#but seriously. people here see someone walking down the street with a white cane and they just. move out of the way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years

Text

Just a Crack

Prompt: As a Virgil kinnie and Janus stan I wanted to ask if you could write a fic about the two of them and make it hurt? If you feel like it, I'd love a 20s setting with rich Janus, and Virgil accidentally stumbling into a shady Jazz-bar? I just think that idea would be pretty fun to read, and I absolutely adore the special brand of pain your writing brings. - anon

Read on Ao3 (seriously you're gonna want to, tumblr didn't let me do this all in one go)

Warnings: homophobia, mild dubcon but nothing explicit

Word Count: 20144

If there’s one rule about knocking on strange doors, it’s that you’d better be damn sure that what’s on the other side of them is better than what’s chasing you down on yours.

Now, this isn’t Virgil’s first time roaming the streets with a wad of papers stuffed in his shirt, nor is it even his first time in this neighborhood. It is the first time he’s been followed.

He spotted them about three blocks ago. Tall, not too broad, back suits and wool coats down past their knees. One has a hat, the other a pair of glasses. He’d taken a quick left, trying to gauge whether it was in fact him they were following or if they’d just gotten a whiff of some mugs without a firm description. To his dismay, it seems they’ve got him in their noses.

So, here Virgil is, walking up to the door that just about screams ‘don’t follow me in here’ and mustering all the charisma he knows he doesn’t have. Luckily for him, the two rubes behind him cut the show, hook, line, and sinker. Unluckily for him, a slat in the door opens.

“You the runner?”

Virgil nods sharply.

“Third floor down. Second door on your right. Don’t go for a handshake.”

Virgil takes one more look at the alley behind him and ducks inside. The man leads him down a long, dank corridor that smells of old giggle juice and shows him to a flight of stairs. Virgil gives him another nod and makes to keep going.

A hand snatches his arm.

He drops his weight, prepared to slug his way out of here when the man just squints at him.

“This your first time?”

Virgil manages a nod.

The man’s expression softens infinitesimally. He nods to the staircase. “For people like us, it’s best if we get in and get out. No use ankling around this place, it ain’t safe for the likes of you and me. Do your job, do it well, don’t ask too many questions.”

Well. That wins the award for the most cryptic warning he’s gotten recently.

“Best not linger here.”

Virgil starts down the staircase. Going by the state of the first hallway, he thinks he’d be forgiven for thinking that the whole way down would be like that.

Especially when he spots light coming from beneath him and the stairwell suddenly spills out into the most extravagant room he’s ever laid eyes on. Crystal chandeliers, carpeted floors, gold-trimmed tables and the floor covered with heels, fringe, double-breasted suits and tipped canes. Virgil’s eyes widen as he sees waitstaff in white shirts and black vests carrying trays of drinks, not just booze but mixed cocktails.

He’s seen movies, kick off.

The music plays from a band in the corner, the dance floor up and lively with more reckless abandon than Virgil’s parents. The crowd doesn’t seem to notice him, and why would they?

He pauses for a moment too long before he quickly hurries down the rest of the way to the third floor.

The music dulls a little as he finally gets below the floor, still audible but muffled, and he steps off the staircase onto a landing. What is this place?

The doors aren’t labeled, no name plates, but each one has the distinct feeling of belonging to someone. Another man in a suit greets him at the end of the small hall, gesturing to his right. Virgil follows the man down another hallway to a mahogany door emblazoned with a golden image of a two-headed snake. The man opens the door and ushers Virgil inside.

Virgil swallows as the door closes behind him with a solid thud.

The room he’s in is no less extravagant. It’s not quite an office, at least not one Virgil’s seen through the windows of big business buildings downtown. He’s pretty sure those don’t have three couches and a fireplace behind a desk the size of Virgil’s bed. He’s also pretty sure those aren’t carpeted within an inch of their lives with curtains drawn over one wall to make it seem like a window.

As he glances at them, he notices the man sitting in the chair.

He’s not facing Virgil. All he can see are two long legs—like, really long—ending in shiny black dress shoes and a gold-tipped cane cupped in a gloved hand. The gloves are yellow, as is the tie around the pork pie hat perched on his head.

Remember that thing about being sure what’s on the other side of a door is better than what’s chasing you on your side? Virgil’s pretty sure he would’ve been better off getting socked by the two mugs in the alley.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

Virgil does not startle easily. Yet the sudden voice makes him jump. He looks away quickly, embarrassment flooding his cheeks with a speed that takes him by surprise. He hears the soft creak of a chair and muffled footsteps getting closer.

“Are you just going to stand there like some lost puppy,” the voice asks wryly, “or are you going to sit?”

Virgil looks up just enough to see which chair is being indicated before he shuffles to it. Keep your head down. Don’t ask too many questions. Get in and get out.

He’s really looking forward to the ‘get out’ part.

“Good,” the man says casually as Virgil sits down and oh. Oh, no, that should not do what it does to him. Now he really can’t look up.

He hears the soft squeak of leather as the man sits down behind the desk. Hears the soft scratch of a pen on paper. Waits. Waits. He can do this. This isn’t the first time he’s been trapped in a situation, he can get out of this one too.

After a while there’s a noise of paper rustling as whatever the man was working on gets placed into a file and slid into a drawer. The man folds his gloved hands on the table and tilts his head, staring at Virgil’s bowed head.

Unbidden, the retort rises to the tip of his tongue and he bites it in reprimand.

“I know I said it’s rude to stare,” comes the voice, “but so is refusing to look.”

Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Virgil raises his head, willing his face to remain impassive as he looks into the face of the man in the room.

He doesn’t remain impassive, not completely.

One half of the man’s face is covered with burns. The other half is unfairly attractive. How is he not supposed to stare at something that pretty?

The man’s mouth tugs up into a smirk and Virgil clenches his hand under the table. “Much better. Now then, to business.”

With that, he stands, his cane in hand as he begins to pace around to Virgil’s side of the desk.

“There’s a situation down at the docks,” the man says, “we’re going to need you to wrap the mess up and serve it for dinner, do you understand?”

No. Not at all.

“There are two fish that still have yet to be caught. Serve them raw over a salad.”

What is happening?

“And, of course, a new glass of giggle water won’t go amiss either.” The man pauses, leaning on the cane as he looks at Virgil. “Don’t forget to bring in the new barrels while you’re outside.”

Virgil would like everything to stop for him to get a tad more of his business together, please, but that’s not really an option right now. So he just nods.

The man looks at him. Another smile spreads across his face and before he can blink, the tip of his cane is tickling the underside of Virgil’s chin.

Virgil gulps.

“I have to hand it to you,” the man says in a low, dangerous voice, “there aren’t many men with the balls to waltz in here.”

The cane tips his head up further.

“And certainly none that look this pretty.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. The man’s smile sharpens and he tilts his head.

“So,” he says, as if he doesn’t have Virgil basically pinned in the chair, “who sent you?”

“No—no one,” Virgil squeaks.

“Come, now,” the man purrs, the cane pressing a little harder into his throat, “there’s no point in lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.” He leans as far back in the chair as he can but the cane just follows. “I was being followed and I needed to get away. I just knocked on the door upstairs.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth,” Virgil spits, “whether or not you believe it is your problem.”

Probably not the smartest thing to say right now, but then again, choosing the door wasn’t the smartest thing either. Virgil’s having an off-night.

The man is silent for a moment. Then the cane moves. It pushes Virgil’s jaw one way, then the other, tilting his face back and forth as the man’s gaze sweeps over him.

The cane is withdrawn and Virgil gasps, rubbing his neck even though there was barely any pressure. The man steps forward, and again, and again, before he’s reaching out to tug down Virgil’s collar.

Virgil’s breath catches in his throat as the man’s hand smooths over the fabric, down to his jacket. He isn’t looking at Virgil’s face, only at his hand, leaving Virgil’s free to stare until the hand dips swiftly into his clothing and removes the wad of papers.

Shit.

The man turns away from him. Virgil is frozen in the chair. The papers shuffle as the cane is leant against the desk. Some hysterical part of Virgil wants to grab for it, swing it at the man’s head and run, get out, but the image of the man turning around to face Virgil as he’s holding it stills his hand.

“So,” he murmurs, “our little intruder isn’t anyone to worry about, hmm? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Virgil swallows. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s keep my mouth shut. Ask the fuzz, I’ve never snitched once.”

The man hums.

“I swear.”

“Oh, you swear,” he says, turning back around, “well, then of course I believe you.”

Virgil wisely shuts up.

The man tilts his head, walking a little closer to him. Virgil tries not to draw back in the chair. After a moment, he holds out the papers.

Virgil takes them slowly, tucking them back into his shirt. The man hums again, examining the end of his cane.

“I don’t need to threaten you, do I?”

“No,” Virgil blurts out, “uh, no, sir.”

The man sets the tip of the cane back on the floor and looks at Virgil. He indicates the door with his head.

Virgil is up and out of the room before he can take another breath.

He hurries down the alleyway, not caring about whatever mugs may have been following him, just getting away, away, away from whatever that building is and whoever that man was. The part of his shirt the man touched still burns, his neck still tingles from the weight of the cane.

He’s panting by the time he mixes back into the street, the wad of papers in his pocket weighing less than a bag of feathers. He runs the rest of the way back to his apartment, dropping the papers off in the mailbox before triple-checking his door lock behind him.

Virgil collapses onto the bed, hands tangled in his hair as he breathes heavily. What the fuck was that? A speakeasy turned front for the mob? Some sort of white-collar gang? A secret pact for bootleggers?

He throws himself back on to the mattress with a groan. He scrubs his hands over his face.

Whatever it is, he can’t afford to be mixed up in it. And with any luck, he won’t be. Not ever again.

Virgil’s luck never has been thdre greatest.

He all but stumbles into work the next day, haphazardly tossing his coat onto the rack and collapsing at his desk, more than willing to lose himself in the repetitive work of copying dry textbooks and philosophical works too advanced for the likes of him. What he actually gets, however, is a heart attack on a plate.

Namely in the form of his boss calling him into his office because they have a client who needs their library evaluated for copy purposes and the man who looks up at him smiles with gloved hands folded in their lap.

Virgil is thankful that he has his hands full of documents so that he doesn’t have to fumble through declining a handshake.

“Sir, this is Virgil—“ thanks for that, now he knows my name— “and he will be more than happy to assist you—“ oh, will I now?— “with whatever needs you may have.”

“Thank you, Clive.” Oh. Oh, it’s this kind of power move, understood, please do it in the opposite direction of Virgil, thank you. “I’m sure he’ll do very well.”

Clive—or, as Virgil has to call him, Mr. Butler—all but preens under the attention and Virgil is both confused and disgusted. But he hides that behind shuffling through the stack of papers in his arms as the man turns to him.

“How long would it take you to commute out to Crowsbook?”

Virgil’s eyes widen. “Uh, at—at least an hour and a half, sir.”

The man hums. “Yes, much too long…”

“I can assure you that any work can be done here as long as Virgil has the—“

“We may as well go now.”

Wait, what?

“...sir?”

“Bring whatever you need to,” the man says as he sweeps out of the office, “the car will pick you up out front.”

Virgil is left standing there with an armful of papers, a boss that looks far too excited, and no idea what he’s going to do.

He ends up outside the building with his briefcase in hand, heart in his throat as a car that Virgil should not even be allowed to look at pulls smartly to the curb and a driver opens the door for him. He slides in warily, even more off-put when the man just watches him with thinly veiled amusement. And he seems more than content to let the awkward silence grow as he stares out the window.

Virgil’s not going to be the one to talk first.

The car pulls out of the city, onto the open road, and down, down, down to the gates of Crowsbook. Virgil stares unashamedly at the absolute palaces of houses they find, all white marble and manicured lawns and armies of staff tending to each one. The car keeps going, further and further into the mess Virgil doesn’t know a way out of as the anxiety builds.

Did the man…find him? Did he ask for him? Is he about to die? Is he about to be taken captive? What does he want? Was there something he saw in the papers? Is Virgil going to need to finish his will quicker than he anticipated?

The car jolting to a stop startles him. The door opens and he gets out, the man already walking toward the front door.

At least what Virgil assumes is the front door.

The place is fucking huge. It’s large enough to be a museum on its own, all tall walls and wings and—wait. Wait a goddamn second.

As the car pulls away, Virgil turns, catching sight of the name written over the entrance gate.

‘Ruxtole Estate.’

Shit. Shit.

Which means that the man who is now a client, the man whose house this is, the man who Virgil met at that building last night is—

Janus Delcour turns to him from the top of the entrance stairs. The house frowns about him, drawing Virgil closer into its jaws. The man raises a single eyebrow.

Virgil is so screwed.

The inside of the house is extravagant, he’s sure, but he’s not paying attention anymore. No, instead he’s got his eyes trained on the back of Mr. Delcour’s head, occasionally glancing around to keep track of how many turns they’re taking and where he’s going to have to go to get out. If Mr. Delcour notices anything, he doesn’t say. The click of dress shoes and the tip of a cane echo about the halls as he’s led deeper into the bowels of the mansion.

Only when another set of double doors is pushed open does Virgil accept that he has no idea where he is anymore.

“This,” Mr. Delcour says, “is my library. Several of these books are the only copies I have and unfortunately, that just won’t do.”

Virgil ignores the sweeping stacks of books in favor of fishing out pen and paper to write down the titles Mr. Delcour lists off. Some of them he’s heard of. Some of them he hasn’t. He glances about the library for a suitable place to sit and work only for Mr. Delcour to bid him to follow to another room.

“You’ll work here.”

Another office. At least, again, he has to guess that it’s an office because most offices don’t have two desks and a table. There’s a typewriter on the smaller—again, it’s the size of Virgil’s dining table—desk that Mr. Delcour gestured to off-hand.

“Your firm will have supplied you with the specifications of what I want printed,” he says, turning and leaning against the edge of his own desk, “along with deadlines and suggested benchmarks.”

Virgil’s fingers shake as he looks it over. He can do it, the schedule is…really reasonable, actually, but he can’t help glancing up at Mr. Delcour.

“Is there a problem?”

“Uh, no. No, sir. No problem.”

A hum, then Mr. Delcour tilts his head. “Do you have any questions?”

Why am I here? Did you track me down after last night? What was last night? What’s happening? Can I go home now?

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

Again. Rude.

“You can go ahead and get started, then,” Mr. Delcour says, turning and making to sit behind his own desk, “I’m sure someone like you can figure the rest out.”

And just like that, it’s like he doesn’t exist anymore. All he can do is look blankly at the list he’s written and turn, going back to the library to start looking. As he does, his mind fills with more and more questions, none of which he has answers to. The house yawns around him, its teeth bared and poised, ready to bite if he makes the slightest wrong move. He’s not used to this, being trapped like this, nor is he so used to the feeling of being watched when no one else is in the room. He knows that it’s ridiculous, that he just left the man in the office, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s about to turn around and find the tip of a cane pointed at his throat. He absentmindedly rubs at his neck as he finishes collecting the first set of books.

He hesitates at the door to the office again before biting his lip and just pushing the door open. Mr. Delcour doesn’t look up, which is great, and Virgil just sits down and pretends that this is a normal day of work with a normal workload for a normal client. Easier said than done.

Luckily for him and his workload, losing himself in typing has always been an easy feat. The words slur into sentences into paragraphs into pages, the papers sitting neatly in a growing pile to his left elbow. Every so often he catches Mr. Delcour looking at him before looking back down at his own work, but other than that, it’s as if Virgil is alone here, just working away.

Like this, it’s easy to forget that he’s sitting in the bowels of the most controversial estate in the country. It’s easy to forget that he’s typing at a desk that could’ve seen more bloodshed than an operating table. It’s easy to forget he’s just a few paces away from a man rumored to have the police, the lawyers, and the mayor in his pocket.

And that he met him last night in a speakeasy where he was all but threatened into keeping his mouth shut.

Easy to forget.

Easier when he glances at a clock and discovers that not only has he worked through both of his breaks, it’s nearly six in the evening.

Mr. Delcour notices the abrupt cease of keys and glances up. He follows Virgil’s gaze to the clock and raises an eyebrow.

“Do you have a prior appointment to get to?”

Virgil just blinks. “It’s late,” he says dumbly, “I should be going home.”

Mr. Delcour tilts his head. He stays silent. Virgil begins to itch under the gaze, getting up and making a show of cleaning the workspace up. When he stands up to leave, Mr. Delcour still hasn’t said a word.

“Is something wrong?”

It seems to shake the man out of his daze. He waves in Virgil’s general direction. “Go if you’re going.”

It’s an abrupt dismissal and one that leaves Virgil with the vague sense that he’s done something wrong.

The feeling lingers as he opens the door to his own apartment, walking inside and sitting down heavily. He takes off his coat on autopilot and leans back against the chair.

So.

He’s working for Janus Delcour.

He’s working in Ruxtole Estate.

He’s working in the same room as Janus Delcour.

Virgil’s breathing starts to pick up. His vision goes fuzzy. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to move. His table tilts away from him and the floor tilts up, rushing to meet him as the lights dim. He blinks and he’s looking at the ceiling, his lungs on fire as his mouth burns. His heart feels like it’s about to tear out of his chest.

He comes to with tears in his eyes and spittle all down one side of his face. He groans, his head immediately protesting the action as he tries to roll over. His ribs ache like he’s just run three miles flat. His legs ache too and his hands come back little by little, tingling as he opens and closes them. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe. Just breathe.

He lets his head fall forward onto his knees with a defeated sigh.

This is bad. This is really bad. This is really, really bad.

His chest itches. He needs his shirt off, his clothes off, he needs to wash the day away and have it be gone.

Virgil scrubs at his skin until there isn’t an inch that hasn’t been touched, until he can step out of his bathroom and breathe without feeling like there are eyes on him. He buries his face in his hands and scrubs at his face.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He can do this. He’s done this before. He just has put his head down and do the work. Do the work, pay your dues, and then get out and far away and hope they never think of you again. He’s had a lifetime to learn how to be forgettable.

Now all he has to do is figure out why the idea of Mr. Delcour forgetting him has his stomach dropping like he’s at Coney Island.

Maybe he’s just tired. Yes. Tomorrow everything will make more sense.

Everything, as it turns out, does not make more sense in the morning. Instead, Virgil wakes up and barely has time to choke down a cup of coffee before there’s another expensive car waiting outside his apartment to take him back to Ruxtole Estate. He lifts his chin, shoves everything under his mask of professionalism, and walks into the study as though he knows he’s supposed to be there.

“Ah,” Mr. Delcour says, looking up as he enters, “good. You’re here.”

“Good morning, sir.” He sits down and pulls the typewriters toward him. He doesn’t look up again as he starts where he left off.

“Any issues I should be worried about?”

“No, sir.”

“Did the car find you alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Delcour huffs. “Am I going to get a response out of you that isn’t two words, one of them ‘sir?’”

Virgil pauses. He glances up. “I don’t know, sir.”

He’s met with a raised eyebrow. “Careful, now.”

“Sorry, sir.” Virgil turns back to work. Fuck. Shit. He’s supposed to be being forgettable, not the most sarcastic version of himself he can be. Granted, that wasn’t all of his sarcasm, but…the idea is there.

After a few moments, he hears the familiar scratch of a pen and the rustling of papers. There. This is good. This is fine. Everything is fine. This won’t be an issue. He nods politely to Mr. Delcour when he leaves for home and spends the evening shoveling takeout into his mouth with chopsticks.

The next day is the same. He takes the car, says thank you to the driver who looks like he’s never been thanked a day in his life and walks back inside. He sits down with a quiet ‘good morning’ and does his best to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Occasionally he murmurs out loud to himself as he’s trying to figure out how a sentence is supposed to read and he’ll catch Mr. Delcour looking over at him.

“Sorry, sir,” he finds himself saying after one of the longer ones, “I can be quiet.”

“No need,” comes the reply, vaguely amused, “I can reassure myself that I have in fact read the books from my own library.”

Virgil pauses. “Are there…people who don’t?”

Mr. Delcour looks over at him, a smile growing. “A few.”

Virgil frowns. What kind of person would own a book and not bother to read it? That’s stupid. Books are made to be read. Only when there’s a chuckle from the other corner of the room does he realize he’s been glaring off into space for the last few minutes. He shakes himself and murmurs an apology before hurrying back to the typing.

“So what’s your favorite?”

He looks up. “Sir?”

“Your favorite,” Mr. Delcour repeats, “of the works you’ve copied.”

Virgil blinks. “Um…I don’t…I don’t make a habit of remembering them, I’m afraid, sir.”

“Oh, come now.” Mr. Delcour folds his hands on his desk. “You must read the words as you type them out, surely you remember some of them.”

“I remember them, I just don’t…” Virgil fumbles for the right words. “I remember them, I don’t get to read them.”

Mr. Delcour makes a noise in the back of his throat. “That does seem like a shame.”

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it.”

There’s a pause, but the silence doesn’t creep under Virgil’s shirt collar. Instead, as he starts to type again, he can feel Mr. Delcour watch him for another moment before speaking again.

“Is there one that you would’ve wanted to read?”

“Sir?”

“Instead of remembering,” comes the voice, “is there one you would’ve wanted to read?”

“I…” Virgil swallows. “There was a novel that came across my desk by Amelia Longsworth once.”

“Longsworth?” Mr. Delcour hums. “She’s science-fiction, isn’t she?”

“Y-yes, sir, or at least rumored to be.”

Mr. Delcour makes another noise, his chair swiveling back and forth as he looks at Virgil. “Are you a fan of science fiction?”

“…never really paid much attention to genre, sir.”

“Well, now, how do you find something you like to read?”

“I don’t, sir.”

Now Mr. Delcour frowns. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t often read for pleasure, sir, not when it’s my work.” Virgil switches the sheets of paper and begins to type again. “The few things I do read come recommended.”

Mr. Delcour is silent for a moment, and when Virgil looks up, he’s staring off into space.

“Sir?”

Mr. Delcour blinks. “Oh, nothing.”

He picks his pen up and that’s the end of it. Virgil goes back to work. Well. That was…not the most uncomfortable conversation he’s ever had. He’s suffered worse small talk waiting for the bus to arrive. And he…maybe he’s learned something.

If he finds himself enunciating his words a little more as he reads through sentences, that’s only so he has a better sense of how the words flow together.

He’s a little more genuine when he bids Mr. Delcour goodnight as he goes home.

The next few days progress similarly. He comes in, thanks the driver—whose name is Mickey, by the way—gets greeted as he enters the study, sits down, and gets to work. Something one of them says will draw the other’s attention and there will be a few moments of polite small talk before getting back to work. Virgil’s smile starts to feel a little less forced as he goes home.

But when he gets back to his apartment, the bubble pops.

He collapses onto his chair, shaking a little from the leftover adrenaline and wondering, wondering what the hell he thinks he’s doing. What he should be doing is be quiet. Keep his head down. Just work. Work and get out and make sure Mr. Delcour has no reason to remember his face, his voice, his words. Instead, he’s talking to the man, offering things about himself, answering questions. And while, yeah, maybe he could make an argument that being totally quiet would make him stand out more, the thought of possibly giving him more information on Virgil twists his stomach into knots.

But he can’t help it.

The longer he spends in that house, the more he actually spends time around the man and not the reputation, the less afraid he is. It’s not that big of a performance, putting on all of his social customs and behaving like he would in his office when there’s just the two of them in the same room. He doesn’t have so many eyes on him, he’s just…he can just be and work.

No small part of Virgil thrills at the thought.

He clenches his fist and takes another sip of his tea. It doesn’t matter. He can’t afford to get tied up in anything. If someone comes sniffing around Ruxtole Estate, even if he’s legally allowed to be there, even if he’s been contracted there, even if he’s been invited there, they still might ask questions.

He can’t have that.

No, Virgil makes up his mind to stay away from Mr. Delcour. He’s going to do his job and that’s it.

Of course, the next day decides that no, that’s not in fact what’s going to happen.

There’s a knock at the door and one of the staff opens it.

“Sir, a Mister Carmichael here to see you.”

Mr. Delcour nods and closes the file on his desk. Virgil looks between them as the door closes.

“Do you…want me to leave?”

“Hmm?” Mr. Delcour looks up at him. “No, no, no, no need. This shouldn’t take long.”

Still, Virgil glances between him and the door. He feels something nudging under the tip of his chin.

“Are you sure, sir?”

Mr. Delcour turns to him slowly. Virgil stares back, gaze darting all over his face. If the sudden intensifying of the gaze means anything, he’s sure Mr. Delcour knows exactly why he’s asking that question.

Mr. Delcour starts walking over to him. He holds Virgil’s gaze as he steps closer, closer, closer, until Virgil has to crane his neck back to look up at the man. Part of him wants to disappear into the chair and never emerge. Mr. Delcour tilts his head.

“I don’t have to threaten you,” he says quietly, “do I?”

Virgil swallows. “No, sir.”

“Then you don’t have to leave.”

Virgil nods sharply.

“Good.”

Mr. Delcour turns away and Virgil suppresses a shudder. The man walks back over to sit behind his desk and opens another folder. He picks up his pen and starts writing. No sooner has he done that, the door opens.

“Mister Carmichael, sir.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Delcour looks up and Virgil quickly tries to pay attention to his work as another man in a suit walks into the room. “And what brings you here today?”

“Uh, you called for me, sir.”

“Did I?” Virgil is definitely typing right now. He changes the sheet of paper as Mr. Delcour makes another note in his folder. “Ah, yes, that’s right, I did.”

Mister Carmichael shuffles. He glances at Virgil who studiously ignores it. He doesn’t ignore it when Mr. Delcour points to the chair opposite his desk.

“Sit.”

The other man sits, his hat clutched in his hands, worrying the brim. Mr. Delcour keeps looking at the folder in front of him. Virgil tries to lose himself in the words. He gets a few more paragraphs in before Mr. Delcour speaks.

“Do you recall what I asked you to do?”

Mister Carmichael startles. “Uh, you asked me to retrieve the packages from the pick-up location, sir.”

“And what location did I ask you to deliver them to?”

“The, uh, the storage one.”

The scratching of the pen stops.

“The, um,” he splutters, “the one down by the docks. Where Mr. Balton works. That one.”

Mr. Delcour sets down the pen and folds his hands. “By all means, Mister Carmichael, do repeat the same piece of information over and over again, you know how that thrills me.”

Virgil’s fingers stutter on the typewriter and he has to take a deep breath before he keeps typing.

“Uh, sorry, sir.”

Mr. Delcour hums. “Would you perhaps, then, be able to tell me why Mr. Balton has yet to receive these packages?”

Mister Carmichael begins to fidget with his hat again. “Uh, there’s been a traffic jam, sir. There’s—one of the bridges is out for construction and the truck has to be rerouted.”

“Oh, does it now?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“And where, may I ask,” Mr. Delcour says, voice far too light, “is the truck being rerouted to?”

Mister Carmichael stutters again. Mr. Delcour raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, dear. I hope you’re not losing your ability to speak. That would be most unfortunate for you.”

“No, no, n-no, sir, I can still speak.”

“Oh.” The voice takes on a tone of mock surprise. “Then you should be able to tell me where the truck is being re-routed.”

“Of course, sir, I can tell you, it’s, um, it’s—“

“Because the interesting thing,” Mr. Delcour says, “is that you claim you can tell me where the truck is, and yet you don’t seem to be able to follow through on your word.”

Virgil goes to change the sheet of paper and glances up, just in time to see Mr. Delcour tilt his head.

“And we don’t appreciate it when people don’t keep their word, do we?”

“N-no, sir.”

Virgil swallows.

“Then we’re in a bit of a situation,” Mr. Delcour says, “aren’t we?”

“Fifth Street Bridge,” Virgil blurts out.

Both men freeze and turn to look at him slowly. Mr. Delcour raises an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“The bridge that’s been closed for construction is Madison Avenue’s,” Virgil says, valiantly ignoring the way his leg twitches under the table, “the only other bridge that is used to heavy traffic is Fifth Street.”

“Y-yeah, yeah!” Mister Carmichael looks back at Mr. Delcour. “It’s gone through there. I got a call from Barney that said they were bringing it the long way around, to try and get it into the shipping lanes.”

Mr. Delcour still hasn’t looked away from Virgil. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks Virgil up and down.

“Then I imagine you’ll need to be there to ensure the proper trade-off,” he says after a while.

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, I do.”

Mr. Delcour hums, looking back at him. “Then why are you still here?”

The man takes the hint and gets up, all but running out of the room. Virgil lets out a breath as the door closes, quickly finding the page he was on and beginning to type again. His fingers settle back into the keys of the typewriter as he tries to slow his racing heart.

“How did you know,” Mr. Delcour says suddenly, “that it was Madison bridge that closed?”

Virgil clears his throat. “Mickey and I got caught in the flack from it this morning. We had to go over Fifth.”

Mr. Delcour hums. Virgil glances up to see him looking at him with…an expression.

“Good job.”

Virgil blinks in surprise, feeling heat rush to his face. “Thank…you?”

The corner of Mr. Delcour’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

Virgil closes the door to his apartment with an odd feeling in his chest. That was…bizarre. He can’t tell whether it was a self-sacrificial need to bail Carmichael out of the way of Mr. Delcour’s wrath, or the need to offer information, or what, but he can’t put a finger on exactly why he decided to offer up that information. He collapses into his chair and rakes a hand through his hair.

Unbidden, the image of Mr. Delcour’s face springs to mind when Virgil had given him the answer and explained how he knew. The slight widening of the eyes, a quirk of the eyebrow. And especially the way he’d smiled. Sure, his lips had one turned up a little bit at one corner, but it was a smile. He’s smiled. Virgil had made Mr. Delcour smile.

And now there was a different funny feeling in his chest. Surprisingly enough, this one didn’t feel quite as awful.

It doesn’t go away when he gets back to work the next day. Instead, when Mr. Delcour looks up to bid him good morning, he’s smiling at Virgil. And Virgil finds himself smiling back.

This has the potential to be bad. To go wrong in so many different ways. And yet…it doesn’t. Nothing happens. At least nothing big happens. They’re still talking as they work, but it’s different now. Now, Mr. Delcour will start to make remarks about his work, murmuring details to himself as he writes or asking Virgil to bring him a book from one of the shelves nearer the walls. Virgil is careful to make sure their fingers never brush when he hands off the book, but sometimes Mr. Delcour will look at him as he hands it over and it’s much closer than it should be.

It would be wrong to say that Virgil relaxes into working here, but he does…settle. To the point where when he spots something he thinks needs to be addressed, he only hesitates for a moment before raising his voice.

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to guess that if there are typos in the original prints, you don’t want them replicated into the transcriptions?”

Mr. Delcour looks up. “A typo? In the printed book?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Delcour frowns, standing up and coming over to Virgil’s side. He holds out his hand for the book and Virgil passes it to him, pointing out the word in question. Mr. Delcour raises an eyebrow.

“Well,” he murmurs, handing it back, “well-spotted.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Virgil mumbles.

“Mm. Yes, correct it when you can, and note the name and page number if you could.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Delcour pauses on the way back to his own desk, reaching out and laying a gloved hand on the stack on the end of Virgil’s desk. “These were all given to me,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, “I wonder why they still have errors.”

“Maybe they’re the author’s copy,” Virgil tries, “before the editors got their hands on them.”

Mr. Delcour laughs. Like, actually laughs. It’s short, over before Virgil can truly recognize it, but he laughs.

“I’m sure that would explain why some of them read more like a stream of consciousness than planned out novels.”

Virgil just blinks. Mr. Delcour looks over his shoulder, the laugh fading into a smile as he indicates the typewriter.

“As you were.”

It takes another moment for Virgil to refocus on his work. He dutifully notes the typos as he finds them. Book title, page number, typo and corrected word. The list is not long, he’s only found a couple in the span of a few days, but the list stays at his right elbow as he works.

And maybe, just maybe, he stops holding back all of his quips if only to hear the quiet huff of laughter from across the room.

“I’m going out,” Mr. Delcour announces a few days later, startling Virgil as he’s in the middle of a chapter that just won’t end, “feel free to stay as long as you like, Mickey will bring the car around for you when you’re ready to leave.”

Virgil barely has time to get a word in edgewise before he’s out the door.

For a moment, he just sits there, almost frozen, staring at an empty room that by all rights should feel empty with him in it. The typewriter sits impatiently under his hands. He’s alone in the Ruxtole Estate.

Well, alone save for the staff.

That’s enough. Virgil takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. The staff is still here. He’s not alone in this house. If he were to wander—which he most definitely will not be doing—he would run into someone. He will not wander. He will not go anywhere. It is enough to know he is not alone in this house.

That’s good.

That’s…that’s good.

He takes another deep breath and begins to lose himself in the writing again. The repetitive keys, the occasional pause to shift a piece of paper in and out, and of course, turning the pages of the books. Every so often he’ll glance up and it takes him a while to name the ache he feels when Mr. Delcour isn’t there with him too.

Then, of course, he glances up and blinks.

He looks around.

Oh. Oh, the sun’s set. Oh, he should leave. He should’ve left about two hours ago. Oh, dear. He needs to go. He should go right now. Right now.

He hastens to finish the page he’s working on because he can’t just up and leave in the middle of a task, but his fingers won’t click as fast as he needs them to and he can’t afford to start making mistakes right now. So he takes a deep breath and starts to type.

He jumps when he hears footsteps getting closer to the door and just manages to steel himself when the door swings open.

“Virgil?”

“Sorry, sir,” Virgil says, swallowing his fear as best he can, “I—I lost track of time.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Virgil will not turn around. He will not. He hears the footsteps get closer, closer, until half of his body tingles from having someone right behind him.

“I’m sorry, sir, I can leave now—“

“It’s late,” Mr. Delcour breaks in quietly, walking over to his desk and setting his coat down on top, “you must be tired.”

“…sir?”

“Do you want to stay?”

Virgil’s brain stutters to a halt. What? Stay? Here? Here?

“I—I’d hate to impose, sir—“

Mr. Delcour huffs. “You’ve seen the size of this place, Virgil, one more person is hardly an imposition.”

“I—I—“

Mr. Delcour just waits patiently. Virgil should say no. Literally every part of his brain is screaming at him to say no. To get out, to go home, to be as much of an inconvenience as he can be just to go.

“…only if it’s not too much trouble.”

Mr. Delcour lets out another huff, his head bowing for a moment as he walks back across the room, a slight smile on his face.

“I think, Virgil,” he says quietly, not enough to disrupt the silence, “that you and I have very different definitions of trouble.”

That thought keeps Virgil awake long into the night on a bed covered with sheets that don’t belong to him.

He doesn’t know how to navigate the next morning. Someone comes to his door with a small tray of breakfast, leaving him to get re-dressed in the clothes he wore yesterday and coming to collect them once he’d finished. He follows them awkwardly back to the office and tries valiantly to pretend that this isn’t the most uncomfortable thing in the world.

Mr. Delcour isn’t inside when he gets there and Virgil is grateful for it, sinking back into the work as if it’ll let him escape from this confusing mess of a house.

Of course, that wishful thinking is conveniently overlooking the fact that anytime Mr. Delcour walks into the room, he commands the entirety of Virgil’s attention.

“If I hadn’t personally made you leave,” he says wryly as he strides into the room, looking as if he’d stepped off the runway of some fashion event Virgil could never put a name to, “I would’ve guessed you’d worked all night.”

When Virgil doesn’t respond with a quip or even acknowledge that he’d spoken, Mr. Delcour pauses, glancing at him before down at Virgil’s desk.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine, sir,” Virgil manages, “thank you. And, um, thank you for letting me stay. Last night, I mean. It, um…I won’t lose track of time like that again.”

Another pause. Then Mr. Delcour reaches out and a gloved hand gently tugs Virgil’s collar into place.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” he says softly, robbing Virgil’s breath with the slightest brush of gloved fingers against his throat.

Virgil has a harder time focusing that morning and if he leaves right on time, it isn’t because Mr. Delcour’s slightly smug smile is chasing him out of the door.

He can’t stop fussing with his collar, to the extent that Mickey asks him if he’s alright. He waves him off, saying he’s just a little antsy, he misses his apartment. Mickey makes a noise of understanding and promises to pick him up in the morning. Virgil storms upstairs and packs his things away hurriedly, absentmindedly running his hands over his throat, his collar, loosening his tie and pouring himself a glass of water.

He stayed at the Ruxtole Estate last night. He stayed in Mr. Delcour’s house last night.

He spent a night in Mr. Delcour’s house and the man asked if he’d slept well.

Virgil’s head feels fuzzy. His throat is dry. His chest itches a little. He shakes his head back and forth to clear it, downing another glass of water and storming to his bedroom.

He needs to get out. He needs to not be in four walls. He needs to breathe.

Within a few minutes, he’s changed and out the door, stopping to check the mailbox on the way. No new slips of paper. He did say he’d be taking a break, that he almost got nabbed and they needed to find someone else for a bit, but he checks. He doesn’t need to worry about that right now.

He vanishes into the crowd of night goers, effortlessly losing himself in their mess of glitz and glamor. No one notices him in a crowd and there is no better place to be alone than surrounded by strangers. The street comes alive under their feet and hums, carrying them this way and that in the bowels of an unsleeping city.

His feet remember the way to go, even if his head doesn’t know where he’s going. He slips behind the train station and down, down past the maintenance tunnel and into the barber shop. The clerk behind the counter takes a look at him and nods, gesturing to the door behind the third chair.

Virgil opens the door and is confronted with the loud music of a speakeasy. He swirls in between the crowd of bodies, moving through them as if they’re water until he gets to the bar.

“Virgil,” the bartender says, sliding him a glass, “haven’t seen you in an age. Where’ve you been?”

“Here and there,” he says vaguely, raising the glass to his lips, “but I’m sure you don’t need to know specifics.”

“That I don’t!” The bartender slides another drink further down the bar. “I have enough people in here complaining about their life stories, I don’t need any more. Just for that, your drink’s on the house.”

Virgil raises the glass in a toast and lets the whiskey burn down his throat. This. This is what he needs. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend that the burn is only on the inside and not on the outside, where a gloved hand may or may not have brushed his throat.

“Can I get another?”

“This one you’ve gotta pay for.”

“Deal.”

One drink becomes two. Two becomes three. By drink four, Virgil isn’t worried about thinking anymore. Instead, the air around him begins to spin, swept up in the music that reaches deep into his chest and twists, drawing forth not thoughts, not words, just rush. It’s past the point where things rationally start to link together and Virgil is awash in sensation.

Someone is talking to him. Virgil assumes he’s speaking back. A man’s hand is on his shoulder. He’s laughing. They’re laughing. They’re laughing together. Virgil is being invited for lunch. He thinks he says yes. He thinks the man’s name is Charlie. The man laughs at him and says yes, his name is Charlie, Virgil’s name is Virgil. Charlie’s hand is on his arm. It burns but it doesn’t hurt.

Charlie’s arm is around his waist. They’re walking up the stairs. Virgil can think a little better in the cool night air. There is a pleasant drunken flush to his cheeks but he has some of his words back, even if his tongue is a little thick. They get into a car. They go up a set of stairs. There’s a glass in his hand and he fills it with water from a sink. Charlie is drinking water too. They both say something about sobering up.

Charlie’s hand is in his hair. Charlie’s arm is around his back. Charlie’s body is pulling him through a door.

Virgil walks up the steps to his own apartment just as the clock strikes two in the morning.

Mickey comes to pick him up and they drive back to the estate. Virgil waves thank you to Mickey as he walks up the stairs and inside. The office door doesn’t creak as he opens it, calling out a polite ‘good morning’ as he sits down. Mr. Delcour raises his head, only to frown at Virgil.

“Is there something wrong?”

Mr. Delcour just keeps looking at him strangely. Virgil shifts a little under the scrutiny, checking if there’s something on his face, on his clothes, anything.

“Did you hurt yourself last night?”

“What? No, sir, I don’t think so.”

“You’re walking different.”

“What?”

Mr. Delcour gestures at him with a pen. “You’re walking different.”

“Uh…maybe I slept on it wrong.”

He’s stared at for a few more moments before Mr. Delcour turns back to his work. Virgil breathes a sigh of relief and sits down.

They work like that for a few hours, each one expressing vague exasperation at the words in front of them, much to the delight of the other, before Virgil looks up at the clock and suddenly lets out a laugh.

“Something amusing?”

“Oh, I just realized why it seems like I have no food in my house whenever I go home.”

“Oh?” Mr. Delcour raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Because we’ve been working through lunch almost every day.”

Mr. Delcour blinks. Then he tilts his head. “…that’s rather…out of character.”

“What is?”

“Me working through lunch.” Mr. Delcour glances at him. “I must’ve been…distracted.”

The tips of Virgil’s ears turn red as Mr. Delcour stands up from his desk.

“Well, then. Let’s go get something to eat, shall we?”

Virgil follows the other man into the hall, down the stairs, into a large dining room that makes Virgil feel inadequate simply by existing. Mr. Delcour steps through into a kitchen, presumably, talking to the staff there while Virgil gazes around at all the silverware and napkins that cost more than half his rent.

“You don’t mind sandwiches, do you?”

“Huh?” Virgil swings around to see Mr. Delcour not even trying to cover a smile at watching him jump.

“Sandwiches,” he says slowly, “yes?”

“Yes, yes, fine, thank you.”

“Well, it might be a moment, so…” He gestures to a chair. “Feel free to sit.”

Virgil looks at the chair like touching it will make one of them self-combust.

“It’s just a chair,” comes the voice that’s definitely laughing at him, “it won’t hurt you.”

Part of Virgil wants to cover his hand with his sleeve before he pulls out the chair. But that might be even more rude, so he doesn’t do that. But he wants to.

Mr. Delcour is still laughing at him when he sits down, finally, shuffling like he’s worried about putting his weight on the chair.

“That,” he says, “was definitely the most graceful way I’ve ever seen someone sit down.”

Virgil burns with embarrassment and he clenches his jaw, not making eye contact. A cane taps against his foot under the table and he startles.

“Relax,” Mr. Delcour says, half-mocking, “nothing’s going to bite you.”

Virgil tries. Honestly he does, but the air of rich, lux, excess pushes in on him at this table, with Mr. Delcour at the head, and he feels so out of place. Even if another chair were filled, it would be better, but it’s just an absolute mess and he has no idea what he’s doing and he’s being rude now and—and—

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, oblivious to the eyes watching him keenly and the smile that is no longer apparent on its face.

The sandwiches come out and Virgil murmurs a thank you, eating it with as much dignity as one can eat a sandwich. Not much, but the effort is there and he keeps his eyes on his own food. It might be better to not eat at all if he’s going to feel this awkward doing it all the time.

No sooner has that thought crossed his mind, though, Mr. Delcour speaks up.

“Well, yes, that certainly does explain my penchant for absolutely terrorizing the staff during dinner,” he sighs, taking a drink from the glass set next to his elbow, “however could I have missed that?”

The man is a terror while hungry. Good to know.

Virgil stifles a laugh. Mr. Delcour gives him a look that’s clearly meant to make him keep his comments to himself but the man himself is smiling a little too much for it to be believable. So instead, Virgil simply shrugs and thanks him for lunch.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Delcour says, waving a gloved hand, “please. Thank me when I take you out properly.”

Virgil’s brain stutters. “What?”

“Well, we can keep staring at these walls for days,” he drawls, getting to his feet, “or we can take proper breaks as we work.”

He winks at Virgil and the rest of Virgil’s brain goes offline.

“Besides,” he says as he walks out of the dining room, “it’s not as if we lack for money to spend.”

So that’s how Virgil ends up going out to lunch with one of the richest men in the city on a daily basis. They don’t always go all the way into the city, nor do they frequent the types of places where Virgil gets looked at for the off-the-rack suit he’s wearing, but it happens enough times that one day, as they drive back, Mr. Delcour turns to Virgil in the back seat.

“While I can’t say I’ve never felt the need to distance myself from a restaurant, I certainly don’t do it with the extent that you seem to.”

Virgil swallows, looking out the window of the car. “Sorry, sir.”

Mr. Delcour is quiet for a moment. “Virgil.”

“Sir?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Sir?”

“You’re clearly uncomfortable,” Mr. Delcour says, “so what is it?”

Virgil takes a moment to breathe. “I’m not a fan of places where the waitstaff look at me like I’m a stain they want to rub out.”

The car is quiet for a moment.

“No, I would imagine not,” Mr. Delcour says finally, the gold top of his cane reflecting the sunlight as he toys with it, “I suppose that would make me want to run away too.”

Virgil swallows, trying for something that will lighten the mood. “Plus, I’m not in the habit of getting overcharged for something.”

Now Mr. Delcour raises an eyebrow. “Overcharged?”

“I’ve got a friend who runs her own restaurant a few towns over. She came into the city for a culinary thing once and spent about half her night off ranting to me about how the all charge too much for the sake of it.”

Mr. Delcour chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure she did.”

“Named about half a dozen places that were just as good if not better for half the price.”

“And these would be?”

And just like that, Virgil’s suddenly picking the places they go for lunch. It’s his turn to hide a smile when Mr. Delcour’s eyes widen in surprise at how good the food is and pretend he doesn’t see when a tip of far more than fifteen percent ends up in the cheque at the end of it. It’s his turn to exchange a look with Mickey in the rearview mirror when Mr. Delcour says he’d never been to that place before.

It’s…nice.

Which definitely means that Virgil’s plan of becoming forgettable is not working as well as he wanted it to.

But…but maybe he doesn’t want to anymore.

The first night they met is getting harder and harder to remember. Now when he sees Mr. Delcour, the first thing he thinks of isn’t the cold and calculating look in his eyes when he held Virgil in place with nothing but a stare, it’s the barely concealed amusement when Virgil makes a quip about how clearly the writer of a book wanted the reader to be as lost as the characters. It’s no longer the threat of a tipped cane at his throat but the gentle brush of gloved fingers as they fix his collar. It’s no longer the dry promise of a threat with the assuredness of full compliance but the sudden softness of a good morning or a good night.

Which might explain why he’s losing track of time more.

He makes sure to not look at Mr. Delcour’s smug smile when he starts to end work later and later and he definitely doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking to stay. So each night, when he gets up to leave, Mr. Delcour makes a game of just how long he can stretch out the offer of having Virgil spend the night.

Unfortunately for him, Virgil can and will take all opportunities to be thrown out of someone’s house as serious offers and not jokes, which results in Mr. Delcour physically blocking the door with his cane one night and huffing that Virgil knows where his room is, just go upstairs.

“Besides,” he calls as he walks away from a smirking Virgil, “Ms. Beale will be quite unhappy if the cinnamon rolls she’s baking for breakfast go to waste.”

Virgil will not be blackmailed with baked goods.

But he will be persuaded.

“Virgil,” Mr. Delcour says quietly when Virgil comes into the office the next morning still fixing his collar, “would you like to keep some of your clothes here?”

Virgil’s hand falters on his collar. “Sorry, sir?”

Mr. Delcour hides a smile as he gets up and walks over to him, beckoning him closer so he can tug the collar properly into place.   “Would you like to keep some suits here,” he repeats, “it might be easier on us both rather than you going back to that apartment every few days.”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Easier on us both?”

“Well, you won’t be dragging yourself in and out of the same suit more than once and I won’t have to be convincing you of something we both know you want.”

“Are you admitting you have trouble keeping up with me, sir?”

Mr. Delcour raises an eyebrow and pointedly fixes Virgil’s tie. “Trouble understanding why only a fool would deny something obvious when you clearly have some sort of intelligence in that pretty head of yours, perhaps.”

Well. That’s unfair.

What is also unfair is that this feels…ordinary. It’s ordinary that Mickey picks him and a suitcase up the next morning, ordinary that he drops it off in the room he’s started to think of as his before going into the office. It shouldn’t—he is a contractor hired to do a job, this man is technically the client of his company. And yet…and yet.

So ordinary, in fact, that when Ms. Beale says there’s a call for him on the hall telephone, he doesn’t find it strange that whoever is looking for him knows to call here.

At least, not until he picks up the phone and says hello.

“Hello, lover boy,” he hears across the line and his blood runs cold.

“Who is this?”

“Why, doll, I’m hurt,” the voice simpers, “don’t you remember me? Our lovely night of passion?”

Virgil glances around. The hall is empty. He turns back to the phone and hisses into it.

“Who are you?”

“My, my, all the giggle juice must’ve been bad for your brain,” the voice laughs, “you knew me as Charlie, baby.”

Charlie. Virgil remembers.

Charlie’s hand in his hair. Charlie’s arm around his back. Charlie’s body pulling him through a door. Charlie—

Remembers, but not enough.

“What do you want,” he manages through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come now,” Charlie laughs, “why so hostile? You seemed to enjoy my attention during our night together.”

Oh, no.

“Our illicit, illegal night together.”

Fuck. Shit. The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stand up.

“You’re just as much to blame for that as I was,” Virgil snarls, “don’t forget that.”

“Me? I’m a happily married man, forcibly seduced by a dandy.”

Fucker wasn’t wearing a ring, a dark part of Virgil hisses even as he crowds closer to the phone. “You can’t prove that.”

“Oh, but I can, lover boy.”

Virgil’s hands begin to shake.

“You see, turns out that my neighbors were frightfully concerned about that night,” the voice says, “and would agree to be witnesses, I’m sure, if I ask. I’ve also got some photographs that would go a long way in front of a judge—“

“Stop,” Virgil grits out as nausea threatens the back of his throat, “just…stop.”

He takes a deep breath.

“What do you want?”

“Two thousand, this time next month.”

“I don’t have that kind of money!”

“That’s not my problem, lover boy,” Charlie giggles over the phone, “I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead. Virgil aches and part of him wants to go with it. He fumbles to get the phone back on its hook and his knees give out. He collapses to the ground and his chest begins to burn. He blinks. His vision blurs. His lungs catch fire as his throat splits in two. He blinks. The ceiling stares back at him as he pants himself ragged.

Someone has proof. Someone has proof. Someone has evidence against him that proves it. He’s—he’s—oh, god—

Virgil curls in on himself as he shudders on the floor. He has to get up. He has to figure this out. He has to come up with a plan, if not to get the truly insane amount of money then just to go. He’s done it once, he can do it again, he just has to—just has to—

But he can’t.

Because it won’t matter where he goes, not with this kind of proof. They’ll find him. Someone will find him.

Even if Virgil doesn’t want to be found.

Virgil takes a deep breath and pushes himself off the floor. He takes another, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them, desperately hoping someone won’t come and find him curled up like a sniveling child.

A familiar weight sinks into his shoulders. An old yoke he thought he cast away long ago. No. Not again. He won’t be a pawn in someone else’s scheme. He won’t let it happen. He’ll find away out.

He’ll find a way.

He pushes himself to his feet and tries his best to walk like something other than a dead man.

As it turns out, he’s not the only one who isn’t paying attention for the rest of the day. Mr. Delcour hardly spares him a glance as he comes back in, writing with a strange ferocity at his desk. The two of them fill the air with stilted noises and repetitive mutters of words neither of them can remember.

Mr. Delcour pushes his chair back as the sun starts to go down.

“I’m going out for the night,” he says as he passes Virgil, “don’t wait up.”

The door shuts behind him. Virgil waits until the footsteps vanish down the hall to push the typewriter further away and collapse onto his arms.

He’s been an idiot. He’s been such a fucking idiot.

This wasn’t some innocent thing that young boys do, this wasn’t somewhere where he knows everybody else, this was in the middle of a big city where people were as mysterious and nebulous as they come.

Was the man’s name even Charlie? Virgil doubts it.

Was he even drunk? Was this all a calculated con?

Did they figure they could extort Virgil because he knew Mr. Delcour? Is that why they asked for so much?

A bank won’t give him a loan that quickly and he has nothing to use as collateral. He doesn’t know anyone with that much money that would just give it to him and the idea of explaining what it’s for is enough to threaten another episode.

Virgil doesn’t know what to do.

After a good ten minutes of feeling sorry for himself, he picks his head up off the table and tries to get back to work. The words are slow, they don’t come quiet as quickly as he’s used to, but they do come and so he works. He works long into the night, hoping to numb his brain of all but the soft click-clack of his typewriter and the words, words, words on the page. The sun sets and stays set as Virgil works by the light of the bulbs in the corner of the room.

Footsteps.

But strange footsteps. Not the self-assured click of Mr. Delcour, nor the nearly silent ones of the staff. These ones drag. One foot hits the ground heavier than the other. Virgil stays put, continuing to type, only pauses when something thuds against the door.

He hears a muffled curse.

He turns, getting up just as someone pushes the door open with a groan.

“S-sir?”

Mr. Delcour looks up and Virgil’s eyes widen. The man is clearly injured. There’s a sharp graze along his jaw and he’s clutching his side. He looks equally as startled to see Virgil.

“I thought I told you,” he says in a painful wheeze, “not to wait up.”

“I thought I told you not to get hurt,” Virgil shoots back, hurrying forward to help the man to the couch.

“Oh, I’m sorry” Mr. Delcour mutters through gritted teeth, “did you say that? I missed the part where you said that.”

“Well, clearly I should have!”

Virgil lays Mr. Delcour down carefully on the couch, setting his cane aside but in easy reach and narrowing his eyes at him.

“Do you have a medical kit in here?”

“No, of course not, why would I?”

“Then why were you coming to this room?”

Mr. Delcour stares at him for a moment. Then he jerks his head toward his desk. “Second drawer.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” Virgil quickly fetches the kit and sits back down on the part of the couch currently not occupied by legs that are too long and a torso that should not be having this much trouble breathing. “How bad is it?”

“I’m just peachy, thank you.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Please, continue putting up a front, it will certainly make my job easier.”

“Oh, well, if you say so.”

Virgil grits his teeth. “I need to make sure your ribs aren’t broken and your lung isn’t about to get punctured. Those aren’t fun, trust me.”

Mr. Delcour looks up at him with a furrowed brow. Virgil sighs.

“You’re not the only one whose ever been thrown around, okay? Just…let me help?”

Mr. Delcour stares at him for a little longer before he gives a tiny nod.

“Thank you.” Virgil swallows. “Uh, we’re going to need to get your shirt off.”

As expected, he’s greeted with a raised eyebrow and the shadow of a smirk. “Quite eager to get me out of my clothes, are we?”

“I’m eager for you not to bleed out on this couch.”

Mr. Delcour tries to laugh but it comes out as a pained chuckle.

“Come on, just…can you sit up a bit? There, that’ll—that’ll make it easier.”

Virgil keeps his eye on his hands as he works, ignoring the fact that he’s taking off Mr. Delcour’s suit in favor of trying to assess how much damage has been done.

The man was able to walk here, so if his lung was going to be punctured it most likely would’ve been. He can still talk and lying down didn’t seem to make it worse, so he’s probably just got some bad bruising. And, as he carefully peels away the waistcoat to reveal a clean white shirt, he’s not bleeding. Very good.

“I’m going to undo your shirt now,” Virgil says softly, “stop me if you need to.”

He undoes each button with care, pausing any time there’s a sudden intake of breath or Mr. Delcour’s hands twitch. He’s careful to avoid touching his chest directly, easing the fabric away from his ribs to reveal a truly nasty bruise but nothing open.

“Well,” he mumbles, “could be worse.”

Another wheezing chuckle.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up.” He reaches for the kit and pulls out a tin of bruise cream, unscrewing the lid and glancing at how much is left. A fair amount. “Can I put this on?”

“Be my guest.”

Virgil is as careful as he knows how, pointedly ignoring the expanse of skin in front of him in favor of minding how much pressure he uses as he rubs the cream in. He can feel Mr. Delcour’s eyes on him as he works.

“You’re awfully good at that.”

“Practice.”

Mr. Delcour hums. “Now how could someone like you get good at something like this?”

Virgil stays quiet. His fingers dip back into the cream as he starts to work on the rest of the bruise.

“You’re a competent man,” Mr. Delcour continues, completely matter of fact, as if each word isn’t threatening to make heat pool in the base of Virgil’s cheeks, “good at your job, accomplished, efficient…”

“You’re very kind, sir.”

He gently taps Mr. Delcour’s side to get him to shift a little. Mr. Delcour does, but this has the consequence of now he’s staring directly at Virgil’s face.

“Respectable, too.” He tilts his head, considering him. “No disciplinary reports, no troubling incidents, no criminal record.”

Virgil’s hands pause for a moment. “You did a background check on me?”

“I was inviting you into my home, did you expect anything different?”

Virgil swallows and tries to continue. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing of note.” Mr. Delcour shifts. “Which is what made me wonder.”

“…wonder what?”

“Why someone like you would need to be running bribe slips up and down the city.”

Part 2 bc tumblr is a bitch

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #virgil sanders #janus sanders #deceitful #sympathetic deceit

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artaefact · 3 years

Text

grinchly, yours.

—wordcount: 15k+

—genre: angst, fluff, bookshop owner!reader, florist!hoseok, bookshop au, christmas au, flower shop au, s2l au

—pairing: jung hoseok x f reader

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: awkward moments, a cemetery scene, mention loss of loved ones, a soft!hobi

—summary: Christmas time is around the corner, everyone is celebrating to their heart’s content, but not you. No, you despise Christmas and the joy it brings. That is, until a friendly florist decides to pay your bookstore a visit.

author’s note: i’ve been meaning to write a character with the grinch’s personality and this story has been revolving around my head for some time !! happy reading everyone 💖

prompt: “carolling” for @btsholidaybingo event & “winter market date” for @kdiarynet winter hearts event !!

You nearly lose it when a snowflake lands on your face — specifically, your eye — for the third time now as you pad along the asphalt road. Releasing a breath, you calm yourself. This should be a regular occurrence for you. Still, you can’t help but scowl at the sight of fake candy canes and decorated fir trees near the streets and shops, and well, basically everywhere.

Once you near your bookshop, another annoyed sigh escapes your lips when you find a group of people singing right in front of the door again. Honestly, your patience is running thin as you have once told them to not sing in front of your bookstore.

Cursing under your breath, you try not to meet anyone’s eye and opt to quickly enter your shop. However, one of the members notices you and waves at you. You recognise him as Jimin — a local baker who likes to stop by your bookstore to look for recipe books.

After responding with a brief nod at him, you unlock your door and rush inside.

It’s not even Christmas yet, so why are these people singing Christmas carols early in the morning already? The sun has barely even risen up!

A relieved sigh escapes your lips when you can’t hear the choir anymore, at least muffled by the door of your bookstore. Moving towards the cashier table, you place your messenger bag underneath it before getting to work.

Carrying boxes of books back and forth from the supply room is the daily norm for you. You find comfort hidden between the shelves while you stack the newly-delivered books neatly into their allocated place. Many would say that it’s a lonely job, especially since you refuse to hire anyone to work in your store. But you don’t. You seldom feel that way.

The soft music from the jukebox is the only thing that keeps the bookshop from falling into complete silence as you work on reshelving and rearranging the books. That is until the bell on top of the front door rings.

“Welcome!” You place the books on the wooden floor, standing up only to see Jimin peering on the aisle you’re in, smiling ear-to-ear.

Sighing internally, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to pop in and say hi.”

You sit back down on the wooden floor and continue to shelf the books. “Didn’t you do that before?”

“You didn’t say a word.” He moves closer and plops down beside you.

You merely shake your head, still focusing on your task. “How many times do I have to tell you not to let those choir people sing in front of my store?”

“Right,” Jimin answers sheepishly. “You see, we are still scouting for another area and—”

“Well then, find it quicker. Why don’t they just sing in front of your bakery?”

“It’s not exactly an ideal spot for singing…”

“And the front of my store is?”

“There’s not much public transport station here—”

You huff in annoyance. “If you don’t have anything else to do besides making excuses, I would appreciate it if you leave. As you can see—” Lifting one of the books in emphasis, “—my hands are full.”

Despite your cold words, Jimin dismisses it quickly. “Well, I’m looking for a book about plants.”

“Botany?” Your brows furrow. “Did baking go wrong?”

He snorts. “As if, but my friend is looking for one. He asked me if I could get one for him.”

“Is there a particular book he’s searching for?”

Jimin hands you a piece of paper.

“Oh, I have to place an order for this one,” you utter. “I’ll send you a text when it has arrived.”

Nodding, Jimin finally stands up and is ready to leave when you call him.

“Oh, and Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

“For the last time, take your fellow choir crew somewhere else to sing.”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

The box lands on the cashier desk with a thump before you send a message to Jimin, a week later.

[ 2:05 PM ] You: your friend’s book is here

Placing your phone on the table, you peel off the wrapping tape and open the box. The printed white letters of Guide to Gardening contrast against the pine green background of the hardcover as tiny drawn flowers scatter across the edge of the cover.

You read the synopsis curiously, wondering how someone can find garden-work interesting when your phone dings — a text notification from Jimin lights up your phone screen.

[ 2:09 PM ] Jimin: Oh! I’ll tell my friend to pick up the book himself. He should be able to swing by today.

Not bothering to reply to him, you put away the book for safekeeping — leaving Jimin on read, as usual, and get back to check your supplies, making sure everything’s in stock.

An hour or two have passed until someone enters your bookstore. “Excuse me?”

Looking up from the papers, a new customer staring at you. “May I help you?” You ask, standing up from your seat.

“I ordered a book. And my friend, Jimin, told me it has arrived.”

“Oh!” You scramble through your paper-covered desk, reaching for the book. “Are you—” You check the name it was ordered under. “—Hoseok?”

He nods, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“Here you go.” Handing the book to him. “Is this what you were looking for?”

The subtle smile on his face turns into a bright grin as soon as he reads the title. “It is.”

“Great,” you nod. “Do you still want to take a look around, or would that be all?”

Hoseok’s gaze lingers on you, a bit too long for your liking, but he shakes his head regardless. “This would be all for now.”

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars.”

While you print the receipt, he asks, “Are you a friend of Jimin’s?”

“Acquaintance,” you correct him, handing his receipt.

“I see. May I know your name at least?” He extends his hand.

Blinking at his question, your hand moves before you can think twice about taking his hand in yours. Ignoring the way your hand fits so well in his, you introduce yourself, “Y/N.”

And a bright, bright grin appears on his face, one that you swear can light up the whole bookshop. “Hope we’ll see each other again soon, Y/N. Just recently opened up my shop near the corner of the street.” Then he makes his way out of the store, steps faltering slightly before the entrance, giving the bookstore a once-over and walks out.

The next time you meet Hoseok is when he visits your store in passing. “Hey, Y/N!” He greets you as you place a stack of books on the cashier table from the delivery box earlier.

“Hi, Hoseok...” You do not know what to make of his cheerful demeanour.

“How’s your day?”

You furrow your brows in confusion. Is he seriously asking that for no apparent reason?

“Fine, I guess,” you answer nonetheless as you rub your palms against your jeans. “Just had to clear out the storage and rearrange some shelves.”

“Do you need any help?”

You shake your head. “I’m good. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh! I’m looking for a book about orchids,” Hoseok explains. “It’s so hard to grow them.”

“Give me a moment, I’ll check the supplies,” you mumble, moving and clicking your mouse to find what he is searching for. Hoseok moves to a nearby aisle, looking through random books while you move to the allocated aisle of the book he wants.

Hoseok is confused for a moment as his attention is set on the little post-its on the shelf. As he takes a closer look, he realises that these are your reviews of the books. He can’t help but chuckle at how enthusiastic your reviews sound.

It’s amusing how you are interested in The Grinch.

Plucking one of the books, he makes his way to you. You are so focused on the books as he stands beside you, then he pokes your shoulder and you jolt. “Oh my—”

Hoseok apologises sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You clear your throat. “It’s fine. I tend to tune out my surroundings when I’m focused. And, uh, here—” You hold out the book to him. “—is this it?”

Hoseok nods, smiling as he takes the book and follows behind you to the cashier. As you type in the order, he asks, “Do you like this book?” Your movements falter at his sudden question, which he notices. “I saw some stickers you posted beneath the books that seem to be your favourites.”

Cheeks growing warm at his words, you stammer, “Well, I thought it would encourage people to buy and—”

He places one of the books that you recommended on top of the book he was looking for. “I’ll get this one too.”

“But… It’s a children’s book.” You gape.

“I’m not big on reading heavy novels, Y/N. So, I think this is a good start,” he shrugs. “Plus, you recommended five stars for this and your review—”

“Okay!” You cut him off, grasping the book. “I-I get what you mean, but are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“Am I not here as your customer?”

Sighing mentally, you proceed to scan the barcode. “That will be forty-seven dollars.”

Meetings with him are refreshing, as it is odd. Hoseok would come by your bookstore once in a while — once a week or even twice. At first, you thought something was up. Definitely, since he didn’t purchase books on every visit. But what throws you off is that he would come by to drop desserts or even just a quick ‘hi’ when he is busy that day.

You’re sceptical indeed. Was there a bet being made to befriend you? But he wouldn’t have treated you to those sugar-coated doughnuts or hot chocolate if he wants money.

Deep in your own thoughts, you walk along the usual route to your store; hands tucked inside your thick coat, even ignoring the snow that’s covered your beanie.

You’re not used to this; someone just straight-up approaching you, or just enjoying being in your presence with no obligation to do so. Haven’t he heard of the rumours that surround you? In a small town where you live, he must have heard something.

Thoughts drifting back to reality, your eyes twitch as you find those carolling people in front of your store again. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out an annoyed sigh.

How many times should you tell them to scram? And where is Park Jimin?

You scan through the faces of the group, and he was nowhere to be found. Muttering a curse under your breath while ignoring the slight aching in your chest, you stomp towards them.

“Hello,” You plaster on a big fake smile, ceasing their singing at once. “I thought I had told one of your crew — Jimin — that you can’t sing in front of my store. Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s not joining us today,” one of the choir members answers, nonchalantly. “We didn’t know that this is a private area. I thought you only own your part of the store.”

The other choir members glance nervously at each other; their reaction an obvious contrast with this chipper, unheeding chatterbox in front of you. Gritting your teeth, you force down the curse words that are on the tip of your tongue back before clearing your throat. “Well, now, you know.” You pin down that girl who opens her loose mouth with your sharp stare. “So, I would appreciate it if you’d leave and never sing in front of my store again.”

She is about to respond when her crewmembers stop her from saying anything further, which is fortunate for her. In minutes, they pack up and finally leave.

Rubbing your temples, you make a mental note to put a sign in front of your store that says no choirs allowed, or any Christmas activities at all. After changing the ‘close’ sign to ‘open’, you place your things on the cashier table. Looking at the old jukebox fondly, you trace the intricate, beautiful designs for a little while before you turn it on. Soft jazz music fills the air instantly, and your heart warms up at that.

Deciding to have a little reading time, you pick a book from your favourite section. However, you falter momentarily when you realise it’s the same book Hoseok bought last week from your post-it recommendation. Sighing, you place the book back and pick another.

Time flies so quickly when you immerse yourself in books. By the time you check your phone, it’s afternoon already. And then the quiet atmosphere shatters when the bell of your bookstore rings.

“Y/N!” His familiar cheerful voice startles you.

“Hoseok…” You’re back again.

“I’m grabbing a bite in Jimin’s bakery, would you like to join?”

“No, I’m—” Your stomach growls loudly as if on cue.

Hoseok laughs at that, “Your stomach says otherwise. C’mon! You shouldn’t stay cooped up in your shop the whole day.”

And you can’t bring yourself to reject his offer again.

“How long have you been running your bookstore?” Hoseok asks as you both make your way towards Jimin’s bakery.

“It’s been... Five years,” you answer hesitantly.

“Oh, that’s quite long! Have you always been interested in books?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ve loved reading since I was a child.”

You didn’t realise how much you had enjoyed conversing with Hoseok until you reached Jimin’s bakery.

That was quick, you thought, at the sight of the pastel pink store.

Stepping into the bakery, Hoseok calls out, “Kookie!”

“Hyung?” The familiar man called ‘Kookie’ greets him after serving a customer with their order.

You wreck your head for his name — you know this guy. Well, have seen him with Jimin most of the time but you didn’t bother to know his name. Or actually, you did, but you forgot.

The only ones you can come up with are “John Cook’ or ‘Jungkook’. It has to be either one of those or else you’d embarrass yourself further.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s nice for you to come by!”

Screw it.

“Nice to see you too, John.”

Kookie lets out a giggle. “You can call me ‘Jungkook’ instead of my last name.”

Then it clicks. Right— it’s Jeon Jungkook. Thank the heavens ‘John’, and ‘Jeon’ sounds similar.

You feign indifference. “Alright, Jungkook.”

“Jimin is out with his girlfriend for hot chocolate, he’ll be back soon.”

As soon as you and Hoseok take a seat, Jungkook hands you both the menu before dealing with other customers.

“So... Are you sure you’re new here?” You break the silence. “Looks to me that you seem to know everyone here already.”

Hoseok chuckles at that. “Not everyone. But Jimin, Jungkook, and I go way back.”

“Ah, I see...” Then you cast your stare to the menu once more. But your attention shifts to the glass door to see Jimin and his girlfriend laughing. Not long after you catch his gaze, however, the warmth dissipates almost instantly. He stalks towards your table at once.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin seethes, eyes boring into yours as you match them equally with your icy ones.

“Ah, Jimin,” Hoseok turns to look at him. “I was grabbing something to eat, and I invited Y/N along and—”

“Y/N is not welcome here,” Jimin seethes.

Hoseok’s eyes widen before it gradually hardens at your defence. “Since when?”

But Jimin’s eyes are on you once more. “Why did you drive the choir crew away again? What did they do to you? They managed to sing a few blocks away from your store!”

“That is bullshit.” You stand up and level his gaze. “They sang in front of my store again, still disturbing the peace in my shop. And I told you to take your choir crew somewhere far to sing.”

Jimin lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what they—”

“Believe whoever you want,” you cut him off, mood darkening. “And since I am not welcome here, I’ll see myself out.” Without another word, you head out of the bakery. Clutching your coat tighter to your frame, the sound of your boots thumps along the cobblestone until another pair of rapid footsteps follow behind you.

“Y/N!” Hoseok calls out, grabbing your arm. “Hey… I—” He catches his breath. “I’m sorry, Jimin is an asshole to you—”

You shake your head. “No, that’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I—”

“Hoseok.” You turn to him. “Why do you even bother to befriend me?”

His eyes widened at that before he splutters, “B-Because, why not?”

Taking a step closer to him, you consider asking him if there is a bet going on, but decide against it. “I’ll be fine. You go back to Jimin.”

Without another glance, you turn away once more, leaving him in the midst of the cold weather.

Autumn flies away too quickly, you bitterly thought. You find yourself missing the warm colours of the town, where the crunching sound of fallen leaves will always fill the silence when you go to work or go back home. Or, spring sounds good to you too — bright, vivid flowers loitering around as the warm sun kisses your skin.

Not this whole white fiasco. Your mood always dampens when you walk out of the house, only to find the usual bright morning still dark as it takes later for the sun to rise up.

‘Achoo—!’ You let out a sneeze, wrapping the thick blanket around your form tighter. The heater of the store is cranked up to the fullest, yet the winter cold still manages to get you.

Letting out an annoyed ‘tsk’, you continuously flip through the accounting records of your store, eyes scanning the numbers to make sure no mistakes are made. Unable to focus further, you sigh.

Maybe you should do other things before getting back to these numbers.

You let out another sneeze as you trudge to the storage room, huffing in annoyance while you sniffle. Taking out an opened empty box from the shelves, you pack children books into it when your doorbell rings.

“Please wait a moment!” You quickly shove the box to an empty corner before rushing out.

“Umm,” Hoseok stands awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “Hi…” He takes a few steps closer. “I’m sorry about yesterday—”

Posture stiffening, you cut him off, “It’s not your fault, nor it was Jimin’s fault. It was my own mistake.”

He tries to argue. “No, it’s—”

“Hoseok, it’s alright.” You reassure him, plastering on a tight smile. “Really.”

“Ah, that’s… Well, these are for you.” He extends a bouquet of orchids.

You stare at him. “W-Why…?”

“I thought it would brighten up your bookstore,” he rambles. “Uh, unless you don’t want it? It’s really fine—”

You take the bouquet from his hold, your smile turning genuine on your lips. “Thank you.”

He grins at that. “Well, I’ve got to go back to the shop. Maybe we can go out for coffee or even lunch whenever you’re free?”

When you nod in response, Hoseok’s expression lights up further. With your numbers exchanged, he waves you goodbye and exits your store. It’s quiet once again, and you merely stand there, still staring at the bright purple hues of the orchids.

Perhaps, it’s still ol’ winter outside, but it feels as though spring blooms within the walls of your bookshop now.

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

Hoseok is in a good mood; he whistles some random pop songs as he makes his way back to his shop. “I’m back!” he chirps, scrubbing his snow-covered boots against the ‘welcome’ rug.

“I was beginning to think you have lost your way,” Jungkook comments, eyes focusing at the bouquet in front of him, wrapping it up. “The next customer won’t be here until three and, wait—” He looks around frantically at the scattered flowers on the counter. “Hyung! Where are the orchids?!”

“Huh?” Hoseok feigns innocence. “I thought we had them. You’ve cut their stems right?”

“Yes, but—”

It’s kinda funny to see the usual composed Jungkook, now, panicking. Little did he know, Hoseok had taken the last of the orchids to make a bouquet for you.

“Hyung! We need orchids! The colours don’t match! And—”

Hoseok snorts. “Use the hydrangeas. They fit with whatever bouquet you’re wrapping.”

Jungkook makes a face. “It’s not going to be the same as how I pictured it, Hyung. It has a different meaning too!” However, Hoseok has gone into the changing room to change into his usual working attire. From outside, Jungkook grumbles to himself, “I don’t deserve this treatment. I helped Jimin, and now Hobi hyung too. And for what exactly?”

“So, you won’t stay cooped up in your room until New Years.” Hoseok comments, tying his apron then rolling the sleeve of his shirt till it reaches just before his elbows.

“Okay, but ‘fess up, Hyung—” Jungkook still looks unamused. “What did you do to the orchids? I know you’ve worked hard growing them so you won’t give away those flowers easily.”

“Huh,” Hoseok feigns innocence, grabbing a set of flowers to wrap. “Really? Maybe I did give it away to someone pretty, who knows.” Beautiful, in fact.

“Who?” Then Jungkook’s face turns dumbfounded as he seems to realise something. “Wait, don’t tell me it’s Y/N.”

“Why not Y/N?” Hoseok raises a brow, sparing the younger one a questioning glance.

Jungkook groans. “No, hyung, don’t you know she’s like… Unapproachable? Like even Jimin’s charm does not affect her at all. In fact, she made him angry the other day!

Hoseok mindlessly nods at Jungkook’s rambles. “Yeah, yeah…”

It goes quiet for a moment before Jungkook asks, “So… Did she throw away the flowers at once and kick you out of—”

The image of your bright eyes and soft smile engraves itself into his mind as he works on the bouquet at hand.

“No.” A smile appears on Hoseok’s face. “She loves it actually.” All that time he spent and the hard work of growing those orchids really does pay off.

“What did you say to her? I don’t think she’s the type to accept an apology gift that easily.” Jungkook tilts his head slightly, still questioning.

True. At first, he wanted to give it as an apology gift. However, at your insistence that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but your own, he thought of another reason — to brighten up your cozy bookshop with the vibrant colours of the orchids.

“Well, I thought of other reasons,” Hoseok answers vaguely, finishing the arrangement. And boy, did his heart soar when you accepted his gift afterwards.

“It’s so hard to believe…” Jungkook mumbles, focusing on his own task at hand.

Hoseok sighs. “She’s not what you guys seem to paint her to be. At least, not with me. Does anyone even try to approach her in the first place?”

Jungkook nods. “Jimin hyung did. You know how he is.” Silence falls for a few moments until Jungkook mutters, “I think she’s always grumpy when it’s Christmas season.”

“Why?”

Jungkook answers with a mere shrug. “No one knows. We just avoid her during Christmas.”

With furrowed brows, Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval of how people treated you. There must be a reason why you are acting this way. You weren’t a complete grouch with him, and your smile earlier proves that. If it takes hundreds of orchids to make you smile like that again — even when others say you are a grouch and your presence is unpleasant — he would gladly grow them all over again.

Sipping the gingerbread latte, you let out a satisfied hum at the burst of sweet taste on your tongue from the warm beverage. Definitely perfect for cold weather as you sit near the window, mindlessly staring out at the falling snow and the buzzing people beneath.

Hoseok has agreed to meet in the cafe. You are too stubborn to admit that you actually enjoyed his company these past few weeks. But, as soon as he texted you to meet in this cafe, you barely thought twice before agreeing.

Speaking of the devil, he sits across from you with a grin on his face. You snap out of your thoughts when your gaze zeroes in on the bouquet in front of you.

Irises.

“It’s for you.”

Blinking with furrowed brows, your voice comes out unsure. “For me…? But why?”

He lets out a sheepish chuckle, “I just think it suits you. Like those orchids.”

At his words, your heart beats faster. “I… I don’t know what to say,” you admit, gaze dropping to the bright yellow flowers, arranged prettily and pleasing to the eye. “But… Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“Do you know what irises mean?”

You shake your head, taking the bouquet reluctantly.

“Hope and friendship,” Hoseok beams then raises his own steaming cup of coffee to you. “So, here’s to our friendship!”

Chuckling lightly, you lift your own cup.

“Right, I read the book,” Hoseok starts, earning a raised brow from you. “It’s a whole lot to digest even when it’s merely a children’s book. What makes you like it so much?”

You shrug, eyes averting from his briefly. “I just admire how the Grinch put so much effort to ‘steal’—” You quote with your fingers. “—Christmas. I mean he’s an entertaining character to read about.”

Hoseok tilts his head. “What makes him so?”

“He sticks to his plans and goes through with it. I admire his perseverance despite the hardships he has been through. And I feel the same way about Christmas as he does.”

“Do you not like Christmas?”

“Nope. Don’t like this season at all.”

“May I ask why?”

“It’s…” Your eyes are downcast, gaze on your steaming cup of coffee. “It’s a bit overrated, in my personal opinion. This season seems to force people to be happy.”

“Huh…” Hoseok sips his coffee. “I never really thought about it in that way. But I can understand. Is there anything else that makes the book so special?” Curiosity swimming in his eyes. “You mentioned in your review that it’s comforting, but how so?”

Just how on earth can this man be so observant?

You purse your lips, pondering. “Well, it’s comforting to see how the Grinch manages to have a change of—” You falter before shaking your head. “He’s just a great character.”

Hoseok nods, agreeing with you.

Then you change the subject, asking him how he got into gardening and decided to open his flower shop. Conversation flows so easily between the two of you that time flies so quickly.

When you step out of the cafe building with Hoseok, you couldn’t stop smiling as you hold on to the bouquet he gifted in hand. You walk back together, just enjoying each other’s presence. That is until you come across the carolling choir who takes notice of you, or actually, of Hoseok.

“Hobi!” One of them calls out, breaking from the group. Her puppy-like excitement exudes out of her in waves as she draws closer. And then you recognise her as the chipper chatterbox whom you never bother to learn the name of.

Hoseok greets her, “It’s good to see you.”

Then she glances at you, more specifically the bouquet of irises in your hands. “You both went on a date?”

You snort, earning a surprised glance from Hoseok and the girl. “We just got coffee, and Hoseok is nice enough to bring me these lovely flowers as a gift. But, I don’t think it’s any of your business, right?” Lifting a brow, you spare her a questioning stare — recognising that familiar face — as she fails to come up with an answer. “And shouldn’t you get back to your singing activities spreading the Christmas spirit in this public area?” Sarcasm dripping your tone.

Her gaze narrows at you as a flash of recognition crosses her. “Aren’t you the one who sent us away from our first location?”

You nod blatantly. “You were singing in front of my shop. You were disturbing.”

“That was so rude—”

“I did warn you and your group before,” You quip. “Or would you rather I call the police next time?”

Hoseok gapes at your exchange with Chatterbox seemingly at a loss. Lucky for you — well, Chatterbox actually — the tense conversation ceases as another choir member approaches you, this time a lovely-looking elder lady. “Oh, Y/N!”

You blink, expecting her to recognise Hoseok instead since the boy is a social butterfly and probably know half of the townspeople already. “Y-You know me?” Her delicate features are somewhat familiar.

“Well, of course, I do! I volunteer in the or—”

And it clicks. “Oh!” You cut her off loudly. “Oh, nice to meet you!” Hoping the pleading look you send her can stop her from blurting other things besides pleasantries. Fortunately, she gets the message as she smiles knowingly at you before glancing at Hoseok who is utterly quiet as Chatterbox talks his ear off while he mindlessly nods.

“I should get back to my store,” you explain.

The lady smiles warmly, reducing her voice to a whisper, “Hope you come to visit us again this year.”

“I won’t miss it,” you reply with a smile of your own.

Her eyes light up at that. “And Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Have a good day, Miriam.”

And when you finally turn your attention to Hoseok, he’s already looking at you mouthing, You want to go?

You give him a brief nod. He smiles, bidding Chatterbox goodbye. But what nearly sends your heart into overdrive is that he strides to you and grabs your hand as if it’s the only natural thing to do.

“Slow down!” You huff as Hoseok turns briefly to give you a cheeky smile.

“I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of there,” he teases, steps slowing down. Your hand goes limp, but instead of letting go of your hand, Hoseok interlaces his fingers with yours.

“I couldn’t wait to get out of there myself,” Hoseok comments. “I thought my ears were going to fall off.”

Letting out a chuckle, you tease, “I thought you were enjoying her company.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “She was mean to you. I don’t like that.”

At his words, you stumble on your steps. If it isn’t for his fast reflexes, you would be face-planting to the ground. “Ah, t-thank you.”

He chuckles, “No problem.”

And you curse your own heart for beating faster at his smile.

“She’s not bad, Jimin.”

“Yeah, right.” Jimin huffs, wiping the table aggressively. “Until she decides to piss you off all the time.”

“What did she do to you?”

“Don’t even get me started.” Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance. “She literally said to take the choir crew away from her store, and Ellie—”

“Ellie…?” Confusion is written all over Hoseok’s face.

“The girl who likes you,” Jimin sighs.

“Who???”

Jimin makes a face. “For someone who flirts easily, you’re awfully dense to someone else’s feelings.”

Hoseok lets out an unamused snort. “I don’t flirt—”

“You gave Y/N flowers,” Jimin gives him a pointed look.

“How did—” Hoseok comes to a realisation. “—right, Jungkook.” he mumbles before he explains, “It was supposed to be an apology gift—”

“And then yesterday you empty your supply of iris flowers too to give her for no apparent reason—”

“The kid should really learn to shut his mouth.” Hoseok groans, his cheek heating in embarrassment.

“—if that isn’t called flirting—”

“Jimin, you flirt with everyone too.”

“That’s different, hyung. I charm people.”

Hoseok sighs. “We’re going off track here.”

“Okay, so I had told the choir members to sing a few blocks away from her store. But, she drove them away again!” Jimin slaps the table with the cloth.

Hoseok scrunches his eyebrows. “What do you mean a few blocks away? Y/N said she found them in front of the bookstore again.”

“That’s not what Ellie told me.”

“I still don’t know who Ellie is, but I think there’s a whole misunderstanding here.”

“No, hyung. There is no clear proof—”

“Did you ask the other choir members?” Hoseok asks before sighing. “I mean, shouldn’t there at least be a few other witnesses that can confirm where exactly they were singing?”

“The entire choir said so.”

“Did they actually tell you that? Or did only Ellie tell you that and you assumed it was the whole choir crew’s answer?”

Jimin purses his lips.

“Y/N is not the type to lie, Jimin. It’s not fair to her if you only consider one person’s point of view. And I saw how unhappy Y/N was that day. Don’t you think you should’ve confirmed it with other people first before jumping to conclusions?” Hoseok lets out another disgruntled sigh.

Jimin goes silent, seemingly pondering at Hoseok’s words.

“And I invited her here—” Hoseok points at the ground, indicating the bakery. “—that afternoon, since she likes your sugar doughnuts. And other things you bake. Thought it might cheer her up, but look how it went.” He raises his arms in exasperation.

“She tried it? She never even stepped into the bakery until she came along that time with you!”

“Well…”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ flashback ]

“___, I’ll take more of these home today!” Hoseok lifts up his hand that’s holding the powdered doughnut.

Jimin’s girlfriend nods. “Anything else?”

“Oh! Your caramel cookies too, please.”

She nods again. “Coming right up.”

A few minutes later, Hoseok steps out of the bakery with a paper bag in hand. His nose is buried in his scarlet scarf, and he hums a soft tune while padding through the snow-covered sidewalk. As he gets closer to your dimly-lighted bookstore, his glove-covered hands start to grow clammy while his heart beats a tad faster.

“Y/N~” He calls out after the bell of the doorstep rings.

You scramble up to your feet from your slouching position behind the cashier register, wide-eyed. “H-Hoseok? What are you—” Your words falter when he lifts up the paper bag in his hold, grinning at your confused state.

“I brought some sweets.” He stops right in front of you, placing down the bag before opening it. “So… I got some powdered doughnuts…” He takes it out. “I hope you like them.”

“Well, yes. But—”

He puts the paper-wrapped doughnut on your hand. “Go ahead, try it.”

“I…”

“Or do you want me to feed you?” Hoseok teases, raising up the other doughnut towards your mouth. “Then here, ah—”

You take a step back, avoiding his reach before taking a bite out of your doughnut. He laughs at your pout while you chew, patiently waiting until you swallow it. “So...?”

Nodding slowly, you observe the bitten doughnut for a few moments then snap your gaze at him. “Thank you. This is really good.” You take another bite of the doughnut, fighting back the instinct to smile.

“Great! Now, try the caramel cookies!”

“Wait, but I—”

Hoseok plucks the doughnut from your hold, replacing it with a caramel cookie and urges you to try it and you comply.

“Where did you get this?” Eyes full of wonder as you stare at the cookie.

“Jimin’s bakery.”

“What? No way.”

Hoseok tilts his head in curiosity. “You’ve never tried his baked goods before? Even after months the bakery has opened?”

You shake your head. “Never had the chance. I assumed it’s nothing special. But now…”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ present time ]

“She said what?” Jimin gapes, not sure if he heard what Hoseok said was right.

Hoseok repeats, “She likes your sugar doughnuts and caramel cookies. She said they were ‘excellent delicacies’ when she tried them.” More precisely, you said, I suppose despite his absurd personality, he still makes excellent delicacies. But Hoseok knows better than to say that.

Jimin is downright speechless at your compliment.

“Anyways,” Hoseok clears his throat. “As I was saying, I frequently visit her, and on that day she wasn’t happy at all, Jimin. So, I didn’t visit her that morning to let her cool off and visit her during the afternoon.”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ flashback ]

Hoseok gazes up from his phone when the streetlight turns green. Shoving the device into his coat’s pocket, he crosses the street. From the corner of his eye, your bookstore comes to his view, and a smile appears on his face. As he draws nearer, his steps grow lighter. That is until he peeks in from the window and notices a deep frown on your face. He falters, weighing his own thoughts on whether or not to approach you at this moment. And he decides against it and plans to visit you in the afternoon instead to let you cool off from, perhaps, an argument.

And off he goes, still passing by your store; still purposefully slowing down his steps to see you through the stained glass window for longer, to see if you’re okay. He’s surprised at the sight of you tracing your jukebox slowly, gazing at it fondly. It must have meant so much to you, he assumes. Smiling softly, Hoseok continues down the pathway to his flower shop.

It’s nearly midday when a familiar face from Jimin’s choir group visits him. She waves at him. “Hobi!”

“Welc—”

“So, glad to see you again!” The girl squeals as she reaches him at the counter.

“Hi…”

“How are you?”

“Good and uh, shouldn’t you be singing with your choir members?”

Her face falls slightly at his question before she scoffs, “It’s cancelled because someone was so rude. She just told us to scram. Like who does that? We’re spreading the Christmas spirit! Everyone should be happy, especially at this time of year!”

And Hoseok instantly has an inkling of who this someone is. “I don’t think we have the right to judge someone. Everyone has their own problems, after all.”

She seems genuinely shocked by Hoseok’s words. But Hoseok didn’t bother waiting for her response as he said, “If you aren’t planning to buy anything, I would appreciate it if you leave. There are other customers here. And I would listen to Y/N if I were you.”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ present time ]

“I’m sorry.”

You raise a brow at the unexpected guest who is standing right in front of you, eyeing him briefly before shifting your attention to the man beside him.

“What are you both doing here?” You ask. “More specifically, what are you doing here?” Your gaze snaps back to Jimin, who is huffing in annoyance with his arms crossed against his chest — looking like he was just scolded by, you presume, the grinning man beside him. So you ask, “Hoseok, what is this?”

“I talked some sense into him,” he replies, elbowing Jimin not-so-subtly.

“I am here to apologise, Y/N. For the way I reacted in the bakery—”

Your stare narrows. “I thought we’re past that. And I told you it was my fault.”

“Would you please let me finish?” Jimin asks in a surprisingly polite manner. You assume he’s trying his best not to get frustrated further with you since, well, you always have that irritating presence during this time of the year and have the knack to run his patience thin. “I also want to apologise for assuming the worst of you.”

Now that catches you off-guard. Your silence spurs him on.

“I contacted the choir members and told them to not sing in front of your store. And I told them to sing at least a few blocks away. I should have confirmed their location with you instead of blindly trusting the people I barely interact with outside of choir activities—”

Not like we interact much either, you thought but hold back your tongue.

“—and it was my mistake for doing that. I only recently found out that they were really in front of your store—” He glances Hoseok, unamused. “—Hyung had contacted the choir people and had them confirm that they were singing in front of your store. Which is why—”

The sudden burst of your door opening startles the three of you.

“You brought her here?” Your expression clearly shows disdain at the sight of Chatterbox strutting in like she owns the place. And you wish nothing but to kick her out at this moment because she’s like an impending doom that’s about to befall your bookstore.

“No, we didn’t—” Hoseok looks flustered.

“I’m here to spread the Christmas spirit to Y/N!” Chatterbox claims with a few drinks in her hand. “Since she seems to hate our singing so much, I thought a few drinks will ease her up for Christmas!”

“Did she follow us?” Hoseok hisses to Jimin who looks just as flustered.

“I thought she should apologise to Y/N too.”

“Clearly, she has the wrong idea about this meeting,” Hoseok groans. However, just before Jimin can respond, a crash cuts him off.

It feels as if time is slowing down and your heart drops when she trips over one of the antique rugs and spills on…

“No!” You lurch forward — figure blocked by the counter you’re standing behind — towards the jukebox that’s drenched in eggnog, regarding it with widened eyes and trembling hands in the air.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Chatterbox whispers, standing up straight on her feet. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You clench your fists as you snap your head towards her, eyes blazing. “Get out.”

“But the drinks—”

“I said, get out!” Rarely do you ever raise your voice, but you are already trembling in anger as no one made a single move. You grab Chatterbox, pulling her along with such strength that she struggled against your iron-like grip.

“I said I was sorry!”

“Well, ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it!” You seethe, shoving her out like a ragdoll. Jimin approaches you carefully and tries to appease you, but you shake your head. “Now, this is your fault.”

Hoseok looks downright devastated as he watches you. “Y/N…”

“Get out, leave me alone.”

There are no other words but warmth and pure joy that can describe the sight of children excitedly rushing towards you; they are all giggling and squealing.

“Uh, please don’t block the way,” you huff. Stopping momentarily, you lift a knee to support your hold on the heavy box briefly to prevent it from slipping down.

“Y/N,” Miriam greets you with a warm smile on her face. “So glad that you can make it.”

“Of course,” you reply, crouching to place the heavy box on the wooden floor of the living room. Taking off your gloves, you ask, “Where’s Helen?”

“She’s staying with her grandson for a couple of days; said something about a family Christmas reunion.”

“Ah…” You tear open the duct tape and take out the children’s books you packed a few weeks ago. “Well, then—”

“Y/N! Are you going to read us a Christmas story this time?” One of the children — Amy — asks with a big smile on her face.

“I shouldn’t… Maybe Helen can read to you once she’s back—” Words die on your throat at the expectant — hopeful — gazes of the children that have gathered in the warm living room. “Okay… Maybe one book won’t hurt—”

The children squeal happily.

“—so, you guys pick whichever book you want, and I’ll read it to you.” Then they rush to the opened cardboard box. You make yourself comfortable against the velvet cushions that’s spread on the rug-covered floor. While the children are busy discussing which book would be their pick, you fish out your phone from the pocket of your discarded coat only to realise that Helen had sent you a message that she won’t be in the orphanage tonight.

After replying to her with some reassurance — that you’d take over the story-telling position just for today — your fingers hover over Hoseok’s unread messages from yesterday night. Well, since the day you told him to get out of your bookstore in your fit of rage.

Hoseok constantly messaged you about many things — asking how you are doing, if you want to go out to get some coffee, or even just ramble about his day. You read all of them through the notifications from your phone — the ones that are not cut off by the message bubble — and your heart aches just a little more.

“This one!” Amy runs up to you, handing the book before taking the spot right next to you.

When you read the title, you falter. “Wait, are the others okay with this or are there any books you’d like me to read?” You look around at the children who are already in their respective seats surrounding you in a half-circle; they nod eagerly.

Letting out a sigh, you purse your lips for a brief moment. “Alright then—” You lift the book up; front cover facing the children. “How the Grinch Stole Christmas…”

Then you flip the book open and begin reading the story…

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

By the time you have finished reading the book, it’s nearly midnight; most of the children have fallen asleep with a content smile on their faces. You make it your mission to help Miriam tuck them into their beds since Helen is not here tonight.

“I really appreciate what you did today, Y/N.” Miriam follows you out of the building, stopping on the doorway.

“It’s not a problem, really.” You put on your gloves.

“But I really appreciate it, Y/N. And you know you will always be welcomed here.” Miriam reminds you.

You let out a sheepish chuckle. “Thanks, Miriam. Maybe I’ll come back and help around.”

She pulls you in for a hug. “The children love you. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled whenever you decide to come visit.”

After exchanging a few more words, you leave the orphanage and walk into the winter night. Gradually, your thoughts take you to Hoseok once more. You’d be lying if you don’t miss his presence and it has been just a few days since the incident. However, you just can’t find the right words to explain yourself, not when Christmas Eve is nearing.

Shaking your head, you keep your gaze low; eyes focusing on the snow-covered streets while the night grows darker with only street lanterns dimly lighting up the pathway. Just as you pass a particular house, loud laughter catches your attention, causing your legs to stop abruptly.

Through the bright window, you watch silently at what seems to be a Christmas gathering. You recognise some people who live in the same neighbourhood as you; even Jimin and Jungkook are there and… And Hoseok. Their smiles are so warm, and they seem to be enjoying themselves as they sit by the fireplace. The lively atmosphere inside the warm room is a definite contrast to the quietness of the night outside.

Letting out a sigh, you stop watching and continue on your way; once you arrive at your house, you mutter weakly, “I’m home…” After taking off your boots and gloves, you tug off your coat, brushing off the snow before you hang it on the coat hanger. Making your way towards the dark kitchen, you flip the light on and boil some water.

While waiting for it, your own mind seems to have an internal battle of its own. After that incident, you think it’s better to revert back to your old self who has no worries in being alone. However, after spending time with those children — it’s hard to admit, but you know you can’t be alone at this time of year. Spending time buried between pages of a book no longer distracts your thoughts, nor does sorting out books that are usually enough to distract you.

Opening the cabinet, you take out a box of your favourite tea, placing it on the counter. Looking back at the opened cabinet, you falter for a moment, staring at the unused mugs labelled ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’. With pursed lips, you quickly take your own mug and close the cabinet.

Rain drizzles down onto the asphalt path while the repeated sound of Hoseok’s footsteps crunching fills the empty air. He avoids the wet snow, treading carefully to not soak his boots further in this weather. Rain during winter is perhaps one of the things Hoseok considers unpleasant, but it reflects his current mood despite today being Christmas Eve.

Crossing the familiar street with an opened umbrella in hand, he lets out a sigh into the cold air, fog coming out with his exhale. Growing nearer to your dark bookstore, his heart grows heavier with each step. He stops momentarily and peeks inside your darkened bookstore, then his shoulders drop in disappointment.

Arriving at his store, he closes his umbrella before entering. Hoseok rubs the sole of his boots against the ‘welcome’ rug, shaking the umbrella to shed the remaining frozen droplets on the material.

Jungkook — already onto his task of assembling bouquets — spares a glance at the older man. “No luck?”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Hoseok mutters a ‘no’, passing by the counter gate and into the employee changing room.

It’s been more than a week since anyone has seen you. There has always been warm light filtering out through the window of your bookstore. However, now, your bookstore is completely dark as if life itself has been snuffed out of it.

Tugging off his thick coat, Hoseok places it on the hanger then takes the usual apron, tying it around his waist.

Hoseok wonders what had happened; the expression on your face was unlike anything he had ever seen… And, he really wants to reach out, but you have seemingly disappeared without a trace. As he’s rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he’s still deep in thought, that is until Jungkook gasps rather loudly.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?”

But his movements stop completely when he hears a familiar voice — the voice he has been dying to hear again. In seconds, he barrels out of the room slamming the door albeit too loudly, startling Jungkook and…

“Y/N…” He stands in shock, still processing that you’re here.

“Hey,” you say nonchalantly, “I’d like a bouquet of chrysanthemums and dahlias, please.”

The three of you lapse into silence for a few moments until Jungkook mutters, “I’ll… Work on them... Yeah...” Jungkook snaps his finger while pursing his lips. “I’ll do just that…” Jungkook gets to work immediately, leaving you both near the main counter as he scuffles around the shop where the chrysanthemum and dahlias are.

Your gaze wanders along the neatly placed shelves on your side, and the various colourful flowers that’s set in silver-coloured buckets. It’s your first time visiting his store, and it is unexpected, alright. After your “disappearance”, you’re now here as if nothing has happened.

“I texted you…” Hoseok mumbles, earning your attention on him. “I called you too; visited your store a few times. What happened?”

“I needed time to get myself together,” you answer, fiddling with the button of your black coat.

“Why didn’t you call or at least let me know you’re okay? You had me really worried.”

“Because it’s none of your business.” You speak monotonously, but it still manages to strike at his heart.

Hoseok clenches his fists. “Right… My friend’s business is none of my concern.”

You exhale at that but still keep your mouth shut. Even as Jungkook timidly passes by you with the wrapped bouquet. Right after you pay for the flowers, you rush out.

Hoseok releases a breath that he did not even know he was holding. And he can feel his heart squeezing in pain.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

In silence, standing in front of the two tombstones — with an umbrella on one hand — you lay the bouquet between them. One shoulder is drenched from the rain, but you don't find it in yourself to care; not at this moment when all you can think about are your parents and that tragic day.

Countless of tears you have shed on the same day, each year; though it has been half a decade since then. But your heart still lays heavy in your chest, borderline suffocating in the middle of the quiet cemetery. And it feels as if it just happened recently.

Tearing your gaze away from the tombstone, you look up to the cloudy sky and blink rapidly — adamant about not letting any tears fall this year. With a deep breath, you look back down and leave.

The cold isn’t the worst when you walk back. Usually, you would even cry on the way home thinking about your parents. But this time, your mind persistently drifts to the disappointment on Hoseok’s face from earlier, unable to forget as if it is burned into your mind.

Biting your trembling lower lip, your steps grow faster to your bookstore. You promised Miriam you would come to visit the orphanage and bring more books for the children.

Arriving at the front door, you slot in the key and are about to unlock the door when you freeze momentarily, body seizing as your brows furrow. Taking a slow deep breath, you open the door and darkness greets you as usual. Closing the door behind you, the sound of your boots clicking on the wooden floor fills the air as you make a beeline towards the storage. Flicking the light on, your eyes search for the packed box on the corner, lifting it up in your arms once you find it before turning the lights off.

Walking between the shelves towards the front door, the jukebox appears in your sight. As everything that happened comes rushing back, you move towards it — dropping the box on the floor, nearly tripping over it — and your eyes looking around it frantically. “It should work now…” You mumble to yourself, at the now-cleaned jukebox and after letting it dry for days. You click the usual button, and wait…

And wait…

And…

“No…” Hands trembling, you make an attempt and press the button once more, but it just won’t turn on. “Please, please, please…” You begin to plead, tears welling up in your eyes and again you press the on button. This is the last resort, after all. You’ve called all the possible service stores that fix instruments and jukeboxes, but they all had the same response, ‘We’re sorry, this model is too old.’

“I’m sorry…” You whimper, knees giving out as a sob escapes your lips. “I’m sorry…”

The last piece of memory of your parents ceases. And your heart has never felt so cold on the night of Christmas Eve.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

When the fiftieth sigh escapes Hoseok’s lips, Jungkook spares him an empathetic glance as he does his task. “You should talk to her.”

“I don’t think she wants to.”

“Huh… That sounds so unlike you,” Jungkook muses as he cleans up the counter. “And you’ve been brooding all day.”

“I do not brood.”

“Tell that to the five customers the usual all-sunshine-and-rainbow florist has scared away today,” Jungkook remarks and stops cleaning to face Hoseok. “You should talk to her, Hyung. It hasn’t stopped you before. What changed?”

“I… I don’t...” Hoseok falters, searching for an answer. “She’s my friend, I…”

“You…?” Jungkook nods with a know-it-all look, urging the older one to continue.

Hoseok narrows his stare at the younger one. “You’re mocking me.”

“Nope,” Jungkook says, emphasising the ‘p’ with a pop. “I mean, you have always been forward with your feelings, and I really admire that. Unlike, you know, Jimin—” He pauses. “—please don’t tell him that, but yeah, what’s stopping you now?”

“I just—” Hoseok releases a deep sigh. “—I don’t want to lose her, not after everything. And she’s the type of person who really values her space. I can’t just barge in and demand to make everything alright. She’ll come around, and she’ll show it when she’s ready.”

Jungkook purses his lips, seemingly in deep thought.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Hoseok asks in frustration.

“I think I know why…” Jungkook mutters.

“Why Y/N is acting the way she did?”

“No, not exactly,” Jungkook answers. “But on why she hates Jimin’s guts, ‘cuz you know, he tends to not read the situation he’s in and go all in without thinking of the consequences—”

Hoseok makes an attempt to cut Jungkook off. However, Jungkook raises his hand to stop Hoseok as he continues, “—but you—” Jungkook gives Hoseok a pointed look. “— you tend to read the situation you’re in and that’s a good thing. So, I suggest, instead of moping around, you can just go to her and see how she is doing? See if she wants to talk and if she does, you talk, and if not, then you can leave.”

Blinking, those words sink into Hoseok’s mind. “That’s actually… A great idea…”

“Yeah, wonder why no one has thought about it, but ends up scaring away customers instead,” Jungkook retorts and clears his throat at the glare Hoseok sends his way. “Which, you know, is okay since we’re humans, after all, right? We make mistakes. And the only thing we can do is try to make up for it.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes at that before chuckling. “You’re right, JK.”

“I know I— I mean, am I?”

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Right, okay. So, I’ll go check on Y/N. And since it’s already closing hours—” He glances at the wall clock while untying his apron. “—you can just close up today.”

“What?”

But Hoseok ignores him and runs straight into the changing room to grab his coat. Once he goes out, he tosses the key to Jungkook. “I’m entrusting you with it.”

“Wait, but—”

“See you tomorrow!”

And Hoseok rushes out of his store, leaving a baffled Jungkook behind.

Hoseok scores a new record in the number of minutes it takes for him to reach your bookstore. However, his shoulder droops as the last bit of his hope vanishes at the sight of the dark place.

So, you had left. Or still not coming in.

He steps closer to the window, futilely peeking inside. After a few moments, he sighs in disappointment, putting his hands inside the pocket of his long plaid coat. Just as he’s about to leave, he stops — furrowing his brows when…

Is that a whimper?

Curiously, he goes near the door once more and makes an attempt to turn the knob and it opens. Eyes widening, he enters quickly into the darkness. And there he can finally (barely) see your hunched figure on the floor beside your antique jukebox, burying your face as your arms are wrapped around your knees… Crying?

“Y/N?” He calls out in hesitance, taking a few steps closer. You look at him and Hoseok braces for you to tell him to get out.

But instead, all you can mumble is his name. “Hoseok…”

“Hey…” Slowly, Hoseok crouches on one knee to meet your gaze. “I’m here.”

You merely stare at him, unmoving.

“You’re not alone anymore, Y/N,” he says, softly. “I’m here.”

Throat bobbing, more tears flow down across your cheeks. Hoseok opens his arms. “Come here.”

One moment you are still unmoving, and the next you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. Hoseok leans back — both knees on the floor now — one hand gently pats your head while the other arm keeps you close to him.

“Let it all out. I’m here now,” He whispers, letting your face rest against the crook of his neck. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

[ flashback ]

It should have been a happy time for Hoseok as he gathers with all the people he cares about. Well, not all of them when you have not even read his texts. He scrolls through his phone mindlessly, staring at the texts he had sent over the past few days.

Hoseok [18/12]: Hey… how’re you feeling? I brought some sugar doughnuts today but you weren’t working today :( i hope everything’s well

Hoseok [20/12]: Y/N, i’m really sorry about what happened. Please let me know if you need anything

Hoseok [21/12]: you know i hate it when it rains so hard during the winter, i swear i came into my shop with icicles hanging on my face and jungkook had to say that i looked like that squirrel from ice age 😭 anyway, i met a tough customer today… I spent three hours waiting for them to choose which flowers they’d like for their bouquet. Even jungkook was close to combusting as well. it was torture 😢

Hoseok [22/12]: Hey, so we’re having a christmas celebration tomorrow, would you like to come? It’ll be fun!

Hoseok [23/12]: hey, Y/N! I was wondering if you’re going to make it to the celebration?

But that last text was hours ago and you had remained unresponsive. Hoseok sighs harshly and his emotions overwhelm him. And he lets himself think if you’re worth all the trouble and turmoil he’s facing.

“Something on your mind, dear?” His grandmother asks, placing one comforting hand on his knee. “I know that look on your face all too well. Your father used to have that look whenever he’s in deep thought. So, let me guess, is it a girl?”

Hoseok blinks a few times, flustered at his grandmother’s guess. “Yes, but well, no? Not really?”

“Who is it? I never heard any news about your love life. And now, your dear grandmother is absolutely curious,” she says, laughing with mirth lighting up her crinkled eyes.

Hoseok smiles softly at his grandmother before he relents and tells her all about you. At the mention of your name, he swears his grandmother just smiles a tad wider.

“It’s about time she finds someone,” she mutters to herself but Hoseok still hears it anyway.

“You know Y/N, Grandma?”

She nods. “Y/N used to live in the orphanage a few years ago… Poor thing.”

Hoseok gapes at that. “I… Never knew.” His heart twisting painfully in guilt and worry. “I’ve always assumed she had a really bad past since she never talks about it.”

“Definitely traumatising for someone so young to face heavy losses.” His grandma explains. “She dealt with most of it on her own, and… She may come across as cold, but she isn’t cruel, she’s just closed off,” Helen says softly. “But I guess you know that already?”

Hoseok nods.

“So, don’t give up on her. I think right now, she needs someone more than ever. She has had no one to lean on for so long.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ present time ]

You stare silently at the crackling flames with a blanket wrapped around your frame and for some time your mind stays quiet after you have emptied out your pent-up emotions. Hoseok busies himself in the kitchen for a few minutes, and brings out two mugs of hot chocolate.

After your cry fest in the bookstore, Hoseok has taken you to his place for some hot chocolate he received from his grandmother, who had insisted that he should let you try it even when you know nothing of her. You rejected the offer at first, not wanting to bother him more after your breakdown. But Hoseok being Hoseok, from the time you have gotten to know him, you’ve learned that he can be very persuasive and persistent. And now, here you are, where he claims is his humble abode.

One thing for sure, this place screams Hoseok. It’s definitely more to the cozy side despite some unique furniture you spot decorating the place.

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking a mug from his extended hand as he takes a seat beside you on the couch.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better...” You take a sip of the hot chocolate, sweetness spreading across your tastebuds. And you resist the urge to hum in delight.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Hoseok shifts his gaze from the flames to you.

“Why did you help me?” You blurt out. “I mean, you didn’t have to… Like just now, and after the way I treated you, usually people would... Leave.”

Hoseok ponders for a moment. “Maybe it’s because they don’t know you like I do.”

“But we just met each other not too long ago.”

“And that’s enough for me to get to know you, at least some part of you. And as I’ve mentioned before, I would really like to get to know you even better.”

“I don’t think you really do…” You mumble, staring into the half-finished hot chocolate.

Hoseok snorts at that. “You’re someone who really values her space and if someone dares to cross that line you’ll give them hell for it.”

His facial expression softens further as he continues, “And you’re also someone who knows how to stand up for herself, not needing anyone to defend you. You don’t care what others think of you because you already know your own worth.”

You stare at him wide-eyed.

“Do you need me to continue? Because I still have more and—”

“Hoseok… I’m not— I don’t think I’m a nice person to be around...” you admit.

“That is the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Hoseok scoffs. “So you’re telling me someone forced you to donate children books to the orphanage and read to those children?” He recalls the pictures his grandmother showed him the other day — of you reading to the children and having a pleasant time with them.

Blinking, you gape at him. “H-How did—”

“My grandma told me.” Hoseok is now looking at you, unamused. You shoot him a confused look as he explains further, “Helen is my grandmother. And I may not know what you have gone through, Y/N. But I told you I’m here and you don’t have to face things on your own now.”

You look away from his gaze, unable to keep looking into his intense stare any longer.

“Why do you hate Christmas?”

You stiffen at his question as it becomes silent between the two of you besides the crackling sound of flames. Hoseok sighs after a few moments, placing his hand on your arm briefly as if to say ‘it’s alright’ then standing up from the couch.

Just as he’s about to step into the kitchen, you blurt out, “I loathe Christmas.” And his steps falter, he turns slightly to look at you fiddling with the mug nervously. “I hate anything that has to do with Christmas because like I once told you, this season seems to force people to be happy. It doesn’t care whether or not you’re hurting inside, no consideration of how people truly feel in the heart. And I gradually find it pointless and fake.”

You shut your eyes tightly. “I… I lost my parents on Christmas Eve.” And the image of the car flipping upside down still vivid in your mind and you can hear the crash as clear. “I don’t deserve to feel happy, not when I should’ve gone with them at the incident. I-I should have gone with them. It's n-not fair that they’re gone and I’m here and alone and if I’m happy while they’re not here—” you blabber, hands shaking rapidly. “It’s not fair and now, I’ve failed them, I lost them— Their jukebox is broken and I can’t do anything about it,” you whimper. “Just like that day.”

“Y/N…” And you didn’t realise Hoseok is already in front of you, crouching. He lays his hand gently on yours after taking your mug, placing it on the coffee table. “Look at me,” he stares up into your eyes, gaze so warm and gentle that you might even break down again. It’s been a long time since someone looked at you that way. “You can’t take responsibility over the things that are out of your control.”

“And what you had gone through is unimaginable, but do you think you’ve punished yourself enough, even though it’s not your fault? You stopped letting yourself enjoy life itself and — correct me if I’m wrong — your parents wouldn’t want that for you,” Hoseok says. “Would they want you to be trapped in your past?”

You let his words sink in.

“And despite your jukebox not working anymore, that doesn’t mean that your parents are gone.” Hoseok grips your forearm, lifting your right hand to place it on top of your heart. “They live in you. You’re their daughter after all. The jukebox only serves as a memory of them, but surely, you have other memories of them.”

After all this time, you realised that’s what you needed to hear — you haven’t failed your parents, despite everything.

“And looking at how you’ve grown into this amazing woman that I have the privilege to get to know, I’m definitely sure your parents are proud of you.”

Face crumpling, your palm covers your eyes as another sob escapes your throat.

Sitting again next to you, Hoseok coos and gathers you in his arms. “Cry all you want, I’m here, love. I’m here…”

And you cried again, the hardest you’ve done in a long time.

Once you have calmed down, you murmur, “They used to dance around the house a lot...” Tear-stained cheek resting against his chest as you find yourself curled up on his lap. “Hanging socks and filling them with candies, claiming that they’re for the elves that visit late at night.”

Hoseok leans against the throw pillows, quietly listening as you tell stories of how your parents used to love the winter season. His warmth comforts you and your still-aching heart.

That night you fell asleep in his arms; the last bit of your emotions all used up, but your heart definitely feels lighter than the past years.

Knocking on the wooden door, you clear your throat, hearing scurrying footsteps before the door opens.

“Y/N!” Miriam exclaims. “I was so worried, you didn’t show up yesterday.”

“Sorry, something came up yesterday and I didn’t realise how late it was when I was done. But I bring another couple of books?” You lift up the box in your hands in emphasis.

Miriam lights up at that. “Well, come on in. The children will be so happy. They are excited to—”

“Oof—!” The loud thump behind you causes you to turn to see Hoseok huffing, catching his breath — one hand on his knee as he sits on the stairs — another box on top of the stoop. “I didn’t realise how much book you’ve packed, Y/N.”

Snorting, you place the box you’re holding on your left hip and extend your right hand to him, instinctively, to help him up. “C’mon, the children are inside and we should help to unpack the boxes first.” He takes your hand and pulls himself up, nearly stumbling and having his face close to yours.

As if his piercing gaze locks you in a trance, you stare back until he murmurs, “Well, someone is looking beautiful today.”

Spluttering, you let go of his hand, face burning. “Let’s go.”

Hoseok laughs at your embarrassment before he lifts up the box on the floor and makes his way inside, passing by Miriam who’s waiting by the door.

When you step inside, Miriam whispers, “Is he—?” Her tone lace with curiosity as a teasing smile appears on her lips.

“Uh, no, he’s not my boyfriend—” You say too quickly, flustered.

“Well, I meant to ask if he is Helen’s grandson, but I see.” Miriam fails to stifle a big smile now. “You two would look really good together.”

You curse yourself, walking faster as Miriam laughs behind you, closing the door. When you reach the living room, the children are already waiting and once you step into their view, they squeal happily.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Amy waves to you giddily. “Hobi says you brought more books for us!”

“H-Hobi…?” You blink. Snapping your gaze towards said man who is already looking at you intently and you avert your gaze once more to the grinning children. “Umm, yeah. I do.” You sit beside Hoseok, tearing the tape off the boxes you two brought in.

This time you brought in colouring books and other story books.

“Can Hobi read to us today?” One of the children asks.

You shift your gaze to his surprised face, a teasing smile appears on your face. “Yeah, Hobi, you should read to them today.”

Hoseok narrows his gaze at you before leaning close to whisper, “You should call me ‘Hobi’ from now on.” Then he turns to the children, smiling. “Alright, I’ll read for today. And which book do you want to read?”

“Which one is your favourite, Hobi?” Another kid — Ian — asks, curiously looking through the books.

“Well…” Hoseok scans through the titles of the stacked books. Your eyes widen at his pick. “This one!” He lifts up the How the Grinch Stole Christmas book.

“Wait— I read that to them already,” you try to stop the children’s interested looks.

“He can read it to us again!” Amy says giddily. “I think it’s a really nice story!”

“But there are other better books to read,” you offer. “Like…” You look through the books you brought. “This! The Night Before Christmas!” you read the title aloud.

“We can read that later,” Quin whines. “We want to hear Hobi read the book!”

Unbelievable. How the hell can these children choose him over you already?

As if he can read your mind, Hoseok shoots you a smug look and you pout like a petulant child. “Fine, I’m gonna go to the kitchen to help Miriam,” you huff, standing up and stomp out.

Hoseok watches your figure disappear into the kitchen before he says, “She’s so cute, isn’t she?”

Amy nods, grinning. “She’s grown up, but she’s still like us! That’s why playing with Y/N is so fun!”

“Right…” He gives a brief soft smile at Amy before he clears throat. “So let’s begin…”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“You’re not reading to the children?” Miriam asks when you appear in the kitchen.

“No, Hoseok’s handling that.” You take a fresh apron and tie it around your waist. “So… I’ll help out with the cookies.”

“Alright then,” Miriam chuckles, handing you the mixing bowl and mixer. “You can continue mixing the ingredients until everything’s smooth and I’ll take out the cookies I baked earlier.”

You flip the switch of the mixer on and continue to mix the ingredients. When the texture of the dough is smooth, you place the mixture into small scoops on the baking tray and that’s when you overheard Hoseok’s voice.

“What can you learn from the Grinch’s story?”

“Oh! Oh!” One of the kids exclaims. “That Christmas isn’t all about gifts!”

“That’s right,” Hoseok agrees. “And also, despite the Grinch being mean at first, even unkind, that doesn’t mean that they are truly that way at heart.”

Your movements falter at his words.

“There is always a reason behind their actions,” Hoseok points out. “So, it’s always best to learn about them first before assuming things.”

“You sound like you know the Grinch well.” Amy tilts her head in curiosity. “Do you happen to know the Grinch, Hobi?”

“Well, I don’t know the Grinch personally,” he muses. “But I do know someone who is very similar to him. Maybe that’s why I grew fond of the Grinch.”

Did Hoseok just compare you to the Grinch?

You scoff internally. Quickly, you finish scooping the rest of the cookie dough onto the tray before placing it in the oven after Miriam takes out the first batch of cookies and then retrieving a serving tray from one of the cabinets.

“Oh!” Amy raises her hand enthusiastically. “I know! I know!”

“Yes, Amy?”

“An act of kindness towards someone can change them!”

Hoseok blinks. “That… Is right.”

“That’s right.” You walk into the living room with glasses full of milk for the children. “An act of kindness can change a person’s life.” Placing the tray on the coffee table, you look at the children one by one. “So, it’s important to be kind to others.”

As if on cue, Miriam brought out the freshly-baked cookies. And the children flock around her to get a piece. She chastises them and sets the cookies on the table alongside the glasses of milk.

You spent the entire Christmas day in the orphanage, helping out and spending time with the children and Hoseok. You even meet Helen who never stops gushing once she finds the two of you visiting the orphanage.

When it’s already late at night, you and Hoseok bid the children farewell with a smile on your face and warmth in your heart. Hoseok walks you home afterwards, and silence falls between you — both comforting and soothing. Arriving in front of your doorsteps, you turn to him who is already staring at you with his bright eyes.

“Thank you for today, Hoseok—” You stop at his unamused look. “What?��

“I thought I told you to call me ‘Hobi’ from now on.” He steps closer to you. You step back. “Hearing you saying ‘Hoseok’ all the time makes it sound so formal between us.”

“Alright—” You place your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away. “—Hobi, got it.”

“That’s better.” He chuckles at your antics before he steps back, stance growing uneasy. “And, uh, I forgot to tell you that there’s a winter market near the town hall. Would you like to come with me tomorrow?”

You nod without any hesitance.

“But Jimin will be there too.” And he adds quickly, “With his girlfriend. So, he won’t bother us and—”

“I’ll go.” You pause for a moment. “There’s something I need to resolve with him too.”

A gentle smile appears on Hoseok’s face at that. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. “Definitely.”

He grins before tugging you in for a hug to which you reciprocate as if it’s second nature. And you both stay like that for a while until Hoseok mumbles suddenly, “I think I left something in your bookstore when we went to pick up the books earlier.”

You laugh. “Well then, I can go with—”

“Oh no, that's okay!” He says quickly. “I’ll go there myself, if you’re okay with lending me your key?”

“Oh, sure.” You take the keys out of your pocket. “Don’t lose it, yeah?” You chuckle, handing him the keys.

He nods. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

It’s another cold morning. Jungkook stifles a yawn as he walks along his usual route to Hoseok’s flower shop. Unable to contain his yawn any longer, he covers his face with his hand before he freezes — mid-yawn — when he sees you standing in front of the shop.

Quickly shutting his mouth, he calls out, “Y/N?”

Your gaze snaps to him from your phone. “Jungkook, hi!”

Uh-oh. Jungkook wonders if Hoseok has screwed up — since the man himself isn’t here — and now you’re seeking help from him to perhaps find ways to get rid of his hyung.

“Hey… May I ask what you’re doing here?” He checks his watch briefly. “So early…?”

“Hi, yeah, so I need a bouquet…” You fidget nervously.

“Oh?” Jungkook focuses on unlocking the glass door. “May I know what you’re looking for?”

“Hydrangeas and irises...”

He opens the door and motion for you to enter before following suit. “I’ll put my things in the back and I’ll wrap your bouquet.”

You mutter an ‘okay’ as he quickly changes into his uniform. Jungkook changes in record time as he has heard of stories of you being impatient, especially during the winter season. And well, someone has never intimidated him so much even though he is taller than you.

“Okay, so, hydrangeas and irises,” Jungkook mutters once he’s out of the changing room. He makes a quick dash towards the respective flower buckets and brings it back to the counter.

“Oh… They’re pretty,” you comment, eyeing the flowers curiously. But somehow Jungkook feels like you are scrutinizing him, ready to nitpick at him should you find any mistake or flaw.

“Why are your hands shaking?”

“Huh?”

“Your hands—” you point out. “—are shaking. Don’t you do this every day?”

“Not every day,” Jungkook mumbles, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “Anyways—” He clears his throat, changing the subject. “Who’s the special one?”

You blink. “Uh…”

Another uh-oh. This will not end well. Hyung is going to throw a major fit if he finds out about this.

“Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.” Jungkook arranges the flower stems together. “No one is going to hear about this. I promise you. I know you really value your privacy.” You shoot him a confused look while he rambles. Not long after, he lifts up the bouquet. “Is... This okay?”

“Do you have yellow irises?”

“Uh, you want the yellow one?” He makes a face.

“What is it?”

“It’s going to be ugly,” he blurts out before he remembers who he's talking to. “I-I mean if you want them then I’ll search for the yellow—”

“No! That's okay!” Your hands flay to stop him from finding more irises. “It’s fine, really. I trust your opinion. You’re the expert.”

Jungkook blinks, clearly caught off-guard by your words. “Oh… I— Thank you.”

You nod, giving him a smile that is, dare he say, pretty.

“Okay,” He relaxes, bunny-smile appearing on his face. “I’ll finish this up quick.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Thirty minutes later, Jungkook finally manages to finish the bouquet and you thank him incessantly to which he responds with a flustered ‘No problem, just doing my job…’

Rushing out of the store, you check your phone for Hobi’s text which says that he’s on the way to the market and would meet you there. With your heart fluttering, you put your phone back into your pocket after sending him a ‘see u too, hobi :)’.

Arriving in the market twenty minutes later, you spot him standing near the entrance, waving at you enthusiastically.

“Hey,” he starts before gaze dropping on the bouquet you extend to him. “Wha—”

You mumble, “These are for you...”

His eyes grow wide. “I… Thank you.” He breathes out. “Wow, this is so unexpected. I don’t know what to say.”

You let out a sheepish chuckle.

“So…” He observes the bouquet. “You bought these flowers from my shop and you’re giving them to me.”

At his words, you blink as realisation dawns on you. “Uh, oh right I—” You stammer, flustered.

And Hoseok laughs at your cuteness. “Aww, that’s okay. I’m just joking. But, thank you. It’s really meaningful.”

“You know the meaning of the flowers?”

He grabs your hand, tugging you along into the market. “Of course. Hydrangeas means—”

“—grateful for being understood.”

“Thank you for being understanding.”

You both say simultaneously.

He stops, turning to you as his hand tightens on yours.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you.” You meet his gaze. “And, I really appreciate what you did for me these past few days — months — actually. I really can’t thank you enough.”

A soft smile decorates his lips. And before the both of you are able to say anything else, a familiar voice calls out Hoseok’s name. Turning your gaze to Jimin and his girlfriend, you greet them with a small ‘hello’ and a smile. As they walk closer, Jimin has a wary look on his face while his girlfriend responds to you with a smile of her own.

“Jimin…” You earn his attention. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods as his girlfriend and Hoseok gives both of you space.

“Look. About the other day, I know you had no intention of bringing Chatterbox to my store to mess things up. I just want to apologise, you just wanted to set things right and I blamed you for her actions which you have no absolute control over.”

“No, Y/N. I could have explained better that we’re going to just apologise — no drinking and no singing—”

“And it’s in the past,” you cut him off. “And that’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m really sorry for not trusting you,” Jimin sighs. “I thought they had really sung a few blocks away, but you still did not like it and drove them away.”

You shake your head. “Even though I hate their carolling so much, I would have tolerated it if they were singing a few blocks away. But they still sang in front of my store and that angers me.”

“I wouldn’t take your words lightly, Y/N.”

“I sure hope not,” you snort, but then a grin appears on your face. A genuine smile appears on Jimin’s face in return as he extends his hand. And you shake it with yours, finally making up.

Returning to Hoseok’s side, you both wander around the market and you take in the festivity of it all.

“Oh! Look at those skewers!” Hoseok points out in excitement. “Wanna go try it?”

You nod at him. “I’ll go wherever you want to go. I’ve never been to any of the winter markets.”

“Alright,” he answers giddily, taking your arm to loop around his own. “Don’t want you to get lost now.” Chuckling at that, he leads you towards the first food stall of the day.

People are smiling, laughing, and enjoying themselves and for once it does not bring as much bitterness as before. It’s been quite some time since you are able to feel this way without holding back. But you’re certain you’ll move on, little by little.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“That was really fun,” you laugh, walking back to your bookstore with Hoseok still glued on your side. Despite not being in a crowded place any longer, he refuses to let go of you.

“I’m glad you had fun,” he muses. “We should do this more often.”

“Hanging out in markets, trying out various kinds of food together?”

“Well, if you consider it a date,” Hoseok says as you reach your store.

“Are you asking me out, Jung Hoseok?” You fish out the keys, unlocking the door.

“You remember my whole name?” He teases.

You shoot him a playful glare, stepping inside. “I mean, I have a sharp memory when it comes to relevant people in my—” You stop, gaping at the sudden colourful hues of orchids and dahlias decorating the broken jukebox. “I… What—”

Hoseok watches you stride towards the jukebox, observing the flowers intently with your glassy gaze while he takes off his gloves. At that moment, you seem like a child finding a surprise gift from Santa. And if Hoseok could, he would like to keep this moment into his memory forever.

When you finally turn to him, you ask, “D-Did you do this?”

He nods. “It’s fake though, since we don’t want them to wilt and—” You lunge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as he nearly drops the bouquet you had given him earlier. Setting it down on the cashier counter, he wraps his arms around you as well in a tight hug with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“It’s still beautiful, Hobi…” you murmur, breathing in his scent. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I hope it would bring comfort to you, Y/N…”

Pulling away — still in his arms — you meet his gaze and blurt out, “Gosh, I swear I think I can kiss you right now.” The pair of you stiffen as heat rushes to your cheeks. “I-I mean—”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” he says, cupping your cheek. Leaning down to close the distance between you. You scan through his eyes for any signs of hesitance and when you find none, you close the remaining distance, meeting his lips with yours.

Everything happens so fast, but Hoseok is the only clarity at this moment as his hand on your waist moves up to cup your other cheek to deepen the kiss.

“Hobi...” You breathe out as he backs you against one of your shelves. “Hoseok—”

“Y/N...” he murmurs, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb as he looks into your eyes, gaze half-lidded. “Do you know what blue irises mean?”

You blink, still processing his question. “Hope… And faith?”

He chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear. “It also means deep feelings when gifted to someone.”

Gaping, you stare up at his face.

“Is that how you feel? Towards me?”

You nod slowly.

He kisses your forehead softly and your eyes flutter shut. Interlacing your fingers together, he leans his forehead on yours while he whispers, “I feel the same way. I have feelings for you, Y/N.” He then mumbles, “I really, really like you, Y/N.”

“I really, really like you too, Hobi.” You meet his lips again. He smiles into the kiss.

When you both pull away to catch your breaths, you bury your face on the crook of his neck. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

And he kisses your temple, holding you tighter in his arms.

After punishing yourself over the loss of your parents, you had never given yourself a chance to move on. But you have known for quite some time that some part of you longed for a change. That is why you admire the Grinch who has a change of heart towards Christmas. Now with Hoseok by your side, you realise that you can move on as he encourages you to finally take a step forward. And for once you look hopefully to a happier future.

author’s note: honestly, i nearly turned this into a drabble series, but well, my writings are either too long or too short theres no in between so, oneshot it is sjdksjkfsd i hope you guys enjoyed it and as always, feedbacks are always appreciated !! if you’re interested in jimin’s story, you can find it here! thank you for reading 💕

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sunflowersseemhappy · 4 years

Note

main 6 with an apprentice who’s blind? also, i hope you have a lovely day!

Thank you anon for the request, sorry it took so much time but I was melting in the heat here and had a bit of writers block. Despite that I have had a lovely few days since I got your request!

I really hope this is alright, obviously take it with a grain of salt as I am not blind and have no clue what other people who are blind go through.

This is more based on an apprentice who wasn’t blind before resurrection but it could be either way. But I think it makes sense for the Apprentice (as the Fool) to be blind due to the classic card in tarot... (but I won’t get into that now!)

As always I hope you enjoy! REQUESTS ARE OPEN and up next is;

Main 5/6? react to an Apprentice who is trying to cheer them up about their histories by talking about their own history with Lucio. (A better title to come.)

Asra

Some of his travels involved looking for treatments, never really gave up looking for something or someone who could help you.

Begged the Magician to help restore your sight, it was hard enough you no longer had your memories but without your sight Asra didn’t know how you would cope.

Baby proofed everything, all the furniture is nailed down and the heaviest items are on the lowest shelves, he put railings on both sides of the stairs and did consider putting the bedroom downstairs.

Faust is now a guide dog snake, she takes her duty very seriously but her warnings can come a little late because snake’s vision is slightly different.

Placed magical runes around the city so you could find your way, it took him a while but they work well and act with your own magic

Hired a caretaker at some point, who was great but as you learned you didn’t seem to need the help as much.

Removed all the doors (except those that lead outside) so you wouldn’t walk into them, though you still fumble with the curtains he put up on them instead.

Enchanted a mirror to check in on you while he’s away, he can see and speak to you if needs be.

Hummed or sang songs when you were frustrated with your impairment.

Considered not teaching you magic, but couldn't bear to deny you that part of yourself - so he taught you to use it to strengthen your other senses.

Lets you know when he wants to touch/kiss you, because he’s so light footed he’s surprised you one too many times.

Was and still obsessed about you touching his face to let you know what he looks like, needless to say you are obsessed with how fluffy his hair is. The both of you just sit there opposite one another and he lets your hands roam over him, he was so pleased when you asked him if he wanted to do it to you.

Finds it hilarious that the clothes you wear often end up gaudier than his own and clash terribly. He always lets you know and helps out if you need it.

Everything is a mystery when it’s placed in your hands by Asra, a potion bottle? Tea? Faust? No matter how many times he does it Asra always forgets to let you know what he’s giving to you. You just stand there and try to work it out.

Knows that you use your blindness to get out of chores, but he just loves you too much to confront you.

Nadia

She looks for possible treatments, but doesn’t let you know. She doesn’t want to get your hopes up, there’s nothing worse than false hope.

Nadia’s both a countess and a princess, she has some major pull so surely she could find something? However her efforts are as fruitless as Asra’s but she is determined to make you as happy as possible.

You can’t see her face but when she realised she could not do anything she cried right in front of you without you noticing.

Asks you if you wish to have a handmaid/foot servant as your guide/helper (like Portia is to her), if you say yes she will personally hire them and make sure they are the kindest person she can get.

Got all of the palace labelled by the doorways

Made your room minimalist and very cushy

Searched for braille books you could read, it was a nice gesture but you hadn’t learned it yet so the two of you learned it together.

Chandra became your silent watcher, at first she was very unamused at looking after you but after a few good pets she’s glued to your side.

Makes sure the palace is kept impeccably clean.

Do you want a guide dog? Because she’ll get you one or even three.

Some of the courtiers, not naming any *cough* “Valerius” *cough* may make some rude comments and Nadia may imply that if they don’t apologise their tongue may find it’s way out of their mouth...

She buys you delightfully tasteful clothes, but when she gets around to describing the colours you get confused because Asra just used the simple terms like blue. “There are egg-shell’s on this?!” She laughs and realising her mistake she takes the time to describe the variations of colours to you (like so).

At least her surprises for you always stay a surprise.

She finds it quite endearing that you wake up and never really have much care for what you look like, but she does insist she at least brushes your hair so it’s not sticking up in places.

When you ask to ‘see’ her by touching her face she forgets herself and nods (before realising you didn’t see that and saying yes), she is very flustered when you tell her she’s pretty. Other people have said it, but something about you touching her face and finding out in your mind what she looks like is different...

Very gentle when touching you, her hand often slips into your’s when you are unaware but it never makes you jump. A lot of the time it’s like you can feel her presence as she enters the room.

Guides your lips to where she wants you to kiss, always with a gentle touch.

Julian

He tried so hard to use his mark to take away your blindness, so much so he actually passed out from the effort. You were very scared and didn’t want him to try again, you lied about seeing him for a brief second.

In his own mind Julian wants so badly to heal you, he’s a doctor and that’s his job! But he can’t, it feels worse than when he tried to cure the plague.

He may not be able to heal you but he’s had experience with others who were blind, he makes your life so much easier.

Tried out giving you a white cane to figure out what was in front of you, you may have accidentally hit him in the shins a couple of times.

A lot of supervision, it’s not that he doesn’t trust you its just that he’s seen you pick up flour to put in your morning coffee one too many times.

Tries to cook (empathise on tries).

Lets you know what his expressions are when he’s talking about things, very good at communicating his thoughts and feelings.

Malak takes advantage of the situation, stealing any shiny objects when Julian’s out and you (obviously) can’t see. After a precious possession went missing Julian climbed up into the rafters to steal them back.

He shoulder bumps you, just to let you know he’s there if you need him. Although you sometimes get confused and apologise thinking he’s a stranger that just passed by.

Finds it adorably cute when you apologise to an inanimate object that you bumped into, his face just says ‘gods I love you’.

Very needy and wants you to touch his face all the time, he’ll just grab your hands and place them on his face. You’re very confused about the eyepatch. He loves it when your hands find his lips and trail down his chin, he just melts.

Within reason he jokes around a lot, his favourite thing to do is to stick his very cold hands down the back of your shirt and make you jump.

Absolutely loses his s**t when you make blind jokes to people who are completely unaware (ie. “Look at this!” “I would but my eyes don’t seem to be co-operating right now.”)

Muriel

Muriel knows that Asra tried everything to restore your sight so he’s very aware that if Asra, the most powerful and wilful person he’s ever met can’t help you, then he can’t do much else.

He even says it outright to you. Sure he’d want to try and help you but that’s just not something he’s able to do, but you would appreciate his honesty.

He’d make up for it through all his actions, and to be honest that is all you could ask for (at this rate it’s a breath of fresh air not being poked and prodded and slathered in ointments and tonics).

Muriel found you smacked your head on the door frame/beams of the hut one too many times (he used to do it a lot but he came to expect it). For you he pads them with fur lining, or just does some heavy lifting and prop them up higher.

Gave you a rune that rumbles when you’re about to smack into something (kind of like echolocation but magic)

Inanna is such a doll, she lets you gab the fur between her shoulders and guides you wherever you ask. Often escorts you back to the shop if Muriel can’t

Speaking of which, although he doesn’t like it Muriel will brave Vesuvia’s streets to make sure you get back to the shop in one piece.

Whittled you a cane, he made sure he didn’t get hit in the shins.

Although he can get a bit flustered at physical touch, he’ll always hold your arm if you want him to. Heck he’ll carry you if you ask.

Makes a sound/word, taps you before touching you, he’s a big guy and although he knows you don’t mind he really doesn’t want to scare you.

Takes you out and describes the places in the forest you visit, he really likes to describe the animals to you because your reactions are awe-struck.

When you asked to ‘see’ him he was confused, but when you described it he was hesitant. It’s one thing people seeing him and another people touching him, but your face is so innocent and he knows you don’t mean to make him uncomfortable. So after mentally preparing himself he sets you on the bed and sits in front of you.

His eyes were closed as your hands roamed his face but he let out a sigh as you traced the shape of his face and ran your fingers over the stubble of his cheeks and chin. He actually enjoyed it. Until you let out a shocked sound at the feel of his scars, “What is this?!” He very stiffly answered what and why they were there You then apologised profusely.

He can be deviously quiet without meaning to be so it’s a shock when you realise he’s been behind you the past ten minutes.

Makes you carvings of animals when you want to ‘see’ them too, you gave them names and called the wolf Mini-Inanna and the bear Muriel, because of reasons...

Portia

Feels very much the same way as Muriel does, at the end of the day she’s a servant not a powerful magician, a wealthy count or a skilled doctor like her brother.

Her main focus is to make you happy despite your blindness, it doesn’t have to change anything about your lives.

That being said if she heard about a magical object from one of Mazenkalias stories that could grant wishes or something she’d be on the next boat out of Vesuvia with you to make an adventure out of it.

Quickly realised she needed to hide the good china after knocked a tea cup over and off the table.😂

Put a bell on Pepi’s collar so you don’t step on her.

Pepi picked up fast that if you were going to sit on the chair she was on she’d have to mew or get out of the way! She forgives you and has on a few occasions raced to meow at you to let you know you might trip over something on the floor.

Learned braille with you when Nadia sent you some books after Portia told her that she wished you could read the books she had.

She makes you tons of blankets and pillows that have embroidered accents for something to fiddle with while you’re bored.

Always has a first aid kit handy, her cottage is messy and full of odds and ends and unfortunately accidents happen.

Created safe spaces, the bedroom and the living area are both devoid of anything apart from cushy furniture.

When Portia’s working at the palace she and Nadia invite you to escort Nadia during her duties so you can ‘see’ Portia at the Palace but be watched after by the countess.

Very giggly when you ask to ‘see’ her, she can’t stop smiling and thinks it’s amazing that you can piece together an image of her in your head. She loves it when you press your fingers to her cheeks and makes funny sounds to make you laugh too. When she mentions freckles you are awe-struck, because you didn’t know people’s skin could have them.

Accidentally remodelled the cottage without telling you, resulting in you falling flat on your face after tripping over a stool when you entered.

Also loves the blind jokes you use on others, she’ll retell them to Julian and they’ll just laugh over your comedic genius.

She’s too loud to sneak up on you so you know when she’s coming, but she warns you all the same by saying what she’s about to do. If she shouts “HUG!” prepare to be squeezed by her deceptive strength.

Once blindfolded herself and tired to experience the world like you do, fell over and hurt herself. You couldn’t stop crying with laughter as she tried to explain.

Lucio

Appalled at the thought! He feels very sorry for you and would probably try to make another deal with some demon, you have to drag him away by the ear while lecturing him on how bad of an idea it is.

It was really awkward having to deal with the healers, magicians, advisers, etc... he hired to ‘fix’ you. You actually had to give him a few stern words and ease him down, the determination is appreciated but you’d much rather have his attention than let him fuss over restoring your sight to you.

In the end he’s glad you did because it was only then he got to love and dote on you the way he wants to.

Tried and failed to train Mercedes and Melinchor into suitable guide dogs, those two are too headstrong and stubborn (kind of like a certain count you know).

Insists on escorting you to wherever you want to go before he goes to where he is supposed to be, does not care if he’s late for a meeting so long as you are where you want to be.

Mercedes and Melinchor are actually helpful, they keep their distance but if you’re lost you’ll feel them tug at your sleeves and guide you or they’ll guard you from possible foes (e.g the courtiers).

Commissioned paintings/sculptures you could touch so you could ‘see’ the exotic places he described to you.

Stopped wearing the sharp plates on his prosthetic arm as when you touched it you would get hurt by the sharp metal.

Tried to learn braille with you but he found it super hard with his prosthetic arm as it didn’t feel things like a normal hand, but you both took your time and succeeded together.

Can’t believe you can ‘see’ him by just touching his face but lets you and asks what you think about how he looks. Has never felt more self conscious than he does now. He sit’s very awkwardly but can’t help but mumble a little as you trace his nose and up to the ridge of his brow. “You’re very handsome.” That’s enough to make him splutter a thank you.

You ask at one point to feel his stump where his arm was and he’s pretty reluctant but lets you all the same as you find out about his scars and ask him about it. Afterwards he gets cocky and asks if you want to ‘see’ anything else, you smack him on the shoulder but laugh anyway.

Actually forgets you’re blind sometimes, he’s accidentally; smacked you in the face with several objects (pillows, hairbrushes, eyeliner...), asked you to pass him his dressing robe (you passed him yours and he got trapped in it), told you to look at the cool albino turtle he got and you just deadpan said “Wow.”

He’s seen you talk to statues after brushing past them and thinking they are people.

Sneaky like Julian will definitely scare you every once in a while, jokes on him if he doesn’t dodge your hand in time. But when he wants to touch you he’ll make his footsteps more pronounced and ask you if he can give you a hug or a kiss.

#the arcana #lucio #asra #muriel #nadia #portia #julian #apprentice #julian devorak #arcana #blind #headcannon #headcanon #mc #react #story #prompts #ask #anon #requests

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timelordthirteen · 4 years

Text

Walk of Shame

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Mature

Summary: Gold leaves Belle French's apartment, many hours after he first arrived...to head home.

Notes: Based on this picture of Bobby from OUAT filming which we all agree is clearly Gold doing a "walk of shame." And the first gif in this post.

[AO3]

Gold held up a hand to shield his eyes as he stepped into the glaring morning sun.

He leaned heavily on his cane while he fumbled in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. It took him a full minute to get one out and light it with only one hand, his loose tie dangling around either side of his neck as he bent his head, and he sighed as he took a long first drag. Two months had passed since his last one. He’d finally resolved to quit, both for his own health and so his son would stop nagging him, but something about the moment made it feel like the thing to do.

He flicked a bit of ash towards the ground and leaned on one of the poles that supported the overhang in front of the library. Smoke swirled up in front of him before catching in the light spring breeze and wafting away as he smirked and took stock of himself. His bad leg had settled into a dull, persistent throb, and his back was unusually stiff. Spending a night in an unfamiliar bed on a mattress that, while serviceable, was full of creaky springs and lumps from too many moving vans, had done him no favors, neither had not having access to his usual evening dose of pain medication. Still, there was nothing a hot shower and a couple of pills wouldn’t solve.

The streets were deserted at this time of day, thankfully. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him in his current state of creased trousers and wrinkled shirt, a far cry from his usual impeccability. Though he wouldn’t mind anyone knowing what he’d been up to the previous evening, he wasn’t entirely sure that the person he’d been with would feel the same. His position and power here relied on maintaining a certain sense of the unknown about himself, and an eccentricity that he didn’t really possess but that many people had imbued him with anyway. He’d been far too happy to own all the titles they would give him: evil landlord, miserly pawn broker, devil of Storybrooke; there were so many he’d been called to his face he’d lost count, and still more that he knew were muttered behind his back.

Gold smirked to himself and blew out another stream of smoke.

His lips felt slightly tender, and as he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight an unfamiliar, yet not uncomfortable, ache spread across his body. Muscles had been used in ways they weren’t used to, showing his age a little more than he liked, but it had all been quite worthwhile.

Who would have predicted the lovely Belle French could be so...insatiable?

He shook his head and took one last, long draw from his cigarette, as his evening - and subsequent morning - with Storybrooke's librarian replayed in his mind.

Gold had been out collecting rent, like any other Thursday, saving his favorite stop for last. Belle had only lived in town for a couple of years, having moved with her father from Boston, not long after her mother's passing. She'd said once that it was about a fresh start for the two of them, and that was something Gold could easily understand.

The rent was ready and sitting on the side table just inside the apartment door, a check slid into a plain white envelope. She was never late, never short, and never not a delight to speak to, though he was perhaps a bit biased in that regard. He had expected an exchange of pleasantries, a short chat, and to be on his way with the rent in his pocket, home to his pink Victorian house and his usual solitary existence.

A moment after Belle opened the door, the sky, which had been overcast and gray all day, opened up in a deluge of rain and a sharp crack of thunder. It startled both of them, and they shared a laugh before she asked him if he wanted to come in until it passed. He’d hesitated at first, but her invitation was in earnest, and before he knew it he was seated on Belle French’s sofa and sipping tea from the delicate porcelain set he’d sold to her barely a year ago.

Later, when the rain had adamantly refused to let up, Gold had resigned himself to walking back to his shop, soaked to the bone. But she wouldn’t hear of it and insisted he stay until it had abated. He got the sense that she was pleased just to have some company, and was uncertain if it mattered that it was him or not.

That thought was dispelled some time after a dinner of reheated lasagna from Granny’s Diner, when he found himself with a lapful of a very enthusiastic Belle. It had been foolish to try to kiss her in her own kitchen, while the storm rattled the small window over the sink, and he was quite prepared to be thrown out on his arse over it. She had done quite the opposite, much to their mutual delight and satisfaction.

Multiple times.

His assumptions that Belle French was in fact wonderful, beautiful, and perfect, had all been confirmed over the course of the evening, and earlier this morning. In fact she was brilliant, stunning, and so many levels out of his league his mind boggled that she would do more than give him the time of day. And she’d done far more than that.

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, drawing on his cigarette as a shiver washed over him. The memory of her slick warmth clenching around him made his head spin, and the sensation of her mouth dragging along his length left him shifting his cane to stay upright. He could still smell her on his fingers as he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips.

It had been near impossible to drag himself from her apartment this morning, leaving her wearing nothing but a naughty smile as she walked, loose legged, towards the bathroom. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance, though he would prefer it be in his bed this time, perhaps after having dazzled her with his culinary skills as a prelude to dazzling her with other skills he had yet to be able to demonstrate.

Gold’s leg twinged painfully, bringing him back to reality, and he licked his lips and stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the trash bin beside the library entrance before tossing it inside. The rest of the pack followed after it with a heavy sigh. Belle hated smoking.

He stepped off the curb onto the pavement, still wet from last evening’s rain, fighting to hold back a smile. Plans were rolling through his mind, including what kind of flowers he might send to the library this afternoon along with an invitation to dinner Saturday night, when he noticed something moving across the street.

Coming out of the side door of Granny’s Inn was Regina Mills, looking nearly as wrecked as Gold, with her usually prim suit jacket draped over her arm, her blouse untucked from her pencil skirt, and her hair a tousled mess. The inn did a fairly good business in the summer, but early spring didn’t bring many tourists to the coast of Maine, and the only known occupant at present was Emma Swan, the new Sheriff. She and Regina had been publicly sparring for the entire six months Emma had been in Storybrooke, though many noticed there was always an undercurrent of something else between them. By strange circumstance, they now shared a son, and he had assumed that much of their discord came from that particular conflict.

Gold stopped next to his Cadillac, parked in front of his shop, and watched as the Mayor looked around nervously on her way to her car, much the same as he had upon exiting Belle’s apartment over the library. A smirk spread across his face as he pulled open the door of his car and then slammed it shut, making sure to generate as much noise as possible.

Regina startled and turned slowly, her eyes going wide when she saw him.

He pulled open the car door again, smiling back at her before he reached in to set his cane on the passenger’s side. “Good morning, Regina.”

She regarded him suspiciously, and then turned to look at the library. When she faced him again, she was wearing an equally bemused expression. “Gold,” she replied, crossing the vacant street. “Late night?”

“No later than yours I’d imagine.” His grin widened, his tongue pushing at his bottom lip. “Up all night discussing the local crime rate with our new sheriff?”

She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and attempted to smooth the front of her hair as it fell across her eyes. “And if I was?”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted at her acknowledgement. “Then I would expect the town to benefit from this newfound...cooperation between the mayor’s office and law enforcement.”

Regina tossed her hair back and fixed him with a glare. “I suppose you were just, what? Joining the weekly book club?”

His lips curled and he flashed her his teeth. “Something like that.”

She regarded him for a long moment, and then matched his look with one of her own. “Perhaps we’ll both have better things to do now than antagonizing each other at city council meetings?”

His head tilted. “Oh, I very much doubt that. You see I’ve just recently learned that the local library is greatly underfunded.”

She tipped her head back in that way which conveyed she was looking down her nose at someone, even if they were taller. “And you’re it’s new patron saint?”

He looked away, in the direction of said library, and let out a soft sigh. “Something like that.”

“As I recall,” she began, her voice dropping, “you were opposed to its reopening. What’s changed?”

He leaned forward, bracing against the car, and replied, “Let’s just say I’ve developed a new appreciation for the struggle of our public library system.”

Regina bit her lip as she started to smile. “Then we’ll have to discuss how to correct that, won’t we.”

“Indeed,” he said, seriously. Then he slid into his car, and waited as Regina moved away so he could close the door. He gave her a curt nod through the window, the Cadillac rumbling to life and disturbing the otherwise peaceful morning.

“Regina...”

“Gold...”

He pulled away from the curb, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Regina hurry off to her own vehicle, and grinned to himself. It seemed more than one new alliance had been formed in last evening’s rain.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #my rumbelle fic #walk of shame #fic #smoking cw

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confusedhalfofthetime · 4 years

Note

I am the previous anon 🥺👉👈 The prompts were "did you just hissed at me?", "Welcome back. Now fucking help me" and "kiss on the nose" (hope you have a lovely day)

Thank you so much for the request, darling. Hope you enjoy xx

Plot: the Reader and the Master had a row and they go their separate ways but they can’t stay away from each other for long.

Warning: blood, curse words a little bit of angst but mostly fluff. This can be both a F!Reader or an M!Reader, the gender is not specified.

Prompts: “Did you just hiss at me?”, “Welcome back, now fucking help me” + kiss on the nose.

You were home. Your old periphery apartment was even duller than you remembered.

He did it. After all the times he said he would do it and you didn't believe him, the Master had finally left you. Just like that. He had flown the TARDIS to London and he had left you in front of your building with nothing more than a "get out". He didn't even look at you, he had just stood there, resting his hands on the console and clenching his jaw.

So you had done as he said and left, not without slamming the door behind your back, of course.

You had felt mad, every unch of your body was hating him as you walked out. But now that you looked around and saw the white-grey walls, the dusty carpet and the untouched beer still on the table in your living room from the last time he had picked you up and you had followed him to the TARDIS, to the stars, to all of time and space, you couldn't feel anger even if you wanted. All you were feeling was cold. Probably because you hadn't switched on the heater in...how long had you been away? When you time travel it becomes impossible to tell.

You let out a long sigh. Well, it was done, there was no going back now. You just had to accept that.

Months passed. It felt more like a decade, to be honest.

Work was always the same, boring, flat. No aliens to run away from, no kings to assassinate and most of all, no Master.

You missed him like crazy with his impossible socks and those unreadable dark eyes. You even missed your quarrels and his teasing.

As you were deep in your thoughts, nibbling at your pen and completely ignoring the excessive amount of work on your desk, you heard someone screaming. You snapped out of your mind and turned around toward the window, right in time to see, on the street below the building, people running as fast as possible from a huge, red creature with long arms and even longer claws. It looked a bit like a mad chimpanzee.

And then you saw him. The Master was clearly trying to calm the creature, holding something in his hand you couldn't see from there. Apparently, he was also failing in his attempt as the creature hit him with his claws. You gasped loudly and before you knew it, you were running outside.

The street was a mess, people running and screaming and hiding in the closest shops.

You saw the Master entering in one of the side streets and you followed him.

-Fuck...- you heard him mutter as he held his injured arm.

-Master...- you approached him and he turned around quickly.

His sleeve was torn and you could see drops of blood falling from his wound.

-What are you doing here? - he asked.

-I work here. What are YOU doing here? -

The Master glanced behind your back, making sure the creature hadn't followed him.

-I'm working as well-

You rolled your eyes. -Of course you are. What is that thing? -

-It's not important. You should get back to work-

-I would if a gigantic alien monster hadn't appeared out of thin air! -

The Master looked at you seriously.

-What can I do? - you asked, ignoring the way his deep gaze made you feel.

-There's nothing you can do- he snapped.

You could practically see the walls getting up again, after everything you did to put them down.

-You're hurt, there's an alien attacking people in centre London and you're in no condition to stop it alone so I'm gonna ask again: what can I do? -

The Master bit his lip, considering your words.

-Fine- he gave in. -Distract it, I just need a few minutes to adjust this stupid thing- he said slapping the TCE he was holding with his blood-stained hand.

Of course you were gonna be the bait. You nodded either way and ran out of your hiding place. The creature was busy destroying a trash can and chewing on it like it was a piece of bread.

-Hey you, stupid...monkey! -

The alien turned toward you, his eyes dark and hungry and his mouth drooling and wide open.

-Oh shit-

You started running like hell. Oh, you had missed it.

As you passed the halley, the Master jumped between you and the creature and pushed the button on his TCE. Which didn't work.

-Oh, come on! - he said sounding exasperated.

In no time, the monster was on him, as the Time Lord struggled to push his long arms away from him.

-You know, this reminds me of so many bad days- you said, terrified but slightly amused.

-Yeah yeah, welcome back, now fucking help me! - he shouted through gritted teeth.

-Oh, yeah, right- you looked around and saw a cane someone probably dropped while running away. You picked it up and hit the alien with it. It gave in a painful, animal-like noise and you took a step back as it got on his two feet and raised his clawed hand.

The Master quickly jumped up and pointed the TCE against it once again. This time, fortunately, it worked.

-Thank you- you said as the Time Lord picked the now tiny creature in his hand. He glanced at you and put it into his pocket.

-You weren't so bad yourself-

That was the maximum of his compliments. You definitely had missed him.

-Does it hurt? - you asked pocking his arm.

-Ouch! -

-Sorry...isn't it suppose to close on its own? -

-That bastard had poisonous claws. It prevents wounds from closing instantly. It'll heal, eventually- he said looking annoyed.

-Let me patch it up- you suggested.

The Master looked at you in silence, considering your proposition for a few moments before nodding and leading you toward the TARDIS. You entered with a smile on your face. The ship had become your home. You couldn't believe how much you had missed it. The TARDIS' console activated to welcome you with that familiar noise you liked so much.

-I missed you too beautiful- you said caressing the console.

The Master looked at you without you noticing. He didn't think he would ever see you again after your row. Yet, there you were, talking to his TARDIS as if it were a pet.

He collapsed on the nearest chair and you directed your attention back to him. You took the emergency kit from the cupboard he kept it in and went to sit next to him.

-Alright, take off your shirt-

He smirked. -So many memories-

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on wetting the cotton instead of his necked chest.

As soon as you placed it on the Master's arm he hissed.

-...did you just hiss at me? -

-Maybe if you were a bit more delicate...ouch! -

-You're such a baby-

You said tapping as softly as you could on the open wound.

-Did you mean it? What you said back there? - you asked out of the blue. -When you said "welcome back" -

The Master kept looking ahead in silence. -You are welcome to stay. If you want-

You smiled, keeping your eyes on the wound.

-And- he paused, taking a deep breath. -I'm sorry for making you leave-

You did not expect that. He turned to look at you as you didn't answer.

-To be honest- you said. -I don't even remember what we argued about-

The Master grinned and winched slightly as you put bandages around his arm.

-And I'll be more than happy to come back- you said as you finished patching him up. You left a kiss on the bandage and then another one on his nose.

-I missed you- you admitted.

-I know-

You laughed and pushed him slightly on his good arm.

-Alright, alright. I missed you too-

51 notes · View notes

tsuki-chibi · 4 years

Text

Passionfruit (November) Day 27: Solve

Catch up on the whole fic on AO3: Passionfruit

————

Normally Sunday mornings were Marinette’s favorite. Her parents opened the bakery a couple of hours later on Sunday, so she never had to worry about them waking her up early to help like they sometimes did on Saturday. Sunday mornings were for sleeping in, followed by slow, luxurious awakenings that involved a good extra hour in bed.

Not today.

“Do I look okay, Tikki?” Marinette asked anxiously, smoothing down the red blouse she was wearing.

“You look fine,” Tikki said patiently, just as she had for the last three outfits.

“I have to look better than fine. I need to convince the guardian that I’m cool and capable of being Ladybug!” Marinette said. In spite of her feelings last night, Adrien’s nerves had been catching. Her stomach fluttered as she looked into the mirror, wondering if she should forego her usual pigtails in favor of a more grown-up hairstyle.

‘Mari, you look lovely,’ Adrien thought, sneaking a quick peek through her eyes. ‘I like that blouse.’

‘Thanks, Chaton,’ Marinette thought. She stopped plucking at her blouse and instead smiled at the mirror. Paired with dark blue jeans and her favorite brown boots, she supposed the blouse looked pretty decent. It would have to do at any rate. She picked up a purse and looped it over her shoulder, motioning to Tikki.

‘I’m downstairs,’ Adrien thought.

Moments later, Sabine called out, “Marinette, Adrien’s here!”

“Coming,” Marinette shouted, swallowing as she clasped her purse shut on Tikki’s reassuring smile. She clattered down the steps and into the bakery, where Tom was stuffing a pastry into Adrien’s hand.

“ - my new recipe,” Tom was saying. “Citrus and raspberry with white chocolate. Give it a try and let me know what you think.”

“Sure,” Adrien said, biting into the pastry. His face lit up. “This is wonderful, Monsieur Dupain!”

Tom beamed. “Call me Tom, son.” He patted Adrien’s shoulder. “I hope you two plan to come back here afterwards. I’m working on a new hot chocolate flavored pastry and I’d love for you to be the first to try it.”

“Of course,” Marinette said, unable to resist Adrien’s hopeful look. “It shouldn’t take us very long, Papa.” She linked arms with Adrien and gently drew her boyfriend away from her papa. If she didn’t, Tom would squirrel Adrien away to the kitchen and she wouldn’t see Adrien for the rest of the day.

Which was fine, in theory. Adrien didn’t eat enough for a teenaged model, never mind as a superhero who regularly parkoured around Paris. There was a reason that Marinette regularly smuggled him food: he could definitely do with some fattening up. But they had to go see Master Fu and there was no way Marinette was doing that alone.

“I wouldn’t let you,” Adrien said around another mouthful of pastry as they walked up the street. It was a good thing they were soulmates, because those words came out so garbled Marinette never would’ve understood him otherwise. She shot him a fond smile and shook her head.

“I know. Papa really would steal you away though,” she said. “He loves having a captive audience when it comes to tasting stuff.”

Adrien swallowed and gave her a grin. “Believe me, My Lady, I am perfectly willing to be his cat-ptive audience anytime.”

“Silly kitty,” Marinette said, rolling her eyes at him, and took his hand so that she could lace their fingers together.

Tikki had told them that Master Fu lived in another arrondissement, one that was filled with smaller shops and boutiques. Marinette looked around with some interest, noticing a few stores that she wouldn’t mind coming back to see - but she couldn’t focus enough to browse through them now. Her stomach churned and Adrien’s hand grew clammy as they approached.

“Is that it?” Adrien asked finally, pointing with his free hand.

Marinette glanced up and saw that he was gesturing to a shop about a dozen feet ahead of them. The name, though she probably wouldn’t have been able to pronounce it, simply read ‘Astounding’ in Mandarin. As they walked up, she saw that the store’s windows were filled with what appeared to be various medications and herbal supplements.

“Umm... I’m not sure,” Marinette said, furrowing her brow.

“That’s it,” Plagg said, covertly poking his head out of Adrien’s pocket.

‘Seriously?’ Adrien thought skeptically.

She shrugged. ‘I guess he’s really good at blending in?’ she thought, reaching for the door. It gave easily under her hand and they stepped inside.

The proprietor was the very definition of a little old man. He was speaking to another customer, giving Marinette and Adrien the chance to gather in a corner while feigning interest in a salve. Marinette snuck peeks at him, taking in the grey hair, slightly hunched back, and tacky Hawaiian shirt. She knew him... but from where?

Suddenly, Adrien gasped. ‘I know him too! He’s the guy who I stopped to help that first day I wanted to come to school!’ He pushed a memory at her, and Marinette suddenly saw Adrien running away from Nathalie to go help an elderly man with a cane who had stumbled and fallen.

That made her remember where she had seen the man before. She grabbed Adrien’s arm, pushing a memory back at him. That very same morning, she had wanted to bring macarons for her whole class. But she’d ended up dropping most of them after an elderly man had stepped off the sidewalk into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

‘It was the same guy!’ Marinette thought, her eyes wide.

Adrien stared back at her. ‘I can’t believe we both saw him on the same day. That can’t be a coincidence.’

‘No way,’ Marinette thought. ‘So what... was he like, testing us?’

‘Wait, you don’t seriously think he picked us because we both stopped to help,’ Adrien thought incredulously. ‘What if you had been hurt stepping in front of that car? What if my dad had locked me up in the house for the rest of the year?’

His justified anger stirred up Marinette. She had to take a deep breath in the hopes of calming both herself and her partner down. Adrien was right, though. If that was what Master Fu had been doing, it was pretty short-sighted of him. Even the nastiest of people could have a change of heart once in a while, and even the best of people could have moments where they just didn’t have time to stop to help.

“Thank you and come again,” the proprietor called as the customer departed. “What can I -” He stopped abruptly as he turned to Marinette and Adrien, his jaw dropping. He definitely recognized them, and so Marinette knew for sure that this had to be Master Fu.

“Hello, Master!” Tikki said, bursting out of Marinette’s purse.

“T-Tikki?” Fu stuttered, eyes wide and face pale. “What on earth is going on here?!”

“We ran into a little problem,” Plagg said, flying out of Adrien’s pocket. “Tikki insisted that we come tell you about it to see if you could solve it. Not that it really needs solving if you ask me,” he mumbled under his breath.

“It was the right thing to do and you know it,” Tikki said in a long-suffering tone. “Believe me, we’re not here because I want to be.”

Fu recovered quickly, a deep frown crossing his face. “Wait, what’s the problem? Why are Ladybug and Chat Noir here together? In their civilian forms, no less?”

“That’s the problem. They’re soulmates,” Plagg said.

If possible, Fu paled even more. “You’re soulmates?” he said, staring at Adrien and Marinette like he had never seen them before.

Marinette licked her lips and nodded. “Yes, we are,” she said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. Adrien squeezed her hand.

‘You sound fine,’ he thought encouragingly.

“They met before they became Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Tikki explained to Fu. “But they’ve been keeping it a secret.”

Fu blinked at that. “A secret? Why?”

“None of your business,” Adrien said. If he had been transformed, his ears and tail would’ve been bristling. Marinette couldn’t blame him. That was a pretty personal question, even if Fu didn’t realize that. If she were Adrien, she wouldn’t want to go into detail about her asshole father either.

“Master.” A little green kwami emerged from the collar of Fu’s shirt. Marinette gasped with delight when she saw him. This kwami looked like a little turtle and was almost as cute as Plagg and Tikki.

‘Probably a match for his bracelet,’ Adrien thought. Marinette dropped her gaze, taking a better look at Fu’s wrist. The greyish green charm looked, upon closer inspection, roughly like a turtle.

“Don’t you think it would be best to move this into the back room? Someone could walk in on us,” the kwami said.

Fu shook his head. “Of course, Wayzz. You’re right. I’ll lock the door.” He walked over to the door and locked it, then flipped the sign hanging there from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.

“Hi Wayzz!” Tikki chirped.

“Tikki, Plagg.” Wayzz smiled and flew over to Tikki and Plagg.

“Come this way,” Fu said to Marinette and Adrien. Perhaps sensing the tension, his voice was friendlier when he added, “I’ll make us some tea and we can sit down and talk.”

That sounded strangely ominous. Marinette had to make herself take a step forward, only to be drawn up by Adrien. Their hands were still clasped and he hadn’t moved, and was in fact digging his heels in. His eyes darted to the door and she knew that he wanted to make a break for it. To be honest, the thought didn’t sound all that bad.

But it wouldn’t be right.

“Mon minou, let’s go,” Marinette said quietly. “We can’t delay the inevitable.” No matter how much she wanted to.

Adrien bit his lip before finally nodding and thinking, ‘Okay.’

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #master fu #tikki #plagg #soulmates #soulmate au #post reveal #passionfruit #passionfruit november

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amberlynnmurdock · 4 years

Text

Library Series (Part 12)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Chapter Summary: It has been a week since Matt’s date with you.

AO3 LINK

Library Series Masterlist

11:36pm. FRIDAY.

Cold. Brisk, Autumn cold. Stinging on the open wounds of his hands. Stinging? What’s that metallic smell? Blood.

White noise. Matt can’t focus on anything but the bloody man beaten to a pulp that lay in front of him, coughing up blood. Matt’s shaking. How could he have done this? Did he just do this?

Yes, of course he did. The fact that it came so easy to him frightens Matt. It was so easy to attack the man. So easy to wrap an arm around his neck–not so easy to get him on the ground and to confess what he has done, no. It wasn’t easy to hear the first plea to stop, and most of all, it wasn’t easy for Matt to listen to him.

But here he was, and Matt was shocked to feel so accomplished… unsettled, about this, but why? Was he wrong? Was he the devil in this?

Was he?

Who is Matt Murdock?

ONE WEEK AGO.

Matt stays put until he hears the door of your dorm unlock, and then lock, and then he stops listening when he hears Marci squeal, “So! How’d it go?”

And Matt walks himself home–nothing heavy in his heart.

He takes a deep breath and thinks to himself, what a night. He couldn’t believe he managed to pull off some story about him being nervous and acting weird all for the sake of keeping you safe from those two punks. And though Matt is relieved that nothing happened to you, it doesn’t change the fact that he lied to you. “Story”, Matt laughed at himself. You lied.

Matt didn’t have another choice, he supposed. You’d think he’s crazy if he told you the truth about his abilities. Oh, what a great topic of conversation for a first date. “Yeah, by the way, you want to know how I became blind? From a toxic liquid that took away my sight, but gave my other senses a 1000x boost. I can hear your heart beat and I can tell when you lie to me. I also know how long ago you put your perfume on.” What a nightmare, Matt thought.

Matt did what he had to do. He acted quick on his feet and got you out of there without causing a scene–er, well, he did spill that waiter’s food. But… he did what he had to do. It was either spilt soup or you getting hurt.

He doesn’t know why he chose Fogwell’s to go to. Of all places, Matt’s first instinct was to take you to Fogwell’s. He thinks it’s because that place was always a safe haven for him, so, when in danger… Fogwell’s. It felt right to take you there and to maybe give you at least some truth for the night.

Matt takes his time walking home. He doesn’t think he wants this night to end. After all, he does like you very much. You’re sweet and concerned and you hold your own. He doesn’t have to hear your heartbeat to know you’ve just entered a room. Matt likes that. Matt likes you.

Matt lets the sounds of the night fill his ears. He hears taxis pass each other and the chef of a pizza place kiss his teenage nephew on the cheek for mastering how to make the base of a pizza. He hears the doors of a flower shop open and close and now he smells… daisies.

He hears the sound of a silver chain tingle around someone’s neck. He hears that person grow uncomfortable with it.

A woman is walking around the corner of a street. She’s rushing to get home safe.

“Don’t fucking move!” a male voice hisses.

Matt stops in his tracks. He listens for movement but hears nothing. There’s no one surrounding him. He’s alone, walking on the path from your dorm to his. He doesn’t want to confuse the sounds of night with someone right behind him. If there were.

“Oh, my God, please” a woman shrieks. The same woman rushing to get home, Matt thinks. Matt focuses on the sound of her voice, since it was louder than the first hiss he heard.

“Don’t you fucking move!” the first voice shouts louder. A man. The man moves something that makes a tingle–the man with the silver chain.

“Please, please!” the woman cries, “I’ll give you anything!” She’s a young woman, Matt identifies by hearing her voice more clearly now.

“Shut the fuck up,” the man spits. He’s older. 35. Thick New York accent.

Matt turns around. Their voices were coming from outside the campus gates on the other side of the street. A block down.

Matt gasps. He’s trying to think quick, but he doesn’t know what to do. He’s frozen. Numb. A bystander.

“Hey, man,” a voice right next to him startles Matt, “you good?”

Tall, strong voice, young, clasps a hand on Matt’s shoulder that Matt nearly hits off out of habit. Frat boy. Matt’s age.

“Yeah,” Matt mumbles, “just taking a breath.”

“Okay,” the guy chuckles. “You need–er–help getting to your dorm?” He asks Matt, noticing Matt’s cane.

“No, I’m–“

A loud bang rings in Matt’s ears which causes him to stop his sentence short. Matt takes a step forward and momentarily forgets the frat guy is still there, and bumps into him.

“Hey, man, seriously, you good?” He asks again. Matt is speechless. He hears the woman cry out in pain. At least she was still alive. But severely hurt.

“Listen, I’m fine, just–“

“Wait a sec, are you–are you high. man?” The frat boy starts to laugh, “Jesus, you go, dude.” His voice was booming in Matt’s ear, which made it hard for Matt to listen to what was going on beyond the campus.

“I’ll leave you to it dude, jeez,” the frat boy laughs his way off, walking away from Matt.

Matt finally takes a deep breath and listens for the woman, who is still crying. Unfortunately, from her cries and people coming to her help, it seems like the robber got away.

“I saw him go down 95th,” she cries to a stranger who had called the police.

“The police are coming, okay, miss?” a man who was helping the woman said. He was about 65, Matt could tell.

“Dammit,” Matt mutters under his breath. You could have done something.

But, could he have really?

Matt may have heightened senses, but he doesn’t have super speed. Even if he wanted to help, he wouldn’t have ran out of campus fast enough. Plus, he was still in his street clothes. He can’t be recognized for trying to disarm a robber, or, whatever you wanted to call it. People would think it’s crazy… he’s crazy. What’s a blind man doing to stop a New York robbery and shooting in the street?

LATER, 12:32 am. SATURDAY.

Matt arrived back to his dorm to a snoring Foggy. A comforting sound to end the night with, Matt thinks.

In bed, Matt is restless. Matt is getting trapped in his own thoughts. When one thought makes sense, another comes in uninvited crushing the whole thing.

He’s thinking about you and how he lied to you tonight. He’s thinking about how close the two of you were in danger tonight from those two men who followed you. Matt shivers at the thought.

He’s thinking about the woman he could have helped if he just decided to do anything–but that was the thing, what could he do?

The man who shot her walked off so easily. Without a doubt, without an ounce of fear. Not any fear that young woman could have felt. That man felt no remorse walking off with, what, an extra fifty bucks in his pocket?

It disgusted Matt. It infuriated him. And there’s no way he was staying in this bed knowing that he could find that same man and teach him his own lesson.

1:15 am.

New York City sure is much, much colder at night. Even if it’s not winter yet, somehow that brisk autumn air has just enough crunch to make Matt shiver even in his black sweatshirt, black long sleeve, black pants, and even black hat.

He creeps along the street outside Columbia University and makes his way down to where the crime scene happened not even two hours ago. He hears police tape rustling in the wind.

Matt backs himself up against the brick building near the crime. The police were still there questioning the man who helped the young woman. She had already been taken to the hospital for her wound. She was shot in the side of her stomach.

“I didn’t even see the guy,” the older man said, “but the young girl, like she said, he went down 95th. Took off like no one’s business, so casually.”

“We are going to Metro-General tomorrow to ask her questions. But thank you for your help sir, and sorry this happened so close to your convenient store,” a police officer said.

“Hey, what cannya do? That’s New York,” the man said. It shouldn’t be New York, Matt thought to himself.

“Have a good night, sir,” the police officer said.

Matt cursed to himself. Well, the only piece of information he has is that the man went down 95th, but then, where else? What then after that?

The only thing Matt could do was go and figure it out on the way. He couldn’t hold himself back even if he wanted to. It was as if this whole thing was drawing him in even more as the seconds went by. He craved to find that man like a predator hunting its prey.

Matt creeps up along side the building before he slips into darkness, slips into the less busy side of town and walks onto the pavement of 95th.

It’s quiet. That’s the first thing he notices at the apartment building he has stopped in front of. People are shutting their televisions off. Someone is putting a cup of noodles cup in the microwave–Matt has to pick more up for him and Foggy–someone else is organizing their closet and–someone else is… Matt tunes that out. All of this is useless. All of it is just white noise.

Maybe if he had just immediately thrown his shirt over his head and dashed for the crime, that woman wouldn’t have to be getting stitches in her stomach. That man would not have got away. Matt wouldn’t be freezing out here.

Something fills his nose. A thick smoke that wafts from around the corner. Matt, for whatever reason, is drawn to it and follows the scent.

It is cigarette smoke, one of the worst smells for Matt to come in contact with. Too much of it around him can cause Matt to become so dizzy, he’ll have to stop whatever he’s doing and sit down. But not this time.

“Yeah, man, I fled the scene so fast. I was smart this time, just shot, won, and then went,” a thick New York accent brags.

“Really? Did you get the money still?” another asks.

“Nah, I’m picking it up Wednesday. Tony said the next game of Texas Holdem will be then. But the guys was so mad I won, that’s why I left. Never know with those punks from downtown.”

Matt hit his palm to his face and sighed in frustration. It was too good to be true.

Crestfallen, Matt begins to walk down the street, feeling defeated. He really had as much information as the police did.

It wasn’t enough. This all felt like a crossword puzzle with a million words to solve.

It was late, Matt thought. If he stayed out any longer, the chances of Foggy waking up and noticing Matt not there would go up and up. Matt decided to call it a night and headed back to Columbia University.

SUNDAY.

It’s late again. And Matt is back in his black clothes, lingering on a fire escape of an abandoned building on 95th street.

He felt crazy going this length. He’s now stalking the city on a ledge waiting to hear something that could lead him to the robber from the other night? Yeah, he felt crazy. But the drive inside of him kept him up at night and he would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least continue to try.

Turns out, this part of the city isn’t quite so noisy on a Sunday at 11 at night.

He hears the same people that he did the other night. Television, soup, all the same. He’s not suspicious of any of those people in the building but he needs to listen, in case of, well, anything. Anything that could lead him to his target.

People down below on the street walk smoothly and quietly. Cars pass by on the main road. Rain begins to fall lightly. Matt doesn’t mind.

“You’re crazy for comin’ back here,” a man’s voice is heard from down the street. Matt tilts his head to where the voice comes from.

“It’s smart. I blend in. Nobody saw me that night except for her. They don’t even know what I sound like,” a thick New York accent replies.

Matt moves from the top of the fire escape he’s on to one below him. He leans over the railing with two fists. He holds his breath.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy man. And so close to a Ivy League.”

“That’s where I wanna go next. So many rich bitches, I don’t give a fuck.”

The man grunts and tugs on a chain around his neck uncomfortably. Matt recognizes the sound and almost leaps over the ledge, but stops. A car pulls up quickly.

“My ride’s here. Gotta bring this all to the boss downtown,” the man says.

“You be careful out there, buddy. But I know you won’t be.”

And with one swift motion into the car, the door closes. And just like that, Matt’s threat is gone.

LATER.

Walking back to his dorm, Matt feels slightly hopeful. And slightly unsure about this whole plan. Or, lack thereof. What was he planning on doing once he was able to get to that man? He had no idea. He just wanted to catch him.

The law hasn’t found this guy yet, but Matt is so close on this guy’s tail that he can feel the anticipation rise in his chest, like an inflating balloon–slowly, until it grows so big, all that anticipation pops and–Matt doesn’t know what he’d do.

He could leave an anonymous tip at the police station. But what good would come of that? The police will get the guy, he’ll get a lawyer, and get a shitty sentence that won’t last more than 3 months. That’s not enough. Not enough for Matt, not enough for that woman. Not enough to put an end to things like this.

And who was that boss that the man was talking about?

There was something bigger going on here. Matt had to find out.

Lavender. Vanilla.

Matt’s head jerks up to the pitch black sky but right in front of your dorm building.

Oh. Shit.

Okay, it’s not like Matt forgot about you per say… just with this crime he overheard and his growing obsession with getting this guy, it might have slipped his mind. It’s nothing personal, maybe he should have called right when he got home after the fact but… he witnessed–er, heard?–a woman get shot. It was a lot for Matt to process, especially since he didn’t do anything about it. Especially after his crazy date with you.

It’s complicated, Matt thought.

But that wasn’t fair to you.

He wonders if you have noticed his absence. It’s been, what, two days?

Well, he is curious to see if you’re up…

“What’s wrong, boo-boo?” Marci’s cheerful voice asks.

“It’s…”

Matt has to compose himself after hearing your voice for the first time in what feels like forever. Something nice to hear, rather than the violence and blood on the streets of New York. Comfort.

“Matt.”

Matt freezes when he hears his name, and then it slowly dawns on him that he should not be eavesdropping and now he suddenly feels like a real stalker but he can’t help but–

“He still hasn’t texted me yet. And I’m totally not about to text him because, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Marci agreed.

“I just don’t get this. We went on one date and I’m already getting these mixed signals and–and it’s not good and it’s not what I signed up for, Marc. Mixed signals should be like, the third date, right?”

“Wrong. If the person really likes you, there shouldn’t be any mixed signals at all. Maybe Matt’s just a douchebag.”

Matt winces. Way to sell me, Marci…

“But he isn’t. That’s the thing. Matt is genuinely a nice guy,” you say back. Matt smiles.

“Oh sure, they’re all nice in the beginning. Until they have you on a leash and do whatever they feel, whenever they feel,” Marci argues.

Leash? These are not Matt’s intentions at all. How could Marci assume all of this about Matt? He would never do this to you. He would never just treat you like a doll.

“I don’t know,” you say. You sound sad. And it’s Matt’s lack of actions that are causing it.

“Listen, boo. Don’t call him. Don’t text him. If he texts you, give it a day. Or call him out right away. I don’t know, you’re a journalism major, aren’t you supposed to be confrontational?”

“Actually, objective. Confrontation are for lawyers, like you. Apparently Matt hasn’t learned that, yet, however,” you giggle. Matt smirks, only because it’s coming from you.

“Seriously, though. I know it sucks but, you can’t be weak for him.”

“I know.”

Matt tunes out after that. Maybe he will text you tonight… but he’d only be doing it because he heard your conversation with Marci. And that’s wrong. And doesn’t feel genuine. Fuck, he really fucked this up, didn’t he?

Matt’s been needing to get his shit together his entire life. And he’ll do that for you.

Tonight is not that night.

10:30pm. FRIDAY.

While Matt’s been gathering as much information on this suspect of his all week, by sneaking out past midnight and overhearing conversations, he’s learned enough that this guy is not as smart as he thinks. Or, Matt just has an advantage here.

The man who Matt learned his name, Neil, is working for someone that he only refers to as “The Boss.” He uses people like Neil to collect certain things from certain people–so, he targets them and sends people like Neil to do the dirty work for him. Standard, crime king stuff, Matt supposes.

Matt can’t take down an entire mob. But he can send a message to one of them.

Tonight, Neil will be on his way to visit some family a little more uptown. Matt doesn’t think he’ll be arriving on time.

Actually, Matt knows he won’t be arriving on time.

Because just as Neil is about to turn the corner on 98th and hail a cab, just as he’s about to tighten his grip on the lasagna he brought in a paper bag, just as he thinks he can get away with anything, Matt comes swooping down from a fire escape and kicks Neil down, wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging him into the nearest alley.

“Ay, get the fuck off of me!”

Matt grips him as hard as he can with his arm. Neil kicks and jerks back but Matt stays put as he continues to drag him away.

When they are finally deep enough in the alley, Matt hurls him down and presses a knee on his chest, holding his arms above his head.

“Admit it,” Matt seethes between his teeth.

“Admit what, you asshole?!” Neil spits. Matt can hear Neil’s heart beating rapidly in his ears. He’s scared.

“You shot that woman, took her money and left her to die.”

“She didn’t die!”

Matt crushes his knee on top of Neil’s throat, “Why did you do it?”

Neil coughs, “Why da fuck do you care? You psycho!”

Matt only presses his knee harder on Neil’s throat.

“Fuck!” Neil cries, “the goddamn chain, the-the charm!”

Matt is confused momentarily. While tightening his grip on Neil’s two hands together, Matt quickly lifts his knee and reaches down to rip off the necklace Neil was wearing.

Neil takes a shot at Matt’s jaw but Matt throws the chain to the side and punches Neil in the face.

“Okay, okay! I did it! But I had to, it’s my job! I didn’t have a choice,” Neil chokes out.

“That’s bullshit. Who do you work for?”

Neil laughs, a cryptic laugh that fills Matt’s ears, that only enrages Matt more.

“You couldn’t even punch it out of me if you wanted to know.”

Matt’s senses overload him. The sweat from Neil’s forehead, Neil’s blood filling the air, his cries, the chain that Matt threw to the side of him, even the lasagna that’s spilled over the pavement. Matt punches Neil smack dab in the middle of his face, he punches his jaw, his eyes, his cheek bones, and Matt begins to lose count of how many times he’s hit Neil, but he doesn’t care.

“Please, stop,” Neil barely speaks, “I’ll run.”

“You won’t,” Matt replies, “because I will find you again and I will beat you the same. Unless you turn yourself into the police.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Neil says.

“We always have a choice,” Matt whispers.

Neil doesn’t respond because, well, he simply can’t anymore. His lips are bloody and his eyes are swollen shut. Matt hears him slowly fall asleep.

For a moment, Matt stays kneeling on Neil’s chest. He’s out of breath as well. It’s quiet again. The noises of New York now fill his senses.

Matt stands up slowly over Neil’s body.

He gathers his thoughts. Matt is cold. And suddenly it feels like his mind is unwrapping itself of its black twisted thoughts.

What would have happened if Matt didn’t stop punching?

Cold. Brisk, Autumn cold. Stinging on the open wounds of Matt’s hands. Stinging? What’s that metallic smell? His cut up knuckles. Bloody.

White noise. Matt can’t focus on anything but Neil, beaten to a pulp that lay in front of him, suddenly coughing up blood. Matt’s shaking. How could he have done this? Did he just do this?

Yes, he did. The fact that it came so easy to him frightens Matt. It was so easy to attack the man, so easy to wrap an arm around his neck–not so easy to get him on the ground and to confess what he has done, no. It wasn’t easy to hear the first plea to stop, and most of all, it wasn’t easy for Matt to listen to him.

But here he was, and Matt was shocked to feel so accomplished… unsettled, about this, but why? Was he wrong? Was he the devil in this?

Was he?

Who is Matt Murdock?

11:30pm. LATER.

Matt slowly walks back to campus. He dragged Neil to the side of the curb, leaving him for someone to call the police on. Matt really didn’t know what else to do other than that. He brushed it off.

There was not much information Matt could get out of Neil, but he couldn’t worry about that. There are hundreds of gangs in New York–Matt can’t get to them all. At least this serves as a message to whoever he works for and everyone else that, he knows what happened, and he won’t let it happen again. And if it does, Matt will find them. Again. And again.

Was beating Neil up going to heal that woman’s wound? No. Matt knows that. But he hopes that it brings some solace to her that her attacker was found, and justice was served. There was nothing the police, or the city of New York could do to make that happen. But Matt was able to. Matt did. And that’s all that mattered to him.

But, now Matt knows what he is capable of. It surely frightened him, but at least he now knows the lengths he will reach now. And the line he won’t cross.

He remembers the chain he grabbed from around Neil’s neck. It was always bothering him. It must have been a gang token or something. Something “the boss” gives to his workers that signifies they are a part of his crime. Matt pulls the chain out and feels for the charm: cheap silver, no wonder it bothered Neil so much. The charm itself feels to be a circular charm with indents of another circle, and the initial R.

Matt sighs deeply. Now that Neil was taken care of, he could focus on other important things.

Matt knows he’s back on Columbia turf as the sound of partying and music grows louder. The smell of fresh cut grass and slick pavement and the sound of lamps buzzing along the path to the dorms.

The smell of lavender, the smell of vanilla.

The smell becoming stronger and stronger.

Hesitation in your voice. Uncertainty in your movements.

“Matt?”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #archive of our own #marvel #matt murdock x reader insert #marvel fan fiction #daredevil fan fiction #library series

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ohgoddard · 4 years

Text

Fist of Fire: Omega. 1-2.

I cease to exist once the helmet comes on. In its close hold on my face I find solace in myself. The pointed bronze acts like an arrow, guiding me towards those who need me. And I am always in need. The woman of steel, come to save the day. Of course, they don’t know I am a woman. Such is a secret I must keep. Funny, considering the identity and anti-vigilante laws in place. But I get by on a little technicality. See my dad… nevermind. Best keep those thoughts out of my head. Like the several punches I am taking right now. Every fight I get into starts and ends the same way. Well, it might change depending how much I care about it. Right now, several goons are swinging at me like drunk idiots while I stand still motionless, arms crossed.

“Boss.. I..I don’t think that we can take ‘em on like you said.” said a modestly muscular goon. I like that word, goon. I don’t think its used much nowadays. I really need to stay on topic, its going to make this book I'm writing in my spare time very hard to read. Anyways, I'm standing in this abandoned warehouse, several goons- er henchmen- are unsuccessfully punching and kicking me while I stand there. A good 6 or 7 of them. Dressed kinda goonishly, with the whole long-sleeves and beanie setup. They were here moving drugs and beating up some cop who found out, which added to the cacophony of the voices I heard. Their boss stands above them, a man dressed like a pimp from the 70s, white fluffy suit and all. I really liked his leopard print tophat and cane, I think it really tied his outfit together. Oh, right. He was very un-carefully cramming piles of money and bags of cocaine into a duffle bag. “BOYS! WHITE THUNDER AIN'T BEEN CAUGHT BEFORE HE AINT STARTING NOW!”

Now, a really good and proper hero would have solved all this stuff really quickly and would dispatch all in the warehouse then go onto the next crisis somewhere in the city. But I am no proper hero so I just started laughing when he said his name. “White Thunder!? Seriously?? That's the name you chose?” I sat down, I was laughing so hard. The goons and Mr.Pimp himself stopped and looked on. Which only made it funnier, as then I got a better look at him. In addition to his white robe, which was a bathrobe upon closer inspection, he was wearing all white jeans and an undershirt like a backstreet boy turned waiter. And the cowboy boots, oh the cowboy boots. They were PAINTED WHITE. Oh I haven’t had a good laugh in days.

“No OnE!” His voice cracked by the way. “No one makes fun of White Thunder!” Then he pulled a gold handgun from his dufflebag and shot me.

When I first got my powers, it was not a welcome day. I was attending the… an event. It was a happy one. I went with my dad, on one of his few days he could smuggle away for me. Though, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never bothered him. It must have killed him to sit in that chair and make idle conversation with me...poor choice of words. He and I were sitting at a table, and I remember the atmosphere was amazing. I was telling him all about my friends, the dog I got at my apartment, the engagement. So much was going right until it went wrong. And it really went wrong. Someone found out who he was, who I was. Made him…

Doesn’t really matter. I ended up with his powers. Powers I didn’t want, powers I didn’t know he had. Then they shot my dad right in front of me.

I hope that explains what I did next. Why I stopped laughing and launched from the floor and grabbed the throat of White Thunder and threw him into the concrete floor of the warehouse. Why I relentlessly aimed punch after punch into the man, who had long since left the world of the living. One less drug dealer, who cares right? Who cares that I've just killed him? Who cares that I've done it again? That i’ll do it in the future? Oh but of course I didn’t stop there. I hunted down the goons, and I broke their legs. I didn’t kill them though, so at least I got that goin for me, y’know? No more drugs being moved in the neighborhood. At Least from those guys. There's always drugs in the neighborhoods.

Haven’t talked about the voices in a while. I heard them then, the entire time. Every second I spent on these guys and that buffoon ‘White Thunder’ was one where I wasn’t making those voices quieter. See, I'm not like every other crazy person. My voices mean something. My hearing means I hear everything everyone says. Which means every time someone is in danger and they call for help, do they call for the police? Anyone nearby? No. They call for Omega Man. Millions live in the city of Chicago. An unending choir of screaming is all I hear. Only when I wear the helmet do they go away, ironically.

Anyways I killed White Thunder and incapacitated the rest of the goons. Of course the commotion it caused, mostly by throwing one of the poor guys through a wall and bringing them back into the warehouse. Other heroes showed up. But I was long gone then. I did a few more that night, stopped a bank robbery, posed for a few cameras. But I kept my brutality in check the rest of the night. Gunshots just set me off. Kinda makes me glad they’re becoming obsolete recently.

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

“That’ll be all Kiara, thank you.” I turn my head to look at Doctor Feltmen. She was wearing a new perfume today, vanilla. Must be going on a date later. Curse these powers of mine, always invading people’s lives. Her lab coat was pressed and clean, like it is every time I visit her. My eyes look her over, though they have not much else to do. The room is blank and white, nothing to focus on but myself or her. Its probably the purpose of the room anyway. I wish she’d wear something other than the khaki pants and green turtleneck.

“You sure, doctor? I could go on for a bit longer.” My voice comes out insincere, which I’m certain she caught on to. She gives me a weak smile, full of contempt. “Our time is up, though I am looking forward to our visit next month.” Her voice comes out like a barbie voicebox. So fake. I open my mouth to get another word in, but she cuts me off.

“Session’s done, please take Ms. Keita back to her quarters.” When the door opens, I hear three heavy men walk in and take a hold of the gurney I'm strapped to and begin to wheel me out of the room.

The voices no longer bother me. The ones that scream for my help. I really chalk that up the doctor’s help. Though I wish I had better avenues to achieve this help. And not have committed what I did to land me here. Killing random street thugs is one thing. But heroes? It's so bad. Even when they deserve it. Now I get to spend my time listening to the other voices, the voices of those who are legitimately insane. I’m not insane, but when I spoke of the voices they decided I must be. I ran with it, much better than the execution I would have gotten otherwise.

When the orderlies close the door behind me and lock me in my room made of solid crystal, some BS weakness my dad had that means absolutely nothing to me, they don't bother to unstrap me from the gurney. Of course, because they are too afraid to get near me. Which, I don’t doubt. I’ve killed a few hundred people and all. And a few heroes. Heroes? They weren’t heroes. Regardless, I killed people. I flex and tear the constraints off myself and throw myself onto my not soft bed. I bide my time, waiting for the right moment. Waiting to hear something from the news channel down the hall. The news of his exploits and where he might be.

I listen for Whirlwind, the fastest man alive. Able to run seconds behind the speed of light.

The man who shot and killed my dad.

#superhero #superhero story #writing #original writing #original female character #creative #creative writing #FoF:om

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izukurising · 5 years

Text

Ladybug and Chat Noir Can Finally Rest

Part 1/2

It was an exhausting battle. One that will surely go down in Paris history. The adrenaline that ran through the heroes’ veins was fading now that they all had La Farfalla surrounded. She used as much power as possible, and Nooroo wouldn’t be able to wear himself out much longer. Still, the vengeful and bitter woman’s will was strong. The last of La Farfalla’s akumas were defeated. The only thing left to be done was to take down the villain once and for all. It took a lot of planning on Marinette and Adrien’s part to gather the whole team on the day of to finish the years long battle. They let their allies know the plan beforehand. They had agreed that the next appearance of La Farfalla will be the day. Today was that day.

The duo specifically selected their best. Alya, Nino, Chloe, Kagami, Luka, and most of their trusted collège classmates are present for the biggest battle.The gamble of having everyone was simple.They will win, all in. They were all heroed up and geared to finally reclaim the Butterfly miraculous and defeat La Farfalla for good.

The holder of the Butterfly is sprawled on the ground, knees bent underneath her. She breathes heavily. Lila Rossi makes a show of looking vulnerable as she hides her sneer behind her hair. She waits for someone to make a mistake.

“Lila.” Chat Noir’s voice warns. He speaks cautiously.

Ladybug silently watches. If she spoke, Lila would get aggressive for sure.

“I am La Farfalla,” She rasps, and her voice sounds hoarse.

Her head hangs low.

“You’ve got me…I made a mistake. I’ll give it to you, just please forgive me.” The butterfly holder weakly whispers.

“Don’t let your guard down team, lying is all she has,” Ladybug has to tell them again, despite already going over this with them.

La Farfalla grimaces at the sound of Ladybug’s voice. She didn’t hear what was said but knew Ladybug spoke. She especially hated Ladybug. She hated her so much. Angry tears pour down her face. She wanted to wish everyone who wronged her out of existence. Every single person. If only she had the earrings and ring.

“This Miraculous takes over me…I feel like I have no control. It makes me hurt people. Please help me. I don’t want to be miserable anymore. Save me from it; I can’t hold on to myself!” Lila’s voice cracks painfully.

Ladybug and Chat Noir watch each other. Their partnership as adults is unmatched. With only their eyes and a minuscule nod, they agree that it’s obviously a facade.

“La Farfalla. Give us the brooch,” Chat Noir continues.

Lila cries and finally lifts her head to showcase her tears.

“I don’t want it.Take it. Help me! I’ve been stuck in this repeating nightmare for too long. I wish I was strong enough to fight what takes over me.”

Her wails echo through the silence of the abandoned area.

Rose, who was transformed with the miraculous of the peacock, took pity on the sobbing villain. Rosewing, who helped earlier in the battle by creating an unbreakable monster to protect the heroes from one of the dangerous akumas.

“Lila, everything is going to be okay.” Rosewing’s voice sounds steady and soothing. The peacock hero steps closer, fan held closed. She cautiously reaches out to take the brooch off herself, to “help”.

Finally, Lila had an out.

Lila has no time to hide her smirk before she sticks her cane straight at Rosewing. With the one hero out of position in the circle around her, she can escape. She propels herself above her cane, leaping high.

Ladybug reacts immediately and summons her second lucky charm of the day. She can feel that this is it.

Her team was vital today. She’s proud of everyone. Without Rena Rouge’s illusion, the “Ladybug” La Farfalla targeted wouldn’t of distracted her and let the real Ladybug purify and release the handful of akumas. Without Viperion’s second chance, Ryuko would of disappeared to one of the powerful akumas before she destroyed them with her elemental powers.Thanks to Roi Singe, dangerous powers of akumas went wonky again and again. And of course there’s Chat Noir, who nonstop fought back to back and side to side in this battle with her.

Every single one of the heroes took down akumas left and right and weakened La Farfalla. It was all meant to come down to this. The battle was already won.

She knew they were prepared and following the plan flawlessly.

“Queen Bee, Chat, Pegasus, Tigress, NOW!”

Chat jumps to action, bouncing off his baton and soaring to closely reach La Farfalla’s distance. Pegasus sends Tigress with him in his portal to cut Lila off. Tigress rushes at her, magically fast, successfully getting La Farfalla to pause and change directions in panic. Chat lands perfectly and cataclysms her cane that lifts up to block him. Immediately after, Queen Bee swoops in and uses her readied venom. La Farfalla gets paralyzed in place. Ladybug winds her Yo-yo and wraps her arch enemy in the strings for good measure.

The few main heroes close in.

“It’s over Rossi.” Ladybug declares. There was no spite in her voice, only the assured but exhausted tone of a hero who finally won.

“Finally,” Rena Rouge adds, relieved.

All Lila can do is move her eyeballs, internally screaming in fury. She’s out of moves.

“You thought you pulled a fast one on us,” Queen Bee scoffs. She could laugh but now wasn’t the time.

“Never again,” Carapace comments.

“Lila, it’s time you got what was coming to you. You voluntarily terrorized Paris-” Chat Noir pauses and glances at the woman he’s engaged to, “-and us, for half a decade! You’ve killed, you’ve hurt, you’ve destroyed…”

In his hands are the handcuffs that were summoned by Ladybug’s first Lucky Charm.

He speaks quietly. “You deserve worse than this.”

His father was bad, but Lila was much more clever in all the chaos she created. And somehow, more malicious.

Together, he walks up with Ladybug. They attach the cuffs to her hands.

“Team!-” Ladybug addresses everyone present.

“It’s been a long time coming. Today we reclaim the butterfly miraculous and release the Kwami from evil clutches! Paris will no longer be terrorized from any miraculous, ever again!”

Chat can’t help but lovingly gaze at her while she gives the speech.

Everyone cheers loud bellows, whoops, whistles, and claps.

He notices Ladybug’s most recent Lucky Charm that lays unused in her hand.

He gestures to it.

She further inspects the small rectangle of warm fabric.

She smiles sadly.

“I know what I need this for.”

And finally, Marinette removes the Butterfly brooch from Lila’s self and carefully clutches it. Down came Lila’s costume. Out came the purple Kwami, who looks defeated. He floats towards the ground like a deflated balloon. Ladybug cups her hands to catch Nooroo, wrapping the soft cloth snugly around the being.

“It’s okay Nooroo. You’re safe now. You’ll be alright. Everything will be okay,” Marinette soothes the shaking Kwami. He blinks his eyes open, barely. Chat stays close beside Ladybug, observing Nooroo.

“Ladybug? Chat Noir? I-Is it over?” he quietly inquires.

She nods while she feels her eyes tearing up. Poor thing.

“You can rest now Nooroo. No one will hurt you anymore,” Chat whispers.

Ladybug cooed. “We’ll protect you and every single Kwami. We’ll heal you.”

She passes the snuggled Kwami to Chat.

“One more thing left to do,”

Ladybug turns to the powerless Lila. Lila stared at her wordlessly, a scowl directed towards her. Ladybug removes the handcuffs, and throws them into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The battered buildings, destroyed streets, injured civilians, in pain heroes, and damaged battlefield returned to it’s original state through the red, pink, and white swarm.

Lila swallows and lets go of the remains of her pride.

“My heroes! You’ve saved me. I’m free of that overpowering evil…I finally feel like I’m me again.” Lila sobbed. Now that she had no power, she needed to convince them it wasn’t her free will. She plans to apologize and beg.

Marinette has had it.

“You’re freaking shameless. We’re taking you to prison for terrorism, attempted murder, theft, assault, and who knows what else will be added.”

Chat held his lady’s hand in his.

“We’ll let the justice system choose your sentence. I don’t think we’ll see you out on the town in this lifetime.” he smirks.

“I-I!” Lila stutters.

“Save it!” yelled many members of the Miraculous team simultaneously.

Ladybug yanks Lila up to her feet.

“I can’t imagine the infinite life sentences you would get if everyone who’s ever died from your actions didn’t come back from every ‘Miraculous Ladybug’.”

“I-I-I swear it! Once I wore the miraculous it took over my mind. I just t-thought it was just a pretty brooch! It was like I was the bystander of a never ending nightmare. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, it was like a shadow making me an empty, evil shell of the girl I am! I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I did those things. I never wanted this.”

“Cut the crocodile tears!” one of the male heroes jeered.

“There’s a lot of proof, quite a bit, of you being in your mind. Should I mention how when we detained Hawkmoth, you stole the miraculous and said, ‘I’ll be the villain this sad incompetent man wishes he was.’ before transforming and running off?” Ladybug reminds.

“Do you recall the time period where you pursued M-“ Chat’s cut off by Lila’s frustrated scream.

“Yeah yeah, you righteous superheroes got me! But no worries. You know me. I’ll come back in no time. Unlike you, I have certain skills without a dumb little miraculous.” She spits.

“Seriously, how did we let her bamboozle us for so long?” Tigress mumbles under her breath.

Lila smirks but the twitch of her wide eyes betrays her.

“Let’s wrap this up, team. We don’t have to worry about super villains anymore.” Chat moves to collect all of the miraculous.

“Here you go milady,” He hands the many items of the miraculous to her and helps her secure them in her yoyo, to be in her bag when detransformed. Nooroo rests in Chat’s pocket, right next to the brooch.

Besides Ladybug and Chat, the heroes stand as their civilian selves. They look around each other and take in all their friends and acquaintances for the first time, in awe.

“I think I sense a relation here,” Alix comments.

Ladybug half smiles.

“Chat and I will be taking Lila now. We’re forever grateful for the help you’ve all gave us through the years.”

Everyone mutters their thanks and goodbyes.

Ladybug glances at her fiance, unsure eyes debating something. He nods his head.

“Alya, Nino, Chloe, Luka, Kagami…”

He gathers the five people.

“Ladybug and I have something we’ve decided. Meet us at Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie at closing time tomorrow evening. Come as yourselves of course. We’ll explain everything.”

“Of course,” Kagami confirms, nodding.

“Sure thing,” Luka notes.

“The Dupain-Cheng’s bakery? Won’t they mind?” Chloe wonders out loud.

“No. It’s all fine, trust me.” Ladybug assures.

“I suppose Marinette has always had close ties with the superheroes.” Alya narrows her eyes, looking only at Ladybug.

“It’s a date dudes. Now I don’t know about the rest of you but I sure could use some shut eye.”

Seven out of eight people laugh.

“Yeah. I think Chat and I will head straight home and knock out after dropping Lila off at her new residence. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Afterwards, Ladybug and Chat Noir hand off Lila to the guards at the prison.

Lila looks at them blankly. Her frantic tantrum wore off, now that this is actually happening.

“It didn’t need to be this way..” Chat speaks.

“Ugh stop already. You act just like…Them. All you goodies always want to pretend to help and do things for others, when you really just want what’s best for yourselves.”

“That’s just your take on it, Lila. We can’t change what you feel. We’ve tried to get through to you from the beginning. We gave you every chance. You threw your life away. Goodbye,” Ladybug watches the guards walk Lila away with a straight face.

Chat sighs.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Mari.”

Ladybug wraps her arms around him.

“God, I can’t believe it’s finally over.”

“Not just yet. Last one home is a stinky cheese!”

Chat speeds away. Ladybug lets herself laugh as she chases him down.

It was Marinette who won. Chat took it easy with the exhausted kwami settled in his pocket.

She detransformed just as Chat pounced through an unlocked window.

“Intruder!” She yells.

He laughs and embraces her.

While they hug, he calls the transformation off.

It’s comforting to feel the magic drop between them.

Tikki and Plagg help fly Nooroo to their makeshift beds.

“Marinette…I’m just so happy that everything went well. We can sleep in, take some days off, finally get on with planning our wedding in peace.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have everything planned.” Marinette boops Adrien’s nose.

“You’re right. I should’ve known better than thinking you weren’t gathering all the details in your head,” he smiles sweetly.

Marinette sighs, heart pounding over his smile that she fell in love with so long ago. Her best friend, her partner, her soulmate. It warms her to her core that everything will be okay. The look on his face confirms it for her.

Adrien spins Marinette to face the other direction and nestles his chin on her shoulder.

They start stepping towards their room together in slow movements, hands clasped.

“In the morning, Fu will be here with the miracle box. He’ll help nurse Nooroo before our visit with Gabriel…” Marinette starts.

“..and then we’ll sleep. And then we’ll meet our friends at the bakery and tell them our decision, 7 pm,” Adrien finishes.

“Good kitty.”

“Are you still sure?” Adrien asks.

“Mhm. We deserve the break. It’s not forever.”

“We’d also be revealing our identities to them.”

“Only them. They have my trust.”

“Mine too.”

They finally make it to their bed. They notice Nooroo breathing softly in Tikki’s little bed.

“He’s sleeping.” Tikki pipes up.

“I can’t wait to get to know him. We’ll take good care of him.”

“Don’t I know it. He’ll be back to his old self in no time, especially with Tikki and I here,” Plagg comments.

“It’ll take some time Plagg. Nooroo has been through a lot,” Adrien tells his kwami.

Marinette and Adrien release each other to settle into their sides of the bed.

They snuggle up together right away.

Tikki and Plagg mean to congratulate their holders on their victory, but see that it can wait.

“I’m ready to knock out too. But first…” Plagg zooms into his cheese safe, while Tikki flies to her cookie stash.

Adrien presses his lips on Marinette’s softly and withdraws his face back, dreamily watching her. She returns a single kiss.

Right after, Marinette turns around, back facing Adrien. Still snuggled, they drifted off to sleep instantaneously.

“Well that was quick,” Plagg declares, chomping down on his cheese.

~~~

Part 2 in the works.

There’s something I have to mention. Firstly, I was a fool for working with Tumblr’s draft system without a backup copy. I posted this fic a week ago, and then somehow deleted the contents excluding the title while in edit mode on my phone. I was moping about losing this for a while. I simply couldn’t rewrite from scratch, something I already had written and was satisfied with. Luckily, I got on the computer I posted it from, and the page with all the words was still stored. Keep in mind that last week, I dejectedly deleted the original post as soon as I realized the words were gone. I hurriedly copy pasted and was able to save it now! My lucky stars. The original page/post never reloaded which is why my fic was still showing on the computer from before. Now I appreciate this more than ever. I was extremely disappointed when this fic had that incident as soon as I posted it, and not one person saw said post yet. Now it lives, so I’m posting this with optimism, instead of the pessimism that usually stays. :)

#ml #miraculous ladybug #post reveal #adrienette #adrinette #ladynoir #lila new hawkmoth #juleka as tigress the tiger holder #rose as peacock #ml fic #ml fanfic #im so happy i didn't lose this #final battle

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kaz-of-ketterdamn · 4 years

Text

Seven Devils (In My Heart)

A/N: Here is the third chapter! Much love to my beta reader, @infinite-cats, for continued love, support, and constructive criticism! Thanks @grishaversebigbang for organizing this awesome event!

Corporalki: @infinite-cats

Summary: Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Wylan, and Nina hadn’t seen each other for years after they broke into the Ice Court, retrieved Kuwei Yul-Bo, fought to get Inej back, and drove Pekka Rollins out of business. They never spoke about what happened–not to anyone–and they never planned on it. The truth was, even though they had told each other they would stay in contact with one another, they had long since forgotten about the promises they’d made to one another when their emotions were running high after everything that happened. It isn’t until Inej catches word of unrest in Ravka that she returns to Kerch, where she plans to inform Nina of the new development, that the group, at least some of it, is together again. While Inej had planned on leaving again as soon as she’d spoken to Nina, her plans change once she catches wind of a new threat here, in Ketterdam. With danger surrounding the group, they are drawn back together, and while facing this new obstacle, hidden feelings come to light and many truths are revealed.

Previous parts: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

ao3 link: Seven Devils (In My Heart)

Chapter 3:

Kaz

Kaz returned to the Slat, Inej following from the rooftops. When he walked through the threshold, he was surprised to see Kuwei Yul-Bo among his fellow dregs. His presence raised many questions, but that was a problem for another time. Right now, he had to deal with Inej. He climbed the stairs to his office, where he knew Inej would be waiting for him. She was always faster than him, especially when she didn’t have to deal with the crowds of people cluttering the streets.

He reached the office, and where he’d expected to see Inej perched on his desk, there was nothing but stacks of parchment. Then, he heard a rapping sound coming from the window, and he looked over to see Inej waiting outside. Until that moment, he’d forgotten, but now it all came rushing back. After she left, he’d changed all the locks in the Slat, along with the security codes of the safes in his possession and the entry code for some of his establishments. He couldn’t risk her sharing his secrets with anyone. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to get rid of all things that reminded him of her. Absolutely nothing at all.

He walked over to the window and opened it before stepping back while she climbed in. He shut the window behind her and locked it down, and after a moment of consideration, he pulled the curtains shut, too. This was a private meeting and they had a lot to discuss. Besides, one never knew who was lurking in the shadows.

“So,” he said, walking to his chair and taking a seat behind his desk. “What else do you know?” he asked, opting to skip the formalities and get straight to the point.

Inej furrowed her brows and took a seat on the edge of his desk. “Nothing,” she said.

“Then why are you here?” Kaz demanded.

“I already told you, I came to--”

“No,” Kaz cut her off. “I meant, why are you here, in the Slat? I saw you following me from the rooftops on the way back from the House of the White Rose.”

“I,” she began, looking down at her lap. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“How I’m doing?” he repeated slowly. “You disappear for years, and you want to know how the fuck I’m doing?” he said quietly, acid dripping from his words. To Inej, that was worse than yelling in anger. It meant he was going to push her away, and if that happened, she wouldn’t have a chance to get through to him again. Not after so long apart.

“Yes,” she replied, refusing to lose her nerve because of Kaz’s anger. She knew him, and he was not worth her anger. He wouldn’t make her feel guilty for taking the chance at a new life that he, of all people, had given it to her.

“Well,” he replied, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything… I want to know everything.”

Jesper

“Kaz!” Jesper yelled, barging into the Slat. “Kaz, get down here!” Jesper quickly scanned the room for the dark-haired gang leader, but there was no sign of him. There was; however, something quite noticeable: a pair of bright golden eyes--a look more commonly found in Shu Han--staring right at him. It only took him a moment to recover from his surprise, and he quickly registered that Kuwei Yul-Bo was back in town. Before he had the chance to confront him, he heard the unmistakable thumping of Kaz’s cane getting closer.

“Jesper,” Kaz called from the landing halfway down the stairs. Jesper turned to Kaz, prepared to launch into an angry rant about why he wasn’t informed of Kuwei’s presence beforehand, but his anger and frustration were quickly forgotten when he saw a figure leaning against the railing beside Kaz.

“Inej?” Jesper whispered, his mind reeling. It couldn’t be--Inej had left years ago--and yet, there she was. No one else could slip in and out of people’s lives as easily as they did buildings in Ketterdam. Besides, no one else would ever stand so close to Kaz willingly.

Inej had a serene smile on her face, and before he knew it, Jesper was smiling too. He saw Inej begin to descend from the landing, so he waded through the crowd and raced over to the bottom of the stairwell to greet her. When he had only just reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned to face Inej, who was still a few stairs from the ground. The second he turned, Inej jumped, skipping the rest of the stairs, into his arms. He spun her around before setting her down, smiling all the while.

“Inej, it’s so nice to see you!” Jesper gushed. “How are you? What are you doing here? When did you get back? How long are you staying?” He asked, bombarding her with questions, excited by her return.

“Hey, slow down!” Inej replied with a chuckle. It was nice to see her friend and his curiosity was understandable, but it was a lot for her to take in.

“Sorry!” Jesper said bashfully. He took a half step back from Inej, which she appreciated, and in typical Jesper fashion, he began to fidget, wringing his hands together, tapping his foot, and swaying from side to side.

“So…” Jesper trailed off, attempting to fill the silence that had settled between them. “How are you, really?”

Inej was about to say she was fine--it had become an automatic response whenever someone asked how she was--but she stopped herself. During her time away from Ketterdam, she had really worked on answering honestly. After all, the lies that seemed to be woven throughout the city’s damp streets were part of the reason she left. After a moment of consideration, Inej took a deep breath and said “I’m a little overwhelmed, but I’m also happy to see you. I really missed you guys.” As she said it, she realized she had missed them more than she initially thought she did. Jesper’s quirky outfits, like that awful lime green button-down, his terrible puns and brutal honesty, his strong sense of loyalty, and his friendship overall.

“I missed you too,” Jesper said quietly, eyes trained on the floor. Inej gave him a bright smile, which he quickly returned.

“So,” she said, looking around. “Where’s Wylan?” Somehow, Jesper’s smile brightened even more at the mention of his lover, and he was quick to reply.

“He’ll be here soon, he just had to finish the calculations for--” he started, but Kaz cut him off before he could say more.

“He’s working on a project,” Kaz said from the landing, reminding both Jesper and Inej of his presence. He shot Jesper a harsh glare, telling him to keep quiet. Inej had been gone for a long time; she was no longer privy to that kind of information. At least not yet.

“Yeah,” Jesper said in an attempt to salvage the pleasant conversation from before Kaz interrupted. “That. But it doesn’t matter, he’ll be here any minute.”

Then, as if on cue, Wylan appeared next to Jesper.

“Hey,” said to the taller man before he noticed Inej. “Hey!” he repeated, this time to Inej. He pulled her into a quick hug before returning to Jesper’s side and lacing their fingers together. Jesper began to rub small circles on the back of Wylan’s hand with his thumb - something they did often. It gave Jesper something to do with his hands, which calmed him, and it reminded Wylan that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Hey,” Inej said softly. She and Wylan hadn’t spent much time together, and consequently, they weren’t very close, but she still cared for him and considered him a friend. Also, Jesper liked him, which counted for something in her book.

Suddenly, the group was interrupted by the sound of Kaz clearing his throat more loudly than was necessary. “I hate to break this up,” he said, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “But I came down here for a reason, and you all have work to do,” he said, raising his eyebrows knowingly. The small group gathered at the foot of the stairwell took a few steps back as Kaz made his way down the last few stairs, his cane thumping with each step.

“Actually,” Jesper said, stepping forward to address Kaz. “I needed to talk to you about something. In private.”

Kaz looked at him seriously, and Jesper knew he was telling him they would talk later. Right now, he was busy. Jesper nodded and walked over to the bar, Wylan in tow. “I’ll be here when you’re ready, boss,” the Zemeni called over his shoulder. Kaz rolled his eyes at the name, having had this conversation many times already. It was clear Jesper’s nickname wasn’t going anywhere, and both of them knew it was created for the sole purpose of annoying Kaz.

Turning back to the bar, Jesper took a seat and said “One of Ketterdam’s finest, please.”

“You know Kaz has a rule against day drinking,” the bartender said sternly. “You also know there is no such thing as ‘Ketterdam’s finest.’”

“Yeah, I know. I just like to order water in increasingly ridiculous ways,” he replied, grinning. The bartender rolled his eyes and turned to get his drink. He was about to say something to Wylan, but he saw the redhead’s attention was elsewhere. Specifically, it was on someone standing across the room: Kuwei. Somehow, Jesper had forgotten Kuwei was here. It was probably because he’d been caught up in his reunion with Inej, he figured. No matter the reason, he was reminded of Kuwei’s presence now, which raised many questions. He wanted answers now, but he saw Kaz making his way across the room toward the other man, and he decided that for once, he was going to keep his mouth shut. He’d let the boss man handle this one. He only hoped Kuwei’s return didn’t foreshadow anything half as bad as he felt it did.

#grishaverse big bang #grishabigbang #gvbb #gvbbfic #gvbbcreation #inked thorns

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch1

So for anyone who isn’t on AO3, here’s chapter one of my DMC5 fic. Will post the other chapters soon.

May 16th, 8:13 pm

Your gloved hands desperately press against your patient’s split flesh, his blood oozing between your fingers as your colleagues prepare the surgery room. The poor man is awake, terrified tears streaking his face as he stares into your eyes, praying you’ll save him.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” you tell him, forcing your agonized mind to project calmness and reassurance in your tone. It seems to work, his eyes blinking and the fearful furrow of his brows easing slightly.

Come on, is that room ready yet? He doesn’t have much time left after losing this much blood.

The linoleum floor beneath your feet, normally stark white and freshly bleached, is covered in blood, your feet only able to stay stable due to your anti-slip shoes. The red puddle has been growing for ten minutes as you urgently hold this man’s life in your trembling hands. Most nights aren’t like this, most nights the worst you have to deal with is an idiot who wasn’t paying attention and touched a hot stove, or maybe if things got really crazy someone would come in with a broken bone.

Rarely do you hold someone’s life in your hands. It never gets easier, or less stressful.

The man’s eyes close, his head lolling back on the gurney and your heart jumps, knowing how important it is to stay conscious at this point.

“Sir, no, you have to stay awake! Come on, wake up!” your petrified voice says, the sound almost foreign to your ears. He doesn’t stir, and your panicked thoughts drop into cold realization as the steady drip of his blood on the floor slows.

He’s not going to make it. Goddamnit!

“Someone get me some O negative, now!” you scream desperately. One of your fellow nurses dashes over with a bag, the fluid red and angry looking as she rushes to get an IV prepared. She checks the man’s pulse, searching for a vein to tap and lets out a long sigh, her eyes meeting yours in a shared moment of sadness as the look on her face tells you everything you need to know.

The man beneath your hands is dead.

You pull your shaking hands away from the gash in his chest, caused by a car crash on the nearby interstate, a chunk of metal having sliced deep into his right pectoral. Your eyes fill with tears at your failure as you shakily walk to a nearby hazardous waste bin to strip your bloody gloves off.

There’s no other urgent need for you so you walk away to take a moment to breathe, coming to terms with your inability to save the man you had assured would be alright. You sit on the curb outside as your tears fall, chest heaving in a silent sob.

It’s never enough, I’m never good enough… I need to get better, get faster, stronger… Have to be able to save the next one like him.

After a long moment whose length you couldn’t tell, you hear the sound of a siren approaching. Another ambulance, racing in with another person needing help. You stand, shoving your pain away to focus on the now, on the next patient whom you may actually be able to help.

________________

The rest of your shift passes with little incident; blessedly no other patients die that night. You strip off your soiled scrubs in the locker room, ruminating once more on all your failures. The faces of every single patient you’d been unable to save passes through your mind and you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to never forget a single one. Your heart clenches as the man from mere hours before passes in your mind’s eye, his face frozen in a look of strange peace. Reassured by your words that turned out to be a lie.

“Y/N, you okay?” a voice beside you asks gently. You turn to face the speaker, another nurse coming off shift. You can’t recall her name, never having bothered to learn it. Her perky blond ponytail swings as she tilts her head to look at you, blue eyes showing her concern and you clench your jaw angrily.

“I’m fine,” you grind out finally, and she frowns more deeply at your clearly not fine tone.

“You did everything you could for him, you know. Not everyone can be saved, you can’t blame yourself or it’ll destroy you,” she murmurs quietly. You give her a tight nod, slamming your locker closed and stepping away from her with a heavy heart. You hear her sigh behind you, but she wisely doesn’t follow you.

The walk home is usually a time of quiet reflection for you, a chance to review all you’d done in the hours at the ER and tallying the lives saved against the lives lost, the scales never seeming to tip to the side of life enough for you to be satisfied. Tonight, you can’t seem to remember a single person you helped today, the guilt over the single death too heavy to bear.

If only I’d gotten him a transfusion from the start. If only the surgery room had been ready. If only, if only, if only…

You sigh to yourself as you look forward to the bottle of whiskey waiting for you in your tiny apartment; knowing you have the next day off, you plan to drink until you can’t think anymore. A tradition whenever someone dies in your arms, something to indulge in to avoid the solitude of your lonely apartment, not even a cat waiting for your return.

You turn the corner to your street still lost in thought as a deep rumble sounds from near the end of your block. You raise your eyes from where they’d been locked on the sidewalk to see the strangest sight imaginable.

What… the… fuck…?

A massive structure rises from downtown, black and imposing. You follow its form, looking for the top but unable to find it; its far too tall. The structure wasn’t here when you left for work, and construction couldn’t possibly have erected such an imposing thing in the scant time since then. Its origin couldn’t possibly be natural.

So… where did it come from then?

Another rumble breaks your confused thoughts as you watch a tentacle burst through the asphalt ahead. Your baffled mind struggles to process the sight as the cruelly sharp tip darts down to embed itself in the stomach of another pedestrian, a scream of pain following its sickening squelch as it strikes home.

Bile rises in your throat as you instinctively move, rushing forward even as your mind screams at you to run away. The hideous tentacle pulls back, the impaled woman falling to the ground bonelessly as it rises again to search for its next target. A surge of adrenaline gushes through you, and you manage to dodge the spike as you reach forward to pull the woman out of its range. Her blood leaves a streak of crimson on the sidewalk behind but you manage to get her to safety.

Only then do you look down, taking stock of the damage.

Her face is already frozen in death, a look of utter terror and bewilderment marring her plain features forever. You shudder, adding her face to the ever-growing ledger of death in your mind. You stand slowly, wiping her blood on your jeans and turning away. The street is crowded now, more and more people coming outside to see what all the noise is from.

This is bad. They’re all going to die if they stay here.

“Hey! Everybody! You can’t stand around and watch, you’ll die! Come on, let’s go!” you shout, a few heads turning to listen but far too many ignoring your warning. You march up to a young woman tugging a child along by the hand, their faces more curious than scared. You reach out to tap her shoulder and she glances back at you as you speak.

“Lady, you’re gonna get yourself and your kid killed! Look, see those tentacles? I just saw one stab someone to death with just one stroke. You have to leave, now!”

She pauses, her eyes shifting to see the tentacle you indicated. Her curiosity turns to fear as she takes in its sharp point, and she nods gratefully at you as she turns around, dragging her child along to safety.

You repeat your dire warning to over a dozen more bystanders, only a third of them taking you seriously and running away. You shove your tiredness down, your long workday making your steps drag slightly as you press on, determined to save as many as you can.

You watch in horror as another few tentacles sprout from the ground, impaling a few unlucky souls and raising their bodies like trophies to the sky. More bile rises in your throat as you hear their wails of pain and confusion. You keep moving forward, still shouting warnings to anyone who’ll listen, and you barely step aside in time as another tentacle rumbles out of the pavement a mere three feet from where you stand, its cruel tip gleaming in the streetlights. You stumble slightly, leaning against the brickwork of an apartment building to keep yourself from falling to the ground.

Your exhaustion tugs at you fiercely, and your eyes flutter closed against your will as the tentacle takes aim at you. All thought ceases in your mind as death approaches.

With your eyes closed, you don't see the dark-haired man sprinting at you. You don't see him drop a hand-carved silver cane and slide on his hip towards you as if he’s stealing third base for the Yankees. You don't hear his low grunt as he pushes his arm out, rising to his feet just in front of you. You don't see the intricate pattern on his arm lighten, or the panther explode into existence mere feet in front of you, killing the tentacle with a single swipe of its lethally sharp claws almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Instead, what you next perceive is a warm hand on your side, pushing you to the right. You open your fear-dilated eyes, shocked that you’re still alive, and immediately catch your breath.

The man who stands before you wears a look of concern on his ridiculously, unfairly handsome features. You focus in on him, perhaps to avoid thinking about what else is going on around you. His intense gaze catches your attention first, irises the shade of muted emeralds, glinting with every flash of light. Dark eyelashes frame his long stare, thick eyebrows only adding to the expressiveness of his piercing gaze. A prominent nose flows from his browline above his full, pink lips, currently parted as he breathes before you heavily. Beautifully intricate tattoos cover his body, partially concealed by his clothing but clearly visible on his long, toned arms. The black of the ink on his skin only serves to contrast his alabaster skin tone. His hair is as dark and shiny as obsidian, barely brushing the collar of his black leather vest. Even amidst the terror and chaos you’re struck by his looks. He stands out in this neighborhood, where everyone looks like models for a Sears catalogue.

"You must move, you cannot stay here!" the beautiful stranger declares urgently with a voice like velvet. Goddamnit, could he be any more attractive? You try to take a step but discover you can't find the strength, your exhaustion overwhelming you at last. He pauses, seeming to study your expression and huffs.

"Fine, I'll help you then," he says, and suddenly you are against him. You blush scarlet as he picks you up, carrying you in his lean arms towards a nearby van. The motion shakes you out of your worn-out stupor enough to be embarrassed by your helplessness.

"I - I'm sorry, I think I can walk now," you say shakily.

He nods, gently placing your legs on solid ground. He turns to survey the area, presumably to check for more tentacles and seeing several more. You take a moment to do the same, searching for nearby people you can warn and finding a pair. You shout the now familiar warning as you see the panther fighting, shapeshifting periodically into new shapes full of sharp edges and harsh points. Your mind struggles to comprehend how this is possible, trying fruitlessly to make sense of all the outlandish sights you’ve seen in the last ten minutes.

What the fuck is going on?

The stranger grabs your hand, dragging you towards the van once more, and you try to focus on the vehicle to avoid thinking about how many of your neighbors are now dead. It’s an odd contraption, clearly customized with a neon sign on the side which reads “Devil May Cry” and a laughably false phone number listed beneath it. Its grey and white paint is coated in dust and what looks like blood, not all of it dry. On his way to the van, the stranger only pauses to lean over and pick up an ornate silver cane, flicking it to his side in a clearly practiced motion. You find yourself once again unable to comprehend what happens next as a cloud of black shards leaves his tattooed arm, drifting to the air nearby and forming a magnificent blue bird, the strangest you’ve ever seen with a three-pronged beak and purple legs that seem far too large for its body.

The bird laughs and dives at the nearest tentacle, slashing it with its talons. You hear the outlandish creature curse as the tentacle tries to stab it as it attacks.

The back door of the van suddenly crashes open, drawing your attention as a white-haired man leans out. He was young, around your age if you had to guess. An absolutely huge sword is strapped to his back, and he waves you forward with an oversized pistol in hand.

"Hurry, we gotta go NOW, V!" he shouts. He hurriedly stows the pistol and reaches out to help you inside, the dark-haired man not far behind you. To your surprise, the panther also jumps into the van. The second you’re all inside, the van takes off at a speed that’s nearly as terrifying as almost being impaled by mysterious tentacles, accelerating faster than you imagined a vehicle of its size could manage. Outside the van, you catch a glimpse of the strange bird you saw moments ago, flapping hard to keep up with the racing vehicle.

"Hold on, folks!" a feminine voice with a southern drawl yells from the driver’s seat. You grab onto the nearest solid object, an odd countertop hidden in the corner and hold on for dear life as the van dashes through the city, to somewhere (you hoped) very, VERY far away. ________________ V

V looks over at the young civilian he'd just rescued, wondering how long it would be before you are calm enough to think clearly. Your hands are shaking, eyes wide and dilated. As he watches, your jaw clenches and your hands steady. You close your eyes, let out a breath and turn your face to him as the van speeds past the crowds of terrified residents, various pieces of kitchen equipment and power tools clanging at every pothole Nico hits.

"Thank you for saving me. I... I think I would be dead if not for you," you whisper softly. Your eyes are still fearful, but you seem coherent enough. He takes a moment to gaze at you, taking in your appearance. You have hair the color of blood, dark red and rich. It falls just past your shoulders in layers. Your hazel eyes seem to change color as he looks at you, from brown to green with flecks of gold. You have gentle features; a kind face. He feels an odd sensation in his stomach as he recalls your words.

"And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Are you alright? Perhaps you ought to sit down," he responds gently and waves a hand at the worn couch under the window.

You nod and cautiously make your way to it, keeping your knees bent to attempt to compensate for the Nico’s wild movements. As you move, V studies you more closely. He’s curious - most civilians didn’t exhibit this level of stoic acceptance after first encountering the demonic roots, not to mention the fact that you had been actively trying to warn others and urge them to run. Your quick calmness was... intriguing. He couldn't tell if you had any demonic blood, but he could tell you weren't unfamiliar with fear. No one who could calm themselves that quickly was new to the feeling, he knew.

"My name is V, that's Nero, and Nico is driving. Griffon is outside and her name is Shadow. What shall we call you?" he asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the van wall casually and gesturing to each named being as he introduces them, Griffon and Shadow returning to him as the vehicle gets farther away from danger. Your eyes widen as the black shards sink into his skin.

You look away, quick to look elsewhere as your cheeks flush slightly, he notices. Perhaps she’s embarrassed about needing to be saved?

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you all,” you respond finally. “Umm, do you know what those... tentacle things were? Where did they come from?"

V smirks. This might take a while to explain. ________________

Demons.

Demons are real.

Demons are real and attacking my home.

"Holy shit," you say, eyes wide, looking back and forth between the two men. "So, wait, how do you kill them? Why are they here? How can we stop them from killing people?"

Nero laughs, but not in a mean way. He seems genuinely amused as he sits down on your right, leaning back against the couch cushion casually.

"Slow down, Y/N! Slow down. They aren't too hard to kill, at least the lower powered ones. Pretty much anything that would kill a human can kill a demon; guns, swords, punches, you get the idea. Don't really know why they're here, but V might. He's the one that hired us to deal with it, after all."

V smirks, his full lips twisting in a way that make your eyes flick to them for a heartbeat too long. You scold yourself; this isn't the time for that!

"They are here because of Urizen. The Demon King, as he calls himself. For now, we should find somewhere to rest, gather resources. As for you, Y/N, forgive me but you don't seem like you're quite up to fighting demons. We can take you to the edge of the city, but from there you must make your own way to safety."

You pause, considering his words. He isn't wrong; you have no combat experience and have no idea how to be helpful in a fight. Not to mention you’re completely terrified, as well as you conceal it.

This is insanity. These people are mad, fighting those things. We should all just run, go somewhere else and leave this city as far behind as possible.

Yet even to think of abandoning the people still in the city feels... wrong. You don't want to run from this, especially not with this feeling, like you were magnetized to this group. You can’t just walk away when so many people are dying, you have to balance the scales!

I’m going to get myself killed. What am I thinking, I can’t help people if I’m dead! But.. there’s so many people here. They’re all going to die too.

You take a deep breath before speaking, brutally shoving your fear to the farthest corner of your mind and focusing on what you can do in this moment to help this small group.

"It's true, I'm not really a fighter. I’m a nurse, and I've been studying surgical procedures in preparation for medical school. I can help you if anyone were to be injured. As much as I'd like to not have to face those things ever again, it wouldn't be right if I left. I wouldn't feel right," you say uneasily, hoping the group doesn't judge you too harshly for your previous terror.

V raises an eyebrow at that, then glances at Nero. “The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest,” he recites simply. Nero shrugs, and for the first time you get a good look at his right arm. You gasp as you see the haphazard bandages covering a stump, blood stains showing in a deep rust shade, a recent amputation that clearly hasn’t been taken care of properly.

"At the very least let me dress that! You'll get an infection or sepsis; it could kill you!"

V snorts, to your surprise. "You mean he would be... dead weight?" he says, obviously amused. His intense emerald eyes flick to yours as if sharing an intimate joke, and you smile at him hesitantly.

Nero goes red, muttering to himself for a moment about someone named Dante, then nods at you sullenly. Clearly V’s words have hit a sore spot.

"Fine, when we stop you can take a look," he grumbles. He shoots a glare at V, then shuffles off to sit in the front with Nico, leaving you alone with the onyx haired man. You can hear them talking for a while but can't tell what they’re saying. You turn back to V, mind still whirling with questions.

His long fingers pull a thin book from within his leather vest, clearly preparing to read. You swallow your questions for now, not wanting to interrupt the strange man’s reading.

I need to rest; I can barely keep my eyes open. The adrenaline must be fading.

You lean back into the couch, reassured that with this group you can sleep in safety, close your eyes and drift off into oblivion. ________________

You dream of the past, of course. Your mind never blesses you with pleasant dreams anymore, always seeking to understand, to learn more from memories that your waking mind knew would bring only pain. Memory is the enemy of peace, after all.

The familiar sounds are there, as always. The crack of glass breaking and the high-pitched screams of your friend, the unmistakable sound of her gasping breaths.

Then the visuals. Blood on the floor. Shadows dancing like a sick ballet on the wall of the warehouse. Dead eyes staring up at you as a warning. The flash of light on gleaming steel as --- ________________

You awake with a jolt as Nico slams the brakes, causing you to slide unceremoniously into V. He had sat down at some point next to you. With lightning reflexes, his arm shoots out and holds you close as the rattling van mercifully slides to a full stop, keeping you from falling to the floor. You can feel him breathing under you, smell his scent of leather and lavender. The combined sensory input is... intoxicating. You try to pull away, but he holds you for a split second before letting go. You blush furiously, sure that he’s teasing you. You can't bear to look at him so you miss the look of regret he gives you, and don't see him lick his lips before speaking.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he inquires softly, his tone almost a growl.

You internally curse his voice for having such a pleasant sound before responding.

"Yeah, thanks for the help... again."

V chuckles under his breath, then returns to his reading. Sitting so close to him, you catch a glimpse inside the pages to see a flowing script and beautifully colored illustrations. Forgetting your embarrassment and the lingering fear from the nightmare, you ask what he’s reading.

"Poetry. Would you like to hear some?" he responds, his voice like warm honey.

The thought of his voice reciting poetry sends your mind spinning. Nope, no way, nuh uh, you’ve already made enough of an ass out of yourself, so you just hold your horses there, girl. There’re bigger things to be worried about anyway, like DEMONS!

"Sure,” your rebellious mouth states.

Goddamit. Stupid mouth.

He smiles, gaze returning to the pages as he chooses a piece to read.

“I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem, In England’s green and pleasant land,” he recites, his voice melodious and perfectly timed.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, the words rolling in your mind as you digest them, finding meaning in the short excerpt as a low hum of recognition passes through you. “Is that… William Blake?”

V nods, seemingly taken aback.

“That part, it sounds like he’s telling us not to give up the fight until our goal is realized, whether its physical or mental. Seems appropriate, considering…” you gesture vaguely toward the window and V looks at you oddly, as if you’ve surprised him.

“You enjoy poetry?” he asks you.

You feel your cheeks tinting as he studies you intently as you reply, “I enjoy all forms of the written word. Literature is a gift from past generations, and we should never waste it.”

The outer corners of his lips twitch, smiling for a fraction of an instant. If you had blinked you would have missed it. He seems pleased by your response and you smile at him shyly, shifting your weight awkwardly.

“I couldn’t agree more, much to our companions dismay. They are of a different mindset,” he replies thoughtfully.

“What’s your favorite poem, V?” you probe him, enjoying the chance to talk with someone who shared your enjoyment of words.

“I’ve come to enjoy The Book of Thel a great deal, are you familiar?”

It rings a bell but you can’t seem to remember any details of the work.

“I read it many years ago, though I can’t remember any of it now,” you respond.

“Allow me, then; Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find; ah Thel is like to thee. I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.”

You sit in silence, letting the words sink in. V’s soothing voice adds a layer of complexity to them, sounding quite sad and mournful as he recites.

Luckily for you, Nero chooses that exact moment to trudge over to you with a small red box labeled "first aid". He sighs, seeming to have resigned himself to your treatment. As if it isn't in his best interest anyway, you think sarcastically.

"Let's get this over with, Y/N," he grunts. V stands, gives you a nod and walks away a few feet to continue his reading and you focus your mind on the task at hand, pushing the memory of his voice away. ________________

V watches you gently remove the bandages from Nero's arm, trying to figure out his reaction to your words. None of the others he had become familiar with enjoyed poetry, several rolling their eyes the first few times he quoted a line in conversation until they became accustomed and ignored it entirely. He felt his heart warm slightly by the shared enjoyment, a distraction from his mission. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. He must remain focused - he doesn't have time for any fellowships or pleasant conversations.

Yet still, he finds himself watching you redress Nero's arm, wondering what your touch feels like. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps he simply wanted to be touched, to feel connected? That would explain most of his reactions to you so far.

Enough of this, he tells himself. Focus. Too much is at stake.

He mentally shakes himself and returns his gaze to the words on the painted pages before him, forcing himself to pay attention and read the now familiar text.

I am in you, and you in me. Mutual in divine love.

V sighs. How unhelpful. He glances back at you and Nero, seeing you smile at something he said. Laughing. He wonders what that feels like as well, to share mirth in such a way with another person.

A memory plays in his mind, of many years ago. It was a simple one, a trifle really. He was playing with Dante in the backyard, not long before... before. The two of them were laughing together over a fort they had built out of sticks, the structure haphazard and childish. Their mother was nearby, keeping a careful eye on them as they played in the yard.

He smiles softly at the thought, wondering if Dante has any fond memories of them as children. Somehow he doubts it.

Again with the distractions. Enough is enough. V looks out the window, easily spotting the already massive tree in the center of town. The sight helps him focus, helps him remember his priorities. ________________

After removing the old bandages, you take a moment to examine the wound. It’s in bad shape, looking as if Nero had initially seen a doctor but later popped the stitches in at least three places, leaving open wounds to fester and bleed freely. There’s already a slight infection, but nothing too serious if he let you take care of it and doesn’t do anything stupid.

“How long ago did this happen, Nero?” you ask, estimating it to be two weeks.

“It was April 30th, so sixteen days ago,” he informs you as he watches you examine him.

“Ah, alright then. Considering what's going on, I won't even bother telling you to take it easy. It should heal fully in about two to six more weeks, until then you need to change the bandage at least once a day, if not more,” you explain to the willful young man.

You dig through the poorly organized first aid kit, finding an unopened bottle of antiseptic and several rolls of bandages. Some gauze patches lie on the bottom.

Perfect, now all I need is a towel or a bowl.

You look to your left and right, eventually finding a small cup that would work well enough. You carefully angle Nero’s arm over the cup and get the antiseptic ready.

“This will hurt a bit, Nero,” you warn him. He nods, ready, and you slowly pour the fluid over his injury and let it drip into the waiting cup below. He grunts but doesn’t pull away. Once the drips have slowed enough, you lay a gauze patch over his half-healed stitches, using one hand to hold it in place as your other reaches to grasp the bandage roll. You use your teeth to get the first portion open, proceeding to gently but firmly wrap up Nero’s arm. You use the scissors from the kit to cut the end and secure it with a satisfied smile.

“All set,” you tell him.

Nero carefully moves his arm, testing the bandages' flexibility. You knew he would, he seems the type to never hold still if he can help it. You’ve seen many people like him come through the emergency room, struggling to hold still as you treat whatever they came in for even as their lack of stillness worsened their condition.

"Feels good, Y/N! Thanks! You are handy!" He jumps up, throwing a few experimental punches, bobbing and weaving like he’s in a boxing match with Muhammad Ali himself. You laugh as he feigns dodging a blow, his antics allowing you to forget the horrors of what you’ve witnessed for an all-too-brief moment.

"Hey hey hey, not in the van! Take it outside, jerkwad!" Nico exclaims hurriedly, coming out from her perch in the drivers seat. She pushes Nero towards the door, forcing him outside and slams the door behind him.

“Sheesh, what an ass…” she mutters under her breath, but you can tell she says it with affection. She looks like she’d be happiest on a construction site or in a garage. A multitude of tools are strapped to her shorts and you can see oil on her arms, along with tattoos that seem to revolve around guns and skulls. She pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as she leans over to you.

“Hi, I’m Nico. Welcome to the Devil May Cry-mobile, I’m your resident genius gunsmith and artist extraordinaire. You joinin’ the team? Would be nice to have another lady along for the ride!”

Your eyes look to V, thoughts debating your options again.

What about my life? What about going back to school, learning to be a trauma surgeon? Can I really justify putting that on hold, maybe even abandoning it entirely to help these people?

…How can I not?

V smirks knowingly but nods before following Nero outside, waving his hand through a cloud of Nico’s expelled cigarette smoke as he passes.

“I guess I am,” you say to her, smiling and doing your best to ignore the panic in your mind at the thought of staying in an area full of... demons. The thought of their existence brings a surreal feeling to your mind and you wonder if this entire day has been a dream. A new nightmare shaped to ensure you pay it the attention it demands.

“Awesome! You wouldn’t happen to know how to cook, would’ja? Nero’s hopeless and V’s somehow worse, and my cooking skills don’t extend beyond cereal and mac and cheese,” she asks with a smile on her face.

You find her smile infectious, and you feel your own lips stretching into a grin as well as you respond, “I’m no master chef, but I get by alright.”

She claps your back in a friendly manner, taking a pull from her cigarette. The tang of nicotine fills the air as she exhales, the enclosed space holding the smoke captive. You ignore the scent, used to it after years of exposure.

“All right! Well, we’re probably gonna stay here for the night, kitchen’s in that corner if you’re hungry. The guys generally sleep outside but I think you could squeeze in here with me for now. Sound good?”

You nod, grateful for her easy acceptance of you even as your mind still struggles to control your overwhelming fear. You find yourself warming to her quickly, despite a history of not getting along well with other women. Glancing at the kitchen, you spot the cereal she mentioned sitting atop a stovetop. There are a few cupboards but not much else. You hope you can gather some basic food staples in the morning, but for now the call of hunger is weaker than the call of rest. You yawn, almost cracking your jaw in the process.

“Here, I’ll get ya a pillow and another blanket, bout ready to crash myself!” Nico says. She opens another cupboard, pulling out a small but fluffy looking pillow and a fleece blanket. She hands them to you, puts out her cigarette in an ashtray nearby and gives you a salute before climbing a tiny ladder to what you assume is a hidden bed.

“Goodnight, Nico. Thanks,” you say through another yawn. You hear a soft click and the van goes dark.

“No problem, new girl. Night!”

#dmc5 #fanfic #v x reader #SBHS

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sockablock · 6 years

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Chapter 9: Tinsel on the Awnings

“No, no,” said Caleb, reaching for his pencil. “You have to account for Reichden’s Law of Opposing Forces. Otherwise you will just make the lightning even worse. Here, the glyph should look like this.”

Fjord, on his stool across the library counter, sighed. “I knew there was something wrong. I guess I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Caleb hummed his agreement as he worked. “No offense meant, but I am surprised you would make this mistake. It is...Spellcasting 101, you might say. Did your teachers never show this to you before?”

“Er, no,” Fjord admitted. “But I’ve also never exactly taken a magic class before, so I guess it makes sense that I’d fuck up like this.”

“You’ve…” Caleb’s hand paused over the page. “You’ve never been taught this in a formal setting?”

Fjord shrugged. “Is that hard to believe? I mean, you know how shitty I am at this. You’ve watched me fuck up for two weeks, now.”

“Yes," Caleb blinked, "but…to be perfectly honest, I thought you would at least know the basics. After all, Fjord, I saw you do magic that night at the Moondrop. You have arcane capabilities, you cast spells that I could not even name.”

Something flickered behind Fjord's eyes, but he tamped it down quickly. “Well…yeah,” he said slowly. “But that’s, um…”

He sighed and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Caleb, I’ve never really talked about this before, not even with Jes. So, you’ve gotta promise me that you’ll be discrete, alright?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Ja, okay. Sure.”

Fjord took a deep breath. “I, um…I’ve never actually learned magic before. And those spells you saw…I don’t think they were the wizardly kind—”

“—they certainly did not appear to be—”

“—right. So, what I’m saying is, I think my powers are...I didn't get 'em out of books. I just sorta…wish really hard for something to happen, and then it does. Is that, is that weird? Is that normal?”

Caleb suddenly burst into laughter, catching Fjord completely by surprise. “I just spilled my guts out there a bit,” he said with mild reproach. “Was there something funny about it?”

Caleb wiped at the corner of his eyes and shook his head. “Nein, no, well…maybe a little bit funny. Oh, you should have told me that in the first place! Now I understand.”

He met Fjord’s bewildered gaze and smiled faintly. “You are just a sorcerer, Fjord. There is nothing wrong with that. Your abilities are inborn, and natural to you.” Then he waved his hand dismissively over their notes, and the rough sketches of arcane symbols and circles across the pages. “You do not need any of this, my friend. You just need to practice your own skills. Mein gott, I cannot believe I was trying to teach magic to a sorcerer.”

Fjord found himself grinning as well, despite his confusion. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, uh…I didn’t realize there was somethin’ different about…uh…wait, are you sayin’ that your magic isn’t coming from you?”

“Oh, of course not,” Caleb chuckled. “I channel the raw arcana that exists in this world around us, in every living thing, in every thought and idea and emotion and et cetera. That is what all this chicken-scratch is,” he added, pointing at the notes. “But you get your magic from yourself. Whether it be because your ancestors were cursed, or blessed, or maybe one of them was a dragon, I don’t know, were your parents dragons, by any chance?”

Fjord’s smile faded slightly. “Uh…probably not,” he said. “I never, uh, knew them.”

Caleb’s jovial air immediately vanished. “Scheiss,” he said, “I am sorry. That was tasteless—”

Fjord shook his head. “No, no, don’t worry about it. But, uh…just checking, are those the only kinds of people who do magic? There aren’t, I dunno, there aren’t any individuals who just kind of picked it up along the way, or maybe they found something that granted them powers, or anything? It’s, it’s great to know I’m a sorcerer, that’s so cool, but you know, since we’re on the subject, is there anything…else?”

“Oh, ja, there are all sorts out there in the world. Warlocks, most of them, who tie themselves to unspeakable evils in exchange for a bit of power, sure.”

“Oh,” Fjord squeaked. “Uh…unspeakable evils, huh?”

Caleb shrugged. “Well, not always evil. Sometimes they’re gods, or they’re wandering spirits with nothing better to do. But I was always taught that more often than not, otherworldly patrons have otherworldly agendas that usually spell disaster. Then again, I was taught many things that today, I do not necessarily agree with.”

Caleb picked up his pencil again, and nodded to Fjord. “Now that we have established my uselessness as a magical tutor, then, perhaps we should spend the next hour on something else.”

“What?” Fjord asked, jolting out of his daze.

“What else do you need assistance with?” Caleb repeated. “Jester stopped by a few days ago asking about the Ratio Test, and your study guide says it will be on the final exam soon. Would you like to go over that?”

Fjord blinked, and then nodded quickly and reached for his math binder. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

"How do you feel, so far? Do you understand it?"

Fjord rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Uh...actually, I kind of don't. Sorry, I really haven't had time to study lately, what with all the craziness at work, and everythin' that goes into moving apartments."

“No worries, I am here to help. That is what you are, under my protest, paying me for, yes?”

“Gods, Caleb, I’m not gonna extort free labor from you. Not even if you insist.”

“I told you, it was more than enough for you advertise my services to your classmates. I am fully booked for this week, Fjord! That is…truly, that is an incredible gift you have given me.”

Fjord grinned. “Don't thank me, thank reading week," he said. "But, I mean...yeah. Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Caleb chuckled softly. “You know, Jester has been sneaking envelopes of cash into my bags before she leaves from her lessons as well, now. Do you…do you have anything to do with that?”

“I dunno,” Fjord said, though it sounded like he did. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

Caleb snorted. “I still haven’t figured out what rate she is paying me,” he said. “Sometimes it looks like ten cents an hour, sometimes thirty dollars. Does she understand how much money is worth?”

Fjord sighed, and flipped open to his notes. “I’ve seen the size of her trust fund,” he said. “She hasn’t got a clue.”

“Well,” Caleb said, reaching for his own papers, “let us hope she never has to learn.”

•

At this time of year, the Pentamarket Square was in full holiday swing. Storefronts burst with gold and silver lights, tinsel glittered along the awnings, and colorful wreaths adorned their doors. The usual wide tents of the street vendors had been replaced with wooden booths, their four walls covered in more sparkling lights, and their space heaters spilling warmth over the open counters and into the brisk winter air. Children wrapped in parkas and woolen hats ran through the cobbled plaza, and young couples window-shopped hand-in-hand. Cheery music played from a number of outdoor speakers, and the smell of hot baked goods, wisps of cinnamon, sugar, and chocolate syrup, drifted up and over the crowd.

This was the Winter Market, and it would last up until the week after New Dawn.

Nott the Brave, skipping cheerfully through the crowd at knee-height, was here to take advantage of that. Her pockets were already rather heavier than they had been this morning.

But just as she spotted a particularly promising-looking old woman with a shiny polished cane, she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks and look around wildly.

“—ah, you look like someone who’d like to know their future, how about it? No? Well then, how about you, miss? Yes, I can see you’ve got something very important happening soon! What’s that? Well, you’d have to sit down for a reading to find out, eh?”

Nott immediately abandoned her search for loose wallets and jewelry and began shoving her way through, weaving around legs and ducking under shopping bags, until she arrived at a tented stall selling warm apple cider.

Next to it, sitting cross-legged on a thick, navy-blue carpet, was none other than Mollymauk Tealeaf himself. He was wearing his full makeup, glittering eyeshadow and all, and had his crimson performer’s coat on. A white cardboard sign by his knee read, FORTUNES TOLD FOR GENEROUS TIPPERS, and he was shuffling a thick stack of blue-and-gold cards between his fingers as he beamed widely at passing shoppers, winked to small children, even tipped an imaginary hat to an old woman walking by.

And then he caught sight of Nott, her face poking out from behind a young couple’s shins. His eyebrows shot up, and he smirked all the way until she had finally managed to throw herself onto his carpet, the small rectangular island of peace in this sea of people.

“Well, well, well,” Molly grinned, setting his cards aside and gesturing for her to sit. “Look at what the cat dragged in! Nott the Brave, how are you, dear?”

Nott took the seat opposite him. “I’m fine, I guess, but what’s up with you? Why are you here?”

Molly shrugged. “It’s the holiday season, dear. No better time for attracting customers! Well, it’s not quite as good as Midsummer or Merryfrond’s Day, or Harvest’s Close, but it’s best you can do in the winter, eh?”

“Winter sucks,” Nott grumbled. “Aren’t you freezing, out here? Most people bundle up so much there’s nothing I can pickpocket.”

Molly snorted. “Is that why you’re here?” he asked.

Nott crossed her arms. “You can’t prove anything,” she said. “But seriously, isn’t it cold? You’re going to get sick.”

“I won’t,” he reassured her, “tieflings run hot.”

“You’re not running now. How is that supposed to help?”

Molly opened his mouth as if to respond, then paused, and sighed. “Nevermind, dear. But hey, since you’re already here, how about a reading? I’d be willing to do it free of charge, for a friend as delightful as you.”

Nott rubbed her chin. “Are we even friends? I mean, I know we hang out with the same people, I think, but the two of us have never exactly…bonded.”

Molly waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s make this our bonding experience, then! Let me read your fortune.”

She responded with a suspicious glare. “This isn’t your way of buttering me up because you want to get to Caleb, is it?”

Molly lowered his hand. “Of course not!” he said. “But, er, he hasn’t mentioned me at all, has he? It’s been a couple weeks but, uh, I was just curious,” he added hastily.

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Come on, Nott, you can’t blame me for just asking. Besides, I am genuinely invested in getting to know you, now. Jester likes you plenty, and Yasha seems to have taken a shine to you, and you insult Beau just as much as I do, so really, we’re just best friends waiting to happen.”

She eyed him over carefully. Then she sighed and nodded. “Alright, alright, performer boy—”

“—mmm, not boy.”

“Performer person?”

“That’s sort of better—”

“Performer fey-being?”

“...sure, alright. Yeah, let's go with that.”

Nott nodded and leaned in. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Molly deftly scooped his cards back up and began to toss them from hand to hand, effortlessly forming a gleaming bridge between his fingers. He laughed cheekily as Nott rolled her eyes at the extravagance of it all. Then he made a few more passes, flicked his wrist elegantly, and let three cards fall onto the carpet between them. They landed face-down, lined up evenly next to one another, and Nott genuinely couldn’t tell if that was dumb luck, or pure skill.

“Would you like to flip them over yourself?” he asked generously.

“Why?” she asked. “Is that part of the trick?”

Molly scoffed. “It’s not a trick. It’s fortune-telling.”

Nott raised her eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

•

“Hey, Beau?” Jester asked, lowering her magazine. “I know I don’t usually ask about this kind of stuff, but…shouldn’t you be looking for a job?”

Beau, who had been furiously doing chin-ups on a rod jammed into the doorway leading into the living room, paused. Arms raised, bare feet brushing the ground, she gave Jester a suspicious look.

“Why’re you so interested, all of a sudden?” she asked. “You’re not worried about money, are you?”

“No, no,” Jester said, and set aside her issue of Iva’s Secrets. “Well, okay, kind of a little bit. But I’m worried about your money. What are you going to do when I move out? Are, are you going to, to find a super-rich roommate, or something?”

Beau dropped off the bar and sighed. “It’s sort of a long story, but I don’t really…I’m actually good, financially speaking.”

Jester blinked. “Good? What do you mean by that?”

“I just mean…it’s not a concern. I found a way to get cash.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “It’s not even illegal, so don’t worry about that either.”

“You just found some way to make money like that, not illegally, where you don’t have to work for it?”

“Yup.”

Jester considered this. Then she reached for her magazine and nodded. “You should write an article or something about that for Iva. That sounds just like the sort of thing that she likes to put on the cover.”

“I’m really concerned about what that rag is teaching you, Jes.”

“I’m not.”

Beau snorted. “Fair enough,” she said. Then she added, under her breath, “It wouldn’t really work for everyone, anyways.”

•

“—and then I told him that his fortunes aren’t right, because I’ve never even owned that many swords before.”

Caleb paused in his whiteboard calculations, bit the end of his dry-erase marker, and stared at Nott. She was sitting at the edge of the kitchen table, swinging her legs off the side and peacefully decimating family-sized pack of chips.

“Are you…aware of how tarot cards work?” he asked slowly.

She waved a hand dismissively, sending Xtreme BBQ flavoring scattering through the ar. “Not really. But I also wasn’t paying too much attention, because while he was talking, I saw a woman passing by with some really nice buttons, so I was busy trying to Mage Hand them off of her.”

“Ah,” Caleb said weakly. “I see. And did you get those buttons that you wanted?”

She beamed, wiped her hand off, and fished around in her hoodie. She produced three glittering, gold baubles the size of her fingernails.

“Got ‘em. Look, look, they’re in the shapes of flowers, I think.”

Caleb did not in fact look very closely, but his slightly-weary, mildly-amused smile was good enough for Nott.

“How’s the accountant stuff going?” she asked after the buttons had been safely stowed back into her pockets. “Are we looking good for the month?”

“More than good,” Caleb grinned, and swiveled the whiteboard around for her to see. “We are looking the best that we ever had, spatz, thanks to Fjord and Jester for getting their classmates to hire me. Movie night tomorrow will go off without a hitch, I am sure. We even have money for extra pizzas! We can even go to a bookstore, can you imagine?”

“I can,” Nott said happily. “I can imagine it real well. Thanks, Caleb.”

He scoffed. “Do not thank me, I am just riding on a wave of good luck and kind people.”

“No, no,” Nott shook her head. “I meant, thanks for keeping me around. And for, um, buying me stuff, and letting me live here. And for not kicking me out even though you’re rich now.”

“I am not rich, far from it,” he laughed. “But…” he added in a more somber tone, “well, of course. Of course. It is a pleasure and an honor that you are my friend, and I wouldn’t exchange that for anything else.”

Nott cracked a small smile. “Thanks, Caleb,” she said. “I wouldn’t, either. Here, have some chips.”

After that lull in the conversation, he went back to checking over his math, then set on memorizing the contents of their budget. But just as the thought crossed his mind that, actually, I could just buy paper now to do this on, there was a loud cough from across the table. He looked up, and saw and Nott eyeing him over nervously, the snacks discarded at her side.

“Er…yes?” He blinked a few times. “Is everything alright?”

Nott sighed, and pulled out her phone. “That depends,” she said, and handed it over to Caleb. “That depends on whether or not you’d be willing to ask a specific purple bastard out for some more coffee.”

Caleb lowered his marker and frowned. “Er…what?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you spoke to Molly?” she asked. “Alone I mean, not at movie night. I know you don’t use your phone, and I bet you haven’t gone out together since.”

“Well, no,” Caleb frowned, “I have not. But…do I need to?”

“Didn’t you have fun on your last coffee-not-a-date?”

“Yes? I did?”

“So don’t you want to do it again?”

Caleb hesitated. He fidgeted with his marker. “No? Er…yes. Wait, no, that’s…” He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I had fun,” he said. “But that does not mean…that does not mean I want to ask Molly to do it once more. I mean, what reason would we even have to meet up? He does not have any of my possessions, at the moment, and I do not have any of his.”

Nott stared at him incredulously. “Caleb…you don’t need an excuse to see him.”

He bit his lip. “Yes, I do.”

“What? Why’s that?”

Caleb sighed, and put his forehead against the kitchen table. “I…I can’t just ask him. He’s probably busy, and probably has much better things to do.”

“Now, that’s just a lie,” Nott countered. “Both of us know pretty well that he’s been bored out of his mind ever since the Moondrop shut down.”

“Ja, alright, but he would probably be offended if I asked him to coffee out of pity.”

“But it’s not out of pity, it’s because you’re friends and you want to hang out!”

“Are we…friends?”

Nott leaned over, and prodded Caleb between the eyes. “You won’t be for long, if you keep avoiding him! Come on, it’s easy! Just pick up the phone, ask him if he’s busy. I don’t know why you’re so freaked out.”

Caleb considered this. He thought about telling the truth, telling Nott that he couldn’t do it, that he was afraid to ask, that if he initiated things, then he would be acknowledging his own feelings, that he would be indulging in something he shouldn’t, that he would be making things real, that he didn’t deserve this happiness, and that worst of all, above everything else, he would be betraying her—

But then he thought about how much he didn’t want to say any of that. He thought about how excited Nott was for him, how supportive she had become, and really, how nervous and excited and elated he felt at the prospect of seeing…

Caleb sighed, and reached for Nott’s cell phone.

“Fine, fine. But you’re going to help me compose the message, spatz. I…I really don’t remember how to do this sort of thing.”

Nott grinned. “Oh, I know exactly what to do! I’ve been reading that magazine Jester showed me, ever since you got back from the last date."

“You’ve-wait, what?”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Okay now, type this out—”

•

Today 6:22PM

Nott TB: good evening Mister Mollymauk Nott TB: it has been some time since we last spoke Nott TB: how are you doing? Molly Tealeaf: … Molly Tealeaf: nott what the fuck Molly Tealeaf: I just saw you today Molly Tealeaf: why are you talking like that

Molly, sprawled across his bed and back in his silk pajamas—at six in the evening, no less—watched the tiny dots appear at the bottom of his phone. He had a glass of wine in one hand, and an appropriately bewildered expression across his face.

Nott TB: schmid Nott TB: *scheiss Nott TB: I am so sorry this is Caleb, actually Nott TB: sorry

Molly spat his wine out. He practically threw the glass onto the nightstand in an effort to free both his thumbs.

Molly Tealeaf: CALEB Molly Tealeaf: GODS I THOUGHT THIS WAS NOTT Molly Tealeaf: CALEB???

There was a brief pause. And then the words:

Nott TB: yes, caleb Nott TB: Caleb Widogast? We went on that double date once Nott TB: and we fought a really big toad together a couple weeks ago Nott TB: I think you told nott a fortune this morning, I am her roommate

Molly snorted, and shook his head.

Molly Tealeaf: yes yes dear I know who you are! Molly Tealeaf: I was just surprised!! Molly Tealeaf: I didn’t think you knew how to text

Another pause.

Nott TB: nott says that youre joking and also that this is a common theme in our group chats Molly Tealeaf: shes absolutely correct Molly Tealeaf: now, how have YOU been? and how can I help you?’

Molly was not too proud to admit that he waited, with baited breath, for the answer.

Nott TB: oh Nott TB: actually I have been well Nott TB: and I was wondering Nott TB: if you were free any time this week? Nott TB: id like to get some coffee together, if you also would Nott TB: my treat this time

Molly felt his soul burst into song.

Molly Tealeaf: that sounds lovely!! Molly Tealeaf: and I would never say no to such a gentleman Molly Tealeaf: Wednesday or Thursday works for me! Nott TB: thursday it is

Then there was a long pause, and the “…” icon appeared on the screen for almost a minute, before one last text came through.

Nott TB: I have missed spending time with you Nott TB: see you then.

Then this was followed by another message.

Nott TB: im back Nott TB: I hope your happy Nott TB: im deleting this conversation off my phone

Molly rolled his eyes, and waited a few more beats, just in case there was more on the way. When nothing else happened, he sighed deeply, screenshotted the entire exchange—for posterity’s sake. Then got up and waltzed out into the kitchen for more wine.

As he closed the refrigerator door, his eye caught the calendar that Fjord had hung up ten months ago. They had used it for about a week, before promptly abandoning it in favor of never knowing what day it was.

He flipped all the way to the last page, and found at this coming Thursday.

Soon.

•

“Oh, but then he confesses his love for her!” Jester sighed, leaning flush against the brick wall behind their building and pressing a hand to her forehead. “He tells her that no matter what, he would stay true to her forever, and then she starts crying because no man has ever been that open and loving to her in her entire life!”

“Uh-huh,” Beau mumbled. She was only half-listening to Jester’s account of Guard of My Heart, instead directing most of her energy towards trying to open the lid of the dumpster—which had sealed itself shut with a thin layer of frozen trash slime—as fast as possible, so they could get back inside. The weather forecast had predicted heavy snowfall tonight.

“But then in the second act, her family finds out about it!” Jester continued. “And of course they don’t approve, she’s a high-ranking member of the Crownsguard! And he’s only a lowly butler, but they’re so in love, and—”

“Uh-huh,” Beau muttered. She had almost lost her thumb to jagged ice, and was now trying to figure out a different angle of attack.

“Beau, are you even listening?” Jester asked, crossing her arms. “You just cut me off.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maybe if she wedged a stick under the hinges, yes, that could work—

“Beau! Beauuuuuu, are you sure you’re listening?”

“Yeah, yeah, Jester, their…families suck?”

“Oh. Oh, you were paying attention! Right, okay, so, basically what happens next is that her dad forces him to a duel for her favor, and the conditions are that he has to duel a member of their family. And that sucks, because all of them are such badasses, you know? But then, oh my gosh, I didn’t even see this coming, she’s also in the family! And so now it’s two lovers forced to fight, one to prove his love and one to defend hers, and…”

Beau finally gave up, and took a deep breath, and slammed her shoulder as hard as she could into the tiny gap between the top of the lid and the dumpster itself. It flew open, leaving a rank trail of festering garbage-stink through the air as it went, and Beau was so relieved that she almost immediately threw the trash bag over the edge to call it a day.

But she didn’t.

Which was fortunate, because if not for that split second of hesitation, if not for the quick pause she had afforded this errand, Beau would have completely missed the tiny black bundle huddled in the corner of the bin, draped in dirty, wet fabric, and shivering in the cold.

She dropped the garbage bag onto the pavement. She threw her face closer to take a better look, ignoring the smell.

“What’s wrong?” Jester asked, and joined her at the edge of the dumpster. “What is it?”

“Do you see that?” Beau asked. “I…I can’t really see in the dark, but…there’s something in here? I think it’s moving?”

Jester peered in. “Ugh, it's so gross, what are—”

Her eyes, glowing a faint purple and built for low light, immediately latched on to what Beau was talking about.

“Oh, shit,” Jester breathed. “Oh my gods, what should we do?”

•

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 7:09PM

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: heyyyyyyyyyy guys? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: uh (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: I think maybe whoever is free right now might want to come over (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: beau and i sort of found something???? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: and we need a little help Lavender Thunder: of course, I’ll come now Lavender Thunder: what kind of help? NottSoBrave: and what kind of something??? Seaman: fuck, im at work Jes Seaman: is everything alright? Drunkmonk: we're fine but like Drunkmonk: just Dunkmonk: you have to come and see alright? we don’t know what the fuck to do NottSoBrave: caleb says “don’t worry” NottSoBrave: caleb says “we’re on the way”

Today 7:14PM

NottSoBrave: caleb says “help we don’t have a car” DrunkMonk: good gods Lavender Thunder: im stealing Fjord’s station wagon, i’ll get you two NottSoBrave: caleb says “tell Molly I said thanks” Lavender Thunder: (o^-')b Lavender Thunder: be there in a flash

• • •

💚 ☕ ☕ 💚

#AND WE'RE BACK #critical role #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #jay writes #critfic #widomauk #fjorjester #text #long post #cr2 #the mighty nein #something new for me and you

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scaplivingtogether · 5 years

Text

~A Evillious Christmas Carol~ Act 3

By: TomboyJessie13

Act 3

The clock's bell on his nightstand started to ring, it is 11 at night. Along with the ringing were the sounds of weeping, Marlon had been crying in his sleep, he stirred in his bed as he wiped his eyes. He had been traveling in the past with the Ghost of Christmas Past and now he's left in a vulnerable state of guilt and sorrow.

"I'm such a fool..." He started, staring at the ceiling before covering his face with his hand. "How could I be so foolish?" Talking to himself in a somber tone, he then opened up the curtain to his bed. "I need some water." He lit his candle and proceeded to leave the room. Once he opened the bedroom door, he noticed that there's a light going on in the dining room. Did someone break into his home? Marlon quickly walked down the stairs to see who's there. "Hello? Who's there?" He called out, but no reply. Carefully he grabbed his cane under the portrait of Cheru, he's about to put up a fight with the intruder, he blew out his candle before setting it down, as he did'n't want to cause a fire.

"HAAAAAH!" He jumped in front of the dining room entrance ready to take on whoever's in the kitchen...but he stopped. His eyes grew wide in surprise as he dropped his cane, in front of was a dining table covered in platters of food, all different dishes and desserts more delicious than the last, not only that but the whole dining room is decorated in green colored decorations. Marlon felt drool running down his mouth from the site, he should've excepted Ayn's invitation to the Christmas feast a long time ago.

"Looks good huh?" Marlon jumped in surprise when he heard a masculine voice in the room, he looked over to find sitting at the head of the table in a fingers locked position was someone with a blond bob haircut and blue eyes. They seem to be wearing a green robe with white fur lining on it and secured with a brown belt, a wreath of holly decorated with red mistletoe berries and icicles, making it look like a crown, they seem to also be wearing a white feminine shirt with puffy sleeves and form fitting cuffs, a white frilly skirt that goes down to the middle of their ankles, red leggings, and black Mary Jane shoes with thick high heals. "I take it you never had food like this in your entire life or you had it before you you became stingy."

"Wait...you're a man?" Marlon asked in a baffled tone, changing the subject, this caused the stranger to look dissatisfied.

"Yes...and?" The stranger answered, looking annoyed.

"N-nothing..are you another spirit?" Marlon asked, attempting to avoid angering a person. They stood up and grabbed a cornucopia.

"But of course." He snaps his fingers which causes the cornucopia to light up like a torch. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, I am what they call the embodiment of Christmas."

"I can tell, you look like St. Nicholas if he were royalty and wore green."

"But I'm not St. Nicholas, aren't I?" The Spirit said as he walked over. "I'm surprised that you don't even know me considering I have 800 brothers, not to mention that we come every year." He then turned to the food on the table. "As for the large feast you see before you, this is what I like to call: "the food of generosity", it all came from the heart of those who think of others before themselves." He then turned back to the miser, pointing. "Something that you gave up a long time ago." That comment hit Marlon hard, after what he saw in his past, he felt vulnerable but is more willing now. Marlon placed his hand in his chest and slightly bowed.

"My apologies, Spirit." Marlon said remorsefully. "After what the previous Spirit showed me, I'll allow you to show me what I need to see."

"Really? So she finally knocked some sense into you?" He lifted his left arm to him. "Very well, just touch my robe and we'll be on our way." Marlon was slightly hesitant at first, but at this point he just doesn't care, he took hold of the Spirit's sleeve and as quick as a flash they ended up in the middle of a street in the city he lives. Marlon quickly covers his arms trying to warm them up as the air is to cold.

"BAH! BLOODY HELL IT'S TOO COLD!" Marlon yelled out in frustration.

"You didn't have a problem being with the previous Spirit." The current Spirit joked.

"W-we were i-i-inside buildings m-m-most of the t-t-time, plus she's a w-w-walking candle." Marlon shivered.

"Hm, you have a point, here you go." The Spirit snapped his fingers, allowing a robe to wrap around the Miser. "I brought your bathrobe from your place, I hope that's ok." Marlon quickly puts his robe on.

"Thank you, that's all I needed."

"Anyways, lets get a move on." They walked down the cold city street, around them people are making preparations for Christmas despite the poor weather, from cleaning the rooftops to talking merrily. The shops around them are also lined with colorful and delicious platters of food, the smell of figs and spices fill the air, and everybody is rushing about buying things for the season and the shopkeepers are too busy making merry to worry about getting the right prices. Then the church bells ring and the flocks of people go off to church. "This is what I like about this holiday, people having fun and treating each other with respect." The Spirit said as he began sprinkling a strange incense on the food from his cornucopia shaped torch.

"What's that?" Marlon asked.

"A special incense from my torch, a sprinkle of this stuff will give the food a magical effect of making any disagreement vanish." He answered. "It's best given to a poor dinner...speaking of that, there's one place I want to show you." They walk a little more down town until they reached the outskirts of the city, in front of them was a small rundown two story house with light inside. "Ah, here we are." The Spirit said as he stopped in front of a door.

"Who's run down shack is this?" Marlon said, annoyed, the Spirit then used his left hand and pushed the old Miser through the door without opening it, they just when through it like it was never there.

"This "shack" that you speak of is the home of your overworked and underpaid employee; Keel Cratchit." He told Marlon as he was sprinkling some incense around the place as well. As he does so, Marlon looks around the house interior, as expected it looked rundown, but at the same time it was surprisingly stable. A woman, with pinkish-red hair and wearing a simple pink dress with blue ribbons on it and brown slip-ons took out the bread from the oven and set it by a small window to cool down, meanwhile a young brunette boy wearing a dirty white shirt and blue overalls was placing ornaments around the Christmas tree, the tree itself was scrawny and missing tons of branches.

"I'm home, Mother!" Just then the front door opened behind Marlon, and in comes a young teenage girl with brown hair tied in small pigtails and matching eyes, and is wearing a old dress that matches her mother's hair, she also seems to be carrying a dead goose in her hands.

"Welcome home, Yukina." The woman said as she walks over to hug her daughter, just then they heard footsteps, Yukina quickly hides behind a rocking chair. Soon in comes Marlon's employee Keel, he was carrying another brunette girl with brown eyes, this time with longer pigtails and wearing a pale dress with a brown jacket, she seems to be holding a stick that resembles a crutch. Out of all the cheeriness in the room, Keel for some reason was looking sad, Marlon tilt his head at his expression.

"BOO!" Yukina jumps out, surprising Keel and the little girl.

"Oh Yukina you scared me." Keel said, forming a smile, the girl in his arms giggled.

"I brought home a goose!"

"Terrific child, we'll have a great dinner tonight." He said as he places the girl down, she was limping with a cane in hand. Seeing that, Marlon felt like something was wrong. "You go play with your siblings, Tiny Aile." Keel said, he and his wife went to another room, Marlon followed them and listened in to what they had to say. He notices how Keel was on the verge of crying. "Tiny Aile seems to be doing well, Mikina, though I don't know how long it would last."

"Don't say such things, Keel." Mikina urged. "I'm as worried as you are, but we have to keep our chins up and pray that she'll make a full recovery, and hopefully save enough money to cure her illness."

"You're right, she will make a recovery...someday." Marlon continues to watch Keel's family closely, it seems that for the first time he's actually learning much more about his own employee and how he and his family live every minute. Soon it was supper, the goose is small but they're quite happy to get something to eat during their prayers. Tiny Aile lifted up her glass and proclaimed proudly:

"God bless us everyone!" As she said that, the others followed suit.

"Spirit?" Marlon asks.

"Yeah?" He response, having just returned from blessing the house with incense.

"I've been absorbing Aile for quite a while...what's wrong with that poor child? Is she going to survive?"

"...I'm afraid not." He said in a somber tone. "They're giving their hopes up...for you see, if things like this continue...the only thing I see in their future is an empty chair where Tiny Aile once sat." Marlon's eyes widen in horror, it was not the answer he hoped for.

"...So that means...Aile's going to..."

"I'm afraid so." Marlon stood in there, frozen by this horrific fate placed on this child, and it will be his own fault.

"And...god bless...Mr. Marlon." Marlon suddenly jumped upon hearing his name spoken by his own employee.

"Seriously?" Mikina asked, sounding quite annoyed. "How could be so grateful to a Miser that pushes you around? You do this every year."

"I know, but even people like him should be given some respect and forgiveness, he was generous enough to let me have a day off." Keel responded, "You ought to not think lowly on them, especially on Christmas."

"Hmmm, I suppose." She said quietly, she then raised her drink and said: "God bless him." And after that conversation, they returned to their activities, being merrier than ever. Even Tiny Aile began to sing a song. While this was going on, the Spirit tugged on Marlon's arm, motioning him that it's time to leave, and he follows. Walking back into the city, Marlon's mind became full, he has learned so much more about his employee, given a new perspective on him, Marlon needs to start treating him more kindly. But what worries him the most was his youngest daughter and her discovered illness that, was she really going to die because of him? Meanwhile the Spirit was twirling around in his dress over the beautiful scenery.

"What the hell are you doing?" Marlon exclaimed over the site before him.

"Enjoying myself, what do you think? I'm the embodiment of Christmas after all." He responds, he stops twirling. "Why? you still worrying about Tiny Aile?"

"Well of course!...Eh!" Marlon blushed upon realizing what he just said, he clears his throat. "D-don't think I care or anything, I just don't want to see my employee coming to work depressed...it slows down business."

"Yeah that's not what I saw back at their place." The Spirit teased. "You we're very concerned." Marlon looked away.

"Whatever."

"Anyways, despite the horrible times, these families including Keel's still manage to make the best of it, for example..." He snaps his fingers, suddenly they're in the middle of nowhere, covered in grass and trees.

"What the-!?" Marlon exclaimed. "Where are we?"

"The Moor, that's where those miners live." The Spirit points over to the fields, there were a couple of miners who were sitting by the campfire and singing with their wives and children. "And here." He snaps his fingers again, and now their inside a building.

"Is this a lighthouse?" Marlon asks.

"Yes, next to the most unsettling waves on this county, despite of all that however, these gentlemen here are having a grand ol' time." He points at the two men who were eating and drinking their fill next to a small holly hanging on the wall. "And here." He snaps his fingers once more, now they're on a boat. "See those sea men over there?" Marlon turns to see a few more men celebrating as well, humming a tune to "We wish you a Merry Christmas". Marlon was quite surprised upon seeing those men having fun despite being in a dangerous sea. "And finally here." He snaps his fingers once more, there were inside someone's house with people in it, laughing and singing.

"This place...these people...why do they look familiar?" Marlon asked.

"Bah Humbug!"

"WHAT!?" Marlon heard someone say his catchphrase alongside a sea of laughter, he turned around and saw someone he knew, someone he had once despised but now feels regret. "Ayn!?" He sees his Nephew making fun of his saying while people egged him on, he was known to be contagious around people but in a good way. A beautiful woman came to him, it was his wife.

"You outta be ashamed of yourself, making light of that miser of an uncle of yours." She scolded.

"It's fine love, I don't even get to keep any of the money anyways because nothing good comes from it." Ayn said smiling. "I feel pretty bad for Uncle Marlon though, he's missing out of the good times, that's why I keep pestering him every year hoping he would come one day." They all laugh again at this notion. Marlon became flustered from the thought, his nephew cares for him too much after all those times he pushed him away. Just then he hears a pretty tune from a harp, it was his niece, he remembers this song fondly, for the first time...it made him smile, but not because of greed, but because of nostalgia, the enjoyment he felt a long time ago has made him smile. The Spirit grins at this development, he knew that Marlon's cold shell is starting to break.

"Game time!" One of the family members proclaim, everyone was getting ready for it. Marlon sees them making preparations, he then turns to the Spirit.

"If it's not too much trouble...but do you mind if I play these games a little?" He asks while blushing, the Spirit perked up from hearing that.

"Not at all, but do keep in mind that you these are just memories so they may not be real, not to mention we got 15 minutes." The Spirit said, looking at the grandfather clock.

"Worth it." He says, giving him a thumbs up. Despite what the Spirit had said to him, he was just having a great time with the relatives he never talks to, telling stories, playing games, and singing songs, his Christmas spirit has finally returned to him. "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" Marlon started to laugh again, this time to these festivities. Soon the bell Rings, it was time for him to go. Although he wants to stay more, he knew it couldn't last. Outside, both Marlon and the Spirit had their elbows linked and are twirling around in an happy matter. "I haven't felt this good in years!"

"See? I told you the holidays ain't always bad." The Spirit said in a elated tone...but it didn't last long, for the lights in the city started to darken, and while that was going on, the Spirit began to slow down. Confused, Marlon looked and noticed that he's starting to develop white hair.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry...I forgot to mention that my time is up by midnight...which means I will waste away...and won't comeback till next year." He explained, sounding somewhat somber.

"I see...huh?" Marlon spot something odd about him.

"What?"

"...What's going on under your dress?" He asks while pointing at his dress. The Spirit looks down.

"Oh right...I forgot to mention about them." He then proceeded to lift up his dress, revealing two little blond children, one with short hair resembling Marlon's and one with short twintails, both of them were starving, feral, sickly, dirty, and disgusting. Marlon was surprised about their sudden appearance as he stepped back from almost being scratched by the boy before being pulled back by the spirit, how has the Spirit not warn him about this?

"...A-are they your's?" Marlon asked sheepishly.

"No...these are man's." The Spirit said in a frail voice, he patted their heads. "This boy is Ignorance...This girl is Want...Beware of both of them...but most of all, beware the boy...For on his forehead I see that written which is "Doom."...Unless the writing is erased...If you deny him...slander those who tell others about him...admit that he exists, but do nothing about it...then doom will engulf you all..."

"...I-is they're any refuge for these children!?" Marlon asks in a scared tone, "A-any charities!?" the Spirit only looked at him with a stoic expression.

"...Are there no prisons?...are there no workhouses?" He asks, sounding more serious, that question alone was thought provoking. As Marlon was lost in his own thoughts about what the Spirit asks, the bell tolls. Marlon looked up at the bell tower at the center of the city, it was Midnight. He looked back to talk to the Spirit once more, but he and the children were gone...He was left all alone in the middle of the city.

"Spirit!?...Where are you!?" Marlon began to frantically ask while walking around the middle of the empty and dark city...completely unaware of a dark figure behind him.

End of Act 3

#evillious chronicles #fanfiction #a christmas carol #christmas #crossover

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a-day-at-once · 5 years

Text

January entries #1 to #10

January 1st, it seems.

There’s something rather archaic about writing in the first page of a journal while being bathed in nothing but the light of a candle. Normally I wouldn’t mind it much, it does set a mood, but as the lone flame flickers, so does my soul, out of the impaling feeling of pure, raw, suffocating boredom.

Archaic as it might be, Benjamin Franklin’s been dead for quite some time now and the current world revolves around the connection he found between lightning and tiny electric sparks, an energy that has been temporarily taken from us.

With the storm raging outside, there’s been a general blackout in this part of town. No internet, no television, no working electronic devices, just me and the apartment I’ve been neglecting to clean for way too long. I didn’t clean anything at all, mind you, I was just moving and kicking things around to ease my access to the ceiling fan with the chair I dragged behind me and the rope that I still have around my neck.

From a higher angle, my feet on the seat of the chair, a blur through the futile tears I blinked away; that’s how I spotted you, partially hidden under layers of discarded smelly clothing, inside a plastic storage box with the last remnants of proof that I’ve actually been to college at some point in this life of mine. A shame I didn’t graduate, but also not really? Art school can set you free as much as it can castrate your spirit.

But there you were, all faux leather cover, a gift cast aside at the time, but full of stories yet untold. Unwritten, rather. Am I talking to you or are you talking to me? Am I writing with the hopes of it being read, or so that I can figure out what I’m trying to tell myself?

I only noticed the passage of the year because the neighbors from downstairs helpfully screamed the countdown with an excitement I only wished I could share. I laid my shaky hands on you with seven seconds to go and made the decision to start writing at the exact moment they yelled “zero”.

Am I just lonely, diary? Simply sad? New Year is supposed to be about new beginnings, but in the darkness of a world that moves onto 2019 without light, your pages called for an entry. For what it’s worth…

You stopped me from ending right at the beginning.

I end this entry with the desk lamp flickering awake.

- @abyssiniana

Hello Day 2.

Yesterday I didn’t think we’d meet, and now it seems so ordinary.

Went back to work today. Another thing I thought I was leaving behind. I was on shift with Susan again, and it seems like the holidays put her in a better mood. She had a lot to tell me about her boyfriend.

We had pretty heavy traffic. More than we expected. Some old man got kicked out for saying some seriously racist shit. Bless my manager. And fuck the elderly, I guess?

It was bright and cold on my way in. I walked along the canal. I watched someone try and fish their hat out with a stick for like 10 minutes (they did it!)

On the way home I got caught in the rain and got soaked.

Closing thoughts? This was sort of a shitty day, but hey, I’m still here. I changed into some dry clothes, I’ve got some music on and I’m snuggled up in a blanket.

I kept the rope. It’s in my desk drawer. Is that morbid? I think it’s to avoid denial. I’m also keeping the candles. The power’s on, but the candles are nice anyway.

See you soon, day 3.

- @mykumatt

Day three. I wish I could say I was happy to see you.

I was off of work today. Most people hang out with friends, run errands, see a show, something else on their days off.

I usually sit and home and stare at blank canvasses and wonder what happened to me. I used to be good. I used to be something.

Am I really anything, anymore?

I eat. I sleep. I work.

Am I anything more than an automaton? Am I worth more than the money accrued with every beep of a barcode on a register?

Today, I couldn't sit inside and wonder if I'd ever become anything. Today, I went to ask the canal.

Cold and grey, it didn't have much to offer me that I didn't already know. I sat on a low wall beside the canal, almost a block from work.

The canal had my attention for all of moments. The surface was glassy, dark. Nothing swam within, nor did anything float on the surface.

I watched people instead.

One woman needed to get to the bank before it closed, I decided. She walked with purpose, long strides taking her quickly from my sight. A young man peered into the windows of a record store with his headphones on as he swayed to the beat. He was still home from college, looking for a last-minute gift for a roommate or a friend. An elderly couple toddled into a diner, the man holding his arm out for the woman, even though they both carried a cane. They've been married fifty years, kids long moved away. They eat breakfast together every morning.

Making up the story of someone else's life made mine seem more interesting. Sometimes, I wonder what people think when they see me on the streets. Am I still a student, in their eyes? Do I live with my parents? Do I have a family of my own? What if I'm a business owner, a chef, a politician, a poet?

Do they know that I'm nothing at all? When I looked back across the canal, I saw a man in nearly my mirrored position. He wore a black leather jacket and no hat or gloves. In one hand, he held a cigarette. In the other, a small, black book, much like you, dear diary.

He is a musician, I decided. His hands were lithe and his fingers slim, perfect for the piano or the guitar. In that notebook, he carried symphonies. He carried the next greatest rock album. He carried next week's one hit wonder.

Who knows?

Maybe he isn't anything. Just like me.

- hawkwarrd

Day Four. Damn.

I didn’t really realize how boring my life has become until I started to do this. What do I even say? It wasn’t a bad day? I went to work, it was Friday, so it was busier than usual, but nothing truly awful.

Oh, and Susan told me today that the new person was hired yesterday while I was off. They start tomorrow, so that’s something exciting? Hopefully, we don’t get another Sean.

My Friday night was closing, and take out food at home. No plans with friends. No notifications on my phone. A single online order for falafel, and a cold dark walk back down the canal passing the glittering lights of restaurants and bars full of laughter and friends and dates.

I would feel ashamed to reach out to anyone at this point. I was the one that pushed them away, what right did I have to see my friends again, and pretend nothing is wrong? They didn’t do anything wrong, I ignored texts, I couldn’t go out places, I never reached out. The thing that was wrong was me.

Maybe I should get a cat.

Candles and canvases and white pages don’t talk back.

Neither do cats, but maybe I could actually feel like someone useful again. It’s a new year and just because the year feels impossibly long and lonely and scary—

Fuck. Fuck I hate that. While I want to get better, am I really committed enough to 2019? To taking care of something that long? I don’t even have a real plant in my apartment.

...Maybe a senior cat.

- @kearatheshadow

Day 5.

I can't believe I actually managed to write here for five days in a row. Maybe I need to take it all out in writing, or maybe I just hope you'll be found one day, long after I'm gone, and that someone better than me will find you somehow interesting. I know I don't. I'm your writer after all, right?

I worked half day today. I didn't think I'd go to work, but I guess I needed an excuse to get up early. Last night I had some thoughts, some regrets. I thought about what I tried to do, and how I could feel that rope screaming at me from the drawer. Calling me a coward. Telling me that if I can't use it, I should at least do something with myself. Anything.

So I had to get out, you know? I couldn't hear it anymore.

Before work, I went to sit by the canal again with some coffee. I kinda like it.

It wasn't that bad today. Not too many customers. Most of the workers weren't in, so I had some peace and quiet. As much as most of them are pretty okay, I hate all of those rumors and gossips that always spread around. You can't say anything without everyone knowing about it 5 minutes later (especially Susan. She's nice but she's the most talkative person I've ever met. It's exhausting sometimes). That's why I don't talk much. Though to be fair, I don't talk much in general. The new guy was in today. He looked like he was nervous and shy, and mainly kept himself close to Greg, who was shift manager today. The poor guy had to hide his shaking hands behind him when he handled customers. Must be his first job, at least in this kind of job. But after some time, Greg told me to spend some time with him.

His name is Leo. And he's the most gentle person I've ever met. We didn't talk much, but I saw it right away. He saw me scribble on a random piece of paper and he really liked it. So I gave it to him, and he put it in his wallet.

I dunno why, but after I went back home, I wasn't so tired like I always am.

I didn't touch my sketchbook since dropping out of school. It's dusty, but somehow well kept.

Maybe I'll draw something later.

- @somegoodsheith

I decided today would be a mental health day. Called Sylvia and the sweet old lady took my shift from me. I knew no matter what she would and take it because she’s so giving with everyone in the store. I feel like I manipulated her into taking it but goes to show I’m an awful person. Not like we didn’t know that already. Okay shit. We’re not doing this today. I’m treating myself well today, only good thoughts for now.

I took the bus into the city. I figured it was best not to lie in bed all day. I got onto the subway and yeah I sat there for a long time. Like a really long time. I tried to sketch a couple of people with the notepad I brought with me, but my mind was wandering too much so I threw it back into my bag. I rode the entire line to the original stop I started at.

I enjoyed it though. That feeling of just being. A city goer. Maybe someone who works nine to five. Someone who just. Lives their life without their minds chained to an abyss that’s barely trying to break free. They maybe worry about things like, paying bills on time and making it to their kids recital.

Just a regular cyclical life that doesn’t revolve around whether their brains decide to work or not.

I made it to an animal shelter and then got dinner and then went home. Kinda uneventful. I’m still thinking about a cat maybe. I don’t know. None of them particularly attracted me. Well I mean I did try and play with every single one of them. Just none that I felt I should take home. Because I don’t know maybe I don’t deserve it. I was surprised they had birds and turtles and fish there. Not as common as cat, dogs and rodents. But I don’t know my eyes were caught by this turquoise conure. She was very calm and interested in me and her eyes just had life as soon as walked in the room.

Birds are so beautiful and I love them so much. Just hard to keep. I would have to quit my job to even have time for a parrot. And I already spend so much time at home. I just couldn’t. I’m gonna keep looking around for cats though. I have the time and space and money.

I just. Need to stay alive somehow. Maybe a cat could do that. Just gotta find the one y’know

I think I might look at volunteering at the shelter some day. I don’t think that parrot is going anywhere anytime soon and I’d love to play with her and that way it would be easier for me to find a cat. Who knows.

- @technicolorfire

Day 7 I’m feeling a bit better today. That mental health day truly helped out a lot! I’m thinking about treating Sylvia for lunch or something. I got to thank her somehow, but I’m still not 100% sure what to do. If I don’t do something, I’m going to feel the guilt anytime I look at her. Oh boy. At work today, Leo came up to me, nervously twiddling his thumbs. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and pushed it into my hands before walking away. I opened it up and it was a drawing of me. Everything, from the hair to my eyes, was perfect. On the bottom it read, “You know, I used to draw back during my high school days. Your drawing really motivated me to try up that hobby again. I hope you and me can be friends. You might even be able to teach me something.” I don’t know what to say. I know dozens of people whose drawings are better than mine, so why is Leo paying any attention to mine? Whatever, I’ll take it. I’ll probably talk to him tomorrow, if he’s willing that is. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I did get a cat. A pure black female American Shorthair. I named her Ember, due to her fiery eyes. She’s a quiet one, mostly keeping to herself. Right now, she’s laying down on my bed, softly purring. I need to go to the pet store and buy her something before she rips the entire house apart. At least Ember lightens up the atmosphere. On my way out of the shelter, I grabbed a volunteer forum from one of the employees. In fact, it’s sitting next to Ember right now. At least now I can hope to make someone’s day better. New year, new me after all.

Well, until we meet again, diary.

-Tingle

Do cats wear collars?

I ended up going to the mall before my shift to buy pet supplies and the thought entered my mind when I saw the aisle of shiny, multi-coloured pet collars in the store. The images of cats on the labels, ecstatic to receive the gift of Collar from Human, repeated across an entire wall of ApexCorp® Anti-Tick and Flea Cat Collars™ Dermatologist Approved.

Do cats have dermatologists.

I have never seen a cat wear a collar in my life. Not even on TV. Or maybe I have seen one before, on a cat food commercial? Who pays attention to those things anyway?

Do cats wear collars? The question, it haunts me.

I did not buy Ember a collar.

I stuffed the pet supplies onto my car's backseat (a secondhand Toyota Corolla my parents bought me for my 18th birthday - old but still trusty) — a litter box, two food bowls, a large pack of cat food to last at least a month or so, and a squeaky mouse toy. Not a collar in sight.

I returned to the mall, deciding to grab a bite to eat before I went to work in a few hours. My shift today was supposed to be from 8 AM to 4 PM, but Sylvia (1-9 PM) asked us to switch since she had some errands later in the evening. Sure, fair enough. She did take my shift the other day, might as well return the favour. Not like I have much better to do in the evening.

I already spent most of my spare money on Ember's things, but a sandwich and maybe a milk tea won't hurt my wallet too bad. And it'll probably taste better than all the cup noodles and rice-plus-canned-something that had comprised my diet for the past several months. I deserve to treat myself every once in a while.

Right?

I strolled across the mall; when was the last time I actually went here? I didn't recognize most of the stalls anymore, and had forgotten where I used to eat all the time.

No point in thinking too deeply about it, I suppose. Thinking doesn't do me much good. I stopped by a café that only had three other customers and ordered a "House's Special" panini and, at the cashier's suggestion, an "Okinawa milk tea with tapioca, rock salt and cheese."

I have no idea what either of these are.

From across the café where I sat was International Bookstore. Oh, International Bookstore, with your overpriced erasers and purple pens that never seem to be in stock. The glass display presented a vast array of hardcover novels, alcohol markers and oil pastels, a medium I was never good at.

I stared at the art supplies, sipping my tea plaintively. I haven't made a serious artwork ever since I left school, my once diverse portfolio reduced to crude doodles at the back of receipts.

My impressive receipt collection was set to grow yet again as I scribbled behind the café bill with the half-empty pen I write grocery lists with.

I started with some abstract scribbles, trying to get a feel for the pen. The once black ink was nothing more than a faded gray now. I sketched out my lunch absent-mindedly, taking more time looking at the bread's dotted texture than my own work (Ah, food, the art student's favourite subject).

I continued eating (GOD this is good milk tea, thanks cashier person), stopping every few bites to draw again, the progression of my food as it was being consumed laid out on the paper until all that was left to draw were bread crumbs and an empty cup.

This could be symbolic for something, but I'm not really sure.

- cordaello

I can’t believe it took me a full day to understand Leo’s joke when I asked him if he was planning to grow a beard. “Maybe. Who knows? I used to not like facial hair but it grew on me.” I just… thought he didn’t have a razor.

By the way, I forgot to write about my conversation with Leo yesterday (the first thing I thought of doing was sticking that receipt doodle on my diary and my mind threw any other detail that happened that day out of the window).

I’ll just quickly skim over what happened yesterday. He’s a quiet, shy guy who avoids talking to people if it’s unnecessary. He’d rather watch and observe. Didn’t get to chat with him until our break time since I didn’t really want to disturb him while we were working. Sheepishly, I started small talk between the two of us which somehow sidetracked into a long discussion about BBC’s hit detective rom-com show, Sureluck played by the loveable Bandersnatch Cucumber. There was something about the uncovering mysteries that fascinated both of us. Maybe it was the idea that there’s something more to the things that happen around us, a hidden explanation. That or it was just wishful thinking; we wanted to belong to a scheme bigger than all of us, to be worth more than what we think we are.

Or maybe it’s Bandersnatch’s sexy cheekbones. Maybe…

Honestly, Leo’s such a precious kid. He’s still pretty young, just turned 18 and recently moved from Michigan to this place where nothing extraordinary happens (unless you count the disc of lights that disappear after a few seconds above Dale University). He rents a small apartment a few blocks from the store.

I thought it’d be nice to show him around; after all, he’s new here. So after today’s shift I asked if he wanted to go to Ravensons Mall and grab something to eat, maybe sit on one of the benches at the nearby park for cats.

Do cats have parks. “Um, sure, I’d love to go,” he answered with a small smile. “It’s not like there are people waiting for me to get home.”

Beneath that smile I could hear a tinge of melancholy in his voice and I felt a little bad for him. This kid was me a couple of years ago. This kid is me now, scared and reluctant in this jungle of people bustling around minding their own businesses, and I alone.

Alone.

Maybe Leo didn’t have to feel the same way. Maybe I could be a friend to him. Maybe…

After the shift we got into my car and drove to Ravensons. WcDonalds was packed with people and Leo seemed agitated at the overwhelming business of the fast food chain so I ordered us each a burger and a cup of soda to go, and left the busy place.

Leo seemed to calm down when we got to the park. We watched as people walk by. We watched families that had small picnics on the grass under the shade of the big trees — the only trees you’d see in this place.

There were no signs of cats whatsoever.

Leo told me about Michigan and how he and his friends would have long road trips in and out of the state in his friend Brad’s pickup truck. There was something peaceful about driving across miles and miles of land, especially at night, and being alone in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe we should go out on a road trip someday. -realcakkuu

#10

Ember woke me up a little before my alarm went off. I suspect I will eventually transcend the need of setting up the alarm at all; for a cat without one of her front paws, she sure pounces hella hard on my stomach at six twenty in the morning exactly. I can’t decide if I prefer waking up to her demand of food or Gary Moore’s guitar solo.

The cat decided for me.

I fed her. She likes the extravagant salmon food I can barely afford, because of course she does; for an animal who was rescued from the streets, she sure was picky with her Purina Fancy Feast. After the bowl was empty she staggered towards me to rub herself on my leg in what I can guess is appreciation.

I very damn well hope it is appreciation.

Do cats have that sort of feelings towards inferior beings such as humans?

I petted her, though. Cute.

I made a good pot of coffee for myself, but then opened my fridge to realize I hadn’t bought milk in weeks. I burned my toast but ate it anyway; anything goes down my mouth with enough peanut butter. I may or may not have forgotten to pay the water bill, but I’m fairly certain I did (one day past the limit, is a fact). I think they just cut the hot water because they’re complete sadistic unforgiving assholes. I showered anyway. I masturbated. I couldn’t even tell how long it had been since I last did it but I can’t say it felt... particularly good. Mostly made me feel fourteen again, self-discovering without the concern of being caught by my brother in the upper bunk bed.

I uh. Shouldn’t have done that.

In the momentary bliss I forgot time was a constant moving variable and clocked in eleven minutes late at work. My boss hates me. The clients hate me because god forbid they have to form a line in the parking ten minutes before opening time.

Today was the day I decided I absolutely despise Thursdays.

I realize this every week. I do. But I hated today specially because Thursday is Leo’s day off. I don’t know what I was expecting, the kid deserves his days off as much as me or anyone else does. He didn’t miss out on anything too critical except the ridiculous amount of clients that seemed to be waiting for the final twenty minutes of my shift to grab every item from the nearest shelves and throw them on the absolute opposite end of the slooowwwlyyyy rooooolliiiiiinnnngggg conveyor belt, as if I have all the time in the world, and they THINK I want to argue about the promotion we had last week but don’t have this week but they WANT it this week too, but I have to explain that promotions are like every single fucking thing in life, fucking TEMPORARY, WOMAN, GET A MOVE ON AND PAY FULL PRICE FOR A BLOODY CAN OF SAUSAGES.

Ah, Thursdays are inventory day. I didn’t leave the goddamned supermarket before midnight, and I’m honestly cheating you, dear diary, because it’s the eleventh already and I only just managed to sit down and rage write today’s events.

Ah but… before going to bed, I should add something.

I found something in my locker when I went to pick up my jacket. I didn’t notice it upon arriving in the morning, nor when I went to grab some money for lunch, but this was right on the door, at the level of my eyes, a post it note with a little message. Was it put there yesterday night? Sometime during the day?

- @abyssiniana

#ADAO #entries #1 to 10 #january #2019 #writing #creative writing #collab #mass collaboration #art #doodle

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