#blaming the cloud i saw today that had a sliver of red light running through it

[todd-queen]

live footage of me thinking about hoffman's cheek scar

[essays-for-breakfast]

One False Hope

Melizabeth Week Day 5: Death/Rebirth/Meetings

Warning: This piece includes blood, violence, and character death.

The city was burning. Smoke and ash hung in the air and made it impossible to breathe, much less see in the cauldron of hellfire. Screams rung through the canyons between the high rising marble facades, screams of cornered foot soldiers, of children crying for their parents. The attackers had long overtaken the king’s residence in the city center; all that held them here was the thrill of destruction and murder.

Meliodas fought for each step forward with gritted teeth, and the feeble piece of metal in his left hand trembled along with his heartbeat. He could barely hold onto Elizbeth’s hand as he dragged her along. It had never been this bad.

A stray arrow whistled past his head, and he dove for cover in the dust of a house corner. Elizabeth stumbled and fell, but Meliodas pushed her deeper into the shadows, on the lookout for the marksmen. He spotted the masked soldier of Malachia on the top of a building not too far but paid for the information with another almost-hit. For a human, the marksmen controlled his bow with remarkable precision.

Meliodas slipped into his dead angle and studied the arrow buried to the shaft in the wall across the alleyway. The silver crane feathers of its fletching brimmed with the remains of magical energy. Thank heavens. Had the marksmen solely relied on the force of his arrows, Meliodas would have had far worse odds to struggle against.

Elizabeth quivered next to him, her eyes hazy with the images of her past lives raining down on her; she hadn’t even had the time to process the extent of her curse. A few strands had escaped her carefully woven braid, and the beige of her leather doublet had lost its pure color to the ashes of Ys. Even now she looked beautiful. Meliodas had to make sure she would make it out alive, make up for the past times he had failed her.

With the taste of acerbic smoke on his tongue, Meliodas jumped out into the open, and his shoes crashed on the paving stone loud enough to be heard above the roaring flames nearby. But the noise proved unnecessary as the enemy had only waited for his prey to rear its head in panic. In less than a heartbeat, another projectile shot through the black smoke aimed at Meliodas’ chest. Meliodas squinted against the cinders burning in his eyes and raised his sword. Even the advanced eyesight of his Demon blood couldn’t track down the arrow in the dark, but he could hear it, a high-pitched buzzing that raced closer.

Then the arrow reappeared, and Meliodas flicked his wrist at the last second. The red lines of magical energy enwrapping the projectile were flung backwards, reflected by Meliodas’ «Full Counter». On its own, the magic the marksmen had used didn’t offer enough force to kill a man, but doubled in strength, the red bolt did the trick; the marksmen tumbled from the rooftop into the obscurity of the street below.

Meliodas coughed, and blood splashed into a growing puddle at his feet. Swaying from dizziness, he looked down and broke into a humorless grin. How stupid of him to forget the arrow itself. The iron head had buried itself into his chest, and blood poured out of the wound to add to the red stains in his tunic. Another heart gone. Meliodas had stopped counting how many of them had ceased beating, but he had taken at least two fatal strokes when he had fought back the invaders threatening to burn Elizabeth’s house, and a few more might have given in under the constant flood of lethal smoke he pulled into his lungs.

“Meliodas!” Elizabeth had escaped her shell shock and rushed to his side just as the pathetic sword he had taken from a dead soldier escaped his numb fingers.

“No worries, I can still stand,” Meliodas coughed up despite the tremor in his left arm.

“Stop lying, you’re not well. This is all my fault. Ys is being destroyed because of me.” Elizabeth’s broken words of self-blame faded as she held her hands over the arrow wound, deep in concentration and desperate for a spark of Goddess magic to heal him. But there was nothing she could reach out to; her powers had yet to awaken, and her memories of when she had wielded this magic couldn’t spring the flow to life at will.

“Don’t bother, it’ll only slow us down,” Meliodas said between haggard breaths and took a shaky step. His legs could still carry him. At least that.

Hand in hand, Meliodas and Elizabeth stumbled through what had once been the great alley of the city of Ys, the golden kingdom in the far south of Britannia. Like a fever dream, the images of the street’s prosperous days hurried before Meliodas’ inner eye. Here he had laid eyes on this incarnation of Elizabeth for the first time, clad in the white attire of a priestess, a sight of shock and awe between the market stalls teeming with customers from all corners of the land. Here he had bought her the slim golden bangle she had worn ever since. And yesterday, the basket filled with apples and oranges had slipped out of Elizabeth’s hands when Meliodas had declared his love in front of the tailor shop right over there.

Yesterday, all had been well. Today, hell had come to burn Meliodas’ hopes with one swift attack.

Dazed by blood loss and only on his feet because Elizabeth’s hand kept him sane, Meliodas told himself that Ys would have fallen anyway, would have burned to the foundation stones even if he hadn’t uttered the words ‘I will love you forever’ to the woman by his side and triggered her memories. The kingdom of Malachia had long planned this strike, had long eyed the wealth of Ys with envy. He told himself Ys would have joined the ranks of fallen cities regardless of his actions. Another Belialuin.

But Elizabeth remembered now, the curse had awoken, and if Meliodas didn’t give his all, her hours would tick down with brutal certainty.

The massive archway of Ys emerged from the smoke screens in front of them, its gold ornamentations dull in the absence of sunlight. Beyond the marble structure, the plains of winter wheat awaited them where they would be safe from the massacre. Elizabeth would leave behind all the people who mattered to her in this life, but she would live. Only a handful of steps separated them from safety.

Two invaders emerged from the shadows of a doorway, loaded with silver trinkets and sacks of coins from the household they had robbed; the owners had either refused to put up a fight or had long been silenced. And by the time Meliodas became aware of the hooded figures in his periphery, they had dropped their loot, their bloodlust stronger than their greed.

“Run!” Meliodas yelled and shoved Elizabeth forward before he spun to face his adversaries. Blood dripped from the ridges of their daggers, and one of them made the mistake to go after Elizabeth instead of the bigger threat.

Even without a weapon at hand and with a hazy vision, Meliodas could rip any human apart, and one punch square to the chest sent the soldier of Malachia into the wall across the street. The other one rushed at him, but his loud feet betrayed his move, and Meliodas caught his wrist before the dagger could do more than graze him. The man screamed as Meliodas crushed his bones and dropped limp to the ground. He wouldn’t raise a weapon against anyone any time soon.

In the incarnation of stupid defiance, Elizabeth waited for him in the middle of the road with no cover in sight; she had always refused to listen when he told her to run. But she was still standing, fate hadn’t ceased the opportunity to strike her down while he had been distracted, and nothing else mattered.

He staggered towards her, and his view swayed like a ship in a raging sea intent to pull him underwater. Smoke ate its way into his lungs as he gasped for air. But Meliodas pushed forward, despite the blood running down his side. He could still breathe, he still had a heartbeat left, so he could still protect Elizabeth.

They dragged themselves into the shadows under the grand archway that had marked the borders of the city for countless generations. Today it marked to gateway to safety, to a life beyond this hell. Meliodas clung to the stone wall, barely aware of the detailed reliefs under his hand, and pushed himself forward and into the open. The wide road of well-trodden dirt stretched into the far distance, skirted by the high corn that would cover their escape. On the horizon, a thin blue line hugged the ridges of a mountain range, a sliver of sky against the black clouds of death hanging over Ys. All would be well. Meliodas would make sure Elizabeth would live.

She reached the edge of the field faster than he did, and her fingers had almost brushed the surface of the outer leaves when she turned on her heels to shoot him a concerned look. The blue ribbon with which she kept her hair in check had loosened and her silver locks waved around her slim shoulders in the breeze. For a second, the triskelion of the Goddess Clan flashed in her blue eyes as she made sure he was right behind her, as well as could be given the situation.

Then the buzz of a bowstring cut through the silence, and this time Meliodas spotted the arrow emerging from the dark and racing towards them. To Elizabeth. He had no weapon to deflect the projectile, no strength to catch it midair, all he had was his own life to give. He didn’t hesitate.

Meliodas’ gaze clouded with blackness when he stared at the hole in his chest. That was a first. For once he would leave this world before he saw her death, felt her fingers grow cold, watched the light disappear from her eyes. He gurgled when he tried to pull in a lungful of air, his throat filled with blood.

The same sound recurred behind him. Meliodas turned. Elizabeth had fallen to her knees and clutched her abdomen where the arrow Meliodas had meant to shield her from was buried in her flesh. Horror washed over him, and his muscles froze to ice.

No, no, no, not her, not again, not this time. They had been so close, the walls lay behind them, and yet Elizabeth bleed to death all the same, regardless of his efforts. He couldn’t hold himself upright and dropped to the dust beside her, his fingers stretched halfway towards her.

He could barely see the lovely features of her face as she placed a cold hand on his cheek to wipe away the tears that kept streaming. I failed you, he wanted to say but only managed a blood-filled gargle. If only he hadn’t admitted his love, if only he had taken her for a trip outside the city today, if only he had been stronger, better…

“I’ll see you in the next life… Meliodas,” Elizabeth whispered. Her hand still on his cheek, she sounded her last breath, and her soul fled her body to enter the cycle of reincarnation anew, to be reborn in some other place in this world for him to fall in love with her all over again.

The city of Ys burned down behind him.

Meliodas’ last heart sounded its final weak beats before it succumbed to the smoke poisoning his body.

 When he opened his eyes, Meliodas was greeted by blinding rays of sunlight and the smell of summer grass. All he could do was stare into the endless blue of the sky as the memories dripped into his mind, memories of fire and failure. Elizabeth, love of his life, priestess of Ys, admirer of fruit buffets and harp-playing was dead.

The giggles of a child tore him from his trance, and the young girl he was faced with when he sat himself up clapped her tiny hands in excitement.  “You’re awake!” she said with a grin and stroked his hair as if he were a pet her parents had presented her with for her birthday. “Happy day!”

Meliodas’ mind slowly assembled itself back together, and the more he remembered the more bitter he became. Elizabeth was dead because he had failed to protect her; not even his own life as sacrifice had broken her curse, and his own curse of Eternal Life had brought him back to the land of the living all the same. The field of wheat where he had died had become nothing but a faint dream, and wild grass and clover covered the plain in its stead. Only a few yards to the west, ruins dotted the scenery, covered in ivy and scorch marks from the fire that had eaten the city whole. Marble pillars, the remains of an archway, reached for the heavens like people in desperate prayer; the last citizens of Ys.

“Come home. Mommy makes stew,” the girl said and took Meliodas’ hands to drag him to her village across the hillside. With a heavy heart and one last look at the ruins glistering in the sun, he followed the girl barely old enough to walk.

Her eyes were blue, her short locks silver.

[cvrsedink]

A Bellatrix Lestrange One-Shot

*It’s been a very long time since I’ve occupied her head space, so she is a bit rusty. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Dreams turned into nightmares every time she shut her eyes. The sounds of low moans and cries for help filled her ears as if she were still there, chained to the salty stones in her cell, starving, weak, and alone. Only when the waves crashed against the sides of the towering prison were their voices drowned out, smothered by the angry water that surrounded Azkaban. Nature seemed to feed off the wizard-made island; the ocean groaned and clouds permanently darkened the sky, threatening to strike them all down at any given time. But even this scene was not privy to her. The small sliver of a window stood opposite of her confinement, just out of reach and tauntingly promising a freedom she could not have. Day and night she stared through this gap, unable to tear herself away from the past, as the screams of prisoners confused themselves with those entirely in her head.

The faces of her sisters swam before her eyes, frozen in shrieks of terror as they were struck down. Andromeda was always first, her hand outstretched as she attempted to fight for her freedom, but a jet of green light struck her chest like an arrow. Always true to its mark each time she saw the scene. Defiant, as she had always been, but the stubbornness was not unknown to the Black girls. Despite her utter treachery, Bellatrix had always found a way to keep her out of the Dark Lord’s direct line of sight.

Narcissa died last. She laid sprawled out on hard stone flooring, weeping and begging for the life of her child. Slowly, with her arms wrapped around a squirming blonde-haired babe, she would seem to melt into a pool of dark liquid. Her light, nearly white, hair fanned out around her was stained red with blood. A shadowed figure stood over her sinking form, letting out a high cruel laugh before ending her life.

No matter how many times Bellatrix attempted to change their fates, they always left her. And her mind would collapse into darkness, the deaths of her sisters becoming her reality and the only thing she knew to be true. It was her punishment, for the crimes she had committed. Because she had done many things for her Master, unspeakable things, and whatever happiness she had clung to was sucked from her soul. Hollow, broken, but still alive, she’d been half mad by the time her Dark Lord rescued her.

Weeks had passed since then, but the taste of salt lingered on her tongue. The others, the ones who had escaped her fate, didn’t understand the agony she had endured. How could they? Cowardice ruled their lives as they all fled into hiding the moment their Master had fallen. No one searched for him, no one except her and two others. And their attempts had been all for naught. No information was retrieved from the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, nothing but assurance that Bellatrix was His most loyal servant. In the end they had all been sent away, to rot in cells until their bodies withered into corpses.

Her mind had been lost. Her power became unpredictable, yet as strong as ever. She blamed those that had put her in chains for the misery she had suffered and it was revenge that fueled her. Nothing would satisfy her more than to see her enemies parish in the flames she created and ever since her freedom she had strived to be at His side, aiding him, as she had done before. But the broken fragments of a once strong woman shuddered at his fury, trembled under his glare, and strove earnestly to please him once more. Let me find the boy. She had said, heart fluttering with a long forgotten sensation. But he had shot her down. Admirable as her devotion was, the boy was his. Everything was his. But today, things were changing.

An owl had arrived, a strange method of communication from the Dark Lord, but it was a private summoning. The Mark was used solely to command the presence of all, but tonight he only wanted her. Jittery with anticipation, she waited for the time she was allowed to come. It had been too long since their last private meeting. Nearly fourteen years had passed since she had last stood in his presence alone. Back then she had been so bold, a soldier who was both loyal and ambitious. Tonight, she would prove to be just the same.

When the clock struck eleven, she apparated out of the Malfoy manor unnoticed and arrived outside the safe house. It appeared, from the outside, to be a run down shack with nothing more to it than a tattered, dirty curtain that fluttered in a broken window. Weeds cluttered the front yard, tangling together with sharp thorns, and tainting the air with a putrid smell. Stepping forward, she tapped her wand on the right side of a wrought iron gate before creaking it open and slipping past silently.

The inside of the shack was much larger and cleaner than the outside, but nearly as dark. There was no light, save for a low golden glow coming from the end of a long hallway. It cut through the blackness like a knife and guided her way to where she knew the Dark Lord would be waiting for her. The scent of mildew carpet overpowering her senses, she placed a hand against the cracked door, and pushed it open, announcing her arrival.

“Bellatrix.” His voice was low, barely audible over the crackling and snapping of burning wood. He had his black turned to her, his pale hands clasped behind him like a man deep in thought. “I have some news for you---"

“My Lord!” Bellatrix gasped, breathless with the honor of standing before him. Her body shrank in the company of his, head bowed in respect, a tangle of wild black hair curtained her gaze for only a moment. She longed to look at him, to be seen by him. Slowly, but insistently, she moved closer. “What is it my Lord?”

Gazing into the fire, the strange features of Lord Voldemort were illuminated in an unearthly glow. His sharp cheek bones casted shadows over his face and his red eyes were sunk deep into his skull, like two beacons shining out of the depths of a cavern. It was unnerving, yet mesmerizing and the woman found herself transfixed, waiting for him to tell her why he had summoned her. Why her? What grand plan did he have for the one who had been sent away for him? But the task at hand was not a gift to his soldier, but a test. It had not been lost on him that the woman who had been returned to him was not the same. And there could be no risking that Azkaban had softened her, instead of strengthening her.

“It seems---young Harry has a fond attachment for your cousin, Sirius Black.” His raspy voice filled the room with little effort, his eyes trained on the flames that licked flesh from wood. His servant hissed at the name of her kin and took a small step back. “Now, now, Bellatrix.” Voldemort turned, his gaze resting on her gaunt face. Her hollow eyes were momentarily alight with temptation and he lifted a hand to cup her chin. “I have given our slippery friend, Lucius, a mission--- and I wish you to accompany him.”

Her slender fingers twitched, her body coiling away from his cold touch. “You should not trust him, my Lord. He is not trustworthy. Malfoy is weak!” Bellatrix spat. “He is not strong enough to carry out your missions. You should have let me do this.” She was the most loyal, she had done everything to find him, and her efforts were repaid with exclusion. How dare Lucius or Severus think they were the most favored, the most devout of them all. How dare they think themselves worthy! After all those years, they had spent in their cozy lives, forgetting who they were and letting the world forget who they had served.

Ignoring her outburst, the Dark Lord continued. “I’m going to lure the boy to the Department of Mysteries, so that we may retrieve the prophecy at long last. He will think Sirius is there, captured by me, tortured by me. This will bring him. But it will also bring Sirius, no doubt.” He paused, taking in the expression on his loyal servant’s face, drinking in the flickering of emotions hidden behind her lidded eyes. “You must rid the boy of him.”

It took only a moment for Bellatrix to understand what she was being instructed to do. It would not be her job to get the prophecy or even capture the boy, instead it would be to kill Sirius Black. “Of course, My Lord.” Her voice did not tremble or fault in any way to betray the sliver of hesitance she felt. The Black family name would die with Sirius and they would fade away, like other great houses had done. No more would they command the respect of others or insight fear, but instead dwindle away like a withering flower. Once dead, there would be no use to recollect on it and no chance of revival.

“That is all.”

The Dark Lord turned away from her and Bellatrix retreated into the shadows, the face of young Sirius dancing in her mind. Such a bright, vivacious boy he had been. What a shame…what a shame, she thought miserably. But she could not fail. It was clear to her, now, that this was not a mission she could turn away from. There would be no more shielding her family from the wrath of the Dark Lord.

[gigiree]

Unlucky Circumstance

It’s certainly a case of Murphy’s Law. It’s certainly and expectedly his bad luck that had caused this.

Or rather he’d blame this entirely on that if Ladybug was anywhere in sight. Beyond all the chaos of screaming teenagers and a city reduced to canoodling, love struck citizens, there’s no sight of red and black.

There’d hardly been enough time to transform before the akuma, aptly named Lovestruck, had broken through the school’s decidedly poor security system. Chat Noir was left with little recourse but to fend him off and corral as many of his unaffected classmates as he could into a safe space.

He leaves Kim behind. It’s too late for the boy. He’s already sobbing into his hands and crying about his one sided love for Alix.

(She’s torn between amusement and something bordering on embarrassment as she runs out the door.)

“Hey, Lovestruck! Your type of love isn’t real! We don’t want it!” Someone shouts behind the screaming/swooning mass of students.

And then he sees her. Awkward, cute, stupidly brave Marinette trying to distract Lovestruck who flies above them on his gilded cloud.

He’s already lobbed a handful of that almost pretty rose gold dust. She tries to dodge, but the dust is everywhere and falls over her in a glittering shower of horror, and Chat is too late.

A resounding NOOOO echoes across the courtyard. Faster than he can move, Alya Cesaire is already in front of Marinette. Her trembling hands are covering Marinette’s eyes.

Alya gives Chat Noir a pleading look, and he jumps into action. He is surprised at how much bitterness and fear has latched onto his chest when the thought of poor, sweet Marinette falling for a random stranger crosses his mind.

It drives him faster. Drives him harder. Makes his baton spin until it seems like a solid flat circle heading towards Lovestruck. It’s fast enough to dissipate any dust thrown his way.

The akuma seems to know that this opponent is too fierce, and while Hawkmoth’s commands echo strongly in his hazy thoughts, the call of love tugs at him. Tells him that Paris is a city of love and lights and that there’s plenty more to spread.

He and his cloud disappear into the blue sky with a whirl of glitter.

Chat Noir grits his teeth and bites back a scream of frustration, his fingers shaking with repressed anger as dials Ladybug again.

There’s no answer, and before the terror can freeze him into stone, he decides to help everyone else.

The police that surround the area have luckily been kept sane and loveless inside their cruisers. They help him round up the lovestruck students and send home the ones not affected. (a huge part of which were students that were in relationships).

And there’s only one question left. Where is Ladybug? —

Marinette, who seems to be the closest civilian friend Ladybug has, looks understandably frustrated. Alya has deftly tied a thin scarf around her friend’s head so that she can’t see and fall in love with someone.

Chat is exhausted and between the inquiries as to where so and so was and whether Adrien was safe or not, he feels stretched thin.

Not to mention, Lovestruck would return for his Miraculous.

And so he asks Marinette for help in finding Ladybug. His worry that she might be among those affected eats away at him…and to give himself credit…it’s mostly the worry that brings the bile to his throat, not jealousy.

“I’m sure…I’m so sorry, I’m sure she’d be here if she could. Something probably happened. I’m going to try and get home to contact her.” Marinette says, her voice cracking and a few tears of frustration dampening the red silk wrapped over her eyes.

Alya miserably pats her back, her glasses tucked into her shirt pocket so that she’s squinting at nothing in particular.

Chat Noir’s scowl softens, and he feels some of the tension leach away to be replaced with exhaustion.

He rubs his forehead in frustration, before answering.

“Hey… you don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault and I’m sure she has a good excuse…she’s never let m-…let us down before. We’ll just to have wait for her in a safe place.”

Alya perks up at that, her mouth twisting in a frown of discontent as she contemplates a course of action. Her arms are still wound protectively around Marinette as they sit on a bench in the empty courtyard.

“Can you please take Marinette home? I would if I could, but right now, I can’t see anything without my glasses and I’d rather keep it that way until the akuma is gone. I can’t protect her like this.” She says with a look of equal desperation, her frustration synergizing with Marinette’s as they both slump against each other in defeat.

(I can’t protect you like this either, Marinette thinks in response.)

“You can…you can hide in my room until Ladybug shows up.” Marinette offers him, her mind rapidly concocting a reasonable excuse for tonight when she would have to disappear for a few minutes and reappear as a blindfolded Ladybug.

Chat hesitates at first, looking at the tops of the buildings wistfully…as if any second Ladybug would appear to get them all out of this mess. But it’s wishful thinking, and for once he’s not leaping before thinking.

“Okay, Princess. I’ll take you home and we’ll make a game plan from there.”

And part of his tension is relieved when he sees Nino, without glasses, carefully feeling his way into the courtyard, eyes squinting so hard, they almost look completely shut.

“I’ll be fine then! It’ll be the blind leading the blind, but Nino and I can help each other get home.” Alya says decidedly, already dusting off her pants and standing up.

She gives Marinette a farewell hug, pats Chat Noir on the shoulder…or rather she means to, but she just ends up awkwardly slapping the side of his head and then she’s making her way towards a stumbling Nino.

Marinette looks a bit panic stricken, with her brows furrowed and her mouth working to say something.

Chat Noir patiently waits for her to speak as he hoists her up and drapes her arm over his shoulder, so that he can guide her over the overturned waste baskets and emptied backpacks.

“Is…where is Adrien? Is he okay?” she blurts out, her mouth set into a grimace.

It’s the sixth time he’s heard the question today. But for some reason, it doesn’t give him that same prickle of annoyance. Not that her inquiry had been any different than the others, but there’s something about it coupled with her vulnerability right now.

She’s asking about him even as she’s struggling to walk, even as she’s blinded for the moment.

And once again, there’s that soft inkling of comfort that sets his heart fluttering when he contemplates their burgeoning friendship.

“He’s fine. I saw him get away into his chauffeur’s car during the evacuation.” He lies a little guiltily, as he leads her through a main street.

It’s uncharacteristically empty, most of the citizens already safely ensconced into their homes or offices.

He’s careful, constantly looking over their heads and tucking her into corners so that they’re not easily spotted in the dimming daylight.

There’s one breathless moment. One stupidly wasteful moment where a trashcan had clattered and he’d panicked.He’d whirled her into the alcove of an older building, a little archway decorated with a giant planter.

Hardly any space for the two of them, hardly enough space between the two of them. His chest pressed against hers, his arms vice like and strained around her taut shoulders.

She smells of peonies, some of her hair drifts up to tickle his nose. But he can’t be distracted.

There’s a strength to her that any other day would have made him grin in appreciation. She accepts his help with a graciousness that’s laced with indignation.

But right now, their nerves are strung too high. There’s a dependency she’s not used to. And here he is, earnestly trying to get her home.

There’s many things she loves about her cat, and while they’re not enough to make her fall in love, they’re enough to make her love him.

She looks up at him, first in anxiousness and then, her expression softens into a tender smile.

When he finally relaxes and realizes the noise had come from a pouncing alley cat, she thanks him.

“It’s uh…it’s my duty as a hero…but also, I really like saving pretty princesses. It’s like in the old fairytales my mom used to…” He trails off, and although she can’t see anything beyond the sliver of light at the edge of the scarf, she senses the strain in his form, the hurt that seems to pervade him.

“Umm…never mind. I’m saying stupid things again.” He finally says, and she looks like she wants to say more, but he’s relieved when she doesn’t.

They finally make it to the bakery. The delicate glass doors are nearly shattered with the force of the Dupain-Cheng’s worry as they burst out to pull both Marinette and him inside the safety of their home.

Mdme Dupain-Cheng is smoothing down her daughter’s hair, nearly tearful as she traces the folds of the silk scarf still wound around Marinette’s head.

He feels a little awkward. A lot out of place.

But then he’s whirled into a brief dance of embraces and grateful thank you’s. He’s plied with food and baked goods, and he’s reminded sharply that he had forgotten to eat breakfast and now it was almost 6 pm.

The akuma is still at large. Ladybug is still missing. The chaos of the outside world blares from the television and while guilt eats away at him as fast as he eats away at the grilled beef, practicality wins out as Marinette echoes his reasoning.

They sit now in her bedroom, a pile of cookies and cafe au lait set on a tray on her worktable.

She’s nervously nibbling at the edges of a cookie. He’s already on his third.

He thanks the skies that she can’t see the mess he is right now. Hair messy and eyes wide and scared. Crumbs trailing down his pretty suit as they contemplate what to do next.

“I just…this is terrible…but you can’t fix them by yourself. It’s too much. I’m so sorry. I promise we’ll find her soon.” Marinette tells him with a mystifying certainty.

He can’t see her eyes beyond the red silk, but he’s sure their burning with that familiar quiet strength of hers.

He wants to ask her how she knows for sure, but she’s already rambling off into a tangent about how the akuma’s powers work. Her worry making her tongue loose in a way that’s so typically her, it makes his anxiety well up into a nervous chuckle.

She breaks off, listing her head in his direction, trying to get a better grasp of the noise he’s making.

“Are you…are you seriously laughing right now? This is a serious situation.” She chides.

“It is…it’s just…god, I’m so worried about her and I’m stuck in here and you’re blind for now and Alya and Nino had to take off their glasses to protect themselves and this situation is entirely ridiculous.” He threads his hands worried through his hair, and she can hear her divan creak as he tries to stretch out his agitation.

She snorts, a little self deprecatingly as she fiddles with the edge of her pink shirt.

“You’re not…wrong. I’m sorry I’m such a burden…you should’ve just…I mean you could have just tried to find her without me dragging you here.” She says quietly, and he worries that he’s hurt her.

She seems to make herself so much smaller next to him, drawing her knees up to her chest as she leans her head back against the wall. Her hair color shifts in the light, and it looks almost blue in the soft lighting of her room.

His words almost catch in his throat at the familiarity she prompts from him. But he hates seeing her defeated like this.

“You’re not a burden. You’re just a person who got caught up in the trouble and you happen to be the one that Ladybug trusts the most.” He ventures and he flinches when it’s her turn to laugh.

“You’ve got it all wrong. She doesn’t trust me at all. She relies on you entirely, you know that? She really…she really does care about you.”

He’s entirely surprised by the admission. He takes her bitterness for jealousy that he’s closer to Ladybug than she is.

(But that’s not it at all…she simply trusts him so much more than she trusts herself sometimes.)

The silence almost stretches to discomfort, and he tries to fall back on humor to break the tension.

“I’m guessing you’re not at all tempted to take off that scarf and fall for me?” He jokes. The lifting syllable at the end of his question tells her it’s a joke.

“You’re not the person I want to fall for.” Her mouth twists into a puckered expression of distaste, something torn between a smile and a feigned grimace. It’s just a joke.

“Awww, you’re blushing! Maybe I do have a chance!” He crows.

Its just a joke. And somehow it still manages to cause her heart to batter against her throat, and she hides it behind a quick jab at his shoulder.

But unfortunately, Murphy’s Law is still in effect.

See there was a time where Marinette had posters of Adrien tacked all over her wall…and one of those nails was still left behind during her attempt to remove all evidence of her minor crush.

The nail that caught onto the back of scarf. The nail that pulled it away from her eyes as she surged forward to playfully punch Chat Noir.

And for some terrifying, heart racing reason, she can’t close her eyes.

She can’t because he’s simply too beautiful, his wide, unnatural green eyes shimmering underneath the light. Surprise coloring them the same green as sour grapes and leaves in spring.

Then it strikes her…and it strikes him what’s just happened.

She screams and he caterwauls. She’s already put her face in her hands by the time he’s shouted for her to look away.

In his haste, he’s fallen off the divan and is sprawled painfully on the floor.

There’s quiet. A sudden expectation and almost melancholy (but maybe just the tiniest bit glad) acceptance that the person she’s fallen for is Chat Noir.

Yet, there’s no heart racing. No love declarations or sudden outbursts of singing.

She’s still Marinette…embarrassed and scared and hiding.

Confusion…and then silence.

Chat Noir remembers then. Ivan and Mylene, already dusted and clinging onto each other…but they’d looked terrified, not lovey dovey. Ivan had been comforting her.

And more students escaping, a few couples seeming just fine.

It dawns on him that Lovestruck couldn’t make you fall in love with someone you already were in love with.

It makes no sense at all…no sense unless Marinette was hiding feelings for him…him as Chat Noir.

The question is out before he even has time to bite his tongue. He looks at her, practically defeated and curling up against the wall as she hides her face.

“Marinette…do you…do you have feelings for me?”

She snaps up at that, cheeks burning and her beautiful eyes…like bluebells…aflame with indignation.

“NO! I….I love Adrien!”

Again, the words are out before she even has a chance to think. She claps her hands over her mouth, eyes so wide, they swallow the rest of her face up in terror.

Her plan unravels, and beyond the immediacy of her confession, there’s a feeling of relief that accompanies the mortification.

She’s free for now, in spite of all her questions…in spite of the fact that she might be in love with Chat Noir…

But she’ll have to set that aside until the akuma is dealt with.

“I need some…I need some air. Alone.” She says.

Before he has a chance to process her words, before he’s even had a chance to say anything, she’s bolted.

Up the stairs to the roof of her home, and he can’t move…there’s something like ice crawling up his legs…burning and welcome all at the same time because her words keep resounding.

And when he finally has a chance to move, to say something, he’s following her as fast as he can…but he only manages to catch the red flare of magic. The sweet smell of peonies and luck as Ladybug leaps out into the scintillating city with blazing determination.