#the creases on their carapace very cool

[maretriarch]

people used to draw cool xeno bug trolls with like carapaces and mandibles. :( USED to....

[2manyfandoms2count]

Poisson d'avril

Here, have a half-baked April Fool’s Day fic my brain decided to wake me up for. For context, one of the most popular jokes for April 1st in France is taping paper fish to each other’s backs, the more original the fish the better (my childhood is filled with trying to sneak behind teachers' backs to tape one on them; they were very chill about it, tbh). Poisson d’Avril is also what you say at the end of a joke on that day (think "sike", but festive). More about this great tradition that apparently dates back to at least 1466 here.

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

Marinette loved April Fool’s Day at Françoise Dupont. The school was always buzzing with little pranks at that time of the year, the blooming spring giving a wonderfully cheerful backdrop to the shenanigans the collégiens were up to.

These were all very light-hearted, if sometimes a little elaborate.

As usual, some students had been found early in the morning in the classrooms, thwarting their attempt to recreate the legendary horizontal fiasco of 20XX, where everything had been set up to look like the rooms had been flipped by 90°. Mr Damoclès had let them go mercifully, thankful that the students hadn’t been tempted to glue everything to the ceiling in an effort to one-up their predecessors. Somehow, he wouldn’t have put it past Kim and Alix to try and coordinate the project, as a last hurrah before heading on to lycée.

There were also seemingly well-meaning classmates offering chouquettes or donuts in the courtyard, which Marinette knew to stay well away from, knowing the former were likely sprinkled with coarse salt, and the latter filled with the likes of mayonnaise instead of jam. She’d been in their shoes a couple of years prior, building her classmates’ trust by bringing them the sweet delicacies every day for a week, and switching on April 1st as a joke.

Heading to class, she heard a lot of laughter, people telling jokes, or trying to see how far they could take a story without it being called out on it (this year, Nino had Kim panicking over a brevet exam part they supposedly had, which was a step down from the previous year, where he’d convinced him that everybody needed to come in dressed up in medieval costumes, and that he’d landed the court jester role; his friend had turned up the next day in a full outfit, complete with bells on his hat and shoes, and upon discovering the deception, had decided to make good use of them and make the joke everybody’s problem).

However much she enjoyed those kinds of pranks, though, Marinette’s favourite remained the classic poisson d’avril: taping paper fish to people’s backs. It was something anyone could take part in, as a predator or a prey, with or without premeditation. You didn’t necessarily need scissors and tape, if you managed to steal some from somebody else’s back.

Marinette liked to take it seriously. Done right, the exercise demanded stealth she’d had even as a little kid, and had honed ever since being chosen to become Ladybug, as well as creativity she had piles of. She’d stayed up the previous night, making plenty of fish varying in size and colour, some tailored to her friends, like the Rena Rouge and Carapace ones that were intended for Alya and Nino respectively. She’d of course also made the rest of the Miraculous team, as well as some other designs based on Kitty section, her classmates, or celebrities.

As always at the end of the day, Rose walked around with a whole school on her back. It wasn’t clear if she was completely oblivious to it, or if she knew what was going on but enjoyed the giddy giggles of the people who managed to add an extra fish in, or take one off.

The only person who’d managed to escape the prank so far was Adrien, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Kim, Alix and Nino had gone to great lengths to get at least one fish on his back, even recruiting Markov to sneak behind him, but the boy seemed to have a sixth sense.

No sooner did he hear the faintest of ruffles, that his head would jerk up, eyes darting around to figure out where the sound had come from, thwarting any efforts, no matter how elaborate they’d been.

Marinette had been reluctant to target Adrien, despite having a special fish for him, complete with his stripes and an orange-tipped tail, but as the day went by and more people joined the challenge to trick him, she felt the urge to compete rise in her chest and started unwillingly tracking his every movement, trying to find a breach in his focus.

It was a fastidious process, even for someone who enjoyed watching Adrien happily live his life, but it paid off around the end of the day, just after the last bell.

Marinette noticed that Adrien’s shirt looked a little rumpled around the back as they were retrieving books from their lockers, and approached him calmly.

“Adrien?” She announced her presence when she was right behind him, surprised that he hadn’t turned around yet. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

“Marinette!” He yelped, a hand flying to his heart. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.” He chuckled nervously.

“No, I’m sorry I scared you!” Marinette looked down, apparently sheepish. In truth, she was cursing inwardly at the missed easy opportunity. Adrien had been at ease with her coming closer, which she assumed was because it was the end of the day and he’d started letting his guard down; she could have gone about her business and he would’ve been none the wiser. She shook her head; it didn’t matter, she’d just go on with her original plan. “It’s just that… well, it’s stupid, but the back of your shirt is a little creased, and I know how important your appearance is to your family so… Do you mind if I fix it?”

“Thanks Marinette, that’d be awesome.” He smiled at her in a way that would have made her lose her cool, had it been any other day. But she was on a mission, and there was no way she was letting the opportunity of pranking Adrien when nobody else had managed the feat go by.

“Okay, let me just…” Marinette reached into her purse and took the first piece of paper she felt, before gently taping it to Adrien’s shirt, making sure to smooth the fabric at the same time so he wouldn’t realise what she was doing.

“There, all done!” She smiled when she was satisfied the tape had adhered well enough.

He smiled back at her, but was interrupted in his thanks by Nino and Alya calling for them to hurry up.

“Today was really fun, I’m so glad I got to experience it first hand,” Adrien beamed as the group walked out of the building, Nino and Adrien a little ahead of the girls. “And I’m really proud that I survived it without getting pranked!”

Marinette bit back a laugh, eyes darting to his back.

“I wouldn’t be so confident, Sunshine,” Alya replied, untaping the fish from his back and handing it to him.

“What…” Adrien stopped in his tracks, looking at it, and particularly Marinette’s signature on the back of the piece of paper, in disbelief. He turned around with a look of mock betrayal. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” He pouted.

“I couldn’t just let you off the hook,” she shrugged with a small smile, making a mental note to reuse the phrase with Chat Noir when she saw him later. He’d enjoy the pun.

Adrien let out a small chuckle as he turned the fish around, but the sound died as he saw the pattern. The colour drained from his face and he froze as he took in the black and green colour scheme and the fish’s whiskers.

“Adrien? Is everything okay?” Marinette frowned, noticing his change in body language.

“Yeah, um… Can I talk to you for a second?” He looked up at her.

“What a great idea!” Alya pushed Marinette towards Adrien before hooking her arm through Nino’s and starting to go down the stairs. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Marinette thought she heard her add “Can you believe they might get together over an April Fool’s joke?”, as she waved them off absentmindedly, but her gaze met Adrien’s troubled one and she decided she’d deal with her best friend later.

“What’s up?” She asked, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks; the adrenaline from succeeding her challenge was evidently starting to wear off.

“What’s this?” Adrien asked cautiously, handing her the fish.

Marinette took it cautiously, saw the pattern, and smiled. “It’s a poisson-chat noir,” she said proudly. It was a bit of a shame she’d picked that one for Adrien, but she guessed she couldn’t have kept it for her partner anyway, given that she’d signed it. Still, she thought he would have liked the joke. Especially if it came from Ladybug.

“How did you know?” he murmured, looking at her incredulously. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows at his cryptidness. He explicited his thoughts. “I saw the fish you gave Alya and Nino, and the one you managed to pin on Chloé; they were all references to their superhero selves. And now you get this one right as well… How did you know?”

It was Marinette’s turn to freeze and feel the colour draining from her cheeks. “I… I didn’t. I picked one randomly when I saw an opening.”

“Oh.” She saw the cogs turning in Adrien’s brain while she felt her own shut down, still processing one important piece of information.

“Adrien… Are you Chat Noir?”

“Um… Poisson d’avril?” He ventured.

“Adrien.” She repeated sternly.

“Okay, fine, you got me.” Adrien huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “Please, don’t tell Ladybug.” He pleaded.

“Too late, I’m afraid.” She dug out her poisson-Ladybug and taped it to herself. She saw Adrien’s eyes grow as wide as his smile before being engulfed in a hug and feeling his lips on her forehead. “Kwami, we really might get together over an April Fool’s joke,” she muttered against his chest. If the heat she felt at the tip of her ears said anything, she probably was as red as Ladybug’s costume, and it probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?” Adrien pulled out a little from their hug to look at her.

“Nothing.” She smiled, and took his hand. “Now come on Chaton, we have some things to discuss, and we should probably go somewhere more private.”

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, my Lady.” He picked their entwined hands and kissed hers.

Really, she thought as they made their way towards her parents’ boulangerie, she loved poissons d’avril.

[heli0s-writes]

all in the weight (gentle, we fall)

Summary: A stretched night in Wakanda with you, Bucky, and the truth.

A/N: Smut, angst, & soft White Wolf Bucky. 1.8k words.

Written for @the-omni-princess​‘s 1k writing challenge! Congratulations again and thank you so much for hosting!  My prompt was: “The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes — or just by staring into space.” -Marilyn Monroe

The title is a lyric from Justin Nozuka’s All I Need.

It’s these moments that enchant you the most. When your heart quivers, all pumped full-- one single hair of a stretch away from bursting, blood rushing too hard and fast, chest unwilling to compromise with the swell.

Galvanized by him.

His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse steadying itself in measured breaths. His pretty, pretty, eyes, staring into some unknown expanse.

It's in these moments-- when he’s suspended, weightless and floating with his back against the bed, lost in the sweet drift of a comedown-- that you meet the truth.

Grey-blue casts over his features, allowing you only slivers of piercing eyelashes, cuts of his cheek’s sharp terrain, that blessed dip in his chin, a reprieve. Haloed in a fleeting corona when the light surfaces again and smatters through the curtain, his long shadow falls on you, touched with quiet. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the silver streak of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Yes, lover?”

Lover. What a word.

Bucky smiles, lips still slick with impatient kisses, licked just on this side of red and raw. Hungry again and changing course, curving into the way you reflexively press against him. A roguish, lingering look before he asks,

“What do you want of me?”

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, marble carved into man, unmade and made again at long last. 

“What will you give me?”

A quick and lambent glance of that tepid ocean as he ponders. Playful tides lap each other in delay, lap your feet and ankles, seafoam mist cool and sweet just like him.

“Everything.”

Tidal waves crash upon his admission. Electricity and salt and moonlight breaking on their crests, moment turning quick and hot. Bucky moves into a better position, rocking the mat beneath as he shifts, one leg hooking over you, forearm skimming down your sternum. The two of you slick in a sheen of sweat, skin gliding over skin.

You laugh, a sharp breath of disbelief sheltering unspoken joy, hand swatting uselessly at his head.

“Can’t help it. Want you to have it all,” hastened breath on your bare shoulder followed by caresses from that noble nose at the incline of your collarbone. Then his strong brow, willow-wisps of hair a little damp at the roots in pursuit for more of you—grazing the gradual slope of your breast, kissing a nipple, then lower to where your very heartbeat springs forward to find him, too.

Protests evaporate like ocean spray.

Your hands are back on him when he gets to your belly. Sultry and kiss-bruised lips on fire as he presses them your waist and hips, and it’s a wonder how he still can.

You quake a little, pre-trembling with anticipation when he maps a roadway down your thigh, following veins and silver lines of a stretched surface. He twists from your hold, pushes your hands away until you’re grasping at the bed.  

He loves it like this most. Your whimpers, his attention. Doting. Slow. Stretched.

It’s been midnight all day, feels like. A perpetual polar night, permissive of a time when eternity lies tucked inside the thin cotton sheet currently gathered over his back, dropping low.

Bucky hums between your knees, bristled jaw agonizing sensitive skin and your toes curl tightly at the thought of his tickling fingertips. A shuddering breath takes flight when you whine. So, he relents and rises, blanket falling away completely and the both of you are open in the dim inky blue—chilled, until he brackets you in with his right arm on the other side of your shoulder.

“If you let me,” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul trembles with the hanging promise of his words. “I’ll love you, honey,” a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Love you good,” a kiss to your neck where the pulse jumps along, “Love you best.”

A flick of his tongue to the hollow of your collarbones, knee spreading your thighs open. Bucky smiles when he looks at you, “Love you again and again.”

The vibration of his voice tumbles into your ears and down the length of your spine, spinning the weight in your stomach into a typhoon.

Silent permission in the form of your repositioning, facing him fully now, chest to chest on your side, admiring each other with adjusted night vision eyes, kept safe from the world beyond this carapace of his body over yours.

Fingers make their way between your thighs, above his knee, sinking slow and soft into the swollen flesh well-loved many times this morning—afternoon, evening—by him. You’re tender, shuddering, sore. Toeing the edge of breaking completely into pieces.

Soft moans and damp gasps, he works his way into you, fingers first. One, then two, then three because he’s captivated by the way you unravel for him so quickly. Doesn’t even care about himself most times, even though you plead with me, Bucky, come with me. It’s too sweet to simply watch you.

He moves them cleverly-- ring over middle while his pointer gently strokes. Then, they shuffle like tumblers in a lock, spreading and retreating, and your fists clench against his chest, knuckles rapping on his collar.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, “Feel good, honey?”

You do. Oh, you do, and he knows. He knows everything about you. Your eyes ask again for his length—the feeling of him inside of you. The sacred moment when two yield into one and Bucky dissolves you completely.

“This what you want?” He sighs, moving on top now, pushing himself between your legs, his half-knotted hair falling apart and caging your faces together with their soft strands. You lean your cheek against them, bite your lip just a little at him, keep at bay all the words you really want to say.

Strong and velvet, easily slick with wet from how he’s coaxed you open, he slides in. All the way. All the way and you feel it up to your chest. That swell. That hurt. That consummate loving. Water and blood, and the throb of him rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. His voice, quaking just a little bit, simmering low and then broken, shattered with love.

“God. Baby,” he pleads, “Christ. Fuck. Honey,” the ramblings of a man far gone. Hips rolling this way and that, bucking slow but steady, and hard, too, his pelvis flush against yours with each contact. Your fingertips dig gently to anchor yourself inside his sea, raging hot.

You swallow his voice, his rhythm, let the saltwater sear your lungs, still greedy for more because you need him just the same way—open, taken, devastated, crawled inside your ribcage, nesting within your heartbeat, branded onto your soul.

“Take all of me, lover,” Bucky whispers, “Want you to have it all.”

Lover.

And what a lover he is.

As instantaneous as it arrived, there is submergence. Drowning. Unforgiving tides plunging you into the deep—frantic pockets of what’s left of your breath bubbling overhead and encasing his name. He holds fast one final time, kissing your crumbling mouth, quivering, worrying, lips plump and ripe with overwork—red and receptive and ready. All of you and all of him folding in over each other, dashing yourselves onto the rocks of an undoing so complete you burst apart. And then, Bucky plummets, too, shuddering and wrecked and entirely yours just like he wanted.

-

The long spell of interrupted time strikes some unknown hour. Both of you have purposely lost count of the minutes, yet it still chimes an insolent reminder with every exhale he breathes into the dark. Bucky blinks slowly at the ceiling, tallies the reedy scores of thatch and chews on the skin of his lip.

It’s these moment that hurt the most. When he does nothing but exist unwaveringly on the shoreline edge of your reality and fantasy, blue and unhurried. You, enraptured. Him, endless. There is nothing to do but stare, watching his eyes ebb and flow, adrift in the increasingly tangible tomorrow.

“You said I could have everything,” you lament against his cold left side, against that frigid alien metal, flint grey and threaded with gold. Reinforced and strong like how he feels again with its attachment. You wish you could care for it the way he does, but you know its arrival summons his departure. So there is only righteous spite.

Bucky presses his lips to your shoulder before he tugs the curtain aside, letting the evening dusk pour in with cricket song and briny lake mist. Up now, he sits face turned out toward the field, his bare back lined with the imprint of laid-in sheets, creases tracing cracked webbed patterns of peach flesh.

His silence breaks you anew, heavy chest pulsating with terrors only imagination can conjure about the unknown. Rivers flood wide paths down your cheeks, depositing heavy droplets along your jaw, collecting unsaid sorrows.

“Stay with me,” you cry, “Let me keep you.”

He steers the torrent with that horrible left arm, a poor impostor compared to the phantom space you loved even in absence. Bucky tangles his legs with yours, pulls you halfway into his lap, kisses you until your tears find a new home along the generous line of his mouth. He soothes you with his touch, but his eyes are far away.

And it is here where you suffer the truth.

As you’ve always known about him-- ever since first meeting him in the Golden City where the sunlight turned threads of his burnished chestnut hair amber; ever since touching him, tracing the arteries of his pale right arm up to his shoulder like following a pathway home; ever since loving him, engraving a space for him, recovering him from what he believes of himself—the truth, is this:

You don’t care about what he is made of, what he is made for, or what he will be made to do.

But, you are not Bucky, who wants a place carved on the battlefield because he holds onto the notion of repentance and duty. You are not the King, you are not Steve Rogers. You are not the world that broke him or the world that wants him broken again.

And, you know, as you’ve always known.

You cannot keep him.

 “Bucky,” you follow his gaze out into the field beneath a waning moon’s light, “Come back to me.”

Silver beams outline his face as he turns. Lashes so pretty you could trace them one by one. Cheeks holding onto a few final rosy blooms from when he came apart in your arms. Lips parted, chafed by the most desperate love. Eyes in a gentle fall, downwelling with fatigue and the weight of your trembling heart.

He smiles and the entire world could weep.

He knows. He knows everything.

“I will,” Bucky says, calm and endless and blue like the Pacific itself, “I will.”

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity​ @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​

[thesouthernpansy]

your hand, my hand (to hold it)

artemy burakh/daniil dankovsky

2,556 words

(here on ao3)

Dankovsky stands at the top of the staircase in his shirtsleeves. He's changed, again, from the last time you saw him, his eyes darker and his jaw weaker, but he takes your hands in his cool, gloved palms and tuts in that same distant, put-upon way he has.

“When was the last time you cleaned your fingernails?”

Even in pitch darkness, with your eyes closed, you could find your way back to him by his scolding.

“I think I have a few crumbs under there, I was saving them for later.”

Dankovsky tsks, not without humor. “I expect you'll try to convince me it's economical. Are you hungry? I have some bread and—well, I've been told it's trout, but who can tell these days. Some kind of smoked fish. It's yours if you'll wash up. Quid pro quo.”

Are you hungry? You wonder at his formality; you've been hungry for days.

His back is to you while he digs through his doctor's bag, the blades of his shoulders, the knife of his spine. Your fingers itch with the urge to touch, to run the pad of your thumb against his angles like it could draw blood.

“The townspeople are finally rubbing off on you, huh?”

Distracted thought creases a line between Dankovsky's brows. “Ah, the local bartering custom. You'll have to more fully explain the precise mechanics of the process to me at some point.”

It's heartening and unexpected progress, from him, the admission—the interest—though you refrain from saying as much.

True to his word, he sets out a generous heel of bread and paper-wrapped package bleeding fish-smelling oil. Leans his hip against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms across his narrow chest. The fine visible bones of his wrist, the pale exposed forearm, you could close your whole fist around them with space to spare.

“Where did all this come from, anyway? The Kains?”

Dankovsky stills, a sudden subtle tenseness, his gloves drawn tight across the knuckles.

“The doctor's fund,” he says shortly.

“Ah.” Guilt seeps through to tangle with the warmer sensation rising in your chest.

Dankovsky gestures dismissively, turning away. “Don't give me that martyred expression. You come to the hospital or you don't, all that's important is that progress is being made on the vaccine.”

“The panacea,” you correct him.

“Suum cuique. Do we have a deal or don't we?”

“The healer's hands are always bloodiest,” you say, half teasing.

Dankovsky satisfies it with a long-suffering sigh. “Don't you mean muddiest? By the looks of it you've been up to your elbows looking for your steppe herbs all morning.”

Always your herbs, an arrogant dismissal as if he doesn't by now have ample first-hand experience with the effectiveness of your painkillers, at least. It frustrates him doubly, you've gathered in time, that you insist on wasting your time with flowers rather than focus on the infinitely more practical and productive collection of infected human samples that Dankovsky continues to find himself unanimously denied.

Silence settles between you with gauzy tangibility, like the pest-thick air of the infected Bridge Square, grey-green and swimming-still.

An idea comes to you. Against the growing distance you lift your grime-streaked hands, palms open, up.

“With this I give you company. The road you walk is dangerous, but you don't walk it alone. I go with you, my help and my guidance.”

“Your guidance,” says Dankovsky, mostly to himself.

“What do you give me, oynon?”

Movement at the corner of his mouth. “Food. I had thought I made that clear.”

“A thing can be more than it is, more than an object to take up space in your hand. To give and take is to connect, a feeling or intention, or...” you falter, trying to remember. “Warmth. Kindness.”

Dankovsky bites out a laugh at that, harsh and short. “Kindness? In this town?”

“Comfort,” you persist. “Joy.”

“Nothing anyone has given me in this town has brought me joy.” He stops to look at you, then, though, to truly look. “I ought to give you rest, if I thought that you would take it.”

“You'd have to have it, first, to give it away.” Both of you well aware that this is the closest to rest you're likely to get today, and even that more than either of you can really afford.

Dankovsky turns towards the window, his jawline a taut cord of tension. His profile backlit with sickly light, casting him angular, severe, the unexpected stranger in the near-dark of Rubin's rooms. Near the hollow of his throat, the shadow of dark unshaven stubble, like a bruise.

“For all that it matters. What's the actual purpose of this asinine exercise?”

“I told you—” You reach out; his hair curls damply by his ear, the pulse quickening beneath your fingertips. “It's about connection.”

Prickling, “Warmth, yes, I remember. Here—”

He takes your wrist. Then, from the little shaving kit on the windowsill, a thin wedge of soap, soft from use. Presses it into your hand.

“Take...care.”

You have held human hearts in your hands, before—hot, and with the echo of beating still in them. Maybe this is nothing like that, but it echoes all the same.

“Thank you, oynon.”

“You're welcome...emshen.” At your smirk, “What? Didn't I pronounce it correctly?”

You shake your head, laughter on your tongue. “It's the vowels. They're tricky, if you didn't grow up with the language.”

“Don't you patronize me.” He swats you away and goes, muttering the word under his breath, to collect a washbasin and pitcher from beneath the bed. They're a matched set, not poor quality but plainly in disrepair, the enamel pattern chipped and cloudy. Dankovsky sloshes the basin half-full, notices your watching.

“Concerns, Burakh?”

“No, it looks clean.”

“Of course it's clean. I saw to its collection personally. Eva has been surprisingly diligent about boiling all the water she can gets her hands on, as well, for whatever good it does.”

“Cholera dies in boiled water,” you say absently. For a brief, suspended moment in Dankovsky's place you see the frightened woman in the Flank, her flat terrified eyes, her trembling fists.

Dankovsky frowns in dim recognition. “Someone else told me that recently. I can't recall who it was.”

“Maybe it was a dream.” Quick, careful efficiency as you strip away enough of your soiled smock to bare your arms.

“I have been having the strangest dreams,” he admits, voice soft. “Ever since I arrived here. I dream about walking, mostly, out across the steppe. I'm up to my knees in water and trying to reach something on the very edge of the horizon, or perhaps it's the horizon itself? And the sky is always red, dark red like blood, and I can feel in my bones that something is missing, as though the moon might not be there if I could think to look for it.”

Frown deepening, he shakes his head as if to clear the image. “In any case, perhaps it was a dream, then. I've been experiencing a great deal of déjàvu lately.”

The basin water murkies like a pre-storm dawn, greying lather sloughed away with the days' mud and blood and sweat. Like peeling back dead skin to see something fresh and pink underneath, new nerve endings, raw and receptive. It feels wrong, somehow. Dark water, clean hands.

“How do you imagine the Town will think of you when this is all over, after you're gone?”

“I don't,” says Dankovsky, clipped. “There are far more consequential matters that call for my attention. Who has time to worry about the opinions of small minds, with so much to do?”

Sanctimonious bastard.

“I do.” Gripping the edges of the washbasin like you could snap it in two, satisfying in the imagined sound of shattering, Dankovsky's startled expression, a rush of movement across the Stillwater's floorboards.

“Well, it's different for you, obviously. Being a local.”

You step away, scrubbing wet hands across your face. “I'm glad at least someone thinks that of me.”

Anger ebbs away in the ensuing silence. Then, the staccato click of Dankovsky's polished shoes accompanied by the faint sough of cloth. A towel, threadbare and yellowed, held like a surrender. You acquiesce, and Dankovsky pointedly avoids your gaze as he dries your hands with studious care.

“If you're...unsatisfied, here, you could always come to the Capital with me, when I return. Thanatica, or whatever's left of it, could benefit from your...unique perspective.”

His right hand in your left, points of articulation lined up—palm, wrist, knuckle, rib—and a warm thrum under your skin, heady and thick, like twyre bloom.

“That's a generous offer, oynon. You're right, though, I am a local. My place is here.”

“Yes,” he says. “well. I won't try to change your mind, if you're—”

“You could stay.”

Sudden, startled offense and dazed uncomprehending, Dankovsky's expression caught halfway between a sneer and something terrified. Defensive, cornered.

“I—here? No, what would I even—? No, no, I can't.”

“If you say so. I'll probably try to change your mind. Not right now. Later, when it matters.”

Dankovsky's eyes are sharp when they meet yours, lit with keen, unmasked curiosity. The full weight of his attention pierces like a pin punched through a beetle's jeweled carapace for display. A bright spot of pain in your chest, velvet at your back.

“You won't,” he says, weight in his words so you could almost see them falling out, bitten clean.

Fondness blooms in you at the thawing unease with which he holds himself, like a man who has forgotten how to be warm coming in from the cold. Reticent in a reluctant, guarded way you recognize, of all people, from Murky.

“I'll try anyway.”

A thin, unsteady laugh, reedy and nasal, and thenhe softens, all at once, deflating slightly, like a weight borne across his shoulders has been lifted free from him.

“Just so. Dum spiro, spero.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“I think you know,” he says carefully, “enough.”

Clearly, like a memory in your mind's eyes you see yourself kissing him, again and again, harsh and then tender, then tenderer still—the copper of blood on your teeth, the hazy, cooling steppe at dusk, the terrible sweet fever smell you know so well—a rush, like wind, like falling from a height, and here, constant, the place where the parallel nets of your lives snag and tangle.

Which is to say: what follows flows with the ease of the inevitable.

Dankovsky looks up, you look down.

The two of you meet in the middle.

The kiss starts slow, chaste and unsure and so nice; a pleased, helpless little sound escapes from you before you can think to stop it, and you feel Dankovsky's lips part slightly to form some wry response. You take it as an invitation, licking into the heat of his mouth, fingers threaded in the short hair at the nape of his neck. He shudders against you and moans, hitched breath and a deep, dreamy sigh that resonates like struck steel, pools low in your gut, molten and dark. Grasping, his hands find your waist, slide upwards to reel you close and keep you there.

Against your palm, the rabbit-pace of his pulse. Yours, sheltered against it. Dankovsky kisses you in the dim, stale Stillwater, and you think, the left and right hand. You think, yes.

Understanding: you are separate things like two hairs on a bull's back are separate, his heartbeat ending where yours begins without distinction. In the shared breaths caught between you, it's easy to believe that you could choose this—one vast, drumming heartbeat, one fast, endless line, strung through you soft and whole, tying indelibly together what you've feared would be inevitably torn apart. That after loss, losing, knowing what might still be lost, you could carve a harbor in the quiet and keep it shielded because you wanted it enough.

Behind you, the clock chimes the new hour. The adrenaline pumping in your blood start to sour.

“Fuck,” says Dankovsky, teeth scraping your lip.

You swallow thickly. “Is it two already?”

“Three, I think.” Focused on a point past your shoulder, his hands still under your shirt and his eyes already terribly far away.

“Shudkher.”

“You have somewhere else need to be.”

“I—yes.”

He nods, stepping away. His warmth goes with him. Clearing his throat, righting his clothes, you watch his expression shutter closed and feel like a limb that has been too long in a cast, pallid and shriveled and weak. Regret twists its clammy thorns around your heart, but there's nothing you can apologize for, nothing that it would fix.

“I'm sorry,” you say anyway.

Dankovsky shakes his head. “What for? Unless you're responsible for this whole wretched plague I can't accept that from you. And if you are responsible I wouldn't accept it it anyway, my reaction would be the furthest thing from forgiveness. Besides, it isn't as though I don't have work of my own to do.”

He recovers your discarded smock from the floor, gives it a vigorous shake. You take it from him, and he promptly busies himself elsewhere while you redress, the conspicuous return to silence aching in your joints like the promise of rain.

Dankovsky breaks it first. “Here, can you carry this?”

A hastily-wrapped parcel of waxed canvas, secured with a pair of safety pins that recently-acquired instinct hones in on immediately—that girl by the Trammel had been looking for pins, and she'd had a fingernail coin she was willing to trade—so that full focus returns with the thing in your hands and a stiff, dour set to Dankovsky's shoulders, the pull of his mouth. Unreachable, resigned.

“What is it?”

“My side of our bargain.” Hesitant, almost amused. “You didn't think I'd try to rescind our deal just because you can't stay for tea. Tell me you'll remember to eat it before it spoils.”

“I'll do my best.” Shifting aside bundles of twyre to tuck the food into your bag, as if you won't be tearing it open again as soon as you're outside.

“See that you do. I...be careful out there, Burakh.”

“You too, oynon.”

A fluid moment, blood pulled through the chambers of a heart, singing and open like the bare vein of Mother Boddho at the base of a tree. Pregnant with the promise of movement, the exposed unspoken, a restlessness that settles, itching, into the red of your marrow.

You wonder if Dankovsky would let you kiss him goodbye.

“Did you need something else, or are you just going to stand there hulking behind me while I work?”

The skin of tension splits, relief trickling out in a thin line.

“I'm going, I'm going, no need to force me out.”

“As if I could.” The formality of irritation over unmistakable affection.

You reach out and take his hand. Dankovsky watches warily, frowning as you peel back the edge of the clean black glove, but makes no move to stop you. The bare cradle of his palm still smells faintly of leather when you curve towards it, pressing your lips against the skin.

Dankovsky's eyes don't leave you even after you release him, fingers curling closed.

“Warmth,” he says softly, “yes, I see.”

[inkjackets]

Starlit Conversations

Here is my piece for the the @letspouncezine! I had so much fun participating in it and you should check out the whole thing here!

This can also be read on AO3 under the same name.

~~~

Rena Rouge stumbled through her bedroom window and collapsed onto her bed. She de-transformed back into Alya and groaned as fatigue overcame her. Her phone, which had materialised once more, started pinging like crazy. She dragged an arm out from underneath her to turn off the impatient noise and allowed herself two whole seconds of rest before hauling herself to an upright position. She dug her fingers into her eyes in an effort to rid them of tiredness, dislodging her glasses in the process. She picked up her phone and winced at the sudden glare before attending to the messages, which were all notifications from the Ladyblog with people asking her for updates and her opinion on the most recent akuma attack. She scrolled through them for a moment in disbelief. She had literally just defeated the akuma, how was she supposed to have an update already? She sighed. It wasn’t like her followers knew who she was. Smacking her cheeks in an effort to wake herself, she dragged herself over to her desk, plonked herself in her chair, and furiously typed away at a new article. She needed to appease her insatiable audience. However, no more than ten minutes had passed when her mum called her.  

“Alya!” she yelled from downstairs, “Do you mind putting the twins to bed for me?”

Alya’s eyes flicked to her calendar. She slumped. Great, of course today also happened to be her day for chores.

It was 9pm by the time Alya managed to get back to her room.

11pm by the time she posted her article.

1am by the time she finished her homework.

Alya crashed into bed and willed sleep to drag her into its comforting darkness.

…

She willed again.

…

She rolled over and closed her eyes once more.

…

Sleep wasn’t coming.

She opened her eyes and watched the clock slowly tick the night away, leaving her behind.

Alya groaned and sat up. Her face felt itchy and puffy, and there was a dull pounding behind her eyes. She jealously eyed Trixx, curled up and fast asleep on the pillow next to her. Alya sat in the quiet darkness for a moment before slipping out of bed and padding over to the window. She slid it open and let the cool night air wash over her. She breathed in deeply.

She suddenly felt wide awake.

“Trixx,” Alya poked the little fox kwami.

“What,” Trixx moaned, not happy at being woken up.

“I’m going to head out for a bit.”

The little fox god blinked his sleepy eyes. “It’s a bit late to be heading out, isn’t it?”

“I just need a bit of fresh air, I won’t be long.”

“Wait, no,” Trixx said, fully awake now, “I meant it’s a bit late to be heading out as Alya, isn’t it?” There was a mischievous glint in his violet eyes.

“But Ladybug forbade us from going out alone as Rena.”

Trixx grinned. “And when has Alya Césaire ever cared about the rules?”

Alya blinked. A smile dawned on her face.

“Hey, Trixx? Let’s pounce!”

~~~

Rena leapt and bound across the rooftops of Paris, letting the cool night air wash away her insomnia. She relished in the newfound energy the night had given her, and she steadily increased her pace to a flat out sprint. This was the first time she had ever gone out alone, and it was exhilarating. Adrenaline flowed through her veins and her muscles pumped with exertion as she shimmied up a high building to dive off the other side.

She was a mere orange streak against a midnight sky.

Eventually, her lungs started to ache and her muscles began to protest. She came to a stop on the Eiffel tower. Wide-eyed, breathless, and with a racing heart, she looked out over the view. An indescribable feeling came over her. She had the whole of Paris to herself. She felt overcome with emotion. She laughed at herself - maybe she was just overtired.

She stretched up to the stars and took a deep breath in, slowing her pounding heart on the exhale. She could still feel a dull ache at the back of her head and the slight itch of tiredness in her eyes, but at least she was at peace.

She nestled herself into a corner of the iron lattices and made herself comfortable. A soft smile danced on her lips as she gazed out at the glittering world around her. The twinkling of the stars merged into that of the city lights on the horizon. The sounds of cars drifted up from below, as well as the odd bit of laughter from late night passers-by. The wind, however, was the loudest noise and caused the Eiffel tower to creak as it weaved its way through the lattices.

Rena closed her eyes. The world smelt of iron, starlight, and freedom.

It was a wonder then, that she didn’t hear the soft thud as someone landed on the beam next to her. The figure sat in a crouch and smiled, their feet barely making a noise as they padded over to Rena's dozing figure. They stopped right in front of her.

Grinning, they took a deep breath and put their face right in front of hers.

“RENA!”

Rena yelped and jumped out of her skin, almost falling off the ledge. She caught herself and glared at the hooded boy rocking back with laughter.

“Carapace!” she yelled.

“Oh man, I got you good!” Carapace wiped away tears of laughter as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

“You idiot!” She shoved him playfully and grumbled.

“Ah, I’m sorry, dude. I saw you sitting here and I just couldn’t resist.” He flashed her a grin.

Rena rubbed her temples and tried to hide her smile.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked as he sat down on the beam.

He shrugged as the grin slowly slid off his face. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Rena smiled, but it was tinged with bitterness, “Well that makes two of us.”

Carapace returned with a hollow smile and turned his head to look out over the glittering world below. Silence fell upon them both. Rena gazed at the boy sitting in front of her. She traced his body with her eyes. The curve of his hood, the slant of his nose, the contours of his chest, down to his legs, gently swinging in the empty air.

Ever since she had first laid eyes on Carapace, she had known he was Nino. The way he walked and talked, and his mannerisms… it had been obvious. He didn’t recognise her for Alya. She didn’t mind though. Trixx had said it’s very rare for someone to see through a miraculous disguise. And she was extremely observant by nature.

And right now, she could tell something was off.

Carapace was attempting to look carefree, but Rena could see the tension in his hunched shoulders, in his faintly creased brow, in the sharp reflections in his eyes. She frowned. Had he always been this tense? She certainly hadn’t noticed anything different about Nino, but then, she hadn’t exactly had a lot of energy to be attentive recently. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Hey, Rena?”

Rena shook her mind back to the present. Carapace was looking directly at her.

“Do you ever struggle with this superhero stuff?” he said hesitantly. His soft brown eyes were flecked with gold and guilt.

Words formed on the tip of her tongue, Of course not! I love being a hero, it’s a dream come true! But she couldn’t get them past her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered. Carapace smiled a sad little smile and nodded.

“I… it’s complicated,” she continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being Rena Rouge. I like fighting alongside Ladybug and Chat, and I love being able to help people. And the superpowers are great, of course.” She grinned and Carapace laughed. “But I already had a lot on my plate to start with, and…” Rena hesitated. She turned her gaze back to the glittery darkness sprawled out in front of them.  “I’m tired,” she said, the sincerity in her voice surprising herself. Exhaustion slammed into her. “I’m so tired.” The pinpricks of light blurred as she half closed her eyes.

Cold air and silence swirled between them.

“Me too,” murmured Carapace.

The tower creaked and groaned around the pair of sombre superheroes. Rena’s hair gently fluttered, ticking her skin. She lay back against the iron beam and closed her eyes. She willed the night to wash away her exhaustion once more.

Movement disturbed her though and she opened her eyes. Carapace was crawling over to her. He smiled, “You look cosy there.”

“It’s surprisingly comfortable, actually.”

“Move over,” he said, a cheeky glint in his eye.

Rena raised an eyebrow, but shuffled over on the beam so he could comfortably sit next to her.

He sat himself down with a sigh and lay his head back against the metal. He closed his eyes. “You’re right, it issurprisingly comfortable.”

There wasn’t a lot of space, so his body was pressed against hers. The suits meant they weren’t cold, but Rena was grateful for the extra warmth of his body pressed at her side. Her heart fluttered.

She glanced at his profile. He looked so peaceful lying there. And yet, this close, she could see the shadows under his eyes.

She didn’t know how to bring up the question on her lips. So she exhaled slowly and cast around for a different topic.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” she smirked.

Carapace looked at her, a twinkle in his eye. “What, can’t two friends sit next to each other?”

Rena shrugged, “I’m just saying.”

The twinkle faded as his eyes flicked between hers a moment. “Yeah, I have a girlfriend." His tone was dull and monotonous.

Ice trickled down Rena's spine. Something was wrong.

“…You sound hesitant,” she said, her tongue thick in her mouth.

“No, I love her. I really do.” He ran his hands over his head, dislodging his hood to show his dark hair underneath.

Rena’s stomach twisted. “There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?” What was wrong with Nino? What was wrong with her?

Carapace slumped back and gazed straight ahead. “She’s this amazing woman,” he smiled. “She’s brave, and fiercely intelligent, like, dude, you have no idea. She’s basically a superwoman," he said.

Rena licked her dry lips. “So…what? You don’t think you deserve her or something?”

Carapace creased his brow and shook his head, “No, no. It’s not that.”

“Oh,” said Rena, slightly relieved. Cause Nino was definitelymore than good enough for her.

“It’s…” he hesitated, “I don’t think she loves me back.”

Rena sucked in her breath as her gut plunged into ice.

Carapace gave a small smile and shook his head, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

Rena struggled to find her voice. She was in shock. How long had Nino felt like this?

He looked up at her, “Maybe it’s just cause you’re kind of a stranger, but it’s easy to talk to you.”

“Why-” she coughed and wet her dry mouth, “Why don’t you think she loves you?”

She held her breath as she waited for Nino’s response.

“Well, she’s always so busy, but that’s not my excuse!” he quickly said, holding his hands up in defence. “I don’t want much, just little things. I’m a bit of a romantic I guess, and she doesn’t really reciprocate. Like, I buy her flowers and she forgets about them. I write her long messages and she replies bluntly.”

Rena tried to hide her look of dismay. She had forgotten to put those flowers in water because an akuma had shown up. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep as soon as she got back. She hadn’t meant to leave them to wither and die on the side. And those messages, she had honestly meant to reply properly! But she’d had Ladyblog articles to write, and chores to do, and homework to complete. She hadn’t had the mental space to answer properly.

She bit her lip. But Nino wouldn’t have known all of that. It wasn’t his fault. She should have communicated better with him.

“Plus she’s always putting herself in danger despite my objections,” Carapace continued. “Like running straight towards akumas so she can record what’s going on.” He wrung his hands together. “I really like her, and I can’t bear the thought of her not liking me back, but I don’t know what else to do.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

Oh, Nino, Rena’s heart melted. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were feeling this way.

She gently placed her hands over Carapace’s fidgeting ones. He stilled and met her eyes.

“Maybe you should try talking to her about this stuff," she said softly.

He held her gaze a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about doing that, but I haven’t really plucked up the courage yet.”

The sad smile he gave made Rena’s heart break.

“If you’re any judge of character to go on, then I know she’s someone who will listen to you and love you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Rena rested her head on his shoulder. She felt tiredness seep back into her bones. She wanted nothing more than to blurt out who she was, but Ladybug had made them promise to keep their identities secret.

Rena closed her eyes. “It’ll all work out, I know it will,” she murmured sleepily. I’ll make it up to you, Nino. She mentally sent thoughts to him as her consciousness started to fade. I love you.

She felt a gentle weight on her head as Carapace rested his head against hers.

“Thanks, Rena.”

They both sat there, resting on each other as the stars watched over them. Warmth and comfort flowed between them as the night drifted on, eventually taking them with it as they slid into sleep.

When Rena next stirred, she was met with the orange glow of dawn. She lifted her head, disturbing Carapace in the process.

He smiled at her as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

She smiled back as warmth from the sun flooded the both of them. Today was going to be a good day. She could feel it.

Carapace yawned and stretched. “That was a pretty good sleep,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

Rena’s smile widened, “It was.”

“We should do this more often.”

Rena just laughed in reply. She stood up and stretched up to the sky, which was getting bluer with every passing minute.

“Come on, we need to get a move on or we’ll be late for school.”

“I’ll just skip breakfast,” Carapace said, but he let her pull him to his feet. “Thanks for last night, Rena,” he said, “it’s nice to get to know you a little better.”

Rena looked into his warm caramel eyes; they were flecked with orange from the morning sun.

“You too,” she said, and she meant it. Despite already knowing Carapace's identity, last night she hadgot to know him better. A smile dawned on her face as a plan formed in her mind. And she wasn’t going to let that knowledge go to waste.

~~~

Alya ran to school as fast as she could. She wasn’t late at all, but she needed to do something important first. She shot passed the school steps, leapt across the road, and burst into the Dupain-Cheng bakery, chest heaving.

“Alya!” Sabine greeted her, though she was a little shocked at the sudden entrance. “How can I help you? Are you here for Marinette? I’m afraid she hasn’t come down yet.”

Alya calmed her breathing. “Typical,” she grinned, “but no, I’m actually here to pick up some pastries please.”

After quickly choosing a selection and paying, she ran back across the road and waited anxiously by the school steps. Her eyes flicked left and right as she clutched the paper bag in her hands.

Her heart skipped a beat when she spied the person she’d been looking for.

“Nino!” she yelled across the schoolyard. Love and warmth blossomed in her as she ran towards the startled boy. She leapt on him and gave him a bone crushing hug.

He laughed as she released him, “Dude, you know I like you but it’s too early for this much energy.”

She just grinned and waved the bag of fresh pastries in front of him before shoving it in his hands.

Nino's eyes widened and drool practically dripped from his mouth as he looked in the bag.

“Alya! You shouldn’t have!” He shoved one in his mouth. “Ohmygod, so good.” He quickly chewed and swallowed, “Thanks, but what’s the occasion?”

Alya shrugged and pecked him on the cheek. “It’s more of an ‘I’m sorry’ present.”

Nino frowned, “What?”

“I’ve been kinda distant lately and taking you for granted, and I just want you to know that I appreciate you."

“Alya!” Nino spluttered as his cheeks reddened, “You can’t just come out with stuff like this, this early in the morning!” But he was obviously pleased.

“I can for you, Nino Lahiffe.” She kissed him full on the mouth.

Nino gasped with surprise, but quickly relaxed and kissed her back. They held each other for a blissful moment before gently pulling away. Alya held his face and gazed deeply into his eyes.

“I love you, Nino," she said softly, pouring all her emotion into those words.

Nino pulled her into a hug. He buried his head in her hair and squeezed her tightly.

“I love you so much, Alya.”

[ecofinisher]

Off to Rust - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137411/chapters/60046705

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13415645/8/Off-to-Rust

https://www.wattpad.com/907227745-off-to-rust-chapter-8

The fencing class sat together in the hotel room for the groups on their beds checking their smartphones chatting with friends or family members using the free Wlan on the hotel.

“You know those days here made us all bound more with the other and we’re kind of inseparable. Keep enjoying your responsibly-free and strict life from your dad and enjoy every second there of your life” Adrien’s phone played, then he typed down on his display to write down a message for his best friend, Nino.

Kagami sat on the bed watching all the others chatting, then looked over at Zeynep, which picked up her juice bottle from the ground to take a sip, then noticed Kagami look at her.

“Is everything okay Kagami?” The raven-haired girl asked seeing Kagami shrug her shoulders.

“Yes, I’m just wondering, what everyone else does on this space of time” Kagami responded.

“What do you use to do at home?” The tan-skinned girl asked making Kagami shrug her shoulders.

“Well, I’ve gotta follow the schedule my mother made for me to do it every week” Kagami answered opening her suitcase, then took out a folded sheet and revealed the schedule to the girl, making Zeynep crease her eyebrow in confusion at seeing the many dark points spread all over the sheet.

“Is that how Japanese looks like?” Zeynep asked making Kagami shake her head.

“No, that’s braille. My mother is blind and she’s only able to read like this. She also writes like this most of the times and I had to know how to read and write it too”

“Whoa, that’s harsh” Zeynep confessed. “What according to your schedule would you be doing right now?”

“Uhm….” Kagami passed her finger over the first table of the sheet to read it. “Violin practice”

“And do you have a chance to watch TV or play video games?” Etienne asked looking across the room hearing about Kagami’s life inside her house.

“No, my mother says video games and watching TV kills brain cells,” Kagami answered making Amir and Mohamed laugh.

“What?” Amir asked. “Your mother is nuts” “Everyone in the world watches TV and those type of people don’t seem to have lost any brain cells,” Laura mentioned.

“The only ones to have lost brain cells are those people in the anime and cartoon fandoms that threaten to kill you because you like someone they don’t” Etienne mentioned.

“Where did you get that idea from?” Adrien asked looking at the raven-haired boy.

“I’ve encountered a hate message on my Facestargram account telling me to die, just because I ship Tukiki, “

“Okay, that sounds just dumb, to be honest” Adrien confessed.

“Yes it does” Etienne agreed, then heard Eveline crunch her bottle together, then he widened his eyes and looked down at his thermos bottle, afterward he picked it up. “Hey guys, I’ve got an idea for a game” Etienne announced seeing all putting their eyes on him. “What about we all play truth or dare?”

“Great idea!” Amir and Mohamed chanted interested in the idea.

“Cool,” Zeynep answered.

“That must be great…...except I don’t know, how to play it” Adrien confessed.

“Me too” Kagami added, then Etienne sat down on the ground and the rest of the class sat on the floor too forming a circle, watching Etienne place the bottle in the middle of them.

“The game is very easy. Someone spins the bottle, then you have to ask the person the cap of the bottle points to Truth or dare and the person picks one of the words and you have to ask her something, the person has to answer with honesty. When you give a dare you tell her to do something no matter, what the person has to do it or she’s out. The only rules are you can’t change after you heard the question and that you lose if you reject the deed,” Zeynep explained earning a nod from the two fencing pros.

“Alright, I do the spin,” Etienne asked watching the Turkish girl spin the bottle around, seconds later it stopped in front of Laura.

“Truth or dare?” Zeynep asked.

“Truth”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“Le monde parfait” Laura answered.

“So this was an easy one,” Zeynep pointed out. “You can ask everything you want no matter how embarrassing it is. Cause that’s the fun part of the game”

“And also do the freakiest dares” Mohamed added making Amir laugh amused by the thought.

“I’m not really liking the idea playing with them,” Eveline told Laura, which shrugged her shoulders.

“Just avoid asking for a dare” Laura suggested earning a nod from the light-blonde girl.

“Now it’s my turn to spin,” Laura said moving the bottle fast observing it rotating and it stopped with the neck of the bottle in front of Mohamed. “Truth or dare?” Laura asked.

“Dare” The Egyptian boy answered.

“I dare you to slap your brother on his back for me” Laura dared watching Mohamed hit his brother on the back making him yell.

“Hey! Al’abalah!” Amir shouted making Mohamed chuckle.

“I actually liked that” Mohamed confessed, then spun the bottle around and it landed beside him in front of his brother. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth” “Which of the guys in here is the hottest one?” Amir asked making a few girls giggle at the question making Mohamed blush.

“Hey! That’s not funny! It’s a serious question and you know I would answer you, Amir” Mohamed answered.

“Well except for me, but next time” Amir answered picking up the bottle to rotate it around on the ground until it stopped by itself in front of Adrien. “Truth or dare?”

“Uh dare” Adrien answered watching Amir think about a dare, then Amir had an idea and placed his hands flat on the other, making Adrien lift his left eyebrow up in confusion.

“I dare you to take off your t-shirt and put a bra over your chest” Amir suggested making the girls, except for Kagami laugh hard while Adrien turned redder than a firetruck at the dare.

“W…...which bra?” Adrien asked, then Eveline, that was close to her suitcase opened the hood up and searched for a bra and took one out.

“Good, that I took a second pair,” Eveline said handing the red bra out to the blonde, then he removed his jacket and pulled his shirt off over his head then Adrien looked at the bra and furrowed his eyebrows wondering, how to put them on.

“Uhm how does it work?” Adrien asked, then Eveline showed her hands and placed them in front of her breast instructing the blonde to do the same over his pecks, then Etienne pulled the leashes of the bra behind Adrien’s back and closed it and along with Eveline they fixed the leashes over the blonde’s shoulders.

“Tada!” Eveline announced showing Adrien in the red bra.

“Uh, what’s the point of them again?” Adrien asked making Etienne shrug his shoulders. “Oh”

“Now spin, pretty girl” Amir announced making Adrien stuck his tongue out and spin the bottle of his friend and it stopped in front of himself again, making him wide his eyes.

“Uh”

“Just do it again” Amir mentioned watching Adrien repeat it and this time it stopped in front of himself again.

“What the…..” Adrien spun the bottle faster and it landed between Laura and Kagami. “And now?”

“You go first Kagami,” Laura said earning a nod from the Japanese girl.

“Truth or dare?”

“I say…..truth” Kagami answered, watching Adrien think about a question, he could as the girl.

“Do you like someone here inside this room?” Adrien asked watching Kagami nod making him smile gracious, believing she will mention his name.

“I like all of you” Kagami answered making Adrien shut his eyes open wide at her reply.

“Oh…..that’s great….we’re all good friends after all,” Adrien responded a little disappointed at the answer making Kagami chuckle and smirk at Adrien’s reaction.

“Don’t make a long face. We all know, you’re the one, she likes the most” Amir said earning a nod from the blonde.

“We were the first ones to become friends. It is weird otherwise” Adrien mentioned spinning the bottle to watch it stop in front of Etienne. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare” Etienne answered feeling confident, then Adrien took out his smartphone from his jacket, which lied on the ground and put the earpods on it and handed the pods out to the boy, then searched for a video on the internet and gave the phone back to Etienne.

“Watch that Ladybug video” Adrien ordered earning a nod from the boy, which watched the video.

“Oh oh oh, my life’s got me spinning around. Oh oh oh, my feet, they’re off the ground,” Was one of the sentences of the song, which Etienne watched with a neutral facial expression, while Adrien slowly started to grin, knowing where this situation was going.

“Oh oh oh, and when the sun goes, down, that’s when I become…..” After Ladybug is shown jumping off the Eiffel Tower the video slowly changed to a dark background with a man saluting at the fourth fall followed by a louder voice on the background shouting. “AND HIS NAME IS JOHN CENA!”

“Adrien!!!!” Etienne cried pushing out the smartphone off along with the earpods, throwing it at the blonde, making him laugh out loud.

“I’m feeling much better now” Adrien mentioned. “I still need to get my revenge on Amir though”

“Then I’ll skip asking you dares, but I feel like yours aren’t that excellent” Amir pointed out making Adrien smirk.

“Oh really?” Adrien asked earning a nod from the Egyptian boy, then Etienne spun the bottle, watching it go around afterward it stopped in front of Zeynep. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth”

“Who’s your best friend from your class?” The blonde asked.

“Lani” Zeynep answered earning a nod from the blonde, then it was her turn to spin the bottle, which then landed in front of Laura. “Truth or dare?”

“Erm….truth”

“Your favorite superhero?”

“Carapace” Laura answered then took the bottle to spin it around watching it stop in front of Mohamed. “Truth or dare”

“Dare me, blondie”

“I dare you to…...let Amir and Adrien put make-up on your face,” Laura said making Mohamed wide his eyes in shock.

“Damn it, Laura” Mohamed grumbled, then Eveline got from her suitcase a small box with make-up utensils and opened them up to the guys, then Amir took a brush out and got with it over the red taint and began to color his brother on his cheek.

“You know, that’s the eyeshadow” Laura pointed out.

“I see too many colors here. I’m just fulfilling your wish” Amir answered.

“I’m going to take brown…...no green for his eyelids” Adrien stated using a smaller brush, then held it in front of Mohamed’s open eyes. “Close them,” Adrien asked watching the boy roll his eyes before he closed them and Adrien began to color him up there. Amir grabbed a second brush and picked on a beige color and painted the twin on his nose making him chuckle as it tickled him.

A few minutes later Amir and Adrien were done and both got up and showed the group their work.

“I present you Lady Moha…..erm…..Lady Medina!” Adrien announced earning an applause from the group as they saw the colorful face they made.

“How do I look?” Mohamed asked, then Eveline held the camera of her phone up for Mohamed to see himself on the display and shrieked at seeing himself on it. “I look horrendous” Mohamed complained making the group laugh out loud, then he got out of the room into the bathroom to wash his face.

“Did you take a picture?” Laura asked making Eveline shake her head.

“Sadly not” The Swiss girl answered, then Mohamed shouted out of the bathroom in Arabic, followed by Amir answering back.

“I’ll take his spin” Amir announced fulfilling the task of his brother, then the bottle stopped and pointed at Eveline. “Truth or dare?”

“Uh truth”

“Out of all the guys here, who would you love to have as a boyfriend?” Amir asked making Eveline shrug her shoulders.

“I see all of you as my friends only, but If I really had to pick it would be…..Etienne, I guess”

“Oh pretty boy, you’ve got a chance” Amir joked making Etienne shake his head amused at the classmate. “Spin the bottle, genie” The Egyptian ordered observing the boy obey him and the bottle pointed in the end at Kagami.

“Truth or dare?” Etienne asked.

“I go with a dare” The blue-haired girl answered, then Etienne thought on something she could do and had gotten one in his mind. “I dare you to sing a song. Anyone you can. A paragraph of you one you know….. just a bit of it”

“Sure, but…..I’m not really that great in singing” Kagami pointed out a little abashed.

“Come on, we won’t judge you” Laura assured the blue-haired girl, which nodded.

“If you can’t sing in front of us, imagine everyone in underwear…..or like Adrien” Amir mentioned making the girls chuckle, except for Adrien, which felt embarrassed and removed the bra.

“I ain't forced to keep this forever,” Adrien noticed picking up his shirt to put it on.

“Or just close your eyes and imagine no one’s here” Eveline suggested earning a nod from the Japanese girl, which before she started took a deep breath and began to recite a song.

“You threw that girl out, I can’t believe, that it ended like this. We were fighting so much, as it used to be,”

Etienne nodded impressed at the first sentence of her song, then watched the others listen to the Japanese girl, attentive.

“You never told us she was talented” Eveline whispered to Adrien, which was as surprised as the other fencing mates seeing Kagami singing with closed eyes in serenity.

“I get penalized without any reason. You made me fall, but I got up. On my feet, on my feet. You took a blade, threw it on me, hitting my bo- oh- dy. You stare in shock at this moment, there’s no bleeding of me. You stabbed me back, but nothing happened, I am Immortal….You stabbed again and nothing happened, I am Immo-o h -rtal,”

The friends applauded at the girl, making her shut her eyes open in surprise, followed by Mohamed whistle from the bathroom while coming out as he also heard Kagami’s singing voice.

“Your voice is great Kagami, you should do that more often” Laura suggested the Japanese girl, which looked down at the floor embarrassed.

“Thanks” Kagami responded noticing all look at her charmed with her voice, then she looked down at the bottle still flustered with their attention on her and she spun the bottle around, watching it stop in front of herself, afterward Kagami spun the bottle again.

Hours later all of the fencing students were sleeping and two from the nine beds in the bedroom were empty, then the door of the bathroom opened up and Kagami Tsurugi got out closing the door behind her and walked past the balcony of the hotel room, then she noticed on the outside her friend Adrien lean on the wall of the balcony and walked at the closed door to see, what he was doing there on that time of the night. Kagami opened the door, then walked out to meet the blonde to catch him on his smartphone watching images from his gallery.

“Is everything alright?” Kagami asked, then Adrien looked back to see Kagami out there with him.

“Oh sure” He answered and looked back at his smartphone, then Kagami approached the friend to see he had a picture on his smartphone with himself and his mother when Adrien was younger the two sitting on a carousel on a vehicle shaped like a firetruck.

“You seemed to have a lot of fun on that picture” Kagami mentioned earning a nod from the blonde.

“I think this was the last time I really had have a lot of fun since she…..disappeared” Adrien stated. “As good as I can remember”

“One day she will appear. You just need to believe in it”

“Yeah” Adrien replied. “It’s hard, mostly that you have no idea, where she is, and what exactly happened. That’s what makes my mind crazy when I think about my mom,”

“I believe that” Kagami affirmed patting her friend on the back. “Just keep having faith in it”

“Thank you” Adrien responded placing his arm around Kagami slowly pulling her into a hug. “Thank you”

“No problem. You know you can talk with me, even if I can’t solve anything of it,”

“I know. Thank you” Adrien said letting his arms down from Kagami.

“You’re coming in?”

“Later, I’m staying here for a while” Adrien answered earning a nod from the girl.

“Goodnight, Adrien”

“Good night, Kagami” Adrien wished seeing Kagami entering back into the bedroom to get back to sleep.