#also just want to say i started this whole thing BEFORE sein came back in the manga

[sabraeal]

A Heart Like Stone Turned to Flesh, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @onedivinemisfit, who has been waiting quite patiently for this little birthday gift for a few months now 😅It was originally supposed to be based on one of her Frimmel artworks-- which, technically, it still is-- but I decided to include one of her other too, and the whole project grew into a multichap with a first chapter that addresses...neither of them. BUT I WILL GET THERE SOME DAY.

“Well.” Fog curls up from Sein’s mouth, sprawling into the same delicate lace as smoke. It's so familiar Frieren half-expects the cloying scent to follow, tobacco clinging to her clothes like a child does his mother’s sleeve. “I’ll give your friend this: that Himmel guy certainly got around.”

She has to crane her neck to catch his face— more than she ever did when he was alive. But this pinch is what’s more familiar to her now, habit narrowing her eyes to a squint against the sun. It’s him, alright; even with the morning light prying its way past her lashes, she can see the cocky tilt to his chin and the sly slant to his smile. “He liked helping everyone. It made him popular no matter where we went.”

Sometimes too popular. More than once she’d caught him sneaking out a window, just to avoid the crush of young girls lingering outside their inn, eager to meet The Hero they’d heard so much about.  He’d been shy about it, nervous those first few times— funny, for a boy his age; she’d always thought human adolescents were supposed to be eager for that sort of exploration, their short lifespans spurring them toward procreation before their brains fully finished developing enough to understand the consequences.

You won’t tell anyone? he’d asked, hanging there by the bedsheets, hair a haystack blown to the four winds. She’d only answered, who would I tell?

The girls, of course, which she did as soon as they’d crowded her at the door. And Heiter and Eisen, once she’d caught up with them in town. They’d laughed for a full quarter hour over it, winding down one moment only to work right up to a full guffaw the next. And when Himmel joined them, tunic sticking to his skin and lipstick smeared across his cheeks, thoroughly harassed— well, they’d started right back up again.

I didn’t say I wouldn’t, she would remind him when he turned those wounded eyes on her. And he’d only whine, I didn’t realize you were being hypothetical!

“If there’s one of these here, then the village must be nearby.” Fern furrows her brow— the way Heiter never would, not unless he was quoting scripture three sheets to the wind and tripping over one of those trumped up Empire words, like pervicacious or abnegation or, on one memorable night, copulation— and peers down the road. “Maybe those directions weren’t so useless after all.”

“See?” Sein thrusts out a generous hand, looking every inch the benevolent priest he isn’t. “Northern wisdom. No one knows this land like the people who live here. If you’d only let me finish talking to that nice older woman, then maybe we would have—”

“We still were wandering for almost three days,” she says, as cold as the mountain pass they’d trudged through trying to get to this valley. “Either that nice older woman didn’t know what she was talking about, or you were too busy staring at her to pay attention.”

Frieren rocks on her heels, just a little smug. “I think I know which one it is.”

One glance at her sends Sein sputtering, tripping over himself to insist, “I’m sure she said she knew a man who went this way once. A merchant, I mean. You know, a regular traveler.”

“I’m sure she did.” The chill in Fern’s tone could give a flame frostbite.

It certainly seems to burn Sein’s hide, since he hurries to add, “She’s given the same directions to other travelers too, and never had any complaints.”

“Complaints aren’t a bad thing.” Frieren tilts her head, gaze sliding up, up, until she meets Sein’s furrowed brow. Not a bad look on him, she has to admit. Thinking looks good on just about everyone; it’s a pity most people don’t do it more often. “It means the directions weren’t so terrible they couldn’t find their way back.”

“Well, sure,” he huffs, more steam rising from his mouth, consternation turning to storm before roiling away into the afternoon air. “But if they found their way, they wouldn’t come back either, unless, er…”

“They were just visiting?” It’s not that she enjoys seeing Sein squirm, it’s just— well, it is funny. A big man like that, a priest— the goddess’s chosen as they used to say— standing around and stammering, his cheeks discovering deeper shades of pink. Doesn’t really get old, no matter how many times she’s seen it. Or who she’s seen it on. “And then they’d be sure to come back the same way, wouldn’t they? To say thank you, at least.”

“H-huh.” His eyes squint— she wouldn’t have noticed, all those months ago, when they first began dragging him along behind them. But now his deflection is like an old friend, one fondly missed in all those years away. “Well, I suppose, uh…”

It’s impossible to meet his eyes— he’s head and shoulders taller than her for one thing, and not inclined to stoop down right now, for another— but she leans in, new snow crunching beneath the thick soles of her boots, and smiles. “Did she then? Have people come back to thank her for the good directions?”

“I didn’t inquire,” he sniffs, arms folded forbiddingly across his chest. “Her credentials seemed unquestionable.”

Fern snorts. “Her cup size, you mean.”

“It just seems like an odd place to put it, doesn’t it?” Stark says, sudden as always, his head still cocked to match his hero’s. “The statue I mean. Don’t they usually like to have a whole town square around these things? Put some garlands on and have a whole festival about it?”

“Not always.” Fern might not spare Himmel another glance, but she does fix one to Stark, for all that he notices. “I’ve seen plenty on roadsides, and more than a few in some glen or gully, all forgotten and worn down.”

“Villages move, plans change.” It’s her third time on this road in a century, and it never ceases to surprise her what things move, and what things carry on just the same, as if the years had never passed. “Especially this far north. People put down roots, and then a river changes, or the harvest doesn’t come in quite right, and they pull them right up again.”

Stark squints. “So this is where the village is supposed to be?”

“Who knows.” Frieren lets her eyes linger where the sweep of Himmel’s hair cuts across his forehead, the work so delicate she’d swear the barest breeze would ruffle it. “Maybe they just liked how it looked.”

“I’m just surprised they had someone around who could make a statue.” Sein’s hands hook behind his head; support for his surreptitious surveying. They’ve been missing that too the past few years— his casual curiosity, a welcome change from Fern’s weary antipathy and Stark’s unreliable attention. An eagerness to dig deep and turn up worms, instead of hurrying along to the next mark on their map. “Nice as some places might be up here now, we Northerners aren’t really known for our fine artisans, if you know what I mean.”

Fern stoops down, one robe-covered hand reaching out to wipe frost and years from the plinth, scowling when all she uncovers is blank stone. “Well it looks like he found one, at least.”

“You’d be surprised what you can turn up in these small villages. A girl who paints masterpieces on cave walls. An innkeep that single handedly slays demons before trudging back to serve his next pint.” She casts a knowing look toward Sein, her mouth taking a sly slant. “The best healer of the age.”

“And some farmhand sleeping in a barn who can sculpt like the great masters?” If he hears the compliment, Sein certainly doesn’t take it. He just snorts instead, shaking his head. “If there’s one thing that Himmel was, it was dedicated to being carved out of stone.”

She can still remember the smell of that workshop— wood shavings and clay, and some other sour note that stung her nose, clinging long after they left— and the way dust motes had eddied around Himmel’s cloak as he turned to her. I just thought I’d like everyone to remember me.

That would have been reason enough; humans were impulsive, short lived. They got tangled up in their sense of mortality, agonizing over legacy, over that second death, when a name is last spoken and all about them fades from memory. But Himmel— Himmel lets the light catch him, the ice of his eyes softening, melting as he tells her, but the biggest reason is so that you won’t be alone.

“Well,” she hums, lingering on the still familiar angles of his jaw, the delicate swoop of his nose. “He did like wasting our time. Almost as much as helping people.”

When her gaze drops, Sein’s is waiting for her, so amused— no, so fond that Frieren can’t help but wonder if he missed them all just as much as they did him.

“We should get going,” he says, both firm and gentle. Confident, maybe; knowing he’ll be heard. “Night’s not going to wait around for us, and I don’t have to tell you, it gets cold when the sun goes down around here.”

Frieren shivers just thinking about it. “Good point.”

Heiter might have teased her about her height— unfair, when Eisen was even shorter; size doesn’t matter when it comes to getting underfoot, that corrupt old priest would say, ruffling her hair— but it’s easy to tuck close to Sein when he walks, to let the heat that escapes even his thick coat warm her through hers. He’s a furnace compared to Heiter and his marble-cold hands— funny, she’d always heard drunks were warmer— and he complains less too, just stilling his arm with a sigh as she settles beside him. As long as the village isn’t too far, they might make it before he even—

Stops. Just like he does now, leaving her to lurch back on her heels to miss his elbow. “Stark?”

There’s tracks in the snow: four of them leading to the statue, making a muddle of slush around the base of it. But there’s only three leading away, the second largest set stuck beneath Stark’s thick boots, lingering right where they left him. Staring— no, squinting up at Himmel the Hero, jaw slack enough even snow might stick.

Fern heaves a sigh, arms folding into their most frustrated angles. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sein just barely stifles a groan. This, she suspects, he hasn’t missed.

“I dunno.” His head tilts, red and black shifting in its starburst. “Do you think…?”

“More than you, certainly,” Fern snaps. “Are you coming, or should we just leave you here?”

“Now, now, give the kid a minute.” Sein may put on his most peaceable tones, playing his priestly part to the hilt, but Frieren doesn’t miss the way his mouth curls, one side of his benevolent smile hitching to a smirk. “We all have our crushes now and again.”

“I don’t have a crush!” Stark yelps, whipping wide-eyes toward them. “It’s just— isn’t there something weird about this statue? You know, something different about it?”

It would be easy to brush off his concerns— Stark might be the strongest of them, but he’s the first to make shadows out of sunshine too, trembling right down to his boots at the smallest creak in the floorboards— but Frieren finds herself turning, blinking up into the late morning sun, tracing her eyes over stony flesh, counting two ears and ten fingers, hair artfully blowing in a wind eighty years gone.

“It looks like every other statue,” Fern informs him, utterly implacable. A fitting look for a mage of her skill— so long as it isn’t aimed Frieren’s way, of course. “Now let’s get going. My feet are going to get cold if we keep standing around in this snow.”

“But isn’t it…?” Stark squints up at the statue, stymied. “Isn’t it more, I dunno…detailed?”

Fern clicks her tongue. “Detailed?”

“You can see his mole!” One gloved hand swings out, jutting up towards a stony cheek. “Most statues don’t even bother with that. And his hair’s kinda all uneven in the back, like he cut it himself—”

“Heiter did.” They’d argue about it endlessly; Heiter, always too hungover to walk in a straight line let alone cut one, insisting that as an avatar of the goddess’s grace and kindness, his skills were unimpeachable, and Himmel, seized by an absurd and exacting bout of vanity, insisting that he try again, only actually good this time. “They were both hopeless with a pair of scissors. I don’t know why he never asked Eisen to try. He had steadier hands, at least.”

Stark juts a hand her way, pointed. “See?”

“Can’t say I see it,” Sein admits after a long moment, slanting a glance down to where she stands. “What do you think? You’re the expert on Himmel the Hero, here.”

The title pricks at her, like needles sinking into her skin. Expert, ha. That’s the whole reason they’re going north to begin with, isn’t it? Because she never really knew him at all.

She shrugs. “I can’t say. At this point, I’ve seen so many they all sort of blur together.”

But he’s right about the mole though. Most sculptors didn’t bother with the imperfections, fixing Heiter’s glazed over stare the mornings he showed up still soused to their sessions, or the kinks sleep put in Eisens beard, and sometimes even giving her one of those benevolent goddess smiles. This must have been a good one. Strange that she can’t quite remember it.

“Why are you spending so much time looking at these statues anyway?” Fern huffs as he finally tromps away, adding a fourth set of tracks beside their three. “It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird!” It’d be a better protest if his voice didn’t crack on the last word. “It’s obvious. Just because none of you have been paying attention doesn’t mean that I—”

Whatever he says is lost to the woods, swallowed up by the thickening firs and their hastening steps. Oh, she could hear them, if she wanted to— they’re not all that far away, and as Eisen always used to grunt, you don’t have all that ear for nothin’— it’s only…

It’s only when she looks at Himmel, she can see the way his mouth is just subtly open, poised not just to stand but to speak. As if he’s just one breath away from calling out to her, hand already half raised to greet her. As if all she might have to do it reach out, and stone might warm in her hand, becoming flesh, and she—

“Do you need a minute?”

She’s not the sort that flinches— never was, at least according to Flamme— but she does shake herself, like a sleeper shaking off a dream.

“No.” Sein lingers behind her, not close, but enough that she can see the furrow bridging his brow, concern burning as bright as any hearth. “Just thinking.”

*

The village isn’t much to write home about; just a smattering of houses that cluster up around a crossroads like nearly every other one they’ve seen since they strolled out of the Empire’s lands and into the deeper, bleaker North. It’s honestly not even too dissimilar from his own, though that’s a detail he’ll refrain from recounting when he finally does get to settle in and pen his letter back home. His brother may be a captive audience for the duration of three sheets of paper— even crossed, which Sein would consider a bridge too far himself— but he hardly needs to harp on the minutiae of being in a small village when that fool still lives in one.

No, he saves his spare inches for stories; ones he’s told by the toothless old men in taverns and the rotating roster of aspiring heroes he’s traveled alongside on his search for Gorilla. Ones he’s lived through himself, as well— nearly being flown off by some bird-monster took two pages of tightly-woven prose to relate, and wandering in some goddess-forsaken dungeon for three days with two hygiene deficient warriors had been a page and a half if only so he wouldn’t have to remember the smell.

The longest, of course, was the month they spent at the village on the Rohr Road, waiting out that cold spell.

I can’t take it much more, he’d scrawled, admittedly a little too deep in his cups. They might say that a little romance is the death of a party, but I’d take it over these two children dancing around each other, trying to find ways to twist the other into moving first! If I’d known I’d have to suffer a schoolroom flirtation, I might never have gone at all.

It’d been nearly four pages, front-to-back and crossed besides; every word of it spent venting his frustration at the futility of youth— and, more specifically, Stark’s inability to understand an implicit invitation. Not that Sein could blame him; Fern was just the sort of girl to roll up a welcome mat from under a man’s feet for nothing but the high crime of perceiving they could stand on it in the first place. He’d nearly burned the letter in the morning— who would want to read his drunken complaints about two romantically confused idiots they have never even met?— but…

He’d sent it anyway. They moved too often for him to get replies now that they’ve traveled beyond the civilized world— or at least, what he had always thought would be the boundaries of it, back in his small village, dreaming of bigger things. But Sein liked to think his brother enjoyed them, these letters from world’s end, smelly companions and luckless young lovers and all. That when he sat at the window of his parsonage, poring over letters by the morning light, he might smile and shake his head, wondering at the strange sights his brother saw.

It was the least he could do, anyway. Give a little of the world back to the brother who gave his up for him.

“That’s the headman’s house.” Stark hops up from his crouch, too young for his knees to creak the way Sein’s would. The lucky bastard. “Right there, on the corner. The big one.”

He thrusts out an arm, finger fixed to where a large log building sits, lintels well-carved and chimneys merrily pushing out smoke.

“That one, huh?” Sein squints, hands hooking on his hips. “I had that pegged as the village hall. Just look at the size of it.”

“Big family, maybe.” Frieren trots up to his elbow, hooking close like a child to their mother’s apron strings, afraid they might get lost on market day. But there’s no market out here, just children playing in the muddy streets and folk lingering at fence posts, wondering at the crowd of strangers that just rolled in. “I’m not sure, but Stark’s sources are unimpeachable.”

“Unim…?” Sein’s teeth snick shut as he traces the tilt of her smirk to find a knot of young girls giggling as they walk away. One waves, a corner of her pinafore caught up in her hands, and Stark hunches into his coat, the tips of his ears burnished a bright red.

“They made him play hero before they’d tell him,” she explains, voice nowhere near soft enough to escape Stark’s notice, no matter how much of a show she made of keeping it behind a hand.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he says staunchly, giving the boy an encouraging nod. Around these two ladies, men like them had to stick together. “Stark already is one.”

For all his good intentions, Stark merely moans, sinking further into his collar. It’s Fern that clarifies, “They made him play hero to their forest lady. He had to pretend to get stuck in the mud and need saving at least three times before he begged them to let him go.”

“The hero needing saving?” That was certainly a new one, though by the smug little smirk on Frieren’s face, not unwelcome. “That’s not your friend’s usual narrative when he traipses through a town. You guys run into a little trouble here, once?”

“Not that I can remember,” she admits, and Sein doesn’t think he imagines the hint of disappointment. “But most of these northern towns blend together for me.”

“Really?” Fern tilts her head, wide eyes not curious but incredulous. “But you remember almost everything.”

“Not everything.” It’s Frieren’s turn to sink into her scarf, the ends of her ears twitching, like a cat well harassed. “We only went through twice, and I didn’t see the point of coming so far north, afterward.”

Their party might have a thousand year old elf, one of the handful of First Class mages on the continent, and a favorite of the goddess herself, but yet it’s Stark that thinks to say, “Did Himmel?”

Sein’s boots stutter beneath him, sinking into the muddy road as he turns to stare, stunned at the boy behind him. He’s hardly the only one; Stark shrinks back, hands raised like it might somehow shield him from a well-aimed Zoltraak. “W-what? It makes sense, doesn’t it? You were wandering around for fifty years, he was wandering around for fifty years…?”

“He does,” Fern starts, every syllable begrudging, “have a point.”

“It could be.” Those pale pigtails tilt, ribbons of silver slipping down Frieren’s coat before she shakes herself free of the thought. “I don’t think it’s likely though. It took long enough for us to get here the first time, never mind a return trip. Maybe it was some other hero. Plenty of them came up this way trying to get to the Demon King.”

But not many would have made it this far. “And what about the forest lady? Some local legend? A spirit we should be aware of?”

“Maybe.” Frieren slanted him one of her too-knowing grins. “Or it could be whatever survived of your goddess.”

He stares down at her, unamused. “Pardon me?”

“It happens sometimes, once you get far enough past the Empire’s influence.” She’s got a jaunty little spring to her step now, despite the mud splashing up the sides of her boots. “People settle, stories change, holy books are lost— if they were ever brought in the first place— and you get these sorts of spirits. Benevolent women living in woods and lakes and caves. One time, there was even a well where—”

“A well?” Fern frowns, as stern as Master Heiter never was. “I don’t think the goddess would live in a well.”

“Who’s to say she doesn’t?” Her smile is downright benevolent when she adds, “If church doctrine says that the goddess is everywhere, doesn’t that mean wells too?”

Sein sees the lightning before it strikes; Fern’s mouth furrows as deep as her brow, marshaling all of her best arguments together, a priest’s daughter, through and through—

“Don’t,” he murmurs, holding out a hand. “Trust me on this one.”

Now it’s him that her temper’s aimed at, glaring at the arm he’s held out in front of her. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no point in arguing doctrine with a person who predates it by a good hundred years.” His mouth tilts, only making hers furrow deeper. “Not unless you want her to start in on water closets too.”

The girl blinks. “Water…closets…?”

“We should go talk to the headman,” Frieren calls back, both her and Stark outpacing them now. “Are you two coming?”

Sein raises his hand in answer, hurrying to catch up to Frieren’s much smaller heels, but from behind him, he still hears the soft murmur of, “Water closets.”

*

“It gets colder from here,” the headman warns them, one hand digging into the thick pelt of his beard. He’s a hale man, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested— built like Master Eisen, only twice as tall. The sort of man who might have made a good warrior, Stark thinks, if only he’d been born in his village and not the back end of the world. “Hard to believe, I know, but even with all the snow on the peaks, we stay a good deal warmer than out past them.”

“It’s probably because of the mountains.” Frieren pops up on her toes, squinting toward the sky. Even lifts a hand up to shield her eyes, like she’s some kid trying to peek over her neighbor’s fence.  “They’re blocking you from the wind. This whole valley’s just a pocket of warm air.”

“I don’t know much about that,” the man— Gesund, he’d said, when he first started showing them around the place— says warmly. “But if you folks don’t want to brave the long nights and deep snows, you’re welcome to stay on for winter. We’ve got more than enough room.”

“Might not be a bad idea.” Sein’s got a speculative look on, taking in everything from the mountains peeking up above the tree line to the mud caking to their feet. Funny how they’d been walking in snow just this morning, and now that the day’s got a bit long in the tooth, there’s not a speck of it to be seen. “I don’t imagine there’s many other places around here to take us in.”

“Certainly not as nice.” The headman pats the side of one sturdy, log-hewn home, pride radiating off him. “There’s a few villages once you get out of the mountains, but the pass closes with the first frost.”

It’d already been harrowing enough getting through the first time; Stark shivers just thinking about another. A couple nights ago, it got cold enough for Sein to start talking about how some men in his village got lost wandering around their wood and gutted a fresh-caught stag for somewhere warm to sleep. Fern had scoffed, telling him to keep his gross old man stories to himself, but Stark—

Well, what bothered Stark was that it didn’t sound too bad. Not until morning, at least, which was way too long for him to be considering whether the goats around here might be just as warm, or if he’d have to kill two of them to fit.

“We don’t have much pocket money.” Fern’s mouth is strung as tight as their purse strings, voice pitched only to be heard by the four of them. “If we stay, there won’t be enough for—”

Snacks, that’s what she means to say. It’s the only sort of consequence Frieren understands, since time isn’t a limited quantity. But before she can eke out any kind of dire promise, Gesund says: “Don’t worry about that.”

A mistake on his part; worrying over their budget is one of Fern’s favorite pastimes. If anything, her mouth pulls tighter, brows dropping a dangerous degree. “Excuse me?”

Excuse you, she means, but if Gesund hears it, he waves it off with the rest of their concerns. “I’ve got a spare house. Built it for my son.”

He gestures to a boy who can’t be much younger than Stark himself, though he’s got a lot more limb, proportionally, and a lot less muscle. Nothing a few hard years working the land won’t change, but slower progress than throwing around an axe. Safer, though. By miles.

“For when he marries,” the headman explains, clapping the boy on the shoulder. The kid looks like he’d rather wither into the earth than sit through this particular explanation. “But no one’s caught his eye yet, and what young man prefers to keep his own house when he could have what his mother’s put on the table?”

It’s to Stark that Gesund turns his grin, as if this is some old chestnut all men his age must know: the sky is blue, water’s wet, and a bachelor never cooks his own dinner. And maybe it is; Stark wouldn’t know. He could barely remember his mother, honestly.

“As long as a few of you don’t mind pitching in a hand or two over the harvest, I’m sure it’ll all come out even,” Gesund assures them, the deep rumble of his laugh rolling over them like distant thunder.

“We have Stark,” Fern offers, catching him by the back of his coat. “He likes to lift heavy things.”

“What?” he squawks. “Why am I the only one getting volunteered?”

“You still have things growing?” Sein aims his furrowed brow down the road, as if he might be able to see them from here if he just squints hard enough. “We saw snow on our way in.”

“It’s the weather, I tell you,” Gesund laughs, leading them down the packed earth path. “It stays mild enough here that we can grow most of what we need up until the sun fails us. We’ve still got a week or two left before we’ll have to bring everything in.”

Sein’s frown pulls deeper. “One to two weeks…?”

“Come on then,” the headman says, smile bright as sun on snow. “Take a good look at where you’ll be staying. I’m sure we can work something out.”

*

It’s a nice little cottage, Fern has to admit; one made with quite a bit of thought and care. Even with a pace around the common room, she can’t find a single hint of a draft, nor one bit of the ceiling that might leak. The bedrooms seem fine too; just two— though there’s plenty of space for more, Master Gesund had said, quite pointed, should my boy see fit to fill them up— with windows sealed up tight. Glass, too— a luxury, all the way out here. It seems the headman does well for himself when he does make it down to the Empire’s markets.

“Can you imagine that?” Fern settles in front of the fire Sein helped her start, right before Gesund herded him and and Frieren right back out the door. To look at fields or some such. Adult things, she assumes, since the two of them have been left behind. “Having a house like this, and his son’s not even twenty.”

“I think what gets me is that he keeps talking like that kid should be married,” Stark sighs, heaving off his boots. They clatter beside the door, mud spattering over the towel Frieren left for them. “He’s even younger than us!”

Not even old enough to grow a beard, according to those bare cheeks of his. Or at least, not one worthy of the name. This far north, the length of the hair of your chin marked you as a man, and for someone to shave it off, well— it would have to be truly terrible. Fern had only seen the boy for a moment, eclipsed by the shadow of his father, but she can imagine it— piebald patches of red sprouting from under his chin, a wispy mustache. Nothing that would do his boyish face any favors.

“That’s how it is in places like this, I think.” She spreads her toes on the hearth, watching the wool of her stockings stretch between them “You get married young and start having kids to help out. More hands make quicker work, they say.”

“I guess so.” Stark shucks his coat at the door too, letting it slump to the floor like he’s some child fresh from playing in the snow. She’d scold him— honestly, they all have to live in this cottage together, he can’t just leave things places— but he pads over to her, the clinging fabric of his shirt stretching across his shoulders as he sits. “That’s kind of how it was in my village too. Well, as far as I can remember.”

He lays down— sprawls, really, like he doesn’t know how to keep his limbs all in one place without his coat to remind him they’re there. Another thing she could nip at, if she chose— he’s a buffet of problems, each one more meaty than the last— but Fern only tucks her chin between her knees, keeping an eye on where his toes curl, far too close to the flames. It’ll be his fault if he lets his stockings singe.

“They’d been talking about getting my brother married to some girl, you know?” She doesn’t, of course— how could she?— but she keeps her mouth shut, letting him settle into the warm stones. “At least, they were, before…”

Before. He lets the word hang, a warning and a wish all at once. “Was he very old?”

“Not really.” Stark shrugs, more hands than shoulders. “He was older than me though, by a lot. Maybe…fifteen? I don’t know.”

Her eyes jump to his, surprised. “Young.”

“I guess when you fight demons for a living, every day counts. Or I don’t know, something like that.” His head turns, gaze falling on her with bald curiosity. That’s how he always is, wearing his every thought on his sleeve, too much. “How about you? You’re from the south, right? Was it the same?”

“I…I don’t remember,” she mumbles into her knees. Even her memories of her mother and father are patchwork, a composite of a handful of half-formed moments and none of them clear. What her village had been like— her home, her life— might as well be a mystery. Or it would be, if she cared about remembering it. “I think Master Heiter would have been happy if I never married.”

It must have crossed his mind once, even as young as she was. That’s what little girls did, didn’t they? Grow up and become women who got married, became mothers. And yet he’d never said a word of it. Only encouraged her magic practice, luring her out a teacher with his advanced age and utter shamelessness in taking advantage of it. If it was a father’s job to plan for his daughter’s future, Master Heiter must not have seen one where a man would willingly take on a girl as sullen as her, as unnervingly silent.

“Yeah, I don’t think Master Eisen thought much about it either.” He shakes his head, grin clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Fern casts him a long look. “You think so?”

“Well, I mean, none of them ever got married, did they?” he asks, wide eyes finding hers. “Master Heiter was a priest, right? So that makes sense. But Master Eisen never did either. Or Himmel the Hero. And Frieren, well…”

Pigs might fly before she figures out how something as complicated as love works. Humans already had in the time it took her to figure out friendship. “So you’re saying we were doomed from the start?”

“What? No! That’s not it at all. It’s just…” Stark trails off, distracted. Just looks at the ceiling like if he stares long enough, he might see what fate’s carved for him in the stars. Or at least whether the thatch is leaking. “It’s kind weird to think that if I stayed…I mean, if everyone lived, and my father didn’t toss me out for being a complete disappointment”—Fern valiantly does not remind him of the fifty foot chasm he procrastinated into a cliff side— “that kid might be me right now.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “Not finding anyone you like?”

“No, no. I mean the getting married part.” Skin above his nose wrinkles, knotted up with thoughts, and he mutters, softer, “Well, maybe that too.”

Fern spares him an irritated glare. They’re sitting here, her hip practically touching his shoulder, only the fabric of her skirt and his shirt between them, and yet—

“What? Because it’s impossible that you could ever find anyone you’d like?”

“Yeah, I guess. Out there…” His eyes widen, and he rolls toward her, rising up on his elbow. “No, wait, that’s not, um…I mean, I wouldn’t—”

Fern sweeps up to her feet, an itch scratching just under her skin where she can’t possibly reach. She’s heard quite enough. “You’re so stupid, sometimes, Stark.”

*

“Look at them. We leave them alone for a few minutes and already they’re not talking.” Sein huffs, breath steaming up from his mouth in a dragon’s lazy curls. He’d probably cross his arms for good measure, too, if they weren’t already walking at a brisk pace, trying to eat up the acres between Gesund’s house and his son’s. “They’re like children— siblings! Turn our backs and they’ve already started picking at each other.”

Fern marches along ahead of them, chin lifted high enough to make Frieren’s neck ache with sympathy, every line of her sharp, officious. All business, Kanne might have said with a laugh— that’s how they talked in the cities now, she’s found. Quick phrases that might have been kennings, were they born a few centuries earlier. She likes it, she thinks. It’s…nostalgic.

Stark, on the other hand, drags miserably behind. He might well be some sort of revenant for how he trudges along, arms limp and head bowed, groaning about how unfair it is to be ignored like this. Frieren hums, muffling her smile in her scarf. “I don’t think that’s the problem here.”

“What? Well, of course not!” Sein snaps, whisper pitched low enough to be kept between them. “Obviously the problem is that they both want to” —he gestures, though it looks more like an explosion, in her opinion, than any suggestion of sexual congress— “but just won’t, for some reason. I thought it might resolve itself in time, but honestly, I think it’s only gotten worse since I was gone.”

Frieren shrugs, just a twitch of her shoulders. It’s hardly her fault— she already told him she wasn’t an expert. “They have been better, mostly. But the winters…”

“Oh, of course. Everything’s fine and dandy when we’re traveling along, just palling around, but they start thinking about being cooped up together— about huddling for warmth, or sharing blankets, or what have you— and now they have to cause problems about it.” Sein tosses back his head and heaves a sigh so weary it settles in her own bones. “Don’t they know they can just have sex? They’re not children.”

If there was ever a time to lift one brow, it would be now. But Frieren never learned, and so she raises both, fixing him with her mildest expression. “Is that something a priest should recommend?”

He presses a hand to his chest, paper-pale in the autumnal chill. “My foremost concern is keeping the goddess’s peace. And she knows full well we won’t be getting any of that until they figure themselves out.”

Frieren settles herself deeper into her scarf and tucks into his side. “They will in their own time.”

“Well, it better be in time to behave at dinner,” he says, louder as they approach the door. “Otherwise I might have to take things into my own hands.”

He spares the both of them a warning look as he knocks at the door, stern as any father— or at least, so she assumes. Frieren doesn’t remember much of hers, and what she does is…distant. A soft presence, if at times disinterested. Like, after all, repels like.

Fern sniffs, turning her chin away from Stark’s desperate, “But—!”

But whatever case he means to make for himself is cut short, the door swinging open, to reveal—

Not Gesund. Not even an adult. Sein drops his gaze and his knees, crouching to meet the rounded eyes that peep around the door’s edge.

“Hello there.” It’s a charming smile he cants the young girl’s way, the kind that says, I mean no harm at the same time it says, but I’m no stranger to trouble. The way Heiter used to— only without the last part. Both priests may have their vices— had their vices— but Heiter’s had always been alcohol, and Sein’s was…everything else. “My name is Sein. I believe your father invited us to dinner?”

Her eyes widen further, white all the way around, and with a gasp, she slams the door in his face.

“Well,” he mutters, rubbing at his nose. “That’s not quite what I expected.”

“I can’t blame her,” Frieren says mildly. “I think I’d do the same thing if you smiled at me like that.”

Her grin must be peeking out over her scarf, since Sein scowls at her as he stands. “There truly is no accounting for taste.”

*

“You’ll have to forgive her.” A smile tugs at the headman’s mouth when he has them seated all around his table, aimed fondly at where his daughter sits, trying to disappear into the bench. “Scheu isn’t much used to strangers. We don’t get many people who travel up this way.”

“And even fewer who stay on long enough to be seen,” his wife adds, a smiling woman who calls herself Froh. They’re all no better than strangers at this point, but when she shakes the bread basket in his direction, urging him to take another roll before it travels around the table, Stark finds himself liking her already. “You’re the first guests we’ve had for a good while.”

Scheu might be shy, hiding behind her hair now that there’s no door to do the job, but the rest of her siblings are loud, squabbling over everything from the best cuts of mutton down to the last bread in the basket. There’s five of them by his count, starting with the kid they met earlier— a younger, ganglier, beardless copy of his dad— and ending with the skittish Scheu; well-behaved bookends for what seems to be a rowdy crew.

It’s…a lot, he’s got to admit. He’d never thought of himself as a quiet kid— not when his father spent most of their dinner reminding him he had to stay seated if he wanted to eat the meal, and Master Eisen learned to distill all that scolding down into a single, disappointed yet devastating glance— but Stark watches one of the girls grab a fork straight out her brother’s hands and eat off it, and well…

Maybe he’s a little more well behaved than he thought. And if he is overwhelmed, then—

Fern’s stiff beside him, plate half-empty and hands knitted neatly in her lap. The picture of poise, the poster child for manners, but— her eyes are all wide, darting between every dish, unable to get a word in edgewise and too polite to just grab. He nudges her— just the littlest bit, one knee knocking gently into hers— and smiles. Maybe if he can help her, she’ll—

“Excuse me,” she says, the steel in her voice hiding its quiver. “Do you mind passing the turnips?”

The kid across from her— a boy, part of what looks to be a matching set— stops bickering with his sister long enough to stare. She nods, encouraging, and he pushes over the dish, jaw slack the whole time. Fern dollops a pointed spoonful right next to her greens before passing it back.

“Hey,” he murmurs, ducking his head down to his shoulder so she might hear. “Good—”

She wrenches her head away with a sniff and asks, pointed, “Master Sein, do you think you could pass me the beef?”

Ah. Stark slumps. So he’s still not forgiven. For…well, whatever he said.

“Gesund says you’ll be here for the harvest,” Froh says, looking him over with an appraising— and approving— eye. “Good for us, I say. We’ll have plenty to bring in.”

Stark swallows down his dinner and shoves a smile on his face. “G-great. I, er, love picking stuff up and putting it down. A bunch.” At least it’ll give him something to do besides wonder just how he screwed up this time. “Is there, uh, someone I’m supposed to talk to…?”

“Well, usually that’d be me, but this year Rustig’s running it. My eldest here.” Gesund elbows the boy, who only startles under his attention. “The one whose house you’re staying in. May be young, but he’s got a lot of experience under that belt of his. He’ll be well-established when the day comes to take a wife, won’t he?”

Stark glances at the kid—still withering the longer his father goes on— and tries a real confident, “Sure.”

“You’re giving him every opportunity to grow,” Sein slides in smoothly, wearing his most benign smile; the one that doesn’t look like a smirk or a grin at all, but just…priestly. “I’m sure he’ll be a real catch for whatever young lady has the pleasure of drawing his eye.”

It’s impossible to say if his father ever puffed with pride over his brother the way Gesund does over his son; Stoltz was younger, his natural talent expected rather than discovered, another illustrious warrior-to-be in their family’s long line of demon killers. If there were marriage talks, there must have been some frank discussion of what Stoltz would bring to the table— other than an eventual mangled corpse— but Stark can’t picture it. Not his stoic father, boasting about his son, his prowess, the home he could give them provided he lived long enough to make it to the altar.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you say it, Master Sein,” Gesund laughs, pounding his boy on the back. “He’ll make a fine husband one day, I can tell. Now Miss Fern”—the headman swivels his great head toward where she sits, interest quivering like an arrow— “Mistress Frieren tells me you’re a first class mage. Even worked in the Empire!”

“Yes.” She sets her utensils gently aside, hands folding over her lap, every inch a proper young lady. All those lessons at Vorig must of have paid off, at least in Stark’s opinion.  “For a short time.”

Gesund nods, impressed. The way anyone would be, faced with a girl like Fern. “Always like hearing about young ladies with an occupation. Getting some experience out in the world.” He clears his throat, stroking a hand over the burly bush of his beard, “You thinking of settling down in the Empire, when all’s said and done, or would you be open to somewhere a little more out of the way?”

Fern coughs. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re young yet,” Gesund says, working his way around to some point, Stark’s sure, even if he can’t figure out just what. “But in a few years—”

“That’s a fine statue you have outside of town,” Sein breaks in with a strained smile. “We noticed it on the way in. Just about knocked me out of my boots to see such a good depiction of Himmel the Hero all the way out in these parts! You must have had quite an artist here, and only a few generations ago.”

“Oh, well, it’s only to be expected, isn’t it? The hero did our town a great service.” Gesund draws himself up, proud. “Not just killing the demon king either. Oh no, we had a bit of our own problem, the kind that takes more than just a few good men to go hike out and solve.”

Sein’s shoulders don’t quite sag, but they do drop; a small ceding of ground to relief. “Is that so? We hadn’t heard.”

“Near around eighty years ago, some boy got stolen off by some monster that lived right out of town.” The headman juts his chin toward where Frieren sits, smiling. “Just our luck that the Hero’s Party showed up only a few days earlier and hadn’t yet moved on. The Hero went off in search of him one evening, and came back the next morning with child in tow, none the worse for wear.”

Stark glances at her, waiting for Frieren to get that faint smile she always does whenever someone mentions Himmel’s name, but instead—

Instead, she seems…concerned. “Did he?”

“So you recognized Frieren, did you?” Sein lets his mouth hook into its most compelling smirk. “I wasn’t sure if you had, but your offer to stay for the winter was so generous…”

“Recognize is a bit strong,” Gesund laughs, waving a humble hand. “I wasn’t around then, that’s for sure, and can’t say I’d have picked her out of a crowd. But when an elf comes wandering this far north, knowing all about the road through the mountains, well…I may not be a scholar, but I can string a few lines together.”

“You might have said something,” Fern says, not sharp but conversational. “Most people do, when Mistress Frieren comes through. If they know her, that is.”

“Ah, well, sure, but it was years ago now.” It’s strange to see a man so tall, so broad turn bashful, but the tips of his ears go as red as his beard. “I thought it might be too long to remember. It was just some boy, and the hero went off by himself—”

“That’s not how Paw tells it.”

It’s strange how sometimes all it takes is a soft, little voice to break right through the noise. Scheu sits on her bench, every inch of her quivering from the effort of speaking up, brow knotted up right above her button nose. “He always told me that it was—”

For a big man, Gesund’s gentle as he says, “That’s how it went.”

“But—”

“Scheu.” Froh glances at her husband, uneasy, before turning back to her daughter. “Looks like Paw forgot to come down to dinner again. Do you think he might be gettin’ hungry around now?”

The girl frowns. “I guess so.”

“Why don’t you go bring him somethin’?” Froh grabs a plate, loading it up with meat and turnip. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

Scheu doesn’t seem even half-convinced, but her small hands stretch out dutifully, taking the trencher between them. That’s the thing about being that young— it doesn’t matter what you know or what you think, you just have to do it because someone said so.

“It was your father that Himmel saved that day?” Sein asks, once the girl’s tromped out of the room, her tiny feet thundering up the steps to the second floor. “The one that was stolen by the monster?”

“Grandfather,” Gesund sighs, the force of it rattling his lips. “So as you see, Mistress Frieren, we owe you quite a debt. None of us would be here if you all hadn’t come into town when you did. Well, except my Froh here.”

He makes to pinch her cheek, but it seems the headman’s wife is practiced at fending off his affection, waving him away with a laugh and a flush of her cheeks. Sein, however, isn’t as easily put off.

“Your grandfather is still with us?” He sets down his spoon, eyes wide. “He’d have to be well over eighty years old.”

Gesund shrugged, his enthusiasm banked. “Nineties, the last time anyone bothered to count.”

Sein lets out a jaunty laugh, the way men do when they’ve been telling stories over emptied mugs. “Then he must be as hale and hardy as you are!”

“In body, yes.” Gesund grimaces. “In mind…he wanders. And sometimes that means the rest of him goes along with it.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Sein's not often priestly, but right now he practically shines with sincerity. “It’s hard when that happens.”

“That it is, that is it.” Gesund shook his great head. “The man practically raised me after my parents died. Sometimes now, it feels like I’m raising him.”

“I’d like to talk to him,” Frieren says suddenly, as welcome as a draft blowing through a window pane. “If you don’t mind.”

“It’s not his best time,” Froh’s quick to offer, darting off a concerned glance toward her husband. “In the summers he can be quick as a whip, but once autumn rolls around, and we start losing the daylight…”

Frieren cocks her head, considering. “Well, we are staying until spring.”

“That you are,” Gesund says with a sincere, if stiff smile. “I suppose there’s time.

*

In the end, she doesn’t have to wait long at all. Funny how things work out like that sometimes.

Well, not for the sheep, really. But as Eisen used to say: sometimes you had to break a few bones to make a good hamburger steak.

Just, er, with sheep this time.

[eventinelysplayground]

Hi everyone this is my second entry for falling for you by @nightghoul381 and @judejazza. I did IkeVamp this time and I used the prompts sudden downpour and when we are older. If you haven't played Jean's route until at least Chapter 9/10 you won't get one of the prompts but you can still enjoy the story. It also pulls a tiny bit from the Together as One event the game did a few years back (I bought a few in the rerelease) but again not necessary for you to have read it to enjoy the story.

Old Acquaintances

Jean walked along beside the Seine his footsteps slowing as he neared the crowds of people. He stopped and his gaze scanned all around searching for those familiar faces when suddenly he heard a vaguely familiar voice calling out. At first he paid it no attention but as it got closer he turned in its direction.

??: So it is you, bonsoir Monsieur I hope you have been well all these years!

Jean: Saar?

Standing before Jean was not the child he remembered but a now almost young man, he still had the same mess of red hair though and a bright smile. He was accompanied by a young lady.

Saar: You remember me! I thought you'd probably forgotten me since it's been several years. The last time we saw each other was at this very festival actually.

Jean's memory drifted back to that day and all the events that came of it. He shook his head as he pushed those memories aside.

Jean: Yes it was, I remember you telling me how you had been doing and your plans for the future. Have things been going how you wanted them to?

Saar: Ya I'd say even better in some ways actually.

Saar turned his gaze to the young lady with him and gently squeezed her hand.

Saar: I studied really hard at the orphanage for a few years while also learning everything I could about the mines from the miners and foremen. After a few years one of the foremen and his wife took me in and they took really good care of me. I got bigger and stronger and kept learning a whole lot of stuff and went back to the mines and started implementing little things I learned. I also met Amelie last year, she's so sweet and makes me really happy.

Amelie was blushing scarlet while Saar was grinning from ear to ear. Jean chuckled to himself and a small smile crossed his face.

Jean: I am glad you're doing so well Saar, and it is very nice to meet you Mademoiselle.

Amelie: Saar has told me about you before Monsieur and a Mademoiselle, that you were there for him and helped him at the worst time in his life. He's never forgotten your words or kindness to him. Thank you for everything you did for him then.

Jean: It was something I wanted to do, there is no need to thank me.

Saar: Of course there is! Both you and Mademoiselle were so kind to me and helped me a lot but especially you Monsieur, your words meant a lot to me and because of that I've been able to go down the path I have. I always wanted to make not just my parents and adoptive parents proud but also you Monsieur.

Jean was momentarily stunned then he slowly reached out a hand and placed it on Saar's shoulder.

Jean: I can't speak for others but I can imagine that they are very proud of you. From what I see of you today and what you have told me I can say though that I am proud of you.

Saars eyes glistened with forming tears and the young man shook his head to dispel them.

Saar: Thank you Monsieur. What about you though? I hope lots of good things have happened to you, and what about Mademoiselle?

Jean thought back over the last several years since he had seen Saar a calm expression washing over his face.

Jean: Many good things have happened to me and Mad..

Suddenly Jean swayed to the left as an impact hit his right leg. He looked down and smiling up at him was a little girl with dark hair and violet eyes.

Little Girl: Papa Papa here you are! Mama, Wolf and I have been waiting for you. Oh hello Monsieur, Mademoiselle.

The little girl looked at Saar and Amelie bowing her head then Jean scooped her up into his arms.

Jean: I’m sorry to have kept you all waiting Lilly I ran into an old acquaintance of your Mamas and mine.

Saar: Wow Monsieur you married Mademoiselle? You're lucky she was so kind and pretty. Oh but not anywhere near as pretty as you Amelie.

Amelie blushed scarlett at the compliment and turned her attention to Lilly.

Amelie: I'm sorry we kept you waiting for your Papa Lilly. I hope you'll forgive us?

Lilly: Of course I will, if you knew Mama too do you want to see her? She's just a bit further down the river bank with Wolf.

Saar: I'd love to see Madem…Madame again if it's ok with you Amelie, oh and you too Monsieur.

Jean: I’m sure she would like to see how well you are.

Lilly wriggled out of Jean's arms and reached out to Amelie and Saar with a big smile.

Lilly: I can take you right to her, come on!

Saar: Why don't you and Amelie go ahead your Papa and I will be right behind you.

Lilly: Ok! Don't be too long though or my brother will eat all the chocolates Mama bought.

At that warning Lilly excitedly started running down the riverbank with a laughing Amelie in tow. Jean and Saar watched them leave in silence. Saar then turned his attention back to Jean.

Saar: Can I ask you for some more advice Monsieur?

Jean turned his head towards Saar and nodded.

Saar: I want to have a family of my own someday, like you have and I want it to be with Amelie but... I'm scared that she might not want to stay with somebody like me who just works in the mines. What should I do so that she stays with me until I can marry her? How did you do it with Madame?

Jean turned his head back in the direction of where Lilly and Amelie had run off. He could see them in the distance now along with Wolf and Mitsuki and he smiled. He thought about everything that had happened since he last saw Saar in his relationship with Mitsuki for them to end up where they were now. When he spoke at last he chose his words with care.

Jean: The best thing I think you can do is to just live every day being who you are inside and to trust in your love for her and in Amelie's love for you as you are regardless of your past. I know I couldn't see it back then but Mitsuki used to look at me in a certain way before we were together, Amelie looks at you in a similar way.

Saar: Wait you said used to, does she not look at you like that anymore?

Jean: No she doesn't, it's evolved into something much deeper over the years.

Saar broke into a big smile.

Saar: I hope Amelie's does the same then, thank you again Monsieur for everything.

Jean and Saar started walking down the riverbank again towards where everyone was waiting for them when suddenly Jean halted. He reached out and gently grabbed Saar by the arm.

Jean: There is one more thing, make sure you actually propose, in a way you would do it not anyone else and do not wait until your wedding day for it.

Saar: Are you saying you never proposed to Madame!?

Jean: I did, just we were at the altar when I did so. Some of our friends still remind me of that mistake to this day. I would not want you to go through the same thing.

Saar: Geez Monsieur I already thought you were lucky to have married Madame but you must really have been blessed by God to still have her after hearing that.

Jean let out a soft chuckle and smiled at Saar.

Jean: I agree with you.

[icharchivist]

Not the Seine D':

Those poor Olympic swimmers

oh that's too late for that

you're missing the politics of it though i'm afraid.

the organization of the Olympics in France have been devastating, as it often is elsewhere. There's so many things i could point to (the fact they literally threw students out of their student dorms without giving them new housing in order to turn their dorms into athletes dorms for example, or the fact each transportation cost x10 its original price now or you couldn't go out in the street without a government approved pass), but regarding the Seine:

The Seine has always been unclean. It's the least clean body of water you can imagine. there's corpses at the bottom of the river, there's pollutions dating from centuries and back, there's everything bad you can imagine in the water.

Last year or so in preparation for the Olympics an the triathlon, for the pride of saying the athletes could swim in the Seine, the government spent 1.4 Billions Euro trying to clean the waters.

This money came from cutting a lot of public help and taxes. Public doctors got a huge % of their posts fired, there's been arguments to cut on the social health insurance programs, ect. It also comes at a time French people have been protesting a lot because the gap of poverty is becoming wider and wider everyday. Inflation hits hard, most homes are struggling to get by, any of the aids are being made more and more conditional, it's a crisis. Protests have led to nothing except even more restrictions.

You can also add to it that Macron disolved the Assembly one month before the Olympics for a snap election and has been refusing to abide with the result because he doesn't want to admit the Left Party won, and he asked for the government to be "on pause" for the Olympics. Basically it's been 2 months we don't have a government and Macron refuses to acknowledge the voting result of an election he forced on us at the last minute, using the Olympics as the reason why.

So when right before the Olympics the Government said that it finally paid off, that the Seine has been cleaned, people were enraging. First of all because it comes from this whole context, second of all, because it was an obvious lie. Government officials swam in the Seine to try to prove it was clean. In the days between that and the triathlon started, there was heavy rains that also brought sand and pollution, and if the Seine had been cleaned, it would have definitely been uncleaned now.

But we all can tell the Seine is NOT swimmable.

So as a "protest", French people tried to push a movement to shit in the Seine before the Government officials started to swim in it, so they're forced to acknowledge that this is NOT a good situation, that it was a waste of money, and that they'll get athletes killed if they go on with it.

Obviously, it was just threats and no one actually did anything.

The Triathlon actually happened.

And now multiple Athletes have came forward with having been rendered sick by their swim in the Seine. Mainly a lot of people were diagnosticed with E.Coli. Multiple athletes had to give up because of that. Others athletes mentioned the pure fear of the things at the bottom of the River having touched them, from still having seen the corpses down here.

The Seine was never clean. The Government spent absurd amount of money, that could have gone elsewhere, to pretend it wasn't for Vanity's sake. French people wanted to protest to showcase this truth. In the end the protest didn't happen, but the reality of the Seine not being clean still showed itself and now the Athletes are paying the price.

So let's not say the "Olympics don't deserve it" about a joke-protest that was specifically planned to prove no one should swim in the Seine, and instead get mad at the French government for wasting so much money on a losing battle that had led to so many people getting sick as a result. Who's the one caring for the Athletes there?

[bigmack2go]

It has been brought to my attention that(by myself) that l never shared my hamilton translation w u guys!

Okay so first up i wanna say smt

I started translating hamilton back in 2021 before the german hamilton was a thing. When i found out it was gonna be a thing i stopped, i guess i was a bit disappointed but eh… it wasn’t like mine was gonna be a thing anyways so…. HOWEVER then german Hamilton came out and u h a t e d it. I despise this thing. Im sorry but i simply cannot stand it. This isn’t like hate against whoever made it, just welll,,, against their work? Not them as a person??? Ugh idek. so i continued the whole thing and also started to re-do some old stuff that i realised i could have done better. I wanted to make sure not to lose lin Manuel mirands style and/or touch to it. Not only because his style is awesome, but especially because i think ots crucial for the musical to be the masterpiece that it is, to bring out Hamiltons passion to write and shit. and when i picked it back up, i analysed his style of writing even more and made sure to use it. Anyway so i realise that im not as good as him but i tried and i may even not be as good as the official one but i honestly do think that i did a better job keeping Miranda‘s style. And also that most people wont even understand it but eh…

Now taht im finally done with all that stuff that no one cares about- lets strt: Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr, and My Shot/ Mein pulver! Little heads-up: there is shit that is couldnt choose between two versions lmao.

Burr: ‚bur’

Hamilton: ‚Ham’

Laurens: ‚Lau’

Lafayette: ‚Laf’

Mulligan: ‚Mul’

Ensemble: ‚ens’

Eliza: ‚Els’

Angelica: ‚ang’

Maria: ‚peg’

Washington: ‚wash’

Bur: wie wird ein bastard, weise, hurensohn

Der irgendwo im Nirgendwo, komplett ohne option, in karibischer Region, in unbekannter gegend,

Zurück gelassen wurde, einfach so

Anscheinend verarmt und im Elend,

Belesen und ein Man von Ehre(n)?

ErSTAUNTE generation

AUS LAUNe. •

Lau: der man auf dem Zehndoller schein;

Einer der Gründerväter,

Mit/hat keinem Vetter (mehr),

Hatte es viel schwerer,

Arbeitete viel härter,

Machte sich selbst stärker und wurde ein von-innen-versehrter Gelehrter. •

Laf: und jeden TAG SAH er zu,

Wie MAN SKLAven schlug,

Verschleppte, sie wegschuf,

Wie das Meer sie hinweg trug

Und „Gerechtigkeit“ sich seiten sucht.

Und er bleibt/blieb auf der hut,

Denn er weiß/wusste gut:

Es gab/gibt TAbus.

Denn er WAR/ist klug.

Doch er gehört nirgends DAzu.

Er wollte/will ein Teil sein. Der Bruder

War bereit zu stehlen, zu leihen,

Zu betteln, flehen und teilen/

War bereit zu stehlen, betteln und leihen,

Zu flehen, geben und teilen•

Mul: als sich gerade alles wieder auswog

Als ein hurricane aufzog

Und alles wieder verbog

Sah unser junge wie seine Zukunft bildlich vor ihm wegflog.

Was ihm blieb WAR‘n verstand und manier.

Dann hat er‘s ENDlich kapiert.

Er verstand, verband TINTe MIT herz,

Sein erster vers

Sein schmerz auf papier•

Bur: es sprach sich rum.

Es machte schnell die runde.

Es hieß, der junge

Ist unglaublich, erstaunlich!

Jede einzelne stunde

VerDANKT er spenden von fremden un ihn an‘s FestLAND zu senden,

Sein denken nicht zu verschwenden,

Um sein leid zu beenden

(Und vielleicht den schein zurück zu blenden.)

„Sieh zu dass du was lernst, Jung‘,/

„Schau zu dass du was lernst, Minjung‘,

Vergiss nicht wo du herkommst,

DAmit man dich nicht vergisst!“

Der NAMe den hier jeder kennt,

Der NAMe den ihr alle wisst;

SAG uns wer du bist!•

Ham: Alexander Hamilton!

Ham: man nennt mich Alexander Hamilton

Und vor mir liegt noch gut eine Million

Aber irgendwann (/), ihr seht dann schon!•

Els: sein vater, ausgerasted,

er grad zehn als er ging, ihn verlies, ihm seine Mutter blieb.

Die zwei jahre später hier saßen;

Sie konnten kaum aufstehen, konnten nicht laufen, das Bett verlassen, es tad weh sich nur zu bewegen, alles schiehn sich zu drehn.

Ens: und so musste Alex zusehen als seine Mutter ging

Wash: alsl zog er ein bei einem cusin

Der sich bald darauf erhängt/ das leben nimmt

Hinterließ ihm nur zweifel und scham

(Verletzten stolz)

Eine stimme die von innen kam

(Und ihn da raus hohlt)•

Bur: und es geht

Ens: „Alex, du hast jetzt nur noch dich selbst“ •

Wash: zieht sich zurück, falls er sich komisch verhält,

Ist das nur weil er sicherstellt,

Dass er nicht nochmal fällt

Liest alles im regal, ihm ist egal ob‘s ihm gefällt…•

Bur: jemand mit weniger talent

Währe längst am ende

Vorallem ohne auch nur einen cent

Der ihn jetzt noch retten könnte

Bur: er fing being seinem Hausherrn an

Verkaufte zuckerrohr und rum.

Er handelte

was er soch selbst nicht leistent konnte.

Er bahnt sich an Bücher, ganz egal wie.

Er plant wie

Seine zukunft aussieht.

Wie er da rankommt?:

Er hat ein Schiff genomm‘!

Er ist an Bord:

Auf dem weg nach new york!

Ens: in newyork kannst du neu anfang‘

In new york bist du ein ganz neuer mann

In New York•

Ens: New York!

Ens: irgendwann!/ ihr seht dann schon!

Ens: Alexander Hamilton, wir warten alle nur auf dich!

Merkst nie wann es reicht; wenn du zu weit gehst.

Du lerntest nie dir Zeit zu nehm

Oh-hoh

Alexander Hamilton,

Wenn Amerika für dich singt,/ wenn Amerikas Kinder sing‘,

Wissen sie was du durchliefst?

Wissen sie dass du selbst die regeln schriebst

(Omg im so proud of that one ydek!!!)

Die welt wor nie mehr so wie du sie kennst/ wie sie war•

Bur: Das schiff ist jetzt im Hafen,

Eines unter vielen.

Nur noch ein Immigrand

Bereit sich hoch zu spielen

Sein ruf ist längst zerstört,

Sein Name ist unbekannt/ vergessen

Laf&Mul/ Jef& Mad: WIR kämpften mit ihm/

wir warn mit ihm im Kampf

Lau: ICH lies mein leben

Wash: ICH stand ihm nah/

Weil ICH ihm nah stand/

ICH hab ihm vertraut

Els& Lau& Mar: ICH? Ich liebte ihn.

Bur: und ich? Ich bin der verdammte Narr

Der sein Leben nahm/

Und ich? Ich hab alles versaut.

[mc-lukanette]

Have you considered writing a "Truth" fix-it with Marinette admitting her secret to Luka? Maybe he could be a confidant like Marianne was for Fu.

Truth was having a terrible, awful, rotten, very bad day. If he could use his powers on the universe, he would've asked what he did to deserve this kind of treatment.

It started with his girlfriend keeping a secret from him concerning her ditching their dates, then escalated to Jagged Stone - who'd been his idol for years - turning out to be the father who abandoned him, and now he was fighting Ladybug and Chat Noir in Marinette's room after he’d been told by multiple people that Marinette’s supposed “secret” was that she was in love with Adrien, as if he hadn’t already known that and they just wanted to mock him.

His civilian self had never been never someone to presume, but now it's all he could do. Marinette must've ditched him because she didn't really love him, Jagged probably never even felt bad about abandoning him, and despite Adrien never even trying to win Marinette's heart, he was just better than Luka in every way, because the rich model with all the connections Marinette could ever want would always outmatch the "guitar boy" who worked a part-time job, lived on a houseboat, and had parents who either kept secrets from him or flat-out didn't want him.

Had it not been for his akumatization working to drive him towards a goal without interference, he would've cried. He wanted nothing more than to wake up and think the whole thing was just a bad nightmare, with dating Marinette just being brief highlights of it that kept getting shot down with a reminder that he wasn't good enough.

He wanted it all to be over.

Chat Noir was still trying to banter with him, but Truth wasn't having it. While going after Ladybug first wasn't ideal, as she was the smarter out of the two, it was easier to get rid of Chat Noir and deal with the heroes one at a time.

Thus, when Ladybug had run across the room to use her Lucky Charm, Truth acted. He managed to grab Chat Noir and throw him into the chest that Ladybug had been hiding in before, then locked it tight to prevent Chat from escaping. That done, he went after Ladybug, who was stunned but nevertheless prepared to fight. Chat Noir being out of the picture didn't impact her ability to fight, but Truth had Pharo on his side to knock Ladybug around when it was too hard to get a spotlight on her.

Finally, he managed to tackle her, her lying on her back and him pinning her arms down. The chest nearby rattled in protest, but Pharo shined its spotlight on it, preventing it from moving anymore.

Truth watched as Ladybug looked around for a method of escape, but she came up empty. Her eyes widened in the realization that... this was it. This was the end.

"Now," Truth said, clamping down harder on her arms as he leaned down, "tell me the truth!"

Ladybug tried to shut her lips tight, but he could see her struggling, her body shaking as she tried to free her arms to stop herself. It was only a matter of time.

Then, her mouth opened, and out came the words, "I love you, Luka!"

He froze, his fingers twitching in his confusion while he could only stare down at her in shock.

"And I'm so sorry! I'm sorry for everything! I wanted to tell you - I always wanted you to know - but I couldn't, and you deserve so much better than a hero who can't give you the time you deserve!"

A cold realization washed over him in form of a shudder. Those words could've been interpreted in so many ways, but he was the only one who registered their real meaning: that Marinette was Ladybug, her "ditching" had been her needing to fight akuma, her keeping secrets had been out of a desire to protect him, and he—

...He had only caused her more problems by getting akumatized, being no better than all those that had interrupted their dates. She loved him, and he gave into Shadow Moth to go against her.

Ladybug continued rambling, oblivious to his internal crisis, "You're incredible, and I just love you so much. I knew you were special from the day we met, when you called me—"

Truth clamped his hand over her mouth, preventing her from spilling any more secrets. He could feel Shadow Moth's influence in his mind, demanding that he remove his hand, but Truth ignored it, just as he'd been ignoring so many of his commands. The energy from akumatization that once made him feel powerful now made him feel disgusted with himself, guilt swirling in his gut and making him regret everything.

He reached up with his other hand, grabbing at his necklace and tearing it off. Ladybug's brows rose at the crunching of his akumatized object, and the last things he saw were the akuma flying free and Ladybug's expression turning to something...

thoughtful.

—————

Marinette de-transformed in a nearby alleyway and headed down towards the Seine, having not yet processed all of her feelings from that day. She had a little time left, given that Luka had quietly asked to walk back home himself, but she’d gotten no closer to clearing her mind since leaving her house. She was still a jumbled mess of "what if"s and "but maybe"s, and ultimately knew that it was going to be a matter of essentially winging it and just saying everything that she had on her mind.

As she approached the Liberty to wait for Luka, she paused as she noticed another figure already standing there. After all, Jagged Stone wasn't exactly someone you could not notice.

Before she could debate on whether to approach him, Jagged seemed to sense her and glanced over to make eye contact. She stiffened, only able to wave awkwardly and pretend like she didn't know why he'd be there.

"Hey, frockstar," Jagged greeted tiredly, his smile not quite reaching its usual lengths. "What are you doing here?"

"Um..." She walked over, standing next to him and staring in the direction where Luka was going to come from. "I need to talk to my boyfriend."

"Ah." It took a few seconds for the words to actually register with him, at which point Jagged turned to her, mouth agape as he grabbed her shoulders. "My son's your boyfriend?!"

She didn't quite have the energy to feign total surprise at the “son” comment, but she didn't have to. Jagged immediately pulled back without really looking at her, regaining his composure just as quickly as he'd lost it.

"You... wouldn't happen to be able to put in a good word for me, hm?" He grinned sheepishly, jabbing at Marinette with a hopeful elbow. "Haven't exactly figured out what I'm gonna say yet."

She was torn between being upset with him on Luka’s behalf and feigning sympathy because it was not only none of her business, but she was in a similar boat and felt like she had no right to judge.

She went with the latter, smiling weakly and jabbing him back. "That makes two of us." Then, she frowned as her nerves came back. "And... anyway, I don't know if he'll want to keep being my boyfriend after tonight."

For once, Jagged didn't pry or ask questions, the atmosphere probably felt even by him. They just stood there, waiting.

After a few minutes, Luka finally walked into view, staring at the ground and seeming defeated. Marinette felt ill at the sight, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her capris to find a sense of stability.

Should she approach him? Let Jagged go first? Or, maybe that would seem evasive, so—

She felt a pat on her shoulder, looking up at see Jagged urging her forward with his eyes. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful or consider him to be the evasive one, but Luka's akumatization was also mostly because of her and thus it only made sense for her to go first.

She ran the distance to get to him, Luka glancing up at the sound of her footsteps and stopping as she got to him. The usual light in his eyes wasn't there, and she had to force herself to even say a simple, "Um... hi."

"Hey." He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his head. "I'm really sorry, Marinette."

"Huh?"

"I got akumatized, and I was in your room when I woke up." His brows furrowed with uncharacteristic anxiety. "I didn't have to hear the song to know what the notes were. I must've gone after you."

Marinette blinked, having not even thought about him feeling guilty over the whole thing. She shook her head, reassuring, "No no! I mean—you told me to run! You didn't go after me, not really!"

She wasn't technically lying; he never sought her out to her knowledge, and even as Ladybug, she'd always had to chase him.

Luka sighed in relief, though his expression didn't change much. "I'm glad."

He met her gaze again. She yearned for the way he used to look at her like he wanted to get lost in her forever, but his eyes soon darted elsewhere as he noticed Jagged Stone standing not too far away.

Marinette tried not to get discouraged, stepping back into his vision and waving her hands to try and divert his attention. "Ah—don't worry about that! Look—" She paused, needing a moment to breathe, then lowered her hands and shifted to seriousness. "Can we talk? And walk? It's... really important."

She couldn't imagine the conclusions he must've been coming to in his head, partly because he didn't voice any of them. His eyes merely searched hers, seeking nothing in particular.

"Sure, Marinette," he agreed.

She managed a smile, happy that she made it this far at least. She reached out to take his hand, but stopped herself at the last second and simply walked past him, Luka taking one look back at Jagged before following after her.

The walk was tense and quiet, the only sounds coming from the evening ambiance and their footsteps. The uncertainty of it all gave her anxiety, but she'd been sure of that uncertainty since she first decided to talk to him about this.

Because, whatever the future of their relationship was, it would be in his hands.

—————

As they arrived at her intended destination, Marinette heard Luka briefly stop behind her, perhaps processing where she just took them. It was the Canal Saint-Martin, also known as the place where they'd first agreed to date, and now it was potentially the place where they'd break up as well. Marinette vaguely pondered if that would be for the best, like the memories would just cancel each other out and Luka could forget about it altogether if he wanted to.

Nevertheless, she walked over, glancing at the bridge for reference and sitting in roughly the same place she’d been all that time ago. She then tossed Luka a hopeful look, and he walked over to sit next to her.

Steeling herself up, Marinette took a breath, inhaling until she couldn't take in any more oxygen and then exhaling for just as long. At least a little more emotionally prepared than she was before, she finally spoke up.

"I...I'm sorry, Luka. I'm sorry that I got you akumatized—" She saw that he was about to interject and cut him off. "—and I know you don't blame me, but it doesn't matter—I mean—it does matter, but I'm still sorry anyway, okay? You had a right to be hurt and maybe if I'd explained myself better, then things would’ve been different."

He still seemed to want to argue, but was holding himself back so she could continue, which she appreciated.

"It's not that I didn't trust you. If anything, I—I trust you more than anyone else. You've never betrayed me and I know you'd never tell anyone if I told you my secret. You understand me even when I'm being the disaster that everyone laughs at - everyone but you - and..."

She sighed, pulling out her phone and navigating to her text conversation with him. Mentally wincing, she tapped on the photo of her Adrien wall that Ziggy had sent, then presented it to him. He leaned in to make sure of what it was, then looked back at her, clearly not understanding where she was going but knowing it wasn't her being spiteful or rubbing it in.

She said as much, "You don't assume anything, like when you got sent this dumb picture. I know it was obvious that it was an accident, but you didn’t have to go with it and you did. I wouldn't have blamed you if you got mad, but you didn't. Whenever I'm stammering and being an idiot because I'm scared or nervous, you don't judge me for it or think that whatever comes out is what I actually mean. That's so important to me, Luka, you have no idea."

She settled the phone between them and kept the picture on-screen. Her gaze flickered down to it, silently encouraging him to look at it too, then glanced back up at him.

"How much do you know about fashion?"

He tilted his head, thrown off by the sudden question, but answered anyway, "Only what my sister's ever talked about."

"Do you know why fashion trends die so quickly?" When he shook his head, she explained, "Part of it is the over-exposure. When people hear about what's in at the time, suddenly everyone starts wearing whatever it is, so everywhere you look, you see it, and then people get tired of it."

There was a flicker of understanding in his eyes, Luka looking back-and-forth between her and the phone like he was piecing a puzzle together.

She confirmed it for him, "That's why I have so many. I don't feel that way about him anymore - I don't think I ever did - but I just don't know how to act around him. I hate how the whole idolizing thing took over my life and I already tried everything else, so I figured this might work." She groaned. "And of course it blew up on me and you got sent that without any context. Of course."

He gave a look of concern at the exasperation in her tone, but she tried to ignore it, not wanting his sympathy.

"My point is..." She gestured vaguely at the phone. "I stammer about him, but it's not because I'm in love with him, it's because I've never really been his friend and I don't know how to do it. I'm not dedicated to him and I'm getting better at not doing the stuff I used to."

His eyes flickered again and she wondered if he was thinking about that day on the Liberty where she was late to Kitty Section playing, where she ignored Adrien entirely. Just for emphasis, she tapped her phone and deleted the picture, adding on, "I'm only dedicated to you, Luka. I—"

She shifted in place, hitting the wall behind her feet a few times with her heels to ease off the anxiousness. It was so much easier when she’d been Ladybug, though granted that she was under the influence of Truth's spell at the time. She and Luka were dating, yet she was sure he'd ask her to end it, making putting herself out there all the scarier.

"I..." She met his gaze. "I love you." He gaped at the confession and she continued on, "I love you like I haven't loved anyone else before; definitely not Adrien. It's the kind of love that actually makes me happy, and comfortable, and my life is better with you in it."

She bit her bottom lip, hands curling into fists at the tight feeling in her chest. She turned, placing one hand on the ground as she began to push herself up, her other hand landing on Luka's shoulder to wordlessly insist that he didn't have to stand with her, so his gaze merely followed her as she moved.

"But that's the thing." She took a few steps away, back turned to him as she stared up at the sky. Her stomach twisted itself in knots at the words in her throat, but she nonetheless admitted, "I don't think it's mutual."

Luka's voice took on a sharp, offended tone. "Marinette—"

She spun to face him, cutting him off, "—and I know that you're going to say something sweet and heartfelt about how everyone has a place in your life and then something about how bad notes can still make good songs, but... Luka, you don't understand."

She turned away from him again, this time pacing as she counted off events. "Bullies and liars target me, and sometimes that means going after people I care about. I'm clumsy and a stuttering mess and you wouldn't believe the mistakes I made that I couldn't have even seen coming. It seems like I draw bad luck wherever I go; I mean, your mother is one of the most chaotic people I can think of, so you'd think she'd get akumatized a bunch, but it was only the day I showed up that she did. Even the other boys who only loved me for a little bit either got akumatized over it or became an anxious mess until they found out who they actually liked, and that last one would've at least been really useful to think about if I'd just made the connection back then, but I didn't!" She paused, then met his eyes with a pained expression. "And then there's you."

"What do you mean?"

She stopped in place, not knowing whether to be touched or not by the fact that he either hadn't noticed or was pretending not to. Throwing her arms out, she explained, "Things go bad whenever we hang out! I already mentioned your mom, but then there was the ice rink; even without me getting distracted when all you were trying to do was make me feel better, there was an akuma and you probably got frozen solid by him. When we were hanging out on the Liberty, Adrien just happened to show up on that day with Kagami to turn me into a mess, and then Desperada came to make everything worse."

Marinette couldn't remember when she'd started thinking about such things or feeling guilty for everything that ever happened. There was just a point where it felt like she was always apologizing for something, no matter how small it was, and stuff being her fault became par for the course by then.

"Then, both times you got akumatized, it was because of me—and I know you don't blame me, but I'm always involved! You were ready to leave the TV station, but because I tried to put up a fight, Bob Roth threatened me and that was your last straw. Today was the same thing; you were already upset about what happened with your dad and then it was me who sent you over the edge!" She shut her eyes tight, the memories painful to relive. "You're always putting up with me, Luka. You put up with me crying all over you and even dropped your guitar for it, and then you had to protect me from Miracle Queen's mind control! I'm supposed to protect you!"

He recoiled at the volume of her voice, then furrowed his brows, his eyes darting back and forth as he seemed to process something particular about what she said.

"I'm supposed to make you happy, and I can't. Out of all the people in Paris who should be able to keep you from getting akumatized, it should be me, and all I've done is hurt you. You're the calmest person I've ever known and then I came along and gave you feelings you didn't ask for. Sometimes—" She shook, choking briefly on the words. "Sometimes I wonder if it would've been better for you if you never met me."

Luka's gaze sharpened. He didn't reply, but turned fully to her, pushing himself up as if to approach.

However, she stepped back, his look then flashing to hurt. She took a breath, expression determined as she said with her whole chest, "I'm Ladybug, Luka."

He froze, his body going stiff and his eyes blinking rapidly at either the reveal itself or the way she’d so firmly said it.

"I'm Ladybug," she repeated quietly, this time with an ache in her voice, "and I'm telling you not because I trust you—I mean, I do trust you—but I also believe in you; that you wouldn't sell me out to Shadow Moth even with all the mind control in the world. You've always had my back and supported me even when I didn't deserve it, and I want you to know. It's dangerous and I don't know what'll happen and I'm scared but I want you to know it." She put a hand to her chest. "I'm the one who has to save Paris whenever something happens, and that's why I always had to ditch you. I'm the one who messed up and lost you your identity as Viperion. I'm the new guardian of the miraculouses, and the kwami don't even listen to me; they invaded my privacy and it was one of them that took and sent you that picture."

She realized that her vision was staring to blur and looked skywards, trying to fight back tears.

"I-I'm not a normal girl. I can't be a normal girlfriend, or give you everything you'd want out of a normal relationship. It's my fault that you got akumatized because I just—I wanted you. I wanted to be in a relationship and go on dates with you, but Ladybug isn't supposed to want things. She's supposed to be selfless and only worry about everyone else, but... you made me happy, and I wanted more of that. You were the first person I really felt like I could be myself around without being scolded or lied to and I thought it would be okay..."

She noticed him moving and quickly turned her back to him, at least able to let the tears fall now without him seeing them.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I always think I can handle things but then it goes wrong and I end up hurting people. If I'd just gone home the day of the music festival instead of complaining about Adrien not being around, then none of this would've happened." She sighed in frustration, wiping her eyes clean of tears, and she was so focused on forcing her words out that she didn't hear the footsteps coming from behind her. "I-it's okay if you want to break up, Luka. It wasn't fair that I kept you in the dark, and I understand if you're mad, or you want to date other people, o-or if you don't love me anymore—"

Her voice cut off with a gasp as a pair of arms wrapped around her midsection, pulling her against a familiar, warm chest that had an unfamiliarly pounding heartbeat. She tried to look up at him, but his hair was shadowing out his eyes and left only his trembling lips visible. In fact, his whole body was shaking, as if it were winter and no amount of layers could keep him warm.

"L-luka?" she called, confused.

"Stop," he begged quietly, the hug tightening briefly to give her a squeeze. "Please."

"But..." She trailed off, acknowledging the request. She'd never heard his voice just break like that.

"You've already sung your part of our duet, Marinette. Now it's my turn." He paused, taking an unsteady breath before continuing, "I'm glad you told me your secret. I know you're worried about me being in danger, but it makes me happy that you can rely on me now. Music boxes aren't meant to stay shut, and you deserve someone who you can open up to, even if I hate that you have to mute yourself in the first place to keep everyone safe."

She opened her mouth, wanting to say that it was okay and it was just her job, but kept quiet to respect his earlier request.

"My life isn't worse because I met you," he murmured, an unspoken plea in his tone that told her to never think that way again. "I felt things with you that I never have before. My song started out as a flatline, then we met and you made it move. Music isn't exciting if it doesn't change but you did that for me. What you might see as bad notes is my passion for you, and I won't apologize for it or make you apologize for messing up just like every person does. I'd never wanted someone before you, and even if you never wanted to date me, I'm grateful that I got to know you; to fall for you."

Marinette blinked in an attempt to stop oncoming tears, Luka pulling her closer for comfort when she whimpered.

"All that mattered to me is when we were together, just the two of us. That's when your melody plays the clearest and when I get to see you. Those two weeks when we were preparing our music video were some of the best two weeks of my life because I got to see you in your element. I've accepted every break in the tempo because I've heard you, I've heard the Marinette you've wanted to be, and I want to be there for every beat of it." Then, he exhaled, adding with a somber tone, "I can't imagine how much pressure you must be under, or how awful things are and how impossible it must be to sing when you can't even take a breath without something going wrong. I just... I want to help you be happy. I don't care what you, your kwami, or anyone else says; you're allowed to be happy, Marinette, and I'd drop a thousand of my guitars if it meant that you get to play happy notes one more time."

She let out a sob, blushing pink as her hands unconsciously raised to rest on the ones around her waist, Luka sighing in content and nestling further against her.

"So I don't want to break up with you, Marinette. Not at all. I just want to find ways to make it easier on you - on both of us - and if that means finding ways of planning our dates around akuma attacks, or not planning at all and going wherever the rhythm leads, then that's what we'll do."

She tried to keep quiet, but couldn't help voicing, "W-what if... what if it doesn't work? What if I have to bail on you every now and then? People will think—"

"I was never worried about that," he retorted immediately. "I'm a Couffaine. My clothes are ripped, I carry my guitar in the basket on my bike, and I live on a boat. I stopped caring about what people thought a long time ago."

He was unbelievable. Marinette didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. He just held her there, his heart still beating against her back but now serving as something to calm her.

"The only opinions that matter in our duet are yours and mine," he said. His hold loosened, though hesitating like it was physically painful to release her. He let her go nonetheless and held his hands out in front of her, palms facing the sky. "So what about you, Marinette?"

She stared at his hands, then slowly raised her own to hover over them. She breathed up, then slid her fingers across his palms until their calloused fingertips met, neither making any move to pull away.

"I...I want to make it work," she whispered, leaning back against him. "I want to be with you, Luka. I'm at my best when I'm with you. I just..."

She stopped, knowing that he would have an argument for anything she said. If she apologized for the failed dates that she can never fix, he'd argue that it'd be worse to leave things off a sour note, and that not every good song starts out good. If she tried to suggest other people for him to date or imply that it'd be easier with someone else, he'd say that his guitar plays only for her and he wouldn't change that even if he could.

"...I'm sorry," she said, smiling her first genuine smile of the night. "I won't doubt myself anymore."

Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was smiling too. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah. Do—do you?"

"Yeah," he replied, voice thick with emotion.

Wanting to see his face, she slowly dropped their hands and turned to face him, silently hoping that she didn't look awful from her earlier tears. However, to her surprise, she noticed that Luka's eyes were watery despite his smile, just like her. Realizing something, she raised a hand to her shoulder, where his face had been hovering over ever since he'd hugged her from behind.

It was wet.

"Oh, Luka..."

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him against her. He returned the gesture, squeezing her lovingly and giving her back a few rubs that she responded to with a happy hum. They held the position, the warmth of the hug completely negating the slight chill of the night air.

Even when they pulled away, it wasn't far nor for long. Marinette wasn't sure which of them initiated it, but one moment they were staring at each other and the next they were kissing. It had been long overdue and she idly thought that it was better than she would've imagined their kiss at the cinema to be.

She breathed in his scent, her fingers blindly reaching up to slide into his hair. She almost felt like crying again, though this time in relief that everything had actually worked out for once and they were kissing without interruption. Even though Luka was more subtle in showing his emotions, she could tell that he felt the same from the way his hand on her back shook, practically vibrating with happiness.

The kiss eventually broke with a soft click, though she kept her hands on him for the sake of stability. They were both breathing a little hard from the emotional toll of the conversation yet not necessarily in a bad way.

And the love in his eyes - the life that she missed so much - was back. She honestly thought she wouldn’t have seen it again and she was tempted to just keep kissing him in relief, part of her aware that he definitely wouldn’t have minded it.

It took her a few tries to get the words out, hesitant to break up their wordless exchanges of love. She knew what revelation was waiting for Luka back at his houseboat - maybe he'd already guessed it - and she wanted to be there for him, so she asked carefully, "Do you... want me to come back to the Liberty with you?"

Eyes half-lidded, he gave her a soft smile and gently squeezed her hand. "Yeah. Do you want to sleep over?"

She nodded. "Mm, I'd like that."

Holding hands, they began making their way back to the Liberty, the ambiance of the night finally coming through to soothe them. Marinette glanced down at their joined hands, then at the wide smile on Luka's face, the latter clearly caused by the former.

She looked ahead at where they were walking, pretending that she hadn't just been admiring him. "We could always go out for breakfast together. That might work out."

"That sounds amazing." Luka feigned a look of thoughtfulness. "Maybe Shadow Moth doesn't like mornings?"

Marinette squeaked mid-giggle. "You'd think that'd be the case from the name, huh?"

He chuckled, covering his mouth with his free hand, and the conversation remained light from there. Any bad feelings from the day had evaporated, leaving only smiles and hope for the future in its place.

Everything was going to be okay. For once, Marinette could truly believe that.

[yannowhatigiveup]

My One And Only - Chapter 7

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When I originally finished the chapter, I was surprised at how far I was able to reach in writing it but I had barely even begun to start writing the good parts. Anyhow, thank you for all the support on this story! It makes me happy knowing that people actually enjoy reading it. Also this is another one of the shorter chapters Ig, sorry.

The TV showed a peaceful and quiet Paris, not like the one you would expect if it were labeled under 'critical'. Tim was so confused he began to type a message but noticed that Damian had signed off. Dick, seeing Tim's confused nature, came over to look at the computer. "What was he referring to? What the hell is going on?"

————————————————————

Alya had examined Marinette's nature the whole day, taking mental notes along the way. As the end of school neared, Alya recounted all of her mental notes. 'Cheerful but not trying to be not the centre of attention, In a dream state but not zoning everything out and I'm sure I heard her making plans out loud. Yep this girl's got a crush but I still have zero idea who it is' the aspiring reporter sighed while recounting the conversation she had with Kagami last night.

~

"That isn't what I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to find out is who does she is love now?"

"Well I also want to know but isn't that her private information?" Kagami asked.

"Wel- Yeah but- What I'm to say is that what if the guys a bad person? What if she's really in love with this guy but too scared to ask him on a date? Us girls got to stick up for each other, girl!" Alya replied.

"When you put it that way" The bluenette then cracked her knuckles. "I wish to duel this boy, to see if he's worthy of her love"

"Great! I'll try to find out more tomorrow!"

~

True, she had discovered many things but nothing about the boy's appearance or name. Alya sighed. Marinette picked up the fact that her best friend was dismayed, through her sigh and her negative aura. The bluenette discovered that there was other people who could sense auras but it was incredibly rare to bump into one, Marinette had been one of the lucky few. Though since she was the true user of the Ladybug miraculous, she got a boost. "Alya is something wrong?"

The girl then realised that she didn't have a proper excuse with the way she's acting so she just made one right there on the spot. "I'm just tired" Alya yawned. 'I'm tired of tryna find out who your crush is girl! Since when could you keep secrets so well?'

"Well you should get some rest when you get home then"

"Alright, are you free today? We're gonna go get ice cream from André" 'If there's anyone who can give information it's André. Please say yes girl'.

"Well I have to go somewhere first but I'm free after that" the bluenette said, oblivious to what Alya had in mind.

'Thank you universe!' "Great! We'll meet you at 4:30?"

"Sure!" Alya was more excited than she wanted to, she didn't want to stalk her best friend but she wanted to be more supportive than needed. This trip would tell exactly what this certain boy was like. "Oh who's coming?"

"You, Me, Nino, Adrien and Kagami"

'Looks like I'm gonna be the third wheel...' "Ok!" Marinette said enthusiastically.

~~~

Marinette had dropped off her designs at her uncle Jagged's hotel room and was ecstatic when Jagged said he had a surprise in plan just for her to say thank you. She still had no idea what it is and Jagged said he would text her the moment he got approval. Right now she was on her way to meet up with her friends, and to be the third wheel. If Damian wasn't busy, she would probably be in his hotel room. She blushed slightly at the statement, if it were taken out of context she would be under suspicion by her friends. "Tikki do you think they suspect me now?"

"I have no clue Marinette" the voice from her bag said. "But it would make sense if Alya was already onto something"

Marinette sighed. Soon her friends came into view, Kagami was showing Adrien some better stance in fencing while Alya was quietly discussing something with Nino but stopped when Marinette came into view.

"Hey girl!" Alya shouted, gaining the attention from the rest of the group. "Wanna get ice cream now?"

"Sure!" First Alya and Nino went to get their ice cream. They got the usual. Next was Kagami and Adrien. Kagami and Adrien got their ice cream, Kagami and Alya exchanging a glance, the bluenette was oblivious to this. Then Marinette went to get her scoop.

"Ah! Marinette! You having ice cream by yourself are you?" André asked with something in mind.

"Yep, I'm just here to watch the lovebirds really" Marinette whispered the last statement to André.

"Well how's this? A scoop of dark honey, a scoop of lime with dark lime zest and a scoop of rose ice cream" he said proudly while scooping each flavor and onto a cone-cup for the bluenette.

"Sounds great André!" Marinette exclaimed. She had never tried those flavors before and they all in some way reminded her of Damian.

"I know everything Marinette, I believe I have finally found a perfect blend for you" he whispered.

"T-thanks André!" She said with a slight blush in her face. She then sat on the edge of the Seine. Marinette sat by herself, Adrien sat next to Kagami with Alya on her side and Alya sat next to Nino. Unbeknownst to Marinette, Kagami and Alya were whispering to each other about what her ice cream flavors meant.

"So the rose means he can be romantic right?" Alya whispered to Kagami.

"I thought that meant he could be flirtatious but sure. I think the lime means he has green eyes" she whispered back.

"Yeah that makes sense what about the honey flavor though?"

"It was dark honey, it's known to have a much stronger taste but it's still sweet" Kagami stated in a matter-of-fact way.

"So he has green eyes, he's strong but still very nice and he's romantic/flirtatious. Doesn't that all point to Chat Noir?" Alya whispered to Kagami.

"I guess it does but he never struck me as his type, also, since when do we know so much about ice cream flavors?"

Alya thought for a moment. "I have no clue"

~~~

Marinette had smirked at the lovebirds before waving goodbye to her friends. She had asked Damian via text if she could come over which he said it was fine. "Do you have any idea what Uncle Jagged has in mind, Tikki?"

"I'm still stumped Marinette" the small kwami said while chuckling. The kwami then noticed a notification on her user's phone. "Marinette you might find out, Jagged Stone just sent a message!"

"Really?!" She scurried for her phone and took a deep breath before reading the message.

Uncle Jagged: Nettie! I got everything ready. Wanna record a bonus track for my new album?

'Oh god'

———

Taglist: @little-bluestar, @miracleofadisaster, @frieddonutsweets, @jjmjjktth, @genderfluidmoma

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Adrien (Commission for miner249er)

Chapter 5 of the commission for @miner249er !

Previous Work

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The Seine became a comfort spot for Adrien after everything happened, his original comfort spot had been the top of the Eiffel Tower but with his ring gone, that wasn’t an option. Actually many places weren’t on his list of options any more due to his ring being gone and due to his identity as both Adrien Agreste: Teen Model and Heart Throb, as well as Adrien Agreste: Possible Accomplice to Hawkmoth and Mayura, and the possible face behind the cat mask, Chat Noir, became “known” after the whole Protector incident. Paris’s last akuma, and Adrien’s last normal day, last peaceful moment. He had been naïve before and hadn't even known it. He had tried too hard to get past the rose-tinted glasses his father basically prescribed he wore everyday and when he thought he had gotten rid of those he was too blind to notice the rose-tinted contact lenses he himself put in willingly every day after.

But those contacts had been dried and ripped and tossed in the trash. Now he couldn’t even take a simple walk without wearing a wig, clothes he never considered wearing before and some he knew his father wouldn’t approve of so there were some silver linings, and he would slightly contour his face and thank his old makeup artists for teaching him some makeup skills he could do himself. Plus it helped that he had been doing research on cosplaying and what it took to look like other people, tip number one was contouring your face, and that’s just what he did when he wanted to leave the house and have some alone time. True alone time, not supervised alone time with Simon, aka Gorilla, and not alone time at a distance with his mom, which he was so grateful to have back, but with the rumors surrounding his father and Nathalie and the way she came back on live TV, their alone time happened together.

It was wonderful to have his mother back, but it did not dull his pain. Not even her hugs or her kisses or her sweet words could pull him from the edge of his guilt-ridden thoughts. Every day, every damn day, he would think how this all was his fault. Maybe if he had been a better son, a better model, a better something, maybe his father wouldn’t have abused the Butterfly Miraculous the way he did. Maybe Gabriel, because even Adrien had to admit that the man was severely lacking in that department and had in a very long time, would have trusted him and told him what was going on. Then, perhaps, Adrien could have convinced his Father not to get Nathalie involved and to maybe let Ladybug help or even the Guardian. If Gabriel had just let his son in like Adrien had craved for so long, then maybe all this pain and anger wouldn’t be bleeding out of each and every pore of everyone in Paris.

Maybe then the Protector wouldn’t have had to...well, protect like she felt she had to. Adrien had never thought Marinette to be a scary girl, in fact, ‘Marinette’ and ‘scary’ in the same sentence seemed like something out of a parallel universe if anything. In his memories, because that’s all he had left of the girl, those and a broken arm and finger, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had always been happy and sweet and determined and so much more. Or, that was what he thought, that’s all he observed. He never took her sorrow or hurt seriously and it was that thought that had been plaguing him night and day ever since she went missing.

Her disappearance wasn’t the only ‘big’ thing that had happened in the honestly short amount of time he and his class encountered The Protector, he refused to call that akuma Marinette, there was just no way she thought of him and their classmates like that. There was no way. The only conclusion he could come to was that Gabriel had more control over the akuma than usual. Maybe even twisted her feelings into something darker. It has happened before...he’s sure of it. From what he knows about the Butterfly Miraculous, which was really not a lot even with his small crash course with Master Fu after he tried to make sense of everything, the Butterfly can enhance emotions. Who’s to say that he couldn’t twist those emotions? I mean...even Master Fu said he was tainting the Miraculous in ways that even he couldn’t predict. Maybe all that misuse could have changed it.

This could have been avoided . Was another constant thought that hung before him seemingly as a reminder. This should have been avoided.

Anger, no fury, overtook him but he managed to not let it out in a scream, or worse physically on something. He no longer had his usual outlet when his emotions got too big or too much, so he did the only thing he could remember his father teaching him. Mask it. Hide it all beneath a mask of indifference. Before he had hated it, hated the way Gabriel had sounded almost proud of the lesson he was giving his son, like it was one of his single most important pieces of fatherly advice he could bestow upon Adrien. Now though? Now it actually came in handy and Adrien loathed it, everything about it, but if he made a scene out in the open, it wouldn’t matter if he had a disguise on or not. People would stare, people would talk, people would try to help and he just could not handle any of that.

“We could all use you right now M’Lady…” He muttered to the air and himself, a part of him hoping that in some way the message would reach the girl he was thinking of.

That was another thing that was bringing him migraines if he thought too much about it, which he did, constantly. He didn’t just have to come to terms with the fact that one of his best friends had gotten akumatized and promptly went missing after said akumatization, or the fact Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sancoeur were basically determined to be the villains Hawkmoth and Mayura by public opinion and “coincidences” that looked an awful lot like proof, there was also the fact his mother literally rose from the grave...or from her coma that Adrien had no idea about, but to top everything off was the very real fact that Protector, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Multimouse, was actually Paris’s beloved heroine Ladybug. His mind was still trying to make it make sense. To make it all make sense. But it was that last bit that was still throwing him for a loop.

He just couldn’t seem to fuse the identities together. Both girls held importance in his life, just in different ways. There were so many memories that were thrown at him that were practically begging him to see, see how the two were actually one and the same. There was just this other part of him that refused to see it, refused to acknowledge it, because, and it was a bit embarrassing to admit even to just himself, he was mad that he had declared that he would know Ladybug anywhere. Adrien had even convinced himself that he would absolutely be able to know who she was beneath the mask if he had just seen her. Turns out he had seen her out of the mask more often than in and it hurt.

To make matters worse, if anything could even be worse , he bitterly thought as he kicked a stray stone, he was pretty sure his class knew or at least suspected he was Chat Noir after their shared Protector experience. Yet none of them said anything, there were no new rumors floating about, there were no news coverage about him in particular other than how Paris was sending his mother and him their prayers, others were not as nice and speculated they were both involved in his villainy. The biggest thing though was that no one was reaching out to him to talk about what happened, to talk about his injury and the fact that the akuma took his ring so openly in front of people, they reached out...just not for any of that. They gave their sympathy, their curiosity, their anger, but none of them asked him about being Chat Noir and it was killing him having to wait for the other shoe to drop.

If it even drops.

Adrien sighed harshly and burrowed deeper into the hoodie he had slipped on before he had snuck out of his house. While aimlessly walking he spotted a bench and promptly slumped onto it. One hand idly picked at the chipped paint of the bench while the other clutched his hoodie above his heart. It hurt. It hurt enough to make him cry and well, he was alone so why not just cry? The guilt, the shame, the anger, the loneliness, all of it had turned into some blob of a creature that took hold of his heart and squeezed. He had to close his eyes, he didn’t know why, but it felt like it was one of the only ways to get comfort. Again, he was proved wrong as he began to remember The Day of The Last Akuma as all of Paris had taken to calling it, Adrien referred to it as the day he failed Marinette.

                  ________________________________________

Adrien winced as Marinette had taken hold of both his hands in hers, the gesture would have been sweet if it weren’t for the pressure. “ Save it. I don’t want your superficial pity. You Adrien Agreste are the biggest liar I know next to Lila. You knew she was lying. You knew she was lying from the start seeing how Ladybug told you herself that Lila and her were not friends. Oh yeah I know about that, in the park, or how about when Lila was akumatized to be the Chameleon, which by the way Lila very unoriginal and I’m fairly certain you were akumatized on purpose but hey what proof do I have right? And she pretended to be you because she didn’t like what you had to say about her lying. Yet you still didn’t tell your so called friends about her, because you don’t care about anyone but yourself! I learned that the hard way. I believed you when you said we were in this together and that if we both knew then that was enough and that we should take the moral highroad. What a joke ! I am truly disgusted with myself for ever thinking I was in love with you. ”

His hands hurt but that was nothing compared to his heart when Marinette had finished her speech, but the hurt was outweighed by his confusion. Looking around he could tell that their classmates were not expecting Marinette’s words to him. Some were probably still reeling from her harsh words about them but all eyes were on him and Marinette, and they were wide, whether it be in hurt, horror, shock, or all of the above. It seemed like the stares didn’t bother Marinette in the least, but they sure were getting to Adrien. “ W-What? You love me? ”

The hollow laugh he had gotten in reply was like a stab to the heart, he could feel Plagg scratching at his shirt from inside his white overshirt, he knew he had to get out of there so he could transform but Marinette still had a grip on him. “ Men. Of course that’s the only thing you focus on. If you actually listened to me and were a decent human being for once in your pathetic sad model life, you would have noticed that I said, was . I was in love with you, but after everything? You’re nothing but an obstacle in my way. ”

“ Mari please- ,” Adrien tried to reason with her as he tugged at his hands gently to see if there was any slack, again he winced in pain when Marinette tightened her hold, her gaze never wavering from him. The fury in her eyes could practically melt him.

“ That is not my name! If I did go by that name again you would not get to call me that anyways, nicknames are a privilege, they are shared between friends. Last I checked, we’re not friends, maybe we never were to begin with, and that goes for all of you too! ” Marinette hissed out sharply as she finally tore her gaze away from Adrien and looked at their classmates, their friends. It was the first time since this whole situation started that Adrien felt he could breathe despite the fact his hands were in an iron-clad like clutch. He didn’t have the heart to look in the eyes of everyone to see how they took Marinette’s words.

“ Marinette, this isn’t you! You need to fight the akuma, it’s making you say these things I know it is! But if you just calm down and fight it I know Ladybug and Chat Noir will be here to save the day. ” Adrien rambled away, and if he had been paying attention, he would have seen the way Marinette’s spine had straightened, how the atmosphere and temperature felt like it had dropped, and the way her calm fury took a turn. No he missed that all in favor of trying to see if one of his friends would agree with him and help him calm Marinette down long enough for him to sneak out and transform so Chat Noir could heroically swoop in to save the day.

“ Did he say akuma? ” He heard Rose semi-whisper to Juleka who merely nodded in confusion.

“ Marinette doesn’t look like an akuma though …” Nathaniel mumbled meekly.

“ Have you sheep learned nothing? There is more to people than what meets the eye.” Marinette sing-songed, and it was brief, so painfully brief but enough to draw scared gasps from everyone in the class, Marinette’s eyes had flashed from their normal cheerful blue to a darker almost violet color and the whites of her eyes turned purple. Everyone scurried back, even Mlle Bustier, all except Adrien who was still caught in her grip near the doorway that they were now blocking, and Lila who was just staring at Marinette in interest and poorly acted out fear from her seat that used to be Marinette’s. Everyone was calling out to her and telling her to run to them but the girl continued to sit there “frozen” in fear. “ And it seems like you are finally opening yours. ”

“ Oh Marinette how did this happen to you? I thought you were better than this? To get akumatized over me and showing everyone your true nature! Don’t worry guys my best friend Ladybug will be here soon to rescue us. ” Lila gushed out, not catching the wary glances that some were giving her.

“ Oh Delilah, do shut up. ” Marinette harshly mocked in response, Lila looked as though she had been smacked, everyone else was confused, Adrien included. “ What? Oh you guys didn’t know? Liar Rossi’s real name is Delilah, so let’s add that to the growing list of wrongdoings of one Delilah ‘Lila’ Rossi .”

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief when Marinette released his left arm, only to freeze when he felt her grab his right forearm with one hand, and his right hand with the other. Her fingers were so close to his ring, his heart was racing and he could feel Plagg stiffen in panic as well. “ Stop. Marinette. I’m begging you. This isn’t the way to deal with things, this will only make everything worse! ”

Marinette’s attention was torn from Lila to him and Adrien felt like he couldn’t breathe, he was sweating, and he felt like anything he did or said next would give him away as Chat Noir but he had to do something. Master Fu trusted him with this. Ladybug probably trusted him with this too, sure Fu hadn’t told him why she was gone but maybe this was a test or something? Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Hopefully this wasn’t as serious as Fu made it out to be, because if it was he was not doing good. At all. “ Worse? No Agreste, I’m making things better. I’m protecting the people of Paris one last time from all of you, but especially from Rossi. Her lies harm people, her very being brings harm upon anyone she meets, and will continue to do so if someone doesn’t stop her. If someone doesn’t protect them from her. Since you couldn’t have a spine and keep one simple promise to be in this together with me, I have become what I needed to be and what Paris temporarily needs me to be just for today. I am its protector, I am The Protector.”

The pressure around his arm increased and he could do nothing but gasp in pain and try to pull away even as he was forced on his knees due to the pain. It was at this point that Lila got up and edged back, seeming to finally understand the danger she was in. The danger she unleashed. Marinette, no, the akuma, the Protector didn’t even spare her a glance as she added more and more pressure. The pain had distracted him from what she was doing at the same time, taking his ring. He hadn’t even noticed when finally a SNAP! rung out in the classroom and a scream could be heard. It took him a while to realize it was his own till he was cradling his limp arm to his chest and crying. He could hear the others shouting and screaming, he couldn’t see their faces through his tears. “ Here’s another lie Delilah told, and it’s fairly recent, but Ladybug and Chat Noir will not be coming to the rescue this time.”

Adrien tried to pull himself together when he no longer felt the weight of his ring, a thought struck him and it only strengthened his resolve to pull himself together despite the pain. There was no doubt that The Protector took his ring, he just hoped his classmates were more focused on his arm breaking than the ring being taken since he was almost certain that the akuma was doing nothing to hide what she took. Which meant if the class wasn’t looking at him they possibly saw Plagg being sucked back into the ring. He heard more than saw the gasps and the panic that followed, but what confused him was the sound of glass breaking-a window most likely-and the presence of the akuma leaving from beside him. He felt people swarm him and ask him questions but all he could focus on was the pain.

                ________________________________________

He wiped the tears that the memory brought and stood back up to resume his walk. Eventually he found himself at the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie and he just had to go inside, he had to apologize to Tom and Sabine, he had to. It was his fault their daughter was missing. So he took in a deep breath and made his way up to their apartment, it took him longer to gather courage to knock but he did eventually do that. When the door was opened, the pit of guilt in stomach grew at the sight of Tom Dupain who looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in weeks, nor had he taken the time shave, his beard taking Adrien back to when he had been akumatized into Papa Garou. Beside him, the always put-together Sabine Cheng had bags under her eyes, she was wearing what was obviously one of Tom’s t-shirts and it looked like she hadn’t brushed her hair that morning. He took one look at them and broke down in a fresh wave of tears.

“I’m so sorry!”

Next Chapter

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Have you watched Lupin? What did you think? (And are you a fan of the books or other adaptations of the character?)

The short answer is yes, I have seen Lupin on Netflix. Overall I enjoyed it so long as I suspended my disbelief at certain things.

Unfortunately it took being struck down by Covid and being bedridden for me to actually to binge watch the whole series. So I was behind the curve when my friends, French and those outside of France, started to talk about it around me. I had to beg them not to give away spoilers until I had seen it all.

It did surprise me that it won rave widespread reviews outside France because usually French drama series don’t travel very well outside of France. I’m sure even Netflix had no idea how successful it would be for them. I’m sure being in Covid lockdown had something to do with it. In any case I don’t begrudge its success as it’s well earned.

However I wasn’t too surprised that within France itself the French reviews were decidely mixed and divisive. The critic at Le Point painfully hit the nail on the head when he wrote, “Le plus gros défaut de l'ensemble reste la pauvreté des personnages, tous unidimensionnels, caricaturaux et aussi épais que du papier à cigarette.“ - loosely translated as, ‘the biggest flaw of the whole thing remains the poverty of the characters, all one-dimensional, cartoonish and as thick as cigarette paper’.

There’s a growing amount of good French stuff on TV and streaming services but a non-French audience will not have had the chance to have seen all of it yet. I can think of any number of French television drama/dramedy/cmedy series that are much better than Lupin with better plots, characters, and even a truer perspective of French society and even modern day France (Dix pour cent (Call My Agent!), Le Bureau des Légendes, Engrenages, Baron Noir, and Paris Police 1900). But you would be hard pressed to find anything that comes close to Lupin just for the sake of something fun to watch during the Covid lockdown.

What makes the current generation of home made French television series so interesting is how much of it is a reflection of France’s own anxieities about itself and its role in a increasingly English speaking dominating world. In a funny way it sees itself as defiant plucky Asterix fighting off the Roman American cultural hordes from totally invading their Francophone culture.

For sure, it has societal and racial issues stemming from its colonial legacy and issues of immigration and integration (France has the largest Muslim population in Europe). However it seems to want to ‘resolve’ these issues through the almost sacramental adherence to French secularist ideals rather than American inspired ideas of social justice and equity. There’s always been something very admirable about the French - from the time of General de Gaulle and perhaps before - always swinging from snooty ambivalence to outright antipathy towards the influence of American culture ‘americanising’ French culture (no to Walmarts or fast food chains for example).

Is it any wonder then that Netflix’s ill-conceived American series ‘Emily in Paris’ was widely hated and mocked within France for just perpetuating those lazy American tropes of Paris and French culture?

Personally I know Francophile Americans, long resident in Paris, who were frankly embarrassed and spent a lot of time apologising to their French friends. I have one American friend who has told me that she was so mad that she would have blind folded Emily and shoved her hard in the car boot and drive her all the way to the poorest of the banlieues in the grimey crime saturated suburbs of Paris - Seine-Saint-Denis came to mind - and dump her preening arse there. She would slap her and tell the spoilt entitied brat to make her own way back home - you know, to her spacious apartment in one of the most expensive arrondissements of Paris that of course(!) any American intern working for French marketing firms can afford.

I digress. My apologies. Watching this God awful show gives me PTSD.

Onto Lupin.

Thankfully Lupin doesn’t try to play to non-French tropes of what Paris is or isn’t. It does skim the surface of current discontents within French culture and society (race, class, power, and money) but ever so lightly so as to not get in the way of just spinning a good crowd pleasing yarn. It invites you to have fun and not to think too much. I have to be honest and say I enjoyed it as long as I suspended my disbelief here and there.

Lupin refers of course to the character Arsène Lupin, the French gentleman thief who stole jewellery from Parisian haute bourgeois and aristocracy at the turn of the century. Lupin, as written in the novels and short stories by Maurice Leblanc between 1905 and his death in 1941, was the archetypical anti-hero, a Robin Hood who stole from those who deserved it but kept the loot himself. He was often portrayed often a force for good, while operating on the wrong side of the law.

Lupin never really made much of an impact outside of France as he had within France where is revered with many French film and television adaptations. In England, we already had a Lupin type character in the form of A.J. Raffles, a cricket playing gentleman thief with his aristocratic side kick, Bunny. E.W. Horning’s stories of Raffles’ daring heists proved to be quite popular with the British public when Raffles first appeared on the scene in 1898. And even later Leslie Charteris’ The Saint took over the mantle from Raffles as the gentleman thief/adventuring Robin Hood.

I think Hollywood tried to introduce him to an English speaking audience (legendary actor John Barrymore even played him) but he didn’t really take off and eventually they found their gentleman thief archetype in Sir Charles Lytton aka The Phantom (played by David Niven and Christopher Plummer) in the Pink Panther movies. So Lupin never got the English audience he deserved.

I first got wind of who Arsène Lupin was when I was growing up in Japan as a child. As strange as it sounds Lupin was big in Japan especially after World War Two. The Japanese did their own take on the Lupin character using Japanese actors and plot lines but it was Lupin.

I don’t know how exactly but I remember watching these scratchy DVDs of these Lupin inspired films. I think it was one of my parents’ Japanese friends who was mad for all things Lupin and he had studied French literature in France. Jogging my memory I now recall these black & white films were done in the 1950s. One starred Keiji Sada and the other version I remember was with Eija Okada (he was in Resnais’ classic film, Hiroshima Mon Amour) as Arsene Lupin called (I think) Kao-no Nai Otoko. I didn’t understand most of it at the time because it was all in Japanese and my Japanese (at the time) was pitiful, but it looked fun.

There was even a Japanese manga version of Lupin which was called Lupin III, - so named because he was the grandson of the real Arsène Lupin.

The 1960s manga series spawned generations of TV series which I do remember watching and finding it terribly exciting if somewhat confusing.

It was French expatriate friends whom my family knew that introduced me to the real Arsène Lupin. They had a few of the books authored by Maurice Leblanc. It was in French so I read them to improve my French but enjoyed the story along the way.

I also remember them showing me scratchy episodes of the 1970s Franco-German TV series ‘Arsène Lupin’ with the monocle wearing Georges Descrières in the lead role. It was a classical re-telling of the adventures of the aristocratic gentleman-burglar and very family friendly viewing. I don’t really remember much of it to be honest.

It was some years before I actually started to read more of the Maurice Leblanc’s novels and short stories collection. I have them all now. I was a teen and I remember being stuck in a snowed in a Swiss Alpine chalet and with nothing else to do but pull out a few dog eared books from the bookshelves belonging to our French host and read to pass the time.

I read Les Dents du tigre, Arsène Lupin vs Herlock Sholmes, and Les Huit Coups de l'horloge and thoroughly enjoyed them in the original French. I was already reading classic detective and mystery novels (Sherlock Holmes, Poirot etc) so it was natural to read the adventures of Arsène Lupin.

I haven’t got around to reading all the novels and short stories but I have read most of them and I enjoyed them all immensely. In the same way Conan Doyle, through Holmes and Watson, manages to conjure a convincing picture of late Victorian and early Edwardian England, so Leblanc manages to give us a taste of Belle Epoque France through the eyes of his suave gentleman-thief, Arsène Lupin.

Indeed it's a lot like reading Sherlock Holmes in that you're always trying to figure out how he did it, but the difference is that you are rooting for the bad guy. You can’t help but be drawn to this gentleman thief who is charming, comic, playful, and romantic and generous. Lupin is not an intellectual puzzle-solver but first a master criminal, later a detective helper, who maintains his curious ethics throughout his adventures. In this regard he is very much the anti-Sherlock Holmes; and I wasn’t disappointed when I actually read the story where Lupin faces off with Holmes himself. Brilliant!

I’ve also seen the 2004 French movie with Romain Duris in the Lupin lead role and it also starred the majestic Kristin Scott Thomas and the sexy Eva Green.

It was a decent adventure flick and it was a clear confluence of different Lupin novels (The Queen's Necklace (introducing Lupin's childhood), The Hollow Needle (where the treasure is the macguffin of the story), The Arrest of Arsène Lupin (the gala on the ship as a backdrop) and Josephine Balsamo, (one of Lupin’s most memorable opponents in the The Countess Of Cagliostro).

Romaine Duris, a fine classical actor, was I felt miscast because he didn’t have Lupin’s levity of wit and be at ease within himself. I love Duris in his other films but in Arsène Lupin and even in his other film, Moliere, he seemed ill at ease with the role. Perhaps that’s just me.

The latest Netflix adaptation (or reimagining to be more precise) is a welcome addition to the world of Arsène Lupin.If you don’t over-think it, it’s bags of fun.

Omar Sy is immensely likeable. Sy is a deservedly a big star in France - he won the best actor César for “The Intouchables,” an international hit - and has played forgettable secondary characters in big-budget American special effects movies (he was Chris Pratt’s assistant in “Jurassic World” and a minor mutant in “X-Men: Days of Future Past”). It was reportedly his desire to play Arsène Lupin, whom he’s compared to James Bond (“fun, funny, elegant”), that led to the series, created by British writer George Kay. And it is on his charm that the series largely, though not entirely, rests.

So the basic story revolves around a jewellery heist. Sy plays Assane Diop, a first-generation French-Senegalese man in contemporary Paris. A collection of Lupin stories, a gift from his father - whose undeserved fate Assane set himself to avenge in long-delayed, Count of Monte Cristo style upon a criminal tycoon - has made the actual Lupin books a foundation of his life and profitably illicit career. This fan-ship goes as far as borrowing practical ideas from the stories and constructing aliases out of anagrams of “Arsene Lupin,” a habit that will attract the interest of a low-level police detective (Soufiane Guerrab as Youssef Guedira) who shares Assane’s love of the books. (That the detective also shares an initial with Lupin’s own adversary, Inspector Ganimard, is possibly not a coincidence.)

Among the many comic delights of Lupin, is an unspoken one. Time and again, the show’s hero, master thief Assane Diop is able to slip into a place unnoticed, or by assuming a minor disguise that prevents witnesses from providing an accurate description of him to law enforcement.

Why is this funny?

Because Omar Sy is six feet three (and, since most actors are short, seems even taller), is roughly as wide as soccer pitch, and is memorable even before he flashes his infectious million-Euro smile. This is not a man for whom anonymity should be possible - even allowing for racial bias in a majority-white country, Assane would be memorable and distinctive - and Lupin seems cheekily aware of this. Like the various incredible sleights of hand Assane deploys to pull off his thefts and escapes, his ability to be anyone, anywhere, is treated more as a superpower than as something even the world’s greatest criminal would be able to pull off.

At one point, when he’s slated for a cable news appearance as a much older man, we learn that Assane is also a master of disguise. The revelation of this skill arrives with a wink in the show, and it feels pointless to ask where he learned it, or how he affords movie-quality latex and makeup. Or rather, asking the question feels wrong.

We know this is impossible, the show seems to be asking its viewers again and again, but isn’t it so much fun?

The performances and the production - it has that particularly European filmic quality of feeling natural even when it gets stylish - keep the series warm even as the plot is made up of incredulous contraptions that require everything to go right at just the right time and for human psychology to be 100% predictable. Its physics are classical rather than quantum, one might say, and like the world itself, which becomes more curious the deeper you peer into things, it is best handled along the surface. You do not want to take too much time working out the likelihood of any of this happening. Just go along for the ride.

Somehow, though, it all works because Sy is so magnetic and charming that questioning plot logic feels wildly besides the point. Though he never looks appreciably different in his various aliases (including one ill-conceived live-TV appearance done under old-man makeup and a thick beard), he changes his posture and voice ( if you watch it in French that is) enough to allow for the willing suspension of disbelief, in the same way that any lead actor as Superman has to do when playing Clark Kent. But Sy and the show are at their strongest when Assane is just being his own Superman self, utterly relaxed and confident in his own skin, and so captivating that his ex-partner, Claire, can’t really resist him despite ample reason to.

If Assane seems practically perfect in every way, he is not perfectly perfect. His most obvious failing is that his criminal shenanigans and revenging make him less than reliable in his daily life, affecting his relationships with ex-partner Claire (Ludivine Sagnier, whom non-French audiences might recognise from “The Young Pope” and “The New Pope”), who despairs of his inability to show up on time to see his son Raoul (Etan Simon). Like Sy, Sagnier brings a lot of soul to her part - though onscreen far less, she’s as important as Sy to the series’ success - and the two actors have great chemistry. Also impressive and key to creating sympathy are the actors who play their flashback teenage selves, Mamadou Haidara and Ludmilla Makowski. Really, you could do away with action elements and build a series around them.

This is a pity because Lupin often fumbles its emotional reveals in other parts - the story of Diop being torn between his job and his family feels like wheel-spinning, rather than genuine emotional intrigue.

Soufiane Guerrab is wasted in the Young Detective Consumed by the Case role and spends most of this season pinning colour printouts of book covers to cork boards and getting waved off by his colleagues, who are all blinded or otherwise hampered by careerism.

But to my mind the weakest link is the villain himself and his daughter. Veteran actor Hervé Pierre hams it up as Hubert Pellegrini, a business tycoon who is the patriarch of the Pellegrini family. He just comes across as animated cartoon villain with no character depth (think moustache twirling Russian villain, Boris Badenov, in the Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon shows). He just emotes anger a lot without any nuance or hint of complexity.

Even Clotilde Hesme who plays the daughter who is unaware of her father’s criminal tendencies is miscast. For the record I adore Clotilde Hesme as she one of France’s most talented classical actresses (that non-French outsiders will not have heard of). She is a classically theatre trained actress and is one of the best stage actresses of her generation that I have ever seen. I’ve seen her in plays where she is just mesmerising. She has said before that she’s more comfortable on the stage than she is on the screen. And when she has been on screen she still has been a powerful presence. She’s actually won a César too. Here in Lupin, she seems to have no agency and looks bored with nothing really to do.I really hope they give her more scenes in the next part of Lupin.

The series is at its best when following Diop enacting his plans, and when revealing each one from a different vantage, making us privy to every moving part like a magician revealing his secrets. The show captures the momentum of a clockwork heist, the tension of sudden obstacles and the ingenuity of improvised responses, with thrilling precision (especially in “Chapter 1 - Le Collier de la reine,” directed by Now You See Me’s Louis Leterrier).

Lupin is also politically incisive when it wants to be; it brings to mind Ladj Ly’s Oscar-nominated 2019 film Les Misérables, which adapted the broad strokes of Victor Hugo’s novel about the 1832 Paris Rebellion, and modernised the story by focusing on the police brutality faced by non-white Parisians.

Lupin opens with Diop disguised as cleaning staff and entering the Louvre after-hours, alongside dozens of forgotten, anonymous non-white workers as they pass by “La Liberté guidant le people,” Eugène Delacroix’s famous painting of the July Revolution of 1830 which replaced France’s hereditary rule with popular sovereignty.

Before any semblance of plot or character, Lupin centres broken ideals and promises unkept (without giving too much away, the show’s primary villain has much more nationalistic view of French culture and history which merely adds to a cartoonish caricature than a complex character). The rest of the episode is about valuable jewels once owned by Marie Antionette - one of the most recognisable symbols of wealth and extravagance in times of extreme poverty - which are put up for auction by the Pelligrini family, and bid on by other wealthy collectors with bottomless purses and no sense of irony.

Granted, beyond this auction subplot, explorations of race and class are largely limited to individual interactions, but the show continues to refer back to (and implicitly comment on) its source material in ways that wink at the audience. An elderly, unassuming target of Diop’s schemes seems like an unlikely victim at first - Diop, though he acts in his own self-interest, usually displays a moral compass - until this victim reveals the colonial origins of her wealth, immediately re-contextualising the ethics of the situation, in a manner that Leblanc’s stories did not. (The show is yet to apply this lens to Arsène Lupin himself, who Diop treats with reverence, but that’s a secondary concern since Lupin is entirely fictional in-world).

Barring some nagging structural problems - like cutting to flashbacks when things are getting exciting, or epilogues that feel ten minutes too long - Lupin mostly works. It plants a few personal seeds early on, which it keeps hinting at without fully addressing, but by the time its scattered elements come into focus, the show finally figures out how to weave them together, and delivers a mid-season cliffhanger that renders many of these flaws irrelevant.

Lupin manages to have fun even with an antiquated premise - the story of a suave con-man who charms his way through high-profile robberies - while adding just enough new spin on the concept to feel refreshing. Omar Sy may not have much to work with, but his alluring presence makes Assane Diop feel like a worthy successor to Arsène Lupin.

Lupin isn’t going to win César, BAFTA, or Emmy awards, or even turn heads for its ability to develop tertiary or even secondary plots or characters - that doesn’t really matter. You’re there to see a difficult hero be difficult and heroic - everyone else is there to be charmed, vexed, or eluded by them. Sy’s performance bounds off the screen, and is almost musical. He floats through scenes like he glides over the roofs and through the back alleys of Paris; he outmanoeuvres his foes with superior literary references and sheer athleticism. He is irresistible and also good at everything he tries, even kidnapping.

I would encourage anyone to watch Lupin for a fun care free ride. But the only caveat I would make is watch it in the original French.

If you don’t know French then put on the subtitles to understand (that’s what they are there for). The real crime is to watch this (or any film or television series) dubbed in a foreign language. It’s disrespectful to the actors and film makers and it’s silly because it’s comical to watch something dubbed over.

Please watch it in the original French.

Then go and read the books. You won’t regret it.

Thanks for your question.

[captainenjolras]

Prompt:

Chabouillet getting really protective of Javert when he and Valjean started dating. Like maybe interrogating Valjean and such

Also love your fics they're so darn cute

Aww, thank you! I’ve been waiting to write something involving Javert and Chabouillet’s relationship!

Valjean meeting Chabouillet would either go down great or like the dinner scene from Shrek 2

⚠️TW: mentions of abuse, drunkness and suic*de⚠️

Fight Fire With Fire

It’s not that he wasn’t happy for him, he was just…less than thrilled.

Chabouillet had known Javert for years; since the boy was fifteen. He had found him running in the streets. Since that day, he’d taken him under his wing; he was the one who had given him shelter from a less than terrible home life, the one who had suggested making him a guard at the age of 17, the one who always looked out for him no matter where he was stationed.

He was also the one who had to listen to the boy’s rants about Madeline.

Never had he seen Javert so…distracted. So ditzy. Usually, he was a stern and hard working man; but upon being in Madeline’s presence, he was an absolute dork. He was the one who watched as the young Inspector fumbled over files hours after the interactions; and after the truth was revealed about the Mayor, he was the one who allowed a very drunk, upset and tearful Javert sleep in his spare room.

Maybe that’s why he was so tense about this situation; the whole Madeline incident had felt like a punch to the gut for Javert. Sure, Chabouillet was disappointed as well, but what made him more conflicted was the younger’s emotional distress over the whole thing.

But the past was in the past, and all that mattered was the present. Right?

“Le patron!”

“Javert, mon garçon!”

The Inspector came bounding at Chabouillet, wrapping him in a tight hug. Well! This was new! Once they broke apart, the Chief laid his eyes upon the other man. Valjean.

The man had a shy smile on his face as the oldest of the three surveyed him. He was quite tall, very muscular, had a head of curly hair and neat facial hair, was dressed quite well…

“Hello, Monsieur Chabouillet,” greeted Valjean, hand extended as if to shake the oldest’s own. Chabouillet simply nodded instead.

“Monsieur Valjean.”

The eye contact they held was less than comfortable for both parties, although Javert didn’t seem to notice. He stood in between them both, teeth bared in a wide smile. The height and size difference of the couple was as if a cat had just dragged home a bear.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence for the older two, Chabouillet eventually spoke up.

“Well, come inside!”

Valjean followed gingerly behind Javert, who entered the house as if it was his own. Jean remembered that in a way, it was. The man had practically adopted the Inspector. Did that mean this was their equivalent to “meeting the parents?”

That was exactly what this was going to be, wasn’t it?

“Make yourselves at home,” spoke Chabouillet, acknowledging the coat rack by the door.

——————————————————————————

The entire night, Chabouillet studied Javert and Valjean’s interactions. The two acted like lovesick teenagers, although he did notice Valjean eyeing him mistrustfully. He returned the favor. At one point, Jean had wrapped his arm around Javert’s waist. That was Chabouillet’s breaking point.

“Javert,” he interrupted, “I’m very sorry to ask you this right now, but there’s a case file upstairs that I forgot to give to you yesterday! Would you mind just going over it?”

For once, Javert seemed annoyed at having to work. What on earth? However, he agreed and went up to the study room. Once he was a good distance away, Chabouillet turned to Valjean. He looked him up and down, lips pressed in a thin line.

“Nice to finally me-“

“Talk to me, Jean.”

Chabouillet beckoned Valjean to follow him to the dining room. Once they were seated, he spoke again.

“What are your intentions?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are your…intentions…with Javert?”

Oh, he could tell so much jokes right now.

He chose not to.

“If I have the correct understanding, then my intentions are to make him happy.”

Once again, Chabouillet stared deep into his soul. Well, this was terrifying.

“What do you do for a living, Jean?”

“W-well my good friend owns a shop that I co-own.”

“…How often do you see Javert?”

“We live together, Monsieur.”

“Well what do you two do on your spare time?”

“All sorts of things; we go on walks, read together, garden, watch TV- stuff we did before we were together! We just…do it together now.”

“And what about dates?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where do you take him on dates?”

“I mean, usually we prefer to stay home; but otherwise we go out for dinner or stargazing- we actually went to this planetarium last week with a huge star dome-“

“Do you listen to him?”

“…I’m not sure I quite understand that-“

“Do you listen to him; does he talk to you? About work? Problems? Feelings?”

“Oh! Yes, actually!”

“Yes to what?”

“Er, all of the above?”

Valjean laughed nervously, face redder than the table cloth he tapped at anxiously.

“…Back to my original question,” grumbled Chabouillet, sitting up straighter than he already was, “what are your intentions with Javert?”

“I-I thought I answered that-“

“Not in the way I wanted you to. What are your plans for the future involving your…relationship; is this some sort of fling? Just casual dating? Serious? What, what is it?”

“I mean, I’d say it’s pretty serious.”

“You’d say it’s pretty serious…do you plan on marrying him?”

At that, Valjean began to choke on nothing. His eyes went wide and jaw dropped.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Do you plan on marrying him, boy.”

“…I don’t know how you want me to answer that-“

“The way you would if anyone else asked!”

“Yes!”

The moment he said those words, Jean slammed his hand over his mouth. Both men peaked out of the room, hoping that Javert wasn’t anywhere near. Thankfully, he wasn’t.

“Yes,” whispered Jean, eyes refusing to meet the Chiefs, “I…I do plan on marrying him…if he wants to, that is.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You’ve never spoken about marriage?!”

“No, no we have- it’s just- we’ll I haven’t quite asked him yet. You know…asked him.”

Oh? Oh. Oooh, ok. He understood now.

Well now he had more of a right to threaten him over screwing this up.

“…I don’t know you, Jean. How am I supposed to know that you’re the right match for Javert?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean- I just met the real you, not Madeline. Do you have any clue how much that whole stunt upset Javert? He loved you. Not just- not admiration love, he loved you; and then you go and pull that- god, I was so mad! If I could’ve gone out and found you myself I would have- and don’t think I won’t do the same now if you ever hurt him!”

“I don’t know how much clearer I could have made it,” started the younger, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, “but I don’t plan on hurting him or letting anyone hurt else hurt him. I…understand you’re skeptic of me, but please…he means the world to me.”

“And how do I know you’re not lying to me? Was it you that saved him from his abusive household? Was it you who took him in, put a roof over his head and clothes on his back? Was it me or you who made him hysterical sob after lying about who they really were?”

“Was it you or me who risked their freedom to make sure he was safe,” growled Valjean, standing now. “Is it your shoulder or my shoulder that he cries into every time he’s had enough? Was it you that sobbed for days because maybe, just maybe, you loved him back to; but you could never tell him! Was it you or me that pulled him out of the damn Seine in the middle of the fucking night-“

“Enough!”

Chabouillet slammed his palm to the table. Valjean, who had just been fuming, was now sitting down again, fear in his eyes.

“Enough, please…I can’t- don’t bring that up.”

The older of the two quietly sunk back down to his seat, mind racing. Perhaps they both went to far.

“…How does he like his coffee?”

Oh…that’s not what Valjean was expecting.

“…With so much sugar it’s a little scary.”

At that, both of them couldn’t help but laugh a bit. Once it died down, Chabouillet looked over at him.

“When he found out you were in the city, he wasn’t very happy. I’ll admit, I thought he was overreacting a bit. Then…after the protests…I don’t know, something seemed to change. When I heard it was you that saved him, I nearly didn’t believe it.”

A tear had fallen down his cheek, but the Chief didn’t seem to care.

“…Thank you,” he started again, “for saving him. He’s…like a son to me.”

“…I can tell from the way you care about him…Please, Monsieur, I apologize if my behavior was a bit rash; my only intentions with Javert are to make him happy. I hope you’d let me.”

Chabouillet went to open his mouth, but just as he did, Javert strutted into the room.

“One of your leads has been dead for years, Le patron. Are you sure she was the person in suspect?”

He really had no clue of the entire conversation that just went down.

——————————————————————————

The rest of the night went smoothly; the three of them swapped stories and debates over dinner. Around 9:00, Javert suggested they should head home.

As they were leaving, Chabouillet pulled Valjean aside.

“Monsieur,” started the younger, “I’d like to thank you-“

“It’s- it’s quite alright…You have my permission. And…my blessing.”

It took a moment for Jean to register what he was saying, but once it did, he wrapped the man in a tight embrace.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you- I shouldn’t be hugging you, should I?”

He pulled away, the same anxious smile on his face that was there moments ago.

“It’s…alright. Maybe not- I’d prefer to see how things play out in the future.”

“Understandable.”

“Valjean?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for making him happy…truly happy.”

“…Thank you for making him the man he is today.”

For once, they both shared a less than awkward smile.

“Treat him well.”

“I will.”

Valjean turned to leave, only for Chabouillet to turn him around once again.

“Just know, that if you ever, and I mean EVER, hurt him, I won’t hesitate to find you and make your life a living nightmare.”

“…There’s the Chabouillet I know. Don’t worry, that won’t be necessary.”

“It’s a warning.”

“That won’t need to be enforced.”

“Valjean-“

“I know, I know; you’re just making sure I understand. I do, believe me. I have absolutely no plan on hurting him, or letting anything hurt him for that matter.”

“…Good man. Go, he’s probably wondering where you are.”

“Probably- thank you for dinner, Monsieur.”

“Anytime. Farewell, Valjean.”

“Farewell, Monsieur.”

Chabouillet watched as Jean made his way to the car, kissing Javert on the cheek once he was inside. He made sure they drove off safely before closing the door and turning in for the night.

——————————————————————————

It was good to know that the Chief didn’t think him unfit for Javert, although that was the last thought he had at the moment. Looking down, Valjean couldn’t help but smile at the sleeping man he held in his arms. Javert wore one of Jean’s own t-shirts, and had his cheek smudged against the older’s chest. God, he was beautiful.

Jean glanced over at the ring he held in the hand that wasn’t cradling Javert’s back. Soon, he hoped.

Soon.

[miminorenai]

The person is beside the wagon with plenty of flowers, as if he’s bringing along the spring. (...At last, I met him.) “I found you ‘again’, after all.” I want you to tell me your name —

CHAPTER 03

The man with crimson eyes “I found you ‘again’, after all.”

MC “Huh...?”

The man with crimson eyes “I’ve always wanted to meet you since that snowy day. I feel like I’ll find you if I keep wishing for it.”

The man with crimson eyes “Thank you for making my wish comes true.”

I lost my words in front of the smile that looks too happy, but I quickly pulling myself together.

MC “I’ve been looking for you too.”

MC “The other day, I received an armful of flowers, but I couldn’t thank you properly...”

(Uhh...was there anything I could give him as thanks?)

When I look inside the shopping bag, I realize I was buying wine.

(No, this is the wine that Comte and Leonardo-san are looking forward to...!)

After some hesitation, I took out the strawberries I had bought for my snack —

MC “Um, I’m sorry. I don't think this is enough to thank you, but please accept it if you like.”

The man with crimson eyes “...”

MC “Er...”

The man with crimson eyes “...”

(...What should I do, was it annoying?)

MC “Either way, I didn’t have much now —“

The man with crimson eyes “Can I really take it? Thank you, I love strawberries very much.”

His appearance with a carefree smile while receiving strawberries slowly warms my heart, and I can’t help but to smile too.

MC “Hehe...”

The man with crimson eyes “What’s wrong, is there anything amusing...?”

MC “Sorry, I’m laughing since I’m so happy. I’m glad you like it.”

(...I could never forget the lonely figure I saw on that snowy day. Oh, I see.)

(I wanted to meet this person’s smiling face...)

As I’m feeling extremely peaceful, the person’s hand gently takes my hand.

The man with crimson eyes “Then can I *take you away from now on?”

(*連れ去って - kidnap

MC “Eh......? Take-take me away!?”

The man with crimson eyes “Yeah, it's a waste to eat such delicious food alone, so let's eat it together.”

The man with crimson eyes “There is a place with beautiful scenery.”

(...Is that so? Since he said things like taking me away, so I interpret it strangely.)

MC “Yes, of course! Just, before that —“

The man with crimson eyes “Hmm...?”

When I turn my eyes towards the people in the city lining up to buy flowers, the person smiles softly.

The man with crimson eyes “Ahaha, I’m sorry everyone. I’m just absorbed in my own matter.” 

The man with crimson eyes “Hey, can you wait for me a little while?”

Smiling as if he’s getting relieved, the person reaches out to the colorful flowers.

His soft and thin silver hair’s shining sparklingly through the sunlight and swaying in the winter breeze.

(Ah, right...!)

MC “I just have one thing I want to ask of you.”

The man with crimson eyes “Yes...?”

MC “What’s your name...?”

He smiles as if he’s *reacting to my question with his whole body.

(*受け止める - accept, take

Vlad “Vlad.”

Vlad “...Hey, what’s your name then?”

After all the flowers are passed into the people’s hands, Vlad-san takes me to the shore of Seine.

Vlad “···— That’s what happened.”

MC “Oh, really...?”

Vlad “Yeah, that’s true. Ahaha, isn’t that weird?”

While eating strawberries side by side, Vlad-san tells me about himself.

He’s been picking flowers from his own garden and selling them on a whim.

He lives in an old castle a little apart from here, with 3 person live together, named Faust and Charles.

And many other things.

(...It feels strange. Or, how should I put it, he’s talking without hiding anything, but I can’t grasp it somewhere although it’s being transmitted.) 

(Or rather, he’s being mysterious.)

But, I don’t want to step more than necessary, because there’re always parts that people don’t want to touch.

Besides, there were many things I couldn’t say either.

(There’s no way I can say that I came to this world beyond time and space.)

Vlad “Hey, let me hear your story this time.”

MC “Huh...? Things about me?”

Vlad “Yeah, anything is fine. If it’s about you, I want to know everything.”

Vlad “If I’m not mistaken...you just came to this land a month ago, right?”

MC “Yes, for a trip a month ago.”

Vlad “A trip, huh? That’s nice. It's very important to actually see the scenery you've never seen before.”

Vlad “Then, does that mean you’re living in a hotel now?”

(Well...the fact that everyone in the mansion is resurrected great men shouldn’t be known, right?)

— Much less in saying that they’re vampires.

I look back into Vlad-san’s eyes as I choose my words with care.

MC “No. I received an invitation from a certain nobleman, and now I live and work in his mansion.”

Vlad “Live-in employee, huh. You’re very remarkable to work in an unfamiliar place.”

I shake my head and Vlad-san looks into my face.

Vlad “Hey...how long can you stay in this place?”

(That’s...)

Comte “Everyone, get down!” Napoleon “Mimi, come over here...!”

MC “Well, in fact, I couldn’t go back to where I was because of a slight mistake...”

Vlad “...”

MC “Oh! But, it’s okay. Rather, I think it’s great that my trip has been extended.”

MC “And everyone in the mansion cares a lot ···—“

Then, suddenly the words are cut short.

It may be because the city is so beautiful at dusk, or perhaps it’s because Vlad-san’s asking so that I could accept everything,

The emotion that had been sunk deep in my heart ever since the door’s closed is overflowing into my voice.

MC “...I’m all right but sometimes, things like anxiety suddenly fills my heart.”

MC “I know it’s okay if I really talk to everyone and laugh away, but I can’t do that.”

Vlad “Why’s that?”

In the evening, I think of kind and strong people who reside in the mansion.

MC “Surprisingly even for myself, I cherish everyone in the mansion...I like them so much.”

MC “That’s why it’s hard to confide and speak frankly when my heart feels gloomy.”

Vlad “...?”

MC “I don’t want them to carry along my sadness by showing my sad appearance.”

MC “Since I want the people I love to laugh as much as possible even for a second.”

Vlad “...”

MC “Ah, I’m sorry. I just talked about myself —“

When I look back at him feeling apologetic, Vlad-san’s eyes are gently narrowed...

Vlad “I’ve been having a hard time lately.”

MC “Huh...?”

As I was surprised by the words spilled without context, Vlad-san keep on talking without any care.

Vlad “Right now, I'm selling flowers by myself, but I don't have enough manpower. That's why I have a request for Mimi.”

Vlad “Can you help me with my work?”

MC “I want to help you but...I also have to work in the mansion.”

Vlad “I don’t mind with only an hour every day, though...”

(...He said it would be just around one hour, so I guess it’s quite hard. Alright, then!)

MC “Okay, let me help you on my way home from shopping then.”

Vlad “Thank you, then I'll be waiting at the place where I met you today.”

MC “Yes...!”

From that day on, as promised, I started going to see Mr. Vlad on my way home from shopping, but —

MC “Hello Vlad-san. Say, if there’s anything you need my help with —”

Vlad “Hey Mimi. Look over here. A kitten was just born in a customer’s house. See?”

MC “Wow, so cute...! Can I hug it?”

Vlad “Of course. Here you go.”

(...Yesterday I just played with Vlad-san and the kitten.)

(Today I’ll do my best to help him properly!)

Vlad “Charles told me that new strawberry sweets will be available from today at the café here.”

Vlad “I'm glad you came to see me. Let's order all the strawberry menus and *splitting evenly between both of us.”

(*はんぶんこ - halfsies

MC “Ev-everything...!?”

After that, Vlad-san just took me around on a whim without asking for my help.

(I have to work properly today. Eh?)

Vlad “...”

MC “What are you doing, Vlad-san?”

[thatonesadending]

Molly gets to finally see his room in Caleb's tower, and it was more than he could handle - Chapter 4

He didn’t know what he had been expecting when he first crossed through the Tower’s door, but it definitely wasn't this. It had nearly knocked him down when he entered that first floor, and then he looked up and felt as though he couldn’t breathe. Eventually, he found his words again and asked Caleb where they were and what this place was, even though he knew he couldn't really take in any more information. As it was, he was having issues keeping up with just the Nien’s physical changes, let alone their achievements. The ones they earned without him.

When Caleb had taken him to the level that was floor to ceiling filled with books, and massive creation of light and color that was obviously a representation of his own artwork, he simply lost all ability to process at all. He couldn’t take in the mixing of both of them. Of Caleb and Molly. Here in this man’s home. He stared for a long time at the glass, and how it made the books around it dance with life. Thankfully Caduceus, whom Molly was pretty sure was just a saint cover in velvety fur, came and saved him.

“They found me after you were gone, but they never forgot you. They all mourned in their own ways, but this -” The firbog pointed his staff at the stained glass,”- this was Caleb’s way of honoring you and the way you impacted all of them. Showing the others that he shared their pain, and joy. It’s really what this whole place is about, Caleb showing through magic what he does not convey through words, how much he loves his friends. I think …” Caduceus paused, considering his words, “I think that you never really stopped being with them, in a way. Something about you changed them all. I think you will find that out on your own, in time.”

Molly was thankful but overwhelmed by the man’s wisdom. He continued to ask questions of him, not really taking in most of the answers, but feeling cared for nonetheless.

It wasn’t until Caleb had said he had a room for Molly, and for some reason that had bothered Beau, that he began to feel uneasy again. Not unwanted or unwelcomed, just that he didn't belong. He still took the wizard’s hand, and they floated to nearly the top.

“Ja, so, I must confess I should have thought ahead and moved your room with the others. I promise the next time I cast it, I will.” Good to know that Caleb was still self-deprecating.

“Darling, I had to float here like a feather for what, 5 extra seconds? I think I will survive. ” Molly tried to reassure him, but Caleb just wrinkled his nose a bit before responding.

“Nien. It’s not that. Ah, well - this is your door.” He pointed to one that looked the same as the other 8 doors. “It will only open for now for me. But I promise that if you have one of the cats come to get me, I will open it immediately. That is if you choose to stay, that is up to you.” There were too many questions that statement produced for Molly. Why would it only open for Caleb? Cats? Why would he refuse a bed and clean clothes? He just wanted to lay down, try to sleep, but also try and not think about the fact that apparently, he had been dead not just an hour ago, and Lucien had been trying to kill his friends using his face. He was too over his head though to ask any of his questions and just nodded his head in acceptance.

Nothing could have prepared him for this next door. Molly knew he had almost immediately frozen on entering, and he could hear Caleb asking him if he was ok. But he couldn’t move or speak, just …. stare.

He had just walked into a beautiful circus tent, the fabric striped with cream and sun-faded red. The top of which was impossibly tall, and had a trapeze of sorts, like that he used to adore practicing on while Yasha spotted him. Underneath was a ridiculously large bed, almost as though it was a mat to catch him if he fell from the swing above, but it was big enough to hold all of the Mighty Nien. But it was the swirl of colors that really struck him.

The bed was not made up neatly, but rather a pleasantly lived-in pile of pillows of every texture and shape he could have thought of, as well as different blankets of different designs that all seem to somehow compliment and contrast each other perfectly. It looked like the perfect embodiment of cozy and sensual.

There was also an overly ornate armoire that was the boldest shade of red Molly had ever seen, matched only by its accompanying vanity with more little drawers than Molly could count in common, and a large dresser that held the promise of holding anything he could think of putting in it. However, despite all of these wonderful things, none if it is what really caught Molly’s attention

He hadn't even realized that he had drifted to the middle of the room, pulled there by magic or aw, he didn't know nor care. He was gazing at the far side of the room, where 2/3s of the tent stopped and were interrupted by the far most beautiful part of the tower he had yet to see.

“Ja, yes let me open it for you.” Caleb said from behind him, but Molly wasn't sure he wanted Caleb to touch the artwork he was looking at. “Give me just a moment darling.”He whispered, Caleb stopped and patiently stood by his side once more, and waited. IIt matched in style to the same stained glad he had seen down in the library, only this window stretched and arched to meet the top of the canvas of the tent, and seemed to glow with the almost holy light that backlit it.

The glass was mostly that of a night sky, unrealistically peppered with close together stars. However, where the stars would have gathered to be galalexies, Molly could see images. Depictions of memories.

He stepped closer to get a better look and was shocked at the emotion that shards of colors glass could remind him of. Some of the art was scenes of him and moments with the Mighty Nien. Him teaching Jester how to read cards. His swords out in front of him protecting Nott. Him pushing Caleb incredibly close to a wall in a sewer. A bowl of fruit covering his most intimate parts while a crown teetered on his head. Beau flipping him off in one of their regular exchanges …. And Molly kissing Caleb on the forehead.

That last depiction wasn't quite how he remembered it. Caleb had a far off, terrified look about him, which was accurate. But he did not remember placing a hand to the redded cheek he had slapped while kissing Caleb almost reverently on the soft skin of his temple. Of course, he remembers the strike to stir him, and the kiss to bring him back, but the closeness ... It was most certainly from Caleb’s perspective, but the intimacy was more than Molly thought it had meant at the time.

However still, scattered amongst all the scenes, were ones that he had never shared with the wizard. Scenes from his life at the circus. Scenes depicting the first time he balanced on a rope. His first Ale. His first piercing. Him and Yasha lounging in a field of flowers, swapping stories of whatever had transpired the night before. She was the constant in all of these images. These were the stories she must have shared with Caleb to make these memories dance with the light of the glass. She didn't share the dark ones of finding him alone, covered in dirt, unable to speak. All of the horrible times where he struggled to find a place in the world when he didn't understand how to eat, or bathe, let alone carry a conversation. She chose to remember him as vibrant, fully appreciating life, and he was filled with so much love that he could no longer see the glass in front of him. His eyes too filled with tears.

“Ok.” That was all he managed to say, after several long moments of looking at his life depicted in artistry through the haze of tears that he pushed back before they could fall.

Caleb moved slowly and started to part the panes of glass with handles Molly hadn’t seen before. The incredible work bent and moved much like an accordion, Caleb pushing each side to meet the tent, until Molly was covered in Moonlight. She glowed impossibly large in the night sky, and the light kissed every inch of the magical space.

“This was my best attempt at recreating her, of course, it isn't really the Moonweaver, but I had hoped - thought …” Caleb drifted off in his excuses for why this wasn't the most incredible sight Molly could be beholding. “It is just that, ah - I do not know if you are able to pray here, but it is what I - well, imagined.” Caleb festered to the floor in front of the window. Molly finally looked at the ground, he hadn’t given it a second thought, as everything up and around him was already so much to take in. But stretched from wear the glass doors parted, to where his bed was, there were incredibly soft overlapping carpets of differing shades of lavender, cream and lilac. They all looked divine to stretch out on, to bask in the moonlight, and even to kneel and pray to the Moonweaver.

Molly didn't know what came first, the hot fall of tears, or him wrapping his arms around his wizard.

“Thank you.” He couldn't manage much more than that, as much as he wished he could. Somehow, Caleb had found a way to capture not only everything he loved about his life, but why he loved it, and make it into a space just for him right as he needed it the most. Right as he was feeling out of sorts and like he didn't belong with the living anymore.

“Of course Schatz, Ich wünschte nur, du hättest früher hier sein können.” Molly didn't care that he couldn't understand what Caleb said, he was too busy sobbing into the man’s neck, clinging to the second chance of life he had been given.

[shewhorises-tjyj]

Day 3: Teashop

I am going to be using “Bridgette” and Marinette. I know they’re the same person (Bridgette being a made-up name from the 2012 fandom) but this is the first thing that came to mind. Also, Bridgette and Marinette have don’t even know the other is alive (well, except when she sees Bridgette running after Felix. But she just chalked it up to a crush) same goes for Felix. She just sees his face from time to time because he’s a model {and actor. But he isn’t in a lot of films so he’s more famous for modelling} Oh yeah! Adrien does not exist or at least he isn’t mentioned.

It’s kind of switching from third to second to first person………So, it’s kind of messy.

“Felix!~” NOPENOPENOPENOPE.

He continued running (or well fast walking in other people opinion he was a Culpa there was no way he was going to be caught running!) her voice drew closer and closer as they ventured into a place he had never seen before but if this place could help him get away from ‘it’ he would take his chances of possibly getting lost and booked into the first store he saw. Coincidentally, it was a teashop. He quickly hid behind one of the walls and opened his eyes while panting before promptly freezing and tried to book it out the store when he heard a VERY familiar voice, “Feeliiixx!” before hiding behind the wall again. He noticed the girl looking at him like he was a madman (and okay, he probably looked like one) but he was overall surprised that she didn’t know him.

As the voice drew further away, he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and dropped to the floor. The girl then proceeded to help him up and brought him to a table and left the room to make tea while he went and examined the place and the girl. The place had a mix of Japanese and Chinese furnishture that made him feel like he wasn’t in France anymore and instead at a traditional Chinese/Japanese house and the girl looked similar to… his stalker fangirl… but with a few differences that differed her from the other. For one, she had shorter hair that was let loose, her clothes were a red turtleneck long-sleeve crop top with the shoulder area being cut off, the back having a hoodie, the black skirt starting at the bottom of the crop top and reached right above the knees, black leggings and white tall sneaker boots that looked designer.

She could probably be a model or actor if, for the fact that he memorised every model and actor there is on the planet so that if he were to ever cross one he would not be as cold as he is.

When the girl came back she poured him a cup of tea before introducing herself.

“I’m Marinette. What’d your name?”

She didn’t recognise him?

“Felix.”

“Are you okay? You seem like you ran a good distance to get here.”

“…just trying to run away from a…………… fangirl.”

“Do you even know your way around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“………uh….”

“I’m guessing you don’t” if anything, she seemed amused by this.

“I just ran. I’ve never been in this part of Paris before.”

“Do you want help to get back to... wherever you live then?”

“while that would be most convenient I can just call my driver to pick me up. Could you tell me where ‘here’ is?”

“the 1st Arrondissement, street cours la reine.”

“thank you.”

He took out his phone and texted his driver of his location and to come pick him up and placed it back down haven’t yet received a reply and took a sip of the tea and perked up. It didn’t go unnoticed by the girl.

“It’s a mix of mint and chamomile tea. It helps sooths the mind and muscles.” (or so I found on google)

“it tastes devine” (oh my god it’s so unusual for me to write so formally.)

“Do you own this place?”

“Oh no, I’m just helping my grandfather open the shop today. He fell ill and was unable to come today so I volunteered to help keep the shop open for the day, he’ll be coming tomorrow” (THAT’S RIGHT! I’M MAKING MASTER FU RELATED TO HER)

“I see.”

*ding!*

Picking up his phone again he saw he had received a reply from his driver who replied positively saying he would be able to come in half an hour and in that half hour he had made small talk with the girl.

Thirty minutes later, a car honk was heard outside.

“it seems that my driver has arrived, thank you for your hospitality.”

Then, she smiled and it seemed like it lighted up the whole room and possibly outside as it was getting dark out

“Your welcome! Let me show you out.”

Once outside,

“It’s late out, do you want a ride back home?”

“Ah! No thank you, my house is near here and it would be a bother for you.”

“I insist.”

“Really! I can get home in a matter of seconds!”

*sigh* “Alright, I hope you have a safe walk home.”

“Bye!” she replied waving.

When he got in the car, he thought back to the day. She was the most interesting he had ever met. she didn’t know who he was even though his face was all over the internet and Paris. And anything she said was not particularily boring and she talked about her dreams with such passion he had never seen before. Plus, she knew more than most people in the span of 40 minutes than people who’ve known him their whole lives except maybe Bridgette who knew what she knew she certainly was an interesting girl.

Wait- oh god that sounds so affectionate- shit- no- He DID NOT gain a crush in just 40 minutes of knowing her- wait- I didn’t get her number- NO!- oh god no he’ll never meet such an amazing girl again. She said her grandfather own the shop maybe I can ask him- NOPE that would just be weird. He was just a stranger and he was sure she wouldn’t talk about him. If he asks her grandfather, her grandfather will think he’s a creep and even if he got a chance with her, her grandfather will probably make her break up with him-

He was suddenly pulled out of his stuptor when his butler/driver announced their arrival at the family estate.

“We’ve arrived sir.”

“Huh, oh thank you Oliver.”

“Anytime sir.”

After that day, he started to regularly come to the tea shop in hopes of meeting the girl but to no avail (well he did end up getting on good terms with her grandfather which was good if he ever saw her again…) but on one fateful day, that all changed.

“Class, please welcome our new student. Marinette Dupain Cheng.”

1246 words.

(I searched up ‘most expensive neighbourhood in Paris’ and I got four different places so… I did what any one would do. I searched up ‘Wheel Decide’ and placed the four different locations in the wheel and spun it and got ‘7th Arrondissement’ (it’s near the Eiffel tower) and went to one of the Arrondissement next to it which was the ‘1st Arrondissement’ and picked a street which was just across the seine ‘cours la reine’)

@felinettenovember

[quickspinner]

Clear Skies

aka, The Honeymoon Fic. Luka and Marinette have faced down their share of storms over the years. Their honeymoon is a break they badly need, and the calm gives them a chance to just enjoy being together, and reflect on how far they've come. 

This story *is* set during their honeymoon so there is plenty of innuendo and implied sexy stuff and maybe I waited slightly longer than usual before the fade to black, but there's nothing really explicit. If you don't care for it, once the makeout starts you can skip down to the section break. 

“Luka.” Marinette frowned slightly, head turning as they passed their favorite beach bar, The Cove, its porch overflowing with brightly colored flowers that Marinette had spent a lot of time sketching in the past few days. “Where are we going?” she asked, with one longing look back at the Cove’s purple roof. She’d been hoping for the Cove’s breakfast special, but apparently Luka had other plans.

Plans he wasn’t going to share with her, as a sly smile curled his mouth and he said simply, “You’ll see.”

Marinette pouted, but leaned into him, wrapping her other arm around his and resting her cheek on his shoulder. Luka bent down and kissed the top of her head, and her pout pulled into a smile almost against her will. It was hard to be put out when she was on her honeymoon with her gorgeous, newly-minted doting husband, and whatever surprise he had in mind was bound to be wonderful.

She kept turning possibilities over in her mind as they passed possible destination after possible destination. Marinette noticed the corner of Luka’s mouth twitching and knew he knew she was guessing and that she was also completely lost. She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned. 

Finally, Luka stopped and took her hands. “Do something for me?”

Marinette looked up at him. “Hm?”

“Close your eyes.” 

Marinette’s eyebrows went up and she cocked her head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”

“Because you trust me and I asked you to,” Luka grinned, squeezing her hands and leaning in to rub his nose lightly against hers. “Please?” 

Marinette sighed, and closed her eyes. She felt Luka’s lips press hers lightly in reward. “Thank you.” He moved behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “This way.” 

Marinette walked, responding to the pressure on her shoulders as Luka guided her. 

“Step up,” he warned, and Marinette did, suddenly feeling wood under her sandaled feet instead of sand. The hollow sound as they walked made her think they were on a bridge or a pier. 

Luka stopped her and then turned her slightly, reaching up to cover her eyes with his own hands. “Ready?”

“Of course I’m ready,” she said dryly, blinking behind his hands. “Are you going to keep me waiting forever?”

Luka’s deep chuckle in her ear made the brush of his lips against her neck all the more electrifying. “You’re so impatient.” 

Marinette folded her arms and pouted for real this time, and Luka laughed. “All right, all right.” He took his hands from her eyes, and Marinette blinked in the bright light reflecting off the shiny white paneling in front of her, and then blinked again in surprise.

“It’s...a boat?” she said blankly.

“It’s a boat,” Luka confirmed behind her, and when she looked up at him his face was shining with happiness. “Isn’t she beautiful? I’ve been scouting for days to find the right one.”

A cold tendril of fear curled in her stomach. “Luka, please tell me you didn’t buy a boat.” She knew her new husband was impulsive, but boats were so expensive, surely he wouldn’t have—and what would they do with a boat? A sailboat, at that. The Seine was—and how would they even get the boat back from Hawaii? They’d just picked out their apartment! They were all moved in! How was she supposed to—

Luka interrupted her panic with an incredulous laugh and a kiss to her cheek. “Of course not. I’d never make a decision like that without you. I rented her. She’s ours for the next three days.” 

“But,” Marinette looked up at him. “The hotel—” 

Luka shrugged. “We can go back to the hotel for the night if you want. I just thought you might—I mean,” he paused, running his fingers through his hair, and Marinette realized he was getting nervous. “We don’t have to even use it, if we don’t want to, but I thought—the seas and the skies are so beautiful here, and I thought maybe I could show you…but if it’s just going to make you anxious, then we don’t have to.”

Marinette stared at him for a moment, and he fidgeted, waiting for her decision. Patiently, of course. He was always patient. It was clear that this was important to him, though, and he’d be terribly disappointed if she shot him down. 

Luka had tried so hard to make sure she’d be able to relax while they were away. Of course, the Miracle Box stayed with them at all times, but Tikki and the other kwamis were sealed inside, ensuring that she and Luka had complete privacy and a vacation from superhero duties during their honeymoon. They had a burner phone so that Chat could text in case of an emergency, though emergencies requiring Ladybug were few and far between these days.

Luka had agreed to all of this for Marinette’s peace of mind, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to relax without assurance that her responsibilities were taken care of. He had let her plan and overplan for every contingency, and once the necessities were settled, had gently taken the rest of the trip out of her hands, knowing that given the chance, Marinette would plan every minute of their days. Instead, Luka kept their schedule open, presenting her each morning with a few options for things they could do that day, while leaving them plenty of time for lazy mornings and late nights during which Luka ensured she wasn’t thinking about anything outside of their room. 

And now he had something he wanted to share with her, for once asking for something he wanted to do, and she was balking. Suddenly she felt terrible. 

Marinette made up her mind in an instant, flashing a smile up at Luka and putting her arms around his neck. She could see in his face that he wasn’t convinced—he had always seen her, and she couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t really understand,” she told him honestly. “I’m a little nervous, but I trust you, so let’s just do it.” Luka grinned at those words and put his arms around her waist. She cupped his cheek in her palm. “This is your honeymoon too. We should do things that you want to do.”

He looked away and smiled, tongue wetting his lips before he leaned in to say, “We’ve done plenty of things I wanted to do.” Marinette shoved his face away and he pulled her into a hug, chuckling. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it?” he asked, voice low. 

Marinette smiled. “You’d know,” she said, thumb stroking his lower lip. “Even if I didn’t tell you. You always know. But I promise.” She drew him down and kissed him softly, slowly, the way he liked, and he sighed when she pulled back, his hand coming up to catch hers as it slid from his cheek.

“Okay,” he said, smiling, some of his enthusiasm returning. “Come on then, let me show you around.” 

“It looks awfully big,” Marinette commented as Luka helped her aboard. It felt a little cramped and narrow, and yet huge and heavy at the same time. “You’re sure you can sail this by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself,” Luka said cheerfully. “I’ve got you.”

Marinette whined. “That’s not helping my confidence, Luka.”

“Relax, Marinette,” he laughed. “Yes, I can sail single-handed, and I wasn’t entirely kidding. It will be easier with you to hold the wheel steady when I need to work the sails. Besides this thing can practically sail herself. She’s got all the modern conveniences. And before you ask, she’s got an engine so we can’t get stuck.” He grinned at Marinette and she stuck her tongue out at him. “I can’t believe you thought I bought this,” Luka chuckled to himself. “When I’m as famous as Jagged, I might be able to afford it. Look at this, this is teak decking back here on the swim platform.” He pointed it out, and then pulled the—Marinette wanted to call it a tailgate, honestly, but she was sure that wasn’t right—up behind them and latched it to close off the back of the boat. He turned her around and pointed to a bunch of dials around the steering wheel. “It’s got a full GPS and electronic charts, throttle for the motor, and a compass of course.” He tapped each of them as he spoke, and then grinned at her with a wink. “And a queen-sized bed in the berth below. I’m not going to brag about the galley, it’s going to be too small for your tastes, but just trust me when I say it’s really nice for a boat this size. Before you ask, it has a fully functional bathroom with a shower.” 

Marinette covered a smile as he rambled on about the features and amenities of the boat, moving the whole time in the narrow space. It was surprisingly easy to forget that the Couffaines were a sailing family, since they spent so much time anchored in the Seine, but Anarka came from a long line of Scottish sailors and her love of the water had not diminished even when she traded the turbulent seas of her homeland for the calm waters of the Seine. “Just please don’t tell my mom I got one with a wheel instead of a tiller,” Luka sighed, rolling his eyes. “She’ll never let up on me about it.” Marinette giggled and he grinned.

When the tour was over, he sat her down on one of the benches forward of the cockpit, and went to work rigging the sails. There wasn’t much for her to do besides watch him work, but that in itself was...kind of amazing. He was just so...capable. Sure. Confident. Able to see what needed doing, and do it, effortlessly handling what was just a jumble of ropes and cloth and moving parts to Marinette. She couldn’t help the fond smile that was growing on her face as she watched him. Some people scoffed at Luka’s easy-going nature. They thought because he was quiet that he was easily swayed; that because he was deliberate and gentle, he lacked drive or ambition. 

But they were wrong. It was true, Luka didn’t fire up easily, but he burned slow and steady. There was so much passion in everything he did. His energy might be different from hers, which came in flashes and bursts and bright moments, but it was just as strong, and usually a lot more focused. 

Luka paused as he passed her, one hand going to her hip as he leaned in and kissed her. Marinette caught the collar of his open shirt and tugged him back, and he obliged her with a deeper, slower kiss. He squeezed her hip, left one more kiss on her nose, and went to start up the engine to get them out of the harbor. 

When they were clear, Luka pulled her up in front of him and let her get the feel of the wheel as they steered. When he was confident she could hold them steady, he left her at the wheel and moved up onto the foredeck to raise the sail. Marinette gripped the wheel tight, simultaneously thrilled and frightened by the feel of the ocean pushing against the rudder, trying to keep straight on the compass like he’d shown her, and watched Luka with anxious eyes. 

Once the sails were up, Marinette relinquished her place to him and Luka killed the engine. She watched with fascination the focus and concentration in his face as he steered with one hand and handled the rope (the main sheet, he called it, and part of her was annoyed because who knew a sheet would be a rope and not a sail, and if he’d told her about this whole adventure she could have researched it so as not to look like an idiot) with the other, until the sails filled and the boat sliced through the water, listing slightly with the wind. Luka grinned as Marinette lost her balance and grabbed onto him. 

“Careful,” he murmured, rock steady as ever, and apparently unbothered by her grip on his arm. “It’s a little different than the Liberty.”

“I’ll say,” Marinette breathed, scrunching up close to him as the wind whipped past them. It kind of reminded her of swinging between buildings in Paris, except it smelled a lot better. 

She didn’t let go of Luka, but moved a little behind him, adjusting her hold to around his waist, and laying her cheek on his shoulder. A familiar peace filled her as she pressed against his strong back. Luka turned his head and nuzzled her temple briefly

“Okay so far?” he asked, and she nodded. He grinned and turned his attention back to the steering. “There’s food below,” he commented, and Marinette realized with a start that she was still hungry. “I didn’t want us to eat much beforehand in case you got seasick, but if you’re feeling okay, you could go grab us some breakfast.” 

“I feel fine.” Marinette rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I bet you’re hungry too.”

“Yeah,” Luka admitted with a sheepish grin. He’d been ravenous ever since they arrived. He claimed he always got that way by the ocean, and seeing how much work he’d done this morning, Marinette supposed it made sense. She made her way carefully across the deck and down into the cabin. 

She paused to peek in the storage cabinets, unsurprised to find Luka’s guitar case carefully wedged and padded in one. In another, she found the miracle box, and breathed a sigh of relief, releasing some tension in her shoulders she hadn’t known she was carrying. Her husband was a sly bastard, she noted, opening the tiny closet to survey the clothes he’d packed. When had he even had time to do all this? She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips, as she surveyed a selection of swimsuits and lingerie that was surely more than they would need for this little trip. 

Well. It was their honeymoon. She couldn’t blame him for picking out his favorites, and there were some sensible clothes in there as well. Although—she frowned, picking up one of the lingerie sets. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to know about that one yet. “Sass, you rat,” she muttered, putting it back and closing the closet. “Should’ve known you couldn’t keep a secret.”  

The galley did look really small to her, but it was kind of nice that she could reach everything without moving. The gimbal stove made her giggle as it swayed to stay flat despite the motion of the boat. The refrigerator was set into the counter and opened more like a chest freezer, but when she dug around in it, she found it was pretty well stocked. She poked through more carefully, assessing her options. She snorted when she saw the fruit had been pre-sliced. Apparently, Luka was taking no chances. She wondered how much this whole expedition had cost, and immediately put the question out of her mind. It was important to Luka, so the money didn’t matter. He must have felt it was worth it, so she wouldn’t think about it.

She carefully assembled a plate of fruit and lunch meats that she didn’t think they’d have too much trouble eating with fingers while under sail, and went back up on deck. Seated behind the wheel at the back of the cockpit, Luka looked absolutely blissful, the wind whipping his hair and the sun on his face, his smile small but contented. He turned just as she came up the stairs, scanning behind them before facing forward again. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but his smile widened when he saw her. 

“So,” she teased, squeezing in next to him and offering him a piece of fruit from her fingers. “Are you taking me to the edge of the earth?” 

Luka laughed and waved his hand at the horizon. “Baby, we’re already there.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes, not that he could see them behind her own shades, and popped a strawberry between her lips, watching the bob of his throat with satisfaction as he swallowed and looked quickly away from her. “I called in some favors—” he began, and Marinette raised her eyebrows at that, but the Couffaines had contacts everywhere, it seemed. “—and found us a tiny little island out here that has just enough of a bay to anchor in. It’s privately owned and I was promised it’ll be completely deserted while we’re there. The island itself isn’t very appealing for anything we’d want to do, but the bay will give us a calm place to anchor up and just...do whatever we feel like. The weather’s supposed to be amazing for the next few days, so I thought we’d stay tonight and tomorrow and sail back the day after. It should be great for swimming, and I brought snorkel gear for us.” Marinette brightened. They’d done a bit of snorkeling already and she’d loved it. Luka grinned. “Thought you’d like that.” 

Marinette fed him a bit of pineapple and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” 

Luka smiled warmly at her. “I love you too.” He checked the GPS, and modified their course slightly. Marinette leaned back to stay out of his way as he picked up the main sheet again and adjusted the sails. He glanced behind them again, and then settled back onto his seat—more of a perch, really, he was practically sitting on the side of the boat, but she supposed that must be normal. He looked comfortable enough there, anyway.

They sailed on, munching through their food, Marinette feeding Luka from her fingers though he didn’t seem like he was too busy to feed himself. They were both enjoying it and some of the fruit was messy, anyway. Marinette had just licked a trailing bit of juice off the heel of her hand, and popped one sticky finger in her mouth when she glanced up and realized Luka was smirking to himself. 

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you looking so smug about?” she asked suspiciously, and the smirk only grew when he looked at her.

“Ask me when I’m not driving,” he told her, his voice deepening to a register that sent a shiver through her.

“Shameless,” she huffed, and Luka grinned as he checked the GPS again.

“What have I got to be ashamed about?” he asked easily. “I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve done since we got here.” He paused. “Well. Maybe the hot tub. That was taking things a bit far.” Marinette blushed deep red at the memory and he grinned. “Only a little bit though. It was worth it for the way you jumped me when we got back to the room. If you think I’m going to be ashamed of myself for spoiling my wife on our honeymoon, I don’t know what to tell you. Besides—” He stopped, and looked away for a moment.

Marinette frowned. “What?”

Luka shook his head slightly. “I’m going to upset you if I say this wrong, and that’s the last thing I want to do.” 

“Then take your time, and say it right,” Marinette told him, rubbing her hand along his shoulder. 

She kept rubbing as Luka mulled over what he wanted to say, his shoulder tense under her hand from more than managing the boat. Finally he took a deep breath. 

“You...have a lot of demands on your time,” he said cautiously. “And that’s fine. I’ve always known you weren’t somebody who could ever belong to any one person. You give a little piece of yourself to everybody you meet, and I love that about you. You have a huge heart, and you’re creative and driven and I know that I can’t be your focus 100% of the time. I’m fine with that. I love that, even.”

“But?” Marinette prompted. 

Luka shrugged slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. “It’s nice to have you all to myself for so long a time. I love every moment that we spend together, but the times when you can be really focused on me and just be in the moment with me, those are...really nice. I have two whole weeks where I don’t have to share you with anybody or anything, and I plan on enjoying it.” He actually blushed a little bit. “Not—not like that. I mean, some like that, but not just like that. I just...I’m enjoying being together, and not having to worry about anything in the world except making sure you’re as blissed out and relaxed as can possibly be. Especially after all the stress leading up to the wedding.” He shrugged again, the blush darkening. “So yeah, maybe I’ve been feeling like I get to be a little bit selfish this week.” 

That explained some things. Not that she’d been surprised at the amount of thought and care he’d put into the trip. Luka was definitely a “don’t sweat the small stuff” kind of guy, but it was clear that this vacation was not “small stuff” to him. And since they’d been here, Luka had been—not selfish, never that, he was always a very generous lover, but more vocal about asking for what he wanted. Marinette liked it, actually, loved having Luka murmur his desires in that low, growling voice— 

“Marinette.” 

She blinked, and Luka grinned at her, clearly amused. “Hold whatever thought that was,” he told her. “It’s not fair for you to have that look on your face when I’m too busy to do anything about it.”  

Marinette turned cherry red and huffed, turning away from him. Luka diverted his attention back to the boat before he could get any more distracted by her. It made sense, he supposed, given the level of hedonism they’d been indulging in since they arrived, that it was easy for his mind to wander. He wasn’t particularly sorry. It was their honeymoon, after all, and with all they’d been through, a little indulgence was due. 

A part of him wished they could stay here forever. That he could be this selfish forever, sail away to some tiny island where they could live on fruit, be free of responsibilities and commitments, and just stay wrapped up in each other forever. 

“So, now what?” Marinette asked, and he glanced at her. She was fidgeting a bit, her fingers toying with the last bit of fruit. Luka caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth, enjoying her indignant squeak as he snagged the fruit in his teeth. He ignored her scolding as he ate the sweet treat and then locked eyes with her as he playfully licked her fingers clean. She was back to that fetching shade of red by the time he finished. 

“Now you relax, and do whatever you feel like, and enjoy the trip,” Luka told her, grinning when she shoved his shoulder and pretended to pout. “It’ll be afternoon by the time we get where we’re going. I packed that book you had on the bedside table, and your art supplies. Probably should leave the sewing stuff alone while we’re underway, but your knitting is down there, and your bag of samples. You could even go below and take a nap. Whatever you feel like.” 

Marinette brightened and hummed thoughtfully, tapping her lips as she considered her options, and Luka smiled to himself. As appealing as it sounded to just whisk her away, to sail into the sunset and never come back again, Marinette wasn’t made for solitude and selfish idleness. Neither, at his heart, was Luka; they were both too attached to their lives, and the people in them, to ever really give them up. No, they would have to go back, and that was okay. Luka was content with what Marinette could give him. It was enough that she chose him to be her home. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy this time while he had it.

Marinette seemed to make a decision, straightening from where she’d been leaning on him. She pressed a kiss to his lips, and made her careful way to the cabin. “Sunscreen,” he reminded her, and she waved a hand to let him know she heard. It would really ruin their trip if she burned to a crisp because she forgot to reapply. Luka was used to it from life on the Liberty and slathered the stuff on almost out of habit at this point, but it was one of those little things—like eating and sleeping and hydrating—that Marinette occasionally needed a reminder for.

Luka sighed a little; he was honestly still hungry, but he couldn’t very well cook anything himself at the moment, and he didn’t care to risk his new wife, whose mind was almost never entirely on what she was doing, in the galley until they’d found a calm place to anchor and he was sure she’d gotten her sea legs. He stifled a chuckle when she came barreling back up the stairs, only to pitch sideways onto one of the benches. She recovered quickly, though, pulling herself onto the bench like she meant to do it all along and scooting herself into the corner opposite of him. She tucked earbuds into her ears and dumped a small, simple knitting project in her lap. She gave him a blinding smile and blew him a kiss. He sent one back to her as she put her feet up, her shoulders lowering just the slightest bit. Luka watched in satisfaction as she let out a deep sigh, twined the yarn around her fingers, and curled her lips in a small, contented smile.

Smiling himself, pleased beyond measure to see her so at ease, Luka checked the GPS to make sure he was still on course, and settled onto his own seat. 

People just...didn’t get it. He’d heard a lot of things over the years in regards to his feelings for Marinette. Words like whipped, simp, nice guy, second choice, backup boyfriend, desperate, creepy, settling. Luka has never particularly cared, though he wondered at their blindness. For one thing, he had never been waiting for Marinette. It wasn’t that he thought that if he just waited long enough she would see him. She’d always seen him, and if she found him lacking in some way he could hardly blame her. He just wanted to see her happy, he wanted to see her shine.

Because to him, it was abundantly clear that Marinette was unlike anyone else. Luka knew it as soon as they met, though he hadn’t fully understood it at first. He’d just felt it, in his gut, all the way down to his bones, that he’d never met anyone like her. Luka had pondered that first meeting for years, trying to put his finger on why he was so certain about her, but he never could nail down just what had so floored him about her. 

Now, of course, he had plenty of reasons why he loved her so fiercely. Extraordinary was maybe an old-fashioned word, but it was the one he always came back to, the best word he’d found to fit her. Marinette was just more. More determined, more creative, more generous, more kind, more committed, more brave, more alive, just...more in everything she did, and Luka, despite having no shortage of larger-than-life personalities in his life, had been hopelessly captivated by her from the start. He wondered how much more she could possibly be, what she could accomplish if she grew out of her fear and her awkwardness and learned to balance being more with being human. He hadn’t been waiting for her, he just...wanted to be there to see it, and maybe be a small part of it if she’d let him. 

Luka looked over his shoulder, scanning the wake, and stood up for a moment to look at the bow. He glanced at Marinette, happily knitting away and mouthing the words to one of his songs as she bobbed her head slightly. He grinned and sat back down. 

There’d been a time where this had all seemed so far out of his reach that there’d been nothing to do but resign himself and mourn what could have been, if he himself had been just a little bit more. Still, he wanted to be a part of that journey, even if just a tiny one. Even if it just meant being one of the hands that lifted her up in her weak moments, or a sympathetic listener. 

But they were here and she was his, as much as she could be anybody’s, and she loved him with all the more in her being, and it was more than he’d ever had any right to hope for. Even now, though they’d been together for years, he sometimes experienced a sensation not unlike when he reset Second Chance, that one dizzying moment before reality snapped back into place. 

Well, if he’d fallen into some alternate dimension or timeline or whatever, that was fine with him. He just hoped Sass would leave him here. 

Luka turned his head and scanned behind them again, and finally spotted what he’d been hoping for. 

“Marinette,” he called, pitching his voice to carry over the wind and the music, and she looked up, taking her earbuds out. Luka jerked his head to the back of the boat, and she craned her neck to look, frowning. Luka was watching her face, so he didn’t see what happened, but he knew the instant one of those grey bodies he’d spotted cleared the water from the dazzling smile that crossed Marinette’s face. 

“Dolphins!” she cried, looking back at him excitedly, getting up on her knees for a better view of the sleek animals leaping and zipping along in their wake. She made her way excitedly to the back of the cockpit, leaning on the back of the boat next to Luka as she bounced on the balls of her feet. 

Luka lived for the days when he could put that look on her face, when he could share something new and wonderful with her and see her light up with pleasure and surprise. Marinette had dealt with so much of the magical, the supernatural, the miraculous, and it always came with burdens and responsibilities and worries. Luka wanted her to experience mundane, everyday miracles that made life beautiful and precious, so that she would always have an anchor for those times when the miraculous threatened to overwhelm her. 

She giggled like a child, racing from one side of the boat to another for a better look. Luka had to stop her from going up on the foredeck when the pod decided to pass them, sending her down in the cabin instead to look through the water-level windows there. When she returned, her eyes were shining, and Luka grinned. 

She went straight to him and threw her arms around him, laughing as she hugged him. Luka guided her over to perch sideways between his legs, and steered the boat one-handed while they snuggled. “Thank you,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his, and Luka kissed her lightly. 

“I didn’t exactly summon them,” he teased, and she giggled, cuddling against his neck. “I was hoping we’d get lucky, though. Maybe you should thank Tikki.” 

“I will,” she told him loftily, sitting up to look at him. “But I can still thank you too, for bringing me out here.” 

He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave her was worth more than words, and Marinette had to kiss him. Luka leaned into it, and they didn’t separate until the boat lurched. “We’re falling off the wind,” Luka laughed against her lips. “Come on, up. Plenty of time for that later.” 

Marinette relented, allowing him to evict her from his lap so he could get to the main sheet and “tack into the wind,” whatever that meant.  

Marinette was in too good of a mood to mind her snuggle partner (much). She went back to the bench and sat up on her knees, looking out over the water for a moment, before settling back to her knitting. She should have known better, she scolded herself. She should have known whatever Luka planned would be wonderful. It was beautiful out here, she loved the salt smell of the ocean, and knowing her frenetic nature, Luka had packed plenty of things for her to do. Maybe she’d go get her sketchbook in a few minutes. There was a little too much motion in the boat for real sketching, but she could journal, and jot down thoughts, impressions, and ideas to flesh out later. 

Luka himself seemed perfectly content just enjoying the moment, directing the boat and watching her putter about with that soft look on his face that was hers alone. 

Marinette gasped when she saw the little atoll that Luka had promised. The island was small, and pretty in its way but too rocky to be appealing for walking or picnicking. The little bay in its crescent was a gorgeous shade of blue, though, and once they were anchored, Luka opened the swim deck at the back of the boat so they could plunge into the clear blue water. The water was warm, and the exertion felt good to Marinette after sitting on the small boat all morning and most of the afternoon. Luka had been doing a lot more work sailing the boat, so it wasn’t long before he hauled himself out of the water and sat on the deck, watching Marinette play with a satisfied smile. When she was finally tired out, she joined him, and nearly tackled him to the boat floor as she kissed him enthusiastically. 

“I love you,” she told him as he grinned up at her with that utterly stupid, lovestruck grin that she never got tired of seeing on him. “Thank you for bringing me. I’m sorry I was such a stick in the mud this morning.” 

“It makes it all worth it when you tell me I’m right,” he said, pinching her side, and she giggled. 

“You were right,” she said decisively, with a little nod to complete the statement, and Luka laughed. 

“Music to my ears,” he teased. “But the deck is killing my back and you’re going to be freezing in a minute.” 

Marinette got off of him and let him get to his feet, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. He was right though, the wind chilled her wet skin anywhere he wasn’t touching, and she was shivering from more than his kisses when he let her go. 

“Let’s get cleaned up and dried off,” he suggested, grabbing a towel from a bin along the side of the boat and wrapping it around her. “I could use a real meal, to be honest.” 

There wasn’t room in the boat’s tiny shower for them to clean up together, so Luka went first, and by the time Marinette had rinsed the salt from her skin, changed into a fresh bikini, and put her shorts and tank top back on over it, Luka had food ready for them, cooked on that funny little two-burner stove. He smiled sheepishly at her when she complained that he’d started without her, but she only teased him a little since she knew he had to be hungry after their meager brunch. They took the part of their dinner that Luka hadn’t already eaten back up on deck and ate, reclining together on one of the benches, enjoying the view of their tiny island and glad to be close. 

The sun was setting as they finished. Marinette got up and went to the back of the boat, leaning on the rail to look at the uninterrupted ocean stretching out beyond their little anchorage. Luka came up behind her, putting his hands on the rail on either side of her, and she shifted to lean back against him. She hummed in contentment as he put his arms around her waist and began to ghost soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

“It’s so big,” she said, looking at the vast expanse of blue stretched all around them. 

Luka coughed, his ears turning red as he tried to contain laughter, and Marinette twisted around to smack him. 

“Dirty,” she huffed, turning back to the view with her nose in the air. 

“You said it,” Luka laughed, raising his hands defensively. “More than once, as I recall.” 

“I’m going to shove you overboard,” she grumbled. “Besides, you're my husband. I’m allowed to...appreciate.” 

Luka hummed agreement, slipping his arms back around her and drawing her against him again. “Allowed and encouraged.” He lifted her hand, and kissed her palm, and then the inside of her wrist, and then her shoulder, and back up her neck again, soft and slow and deliberate. 

Marinette bit her lip and resisted as long as she could, watching the sunset colors grow deeper in the sky, but finally she turned her head, pulling her hand free to reach up behind his head and pull him down into a real kiss, parting her lips invitingly. He accepted the invitation with a low groan, the arm around her waist tightening. She smiled into the kiss, trailing her fingers down his neck, grazing him with her fingernails ever so lightly and delighting in his shiver. He broke the kiss and turned her towards him, and she put her arms around his neck as they kissed again. He resumed his attentions to her neck with open, hungry kisses this time. She trailed her nails down his neck again and down along his spine, drawing another shudder from him. He was always so responsive to her touch and—she hummed in his ear, and giggled softly at his answering moan. It had surprised her at first, how susceptible he was to her voice, and later she laughed at her own stupidity, because it was Luka and she should have expected it. She loved the way his eyes darkened with every little sound of pleasure she made, and the way she could moan just so and bring his hands to her body without fail. 

And oh, she thought, as his hands slipped under her shirt, brushing her bare stomach deliberately before lifting it off her, how she loved his hands. She stumbled, the rock of the boat and sudden weakness in her knees combining to throw her off balance. Luka’s hand shifted at once to grab her and steady her, helping her lean back against the boat for stability but his mouth continued its path without interruption, tracing along her collarbone before dipping lower.

Distracted as she was, Marinette didn’t register the tugs on the strings of her swim top until Luka was pulling it away and dropping it to the deck behind him, sinking to his knees as he did so. She gasped as the cool air hit her flesh, and then yelped as Luka’s warm mouth and one rough hand covered it. 

“Luka, we’re—” she started to scold, and then stopped, the hands she’d automatically lifted to cover herself sinking into his hair instead.

“What?” he grinned against her skin, not even bothering to look up as he laid a soft, reverent kiss on a dark mark he’d left the day before. “Totally, completely, could not possibly be more alone? It’s almost like I planned this or something.” He nipped at her playfully, making her gasp. “No parents or siblings or even neighbors for miles and miles.” He laid some light kisses against her and then he did look up, a wicked grin curling his face as he rested his chin between her breasts. “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when you don’t have to hold back.” His hands dropped to her thighs and rubbed gently just below the hem of her shorts. “But we can go below if you’d rather. It is a little cramped up here, and the bed is right there.” 

He kept eye contact with her as he turned his head slightly and his tongue flicked out, and Marinette moaned, tugging at his hair. “In a minute,” she decided breathlessly, and Luka chuckled, sitting back on his heels to kiss the soft skin of her belly as he unfastened her shorts and pushed them down her hips, while she dropped her own hands from his hair to shove his open shirt off his strong shoulders.

***

Marinette woke to the feel of her husband’s lips on her neck and scrunched her shoulder, not sure she wanted to wake up just now even for him. Their berth belowdecks was warm and comfortable and she saw no reason to leave it.

Luka apparently felt otherwise. “Marinette,” he said, softly, but firmly, and she opened her eyes and frowned. 

“It’s still dark,” she muttered.

Luka chuckled. “Yeah. There’s something I wanted to show you. Come on, get up. Please?”

Marinette grumbled, but dragged herself out of the bed, blinking sleepily. “Come on,” Luka said, holding out a pair of pants for her to step into. “You’ll wake up when you get up on deck, trust me.” 

“I do trust you,” Marinette muttered, putting her arms around his neck to steady herself as she stepped into the pants. “Isn’t it too hot for this?” she asked as Luka slid the sweatpants up over her hips.

“Not on deck at night,” Luka assured her. He was wearing sweatpants and long sleeves as well, she saw as he picked up a shirt for her. “Arms.” She lifted her arms obediently, smiling a little as she let Luka dress her. The sweatshirt was one of his, of course, too big for her, but comfortable and welcoming. 

“Are you planning on pushing me overboard?” she teased when he held up a lifejacket and insisted she put it on. 

“If you go overboard, do you really think it’s likely to be because I pushed you?” Luka teased back, and Marinette gasped in offended outrage. 

“You didn’t make me put one on before!” she pointed out, crossing her arms.

“Strictly speaking, we should have, but it was daylight, and I was there to catch you,” Luka reminded her. “Now it’s dark, and what we’re about to do isn’t exactly recommended in the safety manuals.”

Marinette lifted her eyebrows, and let Luka put the lifejacket on her and snap the buckles. “Oooh,” she teased. “Tossing out the manual? I feel like real Couffaine now.” 

Luka caught her face and kissed her so passionately that she was beginning to wonder if they were going to make it back above deck after all when he finally let her go. Both of them gasped for air. “I love it when you say things like that,” Luka growled, and then he took her hand and twined his fingers through hers, tugging her along and up the stairs with him. When he led her onto the foredeck, she raised her eyebrows.

“You jump, I jump?” she asked, as they picked their way to the bow, and Luka chuckled, his hold on her hand tight and sure.

“Always, but that’s not why we’re here. No jumping tonight, lifejacket or not.” 

He must have been awake for some time before he roused her, because he’d managed to clear enough space on the cramped foredeck to lay a pallet of blankets out. Luka held her hand tightly as he walked her cautiously out to it and told her to lay down and close her eyes. “Don’t move before I get back,” he warned. 

Marinette lowered herself onto the blankets, wiggled a bit to get comfortable, and then closed her eyes and waited. 

It felt like a long time before Luka returned, but then he was settling down beside her, nudging her so that she raised up enough to let him put his arm around her and cuddle her to his side. The lifejacket was annoying, and Luka wasn’t wearing one (hypocrite, she thought with some amusement and a little worry). There was a faint click, and then Luka’s quiet voice telling her to open her eyes. 

Marinette opened her eyes, and then for a moment wondered whether she really had. Luka had turned off all the lights on the boat and it was pitch black.

No, she realized as she stared upward. Not black. As her eyes adjusted, she could see the grey shadow of the foremast with its furled sail above her, and beyond that— 

“This is what I really wanted you to see when I rented the boat,” Luka murmured. “Paris is beautiful, but—” A shadow passed in her vision as he waved his hand towards the sky. “Nothing beats that.” 

“It’s amazing,” Marinette breathed, blinking up at a sky so soaked with stars that it almost looked fake. Luka moved closer to her and for a moment they fumbled in the dark, until she was pressed against his side with her head pillowed on his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around hers. For a while, they lay in silence, watching the sky as the boat rocked in the gentle cradle of the sea.

“It’s not always like this,” Luka said in that same hushed voice. “The water. The sky, even. We’re lucky we got such good weather and such a clear night. But when it is like this...” He sighed, and she felt him shake his head slowly. “There’s nothing like it. It’s almost the only time I feel at peace without music. Like there’s nothing I could play that could make this better.”

Marinette hummed understanding, though not agreement. She was sure that Luka could find the right sound for this moment if he wanted to. But if he was content with just this, just the sound of the waves and the creak of the boat, the flap of the sails and their own sighs, then she wouldn’t disturb him by asking for more. 

His arm shifted under her and his hand found her hair, fingers sliding slowly through the strands. Marinette turned slightly and pressed her face into his neck, breathing deeply the scent of sea and sweat and sunscreen, before pressing a kiss there and relaxing back again to lose herself in the swirl of stars above them. 

If someone had told her, ten years ago, that she would end up here...that she would end up with Luka...she wasn’t sure how she would have felt about it.

Marinette actually tried not to think of that time too much, the time before Hawkmoth’s defeat, when she was small and young and frightened, shoulders burdened with responsibility when really, just navigating puberty and growing up and young love was more than enough to challenge the spirit of anyone. It wasn’t all bad. There were good moments, moments of triumph, of camaraderie and companionship. Moments of hope and faith in herself and her friends. 

It’s just that there was a lot of other stuff too. Moments, often more than just moments, of frustration, humiliation, despair. Of loneliness, and sadness, and hopelessness. Times when she felt completely, utterly alone, totally spent, and absolutely uncared for.

Moments where Luka’s gentle hands on her shoulders, or smoothing across her back, were the only thing that made it feel possible for her to get up and go on. 

Maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe she would have gotten up and gone on without him. But thankfully, she’d never had to find out. Luka was always there. When she had fallen, when she had broken, when it felt like she would never be more than a barely-adequate Ladybug and a half-assed Guardian. On the days when Chat’s blind faith and eternal optimism just felt like another burden she had to carry. Luka was there, as solid and warm as he was now. Gentle, but strong, supportive but unassuming, unquestioning and also unwavering. Just...Luka. Even when she had nothing to give. 

Back then, even with all her starry-eyed fantasies about destiny and true love, Marinette had found it difficult to believe a love that pure existed in the world. She accepted his help, his comfort, because she couldn’t bear to be without it, but she hardly dared believe in it. It was a weakness, an indulgence, the one tiny bit of selfishness she felt entitled to. 

But then he looked at her with those eyes, soft and intense, and he spoke so honestly and simply, saying only enough to buoy her up, and only when she needed it most. Little glimpses of his heart that he gave her before he hid it away again for his protection and her comfort. 

It wasn’t something she had ever expected to be able to keep. She meant only to cling to it as long as she could, and then to stand on her own again when it was finally taken away—when he moved on, or got tired of waiting for her, or when she finally had to tell him that she couldn’t love him like he wanted. 

Fortunately for her, Luka Couffaine was full of surprises. It was one of her favorite things about him, the spontaneity he brought to her life. Some of her best memories began with his voice saying, “then let’s do it.” Like it was that simple. Like you could just do a thing without planning and preparing and considering every possible consequence.

It was during one of those times where Luka had disrupted her entire way of thinking with a simple come on, Marinette, sure we can, let’s just do it right now, that she realized that, when she let go of the future, when she stopped overthinking things, when she stopped fixating on the plan she had for her life, when she let herself just be, the way Luka always let her just be...that she could love him. That she did love him. That she wanted all the things that he wanted to give to her. 

That she wanted to kiss him. 

Then just do it, Marinette.

She smiled at the memory. They were both so stupid. So young and stupid and ridiculously self-sacrificing. Marinette wanted to groan and hide her face as she considered the both of them; him, starry-eyed and stupidly loyal, prepared to play the romantic hero and die a noble death for her sake, and she, believing herself miserably entangled in the threads of destiny, without hope or escape, as if she didn’t cut and stitch together threads every day. 

Sometimes it seemed nothing short of a miracle equal to the beauty stretched above them that things had worked out so well. 

Marinette wondered what her younger self would have said. If she could take the rabbit miraculous, or merely close her eyes and wish on one of the countless stars, and go back and tell herself that there would come a day when those sharp, painful, shattered days of exquisite but agonizing feeling would be only a memory, and one that she would look back on with more embarrassment than anything else. 

“You okay?” Luka murmured softly, nudging her temple with his nose and then kissing it softly. 

Marinette smiled ruefully and made a contemplative noise. “Just thinking.” 

Luka didn’t move, waiting for her to go on. “I wouldn’t change anything,” she said softly, and then winced. “Well. Maybe a few things. But only if I knew for sure I would still end up here in this moment with you. I wouldn’t trade this for any of those things I thought I wanted. Before.” She knew that he knew what she meant, because his arm tightened around her and his face pressed into her hair. “I do wish I could tell my old self that it gets better,” she murmured, squirming closer to him. “I wish I could tell my old self that the bad times don’t last forever.” She smiled faintly. “I’m not sure I would have believed me though.”

In the dark she couldn’t see anything but his silhouette against the stars as he rolled up on one elbow, but she didn’t need to see his face to know how he was looking at her, that look that managed to be soft and adoring and yet intense enough to make her breath catch every time, even though they’d been together for years now. She felt his familiar calloused hand find her face and cup her cheek, and he leaned down for a kiss as soft and sweet as their first.

“You made it even not knowing,” he murmured, stroking her cheek gently. “You’re so strong.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, finally able to admit that after all these years. “I am. But it was nice to know there were times when I didn’t have to be.” 

[colonel-insomniac]

Symphony

Hey geeks, this is my first time writing for miraculous ladybug, but i think this is a good debut piece. This was written to the song “I Hear a Symphony” by Cody Fry, so do with that what you will. Anyways, this is dedicated to @pawsomelybuggy. Onwards friends.

TW: CHARACTER ILLNESS AND TERMINAL ILLNESS

“I used to hear a simple song…”

Sure, Luka was considered a “villain,” but he felt it was a classic “right reason executed in the wrong way” sort of thing. He wasn’t a villain because he wanted the Earth to shatter and crumble. And if people knew how guilty he genuinely felt when he stole the snake miraculous behind Ladybug’s back, their opinion on him might change.

He shoved his hands in his pocket, head downcast as the grey sky above released its crystal drops. Luka scoffs, because why should the universe even be surprised at this point? He would assume that the universe was detached from all the second chancing he’s done as Viperion. He hates the black suit he’s currently wearing, and the uncomfortable pointy shoes he walks the streets of Paris in. But for Adrien Agreste, he would do anything. Basically almost has done everything. Nothing’s worked.

Adrien had been sick for a while. At first, no one was sure what was wrong, not even Adrien, who brushed it off as a cold. But things progressively got worse, to the point where he was consistently fatigued and weak. He became a shell of what was the model of good health, frail and bony. It all came to a head when he was at the Couffaine residence, practicing in Kitty Section, when tiny red spots covered his skin, bruises littering the spaces in between. No one should be able to bruise that much unless something severe was going on. Everyone had thought maybe Mr. Agreste had overstepped a boundary and gotten physical in some fit of rage, so no one was prepared for the verdict they got.

“Leukemia.” The doctor said. Instantly, Luka felt as though the air was knocked out of him, and would have fallen to his knees if it weren’t for Marinette and Alya standing on either side of him.

He had both wanted to see Adrien, and desperately wanted to turn around and run, jump in the Seine, hide in his room. Something so that he wouldn’t have to face the fact that Adrien had this terrible sickness. Luka had resurfaced to hear the grim news—Adrien hadn’t been diagnosed in time to stop it. The doctor’s said the most they could do would be to make what time he had left comfortable.

Then came the one time Gabriel Agreste has probably ever been kind to his child. He immediately abandoned his work to come to the hospital, his face still stone cold and blank as he threatened the hospital if they didn’t at least try to help Adrien.

He thinks back to when Adrien started losing his hair. He had been so upset that he wouldn’t let anyone in the room, had his bodyguard see to it that that stayed true. Luka still doesn’t understand how he’d managed to get in that day, but he remembers walking in quietly, seeing the side of Adrien’s head, his hair nearly gone. A look of desperation was etched on his face, with a mixture of hopelessness as he stared out the window.

“That was until you came along…”

He’d been mad at first, and Luka had felt guilty about disrespecting Adrien’s wishes. But he knew, more than anything, that being alone was worse than disobeying what the boy wanted. Luka had given him his first beanie that day, the first of many to come. He’d also given Adrien a rose, white with a black ribbon.

Long after the rose had wilted and been thrown out, Adrien had kept the black ribbon, and had it tied to his wrist like a bracelet. The gesture had made Luka’s heart skip a beat, and so he kept bringing Adrien roses, if only to bring a smile to the boy’s face.

Through this, no one had seen Chat Noir, which on a whole was not an issue, Hawkmoth hadn’t really created any new akumas. Mostly, they had seen the return of Mr. Pigeon, who was an easy person to best, someone Ladybug could defeat on her own. Chat had attempted to show up the first couple times, but upon seeing his pale tone and unatural sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, Ladybug had promptly told him to go home and rest. He’d had to be pushed off the scene, but after the third or fourth time, had stopped showing up. Ladybug had voiced her concern to Alya as the author of the Ladyblog, but no one had seen any trace of the cat themed superhero.

“Now in its place is something new, I hear it when I look at you…”

Luka numbly walked on, not paying attention to his surroundings. There was no point, in all honesty, not when he knew where he was heading. It played out this way dozens of times now, so he figures he can afford to be absorbed by his thoughts, at least until he reaches… he shakily inhales, unable to admit even to himself where he was headed. The rain fell faster, the universe seemingly weeping with him, mourning the loss of a soul that definitely did not deserve their allotted fate.

Luka was barely able to bite back sobs, his brisk pace halting to a complete stop as he hugged his sides. The world felt permanently grey, endless and hopeless.

Those last days with Adrien the first time were the worst. They were cast in a golden glow, the spark that had always lived in Adrien’s eyes had dimmed. He seemed tired, but scared. Luka stayed by him practically 24/7, the boy leaning into the warmth that Luka’s body provided. “I’m scared.” He whispered, and Luka bit his lip hard enough to bleed. What were you supposed to say to someone who’s dying? “It’ll all be okay, except that it won’t because you won’t be here?” Absolutely not, instead he opted for “I’m scared too.” Days later, and Adrien would succumb to the cancer, leaving Luka in what felt like a vacuum devoid of all happiness.

Much to Luka’s torment, the boy had passed while Luka was asleep, and assumingly was asleep as well. At least, that’s what Luka had convinced himself so he could find some sort of peace. He had woken up to a voice, pleading for Adrien to not be gone, but when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see anyone. He’d soon find out that Adrien was Chat Noir, and it was Plagg who had been begging for Adrien.

“With simple songs, I wanted more, perfection is so quick to bore…”

Plagg had loved the boy dearly, it was evident in the way he didn’t want to part with the boy, and would have rather been buried with Adrien over getting a new holder, Luka, having been Viperion previously, knew exactly what Plagg was, and scooped him in his hands, gingerly slipping Adrien’s ring off as nurses rushed in to try and resuscitate Adrien. Soon, Luka found his way to the roof, and sat dangling his legs off the roof, silently crying and sharing the pain with possibly the only other being to understand what fully loving Adrien felt like.

That’s where he first had gotten the idea to go rogue and steal Sass to save Adrien. Plagg was quick to discourage the idea, but his hesitance was enough to push Luka in the opposite direction. Getting Sass was easier than he thought it’d be, and that was when he rewound time for the first time. He was back to holding Adrien, and quickly rewound again, to get to a couple days before. This is where he’d start again.

For the first hundred times, he quickly realized he was dancing on a thin line of morality. Attended Adrien’s funeral about a hundred times. Rewound time dozens more. Nothing changed besides Ladybug realizing the missing miraculous and declaring Viperion an enemy. People grew to hate him time and time again, and not once had he bothered to try and clear his name, he just took it. Over and over again, publicly fighting Ladybug at one point and barely hanging onto his sanity through the fight.

“You are my beautiful, by far, our flaws are who we really are…”

And now he walks again, failed again, Plagg and Sass peeking out of his breast pocket with sad eyes. By this time, he’d told Adrien several times that he was in love with him, kissed his cheek dozens of times, and just held the boy to comfort him many more times. Nothing ever changed and Luka was getting to a point in his frustration where he wanted to throw something, and being a generally mellow person, that was saying something.

Getting lightheaded at the thought of being in that field again, he sat down, putting his head in his hands and trying to regulate his breathing. Luka glanced at his wrist, at the snake miraculous ready to pull him back again whenever he decides to. Normally, he’d rather stand and get through this feeling, but he simply just does not care anymore. If it’s going to rain on him let it rain. The only thing that matters anymore is saving Adrien. And that’s all he can think of doing anymore.

He can’t make it to the funeral, he knows that now. He might have forced himself through the torture of it several times before, but it’s worn him down. Luka looks down at the kwamis, mutters a monotonous “sorry,” and pulls the bracelet.

“I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along…”

The feeling of light ripping through his body is impossible to get used to, but he soon opens his eyes to find himself in the middle of a hospital courtyard dappled in sunlight falling through the trees. Adrien sits beside him, had begged Luka to let him sit in the grass and not the wheelchair, so now the both sit in the grass. The blonde haired boy leans against the tree behind him, eyes closed and a peaceful smile gracing his face. It brought Luka a hollow joy to see his love smile, if only for a little.

“Luka.” Adrien cracks open an eye, a hint of a mischievous glint residing in them. He patiently waits for Luka to muster the courage to respond. When he does, Adrien swiftly pulls two blades of grass to his lips and blows, creating a piercing whistle. Luka jumps, startled, but mulls over the resonating melody that it creates in the world. Perfectly descriptive of Adrien as always, and that never ceases to baffle Luka.

Adrien laughs, the sound pulling a smile from Luka. Later, he gets scolded for giving into Adriens pleas to sit in the grass. “What harm can it do,” he snaps. “He’s dying and we all know it. Why shouldn’t he be able to enjoy what little time he has left.” That gets the nurse to stop and nod. Maybe it’s just the tears in Luka’s eyes coupled with the desperation and sorrow in his voice.

Adrien holds Luka’s hand in his after the blue haired boy convinces Adrien to eat some food. Luka has some bright green nail polish on the bed tray per request of Adrien, who had conveyed to Luka he at least wanted to be rebellious in his dying moments a couple days prior. Luka had withdrawn after, much to Adrien’s displeasure, and had then found how affected Luka was from all this. Breaking out of his trance, Luka feels the weight of Adrien’s head on his shoulder, and Luka turns to press his cheek against his head.

Luka stares at the bottle of green polish before raising his knee to put Adrien’s hand on it. “Hold still so I don’t mess up,” he warns Adrien, but has a feeling the other boy will do something to mess him up anyways.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Adrien responds, just minutes before he jerks his hand, resulting in a bright green streak across his hand.

“You took my broken melody, and now, I hear a symphony…”

Days later, and the outcome doesn’t change. Luka resets time again.

Adrien cups Luka’s cheek in his hand, his cool palm causing a stir in Luka, who subconsciously leaned into the embrace. “You look tired, dear.” Adrien mumbled. Luka squeezed his eyes tight so Adrien wouldn’t have to see him cry.

With a shaky inhale, Luka leaned down, resting his head against Adrien’s shoulder. ‘I’m so tired. Please, stay with me this time.” He pleads, knowing it’s not up to Adrien to decide.

“I promise I won’t.” Adrien whispers, wrapping his arms around Luka.

Many times later, and the doctors finally find a viable solution.

“And now, I hear a symphony.”

[war--lords]

“I have a confession to make.”

(Since there’s no sign that anybody has checked out the surprise yet, well, surprise...?)

(For the sake of story, I’ve placed a piano inside Mozart’s room instead of having it be in a separate room lol also I know that Ikevamp is set in the 19th century, but is there mention of any year specifically? Please let me know!)

Upon hearing your words, your lover, who already looks downright icy to people who aren’t well-acquainted with him, locks eyes with you in such a way that inexplicably lowers the temperature of his bedroom just enough for your slightly clammy hands to notice. What you don’t know, however, is the jump in his regular vampiric heartbeat—something he doesn’t know his body is capable of doing anymore, at least until his life was so instantaneously intruded by your time-travelling presence. Your words, however, have sown the seeds of distress in the soil of insecurities he knows all too well. 

Insecurities that you also possess, and that you make apparent, because now you stumble with your words as he watches silently.

“I—I have considered the possibility of not sharing this... information with you for quite some time, and the idea doesn’t sit right with me, because I know you always prefer honesty above all things, and, good lord, now that I’m actually going to say it, I’m starting to doubt if I actually should even though I want to—”

Mozart’s hand reaches to cup your face, the other delicately lacing his fingers with yours. He draws you closer next to him on the side of the bed until your thighs touch. There’s authority in his voice, per usual, but you know enough to hear that gentle coax when he tells you:

“You can tell me anything.”

Even if it hurts me, you hear him continue, though unspoken. And although you’ve never doubted it, you’ve come to know and experience that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is a man of his word. The relationship you have with him didn’t come together as easy as the meet-cute in movies make it, and even now when you’re officially together, it’s still going to be hard, which is why your trust for each other has been tested through trial and tribulation. You can tell him anything.

And seeing him so serious like this, sitting next to you in his bedroom late at night with your nightclothes on, you feel your ‘confession’ is not that big of a deal anymore, but it’s too late to back out. You don’t want to be one of those people who makes a big fuss only to say “nothing, forget it”.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I hope you’re not gonna be... mad at me or anything.”

At this point he’s absolutely panicking, the fingers laced with yours gripping you slightly tighter than before. Why do you sound so grave? Did he do something wrong? Was it at breakfast this morning, was he much too curt? He’s never been good at displaying his emotions for you in public. Has he been neglecting you far too long? Yes, his work of passion looks like a never-ending stream, but surely you understand it’s because you’ve inspired him so? 

“Never, liebling. You know I love you.”

You give him a kiss—an easy feat, given your proximity to each other—but let go before he can bring you any closer. He hears you blurt out a string of words so fast he’s not sure he understands the language you’re speaking anymore.

“Before I came to this mansion, you weren’t my favorite composer.”

Ah.

Just like that, it’s as if the metaphorical knots in his shoulders loosen and fall apart, letting him breath comfortably as he did before this conversation started. Simultaneously, however, a new, much smaller knot appears at the back of his mind. He knew of your musical endeavors in your life while you were in your original timeline, and although he tries to be mature about it, he can’t help but feel slightly jealous. Who could it be? he wonders. If he finds out that it’s Paganini—that wretched womanizing devil—he honestly won’t know what to say. Or is it Lizst? Mozart inwardly scoffs—the devil’s friend can’t be better than the devil himself. But he knows you’re not a creature of superficiality, and both men are in fact extraordinarily reputable musicians, he admits, so it’d be no surprise...

You watch his lilac gaze like it allowed you to peek into his mind. If he’s mad, he’s doing a good job showing zero signs of it, but it’s obvious that he wants to know.

“He’s not... around yet, I think.”

“I see.”

“But he’s going to be around here! In Paris!” Mozart’s lips purse into a small smile at your display of enthusiasm, despite it being over another person. “His style is quite jarringly different compared to yours—and to many of his peers, too, actually. It’s beautiful, though.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“His name is Claude Debussy.”

“You know now you have no other choice but to play for me, right?”

You let out a chuckle as your lover wraps his arm around your waist, gently bringing you up with him as he stands to move towards the piano nearby, pulling out the bench for you to sit on. He takes a seat next to you, peering into your face from beside you as you acquaint yourself with the ebony-ivory keys, humming to yourself with indecision.

“Ah, here’s one of my favorites.”

You play the opening four bars to ‘The Girl with the Flaxen Hair’—a song that, for the complex key signature it’s in, bears a simple thematic melody. You watch as his eyes sparkle after your phrase. 

“La fille aux cheveux de lin,” you supply the title in French. “He puts his titles at the end of his songs to avoid pre-judgment from whoever is playing.”

“Very unorthodox of him.”

“One of his greatest works still resonates in my current time,” you continue whilst nodding at your boyfriend, “I can play the whole of that one for you, if you’d like...?”

At your sheepish expression, he smiles openly, leaning down to press a comforting kiss. First on your cheek, lingering on your skin oh-so-lightly before moving to the crook of your neck—a place he’s become all too familiar with, at which he press his lips with hidden passion. The amount of vulnerability you’re willing to expose yourself to—a student offering to play for the acclaimed prodigy—is something he appreciates almost as much as your presence in his life, for it’s rare and precious. Speaking of precious, the blush dusting your cheeks makes you look rather lovely, and he can’t help but lean his head so that yours is tucked under his chin, but lightly, lest he wishes to disturb your performance.

You take a deep breath, and begin playing.

Mozart finds himself being taken on a journey that sounds a lot like walking along the Seine in the quiet of the night. A night much like this night, an hour like this hour, at a part of the city with families in their houses asleep, hearing nothing, not even the river. Only the pavement against your heels. Only the crisp air of approaching autumn. And it might be slightly cloudy, but they travel swiftly across the cobalt sky, so you can look at the stars twinkling above. 

Streetlights. Cobblestone. Water. The moon.

The song ends on a soft, high note, reminding him of the gentle gradient of the skies as dawn comes closer, while the mistress of the night and her children begin to fade away, content with their inevitable return.

He looks at you, and you’ve never been more beautiful. You smile at him.

“Clair de Lune.”

Moonlight. The title of the song always comes last.

Mozart has a hand at the back of your head as he leans down for a kiss, deeper than the one you gave him before, and though he intend to persuade you to come closer, the encouragement isn’t needed. You’re already melting into him like you truly belong, fingers slowly combing through his silver-white locks, and he feels you smile against his lips. He grows more passionate by the moment, the frosty exterior long forgotten only when in your presence as he presses your bodies together with the hand around your waist. You part with a reluctant sigh and a dire need of air to replace that which has been knocked out of your lungs by his kiss. He presses his forehead against you, letting the two of you share each other’s breath.

“You should play for me more often, liebling. I love it when you do.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I appreciate your work a lot more, though!”

“I see.”

“Your pieces are diverse! You wrote a super grave Requiem, but on the other hand many of your other pieces are so playful—”

“Thank you.”

“—and I don’t care what they say about K545, I enjoy playing it!”

“...”

“...”

“(Name)?”

“...Yeah?”

“What do they say about K545?”

“Um—”

“Not that I care, of course, that would be moronic—”

“Y-Yeah, exactly what I said!”

“—but what do they say about K545?” 

[miastideclock]

Day6 At Their Weddings

parksungjinsfan

Hey 👋 I have request about day6 on your wedding day, like their reaction to seeing the reader in wedding dress, how will theu be yhe whole wedding, what music will they choose for a first dance, honeymoon details and such... Thank you🙏

-

Word Count: 👁 👄 👁  I don’t even wanna try and find out lmaooo Warnings: -The length of these are quite different, and I am so sorry about that -I tried my best to avoid the mention of the reader’s parents or family, but if I have incorporated any family or extended family without noticing, I am really sorry and do ask you to let me know so I can correct my mistake. Thank you.

my years of watching ‘Say Yes To The Dress’ finally pays off

this is gonna be a rIDE, i dont know if this is the format you wanted it in, but this is what you’re getting lmao my bad.

Sungjin

some of the songs i listened to while writing -Circles by Golden -No One Like You by Dualties -Spaces by One Direction

OKAY, so

Wedding Dress:

For the wedding dress I pictured something elegant, yet relaxed. It’s very simple, but the lace detailing adds that little something I feel like. The sweetheart neckline is flattering no matter what your body type is, as is the bodice. 

You can pair almost anything to this dress, so jewelry could be a pop of color, or you could keep it more lowkey with some dainty pieces. 

Sungjin would appreciate the simplicity of the dress, that way it let’s your own beauty be the center of attention. 

Location:

I feel like a garden-wedding is bulls-eye for someone like Sungjin. It’s sophisticated, but with a childish-charm. The trees and fairy lights are a perfect combination. I don’t really have a lot other than that to say about the location in particular.

Music:

Your first dance would be so cute. I chose Your Song by Elton John, just because I feel like it adds to the sophistication of it all. It’s a classic song, that way it will be easier for your guest to enjoy the moment you two share, with you. 

I can imagine Sungjin practicing months prior, so that the dance would be perfect when the day finally is here. awh my heart

Honeymoon:

Hawaii, USA. Again, it’s classy, it’s sophisticated, it’s very on brand. You can relax all day, eat pineapple and other fresh fruits, go on excursions and explore. Hawaii is a place of many opportunities, so I can guarantee you and your newly-wed won’t go bored. 

The Wedding Day:

Sungjin paced around the room, thinking about every single thing that could go wrong. He was nervous beyond belief, but he would never let anyone know that. 

He had to admit that in the beginning of the planning process, he always laughed at the men who were nervous, cause what was there to be nervous about? You were marrying a woman you love, there is no simpler task.

But now he got it. Every feeling you could think of washed over him at the same time, but none of them stopped him from wanting to go through with it. 

In the chaos that washed through his head, there was one thought that stood out before the others. “I love her.” A knock could be heard on his dressing-room door, his best-mean peeking his head through. 

“They’re ready for you.” Dowoon spoke softly, not wanting to startle the groom. Sungjin nodded before looking at himself in the mirror. He had to look perfect for you. Dowoon made his way over and stood in front of him, so Sungjin no longer could see himself in the body-length mirror. 

“Nervous?” He asked as he fixed the collar of the groom. 

“Yes.” Sungjin finally admitted. 

“Getting cold feet?” Dowoon asked yet again, the slightest hint of panic in his voice. 

“Never in a million years.” Sungjin replied. 

Dowoon let out a breath of relief and took a step back to see if there was anything else on the suit that needed to be fixed or moved or tucked. But as he found nothing, he nodded his head, meaning Sungjin should head out the door and into the garden.

Walking down the aisle with his mum was something Sungjin never completely realized would be happening until she was standing there waiting for him. She was dressed in a peach-colored dress. She was after all one of your bridesmaids, so she wore the appropriate dress. 

He kissed her cheek before looping his arm with hers, then making their way down towards the pastor. The walk felt long, longer than it needed, because that just meant more time for his head to get even more chaotic and messy. But contrary to what Sungjin was sure would never happen- they made it to the end. 

He stood on his side, his hands folded into each other as he waited. 

The music changed ever so slightly, meaning the bride was on her way. Sungjin turned so he was looking directly at the door where you would come through, waiting excitedly. 

A few seconds passed, and the double doors opened, revealing you. Every messy thought, or chaotic state his brain had ever had vanished. Sungjin could finally think clearly, all because of you. 

You held your bouquet tight in your hands as you walked down the aisle. Your heartbeat picked up as you closed your husband to be. 

You finally made it to the end, and to be honest? You don’t remember 80 percent of the ceremony. The only part you truly and clearly remember were the two most important words you and Sungjin would ever share.

“I do.”

jesus christ

Jae

some songs i listened to while writing -California by Bernhoft -Twit by Hwasa -Somebody To Love by Abhi The Nomad

AIT

Wedding Dress:

Jae is.. well- he is Jae. And even with a gun to my head, I could not know why I feel like this is the perfect dress for his wedding- I just do. A sheath dress with lace detailing is elegant and sleek, yet light and airy. 

With the clean neckline, a dainty necklace would be enough, a small pair of earrings to go with it.

Jae would love the dress on you, but you could also wear a trash-bag if you so pleasebecauseue he is convinced you could pull off anything.

Location: 

The fun and the beauty of a beach wedding would go perfectly with Jae’s personality. The ocean air is a lovely detail for a wedding, it brushing against your cheek as you look at the love of your life, the last time he would be your fiancé, in a few moments- he would be your husband. 

Music:

For your first dance I’ve chosen You by Petit Biscuit. It’s a soothing song, with a vibe that could calm down the angriest of men. 

The song takes you back to the memories of when you first met Jae, as he was the one who introduced you to the song. The lack of lyrics mean nothing to you, as you have made your own meaning of it. 

Honeymoon:

As a man of many countries, Jae has been all over the world- so when you planned your honeymoon, he told you not to worry about if he has been there before or not. With that in mind, you booked your trip to Paris, France. 

Going for walks along the Seine, admiring the Eiffel Tower at sunset, or experiencing the magnificent art at the Louvre- all things you and Jae are planning on doing. 

The Wedding Day:

Standing a few hundred feet away from where the ceremony would be held stood one singular groom. His eyes were closed as he was standing with his hands in his pockets, feeling the gentle ocean breeze brush against him, like a thousand warm kisses peppered all over him. 

This was the most calm he had been in months, and he felt like he could finally relax his tense stance. Whatever happened from now on, it happened- and there was nothing he could do about it. He thought that would only make him more stressed, but there was just something about it that calmed him. 

“You lost?” Sungjin suddenly spoke from Jae’s right hand side. Sungjin happened to be Jae’s best-man, so it was, among other things, his duty to make sure the groom was okay

“No, I’m pretty sure this is exactly where I’m meant to be. Sounds cheesy though.” Jae replied with a chuckle, causing Sungjin to let out a snicker of his own. 

“You ready to do this?” Sungjin asked again after a few minutes, this finally opening Jae’s eyes. Jae nodded and they started walking back. 

The sun would be setting in an hour or so, so the heat was just perfect on the stunning summer evening. You and Jae had been planning this wedding for what seemed like an eternity, and you were both over the moon that the day was finally here. 

You were in a beach hut just by the place of the ceremony, looking at yourself in the mirror, inspecting your makeup. 

“You look stunning, dear.” Jae’s mother said from behind you, she also looking at your makeup. 

“Absolutely breathtaking.” A bridesmaid chimed in. You gave them both a smile and then got to your feet, shaking out your hands in a nervous manner. 

“You ready?” Your maid of honor asked you as she came into the hut from outside where the wedding would be. You looked at her for a second before nodding slowly. “Good, cause Jae just walked down the aisle, you’re up baby!” 

You gave her a look, but couldn’t keep a smile from joining the scolding eyes. “A little late with the heads up maybe?” You chuckled as you grabbed the bouquet from the table, making her laugh. 

The doors opened and you made your way over to the aisle, taking a deep breath as the ceremony properly started. 

You found yourself walking faster than you had during the rehearsal, but you didn’t care. You wanted to reach Jae as fast as you could, because the faster you got there, the faster you could start the rest of your lives together. 

holyyy

Young K

some songs i listened to while writing -17 by Pink Sweat$ -All Night Long by Machine Gun Kelly -Needs by Verzache

okay so

Wedding Dress:

For our main man Brian, I chose something bohemian-chic. It’s fun, it’s light, it’s stunning. The rustic vibe of the dress is something i think would fit perfectly with the theme of the wedding.

The whimsical essence of the dress makes it kind of hard to pair with jewelry. I can imagine some small raw diamond earrings, and maybe a single thread necklace with a light pendant. Anything too heavy will easily drown out the dress and make it seem almost messy. Not very cute.

Location:

Tall trees. The warmth of the wood mixed with the soft touch of lights and georgette fabrics laced in between the branches. The forest is the perfect place for such a wedding.

The birds chirping, and the trees talking- what could be more romantic?

Music:

Dancing on a patio in the forest, moving to the smooth rhythms of Your Hand In Mine by Explosions In The Sky. This song is awfully slow at first, but as it picks up after a few seconds, you can’t imagine anything other than twirling around in Brian’s arms, as if you were the only people in an empty forest, ready to be with one another until the end of time.

Honeymoon:

Perfectly matching the rustic theme of the wedding, your destination sends you to Rome, Italy. Whether it’s making a wish in the Trevi fountain or renting a vespa to go to the closest Gelato shop- Rome won’t let you down.

With a stunning view no matter where you look, it’s a perfect place for a honeymoon and to take hundreds of pictures of the trip you’ll remember forever.

The Wedding Day:

Taking a deep breath, Brian stepped out of the car that took him to where the wedding would be held. Jae, his best man, stepped out with him, hyping him up- but Brian’s mind was too occupied to hear a word of what he was saying. 

“- and I just know that if you want to back out, I know she would understand.” Was all Brian needed to snap out of it.

“Back out? What are you talking about?” He questioned as he stopped in his tracks. 

“You’ve been spaced out all day, and the face of pure panic isn’t exactly helping your case.” Jae pointed out. Brian caught himself frowning during multiple points during the day, so he could kind of make out where Jae was coming from, and he felt happy that Jae would let him back out of he wanted- but that was not the case.

“Have you lost your mind? I love her more than I can even begin to explain. Even with a gun to my head, I would never dream of backing out of our wedding.” Brian spoke in a cool and calm voice, making sure that Jae understood the value of his words. 

Jae gave him a nod. “I hear you, loud and clear.” 

From there, they made their way down the patio-ed trail into the woods where their wedding would be held, lights decorating the trees surrounding them. It was straight out of a fairytale.

Brian had to admit that he was scared about the wedding, but not because he didn’t love you- cause he did. More than anything. It was because he was scared he wouldn’t be enough for you.

You on the other hand was sat in a car on your way to the location, stressing out your brains. 

“What if I trip? Or what if I say the wrong name? I know that only happens to assholes in 90′s sitcoms, but-” Your rambling was cut off as your maid of honor called your name from next to you.

“Babe, you need to calm down! You’re not gonna trip, and you’re not gonna pull a Ross, okay? You’re gonna get there and wow everyone with your dress and your hair and your everything- and then you’re gonna marry the love of your life and start your forever okay?” She snapped you out of it.

You took a deep breath and nodded. You had gotten this far without any complications- so you only had one small step left, and that was to start your forever. 

“Okay, let’s do this.”

OKAY

Wonpil

some songs I listened to while writing -Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray -My Strange Addiction by Billie Eilish -Can I Call You Back? by SHY Martin

Wedding Dress:

It’s big, it’s sexy but with elegance and class, it’s flattering to anyone- it’s perfect. A Princess-style wedding dress is such a gorgeous choice, no one would be surprised if Wonpil absolutely lost his breath looking at you. 

A dress like this is so beautifully simple, you can’t go wrong with some jewelry. Personally, I would avoid a chunky necklace, and rather opt for some longer, dangling earrings, letting your bare neck and collarbones make a statement of its own. 

Location:

Matching the personality of the dress, a Ballroom Wedding is elegant, it’s classy, and it’s so much easier to clean up than any of the other locations we’ve seen today.

A ballroom might seem boring to some, but it’s surprising what you and your husband-to-be can do with a bursting budget and a wild imagination.

Music:

For your first dance, I Will Follow You by Toulouse will be playing. An emotional song, perfectly conveying your emotions for one another, to your guests.

“Ever since you touched my hand, I knew.” The song sings. And it’s true. Both you and your husband can confirm that the first time you ever brushed your hand against his, there was a spark. Actually, more than that- it was fireworks.

Honeymoon:

With jungles, temples and waterfalls, Bali, Indonesia is the perfect destination to explore, have fun and also relax with the love of your life.

Renting a private tour guide one day, and just hiking to waterfalls and jumping into the water another day. Watching the sunset while being in each others arms, not being able to imagine a more perfect moment than that.

The Wedding Day:

“What do I do? The wedding starts in like forty minutes, and I have zero clues as what to say for my vows. I mean, of course I vow to love her until I take my last breath- but I want it to be special.” Wonpil stressed out loud. Maybe it was to his best man, maybe it was to the wall behind him- none of them could answer.

“Okay, your hair is as perfect as it can get.” Brian spoke as he tweaked the pieces that fell over Wonpil’s forehead. Wonpil shot him an unamused look making Brian chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. You look great.” 

Wonpil turned around to the full-body mirror and inspected that there were no pieces of dust on his suit, or scratches on his shoes. He sighed and nodded, agreeing with Brian’s statement, cause truth be told- he did look great.

“I can’t stop thinking about what she is gonna look like. And not only in the wedding dress. How she is gonna look sleeping on the plane to Bali, or how she is gonna look laughing at dinner- or how she is gonna look when we give our toasts. I can’t wait to look at her and be with her forever.” He sighed, grabbing the edges of his jacket and straightening it out even more, something Brian was pretty sure was impossible. 

“Why don’t you just say that?” The best man commented. Wonpil looked at him for a second as if he was hesitant, but soon came to realize it was actually a pretty good idea. 

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s simple but special, and it’s right from the heart.” He smiled, thanking Brian.

In the dressing-room across the hall, a particular bride was pacing back and forth, her bare feet making small noises as the underside of her foot made contact with the hardwood floor.

“I know I’m breathing, but it feels like I can’t breathe.” You muttered out, one of  your bridesmaids jumping to her feet to get you something to drink. She picked up her light pink bridesmaid-dress and ran for the kitchenette and roamed the fridge until she found a bottle of water. After tossing it to you, and you taking a sip- you thanked her. 

“Okay, I found it!” Your maid of honor suddenly burst through the door, making everyone in there turn to her and let out a sigh of relief. 

The it in question had been your bouquet, it being a collection of both your own and your husband-to-be’s favorite flowers. That was the reason it was so special- you had made it together. 

“Oh thank god!” You exhaled and walked to meet her at the door. You gently grabbed the bouquet out of her hand and looked at it in adoration. 

“Does that mean you’re ready to get married?” She asked in a hushed tone. You looked at her, then the flowers, then back up at her before you let out an excited sigh and nodded. 

“Let’s do this.”

Dowoon

some songs i listened to while writing -Heels by NoMBe -1901 - triple j Like A Version by Petit Biscuit -Drift Away by Sons Of Zion

Wedding Dress:

A-Line Wedding Dress, a sleek yet flowy choice for a rustic wedding such as your own. The soft silhouette and backless detail is a glorious mixture of sweet and sexy, coming together to make a stunning dress that is the perfect match for most anyone. 

The detailing in the lace is more than enough accent, but if you insist, avoid long, dragging necklaces and earrings. With the tone of the dress, dainty, rose-gold jewelry would be the best match.

Location:

A big, glorious venue for anyone with the wish of a fairytale wedding. A Castle is perfect for feeling like a Disney-princess on your big day. The candles and lights mixed with the aesthetic of exposed brick is enough to make the perfect wedding pictures- but why stop there? 

Most castles has a garden of sorts, often lined with large trees and fresh grass, making any wedding photo look like its dragged straight out of a movie. 

Music:

Your first dance will be one people would have to wait long to forget. Moving to the tunes of Happiest Year by Jaymes Young, holding your now husband close- an unforgettable feeling. You chose this song both because the melody is stunning, but also because the lyrics truly do speak to you. After being engaged for a year, both of you could confirm that it had in fact been the happiest year of your lives.

Honeymoon:

The Maldives. You might think it’s kind of cliché to go there for your honeymoon because it’s overused - right? Well, I can promise you, it’s for a reason. 

Whale shark tours, local markets, beach days, snorkeling safaris- the fun is close to endless. Whether you go there for the activities, or it’s for the views- there is no way you’ll be let down. 

The Wedding Day:

Standing in one of the towers of the castle, stood a single groom, looking out one of the massive windows. The reception was getting closer and closer, and the chairs down on the lawn was getting filled up with more and more of your friends and family by the second. 

“DOWOON!” The familiar voice of Wonpil called. The sudden noise didn’t even make Dowoon flinch as he had been expecting it ever since he got to his little hiding spot. The groom looked to the side to see Wonpil marching at him at a terrifying speed. “Why the hell are you not in your dressing-room? The wedding is about to start any minute now!” 

Dowoon had to snicker at Wonpil’s panicked state. You’d think he was the one getting married, truth be told. “Don’t worry, I was on my way there now.” Dowoon spoke calmly. 

One would think that on his wedding day, Dowoon would be a bit more freaked out- but he wasn’t. He had never been more calm, cool and collected in his entire life, and to him that meant something. It meant that even on essentially the most stressful day of his life, he was grounded, all because of you. 

You too had the same train of thought. Walking around in the flower garden on the other side of the castle, you hummed gently to yourself. You were on your way back to the dressing-rooms as the massive watch on the side of the left tower told you the wedding was soon to begin. Without a care in the world, your bare feet made their way through the soft grass, making you smile as it tickled your feet. 

As you got closer to the back entrance of the castle, then one you had exited through, the better you could see the figure leaning against the door. It was your maid of honor. She stood in a stunning dress, her arms lazily crossed over her chest, giving you a smile as she waited for you. “You enjoying yourself?” She asked as you got closer. 

“Yeah.” You breathed and stopped a few meters in front of her so you were still in the grass. 

“Nervous?” She asked again. You needed a moment to think about this one. Cause on one hand, of course you were nervous- but on the other, just the thought Dowoon made your shoulders relax and your jaw unclench, as you always found yourself in a relaxed state around him. 

“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.” You smiled as you spoke in the same way you had earlier. Your maid of honor chuckled at your words, then reaching out her hand for you to grab, leading you back to your dressing room to get your shoes back on, then getting you ready to walk down the aisle.

i really hope you liked it!! I’m so sorry it took so long- I wanted to do it just right!  Feel free to request again!

-bentley