#while you're left picking up the pieces of a broken life and pushing forwards because you have to. always carrying a pain you're never able

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

We won't ever get it, but I think it would've been cool to see an antagonist/client who hates Edgeworth specifically because of what he did as von Karma's student. Like someone whose loved one -- I want to say 'sister' because AA, but I think it'd be pretty cool if it was their father -- was wrongly convicted and given the death sentence because he silenced witnesses or presented faulty evidence or something similar, and there's no fix to it. The case ends with the truth being revealed and ringing hollow, because they don't want revenge, not really; maybe they just want the verdict overturned, but even that doesn't change anything, because the person is gone, and whatever damage could have been done has been done, and they just have to live with it, all of them. I think it'd be interesting to see how Edgeworth and the people around him handle that confrontation -- the idea that you can change and try to fix your mistakes the best you can, but there are some things you'll never be able to atone for. Not really. And you just have to keep living.

[willowser]

NOOO UR MAKING ME SO SAD one day he doesn’t come back and so u decide to move on and then he comes back literally YEARS later and sees u w a new man and his heart is BROKEN im so sad omfg

OMG. CRYING.

you run into him on the street, just as you did the first time.

you've married a decently wealthy man, one with enough money that you're free to pour all your time into painting and you do quite well, are able to sell them and host them in small museums and general markets during the week. you've moved, to be with your new husband, so you're no longer in your small village of drunks and thieves, and you're quite happy with the life you've built around you.

it's full of art and curiosity: your husband buys you a brand new telescope from a different country, top of the line. it's bigger than your old one and it takes you longer to figure out the dials and knobs, but when you do — the views you get are breathtaking. you paint what you find, all the shapes you discover in the constellations. very rarely is the sea your muse, these days; all those works became sad and unfinished, dark portraits of a ship far out in the distance that never sailed any closer, no many how many times you painted it.

the necklace lies at the bottom of your first jewelry box, chain broken from when you'd ripped it off and tried to throw it into a tide just as furious as you had been — but it never left your clenched fist.

it's not your painting he comes across, but someone else's star-map. for sale, at the local market, and you've stopped to enjoy the work the artist has done, chatting with them about what you've found when another customer wanders up beside you and says,

"'sea goddess', hmm," a hand reaches around you, too close for your liking, to pick up a reimagined constellation on display. "heard the woman it's named for is more beautiful than all the seven seas in the middle of a hurricane."

the artist frowns, because it's his piece, but indulges the customer anyway. "and what woman would that be?"

and your blood runs cold at the sound of your name, slowly turning to peer around you shoulder, to take in the figure that's uttered it. bigger than you remember, and darker, hair tied back in a tidier bun than usual. in his grip in his weathered hat, torn and nearly destroyed; a testament to the voyage he's had, maybe. and when he raises one hand in a soft wave, the flat of his palm is exposed, the pendant from your necklace in fading ink at its center.

kirishima is older now, as are you, with more scars along his nose and under his jaw, a jagged one across his neck that has tears stinging your eyes. but despite his edges — the smile on his face is soft, sad, and the light in his vibrant eyes hardly flickers as he takes in you and all your changes. as if he's been extinguished for quite some time, and only just now burning again.

"i never stopped lookin'," he murmurs suddenly, uncaring of the merchant as he dares to edge closer to you. his skin smells sharp and clean like aftershave, though the shadows on his face linger. "took a long time for me to find you."

and you feel like his violent sea, his crashing waves; despite the tears that track your cheeks, you remain stone-faced, trying to tide back the rage — the hurricane you want to be. "me?" you whisper, incensed. "to find me?"

his face falls and his eyes slip to the floor, ashamed, but he still tries, stepping further into you when he speaks again. "i know, didn't mean it like that. but i—" one hand gently rests on your elbow, while the other finds your own and you jump, startled and angry at how forward thinks he can be after all this time and yet — you let his rough fingers brush over yours, over the short silk gloves covering your skin. "i did search for you, i wanted to come home. i was always gonna come home—"

"don't—" you hiss, but he doesn't let you go far, following through the step you take back from him. on purpose, you think he pushes his palm into your fingers, as if wants you to feel the mark he still wears for you. "home? how dare you—"

"i know, 'm sorry," he whispers, so close that you can see the freckles on the bridge of his nose and the golden stars in his eyes and the desperation in the lines of his face. "i'm sorry, i'll always be—"

"darling?"

you pull away from him in no time, wiping a gloved hand over your cheeks before turning to face your husband who stands only feet from you, holding a new lens for your telescope. his eyes jump back and forth between you and kirishima, but you give him no longer to consider what he sees.

"yes, excuse me. let's go." you slip out of range when kirishima backs up a step, started probably, at the title and the arm your loop through your husband's. only once does he try to turn back to the figure, as still as a dead man, but you tighten your grip on him and don't look back.

[curiousconch]

Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 3)

Part 3: Remember when everything was different

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Aislinn, Gigi and Alex find friendship in the midst of the competition. One discussion led to another, pushing Alex to take a trip down memory lane, revealing the moment in her past where she and Gabe's paths crossed for the first time.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.7k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language. Scenes/themes may trigger trauma for some, reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Sunday, downtown New York

"Wait, can you back up for a moment," Aislinn said across Alex, who was scooping the remains of her melted banana split. Gigi was sipping her ice-cold mimosa, their brunch table full of plates with scrapes of leftovers. The sun was out and so were they, dining al fresco under the shade of a huge white parasol and the gentle breeze cooling them every now and then. It was a perfect day so far.

The trio has agreed to meet up that Sunday to discuss what went down with the Rothswell case as well as to prep for the conference Sadie had invited them to. They were on some kind of a peace pact, all of them sharing the view that pitting women against women in the corporate world is just shitty business.

Alex has enjoyed their company. They exchanged imaginary one-liners that would have made Martin frown his heart out or Beau McGraw chortle his head off. And speaking of McGraw, they all concluded that the best strategic course of action was to let Beau enjoy his moment in the sun. One day, Alex would make sure to remind him that he tried to rain on her parade.

It was a refreshing and enlightening discussion, though she will forever be traumatized with how many swears Gigi can cram in a single sentence. But the sight of a flustered Aislinn while Alex and Gigi engaged in a battle of pick-up lines with their waiter was a strong second contender.

As their drinks flowed, the conversation naturally led to rhetorical questions, now settling at why they became a lawyer. Aislinn shared first, surprisingly, stating that her knack for analysis was just a natural fit to the demands of a career in law. Gigi's answer was simple - she can leverage her eidetic memory to earn herself some serious dough, allowing her to live it up and take impromptu vacations to Bali.

Alex tried to dodge the question. She had never needed to discuss her reason of leaving pre-med behind to attend law school. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and she doubted it will ever be.

The two ladies were quick to see her attempts of evasion. But together, they finally wore her down, Alex left laughing with their shenanigans as they cornered her to tell her story. So she told them that she knew Gabe Ricci. And that it was because of him why she was a lawyer. Alex decided that revealing the truth was worth it, seeing how their jaws just dropped to the floor.

"Girl, you have to explain yourself right now," Gigi demanded, to which Aislinn seconded.

Alex snorted as she went back to skimming what was left of her dessert. "It's a boring sob story, and I don't want to turn this lovely morning into a snooze fest."

"We're not going anywhere, right Gi?" Aislinn turned to Gigi beside her, who nodded whilst sipping another glass of cocktail.

"Fine, but only if you swear this won't leave this table," she said. The two held up their hands invoking a half-smiling Alex, sensing nothing but sincerity. So she drank down her glass of bloody mary and took a deep breath, composing her tale.

"Buckle up, ladies, you're in for a ride."

**

10 years ago, in a town near Boston

Alessandra Keating had never felt more alone than she did that day.

They said she needed to just move forward. But how can she, when every day since the crash, she felt nothing but emptiness? How can she feel alright, when the only life that she knew was suddenly taken away from her?

It wasn't long before she found out that the car accident was caused by someone being reckless, by someone who thought they were above the law. Then, she imploded. No way could she let her parent's deaths be forgotten. No fucking way.

For the past three years, she invested all of herself into this endeavor. Researching, studying, choosing the right counsel, even raising funds. It was what kept her breathing, what gave her purpose. Ultimately, it was what kept her sane.

From filing the lawsuit to attending mediations, to numerous settlement meetings and colliding with every legal roadblock possible - Alex made sure to see them through. Only for everything to be decided that day - the bench trial.

One sweltering summer morning in her hometown's courthouse, Alex sat on the side of the plaintiff, with her long brunette hair tangled in waves. She let her senses wander, taking in the dark wooden panels and pews, her sense of smell invaded by the scent of old mahogany. She sealed her lips into silence, hiding her nerves by straightening the bargain khaki suit that she borrowed.

She barely held it in as her eyes travelled to the table beside them, catching a glimpse of the man that caused her immeasurable pain. With jet black hair and looking as young as her, he sat with an almost mocking expression. He was wearing a crisper set of suit, creating an illusion of trustworthiness that Alex can easily see through.

Maximilian K. Cornell. The green-eyed teenager who swerved his sports car onto the same slippery road Alex and her parents were passing through. The very same boy who got out unharmed, but left Alex's family to die in the snow. Her opponent was a slithery snake who managed to screw the justice system so many times over, just because his parents had the grease to do so.

But after the crash, the town decided they can no longer turn the other cheek. Alex's decision to sue was propelled by the support of the countless friends and families whom her parents have helped in their hour of need. But that still proved not enough.

Her mind whirled back to the proceedings, and to how every strategy, every plan of attack was being thrown out. With every whip from the defense, she started to grow impatient. As another traffic expert from her camp was dismissed, Alex just snapped inside. She leaned to Mr. Leroy, a withering man on the brink of retirement who was her lawyer, asking for them to convene outside.

"I'm sorry Mr. Leroy, but your strategies were just scrutinized and torn into pieces," Alex said in a low voice the moment they stepped out into the hallway.

"Alex, I am doing my best here. We clearly don't have the upper hand, lacking the incriminating evidence that we need," the man replied, exasperated.

"Have we dug up his previous records? I mean, why on earth would he have a sealed history? Doesn't that mean something?" she continued.

She continued to dictate her litany of better-positioned moves, but even Alex knew she wasn't getting through. So she excused herself from the conversation, hoping a cup of iced coffee will somehow mitigate her frustrations.

As soon as she came back, she found Mr. Leroy convening with a much younger man in a dark navy suit. His aura screamed "big city hotshot", albeit the exhausted look in his brown eyes. Not wanting to interrupt, she held off from approaching. However, her curiosity didn't stop her from eavesdropping.

What she heard the charismatic man say was a legal precedent that would have opened the sealed records in question. And with all the mind-boggling legal jargon, that's just about what she understood.

"Gabriel Ricci? I'm looking for an attorney named Gabriel Ricci?" a female voice from a nearby window called out, which made the young man raise his head. She saw him end the conversation abruptly, where a flustered Mr. Leroy hastily thanked him. Alex took that as her queue to approach her lawyer.

"Alex, we might be able to turn things around," she heard Leroy say.

And by some miracle, things did turn around. With her lawyer using the precedent offered by the young attorney earlier, their side gained the needed momentum to tip the scales in their favor. By the end of the trial, the verdict was out - Cornell will never be able to drive another vehicle, along with paying her a hefty amount of damages and fees.

They won.

Alex had to pinch herself before the victory sunk in. When it did, she felt an immense burden lifted from her shoulders.

After a long, long time, Alex can finally breathe.

Broken free from her nightmares, she asked herself what's next? The answer came to her almost immediately. Right there and then, she decided what she wanted to be. Like that man from the courthouse, she will become a lawyer.

Fueled by this new sense of mission, she saw a future for herself. No longer held by the past, she finally was able to move forward.

Indeed, Alex became what she set out to do - a lawyer who took on hopeless, even impossible cases and won them. A lawyer her parents would be proud of.

A damn good lawyer, just like Gabriel Ricci.

**

Present Day, at a New York Penthouse

Gabe sat in his home office clad in nothing but his white bath robe, holding a worn manila folder.

Five years ago, Gabe saw this case as his opportunity to make Robbie proud. The defendant had all the parallels with his brother - a teenager, incarcerated young, where the punishment had presumed to be too harsh. He now knew it was rightfully just.

But at that time, he was blinded by passion and ambition. He wanted to prove to himself and to Sadie what he can do. Taking on this case that was practically unwinnable would give him more power, more control over the pro bono cases he wanted to take. Actually winning this though, that proved to be his fatal mistake.

Your cockiness got the better of you again, Ricci.

His mind went to Alex. That was the direction his every waking moment drifted to nowadays. Whether he liked it or not, he'd answer some other day.

He had to let her know. If he didn't, Alex would eventually find out herself. Once she discovers that he was the one who had set this man free, she would hate him.

Gabe can't bring himself to think of that happening, of losing that chance with her, or of losing Alex's trust.

Hell, I'm going to lose her entirely if she finds out.

These realizations devastated him.

But how can they both escape the looming shadows of the past unscathed? Even he couldn't figure that out.

Sighing, he rubbed his hand on his face, reeling at his lack of options. He then stood up, slamming the open folder on his desk as he turned to face the window, simmering in his own regrets. Papers slipped out to the carpeted floor, including a full-page mugshot of the defendant.

It was Maximilian Cornell.

Author's Notes: With Sadie being shady AF, I feel like we all need some dose of female friendship right? Also, this is my HC why Gabe constantly pulls away from MC, not only because of their working relationship. Did the reveal live up to the cliffhanger? Let me know in the comments! 👇👇👇

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@choicesficwriterscreations

Thank you for your continued reading!

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[metalheddie]

Are You Lonesome Tonight?

summary: Reader and Spencer's relationship is on the rocks, but they manage to work it out.

tw: light swearing, arguments

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst/fluff

a/n: This is a songfic after "Are you Lonesome Tonight" by Elvis! This one is honestly one of my favorites to write :0 and don't worry, it's not super sad, just a little :)(Reader goes by she/they)

This has been going on for far too long now. Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. They felt alone in their own lovers’ arms, he was like a stranger, a ghost of the man they once knew. They loved him still, so much, but he was distant and he never talked to them about the things he was obviously stressed or drained from.

Y/n just wanted to help him but he never gave them a chance to, they’re actively being pushed away and it’s a pain that they never thought they would experience in this lifetime. So they decide to talk to Spencer about it.

“Spence…?” She calls from his bedroom doorway. He’s sitting on his bed cross-legged surrounded by piles of books, and his head in his hands.

The case he had just gotten back from was a difficult one, to put it mildly. Teens held hostage by another student, who was a lot like Spencer. Too smart for his own good and always overlooked by his peers. He couldn’t save them all and it was eating him up inside. He didn’t look up from the page he was dwelling on. Re-reading and trying to fit all the pieces together that he missed. You hated seeing him like this. Broken and isolating himself, throwing himself into his work where he would eventually drown.

You walk over to the bed and place your hand on his knee. He flinches back away from your touch. He’s never done that before and it breaks your heart. You retract your hand and sit on the ottoman next to the bed. You both sit in the uncomfortable silence for a little while before you say,

“Spence… I know you’re having a difficult time right now, but I really think we should go on a walk or something, just to clear your head-”

“No, y/n. I’m fine. I don’t need your help right now. Just leave me be.” He said with venom in his voice. He’s never talked to you like that before, and it hurts like hell.

“I- ok I will, but Spence at least let me get you some water or something, please just let me help-” you tried to reason with him.

“I said get out! I don’t need you here!” he shouted. That was the last straw for you.

“Fine! I’ll leave you here for the next week and a half dwelling on all the things that you could have done when you should be trying to recover from all this. All you do is push people away when you’re upset and you never think of the consequences or the people you hurt in the process.”

You lost your cool then. All the pain you’ve been feeling for the past couple of months spilling out like a dam bursting.

“The BAU’s Golden boy who could do no wrong, huh? Well, I think that’s bull. Don’t call me until you put your big boy pants on and want to talk about what’s going with you.”

Y/n could see his jaw clenching so hard his teeth might split, but at that moment they could care less. She was done being the subject of his emotional whiplash. With that, you left with tears streaming down your face and a heart so heavy you thought you would collapse from the weight of it.

~

It’s been a week and 4 days since y/n has talked to Spencer. There hasn’t been a call, text, email… nothing. She misses him of course, but she has to stand her ground. It’s so difficult not being able to pick his big beautiful brain for ideas for her songs. Y/n realized she depended on him more than she thought. She wants to pick up the phone and call him so badly, to tell him that she’s sorry and that she went too far, but pride is holding her in an iron grip and it’s almost suffocating.

All y/n has been doing is working on their covers and desperately trying to find inspiration for their next song. They haven’t had any luck so far, their mind is too preoccupied with how Spencer is holding up after what happened that night. To try and distract themselves from their own mind, they put on their favorite oldies playlist and lay on their floor.

The first few chords of their favorite song play and then,

Are you lonesome tonight

Do you miss me tonight?

y/n closes their eyes and lets a few tears slip past their lashes. Oh, how they miss their lover so…

~

Spencer hasn’t left his apartment all weekend. Wading in the guilt he felt over hurting the most important person in his life. He hadn’t meant to snap at them like that...or any of the other times it happened over the last few months. He’s pacing his apartment trying to distract himself from his own mind.

On Monday as he walks into the bullpen, he tries to keep his microexpressions in check so the team doesn’t try to profile what he’s going through. All he wants to do is get his paperwork done and go home. To do what? He’s not sure, especially because his partner won’t be there with him. Just thinking about it like that makes him tear up. He’s eventually able to pull himself together with a few deep breaths, but not without Derek catching on at the last minute.

Derek looks up from his paperwork right as Spencer hangs his head in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. Derek knows how private Spencer is when it comes to his love life, hell he’s only met his partner once the whole time they’ve been dating. He knows something’s wrong and he cares about the kid, so he walks up to him and says

“Hey, boy genius, what’s on your mind?”

Spencer turns to him, trying to keep it together. “Just thinking about this case….” He held up (what he thought to be) a random file.

“You sure about that, kid?” Derek said while reaching for said “file” which really turned out to be a loose page of his handheld calendar with a red heart around one of the days.

Derek only had to look at it for a moment to know exactly what was wrong. He was having relationship problems and suddenly he was floundering. Derek knew that feeling all too well, knowing that the job had put such a strain on his past relationships.

Spencer whips around and stares at the page, tears welling in his eyes that threaten to spill. He grabs at it and takes it back without a word. He’s embarrassed and upset and this day isn’t going as smoothly as he’d wished. Derek pulls up a chair and clears his throat to get his attention. Spencer turns to him with a look he can’t quite read. He says,

“Look, kid… I know relationships can be tough, especially in this line of work, but we have to push through the bad stuff to get to the good parts that we’ll remember forever.

Spencer sat in silence, contemplating his words.

“Do you love her?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes… A thousand times yes. When days and cases get really bad, she’s the only thing that keeps me going…” tears glistening in his hazel eyes.

Derek nods and leans forward. “Go to the place you think she might be… you mentioned she sings at that jazz club uptown right?”

Spencer nods, knowing where he’s going with this.

“Ok, so tonight you’ll go and see if she’s there.” Giving Spencer a small smile and pats him on the back.

He leaves for his desk and leaves Spencer alone with his thoughts once more. He would do anything to see his lover again...

---

That night Spencer found himself at the Black Rabbit Jazz Club, all by his lonesome. Sitting at the bar waiting for open mic night to start. He was replaying their fight over and over again in his mind when he heard the first chords of Y/n’s favorite Elvis song flow through the speakers. Then he heard it… The voice he’d come to know and love, filled with honey and gold.

Are you lonesome tonight?

Do you miss me tonight?

Are you sorry we drifted apart?

He turns in his chair to see Y/n, in a sleek black cocktail dress with fishnets and 40’s style heels. She’s always had an affinity to dress to the club’s feel. Her hair is situated to frame her face beautifully and the spotlight she’s given makes her look like an angel, his angel.

Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day

When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?

They’re scanning the crowd to find a spot, or someone, to focus on to pour their heart into. Suddenly a familiar face appears to them in the crowd.

Spencer

It takes everything in them not to jump off the stage and run to him. Instead, she chooses to pour her heart out to him the only way that would seem to fit, through song.

Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?

Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

At this point, Spencer is in awe of his partner. Holding eye contact with her as she sings, knowing how much emotion is behind those words. He’s shed a few tears at this point, but she’s not finished.

She steps off the stage with the mic and walks through the tables and chairs in the audience gracefully. She says,

“I wonder if you're lonesome tonight, Fate had me playing in love with you as my sweetheart. Act one was when we met. I loved you at first glance,”

She was looking right at him now, baring her soul to him while he stared in awe into hers.

“You rambled your facts so cleverly and never missed a clue. Then came act two. Honey, you lied when you said you loved me, and I had no cause to doubt you. I'd rather go on hearing your lies, Than go on living without you.”

At this moment Y/n had let go just enough to let a single tear fall past her lashes, creating a faint trail of mascara with it. Though it was getting tough to hold it together, the show must go on.

“Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there, with emptiness all around, and if you won't come back to me then make them bring the curtain down.”

Spencer dropped his head to hide the tears falling from his eyes then. Seeing them so emotionally exposed in front of him like this was rare. Especially after putting up with so much.

By then Y/n had made their way back onto the middle of the stage and sang the ending lines of the song while staring at their lover.

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight…

She reached out to him as she sang, and as the ending chords played she placed her hand on her heart.

After the song ended there was roaring applause, for the performance and the show she put on as well. She thanked the audience and exited the stage. She made her way out the door and Spencer followed. He rushed after her so fast he barely missed her leaning on the brick exterior. She looked up at him, slightly startled. They gazed at each other, wondering who would make the first move. After about 2 minutes y/n reached for his hand, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.

He meets her halfway and they start on the walk home. It’s wordless, but there’s no negative energy, no tension to be felt. As they arrived at Spencer's apartment door he went to unlock it and y/n wrapped their hands around his waist and leaned their head on his spine. A subtle gesture to let him know that they loved him. After going inside and sitting on the couch together, Spencer finally speaks.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for not being there when you need me, I’m sorry for putting my own insecurities and self-doubts before your feelings, and most of all I’m sorry for being selfish, y/n. You deserve so much more than being cast aside. I love you so much.”

y/n’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold herself together so she could speak too. She took a deep breath to calm herself and said

“I’m sorry too. I should have never said those things about you and your job. God, you're wonderful at what you do and I should have never used it against you like that. I was being stupid and I wasn’t thinking. Can you forgive me, even after all of that…?”

He took y/n’s hand and kissed the back of it, he pulled her in close for a tight hug and cuddled into her. She quietly cried into his shoulder as he whispered sweet affirmations in her ear to help her calm down. After a while, her breathing evened out and her sniffling stopped. She moved to be face to face with him and gently placed her hands on the side of his face and pulled him into the sweetest kiss he could have ever imagined. If she claimed her lips were made of honey, he wouldn't doubt her for a second. After a beat or 2, they pulled away and decided to order in and watch Doctor Who, and all was well.

Fin~

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 09 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 2.6 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

×

Make Me Fly

It has been an interesting week. Bjorn hasn't been around lately, since he and Ragnar are starting to gather people for the next raid. Winter will be over soon enough, and apparently, they start getting ready a long time before sailing. You're trying not to think too much about it, since you know Ivar is going.

But that's an issue for when the winter is over, and it isn't yet, and won't be for quite a while. On Ivar's bed, already dressed for the day, you're kneeled behind him, braiding his hair. You've been sleeping here now, and of course, the news got out, even though you don't really know how. Hvitserk was the first to know, so he told Aslaug and Ubbe. Ragnar found out quickly after, meaning it got to Bjorn's ears as well. Then, you started noticing people staring, and some rumors, according to Helga. You were under Aslaug's protection, but the rumor that you're with Ivar makes people scared of you. You don't mind though, but you still haven't spoken with Ivar about it. You want things to just happen instead of pushing it because of what people are saying.

“There you go.” You say when the braids are done. “I'm getting really good at this.”

Ivar runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the braids softly. His hair is long now, and he agreed on not cutting it short again. “You're getting great at this.” He says, grabbing your hand and pulling you down again, so you have both your arms around his neck. “I want to show you something today.”

“What?” You ask hands on his chest.

“I'm gonna show you how I ride on the battlefield.” His voice gets a little darker, and you know he's not joking. “I know you've been asking yourself that.”

“I know you can fight.” Getting up from the bed, you move to stand before him. “I just don't know how, but I don't doubt it.”

“We still have some weeks, but I'll be sailing to England again.” Ivar takes his clutch and gets up to his feet. “No need to hide it, I know you're worried.”

“Worried isn't the right word... Maybe anxious.” You start making your way to the door, and Ivar unlocks and pulls it open for you. “I know some people don't come back and I've never been through anything like that. I don't how those who stay deal with the waiting.” You set a comfortable pace, walking side by side with him.

“You'll get used to it. That's the way things have always been here.”

“I know.” When you cross the main hall, you wave at Hvitserk and Ubbe, muttering a ‘hello’ to Bjorn, since you've been trying to ease the ever-growing tension between the two brothers.

Ivar guides you through the city and then through the forest to a wooden structure built among the trees. There are some men around, and the doors are open. You're way too curious about it, but you manage to wait until you reach the building. There are several horses inside, some war equipment and ballistic devices you don't recognize, many shields and swords.

“Storage?” You ask.

“Yes. But that's the only thing that really matters.” He gestures at the very end of the barn, and that's when you see it.

“What's that?” Walking faster, you make your way towards it, ignoring everyone around. You've never seen anything like it. They keep a certain distance from it, you noticed. You wonder how many times they had Ivar yelling at them to stay away from his things.

“It's a war chariot.” He answers as you walk around it, stepping up and inside. “With it, I can march into battle. Lead troops in combat.”

In the center, there's a structure for Ivar to sit, so you walk around it, standing on the edge. You can't help but imagine how it must feel to be in such a position, in the middle of war. “I wish I could see you in action. It must feel like flying.” You expected him to say something, but several seconds go by and you're still in silence, broken only by the low chattering of the men working here. Looking over your shoulder, you spot Ivar still on the ground, looking up at you. “What?” You giggle, turning around.

“Get my chariot ready.” He commands, raising his voice. “Now.”

“You're kidding, right?” You ask, unable to hold back the smile.

Ivar doesn't answer, he just pulls himself to the chariot, taking his place. Everything is done quickly, and once the horse is attached to the chariot, the doors on the back of the barn are pushed open. Ivar is seated on the bench made for him, and you stand on the front, hands tightly holding on the edge.

“Are you ready?” Ivar inquires, and you give him a look over your shoulder, biting your lip.

You've never seen this look on his face. You have seen him smiling many times, but this is different. Ivar looks truly happy, comfortable, secure. Wild, even. And you absolutely love this look on him. “Make me fly.” You mutter, and the moment he moves his arms to whip the horse, you turn around.

Soon enough you find you picked the right word to describe it. Flying. Ivar keeps the horse's pace so fast that it takes your breath away. It's nothing like riding. It's something entirely new. The chariot rocks a little through the woods, but when it reaches a road, the speed only increases, and you're laughing like a little kid. It's just amazing to ride this into battle, and you can only imagine what his enemies feel when they see Ivar on this thing, flying to meet them. They must be terrified. Ivar's reputation is the worst, or the best, depending on the point of view, and men must tremble like leaves at the sight of him.

“You alright there?” He yells above the wind, and you glance at him.

“Never been better!” Assuring him, you focus on the road again, seeing how close you are to Kattegat. “Turn around! Or else we'll enter the town.”

“And what's the problem with that?”

Laughing again, you decide you don't care if he doesn't care. And into the town you go, making people jump out of the way. Nobody dares to say anything though, just making sure to warn those ahead to watch out. The space gets a little narrow, and Ivar starts to struggle a little until he gives up, knocking some stores down and getting some angry yells. You're not really thinking right now, looking down at the people as you pass by, too fast. You can hear his laughter too, filling your ears.

“Ivar!” A different voice reaches you, and as soon as you spot Ragnar riding on your left, Ivar pulls the horse, making it reduce its pace until you stop completely.

“Father. Hi.” He mutters, in that tone that means he did something bad but doesn't care one bit.

“Will you take this thing back? Look at all the mess you two made.” He complains, gesturing at the market place. You give it a quick look, noticing way too many broken things. “Move it around and take the chariot back,” Ragnar says before riding away.

With a dramatic eye roll, Ivar does what he's told, and this time, since he's riding slower, you have your back at the landscape, staring at him instead. “Weren't you seeing where you were going?”

“Of course not.” He snaps back, shrugging his shoulders. “I was too busy looking at you.”

Blushing, you look down, and a rock on the road makes the chariot shake, making you jerk forward, bumping on the support on which Ivar can rest his chest. “Ouch.”

“Come here.” He says, moving back a little. “Good thing you're wearing pants. Sit here.” Raising an eyebrow, you do as he says, bringing one leg over the structure and straddling it. The moment you sit down on it, you feel Ivar's chest pressing against your back. “Better?”

“A little.” You mumble, feeling as his arms surround you, so you place your hands on top of his, holding the halters. “That's nice.” You whisper, the cold air suddenly not bothering you anymore.

“It is.” Ivar let go of the halters, letting it to your control. “I never allowed anyone to do that. And I don't think I ever will.” He whispers in your ear, and you feel a shiver rolling down your spine.

“Really?”

“Really.” He repeats, hands on your hips. “Ever since I started raiding with my father and brothers, I never truly had anyone to come back to.” You feel yourself relax onto him, for a brief moment forgetting you're the one controlling the chariot. “So I need to know if that changed.”

This is important, so you pull the halters, making the horse stop. Once you're motionless, you move to the side and turn your head a little, just enough to look into his eyes. “What exactly are you asking, Ivar?”

He brings a hand to caress your cheek, cold fingertips running through your skin, painfully slow, leaving a trail of fire. “I'm asking if you will be waiting for my return.”

“I–”

“Prince Ivar.” Someone calls, and you're cut short.

“What?” He hisses, as you stand up and move out of the made chair.

“Your father asked us to take your chariot back. He needs to speak with you.”

“Why didn't he said it himself?” Despite being annoyed, Ivar steps out of the chariot, and you do the same. It doesn't go unnoticed that the men don't ride it. They simply pull the horse. It's like an unspoken rule, that doesn't need to be reassured. People just know.

Then, you're left alone in the woods, the sound of the chariot being taken away slowly fading. “Guess we should go now.” You say, but before you give the first step back to Kattegat, Ivar grabs your arm, forcing you to stop and turn to look at him.

“First answer me.” There's insecurity in his voice, fear even. You wonder if this side of Ivar will ever heal. Maybe it won't, but, as long as you're around, you'll do everything you can to make him see that he's not less of a man because of his disability. You know he's still scared that you'll pick Bjorn over him, the reason for the insane jealously going on between the two brothers, but the truth is you already made your choice. And you're not changing your mind.

“Of course I'll wait for you.” You say, not a hint of doubt on your voice. “I'll be on the decks, watching the boats arriving, searching for you among the people.” When Ivar smiles, you do the same, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheek. But when you feel his flesh, you're quick to notice you met his lips instead.

At the same time you freeze, you feel your entire body heating up. But then, you're fast to move, a hand coming to cup cheek as the other grabs the hard material of his vest, holding him close. You don't pull away, how could you? Not when you just realized you've been wanting to do this for so long. Smiling a little, you let him deepen the kiss, his free hand on your waist, pressing your body against his even more. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you feel completely inebriated by the warmth of his lips, his taste, everything.

But you still need to breathe, so you're forced to pull away, still standing close to him. You feel your cheeks burning, a smile on your lips that you just can't hold back. “That was something.” You mutter, clearing your throat.

“If I come back from this raid, tell me you'll be mine,” Ivar whispers, and you look up to meet those bright blue eyes once again. “I promise I won't ever take or love another woman.”

There's only one possible answer for this, but the truth is that somehow, you have been his since the beginning, you just didn't know. “You'll be mine, and I'll be yours.” Tiptoeing again, you place a quick kiss on his lips.

“And so it'll be.”

• • •

You both agreed on not letting the word out until after the raids. So, as the days and weeks pass by, you watch as people get ready, and you enjoy the many feasts Ragnar throws, but also the meals you share with the family alone. Hvitserk is the only one who knows about you and Ivar since he got you kissing by Ivar's bedroom door. But he won't tell anyone, or else, you swore to use him as a target to practice with the ax. But you trust him, you know he'll keep the secret as long as you want him to.

Bjorn is struggling. In the beginning, when he found out you were sleeping in Ivar's bedroom, he had this constant angry stare. Now, you're not sure what his plans are, but you know he hasn't given up yet. Ubbe told you that Bjorn still doesn't believe you made up your mind, because to him, it's insane that any woman would prefer Ivar over him. You don't care though. What he thinks doesn't matter. But you do catch him staring, and you're tired of trying not to let Ivar notice. It's almost always useless.

Tonight, it's a goodbye feast. They're sailing first thing tomorrow, many to their deaths, so today, everyone celebrates. You're dressed in a brand new dress, with the necklace Ivar gave you, as well as rings and earrings that we're also gifts from him. You're happy tonight, despite the anxiety building up in your chest.

“So. Do you want anything from your homeland?” Ivar asks, his mouth close to your ear to make himself heard above all the noise.

“I want you.” You answer, stealing a chicken wing from his plate and taking a bite. Ivar looks at you with an annoyed stare, eyes rolling at your audacity.

“You already have me.” He simply answers.

“Are you guys serious?” Hvitserk complains, dropping to the bench beside you. “If I ever fall in love and start acting like this, I give you both permission to punch me in the face.”

“You know I'll never forget this, right?.” You tell him, an arm around his shoulders. “I have a good memory, my friend.”

“You'll regret saying that,” Ivar warns him, and you giggle.

The night was long, but it ended too soon. You were awakened before the sun, so you could help Ivar with the last preparations. You did you're best not to look worried, but right now, walking next to him to the boat, you have to clench your hands into fists so nobody will see them shaking.

“That's it.” He says, turning to look at you. “Don't worry too much. I'll come back.”

“I know, Ivar the Boneless.” Some people pass by, so you look down at your feet. “Just be careful, alright?”

“I will.”

“Alright.” You know you've been keeping this a secret until he's back, but right now, it doesn't matter. Standing on your toes, you kiss him, slow and passionately, not minding the many eyes on both of you. It just doesn't matter. Pulling away, you smile, hoping this won't be the last kiss.

“So much for keeping a secret.” He says, smirking.

“Shut up.” You mutter, resting your head on his chest. “Just remember I'll be waiting.”

“I will,” Ivar says in a low voice, and with one more kiss, you let him get in the boat, making your way back to the decks, standing next to Aslaug.

The Queen has a look on her face, and you know she saw the kiss.

“Won't you say anything?” You mutter, feeling your cheeks burning.

“No.” She smiles, glancing at you. “I just think it'll be a long summer. For both of you.”

And, of course, Queen Aslaug was right.

×

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[sauzwriting]

if you're lost, you can look and you will find me

The echo of a corner that at some point had been part of his life. He could almost hear the hustle of life seeping through. Voices. Laughter.

Now it was all silence.

--

Megumi watches Yuuji go through a breakdown in the ruins of Shibuya. He tries his best to ground him. He tries his best to show how much he loves him. Despite it all.

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Yuuji/Megumi

Tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, music, childhood memories

Warnings: self-harm,a bit angsty, manga spoilers of shibuya arc 

ao3 link

There was so, so much silence.

To him, it was deafening, overwhelming. His heart fell everytime he stopped to listen, realizing how it was his fault.

He knew. This silence was his.

Yuuji walked through the streets, deep in thought. The only light reaching his eyes, a pale yellow tint dying the night sky. He didn't know what hour it was. He didn't care.

He just dragged his feet forward.

Ahead of him were the silhouettes of the people who kept saving his life, somehow. He wondered why, once more. He wondered, but never said anything about it. All he could do, all he had left to do was offer up his tainted hands to them, so he could make up for all of it. So he could feel like, maybe, he was allowed to live for a little bit more.

Yuuji could barely look at the debris around them.

It reminded him of all the voices he silenced. Every little piece of the ruins oozed life, memories lost to a power that words couldn't even describe.

But, for once, he stopped on his tracks and dared to raise his gaze and regard the wrecked city before him.

He met cracks, lost shoes and the wind howling at his heart. His breath hitched as he shifted the whole weight of his body, turning around to see, to watch what was left.

A flicker of color hit his eyes, getting his attention.

It was a neon sign of what seemed to be some kind of shop. It was barely hanging from its original place, half of it was completely broken and resting miserably on the ground. But the rest of it was still standing, seemingly fighting to light up the street. Blues and reds flickered, illuminating Yuuji, coloring him, his body, his hair, even his scars. It almost looked like it was alive. The colors, beating, like a human heart.

All it lacked was blood, to pour out of it.

"Hey," he felt something on his shoulder. A touch so soft it was barely noticeable. But still, the fingers lingered. "You're staying behind. Is something the matter?"

Yuuji turned around, slowly. Megumi was looking at him, his uniform stained with dust and ripped in some places. God, he looked so tired. Under the neon flickering lights his features popped up even more and Yuuji could notice dark eyebags painted just below his eyes. How many days has he gone without sleep, he wondered.

"I'm fine." He teared his gaze away from Megumi, back to the sign. "You can go on ahead, I'll catch up in a bit. It's okay." It was strange, hearing his own voice among all the silence. His lips trembled as the words came out of his throat. It felt foreign, like it wasn't his.

"No, it's not." Megumi took a step forward, getting a bit closer to him. Yuuji heard the rubble crumble under his feet. "I'm not doing that." Something inside Yuuji's chest shrunk and shivered. Just a sudden twinge of pain.

There's no way you could leave Sukuna's vessel by himself, he thought, eyes fixated on the ground. He understood, after all.

"I'm not leaving you alone." Megumi hit him lightly on his chest with his fist. "Okkotsu and Choso are strong. They're going to look for a safe place to spend the night. It's not safe to stay here by yourself." Yuuji looked up at him, surprised.

All he saw was a furred brow crowning tired green eyes glaring at him. Somehow, it was the same gaze as always. Slightly annoyed, warm, fond. The same green as always. It hadn't changed.

He was not looking at a murderer or Sukuna.

Yuuji wanted to cry. He didn't deserve that.

"We can catch up later, together." Megumi sighed. "Why did you stay behind?"

Yuuji kept silent for a bit before walking up to the ruins of an entrance right below the neon sign. He bent, moving a boulder that was stuck there, blocking the way.

"Itadori. What are you doing?"

Pieces of rubble fell down to the floor as Yuuji pushed the rock away. His fingers were calloused, blood coming out from irritated, patches of flesh that had been peeled off. It hurt, touching something as rough as stone. But he didn't mind.

"I hadn't realized before, Fushiguro." His voice was raspy and low, inbetween sighs. The knot in his chest made it hard from him to breathe, for the words to come out. "But I know this place."

There were no lights inside. Everything was dark, except for the intermitent colors of the sign, leaking surreal lighting inside the abandoned shop. And yet, Yuuji didn't need to see to remember the shapes of this place. His memories were vivid, painting over the darkness; the echo of a corner that at some point had been part of his life. He could almost hear the hustle of life seeping through. Voices. Laughter.

Now it was all silence.

Yuuji just stood there, while Megumi followed him inside, turning on the flashlight on his phone so he could find out what all this was about. White washed up the darkness and the memories vanished from Yuuji's sight, replaced by the harsh reality.

Here, too, his hands had spoiled it all.

Yuuji wanted to laugh. He wanted that awful sound to tear up his throat, to dismantle and claw at his insides. Sukuna probably found this amusing. In his rampage, in a lost of control, he had even shattered pieces of him.

"I came here once with grandpa. When his — well. When he was...better."

Megumi stayed silent but Yuuji felt his eyes on him. He looked around too, drinking it all in.

"Was this a music shop?" Megumi muttered, walking carefully towards Yuuji. His voice was lower, softer.

There were records, album covers with different colors and styles, CDs scattered all around the floor. Broken, reflecting the light of the flash and creating ripples of rainbows on the ceiling.

"Yeah. He took me here once, years ago. He was really grumpy, he never quite liked the music I listened to." He laughed, bitterly. Still, there was a touch of fondness in his voice. "He came here, with me, and shared his favorite songs with me. He constantly spoke of this place...He didn't even know how to use his phone...so we just...came here, picked up some Cds and..." Yuuji kneeled over the pieces of cds on the floor and tried to gather some up. "I know it's stupid. To feel like this after — well, after I. I — I have no right to feel sad over this. I did this." He breathed in and flinched when he cut his finger with one of the fragments. "It's just shitty. It's so shitty. He's gone now and now I just erased and destroyed part of him."

"It's not your f—"

"It doesn't matter." Yuuji closed his eyes, held the shards tightly, so tight they pierced his skin. He didn't care, he didn't care because he hated his voice, he despised hearing his own shame. He had no right to these feelings. The pain grounded him, because up until now it was all he'd felt since Shibuya. And he'd gotten used to it. And he wanted it to be a comfort, because it was all he felt he deserved. "Do you know— he was actually such a big, damn softie. He loved ballads, god. Do you know Time after Time ? He— I— ," his voice cracked. He cracked. He tried, with trembling, bloodied hands, to cover his face as his breathing became erratic. Tears mixed up with blood, running down bruised skin. He whimpered, trying to keep down his pathetic voice, bit his lip in an useless attempt to stop crying. His whole body, even his soul, felt like it was shaking without control.

"I'm. I'm sorry. I just— there is no way, no way I can say it enough. To anyone." He could hardly speak. It was barely a whimper. "It doesn't matter. Nothing's the same anymore—I'm not the same, I can't go back. It doesn't matter." Silence. "I barely know who I am anymore."

"Yuuji. Fuck."

Megumi said his name. He kneeled right beside him but Yuuji didn't want to look at him. He tried to take his hands away from his face but Yuuji flinched, scared of his touch. Scared of himself.

"Please."

Megumi's voice was so soft, so tender, he just frozed up. He could feel Megumi's breathing brushing his hands. And then, long fingers reached for them, slowly taking them away from his face. The touch was so gentle and careful, it made Yuuji stop trembling altogether. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this.

He'd almost forgot he had yearned for this, for so long.

"Stop hurting yourself."

Yuuji saw his face. Megumi had left his phone on the ground and the light was illuminating him from the back. He looked mad.

But his voice was so kind. His hands were on his, cleaning up the wounds and wrapping some bandages around them. Even after that was done, Megumi didn't let go of his hands. He slowly traced the shape of them with his fingers, caressing them with care. His eyes went up, checking Yuuji's face just for a moment. The tears were still flowing, his gaze still watery.

"Don't you dare apologize." Megumi looked down again, just to carefully touch the scars that ran up his arms. "You're Yuuji." He sighed and breathed in. "And you deserve so much better than this."

He looked up and locked his eyes with Yuuji's.

"I still don't regret saving you. And I won't, ever ." Yuuji's tears stopped falling. "This is our reality. It's unfair. But you're still you. I know that. I didn't doubt it for a second." Megumi reached up to clean the tears off his cheeks. "So for god's sake, let me carry that weight with you."

A knot, deep, deep inside Yuuji's chest untangled.

"But Sukuna—"

"No buts. I trust you." He muttered. He inched a bit closer to him, carefully. "Stop running from me."

Megumi looked away and remained silent. Yuuji couldn't move. He didn't want to, but he felt like he had to. But as soon as he tried to shift away, Megumi pulled him closer and embraced him.

Yuuji knew. Megumi wasn't good with words. That's why he said nothing more. But there was an unspoken feeling in how he could feel the warmth of his body against his. He could hear Megumi's heartbeat ripple through his own chest. It was almost like a song.

Yuuji was tired, too. He had no energy to fight back. And he wanted this.

So he gave up.

They stood like that for a while, in silence. In each others' arms, hearing each others' breathing. Megumi slowly rubbing circles in Yuuji's back and Yuuji holding him tightly, his head in the crook of his neck.

And then, Megumi started humming someting. Low, barely audible.

But it sounded familiar.

Ah, he realized.

Eyes closed, Yuuji hummed back. His voice cracked, it was probably off key. But god, it felt so good. It felt so relieving. That he could still do this, remember this.

This feeling would probably only last for a little longer but it was warm, so, so warm.

And well, knowing his grandpa wasn't the only one liking sappy ballads made his heart flutter. It made his heart feel just a bit like it used to. Just a bit.

Yuuji smiled. It was a weak smile but Megumi could feel it on his shoulder. So he moved, pulled away to look at his face and gently place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, right where an ugly scar had sunk in his flesh.

"Let's go back."

Megumi brushed pink hair away from brown eyes and helped him up.

He didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the night.

That hand in his, that warmth. It seemed to give back a bit of his humanity.

He was Yuuji.

And Megumi loved Yuuji.

[marchioness-caprina]

You Changed But Still the Same

Pairings : Ex! Katsuki Bakugou x Ex! Reader.

Writing Style : 3rd Person

Warning : Cussing

Word Count : 3428

3rd Person's POV

A Year ago since that fateful day where everything ended and the only thing that's left were the memories and promises from the past. Y/n and Bakugou who were High school sweethearts had quite a past together but sometimes all the good things come to an end .

That's exactly what happened, Bakugou at some point in his life had to pick between two things , y/n or his Hero Career. He picked His Hero Career even though y/nl tried to desperately persuade him that it could work out. She tried her best to persuade Katsuki that They can grow Together.

Even though it was painful, Katsuki still stuck to his choice leaving everything behind . Leaving y/n with her heart that has been shattered, Leaving her to pick up all the broken pieces herself.

He had to pick his Hero career because he knew he needed to become stronger, strong enough to Be confident that He will be able to protect her in the future. Strong enough to flaunt her to the world without worrying how many villains would be after his lover. As surprising as it may seem his reason why he picked his career over her was because of her, not because he wanted to be number one... He'll admit that, it was his former goal but after meeting her everything changed.

He actually wanted to become a better version of himself because no matter how good he is, theres still a nagging feeling at the back of his head that says he does not deserve her because she deserves so much more.

Today was a special Day because Class 1-A was holding a reunion party. And Katsuki normally turns down events like this bit this time , he was excited because he knew y/n would be there. Now he was ready, Now he was confident, Now all he needed to do was to get his Girl back.

Y/n, She was never the same after that dreadful day. She never knew why she was Never Enough for Katsuki... She doesn't know why she's not a good enough reason to be picked. She never knew why He had to leave her in the dust, Hurt and alone. And honestly no matter how hard she tried to forget him. It never worked, She was still hung up on him like before and because of that. She hated him so much.

She started overworking herself doing more hero work than necessary since it's the only thing that could keep her mind away from him.

Her smile faded and she was never the same, she moved to another city because being in the same city where there's a possibility for her and Katsuki to work together is too painful for her.

She managed to rise to the hero rankings in the city she moved in. She was well known and villains feared her. But she started distancing herself from others, always taking on solo jobs and gradually turning colder by time.

It took a lot of persuading from the girls for her to eventually agree to this little reunion and she wasn't looking forward to it.

Because he was going to be there, it was already 6 and she was late since the agreed time to meet was 5 sharp bit she got caught up fighting Villains on her way . Of course the girls were furious but after hearing her reason they were much more understanding than expected.

They were supposed to meet in a Restaurant the boys booked all for their class and of course wearing something fancy was required because according to Momo they should ' Dress for the Occasion ' .

So of course y/n did try to make an effort to dress up because She wanted to prove to everyone that she was fine without Katsuki. Because back then when they broke up, Everything fell apart and she stopped caring about everything around her.

She loves the girls because they almost Wrestled Katsuki for hurting her , and some of the Boys even attempted to fight him because Y/n was a wreck back then.

But now look at her. She's not a narcissistic bitch but she really outdid herself. She wore a red sleeveless fishtail dress that clung onto her curves like it was her own skin, the dress had little crystal details that matched her hair. Her make up was Smoky and elegant and her lips were a crimson color of red. Her hair was curled on the ends and she did end up dyeing her hair to H/c, she also had a few accessories on, like the emerald necklace, a few bracelets she randomly picked out and a small Phoenix Hair clip.

She looked gorgeous and she could tell from the way passersby looked at her when she got out of her car right infront of the restaurant.

She walked towards the receptionist who was oogling on her figure.

Clearing her throat she caught the attention of the receptionist.

" I'm here for Denki Kaminari's Party " Y/n stated and the receptionist immediately stumbled towards the door opening it for her.

" This way ma'am "

" Thank you " Y/n thanked the man who started nodding his head nervously and she made her way inside.

The whole place was noisy and she could see her old classmates chatting and drinking the night away.

The first one to notice her was Momo.

" Oh my God Y/n!? Is that you " Momo exclaimed running towards y/n and giving the girl a tight hug.

The whole room was quiet, everyone's attention was directed towards y/n. She really was a head turner. The states she was getting was a bit overwhelming but she didn't mind. Someone in the room did Though.

" Woah! You really did dress to impress Missy! Where the hell have you been? " Mina joined in and y/n didn't hesitate to hug her as well.

" You're Drop Dead Gorgeous! We didn't even recognize you... I mean... Look at You! Damn " Hagakure complimented slapping y/n's ass.

" Hey keep your hands to yourself " Y/n muttered as she shoved Hagakure playfully.

" My goodness! I can't believe my eyes, Don't tell me you don't have a boyfriend!? It's kinda impossible for you Not to if you Look that Hot " Uraraka joined their little group and soon the boys also gathered around her to Either greet and hug her or comment on how she looks.

The attention she's getting was flattering but a bit suffocating.

" Ok, enough about me. How are you guys? " Y/n tried changing the subject but none of them were up for it.

" Well Duh, we all work in the same city and some of us gets paired up from Time to Time so there's nothing new about us that we didn't Know. You on the other hand moved to another fucking City and we barely have any contact with you so don't change the subject " Jiro stated and everyone seemed to fire their questions towards me one by one.

" So how are you? Are things good over there? I heard you ranked 2 in your city"

" Yeah everything is alright , things are pretty stressful though "

" You're pretty popular there! I see you on the news all the time "

" Er... Well... I can't even get some alone time without people trying to shove themselves to me "

As y/n was bombarded with questions a certain blonde male kept his gaze glued to her figure, she was gorgeous that's for sure and he could barely keep his eyes off her figure but that doesn't mean everyone else had to do that.

Even if they aren't together anymore. She is still considered to be his property and it's pissing him off that she didn't even try to acknowledge his existence. It was spissing him so much that she gave everyone a hug and not him. Why is she so happy talking to other men when he's right here waiting for her to finally look at him.

It's fucking irritating . She was beautiful... Too beautiful that he feels like someone else would take her if he even dares to look away.

It was painful to see how much she had grown without him. He's starting to regret his decision. Damn it. He knew he missed her but fuck. He didn't know he missed her to the point where it's actually painful to see her here but ignore him like he's nothing.

His mood was foul and everyone noticed, sure they were pissed that Bakugou Had the face to hurt y/n but they saw how hurt he was too, and one time during a small get together Bakugou started screaming her name and yelling why he left while sobbing angrily like a sick lunatic. And they finally understood why he made such a rash decision. It was because of his insecurities and nobody thought that this Haughty Hero was actually insecure about something.

And everyone felt bad for him because after y/n left he was a reckless Asshole who kept getting himself hurt over and over again as if he's pushing himself to the brink of death on purpose. Everyone knew he regretted his past actions and that's exactly why they were gonna help these two love sick puppies out.

" Hey! Let's play Seven Minutes in Heaven! " Denki suggested and everyone got the message.

" Really? Denki why would we play that here?" Y/n laughed but to her surprise everyone was in on it too.

" Yeah sounds fun! "

" I'll get the bottle! "

" Who's going first? "

____________________

Everyone was seated on the floor forming a circle.

" Ok I'll spin the bottle and if the bottle lands on you, you have to go in the closet with the person the end of the bottle is pointing towards. Simple as that " Kirishima explained and he started spinning the bottle.

" Hey y/n have you heard about the latest trend lately? " Momo asked y/n who's eyes we're torn away from the bottle and her attention was snapped towards Momo.

Sero moved fast and immediately pointed the bottle at y/n and Bakugou.

Bakugou saw the whole thing and he stared at his friends in disbelief.

" Kaachan.... I think you deserve a second chance " Izuku muttered and everyone gave Bakugou a thumbs up or a supporting look.

Bakugou was touched as he stared at everyone with thankful eyes but he was a prideful asshole so he turned his head away muttering.

" I don't need your help shitty extras " His comment made everyone chuckle.

" You better not ruin this Bakugou or else I'll poke your eyes out " Jiro threatened before she turned to y/n

" Y/n! You're going in the Closet with Bakugou! "

Y/n froze at the mention of Bakugou's name her eyes trailing down to ten bottle that was pointing at her and Katsuki.

" What? No" Y/n grumbled her tone filled with venom. Bakugou noticed her tone and it almost made him flinch.

" It's only seven minutes y/n...dont tell me you still love him that's why you refuse to do so " Denki stated slyly earning a menacing glare from the girl that made him shiver.

" I'll fucking do it and you better watch me you Prick " Y/n stood up from her place stomping her way towards the closet, opening it as she pointed inside her gaze landing on Bakugou.

" Get in so we could get this over with " She hissed before stomping inside Bakugou who was a bit astonished by how fierce she had become. But nonetheless he followed her inside the closet closing it as he stepped inside.

It was quiet, far too quiet but he was determined to change that.

" Y/n...I-"

" Shut up" Y/n cut him off sharply and he can't believe he was this sensitive when it came to her because damn it hurt when she said it like that.

" I'm sorry... I know it's not gonna fucking Cut all the shit I put you-"

" You fucking bastard I said shut up " Y/n growled but Bakugou continued.

" I was the biggest idiot in the world --"

" Bakugou. Fuck off. "

" Please just lis--"

" Did you listen to me?! Did you listen to me when I begged you to not end things between us? Did you know how much pain I felt losing you? Because you didn't have the fucking balls to choose me? Do you know how worthless I felt? I felt like I wasn't a good enough reason for you to choose me. I felt like I wasn't enough, because you never looked back on your decision and just kept going leaving me behind ... To pick myself up and pretend like nothing happened. Stop this Bullshit Katsuki, Let's just pretend like we're strangers causing its better that way---" Y/n was cut off with Katsuki's harsh tone.

" Don't you dare Fucking Go there woman! I'm a poor excuse of a boyfriend I know! And I regret the day I made the decision in leaving you because everyday is like walking in an eternity of hell without you.. I missed you so damn much... I missed your laugh... Your smug smile... Everything... I missed you! You wanna know why I ended things? It was because I felt weak, I felt like you deserve better so don't you dare say that you're not enough! Because you're more than enough! I was scared that villains may come after me and they'll take you because I wasn't strong enough! That's why I dedicated my time in trying to be better because the day I'll be ready is the day I'll claim you back . Today is the day.... And you have no idea how painful every passing day is for me without you.... And you turned me into this pathetic shitty love struck idiot who becomes soft and mushy when you're around!... I'm pouring out my feelings here because this may be the last! And I'm not good at this shit you dumbass! You knew that from the start but... I'm begging you Please... Give me another chance Because I Fucking Love you" Bakugou's voice broke at the end of his sentence and y/n was conflicted.

Was this why he left? It still doesn't count for what he did! He hurt her yet why does she feel so happy to hear him say that? Why is her heart beating so fast when he said those three words she never knew she craved. Why is her mind and heart urging her to give him another chance? Simple she knew the answer and it was because she never stopped loving him at all. Even though she hated him, she still loved him the same.

The room was filled with silence and y/n couldn't mutter another word. She wanted to say Yes. But her pride was getting in the way.

Bakugou was losing his patience, growling in frustration he lunged himself at her pinning her to the wall with both of her hands pinned above her head by Katsuki's hand.

" Screw it Bitch, I miss you too much to Just Let this shit slide. If you Kiss back you're Fucking Mine Again you Hear me!? " Bakugou yelled and he didn't give y/n any time to protest because his lips were already on hers.

Kissing her lips with Vigor and Neediness. It almost seemed desperate , he continued Kissing the girl with everything he had, devouring her lips with his and it didn't take long for y/n's pride to hold out because but broke the second Katsuki's Lips touched hers.

She kissed back with the same intensity. Katsuki let go of her hands and her hands immediately flew up to his neck pulling him closer as her fingers ran through his hair, she dug her fingers through his hair tugging on it desperately . Katsuki's hands were roaming her body in any way they could until finally stopping on her waist.

Fuck he missed her so much, he missed her so Fucking much and right now. He's gonna savor every moment of this. He missed these lips and how she kissed him.

If Oxygen wasn't much of a problem then neither of them would have pulled back.

Panting and breathless Katsuki pressed his forehead along hers a deep chuckle vibrating from his chest.

" So.... Was that a Yes? " Y/n could her the smugness of his voice making her growl at him.

" I Fucking kissed you back didn't I? " She snapped rolling her eyes.

" Well... I didn't quite feel it... Oh well, Looks like we're gonna have to do it again " Katsuki smirked and he was about to dive in for another round but Kaminari had slammed the door open making the two flinch.

" Times up---oh" Kaminari grinned as Katsuki and Y/n glared daggers at him.

" You shitty Pikachu! Can't you see we're busy here!? " Katsuki roared as he tried grabbing Denki who immediately ran away form the door.

With a sigh y/n dragged Katsuki out of the closet and everyone was looking at them with playful eyes, some even giving Katsuki a suggestive wink.

Y/n's eyes trailed up to Katsuki's face and she paled almost immediately seeing the red lipstick smudge on his lips.

" Katsuki you Fucking asshole! You smudged my lipstick! " Y/n barked smacking Katsuki's head and Katsuki was fats to react.

" Haah!? I didn't hear you complaining when I was sucking your lips woman! " Katsuki barked back.

" How the fuck was I supposed to complain when you were practically shoving your lips towards mine!? " Y/n said in defense as she raised her hand about to smack Katsuki's head again but he caught her hand .

Katsuki bent down and slung y/n over his shoulder carrying the angry girl.

" Shut up woman, I'll buy you a whole mall of lipstick if it makes you feel any better, and you extras!... Well... I'm only gonna say this once... T-Thank you " Katsuki muttered and everyone cheered and teased the blonde boy who was now cussing everyone for laughing at him.

" Put me down! " Y/n yelled pinching Katsuki's back but it had no effect because the boy didn't even flinch.

" We're heading out early! " Katsuki yelled but the entrance was blocked by the girls.

" Umm, No! We were the ones who put in a lot of effort in bringing her here Bakugou! You can't just take her away! And everyone missed her you asshole! " Jiro growled and Katsuki was immediately pissed off.

" She's Mine! Of course I can take her away! " Katsuki barked glaring daggers at the girls.

" Well looks like we're gonna have to fight in order to see who's keeping her then " Momo stated as she pulled out a staff from her arm.

Y/n was snatched away from Katsuki's shoulder by none other than Izuku who had a smirk on his face.

" Sorry Kaachan but we wanna hang out with her too" Izuku smiled and it only angered the blonde even more.

" You Fucking Extras! Give her back! "

" Why don't you guys just calm down and let me Go Home! " Y/n yelled throwing her arms up helplessly.

" No! " Everyone responded almost immediately.

" I believe we can't do that y/n because Tonight you're the prize for whoever gets to take you out of the door first! " Kids yelled and everyone was excited except for y/n who knew this wasn't gonna end well and she knows for a fact that this restaurant will become nothing but a pile of debris and rocks once everything is over.

" Oh it's on! " Uraraka jumped in excitement.

" I'll Fucking kill all of you Extras and Take back what's mine! " Katsuki yelled angrily sparks coming out of his hands.

And Y/n was right, by the end of the day the whole restaurant was destroyed, everyone was injured the moment yeh fight ensued and nobody won because y/n stepped out of the restaurant herself.

[sondepoch]

Part 1

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Tonight will be a night you will never forget. And not just because this is a party that only happens once every one thousand years, or because of the stunning decor of the castle, or even because of how radiant you know you look in this dress, hand-picked by Diavolo.

No.

It is a night you will never forget because tonight will be the night Diavolo proposes to you.

You smile softly, remembering how you'd slipped out of the prince's arms this morning to surprise him by dressing in his shirt—something you'd learned early on that Diavolo absolutely adores—only to find a gorgeous ring in his pocket. As soon as you opened the velvety box and caught a glimpse of the diamond jewel, you'd shut it, not wanting to ruin any more of your surprise.

But you haven't been able to keep a smile off your face all day.

"Are you enjoying the party, darling?" Diavolo asks when he comes up from behind you, running his fingers up and down the length of your arm, another habit you'd learned that he enjoys. "Why are you hidden away on the balcony like this?"

"The sky is too beautiful to miss," You remark. You lean into Diavolo's arms and look up. Back home, you'd thought that the most beautiful sky belonged to the night: when stars rise to decorate the carpet of black draped above like gemstones woven into silk. But after coming to the Devildom, you'd found that the true sight to behold was a Devildom sunset: a sky redder than blood but brighter all the same, orange and yellow stars flying across in a perpetual state of movement and change. And tonight, there's a spot of carmine in the center: a vermillion scar that peels back at the sky itself as a comet drags on by.

"Truly beautiful," Diavolo murmurs in agreement, though his eyes are latched onto you as he says the words.

You let out a light giggle, knowing the real meaning to his words.

"Is this what you do every morning when you escape my arms? Watch the sunrise like this?"

"What else?" You murmur. Though this morning, you'd done a little more than just that. You turn and face Diavolo, cupping his cheek as you give him a chaste kiss. The fabric of your dress is thin, and you try to drag your body close to his to see if you can feel the outline of a ring anywhere on his pockets...to no avail.

"My love, how would you like to see sunrises and sunsets like this forever?" Diavolo murmurs, lacing his fingers in yours. He pulls your gaze up to meet his own with a single finger under your chin. "For tonight and all nights to come?"

A smile blooms on your lips.

You already know what is happening.

Diavolo pulls away to kneel on one knee, never letting go of your hand. He gives it a sultry kiss and looks up at you, eyes locked onto yours.

"MC of the human world, mortal of our immortal love, would you honor me by being at my side?" Diavolo smiles. "From now, until the end of time?"

"Yes," You whisper, breathless. Unable to pull the demon lord up (goodness, with those muscles he's easily double your weight), you lean forward and thrust yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs around him tightly, basking in his laugh as he returns the embrace.

Is this heaven?

You're grounded in hell, but the happiness flooding your body seems to be lifting you into an entirely new state of being. Your stomach literally feels like it's on fire, burning bright with excitement for the future. It's as if your life has changed with these words, and as if you're no longer just MC, but MC of MC and Diavolo. As if, with that proposal, the demon has made himself a part of you.

And the sheer joy of getting to share your life with another is all you need to be happy forever and ever.

This feeling is so much better than you'd thought it would be.

You knew he would ask, but hearing the words leave Diavolo's lips gave them a different weight than simply seeing a ring in a box. Where is the ring, anyway? Oh, Diavolo probably wants to give it to me later. You push the thoughts from your mind and hold him tighter, and the prince smiles. 

Still wrapped around his body, Diavolo rises and places you on the golden balustrade, admiring the sight before him.

"Thank you, my love. You truly are...perfect." Diavolo murmurs, giving you a kiss. From there, he trails to your neck, going lower and lower. Occasionally, he stops to give a spot of skin a tender suck, but as soon as a moan leaves your lips, he's reminded of his goal and continues downward until his head is directly between your thighs.

"D-Diavolo," You murmur as he presses kisses to the skin. "People will see."

"Let them," He mutter, leaning forward and ravishing you as if you're his last meal. It only then strikes you that Diavolo had planned this. All of this.

You smile as you lean your head back, letting your moans add to the noise of the chattering from within the castle. Such a perfect man, you realize. He'd known you would say yes, of course. It was probably at his instruction that Mammon had chased you to this balcony in the first place. Diavolo had probably even selected this dress because of how it gave him access to the warmth between your legs that he loved so.

"P-people," You stutter out, voice broken by pleasure. "G-going...to stare..." You thread your hand in Diavolo's locks, weakly trying to pull his head away, but in truth you don't want him to stop. A demon who's lived for literal thousands of years, Diavolo knows his way around your body better than you do, and he's always been able to bring you to paradise. Especially with that tongue of his.

"Let them stare," Diavolo mumbles as climax washes over you. "You're mine. All mine. My paramour."

At the back of your mind, something twists at the word. Paramour? Perhaps it means something different in the Devildom. But before you can think more about how humans consider a paramour to be more a mistress than a lover, Diavolo's lips are on your own and all your thoughts drift back to him.

"Shall we return to the party, darling?" He asks. Diavolo smiles his usual teasing smile, instantly back to normal. He winks, acting as if he hadn't just done something horribly indecent where any passing demon could have seen.

"Yes," You mumble, taking his arm. As he guides you back to the ballroom and invites you to dance, you can't help but feel like things are different now. My lover. You recall his words. From now, until the end of time.

Another wave of glee washes through you.

"I love you," You murmur as the waltz slows. Diavolo gives you his usual Prince Charming grin, spinning you in time with the music.

"And I love you," He steals a kiss from your lips. "You're so perfect, MC. I never should have been worried. Everything about you is just so...perfect."

"Aw, were you worried that I wouldn't say yes?" You ask, swaying with him. You bring the hand resting on his shoulder to his cheek.

"Only a little," Diavolo confesses. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel about this whole situation...I know it's different from what humans are used to."

"Different?" You laugh. "Even dating you was different from what humans are used to, given that you're—you know—a demon and all."

"But you love me anyway~" Diavolo cooes.

"But I love you anyway," You agree.

You two must dance for hours, merely waltzing back and forth. All around you, the couples change, stepping on and off the dance floor, but you and Diavolo remain. Arms around his neck, head resting against the firmness of his chest, you two are swaying more than you are dancing. Holding each other, more than you are moving. Loving, more than expressing.

The moment is so delicate. Truly precious. Untouched even by time, as the grandfather clock indicates that another hour has passed.

But like all good things, it too comes to an end.

"Now that you're my paramour," Diavolo murmurs softly, causing your ears to perk up. There's that word again. "I only have one other thing to do. Excuse me, my love."

You give the man a kiss on the cheek as he guides you off the dance floor, leaving you with Lucifer. The two of you busy yourselves with a glass of wine—Diavolo had brought champagne to the party specifically for you.

"It's not bad," Lucifer remarks. "But I must say that I prefer our Devildom alcohols more."

You laugh, taking another sip of your wine, continuing to make small talk with Lucifer. It's been a while since you left the House of Lamentation to come live with Diavolo, but there are more than enough times when you miss the chaotic demon brothers.

Unbeknownst to you, those two minutes while you chat with Lucifer are perhaps the last minutes to true happiness you feel for a very long time. You'll later wish you'd savored the moment more as you spoke with the demon, a small smile on your face with your mind half-lost in thoughts about the future you and Diavolo would be embarking upon. It's a moment of contentment, a moment of peace.

But blissful as it is, it's also a prelude to what must be true misery.

Because all good things must come to an end.

And this day has been far too good.

Or—later, you might realize—perhaps the entire day had been bad, with yourself only being too foolish to understand it? Perhaps this whole thing was, in truth, nothing but the calm before the storm?

Whatever the truth may be, the fact is that the moment you lay your eyes upon Diavolo, you're shattered. And with each word that leaves his mouth, you find your heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.

"Honored guests and friends alike, I have an announcement to make." Your eyes widen. At the top of the staircase from where Diavolo had begun the party, he now stands in his demon form, arm-in-arm with another demon. A woman. An exquisitely beautiful one, at that.

"The time for my coronation as king of the Devildom nears, and a king is nothing without a queen beside him. So it is with utmost esteem that I ask this question to my lady."

You watch in a queer mix of pain, confusion, and anger, as Diavolo drops to one knee in front of the woman. You want to close your eyes, want to look away. You can feel Lucifer's gaze on you, watching to see your response, but you can't bring yourself to care. Your mind is a mess. What is going on? You wonder as tears threaten to leave your eyes. Why is he proposing to another woman?

And then you see a shine in his hands as he opens a black velvet box, the very same box you'd opened this morning; and in this light, with this decor, the ring seems to glisten even more beautifully than the stars in the sky that you love so. "Would you, my fair lady, honor me by being my wife? From now, until the end of time?"

And at this moment, when you're positively certain that your heart cannot break any more, you feel the final blow come: with the soft but clear "yes" that echoes through the hall.

Then, chaos.

That's the only word for what happens next.

Chaos everywhere.

All around you, demons cheer and begin whooping in celebration for what they just witnessed. But at the same time, their haphazard chanting can't begin to compare to the distressed frenzy that your mind is in as you tear your way out of the hall, ignoring Lucifer's desperate cries of your name.

Only once you've found shelter behind closed doors do you allow yourself to give in to your emotions. You drop to the ground, clutching it for support when it feels as if the very foundation of your spirit has been ripped out. All you can think about is the image of what just happened: Diavolo, on one knee in front of another woman, holding the ring that you had thought was meant for you.

The only thing that drowns out your broken sobs is the sound of demons as they cheer and laugh, congratulating their lord for his new engagement.

***

Diavolo should have known better.

That's what Lucifer says, at least.

"Did you not account for the fact that she has no understanding of our customs, Diavolo?" The demon practically shouts, causing the prince to flinch. Diavolo is beyond used to Lucifer's wrath, but he's accustomed to seeing it directed at others. Never himself. And on any other occasion, Diavolo would have sharply reminded Lucifer of his place. But as the younger demon continues to rant angrily, even Barbatos stands silently, knowing full-well that Diavolo deserves every bit of it.

"And you! You're the prince! You've been a demon for thousands of years, you know what human customs are like! Their obsession with commitment and having a single spouse is one of the very reasons why they've always believed our polygamic traditions to be evil! No self-respecting human would ever agree to be a paramour—does MC even know what a paramour is?"

Diavolo looks away, shame flooding him. He's never felt this way. He's the future king, for crying out loud. "I had assumed that it was a part of RAD's curriculum. I thought it was all covered in Demon Studies."

"Diavolo," Lucifer begins, pinching the spot between his eyebrows. "The curriculum is designed for demons, not humans. Demon Studies isn't about demon culture, it's about demon history. Important wars. Famous battles. Reputed commanders. Major e-"

"Yes. I get it, Lucifer." Diavolo puts a hand up, silencing the man in front of him. "What's done is done. I know you are upset with me, but we have to figure out what to do about MC."

"My lord?" Barbatos interrupts. "She still hasn't left her room. She isn't responding to my knocks, either."

"Has she escaped?" Lucifer asks, startled.

"No," Barbatos pauses for a moment. "But unless my lord does something, she plans to."

"Thanks," Diavolo mumbles sarcastically, resting his forehead on his palm. Twelve hours ago, things had been going so well. MC had actually agreed to be his paramour—or well, now he knows that she thought he was asking her to be his wife, goodness—and he was finally free to propose to the powerful she-demon that he'd always intended on marrying. And of course, the demon had said yes, and Diavolo's life couldn't be more perfect: he had his wife, his future kingdom to inherit, and his paramour.

And now he's lost the single most important thing from that list.

You.

"I'm going to speak to her," Diavolo blurts, rising. "I need her to understand what I was proposing...and what her new role is. The moment she said yes, she was bound to me by contract. She has to at least try to understand-"

"Diavolo, you can't possibly expect that the contract properly formed under those circumstances."

Diavolo quiets Lucifer in an instant, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the tattoos that covered his lower body. To anyone else, little change would be noticeable. A prince, Diavolo had been blessed hundreds of times over, and thus had a plethora of protective spells materialized on his skin. But to his right-hand man, who knows Diavolo better than the prince perhaps knows himself, the new tattoo stands out: a small design, just above the V that dips beneath Diavolo's pants.

"The contract...actually formed?" Lucifer mutters in disbelief. "Diavolo, these aren't the standard characters of paramour contract. The markings read 'true lover.' Surely you understand that it is a warning of—"

"It means that MC is my true lover," Diavolo interrupts before Lucifer can dirty the meaning with any other notion. "And that I am hers. If I have the mark, she has it as well. The gods of hell have recognized our union."

"My lord, what if she does not wish to be yours?" Barbatos ventures. "She is a human, after all. They are known to be fickle. And paramour is not a word they consider positive, by any means."

Diavolo doesn't respond. Like his events, his plans are reckless and more driven by emotion than logic and reason.

MC will understand, won't she? Diavolo tries to console himself with the thought. Your understanding and compassionate nature was part of the reason why Diavolo fell in love with you in the first place. You'll understand. You have to.

Diavolo doesn't know what he'll do if you don't.

***

Since coming to the Devildom, you've felt a lot of things. Excitement, at the prospect of new classmates. Frustration, at the antics of your roommates in the House of Lamentation. Worry, when you grew intimate with Diavolo and had to keep it a secret. Happiness, when the two of you decided to finally announce your relationship. And sadness—lots of it—after the events that transpired yesterday.

But this is the first time you've felt such fury.

"You're telling me," You mutter, too livid to even look at the man you'd once been proud to call your lover. "That when you proposed to me yesterday you were asking me to be your paramour? And that by accepting, I gave you permission to take another wife?!"

"Not another wife..." DIavolo trails off, not meeting your gaze. But when he sees you clench your fists and grow even angrier, he's quick to continue. "She's the only one! I won't take any other wives!"

"Does it make a difference? It doesn't matter if there's one other woman or one million in your life. How do you expect me to be okay with this? Why would any woman be okay with this? Who in their right mind would consent to being a paramour?! A paramour is just a glorified concubine—you keep her in your castle because you love her, but she's not good enough to be by your side and be called your 'wife.'"

"No, no, no." Diavolo stands up and forces you to meet his eyes, forces you to see how sincere he is. But somehow, the fact that he genuinely believes that the concept of a paramour is even okay only further enrages you. "Wives and paramours are different, you can't compare them. I know it's different from the human world, but in the Devildom, all the little girls grow up wanting to be paramours. A paramour is special. A person takes a paramour only out of love, not for her last name or her rank or her title. It's the better one. A wife is just someone who bears children. Nothing more. As soon as I have an heir, I won't even need to think about my wife! It'll just be you, my sweet, sweet paramour, and—"

"How can you truly love me if you have children with another woman? Don't act like a wife is nothing special. There's a reason why we in the human world say that the most sacred bond a man and woman can have is that of a husband and wife. You've chosen this woman. You want her. For her looks, for her nobility, her title, her—"

"Her fertility," Diavolo interrupts. "That is all. She bears our relationship no harm."

"You're asking me to be a glorified concubine." You repeat, scowling. "A mistress. The other woman."

"These are human concepts you're bringing in, dear," Diavolo murmurs. "You are my only love. And...MC, you physically cannot be my wife. You..."

You narrow your eyes, daring Diavolo to finish that sentence.

And foolishly, he does.

"You can bear me no children."

You raise your hand, poising it to slap Diavolo across the cheek, when you hesitate. Why? Why should you waste a single second more on this man who would never be fully committed to you? He's already made it clear that he won't be canceling the engagement he has with his future wife.

And you refuse to be any man's side piece.

"Get out." You scowl.

"MC, please, you know that I—"

"If you won't get out, I will."

Before you can leave the room, though, Diavolo has pulled you into his lap. "Let go," You hiss, thrashing in his arms. But the man is a demon, future lord of the Devildom, and is truly the strongest man in the entire kingdom. And you're just a human. Faced with his strength, you're nothing.

"Darling, please. Please. Just let me speak. Give me one minute. That's all I need. One minute." Slowly, you cease your movement. It's a silent indication that, yes, you'll give Diavolo a minute to speak. But no more.

"Darling, I love you. You are everything. I love you so much, and when I asked you to be mine...I truly thought you knew that I was asking you to be my paramour. I am sorry for the distress I have caused you these past hours." Diavolo places a soft kiss to your neck, letting his lips lay on what is normally your weak spot. But when you don't respond, he opts to continue.

"But there's something you need to see. A...a proposal to a paramour in the Devildom is sacred. I know you don't see it that way, but it is even more sacred than a proposal to a wife. And...it's viewed as a contract." Diavolo slowly lifts the edge of your shirt up. Your hands instantly go down to cover yourself, not wanting to give the demon a chance to give you any pleasure that might distract you from your current anger, but then you see what the man must have been trying to show you.

"How...?" You ask, and for the first time today, your words aren't coated with rage as you speak.

You pull yourself out of Diavolo's lap and go to the full-length mirror, raising your shirt higher on your stomach. You remember last night, when you'd felt a burning sensation over your stomach after accepting Diavolo's proposal. You'd thought the feeling to be a part of your happiness at being (you thought) Diavolo's wife, but now it becomes painfully obvious that it had been something else entirely.

There, on your lower abdomen, just above your underwear line but below your belly button, lies a delicate symbol. You squint at it, running your fingers over the mark—but the ebony black characters feel like they're a part of your skin, as if they've always been there.

"I have one to match," Diavolo says with a smile. He unbuttons his shirt and approaches the mirror, standing next to you. "Mine says 'true lover,'" He murmurs into your ear. The proximity makes you shudder, and you have to remind yourself that you're angry with the man. But as he lifts your shirt above your shoulders, shedding his own top in turn, you find that whatever emotions you were feeling before have been replaced with a new sense of longing.

"I'm still angry." The words are more for you than they are for him. It's as if saying them excuses how responsive you're being to Diavolo's touch as he strokes your sides.

"I know you are," He mumbles, kissing you.

"I'm not okay with being your paramour," You continue, only to be met with another 'I know' as Diavolo's lips ghost over your neck.

And as he gives the sensitive skin a tender suck, you can't help but lean into his arms for support, even as he continues to trail lower down to your stomach.

"I love you," he mumbles into your skin, licking the spot where your body is branded with the mark of the paramour. He leans back to admire the character.

And that's when things go downhill.

"Diavolo?" You ask, cupping his cheek. "What's wrong?"

You flinch as the man's grip around your waist tightens, watching in confusion as he stares daggers into the spot on your stomach that he had been gazing at so tenderly before. You see his eye twitch before he abruptly stands up and begins dressing himself.

You watch in disbelief. Diavolo's expression has changed completely, unwilling to meet your eyes and practically ignoring you.

"Diavolo, why—"

"MC, please be quiet. You wanted to be left alone? Very well, you will be left alone." Diavolo is now scowling as he buttons up his shirt, not even bothering to wear his cape as he makes for the door.

"Wh-what happened?" You ask, pulling on his sleeve. It's a futile attempt. The man is double your weight and over ten times as strong, but he humors you and stops before the door. "Diavolo, please. What did I do? Are you angry?"

"MC," Diavolo speaks, not facing you. His tone is dark. "It's best for the both of us if you are not with me right now."

He yanks his sleeve from your grasp, slamming the door shut in your face as he storms out, leaving you an even bigger mess of emotions than when he walked in.

You slowly make your way to the mirror, staring at the character on your stomach. You can't read what it says, but something about it seemed to anger Diavolo. After nearly half an hour of being more furious than you've ever been in your entire life, you know that the dark emotion Diavolo was trying to hide was rage itself.

But what could have made him so angry?

You stare at the spot on your stomach, before frustration begins to amalgamate once more. What right does Diavolo have to be angry with you, right now? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Right, you remember. When he kissed you, it was so easy to forget that he was asking you to be his paramour, his trophy-wife-that's-not-even-good-enough-to-be-a-wife lover. But now?

You scowl into the mirror, crossing your arms.

Diavolo can be angry all he wants.

His fury won't change yours. And I'm justified in my anger, you think, before a knock breaks you from your thoughts.

Not even bothering to wear your shirt, you march over to the door. This had better be Diavolo, ready to apologize, you think, before swinging it open.

But the face that greets you is smaller. Shorter. Olive eyes and mismatched hair, it's Barbatos who greets you.

"My lady," He murmurs stiffly. For a millisecond, his eyes dart down to your body, and his eyes widen in surprise. You're not sure why the demon butler looks so startled to see your exposed stomach. Demons in the Devildom have little sense of shame when it comes to nudity, as you'd learned from Lucifer's and Barbatos's utter indifference to constantly walking in on your nude form during nights with Diavolo. If anything, you're more covered than usual.

"No need to call me that, Barbatos. I'm Diavolo's secret lover. The only 'lady' you'll be needing to bow to is that wife of his," You sigh and leave the door open, a subtle invitation inside.

Speaking with Diavolo did quell most of your anger. Talking to Barbatos can't hurt, right?"

"If my lady wishes for me to call her MC, I shall," Barbatos says, shutting the door behind him. "But don't delude yourself into thinking that you're Diavolo's secret lover. A paramour is respected more than a wife, here. The whole realm will know you: face, name, history. It will be an honor."

"It will be a humiliation," You interrupt. You throw your shirt on, beginning to rant. "The whole realm will mock me: the prince's concubine. His whore. The idea that I'm not good enough to be his only lover is an insult. A paramour is disgusting and—"

"Then perhaps someone else is better suited for the role?"

You stop, pondering the words.

Barbatos looks at you with one eyebrow raised, gaze unwavering as he sees into your soul. You want to look away, want to ignore him, want to act as if that one question isn't the very conflict you've been torn over.

But you can't.

Diavolo has made it clear that the only way he'll have you be his lover is as his paramour. And every fiber of your being refuses to be paramour to a man who has a separate wife. So that truly only leaves one option, doesn't it?

"I don't have any other choices, do I?" You say dryly, realizing the nature of the situation you're in.

"If you cannot be his paramour," Barbatos agrees. "You cannot be his lover."

You sigh, leaning back against the bed.

It's been dwelling at the back of your mind for hours, but now as the truth begins to unshroud itself, you find the decision at the forefront of your mind.

Perhaps someone else is suited for the role, you think. Against your will, a memory of Diavolo's soft reddish locks flashes through your mind. You've always loved to play with them, and the demon lord always let you. He'd let out a gentle hum as you'd massage his scalp, a smile tugging at his lips as your fingers would lose themselves in his hair.

Perhaps someone else is meant to be Diavolo's paramour.

Another memory jumps into your thoughts, an image of the two of you dancing in the ballroom. Despite the situation, you smile at the thought. Diavolo adores dancing with you. It's his favorite thing to do: a respite from the daily struggles of the Devildom. There hasn't been a single week where he hasn't invited you down to the ballroom at least once. Even if there's no party, he would lead you into the hall, casting a cassette to play for you as the two of you danced the night away.

Perhaps I can never be the woman he needs me to be. The paramour he seeks.

A new image comes to mind, more recent. Diavolo's sleeping face. Normally, you would take to admiring his body in the morning, running your hands over his muscles and abs and sometimes the sensitive organ between his legs - but that morning, you'd been drawn to his face. The face of the man you loved. The face of a prince.

And slowly, you realize the truth.

The face of the man I cannot have.

"You're right," You say to Barbatos. Your voice is barely a whisper, but the butler seems to have heard you all the same.

You cannot carry the weight of being Diavolo's paramour. You're too human. It conflicts with your nature too much. And just as the relation Diavolo sought from you is too horrid for you to bear, the relationship you seek from Diavolo is one that's too far from the demon lord's customs.

He'd told you this when you first kissed him: that a human and a demon have no place together. Much less, a human and the ruler of the Devildom.

At the time, you'd only smiled into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for more.

But now those words have hauntingly returned, more true than ever before.

A human and a demon have no place together.

And you and Diavolo are no exception.

"I'll help you move your things into Purgatory Hall. For the remainder of the exchange program, you'll want to be there." Barbatos turns, walking to the door. "I'll leave you to inform lord Diavolo of your decision."

"Wait!" You blurt before you can stop yourself, grabbing the demon's wrist.

He turns to you, expression nonchalant. His gaze is normally intimidating, but as you stand before him all you can think about is the pure apathy in his eyes: now that you've decided to no longer be his lord's lover, he truly does not care about you.

But you won't let that stop you from asking.

"I...Diavolo said that the symbols on my stomach are characters. For words. What..." You trail off, trying to find your courage. "What does it say?"

Barbatos steps toward you, lifting your shirt with his left hand. A gloved finger traces the dark markings, and he begins speaking.

"This is the mark of the paramour. On most, it'll just be the character for 'lover,' but sometimes...in truly special instances, there'll be a description character as well. Diavolo's mark reads: true lover."

"What does mine say?" You whisper.

Barbatos brushes the mark with his thumb, his touch oddly gentle as he strokes the branded skin. His eyes never leave yours, and you think that it's a gesture of kindness until you catch the glint of morbid cruelty as he watches your reaction to his next words.

His gaze bores into you, staring past your eyes and into your heart as he shatters it with the truth.

"False lover."

MASTERLIST

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

Word count: 5.5k

Notes: Ive had this idea for diavolo since the day i opened this game, and i finally got around to writing it x3 its a lil angsty right now, but it gets better~ happy endings here, promise <3 im expecting this to be either 2 parts MAYBE 3, so stay tuned :D

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/28/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[nolongerwrites]

Lemme just repost this because my dumbass deleted it by accident a couple of weeks ago 💀

I know the lyrics are misplaced I’m too lazy to fix it rn

How to disappear

“Cuts on his face 'cause he fought too hard”

“I know he's in over his head”

“But I love that man like nobody can”

“He moves mountains and pounds them to ground again”

“I watched the guys getting high as they fight For the things that they hold dear”

“To forget the things they fearThis is how to disappear...”

It had been almost 4-5 years since you’d last seen him. Last you’d Seen the way he’d smile at you when you would walk in the room. The way you would wrap your arms around him from behind when you thought he least expected it, the way you’d cuddle up against him at night like it was the only way you could sleep, the addictive kisses you’d share when no one was watching.

Dazai and you were inseparable. Everyone in the port mafia knew you two were basically connected at the hip. They would talk about the way you two would sneak off and do god knows what when you were supposed to be working. But that was a long time ago. When he disappeared leaving only a note on what had happened and why he needed to leave, it felt as if your whole heart had been torn up to pieces and set on fire.

You were mad. Upset. Confused. Why didn’t he take you with him? Had everything you’d done together and the time spent with each other meant nothing?

You knew odasaku was his best friend but weren’t you also? It may have been selfish of you to think that way but After Dazai’s disappearance you fell into a deep state of depression. You became a completely different person from the way you carried yourself to the lack of sympathy for others. Everyone in the mafia stood clear of you even on assignments and in the halls of the mafias headquarters.

You killed without a second thought unlike before and It didn’t matter who it was you were interrogating, if they didn’t speak up the first time you tortured them until they spilt the info you were looking for only for you to kill them off brutally.

You had become one of the most dangerous and ruthless executives the mafia had, even chuuya wouldn’t try and mess with you.

“Cry on his shoulder 'cause life is hard”

“The waves came in over my head”

“What you been up to, my baby?”

“I haven't seen you 'round here lately “

Fast forward those painful years and here you were now, On your way to inspect a wear house down at the port that supposedly had some suspicious looking figures lurking around it.

Mori had assigned you to just take a look at take out anyone who didn’t look like his men. But

halfway there, as you were driving in one of the cars belonging to the mafia, you had gotten a call from chuuya.

You picked up your phone and answered it hoping it was just another assignment so you could go home and sleep. You were awfully exhausted.

“What’s up” you stated blankly as you turned a corner. “You might wanna come back. Mori specifically asked for you..” chuuya sounded like he was nervous to talk to you. More than normal. “I’m already half way there can’t he wait-“ you were cut off as chuuya called your name sternly.

“ we have a prisoner that needs to be interrogated, a former mafia member..” there was a pause on your end that racked his nerves to the core, yet he continued on.

“... you can probably take a guess who it is...” the car had stopped before he could even finish that sentence. Your grip on the steering wheel was insanely tight, you were surprised you hadn’t broke it already. Blank clouded eyes stared on into the empty road in front of you and as a few minutes past, you could hear chuuya clear his throat which prompted to snap you out of your daze.

“I’ll be right there.” Was all you said as you hung up and turned your car around. Something inside you said you knew exactly who it was

“All of the guys tell me lies, but you don't”

“You just crack another beer”

“And pretend that you're still here”

“This is how to disappear”

Your footsteps echoed through the hall with every slow step you took. You were full of every kind of emotion you could possibly feel. Your ability felt like it was going to erupt like a bird set free from its cage. With every new step you took, your body was telling you to go back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it. But this was the job you’ve devoted yourself to, and you weren’t going to back out now. Chuuya had warned everyone in the building before you got there so the halls were practically empty.

They’d heard the rumors about you and they didn’t dare cross your path in a situation like this. Before you knew it you were in front of the door to the dark, empty brick room used to interrogate.

You took a deep breath a few times in an attempt to calm the beast inside you. You counted to three before slowly opening the door to the room..Dazai stood there chained to the wall by his wrists, waiting for someone to walk in. Of course being dazai, he was singing some song about a double suicide. It had been a while since anyone had come down here. Worst case scenario, that short asshole Chuuya would come down and maybe give him a punch or two (or more likely try and kill him).

What he didn’t expect however, was to see your silhouette standing at the top of the stairs. The second he saw you standing there, in your black, ankle long skirt and grey ruffled blouse that slid off your shoulders exposing the skin of your collar bones and neck which was covered in black cloth like a choker, dazai felt his whole body freeze.

“This is how to disappear”

His eyes were wide with shock as you stepped foot by foot down the stairs. The black heels you were wearing clicked and echoed through the musty room. Before he knew it you were only about 3 feet in front of him.

You never lost eye contact with dazai even as you stopped directly in front of him. Nothing was said. The silence was deafening. It wasn’t until he let out a shaky breath and looked to the floor, that his smile from before returned. When he looked back up to you he could see the pain and mixed emotions behind those empty eyes.

The same eyes that would look at him lovingly the nights the both of them spent in his bed together. The same eyes that told him countless times that they’d loved him more than words could describe. The same eyes that had touched his heart like no other person could. It hurt him to see that they were so empty and clouded now. A distant gaze that would have him dead if looks could kill.

“Its been a while hasn’t it? You’ve gotten taller..” but before he could continue on about the things that had changed about you, His cheek felt like it was on fire. You were standing directly in front of him in a split second, hand colliding with his face as dark purple serpent created of smoke and poison manifested behind you standing almost 12 feet tall.

but it only stood there unmoving no matter how many times you commanded it to attack. Your hand colliding with his cheek again in a fit of rage.

Before he could even react, your knee reached his abdomen in a striking kick to the gut. Hit after hit, you kept going until you could no longer hold onto the pure raw emotion that was going through your head. And for the first time in years, Your grunting turned into sobs, and sobs into screams.

You hit him until your last punch was nothing more that a slight push. You felt weak. Tears had been streaming down onto your shirt and they wouldn’t stop. Dazai spit some blood on the floor before turning his gaze to you again. You were facing the floor as your body shook and trembled with every sob that wracked through you.

“‘it’s been a while’? ‘ITS BEEN A WHILE’??! Really dazai?! That’s ALL you have to say? After what you put me through after you left!? After everything we did?? That’s all you have to say..?!?”.

Dazais heart felt like it was shattering. When you looked back up to him he saw your puffy red eyes and face. The pain from your assaults were nothing compared to the look you were giving him as salty tears rolled down your cheeks. He said nothing.

Even as the blood from his head dripped onto the floor between you both. In almost a second, the chains and cuffed that kept him against the wall were broken and before you knew what had happened he enveloped you in what was literally was a bone crushing embrace.

You screamed and hit at him in an attempt to push him off you which only made him hold onto you tighter. The serpent faded away with his touch and disappeared into the air. You eventually stopped hitting him as your knees felt too weak to hold your body up.

You both dropped to the floor. Dazai did not once letting his grip slack, even as he carried all your weight. He buried his face into your hair as he rocked you back and forth with each cry you let out.

It wasn’t until you slowly put your hands on his back did you feel his own tears fall onto your shoulder. “I’m so sorry... I’m so so sorry...” dazais voice was barely a whisper in your ear. “I loved you so much dazai... I loved you more than anything... why didn’t you take me with you...?” you gripped his coat as you continued to cry in his arms.

“I’m sorry...”

“The California sun and the movie stars”

“I watched the skies getting light as I write As I think about those years”

“As I whisper in your ear”

“I'm always going to be right here”

“No one's going anywhere..”

[glimmerglanger]

if you're still taking prompts... 3 and 19 from the angsty prompts list for codywan? *hopeful*

:DDDD I am still open for those sweet, sweet prompts. I went with 3 ( “What would you do if I didn’t come back?”) and because my last Codywan was SO SO SO SAD, this one is angst with a happy ending.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Cody snapped, the fourth time General Kenobi suggested that he go scout the area, find the rest of the 212th, and keep going. He had to unclench his jaw to force the words out, breathing hard in the dim light of the cavern.

Kenobi blinked at him, he looked… almost surprised. Tried to shrug and couldn’t. The stone growing up around him - faster and faster by the moment - prevented the movement. “Oh, I don’t know,” Kenobi said, flashing him a smile, and Cody had known him for long enough to identify it as strained. “Strike a dashing pose?”

Cody had to look away from him, swallowing hard. They’d had the argument four times already. Four times since they slipped into this passage on what was supposed to be a covert mission. Four times since some kind of bomb went off along the far wall. Four times since Kenobi grabbed him and shoved him aside, putting his body between Cody and the explosive, his hand raised as though to deflect it with the Force.

That hadn’t worked. There’d been no concussive blow, no fire raining down on them. Instead, there had been the rock - whatever it was - cutting through the air, impacting all down the side of General Kenobi’s body.

At first, Cody had felt giddy with relief. The explosion had been nothing, just some malfunctioning trap. That was before they’d realized General Kenobi couldn’t pull away from the stone. That was before they’d realized it was spreading across him, growing. Encircling his body.

Nothing felt funny, anymore. “I’m not going anywhere,” Cody said, the same thing he’d said every other time General Kenobi brought up the idea. Kenobi sighed, trying to sound long-suffering.

“If the Separatists come back,” he started, gesturing with his free hand towards the droid bodies currently clogging the exit from their little chamber. “You have no cover. We’ve been lucky so far, but--”

“Sir,” Cody interrupted, scowling at the droids, because it was easier than looking at Obi-Wan, stuck in place in the middle of the room, one of his hands still raised, stone encircling the entire limb and spreading down his shoulder, up from his hip, around one of his legs. “They’ll kill you if I’m not here to stop them.”

“I can handle a few droids,” Kenobi insisted, and “I--” and cut off, with a little gasp.

The noise drew back Cody’s attention. He took a step closer, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, demanding, “General?”

“I’m fine,” Kenobi said, panting. “It’s just, ah, squeezing me a bit.” The stone crept further across his chest as Cody watched, stretching across his ribs. 

“Sithspit,” Cody snapped, dragging a hand back over his head, tossing his helmet at the far wall. They’d tried everything, already. Shooting the damn thing had only made it grow faster. As had their explosives. Thanks to the kriffing explosive, the stone had swallowed Kenobi’s left leg completely, in fact, so high up his hip that - even if Cody had been able to prise his lightsaber from his hand - he couldn’t have cut the limb off to get Kenobi out.

Not without killing him.

Cody had been relieved about that, at the time. He hadn’t wanted to think about putting a lightsaber to Kenobi’s flesh, to carving him into pieces to save his life. He’d still had hope, then, that they’d find another way to get Kenobi out.

That hope was gone.

At least Kenobi might have lived, if Cody had moved quickly enough. At least--

“They’re coming back,” Kenobi said, panting for breath, hearing the clack and clatter of droid bodies before Cody picked them up. He swore under his breath and primed his blaster, cracking his jaw side to side as he moved to stand in front of Kenobi. “Commander, you should just--”

“I’m not leaving you,” Cody snapped, without looking over his shoulder, as the first of the droids came into view, and for a while there was nothing but weapons fire, the stench of blaster bolts, and the hot rush of a fight.

A droid tagged him in the shoulder; he’d been slow getting them all. But that was alright. If the bolt were in his shoulder, it meant it wasn’t in Kenobi. It meant they had a little longer to find a solution, a little longer to get out of this mess.

“Alright,” he said, turning back, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, “let’s go over our options, one more time.”

#

They went over their options, one more time. And then another. It didn’t help. No more options magically appeared. The stone simply continued to grow, spreading across Kenobi’s chest, beginning to move upward, towards his shoulders and throat.

Cody flexed his fingers in and out, trying to shove down all the hot emotions in his chest. He’d been trained to handle situations like this calmly. Rationally. To think them through. But he was beginning to think he’d never been in a situation like this.

No one had trained him to stand by, helplessly, and watch the person he -- and watch his General die.

“Hm,” Kenobi said, breaking Cody from the terrible inward spiral of his thoughts. Cody glanced at him - looking at him hurt - and away again.

“Hm what, sir?”

“I think,” he said, his voice strained. “I think they’re trying to communicate.”

Cody did look at him then, for longer than a half-second. “What’s trying to communicate?” he asked, thinking about droids, about the Separatists, roaming through these tunnels. 

Kenobi blinked, his eyes distant. “The rocks,” he said, after a moment, and Cody barked out a harsh laugh. Kenobi didn’t join him, merely looked puzzled. And it was, Cody supposed, hardly the strangest thing that would have happened to them.

“Well, communicate that they need to let you kriffing go,” Cody said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m trying, Commander,” Kenobi said, before stiffening, blinking. This time, Cody heard the clink and clank of the droid bodies before he could speak. “We’re going to have--”

“Company,” Cody said, grimly. “I know. Don’t worry, sir.”

#

“You shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way,” Cody said, after the droids were all broken and still. He picked through their bodies, looking for weaponry to replenish his dwindling supplies. There wasn’t much to take, but he gathered what seemed useful.

“What?” Kenobi panted. The stone had almost completely swallowed his chest. It was growing out along the line of his left arm, which he’d stretched out. 

Cody sat heavily against the wall, near him but not close enough to touch the stone, unlatching his shoulder armor, pulling it down. He was bleeding, heavily, underneath it, from a lucky shot during the fight. “Of the explosion. You should of just let it hit me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kenobi said, going thready at the end. His fingers were tinged to blue, the stone tight enough to restrict his circulation. 

“Sir,” Cody said, between gritted teeth, tearing open a bandage and wrapping it around his upper arm. He pulled it tight, but not half so tight as the stone was squeezing Kenobi. “It should be me--”

“No,” Kenobi cut in, some measure of strength back in his voice, iron and certainty.

Cody swallowed, eyes squeezed shut, unsure how to say that he wished it were him, that there was nothing he wouldn’t give to trade places, to give his body over to the stone if it meant Kenobi could walk out of this chamber, that he could-- “I--”

“No,” Kenobi repeated, flat and hard, and Cody nodded. Flexed his fingers in and out. Swallowed around the ache in his throat that was spreading through his chest. “Go over our options again.”

#

They had no options. Maybe they never had. Time sped away and Kenobi’s breathing grew labored and then thin, each sip of air sorely bought. Cody had given up on pacing, leaning against the wall, instead, his hands on his knees, his own breathing gone sharp and aching. 

“Commander,” Kenobi rasped, the first thing he’d said in too long. Cody couldn’t quite look at him, almost completely consumed by the stone because Cody couldn’t figure out how to kriffing help him. His General was going to die, in the dark, in some kriffing nowhere cave, because he couldn’t figure this problem out. 

“I’m not going anywhere, General,” Cody said, hoping to pre-empt the repeated argument. He couldn't go through it again. 

Kenobi made a soft sound. Half a laugh. “I -- know. I wanted. To tell you. Thank you.”

Cody did look up, then, his eyes burning. Kenobi was staring at him, his eyes fond, expression gentle for all that his body had been almost completely swallowed. The stone was curiously translucent. Cody could see his body through it, crushed and held in place. The stone crept further up his neck.

Cody managed to croak, “What?” He couldn’t imagine what Kenobi would be thanking him for. He’d failed, failed in every conceivable way, and--

“I, ah, I never wanted. To die. Alone.” Kenobi smiled at him, a soft expression. His eyes were wet, shining. “So. Thank you. For staying. With me. I’m glad. Someone will. Be here.”

Cody felt like he was choking, like his throat was full of the stone. Kenobi wiggled his fingers, just a little. They were about the only part of him still mobile. Cody straightened away from the wall, took a step towards him and then another. “I’ll be with you,” he promised, because it was all he had left to offer. “Until the end.”

He slid his fingers across Kenobi’s, careful of the stone creeping over his palm. Kenobi’s fingers were cold. He made a little sound, soft. Wet. Cody leaned forward, careful, careful, so that he could rest their foreheads together. So that Kenobi could feel something besides the cold press of stone, crawling over his chin.

“You need. To stay. Back. Commander,” he panted, and Cody knew there would be only moments before he could not speak anymore. Before the stone took that, too. Cody squeezed his eyes shut; they burned. And considered just… staying where he was. Letting the stone spread across to him, so Kenobi didn’t have to be alone, not ever, so that he’d--

“That’s. An order,” Kenobi rasped out. “Now. Go.”

Cody took a jerked step back, his chest squeezed tight, watching the stone crawl up over his General’s cheeks.He said, crooking his mouth, “Until. The end.” And it covered his mouth, stealing Cody’s chance to gather his courage, to take a kiss, once, before it was too late. It covered his nose. Kriffing hell. Cody’s own breathing sounded too loud in the close space, jagged and broken. 

Kenobi looked at him and then he closed his eyes, pale lashes settling on his cheeks, as the stone swept upwards and--

And Cody’s knees hit the ground. He’d believed, a tiny part of him, right up until that moment, that they’d find a solution. That his brothers would burst in, or Skywalker would, that someone would appear and wave a hand and make this alright.

There was a sound in his throat, something like a scream, fighting to get out. He fell forward, hands gripping the sides of his head, because he had failed, failed in every conceivable way, he’d never even - even found the way to shape the words for the things he felt.

He didn’t know what the words were, in any case.

He thought his heart might burst. It hurt, terribly, under his skin. He wept, bitter tears, choking on his grief, and it was then, with his back bowed over, that the stone shattered.

The noise of the explosion was horrific. Cody recoiled back, an arm raised to protect his face automatically. Sharps of stone spun past him and then began swirling through the air, their movements flowing around him without touching him.

Kenobi collapsed in the midst of the swirling stone, limp and boneless, sprawling across the floor. Cody lurched towards him without thinking, grabbing handfuls of his robes, pulling him over onto his back, jamming fingers against his pulsepoint and feeling-- nothing.

He swore, breathlessly, not sure what was happening and beyond caring. Kenobi’s chest wasn’t rising and falling. He wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Cody shifted up onto his knees, hands folding together on Kenobi’s chest, starting compressions automatically.

He felt ribs snap under his hands and winced, but that was--necessary. He’d bring Kenobi back. He might have been unable to stop this from happening, been unable to keep Kenobi alive, but he’d be damned if he weren’t going to drag Kenobi back to the world of the living. 

Cody counted compressions and shifted, tilting Kenobi’s head back, covering his nose, fitting their mouths together and shoving air into his lungs. He stroked Kenobi’s hair, absently, as he moved again, falling into a pattern, desperation fueling his movements and a harsh, flat determination.

He’d keep going until either Kenobi breathed again beneath his hands, or he died. There were no other options Cody was willing to consider, his heart racing, blood burning in his veins, too breathless to plead, to do anything but grapple with death itself and--

And Kenobi coughed, under his hands, trying to roll onto his side. Cody pulled him over, hands touching everywhere as Kenobi shifted, each move short and jerky. He stroked over Kenobi’s hair, over his shoulders, down his side, aware he was speaking but unable to discern any of the words.

He could only curl over, pressing his forehead against Kenobi’s shoulder, gripping at his tunics, relief searing through him so hot and fast that he felt turned to ash inside. “You’re alright,” he gasped, rocking them both back and forth, “you’re alright.”

Kenobi coughed again; it sounded agonized. Cody remembered the feeling of his ribs snapping underhand, and grimaced. “Oh,” Kenobi rasped, reaching out and patting vaguely at his leg, “yes, I was right, the rocks were just trying to--”

Cody could not find a single cell in his body that cared about the rocks. He hauled Obi-Wan up, off of the stone, cupped both sides of his face, and kissed him. It seemed the only thing to do to lance the aching pain in his chest.

Kenobi blinked at him when he pulled away a moment later, and he said, “I’m sorry, sir, I know that’s not--”

He stopped talking when Kenobi pulled him back close once more, kissing him hard, for just a moment. “We’ll have to get back to this later,” he said, flashing Cody a smile that was incredibly distracting, even more so than Cody was used to. “Seems we’re trespassing, so, Commander, if you don’t mind, we need to leave.”

[thirstofgames]

kitty and the jailbird

#️⃣2️⃣

-IT'S A MATCH-

A blank chat popped open and Damien stared at it for a second. He had honestly not expected it. The girl actually swiped him right. He looked at the clock impatiently; he did not have much time left in the library. There was a loud shout from the hallway, his muscles tensing, ready to hide the phone and bolt at any second.

He regretted that last question right as he pushed send. It sounded so bitter in his head now. It was a dating app after all and she was a good looking young woman.

you there?

...

hello?

busy flirting with your other matches, huh?

And there it was all about to end, the hot topic of his whereabouts. And the swift and cruel rejection that followed. It had already happened one too many times! Could he go through his again? Was it worth it? His palms were sweaty, but he never felt so cold. If the ground could just open up and swallow him whole before she finished asking... 

No, sorry

Just a little surprised we matched

you can unmatch if you want

Well, what I want is to talk with you 😊

Your profile caught my eye

what part?

Your profile pic at first.

Most guys can't pull off the broken, deep and scowling thing

But... looks good on you.

you don't look so bad yourself-

but then I read your description...

and I have to know something

shoot 🙄

It was a simple Yes/No question, but it took Kate way to long to answer. She bit her lip, thinking hard on the possibilities. It was such an unfair question though. She was not going to leave, but was not going to pursue anything with him until she knew what he was in for and how long he was going to be locked up. She'd wasted enough years waiting up on others... 

I'm just a little confused 🤔

Are you really in jail?

you gonna leave if I say yes?

It really depends...

A bittersweet smile spread on his lips. What was he expecting from a girl like her? She probably had a nice job, a supporting family and tons of friends and... an actual future. Why would she even consider wasting her time with him? The little time he had left... Better to just pull off the band aid!

She felt to bad! She hadn't meant to disregard his feelings, but wasn't it fair to let her know what she was getting into? She didn't even know what he was expecting from the conversation they were having... She was curious, but she didn’t want to lead him on.

okay, let's just say...

the orange pants and barbed wire are real

OMG

I have so mane questions 😱

here we go...

What did you do?

Wait, where do you even hide your phone?

STOP!

enough with the interrogation, alright?

I'm just curious...

sure, but i'm more than just a prisoner

a little respect goes a long way

Kate’s heart sank. He was hot, but the prison was a serious issue... She supposed people were not lining up to get to know him. He seemed pretty well rounded and mannered, but he was very defensive about his crime. Did that mean it was something really bad? But he was on a dating app... so maybe he was getting out soon? 

You're right!

I'm so sorry 😓

Let's change the subject

Why don't you tell me what you're looking for

hmmm

What?

i'm thinking...

nobody's really asked me that before

Seriously?

most people stop talking to me when they find out i'm locked up

i don't really blame them. i'm rough around the edges.

She didn't say anything for a while and Damien started wondering if he should just close the damn phone and leave. He should also probably take a break from Lovelink after this... it clearly wasn't doing him any good. Dark thoughts swarmed his mind and he had to close his eyes and head his head back against the bookshelf to get rid of the harrowing feeling. Like he was falling in an endless pit...  

The screen showed him typing and deleting several responses. Kate pursed her lips, impatient. Had she said anything wrong? She’d never spoken to someone who’d been locked up, she was still unsure what could trigger painful memories, or just remind him that he was... not free. But he said he just wanted to chat and his profile mentioned 'deep conversations'... 

Okay, I'm not running away, for now

but...

But I can't really make up my mind

If I don't know anything about you

So...

alright

honestly I'm just looking to talk to someone from the outside

it can get pretty boring in here, just waiting around the clock

Let's be friends then 😊

I'll be your window to the outside world

If that's alright with you...?

Damien sighed on the other end. Beggars can’t be choosers. It was a step in the right direction though. Maybe he was not going to find the love of his life at the very fucking end of said life. He was not living in some fairytale! He was still going to die, alone and forgotten.

But maybe... just a little less alone at the very end of his road. One friend meant more than none and maybe, just maybe... he could tell her his side of the story. Eventually. She seemed patient and understanding enough. Let at least one person out there know he did not murder his own father. 

sure

that's more than most

Of course a pretty thing like her got a lot on attention... She was only chatting up with him because the others were offline- 

but it must have been pretty bad to be such a long sentence

you still can't tell me what the crime was?

look, i've been making my own rules my whole life

you better ask what crimes I DIDN'T do

wow...

i'm no bragging or anything, just letting you know where I'm at

anyways, I'm more interested in what you're all about

what are you doing on an app like this?

Honestly...

I was about to uninstall it right before we matched 😅

Oh

you already found the one?

or no luck at all?

Well, I went on a few nice dates...

i see

Suddenly his experience on the app seemed less awful. Maybe it was not the right place. Or perhaps it was just the place for a misfit like him, here with all the weirdoes and con artists. 

And then they ditched me for their exes

Just my luck 😂

Oh and I swear to god if I see one more vampire 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄

vampires?

Yeees

You wouldn't believe some of the things I saw...

OMG, one dude was actually dresses up as a centaur

I...

don't even want to ask

There's also the 'prince' scam going around

Dudes claiming to be the heirs of some  

Made up countries and asking you for money

It wasn't quite a rejection, but it still hurt a little. She already mentioned twice she was only interested in him as friends. She didn't need to spell it out every few minutes! But she was the only one... 

Met some nice people too ☺️

Actually became good friends with some

Which is nice since I just moved here

were did you come from?

Pallay 💜

you're a long way from home

I know 😢

I suppose it was getting kinda lonely

My friends and family come visit when they can

But that's not a lot...

what brought you here?

Got a really good job opportunity

But I didn't quite realize how far away I'd be

So yeah, to answer your question from before...

I'm kinda just chatting with new people

Made more friends than anything else lol

Hope that's aright with you 🤗

A smile crept on his lips. An actual, genuine smile. How long had it been since he had any reason to? God, it felt good to talk to someone! Someone who didn't know him, who didn't shout 'walking corpse' after him, didn't judge him. He almost felt like his old self. Almost. 

i'm cool with that

Great!

Looking forward to getting to know you, Damien 😄

so let's get to it

tell me about yourself

hobbies, favorite food, anything

my hobbies are always changing 🤔

I start something new every month or so

Oh, and I started volunteering at a vet lately

🐱🐶💕

With a friend I made on this app

it suits you

Hmmmmm how would you know?

We've only just met

just a hunch

I could secretly be evil 😈

you couldn't hurt a fly

besides, I've seen evil and believe me

you're not it

I'm guessing you're not going to elaborate on that

Are you?

see, you know me so well already

Smartass 😝

 At lest until she finds out.

And I love food 🤤

Who doesn't? lol

But picking a favorite is like... impossible

I do have one hell of a sweet tooth  🍫🍬🍦

I'm soooo jealous

I miss making my own meals

That's right! You probably just have a cafeteria.

I'm so sorry 😓

it's cool

i'm glad we have something in common

Is there any food you miss?

Wait... was there even steak in that picture? Kate felt her ears burning, the fluffy pajamas studently itching at her skin.

just makin my own in general, being in charge in the kitchen

Damien scrolled quickly through his phone, the memories leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He nearly didn’t send the photo. It felt like so long ago, a different time...a different person. But it felt so good to remember! To be reminded of the more happier moments when he had all his life ahead of him! And showing her a piece of his past may make her curious enough to stick around for a while longer.

He hit Send.

-Tap to download photo-

Oh

Looks... delicious

you like steak? 

Oh yeah, the food 😳

Wish I could have a bite of that hahaha

So not so shy and innocent as she claimed. Good to know. Even if it didn’t lead anywhere, which he had to be realistic about - he was on death row after all - it was still fun. The most fun he’d had in a long while. It felt...nice.

HA!

i wish you could too 😏

The door of the library swung open hitting the opposite wall. The guard in charge could be heard arguing with someone. At least four voices. He had to move fast.

I'm really hungry now 😅

good

Kate stared at the screen, the little green light besides his profile picture going grey. She scrolled through the conversation as if to make sure she hadn’t just imagined it. She tapped the picture he’d sent, a small smile creeping on her lips. He looked so... normal. Well, more like smoking hot, but she expected some kind of dump, or some greasy repair shop, not Greek sculpture level abs. The boy should come with a warning! She was a sucker for bad boys, but had she gotten so bad that she was now considering a fucking convict? What if he was a murderer or something??

shit!

???

someone's coming

gotta hide my phone

talk soon

Be careful! 🙏🏻

Her ice cream, forgotten on the coffee table, had turned to soup.

What had she gotten herself into?

[getitinbusan]

Eat • Sleep • Game

A little angst, a little fluff, a lot of smut if you reblog for a part two.

Dedicated to everyone missing the Toronto Show today, see you soon ☹️💜

It had been exactly 1 year and 45 days since you'd fallen head over heels in love with Jungkook. You know this because it was your second day of work at the game store when he came rushing through its door. 

He had broken his game controller and needed one ASAP before his Overwatch team kicked him off. It was a brief first meeting but he'd come in at least once a week since then.

Inviting you to join his team, your friend circle expanded and his roommate Jimin had become your closest confidant. Unlike Jungkook, it had only taken Jimin a few weeks to realize how hard you were crushing on his friend.

Jimin was rummaging through the fridge while balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder. Nodding in Jungkook's direction he kept talking.

"You should definitely wear something really sexy…. I'll ask. JK, Y/N wants to know if you're coming out tonight?" 

Setting his Banana Milk down a smile crept up to his eyes. He'd been crushing on you forever and had finally decided maybe he should make a move.

You'd be there, wearing something sexy AND you were asking about him?

"Yeah, I'll come," he tried to sound casual about it. 

Jimin didn't have to relay the message, you were listening eagerly to hear his answer from the other end.

"He's really coming?

You sighed, "That just means I'm going to walk around pining for him all night. God I love him Jimin"

He laughed at your desperation, "It's going to happen sooner or later, believe me it is mutual." 

Jungkook had gone back to his game but intentionally left the headset off one ear. Listening in, he was trying to piece together your side of the conversation. What? What was mutual?

"I thought that a year ago, how does he not know Jimin? How can I make it any easier? Do I need to just outright say it to him?"  

He put on a seductive voice, "I've wanted to fuck you for the past year and if you make me wait a second longer I'm going to die." 

Jungkook listened on, was Jimin really hitting on you like that? He never discussed his feelings for you with him but he thought it was obvious. His cheeks grew red and heated as the thought of you and Jimin together boiled in his blood. 

"Alright I'll see you soon, come up and we'll have drinks before we go." 

Hanging up he turned to Jungkook, "I'm grabbing a shower, I have a feeling tonight's going to get crazy."

Knocking on the apartment door you let out a huge breath, "here goes nothing."

You'd spent the day talking yourself into finally telling him how you felt.

Jimin opened the door, "Shit Y/N, look at you!" he playfully copped a feel of your ass. 

"Hey Guk!"

Now or never, you walked behind him and put your hand on his shoulder. "How's the game?"

He was distracted, your breasts were right behind his head as you leaned in to watch him play. Your fingers dug in massaging his muscles. His cock was getting hard thinking about how good your grip would feel around it. 

"Watch behind you!"

Brought back to reality you'd snapped him out of his fantasy.

"It's a shame you're going to have to quit, we should leave soon." 

Jimin came out of the kitchen and handed you a beer, "I'm getting you so drunk tonight."

He set one down in front of Jungkook, "Pre game my friend."

"About that...I think I'll just stay home..I'm kind of on a winning streak." 

You pulled your hand away from him in disappointment, all hope lost. Jimin could see you were visibly upset.

"Let's go to my room Y/N, we wouldn't want to distract Jungkook from his game. 

"What the fuck is his problem all of the sudden?"

He pouted at you and kissed your forehead, "His loss sweetheart." 

The Uber showed up about four drinks in. Jimin was already out the door when you turned to look at Jungkook. His gaze was fixed on you but he quickly turned back to the screen as not to be caught.

"Are you sure you don't want to come...I was kind of looking forward to hanging out with you?" 

He stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek, "I'm sure Jimin will show you a good time." 

Pulling the door tight behind you Jimin grabbed your hand, "Fuck him, let's go." 

The club was packed. It was too loud, too hot and Jimin had abandoned you long ago to find a conquest.

The drink in your hand was empty but the lineup to get another was three deep. Your will to have fun had been left back at the apartment so here you stood, miserable. 

Declaring the night a total waste you walked around looking for Jimin. 

You tapped his shoulder until he stopped his makeout session, "I think I'm just going to leave Jimin." 

"Why aren't you in the corner getting fingered by some hot guy?" 

"It must be because I'm so pathetic that nobodies even attempted to talk to me tonight."

You tried to hold back your tears, no crying in the club right?

"Go," you motioned to the dance floor. "Have fun, she's waiting for you."

"I'm not letting you go home, not like this."

He hugged you tightly, "Take my key and go over there and tell him how you feel."

"Jimin, I'm tired of putting myself out there for rejection." 

"Baby, this crush has been going on far too long, you need to find out for sure. You are way too amazing to not have a boyfriend."

You kissed his cheek, "okay I'm going to do it."

His imagination was going wild. He couldn't concentrate on his game and his teammates just kept yelling at him.

He was sure you'd be grinding all over each other, Jimin's stupid puffy lips getting to kiss you.

All the girls went for Jimin, he was just so confident. He decided a couple of loops around the city on his bike and a Ramen stop would help. 

Unlocking the door you expected to see him gaming in the living room but the apartment was quiet. 

Moving up the hall you knocked lightly at his door, "Kookie, can I talk to you?" 

Opening the door a crack you peeked in, empty. Of course he went out, you'd finally mustered your courage to tell him and he was probably eating Ramen somewhere. 

Fuck it, it was happening tonight. He'd have to come home sooner or later and you'd be here waiting in his bed when he did.

It was late, he didn't feel any better.

Putting on a movie he shut off all the lights and sprawled out on the couch. He wasn't going to be able to sleep until he knew if you were coming home with his roommate. 

He must have dozed, the sound of muffled giggles waking him up.

"Shhh, we need to keep it down," kissing, loud kissing more giggles.

"Let's go to my room."

He looked at the clock, 4am. Fuck there was no way he could sleep now. He lit up his monitor and grabbed his headphones. 

You stretched out on the bed taking a minute to remember where you were. One smell of the pillow and it all came back. Of course he didn't come home, fate was never on your side. 

You opened the door quietly not  wanting to wake Jimin. Tiptoeing through the apartment the light from his screen caught your eye, he'd really just been out here playing?

You walked over to stand beside him, was it too late to tell him? 

"Hey," you startled him, "Don't you even go to bed anymore?" 

He clenched his jaw, "I've been having a really good game." 

Here goes…"Jungkook, there's more to life than video games. Sometimes it's nice to enjoy someone's company…"

He shot you a cold look, "I know I could hear you two enjoying each other all night."

His accusation floored you, "And so what if we did?? What the hell do you care Jungkook?"

He went back to his game and you slammed the door. 

"What the fuck was that?" Jimin came out of his room in his boxers.

Jungkook stood to get a drink. 

"Your loud fucking girlfriend leaving." He pushed him out of the way and Jimin laughed. 

"You're jealous? Fuck you're dumber than I thought."

Steering him up the hallway he pointed to the girl passed out in his room.  Flinging Jungkook's bedroom door open he pointed out the messed up sheets.

"Did you sleep here last night?"

Puzzled, he fell silent.

"She was in here waiting for you..all night. Maybe if you weren't so balls deep in overwatch you'd get laid once in a while."

The knock was so light you almost missed it. Track pants, t-shirt, messy bun and bare feet you padded across the room to answer it.  

Looking through the peephole Jungkook stood on the other side. 

You opened the door without a word or smile. "Can I come in?"

You opened it wide and walked away. 

Plopping down on your bean bag chair you picked up your game controller and proceeded to ignore him. 

"Can I play?" 

You shrugged and threw the other controller at him. 

He sat on the floor next to you and set himself up. "Can we talk about last night?" 

"Sure what part? The part where you brushed our plans off or the part where you accused me of fucking Jimin?" 

Taking aim you fired…

"Y/N, What the fuck? We're on the same team."

He grunted in frustration, "The part where you slept in my bed." 

You turned and shot him again.

"Sorry, I just needed a place to crash."

You moved on with your mission.

Recouping he found you in his cross hairs and pulled the trigger.

"Can we just stop playing games?" 

You threw your controller down.

"Fine what the fuck do you want me to say? That I like you? That it fucking hurts to know you prefer to interact with me through a god damn screen?" 

He reached over and shut off the console.

"Move over."

"Jungkook, there is hardly room for two."

He pressed his body onto yours laying you back on the pliant chair. Staring into your eyes before pressing his lips to yours he smiled, "I like you too." 

"This is never going to work you know, we're both way too stubborn." He cut you off with another kiss. 

"I don't know, I think we make a pretty good team, at least when you're not shooting me."

You wrapped your legs around him tightly feeling him hard against you.

"Video games are kind of our thing, what else are we going to do for fun?" 

"Hang on tight." He stood with you still wrapped around him.

"We're going to try a new thing. Where's your bedroom?

[murdereddaydreams]

Jasahi First Time

Warnings: SMUT, body worship kind of, mutual masturbation I think?, creampie, unprotected sex

A/N: honestly my titles are so self explanatory it's laughable. I wanted to write some self indulgent Jasahi smut so I did. It's written in third person I think? I really don't even know but enjoy if you're into this! Definitely my longest piece ever, not gonna lie. Smut starts after the song!

Word Count: 2,872

Time flies when you're not paying attention to it and living in the moment. Though that didn't mean that time was completely forgotten. That was actually Asahi's current issue while he was preparing for the night with help from his closest friends. It wasn't with deciding an outfit, it was something far more important for the night.

"Why are you so nervous, man? You said it yourself, she's been dropping hints! Clearly she wants this too!" Of course Nishinoya would be all for this, Tanaka chiming in right after him in approval. This notion even received mutters of agreement from Sugawara and Daichi. This all caused Asahi to stop his pacing and look at all of them.

"But… it's going to be our first time with each other or anyone else for that matter… What if something goes wrong? What if I hurt her?" He knew he was strong, he also knew he was overall bigger than his girlfriend, so it was only fair that he would worry about hurting her. He also didn't want to ruin the moment by doing something stupid accidently. He just had to be an overthinker, didn't he?

"Asahi, she knows this. You said it yourself. It'll be fine, you both have the same level of experience. She wants this as her gift for her birthday, she'll enjoy it no matter what." Somehow, Daichi's words soothed his nerves for a second. It was a vicious cycle for the next few hours until it was time for them to all leave so he could go pick up his girlfriend of three years. High school sweethearts, that's how he would describe them. Granted, she was still in school and ending her third year in a few months. There was a two year age difference between the two, something that never bothered either of them though the two had respected it in the sense they never went overboard with their physical affection towards each other. But tonight, they were going to be celebrating her eighteenth birthday together and she had been dropping rather obvious hints that she wanted them to finally take their relationship to that next level. He finally had accepted the idea as he pulled up in front of her apartment. Putting the car in park, he got out and did a once over on his outfit before walking to her door. He wore a pair of black dress pants, a white button up tucked inside with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and the top three buttons left undone. The outfit was paired with black dress shoes and a black belt, his right wrist adorned with a watch and crystal bracelet that was a previous gift from his beloved. Hair was tied up in a neat yet loose low bun, the front pieces tucked behind his ears in a way that they framed his face and facial hair neatly trimmed. This was an important night, he had their dinner all planned out and even the end of the night if he didn't let his anxiety get the best of him.

"Don't you look handsome." Asahi was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the words, eyes naturally scanning over the body of the voice's owner. His cheeks flushed as he took in how her dress hugged her curves. The satin red material came to about mid thigh, the top in a sweetheart neckline held up by spaghetti straps, the fabric clinging to her body and accentuating everything in all the right places. Black heels, a black clutch, and a gold set of hoops with a gold neck finished it off. Her curly, jet black hair clipped up on the left and pushed over to the right. "Is this good for where you have planned?"

"Y-yeah! Sorry, I think I was staring. You look beautiful, like always Jasmine." His hand landed on her hip and dipping down to place a kiss to her lips, having to lean down less than usual due to her heels lessening their height difference. "Happy birthday honey."

"Thank you Asahi, we should go, I would hate for us to be late." Though it was obvious that the two would much rather go inside and spend time alone together, that is with taking into consideration how the pair looked at each other and the feeling of a different intention behind each touch and kiss. Things didn't change throughout dinner, the two casually saying little things that could be brushed off as normal to try and rile up the other. Whatever anxiety there was for that night melted away from the two now that they were together. They knew this was something they both wanted and they knew they had to take advantage while they still could. In a few months they would be separated. Each moment together was precious and this was no exception. Before they even knew it, dinner had been finished and the two were back at her apartment. Somewhere they knew they would be alone and uninterrupted.

"I love you." The words were said in perfect unison when they passed the threshold into the privacy of the apartment, the door getting locked behind them. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close for a much needed kiss. One that he happily returned, arms wrapping around her waist before deciding he should just take her to the bedroom. Feeling his hands on the back of her thighs prompted her to jump up, legs wrapping around his waist as he walked to the bedroom. Once there, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, having her body placed on his lap as the kiss was never broken and instead deepened. A soft moan escaped her lips, hips pressing down onto his to get some sort of friction. Her dress had hiked up to around her hips, giving her easier access to grind down on the bulge growing in his pants.

"Fuck…" Asahi was the first to break the kiss, letting out a rare curse from his lips. This was more than enough motivation for her, adjusting so that the two could get the most enjoyment. For a pair that had been nervous about this event all day, they sure seemed to be falling into place with ease. It could have been because they were so comfortable and in love with each other. It could have also been because while one was more outspoken about it, it was something they both have been wanting for some time now. Neither had pushed the other though, communication was something the two strived for and this was no exception. Tonight was the night it was agreed on and there was no stopping them now.

"I love you so much." Her voice broke through the soft pants of the pair as they were focused on the small amount of relief they were giving themselves. Foreheads linked together, eyes closed, enjoying the beginnings of pleasure between them. Those words warmed Asahi’s heart, hands going to her hips and giving a soft squeeze. Her hands moved to cup his face, gently moving his face so they could look at each other. "I love you Asahi, never doubt that. I'm happy we can do this." She leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to his nose. Right now, they both completely stopped their attempts to relieve themselves as they just looked at each other.

"I love you too. I knew I wanted you in my life when we first met. I'm glad you trust me with this." Words were forgotten after that, the two once again connecting their lips as they pulled their bodies closer together. Her hands slowly trailed down to the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one as her fingers caressed the freshly exposed skin until she was able to slip the shirt off his shoulders. The fabric fell to his elbows, hands leaving her hips to toss it to the floor. His hands found their place on her hips soon after, his right hand traveling up her body to the zipper on the back of her dress. Silently, he asked for permission which received a response in the form of her grinding down on his growing bulge. That was all he needed as an answer, slowly pulling the zipper down to where it naturally fell off her body. Reluctantly, she removed herself from him, standing in front of him and having the garment fall around her feet. Now in her bra and panties, she nervously bit her bottom lip. Both of them had a flush on their cheeks. His eyes were taking in every aspect of her body, how the lingerie accentuated her hips and her full breasts. He couldn't believe that she was with him, he truly did feel lucky.

"Asahi…" Her voice was soft, a nervous energy to it that made his eyes fall on hers. He stood up, towering over her as he cupped her face in his large hand and tilted her up to look at him.

"I'm sorry honey, you're just so beautiful. I promise I'll do my best to please you." Giving her a small peck, he easily lifted her and placed her on the bed, his own body hovering over her. The way his body was able to easily engulf hers always did something to her but now it took on a different meaning other than just cuddling. Her hand ran down his torso, fingertips barely brushing against the skin before she landed on his belt. As much as she loved all of this, the anticipation of getting to do the deed, she was also getting impatient. She wanted to feel herself full of him, the two crying out together as they became one. It didn't take him long to understand what she wanted, always having been able to read her easily since they embarked on a relationship. It actually made a low chuckle escape his lips as he helped her with his pants. While he slipped out of them and tossed them aside, she had done the same with her bra. He took his place back over her body, her hands coming to rest on either side of his neck. They got lost in the moment just looking at each other until she pulled him down for a kiss. While their lips moved in perfect sync, his hand ran down the side of her body until his finger hooked around the waistband of her panties. A small moan escaped her lips into the kiss, encouraging Asahi to venture to her clothed core. His fingers slid along her slit, taking in how the damp fabric felt.

"Sweetie… please…" Her words came out in a soft moan, hips moving to connect with his touch more than they already were. Now, he never hesitated to do what she asked of him and this was no different. He knew what she wanted, removing her panties and moving his hand to gently caress her inner thigh. The whine that came out of her lips led to him moving his fingers to her core. A groan left his lips, feeling just how wet she was and knowing it was all for him. Tentatively, he ran his fingers up and down her slit, testing the waters and seeing just how she would react. The feeling of his calloused fingers against her wet folds caused her to close her eyes as soft moans escaped her lips. "Asahi…"

"God… you're perfect…" The way she was so responsive to his touch was doing wonders for his confidence. Carefully, he dipped one finger past her entrance, gently thrusting the thick digit in and out. He was so transfixed on her, he didn't even realize he had freed his hard cock from his boxer briefs and had begun to stroke himself. His soft groans led to her opening her eyes, dark orbs falling on his thick length. Her hand slowly came down to replace his hand, taking over his motions. The way her much smaller and softer hand felt against him made his breath hitch and he found himself adding a second finger. His thumb reached up and gave firm pressure to her clit, small circles accompanying it. Eyes shutting again, back arching off the bed, her hand began to pick up it's pace.

"Baby please, I need you inside me already." Her whine caused him to smirk softly to himself, knowing he too needed to be inside her. Gently removing his fingers from her core, he watched her flutter around nothing before removing her hand from his cock so he could line himself up with her dripping entrance.

"Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable." This was a shared experience, one of many to come, and he wasn't going to make her regret picking him. Dragging his tip along her slit, he did his best to collect her slick before beginning to slowly press into her. Neither seemed to think twice that he still had a piece of clothing on, both far too focused on what they really wanted. Both too focused on how he was nestled between her legs, how her thighs rested on top of his own as he sat back with his legs tucked under him. He wanted to be able to watch all of her while he made love to her. That was exactly what he did, watched as he slowly and carefully pushed inch by inch of his length into her core until he was fully bottomed out in her. His hands rested on her hips, waiting for her to adjust to his size as well as adjusting to her tight warmth engulfing him. She felt completely full with him buried in her, loving the feeling of finally being like this with him. She gave a little wiggle with her hips, wanting to let him know he could continue and instead caused herself to moan for him. Slowly, he pulled out until just the tip was in before he would dive back in. Easily, he had found a pace that they both seemed to enjoy. His hips pulling back only to dive back in, her hips bucking up to meet his thrusts in perfect harmony. The way he kissed her cervix was heaven, her moans and whimpers nothing but praise for the man on top of her. The way she called out to him began to take its toll, his fingers on her hips digging in just a bit more than they were and his pace growing a little faster.

"O-oh! Like that!" Her hands reached out for him desperately, taking hold of his forearms and gripping onto them. She could feel herself starting to reach her limit and she was sure he could tell. With ease, he lifted her up, left arm wrapping around her waist and gripping her left hip as his right arm wrapped around her mid back and her right shoulder. He held her close, their chests pressed together as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Hands scratching as his back as she cried out in pleasure over and over again. His thrusts were full of power, that strength he always tried to restrain when it came to her was now on full display. Asahi buried his face in the crook of her neck, chasing his own high as well as hers. If anyone had walked in, they would have thought she was bouncing on his cock but that was the mere force of his thrusts. Head tossed back, eyes shut tight, she screamed out his name as he successfully pushed her over the edge to her orgasm. He followed soon after, calling out her name as he spilled all his seed inside of her. The way her walls clenched made him swear she was personally trying to milk him for all he's worth and he didn't mind one bit. With him still buried deep inside of her, they attempted to catch their breaths before daring to move. Cautiously, she pulled away from him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him lovingly. He quickly returned the kiss, pulling away only to smile at her. "I love you."

"I love you too. I wasn't too rough, was I?" This caused her to giggle and shake her head, slowly moving from his lap so she could lay back on the bed.

"Not at all, I loved it. You should take your underwear off, I'm pretty sure we won't need them in the morning." Her boldness caused his face to flush though he grinned eagerly and did as told. Once he was beside her, she reached over to her nightstand and grabbed a baby wipe. Cleaning herself off followed by him, she tossed it in the garbage before snuggling into his chest where he naturally wrapped his arms around her after pulling the blanket over them. "Best birthday ever. I can't wait for us to do that more often."

"I'm always willing when you are. Now let's get some rest, yeah?" He kissed the top of her head, smiling as she snuggled closer to him.

"Okay okay. I love you Asahi, good night."

"I love you too Jasmine."

[ari-shipping-stuff]

Nuts and Volts Week

Day One

Modern AU

———

never thought this would be my first post lmao

just note, if any of the characters in these oneshots are ooc, please don't hurt me bc it's definitely my first time writing them

Please enjoy my self-indulgent fic—

———

Arthur Watts never liked his office.

It was just… so basic. Too open. Maybe a little bright. And he had much preferred the basement. The dark, cool basement with no plastic plants, no ugly blue wallpapers.. No windows for peeping. His office, meanwhile, had all that. It wasn't even soundproof. But nonetheless, what Arthur did like was his job.

From the whirring of the gears, the clinking of steel, even when it would sometimes combust in his face. It didn't change the fact that he'd devoted his entire life into creating these machines.

Now they're going to be taken from him.

He forced his bag shut.

Ripped apart.

He gritted his teeth.

Handed over to that amateur Polendina in Atlas. His creations. Given away in mere parts. All because he testified. Now it was more than his machines he was going to lose.

Carelessly, he tossed his bag onto the glass table, hoping it would break.

He began pacing.

His shoes clacked against the perfectly polished white tiles. Cleaned this morning for the next person to work in this godforsaken office.

He stepped over several boxes, feeling too drained to even push them aside. It was as if his chest was hollow; empty. His heart gripped in the lonely hands of nothingness.

Arthur was usually a fast-paced man. Quick and efficient. Never too tired to miss any deadlines. He'd been first to finish his project out of all four competitors, giving him an extra month in the office to fiddle around and make random machines for fun. He was just so certain he'd be chosen.

But fate decided to be stupid and cruel. All his poor machines were going to take the fall now.

If there was one sentimental bone in this man's body, it would be there for the sole purpose of his work. He hated to admit he didn't want to part with these boxes or this room.

His earpiece buzzed.

"Would you quit pushing? I'd prefer you gone sooner rather than later, Arthur."

"Only my friends call me that, Cinder."

"And you have none. What's your point?"

Cinder Fall may have been an insufferable know-it-all and should have been fired instead of him, and a million different retorts could be days here. But Arthur didn't have the energy.

When she spoke again, the smirk was evident in her voice.

"I'll be sending a colleague to quicken the process. Toodles."

Arthur's jaw clenched. If only he could march into her office and give her a piece of his mind. Or a smack. Or a bullet to the mouth. Anything to shut her up, really.

There was static. Then the sound cut. It was just him and the boxes again.. And her camera in the back of the room.

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He opened a drawer in the corner and pulled out some masking tape. Call it childish, but knowing that Cinder was watching him was.. Unnerving information.

Reaching towards the camera, he tore out a good amount of tape and covered the camera. His earpiece buzzed again.

"Arthur Watts—"

"Don't worry, Cinder, dear," Arthur smirked, falling back down to his regular height. "I'll try not to steal anything."

With that, he pulled the earpiece out and left it on the table. He turned back to the boxes.

There was a man in the doorway.

Arthur jumped back, eyebrows raised.

The man was tall, leaning leisurely against the doorframe. Stemming from his head was a long, dark braid. He fiddled with it in one hand. His smile was small, but tight and pulled back. Like he was suppressing laughter.

Arthur raised a brow, straightening himself.

"Callows," he said uncertainly. Like trying out a new word. "Right, why are you smiling?"

The grin broke across his colleague's face. He pushed himself off the doorframe, shrugging.

"Oh, nothing." he replied.

"And just how long were you standing there..?"

"Oh, not long. But.." he shook his head. "Just long enough to witness your little work of child's play there."

"I—"

"Personally, I would've broken it."

Arthur blinked at him.

Tyrian Callows was a mystery. All everyone knew about him was scarce common knowledge. Arachnologist. Entomologist. Herpetologist. Probably a serial killer in his free time. Possibly lived in his office. He might've been as work-obsessed as Arthur.

Despite this, they weren't friends. This was the first time they've spoken. Arthur found the timing of it all hilariously ironic. But now that they have finally met, he only had one thing to say—

Tyrian was an oddball. He pranced around the room, practically a child playing hopscotch. What, with his wild grin and the little 'ooh's and 'ahh's he made as he glanced into each box.

Arthur closed the door, clearing his throat.

"Cinder sent you, yes?"

"Mhm!"

Arthur blinked at the pure oddity of a man as he made himself comfortable on the glass table. Cross-legged, even.

And he remained seated.

Staring forward. Smiling calmly.

Blinking.

As you do.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"Yees, ol buddy, old pal?"

Arthur blinked.

"And you're just going to sit there."

"Apparently."

"What?"

Tyrian seemed to find this funny. He laughed. Loudly, but genuinely. Not entirely hysterical, but amused. Arthur didn't like that.

Cinder was amused when she taunted him. Ironwood was amused when Pietro Polendina stole what was his. Salem was amused as she fired him for speaking the simple truth.

Amused was mocking. Taunting. Condescending.

Tyrian doubled over, clutching his stomach. He seemed to laugh harder as Arthur glared at him, clenching his fists until there was blood between his fingernails. But he held up a hand, as if to say 'wait, don't murder me yet.'

So despite how good it would feel to punch his apparent psychopath, he decided to wait.

After a few whole minutes of laughter, it finally managed to cease. Tyrian let out a contented sigh, as if stuffed from a hearty meal.

Arthur crossed his arms and tapped his good impatiently.

"Well?" he raised an eyebrow.

Tyrian perked up, confused for a second.

"Wh-what? Oh. Right. That." he chuckled.

He uncrossed his legs, propping his elbows on his knees. He even steepled his fingers, for God's sake.

"You see, Dr. Watts, I get it."

Arthur waited.

".. You.. Get it."

"See, now you're getting it!" Tyrian clapped his hands together joyfully.

Arthur furrowed his brows at his colleague. Was this a joke? If he stared at Tyrian like this long enough, would he laugh it off, apologize, and finally explain properly? Maybe even turn sane as a bonus?

But when he started to smile and stare again, Arthur found his answer.

He didn't like it.

"I have had enough of you, Callows!" he snarled, jabbing a finger at Tyrian's chest. "Just give me a straight, coherent answer! If not, you're free to leave. It's clear you've no intention to help anyways."

Tyrian slumped, a blank expression on his face.

"So.. You don't want to cherish the time you have left with your machines?"

Arthur's posture faltered. He lowered his finger slightly.

"Wh-what?"

Tyrian shrugged, fiddling with his fingers.

"Well, I'd assumed you loved your job as much as I love mine," he paused, tapping his index fingers together. "So I also assumed you wouldn't want to part with your little machines for as long as possible."

Arthur put down his finger.

"I mean, I wouldn't want to part with Larry." Tyrian continued.

"Larry."

"My oldest scorpion. Lost his tail four weeks ago. He'll be gone in seven months without it now."

"Oh.."

"Yeah."

".. I'm sorry about that."

"Thanks. No need."

Now it was Arthur's turn to stare.

Tyrian shrugged twice. After a pause, he spoke up again.

"Fall, Rainart, even young Emerald and Mercury all have ulterior motives to accomplish once they joined this laboratory. But.. You and I, we genuinely enjoy what we do here. You love making your little machines, and I love my little venomous animals down in the basement."

Arthur hated to admit it. He really did. But somehow, this hysterical man-child really did get it.

He finally relaxed, deciding to speak up this time.

".. Venomous animals, you say?"

"Mhm!"

"Interesting. I don't suppose you could tell me all about it while we slowly.. move out the boxes?"

"Really?"

"Yes, of course. But please, do take your time."

Tyrian hopped off the table, saluting joyfully.

Arthur picked up the box closest to his feet, a smile playing on his lips. He turned the knob, about to open the door. But then he frowned.

"Wait, you own the basement?"

———

aight, so.. if you liked this, yay! bc this is gonna be the universe i'm writing in for the rest of the week!

thanks for reading my trash—

- ari

[ericsonclan]

You're My Home Part 4

Summary: Now that they live together, Violet decides it's time: she invites Prisha to come with her to meet her mom.

Read on AO3:

Notes: Many thanks to @violetineprompts for the inspiration for this fic!

Violet sat in bed thoughtfully, her fingers playing with the sheets covering her. Prisha lay beside her, still sleeping. Violet wondered how soon it would be until she woke up. There was something important she needed to ask her. The clock beside their bed read 5:47 AM. She still had a little while. Crawling out of bed, Violet headed into the kitchen to make breakfast. As she finished preparing the eggs, bacon and toast, she heard her girlfriend stir and come out of the bedroom.

“Making breakfast, love?” Prisha asked, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Violet smiled shyly at the term of endearment. Prisha was especially affectionate whenever she was sleepy. “Mhm. I made plenty, so grab as much as you want,” She sat down across from her girlfriend, watching happily as Prisha began to eat.

It only took a moment for Prisha to realize Violet wasn’t joining suit. “You made all this and you’re not hungry?”

Violet shook her head, her eyes on the table. “Visiting my mom today,”

Prisha froze in the midst of biting into a piece of toast slathered in marmalade. “Oh. I see,”

“I want you to go with me this time,”

Prisha’s eyes shot up at that, studying Violet. In all the time they’d been together, neither had met each other’s parents. In Violet’s case, there was the added factor of her father’s violent mood swings. Prisha had never pushed the issue of Violet continuing to visit her mother once a month, even though the first time she’d learned of it had been through seeing Violet with a black eye. To be asked this now… Prisha wondered what had brought it on.

Violet seemed to read her thoughts. “I know it’s not something we ever really talked about. But I would like you to meet my mom. I- I want her to know that I’m happy,”

Prisha’s heart swelled at those words. “Violet…” She reached across the table to grab her girlfriend’s hand. “Of course I want to go. I would be honored,”

Violet’s eyes widened before settling into a bright warmth. “Shit. Ok then. We’re actually doing this,” She squeezed Prisha’s hand gently. “You good to go after breakfast?”

Prisha nodded. “I’ll be finished in a few,”

---

It didn’t take long before they were ready to head out. There wasn’t really anything to pack, just the monthly check that Violet set aside for her mother. Once that was written up they headed down to Prisha’s car, driving in relative silence. The only sound was the gentle lilt of Louis’ piano playing on the CD he had given them a few weeks earlier.

As they approached the old trailer park that Violet had once called home, she felt her gut twist inside her. Prisha had never been out here before. Violet had been honest about her past and more open with Prisha than she’d ever been before, but still, would seeing the dilapidated trailer in person somehow change things between them? Shut the fuck up - you’re being stupid, Violet scolded herself. Prisha’s not like that. It wasn’t like any of her other friends had abandoned her because of her shitty home life. Still, it was a feeling Violet simply couldn’t shake.

Pulling up to the correct trailer, Prisha parked the car and silently exited. As Violet approached, she reached out her hand to intertwine their fingers. They walked up the few steps to the broken screen door hand in hand. Violet rang the doorbell. They waited in tense silence until the main door was opened up a crack. As soon as there was recognition, the door opened wider. Violet’s mother stood before them, looking at the two girls through her screen door. The light inside the house was dim compared to outside so Prisha could only pick up vague details: long, thin blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail. A thin, wiry frame similar to Violet’s. And dark eyes that looked out with a sort of jaded indifference.

“You gonna let us in, Mom?” Violet finally asked, breaking the silence.

Her mother pushed the screen door open without a word, allowing the girls to slip inside. They were immediately within the living room. A small TV stood against the far wall with a worn-down sofa and armchair facing it. The kitchen was to their right, the sink cluttered with dirty dishes and the smell of burnt food lingering within the air. Violet quickly guided Prisha over to the table where they sat beside each other, looking up at Violet’s mother.

“Tea?” she asked softly. There was a wispiness to her tone that reminded Prisha of Violet’s voice. They both nodded and Violet’s mother headed into the kitchen to get the water heater started. It gave off a high-pitched, faint whistle even as the water within was far from reaching boiling point. Violet’s mother sat down across the table, still observing the girls silently. There was something world-weary within her deep brown eyes. It was clear life had not been kind to her and was far from done with her either.

Violet slid over the check, tucked within a plain white envelope. Her mother pocketed it without a second thought, rising quickly afterwards to get out mugs for tea. When she came back, she carried three mugs steaming with chamomile tea: a pale purple one with a rainbow sloppily painted upon it – clearly a school art project of Violet’s from days gone by; a cracked white mug with a red logo that read Reggie’s Eats upon it and a black mug with no sort of decoration whatsoever. She handed the purple mug to Violet, the black to Prisha, and took a sip from the white mug herself. “You’ve never brought someone over before. Even growing up you wouldn’t,”

Not much to see here and plenty to avoid, Violet thought to herself, but she knew this wouldn’t be an appropriate answer. Not knowing what else to say, she kept things simple. “Mom, this is Prisha,”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” Prisha said, lowering her mug.

Violet’s mother nodded faintly. “You’re a friend of Violet’s?”

Violet and Prisha shared a look. Violet could feel her throat closing up from the pressure within. It was now or never though. Giving Prisha’s hand a final squeeze, Violet looked up at her mother. “Prisha’s my girlfriend,”

Violet’s mother stopped mid sip. Placing her mug down on the table, she looked off into the middle distance, seeming lost in her own thoughts. It took several seconds before she spoke. “I should’ve figured as much. What with you never dating, never even talking about boys,” She sighed, taking another sip of her tea.

“Violet’s a truly wonderful girl,” Prisha blurted out, her grip on Violet’s hand tightening. “I’m lucky to have met her,”

Violet’s mother gazed at Prisha, her gaze slightly narrowed, as if she wondered what Prisha’s angle could be in saying such a thing. “How did you two meet?”

“At work,” Violet replied. “Prisha works as the bartender at Ericson’s Diner,”

A slight puff of air left her mother’s lips, almost as though she found Prisha’s particular occupation at the diner ironic. She ran her fingers across the top of her mug absent-mindedly. “You know, I always thought you and Louis might end up together someday. Lord knows the two of you spent enough time together. But you said he's dating one of the waitresses, didn’t you? That pretty one in the pictures you’ve shown me,”

“Mom,” Violet’s jaw tightened, her gaze firm. “Prisha and I have been dating for over a year and a half now. We live together,”

Her mother seemed surprised at those words. She looked back and forth between the girls in shock, her eyes growing as large as Violet’s did in moments of surprise.

Violet continued on. “I love Prisha, Mom. That’s why I wanted to bring her here, for better or for worse. I wanted to show you that I’m happy,”

Prisha’s eyes sparkled at Violet’s words, her thumb gently rubbing her girlfriend’s hand as she smiled over at her with pride.

“You have to go,”

The words made Violet’s stomach sink. So her mother wasn’t going to accept her after all. “Mom, I-”

“No, you need to leave,” Violet’s mother wasn’t looking at her. She was looking out the window. That’s when Violet heard it: the rumble of her father’s truck.

Violet sprung to her feet at once, eyes flying round the room in search of an exit. She knew full well it was wishful thinking: the only exit the trailer had was the front door and her father would head up those steps any second now. Seeing her and Prisha trying to sneak out the front would only heighten his suspicions and lead to a confrontation. Should they hide then? But if he was home, he’d likely be here for hours, sprawled out in front of the TV. Would they seriously have to wait until he passed out to safely slip away? Pulling Prisha towards her old bedroom, Violet froze as she heard the screen door creak open. They were out of time. Instinctively she pulled her hand out of Prisha’s grasp.

“I’m home!” her father declared loudly, clearly already inebriated. His eyes took in the room lazily, widening in surprising when they fell upon his daughter and a stranger. “Violet,” he spoke bluntly, his eyes narrowing. “Haven’t seen you here in a long while. Who’s the beaner?”

Violet’s lip curled in disgust at her old man’s presence. “Prisha. We were just leaving,” She stepped forward but her father still blocked the exit.

“Leaving? But I just got here. Sit down!” he yelled suddenly before his expression changed to a lazy smile. “Please,”

Violet wasn’t sure what else to do. Shaking slightly, she returned to the seat she had recently vacated, Prisha beside her. This was bad. Maybe if they had to, they could make a run for it seeing as they were in the chairs closest to the door. But could they start up Prisha’s car before her father reached them? Violet wasn’t sure about that.

Her father sat down in the chair beside her mother. His hand lay open on the table as though expecting something. “Beer,”

Violet’s mother bit her lower lip. “I don’t think we have any-”

“I said BEER!” he roared, causing Violet’s mother to scurry and find some that she’d clearly hidden away in one of the cupboards. Popping it open, she handed it to her husband before sitting back down, her eyes on the table.

Violet’s father took a long swig before turning back to his daughter. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked, waving his arms in mock grandeur.

“I just came to see Mom,” Violet replied, her eyes hard but turned away from him.

Her father snorted. “No love for your old man? I see how it is. I only fed and raised you, but do I see a penny or a word of thanks for any of it? Never,”

Prisha was fuming. Her hand rested upon Violet’s seat, balled up into a fist.

Though she remained silent, Violet’s father seemed to pick up on her body language, sending a sneer her way. “Got something to say, girlie?”

Prisha shook her head. “Nothing at all,”

“Prisha is Violet’s roommate,” Violet’s mother jumped in, sharing a quick look with Violet. “We were just getting acquainted,”

Violet’s father snorted. “Figures,” He turned toward his daughter with a frown. “Don’t you ever make friends with any white folks? I thought after hanging around Mason’s boy for so many years he might finally introduce you to some well-off white boys, someone you could shack up with. About time some of that wealth rubbed off and came our way. Don’t you work with that boy now?”

Violet simply nodded, remaining silent. The less her father knew about her life the better.

Finishing his beer off with one final swig, Violet’s father lazily dropped the empty bottle to the floor before motioning for another.

“I- we… that’s it,” Violet’s mother’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“Bullshit. You’ve always got more hidden away. I know how you are,”

“I’ve been busy with those double shifts these last few days. I figured I’d have time to run out and buy some more before you got home, but you’re earlier than expected and-”

“So what, this is my fault?” Violet’s father’s voice rose in anger as he glared over at his wife. “A man should be able to expect a cold beer in his hand whenever he comes home. Is that so much to ask?”

“No,” The answer was faint.

“I said is that so much to ask!” Violet’s father rose from his chair, towering over his wife threateningly.

Instantly Violet was on her feet as well, her purple mug grasped firmly in her hand. The impromptu weapon shook slightly in her hand as she glared up at her father who chuckled darkly at the sight of his daughter.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Back away from Mom,”

“Or what?”

“Violet, I-” her mother began only to be met with a hard slap across the face.

“No interruptions!” Violet’s father bellowed, raising his hand to strike again.

“You piece of shit!” Violet screamed, tossing the mug at her father’s head. It broke against his temple and crashed to the ground, causing him to turn toward her with eyes full of rage.

“What did you say?” Her father circled the table, heading toward Violet when suddenly a whistled sound cut through the air and he staggered back in surprise, a hand held to his cheek.

Prisha stood in front of Violet, breathing heavily, arms spread. In one hand was a long, thin silver rod. It looked like one of those retractable pointers teachers used in a classroom. Prisha’s tone was grim as she extended her hand, pointing the rod threateningly. “Don’t you dare lay a fucking hand on her,”

Violet’s father narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He strode toward the table again only to be slashed by two quick hits, one across his legs and the other cutting the side of his face.

“My name is Prisha Chakyar and as I live, I will not let you take one step closer to either your daughter or your wife,”

“Raising a weapon against me in my own home? No one does that! No one dares-” His words and rampage were cut short once more as Prisha continuously delivered a volley of attacks across his form, her aim precise and merciless. Reaching out to block the weapon with an angry roar, he received a slash upon his knuckles that left them bloody. Violet’s father attempted to charge forward through the pain only to be met with a slice directly across his face and a kick to the groin that left him staggering against the back of the armchair and falling to the ground.

Prisha flicked the steel pointed free of blood, keeping a steady eye upon the hated man. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her car keys and threw them to Violet. “Vi, start the car. Take your mother with you. I’ll be out shortly,”

Violet nodded, circling the table and grabbing her mother’s arm.

“Violet, I-”

“For once in your life, will you just fucking listen to me, Mom? We’re leaving!” Violet’s grip was firm as she guided her mother past her father’s glowering gaze and outside the trailer to the safety of the car. As the screen door slammed behind them, she could hear her father speaking once more.

“You think I’ll let something like this stand? I’ll sue you, take you for all your worth,”

“I highly doubt that, Mr. Miller. Considering your current financial status you’re unlikely to be able to afford a lawyer to begin with and there are years of evidence to prove your claims to the contrary. I’ll be leaving now and if I ever see you coming anywhere near Violet, I’ll do far worse than what you witnessed here today,”

As Prisha exited the trailer, Violet hurried to get her mother into the back of the car and circle round to the passenger side. Tossing the keys to Prisha as she sat down, Violet noticed her girlfriend’s hands were shaking. The rod lay at Violet’s feet now, still tinged with her father’s blood. As they sped out of the trailer park and back onto the freeway, Violet reached out for Prisha’s shoulder. Prisha flinched initially at the touch, but relaxed into it as she glanced over at Violet, a small smile on her face.

---

They dropped Violet’s mother off at the restaurant where she worked. Giving her mom all the cash she had on hand, Violet told her to find a motel for the night then left with Prisha. The drive back to their apartment was silent, tense once more, but a different sort of tension than they’d experienced on the way there, the silence of processing what had happened rather than what was to come. It wasn’t until they were inside the apartment, the door locked firmly behind them, that Violet turned to speak to Prisha. “Prish…”

Her girlfriend stood before her, the metal rod still held within her hand. Her eyes were full of emotions, such a depth and flurry of them Violet couldn’t tell which were which.

Violet wrapped a hand around her arm, looking at the floor in shame. “I’m sorry,”

“Vi…” Prisha dropped the rod upon the floor, rushing forward to wrap her in a crushing hug. The pair stayed frozen within that moment, clinging to each other, breathless, until Prisha pulled away, a hand coming up to cup Violet’s face. “Thank God he didn’t reach you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stop him in time,”

Violet’s lower lip trembled, tears beginning to run down her face. “It was awful. I never wanted you to see that. I swear I had no fucking clue he’d be back. My mom said he had work today, and-” she choked, her words getting caught in the buildup of tears and snot within her.

Prisha brought Violet’s head to her chest, rocking her back and forth gently. “We got out safely and we grabbed your mother too. That’s all that matters,”

“My mom,” Violet pulled away, looking up at Prisha with wet eyes. “I thought she’d take it better. I mean, I hoped. Shit, I figured she already fucking knew. I should never have taken you there. It was a mistake,”

“It was a calculated risk,” Prisha replied, gently guiding her girlfriend towards the couch. “Sit down. I’ll make us some chamomile tea,” She paused, glancing back at Violet. “On second thought, hot cocoa,”

Violet sat upon the couch in a daze, watching Prisha bustle back and forth within their kitchen. How was she still standing? After what they’d been through, Violet felt as though her legs couldn’t support her weight a second longer even if she tried.

Prisha came back in a few minutes with the two mugs of cocoa, setting them down upon the end table before reaching out for Violet once more, brushing a strand of hair out of her face then pulling her close. As Violet’s head rested upon Prisha’s chest, she could hear how fast her girlfriend’s heart was beating. The encounter had shaken her too. Prisha was just showing it differently. Prisha sighed, running a hand through Violet’s hair repeatedly as though making sure she was still there. “Well, it’s safe to say that we won’t be taking on the challenge of visiting my family anytime soon either,”

“They can’t be worse than mine,” Violet muttered. “Racists, homophobes… abusers,”

“Nevertheless, I believe we’ve earned ourselves a break,” Prisha rested her cheek upon Violet’s head, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’m so thankful that wand didn’t break,”

“What the hell was that anyway? It looked like something you’d use during a Powerpoint presentation,”

Prisha chuckled. “I actually have used it for that purpose over the years. My father bought it for me, for self-defense purposes. I’ve had it since high school. Never had to use it till today though,”

“Do you always carry that with you?” Violet asked, looking up at her girlfriend in disbelief.

“Not often these days. I have the bat stored under the bar if things ever got out of hand at the diner. But I didn’t want to bring something like that to my first meeting with your mother – I figured that would send the wrong impression. So I snatched up the wand instead and tucked it in my pocket, a sort of last resort,”

“One we had to use,”

“One that kept us safe,” Prisha stroked Violet’s hair one last time before pulling away slightly and looking her in the eyes. “Violet, you never have to say you’re sorry to me when it comes to your family. Where you were born isn’t your fault and what happened back there isn’t on you,”

Violet buried her head against Prisha’s shoulder. “Still, you didn’t deserve to go through that,”

“Neither did you,” Prisha placed a hand upon Violet’s shoulder. “I think you know already how precious you are to me, Violet. I hope that one day you see yourself as I do too without all the years you spent in that hellhole dragging you down. You survived, Violet. You’re the strongest person I know. Stronger than a person should ever have to be. But you don’t have to feel like you have to keep that strong face on even around me. Because that altercation terrified me,” Prisha’s voice became shaky, tears beginning to escape her eyes. “And since I’m crying before you, you can cry before me for as long as you need,”

Violet reached up, brushing a tear away from her girlfriend’s cheek before sobs overtook her own throat once more. Leaning against Prisha, she let herself cry. Tears for all the nights she spent in fear of her father’s wrath, the days she’d avoided the house in order to be safe from him. Tears for all the cuts and bruises she’d hidden, the pitying looks she’d turned away from. Tears for every attempt to escape, every action she’d taken to make things right only for everything to crumble apart and to find herself that same scared little kid once more, cowering in a corner alone.

But she wasn’t alone, not anymore. She wasn’t trapped in the trailer or crouching on the mattress in her old shitty apartment. She wasn’t couch surfing in Mitch’s or Marlon’s living room or hiding from the staff at Louis’ mansion. She was home. She had a home here with Prisha, a life they’d built together. She wasn’t going to give that up. Neither of them were. They would fight for what they had and fight to keep each other safe from all the shit life threw their way. As the flow of her tears lessened, Violet found herself focusing on something else: the feeling of Prisha’s arms around her. She was safe here. And knowing what she did now, knowing Prisha as deeply as she’d ever known a person before, Violet was sure that this wasn’t something she could lose. She was home for good.

[advernia]

fic: push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

— war was never the best place to realize that trust was a very long free fall, but they had to start somewhere. (or: five times the jack of hearts receives treatment from alice the second, and all that happens in between.) || ao3 ver.

features: au!kyle’s route where kyle/mc is platonic, a hella slow burn edgar/mc development, more details of the war that you probably didn’t sign up for, and a! named! mc!

1: this is ridiculously long (14+k!?) but if you’re up for it, there’s post-reading notes here! (･∀･○)

There's a nice, narrow slash on his face; diagonally marking what many a mouth has called a remarkable young man's handsome features. 

They're just staring at him for some reason and if he were, well, someone like a certain beauty-marked-pretty-boy-who-happened-to-be-his-superior; he'd be threatening both of them to do their jobs or else. But he's not that someone, he's different and quite eccentrically so, as demonstrated by him simply smiling back at the doctor and assistant's pointing stares and asking the most inappropriate question at the moment.

"Is there something on my face?" Edgar asks, tone cheery.

"Nope," Kyle replies, an eyebrow raised. "It's just... Okay, wow, nice cut you got there. When's the last time you actually came here for treatment? Actual treatment."

"Hm... I can't recall. But I certainly don't visit the infirmary as often as my unit does."

A snort. "Yeah, that'll be the day. Ever wonder why they spend a lot of time here in the first place?"

"To visit the oh-so-talented Seven of Hearts and bask in his medical talent?"

"... Are you going to treat him or not?" Alice the Second pipes in, a frown directed to her boss. "Because if you won't, I will."

Kyle swivels his chair around to gawk her. "... You sure you want to?"

"But why not? It's the reason why Edgar came here in the first place, right?"

"It's hard to tell with someone like him, but yeah, probably. But the main issue here is that."

The doctor points to the not-so-elephant in the room, the Jack of Hearts' once-flawless left cheek.

"If you're going to treat him, it's gonna be an up-close-and-personal thing," Kyle says, ominous voice at odds with the growing grin on his lips. "Can you take it?"

Edgar jumps into the conversation, smile still present. "I'm not one for having people at close distances, but I imagine having you treat me is better than identifying what Kyle might have drunk last night, Alice."

"That's what he said, lucky you! So, are - "

"Oh, hush, you two," she huffs, making her way to a cabinet with brisk steps. She plucks out a bottle and a bag of cotton off a shelf, then makes a beeline for the sink. "I'm treating you, Edgar, because you're in an infirmary and you're injured. And if I have to be up-close-and-personal, it's because the injury is on his cheek, Kyle. That's all there is!"

She's muttering a couple of other things they can't hear as she's filling a basin with water, so Kyle takes this opportunity to slide his chair closer to where Edgar sat, whisper unnecessarily conspiratorial as he says:

"Her ears turned red."

"Yes, very much like your hair."

The two share glances before laughing.

.

.

.

Alice, much to his amusement and also a bit of dismay, does not end up getting 'up-close-and-personal' with him at all - rather than sitting directly in front of each other (because that's what Kyle does to his patients), she chooses to move her chair to his left side, all her attention set on the injury without the feeling of the patient staring at her while she works.

Maybe he should start giving her a little more credit.

"Edgar?" she says as she dabs a damp cotton lightly on his cheek, "How did you get this injury in the first place?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"If you don't mind telling me, then yes."

He chuckles as the cotton slowly traces its way upwards to his cheekbone.

"Well then. How about a little exchange?"

"Exchange? What do you mean?"

"I tell you how I got this cut in the first place... but in return," he angles his head sideways a bit so that he could meet her gaze, "You have to tell me your real name."

Her arm freezes, and the cotton stops touching his face.

.

.

.

And that was the first time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Lady Idike!"

She turns her around to the sound of her name, a frantic yell of help right by the tent's entrance - someone's struggling carrying his comrade on his back, his face strained with grime and sweat. She rises to her feet, eyes searching for any vacant space before rushing over to the new patients, leading them over to an area by the upper left side of the tent.

"Gently, now," she ushers as the soldier kneels down slowly to lower his friend's body on a cot. "What happened?"

A deep breath. "... We encountered the Three of Spades' squad by the streets of the Upper Central Quarter, and... I got careless, didn't see a trap coming right for me. This guy here, he... p-pu-p-ushed me... just in time, a-a-an-and..."

Tears began forming at the edge of weary eyes as he tried to continue, but any more words were drowned out by broken sobs. Idike sets a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approach from her right.

"You did good, getting you and your buddy back here," Kyle says as he walked over to the sobbing soldier with a kind smile on his face. "Got any wounds?"

"... O-on-only b-br-r-bruises an-and sc-scrapes, sir..."

"Got it - we'll be with you in a sec, so sit tight. Idike, what about him?"

She nods and runs over to the cot, fingers immediately heading towards the unconscious patient's left hip and thigh; a visible mix of damp blood, broken flesh, and torn cloth combined. Clearing out a bit of the mess and pressing down gently, two of her fingertips come across light pricks, causing her to pull her hand away. Kyle clicks his tongue at her reaction, moving beside her to check the damage himself.

"Caltrops," he mutters.

"Cal... what?"

"Something like tiny metal spikes. See those things stuck on the soles of his boots? Caltrops. There's some hanging by his pants too, tricky things."

"Are they lethal?"

"Assuming they didn't hit something vital or that they weren't coated in poison, then no. They're annoyingly sharp, though."

Idike sucks in a deep breath, taking in one last glimpse of the gaping wound before turning to face Kyle.

"What do we need?"

.

.

.

"My, my. What do we have here?"

With a raise of his hand, his troop trailing behind him stops moving, hands swiftly finding the hilts of their swords and bodies shifting to a defensive stance. Without the noise of boots crunching on leaves and dirt, the forest surrounding them was tranquil - inviting, even, as the near setting sun tried to dye every lick of green with its reds, yellows, and oranges.

A few seconds pass. He lowers his hand, but none of them relax.

A few more, until -

- a dagger, seemingly materializing out from nowhere, flies straight and true for his cheek.

The Jack of Hearts smiles, drawing his saber from its scabbard in a split second to parry - a sharp clang echoes throughout the forest, and the threat falls defeated on the ground. With a few steps forward and a quick bend of his knees, he takes the weapon into his other hand.

"Do be careful," there's a lilt in his voice as he speaks rather loudly to the wilderness. "Alice treated this same cheek not too long ago - I'd hate to return to her and have her do it all over again."

Winds rustling the leaves of the trees answer, but there's a strange energy that comes with it, something similar to the sensation when magic would come to play: the air tingles with a prickling charge, filling one's lungs with a sense of alertness and unshakable jitter. Without warning, he throws the dagger upwards, towards the high branches of the large oak tree just a few meters ahead.

It doesn't come back nor does it make a sound of hitting a mark, but in its stead someone drops down from the tree, two feet gracefully landing on the ground.

The tension doesn't fade.

"Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," Edgar waves, as if greeting an old friend. "Nice weather we're having, aren't we?"

Seth scoffs, a hand reaching for one of the daggers set on his hip - though there's a notable lack of expression on his face, every bit of his posture screams of a threatening aura waiting to be released on a moment's notice.

"... What did you do to her?" he asks, voice an unnerving low. 

"Nothing that concerns you," Edgar shrugs, and Seth watches as his lips curl into a teasing - teasing! - smile.

"Though I believe a better question is... what did she do to me?"

.

.

.

It's been... four days? Or had it been three? Perhaps she lost count.

All she knew these days was to focus. This was no London confectionery anymore, with all its flours, sugars, fruits and honey.

"Scalpel," a quick command, accompanied by an open hand held out towards her. She nods, picking out the tool carefully from a metal tray and handing it over.

There were no preparation periods, baking hours, timetables, opening and closing times, or rush hours.

"Forceps," the scalpel returns to her with its blade drenched in scarlet. Idike sets it aside and pulls out the next tool, placing it on Kyle's palm.

This was no warm bakery, open kitchen, or pleasant shop.

"Caltrop extracted," Kyle mutters as he glares at the object held upright by the forceps: it's a small thing with four sharp teeth, decorated with blood and pieces of skin. She stares at it, glimmering under the light of the tent's magic crystal lamp.

This was life and death, and she willingly chose to be part of it.

.

.

.

Someone charges at him with a rapier held up high in the air, almost like a guillotine. A shame that it doesn't meet its intended mark though: Edgar parries the strike halfway down, watches as his opponent's eyes grow wide as saucers at the sudden impact, then delivers a smack right to the chest and two well-aimed jabs to make the man crumple to his knees along with his weapon.

From his left, someone not an ally rushes towards him presumably armed with a blade as well, and from his blind side; a set of throwing knives come for him like bullets.

What a pickle.

The knives are faster, but it only takes the swift motion of sinking down onto to his haunches to avoid them completely. The lunging soldier however was now just paces away from impaling his forehead, but he takes advantage of his position to aim for the underside of his enemy's outstretched arm; gloved hand reaching out to grab the forearm with a grip tight enough to cause a loud scream of pain and the release of the sword, followed by barreling upwards - his opponent starts to lose his balance in response to the motion and Edgar uses it, dropping his saber for a moment to fully grab the man's arm and throw him effortlessly over his shoulder.

A pained groan escapes the poor soldier's lips before he lays limp on the ground, unconscious. Edgar leaves him there and picks up his weapon, calm countenance at odds with the persisting sounds of battle ringing loudly in the forest.

He glances at the path forward, obscured by leaves but unable to completely hide the traces of freshly unearthed soil underneath the foliage.

Meanwhile, the sun was sinking down the horizon, beckoning the night to pour itself out on the sky.

"A pity, Ten of Spades. But it was quite fun while it lasted."

Turning on his heel, the Jack of Hearts set out to reconvene with his troop.

.

.

.

"... and since there was sufficient evidence found that the area had been already laid on with various traps, the King postponed the advancement to Black Army territory through the forests."

Kyle hums absentmindedly as he was stitching up a patient's shoulder. "Smart move - glad he didn't decide to order someone to just get rid of the traps using magic."

Zero shakes his head. "Inefficient and costly. We still have a good amount of magic crystals in our inventory, but it's wiser to use them for a better time."

"I know. Still, a better time, huh?" cutting the excess thread with a scissor, Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. "The only 'better time' I can think of is you lot giving me and my assistant a break."

The doctor gestures to the whole of the medical tent, nearly full with lines of cots and miserable men: there were a spare few that were up and about, doing their best to look after the needs of the others; but the rest were either unconscious or groaning where they lay. The Ace of Hearts' lips drew a taut line, the mixing smells of pungent disinfectant and coppery blood dancing strongly about his nostrils.

"... Is Idike okay? Seeing all this."

Kyle snorts. "Of course not - bet she still cries a little bit inside each time someone's carried here, and that's fine by me. But what's important is she hasn't been running away from this: it's been three whole days since we've set up here, and so far she's been giving every single one her all."

"I see... where is she now?"

"Ordered her to take a breather. Should be having dinner or something."

.

.

.

Contrary to what Kyle ordered her to do, no, she wasn't having dinner at the moment.

Not taking a breather, either.

She's dragging someone by the hand to their shared tent instead, mind and body working on adrenaline or reflex at this point: make some light by using a magic crystal and hanging it on a lamp, seat or make the patient comfortable, gather some basic tools and place them on a tray beside where you'd sit, then evaluate the patient's condition as calmly as possible.

And it's only when she's seated herself in front of her patient does she realizes who -

"Oh," she says, the word coming out of her mouth even before she knew it.

.

.

.

Usual Red Army procedure dictates that after their given missions, the Chosen Thirteen (save for the Seven on some occasions) would gather in the commander's tent to report the results of the day's operations. The gathering, facilitated by the Queen, required that all information and notable observations should be accounted for; down even to the most minuscule detail. Once all was said and done, the Jack would narrate a summary of all the reports given and from there, the strategy planning would begin.

The King would finalize the orders once everyone came to an understanding and agreement of the current situation and objectives, then they were promptly dismissed.

Rinse, repeat. Whatever the Thirteen chose to do after the gatherings was completely up to them, unless they had orders.

Edgar didn't have any tasks assigned that night, so he chose to have a brief rest by the river just a short walk from the encampment. But on his way there, he runs into her - Alice the Second with all her loosely plaited honey-colored hair, bags growing under her eyes, and the apron she wore over her dress stained with suspicious splotches.

It gets interesting when she points out that the glove of his right hand had a tear on it, and even before he has a chance to explain himself, she already closed the distance in between them and took his right hand into hers, raising it up for her to check.

But in all honesty, never would've he imagined that she would actually drag him all the way to her tent.

.

.

.

"You know Alice, were I someone else, I would've taken this as an invitation."

"An invitation for what?"

"I wonder. Oh, assume this instead: the lone young woman of an army inviting a man to her quarters in the middle of the night... what do you suppose people would think if they were to witness such a scene?"

Silence - her eyes, the most innocent of blues, blink once, twice, thrice -

- all of a sudden they widen, her cheeks bloom with color, and then -

"A-a-ah-ahhh! I-it-it wasn't intentional! I saw an injury on your hand, and - "

"Yes, yes - I understand. Believe me, I do. But you realize that you could've brought me to the medical tent instead?"

Edgar simply watches as Idike's lips quiver defiantly, but it's short-lived as she expresses her surrender by burying her face into her hands, mumbling incoherent as she shook her head back and forth repeatedly; loose strands of hair dancing about.

He chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Perhaps I took it too far?

.

.

.

The wound on the back of his hand is a single slash, just in need of some disinfectant and a little ointment for good measure. She tends to it like going through the motions of every day she's dealt with ever since she begged Kyle to bring her along to the front lines: fingers deft and gentle, movements precise and prudent, pace not slow but steady.

She finished applying the ointment when he speaks, breaking the silence that hung in between them.

"Alice," Edgar lowers his head in a bow that has her blinking rapidly again as she sets the bottle of ointment down on a tray, "allow me to sincerely apologize for teasing you." 

"No, no! You don't have to bow - I too, have to apologize since I... um, overreacted. You were trying to warn me for being careless, so... thank you, Edgar."

Idike gives him a small smile when he raises his head to look at her again, and as her eyes meets his she's reminded of how difficult it was to decipher what he was thinking about when he stares at her with such a blank expression on his face.

Then again, Edgar was difficult as he was strange; an enigmatic character whose great idea of a peace offering was caramel corn. The memory makes her smile a bit brighter as she looks away to take his ripped glove from another tray, along with a needle and a small white spool.

"That isn't necessary, Alice," he tells her when she starts threading the needle. "Fortunately, I have a spare set of gloves with me."

"Good," she hums, but she began to sew anyway. "... Say, Edgar?"

"Yes?"

"How did you get that injury in the first place?"

.

.

.

It's a rehash of their previous conversation, save for the fact that this time, he asks her the same question for a good reason.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I do, but does that mean you'll ask for my name again?"

A wry smile plays on his lips - they'd go off topic, but he could humor her for now. "Would you tell me if I asked it of you this time?"

She laughs, but no response follows. Oh, how he wished that her attention was set elsewhere rather than her needlework: with a head tilted downwards, he couldn't see the entirety of her face - she was ever so honest with her emotions, and being unable to see whatever expression crossing her features right now was unfortunate.

"... How did you know?" she asks after a short while, sewing coming to a halt. "About my name, I mean."

Gingerly she looks up a bit and he can finally see her eyes, blues tinged with confusion and perhaps some doubt - similar to when she studied him the day he gave her caramel corn, grip on the paper bag a little tight.  

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Do you recall how you introduced yourself to the King and Queen of Spades the night you arrived here?"

"To Ray and Sirius?" she blinks before mulling it over for a few seconds. "... I just told them my name?"

"'You can call me' were the words you added with it. Quite an unusual way for a lady to introduce herself, unless doing so was common in the Land of Reason."

"That was your only clue?" she fully raised her head, now openly gaping at him. "Huh...? But wait, I haven't run into you yet that time, so how did you..."

Edgar brings a finger up and holds it against his grinning lips.

"Your reaction when I first asked you back in the infirmary confirmed it - I have to admit, you're surprisingly more cautious than you appear, to the extent that you're unwilling to give away your real name and make us settle for a fake one instead."

"What the - it's nothing like that!" she exclaims, fingers clutching onto her apron. He falls quiet as he waits for her to continue, watching as her lips drew themselves into a frown and her eyes waver with evident hurt and regret.

But why regret? He's the one suddenly backing her to a corner over something as simple as a name - she had some right to be cross with him and he certainly didn't mind (he'd been wondering if someone like her was even capable of being angry); but the fact still remains that she didn't deny his words. The ongoing silence wasn't helping her case any further, either. 

Three seconds.

Four.

Five.

Then finally her mouth opens, hesitant.

"... If you've noticed that one detail..." she says, voice small, "... Does that mean you've been suspicious of me ever since?"

Edgar's smile grew thin.

Yes, he ought to give her a little more credit.

"Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?"

Idike holds her breath.

.

.

.

"Before I forget, Alice."

With the mood heavy and possibly going nowhere at this point, he decides to take his leave, smoothly rising from his seat.

"The Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," he doesn't miss how her shoulders jump upon hearing the name, "your friend - was the reason for my injury. Ah, but don't you worry - he still lives. I haven't the slightest clue about his unit, however."

She breathes in deeply, he's walking away. Shifting the tent's flap aside, the biting night air greets him, and he looks over his shoulder - she hasn't moved, nor does she turn his way. In the end it seems that he still won't be getting an answer, but perhaps he could try some other time instead.

If she even wants to see him after this, that is.

"Thank you for the treatment, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, Edgar leaves.

Idike sits in silence, staring at the half-mended glove on her lap.

.

.

.

And that was the second time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        The instant the King of Hearts fully steps into the medical tent; the overpowering stench of blood assaults his nose.

It's a different warpath inside the seemingly wide space, its four corners occupied with wounded men and the aftermath of their treatment stored away in sacks set on the corner nearest to the tent's entrance. Fluttering about the meager spaces left in between cots and the area itself were only a handful of people tending to the chaos: mobile soldiers with what looked like minor wounds, the Seven of Hearts, and also Alice the Second.

Lancelot walks over to where the doctor stood, a white coat back facing him.

"Kyle."

Said person turns around, and Lancelot's face contorts itself instinctively into a glare.

"Huh - Lance?" Kyle frowns, a syringe at the ready in his right hand. "It's past midnight - skipping out on sleep again?"

"I can say the same to you, so you're not one to talk. Put that away for a moment."

A shrug, but the syringe is set aside on the nearby trolley. "As you can see, you've made more than enough work for me already. So hurry it up, what do you need?"

"You can work while you talk. I need a summary of today's report."

"Got no more time to read the whole thing?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. Rest assured, I'll still take the written report before I leave."

"Must be tough being a man of war," Kyle mumbles as he starts to lay out small napkins on one side of the trolley. "A hundred eighty-seven dropped by injured, twenty-five lying down with major wounds. Fourteen were initially in critical condition - used some magic crystals to help with the pain and lull 'em to sleep after treatment, but they're better off going back to headquarters."

"Causes of injury?"

"Majority's still the usual sword or bullet," nimble hands begin pulling out contents from the medicine bottles, then settle an assorted amount of them on top of the napkins. "But some guys under our Six ran into the Three of Spades' squad by the Upper Central Quarter - they plant and throw caltrops, imagine that. Then the Nine of Spades wreaked havoc with his bow and arrow: considering the statements of his victims, I assume the arrowheads were dipped in a herb formula that causes temporary muscle paralysis - made sure to tell our Four about that, since his troop took the brunt of it. Did he mention that in the gathering?"

Lancelot nods, then his eyes narrow. "... Are there casualties?"

Kyle pauses, his hands frozen in place.

The gap of silence is filled in by cries, bemoaning, and frustrated yells.

"... Got our first one an hour ago. Blood loss and an infection too far gone - risked his neck for a new recruit."

Lancelot follows Kyle's line of gaze, to a cot set almost by the center of the tent: a white sheet's laid over it as a shroud and by the foot of the cot wails a soldier; head downcast, on his knees, and a tightly woven fist repeatedly pounding the ground. Alice the Second comes running over to the man's side, hands reaching out to stop him from hurting himself any further.

Both King and doctor soundlessly watched as she did her best to help the man get up on his feet, despite the crack in her voice and her cheeks tear-stained still.

.

.

.

"This place is preposterous!"

"How so, dear Queen?"

"Do you have holes for eyes? Did you not see the houses we passed by? They have thatched roofs, for goodness sake, and even without the aid of a magic crystal; you could clearly see that those hardly look properly reinforced! This whole area with its closely linked houses is simply a disaster waiting to happen if fire was to be put in the equation!"

Edgar snickers as Jonah continued to ramble on about (in his words) the 'baffling and questionable quality of life' of Black Army territory. True enough, the simple wood or stone houses did pale in comparison to the usual brick or marble homes found in Red territory; but perhaps that could be attributed mainly to the primary livelihood differences of the territories: while Black territory soil was kind and bountiful to agriculture, Red territory grounds were a trove of abundant mineral deposits open for exploration.

"Now, now. I'm sure that if the people of this village wanted to, they could improve their homes any time they wish. It just so happens that they willingly chose to devote their time to their livelihoods - quite impressive of them, don't you think?"

Jonah scowls. "First and foremost, if they had all the time to care for their finely plowed fields and well-structured barns, then they should also have half a mind to keep themselves safe. What use do these fields serve if their cultivator isn't present? What happens to domesticated animals without their owners to feed and guide them?"

Edgar claps his hands softly for a few seconds. "Such touching passion. If you're that concerned, why not bring it up with the Black Army leaders? I'm sure their Queen would also be willing to listen."

If glares could burn through skin, then Edgar was sure that his head should be going through spontaneous combustion at this point.

"Remind me again, why are you here?" Jonah stops walking, raising his lantern a bit higher to survey their current location. It was probably a few hours before dawn, but the dark of the night still wore itself thick around the mountain village. "The King specifically ordered your unit to survey and secure the waterways of the Civic Center that are also linked to those that flow through Black territory, correct?"

"Right you are. I've already dispatched my unit accordingly to do the task as we speak - however, the King expressed interest in villages, such as this one, which are far off from Black territory proper but closer to the Central Quarter. It was agreed upon that occupying these areas immediately would be of best interest, lest the enemy uses them as vantage points." 

"That's the reason why my unit is here in the first place," an exasperated sigh, followed by a stern tone. "Admit it; you decided to come along, uninvited, because - "

Jonah abruptly holds his scolding, glower redirected at the darkness just ahead. With no one talking, the only sounds around were the faint chirping of crickets and the winds rustling through grass and straw roofs.

According to an earlier reconnaissance report, the Black Army ordered the evacuation and relocation of the civilian areas under their jurisdiction before the war started.

Two days ago, a number of scouts confirmed that the Black Army villages closest to the Red Army encampment were deserted.

Hours before he and his unit made their way to the village, watchmen claimed to have seen not a single trace of movement around the perimeter, even with the aid of magic crystals.

"Queen Jonah," a soldier whispers after a few seconds have passed, "Your orders."

Fixing himself into a defensive stance, Jonah tosses his lantern away from him - it lands with a dull thunk on a patch of grass, and his fingers slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Discard your lanterns and draw your blades. We have company."

.

.

.

Day four without a single drop of alcohol. How quaint.

Here he was abstaining, but both Armies showed no interest in giving up the war just yet - the proof of all that was clearly evident in every corner of the medical tent, and also adding to that were a new group of potential patients barging themselves into said tent.

"Seriously? It ain't even morning yet," Kyle mutters under his breath. Beside him, Idike smiles weakly.

One of the men run towards the doctor and assistant, white uniform dirty and cap in tatters on his head. Still, he has enough energy to salute and speak in a booming voice that probably everyone in the vicinity hears, whether they wanted to or not. "Sir Seven, Alice the Second!"

"It's great that you still got some pep, so drop the formalities." a lopsided grin makes its way to Kyle's lips, then he gestures to the new arrivals. "What happened?"

"We, the Eight of Hearts' unit, had a run-in with the Jack of Spades and his troop in our attempt to occupy one of the Black Army villages present in the upper quadrant," the soldier relays - Idike's eyes widen, but she says nothing. "In the midst of battle, Ace Zero and his unit came to our aid, pushing the enemy back and allowing the wounded from our side to withdraw! The skirmish still continues as we speak!"

"Jack of Spades, huh... he leads a sword-based unit. Anyone in critical condition?"

"No, sire! Er, I mean, none! I think! Oh, wait! One of us took a heavy blow from the Jack himself, sir!"

"He's our priority then - gotta pity a guy who gets hit by that claymore," Kyle motions the soldier to lead the way and he complies, doing another salute before turning on his heel. 

Kyle's already taken a few steps forward when it dawns on him that something - no, someone's missing. When he looks behind him he sees his assistant standing still, head downcast and hands tightly held together. Wisps of her hair that escaped her plait shield her face from his view, but he finds it relieving to see that neither her shoulders nor her knees were shaking.

The sight of her makes his expression turn wry - really, she could stand strong for days then become incredibly fragile just as fast; and that's exactly why he refused to let her near the front lines in the first place. She was kind, too kind for a war, and the fact that she had spent a considerable amount of time with both Armies didn't make this any easier for her.

Weeks ago the Black Army took her in when the Red Army saw her as a threat.

Now, she was willingly tending to Red Army soldiers, the sworn enemies of the same Black Army who called her a friend.

He walks back to where she stood and when he's close enough, he reaches out to take hold her shoulders.

"Hey," he says. Idike looks up at him.

"Oh - " her voice is a shadow of her usual self, the blue of her eyes waver with a flurry of emotions. Worry. Fear. Grief. Frustration. Exhaustion. All that a scrambling mess in one girl.

"Hey," he repeats, hands moving upwards to pinch her cheeks. She yelps in protest, face contorting even further.

"Owww!" she whines, the pain springing life back into her voice. "Kyle, what are you - "

"We have fourteen new patients lined up."

Her eyes widen, she stops squirming. Satisfied, he lets go of her cheeks and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white coat.

"And supposedly, one of them's in bad shape. Think you can help me out?"

He keeps his gaze on her steady, she stares back. There's still some uncertainty flickering around the edges of her eyes, but her irises are filling in with the usual clarity of a blue sky, and that's what he - and the patients inside the tent - needed from her right now.

And eventually - thankfully - she nods, eyes not leaving his.

"I will," she says.

.

.

.

Right: a swoosh in the air, just seconds released, aim most likely for his left thigh or knee. A quick shift of his leg to the other direction, and an arrow materializes from the darkness and pierces the ground where his leg used to be. A brief look into the arrow's position suggests that the source is at an elevated position, possibly in -

Behind: heavy footsteps, grass crunching loudly; suggestive of someone rushing and most likely with a weapon. A twist of his torso, a raise of his saber up to his shoulder while he keeps his lower body steady to maintain balance; and clang! He comes face to face with his attacker and their short sword, strength shaky and current stance leaving them wide open. So what he does is to keep his right leg grounded as he lifts up his left; body pivoting smoothly as he delivers a heavy kick to his opponent's side.

The man screams in agony, leading to a loose grip on the sword and a wavering focus: the perfect opportunity to land a finishing blow through a series of rapid slices for disarming, a few sure steps forward, and - crack! - a knifehand strike lands on his opponent's neck.

Not wasting any time, he dives to the nearest place for cover, that being what looked like a small house. Back flat against the wall, he watches as the place where he once stood was again struck and with arrows this time, one hitting a discarded lantern and effectively snuffing the light of its magic crystal and the other two narrowly missing the body of the soldier he just defeated.

Jonah clicks his tongue.

Another light source gone. Dealing with ranged units in the dark can be so tiresome.

"Our morning got off to a good start, don't you agree?"

"Wha - "

Jonah whirls around to see Edgar leaning against the same wall and nonchalantly holding a bow and arrow in his hands, though his focus was more on the latter.

"Ah, yes. Our good doctor really is sharp, isn't he? The tip was dipped in a formula."

"Why you little - do you realize that this is hardly the time to be impressed!?"

"On the contrary," Edgar smiled as he raised the bow up to his shoulder height and nocked the arrow, "I think it's highly appropriate."

And with a sudden burst of speed; the Jack of Hearts ran out from his hiding place, aimed high, and released his hold on the arrow - he doesn't see how far it goes but seconds later there's a cry of pain and the loud rustling of leaves nearby, followed by something wooden and something heavy falling to the ground.

Jonah steps out from behind the wall, a dainty eyebrow raised. "That man better not be dead."

"How morbid of you," Edgar says as he casually discards the bow, then draws his saber. "A little paralysis doesn't cause immediate death, Jonah."

"But a sharp or faulty aim can. Enough of this - we ought to regroup with - "

"Men! Aim for the Queen and Jack of Hearts!"

The pair stood still as two groups hastily approached them from both sides - swords at the ready, they silently watched as they were encircled by what looked like an angry mob of soldiers all dressed in the same black uniform, the gleam of their weapons made seemingly eerie by a lone lantern paces away from Jonah's feet.

"Oh? Did the Nine of Spades have this much swordsmen under him?"

"Hmph. A trivial matter - they can call all the reinforcements they want, but their numbers mean nothing against the Queen of Hearts."

"Ever so dependable," Edgar grins as the soldiers begin to inch forward in unison. "But it's bad to keep all the fun to yourself, you know."

.

.

.

"Hey there. Can you hear me?"

The man lying on the cot lets out a groan as he awkwardly nodded - there's a gash across his chest reaching down to his stomach, looking loud and angry and all vibrantly red with spilled blood. Kyle inspects the injury without so much as batting an eye, stooping down a bit to get a closer look.

"Looks bad, but we can manage." he mumbles after a few moments, then he turns to Idike waiting behind him. "Get rid of his clothes and wipe the chest area clean."

"Alright," she steps forward to stand over where Kyle stood, gazing at what she needed to work with. First, she needed to get the patient out of that thick jacket - if she couldn't move his arms much, she could just go with cutting through the cloth instead even if it would take a little more effort on her part. Next, she had no other way around the shirt so she should cut it out, which meant that a clean replacement had to be ready after treatment. Lastly, since the blood was a bit messy, she needed to prepare two towels to make sure everything would be wiped down.

Her fingers are about to reach out when the soldier speaks, voice raspy yet firm -

"Don't touch me."

She stops, Kyle stops too. He's just nearby and getting the disinfectant ready, but he heard those three words - and the rest that would follow - loud and clear all over the din in the tent.

"Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades? Part of your little Black Army family?" there's sardonic laughter - it goes on for a while, doing absolutely nothing to diffuse a palpable tension, then it's replaced by an angry growl. "I won't allow you, Alice - I definitely- "

"...op that."

Kyle looks over his shoulder. She said something, didn't she? Did she reach her limit? Was she going to cry, or -

"What did you - "

"Stop that," Idike repeats, high-pitched voice struggling not to shout but it doesn't mask the sheer emotion in her words that practically hiss themselves through her teeth. "I don't care if you don't like me, don't trust me, or if you think that I'm a Black Army spy! But don't you think for a second that I'm going to leave you here to bleed just because you said so!"

"How dare you - "

"How dare you! Do you think that your suspicion of me will mean anything when you end up dead!? Does it matter more to you than your own life!?"

The soldier lets out a gasp. Idike takes in a deep breath but she holds her tongue as she gets to work, lithe fingers unbuttoning the jacket with fervor.

Ah, she really needed those scissors.

"... You can doubt me all you want," she says, voice still struggling to keep itself leveled as she stared at the soldier straight in the eye, "But please do make sure to live through this, first."

And with that Idike stalks away, murmuring something about scissors, a shirt, and some towels. Kyle watches her go, lips quirking themselves into a smile, something like pride gleaming onto his expression.

Behind him, he hears a something like a whimper - then a sniffle.

"You heard the lady," Kyle chuckles, plucking out a bottle of salve from a trolley. "Glad to know I'm not the only one she gets angry at."

.

.

.

The Nine of Spades' specialty was archery - a rough approximate of men under his command was at least forty to fifty: half of them were trained in the art of archery, while the rest were trained swordsmanship or the art of wielding longer weapons like polearms in order to protect and keep enemies away from their ranged half. A group with good range.

The Seven of Spades on the other hand had probably around sixty to eighty men in his troop, and their weapon of choice were either blades or axes. When disarmed, the troop had no problem engaging opponents head on with their fists and legs. Quite appropriate, seeing that the Seven of Spades was rather bulky himself. A unit of great brawn.

Now, the Queen of Hearts had a total of a hundred and forty-five men under his command; all rigorously trained to be versatile in both melee and ranged weaponry, and also capable of manipulating magic to their advantage when deemed necessary. However, given that occupation of a village only required a minimum dispatch for convenience, that grand number was reduced to thirty at the moment.

Thirty, plus two Chosen.

Against two units with also possibly reduced numbers, but nonetheless still an advantage combined with knowing the general territory and geography better.

"Perhaps my uninvited appearance was a stroke of luck," Edgar muttered, sparing a glance upwards. Dawn was finally painting the sky... which meant that they were taking longer than expected.

"For once, I agree with you," Jonah huffed as he picked up a broken javelin off the ground - without bothering to aim he throws it ahead of him, and the sharp end pierces an opponent's thigh. The man shouts as his knees buckle, and one of Jonah's soldiers takes the opportunity to knock the man out. "Dealing with the Nine of Spades' flimsy unit would be easier if not for their annoying arrows!"

"If the whole or even half the unit of the Seven of Spades is in attendance, then we may have a problem," Edgar shrugs as two men, unarmed but with eagerly raised fists, rush at him at the same time: it only takes a sweep to the side, a swift kick to the back of the knees, and a single arc strike with his saber - to make his enemies fall face flat on some grass. "We can make do with our numbers granted that we avoid any major injury or arrow, but our endurance will be put to the test at this rate."

Jonah says nothing, but his narrowed gaze flickers to the pouch secured on his belt.

Edgar, of course, had already taken that into account - magic could dramatically alter their odds, but it was hard to tell whether the time was right to use it. While they knew their opponents, they couldn't say the same for their numbers; or their equipment. The Black Army had a limited supply of magic crystals, but what were the chances that the Nine or Seven of Spades' squads had crystals with them? Then there was also the issue of -

"Qu-Q-Qu-Queen Jonah!"

The two turn their heads to an ally running towards their direction, cap missing and face pale.

Jonah's brows furrowed as he stared at his subordinate: parts of his uniform and his face was stained with something dark, resembling soot - 

And it's also then that Edgar catches a trace of movement from the corner of his eye, from the grove leading to a forest near the village: a glimpse of black cloth, flutter akin to a robe - 

"My Queen, several houses have been set on fire!"

.

.

.

"Y'know, he was that same guy who didn't want you anywhere near his wound back then."

"Oh... Back when I just started as your assistant?"

"Yup. Good times, huh?"

A smile touches Idike's lips, hands taking hold of another sheet hanging on the clothesline. Oh, how she missed the feeling of warm sunshine on her skin and winds playing with her hair - stepping out of the medical tent for a bit to get the laundered cloths was a good choice.

Kyle also seemed to enjoy the brief respite, seeing as he was busying himself with stretching his arms and rotating his neck.

"Is he okay? It's good that none of his vitals were hit, but he lost a lot of blood..."

"Don't worry about it. He'll get better in time - even if your outburst made him go all emotional."

She goes quiet, fingers focused on folding the sheet in her hands. It's all well and good that her words actually meant something to that soldier, but in turn -

Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades?

- those spiteful words haven't left her mind, either.

Part of your little Black Army family?

A frustrated sigh escapes her, but she quickly tries to swallow it down and settle for refolding the sheet instead - there's the crunching of grass behind her as she spreads out the whole sheet once more, and then suddenly she feels the weight of a warm hand on top of her head.

Idike stops.

"Hey, you should be the one reassuring me or something." Kyle says - he takes a step forward to stand beside her, his hand still on her head.

"About what?" she asks, breathing in the smell of crisp cotton in the air.

"About them, your folks back at the Black Army. That they'll be alright. You of all people should know how strong they are, yeah?"

Silence falls in between them, pregnant yet comfortable until she lets out a soft laugh; her shoulders drooping and hands shaking.

Yes, she knew, even if she only spent a few days with them, even if she only got to properly talking to five of their Chosen. She had a feeling that no matter how much Fenrir Godspeed, the Ace of Spades, wanted to test out his guns; he would never kill in cold blood or allow himself to be killed in turn. She believed that despite how feminine Seth Hyde, the Ten of Spades, appeared and acted; he possessed as much or even more strength than his rank required and demanded of him. She's aware that even Luka Clemence, the Jack of Spades, so quiet and aloof; strapped his heavy claymore constantly on his back and it definitely wasn't just for show. She witnessed herself that Sirius Oswald, Queen of Spades, dared not carry a weapon; but instead offered every spare second of his time and tactical ability for the pure benefit of the Black Army.

And she understood - if only just a little - how much Ray Blackwell, King of Spades, treasured the boundless freedom in a peaceful every day.

She still believed in them - even if she wasn't fighting with them.

"... I know," she whispers, words carried by the winds. She turns her head to face Kyle, lips easing themselves into a wry grin. "After all, they're the ones giving us so much work."

He stares at her, at the blue of eyes - before breaking into laughter and ruffling her hair.

.

.

.

Kyle, as punishment for ruining her already mussed up hair; ends up helping her gather the remaining pieces of cloths on the clothesline, folding them, and putting each piece neatly inside the large basket she brought out from the medical tent. It's only then does she discover that he can't fold a measly towel without fumbling around with it, but after some grumbling attempts he gets better - he's folding towel number five when she stops and stares at the next piece of fabric she had to take down from the line.

A pristine white glove.

Gingerly she frees the small thing from a clothespin and takes it into her hands, cradling it as if fragile: a finger traces over the surface where a tear used to be, now nowhere to be seen thanks to tiny stitches patching it shut.

Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?

After a little more staring she raises her head and speaks, her voice a little louder for Kyle - the first person of the Red Army she exchanged a normal look with, the first person of the Red Army she had come to genuinely respect - to hear.

I want to believe in them, too.

"Say, Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I told you that," she pauses to look at him before continuing, "Idike isn't my name?"

He tears his gaze away from towel number five to find her figure amidst and across all the fluttering whites, an eyebrow raised.

"... What, it isn't?"

She smiles a bit. "It's a nickname."

"Is it, now?" he blinks. The winds continue to blow softly; playing around with the sheets, the ends of his coat, and the strands of her honey-blonde hair. 

"Let's hear it, then. Your full, real name."

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.

.

From afar, his eyes follow the movements of her lips as she articulates the syllables of her name.

Her full name, figures. Does the Black Army even know that she was going by her nickname? Why was she telling him this now? Was it common for Land of Reason folk to give out their nicknames first before their names proper after some time had passed? Or was it really her intention to keep her name a secret from the moment she fell into Cradle?

Her earnest, almost relieved expression on her face told him otherwise, though - she's watching him with clear eyes, as if waiting.

So he rolls those same syllables on his tongue, the letters coming out steady and unsure on his mouth. He says it once -

"... That's right," she nods.

- repeats it again -

"Yes?"

- tries thrice -

"... Kyle. Are you making fun of me?"

She's openly frowning at him in an instant, the solemnity gone from her expression just like that, and he can't help but snort. 

"I'll stick to Idike," he says, turning his head back to towel number five. Darned long piece of cotton. "Shorter. Less complicated. Is that why you go by your nickname instead?"

"... Admittedly, yes. It is a bit hard to say, isn't it? Even I had a hard time saying it when I was a child and most of my friends thought so, too. Now that I think about it, that's probably why it grew to be a habit of mine to introduce myself with my nickname."

"Huh. Your name isn't that bad. But y'know, since you were so serious earlier... I was starting to think that your name must be something complicated or embarrassing to the point that you'd keep it a secret."

"Hey!"

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.

.

"It's a good thing we found someone to carry that basket of yours, huh?"

"... Kyle. The clotheslines are just behind the med tent - we could've carried the basket back ourselves!"

"Carry something that heavy? You're stronger than I thought! You exercise regularly?"

"What the - no! And you're exaggerating, a basket of cloths isn't that heavy!"

"Hey, that isn't good. You should exercise regularly, or else you'll get fat."

"You're missing the point!"

Kyle chuckles, watching Idike puffing out her cheeks like a little kid not taken seriously - they're only steps away from going back inside the medical tent when a clamor reaches their ears and makes them stop where they stand, both of them instinctively looking for the source of the noise.

"Did something happen?" she mumbles. Kyle shrugs in response, but he does squint his eyes to try to see what's ahead of them: the reinforced wooden walls surrounding the garrison, red banners swaying in the breeze, soldiers moving about, and -

"... horses."

Three of them, to be exact: pretty white stallions, as prim and regal as the Red Army uniform, getting larger and clearer as they approach. Idike squints and she sees them too, a hum of awe leaving her lips.

"Where do you think they're going?"

"Nice question. They're moving pretty quick, so maybe to the commander's tent. But they can also be heading - "

The horses still spur forward, sound of hooves hitting the earth starting to reach their ears. So far not showing signs of swerving to the left, therefore not heading to the center of the camp.

There's only one more place where soldiers would hurry to in times of war.

" - towards us."

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.

.

"A good morning to you both," Edgar greets doctor and assistant oh-so-casually as he dismounts, like there weren't two unconscious men strapped to the back of his horse. The two soldiers who rode alongside him dismount as well, also revealing someone unconscious laying on their horse's back. Idike winces as she goes over to them, asking what happened with a brow creased by obvious worry.

Kyle sniffs the air and frowns - it gets deeper when he studies Edgar and his companions: parts of their uniforms, particularly their sleeves, caps, and boots were far from clean. They looked like they decided to spend some time rolling around in a fireplace. "You lot smell like smoke. Was your mission to set something on fire?"

"You wound me. I wouldn't dream of using such a brazen tactic if the great risks applied to our side as well. Sadly, the opponent didn't share the same sentiment."

"The opponent?"

Edgar smiles but says nothing more. Instead, he gets to removing the straps that held the men secure on his horse.

"These are men under our Queen that suffered from severe burns. That, combined with either a round of beatings, mauls from an axe, or arrow shots; courtesy of the Seven and Nine of Spades' units. I performed some amount of first aid with the help of magic crystals before bringing them here, and I'm sure you can handle the rest."

"Will do," Kyle watches as Idike ran up a nearby group of soldiers, presumably to get help in carrying the injured to the tent. It takes a few seconds of talking and gestures but she comes out successful, a group of able-bodies heading their way. "Still, you look pretty shabby yourself - sure that you ain't hiding a couple of burns?"

Edgar snorts - two soldiers approach him, saluting and offering to carry the unconscious to the medical tent in his stead. Nodding, he moves aside and lets them.

"I believe those words are meant for Jonah - he's the one who rushed towards a row of burning houses to save his men, I'll have you know. He also adamantly insisted that I bring them back to you - it's a good thing I decided to procure and hide away some horses beforehand."

"Heh. Cunning as ever, our Jack; as noble as ever, our Queen. Are you heading back to wherever you came from?"

"Along with reinforcements, yes. I believe Jonah has the situation under control by now, but there's much work that needs to be resolved."

"... Resolved, huh? That's a funny way to put it," Kyle shrugs, about to walk away. "Well, whatever. Just make sure to drag yourselves back here when you're done - and don't even think about skipping out on treatment, you hear me?"

.

.

.

With Kyle heading back to the medical tent Edgar stops to adjust his gloves, mismatched palettes splattered with shades of unsavory colors: earthy browns, crushed greens, murky reds, charcoal black. There was little to no trace of its pure white glory, but that was hardly anything new to him at this point.

They weren't damaged today, though. Not a single hole, tear, or rip.

Hm. Would she have noticed again if there were?

The thought escapes him just as fast as it crosses his mind, causing him to shake his head. As he told Kyle, there was still work to resolve and also things he needed to investigate; which meant he had no time to dawdle. Regaining his focus, he's about to mount himself on his horse when -

"Edgar!"

The call rings loud in his ears, echoing like the chime of a bell: there's no waver of hesitation, tremble of nervousness, or shake of anger.

It's just her and her clear voice, calling out his name.

So he turns around, smile at the ready, words planned out and ready to leave his lips once he'd see her face, but -

- it all comes to a halt when something damp touches his forehead.

His shoulders jolt slightly, surprised at the cool sensation but he doesn't pull himself away. It dawns on him that she's wiping his face with what looked like her handkerchief; the white square patterned with daffodils tracing his forehead, the curve of his cheeks, the lines of his jaw, and even the tip of his chin.

It happens all so fast and gentle, such well-practiced motions on her part.

And when she pulls away, hand holding a soiled handkerchief to her chest, she tells him:

"Be careful."

Their gazes lock together - steady and unafraid, jade meeting blue.

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.

And that was the third time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Jonah informed me that you joined him without warning on his mission."

Ah, here we go.

Keeping his smile calm, Edgar stood still under his King's scrutiny. With the two of them only left in the commander's tent and with those eyes blue as ice highlighted eerily by the lamps, the air suddenly felt quite heavy.

"That, I did."

"Your help in subjugating the Seven and Nine of Spades' troops was greatly appreciated. But explain yourself."

Lancelot Kingsley leaned back on his chair, but by no means did his imposing tone or aura lighten.

"Do allow me to address my insubordination first - if you find it fitting to punish me immediately, then I shall gladly accept and reflect on my actions." Edgar bows low, eyes set on the ground. "On the other hand, my King, if were to explain my actions; I believe it's because I've been finding our current advantage over the Black Army rather odd."

"Odd, you say... Do you find it so surprising that we've been emerging victorious on each encounter we have with the enemy?"

"Nothing of the sort. In fact, it's the expected outcome even before the war began." Edgar raises his head with a shrug, the smile on his lips still present. "But considering the recent reports of the Chosen and the village conquest the Queen and I experienced... I can't help but think that there's a third party meddling, or, should I say... assisting our cause in the most peculiar manner."

There's a brief pause, poignant yet also brimming with the tension of a challenge. 

Edgar lets it sit very still, simmer a little further, then speaks up again.

"Or it may be a result of incredible chance," he says, adapting a lighter tone. "Whatever the case, I find it quite unsettling and insulting, as well. We certainly aren't so weak or foolish to require such aid; it's like our army's capabilities are sorely underestimated. And in addition to that... we also have Alice the Second as our trump card, do we not?"

Lancelot's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

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There weren't much sheets today, but there were a hefty amount of towels.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she rises from her laundry spot; a quaint area by the riverbank with a patch of soft grass to sit on and with a comfortable arm's reach to the river's waters without the need to bend excessively. Stretching her arms upward, she finds herself staring up at the sky.

It's dark, but beautifully cluttered and lightened with stars. Sign of another day gone - four about to turn to five days of a war still raging.

Her arms eventually fall to her sides and she picks up her laundry basket, keeping her grip tight on the handle. Even if her nighttime laundry duties were something like her brief respite away from the medical tent, she couldn't - no, she didn't allow herself to stay out for too long.

If she did, she's not so sure that she could return calm and smiling like Kyle could always do.

If I have another outburst, I'm not so sure I can stop myself again.

So instead, she distracts herself with thoughts of work as she makes her way to the back of the medical tent and to the clotheslines: after hanging up laundry, she might as well head to the mess hall and grab some dinner for herself and Kyle, and also for the volunteers helping them out if the portions can fit in the basket. After dinner, check the condition of the critically wounded, see if they needed anything like bandages to be changed. Speaking of bandages, were there still enough of those going around in trolleys of the tent? When was the last time they restocked? She'd better ask when she gets back.

The list gets long, longer, and so on and so forth; and her feet have the urge to pick up the pace, until -

... Hm?

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"Off with only a warning... how gracious."

If you insist looking for your... third party, then so be it. But remember where you stand, Edgar - you have your own duties to fulfill in this war. One misstep, and you might as well be at the mercy of your so-called chance.

So he's been granted permission to investigate, given that it doesn't interfere with his missions and that he proceeds with caution. The King doesn't address the idea of there being an actual third party, but the lack of confirmation or denial might as well mean that it was plausible... and that he was aware of its existence, himself.

As for Alice... her ability still serves to be of use to us, so it would do well to keep her close. She is, as you say, a trump card in this war... and it's important to keep our advantages hidden until the time is right. 

Simply put, the King was protecting her and if Edgar were to wager a guess, it wasn't in fear of the Black Army taking her back. If the King really saw her to be the advantage that she was, he still would've brought her to the front lines; but not with the freedom to continue her duties as the doctor's assistant.

For were she still the same person that she was two and a half weeks ago, Alice would've jumped at any chance of escape.

But at a drop of a hat, she changed. To army that gave her nothing but grief upon her arrival in Cradle, to the men who drew their swords at her and threatened to end her life, to those that kept her on the edge for days with their wary looks, and even to him who took her away from the Black Army by force... she chose to extend her hands to each and every one of them with a newfound purpose simply on her mind.

To help them.

To keep them alive.

It hardly made any sense, and in all honesty there little to no things that could leave him so vexed in a short amount of time.

How does she do it?

Was there truly a person in the world who was that tolerant?

How was it possible to turn obvious distrust into genuine kindness so quickly, without fear of betrayal?

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"... Edgar?"

Ah - he's aware that just by thinking about an individual cannot summon said person like magic, but when he looks up he really sees her in the flesh, standing in front of him and holding a filled laundry basket in both hands. Her apron has added splotches on it with each new color just as equally suspicious as the older ones, honey-blonde hair still a haphazard plait now resting on her shoulder, and the new tickling smell of soap wafting from her figure presumably a result from doing laundry.

There are still bags overstaying their welcome under her eyes, but what he studies is the curious glint in them when she asks:

"... Can I help you with that?"

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One minute ago they're enfolded by silence and a cool night's breeze, then the next she's suddenly laughing quietly to herself, features softened by a kind smile.

"Really. Are we going to keep meeting like this?"

He matches her smile, keeping his bare arm still outstretched.

"I hope not. I'd like to experience a day where I take care of you, for a change."

Idike chuckles, starting to wrap a bandage around his left forearm. To be fair, if her eyes weren't drawn to the light coming from his lantern as she was making her way back to the medical tent, they wouldn't be in this situation. But they were, and not so far away she saw the Jack of Hearts sitting cross-legged under a large tree, stripped of his long coat and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Curious, it was only when she stepped a bit closer did she realize what he was doing.

He was doing his own first aid and from the looks of it, he was already halfway done.

Now she sat beside him on the grass, helping him with the finishing touches.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Certainly. I still intend to make a good effort on becoming your friend, if you recall."

"Even if you don't trust me?"

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. The bandage continues to wrap itself around his skin with her guidance, coiling like a snake.

Two seconds.

Three.

"... Say, Edgar? Is it alright if you listen to me for a bit?"

"... Of course."

She hums for a bit, keeping her eyes trained on the bruises on his arm, on the bandage she was trying to secure.

"When Kyle took me in as his assistant... I took up his offer for the wrong reasons. At first, I only saw working by his side as a guarantee for my safety in Red Army headquarters, and maybe my first patients understood that, too - when I began helping out in the infirmary, there were some soldiers that gave me odd looks but said nothing; then there was also this one person who refused my help outright, claiming that I'd poison him there and then."

Ah, yes - the soldier from our Eight's unit, Edgar muses, but doesn't say. The day that the Seven of Hearts declared Alice the Second as his assistant did cause quite the commotion in the barracks.

"I wasn't offended, really - I felt nervous since he was glaring at me, sure, but in the end being Kyle's assistant was my decision so I treated him anyway. I figured that all those pointed looks and that accusation was justified considering who I was to this world, and that I was with the Black Army at the start."

"... That is, until I forced you to come with me."

His comment prompts her to flash him a wry smile before continuing. The bruises are now hidden under strips of white.

"I wasn't angry or hurt, so I just took in all their suspicion. Besides, I couldn't find it in myself to turn a blind eye on someone who was injured - I may have made my decision to become Kyle's assistant for my own sake, but I wanted to help people in need... that much was genuine. I wanted to save lives."

A brief pause. When she speaks again, her voice shakes slightly.

"... So earlier this morning, when that same soldier who accused me refused my help again, and went as far as saying I'd kill him since he was already in such bad shape... something in me just... snapped."

A dry laugh escapes her - it's a heavy mix of frustration and anger and he could tell that it was still a bit raw; that those two feelings still took hold and grew root in her somewhere, not dissipating in the slightest.

So even the benevolent can feel such profound emotion.

"I... tried my best not to yell at him, even if I wanted to. I had so much, so much to say to him. About me. About the Black Army. About him being so stupid for rejecting help. About our patients in the medical tent, about how they all wanted to recover and live. About how Kyle and I and all the volunteers were giving our all every single day just to look out for everyone."

The bandage is now wrapped securely on his forearm, and she ties it nicely despite her fingers quivering.

"... I... I hardly said any of those, in the end. But when I got some time to clear my head... I wish I could've said something else from the start. Something I was reminded of... just this morning, too."

She stops moving, eyes still downcast. Her fingers still hold his wrist, her warmth mingling with his skin.

"... And what would that be?" he asks.

Idike goes quiet again, so he listens to her breathing as he waits.

A heavy inhale by the nose, a quiet sigh through her mouth.

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"You know - "

Her voice has found itself again and it has turned itself into a solemn whisper, dainty fingertips of her free hand now tracing over his bandaged forearm then to the exposed flesh of his wrist; his skin tingling at the light drag of her nails on them.

" - I can't heal you if you're dead."

She speaks the obvious, but of a topic that someone of her disposition most likely wouldn't talk about often, much less willingly mention unless -

Ah, he mouths.

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Such was the effect of death.

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The night continued to stretch on, tainting the sky pitch black but adding it with stars, bountiful and twinkling.

"... Edgar."

"... Yes, Alice?"

"Why do you allow me to treat you?"

No actual reason - but perhaps out of personal interest.

"Because you willingly offered your aid."

That was true as well - she approached him with all her honest intentions clearly written on her face, and he accepted it.

"Even if you don't trust me?"

Ah... Is that what it looks like to you?

"You seem to be mistaken. I never claimed to be suspicious of you."

Being extremely cautious around a young woman with a revolutionary ability but with a heart of gold hardly seemed necessary.

"But - you noticed I kept my name a secret, and I thought - "

If you were thinking that I thought you to be dangerous or something similar because of that, then you've misunderstood me completely.

"I apologize if my approach to you that night felt like an interrogation. But if anything else, your reactions made it very clear to me... you had your own reasons for doing so, correct? It gave me little reason to prod further or fault you for it."

Although if she was affected this much by his parting words, then it's a sign that she's learned that secrecy wasn't to be taken so lightly in times of war - how funny that he; the Jack of Hearts, would be the one to teach her that.

She seemed to have heard enough, her fingers finally releasing his wrist to fall back on her lap. Again, he finds himself wishing that he could see her face - she had used him, in some sense, to air out the pent-up emotions she's been holding in for heavens know how long. Did her moment of catharsis make her feel any better? Was his input or presence of enough use? What change would this conversation bring about in her? Would it be for the best, or for worse?

Was there a smile or a pained expression on her features?

Really, what was going through her mind right now?

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Slowly, he finds himself reaching out a hand to her.

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And that was the fourth time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Enemy squadrons spotted ahead! The Queen and Ace of Spades appear to be at the helm!"

Their King isn't present...? Zero narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silhouettes that became clearer on the other side of the Black Bridge as they approached. True to what was announced, he could only see the ever so composed figure of Queen of Spades and the oddly colored shock of hair known only to the Ace of Spades; their mounts a few steps ahead from the group trailing behind them.

"Well now - to have their Queen out on the field... perhaps their King is out on much urgent business?"

Zero glances at Edgar - there's a smile playing on the oddball's lips as usual, but years of grudging acquaintanceship helped interpret that a little further: the man was grinning, and that meant Edgar Bright was most likely in good spirits - may mercy find the poor souls unfortunate enough to cross blades with the demon today. 

That aside, having Sirius Oswald on the front lines was unusual. Would an actual negotiation be held on this Bridge, or was the Black Army plotting something else?

The soldiers started to murmur among themselves, but then the clear cut voice of their King resonated among their ranks.

"It hardly matters if the King of Spades has business somewhere else - Red Army, I expect all of you to stand your ground. We are here for a negotiation as they requested, and if this happens to a pretense... I see no reason why we shouldn't retaliate in response: it will also serve as a good lesson for a King who seems to forget his Army's position as it stands in this war."

Zero felt a chill run up his spine. Speeches from the King, where charisma and callousness would mix, were really something else to the ears.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," Lancelot recited.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," came Zero's and the Red Army's reply, perhaps loud enough for the incoming Black Army to hear. 

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It happens in quick steps, like a practiced dance as they were to meet the Black Army halfway through the bridge:

First, it starts with Zero's horse unable to stay still for a second: he manages to calm it down, and from the corner of his eye he sees Edgar resolving the same problem as well -

Second, the winds that kept on blowing around the bridge suddenly died down, Black Army banners finally staying still on their poles: this would not be unusual if the air didn't feel so thin all of a sudden too, making breathing a little harder than it should be -

Third, the air simply isn't thin anymore: a tingling charge, prompting hair to stand on end and filling one with a sense of alertness and jitters, starts to creep in as Zero breathes and it downright makes him feel sick to his stomach with familiarity -

Fourth, everyone seems to get the feeling that something's wrong: from the right end of the bridge the King of Hearts abruptly orders his soldiers to stop, and from the left end Zero hears the Queen of Spades shouting a similar command, but -

Fifth: the pavement they are on literally starts crumbling. No one sees why it happens but it just does; starting from the center of the bridge then spreading quickly from the sides, the road breaking into cracks then growing to fissures then gaps in all directions and it just goes on; wider and larger and faster and it doesn't just stop for anyone and the cracking sounds continue to grow louder and stronger -

And in all the chaos of crumbling rocks, neighing horses, and astonished and panicked screaming; the Ace and Jack of Hearts turn around, concerns on one thought and one thought alone -

"King Lancelot!"

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"Do you recognize them?"

"Yes. This person is from Sirius' unit, while these three are under Fenrir."

Kyle lets out a sigh, staring at the four odd men out in the medical tent. No one would dare do anything to them in this place, but still -

"I still can't believe it," Idike's brow furrows as she wipes the forehead of the one she claimed to be under the Queen of Spades, "How could something as grand like the Black Bridge collapse? You don't suppose it's the work of..."

She trails off to shoot him with a knowing look, and he shrugs in response.

"Making a bridge like that collapse isn't a feat an army can even do on short notice. It's definitely a possibility."

But if they're willing to pull off something this big without a care of the aftermath, it's either this whole thing was a display of power or a warning.

Kyle lets out another sigh, shifting his gaze towards her instead: the headstrong bottomless appetite confectioner turned temporary doctor's assistant for a month, also known as Alice the Second.

His sort-of drinking buddy.

His sort-of student in the medical practice.

His assistant.

When he calls out her name - her real name - her head snaps to face him immediately, only to find him walking his way to the tent's entrance. He parts the cloth with the back of his hand, and a cool night's wind flows into the tent.

"Got a second?" Kyle asks as he looks at her over his shoulder, faint moonlight streaming down his feet. "We need to talk."

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"Zero! Look up! There's a floating marshmallow in the sky!"

"... One more ridiculous comment out of you, and I'm seriously going to abandon your corpse in this forest."

Edgar chuckled. It's a good thing his back was leaning on Zero's own to help his body stabilize itself - riding a horse backward was turning out to be a fun experience.

"How rude, Zero. I'm in perfect health, yet you call me a corpse? As your mentor, I'm dreadfully hurt..."

"You're a corpse in a different sense of the word," Zero mutters, keeping himself focused on maneuvering his horse around the dark forest path. "And what part of you is in perfect health right now? You fell off a collapsing bridge alongside an incredible amount of rubble down a twenty-meter lake - if I didn't know better, I wouldn't have guessed that you survived. "

"How touching. But yes, despite a head injury and a number of unfortunate scrapes, I live to tell the tale: my first time utilizing the precautionary magic crystals each Red soldier is given before battle, for the sake of saving myself from an unexpected situation. It's amazing how I suddenly regained consciousness, lying face flat on some shore."

"... King Lancelot says his thanks. If we didn't react the way we did, he wouldn't had enough time to compose himself."

"Oh...? Did he use magic to resolve things?"

"... He did. He also apologizes for being unable to reach you in time."

Edgar hums, closing his eyes. He didn't mind not being rescued, but what bothered him was in the end; the Beautiful Beast still saved the day with his magic: it's not the outcome Edgar would've wanted for his King, but it's the outcome he would've expected of from his King.

Surely the man knew that his powers were linked to his lifespan but there he goes once more, ignoring all that in favor for doing a noble deed.

"Kyle is going to throw a fit once he hears that our King used magic again."

"If he can even find King Lancelot, that is." Zero says, grip tightening on the reins. "After settling the bridge incident, issuing additional orders, and assigning my unit to search for possible survivors like you; he's nowhere to be found."

"Oh dear. Did he look terrible or as stoic as ever?"

"You shouldn't use those words to describe your commander. But those who last saw him said he looked awfully pale."

Edgar didn't have anything else to say after that.

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When he opens his eyes, he sees the sky, maybe. All black and white and hazy. Kind of like his mind at the moment.

His eyes are struggling, too. But he can still see the floating marshmallow.

It's oddly shaped though. It's circular, sort of tiny. Coin-sized. Far up and away.

Oh.

"Am I dead?" Edgar says, voice low and serious. He felt the jump of Zero's shoulders as soon as he spoke.

"... And here I thought you'd be sleeping until we made it back. So much for peace and quiet."

"Zero. Am I dead?"

"Get a grip. You're alive."

"But you called me a corpse earlier."

"What are you, suddenly five years old? I didn't mean it literally."

"Ah. So that means I can still be healed."

"Kyle and Idike will do their best once I get you to them."

"But the marshmallow must've taken her away already."

"... What nonsense are you going on about now?"

Zero waits for a reply, but it doesn't come.

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It's Kyle who first notices Zero enter the medical tent - a casual hey followed by a query about the bridge incident is about to leave his mouth but once he sees the Ace, the first thing he blurts out instead is:

"What is that, a sack of potatoes?"

"You're insulting potatoes," Zero answers flatly - he was effortlessly carrying the unconscious Edgar on one shoulder, face not showing a single sign of strain. "Do you have an empty cot right now?"

"Yeah, take your pick - " Kyle points to several areas of the tent in rapid succession, then he squints at Edgar. "Wow. Never thought I'd really see the day. You really sure this is our Jack of Hearts and not a sack of potatoes?"

"You're the doctor, you tell me," Zero starts moving towards the nearest cot, and Kyle follows. "Not sure if it's everything, but Edgar told me he has a head injury and scrapes - he managed to survive the whole fall by using all the magic crystals he had."

"Just like some of his guys from his unit did, huh? He must've taught them well on how to use their magic crystals."

"But I doubt Edgar taught them to risk their own lives to try and save him."

"Aw, but look on the bright side," Kyle grins as Zero sets Edgar's body carefully on the cot. "There are people around willing to help out our Gentle Demon - isn't that a good thing?"

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Too bright.

That's what his eyes are trying to say, but he opts to force them open anyway. Eyelids still heavy, all he can manage now is to make them flutter slowly - it's a start.

Strong smells of disinfectant and blood flood his nose each time he breathes, which meant that Zero successfully delivered him to the medical tent and he didn't even notice. That head injury might've been worse than he initially thought. How many hours have passed? How long had he been asleep? Was it still night or was it already midnight - or past midnight?

"... Oh? Waking up?"

Among the various voices and noises in the tent, his ears could pick out that one languid voice, just nearby.

Kyle.

"... It's due to surprise," Edgar manages to say, his throat a bit dry. "I can't seem to smell not a single whiff of alcohol on you, how tragic."

Eyes starting to regain their focus, he manages to see Kyle's face looking down at him with a lopsided grin. 

"Sheesh. Just woke up and you've already got something smart to say. Can't we get a thank you instead?"

Edgar laughs softly. "... That seems lacking though. Do you accept caramel corn as thanks?"

Kyle immediately scowls. "You and your awful food preferences. What kind of thanks is junk food, anyway?"

Before Edgar could answer with a compelling narration on the value of junk food, another voice pipes up, light and distinct.

"I'll have it if you don't want it, Kyle."

... Did he hear right?

He blinks once, twice, thrice; and there she is in the flesh, entering his line of vision: a young woman with honey-blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

Oh.

"Hello there, stranger," Alice the Second says.

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.

With the doctor shuffling himself away to attend to another patient, Idike remains by Edgar's side. When he manages to sit up, she hands him a cup of warm water.

"How are we feeling? Does anything still hurt?"

He shakes his head, draining the cup in a few gulps before handing it back to her.

"... Today is the night of the full moon."

"I know," she replies casually, taking the cup back in her hands. "The view from here was gorgeous, too. Is the moon always that pretty, wherever you are in Cradle?"

"I've never given it much thought."

"Really? That's a shame."

She pulls up the chair next to the cot and sits, setting the empty cup on a nearby trolley. He's watching, waiting, and when she looks at him; she's smiling again.

"I didn't go back. To the Land of Reason, I mean."

"I can see that."

"Kyle tried to talk me out of it, saying that I should go back to my peaceful world. You know how he hates people foolish enough to throw away their own lives? If I went back, I told him that it would be the same as abandoning those same lives and others I might be able to save - like yours, for instance."

He blinks for a moment upon hearing her last statement.

"That's noble of you. But surely you know that means seeing this war - no matter what the outcome - to the very end."

"I can do it. I will do it. It'll be tough, but I'll push through - I have to."

Resolution makes her eyes shine, beautiful in its utmost clarity. He's drawn to the sight, semblance of a response forgotten.

"Oh! By the way, I never thanked you that night we talked."

"... You don't need to. I was merely listening to your thoughts."

"That may be true, but it helped me a lot. So... thank you, Edgar. And I'm glad you're safe."

She beams at him with a smile reminiscent of warm sunshine on skin, and he's lost in it even further when she adds:

"Welcome back."

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"... Alice."

It slips out of his mouth even before he realizes it: she's about to leave, chair neatly set aside and feet ready to go elsewhere, but she stops to the sound of his voice calling. She peers at him curiously, and it dawns on him that he's made a mistake.

This isn't like me at all.

"... I realized that you still haven't told me something," Edgar says slowly, as if carefully listening to his own words as well.

A tilt of the head to the side, a series of blinks. "I haven't?"

He nods, then it hits him.

"Your name."

They go quiet for a few seconds. Her face is blank; he studies her with a half-serious expression. 

When she laughs, he finds himself staring again.

"I can't believe," her features soften with obvious amusement, "that you're so hung up over a nickname."

So it's a nickname. 

"Am I?" he eases his lips into the usual smile. "I've always believed that the first step to making friends is to tell them your name."

"... ike."

Whatever she said escaped her lips a little too fast and far too soft for his liking, drowned out by the din in the tent.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Alice - Idike - laughs again, and somehow it manages to echo in his ears loudly than any other sound present in the medical tent. Smiling, she leans over to him a bit, raising a cupped hand to shield her lips from prying eyes, like a child would do when spilling out their secrets.

"My name, good sir, is..."

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30 days remained before the next full moon...