you set foot in the house, you felt eyes on you. It didn’t take you long to glance around the room and find Grayson staring at you - his back pressed into the corner of the room. For a second you wanted to stare through him as though you didn’t see him, continue on through the party and not think about the Dolan twins for the rest of the night. Of course, the wide smile that popped up on Grayson’s face when you locked eyes told you that just wasn’t an option. 
“Long time no see.” Grayson grinned as he finally made his way over to you.
“Back at ya.” You grinned up at him, glancing over him quickly. “New clothes?” You raised an eyebrow - he looked really good. He had to spend time in the gym with how well the t-shirt stuck to his biceps. He had even taken his glasses off, revealing his handsome face.
“Ethan’s.” He shrugged, taking another sip from the red solo cup he was holding. “He convinced me to come out.”
“He must have been pretty convincing.” The smirk on your lips made Grayson’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. He’d only been drunk one time before - with you. Bright red cheeks were the only sign you needed to confirm that Grayson was having a hard time forming sentences. “Come on, I need a drink.”
Feeling your fingers interlace with him almost made him drop his cup right out of his hand, but you tugged him quickly through crowds of people back to the kitchen. It didn’t take you long to find Ethan’s stash considering he had shown you his secret hiding spot the last time you were here. The bottle of whiskey was half empty, but there was a messy E scribbled on the label telling you it was okay to drink. Grayson’s hand was still in yours, clammy and warm, but it felt nice and you weren’t planning on dropping it anytime soon. 
-
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop drinking?” Grayson slurred, his vision of you spinning a little bit as he tried to stare at you. He had drank another glass of hooch and taken a pull of whiskey you’d given him. 
“Don’t be a party pooper.” You giggled, taking another swig of the dark liquor that was nearly gone by now. The two of you had snuck out to the back porch, the cool October night not having any effect on the warm blood rushing through your bodies. Grayson’s head was resting by your knee, his body sprawled out on the cold concrete next to you as you sat cross-legged. 
Grayson glanced up at you, his face still red but you were sure it was from the alcohol at this point. His hair was disheveled, one of his hands rested up above his head, gently placed on your knee. “I think you’re the party pooper.” He giggled, letting out a hiccup. “You brought me out here, all secluded.”
“Oh, you wanna go back in?” The amusement in your voice evident as you tapped his nose playfully. 
“No -no.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes for a moment before pushing himself up to sit next to you. His shoulder was pressed up tightly against yours, his right knee knocking into your left. “It’s better out here.” A soft sigh left his mouth as he stared at the side of your face. 
“Like what you see, Dolan?” You grinned, turning your head to glance at him. Instead of turning red and shying away he simply nodded, leaning closer to you. Before he could say anything, you were dropping the glass bottle onto the concrete and gripping the sides of his face with both of your hands. You took a moment to look over his face, his eyes were shut, mouth just slightly parted - so handsome. The only thought racing through your head as you quickly pressed your lips against his. Soft, plump, warm - a slight tint of alcohol left as you kissed him again. 
When you pulled away, it took Grayson a few seconds to peel open his eyes - scared he was going to wake up from a dream. Seeing your face mere inches from his confirmed that he was in fact awake. “Wow.” He breathed, blinking a few times as his eyes raked over your face - probably just as red as his was, hair still somehow falling perfectly down in waves around your face. 
“What’s going on?” Ethan’s voice interrupted the staring contest, neither of you had heard a door open, so the broken silence made the two of you shriek. By the look on Ethan’s face, you could tell he was also pretty hammered - he was stumbling and barely able to form a sentence. “Did you just kiss her?” He gawked, pointing his finger at his younger brother who looked like he had seen a ghost. 
“I kissed him.” You spoke up, standing up and pulling Grayson up along with you. “Go back inside, Ethan.” 
“Why would you kiss him?” Ethan whined, stumbling backwards into the patio door before hurriedly opening it and rushing through. 
Grayson glanced around for a second, gathering his thoughts before he turned to you. “Was he…. Jealous?” 
“Seemed like it.” You shrugged drunkenly, knowing exactly why Ethan was jealous, but not really understanding him. For all you knew, he and Crystal were a few more late nights away from dating. 
Grayson let out a frustrated sigh before heading towards the door, you let out a small scoff as he walked away from you. “Where are you going?” 
“I’m sorry - I just - I have to go make sure Ethan’s alright.” He winced, gripping the door handle tightly as he walked back inside - leaving you in the cold alone. 
For a second, you considered following him - maybe causing a scene to get the attention back, but you knew better. Sure, you weren’t the best girl on the planet, but you weren’t intentionally trying to get in between the brothers. Deciding it was probably best for you to either go home or wait here until you could catch a ride, you sat your ass back down on the concrete and finished off the bottle of whiskey. 
-
“E! Ethan!” Grayson’s voice echoed down the hallway as Ethan tried to get away from his younger brother. Ethan’s attempts to get into a bedroom were futile as all of the doors seemed to be locked. “Ethan, talk to me!”
“No, bro!” Ethan groaned, slamming his fists into the drywall angrily. “Please just leave me alone!”
“No!” Grayson shouted back, drawing the attention of his older brother finally. The pair didn’t outwardly fight that often, there was always a silent agreement between the two of them that they would always be okay - no matter what. “I would never have kissed Logan if I knew you liked her too.”
“It’s not that.” Ethan groaned. “Well, kind of.” He sighed, cursing himself for drinking so much as he couldn’t properly think through the millions of thoughts. “She’s just… really hot, okay? I know I can’t have her, because you want her.”
“I don’t want you to hate me, E…” Grayson argued, his hands on his hips. “If Logan is going to come between us, she won’t be in the picture anymore.”
“No, no.” Ethan shook his head, holding his hands up to calm Grayson down. “I just got jealous for a second, okay? I have Crystal, I just had an angry horny thought.”
“Promise, bro?” Grayson held out his hand to his brother, waiting for him to do their handshake they’d had for over ten years. Ethan nodded, dapping his brother up before moving past him to head out - he needed to bury himself in Crystal. 
Grayson watched as Ethan sauntered out of the house, probably heading off to find Crystal somewhere. He really didn’t understand why Ethan had gotten so upset that you’d kissed him, but his explanation seemed solid enough. You were hot and it wasn’t far fetched for a drunk guy to just get irrationally angry that they weren’t getting in your pants. 
-
It had been about twenty minutes since Grayson had left you alone on the back porch. In that time, you had finished your alcohol and managed to count what seemed to be every star in the sky twice. Being drunk, alone, and bored was a bad combination so you decided you at least had to try to go back inside. Maybe the twins had left together and you were going to be in the clear. 
Your theory was quickly disproven as you walked back into the door that led straight into the dining room. Grayson was leaned up against the wall, another cup in his hand and a blonde girl clinging to his arm, laughing hysterically every time he opened his mouth. It felt like fire had just directly entered your veins, your whole body burned and you wanted to rip the cheap extensions right out of her head. No boy had ever made you feel like this - ever. Usually, you would have just moved on for the night to a different guy, but this was Grayson. He could barely even speak to you because you had tits and here he was completely fine chatting up some other bitch.
He didn’t even notice when you walked up to him, your hand on your hip as the blonde girl shot you a dirty look. She tugged on his shirt, trying to pull him away from you, but as soon as his eyes met yours he was pulling away from her and stepping towards you. She huffed and stomped away, her face red at the embarrassment. 
“L-Logan!” He spoke loudly, nearly a scream - he and Ethan both didn’t realize how ear-piercingly loud they were. “I thought you had gone home!” The drink sloshing around in his hand told you he was just as drunk as you were after drinking half a bottle of whiskey. 
“No, you dickhead.” You rolled your eyes, punching his chest and giggling softly as he feigned pain. “I was just sitting outside… is everything okay?”
“Yeah - yeah.” He nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “He just overreacted, he’s good.” His thumb shot up to let you know everything was a-okay. 
The two of you stood in the corner for a little while longer, sharing his cup of hooch, but the party started getting uncomfortably packed and it was nearing 1 AM. This wasn’t late for you, but you could tell Grayson was getting pretty tired by the way his body lazily leaned into yours. 
“Gray, wanna go home?” The mere mention of leaving made his eyes widen and he nodded at you quickly, his fingers finding yours on his own as you both stumbled out of the frat house and into an Uber. 
-
“Gray, stop -” You giggled as the nerdy boy next to you wrapped his arms around your waist in the back seat of the Toyota Camry. He was placing sloppy kisses on your neck, not really sure what he was doing, but the blood rushing to his dick told him to keep going. “Not here, shh.” You assured him as he pulled away with a pout, both of you were so drunk, so the look you gave each other could’ve been due to that. Either way, it felt like that boy just looked right through your soul.
“Bridget’s gone right?” He breathed as you stumbled into the dorm lobby, hand in hand. With a quick nod of your head he was pulling you towards your room, his feet moving so fast you could barely see them. His hands rested on your hips as you fumbled with your keys, barely opening the door before he was lifting you into his arms and tackling you onto the bed. 
“Where is Grayson Dolan and what have you done with him?” You gasped as he continued his assault of kisses down your neck, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. “Fu-uck” You moaned as he bit down roughly, a low grumble leaving his chest at your words. 
“I’m right here.” He shrugged, nipping at your ear lobe before reaching around to grip the back of your head in his hand. “And I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.” He smiled softly between kissing your face and neck pausing before he reached your lips. “But I watch a lot of porn.”
A loud cackle erupted from your chest as you threw your head back in pure amusement. Grayson let a smirk play on his lips as you laughed hysterically. “Oh my god.” You breathed, calming yourself down. “Okay, okay.” You bucked your hips up into his and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours for another soft kiss before you spoke again. “Pull up a video.”
“What?” He gasped, his eyes widening, blood rushing to his penis as his heart beat rapidly. 
“Pull up a video.” You shrugged, wiggling out from under him to grab your phone and shove it at him. “I wanna know what you like, Gray.”
“I’m fucking hallucinating…” He muttered as he hesitantly took your phone and began searching through videos, his hands shaking slight as your demand had made him sober up slightly. 
“No you aren’t.” You soothed him, rubbing his forearm softly. “If you don’t want to do this just sa-”
“I want to do this, holy fuck I want to do this.” He chuckled, shoving the video in your face and quickly pulling the white t-shirt over his head. “Please let me do this, holy shit.”
“Calm down.” You giggled, glancing up at his beautiful bare chest as you scrolled through the video for a few seconds to get a feel of what he was into. It was pretty vanilla, with some serious ass play, but there was no way you were about to do that right now. “Get naked.”
“Y-Yes.” He choked out, his hands fumbling as he barely managed to get his pants off without falling over. In the meantime, you had fully undressed yourself as well, his eyes were surely going to fall out of his head with how wide they had gone. “Logan…”
“Yes?” You questioned, scooting to the edge of your bed to hold out a hand to him. He gladly took it, a soft whimper leaving his mouth as you pulled his bare chest to yours. The breath he was holding blew out of his nose harshly, your stiff nipples pressing into his chest.
“I feel like I’m about to cum right now.” He buried his face in your neck, painfully embarrassed, but the feeling of your bare inner thigh on his fully exposed dick was enough to make him shoot all over you without even being touched. He was holding back massively.
“Shh…” You soothed him, your hands coming up to wrap around his upper back, softly scratching across his shoulder blades. “Kiss me, Grayson.” 
It didn’t take him long to gain some confidence as he pulled away from you, his lips quickly finding yours and pushing you backwards onto the mattress as he climbed on top of you. The way his lips worked with yours told you he had at least had some practice with kissing - he was pretty good at it. His erect penis was pressing right into your stomach, precum leaking onto your lower abdomen. 
“Can I put it in?” He breathed, lifting himself up onto his elbows for a second to look into your eyes desperately. 
“Yes, baby.” You nodded, rubbing his upper arms softly as he gripped himself.
“Wait - condom?” He questioned, looking up at you for confirmation.
“Only if you want, I’m on the pill.” You explained, your free hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “You wanna feel all of me?”
“Shit, yes - fuck.” He moaned, nodding frantically before rubbing his tip up against your folds again. “Tell me if I’m doing something wrong.” His voice was strained as he finally pushed himself into you, a loud groan leaving his mouth as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He repeated, over and over as he collapsed on top of you, his face burying into your neck. “You feel so good, holy shit.” The soft kisses he was pressing into the side of your face were such a contrast to his brother - who would probably hate to know his dick was smaller than Grayson’s. “Are you okay?” He whispered, a bit concerned at your silence.
“Perfect.” You gasped, wrapping your hands around his head. “Fuck me, please, move.”
Grayson simply nodded, bucking his hips up into you haphazardly, his face turning red as he felt himself about to cum. It hadn’t even been two minutes, but the look of pure bliss on your face as he sat up to kiss you sent him over the edge. A strained moan leaving his mouth as he spilled spurt after spurt of warm cum into your pussy. 
“Yes, baby.” You encouraged him, rubbing the back of his adoringly as he tried to catch his breath on top of you. Who knew taking someone’s virginity could be so fucking hot. “You did so good.”
Grayson finally caught his breath and pulled himself out of you, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “That was so fucking short and you didn’t even cum.”
“It’s not like you can go an hour your first time.” You teased him, quickly sitting up to go clean yourself off. “I almost came just from watching you cum, Dolan.” 
The way your ass jiggled as you skipped to the bathroom made his heart skip - he couldn’t believe he had just lost his virginity to the hottest girl on campus. As you crawled back into bed with him and turned the lights off, his bare body wrapping around yours to fall asleep for the night, you were mentally kicking yourself for ever even thinking Ethan was the better twin.
Taglist:// @dolan-bliss @graysavant @justordinaryjen @rainethan
51 notes · View notes
clowntramp · 4 years
Text
Chapters 1-4 of Man in The Window  Arthur/Joker x Female
Warnings: adult themes, drugs and alcohol, language 
A/N: all feedback is appreciated greatly!! Please enjoy my fic! 
CHAPTER ONE
She liked watching people, day or night, through her window into theirs with a pair of binoculars. She enjoyed seeing people at their most vulnerable, where they were in their own environments and under the impression that no one was watching. She sometimes would make up stories, elaborate ones, about the people she watched in an attempt to put the strange things she had witnessed into some kind of context. Sometimes she saw things she didn’t want to see, like the old man who would regularly jerk off to a pretty news anchor, or the woman who seemed to enjoy talking to her collection of dolls. She never judged them though, whoever she saw or whatever they did. 
Sometimes she would fancy a particular person and watch them constantly. Those were the people who seemed to pique her interest the most, the ones who she could watch for hours on end, regardless of what they were doing. These were also the people who seemed to never close their curtains all the way, inadvertently giving her access to their most intimate doings. 
Recently there had been a man that she took a specific interest in. She had watched this man before here and there. He lived with an older woman and seemed to never eat. Sometimes he danced around in his underwear, other times he would stay up late scribbling into a journal. On a specific occasion she watched him dance in his living room with a gun, he accidentally fired it and the sound startled her. She also had watched him touch himself, on a number of different occasions. She felt guilty about that but never looked away. It wasn't until she recognized him on a clip played during the Murray Franklin Show that she really started paying attention. 
Her intrigue for this man became definite on random cloudy afternoon. She sat in front of her window with binoculars fixed to her eyes. He was sitting in front of a mirror applying white face paint, taking long drags of his cigarette in between strokes. She observed him with acute attention, taking note of the ritualistic way he applied the makeup, It was almost alluring. Suddenly he got up and went to the door, opening it to reveal two men, one big and one small. She watched curiously as he welcomed the men in, they appeared to conversate. The exchange was brief and then it happened, the thing she never thought would happen in all her time as a window watcher. He did it once in the neck and once in the eye with what appeared to be a knife or scissors. She gawked at the blood and her mouth dropped open when he slammed the big man’s head against the wall, according to her count, approximately ten times. Horrified but enthralled, she continued watching and to her surprise he let the small one go. He was alone again. 
She put her binoculars down and retreated back into her room, closing the curtains behind her. She didn't pick up the phone, instead she sat on her bed and turned on the tv. Not wanting to process the events that had just conspired, she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep in the dead of afternoon. 
After a few hours her sleep was broken by the sound of a loud audience. She strained at the tv, it was the Murray Franklin Show. She slowly got up to turn it off but stopped when a man waltzed onto the stage sporting a full face of clown makeup and a striking red suit. It was him, she recognized him immediately. Surprised but mostly confused she watched as he planted a big kiss on the woman guest and sat down. He beamed with confidence and she watched on intrigued. The events that happened next shocked her to the core but resonated with her deeply. It was outrageously disturbing but she remained fixated on the tv, almost amused by the fact that she had witnessed this man commit two murders. It was strange to observe such acts of deviance, but it triggered pequliar feelings of liberation and to some degree, a small amount of attraction. The show cut out and she was left staring at the screen with her heart beating fast and her stomach churning. 
She didn't sleep that night. Questions swarmed her head, including the question of whether she would see him again, she wanted to but didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until she saw him again that she finally understood why he did what he did and why she learned to admire it. 
CHAPTER TWO
She was alone, sitting on the couch, hands intertwining with white knuckles. The taste of blood was strong. She licked her lips tasting the warm iron, and the dried blood under her nose cracked and flaked off onto her lap. For weeks now, fires still raged in the streets and the smell of burning plastic remained caught in her throat.
She didn’t remember how she got there but she was there in the middle of it all. It was the second week of protests. Surrounded by the sound of blaring sirens and jarring cheers, she watched as people lit fire to cars and smashed windows. They were all clowns. Masks and painted smiles glinted in the crowd as she rolled her eyes back taking it all in. 
All of a sudden there was a dull sound and an ache ruminating in her jaw and nose. Warmth traveled through her body as she began to process the pain. A uniformed man had struck her with a biton. 
She reached into the back of her jeans and withdrew a gun, fingers already moving instinctively to pull back the hammer, she squeezed the trigger. Everything blurred and that’s when the ringing started. She heard a voice call out from next to a body on the pavement,
“He’s dead!” 
Cheers erupted as the crowd closed in around her. That’s when she started running and didn’t stop. She had done this before but forgot how long ago it was since the first time. 
She didn’t remember how she got home. She lost track of time, days rather, as she often did. She tilted her head back and let the static of the television drown out her thoughts. That’s when she saw it, out of the corner of her eye, a light flicked on across the street illuminating a window she was familiar with. It had been a while. 
Her heart started racing as she scrambled to the chair by her window, she gripped the binoculars and held them to her eyes. She saw him dressed in white. She watched as he closed the door behind him. He sank to the ground, smiling and laughing, or sobbing, she couldn’t tell. A satisfied smile slipped onto her face, she winced at the pain as she let her teeth show and she tasted the blood again. 
Something came over her, a hot wave of curiosity. She placed the binoculars down and let her legs carry her out of the apartment. She was now standing in front of the building across from hers. Without thinking she opened the door and found the stair corridor, she began to sprint up the steps, two at a time until she reached level B. She walked down the hallway and counted the doors until she arrived at what she thought to be his door. She leaned in close, pressing an ear to the cold metal, and heard him. Before she could stop herself she started to knock. 
His laughter got stuck in his throat at the sound of knocking. He choked and coughed while scuttling to his feet. He was sure that no one followed him back, but fear overwhelmed him as he peeked through the eye hole holding his breath. It was a woman. Dried blood caked her face as she looked nervously back and forth down the hall. She knocked again. His mind raced as he reached for the knob, he slowly turned it and opened the door a crack, only to reveal part of his face. 
“Can I help you?” He said with a shaky but firm voice. 
She looked deeply into the one eye she could see and smiled. 
“You’re him.” She said breathlessly. “I’ve seen you, I’ve watched you. You’re the man who killed Murray.” 
In that moment he shut the door hard. 
“Wait! I’m not police! Please let me in I can explain!” She shouted and knocked again. 
He let his head hang as a brief chuckel of distress arose in his throat. Against his better judgement he unlatched the chain lock and opened the door once more. He stood in the frame hunched over as he looked down the hallway and back to the woman. 
“Who are you?” He said quietly with his voice cracking. He cleared his throat as he waited for the woman to answer. She smiled again, displaying bloody teeth. 
“Please let me in, I can explain.” She spoke in a whisper, as if she was sharing a secret. He grimaced as he looked down the hallway once again. Denying himself of the satisfaction of slamming the door, he opened it further and gestured her in. 
“Who are you?” He asked calmly. She frowned in response. He closed the door and latched the lock. “Did you follow me here? Did the hospital send you?” 
“No.” she replied as her gaze shifted and settled onto the floor. 
Not sure of what to do, he shoved a shaky hand through his hair, smoothing the strands behind his ear. He took a deep breath looked her up and down again. “Then why are you here?” 
She looked around the room for an answer and began to walk towards the living room window. He stepped out of her way and remained standing by the door as he watched. She lifted an arm and pointed to the building across the street. 
“I live there, and I’ve watched you, from that window.” His eyes followed her arm as she continued to point.
“What do you mean you’ve watched me?” He asked and let out a bashful giggle. She turned around and met his eyes smiling. 
“I like to watch people through my window and I noticed you-“ she was cut off before she could finish. 
“You noticed me?” A child-like smile slipped onto his face
“Yes, how could I not? I saw that clip on Murray and recognized you, so I started watching you more from my window.” Her smile dropped and her eyes met the floor when she realized how embarrassing it was to admit this out loud. But she continued, “then I saw you on Murray again, except you were different this time, it was captivating.” 
He felt blood rush to his cheeks as he closed his eyes and smiled, letting out a happy sigh. “I know. Can you believe I did all this?” gesturing to the window where the streets below remained filled with crowds of clowns. He let out a true laugh and looked at the woman once more. “So, you’ve watched me before? What have you seen me done, huh?” 
He dug into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it as he waited for the woman to respond. She watched as he took a deep drag, silence filled the air, except for the quiet crackle of embers, he took another drag.
“Would you like one?” He asked holding one out. She took it out of his hand without saying anything and pulled a lighter out of her back pocket. She took a long drag and began to speak, 
“Well, I’ve seen you do a couple noticeable things,” she took another drag and started pacing, “I’ve seen you dance, which is very impressive,”  he smiled at this while she continued, “and I’ve often seen you with an older woman, but I think I have seen something that I’m sure I wasn’t meant to see.” 
He took a seat on the couch and leaned back crossing his legs, his cadence was slow as he carefully spoke, articulating his words, “yeah? And what did you see?”
She spoke slowly, “I saw you kill that man, the day you killed Murray.” He raised his eyebrows in response.
“You saw that, really?” he asked smiling. She nodded slowly and shifted her gaze back towards the window. 
“You started a movement you know,” she spoke softly, “things are changing because of you.”
He stifled a laugh, clearing his throat and speaking again, as if saying a punchline, “I started it but they are finishing it.” He sucked on the last inch of cigarette before flicking it to the floor, “I heard someone shot another cop tonight. Can you believe that?” With closed eyes he laughed again, then returned his gaze to the woman. 
“I know. I was the one who shot the cop,” she said smiling. He giggled and lit another cigarette. 
“Is that so? Now you came here to thank me or something?” he asked gently. 
“Actually I did,” she answered mirroring his tone, “and I wanted to meet the man responsible for the greatest revolution Gotham will ever see.” 
CHAPTER 3 
She was sitting in front of a mirror framed with flickering incandescent bulbs. The room was stiff with the smell of tobacco and cheap perfume. There was a pair of girls sitting on the couch behind her, they counted stacks of money out of big black plastic bags as she applied a deep blush to her cheeks. The Minx Carbert was as cliché as it sounds. It was past midnight, she didn’t recall leaving his apartment. She looked into her reflection straining to remember. Everything was blurred, memories with soft edges faded into each other, unrecognizable and out of reach. 
“Gentlemen, let's give a warm welcome to our next dancer, she’s beautiful, she’s strange, and she’s got discounted lap dances for seniors, it’s the magnificent and mysterious Carmen!” 
Sparse claps filled the room as she walked across the stage. Jazz music swelled as the spotlight settled on her, she took a deep breath, and began. It was second nature at this point, dancing for the male gaze, which she felt burn a hole through her body. The lights were hot, and sweat started to form at her hairline as she observed the shadowed faces that littered the crowd. Men who all looked the same stared back with lazy drunken smiles. She moved across the stage hypnotically and mindless, losing herself in the sultry music. 
“Alright let’s give it up for Carmen! If you’re interested in a lap dance from this lovely peach please go to the back room where she will be waiting!” 
No one clapped as she finished her set and stepped down from the stage. She made her way to the back room where worn red velvet curtains took the place of a door and a dark blue neon light flickered in the corner. She took a seat on the couch and waited. A couple of minutes passed before the owner walked in. He looked like the rest of the men who frequented the club, sad, old and lonely. 
“Hey doll, there is a strange looking guy here who wants to pay for a dance but doesn’t want you to dance. It’s weird, I know, but it’s money hun so just give him the time and shout if he tries to do anything. He doesn’t look right to me.” 
“Alright, thanks for the heads up Mike.” She sighed and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the adjacent table as he left the room. She struck a match and inhaled deeply relaxing back into the chair. The strange man then entered, head down and hands buried deep in his pockets. She took another drag of her cigarette and stood up. It was him. 
He wasn’t wearing the sterile white he had on before, instead he sported a brown sweater with a white collared shirt peeking out underneath accompanied with polyester blue dress pants. His salt and pepper whiskers framed his worn face and hollowed cheeks. He shifted his feet in the uncomfortable silence as she remained standing and staring at him. He mumbled a stuttered hello and passed a hand through his hair anxiously, waiting for her to say something, anything, back. 
She broke the awkward silence, “what can I do for you?” 
“Nothing,” he stuttered, “I don’t want anything like that I mean.” His gaze fell to the floor as he felt his cheeks grow red. He was different, he wasn’t the man in the pretty red suit and painted face, this man was meek and subtle. 
“Then why are you here?” She responded, genuinely confused. 
“You told me you worked here and invited me to the show tonight, remember?” His words sounded hopeful. 
She didn’t remember saying that at all. But then again she barely remembered going to his apartment in the first place, or how she got to work, she could only recall vague bits and pieces that came in and out like a dream she couldn’t shake. 
“Well thank you for coming, I appreciate it very much.” She forced a smile and sat back down. He remained standing as he watched her light another cigarette. 
He cleared his throat, taking his hands out of his pockets and taking a seat on the table with crossed legs. He leaned in close, looking into her eyes which were framed with swirls of smoke, “you know, you’re a really good dancer.” He smiled confidently and sat up straight, “those other girls don’t dance like you do.” 
She smiled at this and let out a stifled laugh. “Thank you, that’s very sweet. I’m just doing my job.” 
“Well you’re very good at it.” he said quietly, smiling wide and almost whispering. Suddenly he spotted the pack of cigarettes on the table and took one without asking, he placed it between his lips and leaned in close to the woman, silently asking her to light his cigarette with hers. She got the hint and leaned in. She had never been that close to him, even when she was at his apartment they kept a safe distance. Their heads were almost touching when the cigarette lit and she could smell his woody floral cologne. It was subtle but recognizable and when mixed with smoke it was intoxicating, although she refused to admit this to herself. 
He took a deep audible drag, leaning back on his free hand, exhaling the smoke slowly. He shifted in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs nervously, but still maintaining a smile. She seemed more reserved than when she was at his apartment, less manic but still blank behind the eyes. 
“So,” he said cautiously, taking another drag, “I really came here because I wanted to ask you something…” he trailed off and began bouncing his legs anxiously. She could sense the unease within him. 
“Sure, ask me anything.” She said in her most soothing tone, familiar with the terrors of social anxiety, knowing that a calm voice always helps. 
“That day, when I killed Murray,” he whispered, “and you saw me kill that other man,” he looked around the room nervously, “were you scared?” His eyes settled into hers as his lips remained parted, waiting for her to answer. 
She stared back at him as she toyed with the cigarette in her hand and the question in her head. She knew the answer to the question but found satisfaction in letting it hang in the air. 
“No. I wasn’t scared. I was more excited than anything.” She said this confidently as she watched a wide smile slip onto his face. “I don’t know that man or what he did, but just like Murray, I know he deserved it. And even if he didn’t, what I saw reminded me of a part of myself that I’ve tried so hard to forget. It was liberating.” 
He was satisfied with this answer and let it show on his face. But his cheeks still burned and legs still bounced. He found himself nervous around women in general, despite being liberated from his past. The old side of him was fighting the new and he wasn’t sure who would win. Little did he know, the woman was experiencing the same thing. Both sides of them were evenly odd. They had more in common then they would ever know. 
Silence fell as the two just looked at each other. Suddenly Mike popped his head out from behind the curtain, they both turned their gaze to him. 
“Eh sorry to interrupt but we got an older gentleman here and he would like a lap dance from you missy. So this guy has gotta go in 5” With that he left the room. 
They both stood up awkwardly and he began to speak, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave, you’re busy I shouldn’t have bothered you.” He frowned and furrowed his brow as he turned to leave. 
“Wait, I’m sorry my boss is a jerk. I get off in a couple hours, I can come over, I mean only if you have anymore questions for me or whatever.” She tried so hard not to sound desperate. 
He tried to hold back a smile by looking at the floor, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, I guess I have a couple more questions, you can come over.” It was a poor attempt at sounding casual. 
They looked at one another again and he threw up an awkward wave as he turned and left. Once alone again she smiled and sat back down. She had emptied her mind once the old man came limping in.
CHAPTER 4
She was there again, in front of his door, this time clutching a bottle of red wine with one hand and a lit cigarette with the other. It was late, and she had decided to give a couple more lap dances before leaving the club around 2am. She didn’t want to but she needed the money. And now she stood in front of his door hoping she wasn’t too late. She reached up to knock but hesitated, questioning her motives briefly. She was mostly curious, partially driven by the fact that she couldn’t recall inviting him to the club. She hoped she could put the pieces together, maybe talking to him would trigger her memory. 
She flicked her cigarette and knocked. The fluorescent lights were humming a soft tune accompanied by the jarring pangs of gunshots and sirens. She regretted staying late, but she still needed money even if the city was burning. She counted as ten long seconds passed. He was probably sleeping. 
Suddenly the door opened, causing her to flinch. He looked at the floor smiling and stepped aside ushering her in gently without a word. He was wearing the same pants but with a cream button down and a dark blue vest, which pinched in the back accentuating his boyish silhouette. His hair was still damp and she noticed the thick scent of aftershave as he closed the door behind her. 
He turned around and she noticed his freshly shaved face, it looked young and innocent. 
“I brought wine,” she said quietly while holding up the bottle, “I don’t know if you drink, you can have some of course I mean, if you do drink.” She stammered over her words painfully. 
“That’s okay,” he said softly, “I don’t really drink, but thank you.”
She was surprised to hear this. “Are You sure? You’re really going to make me drink alone?” The bottle was already open, she took a large sip, raising her eyebrows at him, offering up her most enticing smile. She hated drinking alone, but had gotten used to it. 
He opened his mouth to object but refrained and instead walked over to her, taking the bottle out of her hand. He let out a stifled nassely laugh as he rose the bottle to his lips. He took a long gulp and mirrored her smirk. Warmth hit his empty stomach and he took another sip. 
He handed her the bottle smiling. “If you want, I can grab us some glasses from the kitchen.”
“No, thanks, I prefer the bottle.” She took another sip, or a chug rather, and he stared at her intrigued. 
“We can sit down if you want.” He gestured to the couch as she lifted the bottle to her lips once more. She let out a satisfied sigh after she swallowed and silently took a seat, tipping her head back and closing her eyes
He took a seat next to her, but not too close, and took the bottle out out of her idle hand. She looked up drowsily, watching his throat twitch as he took a few big gulps. 
He sighed and placed the bottle down on the coffee table, which was cluttered with newspaper clippings and magazines. She watched as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs out. He turned his head and looked at her playfully, 
“So, did it bother you?” he asked gently. She pretended not to know what he was talking about and reached for the bottle. 
“Did what bother me?” she took another sip of wine and stared at him, hoping he would elaborate. She wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth, her ego needed it. 
He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in close to her, speaking through his teeth, “when you shot that cop, did it bother you?” 
She smiled at him casually, satisfied, and sat up a little. She took another swig and let out a mumbled “no.”
He smirked at her response and adjusted his positioning on the couch so he was facing her. “It didn’t bother me,” he let out a snort of laughter, “when I killed those three guys on the train, or Murray, or Randel, or my mother…” he trailed off mumbling as if reliving a blissful memory.
This was the man she remembered seeing on the Murray show, the one who’s confidence seemed to spill from his eyes. The man who came to the club earlier that night was different, less potent, she liked this version better.  
Her brows arched in response to this and her lips twitched into a slight smile, “I didn’t know you killed your mother,” she said casually. 
He ran a hand through his hair, “yeahhh,” he said sighing, almost bragging. His eyes flickered around the room nervously, “so have you killed anyone, I mean besides that cop?” He asked this question nonchalantly, as his fingers tapped on his thigh. 
The informal way he delivered such heavy words made her stomach twinge with satisfaction. She never thought she would come across another person like herself, one who took joy in their acts of deviance. The thought of this made her smile.
“the cop wasn’t my first,” she muttered, with her lips on the bottle. “I’ve never told anyone about it, but the first one was a while ago, I was younger, but I don’t really remember.” She tilted her head back and took another long chug of wine, then passed the bottle to him. “I have this memory problem,” she continued as he drank, “I lose time, often. I almost blackout, and forget where I’m going or how I got there. That’s what happened with the first one.” 
“Then how do you know it happened?” He asked amusingly while drawing the bottle up to his lips, taking another sip. 
“Well,” she said hesitantly while looking around the room, “the last thing I remember was that I was in a car, it was dark out, I was covered in blood and the guy next to me was dead.” She smirked. 
He passed the bottle back to her, “sounds to me like you’re a bad date.” 
She tried to stifle a laugh but couldn’t and let out a childish giggle. He grinned back at her. 
“You’re not going to tell on me right?” She asked playfully. 
He flashed a toothy smile, “of course not! As long as you don’t tell on me.” He winked and dug around in his pockets, pulling out a package of cigs and a lighter. 
She placed the bottle down on the coffee table, finally noticing all the clutter. Her eyes scanned the various newspaper clippings, most of which had his mugshot plastered on them. Then she noticed the magazine clippings, and questioned how she hadn’t noticed them earlier. Torn pages from Playboy and Hustler were scattered about amidst sloppy cut-outs of nude women. Hard scribbles covered their faces while the rest of their bodies were untainted. She reached out and picked up a page, the woman was fully naked and spread eagle, her head was cut off.
She looked back at him curiously. He was lighting the cigarette now, oblivious to her shuffling through his papers. He took a long drag with eyes closed as she stared at him. Then he looked up and saw what she was doing. She noticed the color drain from his face as he widened his eyes, clearly embarrassed. He started to stutter. 
“I-I’m, I’m s-sorry.” He let out a snort of pained laughter as he frantically got up and started gathering up the papers on the table. In between the rummaging he covered his mouth hard in an attempt to silence his laughter. She cringed at his clear discomfort. 
“No im sorry,” she said firmly, “I shouldn’t just be going through your things like that, I’m so sorry.” He wheezed hard and she reached up and placed a hand on his arm. He tensed up immediately and let out another bout of pained cackles before gathering up the other papers and stumbling into the other room. He slammed the door behind him. She remained seated, listening closely to his muffled howls. The sounds of his distress made a knot form in her stomach, and before she could stop herself, she was at the bedroom door knocking lightly. 
“I’m sorry if I upset you, I really am,” she said in her most soothing voice, “please, it’s nothing to be ashamed about, I have magazines of my own too ya know, please I really didn’t  mean to upset you, please come out.” She didn’t recognize the voice that came out of her, it was sweet and forgiving, lacking the harshness she had worked so hard to perfect. 
She stepped back from the door as his laughter subsided, taking a moment to debate whether she should just leave and never bother him again. She turned around and walked back to the now empty table, picking up the wine and taking a big chug. Silence had filled the air again and she looked to the door anxiously. She wondered briefly if he would come out and stab her in a frenzied rage. That’s what she would have done if a stranger came to her apartment and rummaged through her collection of porn. 
She played this image out in her head vividly. The idea of a sharp pain and then the euphoric tingle of blood draining from her body sent a shiver up her neck. She wouldn’t mind going out that way, she had always assumed that her life would end in the hands of a violent man, or herself. She wouldn’t put up a fight either, she would surrender easily, finding comfort in the fact that she got to share one of her many secrets before settling into the black oblivion of death. 
The bedroom door creaked open, bringing her back to reality. He stood in the door frame, hands buried in the pockets of his pants, his fiery gaze fixed to hers. She felt the unease that settled in the space between them, it made her squirm with anxiety. She was ashamed of herself, of how she had made him upset. 
She mirrored his posture and hung her head in shame. The wine hit her stomach hard and she felt dizzy with contempt. She wanted to fall to her knees out of absolution. She couldn’t fathom why she felt the way she did. She had never felt remorse for making others feel bad, she actually took joy in it, but this was different. She wanted this feeling to go away, it was unfamiliar, unrecognizable. She silently hoped that he would walk over and slap her, she wanted to feel anything other than this feeling. In that moment she had a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or herself. Anything to escape this feeling. 
He was standing in front of her now but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. He reached up and took her chin in his hand, raising her head to meet his eyes. The gentle touch grounded her back to reality and she looked into his eyes. 
He smiled softly. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” he whispered.  
His words hit her like a brick to the chest, she opened her mouth to object, but the words never came out. He released her chin and let silence hang in the air as she desperately searched his eyes for an explanation. But there wasn’t one, and she knew this. 
With that she clutched the wine bottle close to her chest and left his apartment in silence. He followed her to the door and closed it behind her. Alone again in the dim hallway, she took another chug of wine and let herself surrender to the habitual warmth of time beginning to fade. 
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vivxwrites · 5 years
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Guardian Angel || Part III
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*not my gif*
Word Count: 1384
Summary: Same as always, no spoilers
Warnings: Minor character death, semi-graphic gory description, blood (it’s really not too bad but i’m just listing these things to be safe)
Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader
A/N: Heyo I’m really glad that people enjoy this series. Everyone leaving notes means so much to me <3 :)
Parts: {I}, {II}, {III}, {IV}, {V}
Italics are flashbacks
“It’s ok I’m fin-” Carol stopped short when she lifted her gaze to see who had unceremoniously knocked her onto her ass. Oh wow. Her senses were assaulted with the sight of the ethereal being stood in front of her and Carol questioned what she had done to be graced with this angel’s very presence. She openly gawked at you as if she were in some sort of trance and she admired the soft glowing features of your face, seemingly sculpted by God himself. Butterflies erupted in her gut, a feeling that she hadn’t experienced since early last year and her heart fluttered delicately against her rib-cage. Something about you was just so familiar to her but she wasn’t able to place where she could have possibly seen you before. She couldn’t shake off the pure awe that had struck her upon laying eyes on you. Your white wings were extended behind you and Carol took note of their slightly mangled appearance while she studied them in wonder. She observed how your left wing was missing a considerable amount of feathers and she cocked her head to the side with curiosity. 
The dull clack of boots on the floor drew nearer and nearer to the two of you but she was too stuck in her haze to care. If she were to die right now she would go out perfectly happy knowing that she was able to lay her eyes upon such an angelic sight before she left.  Now that she thought about it she found herself idly wondering if she had in fact died and you were an angel sent to collect her and bring her up to heaven, your white wings cluing her in to what you were, or at least what you resembled to be. The sound of Fury’s voice pulled her out of her revere and she watched, speechless, as he wordlessly pressed a taser to your neck and gestured for some agents to drag your unconscious body away.
“Danvers can you hear me?” Fury’s question went unanswered as Carol watched your limp form drag against the cool tiled floor of the compound. Her head pulsed and spun with images of you stood above her and staring at her with those mysterious eyes filled with concern. Her mouth had been agape for so long that bits of drool collected in the corners and her eyes were half-lidded and glazed over. Her entire body felt numb and though she could hear Nick calling out her name the words flew right over her head.
Fury, on the other hand, grew worried. Carol continued to be unresponsive as she stared at the same spot that you were stood in just moments before, as if you were still there. He wondered if you had cast some freaky angel spell on her or if you had said something that got inside her head to make her remain in some sort of broken stupor. His heart was heavy when he remembered that this was exactly the same way that Carol had acted last year after the accident, silent and frozen and totally unresponsive. Nick slowly came to terms with the fact that you definitely were connected to last year’s events somehow and he vowed to do whatever it took to make you crack. He sighed to himself and collected Carol into his arms and carried her as if she were a sack of potatoes to the guest room where Maria was situated, just like he had done last year. 
The blue lights of the police car flashing distractedly in the background went unnoticed by Carol as she stared, stock still, at the lifeless body of her girlfriend. She didn’t break into sobs or scream or do anything besides wordlessly stare at the once breathing body. Officers stood by uncomfortably as they looked on, unsure of what exactly to do. Upon arrival they recognized Carol as the new avenger, Captain Marvel, having seen her stern face plastered all throughout the media the past few days. They had tried calling out to her and one officer even went so far as to clasp a hand on the heroine’s shoulder, but all of their attempts went ignored. A crowd had formed behind the yellow and black caution tape and they too watched on in silence at Carol’s reaction. News vans screeched into the park, desperate to get a leg up on the other channels for a story on the newest avenger. Carol blinked every so often as she studied the body laying in front of her. Blood dribbled out of the corner of her mouth where Carol still saw her girlfriend’s last words on the tip of her tongue, “It’s okay.” Her once bright eyes gazed upwards, their life force was empty and blood seeped out onto the green blades of grass. The stab wound across her abdomen was a deep jagged bitch of a gash and Carol examined the torn fabric of the red-stained white shirt. The image burned persistently in her mind and she memorized the girl’s haunting features, knowing that she would never see them again. The blank expression on Carol’s face didn’t betray her inner thoughts one bit, a fact that she was thankful for later as she rewatched the scene on Maria’s flickering television screen, much to her friend’s dismay. She felt herself being slowly eased into the air and she was unsure who had lifted her, nor did she care. She still stared at her girlfriend’s body as she was carried further and further and further away.
“Rambeau, Carol found the angel girl thing and now she’s stuck in a trance.”
Maria sighed deeply and carded her fingers through her hair. “Set her on the bed. I’ll work on coaxing her out of it.”
Fury followed her directions and let his shoulders slump slightly in defeat. “I’m going to interrogate that girl and found out what her deal is. Let me know if you need any help.” Maria nodded her head in response as she pressed a warm cloth to a dazed out Carol’s forehead. With that Fury stomped towards the holding cell that he had his agents deposit you in and boy was he angry. You didn’t know who you were messing with, sure the wrinkles that were forming on his face made him seem old, but he still could and most certainly would, kick your ass straight back to heaven or wherever the hell you came from. 
He glared at your unconscious form and broken wings through the clear glass of the holding cell. It was only hours later that you had finally woken up and blinked blearily as you took in your new surroundings. You were confused and you felt like you were being watched and oh- your eyes fell upon Fury glaring at you and you glared right back at him. You sneered, “You’ve tazed me twice for no reason asshole and now you’ve put me in a cage? What do you want from me?” 
He remained stoic as he glared at you and barked out a question, “I want you to tell me what the hell you’re doing here. And while you’re at it explain your involvement in the events of last year.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose and shifted your weight from foot to foot. “On two conditions.”
“You’re the one in a cell and you think you still have room to make demands?” His nostrils flared in annoyance and you rolled your eyes and sent him a tired look.
“Look, Nick. I’ll tell you what you need to know, but to a certain extent. I’ll explain it so that you can understand it but all parts that are my business stay my business. Also, you let me out of this cage and don’t taze me ever again.”
He considered your offer carefully, he didn’t trust you one bit but he recognized nothing but honesty in your voice. “You have yourself a deal. But I’m only going to let you out of the cage if I feel the information is sufficient enough.” You nodded stiffly and he nodded back. The terms were set and so you prepared for the explanation you were about to give, knowing full well that things could very well go sideways.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this part! Look out for Boom, Boom, Boom 2 and another Natasha request next. Love you all and welcome to everyone new! Feel free to have a scroll through the about viv tag if you want to learn more about me, Viv, the owner of this blog. Thanks a bunch for 200 buds :). Thanks, Viv :)
Permanent Tag List: @aesthetiff @autumnjackson4 @captainwonderwidow @5aftermidnight
Series Tag List: @vxidnik @envy-adamss @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @gigglygwil @worlds-in-words @justarandomhumanhere @letalexaplaydespacito
P.S. if you want to join the tag list crew give me a holler ‘cause your wish is ma command!! And if you can, please specify which one. Thanks frands :)
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140 notes · View notes
maikatc · 4 years
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Black Sun Tale | A Child
we’re back baby !! and better than ever since boy does part two have a l o t. i was able to finish majority of the section during my hiatus and i hope you all love/feel so much pain in these events as much as i do!
remember this is only a first draft with only minor edits, but with that, enjoy! comments and reception are heavily appreciated
This isn’t gonna end well. The thought repeated itself over and over as Oliver scraped a pencil against his paper. 
Birds chirped against the window. Their singing reached directly to his ears, and the office desk he worked on laid besides the porch’s side window. The sole reason being that his mother could gaze at the outside view to distract herself from paperwork, on purpose that is. 
The boy’s focus on his words didn’t bother to fix up the curtains, afternoon sun shining against his pale eyes. His sight burned though stomach pains numbed his entire body to even notice. 
A broken pocket-watch ticked at the side, breaking silence along with the birds. The out of time tune still held no bother to him.
The essay he wrote was… choppy, to say the least. Though, considering the class and grade he held, a childish essay would be an A in the gradebook. 
He swapped through previous drafts and desktop computer facing him. The paper was almost done in his eyes. 
He mumbled as he typed, “That’s why the cotton chine was just as important as anything else during the old ages… print.”
The events of the week prior lingered in his mind. In his head, Ayu’s decision must’ve already been a rejection. No doubt entered his mind on the option. 
His mind etched on returning to the boy’s home, even after failing to realize said boy’s problems and risking his life in the process. 
Then again, Ayu also didn’t kill him on the spot. And the more he thought, the image of Ayu’s concerned face, his eyes drooping and mouth bitten down as he gave a hand to him, it stuck to Oliver with the sole words, 
“I’m not gonna leave you alone like this.”
… Paying back wouldn’t be so bad.
The printer beeped as a message rang in his phone buzzed for a message. He flinched at both sounds going off, growling as he picked up the phone first. 
The messaged revealed to be from his mother, 
I’m going to be back from work later than usual, sorry about that 
But I prepped some food for you to have for dinner luckily! Hope you have a good day (11:54pm)
Oliver stared at the words. The brightness of the small text glimmered in his eyes.
He sighed, chucking the phone at cushioned chair in the corner. The traffic outside died down at the moment, leaving only the birds and clock to sing. 
He shook off the day-old struggle and grabbed his paper from the printer. 
***
“Oliver.”
“Hm?”
“How do you think of life right now?”
A small boy laid on his bed, barely reaching four feet. He played along with a new gift from his mother. His miniscule hands sored from the nylon after playing for long. 
He lifted his head towards the boy across him, viewing his stature with his bowl-cut bangs and big green eyes.
The boy stood there, arms crossed. His skin was pale as a sheet. He covered up his left eye with his snow-white hair, while the other eye studied him with an ocean blue. 
The streets outside bustled with noise from an ongoing festival. Though, the boy sat back, secluded in his own home to listen through a dense window. 
“… What do you mean by that?”
He gestured at the window. “Your life… Do you like it?”
The boy tilted his head. “Of course, I do.”
“What do you even like about it?” He eyed him.
“Well,” the boy set down his instrument, setting his fingers to count. The left hand carried multiple papercuts from reading over and over. “I like my friends. I like my mom. School’s fun since people say I’m smart… I like T.V. and things I get and-”
The white-headed interrupted him with a short chuckle. “You like things, just like every kid I suppose.” He turned, pacing around the room. 
The boy only sneered, “Wouldn’t you get that though?”
“… I assume so, yes. But it’s interesting to see kids grow to be so… people-caring. A shame for you and others.”
“What’s there to shame?” 
“I-” the white-headed stammered. “It’s not so much to worry about.”
He avoided the boy’s eyes.
“Just… be careful when I’m not here.”
***
Another day on the streets, Oliver walked his way to a certain alley, ukulele in hand yet again. 
The weather blew against his cardigan that day. Fall leaves flew left and right in fury, breezing past his hair and shoes in seconds. 
Cold sweats dripped down his head. He paced and fidgeted during crosswalks. 
He’s going to hate me. I’m gonna be a monster to him. 
Thoughts kept spurring in his head. He itched towards his ukulele strap. His stomach cried all the same. 
“Shut up,” he muttered, drifting off in the streets. That is, until he stepped towards the crosswalk of Pierdeli Avenue. 
There stood a stubby woman. Her blue gown shined in beauty against the others standing, while her blonde hair laid kempt against her peachy shoulders. She stared at the cars with avid eyes, ignoring all those around her as they ignored her back. 
However, Oliver stopped his steps as he approached her. He recognized her even from a blurry memory. “Alice… Are you here to talk with me some more?”
She blinked and shook her head. “Oliver! Forgive me for not noticing you pass by. The auto-mobiles are just fascinating to observe even after so long.” She gawked at the speeding car getting chased by the police. She ignored the police and went on. “And yes. I wished for more time with you and was just granted with all the free time in the world.”
A tacked-on smile was plastered to her face. “Right…” I get the cars, at least. 
“Are you in a rush?” She faced him. 
Oliver stuttered at the attention. “No, no. Not really.” He dug his hands to his pockets. “But you can still walk with me.”
“Ah, I see,” She nodded. Her excitement over the cars dying down by the second. “Pardon my intrusion then.” 
The crosswalk light turned green as those surrounding them passed through. Oliver and Alice followed thus. 
Her gaze continued looking over toward the streets as they walked in silence. Oliver’s words almost quivered out of his lips, though he hesitated for what to start with. 
“Alice?”
“Yes,” she piped up.
“What exactly is going on with me?”
She stifled. “That’s…” sighing, “that’s what I expected you to ask, truly.” 
“It was obvious, wasn’t it?” Oliver scoffed at her words. His eyes dabbled to the building walls, avoiding her expression over the answer. 
“I can somewhat explain the factors; however, I’m still restricted on telling every detail…”
The boy pinched up, still ignorant of her face. He ordered, “Just tell me what you can.” 
“Alright.” A hint of an accent could be heard from Alice, Oliver noted. British was all he could guess. Her voice gave a softer yet stern tone than his sweetly outgoing mother. Her voice was a different subject to focus on however, as he immediately snapped back once she began to speak again. “You… must do what you’ve already done for the rest of your life, I’m afraid. You’ll suffer more than just death if not.”
Her words were tense, as if her throat squeezed them out. They didn’t hit Oliver on impact, though his heart froze all the same. “There’s no way of stopping it, is there?” 
She held back with an answer, only for her to breathe out, “No. There’s nothing at all.” 
Alice kneeled down to him, halting Oliver midway in a mild-crossing sidewalk. People passed by the two of them with no batted eyes. She held him by the shoulders and focused on his eyes with her pale blue. 
“Please believe me when I say this: None of this is your fault. You have the full right to blame this on me and my selfish actions or- God, I can’t even say his name.” She looked off with a painful smile. “Just- It was my own hasty actions that led this to happen. I’m deeply regretful and I apologize to the bottom of my heart… Do you understand?” 
“I…” Fifteen seconds for an apology speech wow- “Yes. Yes, I do- Ma’am?”
The woman took her hands off his shoulders to hold his hands. She mumbled while staring down, “I know you must despise yourself; and I’m sorry for that as well.” 
Oliver squirmed at the interaction. He leaned back as she froze to her own space. “Well uh…” his attention wavered, “no shit.”
She chuckled, letting go and standing up again. “Now, even if we’ve just met, you shouldn’t speak fowl words around me. I’m still your mother after all.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled, “’Isn’t that surprising that you try and censor me.” 
They both took more steps together. Alice affirmed to him, “I’m only trying my best. After all, I haven’t been able to for the past eleven years…”
“… Why’d you put me in the foster homes?” 
“That was someone else’s idea,” she instantly replied. “But I wanted you to at least have some kind of normality for the first years of life.” 
Oliver’s face dulled. “And I’m guessing you weren’t ‘allowed’ to talk to me then?” 
She nodded with no other explanation to her answer. 
Oliver groaned. He took a breath to ask another question. “So, if you really are my mom, then where’s my dad? Wouldn’t he have something to do with this?”
“He’s…” she looked back, “not here anymore.” 
“Oh, okay.” He replied to her with a calm stance, walking off without much of a reaction. “Kinda like the family I’m in now then.” 
“Pardon?”
“My adoptive mom’s a widow too. My dad’s death was the reason she adopted me in the first place.”
“I see…”
“What happened to my actual dad then? Did he die from old age or something?” After all, Vittorino said you were ancient.
“Oh, no!” Alice exclaimed, “He didn’t pass from that. We were both similar to immortals. He simply passed due to circumstances.”
Circumstances…?
“Still,” she added, baring a faint smile, “your father was a great man. A bit of a dunce so to say, though endearing at best.”
Her smile brought Oliver to a suspicious stare. “… Why can’t I know so much about this?” 
“Why?” She sighed. “Our leader doesn’t want you to discover much so fast. That’s all there is. However, you’ll be able to figure out many things as time goes along.”
Well, that’s helpful.” He chewed on his lip. “You know Vittorino, right?”
“Of course, I do. I’m the reason he watches over you.” 
“What situation are you in that led you guys to know each other?” 
“Oh… you have the first half at least.” She cleared her throat, taking a breath. “We’re both a part of a society that lets you be immortal. Though, in exchange, we have to kill somebody once a month; otherwise, we’ll be executed.”
Oliver froze. “I’m sorry, what-”
“I understand it’s absurd. Our leader himself is absurd, after all,” she jeered. “But at least he gave us a ‘break’, so to say, on that.” 
“You’ve killed people too, then?” 
“Yes.” 
“And is that why my dad died?”
Her lips pinched together. “… yes.”
An awkward silence held them apart. The large crowds chattering away covered up their distance. 
 “There are two groups in our society.” Alice continued what she started. “There aren’t many First Eras left… We hated what we were doing, enough to kill ourselves. I’m one of the last ones, and the leader’s aide all the same.” 
“How many of you are there left?”
“Five, including myself.” Her voice held no emotion with the statement. Oliver gulped at the amount. 
“Then,” he shrugged off the concept, “what about the group?” 
“Second Eras? They’re stranger to say the least. Our leader took most of them in when they were mere children, so they were raised to believe murder was moral enough.” She added, “They’re all disturbed. And Vittorino was the first of that era.” 
Oliver raised a brow at her. “If you say he’s disturbed, then why do you leave one of ‘em to check up on me?” 
Alice answered without a thought. “He was older than most when being taken, so he has a bit more sense to him than the others. Besides, he was the only one willing to out of boredom and favors. I would’ve gotten someone I trust more if she wasn’t an arse about it.”
“So Vittorino was a prick but was more willing than the other prick?”
“Practically.”
Oliver chuckled at her last comment. Though, it crossed his mind that a certain street faced him. 
“Um, Alice?”
“I’m about to get to the place I’m going.” He pointed at Ayu’s street. “So, can you go…?”
She opened up with an, “Oh!” adjusting her hair. “Of course, I can.” She began to walk away from him. 
“Goodbye then,” she waved, “I hope to see you soon.”
“Yeah,” he hesitantly waved back.  “Thanks for the info.”
She disappeared with the crowds; Oliver stared in the distance. The answer he’d gotten in the walk boggled his thoughts. His mother was at least readable, yet restricted all the same. 
The puzzle of his origins still floated in the air, close enough to reach, it was just a ‘leader’ that blocked out the useful pieces. 
“Who the hell is the guy anyways,” Oliver muttered.  Well, a dick out of anything. 
He shrugged it off, along with the prior conversation as Ayu’s alleyway stood right in front of him. 
In a turn, Oliver peeked through the opening with browned moss. Inside the small home, a lump sat in the middle of the ground. 
Oliver tilted his head at the figure, bewildered. “Guess they’re not here…” He entered without another thought, pondering over the little lump. 
It bared small little cloth fuzz that moved off from the gentle winds. Oliver leaned over for a closer look; its appearance began to manifest. From ahead, the lump formed to shape. And at the end of the wrapped-up figure was a big tuff of black hair brushing against Ayu’s dry skin.
Oliver backed up from his observations after realizing the lump was just Ayu. The boy fidgeted from his blanket as he slept. Murmurs filled Oliver’s ears. He didn’t bother trying to translate the sloppy whispers, instead sitting down by the sleeping boy. 
Settling his bag, he grabbed his ukulele and began tuning. It didn’t take long for him to start strumming. The notes took him off-course from his mental state. It only took the matter of a few chords to bring some satisfaction. 
He glanced around at his surroundings while playing. Ayu’s blanket seemed too thin and worn to get any good sleep; his calendar flew left and right that it was only a matter of time until it fell out its tape; and a small journal laid next to Ayu’s sleeping body, right there in the open. 
Oliver put his playing at a halt. He placed his instrument down with careful sound, replacing it with the journal. He glanced down at Ayu with weary eyes. Though, after no signs of waking up, Oliver sneered at himself. He turned, hiding the journal from Ayu’s sight, opening it up to read through anything humorous. 
First pages: Hilarious. Each held lackluster art. Long torsos, disturbing eyes, no feet, and anything else that could make a drawing off. The scribbles on the side left the artist looking illiterate. Oliver skimmed through it all with puffs of laughing breaths. 
However, as the pages went on, the boy encountered pages full of sloppy writing. He squinted his eyes to get at least the beginning of some, though ultimately had to skip to recent pages for better handwriting. 
The dates counted for every day. Each day held for every time he did nothing, when he made something new, when he failed, anything. And with almost all entries, there would be a continuous statement: “No Akeldama.”
… Who’s Akeldama?
I havent seen Lillie in a whyle.
Who’s Lillie?
Annette told me that theres bin area deths in the forest for a whyle now 
… shit-
The journal was taken from his grasp. He flinched in shock and above him stood Ayu with the item. “What are you doing?”
“I uh-” Oliver’s eyes shifted to the abandoned blanket. “When did you even wake up?” I didn’t even notice him walking. 
“A minute ago. But what are you doing with this?” His raspy voice set a colder tone than usual. His red glare shook Oliver up. 
“I was just waiting for you to wake up and got curious. Your drawings look cool!” 
Ayu frowned with skeptic eyes. He rolled his eyes, yawning, and sat by Oliver. “Fine then.”
“I wanted you to sleep. You don’t seem to get much of it anyways with the traffic.” 
“It’s alright, Oliver, really.” 
… 
“I wanted to talk to you,” Oliver started, “about what happened last week. A bit more straightforwardly at least.” 
“I’d figure.” He huffed an awkward chuckle. 
“But- uh…” Oliver avoided the boy’s eyes, words couldn’t fill the air. In the midst of his pause, a brief sight of Ayu’s legs reminded him. They were still skinny to the bone as always. “My mom left me food to cook… and I know you need it more than I do.”
His eyes held Oliver with confusion: lowered lips and a blank stare. “So, you want to talk at…?” 
“My house. I’ll make the food myself,” God, I hope this is good. “You can shower and wash your clothes first if you want, since I can tell you need some cleaning.”
“I… thanks.” A blush tickled his face. Oliver peered at the dark red against his pale skin. Strange. “I don’t really wanna be an annoyance to you but-”
The boy snapped out of his stare. “It’s okay! It’s okay! You’re struggling like me so it’s the least I can do.”
“Then,” Ayu stood up, padding his dry, open skin, “shouldn’t we get going?”
A blank stare stroke Oliver in a hesitant essence. Nonetheless, he followed. “Um, yeah!” 
***
Smoky air blew against the heat fan. Oliver’s eyes focused solely on the meal cooking on the pan. Ayu sat on the side fresh out of the shower and wash. He curled up in his tall seat as he sipped upon a cup of water. They both avoid each other’s eyes; They both allowed the sounds of oil burning up to play over them.
Oliver hesitated speaking. His past thoughts reoccurred to him. 
Even if I excuse anything, it’s not like he’ll change his mind.  
“What’re you making?” Oliver passed the question off until realizing it was Ayu. He twisted his head back. Ayu still stared at the cup he held. “It smells good.”
“It’s just lemon pork tenderloins. My mom usually gives me pork stuff for me all the time since it used to be my favorite.” He answered with a blank tone, without any joy in his eyes as he cooked. 
“Isn’t that stuff hard to make?”
“Not really,” Oliver noted, “Cooking’s pretty easy for me; but that’s inconvenient at best.” He tried to make a stuttered laugh, though he missed the idea of food tasting as good as back then. 
They both took another pause. 
“You don’t know how to cook yourself, Ayu, don’t you?”
“No… I was usually just given junk food anyways.” 
“Then,” he lowered the stove heat, “here, I can show you.”
A skeptical tone overtook him. “You want me to cook?” 
“No, I’m going to help you.” Oliver reassured him. So, then you don’t burn the house down. He went off from the stove and set his hands on the table that stood in front of Ayu. “It’ll just be the cooking part of it. That’s easy enough, right?”
“But isn’t that the part where I can burn the house down, like you said?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on it.” He set aside Ayu’s cup from his hands. “This is how I was taught so you’ll be fine.” 
***
“So… you just gotta wait ‘til it’s brown?”
The last tenderloin was tossed in the fryer as Ayu asked for once. 
“Yes,” Oliver answered. He glared at the one’s Ayu cooked on the side, “Not until they’re charred.” 
“I guess that’s easier to follow than cutting it up to see if it’s red inside.” 
Oliver bit his lip. “Yeah, I guess that’s more of a chicken thing than pork… but I just grew the habit of being safe.” 
Ayu shrugged. “If it’s edible, I’ll eat it.” 
“Even a human?” 
Ayu frowned at the joke. “There’s a limit.” Oliver’s chest tightened at the mistake. 
“… We’re still not gonna talk about that now.” 
“Yeah, yeah…” he mumbled, staring at the meat in the pan. 
Ayu’s wet hair had started to dry out. It puffed up to the same shape it was before. The hair kept Oliver distracted for the silent seconds. His hand reached to touch a small tuff, stroking for a short moment. It’s just soft. “Your hair’s weird.” 
His eyes blinked once or twice. “What?”
“Well, it’s long enough to make you look like a girl,” he snorted.
Ayu pulled his hair in front of him. It blocked half of his face. “Shut up. It’s hard to find a way to cut it good by yourself.”
Oliver noted, “That and even when washed, it looks like a puffball.”
“Okay, that’s just how my hair works.” 
Oliver gave a small huff of a chuckle. “I’ll get you gel sometime then. It’s distracting-”
“No, don’t get gel,” Ayu retorted, “Annette tried it on my once and I thought it was gross.” 
“Why gross…?
“My hair felt like greasy stone, that’s why.” 
“… Ayu, that’s the point.”
“Then I don’t like that point.” He grabbed the spatula and plopped the last tenderloin on the serving plate. “I think it’s done.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “Huh, that one actually looks pretty good.” 
“Just give me more simple directions next time then,” he grumbled.
Oliver sat with his mouth shut. Ayu faced directly next to him. He watched as the boy stuffed himself with everything made. 
Oliver was greeted with nothing in front of him. There laid empty space: no plate, no food, only a fork he toddled with his hands.  
“Damn, this was great…” He mumbled with a full mouth. 
“Like my mom says, even when ruined, it’ll still taste great.”
A whack slammed to Oliver back. His voice squeaked, “Motherfu- that hurt!”
Ayu snorted. “Sorry. Just don’t roast me like that.”
Oliver glared at him. 
“Still, tell your mom that I like the recipe.” He took another bite. 
Oliver dropped his fork against the table after seconds of no conversation. He tensed himself with his words, “About last week, on my birthday…”
Ayu glanced back in confusion, then swallowing and facing down. “Y-yeah…”
No words were said yet again, only an apparent atmosphere of the topic in the air. Oliver prayed to not choke on it. 
No, it doesn’t have to be now.
He stammered, “You know what? Let’s not focus on that right now.”
Ayu blinked. “Wait what?”
“We can just talk about that later; we have all day!” The boy forced a curve on his lips. 
Ayu stuttered, “Uh sure-”
“What shows do you- did you watch before all of that?”
“… Hm,” he scratched on the dry skin on his cheek, “My family didn’t watch that much. Just VHS movies and Crimson stuff on Saturdays, I think. I just played around with someone most of the time…”
“Oh yeah, you mentioned Crimson.” Oliver hopped down from his seat.
He shrugged. “I watched them the most out of anything.” He smiled while staring at the air. “They were just cool and people made ‘em cooler, yanno?”
“Sure,” Oliver replied without a thought. As Ayu talked, he walked to the TV, setting up the DVR. “I was never really into that stuff, but either way, you’re missing out.”
“I’ve been ‘missing out’ for four years actually.”
Oliver chuckled at the joke. “Well, ever heard of The Mr. Rious House?”
“Annette might’ve talked about it a little but no, not really.” He climbed out of his seat with careful steps on the stool.
“Oh, boy you’re in for a ride.” With only a press of a remote control, the television set played the crackles of thunder. Ayu jumped at the sound. 
“God, damn it- wait is that a dead body?”
Oliver sneered, “Yep, and this is a kid show’s first minute of the first episode.” 
“Well this is going to be… a thing.” Ayu sat down on the couch with wobbly knees. 
This’ll be fun.
“It won’t,” he hissed, curling up to his knees with an organ playing.
***
“This house isn’t fun.”
The third episode began to play. Oliver and Ayu had settled themselves on the couch with separate blankets, Ayu’s being thicker and covering his entire being. 
Oliver sat against the middle cushion. He enjoyed himself over the nostalgia of the first few episodes while glancing over at Ayu’s reactions ever so often.
It all consisted of him flinching and muttering words of help. Humorous to say the least.
“Just wait until you see Mr. Rious, Ayu. He’s the best character.”
He glared at the screen. “I don’t wanna see this man.”
“He’s a fun dad for Noll,” Oliver chuckled. “Wait, that’s a spoiler.”
The show continued to play and Oliver watched along the adventure. 
“What do you mean Rious still isn’t here? He hasn’t been in five years! What is this about him being my-”
“Oliver?”
The boy snapped back from his focus. “What is it?”
“You said you were adopted, right?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“How’re your parents then?”
“Oh.” Oliver hummed in consideration. “I just have an adoptive parent really. It’s me and my mom here.”
“Huh… Did you ever have a dad?” Ayu tilted his head down, curious eyes shining at Oliver.
“I apparently did before my mom took me in.” He leaned back. “He died and got my mom her career choice.” 
“Really?” The blanketed boy’s tone didn’t hold as much emotion as prior. “How’d that happen?”
“Simple. He killed himself during college years.” 
Ayu choked. 
“Now that’s the reaction I expected,” Oliver stated dully.
Ayu gawked, “You don’t just say someone killed himself like that, Jesus Christ-. I thought he just got in some accident or monster attack!”
Oliver shrugged. “My mom thought I was mature enough to tell me when I was younger and I think I’ve matured enough over the past years to talk about it… Probably the most fucked up thing I can say about myself without getting arrested.”
Ayu frantically blinked over and over. “Do- do you ever think about him? Or like, miss him or anything?”
Oliver scoffs. “That’s always the dumb question. I never even knew him; how would I miss him?” He ponders for a second. “Thinking is another thing.”
Ayu didn’t give a reply. The show played as they talked.
“Sure, it’s always interesting to hear about him, I guess. But I mostly just think about him in ‘what if’ scenarios.”
Ayu’s face gleamed with worry. “Like…?”
Oliver bit his lip, then took a breath. “Like what if I die like that?”
Ayu’s eyes widened. What did he expect? His mouth fell flat as he muttered. “I…”
“Noll! What are you even doing?”
“Look, I know I screwed up some times, but this’ll help, won’t it?”
“… Don’t?”
“What? Don’t die?” 
“Yeah…”
Oliver smiled. “Well, I��m pretty sure that’s been the plan for a while. ‘Least for my body and sub-conscious to say so-”
“Just don’t die, please.” Ayu tugged on Oliver’s blanket. “It’s a dumb thing to ask, but… it’s not fun.”
Oliver studied his expression hidden through his hair. It was torn with scared eyes staring and glimmering a vermillion again. His reaction begged the question: so, who did he have to deal with? But the boy pushed aside the conversation at the end of it. “Let’s keep watching.”
“I uh, yeah that ending scared me.” 
“Your reactions are some of the best. But did you really not expect Rious to do that?”
“Look I was hoping he’d be a funny, crazy guy,” Ayu retorted.
“You watch Crimson. Don’t they have screwed up villains in that?”
“Yeah but that was different. Crimson made them goofballs in the end!” 
Oliver just eyed him. “Did it really creep you out that much? You’ve definitely seen worse-”
“Yes, it did.” 
He laughed it off and transferred the topic. “I learned one of the themes on my uke. They were fun ones, weren’t they,” he teased.
“Shut up.”
Oliver sat up. “The song’s kinda slow but I did it.” He paced back to his room to grab his ukulele out of the case. In the corner of his eye, he peered his switchblade on the corner chair. A piercing in his bloody lip could suffice for the time being, so he stepped aside. He won’t come into this room anyways. 
He ran back to the living room where Ayu played with his now soft hair and sat back next to him. 
“Surprisingly the full version sounds really nice,” Oliver mumbled as he tuned up his instrument a bit. “Okay…” He took a breath before starting a set of chords. 
Overall, the protagonist’s theme laid great poetic-ness to the story as a well-meaning representation of his backstory and foreshadowing to come, at least in Oliver’s head. The theme was rather soft. The plucking of the strings following and drifting along one by one emerged the room in an echoing tragedy. Notes played to the tune of the mother’s lullaby of tender somber, and eventually, her words began. 
“If you sing me a lullaby,
Then maybe a love song too…
And one day, you’ll sing me a requiem,
And someday, they’ll sing yours too.”
Her song was a simple poem, not much substance in lyrics. The song held meaning in the story at least.
After some repetition, it took a few strums and tabs to finish the piece. 
“And that’s the song.” Oliver set down the ukulele while speaking. “It might be a little boring but who knows, my music tastes may just be boring.”
“You really sing good,” Ayu commented.
“Well, you mean, I sing well.”
“Shut the hell up,” Ayu pushed Oliver, nearly making the boy fall over from the force. “I hated grammar out of anything in school.”
“School’s pretty easy,” Oliver flaunted, striking a pose. “But I’ve also been told that I’m gifted in music.” 
“Oh yeah? Then stop being a show-off,” Ayu snapped back at him. 
“Sorry,” he replied, with no meaning expressed in his words and tone.
Oliver returned back to his ukulele to play with the strings. The tune he formed ended up being major somehow. Things are going well for now at least-
“Oliver, are we gonna talk?”
Great, I jinxed it. “Huh?”
“You said you were going to but… I guess you just wanted to distract yourself.” Ayu crawled closer to Oliver. 
The boy didn’t make any movement; he continued playing with a nod. 
“You… really don’t wanna talk about it.”
Another nod. 
“Look…” Ayu started. “I get this entire thing is fucked up. I still think it’s too fucked up for me to- allow it to get in my head. But I can still listen… I wanna be helpful for somebody for once. ‘Specially with that stuff you were saying earlier…” 
Oliver stayed quiet. 
Ayu sighed. “I’m sorry if I scared you there… Just say what you want.”
Oliver’s melody dwindled down each beat getting slower until a full stop. He breathed in and out before saying few words. “I can’t fix it if you were wondering.” 
“What?”
“I’m supposed to be like this, without a choice.” He took a pause. “I think I was a pretty big accident.”
Ayu’s face scrunched up. “I don’t think jokes are good for right now.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I can’t change or control it. And I may end up hurting both you and Annette so… I think it’s best that you guys stop hanging out with me. Like most people.”
Ayu curled up more into his blanket with pondering eyes. “… I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure-”
“You’re one of the only people I can actually talk to, Ollie. You look like a good guy too.” His stared up directed into Oliver’s gaze. “I don’t think you should give up on a possible answer just yet.”
“I,” Oliver stumbled on words. “I still wanna keep at least some distance.”
“How come?”
“Well, whenever I make friends, I end up screwing them over the worst way possible by accident so that’s a reason.”
Ayu blinked up again. Then realized. “Oh.” He made a crooked smile, brows faced with slight worry. “I’m pretty sure I’m strong enough, still.” 
Oliver’s face goes sour in doubt. 
“Oh yeah… how come you always wear that jacket?” Ayu tugs at the red cardigan. “Don’t you have more?”
“I do,” Oliver answered. “But I mainly use this one since blood stains are harder to find with this.”
Ayu cringes. “That… sucks.”
“It does.” Oliver tugged his left sleeve farther down. “It really does.”
Oliver looked over at the clock on the stove. He stood up and dragged Ayu to get up too. “You should get going. My mom’s gonna be here in an hour. Do you want me to take you?”
Ayu passed him off. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for bringing me over. I feel fresh, yanno?” He pulled up his newly cleaned jacket up to his nose, eying Oliver as he sniffed it. 
Is he trying to hide that? Oliver chuckled at the thought. “Yeah, I can tell.”
“Uhm, see ya later.” Ayu grinned as he shut the door. 
Oliver only muttered back his words; however, as soon as the door closed, he rushed to his room and jumped onto the bed. “Oh, thank God!”
“Thank Him for what?” Vittorino appeared against the wall like every day. 
“I have a dog’s nose and he doesn’t smell terrible anymore. Plus, he didn’t wanna kill me!”
“Oh, right. It wasn’t that surprising.” He snickered. “It’s been a week again, how’ve you been.”
“Shut your damn mouth; I almost forgot about it.”
“Hungry then,” he proclaimed. “Are you gonna eat soon?”
“Til I’m forced to, I’m not gonna.” The boy slugged himself off the bed to the switchblade on the chair. “Now, if you can please leave? I’m about to have a snack.”
He made his way to the bathroom routine. 
“Sure, fine. Just don’t drink too much. Alice’ll get mad at me again.” He disappeared as soon as he told. 
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure she will.”
-
Ten Dollars | Bread and Water | Red Eye | Crimson Capture | November 1st | A Mother | A Demon | Next >>>
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advernia · 4 years
Text
fic: push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)
— war was never the best place to realize that trust was a very long free fall, but they had to start somewhere. (or: five times the jack of hearts receives treatment from alice the second, and all that happens in between.) || ao3 ver.
features: au!kyle’s route where kyle/mc is platonic, a hella slow burn edgar/mc development, more details of the war that you probably didn’t sign up for, and a! named! mc!
1: this is ridiculously long (14+k!?) but if you’re up for it, there’s post-reading notes here! (・∀・○)
There's a nice, narrow slash on his face; diagonally marking what many a mouth has called a remarkable young man's handsome features. 
They're just staring at him for some reason and if he were, well, someone like a certain beauty-marked-pretty-boy-who-happened-to-be-his-superior; he'd be threatening both of them to do their jobs or else. But he's not that someone, he's different and quite eccentrically so, as demonstrated by him simply smiling back at the doctor and assistant's pointing stares and asking the most inappropriate question at the moment.
"Is there something on my face?" Edgar asks, tone cheery.
"Nope," Kyle replies, an eyebrow raised. "It's just... Okay, wow, nice cut you got there. When's the last time you actually came here for treatment? Actual treatment."
"Hm... I can't recall. But I certainly don't visit the infirmary as often as my unit does."
A snort. "Yeah, that'll be the day. Ever wonder why they spend a lot of time here in the first place?"
"To visit the oh-so-talented Seven of Hearts and bask in his medical talent?"
"... Are you going to treat him or not?" Alice the Second pipes in, a frown directed to her boss. "Because if you won't, I will."
Kyle swivels his chair around to gawk her. "... You sure you want to?"
"But why not? It's the reason why Edgar came here in the first place, right?"
"It's hard to tell with someone like him, but yeah, probably. But the main issue here is that."
The doctor points to the not-so-elephant in the room, the Jack of Hearts' once-flawless left cheek.
"If you're going to treat him, it's gonna be an up-close-and-personal thing," Kyle says, ominous voice at odds with the growing grin on his lips. "Can you take it?"
Edgar jumps into the conversation, smile still present. "I'm not one for having people at close distances, but I imagine having you treat me is better than identifying what Kyle might have drunk last night, Alice."
"That's what he said, lucky you! So, are - "
"Oh, hush, you two," she huffs, making her way to a cabinet with brisk steps. She plucks out a bottle and a bag of cotton off a shelf, then makes a beeline for the sink. "I'm treating you, Edgar, because you're in an infirmary and you're injured. And if I have to be up-close-and-personal, it's because the injury is on his cheek, Kyle. That's all there is!"
She's muttering a couple of other things they can't hear as she's filling a basin with water, so Kyle takes this opportunity to slide his chair closer to where Edgar sat, whisper unnecessarily conspiratorial as he says:
"Her ears turned red."
"Yes, very much like your hair."
The two share glances before laughing.
.
.
.
Alice, much to his amusement and also a bit of dismay, does not end up getting 'up-close-and-personal' with him at all - rather than sitting directly in front of each other (because that's what Kyle does to his patients), she chooses to move her chair to his left side, all her attention set on the injury without the feeling of the patient staring at her while she works.
Maybe he should start giving her a little more credit.
"Edgar?" she says as she dabs a damp cotton lightly on his cheek, "How did you get this injury in the first place?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"If you don't mind telling me, then yes."
He chuckles as the cotton slowly traces its way upwards to his cheekbone.
"Well then. How about a little exchange?"
"Exchange? What do you mean?"
"I tell you how I got this cut in the first place... but in return," he angles his head sideways a bit so that he could meet her gaze, "You have to tell me your real name."
Her arm freezes, and the cotton stops touching his face.
.
.
.
And that was the first time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.
                                        "Lady Idike!"
She turns her around to the sound of her name, a frantic yell of help right by the tent's entrance - someone's struggling carrying his comrade on his back, his face strained with grime and sweat. She rises to her feet, eyes searching for any vacant space before rushing over to the new patients, leading them over to an area by the upper left side of the tent.
"Gently, now," she ushers as the soldier kneels down slowly to lower his friend's body on a cot. "What happened?"
A deep breath. "... We encountered the Three of Spades' squad by the streets of the Upper Central Quarter, and... I got careless, didn't see a trap coming right for me. This guy here, he... p-pu-p-ushed me... just in time, a-a-an-and..."
Tears began forming at the edge of weary eyes as he tried to continue, but any more words were drowned out by broken sobs. Idike sets a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approach from her right.
"You did good, getting you and your buddy back here," Kyle says as he walked over to the sobbing soldier with a kind smile on his face. "Got any wounds?"
"... O-on-only b-br-r-bruises an-and sc-scrapes, sir..."
"Got it - we'll be with you in a sec, so sit tight. Idike, what about him?"
She nods and runs over to the cot, fingers immediately heading towards the unconscious patient's left hip and thigh; a visible mix of damp blood, broken flesh, and torn cloth combined. Clearing out a bit of the mess and pressing down gently, two of her fingertips come across light pricks, causing her to pull her hand away. Kyle clicks his tongue at her reaction, moving beside her to check the damage himself.
"Caltrops," he mutters.
"Cal... what?"
"Something like tiny metal spikes. See those things stuck on the soles of his boots? Caltrops. There's some hanging by his pants too, tricky things."
"Are they lethal?"
"Assuming they didn't hit something vital or that they weren't coated in poison, then no. They're annoyingly sharp, though."
Idike sucks in a deep breath, taking in one last glimpse of the gaping wound before turning to face Kyle.
"What do we need?"
.
.
.
"My, my. What do we have here?"
With a raise of his hand, his troop trailing behind him stops moving, hands swiftly finding the hilts of their swords and bodies shifting to a defensive stance. Without the noise of boots crunching on leaves and dirt, the forest surrounding them was tranquil - inviting, even, as the near setting sun tried to dye every lick of green with its reds, yellows, and oranges.
A few seconds pass. He lowers his hand, but none of them relax.
A few more, until -
- a dagger, seemingly materializing out from nowhere, flies straight and true for his cheek.
The Jack of Hearts smiles, drawing his saber from its scabbard in a split second to parry - a sharp clang echoes throughout the forest, and the threat falls defeated on the ground. With a few steps forward and a quick bend of his knees, he takes the weapon into his other hand.
"Do be careful," there's a lilt in his voice as he speaks rather loudly to the wilderness. "Alice treated this same cheek not too long ago - I'd hate to return to her and have her do it all over again."
Winds rustling the leaves of the trees answer, but there's a strange energy that comes with it, something similar to the sensation when magic would come to play: the air tingles with a prickling charge, filling one's lungs with a sense of alertness and unshakable jitter. Without warning, he throws the dagger upwards, towards the high branches of the large oak tree just a few meters ahead.
It doesn't come back nor does it make a sound of hitting a mark, but in its stead someone drops down from the tree, two feet gracefully landing on the ground.
The tension doesn't fade.
"Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," Edgar waves, as if greeting an old friend. "Nice weather we're having, aren't we?"
Seth scoffs, a hand reaching for one of the daggers set on his hip - though there's a notable lack of expression on his face, every bit of his posture screams of a threatening aura waiting to be released on a moment's notice.
"... What did you do to her?" he asks, voice an unnerving low. 
"Nothing that concerns you," Edgar shrugs, and Seth watches as his lips curl into a teasing - teasing! - smile.
"Though I believe a better question is... what did she do to me?"
.
.
.
It's been... four days? Or had it been three? Perhaps she lost count.
All she knew these days was to focus. This was no London confectionery anymore, with all its flours, sugars, fruits and honey.
"Scalpel," a quick command, accompanied by an open hand held out towards her. She nods, picking out the tool carefully from a metal tray and handing it over.
There were no preparation periods, baking hours, timetables, opening and closing times, or rush hours.
"Forceps," the scalpel returns to her with its blade drenched in scarlet. Idike sets it aside and pulls out the next tool, placing it on Kyle's palm.
This was no warm bakery, open kitchen, or pleasant shop.
"Caltrop extracted," Kyle mutters as he glares at the object held upright by the forceps: it's a small thing with four sharp teeth, decorated with blood and pieces of skin. She stares at it, glimmering under the light of the tent's magic crystal lamp.
This was life and death, and she willingly chose to be part of it.
.
.
.
Someone charges at him with a rapier held up high in the air, almost like a guillotine. A shame that it doesn't meet its intended mark though: Edgar parries the strike halfway down, watches as his opponent's eyes grow wide as saucers at the sudden impact, then delivers a smack right to the chest and two well-aimed jabs to make the man crumple to his knees along with his weapon.
From his left, someone not an ally rushes towards him presumably armed with a blade as well, and from his blind side; a set of throwing knives come for him like bullets.
What a pickle.
The knives are faster, but it only takes the swift motion of sinking down onto to his haunches to avoid them completely. The lunging soldier however was now just paces away from impaling his forehead, but he takes advantage of his position to aim for the underside of his enemy's outstretched arm; gloved hand reaching out to grab the forearm with a grip tight enough to cause a loud scream of pain and the release of the sword, followed by barreling upwards - his opponent starts to lose his balance in response to the motion and Edgar uses it, dropping his saber for a moment to fully grab the man's arm and throw him effortlessly over his shoulder.
A pained groan escapes the poor soldier's lips before he lays limp on the ground, unconscious. Edgar leaves him there and picks up his weapon, calm countenance at odds with the persisting sounds of battle ringing loudly in the forest.
He glances at the path forward, obscured by leaves but unable to completely hide the traces of freshly unearthed soil underneath the foliage.
Meanwhile, the sun was sinking down the horizon, beckoning the night to pour itself out on the sky.
"A pity, Ten of Spades. But it was quite fun while it lasted."
Turning on his heel, the Jack of Hearts set out to reconvene with his troop.
.
.
.
"... and since there was sufficient evidence found that the area had been already laid on with various traps, the King postponed the advancement to Black Army territory through the forests."
Kyle hums absentmindedly as he was stitching up a patient's shoulder. "Smart move - glad he didn't decide to order someone to just get rid of the traps using magic."
Zero shakes his head. "Inefficient and costly. We still have a good amount of magic crystals in our inventory, but it's wiser to use them for a better time."
"I know. Still, a better time, huh?" cutting the excess thread with a scissor, Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. "The only 'better time' I can think of is you lot giving me and my assistant a break."
The doctor gestures to the whole of the medical tent, nearly full with lines of cots and miserable men: there were a spare few that were up and about, doing their best to look after the needs of the others; but the rest were either unconscious or groaning where they lay. The Ace of Hearts' lips drew a taut line, the mixing smells of pungent disinfectant and coppery blood dancing strongly about his nostrils.
"... Is Idike okay? Seeing all this."
Kyle snorts. "Of course not - bet she still cries a little bit inside each time someone's carried here, and that's fine by me. But what's important is she hasn't been running away from this: it's been three whole days since we've set up here, and so far she's been giving every single one her all."
"I see... where is she now?"
"Ordered her to take a breather. Should be having dinner or something."
.
.
.
Contrary to what Kyle ordered her to do, no, she wasn't having dinner at the moment.
Not taking a breather, either.
She's dragging someone by the hand to their shared tent instead, mind and body working on adrenaline or reflex at this point: make some light by using a magic crystal and hanging it on a lamp, seat or make the patient comfortable, gather some basic tools and place them on a tray beside where you'd sit, then evaluate the patient's condition as calmly as possible.
And it's only when she's seated herself in front of her patient does she realizes who -
"Oh," she says, the word coming out of her mouth even before she knew it.
.
.
.
Usual Red Army procedure dictates that after their given missions, the Chosen Thirteen (save for the Seven on some occasions) would gather in the commander's tent to report the results of the day's operations. The gathering, facilitated by the Queen, required that all information and notable observations should be accounted for; down even to the most minuscule detail. Once all was said and done, the Jack would narrate a summary of all the reports given and from there, the strategy planning would begin.
The King would finalize the orders once everyone came to an understanding and agreement of the current situation and objectives, then they were promptly dismissed.
Rinse, repeat. Whatever the Thirteen chose to do after the gatherings was completely up to them, unless they had orders.
Edgar didn't have any tasks assigned that night, so he chose to have a brief rest by the river just a short walk from the encampment. But on his way there, he runs into her - Alice the Second with all her loosely plaited honey-colored hair, bags growing under her eyes, and the apron she wore over her dress stained with suspicious splotches.
It gets interesting when she points out that the glove of his right hand had a tear on it, and even before he has a chance to explain himself, she already closed the distance in between them and took his right hand into hers, raising it up for her to check.
But in all honesty, never would've he imagined that she would actually drag him all the way to her tent.
.
.
.
"You know Alice, were I someone else, I would've taken this as an invitation."
"An invitation for what?"
"I wonder. Oh, assume this instead: the lone young woman of an army inviting a man to her quarters in the middle of the night... what do you suppose people would think if they were to witness such a scene?"
Silence - her eyes, the most innocent of blues, blink once, twice, thrice -
- all of a sudden they widen, her cheeks bloom with color, and then -
"A-a-ah-ahhh! I-it-it wasn't intentional! I saw an injury on your hand, and - "
"Yes, yes - I understand. Believe me, I do. But you realize that you could've brought me to the medical tent instead?"
Edgar simply watches as Idike's lips quiver defiantly, but it's short-lived as she expresses her surrender by burying her face into her hands, mumbling incoherent as she shook her head back and forth repeatedly; loose strands of hair dancing about.
He chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth.
Perhaps I took it too far?
.
.
.
The wound on the back of his hand is a single slash, just in need of some disinfectant and a little ointment for good measure. She tends to it like going through the motions of every day she's dealt with ever since she begged Kyle to bring her along to the front lines: fingers deft and gentle, movements precise and prudent, pace not slow but steady.
She finished applying the ointment when he speaks, breaking the silence that hung in between them.
"Alice," Edgar lowers his head in a bow that has her blinking rapidly again as she sets the bottle of ointment down on a tray, "allow me to sincerely apologize for teasing you." 
"No, no! You don't have to bow - I too, have to apologize since I... um, overreacted. You were trying to warn me for being careless, so... thank you, Edgar."
Idike gives him a small smile when he raises his head to look at her again, and as her eyes meets his she's reminded of how difficult it was to decipher what he was thinking about when he stares at her with such a blank expression on his face.
Then again, Edgar was difficult as he was strange; an enigmatic character whose great idea of a peace offering was caramel corn. The memory makes her smile a bit brighter as she looks away to take his ripped glove from another tray, along with a needle and a small white spool.
"That isn't necessary, Alice," he tells her when she starts threading the needle. "Fortunately, I have a spare set of gloves with me."
"Good," she hums, but she began to sew anyway. "... Say, Edgar?"
"Yes?"
"How did you get that injury in the first place?"
.
.
.
It's a rehash of their previous conversation, save for the fact that this time, he asks her the same question for a good reason.
"Do you really want to know?"
"I do, but does that mean you'll ask for my name again?"
A wry smile plays on his lips - they'd go off topic, but he could humor her for now. "Would you tell me if I asked it of you this time?"
She laughs, but no response follows. Oh, how he wished that her attention was set elsewhere rather than her needlework: with a head tilted downwards, he couldn't see the entirety of her face - she was ever so honest with her emotions, and being unable to see whatever expression crossing her features right now was unfortunate.
"... How did you know?" she asks after a short while, sewing coming to a halt. "About my name, I mean."
Gingerly she looks up a bit and he can finally see her eyes, blues tinged with confusion and perhaps some doubt - similar to when she studied him the day he gave her caramel corn, grip on the paper bag a little tight.  
"I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Do you recall how you introduced yourself to the King and Queen of Spades the night you arrived here?"
"To Ray and Sirius?" she blinks before mulling it over for a few seconds. "... I just told them my name?"
"'You can call me' were the words you added with it. Quite an unusual way for a lady to introduce herself, unless doing so was common in the Land of Reason."
"That was your only clue?" she fully raised her head, now openly gaping at him. "Huh...? But wait, I haven't run into you yet that time, so how did you..."
Edgar brings a finger up and holds it against his grinning lips.
"Your reaction when I first asked you back in the infirmary confirmed it - I have to admit, you're surprisingly more cautious than you appear, to the extent that you're unwilling to give away your real name and make us settle for a fake one instead."
"What the - it's nothing like that!" she exclaims, fingers clutching onto her apron. He falls quiet as he waits for her to continue, watching as her lips drew themselves into a frown and her eyes waver with evident hurt and regret.
But why regret? He's the one suddenly backing her to a corner over something as simple as a name - she had some right to be cross with him and he certainly didn't mind (he'd been wondering if someone like her was even capable of being angry); but the fact still remains that she didn't deny his words. The ongoing silence wasn't helping her case any further, either. 
Three seconds.
Four.
Five.
Then finally her mouth opens, hesitant.
"... If you've noticed that one detail..." she says, voice small, "... Does that mean you've been suspicious of me ever since?"
Edgar's smile grew thin.
Yes, he ought to give her a little more credit.
"Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?"
Idike holds her breath.
.
.
.
"Before I forget, Alice."
With the mood heavy and possibly going nowhere at this point, he decides to take his leave, smoothly rising from his seat.
"The Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," he doesn't miss how her shoulders jump upon hearing the name, "your friend - was the reason for my injury. Ah, but don't you worry - he still lives. I haven't the slightest clue about his unit, however."
She breathes in deeply, he's walking away. Shifting the tent's flap aside, the biting night air greets him, and he looks over his shoulder - she hasn't moved, nor does she turn his way. In the end it seems that he still won't be getting an answer, but perhaps he could try some other time instead.
If she even wants to see him after this, that is.
"Thank you for the treatment, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."
With that, Edgar leaves.
Idike sits in silence, staring at the half-mended glove on her lap.
.
.
.
And that was the second time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.
                                        The instant the King of Hearts fully steps into the medical tent; the overpowering stench of blood assaults his nose.
It's a different warpath inside the seemingly wide space, its four corners occupied with wounded men and the aftermath of their treatment stored away in sacks set on the corner nearest to the tent's entrance. Fluttering about the meager spaces left in between cots and the area itself were only a handful of people tending to the chaos: mobile soldiers with what looked like minor wounds, the Seven of Hearts, and also Alice the Second.
Lancelot walks over to where the doctor stood, a white coat back facing him.
"Kyle."
Said person turns around, and Lancelot's face contorts itself instinctively into a glare.
"Huh - Lance?" Kyle frowns, a syringe at the ready in his right hand. "It's past midnight - skipping out on sleep again?"
"I can say the same to you, so you're not one to talk. Put that away for a moment."
A shrug, but the syringe is set aside on the nearby trolley. "As you can see, you've made more than enough work for me already. So hurry it up, what do you need?"
"You can work while you talk. I need a summary of today's report."
"Got no more time to read the whole thing?"
"Unfortunately, I don't. Rest assured, I'll still take the written report before I leave."
"Must be tough being a man of war," Kyle mumbles as he starts to lay out small napkins on one side of the trolley. "A hundred eighty-seven dropped by injured, twenty-five lying down with major wounds. Fourteen were initially in critical condition - used some magic crystals to help with the pain and lull 'em to sleep after treatment, but they're better off going back to headquarters."
"Causes of injury?"
"Majority's still the usual sword or bullet," nimble hands begin pulling out contents from the medicine bottles, then settle an assorted amount of them on top of the napkins. "But some guys under our Six ran into the Three of Spades' squad by the Upper Central Quarter - they plant and throw caltrops, imagine that. Then the Nine of Spades wreaked havoc with his bow and arrow: considering the statements of his victims, I assume the arrowheads were dipped in a herb formula that causes temporary muscle paralysis - made sure to tell our Four about that, since his troop took the brunt of it. Did he mention that in the gathering?"
Lancelot nods, then his eyes narrow. "... Are there casualties?"
Kyle pauses, his hands frozen in place.
The gap of silence is filled in by cries, bemoaning, and frustrated yells.
"... Got our first one an hour ago. Blood loss and an infection too far gone - risked his neck for a new recruit."
Lancelot follows Kyle's line of gaze, to a cot set almost by the center of the tent: a white sheet's laid over it as a shroud and by the foot of the cot wails a soldier; head downcast, on his knees, and a tightly woven fist repeatedly pounding the ground. Alice the Second comes running over to the man's side, hands reaching out to stop him from hurting himself any further.
Both King and doctor soundlessly watched as she did her best to help the man get up on his feet, despite the crack in her voice and her cheeks tear-stained still.
.
.
.
"This place is preposterous!"
"How so, dear Queen?"
"Do you have holes for eyes? Did you not see the houses we passed by? They have thatched roofs, for goodness sake, and even without the aid of a magic crystal; you could clearly see that those hardly look properly reinforced! This whole area with its closely linked houses is simply a disaster waiting to happen if fire was to be put in the equation!"
Edgar snickers as Jonah continued to ramble on about (in his words) the 'baffling and questionable quality of life' of Black Army territory. True enough, the simple wood or stone houses did pale in comparison to the usual brick or marble homes found in Red territory; but perhaps that could be attributed mainly to the primary livelihood differences of the territories: while Black territory soil was kind and bountiful to agriculture, Red territory grounds were a trove of abundant mineral deposits open for exploration.
"Now, now. I'm sure that if the people of this village wanted to, they could improve their homes any time they wish. It just so happens that they willingly chose to devote their time to their livelihoods - quite impressive of them, don't you think?"
Jonah scowls. "First and foremost, if they had all the time to care for their finely plowed fields and well-structured barns, then they should also have half a mind to keep themselves safe. What use do these fields serve if their cultivator isn't present? What happens to domesticated animals without their owners to feed and guide them?"
Edgar claps his hands softly for a few seconds. "Such touching passion. If you're that concerned, why not bring it up with the Black Army leaders? I'm sure their Queen would also be willing to listen."
If glares could burn through skin, then Edgar was sure that his head should be going through spontaneous combustion at this point.
"Remind me again, why are you here?" Jonah stops walking, raising his lantern a bit higher to survey their current location. It was probably a few hours before dawn, but the dark of the night still wore itself thick around the mountain village. "The King specifically ordered your unit to survey and secure the waterways of the Civic Center that are also linked to those that flow through Black territory, correct?"
"Right you are. I've already dispatched my unit accordingly to do the task as we speak - however, the King expressed interest in villages, such as this one, which are far off from Black territory proper but closer to the Central Quarter. It was agreed upon that occupying these areas immediately would be of best interest, lest the enemy uses them as vantage points." 
"That's the reason why my unit is here in the first place," an exasperated sigh, followed by a stern tone. "Admit it; you decided to come along, uninvited, because - "
Jonah abruptly holds his scolding, glower redirected at the darkness just ahead. With no one talking, the only sounds around were the faint chirping of crickets and the winds rustling through grass and straw roofs.
According to an earlier reconnaissance report, the Black Army ordered the evacuation and relocation of the civilian areas under their jurisdiction before the war started.
Two days ago, a number of scouts confirmed that the Black Army villages closest to the Red Army encampment were deserted.
Hours before he and his unit made their way to the village, watchmen claimed to have seen not a single trace of movement around the perimeter, even with the aid of magic crystals.
"Queen Jonah," a soldier whispers after a few seconds have passed, "Your orders."
Fixing himself into a defensive stance, Jonah tosses his lantern away from him - it lands with a dull thunk on a patch of grass, and his fingers slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.
"Discard your lanterns and draw your blades. We have company."
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Day four without a single drop of alcohol. How quaint.
Here he was abstaining, but both Armies showed no interest in giving up the war just yet - the proof of all that was clearly evident in every corner of the medical tent, and also adding to that were a new group of potential patients barging themselves into said tent.
"Seriously? It ain't even morning yet," Kyle mutters under his breath. Beside him, Idike smiles weakly.
One of the men run towards the doctor and assistant, white uniform dirty and cap in tatters on his head. Still, he has enough energy to salute and speak in a booming voice that probably everyone in the vicinity hears, whether they wanted to or not. "Sir Seven, Alice the Second!"
"It's great that you still got some pep, so drop the formalities." a lopsided grin makes its way to Kyle's lips, then he gestures to the new arrivals. "What happened?"
"We, the Eight of Hearts' unit, had a run-in with the Jack of Spades and his troop in our attempt to occupy one of the Black Army villages present in the upper quadrant," the soldier relays - Idike's eyes widen, but she says nothing. "In the midst of battle, Ace Zero and his unit came to our aid, pushing the enemy back and allowing the wounded from our side to withdraw! The skirmish still continues as we speak!"
"Jack of Spades, huh... he leads a sword-based unit. Anyone in critical condition?"
"No, sire! Er, I mean, none! I think! Oh, wait! One of us took a heavy blow from the Jack himself, sir!"
"He's our priority then - gotta pity a guy who gets hit by that claymore," Kyle motions the soldier to lead the way and he complies, doing another salute before turning on his heel. 
Kyle's already taken a few steps forward when it dawns on him that something - no, someone's missing. When he looks behind him he sees his assistant standing still, head downcast and hands tightly held together. Wisps of her hair that escaped her plait shield her face from his view, but he finds it relieving to see that neither her shoulders nor her knees were shaking.
The sight of her makes his expression turn wry - really, she could stand strong for days then become incredibly fragile just as fast; and that's exactly why he refused to let her near the front lines in the first place. She was kind, too kind for a war, and the fact that she had spent a considerable amount of time with both Armies didn't make this any easier for her.
Weeks ago the Black Army took her in when the Red Army saw her as a threat.
Now, she was willingly tending to Red Army soldiers, the sworn enemies of the same Black Army who called her a friend.
He walks back to where she stood and when he's close enough, he reaches out to take hold her shoulders.
"Hey," he says. Idike looks up at him.
"Oh - " her voice is a shadow of her usual self, the blue of her eyes waver with a flurry of emotions. Worry. Fear. Grief. Frustration. Exhaustion. All that a scrambling mess in one girl.
"Hey," he repeats, hands moving upwards to pinch her cheeks. She yelps in protest, face contorting even further.
"Owww!" she whines, the pain springing life back into her voice. "Kyle, what are you - "
"We have fourteen new patients lined up."
Her eyes widen, she stops squirming. Satisfied, he lets go of her cheeks and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white coat.
"And supposedly, one of them's in bad shape. Think you can help me out?"
He keeps his gaze on her steady, she stares back. There's still some uncertainty flickering around the edges of her eyes, but her irises are filling in with the usual clarity of a blue sky, and that's what he - and the patients inside the tent - needed from her right now.
And eventually - thankfully - she nods, eyes not leaving his.
"I will," she says.
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Right: a swoosh in the air, just seconds released, aim most likely for his left thigh or knee. A quick shift of his leg to the other direction, and an arrow materializes from the darkness and pierces the ground where his leg used to be. A brief look into the arrow's position suggests that the source is at an elevated position, possibly in -
Behind: heavy footsteps, grass crunching loudly; suggestive of someone rushing and most likely with a weapon. A twist of his torso, a raise of his saber up to his shoulder while he keeps his lower body steady to maintain balance; and clang! He comes face to face with his attacker and their short sword, strength shaky and current stance leaving them wide open. So what he does is to keep his right leg grounded as he lifts up his left; body pivoting smoothly as he delivers a heavy kick to his opponent's side.
The man screams in agony, leading to a loose grip on the sword and a wavering focus: the perfect opportunity to land a finishing blow through a series of rapid slices for disarming, a few sure steps forward, and - crack! - a knifehand strike lands on his opponent's neck.
Not wasting any time, he dives to the nearest place for cover, that being what looked like a small house. Back flat against the wall, he watches as the place where he once stood was again struck and with arrows this time, one hitting a discarded lantern and effectively snuffing the light of its magic crystal and the other two narrowly missing the body of the soldier he just defeated.
Jonah clicks his tongue.
Another light source gone. Dealing with ranged units in the dark can be so tiresome.
"Our morning got off to a good start, don't you agree?"
"Wha - "
Jonah whirls around to see Edgar leaning against the same wall and nonchalantly holding a bow and arrow in his hands, though his focus was more on the latter.
"Ah, yes. Our good doctor really is sharp, isn't he? The tip was dipped in a formula."
"Why you little - do you realize that this is hardly the time to be impressed!?"
"On the contrary," Edgar smiled as he raised the bow up to his shoulder height and nocked the arrow, "I think it's highly appropriate."
And with a sudden burst of speed; the Jack of Hearts ran out from his hiding place, aimed high, and released his hold on the arrow - he doesn't see how far it goes but seconds later there's a cry of pain and the loud rustling of leaves nearby, followed by something wooden and something heavy falling to the ground.
Jonah steps out from behind the wall, a dainty eyebrow raised. "That man better not be dead."
"How morbid of you," Edgar says as he casually discards the bow, then draws his saber. "A little paralysis doesn't cause immediate death, Jonah."
"But a sharp or faulty aim can. Enough of this - we ought to regroup with - "
"Men! Aim for the Queen and Jack of Hearts!"
The pair stood still as two groups hastily approached them from both sides - swords at the ready, they silently watched as they were encircled by what looked like an angry mob of soldiers all dressed in the same black uniform, the gleam of their weapons made seemingly eerie by a lone lantern paces away from Jonah's feet.
"Oh? Did the Nine of Spades have this much swordsmen under him?"
"Hmph. A trivial matter - they can call all the reinforcements they want, but their numbers mean nothing against the Queen of Hearts."
"Ever so dependable," Edgar grins as the soldiers begin to inch forward in unison. "But it's bad to keep all the fun to yourself, you know."
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"Hey there. Can you hear me?"
The man lying on the cot lets out a groan as he awkwardly nodded - there's a gash across his chest reaching down to his stomach, looking loud and angry and all vibrantly red with spilled blood. Kyle inspects the injury without so much as batting an eye, stooping down a bit to get a closer look.
"Looks bad, but we can manage." he mumbles after a few moments, then he turns to Idike waiting behind him. "Get rid of his clothes and wipe the chest area clean."
"Alright," she steps forward to stand over where Kyle stood, gazing at what she needed to work with. First, she needed to get the patient out of that thick jacket - if she couldn't move his arms much, she could just go with cutting through the cloth instead even if it would take a little more effort on her part. Next, she had no other way around the shirt so she should cut it out, which meant that a clean replacement had to be ready after treatment. Lastly, since the blood was a bit messy, she needed to prepare two towels to make sure everything would be wiped down.
Her fingers are about to reach out when the soldier speaks, voice raspy yet firm -
"Don't touch me."
She stops, Kyle stops too. He's just nearby and getting the disinfectant ready, but he heard those three words - and the rest that would follow - loud and clear all over the din in the tent.
"Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades? Part of your little Black Army family?" there's sardonic laughter - it goes on for a while, doing absolutely nothing to diffuse a palpable tension, then it's replaced by an angry growl. "I won't allow you, Alice - I definitely- "
"...op that."
Kyle looks over his shoulder. She said something, didn't she? Did she reach her limit? Was she going to cry, or -
"What did you - "
"Stop that," Idike repeats, high-pitched voice struggling not to shout but it doesn't mask the sheer emotion in her words that practically hiss themselves through her teeth. "I don't care if you don't like me, don't trust me, or if you think that I'm a Black Army spy! But don't you think for a second that I'm going to leave you here to bleed just because you said so!"
"How dare you - "
"How dare you! Do you think that your suspicion of me will mean anything when you end up dead!? Does it matter more to you than your own life!?"
The soldier lets out a gasp. Idike takes in a deep breath but she holds her tongue as she gets to work, lithe fingers unbuttoning the jacket with fervor.
Ah, she really needed those scissors.
"... You can doubt me all you want," she says, voice still struggling to keep itself leveled as she stared at the soldier straight in the eye, "But please do make sure to live through this, first."
And with that Idike stalks away, murmuring something about scissors, a shirt, and some towels. Kyle watches her go, lips quirking themselves into a smile, something like pride gleaming onto his expression.
Behind him, he hears a something like a whimper - then a sniffle.
"You heard the lady," Kyle chuckles, plucking out a bottle of salve from a trolley. "Glad to know I'm not the only one she gets angry at."
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The Nine of Spades' specialty was archery - a rough approximate of men under his command was at least forty to fifty: half of them were trained in the art of archery, while the rest were trained swordsmanship or the art of wielding longer weapons like polearms in order to protect and keep enemies away from their ranged half. A group with good range.
The Seven of Spades on the other hand had probably around sixty to eighty men in his troop, and their weapon of choice were either blades or axes. When disarmed, the troop had no problem engaging opponents head on with their fists and legs. Quite appropriate, seeing that the Seven of Spades was rather bulky himself. A unit of great brawn.
Now, the Queen of Hearts had a total of a hundred and forty-five men under his command; all rigorously trained to be versatile in both melee and ranged weaponry, and also capable of manipulating magic to their advantage when deemed necessary. However, given that occupation of a village only required a minimum dispatch for convenience, that grand number was reduced to thirty at the moment.
Thirty, plus two Chosen.
Against two units with also possibly reduced numbers, but nonetheless still an advantage combined with knowing the general territory and geography better.
"Perhaps my uninvited appearance was a stroke of luck," Edgar muttered, sparing a glance upwards. Dawn was finally painting the sky... which meant that they were taking longer than expected.
"For once, I agree with you," Jonah huffed as he picked up a broken javelin off the ground - without bothering to aim he throws it ahead of him, and the sharp end pierces an opponent's thigh. The man shouts as his knees buckle, and one of Jonah's soldiers takes the opportunity to knock the man out. "Dealing with the Nine of Spades' flimsy unit would be easier if not for their annoying arrows!"
"If the whole or even half the unit of the Seven of Spades is in attendance, then we may have a problem," Edgar shrugs as two men, unarmed but with eagerly raised fists, rush at him at the same time: it only takes a sweep to the side, a swift kick to the back of the knees, and a single arc strike with his saber - to make his enemies fall face flat on some grass. "We can make do with our numbers granted that we avoid any major injury or arrow, but our endurance will be put to the test at this rate."
Jonah says nothing, but his narrowed gaze flickers to the pouch secured on his belt.
Edgar, of course, had already taken that into account - magic could dramatically alter their odds, but it was hard to tell whether the time was right to use it. While they knew their opponents, they couldn't say the same for their numbers; or their equipment. The Black Army had a limited supply of magic crystals, but what were the chances that the Nine or Seven of Spades' squads had crystals with them? Then there was also the issue of -
"Qu-Q-Qu-Queen Jonah!"
The two turn their heads to an ally running towards their direction, cap missing and face pale.
Jonah's brows furrowed as he stared at his subordinate: parts of his uniform and his face was stained with something dark, resembling soot - 
And it's also then that Edgar catches a trace of movement from the corner of his eye, from the grove leading to a forest near the village: a glimpse of black cloth, flutter akin to a robe - 
"My Queen, several houses have been set on fire!"
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"Y'know, he was that same guy who didn't want you anywhere near his wound back then."
"Oh... Back when I just started as your assistant?"
"Yup. Good times, huh?"
A smile touches Idike's lips, hands taking hold of another sheet hanging on the clothesline. Oh, how she missed the feeling of warm sunshine on her skin and winds playing with her hair - stepping out of the medical tent for a bit to get the laundered cloths was a good choice.
Kyle also seemed to enjoy the brief respite, seeing as he was busying himself with stretching his arms and rotating his neck.
"Is he okay? It's good that none of his vitals were hit, but he lost a lot of blood..."
"Don't worry about it. He'll get better in time - even if your outburst made him go all emotional."
She goes quiet, fingers focused on folding the sheet in her hands. It's all well and good that her words actually meant something to that soldier, but in turn -
Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades?
- those spiteful words haven't left her mind, either.
Part of your little Black Army family?
A frustrated sigh escapes her, but she quickly tries to swallow it down and settle for refolding the sheet instead - there's the crunching of grass behind her as she spreads out the whole sheet once more, and then suddenly she feels the weight of a warm hand on top of her head.
Idike stops.
"Hey, you should be the one reassuring me or something." Kyle says - he takes a step forward to stand beside her, his hand still on her head.
"About what?" she asks, breathing in the smell of crisp cotton in the air.
"About them, your folks back at the Black Army. That they'll be alright. You of all people should know how strong they are, yeah?"
Silence falls in between them, pregnant yet comfortable until she lets out a soft laugh; her shoulders drooping and hands shaking.
Yes, she knew, even if she only spent a few days with them, even if she only got to properly talking to five of their Chosen. She had a feeling that no matter how much Fenrir Godspeed, the Ace of Spades, wanted to test out his guns; he would never kill in cold blood or allow himself to be killed in turn. She believed that despite how feminine Seth Hyde, the Ten of Spades, appeared and acted; he possessed as much or even more strength than his rank required and demanded of him. She's aware that even Luka Clemence, the Jack of Spades, so quiet and aloof; strapped his heavy claymore constantly on his back and it definitely wasn't just for show. She witnessed herself that Sirius Oswald, Queen of Spades, dared not carry a weapon; but instead offered every spare second of his time and tactical ability for the pure benefit of the Black Army.
And she understood - if only just a little - how much Ray Blackwell, King of Spades, treasured the boundless freedom in a peaceful every day.
She still believed in them - even if she wasn't fighting with them.
"... I know," she whispers, words carried by the winds. She turns her head to face Kyle, lips easing themselves into a wry grin. "After all, they're the ones giving us so much work."
He stares at her, at the blue of eyes - before breaking into laughter and ruffling her hair.
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Kyle, as punishment for ruining her already mussed up hair; ends up helping her gather the remaining pieces of cloths on the clothesline, folding them, and putting each piece neatly inside the large basket she brought out from the medical tent. It's only then does she discover that he can't fold a measly towel without fumbling around with it, but after some grumbling attempts he gets better - he's folding towel number five when she stops and stares at the next piece of fabric she had to take down from the line.
A pristine white glove.
Gingerly she frees the small thing from a clothespin and takes it into her hands, cradling it as if fragile: a finger traces over the surface where a tear used to be, now nowhere to be seen thanks to tiny stitches patching it shut.
Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?
After a little more staring she raises her head and speaks, her voice a little louder for Kyle - the first person of the Red Army she exchanged a normal look with, the first person of the Red Army she had come to genuinely respect - to hear.
I want to believe in them, too.
"Say, Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"What if I told you that," she pauses to look at him before continuing, "Idike isn't my name?"
He tears his gaze away from towel number five to find her figure amidst and across all the fluttering whites, an eyebrow raised.
"... What, it isn't?"
She smiles a bit. "It's a nickname."
"Is it, now?" he blinks. The winds continue to blow softly; playing around with the sheets, the ends of his coat, and the strands of her honey-blonde hair. 
"Let's hear it, then. Your full, real name."
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From afar, his eyes follow the movements of her lips as she articulates the syllables of her name.
Her full name, figures. Does the Black Army even know that she was going by her nickname? Why was she telling him this now? Was it common for Land of Reason folk to give out their nicknames first before their names proper after some time had passed? Or was it really her intention to keep her name a secret from the moment she fell into Cradle?
Her earnest, almost relieved expression on her face told him otherwise, though - she's watching him with clear eyes, as if waiting.
So he rolls those same syllables on his tongue, the letters coming out steady and unsure on his mouth. He says it once -
"... That's right," she nods.
- repeats it again -
"Yes?"
- tries thrice -
"... Kyle. Are you making fun of me?"
She's openly frowning at him in an instant, the solemnity gone from her expression just like that, and he can't help but snort. 
"I'll stick to Idike," he says, turning his head back to towel number five. Darned long piece of cotton. "Shorter. Less complicated. Is that why you go by your nickname instead?"
"... Admittedly, yes. It is a bit hard to say, isn't it? Even I had a hard time saying it when I was a child and most of my friends thought so, too. Now that I think about it, that's probably why it grew to be a habit of mine to introduce myself with my nickname."
"Huh. Your name isn't that bad. But y'know, since you were so serious earlier... I was starting to think that your name must be something complicated or embarrassing to the point that you'd keep it a secret."
"Hey!"
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"It's a good thing we found someone to carry that basket of yours, huh?"
"... Kyle. The clotheslines are just behind the med tent - we could've carried the basket back ourselves!"
"Carry something that heavy? You're stronger than I thought! You exercise regularly?"
"What the - no! And you're exaggerating, a basket of cloths isn't that heavy!"
"Hey, that isn't good. You should exercise regularly, or else you'll get fat."
"You're missing the point!"
Kyle chuckles, watching Idike puffing out her cheeks like a little kid not taken seriously - they're only steps away from going back inside the medical tent when a clamor reaches their ears and makes them stop where they stand, both of them instinctively looking for the source of the noise.
"Did something happen?" she mumbles. Kyle shrugs in response, but he does squint his eyes to try to see what's ahead of them: the reinforced wooden walls surrounding the garrison, red banners swaying in the breeze, soldiers moving about, and -
"... horses."
Three of them, to be exact: pretty white stallions, as prim and regal as the Red Army uniform, getting larger and clearer as they approach. Idike squints and she sees them too, a hum of awe leaving her lips.
"Where do you think they're going?"
"Nice question. They're moving pretty quick, so maybe to the commander's tent. But they can also be heading - "
The horses still spur forward, sound of hooves hitting the earth starting to reach their ears. So far not showing signs of swerving to the left, therefore not heading to the center of the camp.
There's only one more place where soldiers would hurry to in times of war.
" - towards us."
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"A good morning to you both," Edgar greets doctor and assistant oh-so-casually as he dismounts, like there weren't two unconscious men strapped to the back of his horse. The two soldiers who rode alongside him dismount as well, also revealing someone unconscious laying on their horse's back. Idike winces as she goes over to them, asking what happened with a brow creased by obvious worry.
Kyle sniffs the air and frowns - it gets deeper when he studies Edgar and his companions: parts of their uniforms, particularly their sleeves, caps, and boots were far from clean. They looked like they decided to spend some time rolling around in a fireplace. "You lot smell like smoke. Was your mission to set something on fire?"
"You wound me. I wouldn't dream of using such a brazen tactic if the great risks applied to our side as well. Sadly, the opponent didn't share the same sentiment."
"The opponent?"
Edgar smiles but says nothing more. Instead, he gets to removing the straps that held the men secure on his horse.
"These are men under our Queen that suffered from severe burns. That, combined with either a round of beatings, mauls from an axe, or arrow shots; courtesy of the Seven and Nine of Spades' units. I performed some amount of first aid with the help of magic crystals before bringing them here, and I'm sure you can handle the rest."
"Will do," Kyle watches as Idike ran up a nearby group of soldiers, presumably to get help in carrying the injured to the tent. It takes a few seconds of talking and gestures but she comes out successful, a group of able-bodies heading their way. "Still, you look pretty shabby yourself - sure that you ain't hiding a couple of burns?"
Edgar snorts - two soldiers approach him, saluting and offering to carry the unconscious to the medical tent in his stead. Nodding, he moves aside and lets them.
"I believe those words are meant for Jonah - he's the one who rushed towards a row of burning houses to save his men, I'll have you know. He also adamantly insisted that I bring them back to you - it's a good thing I decided to procure and hide away some horses beforehand."
"Heh. Cunning as ever, our Jack; as noble as ever, our Queen. Are you heading back to wherever you came from?"
"Along with reinforcements, yes. I believe Jonah has the situation under control by now, but there's much work that needs to be resolved."
"... Resolved, huh? That's a funny way to put it," Kyle shrugs, about to walk away. "Well, whatever. Just make sure to drag yourselves back here when you're done - and don't even think about skipping out on treatment, you hear me?"
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With Kyle heading back to the medical tent Edgar stops to adjust his gloves, mismatched palettes splattered with shades of unsavory colors: earthy browns, crushed greens, murky reds, charcoal black. There was little to no trace of its pure white glory, but that was hardly anything new to him at this point.
They weren't damaged today, though. Not a single hole, tear, or rip.
Hm. Would she have noticed again if there were?
The thought escapes him just as fast as it crosses his mind, causing him to shake his head. As he told Kyle, there was still work to resolve and also things he needed to investigate; which meant he had no time to dawdle. Regaining his focus, he's about to mount himself on his horse when -
"Edgar!"
The call rings loud in his ears, echoing like the chime of a bell: there's no waver of hesitation, tremble of nervousness, or shake of anger.
It's just her and her clear voice, calling out his name.
So he turns around, smile at the ready, words planned out and ready to leave his lips once he'd see her face, but -
- it all comes to a halt when something damp touches his forehead.
His shoulders jolt slightly, surprised at the cool sensation but he doesn't pull himself away. It dawns on him that she's wiping his face with what looked like her handkerchief; the white square patterned with daffodils tracing his forehead, the curve of his cheeks, the lines of his jaw, and even the tip of his chin.
It happens all so fast and gentle, such well-practiced motions on her part.
And when she pulls away, hand holding a soiled handkerchief to her chest, she tells him:
"Be careful."
Their gazes lock together - steady and unafraid, jade meeting blue.
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And that was the third time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.
                                        "Jonah informed me that you joined him without warning on his mission."
Ah, here we go.
Keeping his smile calm, Edgar stood still under his King's scrutiny. With the two of them only left in the commander's tent and with those eyes blue as ice highlighted eerily by the lamps, the air suddenly felt quite heavy.
"That, I did."
"Your help in subjugating the Seven and Nine of Spades' troops was greatly appreciated. But explain yourself."
Lancelot Kingsley leaned back on his chair, but by no means did his imposing tone or aura lighten.
"Do allow me to address my insubordination first - if you find it fitting to punish me immediately, then I shall gladly accept and reflect on my actions." Edgar bows low, eyes set on the ground. "On the other hand, my King, if were to explain my actions; I believe it's because I've been finding our current advantage over the Black Army rather odd."
"Odd, you say... Do you find it so surprising that we've been emerging victorious on each encounter we have with the enemy?"
"Nothing of the sort. In fact, it's the expected outcome even before the war began." Edgar raises his head with a shrug, the smile on his lips still present. "But considering the recent reports of the Chosen and the village conquest the Queen and I experienced... I can't help but think that there's a third party meddling, or, should I say... assisting our cause in the most peculiar manner."
There's a brief pause, poignant yet also brimming with the tension of a challenge. 
Edgar lets it sit very still, simmer a little further, then speaks up again.
"Or it may be a result of incredible chance," he says, adapting a lighter tone. "Whatever the case, I find it quite unsettling and insulting, as well. We certainly aren't so weak or foolish to require such aid; it's like our army's capabilities are sorely underestimated. And in addition to that... we also have Alice the Second as our trump card, do we not?"
Lancelot's eyes narrow ever so slightly.
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There weren't much sheets today, but there were a hefty amount of towels.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she rises from her laundry spot; a quaint area by the riverbank with a patch of soft grass to sit on and with a comfortable arm's reach to the river's waters without the need to bend excessively. Stretching her arms upward, she finds herself staring up at the sky.
It's dark, but beautifully cluttered and lightened with stars. Sign of another day gone - four about to turn to five days of a war still raging.
Her arms eventually fall to her sides and she picks up her laundry basket, keeping her grip tight on the handle. Even if her nighttime laundry duties were something like her brief respite away from the medical tent, she couldn't - no, she didn't allow herself to stay out for too long.
If she did, she's not so sure that she could return calm and smiling like Kyle could always do.
If I have another outburst, I'm not so sure I can stop myself again.
So instead, she distracts herself with thoughts of work as she makes her way to the back of the medical tent and to the clotheslines: after hanging up laundry, she might as well head to the mess hall and grab some dinner for herself and Kyle, and also for the volunteers helping them out if the portions can fit in the basket. After dinner, check the condition of the critically wounded, see if they needed anything like bandages to be changed. Speaking of bandages, were there still enough of those going around in trolleys of the tent? When was the last time they restocked? She'd better ask when she gets back.
The list gets long, longer, and so on and so forth; and her feet have the urge to pick up the pace, until -
... Hm?
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"Off with only a warning... how gracious."
If you insist looking for your... third party, then so be it. But remember where you stand, Edgar - you have your own duties to fulfill in this war. One misstep, and you might as well be at the mercy of your so-called chance.
So he's been granted permission to investigate, given that it doesn't interfere with his missions and that he proceeds with caution. The King doesn't address the idea of there being an actual third party, but the lack of confirmation or denial might as well mean that it was plausible... and that he was aware of its existence, himself.
As for Alice... her ability still serves to be of use to us, so it would do well to keep her close. She is, as you say, a trump card in this war... and it's important to keep our advantages hidden until the time is right. 
Simply put, the King was protecting her and if Edgar were to wager a guess, it wasn't in fear of the Black Army taking her back. If the King really saw her to be the advantage that she was, he still would've brought her to the front lines; but not with the freedom to continue her duties as the doctor's assistant.
For were she still the same person that she was two and a half weeks ago, Alice would've jumped at any chance of escape.
But at a drop of a hat, she changed. To army that gave her nothing but grief upon her arrival in Cradle, to the men who drew their swords at her and threatened to end her life, to those that kept her on the edge for days with their wary looks, and even to him who took her away from the Black Army by force... she chose to extend her hands to each and every one of them with a newfound purpose simply on her mind.
To help them.
To keep them alive.
It hardly made any sense, and in all honesty there little to no things that could leave him so vexed in a short amount of time.
How does she do it?
Was there truly a person in the world who was that tolerant?
How was it possible to turn obvious distrust into genuine kindness so quickly, without fear of betrayal?
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"... Edgar?"
Ah - he's aware that just by thinking about an individual cannot summon said person like magic, but when he looks up he really sees her in the flesh, standing in front of him and holding a filled laundry basket in both hands. Her apron has added splotches on it with each new color just as equally suspicious as the older ones, honey-blonde hair still a haphazard plait now resting on her shoulder, and the new tickling smell of soap wafting from her figure presumably a result from doing laundry.
There are still bags overstaying their welcome under her eyes, but what he studies is the curious glint in them when she asks:
"... Can I help you with that?"
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One minute ago they're enfolded by silence and a cool night's breeze, then the next she's suddenly laughing quietly to herself, features softened by a kind smile.
"Really. Are we going to keep meeting like this?"
He matches her smile, keeping his bare arm still outstretched.
"I hope not. I'd like to experience a day where I take care of you, for a change."
Idike chuckles, starting to wrap a bandage around his left forearm. To be fair, if her eyes weren't drawn to the light coming from his lantern as she was making her way back to the medical tent, they wouldn't be in this situation. But they were, and not so far away she saw the Jack of Hearts sitting cross-legged under a large tree, stripped of his long coat and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Curious, it was only when she stepped a bit closer did she realize what he was doing.
He was doing his own first aid and from the looks of it, he was already halfway done.
Now she sat beside him on the grass, helping him with the finishing touches.
"Do you really mean that?"
"Certainly. I still intend to make a good effort on becoming your friend, if you recall."
"Even if you don't trust me?"
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. The bandage continues to wrap itself around his skin with her guidance, coiling like a snake.
Two seconds.
Three.
"... Say, Edgar? Is it alright if you listen to me for a bit?"
"... Of course."
She hums for a bit, keeping her eyes trained on the bruises on his arm, on the bandage she was trying to secure.
"When Kyle took me in as his assistant... I took up his offer for the wrong reasons. At first, I only saw working by his side as a guarantee for my safety in Red Army headquarters, and maybe my first patients understood that, too - when I began helping out in the infirmary, there were some soldiers that gave me odd looks but said nothing; then there was also this one person who refused my help outright, claiming that I'd poison him there and then."
Ah, yes - the soldier from our Eight's unit, Edgar muses, but doesn't say. The day that the Seven of Hearts declared Alice the Second as his assistant did cause quite the commotion in the barracks.
"I wasn't offended, really - I felt nervous since he was glaring at me, sure, but in the end being Kyle's assistant was my decision so I treated him anyway. I figured that all those pointed looks and that accusation was justified considering who I was to this world, and that I was with the Black Army at the start."
"... That is, until I forced you to come with me."
His comment prompts her to flash him a wry smile before continuing. The bruises are now hidden under strips of white.
"I wasn't angry or hurt, so I just took in all their suspicion. Besides, I couldn't find it in myself to turn a blind eye on someone who was injured - I may have made my decision to become Kyle's assistant for my own sake, but I wanted to help people in need... that much was genuine. I wanted to save lives."
A brief pause. When she speaks again, her voice shakes slightly.
"... So earlier this morning, when that same soldier who accused me refused my help again, and went as far as saying I'd kill him since he was already in such bad shape... something in me just... snapped."
A dry laugh escapes her - it's a heavy mix of frustration and anger and he could tell that it was still a bit raw; that those two feelings still took hold and grew root in her somewhere, not dissipating in the slightest.
So even the benevolent can feel such profound emotion.
"I... tried my best not to yell at him, even if I wanted to. I had so much, so much to say to him. About me. About the Black Army. About him being so stupid for rejecting help. About our patients in the medical tent, about how they all wanted to recover and live. About how Kyle and I and all the volunteers were giving our all every single day just to look out for everyone."
The bandage is now wrapped securely on his forearm, and she ties it nicely despite her fingers quivering.
"... I... I hardly said any of those, in the end. But when I got some time to clear my head... I wish I could've said something else from the start. Something I was reminded of... just this morning, too."
She stops moving, eyes still downcast. Her fingers still hold his wrist, her warmth mingling with his skin.
"... And what would that be?" he asks.
Idike goes quiet again, so he listens to her breathing as he waits.
A heavy inhale by the nose, a quiet sigh through her mouth.
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"You know - "
Her voice has found itself again and it has turned itself into a solemn whisper, dainty fingertips of her free hand now tracing over his bandaged forearm then to the exposed flesh of his wrist; his skin tingling at the light drag of her nails on them.
" - I can't heal you if you're dead."
She speaks the obvious, but of a topic that someone of her disposition most likely wouldn't talk about often, much less willingly mention unless -
Ah, he mouths.
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Such was the effect of death.
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The night continued to stretch on, tainting the sky pitch black but adding it with stars, bountiful and twinkling.
"... Edgar."
"... Yes, Alice?"
"Why do you allow me to treat you?"
No actual reason - but perhaps out of personal interest.
"Because you willingly offered your aid."
That was true as well - she approached him with all her honest intentions clearly written on her face, and he accepted it.
"Even if you don't trust me?"
Ah... Is that what it looks like to you?
"You seem to be mistaken. I never claimed to be suspicious of you."
Being extremely cautious around a young woman with a revolutionary ability but with a heart of gold hardly seemed necessary.
"But - you noticed I kept my name a secret, and I thought - "
If you were thinking that I thought you to be dangerous or something similar because of that, then you've misunderstood me completely.
"I apologize if my approach to you that night felt like an interrogation. But if anything else, your reactions made it very clear to me... you had your own reasons for doing so, correct? It gave me little reason to prod further or fault you for it."
Although if she was affected this much by his parting words, then it's a sign that she's learned that secrecy wasn't to be taken so lightly in times of war - how funny that he; the Jack of Hearts, would be the one to teach her that.
She seemed to have heard enough, her fingers finally releasing his wrist to fall back on her lap. Again, he finds himself wishing that he could see her face - she had used him, in some sense, to air out the pent-up emotions she's been holding in for heavens know how long. Did her moment of catharsis make her feel any better? Was his input or presence of enough use? What change would this conversation bring about in her? Would it be for the best, or for worse?
Was there a smile or a pained expression on her features?
Really, what was going through her mind right now?
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Slowly, he finds himself reaching out a hand to her.
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And that was the fourth time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.
                                        "Enemy squadrons spotted ahead! The Queen and Ace of Spades appear to be at the helm!"
Their King isn't present...? Zero narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silhouettes that became clearer on the other side of the Black Bridge as they approached. True to what was announced, he could only see the ever so composed figure of Queen of Spades and the oddly colored shock of hair known only to the Ace of Spades; their mounts a few steps ahead from the group trailing behind them.
"Well now - to have their Queen out on the field... perhaps their King is out on much urgent business?"
Zero glances at Edgar - there's a smile playing on the oddball's lips as usual, but years of grudging acquaintanceship helped interpret that a little further: the man was grinning, and that meant Edgar Bright was most likely in good spirits - may mercy find the poor souls unfortunate enough to cross blades with the demon today. 
That aside, having Sirius Oswald on the front lines was unusual. Would an actual negotiation be held on this Bridge, or was the Black Army plotting something else?
The soldiers started to murmur among themselves, but then the clear cut voice of their King resonated among their ranks.
"It hardly matters if the King of Spades has business somewhere else - Red Army, I expect all of you to stand your ground. We are here for a negotiation as they requested, and if this happens to a pretense... I see no reason why we shouldn't retaliate in response: it will also serve as a good lesson for a King who seems to forget his Army's position as it stands in this war."
Zero felt a chill run up his spine. Speeches from the King, where charisma and callousness would mix, were really something else to the ears.
"May glory run crimson through our veins," Lancelot recited.
"May glory run crimson through our veins," came Zero's and the Red Army's reply, perhaps loud enough for the incoming Black Army to hear. 
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It happens in quick steps, like a practiced dance as they were to meet the Black Army halfway through the bridge:
First, it starts with Zero's horse unable to stay still for a second: he manages to calm it down, and from the corner of his eye he sees Edgar resolving the same problem as well -
Second, the winds that kept on blowing around the bridge suddenly died down, Black Army banners finally staying still on their poles: this would not be unusual if the air didn't feel so thin all of a sudden too, making breathing a little harder than it should be -
Third, the air simply isn't thin anymore: a tingling charge, prompting hair to stand on end and filling one with a sense of alertness and jitters, starts to creep in as Zero breathes and it downright makes him feel sick to his stomach with familiarity -
Fourth, everyone seems to get the feeling that something's wrong: from the right end of the bridge the King of Hearts abruptly orders his soldiers to stop, and from the left end Zero hears the Queen of Spades shouting a similar command, but -
Fifth: the pavement they are on literally starts crumbling. No one sees why it happens but it just does; starting from the center of the bridge then spreading quickly from the sides, the road breaking into cracks then growing to fissures then gaps in all directions and it just goes on; wider and larger and faster and it doesn't just stop for anyone and the cracking sounds continue to grow louder and stronger -
And in all the chaos of crumbling rocks, neighing horses, and astonished and panicked screaming; the Ace and Jack of Hearts turn around, concerns on one thought and one thought alone -
"King Lancelot!"
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"Do you recognize them?"
"Yes. This person is from Sirius' unit, while these three are under Fenrir."
Kyle lets out a sigh, staring at the four odd men out in the medical tent. No one would dare do anything to them in this place, but still -
"I still can't believe it," Idike's brow furrows as she wipes the forehead of the one she claimed to be under the Queen of Spades, "How could something as grand like the Black Bridge collapse? You don't suppose it's the work of..."
She trails off to shoot him with a knowing look, and he shrugs in response.
"Making a bridge like that collapse isn't a feat an army can even do on short notice. It's definitely a possibility."
But if they're willing to pull off something this big without a care of the aftermath, it's either this whole thing was a display of power or a warning.
Kyle lets out another sigh, shifting his gaze towards her instead: the headstrong bottomless appetite confectioner turned temporary doctor's assistant for a month, also known as Alice the Second.
His sort-of drinking buddy.
His sort-of student in the medical practice.
His assistant.
When he calls out her name - her real name - her head snaps to face him immediately, only to find him walking his way to the tent's entrance. He parts the cloth with the back of his hand, and a cool night's wind flows into the tent.
"Got a second?" Kyle asks as he looks at her over his shoulder, faint moonlight streaming down his feet. "We need to talk."
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"Zero! Look up! There's a floating marshmallow in the sky!"
"... One more ridiculous comment out of you, and I'm seriously going to abandon your corpse in this forest."
Edgar chuckled. It's a good thing his back was leaning on Zero's own to help his body stabilize itself - riding a horse backward was turning out to be a fun experience.
"How rude, Zero. I'm in perfect health, yet you call me a corpse? As your mentor, I'm dreadfully hurt..."
"You're a corpse in a different sense of the word," Zero mutters, keeping himself focused on maneuvering his horse around the dark forest path. "And what part of you is in perfect health right now? You fell off a collapsing bridge alongside an incredible amount of rubble down a twenty-meter lake - if I didn't know better, I wouldn't have guessed that you survived. "
"How touching. But yes, despite a head injury and a number of unfortunate scrapes, I live to tell the tale: my first time utilizing the precautionary magic crystals each Red soldier is given before battle, for the sake of saving myself from an unexpected situation. It's amazing how I suddenly regained consciousness, lying face flat on some shore."
"... King Lancelot says his thanks. If we didn't react the way we did, he wouldn't had enough time to compose himself."
"Oh...? Did he use magic to resolve things?"
"... He did. He also apologizes for being unable to reach you in time."
Edgar hums, closing his eyes. He didn't mind not being rescued, but what bothered him was in the end; the Beautiful Beast still saved the day with his magic: it's not the outcome Edgar would've wanted for his King, but it's the outcome he would've expected of from his King.
Surely the man knew that his powers were linked to his lifespan but there he goes once more, ignoring all that in favor for doing a noble deed.
"Kyle is going to throw a fit once he hears that our King used magic again."
"If he can even find King Lancelot, that is." Zero says, grip tightening on the reins. "After settling the bridge incident, issuing additional orders, and assigning my unit to search for possible survivors like you; he's nowhere to be found."
"Oh dear. Did he look terrible or as stoic as ever?"
"You shouldn't use those words to describe your commander. But those who last saw him said he looked awfully pale."
Edgar didn't have anything else to say after that.
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When he opens his eyes, he sees the sky, maybe. All black and white and hazy. Kind of like his mind at the moment.
His eyes are struggling, too. But he can still see the floating marshmallow.
It's oddly shaped though. It's circular, sort of tiny. Coin-sized. Far up and away.
Oh.
"Am I dead?" Edgar says, voice low and serious. He felt the jump of Zero's shoulders as soon as he spoke.
"... And here I thought you'd be sleeping until we made it back. So much for peace and quiet."
"Zero. Am I dead?"
"Get a grip. You're alive."
"But you called me a corpse earlier."
"What are you, suddenly five years old? I didn't mean it literally."
"Ah. So that means I can still be healed."
"Kyle and Idike will do their best once I get you to them."
"But the marshmallow must've taken her away already."
"... What nonsense are you going on about now?"
Zero waits for a reply, but it doesn't come.
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It's Kyle who first notices Zero enter the medical tent - a casual hey followed by a query about the bridge incident is about to leave his mouth but once he sees the Ace, the first thing he blurts out instead is:
"What is that, a sack of potatoes?"
"You're insulting potatoes," Zero answers flatly - he was effortlessly carrying the unconscious Edgar on one shoulder, face not showing a single sign of strain. "Do you have an empty cot right now?"
"Yeah, take your pick - " Kyle points to several areas of the tent in rapid succession, then he squints at Edgar. "Wow. Never thought I'd really see the day. You really sure this is our Jack of Hearts and not a sack of potatoes?"
"You're the doctor, you tell me," Zero starts moving towards the nearest cot, and Kyle follows. "Not sure if it's everything, but Edgar told me he has a head injury and scrapes - he managed to survive the whole fall by using all the magic crystals he had."
"Just like some of his guys from his unit did, huh? He must've taught them well on how to use their magic crystals."
"But I doubt Edgar taught them to risk their own lives to try and save him."
"Aw, but look on the bright side," Kyle grins as Zero sets Edgar's body carefully on the cot. "There are people around willing to help out our Gentle Demon - isn't that a good thing?"
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Too bright.
That's what his eyes are trying to say, but he opts to force them open anyway. Eyelids still heavy, all he can manage now is to make them flutter slowly - it's a start.
Strong smells of disinfectant and blood flood his nose each time he breathes, which meant that Zero successfully delivered him to the medical tent and he didn't even notice. That head injury might've been worse than he initially thought. How many hours have passed? How long had he been asleep? Was it still night or was it already midnight - or past midnight?
"... Oh? Waking up?"
Among the various voices and noises in the tent, his ears could pick out that one languid voice, just nearby.
Kyle.
"... It's due to surprise," Edgar manages to say, his throat a bit dry. "I can't seem to smell not a single whiff of alcohol on you, how tragic."
Eyes starting to regain their focus, he manages to see Kyle's face looking down at him with a lopsided grin. 
"Sheesh. Just woke up and you've already got something smart to say. Can't we get a thank you instead?"
Edgar laughs softly. "... That seems lacking though. Do you accept caramel corn as thanks?"
Kyle immediately scowls. "You and your awful food preferences. What kind of thanks is junk food, anyway?"
Before Edgar could answer with a compelling narration on the value of junk food, another voice pipes up, light and distinct.
"I'll have it if you don't want it, Kyle."
... Did he hear right?
He blinks once, twice, thrice; and there she is in the flesh, entering his line of vision: a young woman with honey-blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.
Oh.
"Hello there, stranger," Alice the Second says.
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With the doctor shuffling himself away to attend to another patient, Idike remains by Edgar's side. When he manages to sit up, she hands him a cup of warm water.
"How are we feeling? Does anything still hurt?"
He shakes his head, draining the cup in a few gulps before handing it back to her.
"... Today is the night of the full moon."
"I know," she replies casually, taking the cup back in her hands. "The view from here was gorgeous, too. Is the moon always that pretty, wherever you are in Cradle?"
"I've never given it much thought."
"Really? That's a shame."
She pulls up the chair next to the cot and sits, setting the empty cup on a nearby trolley. He's watching, waiting, and when she looks at him; she's smiling again.
"I didn't go back. To the Land of Reason, I mean."
"I can see that."
"Kyle tried to talk me out of it, saying that I should go back to my peaceful world. You know how he hates people foolish enough to throw away their own lives? If I went back, I told him that it would be the same as abandoning those same lives and others I might be able to save - like yours, for instance."
He blinks for a moment upon hearing her last statement.
"That's noble of you. But surely you know that means seeing this war - no matter what the outcome - to the very end."
"I can do it. I will do it. It'll be tough, but I'll push through - I have to."
Resolution makes her eyes shine, beautiful in its utmost clarity. He's drawn to the sight, semblance of a response forgotten.
"Oh! By the way, I never thanked you that night we talked."
"... You don't need to. I was merely listening to your thoughts."
"That may be true, but it helped me a lot. So... thank you, Edgar. And I'm glad you're safe."
She beams at him with a smile reminiscent of warm sunshine on skin, and he's lost in it even further when she adds:
"Welcome back."
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"... Alice."
It slips out of his mouth even before he realizes it: she's about to leave, chair neatly set aside and feet ready to go elsewhere, but she stops to the sound of his voice calling. She peers at him curiously, and it dawns on him that he's made a mistake.
This isn't like me at all.
"... I realized that you still haven't told me something," Edgar says slowly, as if carefully listening to his own words as well.
A tilt of the head to the side, a series of blinks. "I haven't?"
He nods, then it hits him.
"Your name."
They go quiet for a few seconds. Her face is blank; he studies her with a half-serious expression. 
When she laughs, he finds himself staring again.
"I can't believe," her features soften with obvious amusement, "that you're so hung up over a nickname."
So it's a nickname. 
"Am I?" he eases his lips into the usual smile. "I've always believed that the first step to making friends is to tell them your name."
"... ike."
Whatever she said escaped her lips a little too fast and far too soft for his liking, drowned out by the din in the tent.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
Alice - Idike - laughs again, and somehow it manages to echo in his ears loudly than any other sound present in the medical tent. Smiling, she leans over to him a bit, raising a cupped hand to shield her lips from prying eyes, like a child would do when spilling out their secrets.
"My name, good sir, is..."
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30 days remained before the next full moon...
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Text
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester: Final Part
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Chapter Summary: Sam and Dean are stunned when the spirits of Meg and Agent Henricksen appear. Ariel has flashbacks of Lucifer with the Mark and also pays the price for doing the right thing.
Ariel centric episode.
Pairing(s): Eventual Dean x Archangel!OFC, Castiel x sister!Ariel, Kindred Spirit!MOC!Lucifer x Ariel
Warning(s): Typical Supernatural violence, Mild Language, Dark thoughts, Self-loathing
A/N: I'm glad that people are liking my style of writing. I don't do much all day so the episodes are gonna come out faster than planned. I am excited about this as much as everyone else. Sam's storyline in season 4 isn't really interesting to me. I hate it but I will include some parts, I promise. Beta'd by no one so if there are any errors I'm sorry.
Word count: 2,234
       ◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇
The wind whisked past Ariel's face, her red locks swaying along with the breeze. The poppies brushing against her calves.
Return to heaven and face your consequences.
She fell to the ground and draped her wings around herself to hide her collapsing facade. In reality, She wasn't happy or as ruthless as everyone painted her to be. She was essentially a human with fluffy wings and a halo. Maybe God made her this way on purpose, but of all her billions of years of fighting wars and defending heaven's honor, she never thought to question her purpose. Only God and Lucifer knew what she was created for and of course, Lucifer didn't like it one bit.
Return to heaven and face your consequences.
"You cannot hide from me, sister." Michael spoke with disdain. He clutched her hair and hauled her to her feet whilst holding an arch blade to her nape.
Ariel only closed her eyes, there wasn't a need to respond. She silently prayed to Castiel, 'Esiasch, gnay ge bams ol. Ol zir being locked nalvage Camilax g dean-'
Michael unknowingly, interrupted her prayer. "No snappy response? No fight?" He challenged.
She would not let him see her weak, he did not consider her feelings. He blindly followed orders.
"Good. This will be easy for me then." He muttered and the two disappeared from the poppy field.
The siblings appeared in a closed-off section of heaven, a large metal box with wardings on all sides, in the middle of a pure white room.
Ariel kicked her feet, screaming at the top of her lungs. She knew this box. This horrible contraption that Michael built only for her and her alone.
When she didn't listen, when she didn't obey Father(Michael), into the Mal'ak box she went. It was similar to how parents grounded their children, except they could see the light of day. Inside the box, no light came through. All you were surrounded by were the darkness and your thoughts.
Michael dragged his sister toward the box by her hair, gripping it tighter by the scalp as she squirmed and fought. Ariel wrapped her hands around his forearm, digging her rounded nails into his skin with all her strength. He let go momentarily, grasping her dress to pull her to her feet but she pushed and pulled away from him, causing the fabric to tear in two. Half of the torso of her dress crumpled to the floor, exposing the top of her right breasts but not all of it.
"Michael, please. You can't do this to me, not another century." Ariel pleaded, tears filling her eyes. "What would Father think of this, locking me away for years after his leaving. He would condemn you!" She spat, head-butting his mouth.
She touched down on earth almost a century ago, doing a mission with Castiel to fix a Nephilim problem, that Ishim led. After it had been reported that she tried to save the Nephilim, Michael locked her away as punishment. She should've listened, then maybe she wouldn't be tortured or so she thought.
Michael only looked at her with dead eyes. He had no plan of changing his mind so he drew his arch blade. "Would you rather die?" He queried. Ariel held her head high, revealing her neck to him. She would rather die than deal with another century alone. She called his bluff,  dear Michael wouldn't murder her, she was one of God's favorites, right next to Lucifer.
Ariel tore her eyes away from the monster, snatching away her arm as she spat, "Coward."
"Little one, into the box. If you didn't want this, you should have obeyed. " He commanded whilst sheathing his blade. The prince hesitantly ran his hands over the latches on the box, unlocking each one and opening the door.
The red-head flinched as she heard the hinges creak. Her worst nightmare, other than Lucifer, was being alone. Michael was no brother, neither was Raphael. Gabriel was a coward and Lucifer was long gone. All she had was Castiel and he has no clue where she disappears to. He barely remembers her when she returns.
"Ariel," Michael said her name softly, almost as if he didn't enjoy locking her away for eternity. 'Better than the cage' He always said, as if being alone with your thoughts for one hundred years was much better than being alone with Lucifer. She would rather be with Satan then alone with herself.
Ariel dragged her bare feet against the cold, white floor, bringing herself closer to damnation. Once she reached the entrance, she just stared blankly at the darkness. 'At least it's a big box' She reasoned with herself.
Michael roughly pushed her in and slammed the front shut. "It will be all right." Michael whispered against the thick wall as he began locking each latch. Ariel screamed at his choice of words, banging her fist against the box. Each hit echoed throughout heaven, startling Castiel.
Ariel curled into the fetus position with her large wings curling over her. She deserved this.
. . .
Castiel sat in the meeting room, waiting for Ariel. He gazed intensely at the list of seals that have been broken. Too many. It had been almost an hour since Ariel's report had been due.
He brought his hand to his head as a woman's voice came through. 'Brother, do not forget me. I am being locked away. Speak with Dean-'
"Locked away...Where is she?" Castiel asked himself. He stood from his feet and exited the room. He made a left turn and walked down the rows of white doors with names on them.
"Ariel..." He hummed as he ran his fingers over her name plate and then reached for the door knob. He turned the door knob and  wandered into the poppy field.
"Little one?" Castiel shouted, squinting as the sun beamed down on his face directly. It was barren. Five loud thuds abruptly filled the silence and all throughout heaven making the soldier flinch.
"What the hell?" The angel turned to leave, deciding to just finish his mission without Ariel.
      ◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇
Castiel stood alone in the kitchen, perched against the sink. He observed Dean, waiting for him to eventually wake up.
Dean furrowed his eyebrows and shifted in his sleep. He couldn't shake the feeling as though he was being watched. He slowly opened his eyes and rolled over onto his stomach to see none other than Castiel waiting in the kitchen and no Ariel. The 30-year-old looked to Sam to see if he was still asleep, and then back to the angel. He quietly stood to his feet and shuffled over to the Angel, a curious look in his eyes.
"Excellent job with the witnesses," Castiel stated blankly.
"You were hip to all this?" Dean asked begrudgingly whilst looking around for the archangel.
"I was, uh, made aware. Ariel kept a close eye on you." Castiel replied hesitantly.
"And where's Ariel? She saved Sammy earlier and I said some things..." Dean placed his palm to his right shoulder.
Castiel evaded Dean's question. The wood flooring now seemed interesting to him. Dean took notice but decided to question later.
"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest. At least Ariel did something." He pointed to his left pectoral.
"But you didn't...and she wasn't supposed to." Castiel quipped.
"I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos-- you know, Michael Landon, Not dicks." Dean sneered.
Castiel stared at Dean blankly. "Read the bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."
"Yeah? Ariel's a frighin' archangel, why didn't you fight." Dean countered, snark clear in his voice.
"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. That was her duty. We had larger concerns." The blue-eyed celestial being clarified.
"And where the hell is she?! And- And concerns?" Dean huffed. The angel avoided his gaze as Dean resumed, "There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"
"There's a God." Castiel affirmed, evading the question about his sister.
"Well, I'm not convinced." Dean drawled. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"
Castiel huffed, "The lord works--"
Dean growled, clenching his fists as he whispered. "If you say 'mysterious ways,' so help me, I will kick your ass."
The soldier, at that moment, wanted to give up, but he had his orders. Things would've gone smoother if his big sister was here. She was the smooth talker.
He let out a small sigh as he slammed his hands on the kitchen sink behind him. Dean gawked at the angel with a bewildered expression at his response.
"So, Bobby was right..." He inquired as he inched toward the counter and closer to the trench-coated angel. "About the witnesses. This is some kind of a...sign of the apocalypse."
"That's why we're here. Big things afoot."
"Do I wanna know what kind of things?" The Righteous man asked.
Castiel shrugged. "I sincerely doubt it, But you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals."
Dean quipped, "Okay, I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld."
"Those seals are being broken by Lilith." Cas informed.
Dean's guarded expression changed as he put two and two together. "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses."
"Mm-hmm" Cas confirmed but continued, "And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead."
"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us." Dean uttered.
"Lilith has a certain sense of humor." Castiel joked.
Dean hoped for the best. "Well, we put those spirits back to rest."
"Doesn't matter. The seal was broken." The angel replied.
"Why break the seal anyway?"
Castiel inhaled deeply, "You think of the seals as locks on a door..."
"Okay. Last one opens and..." Dean leaned forward.
Cas inhaled sharply and slowly turned to face the hunter, "Lucifer walks free."
Dean stared at the angel, his brows furrowed as he tried to process all of this. He was scared shitless, but of course, refused to show this. He resulted in anger and humor. "Lucifer?" He mocked. "But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."
"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as Ariel and I." Castiel countered with a small smile.
There it was again, he spoke about Ariel. She wasn't here but it was her job to 'perch on his shoulders.' Dean just gawked at the angel as he recommenced. "Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?"
"To stop Lucifer." Dean announced breathlessly, his eyes wide with realization and fear.
The gruff angel nodded, "That's why we've arrived."
"Well..." Dean drawled. "Bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice."
"We tried." Castiel asserted, taking a small step forward. "And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost." Dean scoffed at his comment, pissing off the Angel with his disrespectfulness. If only Dean knew.
Castiel stepped to the hunter, "Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. I possibly just lost my best friend. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here." The soldier leaned forward into Dean's personal space causing him to retract. Castiel's emphasis on sister did not go unnoticed. "You should show me some respect. Ariel isn't here, I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." Castiel directed and proceeded to leave but Dean seized his forearm.
"Where is she?" Dean pushed, looking to the angel with pain in his eyes.
"Ariel...has this weakness. Nature, Humans...I think she was created that way, but only God and Lucifer know." Castiel casually stated as he walked to the desk with the angel lore book on it.
"Humans made up their own lore about why she created." He opened to the designated page and pressed his finger against the picture. He quipped, "Try reading." And with that, he disappeared, leaving a disheveled Dean in the kitchen.
The man slowly walked over to the book, and his eyes widened at the picture. The picture was colorized, handpainted with extreme detail. It was Ariel, painted in the foreground holding a red, glowing, two-handed sword. Behind her were a set of very large, ombre red to white, wings. Her red hair flowed behind her, as she faced the open sky. Dean studied the art with intense focus. Just below her were humans, cowering in fear, but not at her.
She was The Guardian. Then, Dean knew she shouldn't be locked away. Something was wrong in heaven.
Dean left the book open, deciding he would read it in the morning. He shuffled back to his makeshift bed and laid down, pulling the jacket over himself. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of Ariel.
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leswansong · 5 years
Text
(Late) Ladynoir July: When Tomorrow Comes
Day Six: Lost
[ A03 ]
Word Count: 7K+
            Adrien watched the sun slowly rise from his vantage point, the cold morning air ate away at his skin as he shivered in place, he silently mourned the loss of his newfound home as he watched the people walk in and out of the building. Two large guards were standing at the front door, their hands were clenched tightly around the hilt of their swords, he knew that wasn’t going to last forever but he had been hoping to get a few more weeks there before he had to find somewhere else to stay, it was only a small matter of time before the looters found out about the supposedly empty house, it was just a shame that it was so soon. With a deep sigh, he looked over at Plagg, the Kwami gave him a small nod and he called for his transformation, he had no idea where he could go or would go, slowly he started towards his unknown destination, he had only just managed to make it out of the small townhouse with a small bag of his possessions which was mainly Plagg’s cheese and a small strip of a lightweight fabric he had started to use as a blanket; unfortunately he forgot to grab the rapier from atop the fireplace, he had quickly learned that a sword was a valuable thing to own but there was no way he could return for it now.
              Reluctantly he picked up his pace and pulled his baton off his back to propel him faster across the rooftops, his mind wandered towards his partner, he wondered if he should ask Lady… No, he couldn’t bother her with his problems, he was only just starting to get to know her and he didn’t want to dampen the beautiful ray of sunlight she was with his problems especially not when she was currently his only source of food; the thought of food at that moment caused his stomach, a groan escaped his lips and he found himself heading towards the meeting spot. He knew there wouldn’t be any food waiting for him there nor would Ladybug but maybe on some off chance she would see him there waiting and lift his spirits with her presence.
              He extended his baton and prepared to leap across the large angry crowd of protesters below only for him to recognize the area he was in, he gawked at the tall proud standing homes that he never thought he would see again; his heart start started to race as he started to panic. Nobody could see him, they were too busy yelling at the houses to notice that one of their new heroes of the revolution was standing frozen atop a nearby rooftop.
              The urge to return to his home overwhelmed him, he carefully clambered down from the roof to a small empty road that had been squeezed in between two large houses and their sandstone walls. He landed almost silently on the cobbled floor, small puddles remained from the small rain cloud that had dumped its contents across Paris the night before. With a frown, he quickly muttered his detransformation phrase and started to walk towards the large crowd, their screams encompassed him, he could barely hear himself think over them and walking in a straight line proved impossible as he was pushed and pulled in so many different directions, he soon lost count of how many times his toes had been stepped on and how often he was almost pushed to the ground.
              He started to regret not using the rooftops to get closer towards the large house he once called home, it would have saved his poor toes a lot of pain but there was no turning back now, he had to continue on his chosen path. He started to see the light of the tunnel as he got closer to a less crowded road that would lead him towards home, he picked up his pace as much as he could and pushed his way through the rest of the people.
              Once free of the crowd he made a B-line towards his old home, he tried his best to stay as close as he could to the large sandstone walls, they were tall and covered him in dark shadows as the morning sun struggled to rise into the blue skies, he wanted nothing more than to walk straight up to the large iron gates that kept him away from the prying eyes of the world outside his windows but the fear of being recognised still kept him from approaching the house, so he waited in the small side street beside the mansion; he caught glimpses of it over the walls every so often and the sight of it only pushed him to walk up to the gates sooner but he forced himself to stay put until he was sure that he wouldn’t be noticed walking up to them.
              Adrien let out a sigh and looked up at the sky, the sun had risen even higher and was halfway from reaching its peak, he peered around the corner before he stepped out of the alleyway, he carefully and slowly approached the mansion he once called home, the large iron gates were bent and warped from where they had been battered in, he stared at them in shock and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch them. They were still cold from the early morning frost but not too cold, they creaked when he pushed against them slightly, a first for him, his father would never have let that happen, he was far too proud for that.
              He took one last look around at the empty street before he pushed his way further inside them, they creaked a little but it still didn’t draw anyone's attention to him. He quickly walked across the small courtyard towards the large wooden front doors, it was a mess, leaves were everywhere as well as loose pieces of hay, he looked towards the barn doors and a small wave of sadness washed over him, the horses they stabled there were gone, they were the only thing that brought him happiness.
              Choking back a wave of tears that threatened to come to the surface, he pushed himself to walk away from the barn doors and up towards the house. His footsteps echoed on the concrete steps and he started up towards the remnants of the heavy oak wood door. Pieces of it lay scattered around on the floor outside, he carefully looked inside to find more of it laid on the black and white marble floors, the pieces still left attached to the frame had massive dents from where it had been hit by the ram, he pushed on it and it easily swung open. The entry hall was flooded with light revealing the horrible state it was in, plants had been torn from their pots, the large painting of him and his father had been torn and partially set on fire, the iron and crystal candle chandelier had fallen and shattered on the floor leaving long cracks in the marble floor.
              Carefully he pushed his way inside, small crystals crunched under his bare feet causing him a small amount of pain but he was able to ignore it long enough to close the large oak door plunging the entry hall back into darkness, the smell of metal hung in the stale air. He paused with his back against the damaged door while his eyes took a moment to adjust to the room, he found it oddly disturbing at how quiet it was, the only time he could remember it ever being anywhere close to being this quite was when everyone had gone to sleep but even then there was normally some kind of sound to remind him that the house was full of life, here there was nothing.
              Plagg took the chance to wiggle his way out of Adrien’s coat and explore the large house that he called home, he followed the Kwami with his eyes until Plagg phased through a wall and with that he let out a deep breath and tipped-toed around the fallen chandler, it was once a grand piece that would draw a guests eyes upwards with the elegant and now it was a broken mess that was only worth the price they could get for the iron frame.
              With a disappointed sigh, he moved past the broken frame and headed towards his father's office where the door was stuck slightly ajar. He poked his head in to find that it too was a mess, books had been pulled from the shelves and scattered across the floor, some had the pages torn from their binds, it was impossible to walk across the room without standing on at least one of them. The chandler in this room had also fallen, wax candles were scattered and crushed across the floor, he tried to avoid them but that only caused him to step on the crystals that made a horrible crunch under his feet as he inched closer to the large untouched portrait of his mother. He ignored the pain and blood coming from his feet in favour of pushing himself to walk over to painting, he had only ever seen it briefly from the doorway on the few times he was permitted to enter his father's office and those few times had never done the artist justice. Although it had been years since he had last seen her, he felt like she was smiling down upon him and the feeling of hope reignited within him, it was only small though but he could live off a small amount of hope.
              He ran his fingers over the painting, he could feel the small bumps left by the paintbrush beneath them. He turned and looked around at the room, it was disheartening to see and made the fact that his old life was lost more real to him, he fought back the wave of tears as much as he could and quickly headed towards the door before he collapsed to the floor. The tears flowed freely, he had no idea where his father was and normally he wouldn’t care but with the house being so empty… He wanted to see the cold tall man appear from the darkened hall and yell at him for crying like a little boy, the house would magically be fixed and everything would be a horrible dream but alas that would not happen. He quickly wiped away the fallen tears and pulled himself together, he forced himself to stand so he could continue to search the house.
              He walked towards the large dining room, its beautiful ornate doors were missing from there frames, pieces that had been turned into a pile of splinters and firewood now laid strewn across the floor leading into the enormous room. Carefully he peered into the room and just as he expected it too was a mess, the long, heavy oak dining table had been flipped onto his side, scratch marks had been dug into the floor from where the table had been pushed in an attempt to make the room larger but the table had been too heavy and was left abandoned only a few inches from where it once sat; some of its matching chairs had their ornate legs broken, a sight he hoped his mother would never see for she loved those chairs more than she loved his father but other than those few chairs, the rest were neatly set against the opposite wall. He took a hesitant step into the room, the floorboard creaked slightly from his weight, he smiled at the sound as it reminded him of his father constantly reminding himself that it needed to be replaced but he was getting distracted.
              He headed further into the room to find that hidden behind the table was a trail of blood, it had long since dried but it didn’t stop the panic that started to rise through him, it led towards the other end of the table where it turned and led towards the doors to the kitchen. Cautiously he followed the trail into the kitchen where it was worse, the air smelled even more metallic than before and it felt like it was compressing his lungs, pots, pans, silverware and several broken dishes were all on the floor. His heart started to race as his eyes searched the room but the trail didn’t stop there, it continued on but it wasn’t exactly a trail, it was smaller and didn’t look like someone had been dragged but rather someone had gotten up and tried to walk away from something, he continued to follow it towards the servants staircase.
              The steps were considerably more worn than the main staircase, the fact that they were wood only added to it; they were narrow and steep, he had to use the wall to help him climb in some places because of the blood, but steadily he climbed and he almost reached the top when he kicked something made of steel. He let out a pain-filled yelp in response and backed down the steps away from it, he muttered out a few choice words as he inspected the damage to his poor toes reminding him that he needed to find a pair of shoes to wear. After he found no cuts or damage to his foot he glanced up the steps to find out what had caused him so much pain, there wasn’t much light in the small inclosed staircase but the very little that did bounce off of the metal thing. He reached down and picked it up expecting it to be a candelabra only for it to be his father's rapier, it had been discarded and was left uncared for, its blade was still covered in dried blood from its last attack; he moved out of the stairwell and towards a window so he could inspect the blade in the light while completely forgetting about the blood he was following, the blade was a family heirloom and was much more important to him in that small moment in time.
              The bright emeralds embedded in the sliver guard shone under the early morning sunlight, he could hardly see any of the small imperfections in the green stones his father constantly complained about every time he cleaned it but it was definitely his father’s sword, the family crest had been engraved on the base of the blade although he could hardly see it; he pulled on a nearby curtain and wiped the blade on it to try and clean some of the dried blood on it but it didn’t really do much, he turned away from the window and returned to his original task, he could always clean the blade later. The trail slowly grew smaller and smaller until it ended in one rather large pool of blood at the centre of the grand staircase and someone’s extremely poor attempt to clean it up, a wave of disappointment washed over him, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find after all it had been weeks since the house had been stormed, any bodies would have been taken away days after the front doors had been busted down. His eyes stayed on the wide scrub marks as if it would will the trail back into existence but nothing happened, nothing would happen but reluctantly he pulled his eyes away before he could start wondering what had happened to the person that had left the trail and they landed on his old bedroom door and for the first time since entering the house, memories of that night came flooding back.
              At first, it was the screams outside the iron gates, they had been getting increasingly louder over the past few weeks but his father wouldn’t tell him why and he wouldn’t find out why until he was forced out the servant's entrance. He let out a sigh and walked over to it, he was unsure on whether or not if he wanted to see what was on the other side of the wooden door, the rest of the house was torn apart and his room was most likely the same but the temptation to see was almost too much for him, his hand rested on the cold iron doorknob for a moment and he closed his eyes so he could mentally prepare himself before he turned it but nothing he pictured could prepare him for the feeling of loss. The large bed was cut up into pieces, its blankets ripped and torn, the large array of instruments he had committed himself to try and master were snapped and broken, their strings severed and the books he had spent hours reading and re-reading had their pages ripped from their spines and were now scattered around the room, he was heartbroken.
              Plagg hovered over his shoulder for a moment and entered the room, he floated over several objects to inspect the damage but Adrien couldn’t, it was too much, he slowly turned away from the room and headed down the steps, he couldn’t stand to be in that house anymore, he needed fresh air, he needed to be anywhere but there. His Kwami called for him to come back but he ignored him, he reached the bottom of the steps and headed straight for the front door, the broken crystals hurt his feet and he did everything he could to hold back the tears of pain as he pulled the door open and exited the building. The screams of the angry crowd once again reached his ears, it was strangely comforting to hear the thing that had taken his home from him, he should never have gone back to this place, there were too many wounds that were too fresh and all he had done was rub salt into them.
              He came to the large iron gates and he squeezed himself through the narrow opening, they squeaked and groaned loudly at the movement drawing some attention of a few passersby to him causing his already racing heart to race even faster; he expected them to run to the nearest guard, yell stop and chase after him or even confront him but they didn’t, sure some hurried their pace a little and the fact he had been in that house would make its way to an officer’s ears but none of them really seemed to care, they just carried on on their way. Adrien took the opportunity to make a speedy escape down several alleyways, he knew where he was going… at first… it was a small garden, he could always see from his bedroom window but then all the walls and streets started to look the same and somewhere along the way he had taken a wrong turn and he grew increasingly more lost with each step. Eventually, he gave up on trying to find his way back to Plagg, the Kwami knew that he could navigate the rooftops not the streets and it would probably be easier on the small creature if he sat still and waited for him to find him, he let out a sigh and walked the short distance to the closest wall, his back slid down it and he met the floor. He pulled his new sword up onto his lap, he wasn’t expecting to come across a blade so quickly and not one as nice as this one, it, of course, needed sharpening as well as a good clean; he dug around in his bag and pulled out his blanket, slowly he started to wear away at the dried on blood, the silver shine of the blade gradually started to show through the dark coating.
              He had no idea how long he had sat there for when Plagg had found him but the Kwami dove headfirst into the bag for a slice of his cheese, he gulped it down in one bite as usual before turning back towards Adrien.
              “Kid…” the Kwami huffed, he was trying to force as much air as he could into his tiny lungs, “Please…” he took another breath, “don’t ever do that again if I call your name you stop.”
              He nodded and returned to the blade, “Sorry Plagg.”
              “You better be…” his voice trailed off.
  -x-
              Adrien didn’t know how he hadn’t heard about the small celebration, he had spent his days wandering the streets and not a peep about it. He couldn’t keep his eyes focused on one thing, candles flickered and filled the street with a warm orange glow, the scent of fresh bread filled the air causing his mouth to water at the prospect of food. People were still moving around trying to light the last few candles before the sun fully set behind the tall houses, he could feel the rain in the air and he looked up to find dark clouds had gathered above him, it wouldn’t be long before the rain would fall but nobody seemed to care, the market around him was still buzzing, people were chattering happily around him as they inspected the goods of the market stores, masks covered their faces and he only saw a few without one. He politely pushed his way through the crowd, it was a little hard to even move at times but the feeling of the streets of being alive drew him in.
              He didn’t have enough money to buy most of the lovely handcrafted items on display but that didn’t stop him from looking. they displayed the theme of the fair, the new heroes, many had put a lot of effort into the small trinkets, Adrien walked over to one and picked up a small wooden statue of his lady, the detail wasn’t incredible as they had only given the people a little glimpse of what they looked like a with the mask and the amateur drawings that appeared in the newspaper hadn’t exactly done his lady justice, they hadn’t captured her beauty. He put the statue down and moved on to the next store where they were selling some kind of food, he scrunched his nose up at it as it didn’t look appetizing to him but if it was offered he wouldn’t turn it down. The next store sold more food, vegetables to be specific, a few people were crowded around the poor owner, the old man struggled to keep up with his customer's questions.
              Adrien slowly made his way down the street, occasionally he stopped by a store if they interested him enough but that was rare. He played with the small leather coin purse in his pocket, the two to three coins bounced off of each other making small clinking noises. His eyes searched the last few stalls for something before he turned back, a table full of masks.
              He walked confidently towards the table, masks sat atop it, they were all different but he had his eyes on one, a black one, he hated what he was about to but he had no money and for one night he would like to fit in. The shop owner turned his head to talk to a new customer, Adrien didn’t stop, he stuck his hand out and plucked the mask from its spot on the table, he slid it into his pocket as he walked passed, his heart raced but he kept his calm and continued. Once again he expected someone to yell stop, for someone to notice that he had taken something from the table but they didn’t, it was odd. He, like everyone, had been taught that stealing was bad but he hadn’t expected that it would be so easy.
              Filled with confidence, he continued towards the next stall where several hoods and other clothing items hung proudly, but unfortunately, no shoes were included within the shops wears. The shopkeeper was still distracted with helping fit a young girl into a new coat when he walked past, Adrien reached up and pulled a dark hood from its hook, he had been hoping for a new coat but the hood was alright as well; he walked a few steps before he raised the rain hood over his head and quickly buckled the clasp around his neck.
              He carried on further into the crowd, the smell of food surrounded him, he knew he was hungry but his stomach didn’t let out a growl or even hurt from the lack of food. He was starting to regret turning down Ladybug’s extraordinary soup when he felt horrible about her having to bring it each day and he was starting to realise just how much it was going to cost her over time; she was going to be upset when she found out that he was once again not eating but that was a problem that future Adrien could deal with.
              He walked past another stall full of food when Plagg poked his head from out of his shirt pocket to look around, “Kid? I thought we were going to look for food?”
              “There weren't any…” he replied, “and we have hardly any money left so if you want to eat cheese…” he trailed off.
              The Kwami let out a sigh and retreated into his shirt, “Doesn’t mean you have to go hungry kid.”
              A frown spread across his face as he continued, the loud and happy laughter coming from the bar further down the street drew him closer, the smell of alcohol and food only made him walk closer to the building. He carefully peered inside, everyone he saw was wearing a mask, a person standing on a table near the bar said something and the entire crowd erupted into laughter bringing a smile to his face, a waitress made her way from table to table, a large tray with bowls and cups piled high sat in her hands, she walked past the doorway he was standing in and he caught sight of some of the food. He looked down at the mask in his hands then back at the people back inside, slowly he raised the black mask to his face and pressed it around his eyes; it took a little but he managed to mould the stiff fabric so it would stay in place before he headed inside.
              Nobody noticed him enter or him sneak a cup off of the waitresses tray while she was distracted by another customer that was trying to flirt with her, he headed past them and the couples dancing towards a darkened corner where an empty chair and table was waiting for him. He sat down and immediately pulled out his small coin purse and started counting the last few coins he had to his name, it was only enough to cover another drink, with a sigh he put the small leather-bound purse away and scanned the bar patrons not expecting someone to catch his eye but someone had, he had to make sure he wasn’t seeing things at first but no he wasn’t, Adrien leaned back in his chair, his eyes watched her carefully as she laughed with her friends before she was led to the dance floor by a tall dark-haired man; her soft pink mask hid her identity well, he certainly wouldn’t have recognized her if he hadn’t spent almost every moment with her memorising her voice, the way her smile tugged at her lips when she was happy and on the odd occasion, her laughter.
              The man she was with spun her around quickly causing her to let out another excited giggle bringing music to his ears and to those around them but a twinge of jealousy started to bubble away at his insides and it was slowly leading to anger, there was nothing he could do but watch as his partner had the time of her life. As he watched them dance he started to wonder who the guy was, they didn’t look like they were related in any way and the way he was looking at her… It reminded him too much of the way he looked at her, he couldn’t help but conclude that he was in some way her lover. The possibility of her possibility being married to someone had never crossed his mind, he was so stupid for to believe that she was unmarried, a lady like her would have had hundreds of suitors lining up at her door, he never had a shot to begin with but somehow the guy with her did, he had been all the odds and ended up with her, the most amazing girl in the world.
              The musicians drew the song they were playing to its close and the crowd erupted into a round of applause, he clapped as well but with less enthusiasm as the rest while his vibrant green eyes followed her back to her group of her friends from the safety of the shadows. He wanted to approach her but there were too many people around her and there was no certainty that she would recognize him as him. He continued to watch as her friends smiled and laughed along with her, he was too far away for him to hear any of the words but she seemed to be happy. One of her friends passed her a wooden cup and she quickly downed the harsh liquid in a few small gulps before slamming it back down on the wooden table, a smile tugged at his lips at the sight before he had pulled His eyes flickered away from her down to his own cup, time had passed quickly as he watched her dance, he couldn’t exactly remember how much time had actually passed but it was at the same height it had been nearly an hour ago… full.
              He let out a sigh and reluctantly picked it up, the liquid was as bitter as he remembered and once again he swore to never drink it again but he knew he was going to anyways. It was cheap and the only thing he could drink but he still longed for the sweet summer wines his father constantly had stocked in the cellar. Adrien quickly swallowed the rest of the horrible liquid before placing the wooden cup back on the small round table and pushing it towards the centre of the table. The passing barmaid tried to refill his now empty cup but he quickly waved her away after she had filled his cup with more of the brown liquid. His hands found the cup and he felt oddly comforted by it, it helped him blend in with the other dark and mysterious drinkers in the bar, he looked up from his cup and his eyes instantly found her. She was once again on the small dance floor and in her lover's arms, she was giggling as she was twirled around by him, her faded pink skirt lifted slightly from the motion revealing her stockings, he averted his eyes for a brief moment so that her skirt could return to her original position.
              He watched her laugh and smile and it started to bring back memories of his mother from a time lost so very long ago, they were happy memories, his mother’s smile, a smile that a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl he was chasing also shared; he saw his mother in her, they were both kind and smart, they both cared more about those around them than themselves at times, maybe that was what had drawn him to her, he was like a moth to a flame around her. The music once again slowed down to a halt and Ladybug was left alone on the dance floor as her lover returned to the group of girls, her friends. He quickly unclasped the cape around his neck and stood up, his heart raced and he swore that his feet wobbled slightly at each step. He squeezed his way through the crowd towards her, he knew he looked horrible and that there was a slight chance that she wouldn’t recognize him but he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity. He recited what he was going to say over and over again until he was standing almost directly behind her, even now she was beautiful, he cleared his throat to catch her attention, she slowly turned to face him and he lowered his voice, he didn’t want anyone but her to her what he was about to say next.
              “Excuse me, My Lady. May I have this dance?”
  -x-
              Marinette stared wide-eyed at the tall blond-haired boy in the mask, his words echoed back to her and she realised who he was, she tried to hide her shock as she took in his appearance, he looked scruffy, his clothes looked like they hadn’t seen a wash bin in quite a while and he was missing shoes. She was horrified at how he looked, she knew the revolution had been horrible for most and she was somewhat well off considering that fact that there would always be a demand for bread while the drought was still going on and no one would try to mess with her father but she had never seen someone look as rough as he did. He hid it well while he was in the suit, the only thing that gave it away was how he was always hungry, she kept an eye on him though, and she did try to offer him food once he had told her not to bother any more but he was a stubborn kitty and wouldn’t take any more food from her.
              She was pulled back to the world around her when the musicians raised their bows to their violins and Marinette had to quickly make up her mind; she took a deep breath knowing that she would probably regret this and nodded her head. A small smile spread across his lips and he let out a breath that she didn’t realize he was holding, he looked around the room for something before pulling her in close, she fumbled for a second, dancing was not something she was used to but Chat seemed to not be phased by her little mistake. The song started and he led her through the dance, his arms were strong and firm as was his grip, she felt extremely comfortable within them and she tried her best to stop herself from stepping on his toes but that proved fruitless; she found herself constantly apologising in the awkward air between them, he laughed it off and told her not to worry but that didn’t stop her.
              She wondered why he was there, it was, of course, a public bar but didn’t stop her, he didn’t seem like the type to visit such establishments, he always, she bit back her question until they were further into the dance, a dance that Chat seemed to know quite well, even better than the people around them, she struggled to keep up at times, he adjusted his grip on her waist before preparing to spin her again; he let out a small hiss of pain as her heel dug into his toes but continued with the dance.
              “I’m sorry,” she apologised as she was pulled back into his grasp.
              A smile spread across his lips and he quickly changed the subject so she wouldn’t feel so bad about hurting his toes, “You look rather lovely Bugaboo.”
              She rolled her eyes and turned her head so he couldn’t see the heat rising over in her cheeks as they turned a soft pink, she thought that she would be used to his silly flirting by now but that didn’t seem to be the case; she looked towards her friends to find that they were cheering her on, she groaned internally and turned back to her dance partner.
              “I-” she swallowed her nervousness, “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she told him before they went into a spin.
              “Neither did I, My Lady. May I ask what you are doing here?”
              “My…” she trailed off, she wasn’t sure that she should be telling him this. A small argument transpired within her head and one side ultimately won, “My friend… She’s… The guards, they want to arrest her,” she indicated to Alya over her shoulder as the turned once again. “I’ve been looking after her sisters while she tries to find a way out of Paris with them. Tonight is the first night in about a week that she’s been able to make it out for a harmless night of fun,” a smile had slowly started to spread across her lips as she explained the situation to him.
              Chat nodded his head, “Sounds rather lovely.”
              She nodded, “Yeah, How about you?” she asked.
              A hint of sadness washed over his face for a split second but the smile returned, “I’m just passing through Bugaboo.”
              She narrowed her eyes slightly to try and figure out if he was lying to her. “Chat? You know you can tell me, we may not be able to tell each other who we are but that shouldn’t stop you from telling me something.”
              He nodded his head and twirled her around one last time as the song grew to a close, the people around them clapped and quickly returned to their conversations.
              Chat bowed slightly before her, it wasn’t enough to draw attention to them but enough to show respect, “Thank you, My Lady, I quite enjoyed our dance but I believe your friends are trying to get your attention.”
              She frowned slightly and turned around to where they were sitting.
              Alya was smiling brightly and was clearly trying to grab her attention by her frantic waving, Mylen and Rose were trying to calm her best friend while Alix was doing the same thing as Alya. She let out a groan and turned back to Chat, only for him to no longer be standing in front of her frantically she glanced around the bar.
              “Where did that cat boy go?” she muttered under her breath before turning back to the group of overly excited girls.
              Alya didn’t hold back her lines of questioning, Marinette hadn’t even sat down yet when the words came flying out of her mouth, words that Marinette didn’t quite know how to answer, ‘Who was that?’ Marinette didn’t exactly know, she was his partner, they fought Akuma’s together and she once brought him food just before their patrol when she was concerned about him but she didn’t know who he was. She knew he was a flirt, he was roughly the same age as her but nothing else, she had enforced the ‘we mustn't know who the other is’ rule but Chat had still managed to weasel out little bits of information out of her with a few innocent questions here and there, where she, on the other hand, knew nothing about him.
              Her eyes scanned the bar once more, she hated how well that boy could blend in, it was difficult to see him across the rooftops when the sun slowly dipped under the horizon but it seemed even more difficult in the small bar, his messy blond hair and his black clothes, stained with dried mud helped blend him into the murky black shadowed filled bar.
              “Marinette?”
              “Hmm?” she asked at the sound of her name, she turned slowly towards her best friend.
              “You didn’t answer my question…” Alya replied, “So? Who was that?”
              “I- We didn’t exactly exchange names…” she admitted
              Her friend let out a defeated sigh, “So… Let me get this straight, you danced with the guy even though you kinda promised Luka the next dance and didn’t even get his name.”
              She winced at her friend's words, she had completely forgotten that she had agreed to another dance, she knew that she needed to make it up to Luka. She looked around the bar, this time for the black-haired boy she had been originally dancing with; she found him on the small dance floor, a short orange-haired girl was in his arms and he seemed to be quite interested in the small girl. She smiled when she saw him look up towards her, he smiled back and returned to the girl that had caught his attention, she was happy for him, he seemed to like the girl in front of him.
              She averted her eyes and returned to the cup that had been pushed in front of her, her friends continued in their conversation, they tried to add her to it but she wasn’t exactly in the mood. Marinette found herself once again searching the bar for her cat-eared partner, her eyes studied the faces of the people there, looking for the one she recognized. Brown masks, dull blues and green ones littered the crowds, there was the occasional pink or yellow but not the black one she was seeking, not even the brown coat that she knew had once been a lighter shade stood out to her, it was like he had vanished from the small room but she knew he hadn’t, the odd sensation at the back of her neck told her he was still there.
              “Marinette?” Alya called once again, she had been trying to get her attention for a while and she was concerned, Marinette could hear it in her voice, her friend followed her gaze to try and find out what had distracted her from the conversation, “Are you looking for the blond?”
              She nodded, she was ashamed to admit it but she would much rather spend her time with him at that moment, she had never put much thought into getting to know him but right then… Right then she wanted to know everything, his hopes and dreams before the droughts and constant fighting and what they were now, she wanted to know if he had lost people as she had or if he hadn’t, what trade he had taken up. There were so many questions she wanted the answer to but she knew that once the small amount of wine that she had drunk had worn off, she would chicken out of asking.
              Her best friend took pity on her and started to help her look, it only took a few moments but her friend managed to find him for her.
              “Right corner,” she murmured so the rest of their friends wouldn’t hear the conversation, “he extinguished the candle so you wouldn’t be able to see him.”
              Slowly her eyes tracked their way over to him, a black hood had been pulled up around his head to hide his blond locks, she could only just see his green eyes from underneath the hood, they were focused on something on the table in front of him and not on her. Slowly Marinette rose from her seat, she muttered a few words to her friends before heading up to the bar, she threw a few coins atop the bar and ordered another cup of wine as well as a bowl of their unknown soup. The bartender scooped up the coins and quickly poured the drink for her and then dunked his spoon into a large pot drawing out a large spoon full of the liquid they called soup for her before he dropped it into a small wooden bowl, she whispered a thank you and picked them up. Carefully she walked over to the small round table hidden in shadows, she didn’t want to spill any of the horribly expensive bar food she had just bought; her partner's eyes stayed fixated on something in his hands and he still hadn’t noticed her when she was standing a few centimetres away from him, she smiled and gently placed the bowl down before she placed the cup down heavily causing him to jump slightly out of his seat.
              “Bug?” he questioned.
              She nodded, “I didn’t seem like you had eaten yet so I thought…”
              A small smile spread across his lips and he slowly pulled the bowl towards him, “Thank you.”
              He dipped the spoon into the brown soup and inspected the substance, slowly he brought the spoon to his lips in an attempt to brace himself but that did nothing as she watched him physically cringe at the taste, she tried to bite back her laugh but that was a failed attempt.
              He dropped the spoon back in the bowl and sighed, “I have no idea what I was expecting.”
              She replied with more laughter, “Sorry…”
              He sighed again, “What are you doing here Bug?”
              She giggled a little bit more before she answered his question, “I- I realised that I don’t actually know that much about you, so…”
              “There isn’t much to tell, My Lady, I’m pretty sure you have a better story.”
              She groaned, she knew what he was trying to do, “Chat, stop trying to change the subject,” she whined, “Please, just… tell me something.”
              His eyes flickered down to the table and she waited patiently, she knew that she had crossed into a touchy subject. His hands started to fiddle with a small silver pocket watch, it caught her eye when the soft orange glow of a candle bounced off of it, it was quiet in their corner so her ears picked up on the soft ticking of the mechanism. His fingers wiped down the watch face before he stuffed the watch back into his coat, he returned to the soup and stirred the spoon in it while trying to kill time so he wouldn’t have to answer her question.
              Marinette slowly inched her hand towards his and wrapped it around his, his head turned towards her and she gave him a small but comforting smile.
              “I- I don’t know where to start bug…”
              “Where ever you feel like it,” she replied, pulling the cup towards her.
              He once again let out a sigh as he prepared to tell her his story, “Well…”
Made for @ladynoirjuly2019
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